Tomato Gratin, Pineapple Sage, Extrafloral Nectaries

October 11, 2016 Elizabeth Boegel

I've got several little tidbits to share today. First off, a recipe for all of your late season heirloom tomatoes. My thanks to Jacques Pepin for this recipe, which I have tweaked just a touch (I love him, love him, love him).

Thickly slice as many tomatoes as will fit in the roasting dish you want to use. I used a 9x9 glass casserole dish, and two large tomatoes fit perfectly inside.

Sprinkle on a generous amount of salt and pepper, and drizzle some olive oil on them too.

Tear up several slices of stale bread and put in your food processor. I used about half a loaf of leftover homemade sourdough, with most of the crust going to the chickens. Add a good amount of parmesan. I like the raw whole milk parm I can buy at Whole Foods, and I used a couple of ounces. Just cut it into chunks and throw it in with the bread. You could use gruyere too I suppose. Pulse this mixture in the processor until you have coarse bread crumbs.

Toss the crumbs with some olive oil. As Jacques charmingly says, the olive oil helps the crumbs to brown without burning. Spread this mixture on top of the tomatoes and bake for 15 minutes at 375. Delicious and really quite simple.

Jacques did this with roasted eggplant as well as tomato, but I didn't have any of that so I didn't include it. I also don't particularly like eggplant. I don't like zucchini either but that would probably be a good addition if you have lots of zucchini to use up.

Now, on to the pineapple sage, or Salvia elegans. This is the first time I've grown this plant, and I am simply delighted with it. This is my view of the herb bed out my bedroom window.

You can see right off the bat one of the reasons I like it so much. We take pains to have as many flowers blooming as possible, right up until the first frost (mid-December-ish), and this plant is a definite plus for the fall garden. It's gorgeous! Spikes after spikes of red tubular flowers that the hummingbirds LOVE.

The leaves have a delicious pineapple scent, hence the common name. The leaves and flowers are both edible and make an interesting tea. There are some apparent health benefits as a calming, anti-anxiety remedy (unproven, your mileage may vary, I'm not a doctor, blah blah blah). The plant is native to Mexico but does very well indeed in our zone 9b garden.

If you like herbs, or salvias, or flowers, or feeding the hummingbirds, or plants that bloom late season (and honestly, who doesn't like at least one of those things???), you simply must add one or twelve of these plants to your garden.

And finally, some information about a subject I didn't even know existed until today, and that is Extrafloral Nectaries. As far as I knew, nectar was a lure to get insects inside the flower in order to pollinate it. And yes, that's true. But some plants provide nectar in other areas of the plant that has NOTHING TO DO WITH POLLINATION. It's apparently only to provide food to beneficial insects!!!! My mind is fairly well blown. Check out this video (long on country-afternoon-ambience, short on facts) which shows a cover crop patch feeding all kinds of beneficial insects.

For actual facts, I swear I read a bunch of academic papers which I barely understood, but the upshot is that this is a well-documented part of nature. Fascinating huh?

The Whole Pig

October 9, 2016 Elizabeth Boegel

Guest post by Tom today:

On Saturday I attended The Whole Pig, a class on pig butchery sponsored by the Institute of Urban Homesteading. I've taken classes with them before (cheesemaking), and we were a stop on their farm tour last year. Our instructor for this class was Seth Peterson, who lives in Berkeley and has worked in a variety of restaurants.

(Note: this post will contain pictures of pig parts. It mostly won't be anything you haven't seen in a grocery store, but if this isn't your thing, perhaps you'll want to read an archival post on shallots or bees instead.)

The pig we worked with was from Devil's Gulch Ranch, an 873 acre farm in Nicasio, CA, in Marin County, pretty close to the Point Reyes National Seashore. They supply pigs to all kinds of high-end restaurants in the area, but they'll also sell to regular folks.

We started our class with a discussion of knives and knife safety.

It's such a delight to use really sharp knives. That's a bone saw, too.

The pig came in two halves, or sides; Seth had picked it up the day before, and it spent the night in the big spare freezer he keeps in his house. We next talked about how we were going to break down each side into its four quarters, and then take each quarter and break it down into the different parts you're used to seeing. For those of you counting at home, yes, one pig gives you eight quarters.

Before separating it into four quarters, we had to prep each side, which involved removing the hangar steak and skirt steak, the leaf fat (internal fat that's really good for pie crust) and the tenderloin.

Next, we removed the leg quarter (the hind leg and back side) and the shoulder quarter (with front leg) from the midsection. The midsection is then cut in half, into the loin (around the spine) and the belly (mmm, pork belly). Here's a good picture:

Shoulder quarter on the left, leg quarter on the right, and a classmate separating the loin and belly.

Here's a closeup on the loin and belly, pre-separation:

Soon-to-be pork chops on the left, belly on the right.

A big part of the rest of our discussion was on the choices a butcher has to make. Consider this picture of the belly and loin, post-separation:

We'd made the choice to cut where we did to kind of maximize belly, but had we cut a little further down, we'd have loin chops with that bit of rib on the end. See all that back fat on the loin? You might think about separating that out if you were going to make salumi. When separating the ribs from the belly, you've got to decide how much meat to leave on. With the loin, you've got the choice of cutting them into pork chops (which is what we did), but you could also cut a big section to make a loin roast.

Once quartered, we got to work on breaking things down. We decided to make pork chops:

The leg and shoulder quarters were separated out into roasts.

And the belly was cut into squares so we could all take some home.

Seth, our instructor, was wonderfully enthusiastic with us. We were all a little nervous about the process, and he was very encouraging about us just getting in there and cutting things. Our cuts were by no means expert, but it all worked out. We each got to take home 10 pounds of various pig parts -- some belly, a chop, a bit of ham hock and leaf fat, either some tenderloin or some ribs, and then some roasting bits. I cooked up a variety of our take for Sunday dinner.

A couple of takeaways:

If the only pork you're eating is tenderloin, that's maybe 3-4 pounds out of a 180-pound pig.

Seth paid $3.50 a pound for the pig, which is astoundingly inexpensive. This whole experience definitely made us think about going in with a few people and doing this ourselves. You need some pretty significant freezer space to store half a pig, but knowing exactly where and how your pig lived, and getting money directly into the hands of farmers, makes a lot of sense. (Two of my classmates were a couple that just started New Growth Farm in near-to-us Castro Valley, so we'll have to check them out).

We watched some video from Farmstead Meatsmith in preparation for class. This video about side butchery gives you all of the basics.

Joe the dog thought I smelled fabulous when I got home. He would have enjoyed this class, too.

Choosing for the Future

October 6, 2016 Elizabeth Boegel

As most of you know, I resigned my job as a paraprofessional working with autistic kids back in August. I haven't totally parted from that yet, actually, as I've been substituting at the school where I used to work. But the lion's share of every day has been spent looking at job postings, submitting applications, and going on interviews. It's been an interesting process and I've learned a lot - not just about how time-consuming it is to look for a new job (how do you ever do this if you're working full time?), but also an enormous amount about myself and how I want my future to look.

I'm 48 years old. The last 15 years of my life have been incredibly fulfilling and interesting, and I have learned so much. Marriage, having children and raising them, dealing with both cancer and autism in our family, negotiating the world of public school and IEP's, being a full-time volunteer for years in every area you can imagine, going back to work at age 42 and re-learning that world, becoming a better photographer and painter, completely changing the way I look at the environment and our local foodshed, becoming an advocate for ecological movements, and becoming a better cook! All these things have shaped me, far more then the previous 15 years of college, relationships, and work in my 20's (a period I often look at as wasted time).

And as I search for a career for the next part of my life, I've come to realize some important things. First of all, I'm not done being a parent. Though Adam is 15 next month, and Kate is 13, there's still plenty of parenting to do - it just looks a little different. This is the time of teaching life skills, things that the kids will need as they go to college and on into their working lives. How do you pick out a melon at the store? How do you make a cheeseburger? How do you use a debit card? How do you use public transportation to get where you need to go? How do you advocate for yourself with a person in a position of power or influence? How do you compartmentalize certain feelings so that you can make it through a difficult day? How do you negotiate friendships? Who are you going to be moving forward, and how do you want to conduct yourself? Those are all important things to learn. An awful lot of those hard conversations happen in the car, at least with Kate, who needs driving to many activities during the week, and to and from school. Adam, who manages to get around pretty well on his bike or using BART, likes to talk after school, as he is doing his homework. He'll work a little, then come talk to me about something he is thinking about, and then he'll work a little, and then come back to me. I can't imagine working afternoons because I'd miss all this. Someone else would drive Kate around and hear all her interesting takes on life as a teenager; no one would be here to be a sounding board for Adam as he works his way through three hours of homework.

Me and the kids in 2009, playing with photo booth on the computer

Not to mention, who would cook dinner? Who would keep the house neat and clean? Who would walk the dog? Who would pack the lunches? Who would make the daily trip to the market? That stuff needs to get done, too.

My favorite picture of Joe, Sugarloaf Open Space, 2012 — My favorite picture of Joe, Sugarloaf Open Space, 2012

So my time is limited. I can't work 9-5, or 7-3, or 3-9, like some of the jobs I've applied for. I'm available for small stretches in each day. That already hugely limits my job opportunities. But that's okay. It took me a month or two to get it, but I'm still a wife and mom first, a house-and-animal-carer second, and anything else I want to accomplish comes after those things. And I wouldn't want this any other way. I like my duties as wife, mom, and homemaker. I chose that life, many years ago when I left the symphony to have kids, and I still choose it.

And who I am as an environmentalist has changed enormously in the past five years. This was truly cemented for me yesterday when I had a decision to make about a job. I was offered a position at a local nursery about ten miles from here. On the face of it, it was a good offer for someone wanting to change careers. No big commute, the owner was willing to work around my schedule (although I'd have to work every Sunday, which would have been a big change), the pay was terrible but not as bad as it could have been for entry level, there was room for advancement, and best of all, I'd be working with plants every day. Helping customers make their yards beautiful. It seemed like just the opportunity I'd been looking for, to get some professional experience in horticulture.

Here's why I ultimately declined this position: The owner, a perfectly nice guy, said some things that raised neon-red flags for me. Things like, "Customers need to be told the drought is over and that they should buy lots of plants." Or, "If a customer wants to get rid of pests fast, I don't sell them anything organic; I sell them the chemicals." Or how about, "Customers need to be told that when they dig a hole for a plant, they need to dig a really big hole and throw out the dirt from that hole. They need to buy fresh soil from us as well as fertilizer to fill the hole." And the best one, as this nursery was located in a very affluent area, "Most of our customers have gardeners who do the work for them, so they don't really care what they are buying. If it looks pretty, that's what they want. I don't sell native plants, because they're ugly."

My heart hurt all day yesterday. Did I need to take this job and play this game? It couldn't be called 'selling my soul to the man' because the man was only paying slightly above minimum wage. More like selling my soul to change the direction of my job future. I'd be getting a foot in the door of horticulture, yes, but what would happen if someone came in one day, someone ignorant of all things ecological, and asked for a product to kill all the bees in her yard? Could I swallow my truth, and speak the party line?

The answer was, clearly, no.

And so I learned more about what I could and could not do to forward my career.

I realize that I am so lucky in so many ways. I have a husband who works extremely hard to provide for our family and who supports me taking some time to figure out my next step. There are many people in the world who cannot pick and choose which job they take. I'm so fortunate to have this opportunity. We have to tighten our belts, yes; we have to be careful with our budget, but we are doing ok without my income. We survived for years on one salary and we can do it again, even here in exorbitant Northern CA. I'm so grateful that I can take this time and space to find just the right thing for me, moving ahead into the next stage of my life. Whatever I choose to do now is most likely what I will do for the rest of my working life, and so it pays to be very careful about with whom I align. And it has become crystal clear to me that I need to work with a company that is striving to improve our earth, not just make things pretty. After all, I've been working these past years in an area that is very meaningful and very important (helping autistic children to feel secure and loved and whole), and I don't want to leave that for something with no meaning at all.

Cows in wild mustard, Shell Ridge open space, 2015

So, the search continues. It's fascinating to think about where I'll be this time next year.

Rain!

October 3, 2016 Elizabeth Boegel

Oh boy, oh boy, on boy, we had a light rain this morning. Rain this early in October is somewhat unprecedented for my part of inland Northern California. The garden is so happy! The birds are so happy! I am so happy! The cat is decidedly not happy. But she's never happy so she doesn't count.

I smelled the rain coming. You know the smell I'm talking about. I thought it was the smell of ozone, but I wasn't sure, and so I did some research. Thanks to Scientific American, I went down a rabbit hole of rain-smells (all quotes below are from that source). That smell before the rain arrives is indeed ozone. It happens when "an electrical charge splits atmospheric nitrogen and oxygen molecules into separate atoms. Some of these recombine into nitric oxide, and this in turn reacts with other atmospheric chemicals, occasionally producing a molecule made up of three oxygen atoms - ozone, or O3."

Then, just after the rains arrive, falling water disturbs odoriferous molecules on surfaces and carry them into the air. If you're near vegetation, that's what you'll smell. If you're near concrete or asphalt, then you'll smell that. Those scents are called "petrichor."

There's one more rain scent. That's the one you smell after the rains depart, leaving wet earth. "This is the aroma of geosmin, a metabolic by-product of bacteria." It's the smell that supposedly makes us want to go out and dig in the dirt.

I've smelled all three of these scents today, and actually I don't want to go dig in the dirt - I want to nest. I've got a pork shoulder braising in the oven, and some other comforting spicy smells are joining those of the rain. I'm ready to make a cup of tea and sit a while with a book. Luckily I have some time today to do just that. But first, I'm going to go make sure the rain barrels are hooked up to the downspouts. I don't want to miss the next surprise rain!

"Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers..."

September 29, 2016 Elizabeth Boegel

In Northern California, it is the time of fruits and flowers (that's William Blake I have to thank for the title of this post, see below for the full poem). In the Napa and Sonoma vineyards, the 'crush' has begun - the annual grape harvesting season which makes the world-famous wines we all love. When grape season is over, olive season begins. Walnuts and almonds are being harvested now. In our zone 9 home gardens, we look forward to a few more tomato and pepper harvests before the frost arrives sometime in December. Here at Poppy Corners, I'm certainly still harvesting those fruits, as well as melons, herbs, and the stray strawberry. We've eaten all the corn, potatoes, and sweet potatoes; the cucumber vines have been sacrificed to the compost bin after producing bushels of fruit for pickles and fresh eating; the green beans are long finished with a few extra bags for the freezer. Soon it will be 'greens' season, with plenty of leafy salads and sautés. I'm starting to look forward to that.

Late season flowers are bursting and the pollinators are very busy, though I'm starting to see less native bees as we head in to real autumn. However the butterflies and skippers are making up for that deficit and are constantly moving between the cosmos, zinnia, and the tithonia blossoms. The honeybees are still busy in the cuphea and in the late summer native flowers like California sunflower and gumplant. Hummingbirds haunt the salvias.

I've seeded carrots, brassicas (broccoli, kale, cauliflower, etc), radishes, chard, spinach, braising greens, tatsoi, beets, fava beans, gourds, snap peas, and shelling peas. I will continually be seeding these up through the end of November as I pull the summer crops out. I'm seeding some native spring annual flowers now too, hoping for a possible early rain - flowers like Golden and Arroyo Lupine, Tidy Tips, and Phacelia. I've also planted some native bulbs - White Brodiaea, Ithuriel's Spear, and Blue Dicks, in the woodland garden. Soon it will be time to prune all the summer perennials, and start collecting leaves for the compost.

““O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

’The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.’
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.”

William Blake, “To Autumn” 1783”