Spring Cleaning—Fast-Forward, Freezer to Mouth

Winter/spring greens at their most tender and succulent flourish in the south-facing cold frame.

No corners are being reamed or closets cleared here at the ranch. Not that they don't need it. The cleaning has to do with freezers, pantries, and all the other nooks and crannies where last year's harvest was stashed. Potatoes, now history, were stored in burlap bags in the chilly pump house; winter squash occupied shelves in the cool dark pantry in the back porch, sharing space with garlic and onions, canned salsas, dried peppers and tomatoes. Fresh garlic and spaghetti squash remain pantried in small amounts. Spaghetti squash lasts at least six months in cool dark storage. Impressive!
Onions may have persevered as long, but we ate them way before they could rot. And garlic? Well, we're still using what we harvested last June, but it is yearning to reproduce or decompose. The 2011 garlic crop, planted in October, is vigorous and will be ready to harvest in June.

2010 garlic is trying to have babies in the pantry. It's still good, even at the early sprouting stage.

But the freezers! Two refrigerator top freezers and one small chest freezer were crammed after the 2010 fall harvest. Items that now need to be exhumed ASAP? Pesto cubes; chipotle cubes; blackberries; kale; chard, and two-cup portions of grated zucchini in anticipation of zucchini bread throughout the year, which, of course, I never did bake. I'm not at all into throwing any of this into the compost, although it may come to that.
Yesterday was the first of the serious "clean out the freezers" meals. Since spring has arrived, at least in name, and we're full tilt into eating wonderful spring things such as fall-planted broccoli, kale, chard, and spinach and soon the asparagus that will begin fingering through the mulch, followed by peas, and more chard, kale, and spinach, and on and on throughout summer and fall. It's difficult to dip into the freezer for last year's harvest. But it must be done.

2011pepper, tomato, eggplant starts in the solarium soon-to-be transplanted into 4-inch pots.

With so much food insecurity going on around the world, and in our own community, it is humbling to outline our excesses. We share, but we need to share more—or grow less? Maybe somebody's up for frozen grated zucchini in two-cup measures? I know that PK will pot many more pepper, tomato, and eggplant seedlings than we'll be able to plant, and he already has in mind people who will welcome them. But on to clearing the deck for the coming bounty, as a recent prodigiously caloric menu exemplifies.

An out-the-freezer dinner combined with  2011-spring-garden menu:

• Smoked trout (A yoga friend gave me frozen trout last fall. We used our Traeger Grill to smoke it a couple days ago. I buried the trimmings under where we'll plant corn.)
• Steamed fresh broccoli and kale with ample butter, fresh Parmesan. salt and pepper

Spaghetti squash Mexican/Indian casserole center  on the left with fresh spring salad on the right, and a little
smoked  trout front and center. A big dollop of chipotle sauce spices up the casserole.

• 
  Last year's baked and shredded spaghetti squash casserole seasoned with frozen basil pesto, dried tomatoes,  fresh onions, olive oil, canned salsa, and a couple T spoons of commercial  red curry unearthed from the freezer, an unlikely but delicious combo. This was baked topped with Parmesan, and then dabs of mayo and sour-cream-loaded chipotle sauce. Wow! A testament to fusing Mexican and Indian flavors, which I would not have considered if I wasn't spring cleaning.

Cole crops in March on an island. Too much rain! But they survive, and recently provided a load of broccoli and kale. Coming soon, I hope: cabbage and Brussels sprouts.

A seasonal staple for salads, soups, and side dishes.

"Fresh" from the freezer, soon-to-be soup. Ham bone, ham broth, pepper/tomatillo broth. 

Today it was soup made from freezer dregs and fresh garden greens. But mostly freezer dregs. Here's what it looks like tonight, thawing for a gourmet treatment: ham bone; ham broth; pepper/tomatillo concoction; grated zucchini; semi-dried tomatoes that needed to be frozen, and dribs and drabs of salsa and marinara. Wish me luck. 

What matters? Weather, for one thing.

Inside this nifty pop-up are provisions for a couple weeks. Despite how tiny it appears, it's quite deluxe with a heater, refrigerator, iPod hook-up, radio, and a commodious queen-sized bed that appears when the roof is extended. 

We may mock those who stoop to discussing weather to the exclusion of more worthy topics, but guess what? Weather matters. Last Sunday PK and I canceled travel plans to Reno and southern California because of serious road-blocking storms in northern California. Our brave little camper was all packed and ready to roll. We've had this trip on the calendar for months. But there we were on departure day, hunkering down to avoid trouble on the road and instead deal with home issues such as pruning and spraying apple trees, transplanting seedlings, and knocking out a few stories on a newsletter. I guess it wasn't so bad. We're leaving this Sunday no matter what!

Costa Rica—lessons from a journey south

Paul toasting our good fortune to be at Cabinas Jimenez on the Osa Peninsula in Costa Rica in December 2010. 

Note to readers: This post includes numerous links, which, if followed, could direct you toward journeys far deeper than my little excursion to Costa Rica leads you. I travel where I can, when I'm able, and in comfort. But my son's journeys are wider and deeper and challenging in every way. If you have time to follow only one link, choose the Great White Explorer. It can transport you to explorations you may not know exist in this day and age.

When I started this post long after returning from our Costa Rican respite, it was raining like hell here in Southern Oregon. February 14 shattered the 1904 rainfall  record in the Rogue Valley and interrupted weeks of balmy days when winter plantings vibrated with springness, and when we uppity Northwesterners looked toward the hideous Eastern blizzards with curiosity and said, "Oh, poor things!" But. Here's winter again.  And now I'm looking back to Costa Rica, where PK and I escaped for most of December 2010. Ahh. It was glorious. But.

We had been there only two days when our son, Chris, emailed us to say that his African kayaking expedition leader. Hendri Coetzee, had been killed by huge crocodile on an African river. Chris was two feet away, and another kayaker, Ben Stookesberry, was close by. A lengthy piece about this tragedy is the cover story in the March 2011 edition of Outside Magazine. (This is a 9-page piece profiling the amazing Hendri. It is well well worth your time. Hendri was charismatic and an outrageous adventurer. His is a riveting story, despite the tragic ending. It's almost as if he saw it coming.)
If you lose your child by a crocodile snatching, it's no more grief-making than by any other means. Car accidents. Diving mishaps. Bicycle crashes. But to us, this news was disturbing beyond belief, perhaps because we'd gotten to know Hendri though his writing on his Great White Explorer blog. The guy was an incredible writer and an extraordinary person. And partly because we felt guilty.

Hendri was taken. Chris lived, and we were grateful he did. Nearly three months later, we're still in wonder and so incredibly thankful that our son is alive and has moved on to his next adventure. Because what else could he do?

Hendri, rest in peace. Please accept the profound regrets of your companion's mother, and I know I speak for his father as well. We're grateful that Chris knew you, and know he loved you and will never forget. He takes many lessons from you. And so do we.

And so we moved on, as parents of survivors can do. (Had Chris been the crocodile's meal, we would still be muddling in a corner.) The next few weeks were a wonder of sights and sensations taking our minds off the tragedy. Two things stand out. One was our stay at a B and B called the Erupciones Inn at the base of the Arenal Volcano. The other was a lesson in letting go with good friends Catherine and Michael Wood, our Southern Oregon pals who live several months a year near Mal Pais on Costa Rica's Nicoya Peninsula.

The story: This Costa Rican dad raises Arabians. His wife runs the Erupciones Inn, a bed and breakfast at the base of Arenal Volcano. I took this photo (and more) from the patio of our modest accommodation. The little guy is two years old, and on his first "round-up-the-horses" mission with his father. Seeing this strong yet gentle parenting was somehow comforting to us, fortunate to be the parents of two incredible young men. 

The story:Here's Catherine Wood napping in her hammock on a lazy Costa Rican afternoon.  In her non Costa Rican life, she's a whirlwind. She works tirelessly for the non profit she founded, Bright Futures Foundation. But CR time is laid back. She reads. She refreshes. She and Michael play dominoes and entertain friends. They get plenty of hammock time. She's younger than me, and I have NEVER achieved the level of relaxation that she demonstrated.
There's no reason not to enjoy some down time, and so I am going to learn to do it!
Thank you, Woods, for the life lesson, and for being such good friends.
More photos from Costa Rica. 

February's promise- signs of spring

The broccoli was a surprise after removing the remay cloth that's been protecting the winter plantings for several months. Then we have rosemary, oregano, and thyme to season frozen plain tomatoes for the marinara sauce,
and baby kale and chard for the salad.

Feb 1. I went for  my first bike ride in 2011. It was brilliant sunny, about 50 degrees, and endorphin-making. Last night, Feb. 2, we enjoyed our first mostly garden salad: baby chard, broccoli, and kale, devoured with a luscious eggplant Parmesan constructed from last season's harvest. This is reason enough to rejoice for living in Southern Oregon in the State of Jefferson. But tonight, Feb. 3, was a red sunset after a warm afternoon with day lilies and  peonies edging toward the sun. I was edging toward feeling uncommonly good. A few pics below.

Kale, broccoli, and cabbage plants liberated from remay
Let the 2011 growing season begin!

Volunteer chard in the cold frame.

Winter sun slanting into the living room.

The evening sky above the garden.

Reflection looking into the house. 

Reading the obituaries- Mom's not there! Me either.

This is my mom, LaVone, age 95, on her birthday, Jan. 1, 2011. The object in the foreground is an iPad, and she is speaking (and hearing) via Skype, to  her sister in Fremont, Nebraska, whose voice she hasn't heard for years because she is nearly deaf. Despite hearing aids, regular phones haven't worked for either, But here they are having a conversation!
They're both joyful/tearful.  Who says thrills end with youth?

Obits. I've been reading them forever, it seems. Always looking at the ages of demise and comparing them with my own. Now that I've reached my mid-60s, I'm seeing a lot of untimely deaths. Every day people die who are my age or younger. I don't feel old or ready to die, yet death is not uncommon at my age.  I am 66. Damn. That sounds so frickin' old! But either I am in great shape or in serious denial. I don't feel the cold fetid breath of the grim reaper. Not yet.
Fast forward to my mother, LaVone, age 95. She was born Jan. 1, 1916.
( If you think she's 94 rather than 95, let me know. There's been some heated discussion.) Hardly any obituaries feature dear departed who are her age or older. They're all dead already.
In comparison to my mom, I am dewy and fresh!

I visited her today in her nearby "independent living facility." Yeah, right. Independent. If you can plan, shop for, and clean up after, your own meals. If you can bathe unattended. If you can handle all the bullshit of insurance and taxes and hearing-aid fittings and foraging in grocery stores. If you can go anyplace on your own. None of which she can do, and shouldn't have to. And she no longer cares about any of it. What a lightening of the load!

I wish I would have had my camera today. She was with her "hair designer", previously known as a "beauty operator." She was having her nails done, which included a luxury hand and arm massage, which I highly envied. After that was scheduled an even more massage-intensive pedicure, and then a hair trim. These ministrations were going to occupy most of her afternoon. Then she would retire to her apartment to rest a bit before taking the elevator to the dining room to enjoy a chef-prepared repast. Then, perhaps to play dominoes or bunco or bingo or one of the activities her Level 1 facility has arranged for her. Or maybe she'll just retreat to her apartment and sleep in her "dump chair", which she vastly prefers to her fancy hospital-type bed.

My afternoon, on the other hand, included ensuring that her VA benefit continues, that my clients are tended to, that PK and I are fed, and that the cat gets his broasted chicken leg. I would have liked some pampering. My day will come. My mom's day is here at last. Bless her.