To can or not to can?

Our tomatoes came on late this year, but when they finally ripened, oh baby, we had more than we knew what to do with. We attempted a bit of canning last year with mixed results. A salsa recipe that we got from the local extension service was … interesting. The amount of vinegar in the recipe nearly rendered the whole thing inedible. So that was a bust.

However, we rallied and decided to try our hand at tomato sauce and that was a success. I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite prepared for how much work canning would be. When you start out with a big mound of tomatoes and end up boiling it down to fill five jars, it’s a little deflating. Especially when those five jars in the supermarket would cost you a little over $5. But we had five jars of very flavorful sauce and the knowledge that the tomatoes that we grew didn’t go to waste and were used in delicious sauces and other recipes during the winter … at least that’s what we keep telling ourselves.

So this year, in addition to tomato sauce, we also canned tomato paste and a roasted roma sauce that will pair nicely with pasta and spinach. In all, we probably canned about 70 pounds of tomatoes.

Here’s a little photo essay of our tomato sauce process:

102214_2240_ToCanornott1.jpg

In this instance, we started with about 8 pounds of homegrown roma tomatoes.

102214_2240_ToCanornott2.jpg

We removed the stems and rough chopped the tomatoes to let them soften and cook down on the stove for a bit.

Foodmill

Here was the problematic, messy part. We then ran them through a foodmill to remove the seeds and skins. However, the darn thing broke (the handle fell off) halfway through the process. So we did the best we could with what we had to work with. But it was a much bigger headache than it needed to be.

Empty jars

Once the seeds and skins were removed, we took what was left and cooked it on the stove until it concentrated a bit. Then it was time to fill the jars. We added a little salt and some lemon juice to each jar as per the directions.

Sauce in jars

Aren’t they pretty? Like I said before, it was a little disheartening to have all those tomatoes boil down to five jars. But it is what it is.

Boiling jars

The last step was to process the jars in boiling water to seal the lids and make them shelf stable.

As we live and learn here, we’d love to hear any tips you may have for canning, so feel free to sound off in the comments.

 

 

 

 

Next year’s garden …

Tomatoes
Our tomato crop came in a little late.

We went to the local farmers market this year to sell some produce, jewelry and baskets. We originally envisioned our booth overflowing with beautiful, lovingly grown vegetables. Baskets of shiny red tomatoes, bags of crisp, dark, leafy greens, loads of corn and potatoes. Sweet carrots and peas that taste like candy. Well, that didn’t happen. And rather than sound like a whiner and complain about why we didn’t have the bounty we wanted, I’ll just say it’s hard to grow things out here. And yet … we are determined to learn from our mistakes. Next year will be better. The garden will be fenced with hardware cloth to keep out the bigger critters that do the most damage. We are testing our soil to see where our deficiencies (and strengths) lie. We will plant more garlic and potatoes and fewer salad greens. There will be more corn, more peppers, more fresh herbs. So we live and we learn and next year we will be back and better than ever. If you’re wondering what we’ll do with all those tomatoes pictured above, stay tuned. They’ll be a post on canning soon.

On a positive note, the cosmos that we grew from seed finally bloomed in September. It literally took all summer, but here it is. Beautiful, right?

Cosmos in bloom ... finally!
Cosmos in bloom … finally!

 

Feeling brave

I’ve never felt particularly at home in nature. So it’s ironic that now I find myself in a position of being surrounded by it. The open desert air is at once refreshing and overwhelming. It’s breathtakingly beautiful and horrifyingly wild. The handful of times I went camping as a kid, I enjoyed myself but was more than happy to return to my suburban life indoors. Out here, it is the critters that have taken some getting used to.

A year ago, I freaked out the first time I saw a mouse scurry across the living room floor. We’re talking full out piercing scream accompanied by a scramble up on a chair. I refused to empty the mouse traps. I wanted a firm, impassable line between the outdoor creatures and my indoor space. Then one day I realized, that was just not going to happen in a place where the desert is an irrepressible force of life, constantly pushing to undo our attempts to tame it. So we put traps in places that we are most likely to catch mice and that are out of reach of the kids. I’ve gotten to the point where I can empty a mouse trap and reset it. I sweep bat and packrat poop off the back porch, where we’ve trapped 16 packrats this summer alone. The rabbits darting in and out from under the deck no longer startle me. I’ve accepted that mosquitoes and horseflies are cohabitants out here.

But the snakes … the snakes still make me uneasy. I approach the front planter with caution every single time, ready to jump at a moment’s notice if I see even a hint of a snake. The resident garter snake suns itself on the brick and rocks. The skin sheds fascinate and repulse me. I’ve found a couple of those, indicating there is more than just one snake out there. In fact, a few weeks ago, I came across this one sunning itself in the morning sun.

Snake from inside

I took this photo through the window from the safety of the dining room. It didn’t look like a garter snake, with its sleek grey body. And I thought my nephew, who likes snakes and amphibians and other creepy crawlies might be able to identify it. So I got brave and went outside to see if I could get a better photo.

Snake in grass

It saw me coming and slithered off the brick and onto the ground. And it was fast, which made me jumpy, but I was on a mission armed with my camera. I’ve noticed that my trusty Nikon often makes me braver than I would be without it. I suppose it’s a form of armor. Or maybe it simply distracts me from my unease. In any case, I snapped this photo of the snake as it moved through the grass. It was watching me, fully aware, but didn’t try to get away. And I stalked it as it moved around the planter, determined to get a decent shot. As I studied it, I noticed its yellow/green under belly and some scars on its back, where maybe it encountered another predator. Its quick, efficient movements were impressive, and I momentarily forget to be scared as I followed its path with my camera. And that’s when I snapped this photo.

Snake on rock

It was a nice clear shot of the snake with a nearby skin shed. I sent the photo to my sister-in-law, who showed it to my nephew, aka the reptile expert, who quickly deemed it a yellow bellied racer.

How about that? A little bravery resulted in a decent snake shot and a little less fear of those slithering reptiles. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not seeking them out, but if they come across my path I won’t scream … too loud. Small victories.

 

Thoughts while weed eating

Note: Post courtesy of DJ.

You have time to think when you are weed eating. One thought that dawned on me this morning as I was attacking a stand of mustard weed with the ol’ string trimmer was: “couldn’t a cow (or pig or goat) be doing this?” As in, reducing mosquito habitat, converting energy to fertilizer or at least mulch, etc. etc.? Probably, I concluded, as long as there weren’t too many cow (or goat) pies everywhere I want to step. Which led me to the thought of balance, which has been an ongoing theme out here at the farmstead. Or perhaps theme should be replaced with lesson, and an ongoing one at that. This concept also happens to describe a book I just finished reading called “The Big Burn,” by Northwest author Timothy Egan. He subtitled his book “Teddy Roosevelt and the Fire That Saved America.” I think anyone who enjoys early 1900s American History and specifically that of the then-still wild American west will enjoy this book as will folks who just enjoy a dramatically told true story.

The Big Burn copyThe story begins as Teddy Roosevelt and trusted friend and advisor (and later to become the father of the modern U.S. Forest Service) Gifford Pinchot are wrestling with a grand idea… that of conservation. Seems the two Easterners, of means and education, feel a deep kindred calling to the vast wilderness of the West, to the wonders of its unspoiled nature and to the words and places of noted naturalist John Muir. Well, seemingly the only other folks at that time (circa early 1900s) who had an appreciation for these lands (besides, obviously, the woefully underrepresented and exploited Native Americans) were timber barons and copper kings, and the legal, bureaucratic and media apparatus necessary to sustain them. Roosevelt argued that the current and future citizenry of the country deserved to have an opportunity to appreciate and benefit from these incredible places and resources. T.R. began reserving huge tracts of forest for the newly formed Forest Service to manage, led by Pinchot and his Rangers.  Such a large undertaking couldn’t help but be met with some resistance from those who would profit from the continued exploitation of the resources.

One of the Service’s strongest early stances was that of “zero tolerance” for wildfire, which time and science have since shown to work against the overall health of the forest (or prairie or desert) ecosystem. A more natural fire regime including periodic, but less intense fires, has been shown to positively influence plant and animal diversity and health,  not to mention being far cheaper and safer than attacking every fire with every available resource. But In the early days of the USFS, their mission regarding forest fires was simply to put every fire out.

That became an impossibility in the summer of 1910, when a vast tract of mixed and white pine forest stretching from the Palouse of Eastern Washington, across the Northern panhandle of Idaho, into Northwest Montana and on into south-central Canada exploded in flames. A historically dry winter and spring led to tinder dry conditions in the forest that ultimately resulted in an unprecedented fire storm that claimed countless thousands of acres of forest but also several settlements and nearly 100 lives. Tales of bravery (like that of “Big” Ed Pulaski, who led a group to safety in a mine shaft, or the Buffalo soldiers of Company G 25th Infantry, who heroically maintained order and helped save many lives in and around Wallace and Avery, Idaho) were balanced with those accusing the forest managers of incomprehensible incompetence and hubris. Many lives had been risked and indeed lost in the fight against one of the most powerful of natural foes. Some had signed on to work for the FS, but there were many untrained miners and even prisoners forced into service by necessity. Of course, after the fact there was much hand-wringing on how or even whether or not the Service should continue.

Anyway back to balance… so I now remember why it can be pretty hard to write a good book report. There is a lot to think about in this book, so it’s hard to be brief and yet touch on some of the things that spoke to me. This book reminds me of the cliché that anyone who claims to have all the answers just hasn’t been asked the right questions yet. That’s where I come down on managing public land… It takes bravery to make difficult decisions instead of theorizing about or studying or placing blame after the fact, and it takes determination to live with the results of those decisions. Ideally, the people who make those decisions will have access to and interest in as much information on the topic as is available. Then they’ll try to balance the science with public interest. But here’s a spoiler alert: there may be more than one public interest — there may be many of them, and they may seem to be forever shifting and (hopefully) evolving.

Other recommended titles on the topic include “Young Men and Fire,” by Norman Maclean and “Fire on the Mountain,” by Norman’s son John N. Maclean.

 

A trip to the forest to cut some wood

We went through a few cords of wood this past winter as our wood stove is our primary source of heat. So now that summer is almost here, it’s time to stock up on wood so that it can dry and cure before next fall when we’ll need it again. We’ve made a few trips to the forest to get wood and wanted to share some photos from our first woodcutting trip. The in-laws deserve a shout out for scouting the location beforehand, bringing lunch and the truck in which to cart the wood back home. It was a fun, productive day, so here it is in pictures.

Trees!

We had to drive awhile to get out of the desert and into the forest.

Wood fallen tree

 

Luckily, we came across some fallen trees that just needed to be bucked up.

Wood chainsaw

DJ inspects the equipment and mixes the fuel for the chainsaw. Note the protective gear: gloves, pants and ear protection. Safety first, people!

Wood bucking up

And for the fun part. Watch those woodchips fly.

Wood Nana and S

Nana and li’l S watch the action.

Wood stack

Loading up the truck.

Wood Papa tagging

Making sure we’re legal.

Wood lil E

Lil’l E: “Did someone say lunch?”

 

 

 

 

Scenes of spring

 

Spring egret
An egret stands in the creek.
Hops climb the trellis.
Hops climb the trellis.
Spring bird
A little yellow bird hangs out in the plum tree.
Swinging side by side in the backyard.
Swinging side by side in the backyard.
Spring Bumblebee
A bumblebee pollinates the pea shrubs.
Spring is in full force as things green up and the weather mellows out.
Spring is in full force as things green up and the weather mellows out.

The otters are back

After being AWOL all winter we had an otter sighting the other day.

Swimming downstream.
Swimming downstream.

There were actually three of them, but we only caught two on camera. Catching a glimpse of these guys frolicking in the creek makes my day. For one, they are a bit elusive. They don’t linger like the ducks do, but they make more of an impact leaving great waves in their wake as they make their way through the water. Occasionally, they’ll detour to one side or the other to investigate something that has caught their interest.

Checking out something near the bank.
Checking out something near the bank.

And occasionally, they’ll wrestle with each other, making turns and swirls in the water. Unlike the other wildlife around here that seems intent on hunting, gathering food or building nests, these guys seem to enjoy having fun from time to time.

They are curious, as evidenced by this guy who paused on his swim down the creek to mug for the camera.

Hey, you there!
Hey, you there!

 

Spring’s hope

“He who plants a tree, plants a hope.” – Lucy Larcom, American poet

Spring blossoms
Spring blossoms

Generations ago, some forward-thinking pioneers planted a bunch of willows out in the middle of the desert. It’s one of the only ways I can distinguish our little patch of paradise from the rest of the desert in this desolate landscape. These willows are now towering old-growths that provide nesting areas for wildlife and a nice refuge from the punishing wind. However, some of them are now dead or dying (side note: hello firewood!) and it’s time to pay it forward for future generations.

Desert old growth
Desert old-growth

My in-laws have been planting trees out here for about two decades now and thank goodness. While some have thrived, countless others have not. The hybrid willows and the Russian olives have been a resounding success, while the legend has it that one spring they planted no less than 100 black cottonwoods that haven’t been heard from since. It is not a forgiving environment. Young trees have much to overcome – gophers, porcupines, beavers, deer and cows can kill them before they even have a chance to bud out. High winds and heavy snow can topple them in an instant. So we have to stake them and cage them until they get big enough to take the abuse from the wildlife and weather on their own. Then there is the issue of water. They call it the desert for a reason. Water isn’t exactly plentiful. Until their roots reach the ground water, they need regular waterings in order to sustain life. Another strike is the alkaline, heavy clay soil out here. One friend of ours noted that you can practically hear the plants cringing and screaming “Nooooooooo!” when you go to transplant them into this challenging climate.

Even so, we want to make sure there are trees here for our kids and grandchildren. We ordered about 80 trees last fall. Some willows, some fruit trees and a few spruce. We’ve been planting them for the past three weeks – some went in the orchard, some along the creek and some in the backyard. Some went in pots in the greenhouse until we figure out a place to put them. We hoped that the desert soil wasn’t too much of a shock for them and that they would survive. We staked and caged them for support and protection. We supplemented the soil with peat moss, some gypsum and a slow release fertilizer, and we’ve been watering diligently.

Trees watering
Watering with care.

But between the stress of shipping and sitting in our garage for a few days, we weren’t sure that we’d done entirely right by these trees. Perhaps there was just too much stacked against them from the beginning.

But then …

A tree in our desert oasis.
Greenery!

Hope.

We know it’s early yet, but with these swollen buds and greenery we have hope that these young trees will be here for many years to come. Perhaps in a roundabout way it’s also a metaphor for our situation out here. Sometimes it’s ok to invest time and energy not knowing exactly when, or if, or in what form the dividends will come. Sometimes this vast space seems a little overwhelming and intimidating, the dry landscape testing the will of those who wish to set roots here… yet we continue to try to find a way. Spring is here and so is hope.

The up side

Rocks and a creek provide minutes of entertainment.
Rocks and a creek provide hours of entertainment.

So while we just ranted about some of the hardships of rural life in the last post, there are a number of reasons why we choose to live 40 miles from town. In fact, we have more than 5 reasons, so that’s a positive right from the start:

  1. Natural beauty. When we wake up in the morning and take in the view of the desert, the creek, the big sky and miles and miles of greasewood and sagebrush, it truly feels like anything is possible. We understand the meaning of feeling like the world is bigger than you and your daily-grind problems. The natural, sometimes harsh, beauty of the landscape is a constant reminder of a higher power, whatever you believe that might be.
  2. Traffic. There is no traffic or road rage, and while traveling the 20 miles of gravel road to town you are likely to encounter jack rabbits, cows, coyotes, wild horses, a hawk or two and if you’re lucky, a bald eagle.
  3. Space. The wide open spaces are ideal for exploring, and it’s truly a joy to watch our 2.5-year-old wander the land and discover the desert in all its glory. One of our favorite activities is throwing rocks in the creek. We also regularly walk down the half-mile driveway to the gate where he relishes the chance to wave in the unlikely event that any cars or trucks drive by. We’ve seen cows, deer, porcupines and lots of waterfowl. We hoot at the owls up in the tree and dig holes in the dirt. It is the perfect playground in which to absorb all nature has to offer.
  4. Big sky. With no light pollution, the stars fill the night sky. It is such a sight to see. Every night, Li’l E requests a trip or two outside to marvel at the “moo-un and stahs” (moon and stars). Maybe he’s just stalling, trying to postpone bedtime for a few more minutes, but I think it’s something more. Also, sunrises and sunsets. Ridiculously gorgeous.
  5. Neighbors. We have them, but the nearest one is at least a half-mile away. We admit it, we like not living right next door to anyone. However, the neighbors we do have are pretty great, and we know that if we ever need a helping hand they’d be right there to extend one. There’s a sense of kinship when driving down the county road as folks around here give each other a little wave. Also, no one is going to sneak up on you. You can see ’em coming from miles away.
  6. Silence. There is no street noise, no hum of electricity and no squawk from the TV next door. This is home on the range quiet. Little house on the prairie quiet. We fall asleep to the distant sound of coyotes howling and owls hooting.
  7. Family time together. This. This is the primary reason we love living where we do. We pretty much spend the majority of each day together. We are a team. We get to watch our boys grow up in real time. There are chores and tasks that must be done, but we get to do them as a family, and we hope to instill a sense of love and respect for each other in the way we live this rural life.

 

There are never enough sunset photos.
There are never enough sunset photos.

Trials and tribulations

Rats! Foiled again.
Rats! Foiled again.

You are more resourceful than you think you are.

That’s the one piece of wisdom we’ve centered on in the year since we’ve moved to rural Harney County. Sure, we knew we’d be giving up some conveniences when we left town, but we didn’t realize how much we’d have to rely on our own ingenuity and physical labor. So let’s focus on the unglamorous part of living in a locale so remote people rarely find it on the first try, even with directions. Here’s our top 5 list of things you can’t do in this rural place we call home:

You can’t:

  1. Drive to the grocery store to pick up a gallon of milk when you run out. Trips to town are planned in advance and come with an extensive to-do list. There will be at least five stops at varying locations, but the gas station, post office and grocery story are permanent stops you will make every time. And lately, so is the Dairy Queen drive-thru.
  2. Go out for Mexican (or Chinese or pizza or input your favorite kind of take out here) at the end of a long week or when you don’t feel like cooking. If you don’t make it, you don’t eat it. There is no corner espresso stand for a quick caffeine jolt in the afternoon. You are your own Starbucks.
  3. Simply hire someone to fix something if it breaks. We found this out the hard way with a backed-up septic system. We had the tank pumped when we moved in, but the problem quickly returned. The only reputable plumber in town had recently had surgery and couldn’t drive. We researched the problem online and dug up the tank and the drainfield ourselves. Willow roots some 30 feet from the nearest tree had totally obstructed the perforated drain pipe. We knew it could be bad but we hadn’t expected to find THAT!  We pinpointed the problem, rented a power auger and blasted the darn tree roots out of the way so that the toilet would quit backing up on us.
  4. Count on the roads to be passable. One afternoon we were going to watch a football game with the in-laws and it had rained so much the day before that the gravel road was muddy enough to stop us in our tracks. After 6 miles of worrying about getting stuck, we turned around and headed back home.
  5. Always rely on your vehicle to start. We have had a terrible time with mice and packrats chewing wires under the hood of our truck. So far they have sampled the wires to the crankshaft position sensor twice (?!) and several spark plug wires. The pests have managed to thwart us three times so far, rendering our truck useless in the driveway. We’ve tried traps and keeping the hood up to discourage them from getting in there, but so far it’s the rodents 3, Browns 0. If anyone has any constructive suggestions for us, we’d love to hear them.

So those are a few of the frustrations we’ve dealt with in the last year. Sometimes after we fix something, instead of patting ourselves on the back, we look around warily and wonder what is going to break next. And I’m sure this is only the tip of the ice berg. We haven’t even had a bad snowstorm yet. Even so the positives clearly still outweigh the negatives for us so far. So as not to dwell on the negative, stay tuned for our top 5 list of things we love about living the rural life.