And now a flood

After days and days and days of cleaning Brussels sprouts, Hilda and I finally had the task done. The next task was to sort them by size. Larger sprouts need to be blanched longer than smaller sprouts before freezing. I started with bowls for large, medium, and small. I quickly changed my categories to medium, small, and weenie. It was not a good year for Brussels sprouts. They barely developed all summer long. After that, there wasn’t enough time for them to get very big.

Clockwise from upper left: weenie, small, and medium Brussels sprouts. The weenie sprouts are pea-sized.

I set aside some nice Brussels sprouts for Thanksgiving. I cleaned them the day before. I also made the cranberry sauce, giving Terry very explicit instructions about reminding me to put it on the table. Cranberries are not something I miss if they aren’t there. Years ago, Terry spent the entire Thanksgiving dinner wishing there was cranberry sauce, but he didn’t want to offend me by mentioning it. It was in the refrigerator the whole time. Now I make sure he knows that I’ve made it.

I planned what I thought was a simple menu. Turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sprouts, cranberries, and pumpkin pie. And yet, I was busy all morning. And the turkey wouldn’t get done. When it was finally up to temperature and resting, Jane made the gravy. I am gravy-challenged. Jane makes the best gravy ever. Dinner, which I’d planned to serve at 1:00 so Jane could get home before it was too dark, was half an hour late, but it was a small crowd, and no one seemed to mind.

Here I am carving the long-awaited turkey.

For once, I remembered the cranberries all by myself. I came very near to forgetting the dressing. The turkey was taking so long in my oven that I put the dressing upstairs in Hilda’s oven. It had a lovely crispy brown crust when I remembered with a start that it was still in the oven. I would have been mightily peeved if I’d found a blackened block of bread crumbs in a casserole dish after dinner was over.

Here's the food on the table. I have recently decided that the best ever gravy boat is a glass measuring cup. If the gravy gets cold, you can just pop it in the microwave. I'm all about function. Just about everything has something in it that we grew. The turkey was stuffed with onions and garlic from the garden. The potatoes, the onions, eggs, and herbs in the dressing, the eggs and pumpkin in the pie, and, of course, the sprouts were all our own. It makes me quietly proud.

Dinner is served

After we’d all eaten too much, we took a break to put away the leftovers, clean up the kitchen (thanks, Jane!) and play several rounds of Mexican train before the pumpkin pie.

And all the while, it rained. Poured. Periodically, one or more of us would reflect on how very glad we were that it wasn’t snow. The rain gauge this morning measured 1.7”. That would have been nearly twice as much snow as last weekend.

After Jane went home, I finished up the last bit of clean up in the kitchen. I was exhausted and sleepy. It was dark outside, and I thought certainly it must be almost time for bed. The clock on the stove said 4:36. How could that be right? But it was. I took a little nap against my better judgement. Contrary to my fear, however, I slept well when it really was time for bed.

We have water standing in all the low spots.

Flooding in the maple saplings

I walked out to check on the two Brussels sprouts I left in the garden for Pat and Nancy. Ruined, as I expected they would be after that morning with a temperature of -2°. Even the sprouts that had green leaves on the outside (the wrong dark green of post-freezing) were brown and squishy in the middle. Fortunately, I kept one from the previous harvest, just in case.

As I walked over the sodden lawn, I heard an odd popping noise unlike anything I had heard before. When I stopped walking, the noise continued for a second or two, and then ceased. Step. Pop, pop, pop, pop. I saw nothing move, but the huge number of worm holes everywhere suggested that the noise emanated from night crawlers retreating into their burrows whenever they sensed vibration. Will I ever have seen/heard everything nature has to offer?

Winter comes with a vengeance

Egg production is way up. We normally get 4 to 6 eggs a day. Yesterday, there were 7. I mentioned in my last post that there was more than expected variation in egg color for the Rhode Island Red. Here is evidence. All of the eggs in this picture are pullet eggs except the two at the upper left.

10 pullet eggs (aren't they cute?) and 2 full-sized eggs (upper left). Note variability in brown eggs from Rhode Island Reds

Based on brief observations of the scratch grains I throw out to the chickens each morning, it seemed to me that the pullets were sufficiently integrated into the flock to have shared access to treats. This video shows that my conclusion was wrong. After the initial rush for the carrot peels, the old girls chase the newbies away. The pullets must be content with dashing in, grabbing when they can, and carrying it off to privacy.

Just as there is variability in egg color in the Reds, so is there variation in plumage. Clair has developed black feathers in her tail and wings.

Clair has black feathers in her tail and wings

I dug up almost all of the Brussels sprouts Friday. The Big Snow was coming on Saturday, and I wanted to get the stalks out of the ground before it froze for the winter. I left two to give to Pat and Nancy after Thanksgiving. I planned to give them to Pat Monday but found out just as she was headed out the door last week that she was taking next week off. 

There were still 20 stalks of Brussels sprouts in the garden

A big stack of stalks, harvested and trimmed

Terry and I planned weeks ago to see HOT L BALTIMORE at MCC Friday night. Because it was 37°F, I assumed the precipitation I felt on my face was a misty rain starting to fall when we left to go out to dinner before the play at 5:15. As we drove, however, I noted that nothing was sticking on the windshield. The snow had started already in tiny flakes. There was visible accumulation when we were done eating.

All I knew in advance about the play was that it was about a quirky bunch of characters living in a fleabag hotel (“hot l” refers to “hotel” with the “e” burned out). The actors did a great job of being quirky characters, but the play had a lot of everyone yelling at each other all at once. At the end of the first act, I said to Terry, “Do you want to go home now, or do you think it’s going to get better?”

We stayed. It was a mistake. It was the sort of play that, when it is over, you think to yourself, “What was that about?” Not a single one of its several plotlines reached any sort of satisfying resolution.

The real mistake, however, was not the 2.5 hours that we will never have back. It was that at least 6” of snow had accumulated in the interim, and it was still coming down to beat all. Highway 14 had not, as far as we could tell, been plowed. We met one plow coming toward us about halfway home. Not helpful for our side. We poked along at 25 mph. There were rumble strips at the shoulder and down the middle. When I hit them, I couldn’t tell which one I was on, the center line being completely buried.  I moved one way and then the other until the noise stopped. I worried about getting down Maxon, and it turned out to be the only road on our route that had been plowed. Once again, it was the oncoming lane, but since the road was otherwise deserted, I drove like a Brit. It took an hour to get home, and we were very glad to be there. We’re not doing that again if we can help it.

Saturday morning dawned to a foot of snow, and it was still coming down.  We got 14” before all was said and done.

The snow gauge read 12" when I got up

The fifth oak in the snow

Snow on the deck

I shoveled a path to the road to get the paper and a path to the chicken coop. 

Before I shoveled the path to the coop

The snow on the driveway had an inch of slush beneath a few inches of wet snow beneath a thick layer of fluffy snow. When Terry got the snowblower going, he had to tip it up to move the fluffy snow without clogging up the chute with the wet snow. He worked on it all day. Until late in the afternoon, it blew in about as fast as he could get it clear. I helped minimally by shoveling the downstairs patio and a path around the house as well as opening up the path to the coop after it blew shut. As I was headed inside, I heard an unmistakable sound of sandhill cranes. I was delighted that they were flying beneath the low clouds. It was a big flock, perhaps a hundred, and they flew right over me. I would have thought they’d have cleared out of here long ago.

I took my camera out to capture the pullets’ first experience in the snow. They would have none of it. Even scratch grains would not entice them outside. Chloe stuck her head out, stretching to see if she could reach it. Eventually, she contented herself with pecking at the door sill. Inside the coop, snow is fascinating. Lizette (the white Araucana) and Kirsty (a tan Buff Orpington) eagerly attacked the snow on my boots. It took the pullets longer to catch on.

I have been waking up at 4:25 every since the time changed. This morning at that hour, I heard the house contract with a bang. Was it that cold? I opened my eyes enough to see the outside temperature projected on the ceiling. 2°F. Seriously? If I had known it was going to get that cold, I would not have left Pat’s Brussels sprouts in the garden. I hope they are not ruined.

There was no going back to sleep for me. I got up a little before 5:00 and started my Sunday routine. The morning was stunningly beautiful. Orion was bright in the southwest sky, and the ground was enshrouded in fog. The temperature continued to drop, getting to -2° just before sunrise. When I went out to do the chicken chores, I found that it was not all that unpleasant. There was no wind. I left the coop door shut anyway. I’m going to shovel out the run again and open the door in a little while here.

Winter. Bah.

Rhodies are laying!

The Rhode Island Reds have finally started laying. I was all excited when the first egg was a lovely brown, but subsequent eggs have been lighter. Funny that there is so much variation in breeds that I would have thought had been through years and years of selective breeding.

Hilda put the first Rhode Island Red egg  in the tiny basket for me to admire

Here is a comparison of the first Rhode Island Red pullet egg and a Buff Orpington egg, both in the shell and in the frying pan.

Pullet egg next to a regular size egg

Regular egg, left; pullet egg, right

I harvested all the leeks and the last two weenie little cabbages on Friday. The smallest cabbage, although very cute, was shot through with fungus. I ended up throwing it all in the mulch bin. I salvaged enough for one more meal, which ended up to be two with the leftovers.

Friday's harvest

We were very close to calling the kale a total loss because of all the cabbage butterfly larva. Many of the crowns looked pretty good, so I cut them all off and brought them in the house. And there were plenty of worms. At first, I threw them out with the damaged leaves. It then occurred to me that I should save them for the chickens. I had to keep an eye on them to keep them from crawling out of the bowl, but the girls loved them.

Cabbage butterfly larva on the back of a kale leaf

I didn’t see any dead worms in the blanching water, so I hope I got the kale clean. I knew I had embraced pesticide-free food when I found a worm in my Portuguese kale soup, and I just picked it out and kept eating. I will know I have gone completely around the bend when I eat the worm for the extra protein.

The Brussels sprouts have been very slow this year. I can only speculate that it was because June was too cold and wet and July was too hot and dry. They continue to grow well after the frost, however, and seem to be getting to a size that is not too annoying to clean. I brought in one stalk to use over the weekend. I am thinking of doing the whole harvest Thanksgiving weekend, if they look like they are ready. The one I harvested had some interesting growth near the base. Brussels sprouts are axillary buds, meaning that they develop above each leaf where the leaf meets the stem. These sprouts had grown stems and started producing tiny sproutlets where the bud had sloughed off leaves. I’d never seen this before in all the years I’ve grown sprouts. There was one year when the buds were all loose leaves rather than tight balls. That was a disappointment. At least this year, the buds at the end of the tiny stems were mostly salvageable.

Sproutlets at the base of the sprouts

I spent all day Saturday in a workshop on Greening the Curriculum, held in conjunction with the Green Living Expo. The workshop was a lot to take in. I’m still processing all the information and the possibilities for incorporating sustainability into my classes. Sustainability is much more than tree hugging. There are three E’s or three P’s, depending on which you prefer: Environment, Economics, Equity or Planet, Prosperity, People. It’s been quite a long time since I was in a serious discussion of eliminating world poverty.

The Green Living Expo at McHenry County College

We had a working lunch during which we went to the Expo, looking for resources to use with our classes. The big draw for the year was a tiny house. I had only seen pictures. The tiny house was not as finished as the contractor had hoped. Nevertheless, it seemed spacious and had lots of natural light. The bathroom (I didn’t take a picture) had a tiny bathtub. 

The outside of the tiny house--it can be pulled with a full-size pickup truck

Kate on the stairs to the sleeping loft in the tiny house

Kate and I in the tiny house

The tiny kitchen

I went out for a celebratory dinner at the end of the day with the rest of the committee that planned the expo. There was a good deal of discussion about what the point of such a tiny bathtub would be. It seemed that all you could do was soak your butt and your feet. Or perhaps bathe a child. Neither seemed very viable (not the washing the child, but living with a child in a tiny house). When I talked to Jane the next day, she said without hesitation, “It’s for washing a dog.” Oh. She watches a lot of tiny house programs on HGTV.

Sunday morning just at sunrise, two deer walked up the path and across the yard. It was an odd time for them to be out. Shortly after that, guns started blasting on the next property over, which was probably what got the deer moving. I got the binoculars to check that the hunters were firing with their backs toward us. Terry explained later that these guys were training their dogs for pheasant hunting.

Two deer by the river birch at sunrise on Sunday morning

Lo, how the petunia ere blooming, from the patio bricks hath sprung! It’s been as cold as 25°F in the morning, and still the blossoms keep coming. Amazing.

The petunia that will never die

A pullet egg at last!

When I came home from visiting Jane and shopping on Friday, there was little gift from Hilda on the kitchen counter. She found the first pullet egg in the coop and put it in a tiny basket for me. The egg had been laid in a nest box! Very exciting. 

Our first pullet egg in a tiny basket

The second pullet egg appeared this morning, but was on the floor of the coop. Hopefully, they will all catch on to the coop boxes eventually. Both eggs were Americauna eggs, being blue. We have no way of knowing if they are from the same chicken or two different ones. We’ve seen both Antonia and Chloe squatting. Lillian is more standoffish, so she doesn’t come around to be petted. None of the Rhode Island Reds have shown signs of maturity yet. Lordy, they are slow! I hope they are good producers when they do get started.

To tie up another loose end before telling you about our Halloween, a few days ago, I was doing my shoulder exercise as I do three times a week when I saw it—the sauerkraut cutter that was MIA on Sauerkraut Day. We turned the house upside down looking for that without success. Apparently none of us—five total in pursuit—looked up.

The sauerkraut cutter, wrapped in a plastic bag, up near the ceiling of the store room

We lost a number of trees back by the creek on July 18, when a tornado passed nearby. Terry has been working on getting the downed limbs and trunks cut up for firewood to heat his shop this winter. We picked Halloween to burn the slash. Pat and Nancy adopted a policy of never being home for Halloween when the neighborhood children became greedy and ill-mannered upon reaching Junior High. Friday was beautiful. Saturday was not. I emailed everyone Friday evening suggesting that they bring a change of clothing in case we got soaked. I kept checking the radar, which said that the rain would be out of our area by 1:00. Never fun to drive home in wet clothes. Pat, Nancy, and Jane arrived around noon, as scheduled. We had a nice lunch of broccoli cheese soup that Hilda made with apple cider doughnuts, courtesy of Jane, for dessert. 1:00 came and went. The rain was blowing sideways in the wind. We played Farkel, which took a long time with 7 people.

By the time we had a winner (Hilda), the sky brightened. We put on our layers and our boots and walked out to the fire ring. It took some patience to get the fire started. Terry’s idea was to soak corn cobs in gasoline. My contribution was to pile tinder on the corn cobs. After I got positioned by the fire, everyone started handing tinder to me. Eventually, we got enough small sticks burning to dry out the larger sticks. After that we hauled brush and quickly built it up to a conflagration.

Nancy bringing a stick to the fire

Pat feeding the fire

Before long, we had to move our chairs back from the fire to avoid burning our knees. After a dry period, a light drizzle started up again. It was hard to feel it when next to the fire, but the larger drops from the trees were surprising and cold. Still, it was a much better day to be out than any of us predicted in the morning.

Jane and Hilda by the fire

At 5:00, with the fire pretty well burned down to embers, I went to the house to turn the oven on and get frozen Lou Malnati’s pizzas ready for baking. Everyone else came up shortly thereafter. Nancy assembled the tossed salad she’d brought, and we all sat down to eat at 6:00. We talked and laughed, as we always do. At 7:30, it was safe for everyone to go home, as trick-or-treating would be over by the time they got there. Such a fun day!

Today I continued to check of my end-of-season list. I baked the last of the apples that were in the refrigerator and picked the last jalapeno and peppadew peppers. I winnowed the beans to get rid of the membranous pod lining and small bits of pods by pouring the beans from one bowl to another out in the wind. I sorted through them, removing all the wrinkled, immature and/or deformed beans, and divided them into more or less half-pound bags. It was not a good bean year. Some varieties produced only 6 ounces. Of the 14 varieties we planted, we had only about 11 pounds of beans. Pathetic. Nevertheless, will probably be enough to get us through the winter.

This year's pathetic bean harvest