Grape Expectations

Early last week, Terry noticed a fungus growing out of the sixth (dead) oak. He scoured all of his mushroom guides trying to identify it. He was pretty sure it was a chicken mushroom, but it didn't look quite like the picture in the book. It's supposed to taste like chicken, but we've done enough enough experimenting with eating wild mushrooms to know that "choice" in the guide only means "will not kill you." It doesn't mean it is good to eat.

Chicken mushroom on Aug. 28

Four days later, it matched the picture in the book exactly.

Chicken mushroom on Aug. 31

We had a busy Labor Day weekend. Harvard had its first ever balloon festival. I wasn’t thinking about that when we were out doing the chicken chores early Saturday morning until I heard “WHOOSH” coming from above. I looked up, and there was a balloon. Hilda went in too to get Dad. I’d gone out to take pictures of the turkeys and pullets, leaving my telephoto lens inside. I took a picture of the first balloon and ran for my other lens.

First balloon

“Put on your pants,” I said to Terry. “The balloons are going over!”

The wind direction was perfect for us. About a dozen balloons went by all together. I didn’t get pictures of all of them. One went directly overhead, so close we could wave to each other.

Second balloon

Third balloon

Fourth and fifth balloons

Sixth balloon

Seventh balloon

Eighth balloon

The excitement was soon over, and I carried on with my first mission. Here is a video of the pullets and turkeys. One of the turkeys has started tugging on the clothing of whoever is out cleaning the coop. It took two mornings, but I finally caught her in the act. The second part of the video shows how big the pullets and turkeys are getting. The tom turkey got on the storage box to check me out in more detail.

I thought that the white turkeys were albinos. So wrong. They have pale blue heads and soulful dark eyes.

A turkey's head is slightly blue on the back and the top of the neck. It has soulful dark eyes

Even though they have access to food and water all night, both of these seem more alluring al fresco.

The feeder is so much more fun with it's outdoors

I had hoped to take it easy over the weekend. It was not to be. The grapes had to be picked. I was not thinking this would be such a big deal. Two years ago, we were all done in half a day or so. Last year, the wild turkeys ate them all. This year, I bought long, narrow nets to cover the length of both rows. And holy cow, did we have grapes!

Grape vine loaded with Concord grapes

Terry and I started cutting off the grapes about 10:00 when the dew was gone. We filled four green trays and a large gray bin. And that was just one of the rows. “I think there’s about 30% more in the other row,” Terry said.

The first day's grape harvest + two more green trays

“This will be enough for today,” I told him.

Hilda and I set up operations on the lower patio. I washed, and we both picked grapes off the stems. After lunch, we moved the picking to the front porch to be in the shade. I continued to wash on the patio because that was where the hose was. As soon as one tray was almost empty, I ran down to wash enough grapes for another tray. In the process, I grabbed a wasp by not paying attention to where my hand was. I got stung on the ball of my thumb. Damn. Terry had recently treated a sting with isopropanol, which I tried with unbelievable success. Fifteen minutes later, it was as if nothing had happened.

When we had a good number of grapes off the stem, Hilda went inside to start heating the grapes to 190° and hold it there for 10 minutes without letting it boil, as specified in the Ball Blue Book.  Dad offered to take her place on the porch. Hilda came back to help periodically, but once the straining started, she was in the kitchen full time.

Meanwhile, while the three of us dropped everything to take care of the grapes, Terry went about with his previously scheduled activities, mowing the lawn, painting the deck, doo-dee-doo-dee-doo.

We were at the grapes until 5:00. At that point, Hilda had three stock pots full of grape juice, and there were two bins of de-stemmed grapes in the refrigerator.  The directions said to chill the juice for 24 hours, strain again being careful to leave the sediment undisturbed, heat to 190° again, put in jars, and process for 15 minutes.

Terry came in, took a shower, turned on the TV, and parked his butt in his chair. I went to the kitchen to make spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, garlic, and basil, a recipe that required much more patience and stamina than I had at that time. By the time we sat down to eat, I was peeved at Terry for thinking that his job ended with harvest and that the putting up would happen magically. He has done this before.We had words, mostly mine. “If you’re going to grow all this stuff, you need to help process it.”

“If you don’t want the rest of the grapes, we’ll just leave them,” he countered, missing the point entirely.

“Seriously you would rather let them rot than help put them up?” I asked. Hilda would never let that happen, and I didn’t want her out with the stinging insects. She had a bad reaction in the past. Better not to take the chance.

In the end, Terry agreed to wash the grapes and put them in trays. I tried to be more civil for the remainder of the evening.

I was up at 5:00 straining the grape juice. Only there wasn’t any sediment. I could only infer that we hadn’t waited long enough. Screw it, I thought, there’s always sediment in the jars anyway. We don’t have room to store the juice for 24 hours with 30% more grapes coming in today. I heated it to 190° and poured into quart jars. Fifteen of them, plus one pint. I could only process 7 jars at a time, so that was three rounds of processing. To be honest, when it got down to the end, I used some lid rings that had not even been washed. I was going rogue. I also set aside an unprocessed quart for Mom and Dad.

The first 15 quarts plus one pint 

Then it was time to make a raspberry pie. I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Jane was coming up for steaks on the grill to celebrate Labor Day. I like raspberry pie. I’d made a double crust for the first raspberry pie; the other half was still in the freezer. I’m pleased to report that I finally had a successful blind baking experience. The crust was fully cooked, flaky, and did not slump down the sides. Good for me.

I was done with all that at 10:30 and went out to help Terry finish up the grape harvest. When we were done, he stood by his commitment and was even cheerful in its fulfillment. I demonstrated how to dunk the bunches in water to try to dislodge the bugs and dried up undeveloped grapes. He even said he enjoyed it. He was hot from the harvest, and it felt good to have his hands in cold water. He also learned that we are never bothering with the bunches of two and three grapes again. "Let the birds have 'em!" he said.

Terry washes grapes

De-stemming grapes is pleasant work as mindless, endless, repetitive jobs go. When you get a really good bunch, it feels good in your hand. The turgid spheres give a satisfying pop as you pull them away. Plus, you get to sit down.

A nice bunch of grapes just feels good in your hand

When I didn’t have to stop to wash grapes, we were able to de-stem one tray every 15 minutes. We were done by 2:30. As Dad and I were pulling the grapes off the stems, Terry came by and expressed amazement at what we were doing. “I thought you just put them in the pot. That’s a lot of work!”

So he’s learning. That’s good.

Mom and Dad de-stemming grapes on the front porch. My chair is on the right.

When Hilda started cooking grapes again, I suggested, “Since the sediment doesn’t settle overnight anyway, maybe we could just can the juice right away.”

“I’m for it!” she agreed.The last of the juice was made by 5:00. Hilda had gotten 14 quarts processed, but there were still two and a half stock pots of juice.

We had a very nice meal with Jane. It was good to relax a little.

I was up early today loading 14 quart jars into the dishwasher. I was tired of hand washing. When the dishwasher was done, I canned the rest of the grape juice, which added up to 16 quarts plus a pint, plus a little. All told, it was close to twelve gallons of grape juice.

And there were more raspberries. I put them in a bowl full of water, carefully inspected for picnic bugs and mold, and put the good ones in a colander. I poured the berries out on a towel and lined them up on a tray for freezing. If they are not frozen individually, they end up as one big block o' raspberries. The rest went to Hilda for jam.

Freezing raspberries

After that, there was the cantaloupe to cut up and carrots and kohlrabi to peel and make into sticks. Lunches ready. It will be good to get back to work where I can rest.