An Autumn Journal Page

The flame orange and scarlet that once flickered in the Granddaddy Sugar Maple south of Soulstice now spreads to encompass more than half of the tree.  Chipmunks call a steady “chuck-chuck-chuck-chuck…” low under the canopy of the maples and oaks in that spread from my land into my neighbor’s as they strive to defend the rolling acorns and hibernation holes inside of their domains.  

The high, cold sound of morning traffic on Route 168 intervenes in the aloof and disinterested manner of jets flying overhead, intermittent, speeding, apart from, not a part of the landscape like the chipmunks, the mockingbird warbling behind the barn, my dog flopped on the floor waiting to go feed the chickens, my hunky man eating his toast, and me.  A Blue Jay’s rusty pump call is followed by the moxy call “Jay! Jay! Jay!” And the horizon glows clean of clouds, in gentle peach and golden light as the rising sun illuminates the long strands of cirrus clouds, transforming them from dawn’s pastel lavender-gray into peachy golden into cream.  

The magical haze of fog in the valley and low pastures lifts and dissipates.  Does it withdraw into the woodlands like fairies; is it inhaled into the woods duff like breath?  What does a mouse know of the fog, trundling about between grass blades, snuffling for seeds, searching out fallen fruits under berry canes and apple trees, leaving those tiny tooth scrapes I find when I pick apples?  Do the animals witness the hazy navy blue of the horizon as beauty against the foggy fields and verdant woodland whose canopy now blooms into crimson, gold, copper, and scarlet?  Are they like me at my harvest pots, stirring, focusing, chopping, mentally checking lists of ingredients and procedures with my ears dulled by the kitchen fan, then momentarily lifting my head to witness the glory of creation around me?  Or do they breathe glory all day long?  

Perhaps that is the garden of Eden, breathing glory all day long.

The Great Salsa Caper

Our Buff Orpington pullets were happy to eat the scorched tomatoes.

Yesterday, I made two dozen pints of hot salsa, which my True Love and I canned up in the big shiny metal canner that now rests, cool, on the stovetop.  I struggled against a sinus headache that sunk into the roots of my teeth for the bulk of the day, slowing my progress, and assisting me in scorching a whole pot of tomatoes.  But, I was glad for the experiences behind me in scorching pots of applesauce, tomatoes, and spaghetti sauce, for I knew after seeing the look on David’s face after he tasted the tomatoes that we didn’t want to tuck that salsa away for winter, for gifts, for parties.  We wanted to serve those tomatoes to chickens who would gobble their overcooked taste right up and ask for more.  No tears shed, no cuss words necessary.  Acceptance makes the road so very much smoother.

At this point, I took a break, fed my failed tomatoes to the young pullets, who gobbled them up delightedly, and flopped in the grass behind the barn to talk with David of plans for winterizing Soulstice’s north porch with some huge, 1970’s era glass windows a friend of a friend gave us when she was refurbishing an indoor pool room.  The step back, the sunshine of my love’s countenance, the young chickens’ vigor lifted my soul, and I returned to the kitchen, flipped open my laptop and Googled Tasha Tudor, a favorite artist, author and countrywoman mentor of mine.  I scrolled through Pinterest pages of photos of Tasha’s art and the art of her everyday handmade life, invoking her pluck, her strong will, her resourcefulness.  Spirit lifted.

And still, the sink was full of Amish & Orange Banana Paste Tomatoes waiting for a dip in boiling water to skin and core.  Back into the steam, and I emerged a few hours later with 8 quarts of peeled, cored, chopped and drained tomatoes simmering -- gently -- on the stove.  The ‘Jaluv An Attitude’ Jalapeno, Hungarian Hot Wax and Cayenne Peppers my Beloved and I had picked the day before got chopped to join sweet bell and horn-shaped Carmen frying peppers picked Monday night ahead of our first frost, as well as pungent Copra Onions, and hardneck garlic cloves I had chopped and added to the mix.  

I think my man was a steam train engineer in a previous life, because he has a flow-mind when operating my pressure canner.  The smoothest rises and decompressions of pressure result from his Zen-like mastery of the simple machine.  As he removed the jars from the canner at the end of the runs, we heard the magical metallic sound of lids pipping as they flexed in, pulled by the vacuum of the cooling jars.  

Our late dinner felt like a balm as Kate, David and I sat down to Tofurky sausages, organic pasta and last year’s homemade spaghetti sauce -- one of my fast-food meals when I’m in a pinch.  We sat around the table, victorious after the day, hearing about plans for a model UN, and the latest in the Vlog Brothers’ efforts to raise funds for providing Ethiopians with clean water.  Kate’s face beamed when she handed over some of her hard-earned cash to David in payment for a credit card donation to the cause, and she glowed with delight as she watched the ‘Funds Raised’ counter advance with her gift.

This morning, I tripped down to the kitchen with the joy of Christmas in my heart to press my index finger into the centers of each ruby jar of salsa, delighted by the hard resistance the lids met me with.  Now the lot of them cram into the kitchen sink for a wet rag wash-up and labeling for the nearly-full canning shelf in what our Sarah calls “Mrs. Mouse’s Storehouse.”

The pot of tea now emptied, the toast is eaten, and the day shines brightly, calling me to feed chickens, to pick beans, to revel in another day in the beauty of Creation, this time without the headache, to seize this magical day.

May your day be magical and your soul full of harvests.

Betsy

If you want to make your own salsa, here’s the recipe I cobbed together from several I found in books:

Hawk’s Hill Organic Salsa:

16 cups peeled, seeded, chopped & drained tomatoes, preferably paste

6 cups onions, chopped

3 cups hot peppers -- Hungarian Hot Wax, Jalapeno, plus a Cayenne -- seeded and

chopped (Leave some seeds in for extra heat).

4 cups sweet peppers, seeded and chopped

6 cloves garlic, minced, or more to taste

1 ½ cups cider vinegar

2 tsp. salt

Wash, blanch and peel, seed and chop the tomatoes first, draining the chopped tomatoes in a sieve or colander.  You can catch the juice and save it for soup-making.  Simmer the drained tomatoes in a large, heavy-bottomed pot, stirring to prevent scorching!  You can cook the tomatoes down a bit to remove excess liquid, just keep stirring.  Chop and add all of the other vegetables and the vinegar and salt, and boil for 10 minutes, stirring.  Jar, seal and process.  I used my pressure canner at 10 # for 15 min., but you could use sterilized jars in a boiling water canner.  My Ball Blue Book calls for processing 15 minutes in a boiling-water canner.  Check here for a similar recipe: http://www.freshpreserving.com/recipes/zesty-salsa.