Unexpected fall harvest
Lead Summary
By
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By CHRISTINE TAILER
It was a perfect, amazingly windy, fall day. The clouds raced across the blue sky as the wind blew them over the top of the creek valley. I watched as two large sycamore leaves rose and fell with the currents, far above the fields, until they tumbled out of sight, still far above the creek. I wondered where they would land.
The wind definitely roared as it rushed by overhead. When a strong gust passed, sounding more like a train than the wind, I would look up, and see the tops of the trees on the hill across the creek, bending. The whistling wind would loosen a flurry of their leaves as it hit their branches. I thought that the scattering leaves looked more like a flock of birds taking flight than fall leaves tumbling to the ground.
Our windmill spun almost constantly, the hum of its blades beating a gentle rhythm to the wind in the trees. I could hear its hum from down in the garden, where I worked gathering seeds to save and plant in the spring.
I had not been to the garden for a week, and as I set out, seed holding envelopes and scissors in a bucket by my side, I imagined that it was just about time to pull up the last of the plants and put the garden to bed for the winter. I was wrong.
The broccoli had bolted weeks ago, but somehow the cooler weather had heavy morning dews had encouraged new growth. I snipped off several perfectly tender spears for dinner.
The calendula had wilted and not flowered for several weeks, but as I walked down the rows, I saw some of the biggest flowers I had seen all summer. I picked a basket full and hung it to dry near the cabin's ceiling. We would have plenty of tea to last through the winter.
And recently the fennel bulbs had gotten tough. They were no longer edible the last time I had checked, but now new tender bulbs were sprouting everywhere. We would soon be dining on fresh pork gently flavored with licorice tasting fennel.
I picked two tomatoes the size of softballs, one yellow and one orange. A perfect cucumber hid among the drying vines. I found beautiful peppers the size of my fist. I was on a wonderful and unexpected scavenger hunt and excitedly planned our dinner.
But I had almost forgotten that my mission was to gather seeds. After I retrieved another bucket from the barn, the first already filled with my unexpected harvest, I started to accomplish my intended task. I gathered the dried flowers from the basil and lemon basil. The scent was perfect.
I gathered the dried yellow and orange marigold flowers. I gathered the dried chamomile flowers and carefully packed them in paper envelopes. I picked dried green, banana, and jalapeno peppers. I picked the dried dill and fennel flowers and placed them in their individual envelopes as well, each carefully marked. From my raised beds, I gathered assorted dried mint and savory flowers, and marked their envelopes as well.
Then I returned to the cabin and placed all the wonderfully smelling envelopes in a drawer that I had cleared out in my dresser. I laid all the envelopes, in a single layer, neatly inside. And then, just now, as I am preparing dinner, I opened the drawer to take a peek at my bounty.
The wonderful aroma of dill and fennel, lemon and basil, pepper and marigold filled the air. I can still hear the wind, outside the cabin, as it passes high over the creek valley. In my imagination, it carries me forward to next year, as I think of my garden growing ever so perfectly next spring. But I can wait.
This winter, I can simply open my dresser drawer, breathe deeply, and sit in my summer garden whenever I wish.
Christine Tailer is a former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.[[In-content Ad]]
It was a perfect, amazingly windy, fall day. The clouds raced across the blue sky as the wind blew them over the top of the creek valley. I watched as two large sycamore leaves rose and fell with the currents, far above the fields, until they tumbled out of sight, still far above the creek. I wondered where they would land.
The wind definitely roared as it rushed by overhead. When a strong gust passed, sounding more like a train than the wind, I would look up, and see the tops of the trees on the hill across the creek, bending. The whistling wind would loosen a flurry of their leaves as it hit their branches. I thought that the scattering leaves looked more like a flock of birds taking flight than fall leaves tumbling to the ground.
Our windmill spun almost constantly, the hum of its blades beating a gentle rhythm to the wind in the trees. I could hear its hum from down in the garden, where I worked gathering seeds to save and plant in the spring.
I had not been to the garden for a week, and as I set out, seed holding envelopes and scissors in a bucket by my side, I imagined that it was just about time to pull up the last of the plants and put the garden to bed for the winter. I was wrong.
The broccoli had bolted weeks ago, but somehow the cooler weather had heavy morning dews had encouraged new growth. I snipped off several perfectly tender spears for dinner.
The calendula had wilted and not flowered for several weeks, but as I walked down the rows, I saw some of the biggest flowers I had seen all summer. I picked a basket full and hung it to dry near the cabin's ceiling. We would have plenty of tea to last through the winter.
And recently the fennel bulbs had gotten tough. They were no longer edible the last time I had checked, but now new tender bulbs were sprouting everywhere. We would soon be dining on fresh pork gently flavored with licorice tasting fennel.
I picked two tomatoes the size of softballs, one yellow and one orange. A perfect cucumber hid among the drying vines. I found beautiful peppers the size of my fist. I was on a wonderful and unexpected scavenger hunt and excitedly planned our dinner.
But I had almost forgotten that my mission was to gather seeds. After I retrieved another bucket from the barn, the first already filled with my unexpected harvest, I started to accomplish my intended task. I gathered the dried flowers from the basil and lemon basil. The scent was perfect.
I gathered the dried yellow and orange marigold flowers. I gathered the dried chamomile flowers and carefully packed them in paper envelopes. I picked dried green, banana, and jalapeno peppers. I picked the dried dill and fennel flowers and placed them in their individual envelopes as well, each carefully marked. From my raised beds, I gathered assorted dried mint and savory flowers, and marked their envelopes as well.
Then I returned to the cabin and placed all the wonderfully smelling envelopes in a drawer that I had cleared out in my dresser. I laid all the envelopes, in a single layer, neatly inside. And then, just now, as I am preparing dinner, I opened the drawer to take a peek at my bounty.
The wonderful aroma of dill and fennel, lemon and basil, pepper and marigold filled the air. I can still hear the wind, outside the cabin, as it passes high over the creek valley. In my imagination, it carries me forward to next year, as I think of my garden growing ever so perfectly next spring. But I can wait.
This winter, I can simply open my dresser drawer, breathe deeply, and sit in my summer garden whenever I wish.
Christine Tailer is a former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.[[In-content Ad]]