Harvest Time

My shop, at present, is taken up with drying herbs, sage, rosemary, thyme, and, of course, catnip. On the porch are a few of the pumpkins. There are a load of unpicked tomatoes, zucchini up the wazoo, and other squash. We also picked about a half bushel of pears. The grapes not consumed fresh were reduced to grape puree and juice for later transformation into jelly.

This summer, I coped with a bizarre upper respiratory illness that sapped a lot of my strength, so the garden went unattended for most of the summer. Consequently, I think we’ve lost our garlic crop, and I still have to check on the onions. It’s more than a bit overgrown in some areas of the garden – take a compass and be careful not to get lost!

All of this is out of a rather small garden that is now predominantly in raised beds and containers. I like this system largely because you control the soil composition, moisture-retaining abilities, and fertility. Before this, I was growing in typical New England post-glacial hillside soil. The old-timers around here in the 19th century knew exactly what that soil was good for: an orchard.

Fall Crops

Although at the present time I am describing the season as the harvest, I’ve just put in some fall spinach and lettuce. Because of my health, I was a few weeks late in getting these in, but with bent metal hoops and a spun fabric ( that lets water and light in but retains warmth), I should be able to protect the fall crop until a really hard frost comes in. This is exactly how I began the spring crops of lettuce and spinach. So there is a reason to my madness of spinach and lettuce this late.

Being a boy from New York City, most of my gardening knowledge was learned through the years when I worked as an applied anthropologist in Massachusetts with Yankee, Italian, Polish, Portuguese, and Lithuanian gardeners. From them, I learned many of the techniques I still use, and on occasion I’ll hear Julia, Sal, Nick, or Tony advising me on where to place the tomatoes. Most of them were also urban gardeners and knew how to cope with the shade of a nearby structure, enrich iffy soil, or make the best of what you had.

Warmth

This morning, I did not start the woodstove. But I did prepare the inside storage area with its first load of wood. It’s getting chilly enough that soon I will light the stove. The cats and dog will joyfully shoulder me to one side as they compete for warm spots on the hearth. Which raises the other part of my New England life – cordwood.

As a Boy Scout in New York City, I thought I knew all there was to know about firewood. Of course, when I started living in a cabin on the coast of Maine that was equipped with a woodstove as its primary heat source, I learned lots more. Lots more in terms of cords cut, split, and stacked for drying. These days I buy it cut, split, and dry. But it still needs to be stacked after it gets dropped off, hauled into the house, and then there is splitting kindling. Lots of good aerobic exercise!

By The Fire

After all this, you’ll get the jug of slightly fermenting apple cider. Add some cinnamon and cloves, and bring to a boil. It’s ready when it’s almost ready to froth over the pot. Pour it into the cup, sit out before the lit woodstove, and enjoy a nice slice of pumpkin bread made with pumpkins right out of the garden. Of course, you’ll have to shove the dog aside for a good spot. Don’t worry about the cats, though. They just got through “testing” a batch of Colonel Clancy’s XXX catnip. They’re asleep.

Ahh…Autumn…Finest Kind!