Farm & Garden
For you vegetarians, or the much too tender-hearted to think about killing animals for food, you may want to avoid reading this column. I have raised and slaughtered meat animals for 35 years. It is something (like almost everything in my life) into which I throw myself whole-heartedly.
Hope springs eternal. My fall vegetable garden has renewed my self-confidence as a gardener. The baby kale, carrots and lettuce are coming along nicely. I picked a wonderful assortment of greens for a delicious salad over the weekend.
My smugness will be my undoing. For several weeks now, I’ve been bragging about my field peas. Originally I purchased a 50 pound bag which I kept in the freezer. I planted it into flats in my greenhouse in order to have young shoots and tendrils to enhance winter salads. Now I’ve been planting it as a cover crop in my vegetable garden following mid-summer harvests of onions and garlic.
In 2005 my sister Molly, then 12 years old, caught an enormous striped bass. It was so big when she finally hauled it onto the boat she backed away from it in fear and almost fell head over heels off the side of the boat into the churning ocean. I remember her telling me she thought she had caught an alligator. It is a story that has been told over and over again since then: a 12-year-old girl catching a giant bass and winning the Martha’s Vineyard Striped Bass and Bluefish Derby.
What I don’t know is a lot! For example, I grow beautiful tomatoes, but at the point of ripeness something inevitably happens. Some four-legged or two-winged creature comes along for one bite. Then he naturally doesn’t finish the job but moves on to the next one.
Because I work outside all week, there’s nothing like a rainy Sunday to put things in order for me. I’m sorry for you folks who count on sunny weekends. I like to wash and prepare produce for the week. This past weekend, I made some refrigerator pickles, cooked and sliced beets to add to salads and peeled and chopped garlic. If the food is at the ready my evenings are much smoother. I’ve often joked that I spend all day making tomato sauce from scratch but send out for pizza in sheer exhaustion.