
Well, this was quite a week.
Most of the U.S. is starting to recuperate after we learned an adult will be in charge come January. (One joke says, ‘That’s why he’s called Sleepy Joe: Because we can finally sleep!’) The relief is indescribable — a huge burden off our backs that we knew we were carrying, but until it was taken off, we never knew how heavy it was.
Of course, we’re negotiating a lot until he gets there, and by negotiating, I mean mostly trying not to end up in a Covid ward.
(How about this post, huh? Knee-slapping fun so far? Don’t worry — you guys know I don’t stay poopy for too long.)
I’ve been keeping the wheels turning. Yesterday I made an apple pie that was almost savory: a variety of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg inside, and a crust and crumbly topping made with extra-sharp cheddar cheese. No extra sugar. These days, people like pie a la mode (i.e., with a scoop of ice cream on top). But did you know a century or so ago, people ate apple pie with a wedge of cheese on top? I ran with that old notion: cheesy apple pie.
My freezer is almost full. Your little brunette squirrel has been tucking away produce since March so she doesn’t have to pay store prices (and so she doesn’t have to rely on shoppers to choose it. She’s picky.). Last week, after two days of rain, the farm was about to turn under their broccoli crop. If the florets get waterlogged and ooshy, they’re not fit to eat. But the bases stay intact and are delicious. I asked if I could have those, and the folks there tipped their hats to me. Free broccoli! So I cut 20 heads (not a typo), cut off the tops, and brought them home. Peeled of their fibrous outer layer, the yield amounted about six cups to the freezer. So grateful. I want to dig some more carrots, but aside from that, my freezer will be ready for winter. Every fruit and vegetable in there is something I either harvested at the farm or found in the wild.
Along with managing the aforementioned ooshiness, this year I squinted as I gathered beach plums at dusk, picked sweet grilling peppers in mud and driving rain, and risked ticks to collect wineberries in an overgrown abandoned lot. When I was a long way from home and felt blisters starting on my heels, I stuffed maple leaves in my boots and kept going. And I climbed fences to reach Concord grapes, far off the road.
By the luck of the draw, I am not a princess. And in a year like this, it has served me well. I hope it continues.
I also made the pie above. The top layer is butternut squash from the farm and the dark purply layer underneath is made with those beach plums. Smooth and mellow paired with sharp and tart. It’s a good metaphor for the dichotomy that is November 2020.
Stay safe, everybody.