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Mushroom hunting conditions

Enough chicken of the woods to feed an army. Found near my house today, but too far gone to pick for good eating.

Two weeks ago heavy rains penetrated even the dense canopies of evergreen trees, soaking the ground. Then came a heat wave.  A week later our woodsy world erupted in mushrooms.  Unfortunately, I was away during that time so I missed the main event but have been wowed by what I’ve been finding at the tail end of that flush. 

After spending most of the summer searching regularly, but finding only dissappointing numbers of chanterelles, a few lobsters, and some porcini and chicken of the woods that had gone by, I was feeling rather discouraged about mushroom hunting.  It didn’t help that the past few wet summers yielded little in the way of good edibles.  (Mushrooms like moist but not wet conditions.) 

On my walks with the dog since returning, a mere glance into areas of mixed hemlock-deciduous forest on well-drained benches along the top of a ravine that runs next to our road, brought success. There, in places I’ve never seen them before, were clusters of beautiful porchinis – the beloved culinary mushroom, Boletus edulis.  When young, the caps look like appetizing buns, freshly browned from the oven, and picked before the caps flatten, while the flesh is still firm and heavy, they are among the best mushrooms, wild or cultivated.  I love the scent — a mild, savory smell that hints at the intense umami that makes porcini such a prized ingredient. 

For our Friday night bruschetta, we sauteed some sliced porcinis, added diced onions and garlic after the moisture was cooked out of the mushrooms and then deglazed with red wine and tossed in a little parsley at the end.  That, dolloped generously on slices of good, crusty bread and broiled with a little cheese on top was awesome!  The rest of the porcinis were thinly sliced and are currently air drying.  Drying concentrates the flavor of porcinis so that when reconstituted in a little water, a little can be added to risottos, sauces and stews for great effect.

Porcini in various poses on black and white paper for taking spore prints.

Before indulging further in myco-enthusiasms, I must offer appropriate caution.  Eating wild mushrooms can be fatal!  No one should attempt to eat wild mushrooms without first learning the basics of mushroom identification.  There are old mushroom hunters and bold mushroom hunters but no old, bold mushroom hunters.  

A little fear is a healthy component of this sport.  All it took for me was to read a terrifying description of death from liver failure caused by eating one of the common white Amanita species known as the Destroying Angel, to instill in me the powerful desire to take spore prints and to consult multiple sources before sampling any new mushroom for the first time.  Besides the Aminitas avoid the Galerinas.  One of a host of “LBMs” (little brown mushrooms), galerinas are difficult even for experts to identify, so I avoid the whole universe of LBMs all together.

Most mushrooms are neither lethally poisonous nor particularly good to eat. The edibility of mushrooms range on a spectrum from very few mushrooms that are deadly, to a lot that could give you a tummy ache and possibly hallucinations, to another large number on the edible side that won’t hurt you but aren’t particularly tasty either, and finally to the 20 or so species that the field guides refer to as “choice.”   

With all the reference books, websites, smart phone apps, and mycology club outings available these days, learning to identify just the choice mushrooms in your habitat should be a do-able undertaking for anyone with the interest and desire to learn.  Besides good eating, you’ll be rewarded with a fun way to liven-up a walk in the woods and a growing appreciation for the amazing world of fungi that silently co-exists with ours.

Sliding into fall

Transplants in peat pots ready for fall.

August — the best of the summer months, when the weather more often than not cooperates for outdoor fun, the biting bugs diminish and the great season of bountiful harvests begins. But I can already feel the hours of daylight diminishing rapidly. Crickets now dominate the evening chorus and the Canada geese have begun their training flights. Even while harvesting the classic summer produce — tomatoes, peppers, beans, basil, cucumbers, zucchini, eggplant, potatoes, onions, garlic and more — one must, alas, turn attention to fall and the plants that can survive and thrive in cold.

Last week after removing the spent pea vines and freeing up the beds that had been used for garlic and onions, I amended the soil with compost, lightly cultivated the surface and planted seedlings started a few weeks ago in peat pots, including lettuce, bok choy, fennel bulbs and curly endive. Some arugua that went to seed was pulled up and laid over a bare patch of soil to see if it would seed itself. The previous week, in another bed, I direct-seeded some beets and rutabega that are already up.

All such diversions from the main business of taking it easy in August, can only be accomplished with hopeful anticipation that a variety of colors, textures and flavors will grace our table well into the fall.

A couple quick garden tips

Spring harvested scallions, from bulblets formed by perennial multiplying onions.

Scallions or green onions are among the most versatile vegetables one can grow in the garden. And one of the easiest too. We like them grilled whole, cut up and stir fried or minced for garnish, to name just a few uses.

A wide row of onion sets, trenched for scallions.

So I was thrilled to find that The Depot in Essex Junction still had a bin full of onion sets. And on sale too. Usually garden centers sell out or possibly throw out the leftover onion sets after the spring planting season ends, so I’m always thrilled to find them for sale anywhere at this time of year, since planting them now will yeild months of good eating in the fall.

I planted them this week, in trenches about 1-2 inches deep and close together, single file or in wide rows. Covered them over, watered, and that’s it. Anyone can do it! Don’t even need particularly good soils since much of the energy for the plant is already stored in the bulb.

If sets aren’t available, you can can start scallion seeds and I did a month ago and I’ve also used the bulblets that form at the top of perennial multiplying onions that make excellent sets for free.  But their productions is fickle and this summer’s bublets are too tiny to produce strong scallions. 

Soaking lettuce stems in water to reduce bitterness.

On the lettuce front, we’re coming to the end of the spring sown plants and they are starting to bolt, with bitterness increasing daily. I’ve found I can salvage them for salads by soaking the stems in water immediately after cutting the heads and periodically re-cutting the stems. This seems to encourage the bitter, milky juice in the stem to drain out.  The whole procedure of draining the stems takes about 4-5 cuts and 15 minutes or so, maybe a little longer if the lettuce is really bitter. I do this while washing them in the sink or in a big bowl. The cut portions of the stems can be a nice crunchy treat, peeled if needed, and by tasting the stems you can gauge how bitter the leaves will be.

If the lettuce has already created flowers and the leaves have lost their glossiness, then it’s usually too far gone and best added to the compost  bin, and the bed amended with finished compost and replanted for fall greens.

Stored sunshine – St. John’s wort Oil

St. Johnswort blossoms along the roadside.

St. Johns wort (Hypericum perforatum), was all the rage in the 90’s as a herbal remedy for depression. As is often the case with health fads, people soon lost interest, the effects of this common summer-blooming weed being too subtle for those accustomed to aggressive pharmaceutical solutions.

Since then, through my forays into the world of herbal skin care, I’ve gained a high regard for this lowly plant and look forward to its blooming each summer. Infused in extra virgin olive oil, the bright, yellow flowers mysteriously transform the golden liquid into a deep auburn-red.

I especially love the way St. Johns wort oil imparts warmth in winter. It envelopes cold, moisture-starved skin like an August heat wave. It feels so good that once experienced, capturing those little yellow flowers and the sunshine they contain becomes a summer foraging priority.

To make hypericum oil, fill a jar loosely with flowers, avoiding the green parts and including any plump buds. Then submerge in olive, sweet almond or grape seed oil. Shake the jar well and leave in a sunny windowsill, giving a shake once or twice a day. After about 6 weeks, strain through cheesecloth, and bottle in a sterilized jar and store in a cool dark place.

The oil can be used as-is for massage oil, serum or worked into home made lotions, scrubs and salves. Money just can’t buy such a high quality skin care product and one that preserves the essence of summer happiness. But you have to pick and make it yourself to get the maximum therapeutic effect.

Raspberry jam daze

making raspberry jam

Boiling juice first and adding fruit at the end to preserve color, taste and texture of raspberries.

Hot, sticky, sweet Jam in July. 

Raspberries ripen fast in a heat wave, at a rate of 2 quarts a day from my 40′ row. With no chest freezer at our house, making jam has proven to be the best “value added” approach to preserving the precious fruit (last seen at $5.50/pint at a local store).  We stuff as many berries as we can in Ziploc bags in the refrigeratorfreezer (after freezing them on a cookie sheet in one layer to keep them whole), and invite friends and neighborhs over to pick, but still end up making jam at least two times a week. It’s not my favorite task on a hot day but once in the swing of it, I can process a batch in 30 minutes. A good vent over the stove keeps the kitchen comfortable and I still love the scent of raspberry essence and the jewel red, viscous juice bubbling away.

For 8 cups of raspberries I use 4 cups of sugar and one lemon cut in half, seeds removed. Mixed together in a bowl and covered with a clear plastic or other cover, I set it in the sun to macerate for an hour or more, stirring occasionally. The goal is to separate the juice and pectin from the fruit and melt the sugar. This can be done by storing it for several hours in the fridge too, but I like working with a sun-warmed product better than starting the jam chilled.  Saves energy too. 

When the sugar is mostly dissolved, pour just the juice and lemon halves into a wide pan and boil at a fairly high heat, leaving the fruit to drain in a colander set over a bowl. Periodically add the juice collected in the bowl into the boiling jam.  When the juice has reached 230 degrees F (thread stage), fold in the fruit and cook it until berries are just cooked and jam is thickened to your liking (usually no more than 5 minutes). 

Meanwhile, there’s a large pot of water boiling with clean canning jars, sterilizing.  I toss the lids in at the end, lift the jars out and fill them with jam, pop the tops on, tighten the rings, then back into the pot to boil for about 10 minutes.  Lift them out and let them cool before labeling and storing.  Clean up is super easy when all the sticky pots, spoons and bowls are dumped into the sink and the hot canning water is poured over, the mess just melts away.

Radish for breakfast

Open faced sandwich for breakfast. Radish variety - multi-colored "Easter Egg."

Stepping out into the garden with a cup of tea this morning to examine the overnight happenings, I found most of my radishes had bolted but a few were still intact and in good condition for fresh eating.  This fact, together with the knowledge that a crusty loaf of bread and and a pad of home made butter were up in the kitchen waiting to be used, called for one of the simplest and most delicious seasonal breakfasts – the French radish sandwich.  

Just slice juicy radishes, not too thin, and place them on buttered bread, sprinkle some sea salt over the radishes and bite into them open faced.  Yum. It’s a creamy, crunchy, tasty treat.  It may sound bizarre, but trust the French when it comes to food.  This is really good.  Even radishes that are strong enough to bite you back are somehow tamed by the salt, starch and fat. 

My first effort at making butter turned out to be a cinch.  We recently started getting raw milk from a local dairy and experimenting with making various dairy products.  Yesterday’s rainy afternoon was perfect for stirring up a batch of yogurt, mozzarella cheese and butter.  After skimming off the cream and bringing it to room temperature, I whipped it in a blender until it thickened beyond the whipped cream stage.  Then poured it into a clean jar, covered it, shook the jar hard for a minute, sloshed the liquid gently for another several minutes and voila!  Golden yellow butter curds separated from the buttermilk. Strain, wash butter in cold water to remove all buttermilk and chill.  

Because the deep color of the butter is an indication that the cows were feeding on the tender, vibrantly green grasses and clovers of early summer, I can convince myself that this butter is healthy enough to slather generously!

When Summer Comes

Snow pea blossoms (dwarf grey sugar) on eve of summer solstice 2010.

Summer solstice, the longest day, reaches it’s apex at 7:28 a.m., Monday, June 21st. This point in the revolution of our tiny planet around the sun is notable in Zone 4, not only for the luxuriously extended hours of daylight and the way it makes plants leap with growth, but also the way it marks the end of the gardener’s mad rush to get summer crops in the ground. 

With the urgent, time-sensitive tasks completed, I finally took a deep breath, grabbed a glass of effervescent vinho verde in the lingering evening light and wandered the garden barefoot to admire the muscular green of young tomato plants, crunch a juicy sugar snap pea, tune in to the veery’s ethreal song, and wait for the fireflies to wink from the shadows.    

Today I further celebrated the solstice by taking a day off from gardening for a splendid little road trip with Bonnie, a long time friend and fellow gardener. We headed northeast to Cady’s Falls and Perennial Pleasures, two nurseries with very different but lovely and intriguing display gardens that provide ample evidence that even in the Zone 4, plant life comes in an astounding array of colors and textures.   Neither nursery stocked much in the way of food plants, though Perennial Pleasures has a selection of interesting herb plants for sale and serves an exceedingly pleasant afternoon tea in the garden.  Indulging in a day devoted just to gorgeous flowers and foliage seemed a fitting way to mark the season.

Speaking of fitting, nothing expresses the sweet loveliness of a midsummer evening in the north better than this instrumental ballad by Oscar Peterson: When Summer Comes.   A benediction for the end of the longest day.

May your gardens be bountiful and your verdant days filled of joy.

Timing is all

Jumble of transplants -- basil, tomatoes, eggplants and peppers -- waiting for the right time to get planted.

To plant or not to plant? That is the question.  Whether it is wiser to plant now and risk the slings and arrows of outrageous weather or to wait, potentially squandering the too-short lease of summer.  Such quandaries face Z4 gardeners in this, the merry, merry month of May. 

Last year’s warm, dry May duped many into planting their tomatoes early only to have them decimated by a rogue frost on May 31st. This year, looking out to Memorial Day weekend — the traditional safe date for planting tender vegetable crops like tomatoes, beans, squash an their ilk — the long-range forecast is for relentless sun and record-breaking heat.  While frost may no longer be a consideration, other factors need to be weighed in deciding when to plant tender crops.

Soil and air temperature are of course critical. Here’s a great chart that shows the practical and optimal temperatures for planting common vegetables. I’ve never used a soil thermometer but find the old fashioned guide — don’t plant beans or corn until you can sit on the ground with a bare bum — to be very useful.  No, I don’t take it literally, but use my hand to test to test the soil temperature and apply the imagination to decide how a tenderer part of my anatomy would feel, and by extension whether the cold-sensitive plants would be happy.  This week the soil felt cool but not cold so I went ahead and planted bean, squash and cucumbers seeds directly in the ground.  Germination is likely to take about a week so even if we were have a freak frost in that period, the still-to-emerge plants will be safe underground.

Moon phases can also influence the decision of when to plant – especially as promoted by those following the biodynamic gardening system.  The specifics can get excruciatingly complicated and seems to add way too many factors into the “when to plant” decisions.  But in general, I understand that planting seeds during the waxing moon can benefit and speed germination while transplanting during the waning moon can better help the roots get established.  The influences are so subtle, I can’t say if it makes any difference in real life, but just imagining how plants and the moisture in soil might ebb and flow like the tides, makes me feel richer and more connected, so if all other factors support it, I try to plant seeds before the full moon and transplant after.  The full moon falls on May 28th this year.

Given that cold isn’t likely to be in the picture, the most significant factor for me in deciding when to plant this year is rain, or the lack of it.  There’s no significant precipitation forecast for then next 10 days.  That’s a big deal.  Watering is time and/or resource intensive so I’m holding back on transplanting tomatoes, peppers and eggplants.  It’s much easier and takes much less water to hydrate plants in pots than to water them in the garden. Also, guests, out-of-town trips and other activities that are likely on a long weekend often detract from gardening,  so that should be a consideration as well.  Transplants may suffer if they go in before Memorial Day then are neglected, as they need regular, deep watering until well-established.  Seeds need regular watering too but once germinated, they seem better able to find the water they need to thrive.

Having weighed all these factors, I’ve decided  to direct-seed all my beans, squash, melon, cucumber, and any miscellaneous herbs and flowers like dill and calendula this weekend.  But will hold off on transplanting tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and basil until the week of Memorial Day.  To minimize the amount of watering necessary this week, I’ll hold back on planting corn seeds too.

Lettuce – all sizes, all season

5/13/10

May 13 before thinning

Lettuce grows like crazy in May thanks to the ample daylight hours and still-cool temperatures. It’s salad heaven — the reward for planting in early spring.

 A delightful array of colors and textures can be achieved by seeding multiple varieties of lettuce, but it’s also fun to be able to pick lettuce from all stages of growth, from tender baby leaves to full, crunchy heads from spring through late fall and even winter. By planting often and thinning out plants for eating, home gardens can provide more variety than found in the best supermarkets.
 
 First there’s succession planting.  Any time you have some free space in the garden, plant some lettuce or other greens.  Plant different varieties and in different environments including shade and in sun to ensure success regardless of weather conditions.  I grow lettuce on the north side of my pea trellis to give some shade in case any hot, sunny weather should happen to arrive. If it’s rainy and cool as it’s been the last two summers, lettuce will do splendidly in the open, provided the slugs don’t take over! 
 
 
 

5/13/10

After first thinning

Then there’s a harvest method I call progressive thinning that allows picking at every stage of growth from one planting. Here’s how it works:

  1. Plant lettuce seeds fairly close together, directly in the ground either in rows or broadcast. If your soil is weedy, then I recommend rows just for ease of maintenance.
  2. When the seedlings get large enough to form clusters of leaves, thin crowded sections by cutting out whole plants. Use scissors and cut the stem below the cotyledon. This will prevent the leaves from growing back. You could also pull out the the whole plant including the roots, but I prefer cutting the stem to avoid disturbing roots of remaining plants.
  3. Cut off the base of the leaves since the joint between the leaves and roots can be tough and full of grit.
  4. When the remaining lettuce plants grow and start to crowd each other, thin again. An occasional shot of liquid fertilizer like fish/seaweed emulsion cheers on the remaining plants.
  5. Continue in this manner until full-sized heads form. Pick and enjoy!
5/17/10

Four days later, ready for another thinning

Shearing the leaves of young plants (above the cotyledon) — the cut-and-come-again method — enables repeated harvests but keeps the plants small. It’s easier at first than progressive thinning, and thus used by commercial growers, but I prefer the pleasure of watching the lettuce growing bigger by the day. 

You can employ progressive thinning with other greens too –Chinese cabbage, kale, chard, endive, arugula and others — though some seem less tolerant of crowding than lettuce.  It’s great to end up with a nice, big, juicy romaine and remember all the crunchy, tasty salads you got to eat while that select head of lettuce continued to to grow.

Flavor of flowers

Korean lilac and siberian iris blooming with the chives - late May 2009

A year ago while admiring the mid-day buzz around some profusely blooming chive blossoms in my garden I noticed that none of the pollinators were honey bees.  Instead,  a multi-cultural throng of pollinating insects ranging in size from the big fuzzy bumble bees to tiny and medium sized bees and wasps occupied the air space around the plants.  I interpreted this to be a demonstration that there can be plenty of native pollinators who will perform the pollination necessary for our gardens and orchards if there is sufficient food and habitat available for them.

Meanwhile across the road, my neighbor Tracy was installing her first bee hive. She had spent the past several months diligently studying beekeeping from books, workshops and websites and was finally beginning the new adventure. I had considered attempting bee keeping myself but ultimately couldn’t deal with what seemed an overwhelming learning curve. So when Tracy took on the challenge I was delighted to watch and cheer from the sidelines. 

The very next day, visiting my chive blossoms, buzzing filled the air once again, but this time it was all honey bees!  I don’t know where the wild pollinators went, but presumably they returned to the native plants that they are adapted for.  The flowering plants in our gardens originate from far flung corners of the earth but my yard also offers not-so-tidy, weedy edges around the clearing that hopefully provide plenty of  food for the full range of pollinators, wild and domestic.

Honey bees of course are greatly beloved by us humans for their production of copious amounts of honey.  So I was thrilled when Tracy gave me a pint of honey from her first “crop” last week.  Having witnessed her bees in my garden, it was a treat to taste the fruit of their labors, bringing to mind all the flowers of spring, summer and fall, combined in one sweet concentrated spoonful.  

Tracy’s honey and the annual flush of wild violets in one of our weedy edges, inspired me to make a batch of violet syrup.  It’s a nice addition to seltzer or other drinks if you want a delicate, sweet taste of purple blossoms.   Traditional recipes involve cooking the violet blossom tea with sugar but I prefer to make it with honey and to barely cook it at all to retain as much of nutrients as possible.  It’s worth considering the sugar-based approach too as it results in a clearer, prettier syrup and cooking it to concentrate the sugars, makes the product last longer, especially if lemon is added.  

Here’s my honey-based, low-cook violet syrup recipe: 

  1. pick as many violets as you wish;
  2. warm a glass/ceramic container, put violets in it and cover them with boiling water;
  3. cover the container and let the infusion sit for about 24 hours;
  4. strain off blossoms and admire gorgeous blue tea;
  5. heat one part violet tea with an equal part honey until the honey dissolves into the liquid;
  6. sterilize bottle(s), fill with the hot syrup and refrigerate after it comes to room temperature. 

Keeps for several months.  Savor the taste of violet blossoms with your iced tea!