Ellie Mae

Ellie Mae
Beautiful Ellie Mae

Freddie, the French Bulldog

Freddie, the French Bulldog
Lazing on a sunny afternoon

The artist

The artist
Ollie Mac

Ollie and Annie

Ollie and Annie
Azorean grandmother

Acrylics and watercolors

Acrylics and watercolors
Cannabis and sunflowers

Papa and Ollie Mac

Papa and Ollie Mac
Priorities, Baby

Acrylics and watercolors

Acrylics and watercolors
Hollyhocks

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Winter Rapture

Having completed my batch of marinara sauce and paid tribute to the hour, 4:20 in the AM, I take pen in hand, metaphorically speaking, to share the word. The word today is tomatoes.
Of all the produce grown here on-farm, nothing compares to tomatoes, for the simple reason that so much can be-and is-done with tomatoes, to stretch their value all-year-round. So far this summer, I have put up tomato paste, cold-pack tomatoes (33 quarts), catsup (4 1/2 gallons) and now marinara sauce, a paltry twelve pints.

I say paltry on the marinara sauce, because before the season is over, barring torrential rains, I will do at least another three or four batches of the king of all sauces. Oh yes, the pantry will be well-stocked for all of us here on-farm.

Because we almost never get a frost up here on our ridge-top until December, the tomatoes keep on rocking and rolling. Heavy rains would end things because the ‘maters split, but I will have harvested many lugs of not-completely ripened Aces, prior to any rain that would cause splitting. Therefore, as these ripen, I will continue to make smaller batches of sauce until I reach the end of the line. 

Because I am not working in a properly approved kitchen, we can’t sell our after-market products, the way we might sell fresh tomatoes. The truth is, rarely are there still tomato products on the pantry shelf, when the new season rolls around, so if we were actually selling our catsup and sauces, we would be in a world of hurt ourselves.

I have seen the meme that pokes fun at back-yard gardeners, for spending a fortune to gain a few tomatoes for the dinner salad. I save my best chuckling for when I am rearranging matters in the pantry for yet another infusion of winter rapture, in the form of any of the above commodities.

Add dried tomatoes, salsa, and pizza sauce to the paste, cold-pack tomatoes, catsup and marinara sauce, and that about completes the winter lineup.
Fresh basil

I have been assisted in my endeavors this summer by Jason, who is working on-farm and most enthusiastic in his approach. He and I have harvesting and doing the processing together, getting the resulting tomato sauce into huge saucepans, where it can cook down to an appropriate thickness. 

Simply because of timing, I have done the final step of putting them through either a water bath or the pressure cooker, in the wee hours. That being said, Jay will catch up with me one of these batches, because it will be at the proper thickness, right in the middle of the day.

All Jay has to do is participate in the process one time and he is good to go. Once you have worked through it, you can always google the specifics: the amount of lemon juice/salt added to each jar, processing time for the size of your jar and finally, for us at at higher elevation, how much extra time is needed to compensate for the difference from sea level.

I labeled my work with tomatoes a chore in an earlier post, but quickly amended it to a summer activity. There is something so rewarding about opening a quart of cold-packed tomatoes in the dead of winter, with snow falling, that the act of processing them could never be thought of as a chore.

I might label it a labor of love, possibly, with the delivery of explosive summer flavors, especially if we are talking about a roasted veggie pizza, using our pizza sauce.

There. I’ve done it again. I have left you hanging with a savory image. Then I guess I may as well complete it: fresh eggplant, onions, summer squash, mushrooms, bell peppers, basil and garlic, drizzled with Basalmic vinegar, slow-roasted and placed on a gluten-free crust. A base of our pizza sauce, along with some mozzarella and parmesan cheese, completes the picture, and why do I do this to myself?

Some folks settle for scrambled eggs and hash browns, but I am a man on a mission. Were there, or were there not, still some of those Baby Bella mushrooms left in the refrigerator? 


I can make do if not, but hey, if you’re going to dream, dream big.

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