Season Change

Offering you a bit of Sunday morning poetry
written last month by Ed...

Mid-August’s

golden light slants

on dry fields

head-high goldenrod and ragweed and

of nodding Queen Anne’s lace.

Milkweed gives way to gravity.

Yellow sulphur idlers float indolently over

purple and lemon-colored ironweed 

which have replaced spring’s jaunty coreopsis and coneflower.

Redwinged blackbirds and tree swallows have flown.

Mornings are near silent now that 

birds no longer need

to mate or nest.

Walnuts start to drop yellowed leaves.

Like reluctant party-goers

they’re the last to arrive in spring

and the first to leave in fall.

They whisper to those who listen,

gray winter

is coming.

– Ed Galloway

Way Down Yonder in the Pawpaw Patch

Four years ago I tasted my first (and only) common pawpaw and found it uncommonly good.  I was smitten with its custardy taste -- something silky smooth between a banana and a kiwi.

In September of 2013 we stopped at an orchard in Owen County, KY for some apples and I noticed on a blackboard at the checkout counter that they had pawpaws. We had recently planted two pawpaw trees and I was anxious to try a pawpaw fruit. The orchard owner disappeared into the back of the shed and came back and placed one brown, mushy, unappetizing fruit on the checkout table. Because I made such a big deal about purchasing pawpaws, it didn't seem right that I should reject his only fruit for sale. So Ed bought it for me. I put it in the refrigerator overnight, thinking it would surely rot on the counter. The next morning, I was ready to toss it in the compost but decided at the last minute to cut it open and taste the pulp.

I was immediately hooked on pawpaws. Without exaggeration, I can tell you it was one of the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. Over the years we have planted a dozen more small sapling pawpaws. Some in the shade, some in the sun. None ever bore fruit.

Until this year...

We had read that pawpaws require cross pollination from another unrelated pawpaw tree. Bees show no interest in pollinating the beautiful brown pawpaw flowers, but flies, on the other hand, are perfect for the task – and we were desperate for pawpaws. One source suggested placing roadkill under the trees to lure some flies to our pawpaw trees. Because we didn't have any roadkill handy, we hung rotting pork chop bones in the branches of each tree that had flowered. Sure enough, it worked!

On our rounds the other day, Ed spotted not one, but three, small pawpaw fruits on one of our trees. We celebrated our good fortune, but immediately began to worry that our raccoon population might beat us to the ripening fruit. Our plan is to put a net around the one tree with fruit and hope that the fruits hang on until September when they will be ripe enough to fall from the tree and harvest, or, as the song says, to "pick up pawpaws and put 'em in our pocket, way down yonder on the paw-paw patch."

Then we plan to have a pawpaw party!

Octobers

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

– L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables 

I agree with Anne. I'm also glad to live in a world where there are Octobers – especially Octobers as beautiful as this one at Farm Dover. 

Even poison ivy and spiders look beautiful in the autumn light.

But here's the best thing about this October at Farm Dover: we had all three kids at home for one weekend. Too short; but very sweet.

Meatless Mondays

We woke to a quiet and cold house this mid-October morning. Quiet because Jack left this weekend to go back to his life in China and cold because we slept with the windows and doors open and I'd not yet placed a winter quilt on our bed. Not only was it quiet and cold, but it was also Monday, which meant that I needed to figure out our meatless meals. I slipped on my favorite fuzzy robe and started taking stock of options for our Meatless Monday.

Our refrigerator was mostly empty; our pantry nearly bare; and our freezer was down to its last offerings (as I've been trying to eat our way through it). Hmmm...nothing like a good challenge.

Our neighbors had given us some purple eggplants and I still had a couple of white ones from our garden. I had sweet potatoes and butternut squash in abundance, along with a handful of end-of-the-season peppers.

I recalled a vegetarian chili that friend Karen would make and share with us when we were next-door neighbors. Inspiration was slowly coming. I kept looking.

I found one can of black beans and one of red ones, a can of green chopped green chiles and almost a cup of quinoa. No tomatoes, but then I remembered that I had some roasted tomato sauce in the basement freezer. While rooting around for the tomato sauce, I came upon a package of corn and one of diced onions. I grabbed a bulb of garlic from the basement basket. Once back upstairs,  I pulled four canisters from the spice drawer: cumin, smoked paprika, chili pepper and coriander. For good measure, I plucked the last lime from our fruit bowl and an avocado that desperately needed eating today. I was in business.

Fifteen minutes later, my made-up vegetarian chili was bubbling away on the stove. Don't ask for the recipe – I just threw all the ingredients into the pot and hoped it would turn out edible.

It did. Not only was it edible, it was delicious. I topped each bowl with a last spoonful of sour cream, the avocado diced, and a few sprinkles of grated cheese.

The best part is that I froze three pint jars of it. So next time, I'm stumped on a Monday, I'll just head to the basement freezer and voila! Chili, ready as fast as one can say "Meatless Mondays" three times.

Happy Monday.