My husband, George, and I both grew up as City Folks. Our experiences with the Great Outdoors and Country Life were limited to trips to North Park, Summer Camp, Green Acres and the Beverly Hillbillies.
We both also remember the HUGE Market House that graced the North Side of Pittsburgh, and all of the produce available, fresh from local farms.
George had one up on me when his folks bought a summer home here in Espyville, but a young man’s fancy isn’t necessarily focused on Agriculture. I had one over him by attending the Allegheny County Fair at South Park at the end of every summer in August. Everyone from Grandparents, to Aunts and Uncles, and Cousins went. We visited every barn, stall, and booth at this yearly event.
The Fair boasted all the animals a child could wish to see, quilts and fabric art galore, and of course, the largest fruits and vegetables imaginable. I guess, because of the time of year and all of the produce available to view, I assumed that all of this great bounty ripened, was harvested and made available to city dwellers all at the same time.
Now I was familiar with some aspects of preserving and canning.
In my younger years, my mom and I would get up on a Saturday morning in early autumn and go to my Grandmother’s house, where we would help make grape jam, complete with the wax on top, and apple butter.
We would visit the Market house with my father and brothers and always get apple cider along with baskets of veggies, special because they were so fresh. Farmers from local farms would bring their produce into town in the evening and park around the Market House. Locals always flocked to purchase the best of the best.
If I close my eyes and dig deep into my imagination, I can smell the aroma and feel the crisp autumn air. I can see the bright spotlights illuminating ruby red and green apples, yellow squash, cucumbers, pumpkins, beans, the list goes on. If, my imagination is working especially well, I can taste that first sip of tangy, cold apple cider, still one of my favorites.
Now, move ahead several years…
Our property, here in Espyville. Our own little piece of Heaven to do with as we will, at least as much the Township and Zoning Ordinances will allow. Room to plant, to dig into the dark brown earth and watch the small green plants shoosting up… (sorry, a Green Acres, Lisa Douglas moment. Those familiar with the show know what I’m referring to).
Anyway, George never does anything in a small way, and since part of his name, Geo, means “of the earth,” he was in heaven.
We built and planted beds of ornamental flowers and bushes. We have decorative plants and yard effluvia, and we have our vegetable gardens. First thing we learned, you don’t get to eat your homegrown lettuce with your homegrown tomatoes.
The reason why I never saw baskets of tomatoes at Fall Market is because by then, they are but a memory, the vines long since removed and the soil waiting for next year’s plants. Unless you freeze them, you don’t can the tomatoes all at once. You do them as soon as you get enough for a batch, but oh that yummy salsa, spaghetti sauce, hot sauce, tomato soup, ketchup, and whole tomatoes.
Beans, just love stringing them by hand, but four bean salads makes it so worthwhile. We’ve also grown kale and greens, butternut squash, spaghetti squash, zucchini, kohlrabi, strawberries, rhubarb, grapes (from which we make wine, jelly, and share with several species of birds) radishes, cucumbers regular and pickling, Brussel sprouts, Lima beans, and even a pumpkin or two. I’ve probably forgotten some, sorry George.
Anyway…the misunderstanding arises in that all of these items are not ready for processing at the same time. Those of you who can or preserve (God Bless You) know that all of the paraphernalia involved: large pots, lids, jars, tongs, spices,etc etc etc, must be taken out and the whole kitchen destroyed, then everything cleaned and put away until a few weeks later when the next item is ready to be saved for future savoring.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) I am not the master of this fine art. As a spectator, occasional peeler, chopper, and de-stringer, I get to watch, and taste, the results of George’s culinary efforts.
It is thanks to him that in the middle of a Northwestern Pennsylvania winter, we get to open a can or jar, or freezer bag of something gastromically delightful, take a bite, and relive summer past.
Of course, those of you who grow food are aware of the other lovely part of gardening, the critters and insects that want to beat you to the fattest, tastiest, and best veggies, but that’s a tale for another time.
MAY EVERY MOMENT OF YOUR EVERY DAY BE FILLED WITH LOVE, PEACE, AND HOPE!
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