How do you like them apples?

More from VFMK's guest blogger...

“For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;”
T.S. Elliott - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

As time has had abstract meaning out here on the farm, I have been measuring out my days in coffee spoons… and in produce. The days should no longer be named “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…” but rather “Apples, Carrots, Potatoes…”. My fingers feel as though they have been literally worked to the bone. Forget Chinese torture of putting wooden splinters under your fingernails; take a morning pulling carrots, a noonday of washing said carrots and an afternoon of chopping the squeaky clean carrots and you’ll know what I mean. It is dirty, monotonous (even painful on the hands) but therapeutic work.

If you have not visited the garden a few steps down from the view from this kitchen, you may not know what I speak of. The dimensions of the produce patch can be astounding. I do not exaggerate when I say that the amount of vegetables in this garden could and would feed several families for several weeks. The garden (apparently) has been held back this year. The carrot row, for example, is down to just one row instead of two (which is due only to the fact that the family could not get through everything over one winter). Really? How many carrots could you possibly eat with this smaller harvest? An entire medium sized fridge is full of carrots. Nothing but carrots. Bagged carrots, quartered carrots, sliced carrots, sticked carrots. Now we can make carrot muffins, carrot soup, cooked carrots (bleck) but, thank goodness, not carrot butter.

This morning I went out and found more apples fresh off the ‘good tree’. It’s almost like a Biblical parallel to Genesis for the kids here. Just ask Joelle… they are ‘forbidden’ to pick apples off the ‘good tree’. They are, however, allowed to self-feed off the crab apple tree. There is something nostalgic of watching my son climb the apple tree out back with his cousins – it makes me ecstatic to see him enjoying an integral part of childhood while consuming copious amounts of fruit.


The parallel could be extended to the rest of the farm… there is something Eden-like here in the natural beauty and peacefulness of the land and garden. Except when it comes to canning season… then I see how we are toiling on this earth. The processing of said apples is fascinating. I think, however, that I will no longer be able to face an apple after this experience.

Take apple butter as an example. One morning I took the infant out in a hip sling and picked apples for two hours. We picked a foot wide path around the tree at my arm height. Five bags and one box of crab apples later, we arrived in the house triumphant. Or so I thought. Little did I know my work had just begun. First, I had to slice off sections for the dehydrator (to make dried apples for snacks). Then I had to take the cores and quarter them for cooking. Then I had to go back and take off the stems. No stems. Right. While I took the batch of apples from the ‘good tree’ to slice, my sister started on the apple butter production.

I am not oversimplifying to say that this is a process that takes several days. Why is it not called jarring? The whole experience is, you know. First there’s this huge pot that is used to sterilize the jars (small beasts could be boiled in it… I start thinking Macbeth double, double toil and trouble; burner on high and canner bubble when I see it). Then there’s a whole process of boiling the apples to bits (literally… you put them in cores, seeds, peels and all). After boiling and stirring continually, the pulpy mess has to be pressed. Then it has to be bagged and dripped. The dripping process is stressful because NO ONE can touch the bag contraption that goes on the counter. It’s scary. And she’s right, she does need a new kitchen. I think the new shop should be hers. All hers. After bagging, the next step is measuring, spicing, cooking, and finally the pulp is ladled into sterilized jars. At the end of the day you still have to label the jars and (the nightmare of it all) wash the dishes.

So, taking account… the amount of labour and the end result… hours and hours of kitchen slave hours to create one tiny, tiny jar of apple butter. It IS delicious. It IS worth it. But I personally prefer not being here to participate in the process. So then I sigh. Apple butter is DONE! Hooray! Oh, just wait. We now have to make… apple jelly, apple crisp, apple pie, and later… apple fruit leather.

An apple a day is a good thing. Hundreds of apples in one day is… ridiculous but life on the farm nonetheless.

Guest Blogger! A Boy Named Jorge...

[This entry has been written by a guest blogger who is currently MIA from her own blogging activities during her agrarian retreat]

My youngest is having an identity crisis.

I have come to this conclusion just recently as I have unfortunately confused many with the John/Jack referencing (either verbally or in photo captions). I’ve gotten quite a few “So, what IS his name?” type questions lately with some subtle inquiries with regards to why I didn’t name him Jack in the first place.

In the same vein, there was a question resolved on Yahoo answers two days ago: “Which name do you like better: John or Jack?”. The most preferred answer was “John [...] Jack, however, can be a nickname for John... You can name him John, and call him Jack later, if it suits him...” I would’ve responded in a very similar way about 8 months ago.

I had agonized for months over names and, after meeting our little man, we decided that John was the best name for the newest Tuck. It suited him at the time. However, I have to admit that I had started to call him Jack in our quiet moments alone in those first few weeks (despite all doubts to the fact, it is a diminuitive of John). Now, at 9 months old he has accumulated more nicknames than I have had in my entire life. The following is a shortlist of some of the names this boy has acquired:

• John
• Jack
• Johnny (by his older brother only, thankfully)
• Little John (from his father... references to Robin Hood)
  
• Big John (by Granny in reference to a song)
• Jack-Jack
• George (he is my dad’s ‘mini-me')
• We’ve also tried initials (somehow J.T. has been taken by another John Thomas way back and J.T.P isn’t quite right either). I personally like John-Jack (but the French format after Jean-Jacques Rousseau... but I’m nerdy)

Maybe he has so many names because John (for me, in its essence despite its timeless popularity) is a perfect name – though it is a strong, meaningful name- it is quite simple (especially in comparison to ‘Nathaniel’... who became known as ‘Nate’ before he turned one). Maybe it’s because there are many a John in the branches of his family tree. Personally, I think all the names he’s been given have their place.

For interest’s sake, check out the definitions about John "serious-minded, responsible and stable" and Jack "creative, independent and original" and your own name, too by going to this strange little site: http://www.kabalarians.com/Index.cfm

A prime example of correlation of name to situation is demonstrated in a cinematic experience. There are times when this child transforms into Jack-Jack from the Incredibles as demonstrated in this Pixar creation. Other times, he seems to suit his other names whether George or... Jorge. One evening we decided to “rename” the children: Nate became Raoul, Charlotte became Sally and Joelle, based on a character from her favourite book of the moment, became Kate. Jack/John – oh, heck... the baby – was named Jorge: hor-HEY. It has stuck. For those moments he’s shaking his food tray or climbing up the gate of the living room cum playpen with that gleam in his eye, he IS Jorge.

At the end of the day, I think I agree with Shakespeare’s conclusion about the significance of a name:

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet."

So what shall we call this boy named Jorge? If you look up Wikipedia (which this entry indicates, I look things up a lot...),you will find this gem “Jorge has at least 38 variant forms [including]: Egor, Igor, and Ygor.” It has come full circle. My youngest is being called Igor just as my father once named me. Hmm... maybe it was meant to be.

I think we should go back to Nate’s first impression way back when I was reading him a book about becoming a big brother. At the end, I asked him what he thought we should name his baby. He replied, “Rover” after the little boy’s pet dog in the story. So welcome to the family, Rover.

swathing is not like mowing the lawn

By all appearances, swathing is much like mowing the lawn. The swather moves up and down the field, cutting the crop down and leaving it in windrows or swaths. If you cut an overgrown lawn in the same pattern you will make a similar effect. But it is not the same.

This deep observation comes from a very long day of mowing and then *trying* to swath. Today I started by push mowing (a bit, just where I have to), then I moved up a notch to the rider lawnmower, then went over to the other yard and got the three-point hitch mower to do the barnyard. That in itself was more work than usual since I was not supposed to scatter the dirt left in the trenches that have been recently dug for the new wiring. And they run all over the barnyard. But I digress.

I have previously been trained on the pull type swather. The operation of that machine is relatively uncomplicated, as the operator worries mostly about driving straight in a tractor that has normal steering and rarely operating hydraulics to adjust the cutting height/angle.

So, when my father-in-law came through the yard today to suggest that I go sit in the swather with Dale to try to learn to run it, I felt confident. After all, I am learning to manage most equipment now. My father-in-law was merely concerned that the hydrostatic joystick was on too tight of a spring for any normal human to operate. And as I am a sub-normal human, especially when it comes to wrist and arm strength, he figured that I would have trouble.

Well, I flexed my minuscule biceps and hopped in. Then I found out that the joystick was not my problem. Or at least it was one of the smallest problems.

Swather steering is different. Significantly different. If you have ever operated a zero turning radius mower, it is close to that. But really, the first thing that Dale did when I got in was spin the thing 360 degrees in the same spot. It has a 30 foot header on it. It feels a little tippy. I got dizzy.

Dale said "center yourself over this swath and drive down it."

Okay. Take steering wheel (tiny, by the way, like my lawn mower) in two hands. Release right hand to pull on joystick. I immediately started spinning. As soon as you leave neutral the machine will go wherever you steer it. But, if you're not pushing the joystick forwards or backwards, you move in one spot.

So, still dizzy, I turtle my way down the swath. Except that I'm a drunk turtle, steering to one side, then the next, and no one has told me how to stop (return joystick to neutral position.) Steering a swather is hard. And then Dale tells me about the little buttons on the joystick that raise and lower the cutting table and also independently raise and lower the pickup reel. He tried to tell me about reel speed. I need to keep my reels at about the same speed I'm going. But, when the hydrostat is reading 3, the reel speed knob reads 2. Who designs these things?

Anyway, I have way more respect for my husband who has been running this thing without much of a break for days on end, and am now officially the third trained operator on this lovely machine.

But I can't help but think that I should have spent more time playing jumpman - it would have been a useful career asset.

Listeria and other annoyances

I pride myself on keeping up to date with current events. Not Brangelina or American Idol, as truthfully, I couldn't care less, but I read my real news sources many times a day online.

So when the Maple Leaf listeria food scare came out yesterday, I checked the list especially since we have a baby visiting who occasionally puts things in his mouth that he wasn't handed. And I understand that while we are probably okay as we're mostly healthy people in this house, it still wasn't a chance I wanted to take.

Of course I had a few of the items. While normally I don't buy a lot of processed meats, this is harvest. At harvest time my buying habits change dramatically - I'm the queen of the deli, the sandwich maker supreme. Some of the meats I even purchased yesterday at Safeway...which was annoying, as there was a person taking stuff off the other end of the shelf, but they had no signs up, no yellow tape...so I bought Schneiders and Overlander.

I knew that Schneiders was made by Maple Leaf (no really, I did, as we have the pork plant in Brandon, so we get to see what comes out of it), but had no idea about Overlander. Actually, if you look, just about every brand of processed meat that you can buy is made by Maple Leaf. The monopoly isn't the problem, but it sure adds to the confusion...

So, today, I go back to another store to purchase more things to eat. I will buy hams that I can cook, pork roasts, chicken breasts and other non-convenient foods. I wish I had a meat slicer. I feel bad because I have to leave my sister with these foods that aren't as easy to manage. I'm annoyed that I will have to eat the same type of sandwich over and over again to finish up a roast.

And the annoyances continue. Since it is canning season, I'm looking for lemon juice. I use it in almost everything I can to enhance flavour and increase acidity. I do so much of this stuff myself, it seems unfair that a food scare should affect me. But yesterday, in Safeway, there was another little sign under where the lemon juice should be...there is a lemon juice shortage.

So I guess I'll pick up citric acid too, or run to every local store I can think of before the news hits and buy up all the little plastic lemons. Too bad I can't grow lemons, grow, slaughter and process my own meat...all of these frustrations in my little food based life!

To add to it all, the bakery is still on holidays during the first two weeks of harvest and for the back to school rush. So we're stuck eating peanut butter on Wonder Bread and wishing for the easier days when we could just go buy a Sub. Until the "nut-free" (not sure if that is supposed to be a mental health statement) school starts, then we'll be stuck with plain cheese. Ugh.

At least we can have tomato sandwiches soon, even if the bacon gets recalled.

And so it begins...slowly

We're finally getting ready to get busy. Well, we've been ready to get busy with harvest for a while, but now it may actually happen.

Maybe.

Dale called from the swather yesterday to tell me he had started on Grant's quarter. That was fine, except that we had to go to a wedding reception last night. Norm took over though, so the swather kept moving. We came home from the wedding as quickly as we could (the girls had to have a dance, so that kept us until nine) and Dale went back out. And then came back in.

The quarter south of Grants (East of Dad's) wasn't as ready. So Dale moved home to start here. At six a.m. he left to get going. And came back before eight. It wasn't quite ready either, and with all the dew/fog last night, things were simply too wet. So he went back to the East of Dad's and continued on.

Now, the barley is certainly ready to come down. It has lodged or gone down on its own because of excess moisture, so it is a real pain to cut. Dale is working away at it, although he doesn't plan to work too late.

The girls and I did up most of the rest of the bins today, so that is done. Joelle started in on the muffin baking this morning...now if only the bakery wasn't on their two week holiday, we would be set.

Well, I should scoot. Got in a bit of fertilizer dust cleaning a bin today, so I'm thinking a shower would be nice. But, I'd better hold off on that until Dale calls - he's up at Morgans and will need a ride soon.

that was a good trip...where did I go?

I think I might have a summer cold. Or maybe my extremely erratic allergies have popped up in response to goldenrod/grain bin dust/unknown air thingies.

Nonetheless, I'm a little miserable. Had that painful postnasal drip thing that makes me wonder if people who have their adenoids ever have to suffer with that. And a stuffy nose. And I'm freezing cold, although that may or may not be an indication of illness. It was slightly ridiculous when I had to wear a sweater, long pants and fuzzy slippers today, being as it is 30 degrees (finally).

So, since I had to go to Shoal Lake for parts anyway (a gas cap. I could even replace that part when I got home!), I went to the drugstore and loaded up on nice pharmaceutical products to get me through this nasty cold/allergy - who cares which, I don't have time for it right now.

I bought the Advil Cold & Sinus Plus...since this might be my allergies. I take Advil Cold & Sinus regular most of the time, and it works quite well, no side-effects. But the Antihistamine in the other one seems to be related to a nice long sleep. You get clearer sinuses Plus a half hour nap too!

Wow, a fuzzy nap hasn't happened in a long time. Fortunately the children did not choose that particular moment to have a dispute/wreck my house/cause any other disasters. And I don't have to drive anywhere this evening, so far as I know.

The only bad thing...the weather is supposed to turn ugly again really soon. So I should have been outside enjoying the day. But, we can't seem to convince the kids that they belong outside, so I guess I didn't lose too much.

On the farm, we're waiting to start swathing the barley. The nasty weather involves two different forecasts of 100% p.o.p. on Friday. While that usually suggests sunglasses (as they are never both right) there are a few finishing touches to do on the swathers themselves. We have another crew in the yard these days too - the floor guys are here and apparently plan to pour concrete on Tuesday.

At least I picked up a few things at the store, so I'm not behind on dinner. But I'd better get that started. I'll be watching the sharp knives, though...still a wee bit fuzzy!

changelings

Yesterday was a play date. Sort of. The girls had their friends over because of a birthday party. The older brother was going to Brandon with four friends, so his sisters wanted to do something fun. And a play date here was it.

Okay. I had known about this for a while. However, I have subscribed to the "don't tell your kids anything until it actually happens" school of parenting for seven years, and I didn't see any need to change that. My children get themselves so worked up and excited with anticipation, and with our slightly spontaneous farming existence it has always been prudent to treat them like cute little mushrooms.

What a mistake. The girls did so well with the "oops, we're going to Edmonton" surprise, so I had figured that the "oops, your friends just happened to show up" surprise would be met with the same calm, easygoing manner.

Not a chance. I saw my seven year old transition from a child who is relatively intelligent, somewhat well behaved, generous most of the time to a bossy, silly pre-teen. Hannah Montana figured into the conversations. Every activity was based on her fantasies. Listening and family social skills went out the window.

The five year old reacted, somewhat predictably, poorly. We dealt with crying jags, a chasing game of "Charli, come here" until Mom had to tackle the child and remove her to another location and subsequent hyperventilation. Hers, not mine, honestly.

It was trying. I truly pity the teachers who get these little changelings in two weeks or so. Hopefully the four of them have got some of the horrible sillies out...or I wouldn't want to be the bus driver.

So today, when faced with going to town to take the kids into the library program, I opted out. Maybe the socialization would have been beneficial for them, but this time, Mom chose to act like the mushroom.

I'm sorry for the teachers, but I just need a few more days of peace and quiet before the changelings transition again.