Home Cured Olives

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Seville olives from California, MUCH bigger than Arbeqinas

Hardy Olives For The Maritime Northwest

When I told my neighbor I was brining local olives, she gave me the fish eye. Really? Her skepticism is understandable; though olive trees have long been grown in California, they’re relative newcomers to Oregon and Washington State. Over the past few decades, Oregon growers have found success with a number of varieties, and thanks to climate creep, some are proving hardy even in the Seattle area. Native to the Mediterranean, olive trees need full sun and fairly well drained soils, preferably loamy or on the sandy side. If planted in clay soils (some of us have no choice), it’s best to set them on a south or southwest facing slope where frost and excess water will drain away. Young trees are fairly frost sensitive, but mature trees can tolerate winter lows down to about 10 degrees F. Over the past 50 years, Seattle’s average low temperatures have been in the mid to high 30s, so I figured olives were worth a try. (We haven’t seen single digit temps up here since the deep freeze of 1989.)

Though the ancient olive trees of Italy and Greece are gnarly and often contorted by age and weather, young trees are beautiful, small, evergreen trees, with long, slender, silvery-green leaves. In orchard conditions, most varieties eventually reach 20-25 feet. Grown in very large pots, olives will remain between 6-8 feet high, and some compact varieties can live happily in containers for many years. Like all fruit trees, they benefit from regular pruning, though since olives set fruit on new growth, it’s important not to get carried away. An unpruned tree can become crowded, so good pruning, as always, removes dead or deformed branches and allows light and air to reach the tree’s center. Traditionally, olives are pruned to limit height and as sturdy low branches develop, they are preserved to facilitate harvesting. In Italy, I helped harvest olives by spreading fine nets under trees while branches were whacked and shaken until the ripe fruits fell to the ground. I’m not sure I’d try that with a young tree, as over-enthusiastic shaking could rock the roots out of the ground.

Self Fertile Olives

Like any youngster, a newly planted olive needs regular summer water and mild fertilizer, as well as frost protection should Arctic blasts arrive. However, once established, olives don’t need much care. Untroubled by many pests or diseases, they are largely independent and can remain productive for hundreds of years. Wind pollinated and usually self-fertile, olives are nonetheless more productive outside of their native Mediterranean when surrounded by bee-friendly plants and partnered with a pollinator pal. In general, Spanish types cross pollinate with each other, as do Tuscan and Greek varieties.

Whether prized for oil or table use, most traditional olive cultivars bear more heavily in alternate years, something you can pretty much count on with backyard olives. These days, farm-grown young olives are planted in Super High Density (SHD) groves, pruned and fed and forced into high-bearing patterns. However, like similarly managed full sun coffee plantations, SHD olive groves can exhaust themselves quickly. Backyard growers will do best long term by spacing olive trees much like apple or pear trees, allowing each tree ample room to grow. How much depends on the cultivar you choose, the conditions you can offer, and the amount and kind of pruning you employ. Generally speaking, the farther South you live, the larger your olive trees will get (as much as 30-40 feet high and 20 feet wide).

Small But Mighty

On the other hand, the farther North you live, the less space you are likely to need (sadly). For example, here on Bainbridge Island, a pair of Arbequina olives I planted at a local church have been bearing fruit for about 10 years now, though most abundantly in alternate years. They started off as foot-high rooted cuttings in 2008 and are now about 10 feet high and 8 feet wide, but look more like twiggy shrubs than trees. They were watered the first summer, but neglected ever since, which probably slowed their growth a bit. They get full sun much of the day as well as reflected heat from the paved lot, and they get lots of insect action, from native and honeybees as well as many other pollinators.

On a good year, as this one is, there are more olives than I can possibly use, but they are so small that it takes quite a while to get a full quart. It reminds me of picking huckleberries, another tedious but worthwhile task. After dropping more than I managed to get in my bag, I ended up using my old huckleberry picking trick; I punched holes in the sides of a large yogurt tub and threaded a cord through them, making a sling to go over my shoulder so the tub hangs in front of me about sternum-high. Now the fat little fruit falls into the tub with satisfying thuds and I can pick many times faster. Arbequina olives are very flavorful, which is good, because otherwise I doubt they’d be so popular, since the small fruit are fiddly to pick and handle. Still, they’re noticeably larger this year, perhaps because of the extra summer rain we’ve had, and also perhaps because the tree is more mature now.

Home Cured Olives

If you don’t grow your own olives, look for them at local farmers markets, or order them online from California, the Land of Large Olives. Even when ripe, olives are inedible straight off the tree, nasty and mouth-puckering thanks to a natural chemical called oleuropein. Fortunately, simple brining mellows table olives from bitter to pleasingly buttery-astringent. Down South, olives will ripen to deep green or black, but up North, when the hard green fruits take on tints of pale green, butter yellow or soft rose, they’re ready to cure. Don’t let them linger on the tree too long, as a hard frost ruins their texture. Here’s a simple brining process that works beautifully, and you can fancy it up by adding thin slices of organic lemon peel or bitter orange peel to the brine once the olives are close to ready. I use a standard brine, a 10% solution of 100 grams of salt to a quart of water, but I use more brine than is usually suggested, as it seems to speed up the mellowing process.

Simple Salt Brine For Olives

4 cups Arbequina olives, green or turning black(ish)
1 cup kosher or sea salt

Rinse olives and put them in a large pan or bowl of cool water, with a weighted plate on top to keep them submerged. Drain and change the water every day for 3 days, then start the brining:

Dissolve 1/2 cup of salt in 2 quarts of water and pour over the olives. After a week, drain olives and repeat with a fresh batch of brine. Repeat twice more, a week apart. End with a rinse in cold water, then pack olives in jelly jars, adding citrus peel or peppercorns, and top off with fresh brine to cover the olives. Let stand for 2-3 weeks to mellow, then serve as tasty little snacks.

 

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Simple Syrups For Good Cheer

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Stemmed rosemary for simple syrup

Soothing Simples Preserve Garden Goodness

What a world we are living in! What an astonishing moment in time! What an epic period of history we are experiencing! Do I need to use a few more exclamation points??? Do I need to say I’m feeling a little crazy? How are YOU doing with all that’s occurring locally, nationally, in the world at large? I keep thinking about Kurt Vonnegut’s Welcome to the Monkey House, where someone says, “A sane person to an insane society must appear insane”. Similarly, those who seem to adapt well to crazy situations often become at least a little off base themselves over time. For me, yelling actually seems to help me cope somewhat, though I restrict myself to yelling while driving alone as I don’t want to freak out the cats. A friend recently suggested that all public parks and gardens should include a wailing wall; seems like a brilliant idea to me. Waaahh! Arghhh!

After a spot of therapeutic yelling, my throat feels sore and I’m ready for some soothing. First step, turn off the news. Next, put on the teapot. Pick a gentle, calming brew, perhaps chamomile and rose petals, then add a simple syrup for a bit of sweetness. Rosemary syrup adds an aromatic fragrance and a pleasantly grounding briskness, while ginger syrup is heartwarming and mildly energizing. Lemon syrup is agreeably tart-sweet and mint syrup is mellowing. All add a cheerful note to the teacup, but they’re also lovely in salad dressings and sauces, splashed into a cocktail, or poured over warm cake to infuse it with garden goodness.

Simple Garden Syrups

Simple syrups are indeed simple; traditionally, equal mixtures of cane sugar and water, boiled for a few minutes until the sugar is completely dissolved. Before electricity made freezers common, fruit was canned in simple syrup to preserve their quality and flavor. Simple syrups can be flavored with all sorts of things, from vanilla beans and peppercorns to toasted fennel or coriander seeds. As summer wanes, we can preserve the scents and flavors of herbs and edible flowers like roses, but it’s vital to harvest only organically grown plants, as pesticide residues are definitely not wholesome.

There are hundreds of syrup recipes (especially now that cocktails are popular again), but many are milder than I prefer. It’s a good idea to experiment with small batches while exploring your own preferences. For instance, I like a very strong mint syrup, using a full cup of leaves per cup of water, but you might want to add just a few sprigs. As you play around, make notes so you can replicate your successes and fine tune the not so great results. Be aware too that simple syrups can get moldy, even when refrigerated, so only make what you can use in a few weeks, or freeze them in small amounts (a dedicated ice cube tray is great for this).

Classic Simple Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water

Combine in a saucepan and boil for five minutes. Cool, store in tightly sealed glass jars, and refrigerate for up to a month.

Short Term Syrups

I find full simple syrups to be gaggingly sweet, but reducing the sugar can also reduce shelf life. Even half-strength syrup is still sweeter than I like, but any less sugar and the results can mold too quickly, even in the refrigerator. For best results, label and date each batch, especially if you reduce the sugar content. That said, here are some of my current favorite garden syrups, just in time for cold and flu season (to say nothing of the pandemic).

Rosemary Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1/2 cup stemmed rosemary

Combine sugar and water in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for five minutes. Add rosemary, remove pan from heat, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth, cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Ginger Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup peeled, sliced ginger root

Combine all ingredients in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for 20 minutes. Remove pan from heat, cover and steep for another 15 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth (see below), cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Candied Ginger

Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and spread out the ginger pieces in a single layer. Bake at 225 degrees F until only slightly sticky (25-40 minutes). Roll in sugar and store in a tightly sealed container in the refrigerator or freezer.

Mint Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup mint leaves

Combine sugar and water in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for five minutes. Add mint, remove pan from heat, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth, cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for up to a month. Makes about 2 cups.

Lemon Variations

When I find plump organic lemons in the market, I make simple syrup and add strips of lemon peel to the sugar water before continuing with the recipe below. Boil for five minutes, then dry the strips on a baking rack and pour the remaining syrup through cheesecloth to catch the zest (save those to sprinkle on butter cookies or garnish desserts).

Lemon Syrup

1 cup cane sugar
1 cup water
1 cup fresh lemon juice (about 8 organic lemons)
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
Lemon rind strips (optional)

Combine sugar, water, and lemon strips in a saucepan, bring to a boil, stir until sugar is dissolved, then simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from heat, add lemon juice and zest, cover pan and steep for 20 minutes. Strain through a double layer of cheesecloth (drying strips of peel on a cooling rack), cool and refrigerate in tightly sealed glass jars for at least a month. Makes about 3 cups.

 

Posted in Edible Flowers, Hardy Herbs, Health & Wellbeing, preserving food, Recipes, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living, Vegan Recipes | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Aroma Therapy

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Midnight Snack tomatoes

Stop And Smell The Garden

I spent the weekend weeding, cutting back weary perennials, ripping out spent annuals, trimming back tomatoes to coax the last fruits to ripen, planting garlic and sweet peas. Every time I pulled a long strand of bindweed, yanked out mint, cut a tomato stem, or collected sweet pea seeds, I noticed the scents; sharp, pungent, spicy, sweet, all woke up my nose despite my usual seasonal allergy symptoms. As more information comes in about the way covid19 virus affects people, the loss of smell ranks high as an early indicator. A few weeks ago, a study from the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine found that over 60% of patients experienced loss or reduction of their sense of smell. Because of said allergy symptoms, I’ve freaked out about having the virus several hundred times but swooningly fragrant sweet peas always convince me that so far, I’m ok.

But am I really ok? Perhaps for a given value of ok, sure. I still get up in the morning, even after a rough night. I almost always get dressed. My work gets done, the house is staying pretty clean (full disclosure; our basic cleanliness is the work of our friend Ariceli, not me), even my workspace is astonishingly tidy. However, those last two might be considered early warning signs, since clean and tidy are not usually super high priorities around here. Keeping everything in its place feels like a way to enjoy the beautiful illusion of control. The cleaner my desk is, the more anxious my mind has grown. In my experience, anxiety does grow; it especially feeds on The News, which all too often plunges me into despair for the planet and its people. It’s tempting to blame media madness for fomenting anxiety, but reading through women’s historical accounts, it’s clear that not knowing, waiting endless months or years for news, can be every bit as anxiety producing as knowing too much too fast. I keep wondering if it’s sane to be sane right now.

More Media Fasting

When I’m not too sure about my own sanity, when I can’t sleep, a day or two of media fasting usually gets me back in balance. Since RBG died, I have had to stay away from the news feeds all week just to stop crying. The news is so toxic and so is the very air, if not here in coastal Washington, then in California and Oregon, where wildfires still rage like the people in the streets, like I rage in my heart, wafting out poisonous smoke. For relief, I turned to a favorite science briefs source this morning and read: “Hello Nature readers, Today we hear about ‘apocalyptic’ fires in the world’s largest tropical wetland, explore a comprehensive review of the SARS-CoV-2 vaccine landscape and discover that birds have a brain cortex and can think.” Ack! (That’s not really what I said but you get the picture.)

Call me a wimp but I headed right back out to the garden. (Ok, I read the bird article first and it was really fascinating though, naturally enough, brief.) The dry 2020 summer left a legacy of the most abundant whitefly infestation I’ve ever experienced (of course it did). Since the best remedy is water, I went wild with the hose, spray hitting my kale like a tropical downpour as huge clouds of tiny white insects billowed out like flurries of animated snowflakes. Naturally, I turned the hose on them again and again as more and appeared. Eventually I had drowned enough that they stopped fluttering out from every plant in the garden. I calmed down, reduced the spray velocity and started playing with the rainbows, making them appear and disappear. When I followed one through its arc, it reached from a sagging hydrangea to land in a big tub. News flash! The end of the rainbow is not after all a shimmering pot of gold, but a beautiful Midnight Snack tomato plant, still stalwartly producing ripening tomatoes, dark as night.

Kinda Sorta Sane

Now I’m wondering, are neighborhood chickadees and warblers bitterly disappointed in me for drowning their favorite snack? (Both consider whitefly to be tasty treats and they are very welcome in my garden.) And how does that deep concern rate on the sanity scale? Or maybe that’s an ok thing to focus on; after all, distraction and denial are excellent coping skills, right? In the garden, the sweet peas are sporting a new flush of bloom, thanks to last week’s abundant rains. The blossoms smell as rich as ever, but the vines are lean and lanky now, brittle and nearing the end of their time. As I trim off the dead bits, I start worrying again: How will I keep myself sane when the sweet peas are over and I can’t smell them every day? I pluck a handful of leaves, mingling mint and oregano, rosemary and thyme, sage and the spicy-sweet, licorice flavored foliage of the Drop Shot marigold (aka Irish Lace). Together they make a full bodied living perfume that assures me that my nose will stay awake all through the cold dark winter.

This same handful of leaves can brighten a salad, enliven an omelet and turn a cup of hot water into scented, delicious garden tea. Instead I made a layered Italian pie, alternating ripe tomatoes with fresh herbs, adding bread crumbs to absorb the juices and a little cheese to deepen the flavors. (For a vegan version, use some nutritional yeast instead.) Every summer I make this pie at least a few times and it’s never the same, because the combination of tomatoes and herbs is always different. If you make this celebratory end of summer dish, be sure to sniff deeply before eating it, since our faithful noses teach our tender mouths to taste. Onward, right?

End Of Summer Tomato Pie

1 pie crust (any kind)
1 tablespoon olive or avocado oil
6-8 cups ripe sliced and/or chopped tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon basil salt or your favorite herb salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Up to 1 cup fresh chopped/stemmed herbs*
1 cup fresh bread crumbs
1 cup coarsely grated Pecorino or any hard cheese (optional)

Preheat oven to 425 F. Line a pie dish with the crust, crimp the edges and rub bottom and sides lightly with 1 teaspoon oil. Sprinkle tomatoes with 1/4 teaspoon basil salt, set aside. In a bowl, combine remaining oil and garlic with remaining basil salt and pepper and gently toss with fresh bread crumbs. Fill crust with alternating layers of crumbs, tomatoes, herbs, and cheese (if using), beginning and ending with crumbs. Bake at 425 F for 10 minutes, reduce heat to 350 F and bake until browned and bubbling (30-40 minutes). Serve hot or warm. Serves at least one.

* Suggested herbs include 1/2 cup sliced basil (I used four kinds), 1-2 teaspoons rosemary (stemmed and chopped), 1-2 tablespoons oregano (several kinds mixed), 1-2 teaspoons stemmed thyme (I used English and Lemon thyme), 2-3 tablespoons chives, and 2-3 tablespoons flat Italian parsley, but feel free to make your own combination.

Posted in Care & Feeding, Hardy Herbs, Health & Wellbeing, pests and pesticides, Recipes, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living, Tomatoes, Vegan Recipes | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Seeds Planted In Darkness

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Gutted and bristling with arrows yet still fierce and still alight

Hope Shattered, Hope Renewed

Friday afternoon was the highlight of recent weeks; along with most of the West Coast, the choking smog had put us all in quarantine, which meant that my family couldn’t be physically present at their schools, which meant that enough isolation time had passed that my son decided we could all safely meet again. I spent the day cooking and setting up little projects for my grandkids, including digging out those weird Halloween carving tools and picking up some plump little pumpkins for them. The grandkids arrived and all was joyful noise and confusion as they buzzed around, telling me everything they’ve been doing and excitedly rediscovering their favorite Granny-house playthings. As happy chaos reigned, my son got a phone call and drew a little apart to take it. I saw his face change and he said, “I’m really sorry,” in a very quiet voice. When I could speak privately to him I asked if everything was ok and he told me that Ruth Bader Ginsberg had died.

In years to come, I suspect that we will hold the moment we learned about RBG’s death the way we oldies hold the impact of the news about President Kennedy or Dr. Martin Luther King or Bobby Kennedy being shot. For all of us, the shock probably ranks right up there with election day 2016. For several generations of American women, Justice Ginsberg stood for exactly that: Justice. Justice for women became inextricably linked with her work. Her name became a byword for gender rights, her honored nickname a watchword for women. In recent years, as the current regime stripped away as many human rights as possible, she became RBG, Superhero. Little girls wear RBG Halloween costumes (and I bet we’ll see lots of them this year). In a country where human rights and basic human decency are both under daily attack, RBG took on mythic qualities. She BECAME Justice. She seemed to be the last bastion, the only barrier between the American people and the gleeful, inhumane cruelty and relentless destruction of the current regime and its howling pack of rabid followers.

How To Carry On

That’s a lot to heap on the narrow shoulders of one small woman. In turning RBG into Our Hope, we dumped the burden of fighting on her, confident that she would live forever and carry on despite her increasing illness. She accepted so much of that burden, working repeatedly from her hospital bed, as did John Lewis back in July (which seems like years ago), writing his soulful, moving testament from his death bed, reminding us that it’s OUR life work to keep getting in Good Trouble. Just as John Lewis’s ceaseless fight for civil rights did not die with him, but took on new force, so RBG’s ceaseless fight for gender rights does not end with her death. She planted seeds in our darkness, seeds of hope and seeds of strength and seeds of action.

I was heartened to watch as contributions poured into the campaigns of progressive and liberal candidates across the country. Those who can give money are doing it generously, and already some polls are showing positive effects. Not everyone can give money, but we can all give time and thought and energy. In my small community, dozens, maybe hundreds of people are doubling their efforts to contact swing voters, enroll new voters, write and call to elected officials. On Friday evening, I used Resistbot, the speedy little app 50409 to let my own elected officials know that I want them to do everything in their power to block the movement to replace RBG before the election. To do this, you text or use Messenger, putting 50409 in the address box and put SIGN NTFIEZ in the message box. To see the sample letter, write SAMPLE. To add your name, say YES. On Friday, I was signer #6,273. This morning, 901,580 people have signed. You can use Resistbot for many issues and once it knows your zip code, it also knows the appropriate elected officials to notify. Here’s the link:  https://resist.bot/

Seeds Planted In Darkness

As I’ve been gathering seeds from my garden, I’ve been thinking about the seeds RBG planted in us all. No matter how strong and wise and learned and passionate she was, she could not transform our legal system alone. She could not change our laws alone. She could not reach and teach every parent and school kid alone. Nobody could. So it’s never enough to mandate changes, we have to learn to live into them, and bring others along with us. I’m seeing and hearing the anger in so many of us, anger and bone shaking fear of what may be coming. It makes me realize how much we were counting on one stalwart yet frail old woman to safeguard our rights and our world. No one person can do that. But many people, working in small ways or larger ways, in small groups or huge ones, can create real, lasting change.

The long days of grey, swirling smog made me feel like I was lost in limbo, out of touch with people and place. Smoke triggers the vertigo that has never quite left me in over a year now. When I went out to water the garden, I staggered blind, in hazy silence. No bird song. No insects buzzing. All sounds were muffled except the mournful foghorns. Though the choking smoke is largely gone for me, I hear from friends in Oregon and California, in Idaho and Montana and Colorado, even in far off New England, that the poisonous breath of dying trees and burning homes is still affecting millions of people. Even without the smoke, it’s still foggy here, and today I can hardly see down the street. I can barely see my way to tomorrow. At least, not alone.

What Gives Me Hope

But! Yesterday, I was strongly heartened to hear Joe Biden asking Senators to uphold their constitutional duty, listen to their own conscience, and stand by their colleagues who pledge they will not vote to replace RBG at this fraught time. I admire Biden for reminding the Senate that there’s no need to create another hostile fight and there’s every reason to remember how to work together respectfully. That gives me hope for our country and our people. So overall, I don’t feel hopeless or helpless. For one thing, Friday was also the day that our Senior Center Inclusion Study Group met to talk about Tema Okun’s thoughtful, provocative examination of 15 major aspects of White Supremacy culture. Our expanding group now includes some 60+ people, from seniors to Highschool students and teachers to participants from our local historic museum and even the art museum (which offers amazingly diverse programing). Hearing kids and parents and grandparents talk about how they are looking at their own lives and assumptions through new lenses gives me courage, strength and yes, hope. Hope not that these remarkable, wise, smart, dedicated, courageous kids will fix it all for us but hopeful understanding that we the people can indeed work together to change our understandings by trying on the equity lens, the gender lens, the queer lens, the visually impaired lens.

Hope we place in others can be a burden and a cop out. If I hoped that RBG could keep the current regime at bay without my help, I was forced to realize that my hope was unfounded. If my hope that younger generations will step up keeps me from action, it is unfounded and unfair. I love that one thing that drew the students to our study group was the desire to help us oldies protest effectively in the time of covid19. When some of us were stuck in lockdown facilities and many of us were not ready to mingle in crowds, masked or not, the kids offered to create car caravan protests with us. They are united with us, and so are many of their friends and families. There are sadly all too many reasons to protest right now but right now is what we have to work with. The good news is that we never have to work or walk alone. Onward!

https://www.dismantlingracism.org/white-supremacy-culture.html

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