When my daughter was a toddler, one of her daily joys was wobbling around the house gathering up flotsam and bits and stuffing them in cheap, tacky purses. It was endearing and amusing and a little confusing. Is she shopping?
One day I surmised that this propensity was likely vestigial. Somewhere in Rose’s modern brain was this old storyline about weaving willow baskets and roaming the forest, filling them with berries, seeds, leaves and roots.
So yesterday, when 9-year-old Rose was stripping the lower branches of a neighbor’s plum tree (in typical Rose fashion – five in the box, one in the mouth), it felt like she was answering an old, deep and primal call.
In the Southwest, harvest season is not a gradual, steadily-paced event; it’s more like a tsunami, produce pouring out of trees, vines and gardens, vying for your attention precisely now. Though many of us are over-scheduled, overwhelmed and living in close proximity to grocery stores, performing this ancient, time-limited work of preserving the harvest touches a core human part of us, perhaps the part that spent the past several hundred thousand years procuring food as our primary work.
Jojo Dideles, a self-employed handyman living in Bayfield, has three solar-powered dehydrators running, brimming with peaches, pears and tomatoes. “Last night, I was up until 2 a.m., cutting and loading the dehydrators,” Dideles said, laughing, “but it makes sense to work with what there is, to seize the moment, knowing that this winter I’ll be skiing with homemade, yummy gorp in my pocket.”
Jane Dally, a Durango psychotherapist, finds herself passing up tempting river trips with friends because of, well, apples. Fall music festivals are turned down for deer hunting, stocking the wood pile, gathering peaches and acorns. “It’s that primal sense of connection with doing what’s needed to keep this body alive,” Dally said the night before heading into the woods with a shotgun in search of turkey. “The intimacy of taking a life allows me to feel more gratitude and connection with my food.”
Lynn Coburn grows food, flowers and fruit on two city lots in Durango. She sheepishly admits that she has two freezers running for just her and her husband. She freezes green beans, peas, chard, broccoli, peppers and pesto and cans 50 quarts of tomatoes every fall. In the middle of the endless canning, she said she often asks herself, “Why the hell did I plant all those tomatoes?” But, she admits “that memory fades over the winter when I open those jars. I’d be sorely stressed if I had to go back to grocery store tomatoes.”
I recently did a little mathematical equation to determine how much money I’m saving by growing my own tomatoes and canning 25 pints of roasted tomato sauce and 20 pints of salsa, both of which are indispensable in my kitchen. In this equation, it’s difficult to determine whether to add or subtract money for the work of growing, cooking and canning, for while each hour is time-consuming labor, it’s some of the most satisfying work I do.
For most zealous harvesters, it’s not exactly about saving money. Taking time to pluck mushrooms from forest floors or pick fruit from backyard trees puts us in touch with the natural cycles of the seasons and the offerings of our particular region. “It feels like a gift to be able to harvest and preserve the bounty,” Dally said.
Is it possible that participating in the annual harvest, which includes being outside and active, connected to the seasons, as well as producing something tangible and valuable, combats against 21st-century malaise, or at least offers a boost through the cold, dark winter?
Mikel Love, registered dietitian and owner of Peak Wellness and Nutrition says that in winter she often opens her pantry just to gaze at all the colorful jars of produce. “Preserving food gives me a lot of security.”
And in contrast to her often circuitous work as a mother to two children, Love said, “I like that when pressing cider or canning tomatoes, there is a clear beginning, middle and end.” Preserving the harvest “fulfills some human instinct,” she said. “It’s practical, yet a form of art.”
This October, I’ll stand at the stove stirring fragrant salsa, watching the zippy green of the cilantro merge peaceably with the red ocean of tomatoes. Later, I’ll pack fat little cucumber submarines into half gallon jars. I can wave the banners of frugality, sustainability and local foods, however, it seems this food preservation obsession springs less from any philosophy than from the irrepressible fingers of my very DNA reaching for a knife when presented with a basket of plums.
And while all this food preservation isn’t exactly money in the bank, it’s more likely to appreciate by January than any other investment that I know of.
Yield: Makes approx 2 quarts
START TO FINISH: 1 hour, 20 minutes
Ingredients:8-10 pounds tomatoes (romas are preferable)1 onion, sliced4-8 whole cloves garlic2 teaspoon salt8 tbsp fresh herbs or 2 tbsp dried herbs (basil, oregano, thyme)1/3 - ½ cup coconut oil or high-quality olive oilMethod:Preheat the oven to 375 F.
Cut the tomatoes in half and place cut side down on cookie sheet in a single layer.
Toss onions, garlic, salt, and herbs on top of tomatoes and drizzle with oil. Or, you can roast tomatoes and onions in separate cookie sheets.
Roast for one hour or until the tomatoes shrivel and collapse and their juices start pooling in the bottom of the baking dish.
Process the mixture with an immersion blender or food processor until smooth. Removing seeds and skins is unnecessary.
To preserve:Because of the oil, this roasted tomato sauce can only be pressure canned, not water-bath canned. It also freezes well.
Yield: Makes about 3-4 pints
Note: Measurements can be approximate.
Ingredients:1/3 cup olive oil1 pound onions, diced about 1/3-inch thick2 pounds carrots, sliced ¼-inch thick½ pound jalapenos, stemmed and sliced into rings1-2 cloves of garlic per jar, peeled4 tablespoons fresh oregano or 1 teaspoon dried oreganoFor the brine:3 cups apple cider or white vinegar1 cup water2 tablespoons salt1 tablespoon sugar (optional)Method:Heat the oil in a heavy pot or deep skillet and add the onions. Cook them over low heat until they are just starting to go translucent, then add the carrots, jalapenos, and oregano, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes.
Add the brine ingredients, raise the heat, and bring the pot to a boil and cook for approximately ten minutes, or until carrots become slightly tender.
Escabeche will keep in a jar in the fridge for 2-3 months. If water-bath canning, follow instructions for jar size and altitude.
Rachel Turiel is a Durango Herald columnist, managing editor of Edible Southwest Colorado Magazine and mother to two children who tolerate her zealous and ongoing culinary experiments. She blogs about growing food and a family at 6512 feet at http://6512andgrowing.com.
