Stocking the Crock

At around 6:00 last night, as the sun was slipping down behind the big cottonwoods, the temperature here at the farm had dropped to the upper 40s.  The sky was clear and the winds were calm.  I looked out at the gardens, and I thought, Ruh-roh.  I’d seen a forecasted low of 38, and down here in the valley you can usually subtract a few degrees from that.  Indeed, such are the microclimates in our hilly section of Dunn County, Wisconsin, that during the lovely cool weather of August, when we were seeing lows in the low 40s, our friend Tina, who lives two miles away, but at the top of a tall hill, reported overnight temps in the mid-50s.  And that is why Tina has apples this year, and we don’t.  So it goes.

I briefly considered a hurried harvest.  Then I said, Aw, skip it.  If it’s gonna freeze on September 13, it’s gonna freeze.  We’ve had frost at Bide-A-Wee as early as August 25, so it wasn’t out of the question by any means.  But as I made some dinner preparations and the sky grew darker, the thermometer’s needle stayed put.  Maybe it was stuck.  I gave it the benefit of the doubt, and decided that we would probably be all right.  I put on some wool socks, poured myself a drink, and went out to sit by the fire and listen for the barred owls and coyotes.

6:30 this morning I got up and peeked out at the basil in a planter on the deck.  It was green and perky.  Basil, cucumbers, and green beans are the tenderest of crops, in my experience, indicator species in that regard, if you will.  If the basil was okay, the rest would be fine.  There wasn’t even frost on the car tops, just a heavy dew.  Now the next few days look clear of frost danger, but it is the middle of September, and the end is near.  So as the sun warmed the yard on this splendid early fall morning, I made a tour of the gardens, picked a basketful of prime produce, and set about filling my crock.  A ferment like this is always a bit of an experiment: I have never fermented summer squash or green tomatoes, for instance, though  Sandor Katz says they work well in a mixed crock.  Chiles, beans, cabbage, and kale I have fermented many times with good results.

Rinse everything well, especially the kale:  all those attractive crenellations are custom-made for catching dust, and that stuff has been standing out there near the crossroads for months.

I stripped the kale from the stems, chopped it roughly, and massaged it with salt, mainly to get the volume down and make more room in the crock.

These little red cabbages were ones I thinned from my over-planted cabbage patch.  These too required careful cleaning, as it turns out some slugs were still in residence there.  Hate slugs, absolutely hate ‘em.  I cut these into quarters or sixths.  I’m not sure why the variation; just a whim.

Four kinds of chiles went in:  Anaheim, Serrano, jalapeno, and cayenne.  The Serrano were pretty hot, the cayenne slightly so, the anaheims and jalapenos, barely.  I took out the seeds, more for aesthetics than anything else, but left most of the veins for added heat.

For flavor I added a red onion and a few cloves of garlic—I’ll probably tuck in a few more cloves of garlic in a few days, but our kitchen supply was running low.

I placed a spongy bed of kale at the bottom, garlic, chilies, and onion on top of that, then built it up from smaller to larger pieces:  beans, green tomatoes, finally cabbage.  One of my secret talents in life is the ability to gauge volume with uncanny accuracy.  For example, when I go to the co-op for bulk goods, I nearly always buy just the right amount to fill the pantry jar to within a half-inch of the top.  So, were I a super hero, I would be Volu-Man, and I would be able to help humanity to, uh…tell how much stuff will fit in a certain container.  Okay, it’s not a cure for cancer, but it’s something….  Anyway, you see my extraordinary skill in evidence here:  

Working out in the yard on this absolutely splendid morning was pleasant duty, indeed.  The colors and textures of the vegetables in that clear northern light made a visual feast that has me anticipating the culinary feasts ahead even more.  

When the crock was well packed I took it inside and added brine consisting of 6 tablespoons (3/8 cup or about 90 grams) of sea salt dissolved in a half gallon of warm water.  I have a little plate that fits exactly inside the mouth of my crock, water-filled measuring cup atop that to weight it down.  In the next couple of days the contents should compact significantly, and then I can add a few more vegetables if I want to.

Fermented vegetables are delightful chopped as hot dog or sandwich garnish, for sure, but at our house their main role is as soup base.  The tangy, crunchy vegetables take up so much flavor in the process of fermentation, they add a remarkable freshness to our winter soups.  I think of these as borscht variations, though they may not contain beets.  And that reminds me that there are still plenty of beets out in the garden, and I should check on how my late planting of golden beets is coming along.

It is a bounteous time, to be sure, and while the end is near for the cold-sensitive crops, it’s only after a couple of good frosts that the hardier vegetables like kale, cabbage, Brussels sprouts, and turnips really come into their prime.  Carrots are sweeter after a frost.  Lettuce can take a good bit of chill, too.  There is plenty of good eating ahead.

And now I'm curious to know, as I'm certain many of you reading this are avid fermenters:  What's in your crock?  What sorts of things have you had success fermenting, and which ones haven't work out as well?  Please do tell.  And happy fermenting to all.

Text and photos copyright 2012 by Brett Laidlaw

Stoked About My Crock (and about a lot of other things, too, though winter will not loose its icy grip, and there's a lot of crappy stuff going on...)

...still, there are encouraging signs, and this weekend past at Bide-A-Wee was full of all the things that make us love west central Wisconsin:

* A foraging outing to a sweet little spring near the cabin, which showed that the watercress is still winter-scorched but coming along, starting to green up, just needing a few days of warmth and sun to push into the air and thrive. About that time the snow will melt along sandy stream banks, and we'll see stinging nettles start to pop.

* Great food, including a delightful enchilada lunch at Darlene's Corner Cupboard, a gem of a little restaurant in Boyceville; and dinners of maple-glazed bacon on spaetzle with greens and Haggis-roasted sweet potatoes, and simmered supper of beef shanks and tasty local root vegetables.

* Appetite-building treks around the land on foot, skis, and snowshoes.

* Fun & invigorating activities with other humans: A full day at the Hay River Transition Initiative's Traditional and Green Skills event; a field trip to Downsville for pottery and tea; and lovely visits with neighbors, some of them new acquaintances as of last weekend.

The Hay River Transition Initiative event was extremely enjoyable, enlightening, inspiring. This was the inaugural Traditional and Green Skills Event, and I'd say that everyone involved can count it a singular success. When I looked at the roster of classes--everything from solar hot water systems to rag rug making to wind power, home cheese making, horse hoof maintenance, blues harmonica--around 25 different classes in three sessions, I sort of wondered if everyone involved with the group would be occupied teaching classes, and no one left to attend them. That turned out not to be the case--while there was preregistration for the event, the walk-in crowd was huge. There must have been 200-plus people packed into the cafeteria at Prairie Farm High School once everyone had arrived. All my classes--cheese making, backyard chicken and rabbit raising, solar food dehydrators--were full up, and Mary reported the same from hers--the solar hot water and wind power, and blues harmonica.

With only 50 minutes per class, there wasn't time for in-depth detail, but all my classes provided compelling introductions. Beyond that, it was just incredibly heartening to see such a large and diverse group of people gathered for an event like this--from recent back-to-the-landers, CSA farmers, long-established transplants, and true "locals" of all ages (those names we see over and over in Hay River Review articles, keeping the 4-H going, the pep squad, the Ridgeland Fair, the volunteer fire department).

From the group's website, the goal of a transition initiative is "to bring people together to plan for changes in our future, rather than waiting for a crisis. The challenges of peak oil, climate change, and economic instability can be better met by building a positive local response." Beyond those quite pragmatic goals, the spirit of this day seemed to be one of working in a really positive way to make connections that will strengthen the community, carry forward a sense of a vibrant and sustainable rural life along with the traditional skills that interest so many people these days.

And get this: the fee for the whole day, including three classes, coffee and snacks in the morning, and lunch, was a whopping $6 per person. We offered up a twenty and said keep the change. You can't even get into a half-assed movie in town for $6.

That was Saturday, and the buzz we caught from the event kept us going through the weekend. Sunday we made a little road trip south, looking for a honey pot. We knew of a potter in the town of Downsville, south of Menomonie on the Red Cedar River. John Thomas is the potter, and with Kathy Ruggles he presides over a charming collection of buildings--their house, the pottery workshop, kiln shed, a small retail shop, and a recently renovated octagonal schoolhouse, which is now the Oasis events center for Simply Dunn . (John referred to this little hamlet as "my edifice complex.") So we got a tour of the place, a cup of tea, and a slide show of photographs from the demonstrations in Madison--John and Kathy are friends of our friends and neighbors Don Roberts and Joni Cash (aka Otter Creek Growers). And we bought a teapot, a honey pot, and most exciting, with its prospect of wonderful fermented things not yet born, this awesome crock.

I am absolutely ready to get seeds started, till up the garden, plant, mulch, harvest, feast and preserve. Of course, we will first have to get rid of this deep snow pack that keeps hanging around. In the meantime, a weekend like that helps enormously in keeping one's spirits up. My crock is speaking to me, saying Soon, very soon, it's bound to come soon....

The crock holds about five quarts. I'm thinking a mixed-veg ferment would be a good way to break it in this summer.



Text and photos copyright 2011 by Brett Laidlaw