It really is.
I had a friend visit Plume Gables for a week and it seemed like the time flew past faster than I could blink. Amber is 8 months pregnant but it didn’t stop her from helping me out at the homestead. She must be from pioneer stock.
She harvested veggies for me, helped me can a surplus of jams and jellies. We zipped zucchinis through my food processor (sigh…love) and stocked my freezer with a heavenly host of food stores. I drove her to the airport yesterday morning at a truly ungodly hour and spent the rest of yesterday and today:
1. Cleaning.
2. Yardworking.
3. Answering emails and convos (still working on that).
4. Running around town buying groceries.
5. Realizing that there’s hardly anything as nice as buying really pretty bras for half the original price at Victoria’s Secret (actually, there are a LOT of things nicer than that, but in the moment, it felt quite nice).
6. Dealing with the harvest.
7. Trying to figure out what to do for RW’s 30th birthday on October 8th (I DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW IF HE’LL BE HOME FOR IT SINCE HIS CREW WAS SENT TO OREGON THIS WEEK). Any ideas?
As usual, everything has ripened all at once (including that plump, red Penelope). If you garden, I’m sure you’ll bear witness to the fact that September is a mad rush to deal with all the fruit, vegetables and other things that turn red, purple, green, orange or yellow all at once. I’m eating tomatoes faster than I thought humanly possible. I spent last night and this morning dealing with my beets:
Sort according to size.
Boil for a half hour.
Quench in cold water.
Skin should slough off easily.
Remove ends, chop, grate or slice
and freeze.
Of course, I made sure I made a COUPLE of treats for you last week. This is one of them:
At any rate, I need to take Farley up into the hills. There’s a thick cloak of smoke over Pocatello, Utah is burning and sending her grey air up to us on the tail of a brisk wind with a cackle and smirk (thanks Utah). I’m going to claw my way through it for 8 miles. Up into the spruce stands and through the aspen groves in their gentle yellow. I won’t stop to sneeze at the sage and as I cover ground, fast, the pheasant will burst out of the brittle grass at my feet and I won’t know time.
I hope your Saturday has been happily squandered
and if you’re dealing with your beets, you’re not the only one with purple hands!
Love,
Jillian Susan
