Although snow was still falling and blowing all morning on the 27th, the blowing showed a great deal more enthusiasm. No way to start shoveling much before noon, by which time the snow was what one might call “formerly fluffy.” It wasn’t heavy, exactly, compared to some snows I’ve hefted in my time, but it was already closer to igloo material than the original thistledown.

And there was a lot of it, so both of us were out there for hours. Bill started by clearing a path around the greenhouse and down to the bird feeder

The greenhouse from inside (those shelves are 4 feet off the floor)

First chunk of first south window cleared

Birds, feeding

And that was the easy part. Next came

The head of the driveway where as usual there was an enormous wall of salt hardened sludge shoved at us by the town plows

The path to the shed where we keep the bird seed

The path from the street to the front door

And of course the parking area, 40 x 100 feet, roughly 16 inches deep. Except for the wind-driven 5 foot dune banked up against the barn.

The view from our back door

So it looked to me like taking an angled path through the shallower stuff would get us to the barn door more quickly and that’s where I started while Bill finished the driveway to the car.

I became absorbed in the task

and didn’t notice Bill had come back around the corner and decided to take the short, deep route

Even when he’s exhausted, he’s fast, so I guess I shouldn’t complain, and I did hear him shout “I’ll finish that for you.”

Moral of the story: look up from time to time. It’s beautiful and you might learn something.

These aren’t they, but next year...

I’m not sure I’m really all that worried about it. Between the bacon and the barbeque we’re no doubt consuming enough carcinogenic material to make it a bit bogus to get all het up about the lids on the catsup – especially since after the jars are opened I  switch to one of my favorite products: plastic reusable caps like the one on the strawberry jam (reasonably easy to find although not, for reasons that elude me, available wherever canning supplies are sold).

Where was I?

About to say something about “better safe,” no doubt. BPA – free canning supplies do exist.

And now that I know about them, our next batch of lids and rings will come from Tattler company. Lids and rings are all we need, alas, thanks to the lifetime supply of perfectly good jars we bought for use as wine glasses at a garden party.

I say “alas” because otherwise I’d probably go for the far handsomer models from Weck, even though their plastic snap-on lids fit fewer other jars; the rings are the old-fashioned, single use sort, and the whole assemblage is a bit pricier than standard jars.

So what? It’s not a lot more if you’re starting from scratch and have to buy jars anyway. Given the time and love invested (to say nothing of having to look at the damn things sitting expectantly on the shelf), home-canned pickles and preserves deserve the prettiest presentation consistent with food safety.

(Home canned string beans not so much; but I don’t know anyone who is still putting up major amounts of unseasoned produce to use a full jar at a time in everyday meals.)

Photo note: The canned goods lined up at the last and very dark it’s raining minute so this would have an illustration are all pretty readable except maybe the little jar of Brandywine Tomato paste.

BPA avoidance notes:

1. We don’t have any children in the house. Keeping the stuff away from them seems well worth any hassle and expense.

2. I realize the reusable screw-on lids may themselves be loaded with BPA and have a call in to the manufacturer about it. Update when the call is returned.

Update, 10/28/10: no BPA in the lids, which are available online from Ball if you strike out locally.

Bill built the Maine oven so the process could be filmed, so in a way I can thank The Three Thousand Mile Garden for that one. But that one never would have happened if the New York one hadn’t came first, and although Bill did of course build it the ultimate thanks there should probably go to his childhood.

There were several outdoor bread ovens in the neighborhood where he grew up, including one at his grandmother’s place. He never forgot the bread –  or the fact that the ovens were home built – so when I started making wistful noises about how nice it would be to have one they fell on receptive ears.

Next thing to be thankful for: he’s a man of action. And that goes not just for building the ovens but also for providing instructions. You too can have one of these things, not without a bit of work and not instantly, needless to say, but very very inexpensively and it ain’t rocket science, either. Here’s his step by step how-to:

THE OUTDOOR BREAD OVEN

story and pictures by Bill Bakaitis

For a number of years now, ever since The Three Thousand Mile Garden TV series aired, we have received a steady stream of requests for assistance/plans/advice for building an outdoor bread oven similar to the one constructed for that series. The latest request, from a school in Australia, prompted me to post this commentary.
I know it is not time for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere to begin construction, but we can dream on and plan for the spring, while the Australian crew begins work now. In the plans which follow the first four or five steps can actually be done now, in winter, well in advance of that burst of construction that comes with spring.
Our two ovens, the first in New York, and the second in Maine, were inspired by reading The Bread Ovens of Quebec*, by Lise Boily and Jean-Francois Blanchette. Although the Italian side of my family, and the community in which they were immersed, made and used several outdoor ovens, these were all made of stacked paving brick and mortar.  That tradition quickly fell into eclipse as the American-born children of my mother’s generation found the glory of ready-made, plastic-wrapped, balloon-bread.  Why not? It Builds Bodies Twelve Ways proclaimed the wrapper. It was quick and easy to buy, to eat, to forget. Sort of soft in the mouth and in the mind, an authentic American product of the 1950′s.

I was too young to fully understand how those Italian bread ovens were constructed and Uncle Richard, my mother’s brother could find only one person, Angelo Don Francisco, who recalled how it was done. His sketchy instructions, however, were no match for the weighty anthropological reconstruction of the French Canadian ovens described by Boily and Blanchette.  It is a text I highly recommend. All of our plans and techniques were highly influenced by their research.
Here is how we did it.

HOW TO BUILD A CLAY/BRICK OUTDOOR OVEN

1. DIAGRAM YOUR OVEN:

Decide upon the size and shape of your oven. From the photographs on p. 69 of the Boily/Blanchette text, a simple scaling grid overlay set for the length you decide upon will give the height of the oven and its position at apex. The formula and graph on pp. 38 and 39 will give the height of the door opening relative to the height.  From p. 48 the length to width ratio of the base can be determined, and by subtracting the 10″ thickness of the clay ‘loaves’ which will make the side walls of the oven the inner size of the oven will result.

Plans for the New York Oven, as extrapolated from Boily/Blanchette typological considerations (p 38-39) overlaid onto Diagram, p 69.

Both of our ovens closely followed those dimensions used in the construction of the oven constructed for Boily text.

The base (see step 2 below) is 75″ X 47″ OD. The inner height of dome at apex is 32″, and the outer dimension (w 5″clay wall above) is 37″. The height of our door opening is 20″; the width of the door opening at its base is also 20″.  This gives a theoretical working interior of 27″X55″ (24.5 sq ft) although the Maine oven turned out to be substantially larger than the first one we made in NY.

This size oven will bake @ 10 round loaves plus 4- 8 baguettes of bread, along with a small pizza or two in one baking, followed by a few pies and slow cooked beets, tomatoes or other vegetables using only the residual heat of the firing. It is the long heat storage time of the clay mass which makes all of this possible.

If this oven is too large for your needs, you will want to reduce the dimensions by following the ratios arrived at by the research team. Leslie will describe various baking processes and techniques in a separate post.

2a. DECIDE UPON THE LOCATION OF YOUR OVEN:

It should be close enough to the kitchen to be convenient for watching the fires, transporting the raised loaves into the oven and the baked loaves into the house, as well as loading the oven with all of the subsidiary items to be baked: pies, roasts, root crops and the pans of ripe tomatoes to be put up. At the same time, consider the fire hazards and avoid placing the oven next to a combustible structure. You will see that we realized the importance of safety AFTER we built the New York oven. Over two tons of stone, mortar, and clay are impossible to move, and we need to be especially mindful of fire hazards when we use this oven, which places limits on the times we can safely use it.

2b. BUILD A BASE OF STONE, MORTAR, SAND AND RUBBLE:

It should be as long and wide as your plans dictate and end up being knee to thigh high so as to make the heavy work of tending the fires and baking the bread easy.  Ours was made of stone and matter that we gathered from our yard and garden.  I swept the road before the road crew in the spring for much of the sand and gravel, and some stone I gathered from road cuts in the area.

3. POUR A CEMENT HEARTH:

3a. Lay a pair of full dimension 2×4′s (such as the rough cut stuff found at sawmills) on edge across the top of the base during the last round of leveling. These will extend out beyond the side of the base and will become the support for the roof. If you can only find lumberyard milled material, it may be wise to double up or go with 4×4′s.

3b. Over these construct a 2X4 frame around the perimeter of the base. This will correspond to your OD measurements. However, if you extend the 2X4′s a foot to the front of your base you will be able to use these arms as a foundation for a removable apron, useful for staging the loaves after the fire has died down and the coals have been raked.

Fill this void with cement, imbedding the metal door frame 2 ” into the cement. For good measure I placed a few bolts through the perimeter 2X4′s into the inner void, to be firmly affixed when the cement was poured. In this way they become permanent redundant construction members able to be used in the future if need be.

3c. Our metal door opening frames were bent at a local foundry from stock 6″ X 3/16″ flat AR metal.  Remember to add a 4″ lip on both ends and to have the height 22″ (for a 20″ opening) since it will be set 2″ deep into the cement.

All of the above  can be done this fall and winter preceding the spring work with the sapling armature and clay. Winter is also a good time to locate and test the clay for step 5.

4. BEND A FRAME OF SAPLINGS INTO THE SHAPE OF AN IGLOO CAGE:

4a. With magic marker trace out the inner dimensions of your oven; mark the apex point.

4b. Nail together some scrap lumber to hold the saplings,

4c. Gather together a few dozen flexible saplings .5 to 1.5″ in diameter. Apple, Maple, Viburnum, and Alder are all good. Gather more than you think you will need. Then begin the bending, shaping and wiring using the thickest saplings to set the major meridians. I used electric fence wire or twine as needed.

4d. As the shape comes into being you can progress to smaller and smaller twigs. To my eye this armature is the most beautiful part of the oven, and yet it is there to be sacrificed in the first fire. Photos alone will save this work.

4e. Cover the armature with old sheets. We learned that by doing this the resulting interior of the oven is both smoother and larger.

5. OBTAIN YOUR MARINE CLAY: Locate and test your clay. In NY we used some from the east bank of the Hudson River. In Maine a local farmer brought us a load. Before you even bring the clay to your site, however, you will want to test a small loaf by firing it in a bucket of burning sawdust. The first site I came upon made a great looking brick, but it crumbled at the first touch

6. MAKE YOUR CLAY LOAVES AND BUILD UP THE OVEN WALLS.

During this process it is VERY important to wear a pair of tough rubber gloves. Otherwise the clay, which has a high pH, will work its way under your fingernails and into your skin causing puckering, chapping, and painful lesions. Take it from me, and I ain’t tender.

6a. Mix marine clay with sand and earth into a doughy paste. Children tromping in a mixing trough are traditional, but a rototiller works better. As it is used it will chew up a small depression in the ground into which clay, sand, and water can be added to the rototilled earth making a superb mixture. The object is to lighten the clay and make it sticky.

6b. Bind the clay with hay or straw into “loaves/bricks” of about 20-40 pounds each. Clay is incredibly heavy, even after lightening it with sand and earth. The purpose of the straw is twofold: it binds and lightens the bricks, making them easier to work with, and more importantly creates a myriad of air passages that allow steam to escape during the firing process. Without these passages the bricks will explode. You can easily see why the early brick making industry was located near places where both salt hay and marine clay were available. Haverstraw Bay, for example, is derived from “Paver straw”.

6c. Set the wet loaves of clay over the frame, molding them together. The walls should be 10″ thick at the base gradually thinning to 5″ over the top of the oven. It helps to lay in a course of reinforcing chicken wire over the first few courses above the metal door opening as this area expands under use, the heat causing cracks. We did not know to do this on the NY oven and a permanent crack now exists over the arch. The second oven, in Maine, incorporated the chicken wire reinforcement and has only two hairline cracks to the left and right of the arch, a result of better distributing the stress of expansion.

6d. I placed a single removable plug into first course at the rear of the oven so that I could use this as an auxiliary air intake if needed. A threaded pipe with end cap could also be used.

6e. Allow the clay to dry for a month, loosely covered to protect  from the weather until the roof is built. Patch any cracks as they appear.

7. ROOF YOUR OVEN TO PROTECT IT FROM THE WEATHER:

Once fired, the clay will become brick on the inside, but the outside will remain clay and must be protected from weathering. We originally used the board and batten method used in Quebec, but now (16 years later) are having the wood replaced by corrugated metal roofing, which is both fire proof and rot-resistant. For either method use the 2X4′s (3a above) as the platform. They run crosswise under the hearth. Lengthwise over these attach another set of 2×4′s and then use these as the base onto which the roof is supported.  Since some rot appeared in this secondary set over the years, I used pressure treated material this year as a support for the metal roof.

8. BURN OUT THE ARMATURE, FIRE THE BRICK:

At the end of the drying period, a series of small fires inside will burn out the wooden cage and turn the clay into brick.  These first fires will demonstrate the efficiency of the door to dome ratio planned in step 1. A bed of fire brick may be added above the cement floor. For us, they seem to work better than the naked cement.

9. MAKE A DOOR:

Now that all the wood is burned out the clean sweep of the metal door frame provides a perfect template for constructing your door. I used a plywood core with aluminum flashing on the inside, boards on the outside and wooden handles.  It is only put in place after the fire dies down and the coals are spread out to temper the held heat, and also during the baking process itself, so it will never see direct flame.

10. TO BAKE:

10a. Build 2 fires, 1/2 hour apart. Build the first fire in front and then push it to the rear as wood for the second fire is added. If one large fire is laid, flames will be more likely to shoot out the front and ignite the A-Frame roof.  To be safe, we keep a fully charged garden hose at the ready as we fire the oven. When the fire dies down spread the coals evenly over the entire surface of the hearth.

10b. Rake out the coals; we use a hoe to scrape them into a metal wheelbarrow or bucket. Use a wet mop to swab out the hearth.

10c. The bread is laid directly on the hearth, the door closed and the held heat of the brick does the baking:  10 minutes for pizza; 20 minutes for small loaves; 30-45 minutes for large loaves.

compare to the New York walls Celia's inspecting

More on the baking techniques, some tested recipes, oven maintenance tricks, etc. in future posts.

The Boily/Blanchette text has a much more detailed description of the construction of the oven. You will want to read it for the more complete process, particularly if you are a guy like me who assumes the y chromosome is a natural problem solving device.

*Note: After Bill put in the link for buying the  book, we learned it was a lot rarer  - and a lot more expensive! – than we realized. If you don’t mind downloading lots of pdf files, you can get it free online from the Canadian Museum of Civilization.

Addendum: Using Salt in the Clay

We did not add any salt to the clay we used in either of our ovens. The NY clay (pictured in the back of the truck in step 5 above) was used almost as soon as it came out of the ground.  It was blue-gray, sticky and eminently moldable.

We did not witness the digging up of the Maine clay so cannot comment on how long it had been out of the ground, but it arrived in a sticky moldable condition. Nearby ‘marine clay’ in situ looked just like the NY clay.

In neither case did we “weather the clay first” as Boily and Blanchette describe.  Since they refer to the excavation of French Canadian clay from intertidal areas one can assume it was also ‘marine clay’. This may mean it contains some sea salt, but if so their ‘weathering’ of the clay would seem to allow the natural rains to wash away any unbound salt. Dunno!

Boily and Blanchette refer to the addition of salt “perhaps to harden [the clay] and make the mixture waterproof” (page 15) and indicate that this was more common to the Gaspé Peninsula. Checking various atlases I see that the Gaspé is primarily a rocky upland area where the Appalachian Mountains meet the Laurentians and where the glacial clay deposits are likely to differ from the lowland  clays of the St. Lawrence River Valley and the broad Coastal Plain.

Elsewhere in the text (page 22) they say that sometimes the dome is protected with a layer of chalk or mortar. They appear not to mention the use of additional salt in the construction of the oven they documented.(page 47 following).

Although potters sometimes use salt to produce a glaze on their pottery, the heat of these bread ovens stays mostly inside the ovens. Ours have never produced enough heat to vitrify the outside surface, so whatever protective hardening the salt might produce, it probably wouldn’t be in the form of a glaze.*

If you want to try using salt it would be wise to test proportions in advance. Make two test bricks of approximately equal volume, mix a roughly measured amount of salt into one and leave the other au natural. Bake both in the sawdust bucket (step #5 above) to see if there is any difference.

*Salt-glazing involves throwing 10 to 15 pounds of salt or a salt/water mixture into the kiln during the final phase of firing.  At temperatures of 1,100 degrees or more, hydrogen chloride is produced. When the hydrogen chloride bonds with steam or atmospheric water vapor, it becomes hydrochloric acid gas. The acid then interacts with the clay to produce a glaze.  Truthfully, I would rather eat white bread than to breathe Hydrochloric acid vapor!

Photos of Bill building the oven by Leslie

The Christmas cactus, 12/25/08

As you can tell from its less than splendid shape, I have mixed feelings about it. Or not mixed, really, since feelings are the only reason we keep the thing. It was a gift from our dear friend Peter’s mother. After she died we kept it for him, and now that he’s gone too we keep it for him all the more. Plus it’s the plant froggy came in on (Tree frog. Size of a quarter. Adorable. Discovered in midwinter, it lived free in the greenhouse until spring).

So the feelings are fine. It’s the rational part that makes me wish for a harder heart; even the most gorgeous Christmas cactus is a plant I can live without.

They may not be true cacti (they’re tropical epiphytes) but they have the same hard-shelled rigidity, and although the branch drape can be pretty graceful it isn’t graceful prettily – at least not in my opinion. There’s a sort of gaudy impressiveness to the humongous ones, big as Volkswagons, that are competitive staples at spring flower shows. But it’s the impressiveness of Las Vegas, not something you’d want in the living room.

Saying this I stand back and take cover, knowing that Christmas cacti are hugely popular – they were among the most asked about plants in my years at the Times Q&A. On the other hand, many of the questioners did mention that their Cc.’s came from neighbors, friends or beloved relatives, so we might actually be discussing the botanical equivalent of fruitcake.

Heaven knows they’re equally indestructible. Ours, for instance, gets left to its own devices all summer while we’re in Maine. It stays behind in the Hudson Valley getting by on rainfall, a product of which there is usually too little interspersed with too much. And although it needs well-drained, very porous soil – aka reasonably frequent repotting – it has routinely been left to languish unrefreshed until it finally looks so unhealthy I can no longer ignore it.

On the good side, my casual attitude means it doesn’t suffer from overfeeding. We are careful to leave it out as long as possible in fall – a good spate of 40 degree nights does a lot to make it feel like flowering. And we have a cool side porch where it can spend the long nights in darkness needed for successful bud set.

Christmas cactus with survivor buds

But then we bring it in and put it in the upstairs hall, one of the coolest spots we’ve got but not cool enough to prevent substantial bud drop. S’ok; a sprinkling of those lurid flowers is plenty.

Oh, about those hours of darkness: expert advice demands anywhere from 12 to 17 of them, for anywhere from 3 to 6 weeks. Our plant does fine with about 13 hours for 5 weeks or so, and those hours aren’t totally dark – the neighbors’ porch lights shine through trees outside and the light from Bill’s office comes (dimly) through the curtained window in the door. Cold, though. By the time the Cc takes up residence we’re using that porch as a refrigerator.

Window surface?

You betcha. This is not about housekeeping points; cleaner they are, the better for the plants. It’s amazing how much light can be blocked by even a light coating of dust.

Bill clowning around with the equipment. ( Myself I wouldn't put the anti-static glasscloth in my mouth. But I would have it in hand - very useful)

It’s also nice to have someone who can do the heavier lifting.

the invaluable Kristi Niedermann's back - yes grammarians, I mean both of them.

The awkward, @ 15 pound pot is about at the height of my chin. I could have dealt with it by myself but I’m glad I didn’t have to.

Kristi and begonia, front view

That’s a Begonia fuchsiodes, named for the drooping, fuchsialike flowers.

begonia fuchsioides in red. It also comes in pink.

Those flowers kept coming all summer and were coming still last month. So in spite of the usual vows to use tropical plants as exotic annuals and let them die at frost, I put it in the car and hauled it back down to the Hudson Valley house.

No knowing whether it will continue to thrive. Glasshouse Works says it doesn’t like being moved around, but this pot of them (there are 3 in there) has already done a great deal of traveling.

I bought them in 4 inch pots at Greystone Greenhouses, in Sharon, Connecticut, whose owner could probably make anything grow.

They sat under our giant spruce for a couple of weeks, then all 3 plants got wedged into one pot for instant impressiveness, crowding not mattering because they were to die at end of summer.

Then into the car and up to Maine, then all summer in the South facing but mostly shaded windowbox. Another car ride and sojourn under the spruce and right now they’re eating the entire dining room window.

the begonia, installed

So far so good. Stay tuned.

Oh, about bringing the houseplants back in. Most important thing already said here back in 2005:

“This is a good time to cast a cold eye on your houseplants and ask: would I buy this thing if I were browsing at the nursery? Would I buy it if it were on sale? Would I pick it up if it were sitting on the curb with a “free” sign around its neck? You know what to do if all answers are no.”

But do as I say, please, not as I do. The unlovely, easily replaceable with a much nicer one ( if I even wanted one, which I don’t ) Christmas cactus we got from the long dead mother of an old friend who has also left us is a constant reminder that emotional investment in plants often leads to aesthetic judgments that are – how shall I say it? –not up to one’s usual standards.

Begonia closeup and dining room picture were taken by Bill Bakaitis, who is remembering not to water it too often.

When firewood suppliers who sell by the cord or truckload say they’re selling dry  wood, they mean the trees were cut down some time ago. They do not mean the wood was fitted: cut to length and split, more than about 5 minutes before it went on the truck. So if you want firewood dry enough to ignite easily and burn cleanly next winter, now is the time to order it and get it stacked out of the weather.  

In the house:

* great for cleaning narrow-necked bottles and vases. Crush a shell, working it between your fingers so the bits aren’t stuck together. Stuff it into the bottle, add a small amount of very hot water and swish/shake vigorously until all looks clean. Pour out, catching the shell in a strainer in case you missed a spot and have to shove it back in.

In the garden:

* Dig one or two thoroughly crushed shells into the soil around tomato plants. The lack of calcium that causes blossom end rot is usually a result of inconsistent watering but a little extra insurance never hurts.

* Rinse and dry shells, then crush to roughly rice grain size bits and spread a carpet of them under hostas and similar plants to discourage slugs and snails. Many advisors say “sprinkle” the bits, but a sprinkling won’t have much effect in the deterrent department. This carpet is not beautiful. You can make it a little less sock-in-the eye by soaking the crushed shells in strong tea for several days to stain the white parts brown.

* Excellent in the compost. No need to crush if you don’t want to bother, but as with everything else, the smaller the piece the sooner it rots.

* substitute for peat pots. NOT. In An Island Garden (1894), Celia Thaxter charmingly describes starting poppies in halved eggshells. It sounds like a great idea: Biodegradable, easy to transport and free. In my experience, however, it’s difficult to get the shell halves reasonably even, even when you hard boil the eggs so you can slice them across. Then you’ve got to bore a drainage hole ( darning needle better than icepick). They don’t hold much soilless mix, so they won’t support plants for long. And then you’ve got to fracture them before planting so the tiny roots can get out. Applying just the right force to the squeeze is an art all by itself.

Tropical orchids, ferns on steroids, fragrant blossoms dripping from vines and trees – even the smallest of these places puts spring flower shows to shame. And small can be especially beautiful. Displays will be far less polished but publicity is nonexistent, which means they’re seldom crowded. Call ahead to find out the slow times and you might be the only visitor.

What a deal, especially in raw, cold March. What’s not to like about peaceful warm rooms filled with tropical beauties that somebody else has been taking good care of for years and years and years?

This staghorn fern, more than 6 feet across, was not built in a day.


It also takes more than a moment to grow a good sized flock of birds of paradise.

Oddly enough, seeing one’s familiar home companions in this new light is more energizing than depressing and there is almost always something to learn: When a fiddleleaf gets old, the bark gets gorgeous; dormant orchids don’t look any better when there are 60 pots of them; pruning matters as much indoors as it does in the yard; and whether camellias are worth the hassle may be a function of heritage. Could be you have to be southern.

Oh right, I forgot to mention fruit. In addition to proving dwarf citrus trees CAN produce something that looks like a crop (those are ponderosa lemons, not grapefruit), these places harbor edibles most of us can’t see without buying a plane ticket.

Papaya tree at @ 16 feet ( those dark footballs are the papayas)

The base of the tree is fat, gray and gnarly; the roots go right through the gravel floor, deep into the deeply alien Hudson Vally soil.

But not for much longer, and thus we come to the carpe diem part. These pictures were taken at the greenhouse that belongs to the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies, in Millbrook New York. It will be closed before the end of March, its collection dispersed, the building dismantled. Gone forever after more than 30 years.

And it’s not likely to be alone. Glasshouses cost a lot to heat; older models cost really a lot to heat. As the price of oil sails ever upward while funding for public institutions shrinks and those institutions start thinking about greenness in a different way …

A bit of creative googling is likely to turn up at least one that’s close to you, but you might as well start with the advanced garden search at the American Public Gardens Association and the international list at Gardening@Closerange.com.

Upstairs: Food Historian Sandy Oliver keeps winter squash under the bed. Bottom of the linen closet is also good; just don’t forget they’re there.

Downstairs: An unheated basement ( 35 to 45 degrees) , a second refrigerator ( or the back of the one in the kitchen) is almost a root cellar. Things to keep in it from harvest to spring: Beets, Carrots, Cabbages, Onions, Wine, Beer, Cheese.

In a cool back bedroom or similar: Potatoes. They like to be cold, but not quite as cold as other roots.

In the pantry/ food cupboard:
Dried: Wild bolete mushrooms, wild or cultivated agaricus mushrooms, tomatoes, shell beans.
Canned: Applesauce, fruit spreads, ketchup, tomatoes, roasted tomatoes for instant sauce.

In the garden: lightly mulched Parsley and Kale will survive until a very hard freeze (@ 26 degrees); the more slowly it gets cold, the more cold they can take. Chard, Brussels sprouts and Broccoli raab aren’t quite as hardy but still can stand – indeed benefit from – repeated light freezes. Many gardening and country food books, including some of mine, suggest leaving beets and carrots in the ground under a heavy mulch and then harvesting as needed. It works fine if you don’t have voles.

In the freezer: Wild mushrooms (morel, chanterelle, sulfur shelf, blewit, hen of the woods) sautéed in enough butter to be a sauce for the pasta, baked potato, winter squash or other starch that is then dinner; Toasted almond pesto or other pesto to use like the mushrooms ; Berries; Whole tomatoes for soup and sauce; Full-meal soups like Minestrone and Corn chowder, Harvest Vegetable Stews like corn, squash and pepper/ tomato, pepper and onion/ snap and shell beans with summer squash. Chickens. Your quarter of a local lamb, pig or steer, divided into the cuts you’ve ordered. Make an inventory and keep it near the freezer!( along with a pen on a string for crossing off)

But if you are not that sort, an easy negative for some of us, window cleaning tends to slide until
a) every crumb of light is precious, and
b) every crumb of light that comes in, comes in at just the ideal low angle for showing off the difference between translucent and transparent.

Nothing will ever make it fun, but on the basis of our recent tour of the kitchen fenestration , here are a few things that make it easier:

* Cloudy days : the cleaning agent doesn’t dry out as quickly and it’s easier to see which side the streaks are on.

* Distilled water: doesn’t matter if you’re using bottled window cleaner (or – deduct many, many green points – one of the alas very efficient petrochemical sprays), but if you belong to the old fashioned vinegar or ammonia in water school, using hard water will make the job harder because hard water leaves spots.

* lint is the enemy, which is why old manytimeswashed diapers or t-shirts make ideal rags. Just be sure to give them a double rinse and dry without addititives; laundry soaps and fluffing agents leave residues that streak windows. Only downside is that you need a lot – can’t get things clean using dirty rags. That’s why

*crumpled newspaper really is the easiest and least expensive wiping medium. Rumors about ink notwithstanding, it’s the cheap low-fiber (lint-free) paper that makes it so effective. Yes, the ink comes off. Big deal. It comes off of you, too. Wear thin rubber or latex gloves if you have manicure issues.

* You think you have gotten the corners. You have not gotten the corners.