Peas & Pesto Time

"Blizzard" snow peas

Nothing says summer like appearance of mounds of fresh peas and basil leaves. Long in coming to the northeast U.S. this year, summer does seem like it is finally here. Planted a month later than usual, the snow peas have moved beyond a small handful to enough to occasionally steam and freeze a batch for next winter's soups. The sugar snap peas, on the other hand, remain just a handful, a lesson about the value of spending a few extra dollars to buy fresh seed.

Genovese basil, after shearing for a triple batch of pesto

The basil, on the other, is growing wildly, the photo at left taken after I sheared the plants for a triple batch of pesto. A rainy Saturday made the perfect day to process it. (And yes, mom, there's a batch for you!)

The basil is growing in hoop house, along with the other heat-loving crops: tomatoes, peppers, eggplant and cucumbers. In fact, while I treasure those winter greens, it's with the summer crops that the hoop house is more than paying for itself. With evening temperatures regularly falling into the 50s and low 60s, we've left the doors on this summer, so we can close them up at night, and the plants seem the happier for it.

Pesto is at its best with lots of parmesan cheese, but since I can't digest dairy, I make a vegan version: using 1-2 Tbs of miso instead of the cheese. It provides that needed "tang." A few extra pine nuts, and it's wonderful.




The pesto goes into an old ice-cube tray to freeze, and then the frozen cubes go into freezer bags. Comes winter, I can take out just what I need at the moment, without having to defrost an entire batch.

Thai Basil

For variety, the Thai basil (right) is always much smaller and more delicate. I don't use it for pesto. But its leaves, flavored with a hint of anise, are perfect in stir fries, and its purple flowers stand in lovely contrast to the spring-green leaves. They remind me of a trip to southern California a few years ago, where we saw a four-foot hedge of Thai basil shrubs, perennial in that climate. I recognized it by the flowers, before we got close enough for our noses to confirm the sighting. Before that, I hadn't thought about the potential of our small, unassuming summer guest. I meant to pot up one of the plants last fall and bring it into the house for the winter, but never got around to it. Perhaps this year I'll try to grow it out, like the rosemary, an potted shrub overwintered in the kitchen, a reminder of places closer to the equator where plants (and people) rarely freeze.

Please, March ...

Someone was feeling playful at Cornell this week. The marquee outside the student union, which usually spells out the names of films playing in the theater inside, read instead: "Please March go out like a lamb. Please."

In contrast to last year's early spring, winter's chill is lingering this year. The hardiest of the perennial foods are just pushing through the cold soil - the nearly neon red-orange knobs of rhubarb and the first needle-like spikes of chives.

Rhubarb knobs (future leaves) pushing through the ground

The first chive spears

Still, I mind the "lion" of this month less than I would have in the past, for the greens in the hoop house are growing ferociously. The scallions, dormant and only partially grown all winter, are filling out. The claytonia, arugala and mustard are nearly at their peak. The mizuna has begun to bolt, providing some mini broccoli-like florets and a burst of cheerful yellow (edible) flowers. The rosettes of mache leaves are elongating, warning that they, too, will soon bolt to seed.

Overwintered scallions are filling out

Arugala

Claytonia

"Green Wave" mustard - very hot!

The mizuna (an Asian green) is starting to bolt

As for the needed promise of spring, the lettuce, kale and other seeds I planted in mid-February are now seedlings.

Lettuce seedlings in hoop house

All this growth means some added work, as the beds now need to be watered regularly. With night-time temperatures still well below freezing, it's too cold to set up the hose, so we carry a large watering can back and forth. About six trips in all. Our reward for our labor: large servings of braised mizuna and sides of the tastiest salad leaves.

No cabin fever here!

The snow continues to pile up and night time temperatures remain in the single digits, but we keep the path to the hoop house clear. By now, the growth of the daylight sensitive greens is unmistakable. Below: the rosettes of tatsoi, a mild Asian cooking green, have filled out.

Tatsoi, an Asian cooking green

The challenge this time of year is getting enough growth before the plants begin to "bolt." Once all their energy goes into producing seed, there are no more new leaves. So for lunch, tatsoi, the first to bolt, was on the menu. Baby greens, stir fried with just a bit of tamari; it tasted like spring.

Starting to bolt: the flower buds are in the center

Spring was also in my mind, if not the air, as I planted pac choi, rose radish, lettuce and red kale this morning. While they will germinate and grow more slowly in the cold, they should be fine. (Check back next month for an update.)

Richard used to tease when I insisted that spring had arrived in mid-March, just because it was sunny and above 50 degrees. Now I no longer need to wait until March to plant those first seeds. The solution for cabin fever! I'm cured!

Outside/Inside

Outside ...

Inside

Things change more slowly this time of year. While some of the plants – like arugala and claytonia have been growing enough to harvest– even if only occasionally – through late December and January, the growth of other plants has been far less noticeable.

Arugala has been growing -- slowly -- all winter

Still, change is happening, even if in small ways. It is now light when I leave work in the late afternoon, the first reassurance that the sun has begun it’s arc toward what we call “spring.” Just as I’ve noticed the lengthening of the days, so too have the plants. New leaves have appeared on the kale and winter lettuce. The rosettes of the tatsoi, an Asian stir fry green, are growing in both size and number.

Winter lettuce with new growth

The overwintered kale has new leaves as well.

While these are typical signs of spring, we do not take them for granted in January. It regularly has been in the teens during the day and low single digits at night. As Ithaca’s new school superintendent, a transplant from Virginia, said he tells his mother, “Yes, that’s Fahrenheit, not Celsius.” Sunday night brought an unusual low of -10, without the wind chill factored in.

These new lows are distressing, possibly indications of the more extreme weather patterns caused by the overall warming of the planet (higher highs, lower lows, more floods in some places, more droughts in others). Still, when I went out to the hoop house this morning to check, the plants were chilled, but still very much alive. I’m heartened by the tangible evidence that it is possible to grow more of our food close by, even in the Northeast U.S., even in the winter.

On Saturday, when we had a rare day of blue skies and bright sun, the temperature rose to the high 60s in the hoop house, even though it was a mere 14 degrees outside. I enjoyed a mini-vacation surrounded by the sight and scent of growing greens. Richard and Kat joined me briefly (although Richard didn’t stay long enough to shed his winter coat).

Richard and Kat visiting in the hoop house