Anticipation

Our strawberries, planted in unimproved, thin soil at the edge of our beds or competing with larger perennials, have never done well. Still, we get a handful each day for some weeks -- enough to add to my morning smootie. Later this summer, I plan to build a proper strawberry bed elsewhere in the yard. Meanwhile, we'll supplement by visiting the U-pick Brookside Berry Farm in Dryden.

Baby peaches

Our first-ever pears

Weekend's harvest

French Breakfast radishes

The French Breakfast radishes and Ruby Streaks mustard are at their peak this week. I planted them outside in late March, under plastic. Grown this densely, the mustard stay small; a pretty -- and tasty -- addition to salads.

Ruby Streaks frilly mustard

An unexpected find

A few years ago, I put four native filberts (American hazelnuts) at the edge of the woods. They have grown into 6' tall shrubs, producing long male catkins for the past two years, but I've been waiting for them to fruit. Turns out they did, and we missed it! Richard found one nut on the ground a few days ago. Weeding under the shrubs, I found a few more today. One of my catalogs notes that the tiny red flowers open in mid-winter. We missed those as well.

We'll keep closer watch this fall. However, a chipmunk is apparently keeping watch as well, having built its burrow less than 2 feet from the trees. Perhaps there will be enough for all to share.

In the meantime, these made a lovely afternoon snack.

Chipmunk's view of the filbert grove (rear) from its burrow entrance.

Foreground: zucchini and bush beans. (Added 6/11/11)

Parade of Color

Apricots are the first of the fruit trees to bloom

An edible landscape provides food not just for the body, but for the soul. The past two weeks have been a non-stop parade of color as the fruit trees and shrubs blossom. First the apricot and service berry bloom first, at the beginning of May, then the quince, clove current, plum, peach, pear and apples follow in quick succession bursting into flower with the exuberance that is spring. After the dormancy of winter, great joy.

The native Amalanchier can be pruned to shrub height

to keep the berries within reach

Amalanchier (serviceberry, Juneberry) is less well known than the other fruit trees. But they're easy to find this time of year, majestic trees in full bloom in woods that are still otherwise bare at the treetops. As a native tree, it requires almost no care. They can be pruned into sizeable shrubs, like this one in our yard, to keep the blueberry-size fruit within reach (assuming one can beat he birds to them!).

One of several quince shrubs in the yard.

Clove currant, like it's name suggests, emits a clove-like fragrance.

Later this summer, it will bear blue-black fruit.

Peach - gorgeous to look at; heavenly to eat.

Need anything more be said?

This is only the second year the pear trees have bloomed;

perhaps this year there will be fruit.

Free Food

"Fiddleheads": Ostrich ferns, often grown in shade gardens as an ornamental, have edible young shoots that are an early spring delicacy.

Early spring offers an abundance of what I like to call "free food." Perennial vegetables, many of them native species of forest and field, are often the first plants to emerge in spring, coming back year after year with little work on our part other than to tend to ensuring a healthy ecosystem around them.

In general, perennials require much less work than the annual food plants American and European agriculture has focused on developing. With their well-established root systems, they don't need to be carefully watered, weeded, and protected from insects, unlike small annual seedlings just trying to get themselves established on open, bare ground. Many are woodland or meadow species, growing early, before other plants leaf out. They do, however, require that we nurture an ecosystem that fosters what appears to be a natural tendency toward abundance.

Wild onions are ready to harvest in early April

Unfortunately, the clear-cutting of native forests through the early 19th century means many of these perennial edibles are less widespread than they used to be. So we've been reintroducing them into our gardens and woods. The wild onions came from Richard's parents' land, the Solomon Seal from his mother's gardens, and the Ostrich fern from last year's Cooperative Extension plant sale (gardener unknown). I think I acquired the first of the Good King Henry (perennial spinach) plants from one of the vendors at the Ithaca's farmers market.

I am delighted that both the wild onions and Ostrich ferns -- both planted in the moist soil near the stream -- have begun to naturalize and spread. We've been digging small quantities of the former for the past two years, while waiting for the latter -- the source of delectable (and expensive) "fiddlehead" ferns found in gourmet groceries and upscale restaurants -- to create a more sizable colony. In the meantime, we tasted a few fiddleheads from my friend Alicia's gardens. Sauteed in some sesame oil, they were wonderful.

The Good King Henry, which like other wild spring edibles tolerates shade, is planted in the front gardens. I rarely get around to cutting off seed heads, so our crop has grown as it has seeded itself. Unlike domesticated spinach, Good King Henry requires little tending and continues to produce sizable leaves throughout the summer heat. While older leaves need to be briefly cooked (to remove the oxalic acid common to this family of plants), it freezes well and serves as a wonderful spinach substitute for winter soups and stews.

Good King Henry, a perennial spinach,

produces edible leaves through the summer heat

Solomon Seal, a common "ornamental" in many shade gardens, can be harvested as young shoots (before the leaves open) and cooked and eaten like asparagus. While it will never replace the tender, delicate taste of asparagus, it also doesn't need the fertilizing, mulching, watering, and general tending that asparagus requires. So we have and tend our asparagus patch, but we also appreciate the early Solomon Seal shoots.

Solomon Seal shoots can be cooked like asparagus

Asparagus shoots: one of the few "fussy" perennials

Of course, there are also the perennial salad and cooking "greens" that I have already been writing about: sorrel, Sweet Cicely, and the mints.

The ramps (wild leeks) are a new addition this year. Richard's dad dug them for us from his brother Dick's land, and Richard planted them in various locations throughout the woods. An early spring delicacy, the slow-to-mature wild leeks are also an indicator species, signaling the health of the surrounding forest. So we'll watch and hope they establish themselves, and do our part to dig them judiciously and help them spread.

Ramps (wild leeks) are a wonderful addition to early spring omelets.

Firsts and lasts

This is the season of "firsts" and "lasts." Nearly every day, we have our first of something. Saturday, it was the first bitter dandelion greens and licorice-like sweet cicely in our 14-ingredient salad (along with the mustard, mache, claytonia, minutina, lettuce, spinach, arugula, radish, and beet leaves from the hoop house that we've been eating for months, and the primrose, viola flowers and chives from the garden that we began eating last week). We also shared the last jar of frozen peaches, which still tasted just like summer.

Sweet cicely: The edible leaves and seed pods of this

shade-happy perennial taste like licorice

Edible primrose flowers also love shade

The chives are coming up so fast we can almost see them grow

Tonight, dinner was a pureed potato-leek-chard-sorrel soup, a recipe I found in my "Healthy Slow Cooker" cookbook, and one worth making again. I had dug the last overwintered leeks from the garden (protected by straw) a few weeks ago. The chard was the last of leafy greens from the freezer. The vegetable stock was also the last jar. The sorrel, on the other hand, is just coming into its own in the herb bed outside the south-facing kitchen door. Each year, we have talked about using more of it; I was glad to find a simple recipe perfect for these still-chilly spring evenings that used fresh food at its peak. For dessert, we ate the last container of rhubarb-strawberry compote. I also finished the last handful of blueberries at breakfast.

Young lemony sorrel

The large chest freezer in our "mud room" is now almost empty; the last two bags of pole beans, packages of meat, and a few odds and ends all fit in the small kitchen freezer above the frig. There's something satisfying about finishing off the treats of last season, just as this year's crops are ready to pick. It signals a clear cycle that is often lost in what Barbara Kingsolver (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) called the U.S.'s "promiscuous, anything anytime" food culture. There will be more blueberries, strawberries, and peaches all in their time, and not too far off either. But first, we have the sorrel, and dandelion greens and sweet cicely to savor.

Gifts

Spring green: moss growing on a log in the woods

This was a weekend of finding and sharing gifts. Richard and I wandered through the woods this morning, celebrating signs of spring growth and more evidence that the pileated woodpeckers (one breeding pair, more?) are here and apparently thriving.

Another pileated woodpecker hole

During these walks, Richard checks on the growth of the hickories, cherries and other trees that he is coming to know well. He points out to me those that have died, which he plans to turn into next winter's heating wood, and the live ones to be culled (also destined for heating wood) so that others nearby can flourish.

Fungi growing on a log

It is easy during these walks to be aware that we are part of a larger system, and that our health and well-being depends on its health and well-being. Food, heat, clothing, shelter -- all take time and labor to produce. But mostly, in our society, that time and labor is generally invisible to those of us who merely consume these products. That leaves us without the information that could help us more easily make sustainable choices about what and how much to consume. As I watch the time it takes for a tree to grow, and see the labor it takes to fell and split the wood, It is easier to remember what is required to enable us to warm the house in the coldest months. It is no longer invisible or taken for granted.

Last year's logs stocked to dry for next winter's heat.

So, too, with the growing of food. There is a different appreciation when I sit to eat a plate of braised greens that I've tended and helped to grow. There is abundance in our yard, but it is not abundance that I am drawn to overeat. That is reserved for products I merely consume, where the time, labor and "inputs" required to produce them remains invisible to me.

The food we produce ourselves seems to me always a gift, and like all gifts, it easiest to enjoy in moderate amounts, and when it is shared with others. By now, the hoop house salad greens are growing faster than we can eat them. Yesterday, I prepared a large salad to take to my synagogue yesterday for Shabbat lunch. This afternoon, I picked more of the hoop house bounty and walked up the road, dropping off bags of early spring salad greens with the neighbors. A chance to say "hello" and share these gifts.