My fruit week
Jun. 25th, 2010 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magidMonday, I availed myself of my backyard neighbors' invitation to pick sour cherries. Some of them I cooked with some sugar, canning a half pint of them in their own syrup (and eating the rest). And with some of them I started a new fruit-and-booze experiment, confiture de vieux garcon, using rum as the alcohol.
Tuesday was fruitless, though I did help a friend pack for her move.
Wednesday I went toruthling's house, and picked some black mulberries, which became the second layer of the confiture, and I started a pint of mulberry liqueur.
Thursday, my shower host invited me to pick berries from his backyard. The red currants were pretty much done, but there were many gooseberries and black raspberries. I hadn't picked gooseberries before; they're vicious plants, much more so than blackberries (actual thorns, not just briars). They became the next two fruits in the confiture (gooseberries first so the mulberries and the black raspberries would be distinct).
This morning, I went out to Red Fire Farm to pick strawberries. As part of my CSA, I could pick up to eight quarts of berries, and I picked all eight (though sadly lacked the energy to stay in the sun and pick more than a handful of the peas that were also mine via the share). When I got home, I started hulling them (which never seems like the right word, since I thought for the longest time it meant taking off not just the leaves at the top but the whole surface: the hull of a ship is the whole bottom of the thing, after all). It took a while, especially because most of them were rather small (some smaller than the nail of my pinky finger). Their fates included: the top layer (so far, and possibly forever) of confiture, a quart jar of cider vinegar being infused with strawberries; another quart jar with some balsamic vinegar and a touch of sugar; three bags frozen; a pot of strawberries slowly heated to draw out their syrup (not sure whether I'll can them or just eat them), and some left to eat out of hand, plus some gifted.
(Side note: the shed that had baby goats last time I was there is gone, with a tall airy structure there instead. No sign of the kids, nor the beehives I last spotted at the end of the main field, though either or both might be at one of the other fields. The chickens were still there, in a slightly different location. And they were quite inquisitive, when I stopped to watch them, coming out from the shade under the hen house to see whether I might have some interesting thing to feed them.)
Tuesday was fruitless, though I did help a friend pack for her move.
Wednesday I went to
ruthling's house, and picked some black mulberries, which became the second layer of the confiture, and I started a pint of mulberry liqueur. Thursday, my shower host invited me to pick berries from his backyard. The red currants were pretty much done, but there were many gooseberries and black raspberries. I hadn't picked gooseberries before; they're vicious plants, much more so than blackberries (actual thorns, not just briars). They became the next two fruits in the confiture (gooseberries first so the mulberries and the black raspberries would be distinct).
This morning, I went out to Red Fire Farm to pick strawberries. As part of my CSA, I could pick up to eight quarts of berries, and I picked all eight (though sadly lacked the energy to stay in the sun and pick more than a handful of the peas that were also mine via the share). When I got home, I started hulling them (which never seems like the right word, since I thought for the longest time it meant taking off not just the leaves at the top but the whole surface: the hull of a ship is the whole bottom of the thing, after all). It took a while, especially because most of them were rather small (some smaller than the nail of my pinky finger). Their fates included: the top layer (so far, and possibly forever) of confiture, a quart jar of cider vinegar being infused with strawberries; another quart jar with some balsamic vinegar and a touch of sugar; three bags frozen; a pot of strawberries slowly heated to draw out their syrup (not sure whether I'll can them or just eat them), and some left to eat out of hand, plus some gifted.
(Side note: the shed that had baby goats last time I was there is gone, with a tall airy structure there instead. No sign of the kids, nor the beehives I last spotted at the end of the main field, though either or both might be at one of the other fields. The chickens were still there, in a slightly different location. And they were quite inquisitive, when I stopped to watch them, coming out from the shade under the hen house to see whether I might have some interesting thing to feed them.)