The warmth we felt last weekend was likely all we will get, leaving home gardeners and farmers alike wondering if we should pull those last tomatoes and make chutney and relish instead of sauce. While the supermarkets continue their blinders-on march ahead to the end of October, the rest of us remain in the here and now.
Which means canning, freezing, and drying excesses, and making soups and stews to use up those odd handfuls of beans and squash that no longer make up a full dish on their own anymore. The baskets of sweet berries are dwindling to tart handfuls, to pucker our lips while picking, or to adorn morning cereal or evening ice cream.
And so, I was feeling virtuous as I put my canning kettle back under the sink for the season and took stock: 30-some odd jars of tomato sauce for Wednesday spaghetti nights when there are no fresh local tomatoes; the usual jars of jam, a few jars of pickled beets, and even some grape leaves for dolmas. Beans and basil were the only success story of summer, and I have been blanching and freezing them, dreaming of winter roasts flanked by potatoes and gravy and these green (and purple and yellow) jewels. Little One has learned to make and love pesto, spooning the green oobleck into ice cube trays.
And then, a sudden shock to my pastoral life, as I padded downstairs to pack a school lunch for my Little One: the freezer, keeper of pesto for his lunchtime noodles, guardian of beans and cold harbor for all things summer, was warm. No, this wasn’t just a door left ajar resulting in a premature winter wonderland; this was the spring thaw.
Which thrusts me from the farm and kitchen to the appliance store, with its bright lights and hungry salespeople. The game has changed since I was here last: online shopping means I could buy a major appliance without getting dressed and leaving the house. However, if I want to actually kick the wheels, I must pull on jeans instead of train pajamas and go.
I am pleasantly surprised by the energy efficiency gains made even in the last decade; I am less pleased by the overwhelmning plastic smell that hits as I open the door. American eating habits are clear: pop can holders and filtered water and ice dispensers loom large, while veggie drawers have shrunk--substantially in some cases. I reflect on the year abroad, where our family of four was fine with a smaller fridge, and ruminate on why we seem to need twice the cubic footage here. Too many jars, grumbles Darling Husband. He's right: many are legacy condiments, from housesitters or our own, doomed by allergy tests, but they need to go.
So many choices to make, weighing decisions, not just financially, but their human cost. The brick and mortar stores are rightly frightened: they cannot compete with online prices. But these are people in my community, and if we don't buy from them, they may well not be there when we want to peek inside and press buttons in the future. The cheapest solution comes from Korea, and while it is best in terms of energy efficiency, it comes from over 6,000 miles away, and I wonder about the quality of life of the people who made it. I discover a company in California that makes incredibly efficient fridges, but their steep pricing and made-to-order schedule spells doom for my food, which is exiled to the freezer of Darling Husband's office fridge for the interim.
We will likely opt for an interim repair, to squeeze the last life out of this one, and head to the local store, who has done right by us in the past, and purchase a standalone freezer. We don't want to loose what little summer we have tucked away.
