Another Day in the Country
Making salsa
© Another Day in the Country
It’s that time of year when gardens are finally producing veggies.
“These potatoes are from my garden,” I proclaim to whoever is enjoying them with me. “And this slaw is from my very own cabbage patch.”
We did have a few peas in the spring, but there are never enough peas for bragging rights. The rabbits and I shared what was there right off the vine.
If the ducks had discovered where the peas were hiding, the whole lot would have been gone instantly.
Now, the cucumber vines have taken over the wire cage where the peas hung out. I didn’t even bother to remove the pea vines. They just withered and dried up.
My formal garden area is a box that Art made for me quite a while ago. Billy brought me a bucket load of dirt from down by the creek, and the chickens made my fertilizer.
Every year, I’m adding more dirt, sand, and mulch to replenish the soil. Where does it go?
It seems to me that real farmers have to deal with this soil loss, too. I read that “intensive tillage can lead to a loss of valuable organic matter, increased erosion, and reduced water retention, but low-till and no-till practices that preserve soil structure….”
Intensive tillage must be the reason I’m constantly needing to add more dirt.
In spring, I tried getting carrots, beets, and kohlrabi to grow in my garden, but bugs and bunnies were more persistent than I, so we settled for crops like potatoes, peas, peppers, cucumbers, onions, and herbs.
When potatoes came out of the ground, I planted green beans. When cabbage and onions were done, I veered toward potpourri, planting a variety of seeds that were left over in my seed box. I even included zinnia, basil, and dill in the mix.
“Whoever makes it up, I’ll help you grow,” I promised, water hose in one hand and fertilizer in the other.
We’ll see what transpires.
The zinnias were the first ones up. If it’s just them in the back of the garden, I’ll be a happy camper. Those flowers are so cheerful and full of charm that I’ll gladly welcome late bloomers.
Butterflies are in my yard visiting the zinnias in bloom, and I’ve set myself the task of photographing every new specimen I see.
So far, I’ve collected pictures of black swallowtails, eastern tiger swallowtails, red admirals, cabbage white, and American copper. Just today I found a variegated fritillary. It was huge, the size of a monarch, and I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed one before.
This is what happens when we vow to pay attention! We discover new things — fascinating, beautiful, amazing things.
Our cousin Joe, who grew up in Ramona and now lives in Lawrence, came to see us this past weekend.
He brought chips and salsa that he’d made from scratch, and Saturday night while we played games, we devoured all of the salsa except for a few tablespoons I saved, like the Holy Grail, so I could try to duplicate the experience after Joe was gone.
“You do know that every batch of salsa turns out different,” Joe cautioned me as I tried to translate his method and ingredients into something I could replicate.
I needed poblano peppers, jalapeno peppers, onion, garlic, roma tomatoes, salt, pepper, and lime juice.
“That’s the secret ingredient,” Joe said. “It makes all the difference in the world.”
Most of these things I had in my back yard, but I’m not growing poblano peppers this year, and no self-respecting lime tree would grow in Kansas, so I headed for the store.
Once all the ingredients were in the whizzer, I pulsed the mixture, added salt and pepper, and tasted it. Hmmm. Was this it?
I tasted the little bit of salsa left over from Joe’s batch, added a few more tomatoes to the machine, and tasted it again. That was lunch! Tasting salsa can be a meal in itself.
At the end of this experiment, like the mad scientist I tend to emulate, I had four different kinds of salsa.
There’s one that’s close to the original that Joe made. Then I added more tomatoes to part of that original mix. I also decided to try making some corn salsa, and I ran out of lime juice and poblano peppers.
The last batch — the kind I usually make with tomatoes, peppers, onions, cilantro, and sometimes cucumbers — tended toward sweetness. I used lemon juice for that one.
The experiment was a success. I’ve enough iterations of salsa to share with friends, and I decided that life, day to day, is a little like salsa. You use what you have, do your best, and never know just how it will turn out, on another day in the country.