Expiration Dates

I mentioned something in a recent newspaper column that bears repeating here. It’s a way of looking beyond the present and anticipating the future. In this case, it’s a way to put the cold and snow of winter in a box and isolate it while we welcome the coming spring.

I refer to expiration dates printed on perishable items such as eggs. I bought a carton of eggs two days ago and noticed that the expiration date was March 13. That’s only seven days away from the first day of spring.

Likewise, I was in the eye doctor’s office last week and the receptionist made out a card for my next appointment. It was in early May. The first thing that came to mind had nothing to do with eye health, either. Instead, I thought, “Spring. That’s spring. I’ll be fiddleheading and trolling for salmon.”

So near and yet so far, spring is, especially when nighttime temperatures sit a zero and don’t budge until mid-morning the next day.

Of course I don’t pay much attention to expiration dates on egg cartons in fall, because it only reminds me of impending winter and the end of growing things, at least for a while. But now, in late winter, every little bit of cheer I can latch on to helps to buoy my spirits.

Everything passes, including winter. Soon sap will drip from maple limbs broken during December’s ice storm. Flocks of red-winged blackbirds will descend upon fields and lawns and wild plants will push up through the newly-thawed soil. It won’t be long now. And if you don’t believe me, just check out the date on a carton of eggs. 

Groundhog Day 2014

Wild Plants And Wooly Bears

Groundhog Day 2014

Far from being cuddly and inoffensive, groundhogs, or woodchucks, have mean dispositions. A groundhog has no compunction about attacking anything, including other groundhogs and humans who foolishly venture too close. This accounts for why Punxatawny Phil’s handlers wear heavy leather gloves when pulling the sleepy rodent from his den and showing him around.

Phil is celebrity all around the country, not just his home state of Pennsylvania. And Phil saw his shadow this morning, Groundhog Day, 2014. This means that we can expect six more weeks of winter rather than an early spring. But wait, what’s that “we” they speak of? Punxatawny Phil lives far away from Maine. And if any Maine woodchuck were to come out of its burrow today, it definitely would not see its shadow.

So unless you live in a region that saw sunshine today, don’t take an out-of-state woodchuck’s prediction as gospel. Instead, consult your local woodchuck. It just might have a rosier forecast.

The following essay is from a chapter in my book, Hidden World Revealed and I offer it here as an item of seasonal interest. Its title is: Life Goes On. Readers can order Hidden World from the http://www.Amazon.com, from the publisher at http://www.jstwrite.com or from any local bookstore.

It’s hard to think about nature during times of sub-zero temperatures and double-digit wind chills. But nature equips plants and animals to deal with such extremes, and life not only goes on, it remains robust and vigorous.

Consider muskrats. These critters are out of sight, out of mind. Ponds and slow-moving streams are frozen, and we won’t lay eyes on a muskrat until well after the thaw. But the muskrats are not sleeping and they are plenty active. Like some people, muskrats gather food in for the winter. Also, muskrats, normally solitary animals, often spend the winter in large groups, sharing body heat inside their domed lodges, and happily munching on the communal bounty.

Trees become brittle in winter, and the sap ceases to flow. But the roots continue to grow under the snow. Only if the ground freezes below the roots, will the entire organism go dormant. So look at that stark winter landscape, with the frozen branchlets of birch and maple whipping around in the winter wind. But don’t think that life has fled. Chances are, those roots are extending their range, reaching out in search of more ground from which to extract nutrients and moisture.

Under a coating of ice and snow, dragonfly nymphs crawl about, hunting for smaller insects and tiny minnows, and fish of all kinds slowly cruise the bottom, searching for dragonfly nymphs. The chain of life continues, and it is rich and vibrant still.

So take hope. Although cold winds and snow rage and snarl, life goes on and it doesn't miss a beat.

   

The Industrious Forager's Reward

Back last spring and summer it seemed like an awful lot of work to find, harvest and preserve wild edible plants. Many days when my favorite plants were ready for picking, I was so busy with a myriad of other things that it was a chore to go afield. It would have been oh-so-easy to tell myself that this can wait, the plants will be there tomorrow.

But fortunately for me, reality always took the upper hand and I went about the business of gathering my plants.

In many cases, picking the plants was the easy part. After that came cleaning and inspecting for foreign debris and in the case of dandelions, trimming the brown band of dirt from the crowns. Who could blame me for allowing fresh-picked dandelions to languish in the refrigerator until they were no longer fresh, but wilted and perhaps even dried?

Here again, although it would have been so much easier to forget the dandelions and instead, sit down and sip a cup of tea and play music. Now, however, I’m so glad for having not succumbed to temptation.

Home-grown vegetables go hand-and-hand with the wild variety and I depend upon both. My shelves brim with jars of home-canned green beans, the French fillet variety, sweet corn, carrots, tomatoes and cabbage. These sit alongside canned dandelions and goosetongue.

Scattered about my house in selected, protected areas, are different kinds of “keeper,” or winter squash. And in one cabinet, I have stored my home-grown Scottish potatoes, red-and-pink varieties brought back from Scotland years ago and kept up ever since.

And in the freezer, packages of lamb’s quarters, dandelions (I preserve dandelions by both freezing and canning), Swiss chard and several different kinds of wild mushrooms await my pleasure.

And then there are fish. Vacuum-sealed, frozen packages of rainbow trout from my farm pond, smelt from the Kennebec River and black crappies from local ponds and lakes provide plenty of protein.

Add to this, woodcock and partridge, lovingly cared for and securely packaged to prevent freezer burn. These are treats, items for special occasions. In fact, one of my favorite wintertime meals is a woodcock soup made following my grandmother’s recipe. This calls for two woodcock per person, barley, parsley, finely-chopped or minced carrots and onion. After bringing to a boil, the soup should simmer for a half hour or more in order for the flavors to meld into one hearty blend.

In the refrigerator are jars of fermented bell peppers, green tomatoes and green beans. These pro-biotic treats serve as snacks, and healthful ones at that.

Also in the refrigerator are carrots from my garden, healthy as ever and already sprouting new top growth. These were the carrots that were just a little too small to put up in jars. But for fresh carrots, they excel, beating any commercially-grown and sold carrots by several magnitudes.

All these things taken together make up the well-deserved reward for the industrious forager.

So now, when winter gales drive pelting snow and temperatures hover well below zero, I can sit inside my wood-heated home and feast upon the bounty of last growing season. It was hard, but rewarding work. And for sure, these special, chemical-free foods beat anything available from the supermarket. Think about this next season when it comes time to do the hard work. But for now, enjoy the well-earned benefits of your labor.

The Dark Days Of Early Winter

This is my least favorite time of year, with frozen ground but yet no snow cover. Signs of the growing season abound, with green plants such as dandelions and evening primrose visible. Some new shoots of peppermint have sprouted in a bed along the sunny south side of my house.

And yet, we can’t forage for plants because those we do find are only vestigial remnants of summer’s glory. Besides that, even though they look fresh and green, they are frozen stiff. A good snowstorm would end this “not summer, but not winter” season once and for all. But every time it looks like snow, we get rain instead.

This indecisive nature to our weather extends to ponds and lakes, too. It’s time for small ponds to get locked in with ice. That has happened, too, several times. And each time a good, solid inch of clear, black ice forms, a warm spell comes and melts it.

Gravel roads don’t escape, either. We have already endured one genuine mud season. The worst of it is, the grader did a fairly good job this fall. Then we had a cold spell, which froze the road and prevented it from deteriorating. But off-and-on warm spells and accompanying rains, heavy at times, have turned roads to mire and also, allowed speeding cars and truck to create new potholes and re-open old ones.

It’s maddening. We wear sweaters one day, parka and gloves the next. “It ain’t right,” as my grandpa would have said. Blame what you want, but my money goes on the crazy jet stream. The jet stream brings us our weather, good and bad, warm and cold. And when it’s time for cold, the jet stream takes a dip south, bringing us balmy weather. And when we yearn for warmth, the jet stream loops north, bringing us arctic and sometimes even polar air.

Besides all this unsettled weather, the lack of light due to short days and days on end without a trace of sun, makes us all a little lethargic. In my case, it’s hard to concentrate on writing. What would take me two hours now takes a whole day. Someone mentioned buying a special light bulb that duplicates sunlight. Perhaps that’s the answer. But a few sunny days would be even better.

Top it all off with a string of cloudy nights, precluding any astronomical observations, and we have a recipe for the blues.

It’ll end soon, no doubt. This happens every year and it’s to be expected. But while this drab and colorless dark time persists, it’s hard to deal with.  

Weather Folklore

Weather folklore dates back to antiquity. The Bible, for example, contains references to weather and how to interpret signs in order to predict upcoming weather.

Here in America, we have not only our own versions of weather folklore, but also traditions brought over here from Europe by colonists. One such bit of lore holds that bees have some foreknowledge of how much snow will fall during the upcoming winter and build their nests accordingly.

So a bee’s nest very low to the ground means that we can expect very little snow, bad news for skiers, snowmobilers and others who enjoy winter sports. And nests built high off the ground suggest to us that we better stock up on snow shovels and gasoline for our snow blowers.

That’s all very well and even sort of believable. But what are we to think when bees build their nests at dizzying heights in huge trees? If this bit of folklore has any merit at all, then we Mainers should probably start packing our bags for the trip to Florida, because snow will probably reach over 50 feet deep.

I say this because I spotted a wasp’s nest at least 60 feet up in a pine tree near my house. Certainly, I don’t pay much heed to how high bees build their nests, but this is the highest bee’s nest I have ever seen, and I’ve been around a good while and have seen many bee’s nests.

Even though we shouldn’t put much stock in the bee’s nest part of weather predicting, it strikes me as possible that while snow won’t reach depths of 50 feet, it might still get far deeper than we have seen in a long time. But then again, I wouldn’t bet on it.

Wooly Bears

The namesake of this column, the wooly bear caterpillar, the immature form of the Isabella moth, has long been a noted weather prognosticator. These fuzzy little caterpillars are black on each end, with an orange band in the middle. The length of orange band represents winter and the two black ends are, respectively, fall and spring.

Folklore says that the length of each band represents the length of the season it stands for. So if a wooly bear has two short bands and a long, orange band, then look out, since a bad winter is neigh.

So then, what are we to think of the wooly bear I saw the other day? This one had two long, black bands and a short orange band. Does this mean that we’ll have a long fall, short winter and early spring? If so, then the wooly bear’s forecast contradicts that of the bees.

I don’t really believe bees or wooly bears. I think the bees just build their nests wherever it suits them, with no thought of the coming winter. And as per wooly bears, I don’t trust them. I’ve seen too many wooly bears that bore an entirely inaccurate winter weather forecast.

In the end, I don’t think any thing or any one can accurately predict weather very far in advance. Which places me in the wait-and-see category. And that seems a safe bet.

Garden Weeds Get Ahead Of Tom

The edible weeds in my garden have quite gotten away from me this summer. Searing heat and high humidity have kept me from my appointed rounds and consequently, my lamb’s quarters have grown larger than normal.

But that’s not a bad thing, as it turns out. Lamb’s quarters, Chenopodium album, puts out lots of side shoots as it matures, making akin to broccoli in that respect. And each of these shoots resembles a young, entire, lamb’s quarters plant.

And so I am eating the vitamin-rich lamb’s quarters with reckless abandon. I even have enough to freeze a few packages for winter’s use.

Even so, it’s time to do some serious weeding and cultivating, as soon as weather permits.

Next, readers might like to know that they are invited to attend any of my foraging sessions held at Spruce Point Inn in Boothbay Harbor each Tuesday through August 20. Sessions begin at 1:30 and last until 3:00 p.m.

To join in, just go to the reception desk at the inn and ask the receptionist to direct you to the foraging class. I like to begin inside, where I discuss whatever wild plant samples I may have collected earlier that day. Then, weather permitting, we walk around the grounds and identify useful wild plants growing there.

The inn’s habitat includes a seaside hedgerow, shady paths and a woodland walk.

On days that it rains, I show a DVD of wild plants.

A Touching Scene

A Touching Scene 

A forest of mint and other perennial plants in front of my house have become a favorite haunt of songbirds. And since my front door is a glass slider, I have a front row seat to all kinds of bird activity.

While I’ve seen a number of warblers, these come and go, while white-throated sparrows and a lone catbird have become regular tenants. It’s interesting to watch the plants tremble as some bird hops about under their protective canopy. Of course the birds do me a great service by catching insects that might otherwise do me harm.

In addition to the perennials, I have a row of planters (Earth Boxes and Grow Boxes) lined up in front of the door, bordering the perennials. And because of the constant rainy weather, garden slugs and also, a new pest, ambershell snails, have proliferated. To protect the broccoli, basil, cucumbers and tomatoes in my planter boxes, I have used a combination of Sluggo slug bait and also, crushed eggshells.

I save and rinse my eggshells and let them dry and then grind them up as fine as possible. These I spread around on the top of the planter boxes so that they might deter slugs and snails. But lately I’ve noticed that the something was happening to the crushed eggshells. It seemed to me that perhaps heavy rains had simply washed them away. But that wasn’t the case.

Several days ago, I sat and watched a male white-throated sparrow as it emerged from the mint patch and landed atop one of the planter boxes. There, it pecked at what seemed to me must have been small insects. Soon after that, a female appeared. She sat on the ground, near the planter box.

The male then sorted through the crushed eggshells and selecting one tiny bit, picked it up in his beak and flew down to the female. He came within touching distance of her. She opened her mouth and he gave her the bit of eggshell, which she swallowed. The two repeated this process several times and I was amazed and touched by the degree of gentleness and tenderness the male exercised.

No doubt the female was tending her young and couldn’t get out to forage for scratch for her crop. The male knew that, which was the reason he went to such lengths to supply that necessary article for her.

Sometimes nature presents us pitiable pictures of death and suffering. But once in a while, she also reveals acts of kindness. In this case, the familial kindness shown was enviable.