Thanksgiving Tomatoes.

It's curious. Why are salad greens and tomatoes irrevocably paired? In most zones, these garden staples don't grow during the same season—unless aided by a greenhouse. Who decided that diced tomatoes belonged on iceberg lettuce? (And does anyone still eat iceberg lettuce, which was the only green veggie that crossed my childhood lips?)

Obviously, the pairing of tomatoes and lettuce didn't originate with our local, sustainable farmers.

Still, I've always considered it a challenge to see if I could push the limits and actually prepare a homegrown salad with our own heirloom tomatoes and lettuce.

Last weekend, with an impending frost, I grabbed a large bowl, headed to the gardens, and harvested all of the decent looking tomatoes, peppers, and herbs before they succumbed to the weather. Peppers were sliced and frozen for winter fajitas, basil turned into pesto for a little taste of summer mid-winter, and the few ripe tomatoes were either eaten immediately or popped into freezer bags to use with pasta.

But the pile of unripe, green tomatoes towered on the counter.

I'm not a fan of unripe tomatoes. I know there are many pickling tips and recipes that employ green tomatoes as the star, but honestly—it's just not my thing. (Unless, of course, it's supposed to be a green tomato when it's all grown up, like Aunt Ruby's German Green or Green Apple. That's a different story.)

So, it was time for a little science experiment.

I've read various methods for ripening green tomatoes—put them in a box, hang the whole plant upside down in the garage. Instead, I opted for the easiest method that seemed most logical. Plus, all that I needed for said experiment was a paper bag. And a banana.

Now, that's my kind of experiment!

First, remove any leaves, stems, or dirt from the tomatoes. You don't want anything that can cause bruising. Only use fruit that is bug-free, at least three-fourths of its full size, and glossy green (or just beginning to ripen) for best results.

Place the tomatoes in the paper bag...

...add a ripening banana (please excuse this nasty banana. It's been in the bag and needs a replacement)...

...keep out of direct light, and voila! 

Within two weeks at 65-70 degrees, your fruit should ripen. (This tomato was completely green when I put it in the bag. The shoulders will remain green, because of its variety—Ananas Noir. It's an heirloom known for it's purple coloration with green shoulders.)

The banana helps speed the ripening process, as it releases ethylene. All fruits release ethylene, so you could also add a semi-ripe tomato into the bag with the green tomatoes, but bananas produce the most ethylene and quicken the process.

Isn't it amazing when something actually works?

Sadly, I won't be slicing tomatoes to serve on our homegrown lettuce. Somehow, I'm way behind schedule planting our fall garden, and our little lettuce plants are lingering in the driveway, begging to be transplanted into their home.

But first I have to clean up all of the blackish, frost murdered plants from the potager. And transplant strawberries. And get the beds ready for mulch.

Sigh.

Maybe I'll start a few tomato plants for the greenhouse, and when the lettuce is ready in the spring, we might have a real, homegrown salad. With tomatoes off the vine.

A girl can dream...

So, quick! Go rescue your green tomatoes before the frost hits.

And perhaps, if you're better organized than I am, you can have a homegrown salad with Thanksgiving dinner.

Enjoy!

XOXO ~

Julie

Eye candy.

Today...

...because I'm beyond overwhelmed with a greenhouse that doesn't want to go up...

...because there are thousands of tomato babies languishing in the basement, begging for natural light...

....because my poor girl is home, sick (and it's the kind of sick that translates to many, many loads of laundry. Sigh...)

...I'm playing along with May Dreams Gardens very lovely Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day. If you, too, need a respite from your daily dose of stress, click on over to this site and check out the lovely virtual March blooms of gardens in different zones throughout the country.

It's such a nice escape from reality.

Yesterday, while my ickie sickie girl watched the very relaxing and probably highly-inappropriate-for-a-9-year-old Pirates of the Caribean 3: At World's End, I took a much needed stroll outside. It's supposed to rain today, so I cheated a bit. Here's what's blooming on March 14 in our garden and woods:

Daffodils galore.

When I was hugely pregnant with our now 5-year-old, I spent many days planting hundreds of bulbs. Mommies-to-be tend to nest, but mostly they ready the nest inside--scrubbing floors, walls, anything scrubable. I, however, moved mountains of mulch and worked in the garden every day until dark. And then, I would turn on all of the outside lights and keep working. My neighbors thought I was nuts. 

They were right.


But during March, when our yard is blazing with cheerfulness, I'm glad I nested outside.

Forsythia...

Cherry blossoms. Truly, is there anything prettier than cherry trees in bloom? 

From our tiny little weeping cherry...

...to the tree we planted when our now almost 10-year-old was born. Cherry trees just make me happy. Trite, I know, but true.
 

Pieris Japonica. The only time of year I feel affection for this shrub...

...and bulbs. Hyacinth...

...Muscari Grape Hyacinth...

...huh. No idea what this is. I suppose I could look it up, but I'm a little time-pressed this morning. It's cute, though, don't you think?

...tulips about to pop.

Then, of course, the camellias are showing off like prom queens--perfect, blemish-free, absolutely unreal in their loveliness.

But my favorite bloom of all isn't showy, doesn't flaunt its looks, and actually is a bit shy...but it heralds spring...

Soon, soon...spring will arrive, and our winter hibernation will be just a far off memory.

Happy bloom day!

XO ~

Julie

Twelve Truths...

(...about life and greenhouses).

1.
When the customer service guy tells you that it will take two adults two weekends to build the 12 x 20 greenhouse you just ordered...multiply his estimate by 10. Remember, his job is to sell you an expensive pile of metal, screws, and plexiglass. He doesn't care if it takes you two years to build the thing while your tomato babies languish in the basement, begging for natural light.
 
2.
If your husband or significant other decides to take vacation to finish a large outdoor project (like a greenhouse), Murphy and his law will make certain it rains.

3.
Lowe's will become your second home. Cashiers will know you intimately.

4.
You will spend your children's college funds at Lowe's, buying all the parts that didn't come with the all inclusive greenhouse kit. (But that's OK. You're building a business that the kids can inherit, so who needs college...right?)
 
5.
Backing down a steep driveway in a borrowed truck filled with lumber is a quick way to unload.

6.
When you build or garden in a forest, you will find many, many rocks...and roots. And roots wrapped around rocks. You will feel like a pioneer woman, conquering the wilderness. And then your wimpy suburban self will ask your husband to help you move the rocks, which really means that you'll watch him while he moves the rocks.


7.
If you need a 2”x 10” x 12' board...the actual measurements are 1.75" x 9.75" x 12'. Who knew? And why?


8.
If you drop a 1.75" x 9.75” x 12' board on your finger, you may find yourself crying in Lowe's.


9.
While the greenhouse goes up—life continues. You will run to craft stores, farms, and school because your fourth grade child created an Egg Dispenser for Invention Convention. While she came up with the idea, you have to gather supplies, take her to test it, and force her to sit in a chair long enough to finish the project the night before it is due. And then you will take her to the Humane Society, where she will pick up supplies for a service project. There will be a dozen cat condos cluttering the living room, as well as cat blankets and dog toys that she made. Add to this the piles of papers that arrive home from kindergarten every day, plus the general mess that accumulates while you obsess with greenhouse construction, and soon you will qualify to star in an episode of "Hoarders."

10. 
Your cat will want to help.
 
 11. 
Your heart will hurt for your inventor daughter, who won an award at school—and had high hopes to win at the Invention Convention. And your heart will be proud of her while she cheers for her friends who won instead. 

12.
Daffodils are lush, forsythia is blooming, cherry trees are popping, and you remember—in the midst of the insanity of building a greenhouse, running a business, and caring for your family—why you love spring. And you remember why you started the business. And you're thankful—even with greenhouse traumas and sore muscles and panic attacks when the business' website server goes down—how lucky you are to do what you love.

XO ~

Julie

Snow Days.

It snowed. A lot. Well, at least for Upstate South Carolina, six inches of snow qualifies for a blizzard. Scoff, you northern friends—but add a layer of ice on top of the six inches of snow, subtract major road-clearing equipment, and the southeast shuts down. The southern folk must live on a French toast diet during snowstorms. As soon as a flurry flutters, bread, milk, and eggs fly off the grocery stores' shelves.
 
(Seriously, we get nervous with the ice-business. Some of us have lived through week-long power outages after a particularly nasty ice storm. It's not pretty.)

So, we're on day number two of no school, the kids are still in PJs, and even Peter is lounging on the sofa.

I, however, am busy.

While the neighbors are sledding and the dogs are playing like little kids in the backyard winter wonderland, I'm playing, too.

In the dirt.

Spring is coming, and my first round of planting—fraise des bois (alpine strawberries) and about 30 varieties of herbs--is well underway. In a month, it will be time for tomato-craziness, but right now, my downstairs gardening is still in the blissed-out, relaxed mode.

A few seedlings here....

...a few transplants there...

....a few frosty trips to the greenhouse...

...and a blooming bougainvillea, just for your viewing pleasure.

(I highly recommend greenhouses to combat seasonal affective disorder—or just to escape the snow and cold for a few minutes and surround yourself with flowers and greenery. My mood definitely improves after a trip to the greenhouse.)

Spring is coming, I promise.

See? The first little sign of deliciousness to come...

Until then, stay warm, travel safely (or not at all), and dream of summer.

 XO ~

Julie

P.S. Just found out that we'll have another snow day tomorrow. Perhaps I'll put the kids to work...what are the child labor laws regarding family businesses? I need some seed trays scrubbed. Hmmm...

The Great Tomato Choke.

I spend too much time talking to plants.

On Sunday, my family and I headed out to find the perfect, non-Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Our oldest son was home for the holidays but needed to head back to college, so rather than spend two hours driving to North Carolina in search of a cut-your-own Fraiser Fir, we drove ten minutes to a lot behind our local mall. It's not very romantic, and I felt kind of bad about it—but it was more important to me that Ty participate in our annual tree selection. He's my champion, the one who fights the good fight with me for the biggest, fullest, most lush tree, while Peter rolls his eyes and reminds us of the ceiling height.

Our tree outings typically take hours. It's genetic. When I was a child, the only time I remember my parents arguing was during our annual foray for the Christmas tree.

“The top is crooked.”
“There's a hole on the side.”
“The trunk isn't straight.”
“Not full enough.”

Such festive memories. (If you do want to cut your own tree, check out http://localharvest.org or http://pickyourown.org for a tree farm near you.)

As I mentally prepared to fight the good fight for the biggest, best tree, we got out of the car (aka Mom Mobile and Garden Delights' delivery van) and were greeted by Brian, the owner of the tree lot.

We've gone to Brian a few times, but this was our first visit with my official Garden Delights logo magnet on the car.

“Garden Delights. What's that?” he asked.

I started my quick description of the company—the ten cent version for people who I think are just making polite conversation.

“What varieties do you grow?”

Silence. From me. Miss Tomato-Guru.

“Ummm...heirlooms. I grow organic heirlooms,” I sputtered.

“Yeah, but what varieties?”

“About 130 different varieties.”

“OK, but WHICH ONES?”

Oh. Umm. Well. Let's see.

There's more than one?

I could not name a single variety.

Peter and Tyler looked at me and waited. By this time, Mikey and Kristen—seeing no need to listen to grown-up conversation--ran off to select a tree, while their mother fumbled and mumbled and acted like an idiot.

Even Peter, who until this year could not find value in heirloom tomatoes (“Tomatoes are just round and red” is his usual statement), started rattling off varieties while I stood there, speechless.

I was mute. Incapable of naming anything but colors. Purple, black, yellow, orange, green, pink...but not one variety popped into my head. Brian looked at me the way a member of Greenpeace would look at an Exxon executive trying to greenwash the Gulf disaster. My credibility as an heirloom expert evaporated. Oh—did I mention that he was asking about the varieties because he wanted to carry my products in the spring?

Shoot me.

Now, it would be easy to blame my lack of speech to numerous factors: too much turkey, which resulted in mental sluggishness. Too much wine the night prior. Too little sleep.

Instead, I've realized that my brain no longer multi-tasks.

We were on a family outing, looking for trees, searching for some Christmas spirit. Tomatoes were far from my thoughts. Herbs, sure—I've been sowing seeds already for the spring, because they tend to take longer to grow into something I would be proud to sell. Tomatoes?  I won't start those seeds until February.

But here's the thing: I used to speak in public. A lot. I triple majored in speech communications, advertising, and public relations—with a lot of political science classes thrown in for good measure. I planned to be a political speech writer. (I'm glad I had the  sense not to pursue that endeavor.)

In my former life, I gave presentations. Talked to clients. Pitched authors and their books to the media. I trained people in public speaking, for goodness sake! My entire career was based on talking and writing.

And now that I have my own business that I believe in, products that I think are pretty unique and impressive, and a sustainability story that rivals any company, I couldn't form a cohesive sentence about my own products to a potential customer.

Somehow, kind Brian still asked for my card and said he'd look up the varieties on the website, after I finally mumbled a few names of tomatoes while looking for a hole to crawl in. Here's the clincher: did I have a card with me?

Take a wild guess.

So, I scribbled my website on the scrap of paper I found in the Mom Mobile, apologized about my lack of professionalism, and gurgled something about needing to look for the kids so that my (very) red cheeks and I could escape.

The moral of the story is: Be Prepared. Just like a Boy Scout. Know your story, and be ready to tell it in any situation. At least, make sure you have business cards tucked into every pocket/wallet/cup holder/bra...whatever it takes to have one available. You can always direct a potential customer/client to the website if you don't have much time to talk (or many brain cells functioning).

The second lesson is: let a 9-year-old and 5-year-old run free among Christmas trees while you attempt to talk with the tree lot owner.  By the time I was through humiliating myself, the kids found the perfect tree—and I don't say that lightly. Take a look:

Finally, remember this:

No matter how much you love your work--if you work alone all day, make certain you talk to grown ups once in awhile, or you just may lose all social skills.

Trust me.

Anyone want to have lunch? I promise, I won't talk about compost and worms over lunch, honest!

Call me!

XO ~

A humbled and embarrassed gardener girl.
 

What's for Dinner?

It's 4 p.m. Well, actually, 4:10 p.m. I should be thinking about what to feed my family tonight. Instead, I've spent about 40 minutes playing on Facebook, 10 minutes sorting photos, two minutes thinking that I really should clean the house, and about 30 seconds justifying why I'm not cleaning the house. I mopped our (very) sticky kitchen floor earlier, though. Whew. I'm worn out.

Anyway, I decided that while the kiddos are busy playing outside with friends, I would share with you why I'm not stressing about what's for dinner.

We have sauce. Lots and lots of sauce.

 
With our abundance of tomatoes this summer, I've been on a midnight sauce-making frenzy. I've decided it's a great method to cure insomnia by making sauce at 11:30 p.m. (Then, sleeplessness is no longer frustrating insomnia, because I'm actively working.) The weird inner dialogues that happen in my brain...

While our overload of tomatoes was one reason for making sauce, the real reason I wanted to stock up is for days like today. Today, I don't have one creative idea of what to feed my family that will not illicit grief from the kids. I thought about risotto, which Peter and I love...but the kids despise. I thought about chicken, but right now, I'm having an anti-chicken phase. (This happens every few weeks, after I've been reading sustainable farming literature. We buy organic chicken, but still...some days, I just can't go there.) So, rather than do our fallback routine of going out, which has become too frequent, too expensive, and too questionable regarding our waistlines...I'm pulling out the sauce.

Everyone eats the sauce.

It's healthy. It's delicious. It's homemade from organically raised produce. Even the garlic is from our garden, which personally—I find very cool. 

Garlic is good. Homegrown garlic is great.

So, because I feel your pain as the dinner hour approaches, I'm sharing my super easy, incredibly scrumptious sauce recipe. Get to the Farmer's Market tomorrow morning, 8 a.m. SHARP. Buy tons of tomatoes, if you haven't grown your own. Tell the farmer that you need delicious, organic tomatoes to make a big vat of sauce, and you might get a price cut. Locally, one vendor sold 25 pounds of tomatoes for $10. Granted, they weren't heirloom, but they were organic. Make sure you select nice, ripe tomatoes.

ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

I am not a chef. I am not even a very good cook. My recipe is one that I found on Cooks.com, and then modified to meet our personal likes. Extra garlic. Extra oregano. Extra wine.

You get the picture.

The beauty of this sauce is that it's fail-proof. It's great on it's own, but it's also fabulous with extra goodies, like mushrooms, sausage, and peppers. I make the basic sauce and then add the extra ingredients later, as we're preparing the meal.

Ready? It's time to get to work!


First, plug your iPod into the dock and line up your favorite tunes. Your hands will be covered in tomato goo for the next hour, so choose your selections wisely. If your teenage son recently downloaded new albums to your iPod, you may want to preview them before you begin. (Our college boy usually selects pretty good albums for me, but sorry—I'm too old for “Elf Power.” Did I really just admit that? Yeesh.)


One of the biggest hassles in making sauce is peeling the tomatoes. Do you know the secret for easy peeling? If not, I'm going to tell you. You will thank me.

Peel tomatoes.
Fill a large pot with water and heat on high to boil. Fill another large container with cold water and ice. Make sure it's near the stove.

After washing your tomatoes,  slice a shallow “X” in the bottom (blossom) end of the fruit. 

When you've “Xed” the tomatoes, add them to the boiling water for about one minute. 

Using a slotted spoon, remove the tomatoes from the pot and plunge them into the bowl of ice water. The ice water stops the tomato from cooking and further loosens the skin.

Remove the cooled tomato. The skin should peel away easily. (FYI—this also works for ripe peaches.) 

 
Crazy-easy, huh?

De-seed tomatoes.
Really, this is optional. We just don't like a lot of seeds in our sauce. If you're pressed for time, you can skip this step...

Cut the peeled tomatoes through the center of the fruit—not through the stem end. Squeeze the seeds and juice into a bowl. 

DO NOT THROW THIS OUT—just set it aside. You won't eliminate all of the seeds, so don't stress about removing every last one.

Cut tomatoes. Chop, dice, whatever makes you happy.
Remove the stem with your knife. It's hard and nasty—you don't want it in your sauce. Chop the tomatoes. The size isn't too important—the tomatoes are going to cook down, but if you don't like large chunks in your sauce—you'll want smaller pieces. Set aside.

Strain the juice.
I'm not big on kitchen gadgets, but I have to admit—I truly love my food mill for times like this. (A year ago, I didn't know what a food mill was, so don't feel bad if you don't, either.)

The food mill is pretty fabulous. It has legs that support it over a bowl, so while you're pouring seedy juice into it, you don't have to try to balance the food mill at the same time. So—pour in the seeds, juice, pulp...crank the handle of the mill a bit until most of the liquid is in the bowl—and voila! 

Lovely juice without seeds.

If you don't have a food mill, a fine strainer will work.

(Note: you can use the food mill to process the entire tomato, and it will remove the skin, seeds, and everything...but I found it makes the sauce too thin.)

OK. Still there? The hardest part is DONE! YEA! Wash your hands, get the tomato goo out from under your nails, drink a little wine, and get ready to cook!

Onions, garlic, and olive oil, oh my.
Chop your onions and mince your garlic. We like a lot of garlic, so modify the amount to your taste.

Heat olive oil in a large sauce pan. Add the onions and garlic, cooking until soft. (Just a couple of minutes.)

The herbs.
If you have fresh basil and oregano—use it, your hands will smell wonderful! Chop the fresh basil and oregano until fine. If you don't have fresh herbs, dried works fine, too.

The rest.
Add the tomatoes and seed-free juice.... 

 
...the wine...

...and all remaining ingredients (salt, pepper, sugar, herbs, wine) to the pot. 

Stir well, cover, and bring to a boil on medium-high heat.
 
Once the sauce begins to boil, remove cover, reduce heat, and simmer for about three hours.

The most important step.
Cut or tear some good bread, and dip into the sauce every hour, just to make sure it's to your taste. You can always add more spices to suit your palate.

And finally—pour a large glass of wine, go sit down, and bribe your husband/significant other/roommate to clean up the kitchen. When he/she smells the sauce, you'll have a kitchen slave. (Except mine was out of town when I made the last batch. Boo.)

Winter days.

The greatest thing about this sauce is that it freezes beautifully. Wait for it to thoroughly cool, ladle the sauce into freezer-safe containers (size dependent on your needs), pop into the freezer—and you'll have the taste of summer all winter long.

And when the witching hour hits, you'll no longer wonder what's for dinner.

Enjoy!

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Homemade Tomato Sauce
¼ c. olive oil
6 cloves garlic, minced (modify to your taste—we like a lot of garlic)
2 medium onions, finely chopped
20+ ripe tomatoes, peeled, deseeded, and chopped
½ cup dry white wine
2 tsp. oregano
2 tsp. fresh basil, chopped
1 tbsp. sugar
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. pepper

In a large, heavy pot, heat olive oil on medium high. Add garlic and onions. Saute until soft.
Add all remaining ingredients to pot, mixing well. Cover, and cook until boiling over medium-high heat. Reduce heat, remove cover, and simmer for at least three hours. Stir occasionally.

I'm back...

Hi.

Remember me?

I feel a little like a teenager, who blew off her date--and then wanted him back.

(Not that I ever did that.)

This is awkward.

I'm sorry I abandoned you. You know it wasn't intentional, right?

See, this little thing called Life got in the way of my writing. I know you've probably imagined the worst. But no, we didn't buy an SUV, I didn't take a job at Monsanto, and we haven't lost our Greenpeace membership.

Did I mention that I'm sorry?

If I tell you a story, will you forgive me? It might help you understand why I've been absent lately.

~~~~~

Once upon a time, there was a girl/woman/mom who loved to garden. She loved to garden so much that she would dream of flowers. She would garden all day. She would garden at night—in the dark. On Mother's Day, while her friends visited spas, her wish was to plant the vegetable garden. In the rain.

Eventually, she realized her gardening habit had become an obsession. At about this same time, she also realized that soon her youngest child would be firmly ensconced in that lovely institution called kindergarten. Because she had no desire to return to her former life as a PR exec, she knew it was time to turn the obsession into something more. A business. A green business. A green gardening business.
 

Garden Delights.

The end.

~~~~~

Actually, there's a little more to it. Like:

• 130 varieties of heirloom tomato plants
• 35 varieties of heirloom pepper plants
• Dozens of herbs and assorted heirloom veggies
• 5,000 seedlings growing in the downstairs of our house
• A commitment to use only organic methods and sustainable resources, including all shipping supplies and potting materials
• Even the plant labels biodegrade in a home compost system

Oh. Did I mention that many of the plants I'm growing are in danger of extinction? And that through my business, I'm hoping to encourage a new generation of organic kitchen gardeners?

Then, of course, there's the marketing, selling, writing, tending, babying, nurturing, and general coddling that both the plants and the business required.

Oh. And the family. Yep, they had needs, too.

So, there it is. I abandoned my writing for a bit, but not my greenish ways. If anything, starting Garden Delights has been an enormous learning experience in finding fabulous renewable resources—and not settling for less. It's been crazy, hairy, frustrating, and delightful...and time-consuming.

I love it.

So, I hope you'll check in now and then, because I'd love to renew our green conversations. While I've been seeding and weeding, with my nose in fish emulsion fertilizer (nasty, good stuff)--what have you been up to? Learned any good environmental lessons lately? Have some tips to share? I'd love to hear!

Happy growing and greening!
XO

Julie