Holy Hot Peppers.

Today's heirloom hot pepper harvest--the last for the season.

For a family that doesn't eat a lot of spicy food, I think...perhaps...I should plant fewer hot pepper plants next year. Three gallon-sized bags of peppers went to college with Tyler and Val. One gallon is heading to a friend's home tomorrow. One small bag joined its friends in our freezer. Because we've already processed a whole lot of hot peppers, I decided it was time to end the hot pepper season in our garden. 

It's time to plant garlic, and I need a free bed.

So, ¡adiós, hot peppers. Buon giorno, beautiful garlic.

I will never complain about too much garlic.

XO ~

Julie

If You Take a Sister to a Soccer Game...

If you take a sister to a soccer game...



...she will wander away to look for animals. If she wanders away to look for animals, she will find a friend.

If she finds a friend, she will want to find it a friend, too. 

If she finds two fence lizards, she'll generously offer to give one to her little brother.
 

If she offers to give one to her little brother, she'll think the lizards are pets.

If she thinks the lizards are pets, she'll want to take them home.
 

If she wants to take them home, her mother will command her to release them back to nature.

Right now!

If she releases the lizards back to nature, her mother will search her pockets to make certain she really released the lizards.

If she really released the lizards, she'll have fun again next Saturday at her little bother's soccer game.

If she has fun catching lizards next Saturday, they still won't come home to become part of the menagerie.

The end.

XO ~

Julie 

Organic Halloween Decorations.

Not many people would classify these guys as Garden Delights...

...unless, like me, they're organic gardeners. 

But with Halloween approaching, what's better than organic Halloween decorations that also control pests? 

Some people might think the cobwebs by the front door are a sign of a lazy housekeeper. Instead, we consider them masterful macabre decorations to frighten trick-or-treaters.
 

Keep up the good work, my little creepy crawlies.  

Just don't crawl on me.

Happy organic Halloween!

XO ~

Julie

Politics and Apple Cake.

I'm baking an apple cake.

There's something calming about the simplicity of baking. Flour, sugar, milk, eggs, lots and lots of cinnamon. I bake when I'm happy, but often I bake when I'm upset. It settles me. I'm grounded in the present, ticking off steps in the recipe, engaged in a calming ritual. Measure, add, mix. Place in 350 degree oven for an hour. Reap the rewards.

When my mom passed away, I baked. And baked. I stayed up until 3 a.m., baking. Usually, the bereaved don't bake the post-service food—they receive it from friends and neighbors.

But I baked to quiet my mind and mask my grief. I baked until I finally, finally felt the ability to sleep. And then, I baked some more.

Of course, we had too much food.

Tonight, the apple cake began as a joyful dessert for tomorrow night's book club. Our book club night is a monthly cause for celebration—brilliant, lovely friends gathered together to share our love of literature, escape our responsibilities for a few hours, and, of course, indulge. Much food and wine is consumed. Some of us have been known to skip all meals on book club days to feast in the evening with our friends. 

The food is that good.

But instead of its original purpose, the apple cake became cathartic.

Soften butter, pack brown sugar, peel and chop three cups of apples.

I lined up the ingredients before we tucked the kids into bed, then turned on the Vice Presidential debate.

I know who will receive my vote. It's my vote, and I like my guy. But as a voter, I'm watching all of the debates. I need to be informed. It's my responsibility to listen carefully to everyone, even if I don't agree with what they say. The other candidate might become my president, and I want to know what he thinks about issues that will affect us all.

And honestly? I want to know why some of my friends like this guy. I want to understand why he appeals to them. I don't want to name call, finger-point, and post bizarre, unflattering caricatures of their candidate on Facebook. I respect them. After all, we're friends, right? It says so, right there on Facebook.

Add eggs, milk, and vanilla. Mix well.

But sometimes, I wonder. Who are these people? Why do they feel it's OK to be so derogatory toward my candidate? They'll say it's not a personal attack—it's political. Yet, when so much negativity and hatefulness appears on my page, it feels personal.

Fill pan, place in 350 oven for one hour. Don't burn.

So, what began as an apple cake for book club, and what should have been a post about the best baking apples became...a bit of baking psychoanalysis, I suppose.

Does this count as a garden delight?

Politics aside...the house does smell delicious. I used apples from our Sunday orchard outing. The apple cake includes a blend of Cameo, Granny Smith, and Fuji. I like to blend different varieties when baking, because their unique characteristics provide a more rich, complex taste.

Kind of like how differing opinions should create a more energized, creative country.

Remove from oven, cool 15 minutes, then remove from pan.

I hold my breath, flip the Bundt pan, and the cake easily falls out...which is not always the case. Sometimes, it sticks. Sometimes, the lovely cake breaks into several large chunks.

Tonight, I'm lucky.

My crankiness abates, and I realize that I've been holding my breath for a long time.

Exhale.

The praline icing looks odd...and I wonder if I skipped an ingredient. But no, I don't think so. It's grainy, oddly textured, not its usual smooth consistency.

I doubled the icing recipe. Perhaps I was too greedy?

And then, as I typed the recipe below, I realized—the instructions for making the icing were missing. I combined everything at once. I boiled nothing.

Don't do what I did.

Without a doubt, though, the scent of apples and spices, the physical act of baking, relaxed my mind and provided perspective.

Apple Cream Cheese Bundt Cake

Adapted from Southern Living. The original recipe calls for pecans, which I've omitted.

Ingredients

CREAM CHEESE FILLING:

1 (8-oz.) package cream cheese, softened

1/4 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 large egg

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

APPLE CAKE BATTER:

3 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup granulated sugar

1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

3 large eggs, lightly beaten

3/4 cup canola oil

3/4 cup applesauce

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 cups peeled and finely chopped Gala apples

PRALINE FROSTING:

1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

1/4 cup butter

3 tablespoons milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup powdered sugar

Filling: Beat cream cheese, butter, and sugar at medium speed with an electric mixer until blended and smooth. Add egg, flour, and vanilla; beat just until blended.

Batter: Preheat oven to 350º. Stir together 3 cups flour and next seven ingredients in a large bowl; stir in eggs, oil, applesauce, and vanilla until dry ingredients are moistened. Stir in apples.

Spoon two-thirds of apple mixture into a greased and floured 14-cup Bundt pan. Spoon cream cheese filling over apple mixture, leaving a 1-inch border around edges of pan. Using a knife, swirl filling through apple mixture. Spoon remaining apple mixture over cream cheese filling.

Bake at 350º for 1 hour or until a long wooden skewer inserted in center comes out clean. Cool cake in pan on a wire rack 15 minutes; remove from pan to wire rack, and cool completely (about 2 hours).

Frosting: Bring 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup butter, and 3 Tbsp. milk to a boil in a 2-qt. saucepan over medium heat, whisking constantly; boil 1 minute, whisking constantly. Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla. Gradually whisk in powdered sugar until smooth. Stir gently 3 to 5 minutes or until mixture begins to cool and thickens slightly. Pour immediately over cooled cake.

Good apple varieties for baking:

Gala ~ The original recipe called for Gala, but we all know I'm not a rule follower. Actually, we just didn't come home from the orchard with any Gala. The sweetness of Gala means less sugar used in recipes. It also retains its shape well.

Granny Smith ~ For a long time, I thought Granny Smith was the only baking apple. It is a classic—tart and tangy. Granny is Kristen's favorite apple.

Cortland ~ Tart, crisp, and holds shape well.

Jonathan ~ Classic, deep red, tart fruit.

Jonagold ~ a cross of Jonathan and Golden Delicious—a sweet-tart blend with firm flesh.

Braeburn ~ Spicy, sweet, firm apple that stores well and keeps its shape.

Honeycrisp ~ Crisp, sweet, firm fruit that doesn't cook down too much in baking.

Winesap ~ Tart and spicy, the fruit stores well and doesn't cook down.

Happy baking...and voting. And let's agree to disagree, respectfully. Please?

Julie

Fabulous Fraise des Bois.

Today, as I compiled a list of the garden and greenhouse chores to be done—pronto--I realized that it's already time to sow some seeds for next spring. It sounds crazy, I know. But somehow, it's already October. When did that happen? My favorite garden delight needs extra time to germinate and grow into lush plants so that we can enjoy its fruits next year.

My favorite garden delight? 

Fraise des bois.

Honestly, isn't it a delight to say the name? Fraise des bois. Just saying the words makes me feel worldly and culinarily chic, even if I'm schlepping around in my Bradley University sweatshirt.

Allow me my fantasy.

If you've visited here before, you've heard me extoll the virtues of fraise des bois. Peter laughs at my insistence at using the French phrase because, after all, they're just “strawberries of the woods.” In Switzerland, they're commonplace.

In our area, strawberries of the forest—at least, in our yard—are inedible. Trust me. We've tried them more than once, each time hoping for a bit of sweetness.

We always wind up with a mouthful of bitter, hard berries.

Unlike our nasty wild strawberries, fraise des bois are tiny delicacies. Imagine the sweetest strawberry, just picked from the field. Now, multiply that deliciousness by 10, and you'll understand my love affair with fraise des bois.

Not only are the fruits unpretentious bursts of tasty bliss, but the plants are workhorses in our shady garden.

Fraise des bois graces containers, borders perennial beds, lines the new shade garden I'm creating. With evergreen leaves, it provides a lush ground cover filled with tiny gems in red and yellow. 

Fraise des bois are well mannered. While traditional garden strawberries are quick to bully their way through beds, spilling over borders and crowding companion plants, fraise des bois are refined. They politely remain where planted, spreading by seed rather than runners, forming thicker clumps each year without invading the garden.

I like polite plants.

Even more, I like plants that flower continuously and produce delicious fruit from spring until the first hard freeze. And I love plants that tolerate shade and remain evergreen, at least in our zone 7b garden.

Noted as hardy in zones 4-7, fraise des bois is considered challenging to germinate. Although it does require a bit of time to germinate, typically sprouts appear in approximately two weeks. By starting the plants in the fall, I'm assured they will produce at least a small crop of fruit the first year in the garden.

A tradition...kids paint pots the first week of summer vacation. 

Kristen's fraise des bois is still going strong on October 10.

To enjoy fraise des bois, you need to grow your own. Honestly. Please dedicate at least a container to these garden gems, because you won't find them in stores. The fruit is highly perishable and must be used immediately after harvesting.

That is, use immediately if any berries remain after your short walk from garden to kitchen. The smell will tease you, tempting you to eat every last berry yourself.

Sharing is highly overrated, right?

Fraise des bois is a garden delight on its own—there's no recipe that can compete with the simple pleasure of fraise des bois, perhaps with a tad of crème fraiche or vanilla ice cream.

After all, simple is chic.

N'est-ce pas?

XO ~

Julie

P.S. I think Sammy ate too many fraise des bois...poor, lazy, chubby kitty.

Pampering Perennials: Historic Snail Flower.

It's cold. My toes are cold, my nose is cold. Soon, the greenhouses will serve a dual purpose of germinating seeds and sheltering my favorite tender perennials. Although our zone (7b) is typically safe from the first frost until Halloween, my gardener's intuition tells me to be prepared. Today, as I waited for Mikey's school bus, the steel grey clouds looked ominously like snow clouds.

Seriously.

I know that's absurd, as I shivered in the 55 degrees. Still, as a former northern girl, I know snow clouds.

And these looked just like them.

Several weather sources are predicting cold, snowy days for the Southeast—which I love. I miss snow. Now, though, it's time to think about finishing the last plantings of the season, as well as preparing the garden for the approaching cold.

Most of our tender perennials planted in the landscape receive a good layer of mulch or a thick blanket of straw, in the case of our banana trees. But some of our potted perennial favorites earn sacred space in the greenhouses.

One of those perennials is my lovely snail flower, Vigna caracalla.

Grown as a tender perennial in the south and an annual in the north, snail flower is a quiet vine early in the season, producing lush foliage for several months prior to bloom. But when those blooms appear—oh my.

Originally discovered growing in Caracas, Venezuela, snail flower is an heirloom variety with star power. Often noted for growing in Thomas Jefferson's gardens at Monticello, this historic plant intertwines history with botanical art. Spiraling purple and lavender flowers highlighted with cream and a touch of yellow smell as beautiful as they look.

The vines reach up to 20 feet in warm climates, making them an excellent choice for trellises, mailboxes, or fences. Although they bloom most prolifically in sun, I've found that partial shade still produces stunning blooms.

Snail flower is one of the first heirloom flowers I propagated from seed. While many sources caution that it's difficult to germinate, I've found the plants very easy to grow. The most difficult aspect of growing snail flowers from seed is the price: $1 per seed at Seed Savers Exchange, due to the challenge of securing viable seed. The plant blooms the first year, but the second years' blooms are heart-stopping.

Soon, the greenhouse will fill with overwintering perennials and trays of baby perennials grown from seed. Soon, we'll need to determine how to fit a 120 pound propane tank into a Prius. Obviously, I forgot to consider heating the greenhouse when trading in the minivan. Soon, as October's temperatures drop, seed catalogs will arrive, and I'll begin making lists for Garden Delights.

Until then, though, I'm going to enjoy the last garden blooms and prepare the winter homes for the perennials. Poor, cold plants.

Do you overwinter any of your favorite plants?

XO ~

Julie

Rule-Breakers Pick Apples. (Spoiler Alert: No One Dies.)

Yesterday, the chill arrived in South Carolina. Just Saturday, the kids and I sweated through horseback riding lessons. (It's very strenuous for me, watching them from the shady gazebo. Seriously. They might be hot because, well, they're actually exercising—but my sweat is more anxiety induced. Little people, big horses, cantering and jumping...I earn my sweat, too.)

Then Sunday arrived, overcast, gloomy, and Halloweenish. The chill in the air announced that it was time to head up to the mountains for our annual apple picking.

It's a family tradition. Apparently, judging by the hundreds of families on the mountain, it's not an unique tradition.

But sometimes traditions change.

This year, for instance, our family expedition grew.

Tyler's sweet girlfriend of a year, Val, joined the party. It's good to have more female companionship!

And Tyler sports a serious mountain man beard.

(Dear Val: please make Tyler shave. Thank you.)

Traditionally, we visit the orchard on a gorgeous day, enjoying breathtaking views of the 60 acres of apples, pears, peaches, and cherries.

This year, dense fog blocked my photo ops.

Bad, bad fog.

Typically, we walk to the far back section of the orchard in our quest for the perfect apples. Then we walk...and walk...and walk...back to the store, little legs complaining about the distance and little arms too tired to carry the full baskets.

This year, we broke tradition—but only because few varieties remained to be picked. Most of the trees were bare, with their fruit prepackaged and ready to purchase in the store. We found a few rows of trees, picked a few baskets of apples, and then bought the other required varieties in the store.

Traditionally, apple picking is a time that kids can run free in the orchard, with us keeping an eye on them. Watching kids have the freedom to play hide-and-seek among the rows, to climb a tree to pick the prettiest apple, to taste a just-picked fruit at its freshest—those are traditions I cherish.

This year, we were greeted with rules:

No climbing trees.

No eating apples.

No riding on wagons.

 

Honestly, I understand people can be thoughtless. After all, this orchard is the livelihood for a family, and visitors need to treat it with respect. Still, it made me a little sad that the owners needed to post rules, like “No throwing apples.” Shouldn't that be commonsense?

But I must admit...my family, which I usually insist follows all rules, broke several:

It's a tradition to eat an apple just-picked from a tree....

...and to take a cheesy photo with the just-picked apple. 

It's a tradition to send our little climbing Kristen to the top of the trees for the best, out-of-reach apples...

It's a tradition for the kids to play among the trees...

And it's a tradition for the kids to whine a bit when carrying their apples back to the store. This year, we wised up and used a wagon.

(We took the photo only to tease about the “no riding on wagons” rule...I can assure you that Peter did NOT pull them along with the baskets of apples! But Mikey is definitely eating an apple. Oops.)

It's also a tradition to gorge on hot apple cider doughnuts...

You can see some traditions never die!

It's definitely not a tradition to find apple blossoms in October...poor, confused tree.

Apparently, it's become a tradition to buy a ridiculous amount of apples. We now have several bushels of apples residing in our refrigerator. Fuji, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, Cameo, Arkansas Black, plus a small bag of Asian Pears...all waiting patiently to become  culinary delights.

(Although, at the rate Mikey is eating them, we might need more apples before Thanksgiving baking begins.)

A final tradition of the day: the season's first apple pie.

When the first semi-cool day arrives, Kristen requests apple pie—and hot chocolate. It's a fall tradition. She's actually been asking for both since October 1. Now, with the temperatures requiring sweaters, it's time to make my girl happy.

I must admit—I cheat. I'm sure I'll lose all credibility admitting this--but I use a prepared pie crust. 

I remember too vividly my mother's anxiety over making pie crust. She always fretted that it wouldn't be right.

I don't know why she worried—it was consistently delicious. Still, I think her worry causes my hesitation to prepare homemade crust.

We have so many apples, though, that perhaps this will be the year I attempt to make a pie crust from scratch.

But after a long day of apple picking, I chose the easy route.

Apple Pie

Ingredients:

Homemade or refrigerated box pie crust (2 crusts)

Filling: 

7 cups thinly sliced, peeled apples (approximately 7 medium). I like to mix varieties, and in this pie I used Granny Smith, Cameo, and Arkansas Black.

3/4 cup sugar 

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour 

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon (I sometimes sprinkle a bit more—we like a lot of cinnamon) 

1/4 teaspoon salt 

1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg 

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Heat oven to 425°F. Place 1 pie crust in ungreased 9-inch glass pie pan. Press firmly against side and bottom.

In large bowl, carefully mix filling ingredients and place in crust. Cover with second crust. Tuck excess top crust under bottom crust edge, pressing edges together to seal. Flute. Cut slits in top crust.

Bake 40 to 45 minutes on middle rack in oven until crust is golden brown. After 25 minutes, place a sheet of aluminum foil on top of crust to prevent burning. Cool at least 2 hours before serving.

NOTE: Because I tend to be overzealous when peeling apples and fill my pie crust a little too full, I always place a cookie sheet on the lowest bottom rack in the oven to catch spills.

While not exactly a delight from our garden, perhaps next year's traditional first apple pie of the season will start with our little backyard apple trees.

Happy fall!

XO ~

Julie