Day 2 of Pickling/Preserving, and a Trip to the ER

The bounty of the day!

With the few good fingers I have left on my right hand (two), I begin my post. Aaaaand there's already blood on the trackpad. (sigh) Time to change the fingertip bandage on the thumb again. BRB.

Today is another canning day for me. I still say "is" as I have 10 lbs of cucumbers and 1 pint of morels sliced, resting in salt, and ready to pickle in the next hour and a half. I am running late because my day was unfortunately interrupted due to an accident with the mandoline. More on that later.

The day started with rhubarb chutney. About 30 minutes into cooking the chutney it became apparent that you can't make rhubarb chutney from frozen rhubarb as it has very little structural integrity to start with so maintaining a good structure is an impossibility. So I called Dave over to get his opinion. First thing he did was stick his finger in the pot and taste it--something I had not bothered to do yet. "Yum", he said. "I can taste this on a pork tenderloin."

"So, sauce?", I responded.

"Oh yeah", he said. Then we went back and forth a bit on how much more it should reduce, whether I should strain it or leave the vestiges of rhubarb, onion, raisin, and spices in it. The decision was leave in, and thicken a bit more. I ended up with three pints and 7 half-pints of incredible rhubarb chutney sauce that sealed perfectly after canning. Then I moved on to the rhubarb syrup. That was a genius move as I am--post ER and six stitches--enjoying a rhubarb sour made from Bulleit rye, lemon juice and some of the afore-mentioned rhubarb syrup. I only got two pints of the syrup from about two lbs of rhubarb, and it's pretty thin, but boy is it yummy! One pint has already been cracked open and put in the fridge after we used the left-over two ounces for the first two sours. But I'm getting ahead pf myself...

After the syrup, it was after noon and time for the cucumber pickles. My goal was a double batch of bread and butter slices and a double batch of garlic dill spears--16 pints total. Oh, and one pint of pickled morels that didn't get used up in the beef stroganoff last week. It being Sunday, Dave had a hankering to take in a movie. When he asked if I'd mind if he went to a matinee of The Incredibles 2, I assured him I wouldn't (we all saw it on opening day, he just wanted to go again), but I did ask him if he would mind walking down and I would pick him up after in case I needed to run to the store in mid pickle. Boy was that a serendipitous choice!

So Dave left and I started slicing pickles. I was lamenting not having a wavy pickle slicer when I glanced over and saw my mom's old mandoline. "Well" I thought, "At least I can have perfectly sized 1/4" slices." And thus, like Alice, I fell down the slippery slope to the rabbit hole. Dave had said many times in the past how dangerous mandolines were and how he'd be happy to check me out on it if'n I wanted to use it. "How hard could it be?" I mused. It was surprisingly easy! In fact it was so sharp that I thought I wasn't pushing down hard enough and the cucumber was just sliding over the top of the blade. When I looked underneath and saw the perfect little 1/4" slices I was very happy and started slicing back and forth really fast, congratulating myself on how efficient I was and how I was goig to show Dave the great job I did with the mandoline... and as quick as that I knew I had gone right through my finger with the preceding slice. I looked at the blood welling from the top right side of my ring finger and the flat spot where there used to be tip...

But I'm good in a crisis. I washed it off, covered it in paper towels and lifted the mandoline to retrieve the missing part. There it was, a slice with a good bit of fingernail still attached. That's how sharp the mandoline it: I went right through 1/4" long section of fingernail without even slowing down. I picked it up, put it sloppily back on the end of my finger, and thought about what I should do next. Should I just bandage it tightly on and hope it grew back together, or should I go to the ER to see if they would sew it back on? In the end I opted for the ER. I also opted for not calling Dave as I reasoned there was nothing he could do other than be stressed and wait, and he might as well enjoy the movie and I would pick him up and he would see me again when everything was fine. In hindsight that was a bad choice and what he was most upset about. (We live five blocks (1/2 mile) from the hospital and it's only another 10 blocks to the movie theatre.)

My fingertip sewed back on

It was a busy day in the Polson ER, but I didn't have a long wait before the doctor came in, shot up my finger with novocaine, and had me wash it. I was fine until then. But when she had me walk to the sink and scrub my hand and stump (okay, long stump--I didn't lose that much!), I got hot, nauseated and light-headed and had to lie down. In my defense, I had eaten anything all day and it was A LOT of blood (and gore. Think the slices of people that they have in the Museum of Science and Industry in Hyde Park in Chicago...) The doctor finished cleaning the finger up and then sewed the tip back on with six stitches. I didn't feel a thing. She said the nail bit would fall off on its own and she didn't want to pry it off .When she was done she said to take ibuprofen for the pain, then the nurse bandaged me up, gave me a tetanus shot with a whooping cough vaccine in it, and they sent me on my merry way.

When I got home I still had half an hour before I had to go get Dave from the movies so I thought I would finish the pickles. The first step was to wash the mandoline--not to use it, mind you. I had already decided to use a knife for the rest of the cutting--perfection be damned. However when I turned it upside down I saw that there was blade storage underneath, and in it was a wavy pickle blade! I could not resist. I gave in to the temptation and switched out the blades vowing to be VERY CAREFUL and to go slowly. That mostly worked out for me. I say "mostly" because when I was almost at the end of the cucs, my hand slipped and I rammed my thumb and middle finger into the blade. I didn't cut through or slice off anything so I just bandaged the fingers up, washed the mandoline off again, and calmly cut the rest of the cucs. When I was done I washed the mandoline, salted and refrigerated the cucs, and headed off to get Dave.

After taking the bandaids off
the index and thumb

When we got home I (against his wishes) cut the remaining cucumbers up into spears for garlic dills and salted and refrigerated them. I didn't take any pain reliever in pill form, but Dave did make me a rhubarb sour from the extra rhubarb syrup that didn't fit into the jars to can (as noted above). He had one too (probably to steady his nerves--a side effect of being married to me) and they were so good that we opened one of the jars of rhubarb syrup so we could each have another!

After dinner I made the brine and jarred up the pickles before processing them (and the lone jar of morels) in hot water baths. Now it's after 11, I am still not in pain, and I am toddling off to bed for a well-deserved rest. Oh, and I've decided what to call my pickles: Brenda's Bloody Good Pickles!

Day 1 of Pickling/Preserving (Hot Water Bath Method)

The cat, neglected all day,
camps on my chest as I write.

I have just spent the past nine hours, more or less, reviewing my pickling recipes and plans, doing the last shopping, and making pickles, and now I'm beat! As I post, I listen to the satisfying pinging of the lids as they sea to the jars, and I try not to dislodge the cat on my chest. I last made pickles when I was 17 and I remember making quarts and quarts of garlic dills. Today I made four pints of pickled beets, one pint of pickled carrots, one pint of pickled beets and carrots, and three less-than successful half-pints of pickled strawberries. I can already tell the strawberries were less than successful because when I look at the jars I see mostly liquid with a few berries floating on top. Looks like my berries pretty much disintegrated. But I bet the liquid in them will make some interesting cocktails!

All the recipe books and web recipes

The main reason it took me so long to make so little is that I just couldn't settle on recipes. Last time I used my mother and grandmother's garlic dill recipe and that was that. No fussing about which spices to use in my pickling spice, which vinegar to use, which sugar and how much. Today was just fraught. At least three times I picked a recipe that really looked good and made it all the way till the final review before noticing that it was a refrigerator pickle recipe. I don't want refrigerator pickles. I want hot-water-bath processed pickles that will last a year or so. Unfortunately recipes that fit that criterion also specifically written for carrots, beets and strawberries aren't thick on the ground. But as Dave (and his t-shirt) like to say: I improvised, I adapted, I overcame. (Really, he has that on a t-shirt now).

My first pass at pickling spice

The biggest challenge came after I got all the jars full of produce and brine and I couldn't get the hot water bath to boil! We have a Jenn-Air range with one of those flat electric tops up here in Polson, and I don't think it made enough contact with the bottom of the huge canning pot for the water to boil. So in the middle of canning I made an emergency trip to Walmart to get a smaller stock pot for the hot water bath. When I got home Dave remarked that I could also use the gas burner with the propane tank on the back deck... The stainless stock pots I got at Walmart will make nice dye pots. I used the canning rig on the gas burner--just like my mom, grandmother and grandfather used to do.

Results from Day 1

Tomorrow I will make traditional garlic dill and bread and butter pickles, pickled morels, and a whopping big batch of rhubarb chutney. I hope it to get a better showing in output than I did today!

The Child is Traveling

Inside the C'mon Inn

Just back from Missoula after seeing the child off to Atlanta for two weeks. Because her flight was at 6:15 this morning, we stayed overnight at the C'mon Inn (as it is Jessie's favorite for the indoor pool, multiple hot tubs, and overall cool decor--it's also close to the airport and we had a two-room suite) and I took her to the airport this morning.

I swear I must be flagged by Missoula TSA. Last time I was taking Jessie to the plane there I got into a "discussion" with the person checking id's as there was only one person checking ids and there were probably nine people standing around by the luggage carrier and the screening machine all doing basically nothing. Meanwhile there were two long lines of people--one TSA pre-check--which J was not, and one regular, waiting to get through the id checkpoint. As long as there was anyone in the pre-check line they got to go in front of the non-TSA line--even if they just walked up to the line. After watching person after person get to walk up and go in front of our line, I finally asked to talk to a supervisor. Nothing happened other than more "discussion", but that's how things go.

The old and the new in downtown Missoula

So that was last time. This time we waited in the ticket counter line for over 20 minutes (just to drop off baggage--we had already checked in) because for some reason everyone who checked in at the kiosks then had to go through the main line and check in again. And there were only two agents. Today I kept my cool figuring they would just have to hold the plane if they ran late checking us all in. We were the last ones checked through before they closed the counter as it took our agent awhile to print me out a pass to go to the gate with J. You'd think I would have learned my lesson from last time. Don't go to the gate!

Missoula has special crossing signs

We got to the id checkpoint and sailed through. We took off our shoes, and placed everything in bins. I had been careful not to wear one of my Holy Clothing dresses because even if that's all I'm wearing (I know, TMI) it always sets off the photo machine thingie where you have to stand with your hands up and then they have to pat me down. This happened to me so many times that I got a known-traveler number just to be able to always have TSA pre-check and avoid those scanners.

The baleful moose

But you don't get to use your KT number when you're not traveling, so I wore knit capris and a tank top. Even so the scanner saw something in my "groin area" so they had to pat me down. Then they tested my hands for explosive's residue and... THAT scan came back positive! (WTH?) At this point I told Jessie to just go on up to her plane as I had no idea how long the rest of it was going to take (they offered to take me to a private room for the next part, I refused). Then another person gave me a REALLY thorough pat down followed by a detailed examination of the contents of my purse (wallet, phone, keys) and a wipe down of my phone to check it for residue. I held it together, remained quiet and polite (mostly), but this procedure really makes me come unspooled and it happens to me all the time! Luckily I did get up to the gate in time to give Jessie a hug and a kiss and to see her off. She was the last one on the plane and they closed the gate behind her.

Goodies from the farmer's market

When I left the airport I stopped by the Starbucks across from the motel for a venti iced latte. There were--no kidding--five sheriff's cars in the parking lot at 6:15 am. The girl at the window said they come there every day at the end of their shift. So if you're ever in Missoula at 6:00 am and you need to go somewhere really safe, hit up the Starbucks on Reserve and I-90. After grabbing my latte, I hied myself back to the motel for a couple more hours of sleep snuggled in with my warm, snoozy spouse.

One of the hanging baskets

I had been looking forward all week to going to the Missoula Farmer's market, but it was cloudy and damp when I took J to the airport and actively raining when Dave and I got up. I went back and forth on should we stay or should we go (we didn't have jackets or umbrellas), but decided in the end that we are hardy folk and don't need no stinking umbrella's. Off we went to the Old Post for breakfast with Steve Adler. Above our table was the obligatory moose and he gave me the stink eye all through breakfast.

Hanging basket and other flowers

When we were done, we hit up the liquor store and then headed to the farmer's market. It is worth noting that Montana is an interesting state when it comes to liquor stores. While you can buy packaged liquor at bars and some stores, it is all distributed to the bars and package stores through the state-run liquor stores so you can only buy what the state decides to carry. It's great if you're looking for a local huckleberry liqueur or spiced gin (we have a plethora of western Montana distilleries), but if you want Luxardo sangue morlacco or Creme de Violette, you're out of luck. I'm just going to have to see if I can get some of our upcoming visitors to bring us some.

Anyway, at the market we bought by a pound of lovely, fresh, morel mushrooms, little carrots, tiny cukes, red bibb and oak leaf lettuces, colorful little heirloom tomatoes, and local chorizo and brats (not children, German-style sausages). I even got a few purple and sweet basil plants for the garden. All this was after going to the Polson Farmer's Market yesterday and loading up on hanging baskets and flowers for the deck (already planted, thank you very much).

Tonight we are having our neighbor Arlene over for dinner. Dave is going to make beef stroganoff with the shrooms, we're going to have Kir Ursine (like Kir Royale but with huckleberry liqueur and sparkling wine) with a smoked salmon dip made from local sockeye salmon to start, and strawberry sabayon for dessert.

Speaking of food, it is the summer of the preserve for me! I am going to make small-batch pickles of various vegetables, and preserves, compotes, jams, and chutneys from the bounty of the local markets.

Epiphany

Some of the yarn spun from the various breeds I've processed

Last winter (not this past winter but the winter before) I took the first level of the Master Spinner program through Olds College in Alberta. I took it off-campus at Spry Whimsy in Stoughton, WI and am very much looking forward to taking the level two class there in October. I was supposed to have my coursework for level one finished and in to my instructor for grading this past February (one year after the class was held). I failed. I failed so utterly and completely that I failed to do anything other than buy fleece (because I love to shop) by February. So I applied for and received an extension till the end of June. The end of June is hurtling towards me, and I *could* get everything done. It would cost me (and by extension my family in terms of my time and attention), but I could finish. And I have been working hard to do so.

Earlier this week I was chatting on Facebook with another woman from my class who is also pushing till the last minute (though for much better reasons than mine), and she made the comment that if I am running short on time I should pick and choose what I can get done. After all, I only need to PASS. So I sat down this afternoon and I figured out how many points are assigned to each section, where I am on each of them, and what I need to do to PASS. What interests me most in the course (almost entirely) is the spinning, and I have that all but done. With one more day spent writing, I could have over 50% (passing) of the coursework done and send it in for grading without even having to do the natural dyeing section or the final project. I could even get those done by the end of next week if I wanted to.

In the spirit of winnowing, I also looked at the various sections and picked out three that I would definitely skip as they are writing only and I don't even WANT to do them--yes, I could regurgitate the facts in my own words, but why? And as I sat working through everything, I flashed back to what Jessie and Zaga have both been asking me for the past two months as I have fretted over the deadline: WHY? Why am I doing this? My answer to them was because I want to. I am taking these courses because I want to learn. Because I want to increase my proficiency in spinning to where I feel that I am a Master Spinner. But do I need to turn in the homework to get someone else's validation in order for that feeling to occur? This past week I have been finding myself cutting corners and doing the work "well enough" to get a decent grade. But the end goal for me is not and has never been a grade! I am not competing against my classmates and other people in the program to see who can get the best score or a perfect score. The only person I want to please is myself, and I am pleasing me by the acquisition of knowledge.

So why I am doing the coursework to turn in? Why not use what I learned from the course as the basis for my own ongoing breed study binder and the beginning of a natural dye book? Why not make myself samples of worsted and woolen and identify the qualities of the different parts of a sheep's fleece and record information on them for a later benefit to me? Why think about/work towards on the grade AT ALL? I know, it's blindingly obvious to you, but it was quite an epiphany to me!

Tomorrow I am going to call Olds College and inform them that I want to audit the course. Auditing costs the same as taking for credit, and I don't get a certificate at the end. BFD. I am not doing this for the certificate. Then I will continue with the work I have been doing on the qualities of the the fleeces of various sheep breeds. I will have a natural dye day or two. I will process all the different kinds of sheep fleece that I bought (and brought to Montana) but didn't do because I didn't need them for the course because they only wanted 10 and I got 20. Now the breeds I have will be a foundation for working with ALL the breeds (that a girl! I have always been an I-must-have-all-the-colors crayon user).

Deep breath in, deep breath out. I have the answers to at least one of life's questions.

Big Sky Country!

First view of Flathead Lake this summer.

Dave drove from Missoula to Polson so I got to take pictures
 out the window of the mountains in the evening light.

Back on May 17th I started a post and never got it finished. I begin today's musings with that post snippet as it serves to highlight just how much has changed for usin the past three weeks!

Driving through Polson along the lake our first evening back

"It's a balmy, hot day scouring wool for me. I'm in the wet studio at the house (aka the greenhouse) and I have the door to the outside--where it is 91 degrees F--wide open. Inside the studio it's 96 degrees in the shade. But I'm not working in the shade. I am smack dab in the middle of the room in bright sunny sun. Even the glass studio is cooler than the wet studio today. But I have to get these fleece samples all scoured and set out to dry today so I can sort and scour a whole fleece tomorrow. I hope I've processed enough of each of the samples. I didn't want to do it all as I might need more raw fleece for another one of the projects, and I only have to spin 20 yds from each sample. That's not very much to spin, but I also have to spin enough to weave two samples on a pin loom. Guess I had better spin up a test fiber to see how much I really need for 20 yds and the tow little woven pieces..."

In the weeks following that post the temperatures climbed higher and higher and stayed there. By the first of June we had already had 100 degree days and nights where it didn't get below 74. Welcome to Austin in the summer. Then one week ago we (the Griffiths) went through a total reset. Today marks the end of our first week in Montana and so much more has changed than just the weather--though that's dramatic enough on its own. No more 100-degree Austin days: It has been sunny and warm all week in Polson (till today) with days in the 70s and nights in the 40s. Ahh to snuggle under the down comforter again! It's been very hard to get up in the mornings. By the time we left Austin I was getting up at 6:30 or 7:00 so I could work outside and beat the heat.

Fresh snow in the mountains this morning

This morning when we woke it was 48 with a high expected of 55. There was fresh snow on the mountains and a nippy wind blowing through town. Dave and I took advantage of the coolness to walk down to our local coffee shop: Blodgett's Creamery and Coffee Saloon. It's three miles round trip, down hill on the way and uphill on the way back. (Not, as legend would have it, barefoot in the snow up hill both ways!) There are two photos on the wall of the coffee shop taken by my great grandfather, RH McKay. Only one of them is dated, but it is 96 years old.

Photo of the lake by my great grandfather in 1922

Photo of Polson taken by my great grandfather--not sure of the year

The front garden is in serious
 need of weeding

Now I'm cozy on the couch under a blanket and posting before putting a piece in the kiln and getting back to my spinning coursework. This week I need to start weeding the garden, plan the restaining of the front and back decks, begin cleaning out the garage and the back patio and getting the last of my things out of the metal building up at the lake property. While there are no bees and is no pond here, my routine is pretty much exactly what it would be if I were still in Austin--and I have no less to do. But it feels totally different! There is a huge break caused by the exhausting two-day drive up and the total relocation of household. It's still a household, and thus it's still a lot of work, but somehow it feels like starting from scratch with no backlog, no baggage, no stressors. Time stretches expansively in front of me--just like it did two years ago when I moved to Austin. There is something awesome and liberating associated with this not-vacation travel. Like on vacation, time slows to a crawl and it feels like you exist in a vacuum.

Then there are also the beautiful surroundings. Austin is lovely and our house there is beyond wonderful, but I am a mountain girl at heart and it makes said organ sing to be back in the midst of them again. I won't miss the cold and snow of winter here, but there is no place better in the summer. That said, I wish I had had the plumber verify the connections for the propane stoves upstairs and down so we could have some heat today, but my blanket is cozy and we have a space heater. And there are martinis, albeit in wine glasses...