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Fried Green Tomatoes Part Two

 

There is a piece of well-known Life Advice that opines “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,” and this is adequate advice-- as advice goes. I must confess, however, that I much prefer the sentiment “When life gives you lemons, find somebody whose life has given them vodka, and have a party.”

Life, it seems, had given me a lot of green tomatoes and I was at a loss for what to do with them. To my knowledge, nobody has ever heard of green Bloody Mary’s, so adding vodka to my problem wouldn’t seem efficacious.

 

I do remember in one of the Little House on the Prairie books, Ma Ingalls’ life had given her a lot of green tomatoes. If I remember correctly, it was locust, not elk that had left her in that predicament. Or maybe it was a plague of blackbirds. Whatever the reason, being a hearty pioneer woman, she rose to the occasion and turned her green tomatoes into an ersatz apple pie, impressing Pa and securing her place as the original Pioneer Woman to offer recipes.

I suppose I could turn my green tomatoes into “pie” but I don’t really want that much pie, apple or otherwise. Then I remembered the movie “Fried Green Tomatoes.” What could be better than frying a vegetable? Balance out all those vitamins and fiber and whatnot health benefits with some cholesterol and fat. And salt—salt makes everything taste better. Off to google “fried green tomatoes” and find a recipe. Tawanda!

In the interest of fact-checking myself, I first decided to google “green bloody Mary.” Alas, Gentle Reader, it turns out I was mistaken. Someone has heard of green bloody Marys ---oh wait. False alarm. The recipe calls for tomatillos and RIPE yellow tomatoes, and while the concoction is green in color, the tomatoes used to make it, aren’t.

When life gives you green tomatoes, it better have also given you a deep fryer.

Fried Green Tomatoes Part 1

 I planted way too many tomato plants this year. And because I planted way too many, they all preformed admirable. I was looking at a harvest of epic proportions—I could make salsa, and sauce, and paste, and juice, and—well what all can you make from tomatoes? 

 I was almost at the stage of scouring the internet for tomato recipes when the universe decided to have a little fun at my expense. While I was away for my son’s wedding, elk breached my electric fence and partied in and amongst my plants. (Full disclosure: I had unplugged my fence because I was afraid a wind-blown limb might short out my fence and start a fire. Remember fire? When it was so hot and dry we were afraid to shuffle our feet on a shag carpet, lest we spark a blaze that could take out Smokey’s mother? With the absolute deluge we’ve had the past few days it seems far fetched that I unplugged my fence out of safety concerns and not out of my usual “Oh crap. I forgot to plug it back in” forgetfulness, but I swear, this is the case. Safety first.)

Elk being what they are—in this instance, big and insatiable— ate my tomatoes, plants and all. All they left were some green tomatoes, and a couple of red ones with big, old bites out of them. Stupid dang elk.

I had hoped we might get enough of a lingering summer to ripen all the green ones that were left, but such has not been the case. And considering the fire danger we were facing, it’s probably just as well. So just ahead of the downpour I picked all my nearly ripe tomatoes and placed them on newspaper in a cool, dark to ripen. That still left a lot of very green tomatoes—what to do, what to do?

Next week: You’ll never guess...or maybe you will, who knows!

October Magic

In a contest between the most beautiful months of the year, I’d say it comes down to a tie between May and October. Here in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, May is the month of blooms. Maybe it’s not actually a state law, but it seems that everyone and their credit union has a rhododendron. Or an azalea. Or, both--because more blooms, “most better.” Mother Nature is at her greenest, leafy best. The hills are purple, blue and green—the clouds dramatic, the sunbreaks glorious. May is clearly the Most Beautiful Month.

The Season of the Great Pumpkin

Then October rolls around and makes me rethink my belief system. The daylight is waning, but the days are still warm. The nights are a crisp counterpoint, and who could argue with the magnificence of a harvest moon? The leaves catch fire and their colors blaze out the close of summer, the scent of them intoxicating. Every sunny day seems like a bonus, deserving of celebration. 

 

October is the season of Pumpkin Spice Everything—and I’m ok with that. Since my strawbale garden pumpkins took over my back yard, I’ve been looking forward to the day I could go kill harvest them with out fear of retribution. October seems a reasonable time to do that; pumpkin spice bread with cranberries a worthy end.

The end of the tomatoes

Since we have yet to experience a killing frost, my zucchini is still putting out fruit, but not—thank God—as prolifically. My tomatoes haven’t really recovered from the elk attack, but that’s ok—I had planted WAY too many of them and they were producing WAY too well. I am sorry that they ate the little sweet orange tomatoes plant—that one was amazing as bruschetta topping, and I feel the opposite of forgiveness when I recall it. Stupid elk.

Bruschetta goodness.

It’s still too early in the fall season to plant my bulbs, the ground hasn’t sufficiently cooled and I don’t want them to try to grow above ground before next spring. That means I’m free to ignore other garden chores until I can do them all at once. I’m all about efficiency. 

Or avoidance.

Whatever.

 

Because Happiness Is the Truth: Pony Edition

 I know what you’re thinking: with all that’s going on these days, she’s going to complain about Weather Whiplash again. And you are --kinda, sorta-- right. While also being wrong. Welcome to 2020.

There is a lot going on, and the weather has not been the least of it. We’ve had drought and smoke. We’ve had fires “next door.” Then the rains came—and like all good Pacific Northwesterners, we greeted its return.

 Three days later, it was hard to believe that imminent conflagration had ever been a concern. Also, could it stop already; and who forgot to turn the winds down to low, because I’m getting really tired of retrieving my canopied porch swing out of the daylilies. 

Now my phone’s weather app is insisting that the weather is going back to sunshine for the foreseeable future. I’m planning on a glorious autumn, while simultaneously trying to figure out how to effectively bargain with Mother Nature to keep snow out of my driveway this winter. Because el Nino/la Nina—whichever one it is that dumps snow in my driveway--has been forecasted to close out 2020. Based on my previous experiences with 2020, I tend to believe this will not be a lot of fun.

Still—even in the midst of all that I could—and often DO—complain about? 2020 has seen some incredible blessings. Not the least of which is the birth of my Grand Aiden, and the marriage of Cam to his beloved Beth. I’ve developed closer bonds with my neighbors; my pumpkin vines didn’t actually impede traffic. I’ve appreciated the small, daily blessings that often go unnoticed—Look! An actual LETTER! In the MAIL! I’ve witnessed random acts of kindness, made new friends. (I know! During a pandemic! But it’s true.)

My wish for all of us, as we head into the last flurry and fury of 2020, is that we are like that optimistic little boy who, when confronted with a room full of horse dung, gleefully said “Thank you, Universe! There must be a pony in here someplace!”

Here’s hoping you find your pony. 

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