These chilis are a feast the eyes and the palate! T. S. Eliot said April is the cruelest month, and I think I know what he means.In April, winter seems like it will never end; just when the buds break into bloom, the killing frost can come and destroy all of that promise.I think October is the cruelest month. The poblano and Tabasco plants and their other flowering nightshade cousins, the bell peppers, and even the Roma tomatoes are still loaded with blooms. They want to go on and on, and the sunny days have them fooled. But, we are going camping this weekend, and just as likely now as with April, a killing frost is likely any night, most likely when we're gone, and we would be so disappointed! So ...
Today, I went out and pulled up a Tabasco plant by the roots. I picked all of the poblanos, at least three gallons of them, and broke apart and pulled up the plants as I went, being the cruel gardener who determines the end of the harvest.
I roasted the last of the eggplants. Some, I scored and baked to freeze for later use in a ratatouille, or a baba ganoush. One, I sliced thinly for a lasagne, for some cold winter night's repast (hear that drama?).
I say again, our garden was wonderful this year. Nature surprised us with the blessings of so much fruit, and enough to share and exchange. We Our friends were so generous with their fruits, also. Duane's cucumbers made a shelf full of dill pickles. I am so proficient now with the stove-top canning that I can quickly decide, as I did tonight, to cook up the last of the Romas with a couple of hands full of chilis, mix with some salt and cumin and a couple of the last of the bells, throw in some onion and garlic, and put away five quarts of taco sauce for later. We had so many tomatoes that I have another half gallon for our use in the coming weeks without having to use the sterile procedures.
The cold is beginning to settle around the doors and windows. You can still go out with bare feet, but not for long. Probably by Christmas, we will wish we had put away all of the vegetables instead of giving so much away. We will probably eat our way into winter and the freezer, now packed almost full, will dwindle before we are ready. But for now, I am smug. I remembered the lessons of my mother and grandmother, we can grow much of what we eat, we can find and share and exchange for what we don't have ourselves.
Let's go to the woods for a few days. This winter will come and we will go out to meet it.
Hey -- that's melodrama! We have a cozy Airstream. We'll be toastie-warm, and get our fire going for s'mores, not for survival!
