Change of season, change of menu

This week and next will be the last two summer shares from our community supported agriculture [CSA] peak summer phase. The beginning of meteorological autumn is but a little more than a week away. Labor Day is less than two weeks from now. I think we can get away with mowing the yard no more than once or twice and call it quits for that chore until next year. That will free up time for wrangling falling leaves and then, at some point, fallen snowflakes.

The Perennial Kitchen, Beth Dooley

Before we get too far ahead of the seasonal changes, let's take a moment and think about summer being more a time of barbecues and salads while autumn brings us back to soups, stews and other hearty meals season. One source of some recipes I’m looking forward to trying is Beth Dooley’s The Perennial Kitchen. Two of those recipes are Maple Wild Rice Cornbread and Sausage and White Bean Soup. Trying some of the recipes may be a real challenge since some ingredients, such as Mandan Bride corn meal, aren’t readily stocked on the shelves of a local big box grocery. Finding sources will help me appreciate the dishes even more and may even make me feel more like a naturalized midwesterner. Fortunately, Doolittle provides a list of possible sources and resources in the book.

Eating local, natural and healthy is something each of us can work at as a thoroughly enjoyable way to live more sustainably, support local economies and help heal the earth’s wounds. It’s pretty close to being able to have our cake and eat it too.

Applesauce

Ted Kooser - 1939-

I liked how the starry blue lid
of that saucepan lifted and puffed,
then settled back on a thin
hotpad of steam, and the way
her kitchen filled with the warm,
wet breath of apples, as if all
the apples were talking at once,
as if they’d come cold and sour
from chores in the orchard,
and were trying to shoulder in
close to the fire. She was too busy
to put in her two cents’ worth
talking to apples. Squeezing
her dentures with wrinkly lips,
she had to jingle and stack
the bright brass coins of the lids
and thoughtfully count out
the red rubber rings, then hold
each jar, to see if it was clean,
to a window that looked out
through her back yard into Iowa.
And with every third or fourth jar
she wiped steam from her glasses,
using the hem of her apron,
printed with tiny red sailboats
that dipped along with leaf-green
banners snapping, under puffs
or pale applesauce clouds
scented with cinnamon and cloves,
the only boats under sail
for at least two thousand miles.

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