Mid-September collage

It's the time of year when those who live near deciduous trees watch for green leaves to turn yellow or orange or scarlet or maroon. If there are evergreens mixed in with the deciduous, do you watch for needles to turn golden and then drop? If you haven't, you should. Pine needles are almost as pretty as tamaracks turning golden. As we were planting this year's collection of chrysanthemums, some of the golden pine needles caught my eye. They're just starting to turn.

late September pine needle colors

Photo by J. Harrington

We're also watching today  to see if any hummingbirds show up at the nectar feeders. We noticed a female ruby-throated hummingbird late yesterday but, so far today, no one's been at either the front or the back feeders. We won't be surprised if we've been abandoned for warmer climes because it is that time of year. JourneyNorth reports that hummingbird numbers are dropping up North (that's us). On the other hand, the number of goldfinches at the seed feeders seems to be exploding.

driveway mums from a past year

Photo by J. Harrington

Unlike Winter, when much of the pleasure is condensed into the two weeks of Christmas and New Year's, Autumn spreads its pleasures throughout the season. If it weren't for political campaigns, with all their negative adds, every other year, Autumn would be impeccable. Do you suppose we could move elections to  February or March?

September, 1918

By Amy Lowell

This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;

The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;

The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,

And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.

Under a tree in the park,

Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,

Were carefully gathering red berries

To put in a pasteboard box.

Some day there will be no war,

Then I shall take out this afternoon

And turn it in my fingers,

And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,

And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.

To-day I can only gather it

And put it into my lunch-box,

For I have time for nothing

But the endeavour to balance myself

Upon a broken world.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Fingers crossed!

Just before this posting was started, the first batch of artisan sourdough, that includes kernza flour, was mixed by yours truly. "Kernza, whuzzat," you say? Take a look at Perennial Pantry's web site. For a deeper background, check out The Land Institute's page on kernza's commercial development.

We've know about kernza for some time, but hadn't found any local sources of flour, although Birchwood Cafe has been offering a few kernza products for awhile. When we found out about a crowd-funding campaign that offered flour and grain, we signed up. The package arrived a few days ago and today was the first time since its arrival we've anticipated baking some artisan sourdough bread. Recently we've been adding about 10% whole wheat flour to a 50%-50% combination of all-purpose and bread flour, plus water, salt, and home brewed starter. Today we substituted kernza for the whole wheat in the recipe. We'll plan on baking tomorrow or Thursday if the cooler weather arrives on schedule and the dough rises the way it needs to.

recent artisan sourdough boule

Photo by J. Harrington

If all comes together, we'll share some photos and our recipe details. If not, we'll admit "failure" and try a different combination. The folks at Perennial Pantry have an interesting looking Beth Dooley recipe and another piece about how the fineness of the flour grind affects baking. I'm already working on when and how to get more kernza flour so the experiments can continue until we're, or, more accurately, the bread is, successful.

Bread

By Richard Levine

Each night, in a space he’d make 

between waking and purpose, 

my grandfather donned his one 

suit, in our still dark house, and drove 

through Brooklyn’s deserted streets 

following trolley tracks to the bakery.

There he’d change into white 

linen work clothes and cap, 

and in the absence of women, 

his hands were both loving, well 

into dawn and throughout the day— 

kneading, rolling out, shaping

each astonishing moment 

of yeasty predictability 

in that windowless world lit 

by slightly swaying naked bulbs, 

where the shadows staggered, woozy 

with the aromatic warmth of the work.

Then, the suit and drive, again. 

At our table, graced by a loaf 

that steamed when we sliced it, 

softened the butter and leavened 

the very air we’d breathe,

he’d count us blessed.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.