Tooty Fruity

With the sun's zenith's commencing descent back toward the equator, suddenly we are thrust not only into autumn, but into a strange sort of deja vu. And the reason that this particular deja vu is any stranger than any other example of that phenomenon is that in this case it turns out to be true: I have actually experienced this all before: the color of the sun's rays on the morning wall before school as it comes up over the vineyards and peeks in through the front of the house; the mist rising from the river in the distance; the fog burning off during the chilly morning to give way to a brilliant afternoon. And it strikes me that for the first time in 15 years I have actually gone the distance, I have come full circle, I have stayed put for one entire season-cycle. How novel!

A year ago we were new here. We were just exploring our house, and our land, and our community, and our environment. And now, although we have learned and seen so much in the interim period, the meteorology, and the quality of the light, brings me back to that feeling of last September, when everything was so full of fresh adventure.

It still is, of course.

And one of the benefits of having learned so much is that, when the fruit turns ready on the trees, we are there to take advantage.

A few months ago it had already started. The plums were small, and surprisingly reddish, and delicious. Sarah diligently jammed them, experimenting with wave after wave of plum-ginger-chili concoctions in carefully labelled jars. Some were tough as leather (although excellent to cook with). Some were absolutely delicious and dentally-penetrable at the same time. Likewise with the rhubarb jam she cooked up for us. And the tomatoes... way too many tomatoes to eat... we have jars of yummy spicy chutney in our basement now. The quince... well, they're almost all gone now. Fallen off, rolled down the hill, gone. But who cares really... there's not much you can do with quince anyway.

Sarah already blogged the figs. There are hundreds of them and they're amazing. Super yummy. Best ever. It's all true, it continues to be true every day, and Sarah already blogged it. Go read about them there.

And guess what: it turns out that what we had always referred to as "Kepler's climbing tree"...

... is also "Kepler's walnut tree". How convenient. Kind of like Audrey II, aren't they?

Every day we go and find the nuts on the ground around the trunk, and arund the trunks of our other two nut trees just alongside. They sit in a bowl for a week or so drying, then they're ready to go...

and I never saw or tasted such good walnuts, seriously.

Like little nutty brains inside each shell. There's a certain intangible satisfaction to eating food from your own land.

Then today it was the apples. Everyone assured us that our apple tree was no good. From the woman who sold us the house to the old man who grew up down the road, everybody says our apple tree is pretty, but makes lousy fruit. And so although we have tried them on numerous ocassions, we never expected much. But you know what? Everybody was wrong. Yesterday we tried them again -- how could we not, so blushingly beautiful -- and they are very tasty indeed. Maybe better for cooking than eating lots of, but still, there's nothing wrong with them. Yum yum. Kepler has certainly been enjoying them. And they're gorgeous.

So tonight we went and picked a bunch of them, and made a crust from scratch, and voila: apple pie.

I grew up always hearing the phrase "American as apple pie." Sarah assures me that people also say, according to their individual provenances, "English as apple pie," and even "Scottish as apple pie." Usurpers. Anyway, now it's "French as apple pie" -- even if it is an American recipe. Like a slice?

So next year, we'll be even better prepared. All the jamming gear primed and ready to go. Recipes at the ready. Not to mention the four fruit trees we have planted ourselves, but which have yet to fruit: two cherries, another apple, and a persimmon.

And we also have the assurance that, in case of drastic global pandemic catastrophe, we'll have food! Yippee! Everyone we know may be dead, but we have persimmons! Hooray!