Peach Butter

Close cousins to jams and preserves, fruit butters—some of the better known ones being apple and prune—do not contain a smidgin of butter despite their name. The butter reference in this case describes the silky, spreadable, fondant (melt-in-your-mouth) texture which is achieved through simmering, sieving, blending, and reduction via a second simmering. It can also be regarded as a paste, similar to tomato paste, but sweet, not savoury and a bit less thick. It is an effective way to process the abundance of peaches streaming in from our potager. This peach butter can be kept in the fridge for a few weeks, or if longer conservation is required, it can be either frozen or canned.

Ingredients
makes around 500 ml (2 American cups of 8 oz)

• Peaches, fresh, 1.8 kg (4 lbs)
• Sugar, 8 T
• Lemon juice, fresh, 2 T

Peaches are beautiful in several ways: their fuzzy, round form with a circular seam connecting a dip on top and a tip on bottom says we are both friendly and substantial; their blend of warm-toned colours, we are drop-dead gorgeous; their fragrance, stay awhile, won't you? And you do, since their flavour is stupendous. How do I pick them? By shaking the tree! A few bounce off my head and the cats. But all in all most of them miss us and eventually get placed in the harvest basket none worse for the wear.

Rinse ripe peaches. Cut each in half (using the seam running around the peach as a guideline). Remove pits and discard them. Place fruit in a heavy-bottomed pot, preferably an enamelled cast-iron one. No need to peel because not only is time saved, the flavour and colour will be more intense.

Toss in sugar and lemon juice. Partially cover and simmer for about thirty minutes or until the peaches are falling apart and extremely soft. Stir occasionally. If peaches are not very juicy, some water may need to be added.

Working in batches, pass them through a Foley mill placed over a pot, that is, crank the handle clockwise three times and then one counter-clockwise turn to unclog. Repeat until the residue is no longer sopping wet. Remember to scrap off the bottom of the mill before using a hand-held mixer, blending well the mixture right in the pot. Rinse out the pot in which the peaches were simmered.

Pour the simmered, sieved peaches into the clean pot and reduce, partially covered, stirring fairly frequently to prevent sticking for around thirty minutes or until it's thick enough . . .

. . . that when a large spoon is dipped into the pot and that spoon is etched with a smaller one down the middle, the parting will stay. Let cool for five to ten minutes. Ladle into a clean jar. Keep covered in the fridge.

Oh, yes!

Almost too pretty for words, but how about translucent and the colour of rosewood?

Much closer to a sauce than a jam or jelly, it sinks deep down into the billowy bread folds. So good!

À la prochaine!

Late Summer Garden 2019

There's a paradoxical edge in the air. The pervasive mellowness of late-summer laziness when much already has been harvested, specifically rhubarb, asparagus, peas, potatoes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries, is brushing against the beginning bustle of sowing for autumnal crops such as beets, carrots, kale, and tansy along with picking plus preserving peaches, plums, the second flush of raspberries, and figs. Watering and mowing chores are being replaced by weeding and clipping hedges such as ivy, laurel, and the wild area's brambles. Ivy covering walls/fences and pergola pillars gets about four trimmings per year chez nous. This one will be the last until late winter/early spring. When the cutting back is vigorous, dead leaves tucked deep into the vines will show. Through time they will flutter down on their own accord or be covered with new growth. This final trim was done a little too late as clusters of berries which sustain starlings through winter already had started developing so though some unfortunately got the axe, I made sure the ones up high were spared as on the ivy-covered wall in the below photo's bottom left-hand corner.

But the bustle is not exactly a bustle. Even it is pervaded with a sense if not exactly of laziness, then one of satiety with the promise of more to come. This halo of contentment hovering over our little city plot is reminiscent of the much larger one that floated over a farming community we visited about ten years ago south of Grenoble. In exchange of our being custodians for a century-old country property while their owners went abroad we got to spend two weeks during late August in an active agricultural setting.  The large house more in shambles than not is referred to on local maps as Le Chateau hence at one point in our stay a pair of hikers stared with confused disappointment over the chain-barred dirt road entrance at the rather dilapidated structure in process of being renovated. We made sure the horses got their daily water and the orchard's apples got picked and stored. As we hiked around fields dotted with bales of hay and walked through narrow village streets where workers were making sure roofs were in good repair for the coming winter, this dual sense of activity laced with satisfied fulfilment was everywhere. 

At the moment in our urban garden, there's a bumper crop of peaches! As I pick up the fragrant ones volunteering easy harvesting by their dropping to the ground, I hear neighbours' chickens clucking, clucking, clucking along, in their own feathery universe, bringing memories of our stay in that farming village where the sounds of domesticated animals were everywhere, from horses to cows, and of course chickens.

The fig harvest looks to be a record breaker also.

Beets still have a ways to go in developing their roots, but a few leaves here and there have been plucked to go into minestrone.

It's a common saying among gardeners that the best crop yield often is found on the compost heap. Ours at present is covered with squash and tomato plants.

The front garden's lavender, abelia, purple plum tree, and potted heather are bathed in flitting shadows cast by the much taller and still fully leaved cherry plum and box elder trees. Within a couple of months the shadowy dance will become more subdued once those trees start to shed their leaves.

Companions to the heather are a solar lamp and floppy, chartreuse echeveria. The succulent will put out welcomed, cheery, bright-yellow blooms in late winter.

Lavender cradles pink, low-growing dahlias.

It will get a clipping after flowering.

Deadheading regularly will keep dahlias blooming right into autumn like these lovely, single, red ones set in a dramatic background of yucca with its sword-shaped leaves.

À la prochaine!

Fruit, Veg, Flowers & Feline

Fresh April green here and there has morphed into verdant lushness all over. The first fig crop is forming while the second and more substantial one will happen in autumn.

Little fuzzy olive-green eggs are dotting the peach tree.

The strawberry harvest at present is enough for making a strawberry banana smoothie every other day. Peak production will be reached in several weeks.

Rhubarb is being picked now, the peas will be in a few weeks, and the potatoes at end of July.

The soft green of fennel (the herb, not the bulb) cosies up to flowering sage.

Comfrey is putting out young leaves and buds. It's an amazing plant for other plants as it is used as a fertiliser tea and a compost accelerator.

The weigela's flower-laden branches are draping the front garden in crimson.

The peony is continuing to set just a few blooms as I suspect the last couple of winters were too mild to give it the cold required for abundant flowering.

Hardy miniature gladioli loves to self sow where I dare not to as in smack up to this ivy-covered pergola pillar.

The Ferdinand Pichard Bourbon rose is paying no attention to Dirac the Cat napping in the southwest sous sol window as all of its blooms are leaning directly towards the south to get as much sun exposure as possible.

À la prochaine!

Late Winter 2019: Colourful Gardening Accessories, Decorative Blown Glass Flowers, Early Blooms & Cat

Time to mosey down to the neighbourhood plant nursery . . . most certainly . . . but with a list please, said my adult to my inner child.

Sturdy but still flexible gloves, chitting potatoes, blue-flowered sunhat & flower seed packets

Chartreuse sabots! I knew the size of the old pair was too large, but I had no desire to hobble on one leg to try on a better fitting pair, or so I thought, until I spied a slim, portable bench placed strategically near the racks of shoes. So not only did I snag probably the most beautiful colour available, I won't be stumbling over my own sabots this season. Not to mention I will be treading on the most cushiony peau de pêche (peach skin!) with which these lightweight sabots are lined.

From the vantage point of my lounge chair under the ivy-draped pergola

Stained glass is a great love of mine. If I had my way all the windows in the world would be stained glass as nothing is more merrier than dancing light. But I make do, as in this case, with Museum Selection's (same place where I ordered that wonderful, blue-flowered, linen hat in the first photo) trio of blown glass flowers. From the online catalogue's photo, it seemed that they would be fairly small and delicate instead of the flamboyant, large beauties they turned out to be. The pansy is bursting with many colours.

The bluebell is more demure, but still, what a charmer.

I stuck it in a large tub of blueberries

Though the pansy and bluebell are gorgeous beyond belief, it is the foxglove that exerts a trance-like influence upon me as I find myself peering into swirling depths of seemingly liquid burgundy longer than an industrious gardener should be doing.

Though our 'lawn' has been cut several times already, I do try to spare the dandelions because insects including bees appreciate them for nectar and pollen, especially during this time when there is little else blooming. The perky english daisies (Bellis perennis) however are all over the place as their kind is wont to do, so I leave a selected expanse of them alone. It's easy, even for me, an avid and knowledgeable gardener to take nature for granted, as in what we see is what is, for example how pollinators are attracted to flowers. Sure enough, chemistry, that is, colour and scents are no brainers. But how about this?

Pollinators are attracted to flowers by chemical and structural features. One of these structural features may [be] the interaction of light with regularly arranged, microscopic surface features. The ray florets of Bellis perennis have distinct microscopic furrows produced by cylindrical, transversely-striated cells. Under laboratory conditions these surface features produce diffraction patterns which may attract insect pollinators. However, under natural light conditions these effects are lost, indicating that such features are unlikely to attract the natural pollinators of Bellis. In Bellis, pollinators are likely to be attracted by the contrast between the capitulum's ray and tube florets. (Source)

Triumph tulips (Seadov) have those characteristics of red nail polish, that is, being remarkably shiny and deeply pigmented, but just in their case, also being as soft as a spring breeze.

Heather is just past peak bloom & rose foliage is sprouting as are calla lilies

Blossoms on the peach tree are opening. Each day I peer into their centres, hoping to see a tiny peach. When I do, then I know I do not need to worry any longer about a surprise freeze killing the blooms before they can be pollinated.

A well-loved garden colour combination of mine is pink and blue; the former is provided by a plum cherry tree while the latter by flowering rosemary.

View from the east side of our house towards the front garden

Dirac the Cat has many places where he naps, but sleeping on the sous sol potting room's padded window sill is one of his favourites. Bags of potting mix wait patiently while I get around to making up flats and pots for seedlings.

Spot the lounge chair! Clue: it's the same colour as the peach blossoms

À la prochaine!

A Nippy Morn=Oatmeal

Peaches, butter, and cinnamon topping oatmeal is a treat on a cool, late-summer morning. The peach harvest is now finished with a yield of about eighteen kilograms/forty pounds.

Most of those peaches have been eaten or processed. But no bowl of oatmeal chez nous should fear not being adorned with fresh fruit. Because? Figs! Our tree puts out two harvests, a small one in spring, and the main and larger one in late-summer/early autumn. They must be picked ripe as they will not mature any further once off the tree. When ready, it will fall into a cupped hand after a slight downward pressure is applied on its point of attachment. Plus, it will feel and look like a tight balloon ready to break.

Not fully ripe figs taste chalky

Though I try to keep all our fruit trees not much taller than myself, the fig tree is just too exuberant to be tamed that way.

The birds get the ones that are too high for me to harvest

Figs in various stages of ripening festoon a branch.

Farewell, peaches.  Hello, figs!

That golden, gooey lusciousness tastes as good as it looks

The tomato harvest is slowing down. So far, forty-five kilograms/one-hundred pounds either have been eaten or processed.

Potatoes are being dug up every day. The Calm One scavenged a pallet to put on the cellier floor so they will be well ventilated.

An old duvet cover is used to keep the taters in the dark

There's a honeysuckle bloom here and there. It doesn't matter how few there are, their fragrance still suffuses the air.

The zinnias are going strong and have been since July. Sedum Autumn Joy is setting buds.

Autumn Joy provides nectar for bees and seeds for birds, plus a whole lot of prettiness

Eli the Kitten at ten months of age is going strong too and takes his assistant photographer job seriously, sometimes too seriously. When I scold him that he is underfoot and is slowing me down, he meows that such pauses help my concentration.

I don't know, maybe the orange zinnias would have made a better shot?

À la prochaine!