Beer

Fall makes me think about “the harvest”, even though when was the last time I participated in a full-blown harvest? Possibly never, but, nonetheless, right now plants are producing, and people are picking, storing, preserving, and enjoying. Then, somewhere in that harvest process, my mind jumps to beer. It’s natural, both the process of fermenting grains and adding other plants in order to create fermented beverages such as beer, and the fact that my mind gravitates towards beer this time of year. I think it’s hard-wired; I remember that lecture in college when Professor Tim Allen made a compelling case that agriculture was developed and societies formed not to more efficiently raise food to eat, rather to drink the results of the fermented grains stemming from agrarian efforts. And, don’t get me wrong. I think about beer during other times of the year; the lager on a hot summer day, humidity dripping off the ice-cold bottle, or that winter stout meant to fortify our system and, well, midsection against the cold, inhospitable winter. But, fall, FALL, and its beer festivals (my favorite, the Quivey’s Grove Beer Festival, outside of Madison, Wisconsin, just happened), seems like just the right time to get a batch going, as well as enjoy the efforts of biermeisters throughout the region as they release the latest India Pale Ale, Oktoberfest or Amber. As I delve more into this topic in the book that I keep referring to in this blog, the medicinal aspects of some of the additives to beer most keenly attract my attention. Just the other day, in Marquette, Michigan, I saw advertised in an attractive, ground floor bar, a beer named the “Honey Citral IPA”. Citral, or the aromatic essential oil in lemon, lemon balm and lemon grass, probably anything lemon, has anti-spasmodic and anti-microbial properties, interesting medicinal effects for our barley beverage. And, the literature on hops is extensive, as are the flavors and unique ingredients making its way into microbrew coolers around the country. Maybe the medicinal effect is yet another reason to twist off the cap on your local brewski.

Wildcrafting

A fascinating word that seems to promise both adventure and art, wildcrafting refers to the harvesting of plants from the wild, most often for their use as medicines. In the theme of My Year Of Plants, I decided to wildcraft some of my favorite plants that grow in Wisconsin. Due to the generosity of proprietor Tom of Nature Nooks Retreat (www.naturenooksretreat.com), my friends Lynn and August, and myself were able to explore his property with a shovel and clippers, hoping to procure the raw materials necessary to make healing medicines for the next few months, if not beyond. In preparation for this adventure, the night before was spent perusing a variety of herbal texts (see photo),

trying to determine which plants might be best harvested this time of year, how to do it, and for which medical conditions they would be useful. I was hoping for an anti-viral or two, a tonic (to "build up" my system for the cold weather to come), or any other intriguing plants. The red herring, and, well, art to this endeavor was the fact that I had no prior experience with this property (and Lynn and August just one prior visit), and therefore the translation of our book smarts to usable raw material was a bit of a challenge. The property was beautiful (see another amazing Kiefer photo)

so just the process of walking around exploring was enough to markedly improve my health. We found only one burdock plant (on our wish list), so in the name of conservation we left it behind. Elderberry (Sambucus nigra, I think!) however was in abundance (see photo), leading to a full bowl of berries that would make a great anti-viral syrup.

That step, though, is too much information for this lowly blog; please buy my book someday to learn, in detail, about herbal medicine making and use!

She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not: Flowers!

July is all about flowers in the Midwest. Yes, we have our Spring bloom, our winter bulbs that poke through the newly worked soil in April, May, June and show off their wares. But, it’s the flourish of summer when Nature preens, shows off, impresses. Some of the perennials do their thing in July, having survived the greenhouses, the crazy flock of green thumbs that pick them over during plant sales or Saturday morning in the landscaping companies parking lot, and haphazard (I might be a bit autobiographical here) transplanting with probably not enough compost, probably too much water, and not even close the right depth in the soil. Sound familiar? Other plants that were started from seed, or survived in situ the winter pummeling, also begin to express a little floral color in July. However, I do not think that our household and yard plantings are the origin for why this month is so special when it comes to flowers. We need to venture out, off the roads, on the dirt paths, into our local prairies and woods to see that there is a true swelling of the land. There isn’t much time to sprout, shoot, and flower, but the prairie forbs seem to have found that way, and late June, and definitely in July, August, and September, are the most glorious yellows, purples, whites, and reds imaginable, on all sizes ands shapes of green stems that would make even Claude Monet go running for the oils and palette., maybe even jumping for joy, screaming something about “Impressionism.” My meager attempts at home are but a reminder of the truly great things happening elsewhere, humbly realizing that elsewhere means “anyone else’s yard”, but, most importantly, the untouched, or restored areas outside or next to human development. If you are one of the avid blog readers, my trusty followers longing for the full, ripe chapters that will surely be filling “My Years of Plants”, the flowers treatise will eventually include such tidbits as the Kiefer versus Varmint battle over sunflowers and whether or not the 4th sunflower generation of 2012 survived; floral parts and botanical taxonomy and the relevance of this somewhat geeky topic to your daily life, medicinal quandaries, and scientific discourse with friends during meals or over a beer; “She loves me, she loves me not”; edibles and medicinals and what might be the difference; and much, much more. What should you do with this tease, this prelude to the future? Well, as with past chapters, stay tuned!

(Fill-in-the-Blank) Berries

Perhaps it is fitting that the June "My Year of Plants" entry actually takes place in mid-July. The pace of plant-related activities and responsibilities achieves a whole new level as summer hits full stride. There is watering to be done, before and after work, especially in this year of record drought and high temperatures. The Japanses beetles finally found my grape vines, so I have to spend time picking them off the leaves and brainstorming about ways to prevent their friends and cousins from following suit. And, not to mention the hours planting, transplanting, tying up, mulching, composting, and fixing fences. Who has time to write? Had none of these (wonderful) tasks infused my life, I would have dedicated June to berries, spurred partly by the picking and enjoying/eating that took place during that month in a friend's raspberry patch. Berries are clearly the hot topic nowadays in the media, for both our local varieties (an interesting push is occurring in Wisconsin about the chokeberry, Prunus virginiana) and for the many interesting tropical fruits touted for their impressive antioxidant levels and purported health effects. Sure, I consider health and vitality when popping a berry into my expectant mouth, but I'm more of a simpleton: the taste, the texture, the fact that often I have just picked this from some unsuspecting thorny cane, these are my motivators. I can't seem to get enough. Furthermore, berries are where my past meets my present and then shakes hand with my future; I find that I remember working in my grandmother's garden as a child and now try to re-live the recipes in my summer life. Not to mention the plans I have for jams and jellies, and frozen berries that make their way into smoothies, taking advantage of a new and powerful blender. I could go on and on, and, in fact, I will in this chapter of "My Year of Plants." The pending book will be your guide to berries, smoothie recipes, and insider scoops about weeding a strawberry patch in northern Wisconsin. You can't wait, can you?

CSAs in Madison, WI

May was my month to discover the world of Community Supported Agriculture, and Madison, WI, is full of amazing farms and programs to choose from. Starting with an amazing introductory fair at our convention center to advertisements in newspapers (with grids describing possible plans, included vegetables, timelines, etc.), I found a vibrant community. The topic of "Which CSA are you going to select?" was on the tip of everyone's tongue this month and last. And, starting two weeks ago, the produce started flowing from the CSA share that myself and three friends shared. I would give you more details, pictures, favorite vegetables, and more, but I am busy trying to sort through on-line recipes and whipping up delicious recipes as we speak. More later? Ahhh, that is what My Year Of Plants is for. As with prior months, please stay tuned!

The (Potential) Vegetable Garden

My childhood memories of working in either my mother’s or my grandmother’s vegetable gardens include abundant green and hyper-productive plants. Eden, essentially. The picture below (#1), taken when I was less than one year old symbolizes all of that perfectly: working hard, smiling, large plants everywhere, the assumed overflowing salad bowl not far away. Well, with my new house and empty palate in the backyard, my memory is meeting head on with stark reality: it’s not as easy as I thought. Yes, yes, I could have planned better. I know, I should have read more and laid out a grid, started plants indoors, called experts, interviewed “green thumbs” and cataloged success stories. The bottom line is that I am hoping that millions of years of evolution (plants know how to grow, don’t they?) and Mother Nature come to my rescue. At times I had to act quickly: a cousin gave me pre-soaked bean seeds, so that day I had to put them in the ground somewhere. I removed a swath of sod and sowed my first veggies. Then, miraculously and counter to all of the pundits, they sprouted, necessitating my immediate need to build a fence to fend off the million or so fat rabbits that I see grazing the neighborhood (picture #2_. Other times my garden approach has been merely opportunistic. I had basil seeds, why don’t I start them indoors? No success yet (picture #3). Then a neighbor offered to rototill my plot. I accepted. Another expert gardening friend offered, in the form of handmade coupons, free labor and advice. Again, I accepted. So, like I said, I think that there is a potential vegetable garden in the works!

A Spring ritual: Maple syrup making

It’s definitely that time of year. A Spring rite of passage. I can remember traipsing around the northwoods with my grandfather, looking for pails full of maple sap hanging from trees scattered around his and his neighbors’ property. It was fun for a kid, a bit of a treasure hunt looking for the fullest pail. And, the whole process was full of magic. Grandpa had me taste the sap once, and it tasted like water, perhaps with a “natural” overtone; I can only imagine the sap-tasting cheat sheet, fashioned after wine connoisseurs, and what it might say: “watery”, “light twig aftertaste”, “very watery.” Then, bringing the pails back to the boiler for evaporation, the stoking of the fire, the smoke, the heat, and voilà, thick, brown, sweeter than sweet, syrup trickles into the cool little glass bottles. Nature’s Magic Brew. I loved it.

So, of course, come 2012, maple syrup making, or “sugaring”, would be part of My Year of Plants. I had some of my grandfather’s equipment, including his old “dipper” and hydrometer, so I wouldn’t be starting from scratch. In addition, we still had most of the same family land up north, and friends on nearby property who were actively involved in the industry, both as a money making venture and hobby. I would have the chance to re-learn a lot.

One problem surfaced. Mother Nature was not in agreement with my 2012 sugaring interests. A bizarre winter, thought to be partly or completely due to a La Niña phenomenon, brought 70, even 80 degree, temperatures in February and March, grinding the sap flow to a halt. Maple syrup making is full of superstition, and daily gossip centers on when and how much the sap will flow, which trees will be the biggest producers, if the syrup will taste good this year, what color it will be, etc. All of these factors are very hard to predict, but some producers develop a knack for reading some of the signs in nature that give them some wisdom in answering these questions. I do not understand many of the relevant variables, but the simple rule, and one which was lacking in this year’s mild temperatures, is that a cold (below freezing) night and subsequent warm (above freezing) day helps the sap to run well. The year 2012 may very well be known as "the year that the sap stayed put."

Hence, some of the commentary on this fascinating art and the photos you will see if you purchase the final book, are from my 2011 sugaring experience. To give you a little taste, picture yourself in an 8x10 foot sap boiling shack, full of steam, about 110 degrees hot, participating in a ritual that predates the arrival of Europeans in North America, and one that continues with almost every pancake, waffle or French toast breakfast!