It’s funny… the things you overhear while walking around (sitting there staring at people) minding your own business (listening in to their conversations).
Child: “… (unheard part of conversation) but who would do that??”
Mother: “Honey, some old people grew up in a time when they used to eat things like squirrels.”
Woman: “I’m exhausted! How did pioneer women do so much??” (after putting up tomatoes that day)
Woman: “How do you get so much done in a day? Do you all do anything else??”
Jason and I were at the Woodland Park Zoo when we overheard the child and mother talking. Apparently, we are old. While Jason doesn’t remember ever eating squirrel, I certainly do. Squirrel over and open campfire tastes no different than the rabbit cooking on the spit right next to it. I’m not talking about those scrawny little city squirrels making off with my sunflower heads, I’m talkin’ big ol’ country squirrels that never saw concrete. Anyway… apparently… we are old… LOL
Regarding “pioneer women,” neither of us ever considered our mothers, grandmothers and the other elder women of our families to be pioneers. But hey… works for us… While Jason lived in a city in a remote part of Wyoming (is there any other kind of “part” in Wyoming??), I grew up out in the middle of nowhere on a farm. The women of our families did these sort of tasks as just a regular part of their days. Cooking, cleaning, tending kids, gardening, sewing, feeding livestock and preserving food were all part of just what they did on a regular day. It didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary. It’s just what was done as a normal part of living.
Finally, to the question of how we’re getting so much done. Yes, it seems like a lot when we look back and it as we open our full pantries and freezer and see the fruits of our labors but at the time, it is just a part of our daily routine.
To demystify this a bit, I thought it would be a good idea to give you a morning during our busy season as an example. The following takes place over the course of one hour… (oohh… it sounds like one of those true-crime television shows!)
Drag my butt downstairs. If you knew me, you’d know that this part is not always easy. I spent umpteen years on a schedule where mornings were not something I saw very often. Just in the past six months, I’ve retrained my body to recognize the rising of the sun as something I should take a cue from rather than groan and cover my vampiric head from.
Coffee… must… make… coffee… On the off chance that Jason has had time to make coffee in the morning, I’m in good shape. Otherwise, I’m pretty much stumbling around like an idiot until I at least get the beans in the Cuisinart and hit start.
Speaking of Jason… at this point he has either left for work already or he is on his way out the door. He has already let the Shibaboyz and the Shibagurl out for their morning… well… he’s let them out. Most likely, he has taken them out for a quick walk for this same purpose. He has fed them, fed Hera The Cat, packed his lunch, and found something to munch on for breakfast… maybe… All of that is about an hour for him including showering, shaving and finding apparel appropriate for the working day. Yes, he works in an office. He works for a company that manages 401k’s and is based near our home here in West Seattle. Now… he’s off…
As I said, either at some point during that or, in the case of this morning, as soon as the Shibakidz turned their attentions from Jason and decided they should bounce all over me… I’m up…
back to the coffee…
During the time it takes our Cuisinart coffee pot to brew (it’s not particularly fast but it grinds the beans and makes a GREAT brew), I empty the dishwasher after its nightly chores and put back in anything that didn’t fit from last night’s washing. Nearly on cue… the coffee is finished. I usually take a few moments here to stare out our large, Western-facing windows at the Olympic Mountains and the surrounding foothills and neighboring islands. LOVE our view…
half a cup of coffee gone…
The plums have boiled down by now. We’ve recently harvested a million gallons of plums from a nearby tree. The dark beauties are sweet and perfectly ripe without being mushy so they have been in the pot simmering since yesterday. What we have is a rich, sweet pulp ready for processing further. With food mill in hand and coffee cup close by I begin the task of separating the heavy pulp from the wonderful, deep purple sauce. Let me tell you… if I wasn’t already hungry… I am now! Good thing there’s some homemade bread and strawberry-rhubarb jam. *munch munch*
top off the cup of coffee…
With the liquid goodness from the plums returned to a boil and the pulp in a separate stainless steel pan for making plum butter, I will now turn my attention to the MOUNDS of tomatoes on the dinning room table.
Does anyone really SEE their dining room table?? In the winter, it is covered in seed packets while I do inventory on what we currently have and the orders coming in. If it’s not that, it’s the latest cache of yarn and/or fiber I’ve purchased or some herb or seed from the garden drying. Now, our continual harvesting covers every surface in our home including our sturdy dining room table.
So these mounds of tomatoes come in every shape, size and color. This morning, I am turning my attention to the large round ones first. These are our “canning tomatoes” specifically grown for their combination of juice and meat. This batch I quickly dispatch into chunky piles in the crock pot since every inch of space on the stove is taken up… a six burner stove would be nice eventually… but how many real people have those in their home?? Back to reality… crock pot loaded, turned on high and the waiting begins. Although the point isn’t really to wait. The luxury of a crock pot is to be able to just leave them set there. These tomatoes will crock for two days with the lid off while they simmer down to a thick, rich paste. We didn’t make NEARLY enough tomato paste last year for canning so I’m getting a jump on it early in our harvest season. It takes a LOT of tomatoes to make a little bit of paste. So, rather than stand there stirring a boiling pot for hours and hours and hours, I’ll let the crock pot do my heavy work for me.
At this point, Apollo has finally deemed the rest of us worthy to enter into our presence. This guy follows me around all day lazily eyeing me just in case I open “that bag” for him (T-R-E-A-T-S). You know, we can’t even spell it out anymore around here… they’ve learned what that means too!! Yes, our Shiba Inu spell!! That one and F-O-O-D and W-A-L-K are their best spelling efforts. Jason has resorted to saying F-U-D… we’re waiting to see how long it takes them to catch on to that one…
more coffee…
I forgot to mention that back somewhere in the middle of cutting up the crock pot ‘maters, I turned the oven on to 350º to prep it for drying the paste tomatoes. This is the next object of my attention this morning. A little over half of what we grow ourselves are paste tomatoes of one type of another. The feature this year are some wonderful San Marzano tomatoes. They are large, meaty and taste fresh and… well… like a tomato! No watered down GMO seeds here… thank you very much…
With the oven beeping to indicate the task of preheating finished, I set the temp down to the lowest setting and leave the door closed as I turn my attention to the San Marzanos.
coffee…
Jason has a great trick when cleaning these oblong tomatoes. Since they are divided down the middle into two sections, he cuts along the length of the tomato opposite of the natural divide. This splits the single dividing section of the paste tomato into four sections which he then scoops out with his knife. I do the same here but I just run my thumb down both sides of the wall and plop the seeds out into the compost bag… unless I’m saving the seeds and I am not doing that from this batch.
Easy peasy, the now seedless, gleaming tomato halves are laid out on a baking sheet lined with a silpat. When I don’t have a silpat, I just put some vegetable oil on the sheet… very little of it! A final sprinkle of Kosher Salt and we’re good.
refill the coffee… a little more Golden Glen Creamery milk this time too…
Side note: I’m upstairs writing this in my studio and I can smell cooking plums and tomatoes… is it lunch time yet??
Into the oven goes the sheet of tomato halves and I use a chicken made for us by Jason’s dad to block open the door to allow evaporating liquid to escape allowing the tomatoes to dehydrate. What? A chicken? Yes… a chicken. Oh… you don’t call it that. Funny little bit of family history here. Somewhere in the past, someone in Jason’s family had a trivet in the shape of a chicken. Now any trivet of any sort is referred to as a chicken… regardless of the shape of the trivet. This one is not in the shape of the edible fowl but is, none the less, called… a chicken…
more coffee… more milk…
A good stir on the plum pulp and the burner turned down to LOW (we have an electric range), a stir to the pot of plum sauce and burner set to 1, one last stir of the crock pot ‘maters which have now released a lot of their liquid… and we’re good for the morning!
Oh… dishes rinsed and put into the dishwasher… regular wash, no heat dry, start…
T-R-E-A-T-S for the Shibakidz that have been good enough to stay “out of the kitchen” (a phrase they obey when they see fit) while I work.
top off the coffee…
Note time on clock of one hour passed.
Idea: hey… this would be a good post…
talk to you soon…
The Shibaguyz
Our new friend, Jessi Loerch, describes herself on her 
