16 ~ Dark elixir, and the largesse of May
With the arrival of some warming days in early May, the flow of birch sap finally ceased. The tally of my joint effort with the trees is a mere 5.5 pints (2.6 liters) of syrup from 83 gallons (314 liters) of sap collected from about a dozen white birches – a ratio of 121:1 of sap to syrup (compared with about 30:1 for maple sugaring). This was my first foray into birch syrup, and the result is amazing, its rarity fitting. What it lacks in quantity…
This is syrup for adults – a rich, nearly black elixir, with more complexity than simple sweetness. Imagine molasses seasoned with good balsamic vinegar and a dash of bourbon. I sense it would be stellar as a glaze for roast venison, and I aim to find out.
Last week my friend Howard parked his camper in my driveway (he paid for his hookup with a very welcome gift of a pound of salt!). Over the next few days we social distanced while doing a bit of turkey hunting and fishing, with periodic drop-ins from friends Greg and Tony. It being May among both these woods and these fine souls, some good eating was in order. This is the season of emerging abundance, and we dove headlong into the new wealth.
First up was grilled poached turkey; that is, the wild turkey recently confiscated and given to me by Dave, the DNR conservation warden (see post of April 17: https://www.birdinthebush.net/blog/12-notes-from-day-116-squash-fowl-rabbits-and-abundance). Howard marinated slices of the beautiful, dense breast meat in lime juice, teriyaki and a bit of brown sugar, and with Greg we put them on the charcoal grill, with asparagus from the garden and potatoes wrapped in foil.
Howard (left) and Greg social-distancing in style.
The next evening, Howard took his fly rod for a walk to the pond and caught nearly two dozen fat bluegills (not to worry, there is no danger of overfishing this particular pond). Back at the house, he quickly and deftly filleted them before I could slot in to help (“I’ve been doing this for sixty years”, was his reply to my expression of awe at the speed and precision with which he removed the filets, then skinned them). There were enough filets for that night’s dinner and extra for the freezer. In his camper, going with the stove he knows, Howard fried the filets after a toss in flour and that middle America classic, Lawry’s seasoned salt. From my canning shelves I retrieved jars of pickled beets and dilly beans, and we settled into a meal of the simple sublime.
Howard and his field champion lab, Lefty (on the, er, left), preparing to tuck in.
Over the next few days, other meals that followed included scrambled eggs with morels and fiddlehead ferns (first morels just up here!), pan-fried filet of largemouth bass, and cornmeal pancakes with homemade butter and both birch and maple syrups. While I was napping one afternoon, Howard went out and showed us locals how to do it, catching a 12-inch brook trout in the creek that borders the property, which he fried up for tea.
A box of strawberries in the camper’s fridge inadvertently froze, and Howard gave the limp results to me, as an offering to my hens. I love my girls, but I was damned if I was going to give them a box of strawberries (one thing a moratorium on grocery shopping instills is inspired frugality around food). Instead, I used the berries as stimulus to harvest the season’s first rhubarb, and turned out a strawberry-rhubarb pie. Tony and I had some as a first, pre-dawn breakfast before turkey hunting on a frosty morning (more below on that chill). Thank you Howard, thank you hens.
One of the most memorable meals came the first evening I was once again alone. I went out to the coop to make sure the hens were in safely in for the night, and found a gift of four new eggs. As I walked back to the house, accompanied by the calls of whip-poor-wills and the first emergent stars, I detoured past the chives and the asparagus. Back inside, and adding a bit of cream from my local dairyman to the ensemble, I was soon tucking into the world’s freshest chive and asparagus frittata. Unplanned, unscripted, just taking what was offered. There is goodness and grace in life on its terms.
Earlier this week, May 12-15, marked the traditional period of “Eisheiligen”, or the Ice Saints, in Switzerland and other northern European countries. This is a string of saints’ feast days (St. Mamertus, St. Pancras, and St. Servatius) during which, tradition has it, periods of cold weather typically fall, so farmers need to take care. It certainly was true this year, if perhaps a bit early – last Saturday found it -23F (-5C) at dawn at the house, which had me scrambling the night before with sheets of plastic, space heaters and extension cords to try to save my apple and cherry blossoms. Another frost followed a few days later, right on Eisheiligen schedule. I’m pleased to report that the fruit blossoms seemed to have made it through the pinch, and it feels like a weather corner has finally been turned – I’ll be planting tomatoes today. May we be blessed with no more visits of the Ice Saints this season.
Yesterday’s end of the traditional Eisheiligen period, and the recent days of wonderful feasting from the wild with friends, reminds me that this is the season when the lines on my graph of provisions are crossing: as my stores continue to dwindle toward a flatline, new supplies from the garden and the woods are on their upcurve. This week felt like the curves crossed, and I was shifting from one abundance to the next. Nature is like that - always there, if we are willing to listen and, with gratitude, court her.
A heads-up that I am in search of a new housemate to share the house here, available June 1. If you know someone who might be interested and a good fit, please refer them to this ad on Craigslist:
https://madison.craigslist.org/roo/d/barneveld-driftless-area-farmhouse-share/7116135730.html
What I’m reading (or have read) and can recommend:
Howard and Tony, besides being good souls (or, because of it), are both writers. Their beautiful work reflects their deeply felt connection with the wild.
From Howard’s muse, a wonderful collection of moving and insightful essays, The Last Dog, is available here (Howard donates all profits from the book’s sales to charitable organizations dedicated to promoting the well-being of dogs and the natural environment): https://www.thelastdog.net/
And from Tony, a passionate and deeply observant poet, his newest work is a sprawling, epic environmental poem, The Waste Land Revisited, available for Kindle download here:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086FDBYTR/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0