Category Archives: Edible

Otter Spotting and The Peace of Wild Things

January 22, 2013 Susie Middleton 8 Comments

Yesterday morning I played hooky. Roy called from his jobsite and said, “Grab the dog and come take a walk with me.” I hemmed and hawed, mentioned it was Monday morning, I had editing to do, I was right in the middle of something, etc., etc.” He said, “Well, okay, but it sure is beautiful up here,” and started to say goodbye. “Wait,” I said. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Roy’s current “jobsite” is the Captain Flanders House, a sprawling 60-acre farm high up on a hill in Menemsha overlooking Bliss Pond and miles of fields and stone walls. If you have to repair a roof on a cold January day, this is the place to do it. On Monday, Roy was the only soul around—but for Farmer and I, who arrived bundled up, camera in tow, and ready to explore.

Intrepidly, Roy led us down towards the pond, over a lichened stone wall, across a stream, around a cattle gate, under some barbed wire and along a path beside the water. He stopped to point out otter poop. Yes, otter poop. Now, having spent the weekend helping Roy clean the chicken coops, I just might not have been too interested in this. Enough already with animal leavings (in this case, fish scales). But here was proof that otters were nearby. Perhaps very nearby. And I have never seen these mythical Martha’s Vineyard river otters that supposedly traverse the ponds and streams all over the Island, in search of tasty snacks. At least mythical to me—plenty of other people, including Roy, have seen them, mostly in the wee hours of the morning.

Roy had stepped away from the path with Farmer when suddenly I heard a snortling noise. And then splashing. I turned around and across the pond I saw two little black heads bobbing up and down, then the shadowy hint of sleek bodies slipping across the water. “Otters! Otters! Roy, look!” I shouted.

We watched them. They watched us. They put on a show for us. Farmer was fascinated. I tried to take pictures but was a little too far way to get anything good (see above!). But watching them was delightful and exciting and silly and fun all at once. They swam away, a smattering of ducks lifted off from the pond, and we trekked back up the hill past the old farm buildings, our fingers beginning to feel the bite of a pre-snow chill.

Farmer and I agreed that it was a most excellent walk, one we certainly wouldn’t have taken if Dad hadn’t called on a whim. And we might never have seen an otter.

It’s impossible not to feel present and unfettered on a winter walk. It’s impossible not to feel humble and joyful when encountering wild things. And still I need to be reminded that I am free to take this cure whenever I like, every cold and clear and simple winter day of my Island life. No matter my state of mind, I can always benefit from stillness and clarity—and the peace of wild things, as Wendell Berry wrote in one of my favorite poems:

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s live may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

—Wendell Berry

Edible, side dishes, The Recipes, Vegetables

Midwinter Midweek Mahogany Mushrooms

January 15, 2013 Susie Middleton 6 Comments

Except for an ill-fated attempt to grow mushrooms in a box last winter and the occasional mini-fungi that pop up in the garden mulch, we do not grow mushrooms here on the farm. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’ve neglected writing much about this most meaty of vegetables.

But yesterday I was paging through Fast, Fresh & Green, looking for appropriate recipes for two classes I’ll be teaching at Stonewall Kitchens in Maine in May, and I stumbled upon these Mahogany Mushrooms. Oh, I’d forgotten how much I love cooking mushrooms like this. Chunky, fast, hot, browned, glazed–yum. Wan, undercooked, undercolored mushrooms are not my thing. If you follow this technique, that fate will not befall you.

Just to check, I made a batch this morning and Farmer and I ate them for lunch with some scrambled eggs. He gave the mushrooms ten licks (his rating system—it has to do with how much he licks his chops after sampling a dish). We did have a little problem with a slightly smoky kitchen since the front door is taped up for the winter and of course there is no ventilation hood in our antiquated kitchen. So when Roy got home from roofing, he was kind of wondering what Farmer and I had been up to. But he wonders that most days.

Seriously, I think Mahogany Mushrooms are a perfect side dish or antipasto for this time of year and that’s why I’m sharing them with you. Great with hamburgers or roast chicken or sautéed winter greens, or yes, eggs.

Mahogany Mushrooms

Sautéing over pretty high heat keeps these mushrooms juicy while getting them brown at the same time. A tangy glaze gives them a beautiful sheen, too.

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1 tablespoon soy sauce

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

2 teaspoons dark brown sugar

2 teaspoons ketchup

1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 pound Cremini (or baby bella) mushrooms, quartered if large, halved if small

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt

2 teaspoons minced fresh garlic

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In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, lemon juice, brown sugar, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, and 1 tablespoon water and set the bowl near the stove. Put a shallow serving dish near the stove as well.

In a 10-inch straight-sided sauté pan, heat 1 tablespoon of the butter with the olive oil over medium-high heat. When the butter is melted, add the mushrooms and the salt and stir right away. Continue stirring just until the mushrooms have absorbed all the fat.

Let the mushrooms sit undisturbed and cook for 2 minutes, then stir once. Don’t worry; the pan may look crowded and dry, but keep the heat up at medium high. Let sit and cook again, stirring infrequently (they will “squeak” when you stir them), until the mushrooms are shrunken, glistening, and some sides have developed a deep orange-brown color, 9 to 10 minutes (the bottom of the pan will be very brown).

Turn the heat to low and add the garlic and the remaining 1 tablespoon butter. Stir and cook until the butter is melted and the garlic is fragrant, about 30 seconds. Whisk the soy sauce mixture again and very carefully add it to the pan. You’ll need to scrape out the brown sugar, but don’t stand directly over the pan as there will be sputtering. Stir and cook just until the liquids thicken slightly and coat the mushrooms, another 15 to 20 seconds. Quickly transfer the mushrooms to a shallow serving dish, scraping all of the sauce out of the pan with a rubber spatula. Let sit for a few minutes and serve warm.

Serves 4

Edible, Farm life, Sustain, The Recipes

This Business of Eggs: Green Island Farm Grows Up

January 8, 2013 Susie Middleton 10 Comments

Four years ago, Roy and I (newly besotted), rented a little plot of land on a Vineyard farm. We grew vegetables and sold them at the farm’s roadside stand. Living in a tiny apartment over a general store, we shuttled back and forth to tend our plot.

That fall, our friend Joannie tracked us down one day, took us by the hand, and led us to a little farm house on two acres of land. Right on the spot, she introduced us to the owners and insisted that they rent the farm house to us. I’m not sure if the owners knew what hit them, but in about an hour, we had all shaken hands and Roy and I were packing up the apartment. Our new landlords said, “Sure, grow whatever you want here.”

We moved into the little (uninsulated) 1895 farm house a few weeks later, and by spring we were turning over the soil and putting up the fences for our first vegetable plot. Roy built a little farm stand, and we stuck a sign out by the road. One summer, then two summers went by. We got 8 laying hens, and then 50 more. The garden doubled in size, and we built a hoop house. We made a tiny bit of money off our tiny farmette, keeping the farm stand open almost every day while writing books and building houses (our real jobs), too.

Then one day Tom came by. Tom and Roy talked, like men do, standing next to their trucks, arms folded. I watched from the kitchen window, my hands covered in olive oil and salt. Tom and Roy walked down to the fence line at the bottom of the farmette and looked out over the fields beyond, fields that have been in Tom’s family for hundreds of years. Tom and his mother Druscilla (yes, our landlords) lease some of that land to Morning Glory Farm to grow corn and squash. But there are eight grassy acres spiked with pines and cedars right behind us that long to be farmed.

After a spell, Roy and Tom walked back up to the house. I wiped my hands and stepped outside. “We’re going to be chicken farmers, dear,” Roy informed me, Tom smiling beside him. They’d made a deal.

At that moment, our fuzzy dream snapped into focus and took on the shape of reality.

With the extra acres Tom would lease us (four to start), we’d be able to turn the farm into a real business. Roy knew he wanted to spend less time on big building projects and more time farming, and we knew from a bit of number crunching that laying hens would be profitable. We played the numbers out a bit more and decided to make a phone call. To our surprise, we hung up the phone with (gulp) an order of 200 16-week old pullets scheduled to be delivered to the island in only a few weeks time. That was late October.

While Roy and our friend Scott quickly built the new coops and erected the huge (60′ x 90′) initial yard for the pullets, I worked up a real business plan, shopped around for insurance, filed the LLC paperwork, got a Tax ID number—and ordered a whole lot more egg cartons!

Since the day the pullets arrived, Roy has worked feverishly to get all the systems in place—watering and feeding, cleaning the coops, haying the nest boxes, collecting the eggs, washing the eggs, packaging the eggs, marketing the eggs, delivering the eggs. He is Mr. Egg Man. (I have been conveniently “on deadline,” though I am told that when the next 200 chickens arrive this spring, my duties will be, ahem, changing.)

Mr. Egg Man and I are celebrating today, celebrating the end of our first real week in business. All our paperwork is complete. Nearly all of the pullets are laying, and Roy collected more than 1300 eggs this week. We have new customers—a restaurant, a grocery store, and a market; the farm stand cooler is stocked every day. Best of all, not a single one of those 1300 eggs is left in the fridge. All sold. Today, there will be 18 dozen more to pack up. And 18 dozen more tomorrow. Whew. Well, you can’t have a farm business without a farm product. Which is why I am off to transplant lettuce seedlings in the hoop house. This is the coolest part about the dream—coloring in the lines you’ve sketched for yourselves.