A fresh batch of applesauce cooking on the stove is a good start to surviving winter. I drove to Smyth’s Orchards last week, just down the road from where John Macintosh discovered and named the Macintosh apple. I got 3/4 of a bushel of Macs and their last 3/4 bushel of Cortlands. The mix makes the best applesauce ever. No sugar, no spice, just apples. I like doing up a few pots at a time for days so I can maximize the amount of time that the house smells like simmering apples. Not much can be amiss when hot applesauce is bubbling.
Envisioning yogurt helps too. I haven’t been able to make homemade yogurt for months. The house doesn’t stay warm enough in winter for the wrap the crock pot in towels overnight method. I am starting to pine for it. The first night above freezing and I’m going to give it a try. I spent my breakfast yesterday listening to the chatter with one ear and letting the rest of my brain imagine the taste and look of homemade yogurt.
Sunday afternoon I spent time reading about all the different friendly ways to kill things. I liked the word pictures about bowls of liquid full of those who have passed. The creatures pick a bad time to debut, just when your lagging, holding on to the hope of spring, they decide to invade. It’s a country life thing, the cluster flies, the Japanese beetles.The snow is still here. Spring still a dream, but they’ve started unpacking their suitcases and setting up shop for another season.
I watched some deer cross the road yesterday. They’re lagging too. I think the feeding station at the graveyard next door is keeping them going. I worry about the deer. Wonder if we should be putting hay out in the far field somewhere, or if if they’d even notice or care. I don’t share my ideas with my husband. The thought of paying money to put hay in an empty field for wild things his wife imagines are failing would stretch him beyond capacity.
Sunday afternoon I had agreed to paint. I can’t say I ever look forward to art, but once everything is out, the table is spread with things and there’s a paintbrush in your hand, it’s not so bad. We opted to produce companion pieces on trees not in winter. I could have painted lopsided trees for a long time. I felt hungry for leaves and grass. After that I was just happy putting color on scraps of paper while I waited for the girls to tire.
We’ll see how things go. I’m starting to picture newspaper taped all over the kitchen walls, me and the kids with big paint brushes and four or five shades of bright. Or maybe no kids, maybe it’ll be just me and the paint.