(I’ve been meaning to write for days. Do you ever get in
that groove where you have so many things you want to talk about it you can’t
start? Yeah, that’s where I’ve been.)
really high? No, really! That and groceries. Creep creep creep. To the extent that we, like many families,
are muttering, “Crap, we gotta watch what we’re spending.”
out, avoiding unnecessary driving, etc. BUT me being the child of hippies who both were
into “back to nature” activities (i.e. growing food, raising chickens, preparing
everything from scratch,) and were always
preparing for nuclear annihilation (storing EVERYTHING) my survivalist
tendencies also start kicking in.
Hey! If we’re gonna
save money, I’m gonna save us money! (Maybe that’s a tad wee bit of the type A
thing kicking in, too, I don’t know.)
I find myself going back to the techniques my parents used. I’ve always been a gardener but usually I buy
my few tomato plants every year and then I load up on flowers. (Because flowers are pretty!) This year, especially with having a new
backyard to play with, I’m attempting to put in an edible garden. I’ve been planting a lot more herbs, edible
flowers, and veggies. I’ve been stock
piling seeds (especially cool heirlooms veggies or hard-to-find greens). The non-edible flowers I’ve
put in have been either ones that bring in pollinators or ones like Echinacea and
chamomile that can serve double-duty. (For, you know, if I ever need to process
my own tea. (I never said these
tendencies were rational.)) I’ve been
looking for ways to start composting and putting in water buckets. There’s been a big movement towards
locally-grown food around here and I’m happy to try my hand at it. I’m getting all green up in this joint!
No biggie, right? This
is the kind of thing my parents did all the time. Canned all their veggies, made jam, ground up
wheat for fucking flour, made their own tofutti, and on and on. Lots of people do it (well, maybe not the
tofutti part). But you gotta understand,
I don’t consider myself to be the most domesticated woman around. Because… uh, let’s see… I don’t cook, I have
a cleaning service, I’m crafty but I suck
at sewing, and I have NO family photo albums organized. I don’t even own a cute apron (which even I
am a little appalled at… ‘cause have you seen those ones at Anthropologie?!). I’m pretty sure that means I fail the basic
domestic diva exam.
And the truth is, I don’t really like a lot of traditional domestic
crap. I hate cooking. I don’t want to scrapbook. Cleaning bathrooms suck. Things need to be done so I do them, but that
doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I do like to bake (because eating baked
goods rocks), and I like painting rooms
or digging in the dirt or building stuff. But those bigger, physical activities are a
far cry from, say, getting my jollies off polishing the silver.
Despite all that I am feeling proud about the jam. I made apricot-plum and white nectarine-plum
jam. They taste awesome!! (I’m kind of blown away.) Basically, I spent about $30 in supplies ($20
of that a one time cost for the jars) and I made 18 jars of jam. (Do you know how much it would cost to buy 18
jars of jam at the grocery store?)
I’m already thinking about trying to can some tomatoes if I
get enough. Maybe freeze some bush
beans.
This type of domesticity is kind of a (scary) shift for me. But, if prices keep going up, I predict we’re
going to see a lot more people going farm-esque DIY.
All I need now are a couple of chickens. (not)
– the
weirdgirl
P.S. It’s salt to my chafing domesticity that G.W. Bush would approve of me taking on a more traditional family role, when it’s his economy that is forcing me to take on a more traditional role. If he had any brains I’d think that was his whole plan from the beginning. “We’ll just devalue the American dollar until all the women stay home in the kitchen like God meant them to.” Bastard.
But I still love my jam.
Your P.S. cracked my shit up.
I’ve been doing a lot of that food-preserving thing lately, too. And wishing I’d paid closer attention when my Nanny was canning & jamming.
Are you sure about the chickens? Those little chicks at the feed store are adorable! And the price of eggs has gone up, too! (No, never at my place, but you have a bigger backyard.)
I never thought of myself as domestic making jam. That’s just a yearly seasonal task that prevents me from eating store-bought stuff. I’ll stand up and admit, I am a jam snob. Wanna swap?
I’m getting ready to eat an english muffin (which I saved money on by buying at the second day bread store!) and I wish I had some of that jam. It sounds fantastic.
My parents used to grow a lot of the vegetables we ate growing up. Hellishly hot summer days canning tomatoes probably contributed to my disdain for them today. Tomaotes and beets. Just can’t do it.
If you don’t pickle you own sauerkraut… the terrorists win.
If you don’t pickle you own sauerkraut… the terrorists win.
Hell to the yeah! This is a great post (I’m so excited it was my first post of yours to read)
I too seriously suck at domestication. I like cooking HATE the clean-up. But I too am feeling the need for improvisation. I have dreams of a great garden that will feed my family but I have no idea where to start. I am determined though to at least learn how to make my own jams this year. That’s a step in the right direction.
Great blog.. I’ll definitely be back for more.
If you’re like me and you do all your cooking in gasoline, you’re doubly screwed.
I luv me some plum jelly. Particularly wild plum jelly. Crazee Tastee. When I was a boy I had a great aunt that would also make pie melon jelly and mesquite bean jelly and even prickly pear cactus jelly. The old timers could make do nicely with little or nothing.
So good for you on the jelly.
I suck at most domestic tasks also (my husband should really stay home). Except I like to back, paint rooms and build things, too! Were we separated at birth (we do kind of look alike)?
If you want to be really hardcore, you could stand in the poison ivy on the side of the road picking (free!) wild grapes until your fingers turn purple. Then make 56 jars of grape jam in a 102 degree kitchen the size of a porta-potty. Oh, and did I mention that I was 7 months pregnant during that foolishness? I hope you enjoy your jam– mine just makes me flippin angry every time I eat it.
First off, apologies to everyone – my blog reading and response time to emails and comments has been way down this week. I appreciate everyone stopping by and I’ll get my act together soon.
Hannah – Me too! I’m going to go buy a canning book.
Jeanne – I have your jam waiting!
FADKOG – I hear you. I have clear memories of days on end in blistering heat “helping” (i.e. forced child labor) my mother can a gazillion items. It’s actually only about an hour if you do ONE batch! That’s much more reasonable.
Igmar – DAMNIT! Another reason Bush will think I’m unpatriotic.
Frances – Welcome! Good luck with your jam. It’s surprisingly easy. I bet you’ll have fun. (We non-domestics have to stick together.)
Peter – HI, long time no see! Yeah, we’re feeling the gas pinch, too.
Evyl – Wild fruits are the best! That prickly pear jam sounds interesting. Here’s to becoming the new old timers!
Lori – I’m pretty sure we’re long lost twins.
Stef – See, RIGHT THERE accurately describes some of my childhood summers! Wow. The worst was when my parents decided to can peppers. Did you know that the acid from peppers can totally burn your hands? Severely? Luckily, us kids didn’t have to help with that domestic experiment.
Baby steps are much better. ONE batch at a time.