Saturday - 155th

I think people like Ed should not invest in a stand alone freezer. His two traits -- never throw away anything, and don't keep tabs on stuff -- predispose him toward freezing everything, then forgetting about it all.





This summer, as we harvest our tomato crop, adding numerous gallon bags filled with garden tomatoes to our supply of frozen foods, I have to face this basic truth: the basement freezer is very full. And we will never eat what lies on the bottom, because we have no idea what lies on the bottom. Too, I have little interest in using stuff dumped there before I ever even met the guy. For example, squashed raspberries. At least I think they're raspberries: they have a curious color to them... Or some tomato mush that may be soup, may be salsa, or perhaps chili with whatever Ed added to it way back then.

Worse. When we went into isolation in March, I wasn't sure how we would buy our foods. Would we have access to fruits and veggies? Maybe. Maybe not. So I bought a dozen bags of frozen veggies and a dozen bags of frozen fruits, thinking that if we eat one bag each week we'd get some greens and vitamins in our diet for at least three months. (As it turned out, we've had food delivered almost seamlessly to the farmette and so we've not had to depend on frozen produce.)

It was time to take stock of what's in that freezer. This was the project for the day.

After breakfast, of course.






I did not convince my "never throw it away" guy to toss out much. There was this bag of tomatoes that I thought looked highly suspicious in its old age. He agreed to take it out to the compost pile then changed his mind. Now I have to look at a bowl of mushy brown stuff defrosting as Ed waits "check out the taste" of it. A container of BBQ sauce for ribs. Okay, out it went. We're not meat eaters. And one bag of something that looked so horrible that I thought for a moment it was not food at all, but some substance used to seal gutters maybe.

Still, at the end of the day, I had taken everything out, made lists, and organized stacks and piles so that I could access the fish and tomatoes and shrimp and rhubarb, and he could access his bags of ancient berries and sacs of mush. I hinted that he should start eating his treasures. He retorted that if I cook daily and do not travel, he hasn't the opportunity to cook up anything from the freezer. I shrugged: if you want to set aside a day in the week where I don't cook for you and you dig in for a filling dinner of mushy raspberries and homemade applesauce (well, that's a guess), please go for it. 

Somehow even just the act of arranging and organizing reduced the freezer overload. We can keep adding bags of tomatoes. There's plenty of room now.






In the late afternoon, the young family is here for Sunday dinner. I know, I know -- it's not Sunday. Another set of grandparents will be spending time with them the next few days and so we moved things around to accommodate that.

Snowdrop is anxious to show her biking skills and so we start out on the bike trail.






It's a lovely afternoon for being outdoors!






("Am I too young for biking?")






And yes, we do eat our dinner on the porch.






After morning sprinkles, the skies cleared and it's exceptionally pleasant out there. We really do need a lot more rain, butfrom the point of view of summer weather, we've had a heck of a good run of beautiful days this year.


(From my daughter -- "are you sure the garden has passed its peak?")






(From Snowdrop -- "Ahah, take a picture of us hugging!")






Throughout the day, Ed and I go to the writer's shed to hang out with Calico. In her sickness, she has let down her guard and she lets Ed pet her as well. Indeed, as she wobbles and tumbles in her state of acute vertigo, she doesn't want to leave the safety of our legs, our arms. Anything for support.

I do get her to eat a little. That was important -- for the first time we got some medicine into her. We can't be sure it's what she needs, but we can hope...