the first freeze
Down on the Farm: The morning after the first freeze it's time to start getting ready for winter.
Here in north-central Indiana, there's nothing so final as
the first fall freeze. It means the end of red tomatoes and
green peppers and yellow corn. It means the end of
simmering pots of catsup and open crocks of pickles dining
on the kitchen counter. It means the end of summer.
RELATED CONTENT
Preserving ripe garden produce for year-round eating is one of the best ways to enjoy a more local ...
SOYBEANS: GROW 'EM AND FREEZE 'EM March/April 1980
Lois Pritzlaff tells us how...
With its 24,000 mirrors glistening under the Southern California sun, the new Sierra SunTower is pr...
Before putting your money down on a wood pellet stove, do your research to determine whether the fu...
And the start of some of the most frenzied activity of the
year. Activity more hectic than the canning season, more
bustling than spring housecleaning. We call it "Getting
Ready for Winter".
It all begins the morning after the first freeze. While the
pepper plants are still upright. Before the tomatoes wilt
and die. Before the sweet potato vines blacken.
We get up . . . yawn and stretch . . . look at the
thermometer outside the kitchen window . . . and are
instantly awake! There's no time for coffee or leisurely
barn chores. We pull on our heavy coats and fleece-lined
boots and head straight for the garden.
There are sweet potatoes to be dug and spread on the warm
furnace room floor. Hampers to be filled with the largest
green tomatoes before the vines die. (We carry the fruit
into the cellar, wrap each of the tomatoes in a square of
newspaper, and set them in a dark corner to ripen.)
We till the garden (while being careful to leave the bushy
clump of brussels sprouts and the delicate "ferns" that
mark the row of carrots); Cover the turnips with bales of
hay and rake leaves up around the last of the celery. Pull
the bean plants, pluck their dried pods, and take the plump
hulls inside to shell out later during long evenings around
the fireplace. Pick an armful of red and orange and yellow
zinnias and arrange them into one last bouquet. We chop the
cornstalks. We put the garden to bed.
And then we hurry on to prepare the rest of our little farm
for winter. Someone must take the chain saw to the woods .
. . slice last spring's fallen trees into neat, uniform
logs . . . and stack the fuel in orderly heaps by the back
door. And someone must put the storm windows on the house .
. . caulk around the doors . . . mulch the roses. Get a
move on! Below-zero dawns and boot-deep snow are on the
way!
