A Little Bit of Summer, in February

There’s nothing like enjoying the flavours of summertime in the middle of the winter.

Recently, in a deliciously warm cottage located on a pristine lake somewhere in the Muskokas, some friends and I were talking about pie. Pie is the greatest, we agreed, although we weren't complaining about the delicious chocolate cake we were gobbling down. Among the topics touched upon were the hilarious cake vs. pie debate we all agree is the best episode that the CBC Radio’s The Debaters has ever made, and a discussion of our favourite types of pie.

I, personally, have lots of favourite types of pie. My choice pretty much depends what season of the year it is. Lemon meringue is that all-season favourite that everybody loves (or so I thought, until I found out that my good friend Rhonda hates it!). Pumpkin is a fall favourite for sure... there is nothing like a delicious slice of spicy pumpkin pie after a thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. In the heat of summertime, any type of berry pie with [homemade] vanilla ice cream tastes like heaven. But for me, the ultimate pie is strawberry-rhubarb. I love the tangy tartness of the rhubarb, sweetened by fresh strawberries. To me, it is an icon of summer. And if the ingredients were harvested the same day that the pie was made, all the better.

This time of year the rhubarb and strawberries are all hiding under the snow, but luckily frozen rhubarb and strawberries work just as well. Of course, the taste is not quite comparable to fresh rhubarb and strawberries straight from the garden or local strawberry farm, but I’ll take frozen rhubarb and berries over no pie at all! Last summer, I managed to acquire an unnecessarily large quantity of rhubarb from a friend at work. I was making a rhubarb dessert for a workplace snack making contest, but ended up with way more rhubarb than I needed. The extra rhubarb was okay with me—and it’s even more okay with me now that I get to reap the benefits from the freezer in the middle of winter.

Unfortunately this year I didn’t have a freezer full of strawberries (unlike last year—I think my sister and I overdid it), so store bought berries had to suffice. Still, I think it turned out to be a pretty yummy pie!

Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie

Use your favourite pie recipe. Everybody has one, and if you don’t, my mother recommends the recipe on the Crisco box. I prefer shortening, but word on the street is that lard makes the best pie. I don’t notice the difference enough to care.

If there is one thing my mother definitely taught me about making pie, it is that you must not handle the crust too much. Mix it until it is just combined, and roll it as little as possible. If you have to roll it twice, the crust will not be flaky. But don’t fret! It will still be delicious, delicious pie.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Filling:

- 3 cups of fresh or frozen rhubarb
- 3 cups of fresh or frozen strawberries (my pie had a few other types of berries mixed in)
- ¾ cup of sugar
- 1/3 cup of all-purpose flour
- ½ tsp brown sugar

Mix the filling together, making sure the berries are well coated in sugar and flour. With frozen filling, it’s a good idea to let the fruit thaw a bit before baking. If you don’t want to wait, adjust cooking times accordingly—it will take a pie made with frozen fruit a bit longer to bake through.

Top the pie with pastry or a crumbly streusel topping. Your choice! If you choose the crust, make sure to brush it with milk or egg whites. This looks pretty, and will help fix any little flaws or mistakes in the crust, too. Bake at 375 degress for 25 minutes, then increase temperature to 425 for another 20 minutes or until the crust is golden and the filling is bubbly.

Voila! A little taste of summertime. This should hold me through until at least mid-March (but it probably won't last that long!). 

I’ve Come Here to Lose the Fog

The phrases, “living off the land,” “homesteading,” and “country living” usually bring to mind images of the abundance of the harvest and the beauty of the land. Me, I immediately recall my parents’ farm. I see lambs frolicking in the pasture, hay being combined and bailed, and asparagus growing in the garden. What I don’t imagine is snow and ice in the driveway and larges piles of wood that need to be stacked in the garage and brought in to the house regularly so that we can stay warm.

So far, winter maintenance has been the biggest chore we’ve enjoyed since living in the country. I’ll be honest: I have definitely not been bearing the brunt of the work. That joy has belonged mostly to my better half, who is the only one who knows how [and enjoys] to operate the tractor. Therefore, he has been blessed with the title of Head Snow Plow Operator and Wood Mover.

Still, I have enjoyed moving the wood that the tractor magically drops on the porch into the cold room so that it is located at a more convenient distance from the stove. There is something romantic not only about being warmed by a glowing fire, but also about knowing that the wood that is warming you got there by the fruits of your hard labour. Of course, it’s nothing like what the real country-folk do: we don’t spend our summer weekends felling trees and splitting wood, but until you’ve helped move a gigantic pile of firewood from the middle of the driveway into the garage and then into the house, you aren’t permitted to judge!

The point that I am making is that the act of keeping warm is yet another way in which we are connected to the earth beneath our feet. It’s not just the hard work that we crave. Those logs that go on the fire are trees, and the trees grew from the ground and were warmed by the sun and watered by the rain—just like our food. Even the oil or natural gas that you might be warming your house with is a product of the earth. It’s all just energy, cycling around and keeping us moving. It keeps you warm and alive, whether you are conscious of it or not.

So today, as I throw another log on the fire and sit at my table to tap out another one of these journal entries, I take a moment to remember that I am “just a cog in something turning.” Small, and yet significant.  I think it’s important that we don’t forget where we came from. It’s the same place everything came from. And it means we are all connected, whether we like it or not.

[10 points to the first person who can name the song and the artist quoted above]