We had our first flakes of snow last week and, true to form, the boy started hoping for a snow day.
The ground’s not frozen yet, and there are still a few potatoes and Jerusalem artichokes to dig, and a few cabbages to bring in.
But for the most part, we’ve shifted to winter eating. It’s a transition time of year. After months of growing food for the table and for winter storage, we’ve shifted, almost completely, to eating down the supply.
We like to joke about it. “All our hard work,” we tell the kids, “and you’re just going to eat it!”
It’s always an adjustment, from salads, corn and tomatoes to dried beans, potatoes and pumpkins. And between the lack of sun and the lack of fresh greens, there’s also a physical adjustment: We’re not getting enough vitamins.
Northerners never get enough vitamin D in the winter. There’s not enough sun, and we don’t spend enough time outdoors. Those fluorescent office lights are not going to do the trick.
And even if we’re not going to get rickets, vitamin D deficiency causes all sorts of other problems, from an inability to absorb calcium to insomnia and depression.
For most people, all it takes is getting outside. Ten to 15 minutes a day out in the sun, you’ll get your daily supply of vitamin D. But this time of year, when it’s too cold to persuade the kids to go on a bike ride and not snowy enough to be out playing, getting outdoors can be a tough sell. And it gets dark so early.
This is that time of year when we’re almost ready to admit defeat. It’s winter. Time for soup, and to find all the mittens. My friend walked into the office last week in her real winter coat, not just a mid-season fleece. “No sense in suffering,” she said.
It was the day after another friend and I canceled plans for a walk and went out for a hot bowl of soup instead. The talk soon turned to wood and oil.
“We’ve been burning some beautiful ash.” I said. “It’s so hot, and burns down to nothing.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I’ve been running the stove on straight locust. It’s great.”
I looked around the restaurant. It seemed full of elderly Italian women and office workers. A lot of them were also eating soup, but I doubted anyone else was discussing the virtues of various hardwoods. That didn’t stop us.
My friend said that even her hot locust fire wasn’t enough. “It was 52 degrees in the living room,” she said. “I had to turn on the heat.”
Our wood stove is a cook stove, and doesn’t have a big enough firebox to keep a fire all night. So we’ve had the heat on as backup since late October. We’re still keeping the thermostat at around 57 degrees, and relying on the stove to make the days and evenings comfortable.
It seems OK to me. I’m the first one up, and can warm up the house, and make breakfast, before the rest of the gang gets downstairs. And we’ve only used a quarter tank of oil so far this season. Which I think is good, but my Southern husband sees as another sign of despair: “How much more do we have to suffer?” he asked after checking the fuel tank.
Clearly he’s not getting enough vitamin D.
And it hasn’t even gotten cold yet. At some point, we’re going to hear that furnace running all night, no matter how much ash or cherry or locust we burn.
As for the greens, next year we’re going to have to get that hoop house up, so we can keep eating fresh spinach and kale far into winter.
Of course, there is that summer kale in the freezer, but it seems too early to start pulling out that supply. It’s like admitting that the wood stove can’t do it alone.
At least the stove is good for keeping a pot of soup going. Maybe I’ll start a pot of mushroom soup with those dried mushrooms we’ve been storing. They’re very high in vitamin D.
Margaret Hartley is the Gazette’s Sunday and features editor. Greenpoint appears in the Gazette’s print edition Sundays on the Environment page.
Have a question or a topic you’d like addressed on Greenpoint? Email greenpoint@dailygazette.net.
