When Nature turns down the thermostat, she doesn’t mess around.
From 70 degrees to the teens nearly overnight, winter definitely meant business, and to prove the point, some of us were frosted with a bit of snow.
After our summer from the fiery depths of hell, I have actually been looking forward to it, but in spite of all my optimistic preparations (getting out winter sweaters, filling bird feeders, stocking up on cocoa, making chili), I looked out my windows for that predicted dusting of white in vain, finding it was coming down with rain melting it as fast as it fell. While any bit of moisture is welcome, it didn’t fill my wishes for an early winter wonderland.
The garden is still very much vibrantly and rambunctiously alive. Winter’s green is everywhere we look: Jacob’s ladder is fresh after a summer hiatus, hellebores are pushing up new leaves in advance of January bloom and buds are already beginning to show deep in crowns.
Down in the woods, garden rattlesnake ferns are just coming up and Christmas fern is living up to its name. Arum italicum pictum’s silvery-veined leaves make beautiful arrangements with hellebores and liriope, and furry silver lamb’s ear lines mossy paths. Grassy spears of grape hyacinths grow all winter in preparation for spring, early daffodils are already showing green tips and spiderwort is dressed for winter in purple leaves.
Ajuga, vinca, hardy geraniums and violets go about the business of ground-covering undeterred. Columbines are defiantly green and rosettes of rudbeckias, black-eyed Susans and coneflowers lie low under their carpet of leaves. Dandelions, with their bring-it-on attitude, respond with flowers, bright spots of sunshine on the dreariest days. Outdoor pots, summer periwinkles gone, are brimming with self-seeded columbines, green ajugas and hardy dusty miller, Artemisia stelleriana Silver Brocade.
Thanksgiving staples culinary sage (Salvia officinalis) and English thyme fill our little wheelbarrow herb garden, waiting to be harvested for dressing — at least on my menu. Rosemary occupies a big pot in the greenhouse, handy for cuttings.
All three herbs grown for centuries throughout the Middle East and Europe were brought to North America by early settlers, but whether they were actually used in preparing the first harvest feast in 1621 is not known.
According to accounts written by attendees English leader Edward Winslow and Gov. William Bradford, Chief Massasoit with some 90 Wampanoag men and surviving Plymouth colonists numbering 22 men, 25 children of various ages and four women attended the three-day feast.
With five deer, fowls of several kinds (including turkeys, ducks, geese and swans), possibly shellfish, a great number of pumpkins, squash and corn, turnips and other vegetables (but no potatoes; they had not yet arrived in colonial America) to prepare, there may not have been a lot of culinary finesse going on.
Meats were likely roasted on spits or boiled; birds may have been stuffed with onions, or possibly nuts and herbs — which ones are unknown. There was no flour, so none of that sage breaded dressing; no butter or sugar for pies or breads (and with no sugar, no cranberry sauce, either, though cranberries were native and plentiful). Still, there appeared to be sufficient food for all.
That first harvest feast, political in intent to forge an alliance between settlers and Native Americans, was only a one-time thing. Our cherished Thanksgiving meal tradition stems from the 19th century, when Sarah Josepha Hale, “editoress” of the women’s magazine Godey’s Lady’s Book, in response to nostalgia about past harvest festivals led a relentless campaign to establish Thanksgiving as an official annual event.
She petitioned 13 presidents until finally, on Oct. 3, 1863, Abraham Lincoln proclaimed Thanksgiving a national holiday as a way to unite the country during the Civil War. Hale, leading household “influencer” of her time, produced numerous cookbooks of “receipts” (including “Early American Cookery” reprinted and now available) for women to cook and serve for the meal.
Some of her recipes were pretty exotic for the era but are now common at our tables. We have Hale to thank for roast turkey with that sage dressing, creamed onions, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes and more. We already had pumpkin pie from 1655; by that time, English colonists, for whom North American native pumpkins had become a staple, had sugar and knew how to use it.
They also made pumpkin ale. With their fondness for making ale out of anything that could be fermented, colonists were possibly not a totally sober bunch — but undoubtedly, in addition to love of rich desserts, it helped get them through many tough times.
Of 400 species of sage, the largest segment of the mint family, 47 are native to North America, though not the culinary (and medicinal) sage we use. Sage used by Eastern Indigenous peoples in tea and to flavor meats was likely Salvia lyrata (lyre-leaved sage) with its vaguely mint flavor.
Common culinary sage has been hardy in our garden for several years, though occasionally replaced as it gets woody with age, producing fewer leaves. Other varieties, purple and variegated sages among them, have not been winter-hardy for me. English thyme grows at its feet and has continued to spread, living through droughts and shucking off winter cold.
Sage, rosemary and thyme (and parsley) can all be used fresh or dried. In a pinch, they can be dried in a microwave or oven, though they retain the most flavor when air dried. Leaves should be washed under running water, placed on a paper towel to dry, removed from stems and discolored ones discarded.
In the microwave on high, it takes five or six periods of 15 seconds at a time, stirring and checking dryness until crisp. For oven drying, place stripped leaves in a single layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet on the lowest setting for 15-minute segments, checking for dryness.
To air dry, gather stems in a bundle with a rubber band or string and hang until dry, which may take several days. I don’t worry about hanging them inside a paper bag, as I only dry as much as I intend to use at one time. Extra dried herbs can be stored in an airtight glass bottle for a year.
Yikes, Thanksgiving is next week with a houseful of company coming. While I’m nattering on about them, I need to cut some of those herbs to dry, and remember to put our frozen turkey in the refrigerator on Sunday to thaw.
My recipe for dressing (and a couple of others) can be found on our Facebook page.
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