Leaving the convenient and private studio environment to paint in the real world is something every artist must ultimately do, if for no other reason than to push the fold of one’s creativity. But unless you’re an artist, you probably can’t relate to the utter trepidation I felt many years ago when contemplating that first excursion.
Of course, it wasn’t just a fear of the unknown, which is something we’ve all had to deal with.
What if I ran out of water or didn’t bring the right watercolors? How could I keep people from peering over my shoulder? Could I paint in something other than my comfortable ergonomic swivel chair, with a three-pound board balanced on my knees?
But those were just the stupid details. And how many times had I heard from a host of wise advisers, “Don’t sweat the details.” Not if it keeps you from seeing the big picture. Or in my case, from capturing it in brilliant hues of Viridian green, Cyanine blue, and Alizarion crimson.
So I drove out to the countryside armed with several jugs of water, every tube of paint and brush I possessed, extra paper and a nervous stomach.
I dallied along the back roads of Corvallis, Ore., in search of just the right scene. Then I dithered over my outdoor studio, arranging and rearranging palette, tissues, foot stool and water.
Finally, there was no putting it off. I had to apply that first brush stroke.
The transformation was swift. My world shrank to a picture frame image above my left thumb, and suddenly, re-creating it was my solitary goal. Delicate washes of color bloomed on the paper as minutes melted into hours.
But it wasn’t until my painting was complete and I was heading back to town that I noticed what had really taken place: I felt fabulous. Mentally relaxed and physically invigorated.
What a fool I had been to have denied myself such an experience.
Last week, as I began to gear up for preserving the spring and summer harvests, it occurred to me that food preserving is a lot like painting on location. A person can get so overwrought with the technicalities and science of the task, that it’s easy to lose sight of the process and what it does for you. Deep down in your soul, I mean.
Like several hours of painting in the forest, when you step into a kitchen to wrestle a bushel of produce into shimmering little jars, it focuses your concentration. And just like trying to capture an image on paper, at the end of an activity that leaves no room for mulling extracurricular woes, you come away gloriously refreshed.
Plus, even though canning isn’t an essential form of survival these days, your meals will be lovelier, and your gifts more cherished.
And if by demonstrating the age-old process of putting food by helps your children make the inescapable connection we have with the land, then the future becomes a more hopeful place to look.
Well, your opportunity to capture that harvest is upon us. Rhubarb is here. And then it’s on to berries, cherries, peaches, apples and pears.
An amazing journey that won’t slow down until the fields of corn are spent and tomato bushes are finally too tuckered and chilled to fruit.
So while the pace is still leisurely, it’s a good time to gear up for the season. Like any other form of cooking, there are a few tools that you’ll need to have on hand. Things like canning jars and lids, for example, are a necessary part of the process. You might as well obtain them.
Then – and this is a very important part – set aside a few square feet of kitchen or garage space for these supplies. A box or shelf, whatever it takes to keep all of the essentials organized in one place.
Experience has taught me that at those rare moments when time, energy and inclination are aligned you don’t want to undermine your enthusiasm by having to assemble all of the gear.
Jan Roberts-Dominguez is a Corvallis, Ore., food writer, cookbook author and artist. Readers can contact her by e-mail at janrd@proaxis.com.
About 21/4 pounds rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch pieces to measure 8 cups
41/2cups granulated sugar
2oranges
1lemon
1/2teaspoon butter (optional; helps reduce foaming)
1/4cup finely chopped candied ginger
In nonaluminum bowl, combine the rhubarb with the sugar. Cover and let stand overnight at room temperature.
Remove the zest (outer peel) from the oranges and lemon. The easiest way to do this is with a zester. Working from stem to blossom end, glide the zester down the side of the fruit. Use a light pressure to remove several thin strips of peel at a time. If you don’t have a zester, use a sharp paring knife to carefully cut only the colored part of the peel from the fruit. A swivel-bladed vegetable peeler may also be used to remove the zest. Be sure and remove all of the white pithy membrane from the back of the peel, otherwise it will make the marmalade taste slightly bitter. Slice the peel into very thin strips of an even width no more than 1/8-inch wide.
Place the zest pieces in a small pot, cover with cold water and bring to a boil. Simmer for 10 to 15 minutes, or until tender; drain and set aside.
Remove the white pith layer from the oranges and lemons. The easiest way to do this is to cut a slice off the top and bottom of each piece of fruit. Stand the fruit, bottom-side down, on a stable cutting board. Using a sharp knife and starting at the top, cut the remaining white pith and the membrane just beneath it from the fruit in strips. Be careful not to cut away too much of the fruit.
Finely chop the prepared fruit and remove any seeds. Place the prepared oranges and lemon in a heavy pot, along with the rhubarb and sugar mixture, and the butter. Bring the mixture to a full rolling boil over medium high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce the heat to a slow boil and continue simmering, stirring frequently, until the mixture has reached the jelly stage (220 degrees from sea level up to 1,000 feet, 216 degrees at 2,000 feet, or 214 degrees at 3,000 feet, stirring constantly, about 8 minutes to 10 minutes.
Remove from heat, add ginger and rind. Let sit for about 2 minutes, then skim off any foam that has accumulated. Ladle the marmalade into individual containers for storage in the refrigerator or freezer
For long-term storage at room temperature: have 7 half-pint canning jars washed and ready for filling when the marmalade is through cooking. Prepare canning lids as manufacturer directs. While it is still hot, ladle into 1 clean and hot canning jar at a time, leaving 1/4-inch head space. Wipe jar rim with a clean damp cloth. Attach lid. Fill and close remaining jars. Process in a boiling-water canner for 10 minutes. At 1,000 to 3,000 feet, process for 15 minutes.. Makes about 7 half-pints.
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