I feel a bit odd calling it “Rhubarb Moon” when the Rhubarb (and the Asparagus) has been up for 2-3 weeks already, easily, but it seems to fit and I’m not expecting much else in the way of seasonally-available fruit for a while yet, so Rhubarb Moon it is.
Right now, I’ve got the hot parts of an impending Salad Nicoise cooking away in the double-boiler: Baby potatoes in the bottom and fresh asparagus tips (picked yesterday, by me, in the Peterborough-area garden of my father-in-law, who also sent us home with a huge bouquet of rhubarb) in the top. I may use some of the accompanying rhubarb, plus some of the whipping cream that’s been burning a hole in my fridge shelf (so to speak) for a month, to make a vaguely trifle-esque dessert.
My lovely wife and I had a discussion the other day about ethical omnivory and, today, she came home with a surprise. The surprise was a four-pound roasting rabbit (with the un-tanned pelt in a separate bag, which she will work into something that might, maybe, become the lining on mittens this winter, or similar) and the news that she has signed us up for what we – being slightly awful, perhaps – are referring to as the “Bunny of The Month Club”. Meaning that we’ll get one roasting rabbit every month from now until (the end of) April 2015. Not bad. 🙂
It’s funny… I’m fairly certain that the “Traditionally Raised” pigs that go into our sausages and (on rarer occasions) shoulder roasts are raised indoors, yes, but with enough elbow room and clean living conditions that they can be raised to slaughter weight without the hormones or antibiotics that that particular sub-brand promises NOT to include in their lives… and I know that the pigs that Barb raises – and the cattle and chickens from a neighbouring farm that are contributed to the Meat CSA she runs every year – are graised on pasture. And… It’s so strange. Knowing that this individual rabbit had a pleasant, relatively violence-free life, I find myself feeling more like “this is a person who has been killed for me” than I do about the Traditionally Raised pigs. I think I’ve said “Thank You” half a dozen times in the past half-hour, and at least two of those have been to the corpse+pelt now residing in my freezer.
I wonder if I can rig it so that we eat rabbit every full moon. I wonder if rabbit tastes good rhubarbicue sauce. 🙂
It seems like everything’s been coming up Shadows for the past few weeks – the story I listened to (Cat Valente’s second Fairyland novel) today; one of Miss Sugar’s recent posts about finding and integrating the Terrible Part of Yourself – all the bits that you don’t want, that scare you in some way – in order to claim your Power; questions about “Where is Your Power Going” from Jow, among others; a major character in, and significant portion of the plot of, my friend’s novelet that I just edited… so I think that may have to be something that I Deal With in the near future.
And I may well have the time (ahaha…) in the near future, because my wee job has disappeared. The Scary Phone Call? Yeah. That whole raft of positions, of-which mine was one? They’ve been rendered obsolete as the organization moves in a new direction. I’m not mad at them, and I think this is actually a really good step for them to take, but, yeah, it’s financially inconvenient for me at the moment, is all. 😛
BUT! More time to work on the novel! (Which, yes, I’m working on again). And – still – the possibility of a (maybe, maybe) large garden, even if we won’t be moving into the rental-house that goes with it. (The landlord is a friend of my wife’s, and would like someone who Isn’t Him to take care of the side-yard, or so I gather).
Anyway, that’s where things are at.
Things that I would like to learn: How to effectively ingest other people’s pain in non-kinky settings. Suggestions?
Meliad the Birch Maiden.
 The stalks will be chopped into 1″ lengths (or so), then blanched and frozen for use in soups and quiches later on – whether “later on” is a month from now or sometime in mid-November, either way. 🙂
 Pity I don’t have any of my pumpkin muffins left from the trip, or I’d just chuck those on the bottom. As it is, I think it’ll just be stewed rhubarb + sweetened cream, and we’ll take it from there.
 The cost is $20/rabbit, which is about the same as – or a tiny bit less than – getting a roasting duck from the grocery store (or a barbicued duck from the market up the street), but with the added knowledge that the rabbits have their runs between the rows of a tree-farm and feed themselves on the clover that the farmer – whom my wife knows through her leatherwork – has planted as a nitrogen-fixer to help the trees which, frankly, is not an assurance I get with the ducks, so there’s that.
We’ll see how much food a four-pound rabbit can be stretched into (one roast + bones for a litre or two of stock, for sure, but what else?), and I’ll have to sort out how much butter and who-knows-what-else I’ll need to add to the meal for us to actually be able to absorb the protein in the rabbit, but I’m looking forward to this challenge.
 Ignoring, for the moment, the bit where rabbits are actually horrifyingly violent to each other. Watership Down was not lying about that, FYI.
 The part that wants. The part that takes. The part that makes demands. The part that is Dread-Full, I suspect.
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