A Look Into Homesteading: Eighteen Jars and a Monster

A Look Into Homesteading: Eighteen Jars and a Monster

Life Outside the Pages

Let me tell you about my kitchen lately.

Four pounds of strawberries. Most of them mine — grown right here, first real harvest. I bought a quart from the store to round out the batch, but the bulk of it came from my own ground. That matters to me more than I can quite explain.

Strawberries, lemon juice, sugar, and hours of simmering. That's it. That's the whole recipe. And when a house is full of that smell — sweet like candy, warm, thick in the air — it does something to you. Your mouth waters. Your shoulders drop. The world gets a little smaller and a lot more manageable.

Eighteen half pint jars of strawberry preserves. Every single lid sealed.

I've done smaller batches the last couple of years, but this was the first time I had enough of my own strawberries to really do it properly. Standing there looking at those jars lined up on the counter catching the light — that's a feeling I won't forget.

Now. Let me introduce you to Monster.

Monster is my sourdough starter. He lives in a food grade bin in my refrigerator — four inches deep, thirteen inches long, six inches wide — and he earns every inch of that space. He is enormous. He is enthusiastic. He is exactly what his name suggests.

I didn't start with a recipe or a class. I just played. Started with pizza dough because — well, because pizza. Then regular bread. Then focaccia. Then I just kept going until I landed on English muffins, and I have not looked back since.

Here's the thing about my English muffins — they are not those little store bought circles you toast and top with a sad scrape of butter. These are hand sized. One is enough for me and my boyfriend to share. I bake them in the oven instead of cooking them on the stovetop, and the first batch I ever made came out right. I couldn't believe it either.

Toast one up fresh, split it open while it's still warm, and spread strawberry preserves across it.

Close your eyes. There you go.

This is the life outside the pages. The garden, the kitchen, the starter that has taken over half my refrigerator, the jars lined up like little trophies. It fills me up so I have something to pour back into the words.

I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Do you preserve, bake, or grow anything? What's the thing your hands make that feeds your soul? Irish@irish-rivers.com