On Taking Stock

E.B. White, quarterly reporting, tomato compote.

Those of you who have been around for awhile know of my infatuation with E.B. White. Charlotte’s Web is his most famous work and The Elements of Style is a timeless reference for anyone wishing to become a better writer — but my favorite of his works are his essays. On Dogs is some of the finest writing one can find on canines and I keep a copy of One Man’s Meat on my bedside table, picking it up and reading at random when I don’t have anything else going for me.

While we’re discussing Mr. White, I have a confession to make: I don’t have much to write about this week. In the doldrums between the end of summer and the start of fall, I find myself stuck in a liminal space — and unfortunately, from a creative standpoint, it’s not one of those sublime ones which the Romantics find so inspiring. Instead, I sit here with Mrs. CWD throwing essay suggestions at me — most of them good ones, mind you — but lacking proper¹ inspiration to put any words to paper.

Reading his writing, it never seems like ol’ Elwyn lacked for writing topics. One Man’s Meat — which comprises a collection of his essays for Harper’s Magazine from 1938 to 1943 — covers a varied host of topics from egg production to patriotism to racoon hunts to a cataloging the expense of visiting Walden Pond². So, as I recline on the couch, nursing a self-inflicted injury³, listening to the sounds of Mrs. CWD tidying up the house⁴, I do what I always do when I can’t think of what to write: I turn to E.B. for some creative prompting. In November 1939, he set to task taking stock of his life over the preceding year. He reported on his “flocks and herds,” “fruits and vegetables,” “[poultry] production,” “fish and game,” “denizens of the woods and fields,” “field crops,” and gave a summary.

Closing out the summer, it feels appropriate for me to do a three-quarter year check-in of the same.

Flocks and herds. We have no domestic flocks or herds on the ranch; we do have one dog, who, despite approaching the half-century mark⁵, still maintains the energy of a puppy on most occasions. Her health is good; however, she did gain 6-pounds in the last year, primarily due to the increased food intake coming from Kiddo and the Warthog (both intentionally and inadvertently). Weekly, at our local farm, I help take care of four pigs, two sheep, one rabbit⁶, and four goats. There are chickens there, but I have no responsibility for them — though I can take any eggs they lay. Notwithstanding the foregoing, I have two gremlins and a lovely wife, as well.

Fruits and vegetables. We grew cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini, winter squash, and peppers this summer. We have ample pickles in storage, the zucchini is finished, winter squash in the cellar, and peppers and tomatoes still producing. We made, and tried to preserve, tomato compote, but are eating it too fast to save (see recipe below). We have strawberry, blueberry, raspberry, blackberry, and currant bushes along with three apple trees; none bore fruit this year.

Production. I took home five eggs from the chickens at the farm. And thank goodness for that, because the other night Mrs. CWD wanted to make brownies, and, without three of those eggs, I would have had to have called my egg lady and she is a sporadic responder at best.

Fish and game. In 2024 to date, I have taken one wild turkey with my bow, missed another, speared four tautog, missed one black seabass, hand-caught and released one oversized lobster and dozens of spider crabs, and caught a dozen panfish on the fly; ate the first turkey in several preparations (trimmings and carcass remain in the freezer for sausage), ate the four tautog (along with three others from Uncle Steady), and wish I had better luck with shellfish. The panfish did not meet the pan. I’m preparing for the start to my fall archery season next week, with aspirations for deer in at least one state and a turkey on or before Thanksgiving.

Denizens of the woods and fields. Living with us here on the property, or in the waters adjacent, are wood ducks and mallards, Canadian geese, all manner of song birds, hawks, heron (blue and green), turtles (box and snapping), frogs, salamanders, raccoons, mink, at least one fisher, coyote, deer, opossum, and enough chipmunks and squirrels to drive the aforementioned dog mad. I’ve seen a beaver twice in the pond, but am not entirely convinced it’s a permanent resident. There may be some fish, too, but I haven’t caught them. The other day, a red fox pup fell asleep in our neighbors yard — causing much consternation to the canine residents of both households.

Field crops. We have a backyard which began the year lush with white clover. It has now become mostly crab grass. We planted close to 10-pounds of wildflower seed hoping to convert most of the side yard to native pollinators with mixed success; we’ll try another round of planting this fall.

Summary. E.B. White wrote that he had “a good year but a selfish year, laying up for [himself] treasures of the earth.” Our year has been a good year, but in many ways a hard year — and one with much activity and excitement still to come.

So there’s our Q3 reporting. In the event that you, too, still have producing cherry tomato plants and feel so inclined to try your hand at the world’s easiest compote, below is how you might do it.

Toss as many cherry tomatoes as you can get away with into a slow cooker or crock pot. Smash a few cloves of garlic, and throw those in on top. Douse with salt and pepper, then drizzle with terrific olive oil and balsamic vinegar (or really nice red wine vinegar). If you have them, throw some fresh, woody herbs on top.

Set your slow cooker to low and let this ride for 6-8 hours, until the tomatoes have melted. Serve over pasta or on bread. You can also freeze this, if you can convince yourself not to eat it right away. If you’re so inclined, you can also add sausages to the pot for the last 2-3 hours, letting them cook in the compote until they are fall apart tender.

With that out of the way, enjoy your weekend and the last days of September. Next week, we’re officially into stick season. Me, myself, I am hoping to spend a few good hours in a tree, looking for deer⁷. While I don’t expect most of you to be doing the same, I do expect you to make the most of the daylight we have; it’s only getting more precious with each passing day.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. Thanks, Cheffy, for adding this modifier to my vernacular.

2. In checking Wikipedia to confirm that the E in E.B. does indeed stand for Elwyn, I did learn that, as a young reporter for the Seattle Times, he did indeed struggle to write his articles. The editor suggested — in what, in retrospect, is perfectly Whitian commentary — to just “say the words.”

3. Physical — my hip — but also mental: my pride in being a self-sufficient writer.

4. Thank you!

5. Dog-year equivalent.

6. Formerly two rabbits; one had to be rehomed due to aggressive behavior.

7. And thanking my lucky stars Mrs. CWD is as lovely a wife as she really is the whole time.