Thursday, July 31, 2008

Canning Smoked Salmon

Normally, Ian and I work Saturday, Sunday and Monday, but because we have Sheilagh and Mike, our Scottish friends, coming next Saturday, I wanted to make up a day in advance, so worked this past Tuesday. For the first day in quite a while, we weren't terribly busy, so Ronna eventually asked me to help her with canning her smoked salmon. She, her husband Blair, and their oldest son, Josiah, had gone dip-netting the day before and caught a couple. Both Ronna and Blair just needed some time away, so they got their canoe and took it to the Kenai River. The plan was for Ronna to row the boat while Blair and Josiah operated their nets, retrieved the fish from them and threw the fish in the boat. That would save the time and effort of taking them to the shore each time they caught one. So, they got the canoe into the water with Ronna at the helm, the guys took position, one on either side of the boat. Each held onto a long, 7-foot pole with the large round green dipping net on the opposite end. They waded alongside the canoe out to the middle of the river, then turned to face the current coming in from the Cook Inlet at the mouth of the Kenai. At first everything went according to plan and it wasn't long before Blair felt the tug on his net, and pulled it in hand-over-hand on the pole. He hauled the net over the boat and dumped the struggling salmon onto the boat, then slipped the net back into the water. As they kept moving, Ronna saw that the current was getting stonger, the water was getting deepr, and the guys were having more difficulty in controlling their nets, as well as themselves. She mentioned to them that maybe they should turn around and go the other way, but they didn't see any problem and continued on their merry way. Ronna felt it getting harder and harder to row the canoe and soon she wasn't keeping up with the guys. She was starting to fear that her husband and first-born son might get in a current that they could not fight and end up in the Cook Inlet. She yelled to Blair that he might want to think about going in. He just shook his head from side to side and gave the thumbs-up gesture. Ronna was having a harder and harder time rowing against the current, her heart was pounding, and she truly felt afraid for her family. She said she yelled and yelled at them, but they were either ignoring her or just not hearing her. Eventually, she decided to row to the shore as whe was making no head-way. Of course, shortly after she reached the shore, Blair and Josiah were looking for her to dump their second fish, but didn't realize where she had gone. So, all three of them were in panic mode, the guys looking for their wife and mother, Ronna watching what she thought was her husband and son struggle to keep upright in the current, now up to their arm pits, and thinking the panic on their faces was because they were losing control. It was pretty scary for her at that point, with all kinds of thoughts going through her head. Luckily, Blair finally spied Ronna on the side of the river and he and Josiah were able to drudge themselves to her, losing their fish along the way. Of course, they wanted to go back out once they all realized they were OK, but Ronna had had enough. She said no way, they were packing up and going back home! She was a nervous wreck and probably wished she had a 4-pack of wine coolers at her house. So, their dip-netting for the day was over, and they only had one fish to show for their efforts.



They cold smoked the fish that evening and by the next day it was ready to be canned, along with a huge amount of bellies that had been given to them. It's surprising how much fish is wasted here. Some of the fishermen and women who have used the fish cleaning station at the ranch cut their fish carefully, saving as much as possible for future consumption. But, there are others who are clumsy about the way they cut or fillet, or don't particularly care for the belly part of the fish, just intending to throw away all what they call waste. Enter the Martins, who throw away absolutely nothing. A large portion of their winter canning involves parts of the fish that no one else wanted. (While Don was here, he was given a bag of bellies that he and Ian smoked, and they thoroughly enjoyed them.)



Unfortunately, as much as I love fresh fish, my stomach can't handle smoked meat. It makes me want to puke and leaves a burning sensation in my gut for a long time. I never had that problem with the smell, though, but then, I'd never smelled it in such concentration as I did in Ronna's kitchen while I helped her. She has a to-die-for kitchen with a huge island with marble top and a large 8-burner stove top on the island. When I entered my dream kitchen in her house, I saw a sea of glass Kerr jars covering the island and a huge industrial-size pressure cooker on her stove top. Ronna was standing in front of the largest mixing bowl I've ever seen, filled to the brim with fillets of salmon, and a cutting board on which she was removing the skin from the fillets. She told me to fill the jars with the fillets, leaving about 1/2 inch of space on the top, and mashing it down to take up most of the space. The smoked meat fragrance entered my nostrils and went straight to my throat, then the pit of my stomach, where it stayed. For the next couple of hours, Ronna cut, I filled jars, and tried to control the nausea. I kept thinking of ways to tell her I'd love to help her, but the stench is making me sick! I know now proud she is to be "putting up" for her family's winter food, though, and didn't want to hurt her feelings. (Plus, I was "on the clock" so to speak, and if she needed me more in the kitchen than in the office, then that's where I belonged, I kept telling myself.) Other than feeling icky, I was enjoying the time, doing something other than business with her, carrying on a normal woman-to-woman chat about our families and lives, and learning about something I've never done before. I've always been afraid to can, just knowing I'd poison my family, but she's been doing it for years and her family is doing just fine. Once I had all the jars filled, she had me put a half teaspoon of salt on top of the meat, then screw the lids on, firmly but not too tightly. She put 21 large Kerr cans in the bottom of the pressure cooker, then another dozen medium sized ones on top of them. There were a few left over, so she said I may as well go take my lunch hour while she got the pressure cooker going, and oh, by the way, take a jar home with you!

Oh, it was so good to get out in the frest air. I was still feeling quezzy, though, when I opened the door to our 5th wheel and caught the whiff of something foul. I immediately checked the garbage can in the kitchen, but the smell was not coming from there. I started to go into the living room when I spied the piles of runny, icky diarrehea that Mac obviously left behind when he couldn't wait for me to get home. Now, that smell and sight on top of my already icky stomach chased me out of the house, taking just enough time to call Mac out with me. He continued to leave a few more piles on the dirt. I've told Ian at least a million times since we've had Mac not to give him bones because they always make him sick. And every time Ian can't resist it and thinks he's doing Mac a favor and gives him a bone, he gets sick. So, guess what Ian had given him the previous night? It was the same old litany: Me: "Don't give him that bone - you know it'll make him sick!" Ian: "Ah, this one won't. It's little and he's only going to eat the meat off it anyway." Me: "Now why did you do that? You know he's going to get sick now!" (said as I grab the bone out of Mac's mouth and throw it away, not knowing Ian gave him another bone while I decided to stay inside and clean up the kitchen). Ian: "No, he won't. He'll be fine. You'll see." Yeah, right. So, where is Ian while I'm wanting to throw up and knowing I have to somehow clean up the mess in the living room? Of course, he's out fishing. Won't be back for hours. I can't leave the mess, but thank goodness Mac did it on the large throw rug, not on the wall-to-wall. Well, I tried. I really did. But, just couldn't do it. So, the rug got folded up, carried to the dumpster, and that was the end of the rug and the mess. Poor ol' Mac had a few more rounds of the runs outside and when I saw Ian later in the day and told him that once again Mac got sick from the bones, I got his stock answer: "That's stange. It was just a small one!"

So, we've had 2 1/2 days of decent weather. The sun has been shining, the sky has been blue with billowing white clouds, and there hasn't been a drop of rain. When the weather report turned to our favor, the weatherman reported that we had had 17 straight days of some form of rain. It actually got up to 72 degrees today, and I wore sandles and only one layer of shirts!

Today was Ian's 63rd birthday. I'd been thinking it was his 62nd all day, then he reminded me that if that were so, he's been collecting social security for a year illegally. Ronna and Blair wanted to have a party for him with the other campground hosts and the housekeeper, but he declined. He's never liked to have parties in his honor - the kids and I, with help from our friends in Ft. Walton Beach, had to have a very surprise party for his 50th, and that's the last time I tried that. So, he and I had a quiet dinner of our own with Alaskan King Crab. I cooked it according to the directions, but after several bites we agreed that although it was pretty good, it wasn't worth the cost. We still have some in the freezer, so will have the rest of it at a later date. Maybe I can find a recipe that will make it taste like what we've heard it tastes like.

The other day when I was working in the office, one of the campers by the name of Martha Vaughn, came in with a couple books to leave in the exchange library. I noticed she wrote something in both of them and wondered why. I asked her if they were good books, and she said, "Oh, yes, very good!" Later, as I was straightening up the piles of magazines and tourist guides in that area, I remembered her books and decided to see what they were. The first one was titled "Grandma's Trunk, A Family Story," by Martha Rowe Vaughn! I gasped when I realized she was the author. I grabbed the other book she left behind, titled "Crossings," and she was the author of that one also! I saw that on the title page of both books she had written "Happy Trails!" and signed her name. Oh, how I wished I had known she was the author. I'd love to have picked her brain about the publishing route she took. I immediately found her cell phone number on our records and called her, just to find she was already on the road, heading for her next destination. I talked to her a couple minutes before we lost the connection, but I found she self-published the book and has found it very difficult to do the marketing and selling by herself. Both my books have been put on the back burner, as I couldn't decide whether to pursue a real publishing house or self publish, plus the fact that I hate to edit and change anything I've already written. I'm so afraid I'll take out something of importance, so consequently, neither book is ready for the publishing stage yet anyway. But, it's still interesting to get opinions from people who have been there, done that.

Well, it's late, so I'd better get ready for bed, don my eye covers to make it dark enough to sleep. Oh, by the way, this evening Ronna brought to Ian for his birthday, a card, a bottle of some special beer, and 4 jars of smoked salmon.

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