|And the radishes underneath are coming along fine, thank you.|
I'm not sure that it's a problem so much, but I really don't like the idea of dumping 8 or 9 quarts and a dozen pints of peppers on the mulch pile. The chickens might not like that very much. But they're* not getting any younger, and despite my best efforts,** I will not be able to eat all of these this year. And pantry space looks like it's going to be at a premium.
So in the meantime I'm giving them away to coworkers and bagging them in the crisper. Since I've got cherry jelly on the schedule for tomorrow, the first batch of
Hopefully by that time I can acquire a pair of unpowdered surgical gloves to wear while I slice them all up. Cutting them with bare hands last time made me afraid to go to the bathroom for something like 12 hours. My fingers didn't smell like I'd smothered them in Ben Gay and then set them on fire, but they sure felt like it.
* either the peppers or the chickens. Or me, for that matter.
** The only way I have not tried peppers is in a cereal bowl with milk on top.