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Autumn Tomatoes

Monday 19 October 2015

Even though it’s nearly November, we still had tomatoes in the small raised beds we accuse of being a garden. For the last several weeks, though, the ripening process has all but stopped, and so ahead of tonight’s possible freeze, K sent the kids out to pick the remaining tomatoes.

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They were to segregate them into red and green, with the plan being to eat some of the green later this week in the form of fried green tomatoes and putting the rest in paper bags to ripen slowly.

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Given the color distinctions, everyone felt it was best if E just held the bowl.

Spring Saturday

Saturday 15 March 2014

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About the only time I was indoors all day was for this shot, taken as I was finishing up my coffee and heading out to

  • finish the backyard leaf clean up, including
    • the mulching of multiple wheelbarrow-loads of leaves;
    • the hauling of countless loads of branches and twigs to the roadside; and,
    • the removal sand from the backyard deposited by last spring’s flood;
  • prepare the raspberry patch including
    • the removing of leaves and debris; and
    • the depositing of a twelve-inch layer of mulched leaves (see above) on the raspberry patch;
  • clean the front flower bed, including
    • the removing of numerous leaves; and,
    • the cutting back of last year’s jasmine;
  • apply various concoctions to the yard including
    • the applying fertilizer to isolated patches of the yard I missed two weeks ago; and,
    • the applying preemergent weed killer to the rest of the lawn;
  • sow grass seed in the entire backyard;
  • remove countless Sweet Gum seed balls from the front yard;
  • spray insecticide around the outer edges of the house;
  • and finally, fall into a heap to watch Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil with my equally exhausted K, who
    • cleaned the house;
    • cared for the kids;
    • went shopping;
    • planted strawberries; and
    • prepared supper.

In short, a perfect spring Saturday.

 

Linden Tree

Wednesday 17 July 2013

The Linden tree in Babcia’s yard is in full bloom now. The number and richness of the blossoms is astounding. Equally incredible is the constant and unmistakeable sound of bees buzzing around the blossoms.

Under der linden
an der heide,
dâ unser zweier bette was,
dâ muget ir vinden
schône beide
gebrochen bluomen unde gras.
vor dem walde in einem tal,
tandaradei,
schône sanc diu nahtegal.		Under the linden tree on the open field,
where we two had our bed,
you still can see
lovely both
broken flowers and grass.
On the edge of the woods in a vale,
tandaradei,
sweetly sang the nightingale.

Or in another cultural context: “Dragostea din tei” (“Love from the Lindens” according to Wikipedia) which became the famous “Numa Numa” video.

Developing Spring

Thursday 25 April 2013

“Daddy! Daddy!” come the cries of excitement from the front of the house. “Daddy, you have to see this!”

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The zinnias are sprouting. “Unless they’re weeds,” she says stoically as we head back to the front yard.

“It’s entirely possible,” I mumble to myself. But they’re coming up just in the center of the pot, almost certainly zinnias. How would I know? I couldn’t recognize them in full bloom let alone when they’re just sprouting.

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More squeals from the backyard moments later: “You have to see this!” The snap dragons’ blooms are opening.

“Are they everything you expected?” I ask as I head up the stairs to inspect them.

“Well, no,” she says with her sly grin. “I was hoping they would snap!”

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Planting Plus

Saturday 20 April 2013

A busy day. A day filled with life in all its varied forms, from the little microbes and vermin that turn banana peels and rice to compost. Such hard workers, they deserve a new compost bin, I decided. And we need a place to leave curing compost while we spread that ready black gold (not oil, not by a long shot, except literally) in our postage-stamp-size garden.

Next steps: out with the old, in with the new. Roots, tired soil, and general chaos of six plus months of sitting unattended pile up in our little beds, so the Girl and I rake and hoe until we have a loose mat of roots sitting beside the beds and loose, dark soil ready for a turn of new compost. We plant beans, sugar peas, and peppers in the tired bed on the left in an effort to replenish some nitrogen and more tomatoes in the right bed.

Then we come to the part the Girl has been waiting for all day. Every activity has been punctuated with a simple question: “Daddy, is it time to bring the flowers yet?” She had a list of dream flowers, an amalgamation of flowers she heard about in class, read about in various books, and simply liked: Sweet Williams, zinnias, marigolds, snapdragons, and a few others.

We set up a temporary potting workbench with sawhorses and some plywood and get to work.

As I head to the front with a couple of pots, I notice our bird family that has made its home in the crook of our gutter now has teens in the nest.

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“L,” I call, “Come look at this!” We watch them for a bit, gently jostling the bottom of the nest to see if they will reflexively open their mouths for a feeding. Instead, the hunker down, pulling up half-down, half-feathered wings — part of newly formed instincts.

We return to the backyard to finish our cleanup. “They’ll be gone soon,” I explain as we walk.

“Why?” she asks.

“They’ll be grown and leave the nest to start their own lives.”

I think of how quickly it all has developed: a nest one day, a few eggs in the blink of the eye, some bald chicks craning for food a whisper later. I think of how quickly it has all developed, and I am glad that humans develop so much more slowly.

Sweet and Sour

Wednesday 1 August 2012

Summer is sweet and sour. It is vines of filled with tomatoes turning a gentle orange before shifting to deep, sweet red. We pick them and smell the perfume that lingers on our hands. Romas provide consistency; Better Boys provide juice.

August Harvest

Then there’s the sour: weeds. They grow in the now-composted mulch that’s supposed to be keeping them out.

Waiting and Weeding

But there’s the sweetest of all: a boy who will wait patiently while mom tugs at the weeds.

August Morning

Garden

Tuesday 20 July 2010

Summer means gardening for us. I wish I could say that without the knowing smile, for our “gardening” is still quite rudimentary. It’s about like saying I’m a cyclist because I manage to hop on a bike once or twice a month.

Our gardening consists of a few pepper plants, a watermelon vine or two,

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perhaps a cantaloupe, and maybe a few spices, especially basil. Next to cilantro, basil has to be the best, freshest-smelling herb that exists. Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks so: K came in today with a caterpillar who’d devoured a basil plant.

“Why are you upset?” ask L.

“Because a beast was eating our basil!” K responded.

“What’s it for?” L inquired further.

“For cooking, not for caterpillars,” explained K.

“But you should share,” replied the sage.

The trouble is, we don’t have enough basil to share. We don’t have enough watermelon to share, nor cantaloupe. Our peppers are sparse too, but that’s really for a different reason.

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The tomatoes. The only thing we have enough to share is taking over our small raised beds. One vine alone requires six to eight stakes: each fork in the vine turns enormous and fruit-laden.

We head out daily to pick the tomatoes. We’re growing three varieties, including sweet, bright cherry tomatoes. Most of these rarely make it to the house:

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we munch on them so while we’re picking the rest of the tomatoes that hardly any are left when we make it back to the kitchen.

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All the same, two days can produce enough tomatoes to overwhelm quickly.

This is what K tried to explain to L this evening: “We do share. We give tomatoes to Nana and Papa, to A and P, to the chipmunks and squirrels…”

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And still we end up with so many every couple of days. Then again, who can complain about this? Quarter a fresh tomato and sprinkle salt and pepper: a perfect summer snack.

The Eternal Project

Sunday 11 October 2009

The Perpetual Motion machine does exist: it is mischievously named “the house”.

When we moved in, the front looked like this:

June 30, 2007

Grass that was fried; shrubs that were ignored.

A general feeling of neglect.

A clogged sewer line a year ago finally prompted us to pull out the dying boxwoods; embarrassment at having the worst-looking lawn in the neighborhood prompted us to emergency measures with our yard.

Now, our yard is well on its way to becoming the envy of all who drive by.

The boxwoods are gone, roots and all.

As is my back.

The replacement bushes are still sitting in a nursery somewhere: that’s Wednesday afternoon’s project. In the meantime, the bed sits empty.

The upshot of all of this: the cat has a new place to nap.

First Harvest

Sunday 31 May 2009

Despite the ravaging neighborhood creatures, we managing to grow things. Our plot behind the house is struggling a bit,

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but our squash, zucchini, melons, and onions in front of the house are doing very well.

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Some are even flowering.

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In fact, we’ve kept one thing in the ground long enough to have a harvest: radishes. A few are almost as big as a ping pong ball, and K explains that we have to pick those now, else they’ll be no good. “They don’t taste as good when they’re bigger.” Not knowing the first thing about growing radishes, I nod my head in approval.

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Radishes are a like dill for me: they make me think of summer in Poland.

We use the radishes to make a creamy cheese spread: diced radish mixed in with farmer’s cheese. A simple thing, but then, many of the tastiest foods are “simple things.”

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The cheese is a highligh of our Sunday-morning breakfast. The Girl as her usual: French toast and Maple syrup.

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Then we notice our back bed has been visited again.

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Enormous holes, spread through the bed. “It’s the worst it’s ever been,” K sighs.

Our raccoon neighbor? Dogs?

It’s hard not to take it personally. “What did we ever do to you?” A useless thought — best to start planning how to keep out of our garden dogs, chickens, raccoons, squirrels, bears, elephants, and whatever else might be lurking in the neighborhood.