A garden is much like a family. The needs are the same: diligence, love, and guidance. The results are the same: nourishment (though emotional and spiritual rather than physical), a sense of accomplishment, and roots.
In order to be healthy, they need similar environments: safe yet open, protected yet free.
And they need sun.
Summer mellows and our garden follows suit.
Our garden is growing, which is as it should be, to quote Big Gray in one of L’s newest books.
This week, we got our first melon.
And another well on its way.
We’ve also taken in new tenants. They were building their nest one day last week, but I’m not sure if they completed it: daily flooding probably convinced them of the wisdom of looking elsewhere.
Tomatoes everywhere, but so far, not a single one red. When the first tomatoes do come in — and several are very close — perhaps they’ll be ready just as our mung beans have finished sprouting.
And then, it will be time for one of the greatest salads ever created, courtesy of an old friend: mung sprounds, tomato, red onion, cilantro, and lime.
Despite the ravaging neighborhood creatures, we managing to grow things. Our plot behind the house is struggling a bit,
but our squash, zucchini, melons, and onions in front of the house are doing very well.
Some are even flowering.
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.
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.”
The cheese is a highligh of our Sunday-morning breakfast. The Girl as her usual: French toast and Maple syrup.
Then we notice our back bed has been visited again.
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.
I took a walk around our property to document the growth of our onions, radishes, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, melons, and flowers.
Our hanging cherry tomatoes are growing wildly, though the experimental upside down one is hesitant.
Our onions and radishes are onioning and radishing wonderfuly.
Our squash has its first flower.
And Bida is catching chipmunks and taking them into our basement, where they stop playing dead and hide in the piles of things stored in the corners.
Anyone know how to catch a chipmunk?
It was squirrels digging up our garden, and being the eco-friendly folks we are, we went with a non-lethal but hopefully highly annoying and perhaps frightening deterrent: a motion-activated sprinkler.
It turned out to be great fun for the Girl as well.
One evening, not long ago, I strolled out to dump some potato peels and other goodies on the enclosed pile when I saw motion in the bin — it was not yet totally closed up. Since our cat had wiggled her way in there once before, I thought it was the cat. I removed the wire-mesh cover, a shadow jumped out, and I gave it a not-quite-light, certainly-not-swift kick. In the dark, it was hard to discern much of anything other than the fact that the shape moved away from our house, toward our neighbors fence. It climbed the fence and turned to look at me. Our bandit was just that: a raccoon. I’d thought to reach my hand into the composter and grab the “cat” by the scruff of the neck; I was certainly glad I didn’t when I realized who our “visitor” was.
We’re going crazy with the compost, though, because we’ve been trying out our green thumbs, only to find them to be a paler green than we’d really like. We planted some melons and squash in a patch in front of the house where I pulled up some diseased boxwoods. Started from seeds, they were smallish, but we didn’t really they were too underdeveloped for planting — especially the squash. Still, almost two weeks later, despite careful watering, sixty percent of the squash is dead and forty percent of the melons. The soil was quality; the seedlings looked healthy — who knows.
The bigger mystery is in the backyard, where we have our raised bed, which houses some onions, radishes, and a few other goodies. We were walking around the house this evening when we saw this:
Something absolutely ravaged our garden. There were seemingly countless deep, narrow holes along the landscaping timbers.
It’s certainly not a dog, for canine-dug holes aren’t so precise.
My bet: the raccoon. Squirrels could be another good bet, but we’re not sure exactly when the raid took place. Any ideas?
A busy weekend. L’s confirmed cat allergy necessitated the re-thinking of our cat situation. She how sleeps in the basement. (The cat does, not L.) Part of the solution involved a cat door, but where to put it? Simple: in the basement window. That involved creating a framed enclosure for the door — yesterday’s project. There’s still a shelf to be built on the outside portion as it’s too high for convenient entry.
Sunday was planting day. Squash and melons. The squash looks heartier than the melons. In fact, the melons, while healthy, look almost miniature compared the the hefty squash plants. Don’t worry, melon — you’ll catch up and surpass your neighbor in our improvised front garden.
The day ended with another first for L — her first train ride. With beautiful weather and a jolly conductor, we were certain it was going to be a big hit.
L sat waiting, watching the train make a circuit and excitedly talking about getting on the train.
Once she boarded with K, though, it was a different story
It’s something we should have expected, for it happens often enough. We could have prepared her: it usually helps if she knows what she’s expecting.
Still, the swinging, running, sliding, jumping, and general frolicking undid the anxiety.