Give it a Week

Being away from home is fun, but coming back is fun, too, especially at this time of year. In addition to hugging our cat, going through the mail and packages, and sleeping in my own bed, this morning I headed straight for the garden to check on my vegetables and flowers.

I was not disappointed!

Growing

We finally got our vegetable garden in this weekend. What with the weird cold weather, then the weird warm weather, and other personal and professional commitments and demands, we're a bit late this year. Still, I'm hopeful that those little tomato, pepper, and squash plants that were just a few months ago only tiny seeds in the palm of my hand will thrive, despite how fragile they looked all spread out, mulched, and caged.

Before we left tonight, I was weeding out the perennial garden. We put our annual herbs in there, too, and as I pulled to clear a space for them, a little plant with fringed leaves caught my eye. It was cilantro that had reseeded itself from last year. Choked by this weed and that, it was four inches tall and looking good.

I'll take that as a positive sign.

Rain, Rain

Come today!
I was too busy to water the garden--
plus the weatherman promised
boomers and soakers
this evening.
Clear skies?
Go away!
Heaven
drench
us.

Z is for Zone 7

We put in some productive time at the garden this afternoon, and with luck and proper stewardship July should bring tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, squash, and okra for sure. The watermelon and pumpkin are questionable, mainly because we've been unsuccessful growing them for the last two seasons, fingers crossed that third time's the charm. Our strawberry patch is going gangbusters except that we didn't put down the straw mulch so the fruit is rotting before it ripens, not a mistake we're likely to make again.

Life Lesson: There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder.  - Alfred Austin

Gardener's Dilemma

It is time to move some of the seedlings from under the grow light to bigger pots for some outside time to harden them off before planting them in the garden. Even though they are getting too big for their little starting cells, they are still very fragile, and some of them won't make the transition.

As a relatively new gardener, I don't take this loss very well; I feel as if I've done something wrong and let my little sprouts down. (Which may be true.) Even worse though is when you have to thin the seedlings. Ordinarily, you plant two or three seeds per cell, and then once they've had a chance to establish themselves, you're supposed to cut the weaker plants so that the strongest can grow unhindered.

Although intellectually I understand the procedure, such culling goes against my nature. I want to nurture them all, regardless of size and space and resources, so that every one of them grows to be productive.

To Market

We are down to the last 6 quarts of tomatoes that we canned last summer, so today seemed like a perfect time to shop for seeds. Each packet that I added electronically to my virtual cart came along with a thumbnail photo of what it would eventually yield, so that I could practically envision my garden as I checked out. I've got to hand it to the company-- that colorful column of herbs, tomatoes, eggplant, okra, peppers, squash, pumpkins, and daisies certainly made parting with my money a lot more palatable.

That's Why

In the midst of every regular and holiday errand we hoped to do this weekend, today brought one other item on our lengthy to-do list: we were scheduled to put in our last work day for the community garden at 9 AM.

It wasn't until I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 this morning with my mental tiller still turning up all the anxiety gardening dreams from the night before that I realized I'd been dreading the work day. I really like having the garden, and I'm totally on board with the community aspect of the proposition, but in reality, my interaction with many of the other gardeners in the place has been less than pleasant.

In addition to the over-bearing, passive-aggressive woman in the next plot, during the growing season every week or so brings a scolding email directed to all of us. Someone is leaving the water on, not cleaning the common tools properly, failing to secure the gate, trampling other gardens, or pinching produce. I suspected that today's work session, like the others I've attended, would be loosely organized with everyone expected to "pitch in" but with no clear objective about what should be accomplished before we could leave with a clear conscience.

And so it was that I headed off for the garden with a sigh and a bit of a knot in my stomach, but the day was so bright, the air so crisp, the sun just warm enough, that none of that mattered, and in the end, I was simply happy to work outside for an hour.

Fried Green Tomatoes

It's the end of the season for our garden, although the nightshades and okra did not receive the memo. We went to dig our sweet potatoes and do some cleaning up today, and in addition to the potatoes, we came home with several pounds of eggplant, a few ripe tomatoes, a quart of okra, and a whole bunch of green tomatoes. Who could fail to appreciate such unexpected bounty?

Okra Dokey

Today my students and I read the poem Knoxville, Tennessee by Nikki Giovanni. It's a good beginning of the year common text because it has so much sensory detail in it. It is also written in a child's voice, and the entire poem is a single sentence. I always like to challenge any student who is willing to try to read it all in one breath. Sixth graders love that kind of thing. They also enjoy talking about the images that resonate with them, and so today we talked a lot about barbecue, homemade ice cream, and okra, which I've discovered is a bit of a litmus vegetable. Kids from all over the world are familiar with it, but many of their peers, also from all over the world, are not.

Here's the poem:

Knoxville, Tennessee

I always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy's garden
and okra
and greens
and cabbage
and lots of
barbecue
and buttermilk and homemade ice-cream
at the church picnic
and listen to
gospel music
outside
at the church
homecoming
and go to the mountains with
your grandmother
and go barefooted
and be warm
all the time
not only when you go to bed
and sleep.

Storm's A-Comin

My mom called yesterday to see if we were all set for the hurricane. "Kind of," I said, "in the sense that we're not really doing anything to get ready."

"Not even filling the tub with water?" she asked.

"Nope," I answered. "I don't really see the point. Anyway, the worst that might happen is that we could lose power, and I've already had to dump the fridge twice this year, so I feel ready for that."

My mom got into the spirit right away. "At least your garden will get a lot of water," she said.

Maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I just don't have a bad feeling about Irene. The last hurricane that had any impact on our area was in late September, 2003. Many people in the county lost power for a week or so, but we didn't. We got a day off from school and took the opportunity to drive to Pennsylvania and pick up our puppy. We named her Isabel, after the storm, and it all worked out pretty well, as anyone who's ever seen Heidi and Isabel together can confirm.

In fact, I wouldn't entirely rule out a puppy Irene.

Unintended Consequences

We put netting over our tomatoes to save them from the birds, and while it hasn't been 100% effective, fewer tomatoes have been lost to those thirsty critters. The other morning, though, when I was at the garden to pick and water, I was startled by a squawk and a flurry on the other side of the row. When I stepped through to investigate, I saw a young cardinal trapped in the plastic mesh. He did not like me approaching, but he was stuck and could do little except make some nasty noises and scrabble a few inches away. I was worried that one of his wings or legs was injured, but when I carefully lifted the net, I saw that he had jammed his head through one of the squares and his feathers had spread behind him, making it impossible for him to reverse the thrust. I held a small pair of clippers in my hand, and so I bent to carefully snip the mesh that imprisoned the faded red fledgling. He caught the blade firmly in his beak and only released it to scold me for such a threatening gesture. Twice he intercepted the clippers before they could cut him free, but finally I was able to distract him long enough to make two quick snips. He dropped gently to the ground, hopped once, and flew away.

Sliced Tomaydas

When we were kids there was a plate of sliced tomatoes on our dinner table almost every night in summer. Some we grew in our garden and others came from the tomato man who lived down the street. He had a card table set up in his front yard and when we were out and about on summer afternoons my mom would often make a stop there and choose a few tomatoes for dinner, and it was vine to plate before the sun set.

I remembered how shocked I was the first time I met someone who didn't like tomatoes; such a thing had literally been inconceivable to me until that day. Over the years I've met several non-tomato eating folks, and I've found that there is consistency to their objections. For example, they are usually a bit defensive when questioned about the fact that they like pizza, spaghetti, and/or lasagna-- evidently cooked, pureed tomatoes are not the problem. Neither is ketchup, although in my opinion, the only thing ketchup and tomatoes have in common is the color red. For those who can not stand fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes, it has something to do with texture, mouth feel, and a certain "watery" flavor(!). I'm afraid I can't explain any more specifically than that, because those people happen to abhor one of my favorite foods on the planet.

This summer, we have a ton of tomatoes from our garden. It's not a problem at all though, because for us, there really is no such thing as too many tomatoes. We have already canned 25 quarts (Heidi's goal is 104-- 2 per week until tomatoes come in next season), and of course we have a plate of sliced tomatoes every night at dinner. All is as it should be.

Cost Analysis

I didn't really start gardening to save money, although I bet that was in the back of my mind. Rather, I wanted to produce at least some of my own food, and a vegetable garden seemed the natural place to start. I figured there would be an initial investment-- how-to books, tools, fertilizer, and then later seeds, plants, and of course time. That last one's easy for me to sort of gloss over when constructing my mental spreadsheet, but to be honest, even though I like it, the garden does take time we might have spent elsewhere. I also get that there's a learning curve and that gardening is dependent on many variables-- weather, critters, soil, weeds, what have you, and so I would say I am prepared to lose a little cash in the grand scheme of things.

We went to our local farmers market this morning and there were samples of a delicious green variety of heirloom tomato. Despite our own bountiful harvest, we decided to buy one. One. (Okay, it was a pretty big tomato, but not to brag, I've grown bigger.) $5.25!

Recalculating. Just a moment. Yeah. I'm breaking even this year.

For the Birds

The dry summer we are having has made the ripening tomatoes in the garden verrry appealing to the birds. They just peck through the wall of the not-quite-ready tomatoes and sip out the juice. Isn't that clever? How refreshing it must be for them. Last year, they didn't go near them, but now they don't even hesitate when I am standing right there.

I'd like to peacefully co-exist with the other creatures in the neighborhood, and I can share, even, but I threw out at least a dozen disintegrating tomatoes this afternoon. This is war, birds.

My July Almanac

Average length of daylight: 14 hours, 38 minutes
Family Birthdays: 8
Miles from our house to Mount Vernon by bike: 16.52
Number of different state license plates in the parking lot: 36
Pool water temperature: 88
Number of green tomatoes in the garden: 200+
Minutes of Harry Potter movies combined: 1179 (19 hours, 36 minutes)
Average burger consumption: 6 per person
Smoothie flavor: Peach
Full Moon: July 15, nicknamed "The Full Buck Moon"

Here Come the Veggies

Today for lunch we polished off that honking zucchini I picked from the garden yesterday, and tonight for dinner it's gumbo with homegrown okra. We spent a few hours this weekend trying to get the garden squared away for our week-long absence, and I can tell that, when we get back? There will be a lot of vegetables.

Hoo-Ray.

H is for Hoe

After one year, I would not say that I am an experienced gardener, and lately, when I have driven by our community plot and seen how the weeds have done their best to take it back, I almost want to give up. Enter the hoe. A little internet research convinced me that this tool should be my best friend, and today it was. I found the sharpest one in the shed, and just as I had read, I let the hoe do the work, swinging it lightly at the tangle of weeds aiming just a fraction of an inch below the surface. Soon I had piles of weeds strategically located all throughout the garden. We scooped them into those big brown paper gardening bags, taking care not to overfill them. After three and a half hours of chopping weeds, though, my forearms were shot, and carrying the bags to the curbside was out of the question. Enter the wheelbarrow...

Life Lesson: There's a tool for that... use it!

Preparing for the Harvest

Last summer we canned 40 quarts of tomatoes; after dinner tonight there were only 4 left. I have a stack of seed catalogs and gardening guides next to my chair in the living room. Lately, I like to throw a log or two on the fire and then take my time paging through them, visualizing our community garden plot in its July glory. We live in a townhouse-style condo with no basement, garage, or even shed, but we do have a mostly unused guest bathroom with some killer fluorescent light, and it's there that I've gathered my organic potting materials, ready to start the seeds for this year's crop.

As a teacher, I appreciate cycles of growth, but as a non-gardener until recently, I'm learning to treasure this connection between life and land, and the extra seasonal rhythm that it offers to my busy year.


(Here's the link for today's post on my 6th grade students' Slice of Life blog:)

http://thewhwnblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/aquarium.html

Seeds of Change

 The convergence of the beginning of my winter CSA and putting our garden to bed for the winter (the final clean-up day is Saturday) has got me in a bit of a reflective mood. Tonight for dinner I cooked the very last of the veggies that will come from our plot this season, some eggplant of all things. Who knew that this most Mediterranean of vegetables would survive into November? Probably the pepper plants that were still producing until last week.

My CSA, too, had some peppers and eggplants along with the first of the winter greens. I had all my fingers and toes crossed that they would include a few peachy mama peppers in the delivery box, but I was disappointed. They are the same shape and size of habaneros, with all of the flavor but none of the heat. I am enthralled by them, mostly because they are so good, but also because there is nothing else like them, and  I have never found them anywhere else.

Last summer we got bags and bags of them, and as happy as I was, I know that some of my fellow shareholders complained, and so our farmer adjusted the crop. This year we received exactly two small peppers in early September, which is why I was hoping that they might find their way into the early boxes of our winter share. No such luck tonight.

I'm not the same passive consumer I once was, though. Now I am a woman with a garden, and so I set aside the immediate gratification of cooking with those two little peppers, and instead I dried them for seeds. If all goes well? Next year I won't be dependent on anyone for my peachy mamas, except of course the sun and the rain.

Rooting Around

Back in the late spring I had a big sweet potato on the counter that was beginning to sprout. On a whim, I chopped it into three pieces and buried it in a corner of the garden and pretty much ignored the vines as they spread their way across the plot all summer long. Today on my way home from school I harvested 15 pounds of sweet potatoes! How incredibly exhilarating it was to dig down into the soil with my bare hands and ease the giant roots from the ground-- one of them was two pounds by itself. It was more than a fair return for all the unwanted roots I dug up and tossed aside as I weeded all season.

Oh the potatoes I'll plant next year!