Tomatoes, Hot and Heavy

A friend recently informed me that tomatoes have a hard time ripening when the temperature is over ninety. I had never heard such a thing, but that certainly explains all the stubbornly green tomatoes in my garden. In fact, when I checked in on the garden this afternoon, the tomatoes that I picked were actually hot to the touch after spending several 90+ degree hours in the direct sun.

This hot, dry weather has affected my tomato crop in another way, too. When birds are thirsty, they just peck a little hole in one of the almost ripe tomatoes and drink the juice right out, leaving the poor tomato to rot on the vine. With both these adverse conditions going on, I have taken to harvesting my tomatoes when they are still a bit firm. A day or two in a paper bag allows the ethylene gas they naturally produce to ripen them, almost as nicely as if they had stayed on the vine.

And so it was that late this afternoon I found myself hauling 12 1/2 pounds of produce the three quarters of a mile from my community garden to my house, and although the sweat was literally dripping from my brow as I climbed the last set of stairs to gain our stoop, I was only thankful that I have been working out lately!

Production Design

"Was it buggy?" I asked my friend Mary when she told me the other day that she had recently been to Roosevelt Island to walk its boardwalk and trails.

"Not really," she answered. "It was a pretty good walk."

I thought of that conversation when we were trying to think of a place to take Lucy and her pal Beckett while we were watching him this morning, and so after picking him up at 9 AM we turned the car north on the GW Parkway and made the quick trip to the island.

It was a little more crowded than I expected it to be on a hot summer morning in July, and there was a lot more noise than usual, too. Somewhere chainsaws and chippers were ripping up fallen trees, and we were startled by several white pick up trucks rumbling down the unpaved trails. Even so, by the time we made it around to the back of the island things were quieter, and it was easy to keep social distance from the other pairs of visitors and their dogs. Continuing on, we had the upper trail to ourselves until we made the turn into the memorial itself. There we found all the pick ups and park workers converged, and we paused to make sure we could pass at least six feet from the nearest crew.

A friendly workman smiled at the dogs. "There's a lot going on here today!" he reported cheerfully. "President Trump gave us the word that he wants to pay a visit here!"

All of the activity suddenly took on new meaning.

"We are even filling the moats and fixing the fountain to run," he told us.

"Wow!" I answered. I couldn't remember the last time any of the water features had been running. "When is he coming?"

"Who knows?" he shrugged. "They won't say. And you know the worst part?" he asked. "Nobody will be allowed here to see the park when it's all fixed up! Not even us! You can bet the secret service will see to that."

"I'm sure it will look great, though," I assured him. "And I guess we can all get a look at it on TV."

He seemed unconvinced, but he laughed. "You all have a good day."

"You, too!" I replied, "And thanks for all the hard work!"

All in a Summer's Day

Sometimes I sit down to write my daily post and nothing comes to mind. (Okay, that actually happens a lot!) Usually, if I leave and return to the task, I'll have an idea, or at least a concept, or a snippet of conversation to report. Today, though, nothing worked, and it seemed like the long days of summer vacation paired with the limits of Covid might get the best of me. Nothing happened today! I concluded with frustration.

One of the great benefits of writing every day is the record I have created, and it occurred to me to review my posts for this day, July 28, since I began my blog. Perhaps I might find inspiration in the past.

In 2009 I was on Mt. Lemmon in the Catalina Mountains just south of Tucson, where the temperature was 115. The temperature at the top was 79.

In 2010, I was in Ely, Minnesota, just outside the Boundary Waters and home to sanctuaries for both bears and wolves.

In 2011 we paid a visit to the Newseum at the end of one of Josh's summer staycacations with us. I'm pretty sure that was the summer of the Segway, tour, too, and Madame Tussauds, and the Capitol, and 2 movie marathons (Marvel and Potter), and the great hamburger crawl.

In 2012 I baked up a summer tart with produce from my garden.

In 2013 we caught Baz Lurman's version of The Great Gatsby at the Draft House.

In 2014 I took Isabel on a hike in Great Falls NP. I had just returned from San Francisco, and Heidi was still there at a conference, but fortunately? I brought that beautiful NoCali weather with me. It was low 80s and no humidity.

In 2015 I was recovering from my colonoscopy the day before, but fortunately I had elected to take the sedative, and only enjoyed "the best nap you'll ever have."

In 2016 we were on the road from DC to ATL, taking Richard and Annabelle home after their summer visit.

In 2017 we were in Atlanta hanging Krispee Kreme donuts from a broomstick for a little friendly eating contest between Richard and Annabelle.

In 2018 I was scootering around the Tidal Basin. Birds were new and all the rage, and as Josh put it so accurately, way more fun than you think they will be!

Last year we were moving into the condo in Rochester, MN that would be our home base while my mom received treatment at the Mayo Clinic. It was a stressful time, but the place was great, and even though it let me down later, I grew to love the city, too.

And this year? I went to the garden before 8 this morning, had waffles with peaches and blueberries when I returned, walked the dog with Heidi, painted some rocks, did a workout, meditated, and went to the pool. Tonight we are having homemade pizza for dinner.

It's been a good day, after all.

A Cure for the Cleaning Lady Blues

We had finished a few miles walking around DC with friends, but a quick check of the time told us that our cleaning lady would still be at work dusting and vacuuming if we went right home. The cool air conditioning washed over us as we debated our next move. "I wish we knew a good place to take Lucy swimming," Heidi said.

"What about that dog beach in Annapolis?" I reminded her, punching the query into the map app on my phone. I discovered that it was only 35 minutes away, and so we headed east toward Quiet Waters Park. It was nearly 100 degrees when we got there, but the path to the river was wooded and shady, and most importantly, short. Soon we joined a half dozen other dog owners on a sandy shore of the South River.

A light pleasant breeze blew off the water and a pair of Osprey scolded us from their nest on an old piling out in the water. Lucy bounded into the river immediately, splashing with the a couple of Golden Retrievers, a cute black puppy, and three labs. She spent a good half hour fetching a stick, and when we could tell she was finally tired we returned to the car.

I had spotted a seafood market on the way in to the park, and since they were advertising lobster rolls for lunch, we had to stop. A pound of jumbo lump crabmeat and a couple of lobbies later, we were on the road home, with no doubt that our house would be clean and that we would make the trip again soon.

Postcards From the Pandemic

"I need 2 noodles to float now!" one of our neighbors laughed this afternoon at the pool. "It's that quarantine weight gain!"

"I know what you mean," another neighbor replied. "At first I was pretty good, but the longer it goes on I'm like, Salad? Um, no! Where's the ice cream?"

"I like to call it the Covid 15," her friend agreed. bit ruefully, "but I'm afraid it's getting pretty close to 19."

Where They Are Planted

I always have an assortment of herbs and flowers growing in the eight hanging baskets that sway gently on their hooks in the breeze out on our balcony. I have a few pots on the decking as well, mostly herbs, but sometimes lettuce or beans or sunflowers grow out there, too. This summer I added marigolds, portulaca, and snapdragons, the same flowers my mother grew every year in our garden when we were kids.

In dry weather, the baskets and pots require daily watering, and even with the rain we've had the last few days, I've been out there pruning and weeding and dead-heading. It's more of a joy than a chore, though.

It was my mom that showed us the magic trick of finding the seeds in the flowers, and ever since I was a little girl, I have relished snapping the dry blossoms from the marigold plants and plucking them apart from their base to reveal the half-inch seeds. Likewise, I love the tiny pods on both portulaca and snapdragons that burst with a satisfying crunch to release a thimbleful of teeny seeds into the palm of my hand.

It always seems a shame to waste such potential, and so more often than not, I open my hand and cast the seeds into the wind, wishing them luck where ever they may land, and wondering a little bit why the world is not more full of flowers.

Out of a Hat

We were walking the dog through our neighborhood this morning and chatting aimlessly about this and that. "You know what I haven't seen any of this year?" I said to Heidi. "Rabbits!"

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Even with all the walking we've been doing, I haven't seen a single one." I shrugged. "Some years there are so many, and others? No!" I shook my head. "I wonder why?" But before we even had a hypothesis, we were on to all the fruit trees in this particular stretch of the neighborhood. Peaches, apples, or pears seem to grow in almost every yard.

And so we continued pleasantly on our way, with one random observation after another, until we had looped around and were headed home. Turning a corner, we were confronted by a huge rabbit hopping our way, right down the sidewalk. We stopped, and the rabbit did, too, almost as if to say Abracadabra! before disappearing beneath the low branches of a fig tree.