Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
I bring to you today slightly different view of garden from alternate garden-view window (the guest room).
Because this is view from usual garden view window (office).
We are overdue for a garden update, aren't we? This was the last one. TWO freaking WEEKS AGO! It was a different world back then, friends. Men were men, women were strong... wait. Wrong sentiment.
Women are stronger now, because women (namely woman) are dealing with a gallon of peas every damn day. I haven't done anything with any of the glorious greens I've grown, other than an occasional salad, and I sent ALL my garlic scapes home with last night's dinner guests, because the peas are keeping me so busy.
But I pause, still. I pause nearly every day, en route to garden, and say WOW, look at this little patch of glory today! This fun jumble of stuff that was pink and yellow last week, and now is coming on red and white, as the poppies bloom amid the ripening currants.
And the lamb's ear blooms with blood-red dianthus behind it.
It is the loveliest. And other than pulling weeds (there actually aren't many) I haven't done much out here. It's a free and easy kind of flower garden. Just perfect. The swarms of bees and butterflies and beneficial wasps agree.
Then, we get to the edible parts.
But I keep getting waylaid by the poppies.
These red and purple corn poppies were always strewn around my mom's garden, growing up. She mostly let them grow where they self-seeded, meaning there were always a few dozen popping up amid the potatoes or the green beans. Poppies popping. When we moved to Gilbertsville, she gave me some seed she'd saved. Then I bought seeds for catchfly, and scarlet corn poppies, and now everywhere there are flashes of red and magenta in the potatoes, the beans, the dill. As it should be. It keeps the whole thing from looking too serious.
Everything is doing well out there. The tomatoes are maybe a little behind the beat, though the Early Girls all have green fruit. The potatoes are rocketing. The viney things-- damn, every day I come out there and things are practically unrecognizable. I swear the cucumber plants have doubled every day this week so far. I need to figure out a method to trellis my beans, and fast. I built one Monday night, but it collapsed in last night's thunderstorm. Ploosh. Soon I will be fielding zucchini.
It's the time of year where my feet are still on the ground, but just barely. This is what I told Patrick the other night. The garden is like this incredible, irresistible hot air balloon that pulls me away from being "in the moment" for a few months every year. Or maybe it pulls me into being in the moment: the moment of picking green beans, the moment of shredding zucchini, the moment of stacking bags of broccoli in the freezer. Either way, I'm on deck for a flight to the realm of High Summer Scramble, picking-canning-freezing flurry. It's not a bad place to be. Every year I look forward to it. Every October I look forward to slowing down. So it always is, so it will be.
The certainties of gardening. Just another reason I love it.