A Tinge of Autumn

There’s quite a chill in the air this morning. I donned my heavier sweater, and the kids are off to school, bounding along the walkway in front of the house. An effervescent train, they are, their daily cacophony measuring time.

Yesterday I spied a tinge of color in a tree, her green, ebullient “summer do” daubed with yellow sprinkles. Autumn’s near, for sure, and Oh the excitement the cooling air can bring! A surge of adrenaline the hotter sun had drained away is coursing through all the living - anticipating, preparing for change. Though the sun be as hot today as ever, yet again in the morning we’ll feel it anew - the change of air and a quickening.

I’m feeling sad to say goodbye to the burgeoning of summertime, its warmth, brightness and ease. But enough for now of doleful thought! There’s green in the fields and tomatoes galore, and the squash are turning their golden colors. Potatoes are fat in the earth below, and apples fall by the bushel!

Enjoy! Enjoy - the later summertime, and to the harvest all arms employ -
‘til pantries packed and full with store we greet dear autumn content once more!

Time for Tea: Bouquet of Basil

Do you enjoy basil? It seems that nothing invigorates the senses and imagination more than a freshly picked bouquet of Sweet Basil on a warm summer’s day. And it’s so easy to grow, thriving in the garden this time of year. Mine is desperately in need of harvesting so I can begin the drying process, which I do in the garage by laying the small clippings across a horizontal wire frame. 

The basil caught my eye the other day as I was pondering possibilities for morning tea. I’ve been looking for a caffeine-free tea that I can enjoy, something aromatic that triggers my senses. But I want an earthy palette, not a sweet or fruity flavor. I love green teas, but I’ve found that the caffeine-free varieties still contain enough of the drug to render me zingy-headed and sleepless at night.  

And if I can grow the plants myself, all the better! I spied the basil with its abundance of greenery and aroma and thought - why not give it a try? I returned to the house and pulled out a supply of last year’s basil, dried and packed into a mason jar. I placed several of the aging, brittle leaves into a cup and steeped them in hot water for 5 minutes. Magically the brown, crumply leaves were restored to their original, vibrant ardor and the brew released an aroma every bit as rich and deep as the verdant green plants out in the garden. I inhaled the deeply fragrant aroma and allowed my mind flow on its billowy swells.

I’ve found my morning tea!

The Okra Monster!

The Okra Monster has arrived!  That’s ME this time of year when the okra is coming in like gangbusters and I hungrily gulp large servings of the toothsome delicacy.  Nothing tastes better than vine ripened tomatoes and fried okra & onions, and often that’s all I have on my plate!  I love okra, but I hate to pick it!  If harvesting the daily supply of okra from the back garden has ever been the straw YOU’VE drawn, then you know exactly what I mean!

The venture begins with a joyful wondering at the ample daily production of slender green pods and with adoring the buttery colored blossoms and the broad and shady,  palm-shaped leaves, only to end with a highly anxious run back to the house while clutching a hand that quickly has become aflame with horrific itching and burning sensations.  Other parts of the body commence to seethe, as well, and you imagine you’ve either waded through a dense thicket of poison ivy or that YOU’RE now the one being attacked by the okra monster!

The culprit isn’t a monster, however, but a proteolytic (protein breaking) enzyme in okra that causes contact dermatitis and skin lesions.  The best defense is to wear rubber gloves while picking the okra, or even an old sock will do - especially on the hand that holds the pods while cutting them from the stems - and then wash your hands thoroughly when the chore is complete.  If you’ve already got a bad case of contact dermatitis from your daily okra forays, rubbing jewelweed soap onto the moistened skin and allowing it to dry works well at dousing the flames.  If you don’t have jewelweed soap, try using any fragrance-free bar soap that you have on hand.

Happy okra picking - and EATING!!!

...chomp...chomp...chomp...

Purslane - Good to Eat!

Chances are you’ve seen purslane, a succulent herb, growing around your garden or sprouting in cracks in the drive, emerging as tiny sprigs with a few shiny, oval leaves and the capacity to grow into low-growing, bush-like plants two to three feet in diameter.  I used to pull purslane from my garden, thinking it a weed of little use other than housing for the beetles and bugs trying to eat away at my produce.  Then a friend of mine informed me that it is an edible plant, and highly nutritious, in fact, filled with omega-3-fatty acids like those found in salmon.

Turns out the plant has quite a long and noble history, known to the ancient Greeks as a treatment for wounds, fever, stomach aches, hemorrhoids, and "maladies of women".  Purslane is known as a treatment for psoriasis, and may be helpful in controlling arthritic inflammation as it contains alpha-linolenic acid, one of the highly sought-after omega-3 fatty acids.  It also is very high in amino acids, calcium and vitamin C.

Now I allow purslane to grow freely in the nooks and crannies of the garden.  I don’t have to plant it, as it pops up on its own in late spring and early summer wherever there are bare and sunny patches of soil.  It not only provides excellent ground cover, but also affords many light and tasty summer meals.  It has a mild flavor and makes excellent salads, though I’ve read that it’s also good sauteed or pickled.  Purslane pairs especially well with apples, nuts and feta cheese.  Below are a couple of the salads I enjoy on a regular basis, and you can find many more Purslane Recipes on the web.

PAMELA’S PURSLANE - FETA SALAD

Purslane, cut into 1 or 2 inch sprigs
Apples, chopped
Oranges, chopped
Almonds, slivered
Feta cheese, crumbled
Salt & Pepper, to taste
Dressing:  Mash & wisk a little feta into a little water.

PAMELA’S CREAMY PURSLANE SALAD

Purslane, cut into 1 or 2 inch sprigs
Apples, chopped
Golden raisins
Roasted peanuts
Salt & Pepper
Cinnamon
Mayonnaise

Flying Lessons

Only a few short weeks after the doves built their nest outside my office window, the shallow patch of twigs they so constantly tended is empty now, and I can’t help but feel sad at the loss, and a twinge of loneliness.  The two baby doves required only days to grow from bobbing tuffs of fluff to handsome, miniature versions of the doting adults.  They chafed impatiently at the confines of the nest, stretching their wings long as if to say “they're made for flying - let’s go! let’s go!”  I remember the morning the parents left their young alone for the first time.  The adults  stood bolt-still aside the nest for a full ten minutes, sensing the danger and difficulty of the leap they were about to take, and then surged into the air together, allowing the fledglings a cooler distance that encouraged them further in their flying lessons.  But the parents weren’t far away, re-emerging minutes later on a nearby branch and calling “whoo-WHY-uh, whoo-WHY”, as if to say “come on now!  come on!”.  One of the youngsters finally fluttered two or three feet to a nearby branch and perched there a long while, pruning and preening before the return trip home, and then the parent returned, as well, with an affirming “whoo-WOW-whoo-whoo”, or “How-WELL-you’ve-done!”, and then the calming “whoo-WHAH-whoo-whoo-whoo”, as if to say “That’s-ALL-for-now-now!”

I found that observing their daily routine encouraged me in my own endeavors, many of which are as new to me as the trees and skies are to the baby doves.  Seek a balance in your activities, they seemed to say - no need to scale all the hurdles altogether.  But do a little each day, as you feel the energy rise in your wings.  Fly to the branch in front of you.  Sit there for awhile and enjoy the view.  Prune.  You don’t have to be the first out of the nest.  All the nestlings make it - at their own pace.  Just do what you can do each day, eat well, take time to snuggle, and get plenty of rest.   There are storms to weather, naps to take, and there’s time.  There’s plenty of time.  Tomorrow you’ll fly again to the nearest branch, then a familiar thing, and from there you’ll see another, and then another, ‘til at the edge of your familiar home you’ll look upwards to the huge expanse of sky for the first time and throw your voice outward in amazement and joy, and your wings will follow.  You’ll surprise yourself at your capacities, and oh, my - the fun! the fun! - whirling through the air, weightless and free!  You’ll not pine for the nest any longer, then.  Far below, it will appear a cramped and little thing.  You’ll prefer to soar, soar in the sun, and the rain will flow from your back and the thunder will be like a clap of the wind, cheering you on and on.  And that’s where you’ll belong - soaring and twirling your dance in the air, and your song will lead others to the waters you’ve found and you’ll share them.  You’ll share it all!

Problems with Squash

"End Rot"

"Black Fuzz"

Truthfully, I have very few problems with most of the garden vegetables.  They grow peacefully and prolifically, and need very little in the way of pest or disease control.  Then there’s the squash.  I find that Summer Squash especially requires daily diligence, and even then I am lucky if the plants last to mid-summer before they die in their prime with plenty of babies on the way.  Last year I didn’t even plant the Summer Squash, wary of having to battle its many plagues.

The primary culprit is the Cucumber Beetle, whose larvae feed on the roots of the plants and transmit bacterial wilt, first appearing on the leaves as a powdery, white substance followed by wilting and dying of the plant.  This summer I gained some ground in my battle with the beetles.  Following a generous tip by a fellow reader of a garden magazine, I sprayed the young plants with onion/garlic spray in the spring.  It worked, deterring the beetles until the plants matured and sported their large, yellow blooms.  But then the beetles arrived with a vengeance and attacked the blossoms, which I have not sprayed for fear of disturbing the bees.

Another problem that plagued the Summer Squash this year was “End Rot”.  I don’t know if that’s the formal name, but as my photo shows, it is a rotting of the ends of very young squash, which causes them to shrivel and die very quickly.  What causes this?  And what can be done about it?

Yet another problem with the Summer Squash is “Black Fuzz”, again a name I created to describe what I see occur on all sizes of squash.  It smothers the entire squash like a sultry mink coat and the squash quickly rots.

Does anyone know the names, causes, and organic solutions of these problems?    I’m NOT interested in commercial solutions, the contents of which are “proprietary” and therefore unknown to me.  I’m also NOT interested in “organic” remedies containing “natural plant hormones” that are toxic to bees or birds.  Any contribution would be greatly appreciated.

Tall Garden People

My garden is strewn with Tall Garden People whom I absolutely love.  They arrive with  youthful energy early in the spring, and there they remain, gazing from their ruddy faces, guarding and shading the plants, and later feeding all visitors with tasty, high protein morsels they’ve made from the sun they’ve harvested all summer with their broad, out-stretched arms.  They are the Mammoth Sunflowers that climb easily to 15 foot, and open their eyes to conversation in early July.  “Oh - just sunflowers,” you say!  But each one of them is so unique, with such character in their faces and in the way they stand and bend with the sun and rain. You can be in the presence of a Garden People, gaze into her golden, craggy countenance, and carry on quite a conversation!  The personality of each shines through with just a little time, and you can learn their history, and their likes and dislikes.  

Ol’ Charlie grew to 12 foot tall in my very first garden.  He was a stalwart kind of fellow, steady, though leaning badly with age.  The squirrels climbed his long, thick back to get into the bird feeder, so I took to wrapping the first 2 or 3 feet of him with duck-tape, sticky-side out.  It worked, actually, and he bore my odd approach to the problem rather patiently.  He passed his future on to progeny by winter, and I still have some of the seeds, faithfully planting them each year in the early spring.  And I have his long, firm stalk in the garage, using it on occasion as a lengthy and strong support for the bean trellis, or for gourds.  I don’t want to wear it out, though.  No, I want a little remembrance of some kind to keep around.

Yesterday I got to talking with another of the People.  I’d seen her rising early in the year by the Brandywine and snow peas, but hadn’t taken much time to get to know her because she’s always facing eastward so that engaging her in conversation requires climbing through the Delicata Squash at an awkward angle.  Anyway, I became so intrigued by her wizened, languished fronds that I finally made the effort to pay a visit.  I thought at first that she was male, with her rugged build and the fuzz around her nose, but no, female she is, and strongly so.  I looked up into her large and sculpted face, which was surprisingly earnest with a rich intensity, and I made a halting effort to commune.  She didn’t NEED my time, I could tell, but was a little curious, and WONDERED at me like “WHERE have YOU been all this time?” 

“Well, I made the mistake of planting you on the EAST side of the garden so your BACK is TO me all the time,”  I answered.  “I planted myself,” she reminded.  And I concurred, remembering how the Garden People HATE for me to transplant them from one spot to another to such an extent that I’ve finally decided to let them choose for themselves where to grow!  They spring wherever they will from seeds cast about by critters the prior year.  Nonetheless, I stubbornly insist on moving a few of them around early each spring, when all they own are tiny green palms to raise in protest, amid a futile attempt to bring some order of color and arrangement to the garden.  But I’m always rewarded with moaning and wilt, and then they demand I water them incessantly.  I have to haul the heavy bucket a full 50 yards from the house DAILY until they finally perk up again.  Even then, some of Ol’ Charlie’s progeny that I rearranged this spring have only grown to 5 feet tall.  I was careful, too, moving them when they were only inches high, and taking lots of soil.  But, no, they don’t want to be moved.  Have a certain idea as to where they want to stand, and aim to hang onto the view.

ANYWAY, back to Almirah (pronounced “Al-MIRE-uh”).  Yeah, I asked her name, rattling off several possibilities in succession, and craning to hear her reply.  Almirah is intelligent, deep, and funny as hell.  Ornery, too, which takes some getting used to.  But getting to know her is VERY well worth the effort because EVERYTHING she has to say is extremely important.  I look forward to speaking further with Almirah.  And Ramsey, and Doane, and...