Beans and other things

"What shall I learn of beans or beans of me? I cherish them, I hoe them, early and late I have an eye to them; and this is my day's work."
from Walden

And the beans are, indeed, up. I don't hoe them, however. This pale beauty is only one of the rows of large Italian pole beans that constitute my main bean interest.  Although I believe I sound like I've become slightly unhinged, there are few tastes that I find as thoroughly satisfying as this bean. Hot, cold, dressed and plain, I love these beans. While I've done everything I know to safeguard them, with bird protection and iron-based snail poison, I'm not confident enough to have planted them all. I kept back some of my stock to fill in any nibbled beyond survival.

The yellow wax bush beans are also emerging, but I didn't get any good pictures of them. Imagine a triple row of them in front of the six sweet peppers I broke down and bought and put in early, just because I was feeling optimistic. (Also because I started no plants of my own this year.)

Everywhere I look, things are stretching out to the lengthening days. We've had what I consider "farmers' rain," that is steady rain at night, followed by clearing days that resolve into very warm afternoons. The garden approves.

Every day for the past four days, the police have called me. Not because of any plant-based violations, but because the bees are swarming and I'm a point person for picking them up. So far, I've gotten another beekeeper to get each one, but I went and set up a new hive just in case they call again. I need to make an equipment order so that I can manage four hives. I wonder if any of the kids at the local high school would like to work on hives with me? I should ask. . .

The Katy apricots are largeish, but few. The tree is showing some alarming signs -- whole twigs wilting with no apparent reason. I hear that apricots are short-lived trees here, susceptible to many diseases.

The transplanted persimmon is showing good health. Maybe next year it will bear?

One of the two Early Girls I bought with the peppers.  The other one is going to the front yard bed, along with a "help yourself!" sign. I'm looking forward to painting that.

Both front yard Blenheims are loaded with baby 'cots. I have high hopes. Apricot everything!

Although the photo is blurry, it's time to break out the spray oil for the Anna apple and get the wooly aphids under control. It's been a very successful method, as far as I can tell, no matter how unorthodox.

Everywhere I go in the garden, I hear hurry, hurry. . . it's time to get things done. Maybe I will, and maybe I won't. It's good to know that some things are managing without me very well.

Beginning Again

The wagon which is blogging is easy to fall from.

When my inner life becomes more complicated, some things go away faster. Things such as gardening, knitting, baking. . . they're just gone.

Fortunately, not all of the garden knows this.

I finally clipped off the second, brought-to-you-by-global-warming frond growth,which is the juicy-looking green stubble, only to find this spring's crop coming up. If I harvest responsibly, we should get about eight spears of edible size before needing to let the crowns grow and replenish.

Since I have finally found a modicum of knitting mojo (two presents done, a new sweater 20% finished), and spent some time spinning last week, and got a few seeds put out under bird cover, there's hope for the garden yet.

And if there's hope for the garden, can the gardener be far behind?

Little things

It's sometimes the little details of the garden that capture my interest, rather than the overview:

Eggs I couldn't quite identify; Eric said he may never eat sushi again when I pointed out the resemblance.

Cover crop of red clover actually sprouting. Hooray!

White flies, brown spot, AND a ripening apricot. One of three?

The cavalry arriving in the form of a nymph.

Cucumbre de Bourbonne -- so ridiculously cute as babies.

How I manage to get dirt in my teacup while garden touring is beyond me.

I quit

Things are heating up, ironically, since it's raining and cold again. The tomatoes, however, are outside getting wet and blown about. I'm transplanting this weekend unless we experience apocalyptic floods or earthquakes or insistent Frisbee or something. It's time.

And things in the basement are doing well. In the absence of the large, hairy tomatoes (I imagine them seeming like older brothers to the rest), there are more timid, more heat-loving plants:

The older peppers. Planted maybe in February? They're bedeviled by some pesky reddish aphids which seem to reproduce exponentially every 12 hours. If I could find the Ur-Mother, I might be able to be rid of them. Daily squishing, twice daily ideally, seems to help. I may make some insecticidal soap stuff and spray it. If I could only find a whole sprayer. How many spray bottles have romped through this house? Sigh.

Younger peppers, more varieties. I had concentrated on Padrons, having tunnel-vision. Then I remembered how much I loved having ripe bell peppers in the garden, and how much I loved pulling out frozen pepper strips for recipes. And Eric, in one of those, "Hey, let's keep this marriage fresh" moments, let slip that he really liked pickled hot peppers. Color me surprised! I did not know this. Now I am determined to procure, grow, and preserve some hot peppers. Whee!!

Speaking of preserving, there are about five or six varieties of cucumbers also coming along. Three or four pickling varieties, mostly cornichons, for the oldest child. (Who will no doubt again tell me that I misheard and she doesn't like them, but was only going through a stage.) A couple slicers, only one Lemon -- I can, apparently, learn.

And outside, well, outside some things are done with their run.

This is the last of the purple cauliflower, from a commercially raised transplant, and a variety of lettuce leaves nipped off of the outside of the spectacularly happy lettuce out there. Cool, rainy, no slugs, check! I'm already thinking of what kind of salad this will make.

But what I'm NOT thinking about is weighing, writing down, or recording this harvest in any way. I still remain in awe of the bloggers/gardeners who do, and I think it's probably a good idea, but I haven't been able to do it in any useful way. Maybe some day my head will be screwed on in that direction, and I'll probably say happy things like, "I canned 48 bazillion quarts of tomatoes!" if that happens, but until then, I think I better concentrate on a) growing the food and b) eating the food while c) making certain there is more food ready to be planted.


So consider this my notice, I guess. I quit. 


Sort of.