The peas are in now, marching in a perfect row the length of their climbing rack. I used that ugly orange bailing twine on the rack this year because the more sedate verson, light blue and white I used last year crumbled under exposure to the elements. The little peas will be up and at it in a few days because I pre-germinated them between layers of damp paper towels in my kitchen, and each seed had a tiny tender sprout when it went in the ground. These are edible pod peas, shugar snaps, which can be used either in the pod or shelled. In the pod is a wonderfully sweet, healthy and hearty way to eat peas; stir fried in a bit of peanut oil they are superb.
Lettuce and radishes will go in today, a little late, as usual. I seem to be more relaxed than usual this planting season. I think this means I have become closer to being a true Montanan. Nothing about the weather surprises me anymore, especially in spring, and so I have accepted that everything I do is a risk and that if I put enough different types of vegies in the garden, some will have a good year. Still, I am more respectful of the early settlers here who had to make it through what appear to have been much worse winters than we experience with little or no outside commerce. In those days, the first tender dandelions and the first rhubarb sauce were real events. Years ago when I was young and foolish, and totally absorbed in doing evewrythiing the "natural" way, I would not buy imported produce, but rather canned the garden produce and atethat all winter. When the first dandelion poked through the early spring ground, I started digging them. What a job it was to pick and clean those baby dadelions; I do not do it today, even though I still mistrust imported produce, and even though they were a delightful treat and marked the end of a long and cold South Dakota winter.
Rhubarb is another matter. I really do love rhubarb and consider it to be one of the purest gifts to gardeners in the north. Why, when I was a child, they even sold it in the markets; a rare sight today, indeed. Rhubarb sauce goes on everything, as far as I am concerned, but the best is probably ice cream, though I like it a lot on oatmeal, also, and on pancakes. I do not can it any longer because I have found it freezes very well with no preparation except cleaning and chopping. I wish everything in this world were as good as fresh rhubarb in the spring and that everybody in the world had some.
The greecian windflowers behind the hot house are in bloom and so is the young peach tree, just reaching the end of its first year. It is a dwarf Elberta on a very northern rootstock and it clearly wants to thrive. The daffodils are still in full bloom, as are the tulips. I have made a note to add to the tulips this fall; they do so very well here. I shall add to the daylillies also, for they are pure pleasure in this climate. And the oriental lillies, also, in fact, the whole lily family is a plus-plus situation in this garden and one I have not really explored before.
Years ago, on the central coast of California, just five blocks from the beach, I had rows of daylillies across the front of the little house we owned then. They got full morning sun when it was not foggy, and we were fortunate to be in a sun spot there so the lillies did fairly well. Well, there was one thing, and that was a combination of huge slugs and land snails by the gallon. The land snails we could have lived on, except I have forgotten, perhaps to my own comfort, the method for preparing them I had learned as a child growing up in the North Beach section of San Francisco. We had a pair of muscovy ducks in those days, and Mrs. Muscovy was absolutely transformed by the slugs and snails she could find in those daylilies! I would let her out of the backyard and she would actually run to the front and dive into the daylillies where she would stay until her crop was so full of slugs and snails that it was ready to burst. Then she would decide to wander; perhaps take a "constitutional" as my Methodist forebears called it, and I would have to herd her back to the rear gate and the fenced yard for her own good. Muscovy ducks are actually great flyers by nature, having made a regular migration up and down the Pacific coast in the old wild days. These domesticated and exceedingly portly Muscovies were not very good flyers, although they could climb a fence if they found convenient footholds.
Actually, the drake was devoted to being a family man and did very little except honk his goose-like call when he thought the invaders were coming. They were lovely ducks and I miss them considerably. I miss their progeny, also, roasted to perfection for a holiday feast. There really is no better bird.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
A View From My Garden
It is Nanking cherry time. One minute they are simply covered with swelling buds as are most shrubs in my garden now, then I turn around and they are in full bloom. Thanks to Himself, the lord of the manor, the lawn has been treated with Weed and Feed and then mowed and edged. It is now in its best springtime dress.. Himself is the one. He has been working long days; finishing a board fence along the alley (which has mysteriously become a "Lane"), cleaning out years and years of old wire fence patched like a crazy quilt. The broken tiller is still broken, but Pat and a neighbor have made a useful trade and the early tilling has been done. The vegie beds look neat and fertile, waiting for planting.
Another neighbor, I notice, prunes Nanking cherries into tamed hedge shapes. The lord of this manor has inclinations that way, also, but I defend the cherry's wild growth, only allowing trimming to keep them in reasonable bounds. These are reflections of our two lives; one requiring order and mastery, the other seeking the wildness of birds. The lilacs and the honeysuckle will come on next, after the violets are through blooming and the forsythia has faded into summer green. Oh, so much to keep up with and so little time!
We have a flock of about 100 evening grosbeaks at the feeders, in the trees, finding the last of the crabapples and haws, and the dried up rowan berries, flinging themselves from feeder to feeder until all are empty, calling and fussing, and holding long threatening conversations with the cat. They do not know she has given up any true bird hunting for bird watching (not unlike myself, actually) with only an occasional rush to nowhere to keep herself in form.
The grosbeaks are most welcome. They love the pond and bathe and drink and walk about with their feet in the shallowest water. We love their natty spring outfits, not garish, but just right, and they are like the robins; they speak a good line about feeling threatened by us, but it is all an act; they are very self-contained birds.
It is time to hustle now, to drain every valuable moment from such short seasons. The potatoes are cut and hardened and so they will be first in. Then the onion sets and the peas, and broad beans, these English favas that may be planted as early as peas, and which bear all summer long. Past time for early lettuce; my palate tells me so while waiting for that lovely crunch and burst of flavor that only spring garden lettuce provides. Of course the garlic is up and growing well; six to eight inches high now. I plant garlic in September or early October. More garlic every year, and still we run out before the new crop comes in July.
In the lean-to greenhouse, the epiphyllum are starting to bloom, easing my greyed-out spirit with their tropical colors and shapes. Epis are the joy of my life; more beautiful then orchids and so easy to grow and to propagate. There were only a few species brought in from the central Mexican highlands to begin with, and now there are thousands of hybrid varieties and they are collected and admired all over the world. You must come and visit my epis while they are in bloom, and if you like, I will give you a piece of a stem to start your own, for such is the nature of gardeners everywhere. Such is the nature of true growth.
Another neighbor, I notice, prunes Nanking cherries into tamed hedge shapes. The lord of this manor has inclinations that way, also, but I defend the cherry's wild growth, only allowing trimming to keep them in reasonable bounds. These are reflections of our two lives; one requiring order and mastery, the other seeking the wildness of birds. The lilacs and the honeysuckle will come on next, after the violets are through blooming and the forsythia has faded into summer green. Oh, so much to keep up with and so little time!
We have a flock of about 100 evening grosbeaks at the feeders, in the trees, finding the last of the crabapples and haws, and the dried up rowan berries, flinging themselves from feeder to feeder until all are empty, calling and fussing, and holding long threatening conversations with the cat. They do not know she has given up any true bird hunting for bird watching (not unlike myself, actually) with only an occasional rush to nowhere to keep herself in form.
The grosbeaks are most welcome. They love the pond and bathe and drink and walk about with their feet in the shallowest water. We love their natty spring outfits, not garish, but just right, and they are like the robins; they speak a good line about feeling threatened by us, but it is all an act; they are very self-contained birds.
It is time to hustle now, to drain every valuable moment from such short seasons. The potatoes are cut and hardened and so they will be first in. Then the onion sets and the peas, and broad beans, these English favas that may be planted as early as peas, and which bear all summer long. Past time for early lettuce; my palate tells me so while waiting for that lovely crunch and burst of flavor that only spring garden lettuce provides. Of course the garlic is up and growing well; six to eight inches high now. I plant garlic in September or early October. More garlic every year, and still we run out before the new crop comes in July.
In the lean-to greenhouse, the epiphyllum are starting to bloom, easing my greyed-out spirit with their tropical colors and shapes. Epis are the joy of my life; more beautiful then orchids and so easy to grow and to propagate. There were only a few species brought in from the central Mexican highlands to begin with, and now there are thousands of hybrid varieties and they are collected and admired all over the world. You must come and visit my epis while they are in bloom, and if you like, I will give you a piece of a stem to start your own, for such is the nature of gardeners everywhere. Such is the nature of true growth.
A View From My Garden
And so now it is spring! Daffodils are blooming, tiny grape hyacinths, naturalized into the grass years ago, made a brave showing until Himself got out the lawn mower and the grass treatment and mowed them down. We enjoy them briefly, and I let them grow in the flower beds, but there is no room for them in a truly green lawn. If we do not cut the lawn it will all too soon display its true nature, for after all, this lawn is mostly pasture grass and in the worst places, nothing but jointed quackgrass, Johnson grass and other unmentionables. It requires aggressive attacks in spring; at least weekly.
Still, there are violas and buttercups, also, and a patch of forget-me-nots. There was a patch of true violets, also, but they have disappeared. I tell myself these little wild-like plants really do not matter, but they are such a joy; belly flowers we call them because one has to be down on the grass to truly see them. Every spring I plan to make a series of photographs of them, before the mowing starts, and every year I lag and linger until it is too late. Perhaps next year.
The forsythia is a marvel this spring; just as I hoped it would be. It sits at the point where the driveway divides, where everyone who comes and goes has to pass right by it. One would think it could not go unnoticed, and yet it does. That amazes me, though I realize not everyone in this world is as tuned to the plant world as I, and perhaps we humans could be divided by this; those who notice plants and animals first, and those who are tuned to their own kind's comings and goings. I will not apologize for being in the plant and animal group, though it would not hurt me to polish up a few social skills, either. We are divided by enough walls in our stony society; we do not need more.
Many of the perennials are poking their noses up through the leaves that still cover them. The delphinium beside the lean-to greenhouse is slowly making its way through the leaves and I must set a triangular tomato cage over it for I know I will turn around twice and it will be three feet tall! All the perennial beds need to be cleaned out now, and the scrap run through the shredder and into the compost. There is no end to plant waste here, and no end to the need for it.
The roses are leading out and seem to have come through the winter with no damage. Such a mild winter is bound to be followed by a buggy summer. Two sides to every coin; the balance in Justice's scales, the deep natural balance of Yin and Yang. As I philosophize, I also make a mental list of the bug arsenal which needs replenishing. Get after them early with the safe and moderate means and later on it may not be necessary to use those grand chemicals I abhor!
And so the season changes and so do we. One thing is certain, Himself is determined to have a princely lawn and I will have to enjoy the bright yellow spirit of dandelions elsewhere. I will repeat this little message from a long past Ladies Home Journal, I believe. This says it all.
Your child brings to you the first dandelion of spring, and you say,
"Throw that weed away and go wash up for lunch."
Still, there are violas and buttercups, also, and a patch of forget-me-nots. There was a patch of true violets, also, but they have disappeared. I tell myself these little wild-like plants really do not matter, but they are such a joy; belly flowers we call them because one has to be down on the grass to truly see them. Every spring I plan to make a series of photographs of them, before the mowing starts, and every year I lag and linger until it is too late. Perhaps next year.
The forsythia is a marvel this spring; just as I hoped it would be. It sits at the point where the driveway divides, where everyone who comes and goes has to pass right by it. One would think it could not go unnoticed, and yet it does. That amazes me, though I realize not everyone in this world is as tuned to the plant world as I, and perhaps we humans could be divided by this; those who notice plants and animals first, and those who are tuned to their own kind's comings and goings. I will not apologize for being in the plant and animal group, though it would not hurt me to polish up a few social skills, either. We are divided by enough walls in our stony society; we do not need more.
Many of the perennials are poking their noses up through the leaves that still cover them. The delphinium beside the lean-to greenhouse is slowly making its way through the leaves and I must set a triangular tomato cage over it for I know I will turn around twice and it will be three feet tall! All the perennial beds need to be cleaned out now, and the scrap run through the shredder and into the compost. There is no end to plant waste here, and no end to the need for it.
The roses are leading out and seem to have come through the winter with no damage. Such a mild winter is bound to be followed by a buggy summer. Two sides to every coin; the balance in Justice's scales, the deep natural balance of Yin and Yang. As I philosophize, I also make a mental list of the bug arsenal which needs replenishing. Get after them early with the safe and moderate means and later on it may not be necessary to use those grand chemicals I abhor!
And so the season changes and so do we. One thing is certain, Himself is determined to have a princely lawn and I will have to enjoy the bright yellow spirit of dandelions elsewhere. I will repeat this little message from a long past Ladies Home Journal, I believe. This says it all.
Your child brings to you the first dandelion of spring, and you say,
"Throw that weed away and go wash up for lunch."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)