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.
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