ImPerceptibility

Archive for the ‘Growing Something’ Category

I’ve been working on my vegetable garden plans.

This must be done while sitting on the floor and wearing wool socks. I think it's a law. Aren't my socks cute? They're the first (and only) pair I ever made for myself. I made them right after Christmas and I think I was unduly influenced by a candy cane.

I already started the seeds. There are peppers, broccoli, and of course tomatoes. They are being guarded by a penguin and a Steelers jersey. I think they'll be safe.

A whole tray of tomato seedlings. They look so sweet and innocent now. Just wait until they grow up.

Anyone else getting their garden plans together?

So far, I have eaten radishes plucked from my garden at the peak of readiness. I’ve sampled a few carrots and picked my first hot pepper. It was wonderfully hot. I have eaten so much fresh green lettuce that I can’t stand the sight of it anymore. I now grab full plants and pull them roughly from the ground. Then I sneak to the compost and throw them in. Die little suckers die! You are no longer welcome here.

I’m not sure what evil demon of nostalgia convinced me I needed a cornfield in my suburban backyard, but it’s doing well. The ears are just starting to fill out. Hopefully soon I’ll have some corn on the cob and corn stalks for Halloween decorations. It’s looking good.

The squash has finally decided to stop rotting on the vine and I should be cooking them up soon. I’m on my second harvest of broccoli, the cabbage is finally making heads, and three of the five potato buckets have been dumped out. This is all fine and good.

I made raspberry jam from the last of the raspberries and blackberry jam from the first of the blackberries. There are also four pints of plum sauce in my pantry. This makes me happy.

But those of you that know me best, and love me in spite of it, know that all of this is just a means of occupying myself until my true passion can be fulfilled. Yes, today is the day. The day of the fresh ripe tomato. I’m slightly overcome with emotion right now, but don’t fear. I found the corkscrew and I bought a bottle of Merlot with a chicken on it for the occasion. Life is good.

We’ve been busy getting my garden planted. I decided I wanted a real garden this year so we built three raised-bed planters and planted them.

Then I re-planted them. Twice. Damn Dogs!

I think the third time is the charm. We’ll see.

For some reason this is stuck in my head right now. Hence the title.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4qVJnhZwWY&hl=en]

Also this

and this.

I might have to go put something sweet in my oven. And try and forget that late 80’s spiral perm phase I went through. Then I’ll need to go write a letter to the paper about how children today are listening to far too many sexually suggestive songs.

Has anyone ever sang this song sitting in the back of a pickup using a beer bottle as a microphone because they just broke up with ‘the only man they’ll ever love’? Just wondering. I’ve heard it can happen.

I’ve been neglecting you. I know. Feel free to scold at will. I’m kinda in the mood for that right now. To make up for my lack of posting I have prepared a quick summary of all the blog posts that were not posted.

I read some books

We had science experiment week

We took the pantry closet out of our kitchen and replaced the sliding glass door with a single door.

We went to see my brother and his new chicks.

MyHusband got a new job.

My potatoes came in the mail.

It was a very exciting week and I think they’d all make a good blog post. I might write about them later. Right now I’m kinda tired. I’m going to go eat baked beans and take a bubble bath. :)

“Sweet potato pie and I shut my mouth.”

Ok, they weren’t sweet potatoes and I’m not planning on shutting my mouth any time soon. But, that’s the song that came to mind and sometimes you just have to go with it. Even if it doesn’t work.

Today was ‘Tater Harvest Day. The vines of my potato plants have died back and that is the sign that harvesting must start. Harvest we did.

This year our garden center didn’t have seed potatoes so I bought them on-line from Wood Prairie Farm. They arrived quickly and were in great shape. I followed the directions that came with them.  The potatoes started growing like crazy almost as soon as they hit the dirt in the bottom of the barrel. It wasn’t long before they reached the top and all I had to do was water them and wait.

Today we went to harvest them. Harvesting is a two step process. Step 1 – dump out the trash can. Step 2 – listen to the kids giggle and scream as they dig through the dirt and earthworms to find their treasures. It’s kinds like an Easter egg hunt. Just very dirty. We enjoyed it.

We planted both red and white potatoes this year. The red did better than the white by about 4 to 1. I’m looking forward to fixing some of each for dinner tonight. The blue potatoes we planted last year were delicious.

Here is my potato plan for next year.

1. Instead of planting several plants in one large container, I think I’ll drill holes in the large drywall buckets, left over from the addition, and plant one in each.
2. I’ll convince my husband that having a row of drywall buckets full of potato plants along the side fence is not a sign of white trashdom.
3. I’ll start them just a few weeks earlier so they can get more growing time in before it gets really hot.
4. I’ll remember to water them more often.

Happy ‘Tater Harvest Day to everyone.

[Update: I have added a breathalizer to my laptop.  It will not boot if my blood alcohol level is above the legal limit for blogging.   My husband and I laughed so hard when I read him this post our sides hurt.  I had no idea I had so much to say about tomatoes!  I think some things should go unsaid. ]

I refuse to eat tomatoes in the month of May.  I’m holding out for a fresh ripe tomato. The ones that will be turning red in my garden in a few weeks. I hate store bought tomatoes. They taste like dishwater. I’ve never tasted dishwater. But they taste like I think dishwater would taste – after you’ve washed the spaghetti saucepot. I’ve never liked them.

There is something special about the first ripe tomato of the season. Tomato plants always start with just one tomato. I think they put all their effort into the first one. It always tastes the sweetest. I bet the tomato growers save that one for themselves.

Every year since the beginning of my home I have planted tomatoes. The first year I planted them in the back yard and they didn’t do well. The sunlight that was there in the early spring disappeared when the trees got all their leaves. Tomatoes need light. That’s a fact. I was wiser the following year. Those plants were planted in my front garden just right of the front door between the Azaleas and the Japanese Maple.

“Do you think the neighbors will laugh at the tomato cages in the flower garden” I asked my husband.

They didn’t even notice.

The next year I stepped it up a bit. In addition to tomatoes I planted bell peppers, a watermelon plant, garlic, and onions. I placed them strategically throughout the flower garden. One neighbor asked me about the pretty flower to the left of my front door. They were surprised when I told them it was garlic.

Next was a small patch of strawberries and two blueberry bushes. The only thing better than a fresh ripe tomato is a fresh ripe strawberry followed later by a batch of homemade blueberry ice cream. If the birds hadn’t eaten them, I would have enjoyed them. My sadness at the lack of berries was eased by the cardinal that decided to make it’s home in my dogwood tree. The blueberries were planted just a few feet away. Cardinals like blueberries. Every time I see the cardinal in my dogwood I think of a song, ‘Sweet Virginia Breeze’. I like that song. It’s by Robbin Thompson. I’d embed a youtube video but there isn’t one. I checked.

Now, back to the tomatoes. I know most people have a dignified way of eating tomatoes. That’s fine for just any tomato. But when you have the first tomato of the season it requires a slightly different approach.

I watch the tomato as it grows from just a little white bloom to a tiny green sphere. I water it. I weed around it. I wait. It grows larger and larger. Then it starts to change. It changes shape then it changes color. I watch as it turns orange, then red. I wait. If you pick it too soon it will be sour. If you pick I too late, it too late. You have to become one with the tomato. That’s the only way to know for sure. At just the right moment, at the peak of its ripeness, I will reach down and push the tomato with one hand. It will rock gently on its stem and fall into the other hand. The time has come.

I will walk with the prized tomato over to the hose and wash it. You never know if a dog has peed on it. Heck, Whit may have peed on it. He has a habit of doing things like that. Once it is clean I will dry it on my shirt and hold it towards the sun. The sunlight glistening on the first tomato is a sight for sore eyes. Gently, I will bring it to my mouth and sink my teeth into its soft yet somehow firm skin. My teeth will sink deep into the fruit. The sweet juices will dribble out. Into my mouth. Down my chin. The tasty goodness will overwhelm my senses. It’s the moment of reckoning. I reckon it is good. Actually, I know it is good. There is nothing quite like a perfectly ripe tomato straight from your garden.

So there you have it. The reason I refuse to eat a tomato in the month of May. They say abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. I say the waiting for the best is time well waited. What do you say?

I hope you don’t say you can tell how much Merlot I’ve had to drink tonight. I like to keep my empty bottles well hidden. In the recycle bin of course.

I was always told that peonies would not open properly without ants. If you watch the ants busy munching on the waxy coating of a peony you can see why this would make sense. They work their way around the seams and you can almost see the bloom loosen as they work. I have read that peonies will open without ants. I suppose they would. Maybe the ants just make the job a little easier.

I have a very old variety of peonies. I don’t know how old. Peonies live for about 100 years is what I read. My peonies are probably close to that old and show no signs of giving up yet. My mom discovered them one year planted along side the driveway to our house. We had lived there for a few years and didn’t know they were hiding there waiting to surprise us. Dad would dutifully cut the grass each year. He didn’t know the flowers were trying to grow out of the ground and bloom. They got cut along with the grass. One year he must have gotten lazy and put off cutting the grass until it got very tall. That was the year we discovered the peonies.

Mom weeded around them and put up a wire fence to keep dad from running over them with the tractor. Every year after that we had a big bunch of beautiful white peonies. They were the first showy flowers of the year. Blooming right after the humble yet just as charming daffodils. Unlike the daffodils they smelled delightful.

I would bury my face into the huge blooms and want to breathe in that smell for hours or until an ant crawled up my nose. Those ants were ruthless. Eventually we grew up and my parents moved from the house. Mom dug up the peonies and they ended up in my garden for safekeeping. I’ve been taking care of them ever since.

Every year I watch as the purple red sprouts come out of the ground. They grow tall and turn green. The leaves get big and the small buds turn into little green balls. Then the ants come. I love to watch the ants crawling around methodically removing the sweet coating from the buds. Loosening the tight covering that keeps the blossoms inside. In a few days they will open and I will sit and smell the blossoms while trying to keep the ants out of my nose. It’s just what I do. Every year in May, just after my daughter’s birthday. Some of the first pictures I have of her were taken beside the peonies. In the pictures my tired eyes were full of excitement and just a touch of fear. That was ten years ago and I think I still have that look.

[Warning: This is where I get all sentimental and mushy]

Do you suppose those ants are natures way of telling me that I am the ant? All my work and hours of care are being put to good use. I am somehow sustained by the sweetness of the love I have for my children.  Even when my job seems so much larger than myself. Are they letting me know, one day, all my work will make it a little easier for my babies to become the beautiful people they were meant to be? I don’t know. I think it works for me. Until the point I have to crawl into someone’s nose. I think I’ll pass on that.

  I pretty sure that I have the potential to be a lazy bum. Probably a fairly high potential. It might even be a calling. Sitting here today I realize the only thing that keep me from fulfilling my calling is motherhood.

I don’t suppose it matters that I wasn’t a lazy bum before I became a mother. That was a whole nuther life. As of today I’m certain. Lazy bum was my destination and I jumped off the train before I reached my stop. I sometimes do impulsive things like that. Figuratively, of course. Not literally.

You may wonder how I came to be so certain. It’s a long story. Not terribly long. I’m too lazy to give all the details. Here’s the summary.

I woke up this morning at 7:00. The dogs were barking so loudly I thought the horses of the apocalypse had descended upon our backyard and taken up residence in the shed. I let the dogs out and took a look. They were close. It was a damned squirrel.

I sat down and noticed the cherry blossoms were falling off the tree in our front yard. I wanted to sit there and watch them. I wanted to watch them all day. But my daughter got up.

She is a morning person. More specifically a morning talker. She talked for almost and hour about unicorns. “Just because you’ve never seen something doesn’t mean they are not real. There’s Santa Claus, Fairies, Australia.” Then her sister got up and we had breakfast. I refereed a fight while sneaking a peak at the white clouds blowing across the sky. I looked longingly at my chair and the blossoms swirling in the wind. I remembered the chocolate that was in the cabinet. Then I remembered my daughter ate my chocolate last week.

There were a couple hours of math problems, spelling tests, rhyming words, and a very loud argument over who gets to use the bunny pencil today. It’s my pencil and I’m tired of the kids thinking they can use it.

Decided to walk the dogs. Walked my neighbors’ dogs. Trained for the one mile run my daughters wanted to enter. They wanted the free T-shirt. The whole running for a mile isn’t as fun as they thought it would be.

Then lunch. The noodles boiled over. Cleaned the stove. Did the dishes.

Start a load of laundry while watching the sun move to the backyard. Cursed Helios for driving his chariot too fast.

Watered the plants. Took a shower. Took the kids to PE class. Drove to Borders to look for books about unicorns. Returned home sighing as I drove over the pear blossoms on the street.

Folded laundry on the front porch while the girls played scooter tag. I wished for a glass of the Merlot I forgot to pick up at the store. Time to start dinner.

Ate dinner. Did the dishes. Cleaned the Bathroom.

Now it 7:00pm. All I wanted to do was sit in my chair all day and watch the cherry blossoms fall off the tree. Maybe have a glass of the Merlot I forgot to get from the store and some of the chocolate my daughter ate. It’s obvious. I missed my calling. It’s really a crying shame. I’m sure I have a tremendous ability to succeed as a lazy bum…or maybe a unicorn… I bet I’d be a really good unicorn…