March Madness and Garden Insanity

daphne on March 22, 2011

You’ve seen the videos I’ve forced upon you.  My girls can jump.

Though to the dismay of their basketball-loving father that has not necessarily translated into an interest in basketball.  Given the circumstances, Dave did what any sport-loving guy would do; he called for back-up.  It’s good to have nephews.

Five year old Felix watched.  He commented and talked stats and aside from a notable absence of beer and nachos it was game-watching perfection.  The fellas even took a break at half time to play a little hoops of their own.

And then the ladies stepped in to show them how it’s done.  My girl’s got some serious ups.

But enough with the silly game playing.  It’s March, and madness or not it is time to do some planting.  When it comes to work in the garden I am an equal-opportunity slave-driver.  I pressed all my indentured servants into compost spreading and plot prepping.

I put the girls to work.

I put the boys to work.

Heck, I would have put the mailman to work if he weren’t so darn speedy in that little weather-defying truck of his.

Thanks to all of these helping hands, the south garden has been seeded for snap peas, lettuce, onions and spinach.  Now we wait, and hope that March decides to keep its snow to itself this year.

Our new garden window is practically bursting with trash creatively re-purposed plastic containers.

Hope springs eternal in the form of this nascent plantings, but alas . . . you can’t count your veggies before they sprout.

Oh Yeah, the Ides of March

daphne on March 14, 2011

The ides of March are upon us.  Unlike Caesar, I know there are certain things one can expect as the middle of March descends.

There’s the nice things.  The lovely flowers reclaiming their rightful place, reaching up from leftover piles of winter slush.

Yes, hopeful spring with its naive little blooms.

And we mustn’t forget the little birdies; they are singing.

Well, not so much singing perhaps as maliciously casing our joint —

I see you there Pal.  And I remember you.  I remember you from 2009.   And I remember you from 2010.  Oh, Mr. Woodpecker, you darling March memento.

You of the “early morning jack-hammering on the metallic parts of our chimney” woodpeckers.

You, of the “drive my husband to the brink of insanity and the edge of our roof” woodpeckers.

Ahh, springtime with it’s chipper birds and beautiful flowers.

But wait, there’s more.  There are a couple of special things that ring out as harbingers of spring around our house.

Golly gee, there’s the storm-trooper Boot o’ Spring–

It’s my own subtle reminder that with another March comes the passing of another year, and with it yet another opportunity to immobilize the paper mache bones of my left foot.

And hey, you know what really says springtime? Innumerable hours spent inside sweaty high school gyms.

There’s the innocent scent of teen spirit.

The hum of hundreds of spinning ropes.

The blush of florescence on the faces of happy children.

And speaking of happy children, guess who’s had enough hanging around and watching big sister jump? Guess who has decided that sure, what the heck, she’s in, sign her up. . .

Look! It’s 7 year old Punky Jumpster, here in her practice debut —

Hey Caesar.  Happy spring.

Well Good Morning to You Too

daphne on March 7, 2011

Oh.  Hello.

I didn’t see you there.

No, it’s fine.  Of course I didn’t think that just because I took a little time-out that the world should stop turning.  I mean, there are lunches to be made and dictators to topple and yes, teeth will continue to fall out and hey even the sprouts are defying logic and breaking through the chilly dirt.

And ho, what’s that I feel? Are these tendrils unfurling from my own stiff limbs as if spurned on by the heady scent of sun-kissed dirt?

Hibernating? No, not me.  For there is work to be done.

And I’ve been busy.

Doing, you know, stuff.

Important, stuff.

Like, making sure my youngest is dressed to fight dragons.

And prepping Grandma for some good, old-fashioned village – pillaging.

Well gosh, now you’re making me feel like all I’ve been doing is trying to be a viking.  But you know they have cool ships with handsome, half-clad men rowing in time to jaunty sea shanties?

And ocean breezes that would gently blow through my luxurious locks.

The glint of the sun winking off a newly sharpened hatchet.

The squawk of an albatross in search of an Ancient Mariner…

Hey, shame on you.  Do not encourage my digressions.

For there is work to be done once dragons lay slain.  A newly acquired village will need tidying.  And so it was that the local population was enslaved and put to work waking up the sleepy garden.

They raked and they hoed and eventually the garlic showed through, it’s sweet tendrils reaching towards the light of the weak spring sun.

They whispered sweet nothings of encouragement, coaxing irises from beneath frozen blankets.

The raspberries too would prosper under new management.  The field, an unwieldy brier patch of mayhem,

was hacked into submission.  A viking must insist upon order from her berries.

No more would raspberries be left to wither on the vine.

And the viking goddess (that’d be me) saw that it was good.  And so it was that she posted sentries in the treetops . . .

And high-tailed it back inside.

For her hands were getting cold.

The Enthusiastic Consumption of Vegetables

daphne on December 10, 2010

You will never guess what’s been going on around here.

No one could have seen it coming.  I scarcely believe it myself.

But it’s true.

At about 6:00 every evening it happens . . . the enthusiastic consumption of vegetables.

I kid you not.  Broccoli is being tossed back willy-nilly.  Peppers and cucumbers and chard and spinach, all of them, down the hatch without a whine or whimper.

Which brings me to my complaint of the day: setting a good example.  Like many parenting techniques, it looks good on paper.  I’m guessing that’s because the vegetable-eating requirement fades to near invisible in the fine print.

I was hoodwinked.

My daughter and I were engaged in our monthly debate:  She wants to be a vegetarian, and I think that peanut butter and pasta do not constitute a healthy diet for a growing kid. I was a non-eater of worthy food myself as a child; I recognized her ploy – claim vegetarianism and remove an entire category of food from discussion.

So I called her on it.

I pledged full support of her dietary choices if, and I thought this was a deal-breaking kind of if, she enthusiastically consumed a wide variety of vegetables.  Consistently.  Happily.  Without any arm-twisting.

And if (again I was confident that this was an enormous if) she was on board with the happy veggie plan, then I would bring the whole family along for the ride.  After all, it’s a healthier choice for our bodies.  It’s a responsible choice for the environment.   And it would mean preparing just one meal each night and not a myriad of separate dishes.

That was my gauntlet — if she chose to be an Enthusiastic Consumer of Vegetables (how proud I was of this gem of a phrase) then I would prepare vegetarian dinners four or five nights a week.

She saw my bet. And she upped the anti.

She flipped through cook books and bookmarked recipes.

And my picky eater ate risotto with peppers and spinach.

She of the finicky-palate ate potato and garlic soup.

And she has continued to eat platefuls of stir-fried vegetables every night.  Which means, alas, that the grown-ups at the table dutifully have to do the same.

But I don’t have to do it enthusiastically.  That rule only applies to vegetarians.

******************

PS — The garden is on her side.  Check out this hearty haul kicked up in early December. (yes, thanks for asking, we are growing wine.)

One last haul of garden bounty before the snows

Back … to the Future

daphne on November 17, 2010

Weee’re baaack.

And by back I mean that we have jetted right out of the 1970s and landed smack dab here in the future.

And by “we” I am clearly not referring to these jokers

These jokers love the good old days.  These jokers would never bid adieu to School House Rock, not for all the counter space in China.

Well, maybe for all the counter space in China.

Do you have any idea what one can do with all the counter space in China?  I don’t want to brag but it is now completely possible for me to lay out not one, not two, but four slices of bread side-by-side and wham bam pass the jam, sandwiches are made and packed up in so many elementary school lunch boxes.

Just like that.

It’s exciting.

It’s liberating.

It’s enough to make one walk away from the hustle with nary a backwards glance.

Okay, so a couple of us may have had a backwards glance.  And who could blame them? They were blinded by the gilded treasure hidden right beneath their very own kitchen floor.

Why yes that IS golden medallion linoleum. I know, it’s special, and yet still I dishonored it by ripping it up and tossing it out faster than you could Rock Down to Electric Avenue.

Luckily my lapse of judgment was quickly overlooked.  All it took was the suggestion that the fashionistas themselves were of age to create a masterpiece or two in the futuristic kitchen and they were off, forgiving and mixing and

leaving me on my own to say farewell to the groovy, neat-o and peachy keen stuff of decades past, while I bravely dip a finger into the chocolate pudding of the future.

(click here for the recipe for the girls’ yummy from-scratch chocolate pudding)

Not too sweet from-scratch pudding

daphne on November 17, 2010

Dark Chocolate Pudding*

  • 6 Tablespoons of all purpose flour
  • 3 Tablespoons of sugar
  • 2 Tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 2 cups milk
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  1. Combine flour, sugar and cocoa
  2. Add milk and stir until smooth
  3. Cook mixture over medium heat until pudding begins to boil, stirring constantly.
  4. Once it boils, lower heat to a gentle simmer, and continue stirring for another 3-4 minutes.
  5. Remove from heat, and stir in vanilla
  6. Allow to set 2 hours — serve either warm or cold.

*adapted from the Moosewood Cookbook

Garden Update June 3, 2010

daphne on June 7, 2010

I haven’t seen an aphid, a slug or a snail, the notorious arch-enemies of spinach, but someone’s been eating my spinach…

That’s ok, because the lettuce is so soft and sweet I’m fine to let the mysterious muncher have the majority of the spinach.

The pumpkins are promising —

A self planted carrot —

Cucumbers

Potatoes

Yellow Watermelon

Butternut squash

Super sweet sugar snaps

Hearty looking strawberries —

Gone Fishin’

daphne on June 7, 2010

The Greener Biener Takes A Break

I’ll miss you dear readers,

It’s for you that I write

But the call of the wild (that is, my backyard)

Is too strong to fight

Schools out for summer

I’ve cut back on house cleaning

Yet my time packs right up

With picnic-making and sun-screening

And there are weeds that need weeding

And ice cream to eat

And bikes that need riding

And filthy bare-feet

The children are clamoring

Long forgotten is school

They run through the sprinklers

And jump in the pool

Between following the kiddos

And watering the plants

When it comes time for typing

I’m finding…I can’t

But I’ll be back soon

With stories for sowing

‘Til then, Happy Summer

And to all some good growing

**** As always, thanks for reading.  The Greener Biener is taking a sabbatical, but I’ll be adding garden updates from time to time to chronicle the progress of our home-grown veggies.

Hope to see you again in the fall.

Time keeps on ticking, alas

daphne on May 31, 2010

I’m sure you’d agree that it takes some serious mama skills to hit the bottom of the peanut butter jar on the very last day of school.

Timing is everything.

The kids wondered why I was chronicling my morning sandwich making.  They should have been wondering how their strawberries were going to taste doused in a thick layer of my tears.

I was teary-eyed because although my timing peanut-butter-wise has proven impeccable, I have yet to figure out how to halt the ridiculous sprint of time that puts my babies into this space aged time capsule —

and spits them back to me as a 2nd and 4th graders.  I am not ready.   I practically just graduated from high school myself.  It’s simply not possible that I am old enough to have such big kids.

As if to prove the calendar right, the girls went and sealed the deal–

Kira donated 8 1.2 inches of her long flowing locks, transforming herself from this young innocent,

Into this sassy thing

One look at her sister’s cool new look was more than enough, and soon Acadia was hopping up into that chair.

Time keeps on ticking into the future, and those dang seasons, they keep going round and round and I swear there is just one thing that is keeping me from singing folk tunes as I sob into my coffee and that’s this —

Flax. Flax makes me happy.  The color is so deep and purple blue that it can actually hold back the hands of time and freeze my babies at this absolutely delightful stage.

Flowers have loads of medicinal qualities.  Time manipulation is merely one of many.

Sure, sure the Coleus is Leggy

daphne on May 24, 2010

Me?  Not so leggy.

Even before I had one appendage masquerading in this 71,520 pound storm-trooper suit I was not what you might considered leggy.

Unleggy and unsuspecting, I simply picked out a pretty, ambitious sprout from the $1 bin at last summer’s farmers market.  I put it in a pot, and it went wild–

It’s growing like it’s going out of style, and my father, currently studying to become a master gardener, called my baby leggy.

He never called me leggy.  Nobody ever called me leggy.

In all fairness, my father did not mistake my plant for a tall blond;  he simply meant that my plant was growing too long and lean for its own good, and could do with a little trim.

Sounded good to me.  I’ve always been a fan of the short and stout myself.

I grabbed the scissors, but as I headed over to the window to work out my long leg lust to give the plants a taste of my sharp shears, I noticed this–

Long legs, gorgeous red coloring, and now a dainty purple flower on top.  Of course.  Why not.  She’s probably smart with a great personality too.

(Note Number One: although sitting on the couch with my foot up is all that and a bag of chips, I have a confession: I snuck out.  I had to.  The garden was beckoning; click here to see what it had to say.)

(Note Number Two…something completely different…) I made this cake yesterday–

Because sometimes you just have to bake with marshmallows shmeared black and totally not-organic blue food coloring.   Like when you gather with a bunch of your similarly minded geeked-out friends to say good-bye to a TV show.  Lost is no more.

Good-bye smoke monster.

Good-bye mystery island with polar bears and time travel.

Good bye hotties trooping through the jungle in search of answers.

Hello Chocolate Cake.