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 –

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.

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.

Baby lettuce, south garden, May 21, 2010 –

Baby mighty oak tree, Acadia’s garden, May 21, 2010 (acorn planted by Kira in April)

Baby tomato,  soaking up some front porch sun

Baby eggplant, sunny self on porch –

Baby squash –

Baby rainbow chard, volunteer (self-seeded) in north garden, May 21, 2010

Baby snap pea, May 21, 2010 north garden, from seed April 4 –

And then over to the north garden to see how the rhubarb was behaving–

He may have been waving it in the air like he just didn’t care, but I paid him no mind and got right to business.  Harvesting time.

The leaves are mildly toxic, and I can’t go near them without gloves or I’ll break out in a rash, but it doesn’t bother the girls one bit.  They are of tougher stock.

Even a child can harvest rhubarb.  All you do is grasp the stalk, pretty close to the ground, and wiggle it.  It will release from the plant with this little slipper attached–

Stalks are ready when they are thick enough (about the diameter of a dime or thicker.) They will range in color from deep pink to light speckled green.

I dice them and freeze them for recipes like my favorite crisp.  Inside the color also ranges from a whitish pink to a light green–

Also reporting in: the raspberries have millions of tiny buds, and the strawberries, recently thinned, are sporting tons of flowers.

The message I’m getting from the universe: think otherwise.

Take, for example, my rhubarb.  Up until recently it was such a well behaved plant.  And then he pulled his thing out, right there in the middle of my family-friendly garden.

I told him to put it away. He upped the ant, and went all Rhubarb-Gone-Wild on me –

And the phallus phenomena is spreading.  All I wanted to do was prepare some locally raised organic chicken for dinner.  I’m no prude, yet something about this boasting roaster gave me pause. I can only imagine how he ruled the coop.

I hoped my nephews would help me out.  Surely my own little panel of experts had some insight into males running amok in the natural world.

It’s not pretty, but I will share what I learned.  My source is one of the following fellows:

To protect the innocent I won’t divulge if it was this guy:

Or this guy–

Or this guy –

Or this guy–

Or this one –

But I well tell you that the tidbit said nephew shared did shed some light on the wild bachelors and their love of living it up in the great outdoors:

Nephew:  Oh no Aunt Daphne. You don’t have to use the bathroom.  Do you know why?

Me (kind of hopping up and down): Why?

Nephew:  At my house we get to pee outside.  In the backyard.

Me:  Um…

Nephew:  That’s why my house is lots more fun.  Because boys really like to pee outside.  Want to go outside now?

Me: Um…

I don’t have much to say about boys and their aversion to indoor plumbing, but I do know what I’m going to do about that rambunctious rhubarb.

And it has everything to do with raspberry crisp.

]]> http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/05/put-that-thing-away/feed/ 7 http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/05/inch-by-inch-row-by-row-gee-ive-had-it-with-this-snow/ http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/05/inch-by-inch-row-by-row-gee-ive-had-it-with-this-snow/#comments Wed, 12 May 2010 19:05:00 +0000 daphne http://www.greenerbiener.com/?p=4000 Golly gee, I wonder what on earth could be making me feel so droopy?  Could it possibly be this–

You might not recognize that shiny metal thing, but that’s what I was going to use to help these guys along–

Oh my sweet sweet snap peas.  Hang in there.  You too, my poor brave blossoms.  Confidently you woke to greet May 12th, and harshly you got slapped down by Mama Nature.  She’s sure been in a foul mood lately.

But hey, it’s okay.  I have found my happy place.  It’s right here, with John Denver, his Garden Song and the Muppet veggie singers.

Snow, shmoe, I won’t let it get me down.  The weather changes so fast around here that you might not even notice something very fishy going on in the rhubarb patch.  What, exactly, is this?

I’ve had this rhubarb for seven summers now and this is the first time I’ve seen it get so, er, excited.   Email me stat if you’ve got a reasonable explanation.

With Dave up on the roof battling his nemesis, and me here on the ground with a broken foot and looming cold nights, there was little I could manage in the garden.  Still, Mother’s Day means I get my way (kind of) and my request was simple–just pick all the dang dandelions. I know it’s short-sighted but I don’t want to look at them and I’m the mother and it’s my day so just get rid of the things, okay?

And so it was.

And the mother was pleased as she watched the children pick the “wild flowers” and construct a chain of them which they looped round the au natural trellis and they all lived happily ever after.

On to the mundane.  I hobbled to and fro to photograph the progress being made between the snowflakes.

The spinach is coming along nicely,

As is the lettuce, which had been written off but is proving tougher than 28 degree nights–

Our itty bitty peach tree even has a couple of promising blossoms–

Mother’s Day had us planting, hesitantly.  We’re going to wait a few more weeks for some warmer nights before planting the more fragile stuff, but put in another round of carrots, onions and chard today.

All but that one little guy, who I think is an eggplant. Our over-zealous watering took out not only our nice handwritten signs, but much of our crop as well.

At least the tomatoes are still hanging in there –

Outside things are moving right along.  The snap peas are winning.  I think it’s their super-cool au natural trellis that keeps them reaching for the stars.

The rhubarb rules–

The garlic is doing great.

I overheard at the garden store that garlic and raspberries are a recommended pairing.  Maybe that’s why both these guys are going strong.  I love the look of these early raspberry leaves.

It seems I might have had some slight miscalculations when plotting out our square foot garden, and now I can’t be sure if this square is carrots or onions.  I had been 99% sure it was carrots, until these sprouts poked through –

They do not look like the frilly tops that I associate with carrots.  Any chance they are onions?

March 6, and our good old Northern corner spot is still snowbound.

We decide to take this party to the sunny side of the street yard.

We had no champagne to break her in, but this is officially the South Garden, future home of lush lettuce and gorgeous salad greens.

March 13, and enough of the snow has melted off the North to allow garlic shoots to push through.

Despite this positive sign, plans move ahead with the South Garden.

The weather is always warm and predictable here in the dining room.  Now home to sproutlings to be

Oh Welcome Back March.  It’s really so delightful to see your many moods once again. At least the girls are not bothered by the icy side of spring

Hire your local twig collectors and relocators.  This is my crew, whom I highly recommend. They are hard workers who work cheap.  They negotiated the deal, which I gladly accepted — $1 plus a Popsicle each got me an entire twig pile moved out of the way. Everyone’s a winner.

The twigs were dug in and secured with nails to the garden frame.

The tops tipped in and tied together with twine, which we will also use to give the snap peas something to cling to.

Trellis, decorated for Mother’s Day–

Now I am fortunate that my husband has congenially agreed to build me a trellis to support the tomatoes and snap peas that are sure to runneth over in our lovely new south garden.

It is unfortunate, however, that I had to crane my neck skyward to remind him of one very relevant fact:

UM HELLO? YOU ARE NOT A CAT! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO JUST LAND ON YOUR FEET, YOU KNOW!

I yelled this to him as he clung to the dead branches that had been targeted for trellis harvest.  He did not respond, though I feel certain he was thankful for my insightful, subtly delivered observations.

You know what’s really sweet? When children admire their fathers and want to be just like them.

Monkey See.

Monkey Do.

And by monkey see, monkey do I mean imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  Or some such nonsense.

Those of you who are familiar with our emergency room track record will appreciate the new rule I’ve instituted over here:  one monkey in a tree at any given time.  Unless of course they sprout wings like our beloved friends hovering around the Emerald City.  I’ll bet those adorable guys handle treetops movements with the greatest of ease.

Not so my run-of-mill-monkeys. I’m most content when their simian feet are planted on terra firma.  Besides, I need their help down here with preparations for the banner year ahead.  Just look at the growing going on:

We’ve got rhubarb,

and strawberries,

And garlic.  Oh my.

No amount of chopping wood would have saved me from being voted out of the Frontier House.

I don’t know how those pioneer ladies did it.  They were a tough breed.

Kind of like my own pioneer babe–

Don’t let the Holly Hobby dress and sweet smile fool you.  This nine year old is brimming with teenage ‘tude that would serve her nicely should I follow through with my decision to free-range her out on the open frontier.  And since you were wondering, yes I did wear this dress to school as a suburban child of the seventies.  There is simply no denying it, when it comes to fashion I’ve always been ahead of my time.

But never mind that, food failure was so last year.  My family is on target to make it through this year, this entire year, completely independent from grocery stores.  That’s us, totally self-sufficient…at least as far as jam is concerned.

Oh shush.  Don’t tell me I can’t keep a family on jam alone.  I can do whatever I want.

I made jam, didn’t I?  See–

When we polished off the last of the jars I made back in June, I simply defrosted what was left of our strawberry puree from the picking last fall.   Then I added just a pinch of sugar.

Or perhaps it was a wagon-load of sugar.  I’m not exactly sure.  Then a dollop of magic–

And Voila!  Jam!

2009/2010 will be known far and wide as the year we made it on jam alone.  Impressive, yes, but for 2010/11 I’ve set my sights a little higher.

Welcome to my lofty goal of the year:  tomatoes.  These guys may not look like much but just you wait.  These little guys have been tapped to nourish my family throughout the year to come.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

My children had other plans.

Arguably, an aquarium has fish and water, but hadn’t we just flown thousands of miles?  Why come all this way and stop just short of the real deal?

Icy rain, micey-shmain, get thee to the beach.  And so we did.

We piled on hats and scarves and braved the brisk breeze.  I even convinced some of our party peeps to strike an impressive Spring Break pose.   I call it, “Who Us? Nope. We’re Not Cold!”

The rain subsided and the wind even let up for a second or two and I was forced to admit that my children had made a brilliant choice.  The beach was gorgeous and at just a half hour drive from the city I deemed it perfect, and decided to move in to one of the cozy mansions hugging the coast.

So I sold the children on the spot.

With these deep dreamy eyes and that impossible head of hair my nephew Miles commanded the big bucks–

I sold him to the first pirates that happened by.  Sure we’ll miss him, but he feels great just picturing his auntie in her sweet new seaside digs.  Here the girls are craning their necks for a glimpse of the ship laden with bags of gold for their own bounty.

Alas the ship never showed and so I was forced to pack up my un-purchased children and return home.  Despite plummeting temperatures and the snow that keeps on coming, our snug little incubator of a dining room is showing signs of springtime success.

Our briccoli (that’s broccoli when sign-making is outsourced to local first graders) has sprouted.  And you know what they say — where briccoli is sprouting, swiss chard won’t be far behind.

What? You haven’t heard that saying?  Trust me; it’s all the rage with the pirates.

]]> http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/03/aquariums-are-for-posers/feed/ 7 http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/03/its-super-cali-fragil-istic-or-so/ http://www.greenerbiener.com/2010/03/its-super-cali-fragil-istic-or-so/#comments Mon, 22 Mar 2010 16:01:06 +0000 daphne http://www.greenerbiener.com/?p=3589 Last week while Colorado was being slammed with yet another blizzard, I was off in sunny Atlanta battling a stomach bug visiting friends battling stomach bugs with friends.  News that my laid-back un-anxious husband had rushed our youngest to the emergency room with a high fever did nothing to help settle my stomach.

It was not exactly a jolly holiday with Mary.

But by the time I returned my daughter’s fever was under control and the snow, which remained firmly frozen over last year’s garden plot,

was melted completely away from the newly selected southern spot.  So I took a teaspoon of sugar to help the medicine go down, then I hit the dirt.

I planted snap peas, spinach. lettuce and onions in the lusciously warm soil outside.  Then I started the broccoli, chard, tomatoes and eggplant in a cozy nook in our dining room.

Maybe Dave had harbored ideas of lounging around, maybe he even wanted to go fly a kite, but instead he hunkered down to constructing the frame for our new plot.

Meanwhile the girls declared it officially picnic weather.  They swept the snow to the ground and snacked in the sun.

It would be hours before we trekked down to Denver to see the musical Mary Poppins (what? you didn’t catch the theme?)

Yet the feel of fresh dirt was warm in my hands.  Soon, so soon, we’d have fresh vegetables.

The girls laughed as they danced from snow pile to swing set.

My handsome hard-working husband hammered happily.

I’m a lucky lady.

It was a perfect day.

And I felt positively supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.