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.

Baby Photo Gallery

daphne on May 21, 2010

Baby Spinach, south garden, May 21, 2010 —

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 —

Oh How the Garden Does Grow, May 20

daphne on May 21, 2010

Sneaking off the couch and hobbling into the back yard I was rewarded with our very first spring salad —

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.

Put That Thing Away

daphne on May 17, 2010

I’ve got girls, so it’s not too surprising that I’d be confounded by the abject masculinity surrounding me these days.  Still, I figured that having five nephews kind of qualified me to manage males.

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.

Inch by Inch, Row by Row, Gee I’ve had it with this Snow

daphne on May 12, 2010

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.

May 7…Frost v the Flowers

daphne on May 9, 2010

It’s hard to tiptoe on the tulips when they are slick with snow–

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.

In the Garden…April

daphne on May 7, 2010

April 12, and our previously perky sprouts have called it quits.

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 in the Garden

daphne on May 7, 2010

March is a pyscho. Never mind the whole lion and lamb thing.  It comes in like a fluffy bunny and then just like that turns into a frigid witch and then right back into a kitten. It’s driving me a little batty.

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

Au Natural Trellis

daphne on April 13, 2010

When they were finally coaxed down from the trees, he built this beautiful trellis.

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–

When Monkeys Fly…

daphne on April 12, 2010

…that’s when I’ll be comfortable with my gang hanging around in the treetops.  Not only do my monkeys currently lack the capacity for flight, but they have a marked propensity for rapid, headfirst dismounts from all activities.

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.