Noooooo! Not My Squash

daphne on September 8, 2009

The same deluge that’s been teasing out the ragweed and the thistles in miserable numbers has been working wonders on our garden.  Instead of popping out with one of two nuggets of goodness, vines are bursting forth in clusters of fruitfulness.  I should be pleased. I should be grateful.  But I’m sulking.

Sure, the tomatoes are tantalizing

And yes, the raspberries are remarkable,

And I suppose we are enjoying the piles of purple potatoes,

But it’s not enough.  Remember Big Bertha?  That feminine nugget on which I pinned all my butternut hopes and dreams?

She is no more.  She was my lone female, and now she’s gone before the bees even had a chance to do their business.  It’s not good.  There comes a time in every woman’s life where she has to draw the line.  She has to say Enough is Enough.  That time, my friends, has come.

Incensed, I marched inside and called the extension program over at Colorado State University and left a message about the peculiar gender trends taking place in my back yard.  Surely there is a PhD student out there just waiting to tackle my plight, restore balance to my backyard, and write an award-winning thesis to boot.

Surprisingly, no student was readily available, so I spoke instead to a master gardener.  Now perhaps under other circumstances she’s a decent human being.  But good intentioned or not, she had the audacity to suggest that perhaps my soil was nitrogen-heavy.  Or phosphorous-light.   She doesn’t even know us and here she casually insinuating that my garden has a chemical imbalance?  Pah-lease.  At least she didn’t second the opinion of her colleague, the scientist who gently offered that some squash, not necessarily mine, but some do show hermaphroditic tendencies when they get toward their terminus.  Really? You want to go there, do you?

It was hard to hear at first, but I am nothing if not a caring and nurturing mother gardener.  And so I will ship off a sample of my sweet innocent, albeit potentially imbalanced, soil.  I’ll send it out there into the science world to be judged.  I will do whatever my baby needs to be make it in this cold, dark, mean world.  Especially if that means my garden is happy.

Because if my garden is happy, then I am happy.  Mmmm, I am just about as hungry happy as a clam with a mouthful of my favorite butternut squash pasta. Have you tried this ambrosia of a dinner yet?  It is time. It’s delicious. It’s easy.  It’s wonderful.  And if the squash gods aren’t shining down on you, it’s ok.   Someone, somewhere is having success growing the gourds.  Pick one up at the farm stand.  It’s even, gulp, worth a trip to the market.

Footloose and Sneezy-free

daphne on August 22, 2009

Thank you to all for the plethora of suggestions on how to beat the seasonal snotties.  I take it you were not impressed with my plan of barring the doors and windows and never venturing forth into polite company again?

Worries over me becoming a hermit are groundless.  Why just today I strolled out through the door and into my garden.  I made it almost 5 minutes before the allergens launched their merciless attack.  And despite the onslaught I lasted another half hour past that, long enough to photograph the progress of the garden.  Because, yippee, we are making progress.

Not only have the cucumbers finally gone co-ed, but they’ve been (getting) busy.  They are not big, they are not ready, but they are going to be tasty. . .if they reach their teens before the first frost. (Note, objects taken at extreme close-up may actually be just a tiny fraction of apparent size.)

Not quite as far along socially are the squash vines.  Still, credit where credit is due–they too are showing signs of leaving bachelorhood behind.  Here, without further ado, is our first female flower.

Allow me to introduce you to Big Bertha, our beautiful butternut babe-to-be.  I am expecting big things from her, assuming some studly male steps up and does his duty.

I am impressed by the perseverance of the rainbow chard.  I had given it up as gone to the bugs when we returned home to find the leaves holey and frail; but when I trimmed them back new growth sprung forth.  Looks like the cucumbers may have someone to play with after all (you know, on my salad plate.)

The raspberries are numerous and ripening fast–

Ahh, and the tomatoes.  The tomatoes are hanging heavy.  Really heavy.

Is it wrong to think that it might be time for my produce to get a bra?


Hit the road, jack

daphne on June 19, 2009

It’s time. We are ready to hit the road, Jack.

Heck yeah we’re bringing Jack; who’d you think was going to do all the driving and the refueling and the feeding and entertaining of whining kids?  OK, not really.  It would be delightful to have imaginary handy Jack along, but it’ll just be the four of us cruising the country’s roads.   As you’ve probably guessed, I am busy teaching the girls the lyrics to such classics as I Ate a Peanut, and She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain.  It’s going to be just great.

The critics say we are crazy to attempt this trip sans electronics. Concern is so high, in fact, that I have already declined, politely, three separate offers to borrow mini-DVD players.  Last night, Dave came home from work with a loaner.  His co-workers were worried about our caveman-style approach to car time.  I remain committed to old school.  How can we sing about all those bottles falling off the wall if the children have battery-operated alternatives?

I might be wrong, so to be on the safe side I will keep my mind open and the charged DVD player in the trunk.  You know, just in case Disney is the one thing that keeps me from going completely nuts.

Speaking of nuts, there’s the issue of food on the road.  Though I deny my children all the good stuff 360+ days of the year, travel time is treat time.  I’ve been loading up a box with all the means to make the trail-crossing pleasant; we’re got nuts, yes, and trail mix heavy with m+ms and licorice whips and potato chips, and more.  If our wagon loses a wheel, I am confident that we’ll stave off starvation.

And what about the garden?  Sadly, those berries did not ripen despite my repeated requests and explanations about the tight calendar.  In the interest of research, we threw more seeds in the ground, set out a drip line, and are hoping for the best.

Here’s what’s happening now, as I callously leave my fresh fruit and veggies behind in the dirt and ply my children with sugar instead:

After the first round of sprouts keeled over, I tried again for cucumbers.  Here they are, just poking up through the earth–

Dave apparently had a similar thought, so he went right ahead and dug in a baby tomato. Right on top of my squash.  See what happens when spouses don’t communicate?   It will be a fierce battle (but seeing as my squash has all her sisters and she, I don’t think his puny tomato has much of a chance.)  Only time will tell which veggie will prevail (Go squash Go!)

The potatoes trees are out of control.  What?  You didn’t know that potatoes grow on trees?  Perhaps you’ve heard otherwise, but then how do you explain this–

It’s a potato jungle out there.

We won’t be here to see all the changes in the garden over the next six weeks, but we did get to witness one marked change this week.  Ahh, Acadia.  What would a vacation be without a stopover first for some xrays?

Here she is at the beginning of the week, the happy-as-a-clam swimming cowgirl.

And here she is yesterday, noticeably sadder.

Her boldly attempted ceiling-slap-from-high-leap off the bed resulted not in a gold medal, but in a hairline fracture in her foot.  Kids!  Aren’t they a kick in the pants?

Still life with Squash

daphne on October 24, 2008

Beautiful right? Like something you’d see hanging in a Parisian museum between a reclining nude and gaggle of ballerinas.  Just don’t look too closely or you’ll notice for sure the wine glass towering above the tiny squashlings. Shortly after I snapped this shot I downed the glass of wine.  I wasn’t exactly drowning sorrows, but I felt plenty bad that all of my hard work and eager anticipation was for naught.  Especially given my active involvement in squash reproduction back in the heat of the summer.  Well, upon serious consideration it looks like next year’s sex 101 will take place early in the spring. I’ll just clear the March snow from the garden and get to work, that’s all. Seems there’s credence after all to those birds and bees getting busy already by April and May.

Here’s the harvest from today, the thing that’s got my panties in a twist.

There you see my squash babes, some barely larger than a berry, growth halted and flesh withered from a day that began at close to 20 degrees and despite a blazing Colorado never heated up.  The berries could care less.  The squash, (and my toes) have called it a season.

As I am relatively new to the greenish thumb club there is something I don’t understand.  How is it that the raspberries are still going strong long after the time to toss them into a crisp has past? Why are my fledgling squash floundering just as the time comes for their ultimate sacrifice in autumn soup or my favorite pasta?

And of course, the age old question returns with gusto: how in the world will I keep my toes warm until flip flop season comes back?

So they all puree Part II

daphne on October 10, 2008

Did I mention in that previous post how totally lucky I am to have parents that not only keep my children from falling out of trees better than I do, but also do all the leg work so that I can create squash-based masterpieces?

Lest my parents think me ungrateful, I took that squash and bam! turned it into soup. With the weather outside finally turning frightful, this butternut squash soup is certainly worth a try. I mean, how bad can anything be if it’s topped in cheddar cheese and buttery apples? And do not fret if you’ve no butternuts. I still haven’t a clue what squash I inhereted, and it all worked out just fine.

Also, thanks to Amy at Five Flower Mom for mentioning that the pureed squash would make a fine impersonator in pumpkin muffins. Pumpkin muffins are a favorite around here (not in the least because ours come loaded down with dark chocolate chips) and the kiddies are always happy to roll up their sleeves and help mix it up.

With snow predicted for tomorrow, an empty calendar at long last, and my high school reunion behind me, I’m settling in for a nice long weekend of baking, and eating.

I wish you the same.

the cat goes away…so they all puree?

daphne on October 8, 2008

Away I went. Really. All by myself on a handful of airplanes and trains and cars to land at my high school reunion. Who me, worry? Not a chance, for back in the real world I had grandma and grandpa settled in to help Dave with the girls. I am told that all went well. Sure there is some underlying chatter about a glass platter that is no more; and yes, we do have a brand new microwave though no one will confirm nor deny the occurrence or lack thereof of an explosion or not in our previous microwave. But really, all is well and good.

The children are in one piece. Acadia, bless her little heart, was kind enough to wait for my return before falling out of a tree (minor scratches only, miraculously.) The kids are so ecstatic to have Mommy home again that they have totally forgotten that I am the same monster that notoriously turns down candy requests and demands unreasonably early bedtime rituals. I’m riding this wave of popularity as long as I can.

Of course, when you are the lucky recipient of free childcare it goes without saying that things will be done a little differently. And of course I wanted nothing more than for my parents to settle in, in a mi casa es su casa kind of way. And I for one am fine with a weekend full of ice cream for breakfast and 127 trips to the pool. That’s what grandparents are for.

That, and pureed squash. Surely this has happened to you? You return home to find a freezer chock full of unmarked fluorescent orange baggies?

No? Suddenly we’re not on the same page anymore? I’m telling you, retirement changes people.

The story goes that my parents were accosted by a “greenish pumpkiny looking thing” at the market. Really, what else could they do? Mommy-rules fly out the window faster than a greased cat through a keyhole, but my story about putting up enough food for the winter? That they took to heart.

And so I return, exhausted from a wonderful weekend of pretending that absolutely no time has past since the glory days of 1988. I didn’t have to worry about my children. And I certainly don’t have to worry about running out of squash.

I wonder if I can interest anyone in soup?

Butternut Squash Soup

daphne on October 8, 2008

This is the perfect lunch for a cool fall day. I’ve only made it using butternut squash so far, but considering the abundance of mystery squash currently on hand, I’m going to try mixing it up. I’ll report back with results.

Ingredients:

  • 2 Tbls olive oil
  • I medium onion thinly sliced
  • ¾ cup apple cider
  • 1 2lb butternut squash in 1 inch cubes
  • 4 ½ cups chicken broth
  • ½ cup heavy cream
  • 2 Tbls butter
  • 1 apple diced
  • 1/3 cup smoked cheddar

To Do:

  • Heat oil and sauté onion for about 8 minutes.
  • Add apple cider and stir until sticky, about 3 mins.
  • Add squash and stock and bring to a boil, reduce and simmer until tender, about 40 minutes.
  • Puree.
  • Add cream and stir.
  • In medium skillet sauté butter and diced apple.
  • Ladle soup into bowls, top with apples and cheddar.

Eggplant layers

daphne on September 12, 2008

I am a new lover of eggplant. I never could stand the stuff growing up, but I tried this yummy appetizer at Grandma’s house and came home determined to replicate it. I think I came pretty close. It would work sliced small as an appetizer, but I served it in big pieces for dinner.

Ingredients:

  • Eggplant, peeled and sliced thin
  • Summer squash, sliced thin (optional)
  • Fresh Mozzarella
  • Sage leaves
  • Tomatoes
  • Roasted red peppers
  • balsamic vinegar
  • small bowl each of milk, flour, and breadcrumbs

To Do:

  1. Dredge the eggplant and squash slices in flour, then milk, then breadcrumbs. Fry briefly on each side and set aside on towel to dry.
  2. Place eggplant and squash in a casserole dish. Layer alternatively with cheese, sage leaves, tomatoes and red peppers.
  3. I drizzle the balsamic on top of the cheese, or on top of the eggplant. Just a splash to kick up the flavor a notch or two, you know, like Emeril would do.
  4. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes, or until the cheese has melted.

Let’s talk about sex, baby

daphne on August 20, 2008

Sure, springtime’s got young lovers and the birds and the bees and I’m on board with all of that. Who doesn’t like love in their air? But honestly, it’s autumn that has my thoughts turning to sex. Pumpkin sex that is, and squash booty and hot cucumber action and well, you get the picture. Visions of procreating gourds are dancing in my head.

Speaking of sex, it’s not too much to say that Dave and I have got the girl-making game down pat. Indoors, at least. Somehow we take that step from boudoir to backyard and suddenly all we’ve got to show for our efforts are boys, boys, boys. When it comes to flowering vines, our garden is a no-girls-allowed frat party of testosterone. Across the board our sporty gourds are nothing but snips and snails and puppy dog tails.

Hang on a minute. Male flowers? Pumpkin sex? What? Your fifth-grade teacher skipped the part about girl and boy squash blossoms? Do not fear, I am here, and I never tire of talking sex, gourd or otherwise. Here’s what you need to know: To tell the difference between boys and girls, flip over your flowers. If your flower looks like this…

female flower

…congratulations, it’s a girl. See how she wears her womb on her sleeve? That little nub beneath the flower (which she has yet to open) is her fruit-to-be. Come on girlfriend, waving your reproduction flag is no way to lure a man. But lo, the Romeos for whom she waits are right next door:

male flowers

The males stand strong. The stems run straight up into the flowers. (Of course they stand straight, they’re not the ones lugging around all that pre-squash weight. Hey, does this baby squash make my blossom look fat?)

Our vines last summer tended towards boys-only too, forcing me to take matters into my own hands. When at last a lady pumpkin flower showed up, I got down and dirty, inseminating, pumpkin style. (Note: I’ve been informed that one cannot actually inseminate anything without, well, you know.) Still, I plucked a lusty male blossom, rubbed him good on our single brave female, and wham bam thank you me, I made a baby pumpkin.

At least last year’s bachelor party was limited to the pumpkins. Our butternut squash needed no help in the lovin’ department. It took both kids just to heft the gorgeous gourds of ’07.

They were big, and they were bountiful. Only two vines, but they produced upwards of 10 hefty squash. We were so impressed with their ability to reproduce on their own that we skipped the fertility-challenged pumpkins altogether this year and went crazy with the squash seeds. After all, brown-sugar-bronzed butternut squash is the star of my favorite pasta recipe.

I have been looking forward to that pasta all summer, so I’m getting a little desperate about the dearth of ladies on my vines. What is one to do about the preponderance of males in the garden? I don’t know, and I haven’t yet found anyone out there who does. In the meantime, I’m adding a healthy dash of sugar and spice and everything nice to the compost pile. I’ll let you know how that goes.

Update from the garden: It’s ladies night! As I write this, four potential squashettes sit on the vine advertising their wares to the plethora of suitors. I think the numbers are in their favor.