And taste as heavenly.
Every now and then I fall hopelessly in love. I’ve tumbled hard for a spider, a redbird who chirps relentlessly when I forget to fill his feeder and a squishy pair of flip flops. (The latter being a painful subject having found one recently in my pup’s mouth.)
It’s horrible.
I need to be tending to my children.
Yesterday look what I found.
What to do?
It’s a baby watermelon hanging by a thread off a cliff.
Even a greener than Granny Smith farmer like me knows this probably won’t end up well for baby.
Try as I might, don’t think there is anyway to untangle the vines with out doing irreversable damage to it’s lifeline.
Only thing now is to wait and watch.
Only problem is this is who my daughter discovered directly under baby.
This guy (or gal) is directly under hanging by a thread baby.
If heaven forbid, anything should happen to baby, there is no way Miss Farther-along Watermelon could miss the carnage.
Too much drama for me. A mini garden soap opera.
Guess nature will take its course.
No telling how As the Watermelon Turns will eventually end –
My very own horticultural cliff-hanger.
The morning's haul.
My children have been gone all week. It’s been odd. (Will leave that onion to peel in another post.)
With all this free time on my hands, after prying myself out of bed in the morning, I get in the garden and poke around.
Here are the goodies I found yesterday.
I took all those green beans — pole beans, snap beans, whatever you call them — stringed ‘em, snapped ‘em and put them in the crock pot with a bit of water, salt, bacon and the extra special ingredient, a good sprinkling of sugar.
Cooked them till they were good and mushy as all southern veggies are supposed to be.
This was done at the suggestion of Michelle as she healed my torn-up backside the day before. During a most wonderful massage at the hands of Michelle, we talked of our gardens. She mentioned fixing up a bunch of beans in the crock pot (she didn’t add sugar, that was my addition). Her husband and mother LOVED them, but when she tried them…Eeww! Michelle didn’t like them — at all.
“They didn’t taste like canned green beans, did they?”
“No ma’am, they sure didn’t.”
I got it. There is something so very comforting about canned greens beans. Opening a can of green beans, sniffing that wonderful scent, transports me to school lunches on plastic green trays (with four compartments) at Audubon Elementary.
Makes me happy.
But so does the taste of pole beans stewing in their own juice, salt and bit of bacon all afternoon.
Yum. When those beans have come out of your very own garden ~ that’s just plain good eating.
And rather surprising for me. In fact, the whole gardening, cooking thing is quite miraculous where I’m concerned. Not that I’m complaining being the recipient of a minor miracle, especially one that tastes so good.
I love radishes.
Well, I did as a child. They were the only vegetable I really liked to eat.
Radishes are red, crunchy and to six year old me they tasted great.
When planning my garden, I included radishes which we started from seed last April.
Here’s what I harvest this morning.
Is this a little odd?
A turnip.
Large enough to feed a family of five hungry bunnies.
I’m happy that it grew. Not so happy it grew this big.
That’s one of the problems of being a clueless farmer. How do you know when to pull something out of the ground? The green leaves were getting very large, but I thought there must be a bunch of small radishes tucked under there.
Wrong.
Mutant turnip radish.
So now going to get children out there and harvest all our Shaq O’Neal radishes. They’ll love it.
I am going to sow more seeds.
Little discouraged, but guess even Farmer Brown had these days.
