The garden

Food / The garden / Uncategorized — 4 Comments
15
May 12

Okra. To be or not to be: The Garden Chronicles, Chapter 31.

Mother’s Day brought lots of rain to our nape of the neck.

And with that rain, the garden did grow.

That meant I needed to play God again with the okra.

I love okra.

Well, I love fried okra and so do my children. So when my transplants from the store dried up and blew away, I dropped a row of okra seeds into the dirt.

Up those seeds sprung.

And now comes a task every farmer must do.

Thin out the seedlings.

Shhhh.

 

 

Yes, it was time.

I don’t know why this causes me angst. Which one should I pull. There are dozens and dozens.

I need to pull at least 10 seedlings for every one kept.

 

I can’t help thinking…is this how God does things? Get in there and pull up a few.

It’s so arbitrary.

So I came at it from a different angle.

Rather than thinking of individual okra, I thought of the OKRA.

As in my crop.

For the good of the entire crop all but a few must be weeded out.

Yes, I did my job and now the remaining plants have room to grow.

I’ll probably have to weed out a few more in a week or so.

I’m really too emotional to be a farmer.

But my love of fried okra prevailed and I made the tough calls.

Actually it got easier as I went along. A lot easier.

How is your garden growing this 15th of May?

 

 

 

 

The garden — 7 Comments
1
May 12

Annihilation. My babies must be protected from large rodents.

Dreams.

They are as much a part of us as sleeping.

Last night I dreamt I was in a hotel room staring out at the sea.

The hotel room caught on fire. I escaped through a wall of flame to stand in the parking lot.

Yay! I survived.

Only to look out across the calm sea to witness an EXPLOSION and twin mushroom clouds.

I had the distinct thought “I hope somebody had the presence of mind to have already pushed our button” then I awoke.

Super start to morning!

I promptly woke up and googled sea, fire and world annihilation.

I knew this meant only one thing.

It was a sign.

Today I was to protect my babies before they were gone.

So I bought these and ringed their pen in it.

Sweeney’s Deer Repellent in no way asked me to do this. I’m just some crazy lady in Central Georgia trying to keep her garden safe.  And these things work!

It had been awhile since I had changed out the “bells” so after my foreboding dream, I did so today.

Here is some of my corn. Teeny things they are.

 

So now that I know my corn’s crib is guarded, hopefully my dreams will be less explosive tonight.

What about you? How do you protect your garden? Other than dreaming about nuclear war.

Life in Madison / The garden / Uncategorized — No Comments
28
Apr 12

Strolling around MadisonFest.

A busy day in Madison, G. A.

We started things off at the primary school track meet where Joe raked in the ribbons ~ as did all the participants.

Then I decided to walk downtown to MadisonFest. A plant sale, craft and art sale extravaganza.

So many cute things….

There were tons of activities for the kids, painting, having their face painted (which always freaked my kids out), eating blue snowcones.

The Rutledge Garden Club had a great booth which in addition to lots of plants had lots of cute craft ideas.

Eugene Swain was painting. I kick myself I didn’t buy a little cardinal for $25 at a booth when we first moved to town.

Just goes to show you….sometimes you need to go with your gut. I would have loved looking at that painting for the last 10 years.

This is the one I would have bought today.  Alas, my checkbook didn’t have much in it.

But I did have enough to visit my good spin friend Lisa Hamilton’s booth. I arrived just as did Phyllis,  another Monday night spin regular…

Lisa, a high school literature teacher by day, jewelry designer in her heart.

I found two cool necklaces and got to take them home in a one-of-a-kind bag by her daughter.

One of those great small town days. And a beautiful one at that.

What did you do this Saturday?

The garden — No Comments
3
Jan 12

Frozen Broccoli. Musing on the heartbreak of farming.

26 degrees.

That’s what the car thermometer read when I darted out this morning to be at the gym at six.

An hour later after working out, sunlight bled through black tree outlines on the way home.

Still 26 degrees.

I needed to check my broccoli. Armed with a knife, I headed out.

It looked okay.

 

Then I cut the stalk.

Frozen. All the way through.

How does that happen in just six hours? For pity’s sake. What to do?

Last year, we had killer ice and any broccoli I tried to eat after that was mealy. You don’t want mealy broccoli. You want tall, green, firm crunchy stalks with tight, flowery heads. (I’m into broccoli.)

I quickly gathered my wits along with a few grocery bags and began hacking away at the largest heads.

 

Rather like surgery without the blood.

And tried to bag as much as I could and stick in the freezer.

 

Rather like Dexter. Without the blood.

Kept thinking about those poor orange growers I remember from growing up in Central Florida. When the temperatures dipped below freezing just for a few hours, entire crops could be ruined. They’d be out lighting pots in the dead of pitch and cold saving their trees.

I should have been out in the howling wind last night throwing a blanket or two on my babies.

Ugh.

Better stop blogging and head back out to save a few more for the freezer.

Why, oh why is this the lot of farm life?

 

Food / The garden / The southern palate / Uncategorized — 5 Comments
1
Jan 12

Musing on mulligans for resolutions.

Do you know they already have Valentine stuff in the stores?

Me in the garden at 9:30 this morning.

 

My leg anyway.

I was picking greens.

Lots of folks have been stopping by the garden lately.

 

 

Know what this is a picture of?

Lots of money given away by me.

 

 

These bushes have been providing lots of collards for folks today.

Greens are consumed for money in the new year and black-eyed peas for luck.

As a child I wondered why you needed to eat the greens for money, for if you were lucky – who needs money?

But today I wasn’t thinking about such esoteric January 1 questions. No I awoke, to realize we had invited all my husband’s family to have New Year chow with us.

This put me in quite a quandary.

My New Year’s resolutions this year?

Go to church every Sunday.

Poop.

There I was out in the garden in my pajamas when I was supposed to be in church.

Awake only two hours and I already failed at my one and only resolution.

Now I got everyone in the family off to church (except me).

Does that count for something?

I might have to write Tim Tebow and get a ruling on a do-over. He’d probably like a few do-overs recently.

 

 

 

 

What do you do with a resolution foul? Completely give up or try again?

Maybe I should shoot for four Sundays in a row or something like that?

Food / The garden — 2 Comments
26
Dec 11

Musing on “I’m Choppin’ Broccoli.”

December 26.

Christmas is over for another year.

And I don’t think I’d ever care to eat again.

I always feel a twinge of quilt when expressing that very heartfelt thought, because I know that there are folks who are in serious need of food. That kind of makes complaining about eating too much of the wrong stuff for 30 days seem silly.

But that is the way I feel.

So today it was out to the garden for some…

My babies. The ones that don't talk back to me.

broccoli.

This is what they looked like the first of September.

Yes, with a little sun and cooler temps along with the occasional downpour those toddlers have turned into this.

Meet Carol.

 

And Robert. Or Bob to those who know him best.

 

Greta. She's shy.

 

I know some of you are saying…naming your broccoli heads? That’s insane.

That’s like naming your calves — as in bovines not lower leg muscles.

For we all know what lies down road.

Killer freeze or….

SCREAM.

 

Yes, Deborah was my lunch. And a fine lunch she was.

I love raw broccoli and here is what I did with it today. The start of my never-eat-again-but-raw-broccoli life.

Courtesy of Allrecipes.com and Edna Hoffman of Hebron, Indiana my

Marinated Deborah. 

Oops.

Marinated Broccoli.

4 teaspoons olive oil

1 tablespoon water

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar

1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon honey

1 garlic clove, minced

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 cups fresh broccoli florets

2 tablespoons chopped sweet red pepper (didn’t have and didn’t add.)

 

Combine the marinate in a jar and shake well. Add your vegetables and toss. Chill for hour.

Done.

That’s all I’m eating for the next 40 years.

What about you?

 

 

Food / The garden / The southern palate — 4 Comments
23
Nov 11

Musing on cooking for Thanksgiving. It’s only part of the story.

I love Thanksgiving. It has always been my favorite holiday.

After hosting the family dinner last year, my children begged me not to. :(

They thought it more fun at their grandmother’s. So I thought it my duty to step up and do my share of the cooking and help out Nannie.

Funny. Cooking is only half the task. The other is planning and shopping.

I am not good planner or shopper.

Maybe that’s why I was making my list at 2 p.m. this afternoon. (I was supposed to be shopping by noon but life got in the way.)

I read the recipes.

 

Made my list and headed to the store.

So in middle of afternoon, I was in checkout line with loaded cart.

FYI, you early birds. It wasn’t terribly crowded. I guess for once it pays to be a tad off schedule.

 

 

That’s when it started dawning on me I’ve got lots to do between now and decent bedtime — for a 3:45 wake-up time.

Make sweet potatoes.

Make pecan pies.

Make corn casserole. (No, I’ll do that tomorrow.)

Go into garden and pick collards. Prepare collards.

Collard greens from the garden.

 

No one will eat these but my daughter, teenager and me. (And my father-in-law because he’s kind and feels obligated.)

Had friends stop by and pick greens and lettuce. That made it very fun and holiday. Nothing makes me feel more holiday than giving things away and getting a hug in return.

Here’s a picture of a head of Romaine that I will pick tomorrow for a fabulous new salad I’ve learned about. It’s his last night in the garden.

How beautiful is he? Tomorrow your mine, pretty.

 

Then I made pimento cheese with this new recipe I found for garden club. It was so fab, I’m making it to bring as appetizer with crackers just because I’ve been dreaming about it.

Saved last of the sweet potatoes from my summer garden for the casserole.

A little tradition I started last year.

Beauties too.

 

My pies are still in oven and I’m cleaning up.

Are you still cooking at 9 p.m. the night before Thanksgiving?

I need to turn in soon. Hope your feast is merry and bright. (Or is that for some other holiday?)

 

 

Georgia / South / The garden — 6 Comments
6
Oct 11

Musing on planting a fall garden. Lofton and Me.

“What are you doin’ with that camera? You’re always taking pictures.”

“Lofton. I have a blog. Do you know what a blog is?”

He nodded affirmative.

 

Today was the day. The winter garden was going in so naturally I was snapping pictures.

Lofton and his brother Charles did the honors. Because frankly, preparing and planting my little space of God’s Green Acre is a lot harder than I ever imagined when I decided to “become one with the land” a few springs ago.

A fall, till killer-frost garden, basically has greens.

Collards, mustards, turnips, chard, lettuces and my personal favorite.

Of all the things I have planted summer or fall  (well, of all the things Lofton has planted and I have tended) broccoli is my favorite. A true southern gal should say something like tomatoes or butter beans, but I never lie to you. Even if it breaks with my southern “brand.”

I love brocoli and if you’ve ever seen it grow it is GLORIOUS. (But that is another post.)

When I told Lofton about the blogging part, he did this.

Charles was worrying that I was going to put their picture in the paper.

 

No. Just my blog.

Last year, I ended up with lots of greens, much more than I could eat.

My friend Annie, who I met when she knocked on my door to pray for my garden, takes lots and cooks them for other folks.

My motto: my garden is your garden. But don’t go messin’ too much with my brocoli.

 

Race in a small town is a funny thing.  Or maybe it’s the most natural thing in the world? Differences, I mean. Why does being the same, but different have to be a bad thing?

When in Atlanta, we lived in an in-town neighborhood insulated and surrounded with lots of urban, upper-middle class, most-likely-liberal, feeling enlightened folks.

In a small town,

white/black, doin’-okay/doin’-not-so-great,

live side-by-side. Or block-by-block.

I know some folks say one thing and hold another in their heart.

But I can’t fix people.

Lofton and I are cool.

He doesn’t always understand me. I don’t always understand him.

But we understand the garden and

 that white or black —

doin’-okay or doin’-not-so-great —

we care about each other.

 

My garden’s planted. A bit late, steeping with chicken manure, but we got us a garden.

How about you? Do you grow anything in the fall?

 

The garden — 9 Comments
3
Aug 11

Musing on Sunflowers. The Circle of Life.

 I feel pretty, oh so pretty.

Sunflowers. The best thing on the planet if you exclude Snuffer’s Cheddar Fries dipped in ranch dressing.

I can’t let a summer go by without planting them.

 Dig a trench, drop the seeds, cover them up and this is the result.

 

 

Like a woman in all her glory. Albeit a modest one.  (Or one who dutifully wears a bonnet sheltering her delicate face from the sun.)

Life begins to take from her beauty as well as the bees.

If I ever need inspiration or motivation for a little hard work, I watch the bees toiling away in the center of my sunflowers.

Before you know it the sun, rain (or lack of it this year), bees, children, parents, aunts and ants have taken their toll.

Ripe with life. Beauty retreated inward. A deeper beauty.

At least that’s what we tell ourselves as we slather on creams, have peels and start to stoop on arthritic knees. A loveliness recognized by those understanding life. A life filled with days in the sun, nurturing the bees and thriving the best way we know in spite of obstacles like drought, beetles and deer’s nibbles.

This is the way they all end up. Leaning, bending toward a topple to the ground.

The best part is saving their heads in the shed. (That sounds rather cannibalistic.)

Putting them outside in dead of winter with their life’s fruit makes the birds and squirrels so happy.

A life well lived gives till the end.

After witnessing this miracle summer after summer, you’d think that message would seep into my thick, starting -to-tip-ever-so-downward head.

What to look forward to planting each summer?

Georgia / Life in Madison / South / The garden — 4 Comments
4
May 11

Musing on the birth of our garden…finally.

Last week while in Florida I placed a panicked call to Lofton, my garden righthand and green thumb. Was I worried if he came through the storm okay?

Yes,

and no.

I just realized May was upon us and NOTHING had been done to start the garden, other than a meager start of some transplants on the porch. Who flourished, BTW.

Lofton said folks around town had been asking him when we were going to get started on putting stuff in the ground.

Time for action.

We rented a tiller on Monday…and Lofton worked the land.

Then he came by yesterday and we headed up to Lowes.

We were trying to remember what the heck we planted last year???

Then to Southern States for seed.

Lofton went to work.

I was working too…only on the computer. See, I really couldn’t get this done without him.

 
 

In the foreground are all my squash, cukes and watermelon babies. They are sooo happy to finally make contact with the Georgia clay.

Well, now I have to unearth the sprinkler because that little bit of rain that came through last night was nothing more than a good spit.

My hose has holes. Got to get a new one of those.

I’m happy…we are on our way. Tomatoes, sweet potatoes, okra, corn, butter beans, field peas, yellow squash, zucchini, pole beans, assorted peppers and my little transplants.

Lord take it from here.

← Older Entries