HeronDragonWrites: To Garden In October

Sage. Marjoram. Chive. Thyme, thyme, thyme. Mint. Peppermint. More mint. Calendula. French tarragon. Bay. Kaffir lime. Summer savory. Nasturtium. Holy basil. Thai basil. Clove pinks. Rose petals. Parsley. Garlic chive. Egyptian onion. Sorrel. Dill. Genovese basil. Parsley root.

Most of these went into my own cooking, but armloads of many went to the chef at the café, and to the baker one town over, also. The garlic chives and chives are two big mounds; the sage plant is as large as the rhubarb plant, which is massive; and the marjoram, busily escaping into the field with the thyme and mint, is as large as a large side table. This warm weird summer, the tarragon grew lush and long. The dill seeds itself and pops up all over the garden; most of it has long gone to seed, but there are several bushy baby dill plants that started themselves at the end of summer. Sorrel is a spring herb, but returns in fall. This year’s parsley is last year’s parsley, over-wintered in the kitchen.

I look out the window near my computer that overlooks the garden and the back forty: the maples are ablaze. And yet, the garden still produces.

Hopeful October tomato plant

Still there are flowers: carrot – an impossibility, but this was a summer of miracles – coral and lime green Love Lies Bleeding and some red that was planted late and is just now starting to bleed. Clove pinks in raspberry and pale pink, cosmos in magenta and in pale colors, orange and yellow and cream nasturtiums vining and bunching and climbing; calendula in yellow and orange and burnt orange; magenta hardy hibiscus, purple salvia, purple sage, blue, blue hydrangea. A purple aster from last fall has rebloomed in full glorious purple, some perennial I planted this summer has grown high and is covered with magenta flowers, and the purple and rose morning glory flowers still cover the scarily healthy vines that still engulf one compost bin and twine amongst the scarlet runner bean vines and fall clematis that themselves twine about the back fence. Orange California poppies still emerge and shine amongst the glads and the morning glories that are creeping across the middle of the garden.

The scarlet runners, heat-loving plants, are still blooming a little, as are the tomato plants, the fall raspberries, and a summer squash. I pulled half the carrots last weekend, and the results have totally filled the vegetable bin in the frig; I’m not sure what I’ll do with the other half. Fava beans, which like cool weather, are also in full bloom again, producing their black and white flowers and their strange, padded pods. One lone buttercup squash still hangs from the tomato cage it crawled up; I brought in two big ones to harden and wait in a basket under the dining table until wanted in the winter. There may be another hiding amongst the raspberries, but I won’t know for sure until the fall berries are finished and the slow-moving bees have hived for the winter, when I’ll be able to cut down the old canes and see what’s hidden deep in the patch.

Working the fall raspberries

Sixteen sweet dumpling squashes have been piled in another basket, and between us and friends, we’ve already consumed 9 of these little wonders. Seven butternuts also came inside, and four have already been eaten by us or friends; the last three will wait in the basket with the buttercups until all the sweet dumplings are gone.

The green pepper plants are waist-high and still flowering, still covered with small fruits; I’ve frozen about a dozen, chopped up into useful sizes, and the two I hoped would ripen and turn red – and had half done – were cut short by the chipmunks, who chewed a hole in one side, climbed in (yes, they were that big) and ate all the seeds, then chewed an exit hole on the other side. I cut off the hole rims, rinsed out the inside of the peppers well, then chopped up the remains and sent them to the freezer, too.

From the bathroom window I can see one tall, multi-flowered sunflower still abloom in the raised beds near the house, and another - last one – in the garden. Most of the garden ones have been thoroughly eaten by chipmunks and birds, and the giant flower remains – stems, roots, giant leaves - are slowly moldering in the compost bin.

Unknown Perennial

Unknown plant - tomatillo? Ground cherry???

I’ve frozen endless bags of tomatoes, shell beans, green beans, yellow beans, zucchini, summer squash, and beets. I’ve made 17 pints of zucchini relish, four of dilly beans, and 20 of tomato juice – these from tomatoes I bought. There are still six celeriac plants, parsley root, and half of two rows of carrots in the garden, with the slowing but not finished scarlet runners, one lone green bean plant producing a couple of beans every few days, and okra plants still producing pods. A basket of green tomatoes resides in the dining room, slowly ripening, and another basket’s worth still hang from their plants outdoors. Maybe I’ll make green tomato mincemeat. Maybe I’ll make piccalilli. Maybe I’ll just pick them and let them slowly ripen indoors.

Two patches of parsnips will stay in the garden over winter, and I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the chipmunks don’t eat them during the winter, because there is nothing so wonderful as over-wintered parsnips, and nothing so destructive as this year’s excess of destructive chipmunk colony.

A few onions still hang from pegs in my kitchen, with several skeins of shallots. A half-basket of potatoes still rest in the pantry. The bee balm is gone by; the Sweet Annie is picked and sweetly drying in a vase on the table. Many of the new perennials are blooming in the garden, though small in size yet.

Late Love Lies Bleeding

Here’s the big tally: This summer I moved 276 bricks, 325 pavers, 52 bags of pebbles, 109 bags of cedar, and 66 big rock-like chunks; and that doesn’t count the actual rocks I hauled home from the backside of the town’s deserted sand pile, or that I found on walks with the Old Barkie Boy before his demise. I have 2 pavers and 10 bricks yet to place. I could use more. I know where I’d put them; but I told the guys at the building supply place, if I come down here and try to order more, send me home and tell me no more this year. No. No. No.

It’s was cold the last few days. Some of that bounty’s going to end up in this week’s soup. And I will marvel at how long this growing season has lasted, and all the things that grew that were impossible, or improbable, or fantastic.