Things I Know

Rasta Furian: at night. No idea what he looks like in daytime.

 

 

Here’s what I know:

Wearing a mask for hours and hours at a time creates the perfect environment for growing menopausal chin hairs – long and abundant;

A brand-new washer and dryer in this day and age is truly, truly frightening. There are lights, digital read-outs, things I don’t understand, stuff I don’t recognize – this is not your grandpa’s washing machine;

This year is more than bizarre in so many ways. I have sunflowers that are only 6 inches high, and okra plants that are more than waist high, and cucumbers growing in the very few sunflowers that are almost normal height;

Rastafurian is apparently invisible during the hours from 9 am to 9 pm. We’ve hunted all over the house and cellar for him; his mommy came and hunted all over the house and cellar for him; he was not to be found. So when every reasonable and logical possibility has been proven wrong, that means the impossible, illogical, unreasonable remains must be true: he’s invisible;

He isn’t a vampire because I was able to take his picture and it’s visible, and he didn’t burst into flames when I did it;

I hate days when I’m not comfortable if I’m wearing a shirt, and I’m not comfortable if I’m not wearing a shirt;

I’ve mostly given up on the garden this year. It’s been a horrible garden year. I’ll keep looking for stuff to eat in it, but I’m not at all impressed. Knee-high corn, chest-high okra with no flowers, several tomato plants that never got higher than 18 inches, and some of the others that have only 1 or 2 fruits on them --- it goes on;

The last 2 foot by 2 foot space missing bricks in the new sorta-patio area at the garden entrance may never get filled;

Tendinitis doesn’t get better if you keep over-using the joint;

I’ve really missed having a cat who’s a lover, but it would be nice if I could see him in the daylight hours;

Four minutes of rain, even heavy rain, isn’t enough rain to make the garden happy;

Take a large glass; pour in about 2 inches of cold coffee; add an equal amount of heavy cream – half-and-half in a pinch if you don’t have cream; add a couple of ice cubes, then fill the glass with sparkling water – there is no better drink. You can add a dash of vanilla extract or almond extract if you like;

Deviled eggs, and anything else I feel like eating, don’t make themselves, which is a problem when I don’t feel like cooking, either;

Just because I don’t feel like cooking doesn’t mean I’m going to be happy with food someone else cooked;

It’s a web-worm year; and a tomato-blight year; and a chipmunk-excess year; and a squash-bug year; and a Deb-feels-snarly year;

The house doesn’t dust itself, either;

I wish I could remember where I left my magic wand;

Amaranth - the short version

 

Reading instead of sleeping doesn’t really make you less tired;

Hardy hibiscus flowers are magical;

I put away gladiola bulbs from plants that produced scented flowers, yellow flowers, red flowers, pinkish flowers, and green flowers last fall; I planted them all this summer; so why are they all red flowers this year?

One of the many red glads; and the only yellow one

 

Just because you’re someone who likes to cook doesn’t mean you actually want to cook;

Toast some sourdough bread – the real stuff, not the stuff that has yeast in it – then scrape it with a raw garlic clove, smear it with the best olive oil you own, put sliced really ripe tomatoes from your own garden on the slices, salt liberally, and sprinkle with fresh summer savory: who needs to cook?

Summer savory is better on tomatoes than basil, unless the tomato slices are setting on slices of fresh mozzarella – then you need fresh basil;

Cherry tomatoes picked and eaten in the sun outdoors need no salt; the minute you bring them inside, they need salt;

Cat drool spreads infinitely far;

Do growling cats ever lie? 

 

Deb Marshall photos.

 

Delphiniums, 2nd flowering

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Changes

 

Mixed heathers in bloom

 Mid-August: Change is in the air. And in my house. And in my garden. And in the light outside.

The change that’s in the air is, with any luck, going to become more solid come the September primaries. I still run into people who, at this point, can only be called crackpots or seriously, seriously misinformed and apparently incapable of finding truth for themselves – but I run into them a little less often. Maybe because VT’s governor mandated wearing facemasks in all public places, maybe because a number of towns in NH are following suit, even though the NH governor is still toadying to the man who wants his head on Mt Rushmore (which, you have to admit, is an interesting idea: if it could be accomplished right now, on a stake, there could be a lot of support for the thing, on both sides of the aisle); maybe it’s because more and more people who actually know things have stopped pretending that we have to listen to our fearful leader with a straight face; maybe because we’ve mostly reached our capacity for stupid foolishness, since it’s slid over into dangerous foolishness. Whatever; for the first time in years I actually feel slightly hopeful. I actually smiled the other day.

The change in the air is outside, too – today, at least, it’s less humid and cooler and I don’t feel like a pile of warmed-over cow plop for the first time in a long time. There’s a very slight change in smell, which will grow stronger as the weeks go by, that says that fall is coming. The light has changed, too – we no longer have full summer light, especially in the late afternoon, we have last-richness-before-fall light – a gentler light, a real announcement of dusk coming, a hush that happens only this time of year. Dragonflies are very visible and very obvious; birds, including Buzzy, are racing about and protecting their late-summer food sources; the little ones have fledged, and the chipmunks and birds are busily working the sunflowers, poor stunted beings that they are this year.

Chinese lanterns flowers and thorns

 Squash bugs decimated my zucchini plants after only 2 fruits were produced, and they’re trying to do the same to my summer squash plants – I’ve squooshed way more big juicy squash bugs with my fingers than I ever wanted to. Something that I can’t find – I assume tomato hornworms, but I can’t locate them – have eaten all the leaves off two of my pitiful tomato plants, so the small number of tomatoes on those plants have come inside to ripen off the vine. The okra plants are big and gorgeous this year, but haven’t bloomed yet; the scarlet runner beans are finally flowering, keeping Buzzy Boy in a tizzy as he tries to protect those and his feeders, but unless we have a wicked long fall, all they’ll produce is prettiness – not a bad thing, but not much of a crop. Fava beans this year are just terrible; I’ve pulled all the green beans and most the yellow beans; and the carrot tops are turning black  and dry. It’s just too dry this year and I can’t keep up by watering. The beets – the few that germinate – are good. My leeks are sending up flowers even though they aren’t really big enough to pull and use, yet, so now I’m pulling and using strangely slim leeks. Turns out leek flowers are tasty.

The cucumbers are climbing all over the place and hiding so I’m finding large ones. I discovered that refrigerator pickles made by slicing cukes into leftover curried summer squash pickling juice are to die for; I may have to make more of that brine just to make more frig pickles. I’m going to see if they’re good sliced into leftover beet pickle brine next. This is a good thing about having been raised in NH – you grow up not wasting anything, so of course I saved the extra spiced pickling brines! I just wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them when I did.

 

Rabbit-foot clover

 Potatoes were early and not lots of them; corn is short and while tasseled, meh – it’s the 2^nd year of corn experiment and I’ll do it one more year before I turn those new beds into something else. The pumpkin and winter squash I planted in with the corn died. Again – just too dry, can’t keep up. The other winter squash and pumpkin plants are barely now sending out some blossoms, which will be too late for produce. The only squashy thing doing well is a volunteer that planted itself on the edge of the compost bins – it’s lush and beautiful and I have no idea if it’s a pumpkin or a buttercup yet, but there are some small fruits.

Basil, on the other hand, which took forever to germinate, is doing well and I’ll make pesto for the first time in years. The catnip plants always do well; amaranth is finally head-high and in bloom, but the Love Lies Bleeding, which is a variety of amaranth, is only knee high, but valiantly putting out small blossoms. Calendula is late; nasturtiums so-so; cosmos never germinated; bachelor’s buttons only a few. Bells of Ireland are nowhere, and the thorny, spikey Chinese Lanterns are being eaten by caterpillers faster than I can remove the bugs. I haven’t pulled any turnips yet, but the leaves are rich and lovely.  Morning glories are only now blooming, and they’ve self-seeded and climbed the pear tree again.

Basil!!

 Chipmunks – dammit, chipmunks! Are all through the garden again. And eating more than their fair share. Pepper plants have produced many huge fruits. Fingers crossed that the weather will let them ripen to red. Chipmunks don’t seem to relish peppers, but they eat tomatoes from the bottom up. Parsnips are looking great, but chipmunks – dammit, chipmunks! Fingers crossed that they don’t decimate my parsnip beds over night some night, as they did two years ago. Biscuit watches them avidly from the edge of the wart, but rarely decides to chase them.

Biscuit seems to be completely unconcerned about the shy, 4-year-old cat we brought home yesterday, from a friend who needed to find a new home for him. He was named Shasta, which we immediately changed to Rastafurian, and I can’t show you a photo because he sped out of the cat carrier when we opened it yesterday afternoon, raced about the house, then disappeared. Biscuit watched from her perch on the couch, thinking “Huh. I didn’t know there was another cat living here. I wonder who he is.” And then went back to sleep. Rasta, on the other hand, found a hidey spot I haven’t been able to locate. He emerged and raced through the house briefly last night after The Husband went to bed; then came out and peeped at me, before disappearing again. We heard him making little mewing noises during the night, and I found signs of some of his exploring this morning, but haven’t caught sight of him all day. 

Biscuit - unconcerned

 

I need a dog. A dog would find the cat for me. But I don’t have a dog, so I’ll have to wait for Shasta-Rasta to decide to emerge on his own. At his last home, he let me hand-feed him some treats and play string with him, and rub his back and scritch his tail root, but, oh well – his person said he was shy and so he is. And apparently can turn invisible, too. Biscuit still hasn’t decided she needs to locate him, unless she did it during the night. Once he finally comes out, I’m guessing she’ll totally boss him around.

And so we wait. Changes are in progress, and we hope they’ll all be good ones, and come soon.

Though I hope Fall drags her feet long enough to let the garden change to rich, ripe, harvestable food, first.

Don’t forget to vote. 

The squash/pumpkin in the compost

 

 

 

 

 All photos Deb Marshall