It's settled: green beans respond to threats.
Remember that last week I gave my green beans a talking-to because they hadn't produced? By the end of the week, they were looking as though they might have listened, for on Saturday I gathered a couple of handfuls of beans, and saw many more that were too little to pick.
You ought to see them now!
Mother says that the more you pick green beans, the more they make, so I went to the garden this afternoon to gather what beans were there, hoping to spur them on. I was expecting to gather maybe another handful or two of beans. Boy, did I underestimate them! The vines are loaded with beans, and making more. I picked half a sack full of beans from about half a row of vines before it got too dark to see what I was doing. I'll go back in the morning to get the rest. It looks like I might get to can some beans, after all!
We love them small and tender. I'll pack them whole into pint jars and process them in the pressure canner. (I am scared to death of that thing.) They'll be yummy this winter, sauteed in garlic butter with mushrooms and pearl onions.
The new crop of green beans that we planted on the 16th is doing well. The butterbeans that we planted that same day have sprouted, too, but they look funny - kind of...crinkled and nappy, like they just got out of bed. Heh, I guess, in a way, they did!
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Thursday, August 28, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
The Ultimatum
I had a talk with my green beans today.
They've been sitting there all summer long doing nothing. Nothing. I've watered them, I've fed them, I've weeded them. The vines are beautiful - full and lush, loaded with blooms. But something goes wrong between the bloomin' and the beanin'; we've harvested one small meal from them the whole summer.
So today I told them, "You've got one week. One week to show me what you've got, or you're outta here."
I explained to them that there are two new rows of green beans sprouting, just on the other side of the tomatoes. Pretty soon, they'll need supporting. The old beans have a good fence. It can be moved, once I get the old bean vines off it. So I repeated my warning: "If you guys haven't wowed me by next weekend, you're history."
We'll see if they listened.
While I was in the garden, I cut four big sunflower heads - big as dinner plates - and put them in the shed to finish drying. If I can figure out how, I'm going to roast them. The rest, I left for the birds to eat.
Thumped the biggest watermelon again (not that I can tell if it's ripe by that method, but it is vaguely satisfying to thump them). Daddy says the curlique will dry up when the melon is ready. This one looks pretty far from dry.
The pumpkin vines have little pumpkins on them, soft-ball-sized, and bigger. Maybe we'll have some home-grown jack-o-lanterns, or at least a pie or two.
For the past couple of weeks, we've had some good rain showers, and the blight-stricken tomatoes have found new leases on life. They're showing new green growth and have begun to bloom again. It'll be interesting to see what they do before frost.
The billiard-ball squash is about ready to eat. I'm excited to see what they're like - would cook some for supper tonight, if I hadn't already told the husband he's taking me out to dinner. The seed packet said that the fruit grows rapidly once it starts, and that is surely the truth; only two days ago, the billiard balls were marbles. I hope they're not too big to eat by tomorrow!
Weekend plans: two buckets of pears await. I intend to make pear butter out of them. Let's hope it turns out better than the peach jam.
-------------
They've been sitting there all summer long doing nothing. Nothing. I've watered them, I've fed them, I've weeded them. The vines are beautiful - full and lush, loaded with blooms. But something goes wrong between the bloomin' and the beanin'; we've harvested one small meal from them the whole summer.
So today I told them, "You've got one week. One week to show me what you've got, or you're outta here."
I explained to them that there are two new rows of green beans sprouting, just on the other side of the tomatoes. Pretty soon, they'll need supporting. The old beans have a good fence. It can be moved, once I get the old bean vines off it. So I repeated my warning: "If you guys haven't wowed me by next weekend, you're history."
We'll see if they listened.
While I was in the garden, I cut four big sunflower heads - big as dinner plates - and put them in the shed to finish drying. If I can figure out how, I'm going to roast them. The rest, I left for the birds to eat.
Thumped the biggest watermelon again (not that I can tell if it's ripe by that method, but it is vaguely satisfying to thump them). Daddy says the curlique will dry up when the melon is ready. This one looks pretty far from dry.
The pumpkin vines have little pumpkins on them, soft-ball-sized, and bigger. Maybe we'll have some home-grown jack-o-lanterns, or at least a pie or two.
For the past couple of weeks, we've had some good rain showers, and the blight-stricken tomatoes have found new leases on life. They're showing new green growth and have begun to bloom again. It'll be interesting to see what they do before frost.
The billiard-ball squash is about ready to eat. I'm excited to see what they're like - would cook some for supper tonight, if I hadn't already told the husband he's taking me out to dinner. The seed packet said that the fruit grows rapidly once it starts, and that is surely the truth; only two days ago, the billiard balls were marbles. I hope they're not too big to eat by tomorrow!
Weekend plans: two buckets of pears await. I intend to make pear butter out of them. Let's hope it turns out better than the peach jam.
-------------
Monday, August 18, 2008
Fall Gardening
I dug the potatoes this evening. They did not produce much of a crop. (Pop-Pop saw my two pitiful little sacks of potatoes and said, "Well, you got your seeds back.") If we were counting on the potato crop to get us through the winter, we'd be in trouble.
After I dug the potatoes, I tilled up the rows and planted sweet peas in their place. Even though the almanac says that the "moon favorable" days for peas have passed, the seed package said the planting dates were "Jan.-Feb." and "August," and, by golly, it's still August, so they into the ground they went.
I pulled up a few spent tomato plants. Since we've had a few rain showers lately, some of the tomato plants have started blooming again. I left those alone, thinking they might catch their second wind. Tomorrow, I'm going to cut the sunflowers and hang the heads to dry before the birds get any more of the seeds.
The billiard-ball squash plants that I planted about a month ago are blooming. I can't wait to see what they produce. Pumpkin vines are looking good. The watermelons have a few melons on them, one almost big enough to eat.
The pole bean vines may be the next to go. So far, they have been a huge disappointment. The vines are lush and gorgeous. They bloom. They just haven't made any beans. We've had one meal of green beans from those vines all summer. I keep hoping they'll wake up and make beans, but so far all they've done is take up space. The straight-neck squash have been almost as disappointing.
On the bright side, we've had a good crop of tomatoes, cucumbers, and black-eyed peas. The butterbeans outdid themselves. The jury is still out on the butterpeas. (I planted them a little later than the rest of the beans, and then the rabbits ate the first few sets of leaves, setting them back a bit.)
In about a month, it'll be time to plant greens - turnips, mustard, collards, kale, and spinach. Last year, I planted my greens W-A-Y too thick. Maybe before next month, I can figure out how to sow them properly.
---------
After I dug the potatoes, I tilled up the rows and planted sweet peas in their place. Even though the almanac says that the "moon favorable" days for peas have passed, the seed package said the planting dates were "Jan.-Feb." and "August," and, by golly, it's still August, so they into the ground they went.
I pulled up a few spent tomato plants. Since we've had a few rain showers lately, some of the tomato plants have started blooming again. I left those alone, thinking they might catch their second wind. Tomorrow, I'm going to cut the sunflowers and hang the heads to dry before the birds get any more of the seeds.
The billiard-ball squash plants that I planted about a month ago are blooming. I can't wait to see what they produce. Pumpkin vines are looking good. The watermelons have a few melons on them, one almost big enough to eat.
The pole bean vines may be the next to go. So far, they have been a huge disappointment. The vines are lush and gorgeous. They bloom. They just haven't made any beans. We've had one meal of green beans from those vines all summer. I keep hoping they'll wake up and make beans, but so far all they've done is take up space. The straight-neck squash have been almost as disappointing.
On the bright side, we've had a good crop of tomatoes, cucumbers, and black-eyed peas. The butterbeans outdid themselves. The jury is still out on the butterpeas. (I planted them a little later than the rest of the beans, and then the rabbits ate the first few sets of leaves, setting them back a bit.)
In about a month, it'll be time to plant greens - turnips, mustard, collards, kale, and spinach. Last year, I planted my greens W-A-Y too thick. Maybe before next month, I can figure out how to sow them properly.
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Sunday, August 17, 2008
#)!@% Almanac
Yesterday Sarah, my daughter-in-law, voiced a hankering for some peas, so I took her to the garden, and we picked the last of the purple hull peas while Nanny & Pop-Pop babysat my grandsons. After the pickin', we retired to the back porch to cool off with tall glasses of iced water. While we were sitting there, I happened to look over and see this year's Farmer's Almanac laying on the porch rail.
An almanac is a mystery to me. It is full of strange symbols, disjointed maxims, and vague weather predictions (see, e.g., http://www.rarebookroom.org/Control/frapop/index.html ). Though Pop-Pop can grab an almanac and figure out in 10 seconds flat (once he finds his glasses) when to plant something, I have never even been able to figure out which page that information is printed on. But, wonder of wonders, yesterday when I picked up the almanac, it flopped opened to the "when to plant" page, which Pop-Pop had folded in half for easy reference. As I have been intending to plant a second crop of peas or beans, I ran my finger down the list of vegetables, and there it was: Beans...Moon favorable...8/1-8/16.
"Aw shoot...!" I said out loud. THIS was 8/16, which meant that if I did not get my second crop of peas/beans in the ground THIS VERY DAY, the moon would not smile favorably on my effort.
"What?" said Sarah.
"The almanac says I should plant beans TODAY."
"Well, let's get at it," Sarah said. "I'll help."
I stalled as much as I could. Truth was, I did not want to work in the garden at 3 p.m. "We can't just PLANT," I told Sarah. "First, we have to pull up the pea vines, then we have to plow, and I probably can't get the tiller cranked, and . . . "
"I can pull up pea vines," Sarah said.
"The tiller'll crank," Pop-Pop chimed in.
They were ganging up on me.
While Sarah and I pulled up the old pea vines, Pop-Pop gassed up the tiller and sprayed it with something that smelled vaguely like...fingernail polish remover. My husband gave the cord a couple of yanks, and the tiller started. Within a few minutes, we had a brand new puliverized seed bed for the second bean crop. My grandsons had a heck of a time swimming in the soft, warm dirt.
We marked off 4 rows on which Sarah planted 2 rows of butterbeans and 2 rows of green beans.
I hope the moon approved.
---------
An almanac is a mystery to me. It is full of strange symbols, disjointed maxims, and vague weather predictions (see, e.g., http://www.rarebookroom.org/Control/frapop/index.html ). Though Pop-Pop can grab an almanac and figure out in 10 seconds flat (once he finds his glasses) when to plant something, I have never even been able to figure out which page that information is printed on. But, wonder of wonders, yesterday when I picked up the almanac, it flopped opened to the "when to plant" page, which Pop-Pop had folded in half for easy reference. As I have been intending to plant a second crop of peas or beans, I ran my finger down the list of vegetables, and there it was: Beans...Moon favorable...8/1-8/16.
"Aw shoot...!" I said out loud. THIS was 8/16, which meant that if I did not get my second crop of peas/beans in the ground THIS VERY DAY, the moon would not smile favorably on my effort.
"What?" said Sarah.
"The almanac says I should plant beans TODAY."
"Well, let's get at it," Sarah said. "I'll help."
I stalled as much as I could. Truth was, I did not want to work in the garden at 3 p.m. "We can't just PLANT," I told Sarah. "First, we have to pull up the pea vines, then we have to plow, and I probably can't get the tiller cranked, and . . . "
"I can pull up pea vines," Sarah said.
"The tiller'll crank," Pop-Pop chimed in.
They were ganging up on me.
While Sarah and I pulled up the old pea vines, Pop-Pop gassed up the tiller and sprayed it with something that smelled vaguely like...fingernail polish remover. My husband gave the cord a couple of yanks, and the tiller started. Within a few minutes, we had a brand new puliverized seed bed for the second bean crop. My grandsons had a heck of a time swimming in the soft, warm dirt.
We marked off 4 rows on which Sarah planted 2 rows of butterbeans and 2 rows of green beans.
I hope the moon approved.
---------
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Totally Peachless
The peach lady was back in town last Wednesday. I bought 1/4 bushel, intending to come straight home and peel them for peach jam, but they were not quite ripe enough, so I left them in the bag to ripen. By Friday, they were perfect. I peeled and chopped them, and put them on the stove to cook. After about an hour, I added spices and sugar to the pan, and turned the heat down to a simmer. I set a kitchen timer to alarm in 10 minutes to remind me to stir the mix, and then I went to the sewing machine to start sewing an outfit I'd cut out for Maddie a week earlier. The kitchen timer idea worked wonderfully for about three stirrings...then I forgot to re-set it. Some time later - not sure how much later - as I was at the sewing machine, I smelled a sharp, peachy smell. I dropped the sewing and ran to the kitchen, but it was too late; the jam had scorched.
About an hour later, my husband came home with two gallons of fresh figs that a co-worker had sent to me. I groaned at the sight, considering my luck with jam this year, and knowing that there were peas and tomatoes in the garden that needed my attention.
Yesterday morning, I got moving early. I sliced about half of the figs and put them in the food dehydrator, then I went to the garden. Nanny had already picked the peas and tomatoes. She was in the process of shelling the peas, and had lined up the tomatoes on our "ripening table" under the tree. I took the ripest ones and brought them home to can. While the tomatoes were cooking, I ground up some of the figs and used them in a fig cake. (Boy, was it GOOD!) The rest are soaking in sugar syrup in my refrigerator.
Maybe I should forget the whole jam idea, and just make cakes.
-----------
About an hour later, my husband came home with two gallons of fresh figs that a co-worker had sent to me. I groaned at the sight, considering my luck with jam this year, and knowing that there were peas and tomatoes in the garden that needed my attention.
Yesterday morning, I got moving early. I sliced about half of the figs and put them in the food dehydrator, then I went to the garden. Nanny had already picked the peas and tomatoes. She was in the process of shelling the peas, and had lined up the tomatoes on our "ripening table" under the tree. I took the ripest ones and brought them home to can. While the tomatoes were cooking, I ground up some of the figs and used them in a fig cake. (Boy, was it GOOD!) The rest are soaking in sugar syrup in my refrigerator.
Maybe I should forget the whole jam idea, and just make cakes.
-----------
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The things I get myself into....
I ought to be in the garden. I need to be in the garden. The tomatoes and the peas need to be picked. I bet there are cucumbers thicker than my wrist dangling on the fence. There is weeding to be done. Under a tree in my back yard is a table full of already-picked tomatoes that need to be scalded, peeled, and canned.
It must be 200 degrees outside.
Why do I keep doing this?
About this time every year, I think about our ancestors, and wonder how they survived. What did people do when they couldn't run to the supermarket for food? When my grandparents were raising their families, they didn't have power tools, electricity, and air-conditioned kitchens. I cannot imagine how they managed to grow enough food to feed a family for the summer, much less preserve enough for the winter. Here it is, the first part of August, and my garden is just starting to produce more than we can eat. A hundred years ago, we'd have starved to death by now, if the vegetable garden was our only source of food.
Bah, this morose train of thought is getting me nowhere. I'd better see to those tomatoes before they spoil.
------
It must be 200 degrees outside.
Why do I keep doing this?
About this time every year, I think about our ancestors, and wonder how they survived. What did people do when they couldn't run to the supermarket for food? When my grandparents were raising their families, they didn't have power tools, electricity, and air-conditioned kitchens. I cannot imagine how they managed to grow enough food to feed a family for the summer, much less preserve enough for the winter. Here it is, the first part of August, and my garden is just starting to produce more than we can eat. A hundred years ago, we'd have starved to death by now, if the vegetable garden was our only source of food.
Bah, this morose train of thought is getting me nowhere. I'd better see to those tomatoes before they spoil.
------
Monday, August 4, 2008
Okra Abuse
The okra is knee high and is beginning to grow pods. I guess it's about time to give it a whippin'.
Yes, that's right...a whippin'.
A couple of years ago, my mother said she wanted some okra when I had some to spare. When I told her that my okra hadn't even bloomed yet, she said, "Maybe you ought to whip it."
What?
"Evelyn whips hers," she added, as if that ought to settle it.
I had a sudden flashback.
Miss Evelyn and my mother are distant cousins and life-long friends. Our families spent a lot of time together when I was a child. I once saw Miss Evelyn yank her husband out of the passenger seat of a station wagon and whack him in the head with the heel of her size 5 penny loafer when he came home late, and blissfully inebriated, from a fishing trip. I did not doubt that she had it in her to light into a stalk of okra. But why? And with what?
Mother did not know precisely why Miss Evelyn whipped her okra, only that she did it with "a keen cane," and that it helped.
A keen cane.
I pictured Miss Evelyn in the garden, wielding a cane fishing pole, its tip whistling through the air like helicopter blades, okra tops whirlwinding around her....
I could not picture myself performing such a maneuver in a fashion that might benefit the plants and boost production, so I dropped the subject.
Later that evening, I went back to Mother's house to visit with my sister and her husband. As we were sitting around the kitchen table, Daddy (who had been napping during my earlier visit) asked how my garden was doing. "I sure could go for some good fried okra," he said. I told him my okra wasn't making yet. He said, "They tell me you can whip it with a keen cane, and it'll really help it."
"I told you so," Mother said, all smug-like.
I looked across the table at my sister. "They want me to whip my okra. With a keen cane."
She looked astonished. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Ask 'em."
She couldn't make any more sense out of it than I could.
Fast forward a week. My husband and I walked down to check on the garden. As we passed the back porch, Pop-Pop called from the shadows, "I b'lieve y'orter take that keen cane leaning there against the porch and whip your okra with it."
I whirled around. "Have you been talking to Miss Evelyn?"
"Who?"
"Why would I want to whip my okra?"
"Make it b'ar," Pop-Pop said.
"How does whipping it make it bear?"
"Don't know. Just does."
"Couldn't I just cut it?"
"Reckon y'could," he said.
I got some clippers from the shed and, thinking that the objective was to make the plants bushier, I snipped the top out of one of the plants.
"Not like that," Pop-Pop hollered. "Take off the bottom leaves."
I was glad my back was to him, so he couldn't see the face I made, but I went ahead and cut the bottom two leaves off of each plant, still baffled as to how this might help. (Didn't they need those leaves for photosynthesis?) When I finished, I went to the back porch. "There. Satisfied?" I asked him.
"Didn't cut off enough," he said.
The next day, after Sunday dinner at Mama Jewell's, Uncle Jack explained the whole business to me: taking the lower leaves off of the plants stresses them, and makes them eager to hurry up and reproduce. He said I ought to take off every leaf where a bloom wasn't forming at the junction of the leaf stem and the main stalk. He said every time I cut a pod of okra, I should take off the leaf adjoining it. Thrashing the leaves off with a cane allowed one to stand back from the plants, away from the invisible nettles that would be raining off the leaves. It should be a vertical strike, not a horizontal one, as I had been imagining. And one doesn't use a whole fishing pole - just a short piece, "the keen end," he said.
Even though I didn't quite buy the okra's reproductive logic, the idea of removing the leaves was beginning to make a little sense. That evening, I went to the garden. The cane was still leaning against the back porch. It was only about 3 feet long. Still, I'd planted my rows close together. I imagined that swinging that cane among the plants would tear them all to pieces. I took out my clippers and snipped a few leaves off of each plant. The next day, feeling braver, I cut off even more leaves. Within two days, the okra was blooming, and a couple of days after that, I was cutting okra for supper.
As the summer passed, I learned that I didn't actually have to cut the leaves off the plants; I could just knock them off with the closed clippers if I gave them a swift whack where they connected to the central stalk. I learned that fewer leaves on the plants made the picking job less itchy. I learned that dropping the big leaves, stems and all, between the rows eventually creates a carpet that weeds won't penetrate. And I learned that cutting off the lower leaves turns dwarf okra plants into giant, redwood forest okra trees. By the end of the summer, I needed a step-ladder to reach the pods.
In any case, I'm sold on okra whippin', though I'm still not brave enough to have at it with the cane.
-----------
Yes, that's right...a whippin'.
A couple of years ago, my mother said she wanted some okra when I had some to spare. When I told her that my okra hadn't even bloomed yet, she said, "Maybe you ought to whip it."
What?
"Evelyn whips hers," she added, as if that ought to settle it.
I had a sudden flashback.
Miss Evelyn and my mother are distant cousins and life-long friends. Our families spent a lot of time together when I was a child. I once saw Miss Evelyn yank her husband out of the passenger seat of a station wagon and whack him in the head with the heel of her size 5 penny loafer when he came home late, and blissfully inebriated, from a fishing trip. I did not doubt that she had it in her to light into a stalk of okra. But why? And with what?
Mother did not know precisely why Miss Evelyn whipped her okra, only that she did it with "a keen cane," and that it helped.
A keen cane.
I pictured Miss Evelyn in the garden, wielding a cane fishing pole, its tip whistling through the air like helicopter blades, okra tops whirlwinding around her....
I could not picture myself performing such a maneuver in a fashion that might benefit the plants and boost production, so I dropped the subject.
Later that evening, I went back to Mother's house to visit with my sister and her husband. As we were sitting around the kitchen table, Daddy (who had been napping during my earlier visit) asked how my garden was doing. "I sure could go for some good fried okra," he said. I told him my okra wasn't making yet. He said, "They tell me you can whip it with a keen cane, and it'll really help it."
"I told you so," Mother said, all smug-like.
I looked across the table at my sister. "They want me to whip my okra. With a keen cane."
She looked astonished. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Ask 'em."
She couldn't make any more sense out of it than I could.
Fast forward a week. My husband and I walked down to check on the garden. As we passed the back porch, Pop-Pop called from the shadows, "I b'lieve y'orter take that keen cane leaning there against the porch and whip your okra with it."
I whirled around. "Have you been talking to Miss Evelyn?"
"Who?"
"Why would I want to whip my okra?"
"Make it b'ar," Pop-Pop said.
"How does whipping it make it bear?"
"Don't know. Just does."
"Couldn't I just cut it?"
"Reckon y'could," he said.
I got some clippers from the shed and, thinking that the objective was to make the plants bushier, I snipped the top out of one of the plants.
"Not like that," Pop-Pop hollered. "Take off the bottom leaves."
I was glad my back was to him, so he couldn't see the face I made, but I went ahead and cut the bottom two leaves off of each plant, still baffled as to how this might help. (Didn't they need those leaves for photosynthesis?) When I finished, I went to the back porch. "There. Satisfied?" I asked him.
"Didn't cut off enough," he said.
The next day, after Sunday dinner at Mama Jewell's, Uncle Jack explained the whole business to me: taking the lower leaves off of the plants stresses them, and makes them eager to hurry up and reproduce. He said I ought to take off every leaf where a bloom wasn't forming at the junction of the leaf stem and the main stalk. He said every time I cut a pod of okra, I should take off the leaf adjoining it. Thrashing the leaves off with a cane allowed one to stand back from the plants, away from the invisible nettles that would be raining off the leaves. It should be a vertical strike, not a horizontal one, as I had been imagining. And one doesn't use a whole fishing pole - just a short piece, "the keen end," he said.
Even though I didn't quite buy the okra's reproductive logic, the idea of removing the leaves was beginning to make a little sense. That evening, I went to the garden. The cane was still leaning against the back porch. It was only about 3 feet long. Still, I'd planted my rows close together. I imagined that swinging that cane among the plants would tear them all to pieces. I took out my clippers and snipped a few leaves off of each plant. The next day, feeling braver, I cut off even more leaves. Within two days, the okra was blooming, and a couple of days after that, I was cutting okra for supper.
As the summer passed, I learned that I didn't actually have to cut the leaves off the plants; I could just knock them off with the closed clippers if I gave them a swift whack where they connected to the central stalk. I learned that fewer leaves on the plants made the picking job less itchy. I learned that dropping the big leaves, stems and all, between the rows eventually creates a carpet that weeds won't penetrate. And I learned that cutting off the lower leaves turns dwarf okra plants into giant, redwood forest okra trees. By the end of the summer, I needed a step-ladder to reach the pods.
In any case, I'm sold on okra whippin', though I'm still not brave enough to have at it with the cane.
-----------
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