Noctural visitors

Last night, as The Husband and I were having a quiet evening in the living room, the motion detector light on the patio came on, and we soon heard a noise. It was one we hear regularly, the sound of a cat food can being nosed across the concrete of our patio. Sometimes, it's Harley, Pop-Pop's black lab (he loves, loves, LOVES cat food). We can always tell it's him without getting up to look, because he stirs up a louder clatter with the can, and we can hear his slurps.

When the sound is a more delicate scrape, it could be Lucy, the cat, coming back for a snack, or it could be one of a number of other critters that haunt the woods behind our house. Sometimes, it's a stray cat. Other times, it's a raccoon or 'possum. We shoo the stray cats away (not that they stay gone), but we like to watch the 'coons and 'possums.

Last night, it was the delicate scrape. My husband leaned forward in his chair to look out the living room window. I was fooling with something in my lap, and was only vaguely aware of him standing up for a better look. A few seconds later, I heard him do a deep-chest gasp, and he said in a low voice, "Oh, NO!", as if he'd seen Sasquatch. He took off in a hurry toward the kitchen.

I sprang off the couch - "What is it?" - and bolted to the window.

"It's a SKUNK!" he called, as loudly as he dared.

"NO WAY!" I said. I put my forehead to the glass and tried to peer along the back wall, where I'd set the can when I fed the cat. And, sure enough, there it was, as big as a tomcat, fluffy, and black as coal except for the wide white swooshes down its sides.

"I'm going to take its picture!" I said, and I ran to get the camera.

"DON'T SUPRISE IT WITH THE FLASH!" the husband warned. "He's already got his tail fluffed up."

Thankfully, the beast meandered away without loosing its ammo. This is the best I could do without a flash:

Nothin' but Mud.

The valve stem that The Husband bought for the tiller tire actually fit. With great effort, The Brother-in-Law managed to wrestle the tire onto the wheel and put some air in it, and I was off to the garden again.

It got dark before we finished with the tilling. The next day, it rained, and it has rained almost every day since then. The seeds still aren't in the ground. Here's hoping for some sunshine this week.

Gardening is such a b*tch

Maybe it's because I own P.O.S. equipment, or maybe it's because I don't know what I'm doing, but every time I start a gardening project, the S. hits the fan.

During the Testosterone Festival that is the Labor Day cookout (see previous post), I casually mentioned that I needed to get in the tomato patch, pull up the stakes, and prepare that ground for greens. Evidently, Pop-Pop was listening, for when I came home after work Tuesday afternoon, Pop-Pop's old Ford pickup was parked beside the tomato patch, and one of The Nephews was knee-deep in grass, unhappily wielding a post-puller. The stakes were mostly askew but still standing, held somewhat upright by the cotton ropes that had been the Florida weave for the tomatoes. I parked my Jeep in my driveway and walked across the road, and asked The Nephew, "Who talked you into this?", already knowing the answer.

"Pop-Pop," he grumbled. He wiped his sweaty brow on his shirt sleeve and went back to fiddling with a knotted cord.

"Let me change clothes, and I'll come help you." I came back to the house, changed clothes, put on my gardening apron, and went back to the tomato patch. While I un-did the ropes, The Nephew finished rocking the posts out of the ground and heaved them into the truck bed. When the job was done, he jumped in the truck and left, probably afraid that I'd think of something else for him to do if he stayed longer.

I looked at the rectangle of ground that had been the tomato patch, dreading the work that it would take to get it in shape for greens. The grass, as I said, was knee deep. A garden tiller wouldn't cut the mustard, not even Big Red, in this much grass. It would have to be mowed first.

Saturday morning, I cranked the riding mower, set the blade to the highest setting, and very slowly mowed the grass down. I brought the lawnmower home and told The Husband, "I'm going to Pop-Pop's to see if I can crank the big red tiller, and then I'm going to plow up a spot for the greens." He told me that if I'd wait until later in the afternoon, when it was cooler, he'd help. He didn't have to suggest it twice. I came straight in the house, kicked off my shoes, and plunked down on the couch with a book.

A few hours later, his brother came by and asked for help loading the grill he'd taken to Pop-Pop's for the cookout. They left together. I kept right on reading. A while later, The Husband came home, all hot and sweaty. "How much space do you want for the greens?" he asked.

By this time, I was totally out of the mood to run the tiller, and I told him so.

"But we've put Uncle B.'s disc on the tractor," he said. "We're plowing the ground with that."

I was ecstatic, and ran out to see what was happening. They'd already been plowing. I stepped onto the freshly-turned earth and was immediately disappointed. The disc had barely skinned off the grass. There was hard ground beneath my feet.

"It's not plowed very deep," I said.

"It don't need to be all that deep for greens," Pop-Pop assured me.

"Cool. Tommorow I'll rake up some of the grass clumps, smooth out the soil, and plant the greens."

I went back to the garden about noon today. The more I raked, the more disappointed I became with the disc job. There were wide areas where the grass was still firmly rooted in the ground. No amount of raking would get it up. It needed tilling, dad-gummit.

I walked down Pop-Pop's driveway and took the tarp off the tiller. Miraculously, the thing cranked after a dozen or so pulls. I put it in forward gear and slowly followed it up the driveway to the greens plot. When I lined the tiller up for the first row and engaged the tines, I began to feel hopeful that this would go well. The disc had broken the ground enough that the tiller could grab hold. It pulverized the dirt on the first pass. At the end of the row, I wrestled it around and aimed it for the second pass. That's when I noticed that the left tire wasn't spinning. I thought that perhaps the tire wasn't catching because the ground was unlevel, and I bore down on that side of the tiller. Then I noticed that the wheel was turning, but the tire wasn't. About this time, the tire came loose from the rim.

I said a nasty word or two, then started the torturous trip back to Pop-Pop's with the tiller, with the tire half-off the rim. "The valve stem is gone," Pop-Pop said when he saw it. After some pulling and oiling and hammering, he and I managed to get the wheel off the tiller. We'd hoped the valve stem was inside the tire. It wasn't.

I said another nasty word or two. "What do I need to do?" I asked him.

"Get a new valve stem," he said.

I called The Husband, who was out running errands, and asked him to bring home a valve stem. "Smaller than a car, Pop-Pop says, but bigger than a bike. Get one of everything they have in between those two sizes, and maybe one of them will fit."

Even though I hear him driving up now, we probably won't get the blasted thing fixed before it's too dark to finish tilling.

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Smokin'

Pop-Pop enjoys family-wide renown for his scrumptuous barbeque, and over the past few years has made an effort to pass the torch to the next generation. This past Labor Day weekend, The Husband and The Brother-in-Law got busy practicing what they've learned.

The equipment: two big charcoal grills, one for cooking the meat, the other for supplying a steady stream of hot coals.










The supplies: About 100 pounds of charcoal, and some hickory chunks.



The stars of the show: fresh pork shoulders and a gallon of Pop-Pop's vinegar-y basting sauce (the recipe is so secret that I cannot even show you a picture of the jug).















The process:

After lighting the first batch of coals, the hickory chunks must be soaked in water so that they smoke instead of burning when piled atop the hot coals.







While the coals are heating, the menfolk poke holes in the shoulders (so that the sauce can soak in) and lightly salt them. When the coals are ready, the meat goes onto a foil-lined grill, skin side down. It is doused with basting sauce.



The grill is closed. Smoke should issue forth. Mmmmm...smell that hick'ry!


At this stage, the beverages are served.











The grill temperature should stay between 325 and 350 degrees. Periodically, the meat is mopped with additional basting sauce.

About five hours later, it's time to turn the meat. The skin side will be black and almost charred. The first tasting is generally done at this point. The meat will not be falling-apart tender, but it will be tasty.






What sticks to the foil is feast for the cooks.





Once the meat is turned, indirect heat is best. The cooks add more coals to the smoker when the temp falls below 250 degrees.



With the grill temp lowered and the cooks well-basted, it's time to do stupid sh*t, like letting your babies drive tractors.















Another four or five hours later, the meat comes off the grill. Caution: it will fall apart.






The barbeque then goes inside the house to cool enough that it can be pulled apart for sandwiches. The more adventurous family members like to make bbq nachos, but I prefer the stuff in its pure form, on a bun, just doused with a little more sauce. Either way...YUM!

Pepper Jelly

I love hot pepper jelly. For the past few years, I've made a batch or two every summer. Pepper jelly is a little tricky. Perhaps it has to do with the level of capsaisin in the various peppers I've grown, or the ratio of hot peppers to sweet peppers (I'm never very precise about the hot/sweet ratio), but sometimes the stuff sets into real jelly, and sometimes it stays syrup-y. Most of the time, I don't care if it sets or not; the syrup-y stuff makes a delicious dipping sauce for chicken or smoked sausage. On a couple of occasions, I've left it in the jars for a couple of months, then opened all the jars, dumped the contents into a pan, added more fruit pectin to stiffen it up a bit, and re-canned it.

I made pepper jelly today. Judging by the film of jelly remaining in the pan after I filled the jars, it looks like this batch is going to set perfectly. I'm going to get the recipe down before I forget it.

3 cups of chopped peppers - half sweet peppers and half hot (jalapeno and chili) peppers. (I used both red and green peppers. I removed the seeds and ribs from the sweet peppers and from about half of the hot peppers. The seeds don't bother me one bit.)
3 cups of apple cider vinegar
13 cups of sugar
1 package of powdered fruit pectin
2 pouches of liquid fruit pectin

Mix the chopped peppers, the vinegar, the sugar, and the powdered fruit pectin in a pan over high heat. Stirring almost constantly, bring the mixture to a roiling boil. Add the liquid fruit pectin. Return to a rolling boil, stirring constantly, and boil for 1 minute. Take the pan off the heat. Skim off the foam. Pour into jars. (This batch made 6 half-pint jars and 3 pint jars.) Wipe off the rims, attach the lids, and water bath for 10 minutes.

I do not add green food coloring to my pepper jelly as some folks do. The natural color of the jelly is a beautiful gold color, with flecks of green and red peppers.

If I can remember to buy more supplies tomorrow, I may make another batch, as we go through the stuff like crazy. We brush it on chicken on the grill, or use it as a dipping sauce for chicken nuggets or smoked sausage. Mixed with ketchup, it makes a delicious topping for meat loaf. Though I haven't tried it, I bet it would make a good glaze for baked ham or ribs. And, of course, it's good with cream cheese and crackers.

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Misery loves company

I just read that Martha Stewart lost most of her tomato crop to blight this year.

http://www.themarthablog.com/2009/08/the-tomato-blight-in-my-garden.html?pid=11184#gallery-jump11184

I feel so much better.

Not that I have anything personal against Martha. In fact, I've been her fan for many years. So I'm not happy that blight got her tomatoes. In fact, I commiserate with her for her loss.

The point is that she has a lot of resources at her disposal. (I am particularly envious of her helpers, Shaun and Wilmer). She probably has the healthiest soil money can buy; I bet it's positively bristling with exquisite home-made compost; I bet there's not a weed or a blade of grass anywhere within the confines of the garden plot. And you know Shaun and Wilmer busted their asses picking off diseased leaves and dusting/spraying the vines with organic fungicides the minute the first signs of blight appeared. Shoot, I bet they even slept in the garden. (I mean, come on...how would YOU like to be the one to break the news to Ms. Stewart that her heirloom tomatoes are croaking?) So if her tomatoes can catch blight, the rest of us don't stand a chance.

Martha, if you're reading this, don't save seeds from this year's crop, and throw away those nice bamboo canes and get new ones. And if you figure out how to stop the blight from coming back next year, drop me a line.

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Evaluation

It pains me to admit this, but I have very nearly forsaken the garden, already. I blame it on the rain. We've had a lot of rain lately, and far more than usual rain all summer. Every time I plan to get in the garden after work, it rains before I get home. The low end of the original garden is so wet that it'll suck your shoes right off your feet if you try to walk the bean rows. I last set foot among the beans over a week ago, and had to fight my way between the tangled vines and battle squadrons of hungry mosquitoes to gather a bucket full of beans. Nanny felt up to doing the snapping and shelling. I came home the next day and canned what may have been my last canner-load of jars this season.

The tomato crop is officially shot. The once-lush plants are now bare, tangled sticks. What little fruit remains on the vines is sickly and unappetizing. When I braved the grass and the chiggers last week to gather some peppers, I noticed that some of the tomatoes are blooming again. It may be that we'll have a few more to eat before the season is over but right now even the green tomatoes are cracked and bursting.

Overall, this gardening season has been a huge disappointment. The 100+ tomato plants, though diligently tended, produced about as much usable fruit as last year's 50 plants. The yellow squash drowned right off the bat, and though I planted more seeds, they didn't come up. We've harvested ONE zucchini from our four zucchini plants. (With four plants, we should've been leaving zucchini on the neighbors' doorsteps by now.) Only the okra and - God bless 'em - the eggplants have performed as expected...but who likes eggplants, anyway?

I am tired of the garden. Tired of picking. Tired of canning. Tired of the boxes of jars and lids and canning equipment crowding my dining room table. Tired of finding stray tomato seeds stuck to every surface in my kitchen. Just plain tired. Last week, when Pop-Pop mentioned that he knew someone who would pick the beans for half of the take, I jumped at the offer. Let's see how well they deal with the blood-sucking mosquitoes and the shoe-sucking mud.

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End of July

A quick glance at the tomato patch across the road would make you think that I ought to be over there picking tomatoes, but I am disgusted with them. All summer long, I have thrown away far more tomatoes than I've kept, either because the sun had baked them hard or because blight had made black lesions on them. When I was over there Saturday, looking for some ripe ones to take to my mother's birthday lunch, I could barely find a dozen tomatoes that were decent for slicing. We've had a good bit of rain lately, which has caused most of the ripe tomatoes to swell and burst like water balloons. Turtles and birds have been feasting on the rest.

The butterbeans and green beans are coming in. We've picked butterbeans twice now, but they've needed it more frequently than I've gotten around to it. Many of the beans have dried on the vines. Last weekend, having grown fed up with my tardiness in picking the speckled butterbeans, Pop-Pop pulled up about 1/3 of the plants, tossed them onto a wagon, and towed the wagon underneath a shade tree to pick beans the easy way.

I learned some things (the hard way) about running beans this year. (1) Do not plant three rows of running beans next to one another unless you want to end up with one giant, knotted row of butter-green-butter beans. (2) Running butterbeans are heavy; use sturdy a sturdy staking system unless you want the stakes to topple like dominoes as the beans mature. (3) In the event the first two suggestions go unheeded, get somebody else to do the picking. ;)

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Blasted Squirrels

Sunday evening, my husband and I went down to Nanny's house to fix supper for her and Pop-Pop. When we arrived, Pop-Pop was sitting on the back porch, his chair angled toward the little thicket of woods by the house. There was a shotgun laying across the arms of a nearby chair. Harley, the old black labrador retriever, was snoozing peacefully beside the back door.

"Waiting on the enemy?" I asked as I climbed the porch steps.

"Squirrel huntin'," he replied. "Blasted squirrels have et ever ta-mater on that vine," he said, nodding toward a healthy-looking tomato plant growing in a planter near the shed door. "I done shot four, but there's another'n."

My husband and I went inside the house and started to prepare supper. A few minutes later, my brother-in-law and nephew came in. We set two more places for them, put the food on the table, and called Pop-Pop in to eat. When the meal was finished, Pop-Pop went back to his vigil, taking my nephew with him. After cleaning up the dishes, I went out to join them on the porch.

We were sitting there, having some mundane conversation, when all of a sudden Pop-Pop interrupted: "There he is, Allen!"

I could not believe how very fast the next sequence of events happened. Allen, who had been sitting in the glider with his back to the woods, spitting snuff juice into the mouth of a Mountain Dew bottle, spun out of his seat, set the bottle aside, grabbed the shotgun, aimed, and fired, before I could even spot the squirrel in the trees. The shotgun blast, made from about a foot from me, nearly deafened me. Hearing the shot, Harley bailed off the porch like a young dog and began running, his nose to the ground, in ever-widening circles, probably having no idea what he was looking for.

"Missed him!" Allen hissed.

Then we saw a downward rippling through one of the trees, like something had been dropped from its upper limbs.

"Naw, you got 'im!" Pop-Pop crowed.

Allen went running toward the woods, calling for Harley. Harley disappeared into the thicket, and a few seconds later returned with a squirrel that was a little shy of fatally wounded. Allen grabbed the squirrel by the tail and whacked its head against a tree to finish it off. He held it up by the tail to inspect it. "A fat one!" he said, giving the squirrel back to Harley.

"He's full of ta-maters," Pop-Pop grunted.

Harley laid down in the yard with his trophy. I guess he's full of squirrels.

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APB for Eggplant Pasta Recipe

I wasn't going to grow eggplants this year. No one in this family actually likes eggplant; we just sort of tolerate it if it's been battered and fried, or smothered in some spicy sauce that disguises the taste (or, rather, gives it some taste).

But my sister-in-law found me in the garden early this season and said she'd like to have some eggplants, as she'd seen someone on TV make pasta out of it and wanted to give it a try. I bought a 9-pack of plants. Right now, they are all busting their chops producing fruit.

Two weeks ago, I told my sister-in-law, "Your eggplants are ready," but she did not come to get them. A week ago, she told me that she could not find the recipe for eggplant pasta. I've been helping her search, and I can't find one, either.

Now, I am not talking about substituting eggplant for pasta, as with low carb recipes that use thinly-sliced eggplant instead of lasagna noodles. I am talking about using eggplant as an ingredient in pasta dough. If I had any experience making pasta, I might wade in and try to invent something. But I'm chicken, and I don't have time to waste right now.

So, if any of you know where I can find a recipe for pasta dough that uses eggplant, please hook me up.

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Stocking the Pantry

So far, this week's tomato frenzy has resulted in:

5 quarts of canned tomatoes
4 quarts of tomato juice
10 pints of diced tomatoes spiced with onions and peppers
8 pints of sweet "chili sauce" relish (the stuff you eat on your black-eyed peas)

The tomato juice is probably more like tomato soup. My original plan was to make spaghetti sauce. After juicing the tomatoes, I put the juice back on the stove to cook some of the water out of it. About an hour later, I discovered I didn't have all the spices that I wanted for spaghetti sauce, so I just stopped the cooking and started the canning. It's nice, thick juice - may need to be thinned with vodka before serving. ;)

On deck for tomorrow: 7 pints (according to the recipe) of green tomato "picalilli."

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In Too Deep

I'm in serious trouble, folks. Nanny, my gardening and canning partner, is in the hospital and likely will be side-lined for the rest of the summer. I'd been counting on her help when I planted six rows of butterbeans and 100+ tomato plants. Now, all those ripening tomatoes and bulging bean pods seem more like a menace than a blessing. Looks like I'd best be hunting some back-up workers, eh? Poor Nanny...when I was preparing to leave the hospital Tuesday night, she put her hands over her face and moaned, "Oh, the garden...." I told her not to sweat it, that we'd recruit some grandchildren to help with the picking. It probably didn't make her feel much better; she knows that most of her grandchildren are scared of dirt, spiders, sweat, and such, and probably won't come anywhere near that garden.

When I got home from work yesterday and walked over to look at the tomato patch, I just groaned. The vines are dripping with ripe tomatoes, and the middles of the rows are hairy with tall grass. I decided the first order of business ought to be to clean out the grass, so I pulled the little black tiller from the shed and hauled it to the tomato patch. That ground hasn't been tilled in over a month, and it's harder than a rock. Little Black just whirled on top of the dirt, wrapping its tines with grass. Thinking that it might help to mow the grass, I dragged the push mower from the shed and ran it down the rows. When I went back to the tiller, it would not crank. By this time, I was dripping with sweat and more than a little irked. I put all of the garden equipment away, and went back to pick tomatoes. I picked just enough for "a canning," and brought them back to the house to process. The rest would just have to wait.

There are five rows of tomatoes. I figure that if I pick/process one row every night, I might be able to keep up with the work, with a couple of nights left over to tend to the rest of the garden. Thankfully, when I went to Nanny's yesterday to get the tiller from the shed, my brother-in-law was in the "bean garden," picking the purple hull peas. (Bless him.) I don't know what we are going to do when all of those butterbeans get ready to be picked (which isn't far off).

This morning, we're getting a good, soaking rain, which ought to help boost the crop production. Oh, joy!

Pray for me! And Nanny!

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Ummm...about that salsa...?

Yesterday, while I was doing a little research about home canning, an uneasy thought occurred to me.

I've always read that tomatoes, because of their acid content, can be safely canned using the waterbath method, and that's the method I used for the salsa I made two days ago. However, looking through the recipes in my canning books and the ones I found online, I noticed that all of them called for vinegar or lemon (or lime) juice. My salsa contained only tomatoes, peppers, onions, and salt to taste. I did not add any vinegar or citrus juice, mostly because I did not want to alter the flavor of the salsa. I started to worry that the onions and peppers had jacked around with the acidity level of the mixture, and that it might not be safe. I decided to call the local Agricultural Extension Service and run my question past the Home Economist (or whatever they call those workers these days). She told me some surprising things.

First, the Agricultural Extension Service doesn't recommend waterbath canning tomatoes anymore. She said that the tomato growers have bred tomatoes to be less acidic, and that they now recommend pressure canning them. (I just looked up some of the varieties that I planted this year. The "Jet Star" and "Park's Whopper," both of which I planted, are low-acid tomatoes. Nuts!)

Secondly, I was correct in worrying that the onions and peppers would lower the acidity level of the stuff in my jars. She said that I should add vinegar, lemon/lime juice, or citric acid powder (1/4 tsp. to 1 pint) to boost the acidity. Vinegar or citrus juice will, of course, change the flavor of the mixture; citric acid should not change it. I asked if it would be okay for me to open the jars I've already canned, add some citric acid, and re-process the salsa (in a pressure canner). She said, "Probably, but do it TODAY."

I've already been to the grocery store this morning for citric acid. Now, I've got to find a pressure canner to buy (would you believe those things cost over $100 these days?).

I am scared to death of pressure canners. It dates back to my childhood, when my mother and her friends discovered "Presto" pressure cookers. These were not the giant canners that people use for preserving food, but smaller, 8-quart pans used for speeding up the cooking process. I remember a story about my Aunt Marilyn having blown potatoes all over the ceiling of her kitchen because she forgot to let the pressure go down before she took the lid off the cooker, and other such nightmare stories. (She probably shouldn't have been cooking potatoes in it, in the first place, since starchy stuff reportedly stops up the "jiggler," which could ramp up the pressure to the danger zone.) Last year, when I borrowed Nanny's canner for the green beans, I made her sit in the kitchen with me until the first batch was well under way, and when the time came to take off the lid, I wished there was someone else around to do it!

No, I am not at all happy about this pressure canning revelation. It takes a long time to run one batch of jars through the pressure canner, counting the heating-up and cooling-down time. And I'd just bought a second waterbath canner so that I could fill up two canners at one time and "rock and roll" with the canning process. I suppose I could "double down" by borrowing Nanny's pressure canner, but I hardly trust myself to watch one canner at a time, much less two. It looks like my canning job just got a lot more complicated. :(

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Knee-Deep in Tomatoes

Predicting that yesterday would be a slow day at work (and it was), I took the black beans to my office and was able to shell most of them before the day was over. My husband shelled the rest of them after he got home from work, while I was fooling with the tomatoes. All told, I had a good-sized shoe box full of shelled beans. They are in the refrigerator, waiting to be blanched and put into freezer bags when I get home today.

I started washing, scalding, and peeling tomatoes for salsa the minute I got home from work. After two hours of this, both of my hands were numb, and I'd peeled only half of them. I began to envision a l-o-n-g night of tomato processing. I tried to pawn some of them off on Nanny, but she was in the middle of making cucumber relish and did not want to think about tomatoes. Drat.

It hit me that I could cut my work in half by making tomato juice instead of salsa. While the salsa was cooking in my big soup pot, I cut up the remaining tomatoes (no scalding, no peeling) into the waterbath canner. The pot was nearly FULL of raw chopped tomatoes by the time I finished. After cooking them and mashing them through a sieve, the canner was about 2/3 full of juice. Like the beans, the juice is in the refrigerator, waiting to be processed when I get home today. I peeked in the canner this morning. The solids have settled to the bottom. Tonight when I come home, I'm going to dip the water off the top and make spaghetti sauce instead of tomato juice.

The salsa cooked down to 10 pints, and it is yummy - hotter than a firecracker, just like we like it. We'll need more than 10 pints, but there are plenty more tomatoes ripening under the tree, and a thousand more green tomatoes still on the vines.

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Black & White Beans

Since it's "only" 90 degrees today, I decided to get busy and pick the white beans and the black beans. In the case of the white beans, I should have gotten busy a week ago. Most of them had dried on the vines. The black beans, however, were in their prime. Some of them could have ripened for two or three more days, but it's supposed to get hotter as the week goes on; I figured that the odds of me making it back to the bean rows in three days are slim to none, so I picked everything that was out there. After dinner tonight, the shelling will begin.

The tomato vines are heavy with red tomatoes. I should be out there picking them right now so that I can start canning them tomorrow after work. This year, I intend to make a lot more spaghetti sauce than I made last year. I also intend to can a mixture of tomatoes, chili peppers, and onions - my own version of "Rotel" tomatoes. I canned a similar mixture last year with the final remnants from the garden. We used it in cheese dip, in chili, and in soup, and wished for more when it was all gone.

Now that I've cooled off, I think I'll go pick tomatoes.

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Part 2

Earlier, when I'd been in the garden picking beans, Nanny had told Pop-Pop that Harley, the dog, was stinking to high heaven, and she had given him strict orders to bathe Harley. As I was pulling my wagon across the road to the tomato patch, I saw Pop-Pop at the end of his driveway on the riding lawnmower. Harley was loping along beside him, sopping wet, carrying his Frisbee in his mouth. It seems Pop-Pop had taken the easy route with the dog bathing, and had simply ridden the lawnmower up to the edge of our pond and sailed the Frisbee to the middle of the pond. Harley, being the water-loving Frisbee dog that he is, had leapt in after it. Instant dog bath.

Pop-Pop stopped the lawnmower at the tomato patch. He slowly and painfully climbed off and ambled over to the gate as delicately as his arthritic feet would let him. "Lord have mercy," he muttered as he scanned the rows of ripe tomatoes. He heard me coming with the wagon, and looked over his shoulder. "You fixin' to pick these ta-maters?"

"Yessir."

"I'd pick all the ones that are turning," he said, "and lay 'em out to finish ripening under the trees."

"Yessir."

"Lord have mercy," he said again. Shaking his head, he climbed back onto the lawnmower and went home.

I had set a HUGE Rubbermaid tub - the 40-gallon size - in my wagon. When I finished picking, the tub was full. My intention was to pull the wagon down the driveway to put the tomatoes on the tables in Pop-Pop's back yard, but it was too heavy to pull so far. I went back to my house to get our riding lawnmower, hitched the wagon to it, and pulled it down Pop-Pop's driveway. I took out the least ripe tomatoes and laid them out on the tables to ripen, then I pulled the wagon back to my house.

The tub is still half full. Looks like I've got some work to do tomorrow.

Lord have mercy.
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First Tomatoes

The near-100-degree weather of the past two weeks has done a number on the tomatoes. The parts of the fruits that have been turned up to the sun are baked white and may not ever turn red. Pop-Pop suggested that I go ahead and pick all of the tomatoes that are starting to turn and let them finish ripening under the shade tree in his back yard.

Yesterday evening, Joel and I pulled the garden wagon to the tomato patch and started picking. We threw away about as many tomatoes as we kept (the blasted turtles have been snacking), and still had enough tomatoes to cover the top of a picnic table. There are probably enough fully-ripe ones to justify a canning, but they will have to wait until tomorrow, as I am on the third (and, hopefully, the final) day of a monster house-cleaning project.

The okra is barely knee-high, but making enough okra for supper, despite not having had a whipping.

The great northern beans and purple hull peas will need to be picked before the week is over.

The green beans are sitting there, doing nothing, just like they did last year. Over the weekend, I visited some relatives and saw at least a dozen jars of newly-canned green beans on their kitchen counter. When I commented that my green beans weren't making, the husband asked, "Are you fertilizing them well?" I said that I was. "Well, there's your problem," he told me. "Green beans don't like much fertilizer." He also said they don't like this heat. Maybe they will do like last year's crop, and get busy when the temperatures get cooler. Considering that all of the other beans seem to be producing like crazy, it may be a blessing in disguise that the green beans are bucking the trend.

Two days ago, I harvested enough cucumbers for Nanny to make a batch of her delicious cucumber relish. She can have all of the cucumbers this year, as far as I'm concerned; I made too many pickles last year, and still have enough left to get us through next year.

The pods on the yard-long beans are 18" long and still growing. My sunflower-stake idea is not working. The sunflower plants at each end of the bean row are growing tall and thick, but the ones planted between the bean plants are spindly, barely taller than the beans, themselves. (The idea might have worked if I'd given the sunflowers a two-week head start.) But the bean pods are happily coiling on the ground, seemingly unconcerned about having anything to climb. It may be a b*tch to shell a spiral bean, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

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More Whining

Lord-have-mercy-JESUS, it is hot.

I went to the tomato patch about 6 p.m. today to see how things are doing. This hot, dry weather seems to be slowing down the blight and fungus, but after more than a week of near-100-degree days, the tomatoes appear to be cooking on the vines. This circumstance is doubtlessly aggravated by my having cut so many blight-y leaves off the plants that they're almost naked.

The cucumber vines had 5 good-sized cukes on them, and a whole bunch more babies coming along. Thinking that Pop-Pop might enjoy some cucumbers & onions in vinegar, I picked the big ones, hopped on my bicycle, and delivered them to him.

While I was there, Nanny said that she'd been out in the garden in the early mornings, pulling weeds and chopping grass in the bean rows, but hadn't gotten far. As she has no business out there in this heat, I fired up the little tiller to finish the job. Two and a half hours later, when it grew too dark to see what I was doing, I quit for the day. I barely had enough energy left to straddle the bike and ride it home.

The garden looks far better, though. And as I was laying the bean plants over so that I could run the tiller close to them, I was encouraged to see loads of pods hanging on most of the vines. The green beans are being persnickety and not producing much. Tomorrow, I'm going to fertilize them and give them a good soaking with the water hose to see if I can nudge them into action.

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Work a Little, Whine a Lot

It's about 8:30 a.m. Already, I've spent an hour and a half in the tomato patch removing fungus-infested leaves, barely making it to the end of the first row. We're working a bad case of leaf spot. To make matters worse, I saw tomato worm poop around some of the plants. Looks like another spraying session is in order.

Unfortunately, the fungicide I ordered hasn't come in yet. Maybe it will be here tomorrow. But I have a busy week ahead at work that will require me to hit the road early every morning, meaning that I will be able to do my gardening only in the evenings. The temperature here is predicted to be in the high 90s almost every day. It's going to be torture working out there in the evenings.

Not for the first time this year, I am regretting having planted such a big garden.

Part of this morning's labor involved uncoiling the extra garden hoses I bought early in the season to see if they will stretch all the way to the tomato patch. Thankfully, they reached. So far, I haven't needed them because of all the rain, but it looks like a dry spell is upon us. I was tempted to do some watering this morning, but seeing all the leaf spot, I thought it might be insane to encourage it with more water.

The original garden plot has finally dried out a little, but probably not in time to save the squash plants. By now, they should be big and leafy, and loaded with squash. Instead, they are scrawny and yellow, and their fruit is rotting before getting big enough to eat. If I can stand the heat late this evening, I intend to plant new seeds in a different part of the garden.

My onion crop has been disappointing, too. They've been soaking in water, like the squash plants. Yesterday, when I went to Nanny's house, she handed me a small paper bag, along with an apology. Seems she had been weeding the onion row and had accidentally pulled up most of the red onions I'd planted.

On the bright side, the cucumbers are beginning to make. I picked two nice ones this morning, and saw many, many more babies on the vines. I intend to make the best of the situation. Tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions (even tiny ones), mixed with fresh oregano, a little garlic, and some olive oil, will make a yummy salad for dinner tonight. I'll go mix it up right now!

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Mid-June Checkup

Here's a view of the tomato patch from the garden gate. There are also peppers, cucumbers, herbs, and squash out here, on the far side of the tomatoes, as well as some sunflowers and zinnias.




Leaf spot or no, the tomatoes are kicking butt.



So are the peppers!




Part of the "original" garden plot in Nanny's back yard.




Great Northern beans and cabbages coming right along.








Heh...Gordy's "got back."

The beans have tied up his noise makers, so he's more beautiful than functional. ;)






And my first little harvest (minus one ripe tomato and half a head of broccoli that I shared with Nanny and Pop-Pop).

How Can This Be?

When we returned from our camping trip, I rushed to the tomato patch to see how it was doing. To my dismay, I discovered that in the 4 short days that we were gone, the leaf spot returned with a vengeance. How can this be? I removed infected leaves and drowned those plants (and the soil around them) in fungicide the day before the camping trip. I thought that, even if I'd left some infected leaves - ones that had the fungus but were not yet showing damage - the fungicide would have taken care of the problem. Evidently not!

Nanny said that it had rained nearly every day while we were gone, which would have washed off some of the fungicide. But I know that the fungicide got at least 24 hours on the leaves. Does it take longer than that to work?

Another possible explanation for the return of the fungus is that I tilled around the tomatoes after I sprayed them, and I did not go back and spray the soil again. The fungus lives in the soil. I probably killed the ones on the surface, then turned up new, living monsters to attack my plants. And, with all this warm rain, fungus growth conditions have been ideal.

The frustrating part is that I can't do anything about it right now. I want to try a different fungicide - one that contains copper. The garden center only had it in expensive gallon jugs. They're ordering some quart containers, which won't be here until Tuesday. Even if I had the stuff right now, there wouldn't be any point in applying it, as it's still raining and is supposed to rain again tomorrow. But, come Tuesday afternoon, lookout fungus, I'm coming for you.

On the up side, I did discover a few almost-ripe tomatoes on the vines. I'm going to leave them there until they are perfectly ripe, then I'm going to make myself a delicious tomato & mayo sandwich on sourdough bread, if a squirrel or some other beast doesn't beat me to them.

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Time for a Break

It took about 5 more hours, but I finally finished defungusing and debugging the tomatoes yesterday. Now, I just need to run the tiller between the rows to de-grass, and, hopefully, the tomato patch can be on auto-pilot for a few days.

The "bean garden" is looking good. The Great Northern beans are blooming. The running beans - green beans and limas - are halfway up their supports, already.

The squash plants have little yellow squashes on them. They should be "eating size" in a couple of days. I planted a few zucchini seeds yesterday. Since the ground is warm and moist, they should pop right up.

The pepper plants have made a few jalapeno and bell peppers big enough to eat. I hope they save their energy and make their big crop just as the tomatoes are ripening so that I can have enough peppers for salsa.

Eggplants are blooming.

The okra is only about 3" tall. It's waiting for some serious summer heat before it'll begin to produce.

The broccoli, which I planted far too late, is making heads. So are the cabbages. Only one purple cabbage plant survived the rabbit, but it is beautiful enough to be in a flower garden.

The sweet peas, which I also planted too late, are about to poop out in this heat. Next week, I'll probably pull them up and plant more squash in their place.

Meanwhile, I'm going camping in the Ozarks. See you in a few days!

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Fungus Part 2

I went back to work in the tomato patch yesterday after the cloud passed, but even with my husband's help, I did not finish removing all of the infected leaves. After work today, we got busy and managed to cut off the rest of the freckled leaves. We were ruthless with our knives. The tomato plants now look almost like miniature palm trees - naked stalks, with little tufts of leaves at the tops.

Just as I finished fertilizing the tomato plants, another storm cloud blew in. Less than 5 minutes after we returned to the house, the bottom fell out of the sky. It's pouring rain right now. I'm glad I didn't have time to apply the fungicide/pesticide mixture, as the rain would have promptly washed it off.

The forecast for tomorrow shows more rain, but clear skies on Friday. Hopefully, the fungus won't eat the rest of the leaves before I have a chance to spray.

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A Fungus Among Us

Despite having planted my entire tomato crop in a location far, far away from last year's blight-stricken garden, the tomato plants have developed a freckly fungus - Septoria leaf spot, if my guess is correct. They also have some tiny little critters on them. Time to get out the sprayer.

Pop-Pop said that I could mix the pesticide and the fungicide together in the same water, and knock out two problems with one spraying. I mixed up the first gallon of the concoction and had almost emptied the sprayer when dark clouds began to thunder overhead. I high-tailed it to the house, hoping it's all noise and no rain, so as not to wash off the pesticide/fungicide I've already applied, and I'm hoping the clouds will pass over soon so that I can get back to the garden this evening before dark.

The online articles I've read about Septoria and blight suggested that one means of preventing infection is to remove leaves that are close to the ground before the blight ever starts, and to thin out the foliage, overall, to improve air circulation. Next year, I'm going to be vigilant about doing that, to see if it helps. As for now, I'm cutting off all of the infected leaves, taking them away from the garden, and absolutely hosing the remaining leaves, top and bottom, with the sprayer.

I hate, hate, hate having to put this stuff on my vegetables.

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Designer Bean Poles

Early Sunday morning, between bouts of rain, when I went to the tomato patch with a cup of coffee to stroll the perimeter, I spied the yard-long beans at the far edge of the plot. While devising my tepee system for the other garden plot, I'd completely forgotten about these beans. I had planted only one pack of seeds, enough for one short row. They were old seeds, and I had expected that they would not even sprout, but, behold, every seed had come up. Presumably, they'll need staking, too. But, since there's just one row, the two-row system I'd made for the other beans would be overkill here. I'd have to come up with another plan.

After making my loop around the tomato patch, I headed back to the house. On the way, I stopped to get something from my Jeep, and ended up cleaning out all the books, cups, and receipts from the passenger seat. Beneath all the clutter, I found a pack of giant sunflower seeds I'd bought earlier in the week. Cool! Into the garden they'll go, as soon as the ground dries a little! I brought them inside and stuck them in the pocket of my gardening apron.

The next day, while I was driving and pondering how I was going to support the yard-long beans, I remembered a conversation I'd had with another gardener last year. He plants his running beans in the corn row, and simply lets the beans run up the corn.

The one time I tried growing corn, raccoons got every single ear. I have no intention of planting corn, ever again.

Then, I remembered the giant sunflower seeds.

They'll have stalks as big as my wrist.

I hurried home and, braving the mud, stuffed a sunflower seed into the ground between each bean plant.

I probably should have planted the sunflowers first, to give them a head start, but this may still work, if those sunflower seeds sprout and get busy growing right away.

And won't they look cute?

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Support System

Last week, I noticed that the green beans are putting up runners, already. In the past, I waited too long to put up a support for them, and the runners twisted themselves into thick green ropes before I gave them a "trellis" to climb. This year, I decided to get the jump on them, and so I spent Saturday afternoon cutting bamboo canes and using them to rig up a support system for the beans.

First, I drove tall wooden tomato stakes into the middle of the two rows at about 6 ft. intervals, then I wove a strand of hemp twine up one side of the stakes (looping it around each stake) and back down the other, creating a double strand of twine between each stake. The twine strands need to be fairly taut, but not necessarily guitar-string tight. It'll tighten up in the next step. (Last year, I used bailing wire instead of twine. It made for a really strong support, but was a pain to remove in the fall. Let's cross our fingers and hope that this twine doesn't stretch and sag and let the vines collapse before the season is up.)

The next step is to set the canes. I stuck each cane into the space between the twine strands, and gave it a propellor-like twist before driving it into the ground in front of (not behind) the bean plants. (This is what tightens the string.) I spaced the canes about a foot apart. The result looked something like this:



This is last year's fence, done with metal posts and bailing wire instead of wood and twine. It was guitar-string tight, and strong enough to hold an old, leaky water hose (pierced extra times for good measure) laid down the length of the upright "V" for use as a sprinkler.

I suppose if I wanted to get fancy with it, I could tie strands of twine horizontally between the canes to give the runners a more convenient hold, but the system worked well enough last year without additional strands. Training the runners up canes at one foot intervals created spaces that I could reach into to get at the beans that hung on the inside of the teepee.

I have two rows of running beans (lima) left to stake, but first I must go on another cane-hunting expedition. Fortunately, it appears that the lima beans have not yet considered putting out runners, so I may have a little wiggle room, time-wise.

However, it has rained here all weekend - not a pounding flood, just frequent gentle showers, punctuated with bouts of sunshine. The tomatoes look like they've grown a foot in the past couple of days. So does the grass between them. Though they appear to have just been sitting there, doing nothing, the lima beans may explode with runners in the next few days.

Thus, on the gardening agenda this week is to (1) set more wooden stakes and create another trellis in the lima bean rows, and (2) run the tiller in the tomato patch when the ground dries a little.

Geez...it seems like I just did that!

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Tilling and Staking

Okay, got the tomatoes staked, and the whole tomato patch tilled. Some "yard-long" bean seeds that I planted earlier in the week have begun to sprout. Peppers are coming along fine. Later in the day, I added basil, sage, dill, parsley, and oregano plants in the tomato patch, and eggplants and dill in the original garden plot. I planted rosemary and bay laurel, too, but I may move them tomorrow, as they are supposed to be perennials, and I don't want them to be plowed under next year.




My gardening assistant - having volunteered to help, mind you - was happier than he looks when the job was done. Or maybe he'd just noticed that I'd bent the crap out of the wagon tongue before he joined me in the garden.







But just LOOK what I found
while I was working!













The original garden plot is still too wet to till. Gourd-y, the scarecrow, stands vigil in the beans until I can get out there to work.

Here we go....

Today, it's about 85 degrees, and the sun is shining. It hasn't rained for a couple of days. The last time I was in the tomato patch, grass was poking up between the rows. Looks like it's time for a tillin'.

Rumor has it that the little black tiller is coughing and sputtering. I'm thinking that whoever tried to crank it forgot the crucial step of talking to it, first. It's especially necessary the first time out. So, as soon as I get on my gardening attire and hitch the wagon to the lawnmower, I'm heading to the shed for a chat with Blackie and, hopefully, an afternoon of tilling.

When that's done, if I have any energy left, I'm also going to set some fence posts so I can do a Florida weave with the clothesline rope I just bought at the garden center. I'd like to get the stakes up for the running beans, too, but that's not likely to happen today.

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Rain, rain, go away...for a little while

I needn't have worried about watering my seeds. The old folks say that if it rains on the first day of the month, it'll rain for the next 15 days. It rained on the 1st of May, and nearly every day since then. A few of the tomatoes that Nanny planted in the "original" garden plot have drowned. The new tomato patch, which is situated on a hillside, looks good so far. (Later, I may have to dig moats around each tomato to keep the water from running downhill.)

The beans came up well. Squash and okra are up. Cucumbers, which I planted well over a week ago, are just starting to show themselves.

I'd like to plant more things, but if I were to step into the garden right now, we'd need heavy equipment to pull me out.

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Beaned-Up

On Monday afternoon, thinking that I was racing approaching stormclouds, I shot hooky from work, rushed through the garden center for more seeds, and sped home to get them in the ground before the rain came. The garden is now full of beans - well, bean seeds, at least - enough to end world hunger. Black beans, white beans, green beans, speckled beans, purple hull peas....

Nanny said she'd like lots of butterbeans, and she got 'em: six rows, 4 different varieties. She'll probably be cussing me, come picking time.

Just as I finished planting the last row of beans and was putting away the gardening tools, Pop-Pop said, "I just felt a drop of rain." There was still an unopened pack of cucumber seeds in my apron pocket. I hurried up the driveway to plant them in the empty rows in the new tomato patch. Dropping to my knees, I shaped the tilled soil into "hills" with my bare hands and poked the cucumber seeds into them as big, black rain clouds approached. A big raindrop hit me in the top of the head as I was making my way back to my house where, exhausted, I collapsed onto the couch and waited for Mother Nature to water the seeds.

Two days later, it still hasn't rained on this little corner of the world. Drive a few miles in any direction, and find puddles standing in ditches, but not here. As I write this, the weatherman is predicting scattered rainstorms all around, yet there are clear, bright skies over Bean City.

Pop-Pop says not to worry, that there's plenty moisture in the ground to bring the seeds up, even if it doesn't rain on us this time. Just in case, I bought miles of garden hose, enough to stretch from my house across the road to the tomato patch. I shall trust Pop-Pop's judgment for a few more days, then take matters into my own hands.

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Hooray for Handymen!

Two weeks ago, the menfolk decided that the big tiller needed a trip to the repair shop for some serious tuning-up. While they hoisted Big Red into the truck bed with some hydraulic contraption, I tossed in Little Black, the mini tiller, alongside it. Last year, 10-year-old Little Black got sick. His motor would run, and his tines would turn...until I tried to dig. Once those tines hit the dirt, they stopped turning, as if it was simply too much effort to bite into the ground. Pop-Pop said he figured the rotor was worn out, but never got the chance to tear into it last summer to verify the diagnosis. I hoped the small engine repair guy could fix it.

When the small engine repair guy saw Little Black, he said, "What in the world is this?" Though we left it with him, he scarcely glanced at it, and sent it home unrepaired.

I was mightily offended.

Pop-Pop said that if I still had the tiller manual, we could order the part we need. Miraculously, I found the manual, and yesterday Pop-Pop showed me what to order. I brought the manual to my computer desk, intending to order the part, but when I logged on, I got side-tracked reading e-mail and other things, and did not order the part. Good thing, too, because an hour later, Pop-Pop rode up the driveway on his little scooter and announced that Little Black didn't need a rotor, after all; he only needed his breather cleaned.

After supper, Joel and I biked down to Pop-Pop's shop. Little Black's business end was in pieces on the workbench. While Joel and I planted some beans, Pop-Pop reassembled Little Black. He fired up after a couple of pulls, and Joel walked him to the garden to test him. Bless his little 2-cylinder heart, he tore into the dirt and loosened up two rows without missing a beat. He's healed!

And, boy, do I have plans for him today. It's supposed to rain this afternoon, and possibly for several more days. I need to plant more seeds before the rain comes. If I can talk the boss into letting me off early today, Little Black will be busy this afternoon.

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Tomatoes

On Thursday, Mr. Charles came with his tractor and tiller and finished preparing the garden plots. Nanny said that, at one point, she looked out the window and saw the tractor slowly rolling down the hill without Mr. Charles on it. She nearly had a conniption fit, thinking that he'd fallen off the tractor. She ran outside and was relieved to spot Mr. Charles standing at the top of the hill, watching as the tractor slowly rolled to a stop. It seems that he'd gotten off the tractor at the end of the driveway to pick up Pop-Pop's newspaper and had not set the brake. (Do tractors even have parking brakes?) Fortunately, the tractor came to a stop long before reaching the creek at the bottom of the hill.

Friday afternoon, I went to the greenhouse and bought 108 tomato plants. After setting out about 1/3 of them that very afternoon, Pop-Pop informed me that the Almanac said to plant tomatoes on Saturday or Sunday. I gladly dropped my shovel for the day, and resumed the job on Saturday morning. We'll see if the Saturday tomatoes do better than the Friday tomatoes.

I am stiff as a poker today, but there are about 18 empty rows waiting to be planted in the other garden plot. I'm going to get to it as soon as my joints "loosen up" a little. Nanny has already planted squash and okra. Today I intend to plant cucumbers, butterbeans, and green beans.

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Plowing

Last Saturday morning, Nanny called and said, "Pete's here to break up the garden. I just thought I'd let you know."

Translation: "If you want him to do it like you want it done, you'd better get your butt down here."

So I dropped what I was doing, hopped on my bicycle, and pedaled down the driveway to "supervise."

Mr. Pete was cranking the big blue tractor as I got there. Pop-Pop was standing off to one side, directing the action with a tomato stake pointer. Four more tomato stakes marked out the corners of the garden. The layout looked okay to me, so I just sidled up next to Pop-Pop to watch as the breaking plow peeled up the soil.

Because of last year's blight issue, I had decided to move the tomatoes to a whole new spot, far away from the usual garden plot to a corner of the former horse pasture, just across the road from my house. While Mr. Pete was breaking the garden, I pedaled back up the driveway to open the gate at the corner of the pasture so that he could get in there with the tractor. As I was opening the gate, Joel was coming down the driveway on his bicycle. We rode back down to the garden together, and when Mr. Pete finished in the garden, I pointed up the driveway and asked him to break up the spot for the tomatoes. when he started down the driveway on the tractor, I turned my attention to scattering some garden lime on the newly-plowed ground.

Evidently, I was not too clear with my directions, for a minute or two later, I heard Joel yell, "Did you tell Mr. Pete where you wanted the tomatoes?"

"Yeah."

"He's parked the tractor in our driveway."

I squinted for a clearer view. "Maybe he's just walking off the place he's going to plow."

"He's in our YARD."

I squinted again, and sure enough, there was Mr. Pete, standing with his hands on his hips in the only sunny, tree-free spot in our yard. I made one of those involuntary "eeek!" noises. "Catch him!"

Joel jumped on his bicycle and pedaled up the driveway as fast as he could. I dropped my bag of lime, grabbed my bike, and followed him. Thankfully, Joel reached our yard in time to stop Mr. Pete from plowing it up.

Whew...close one.

Another neighbor, Mr. Charles, came later in the week with a harrow to knock apart the big clods that the breaking plow had left. Seeing the smoothe soil, I wanted to hurry to the greenhouse for some tomato plants, but Nanny said Mr. Charles was coming back with a tractor tiller to really pulverize the soil. He didn't get to it before the week was up. Now it has rained, and it will be several more days before he can finish. Hopefully, by next weekend, we'll be planting.

Within two days of planting the cabbage and broccoli that I planted a couple of weeks ago, rabbits ate them. All that remains of them are nubby little stalks. Rabbit stew is sounding very delicious to me right now.

But Pop-Pop acquired some wire cages, so I bought some new plants to try again, as soon as the ground is dry enough.

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Spring has sprung.

For a week, I've been hauling a bundle of red onion sets, a bundle of white onion sets, a 9-pack of broccoli, and a 9-pack of red cabbage around in my Jeep. Probably, I should have bought and planted all of it three weeks ago, but I was doing other things, and Mr. Pete still has not come to break up my garden.

Today was a beautiful day, and about 3:30 this afternoon, I went down to the garden, hoping (but not all that confident) that I could get the tiller cranked so I could set out the plants before they croak. After about the 23rd pull, a miracle happened: it cranked.

The ground was a little too wet, but I plowed anyway, and tilled up a strip on the front edge of the garden for the broccoli, cabbage, and onions. I also planted two short rows of sweet peas.

I'm worried, though. The deer have discovered the greens left over from last fall. They've been pulling up the turnips, and they've mowed the kale and mustard down. I see their tracks everywhere.

The broccoli and cabbage may not survive the night.

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