Mid-July. Jesus, that late already. Rewind and replay, from the top: I started with good earth, built up better earth on top of it, planted it, mulled over it, watched the apple blossoms fall on it, lost many peas to a woodland foodie and then built a fence around it, let the weeds riot in it and then pulled them up, and now it grows, grows, grows.
I pulled out a bunch of carrots and, man oh man, was it satisfying to walk home pushing Freya with a bundle of carrot greens stowed in her stroller. It looked like I had just been to the grocery store and for some reason that was really wonderful, although wouldn’t it be great if it went the other way around, if I came away from the chain grocery store with a bag of farmfresh stuff, knowing it came from my corner of the earth. (I know, I know, I don’t think it’s going to happen, am not even sure it’s possible, but that’s a whole ‘nother post).
So, the garden has kept me in salads, and we’ve eaten a lot of green pizzas and fritattas and crustless quiches, but mostly it’s a finger food garden — six pea pods one evening, a couple carrots the next, none of which even makes it to the kitchen. This is all about to change, though, I can see it coming.
The tomatillos are seven feet tall and growing. Gigantism. All ten tomato plants are flowering, about half have fruit. I have four hearty zucchini plants and a couple runts. I have four pumpkin vines. Here’s to keeping everyone in Jack O’ Lanterns from September to November. Freya’s getting ready.