Roasted!

Exasperated over unripened tomatoes and our sunless summer, I apparently had no need for concern about green tomatoes (lack of sun is entirely different...).

But because I don't expect to find much when I inspect the vines (those countless gray days), I'm caught with nothing to put the little red flavor containers in (my mouth only holds so many).

So I fill up my stretched-shirt-basket,then drop them haphazardly on the kitchen table for a random sea of red and yellow.

How to consume them before they go bad? There's nothing like fresh tomatoes just picked, and caprese salads are a favorite. But I can't seem to eat them quick enough, and I don't want to lose a single bite, since the season is so short.

I don't can (yet); I don't have a food dehydrator (and I'm not crazy about sundried). Freezing would alter the texture.

But roasting! Oh, I do love roasted vegetables, and what the high heat does to flavor. Add a little olive oil, some sea salt, and place in a hot oven for about 40 minutes.

I think the smell alone (along with a little garlic) could get me through a cold winter. I will enjoy every bite when I add them to sauces when anything resembling fresh is impossible to come by.

I hope the season lasts just a little longer... I could fill my freezer with tomatoes alone!

Cherry tomatoes and "ground" cherries

I made a double-score this weekend. Out in the garden, I found little red nuggets hiding under my sprawling, uncaged cherry tomato plants (and a few yellow ones, thanks to garden mates!), and while at the Edmonds Farmers Market on Saturday, I came across a childhood favorite, ground cherries, also sometimes called husk tomatoes.

What's a ground cherry? There's a strong resemblance to a tomatillo, but the husks are a creamy color and the berry inside is golden, with a sweet-tart taste that I remember so well but can't really describe. My grandfather grew them just for me, usually out near our driveway. I could eat handfuls at a time and never grow tired of them. They're typically ripe in late summer, early fall, just like tomatoes.

I've looked for ground cherries over the years but until this weekend, hadn't found the fruit anywhere. A couple of years ago, I found some seeds in a heritage seed catalog, and even after careful planting indoors, nothing grew. The woman at the Farmers Market (and no, I have no idea which farm they came from now...) said they don't typically grow here, but I find that odd since they grew in our Ballard garden throughout my early years. Could the climate have changed that much?

My fondness for ground cherries must resemble Forrest's fondness for boiled peanuts. I've mentioned them to him more times than I can count, but until this weekend, he's never tasted them. He liked them!

The summer that wasn't...(except for figs)

Anyone have some good recipes for green tomatoes? Hopes of home-grown, vine-ripened tomatoes are dwindling with each raindrop and gust of wind.

Today is August 31. Before leaving for work this morning, I pulled a box from the closet of tucked away winter clothes and grabbed a sweater to wear atop my gray flannel pants and leather oxfords. The red weather-resistent jacket with hood came next, and as I walked out the door, I threw my leather jacket on top of that. No regrets, except that it's August 31.

Grapes are slowly turning from green to red, and I still have hopes they'll ripen. The leaves, too, are turning, and fall arrives without summer ever getting a foothold. A couple of weeks in mid-July, a few days here and there, offered a glimpse of what summer could be. But it was only a glimpse. My garden has suffered, as has my energy.

One clear, unsuspected sign of summer: Fresh, tree-ripened figs. I had no idea they could be so good. A colleague brought these green-wrapped succulent pink-fleshed morsels to work this week, and offered a few favorite recipes to try after eating more freshly picked fruit than one person should.

Here's last night's dinner recipe:

Pasta with Figs, Walnuts and Gorgonzola
- Your choice of pasta (I've come to love brown rice pasta).
While it's cooking, saute in a tablespoon or two of butter:
- 1 chopped onion till brown
- add toasted walnuts or pecans till warm
- add figs, and salt to taste
- Then toss all together and sprinkle with crumbled gorgonzola cheese.

Said colleague also suggested drizzling fresh sliced figs with honey and sprinkling with goat cheese, or wrapping them in prociutto. Toasted walnuts work well here, too.

I think I'd like a fig tree. Had I known earlier that they grew so well in the Northwest, and that a fresh fig could be so delicious...

Eating my yard

Despite growing very little myself this year, it's a lovely thing to be able to wander from one end of the yard to the other and nibble my way through it.

From Shiv's peas at one end to our raspberries at the other, there's an entire salad of edible goodness. Lettuce left over from a previous garden mate, communally planted strawberries, it's a giant snack tray that's healthier than anything I could find in my kitchen.

I'm a bit shamed, though, by the gardens I saw this weekend on Lasqueti Island, where self-sufficiency is a necessary part of living. There's a part of me that would love to be so capable and grow so much, but another part sees the constant attention and work that such a bounty demands and recognizes the near impossibility given my lifestyle and penchant for fair-weather gardening.

Still, having treats from the yard a few months of the year is something to be savored and appreciated. Just as pine and cedar scents can't be bottled, flavors from fresh peas and berries straight from the vine can't be found anywhere else.

Food tip: Greek Gods honey yogurt with fresh berries on top, or strawberries drizzled with a bit of good Balsamic vinegar. Two of my very berry favorites.

Berry goodness, new reading, and happy cats

The berries are so amazingly juicy and awesome I couldn't NOT post a picture. But the weather has been dismal here, so fair-weathered gardener that I am, I've spent very little time doing anything useful.


Shiv's garden, on the other hand, is impressive. His pea vines are five-feet tall (that's them, to Photon's left)... and all the other gardeners have pretty good crops coming up. I, however, do not.

I did finally dig up all the weeds and who knows what was growing out there - and happily left the beets I discovered, along with some volunteer tomatoes. Nice to at least have it look like I've planted something - even if that's not really quite the case.




I also pulled copious weeds from around the strawberries (even with earlier help from gardeners, still more must be done) and attempted to pull the grass from in between the raspberries, but this will require much more time and energy than I have right now. The berry flavor, however, is not compromised by weeds and grass, and every berry popped between the lips is a delightful burst of sweetness.



Reading/Recipes:

On my radar - two newly published books by local authors: Amy Pennington's Urban Pantry and Molly Wizenberg's (of Orangette fame and now, in the 'hood, Delancey's Pizzaria) A Homemade Life. Found Wizenberg's book thanks to our friend Cayla, who made an awesome meal for us on a recent Sunday. I'm not a fan of potato salad, but in my opinion, this might be the best potato salad ever. I think Cayla made one change, using Vegannaise in place of mayo. It's worth picking up the book just for that. I hear Molly's also a great storyteller, and that the rest of the book is as delightful as the salad.

Hoping summer arrives - as is typical in Seattle - sometime soon after the 4th of July. I honestly don't feel like I can wait much longer for some sun - it'll be tanning booth, here I come, and that's not really a good idea. But 5000 iu's of Vitamin D3 just isn't doing it this year...

Cheers for a great 4th (and to my Canadian friends, a great 1st!). More pics to come soon.

Growing impatience

Patience has never been a virtue, but our local weather is testing the wee bit I have.

Today is the summer solstice - the longest day of the year - and with momentary exceptions, it's been dark, cloudy, and dreary, with some drizzle in between.

The berries say it's summer: strawberries and raspberries are popping out all over, ripe and red and fabulous.

It can't rain all the time... can it?

Here it is Memorial Day weekend and rain is forecast for most of it (a few sun breaks are expected in between drops and we here in the Northwest know exactly what a sun break is...makes me think of Erik the Viking... seen it?). Most of May was wet.

The garden is sufficiently watered, but I've yet to plant most of my seeds as I am a fair-weathered gardener and this is not my idea of fair weather... While it's warmer, I'm still in layers, boots, and rain gear. The days may be longer, but they're barely lighter... the sky just stays gray longer, and on some days, they're just a lighter shade of gray, depending on the torrent of that particular day.

Yes, Rainy Days and Mondays do tend to get me down.

On the plus side, weeds come out of the ground much easier. If I can make myself get out there to pull them.

Jane Siberry has a great song called, "It Can't Rain All the Time" - which is really about lost love and not at all about rain, but the sentiment can certainly evoke how I feel sometimes when the rain just doesn't stop...

Yes! Magazine features water this month, noting that some parts of the country are currently preparing for drought, and learning to manage their declining water resources (includes some awesome looking articles that I haven't yet read, including a piece by Canadian water advocate Maude Barlow, who I've written about here before...). And while water doesn't seem to be an issue here with all that rain, our water supply is greatly dependent on our snowpack, of which we really didn't have much this year. So yes, we should be paying attention to water resources...

I'm sure when summer finally comes (if it does; it's entirely possible that it might not, as nothing about Northwest weather is predictable, climate change or not), I will be grateful for the full rain barrels and the city reservoirs topped up by rainfall. Just not right now. I am ready for sunlight, which gives me energy, enthusiasm, and a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

I think all this rain has made me punchy. Not to mention flabby, because the last thing I feel like doing is going for a walk, a run, or working in the garden.

Flying kitty

Flying cat: For lack of a better place to put this... since it's not at all about growing things, more about flying things...

But maybe I can stretch it because he started off as mom's cat (extension of yesterday's post...), or because he hangs out in the garden with the gardeners when he's not stuck inside (or freaked out and hiding under the bed), or because it's almost Friday and it could be considered Friday cat blogging...

Or maybe just because it's pretty funny. Do you know a cat that likes to fly? Nightmare does!

Mom's view

Ten years ago today, I came home from a morning run at Shilshole Marina to a message I hoped would never come.

At least not so soon…

The message was from Ballard Manor, calling about my mom. My mom’s time here ended at about 7:30 a.m. on Friday, May 19, 2000. She was just 64. She had been ill; nine months earlier she moved into Ballard Manor, an assisted living facility about a mile south, but her health - and outlook - were improving and she seemed to be doing well in her new environment. I was hopeful. There were still so many questions to ask, things to say and do, and promises to fulfill.

But I'm grateful for the gifts she left, particularly her appreciation for wit, absurdity, and context, and especially, a small packet of short stories, essays, poems, and other creative writings that helped me view my mom - and her experiences - in a different way. She wrote about growing up (me), growing waistlines (hers/ours/theirs), and growing old, as well as growing things.

Here are a few about the home where both she and I grew up (and you can read "The Visitor" (my favorite) at the May 10, 2009, post).

A garden's a sensible spot
To raise food so it needn't be bought
But remember to weed it,
Whenever it need it,
Or it's likely to soon go to pot.

The Gravenstein

The gnarled old apple tree stands tall against the bleak wintery sky, barren branches swaying back and forth in the cold, icy wind. Lonely, lifeless, it awaits the first awakening of spring.

Life stirs in the old tree as the warm rays of the sun and the gentle rains caress its limbs. Tiny green buds poke out after a long winter sleep. Fragrant blossoms of pink and white burst forth, filling the air with a pleasant sweetness. Twittering birds, returning after a long winter absence, busily weave their nests of straw and string.

The beautiful ancient tree, weathered by time and the seasons, is reclaimed by spring, teeming with new life. Boldly, it stretches to meet the clear blue sky.

Unnamed poem, excerpt:

"That tree was just a little sprout
A long, long time ago."
"You grew that tree?" I marveled.
And smiling, he said, "No."

"It had everything it needed.
It was God that put it there.
But he thought it needed lots of love,
So he put it in my care."

Now I have a little tree,
All my very own.
And the farmer's words still echo back
Although the years have flown.

The Barn

The old wooden barn stands behind the house, silent, lonely, a silhouette against the crimson evening sky. The broken door swings back and forth on noisy hinges, the door knob long since disappeared. Stepping inside, the floorboards wobble beneath my feet, while the cool rush of winter wind blows through time-worn cracks in the walls, where tiny feed boxes still hang. Rusty wire spills from the decaying rafters. A musty chair stands in the corner, and faded curtains hang, lifeless, on the jagged broken windows.

This barn was once a playhouse for happy little girls, now grown and gone away. Cackling red hens once roosted here and laid their speckled brown eggs in nests of golden straw. A hitching ring still hangs where a huge black cow, tethered to the now barren wall, waited patiently to give her soft, creamy milk.

Now, as then, the wispy branches of the gnarled cherry tree rustle against the moss-covered roof. Slowly, sadly, I leave the old barn, standing silently, abandoned... (Ed. note: The barn came down with a little help from us in 1993.)

Back to the garden

About mid-April, our unofficial community garden got up and running for the season again with a celebratory and planning barbeque. Jennifer & Christopher, Andy & Yuko (and their sweet little Amelie, brand new as of January), and Ben are back - and of course our neighbor Shiv, who continues to expand his garden space anywhere he can. Andy and Yuko, in addition to Amelie, brought with them Amber & Ilan, who quickly readied their space, got seeds in the ground, repurposed some leftovers from last year (red lettuce and several types of onions), and eagerly helped out with other yard and garden chores. What an awesome group we have!

The pictures above and below (other than grape vines) are from that first April gathering. Jen has the distinction of getting the first tomato start into the ground.

A lot of work was accomplished today. Jennifer cleaned up the strawberry patch; if how much they've spread is an indication of how many berries we'll have, we should have quite a harvest. Forrest mowed the several-feet-high lawn behind the house, and I tackled much of the front sections where herbs, bulbs, and various perennials are mixed in with the dandelions, grass, and extensive unnamed weeds. Christopher and Ilan stepped in and helped all around the back, wherever more work was needed; the big accomplishment was clearing the "shared" patch that last year had squash, cucumbers, and volunteer tomatoes. It's now ready to plant, although we never really did talk about a plan for that spot. More of the same? Maybe Forrest can plant some peanuts there! Forrest and Christopher are both Georgia natives (and Jen spent a good amount of time there)... if we had success, we'd have some happy planters. Otherwise, Forrest and I will have one of the raised beds this year, which is now weed-free and ready to plant.

The degree to which the grass has grown - exponentially! - and filled in all the areas we cleared last year continues to befuddle me. And this year, we have wee Maples sprouting in every part of the yard. The good news - just one morning glory vine so far, and only two blackberry shoots. Whew. Perhaps those battles are won - for now.