My Birthday!

It's a big 'un. And what a beautiful day it is! There are light clouds covering the sun, a slight breeze and  at 10:00 am it's  a balmy 78 degrees. I've hung towels on the clothesline. I walked my three year old birthday dog, Scout, to the Lumber after eating homemade yogurt and fresh picked strawberries for breakfast, got called over to the fence to be gifted a bottle of Merlot and gardenias and ordered what I really want for my birthday from Pottery Barn. The best gift? It's my first real day of summer. Woo, hoo! Beat that world.
Gardening notes: Okra is in, zinnias and green beans are up. Squash is doing it's thing. Potatoes are still in the ground but we've poached a few and they are delish.

Scott's Cabbage!

           

               Perfect cabbages. Crunchy and sweet. What a nice surprise.

Mon petit chou

Jonathan's Carrots

Carrots and lettuce are harvested for the season. It is time for all crops summer because the heat is on like Donkekong. I caved and turned on the air conditioning May 31st. We mourn the day. Muted are the songs of twittering Martins, cooing Doves and soulful calls of Mississippi Kites.

Gifted seeds

Cool, wet spring.

Hhmm. Our garden is fence sittin' right now. Tomatoes and broccoli share the same grey days. Neither look particularly vigorous. This is so unlike our typical Mays. We saw the sun briefly one afternoon this week. Highs in 70s; cool, damp, weird. Every good Southerner put away fall and winter clothes a month ago. Dang y'all we still need 'em!  At school the big people turn on the air conditioners. Holy cow, it's 70 outside and in! At home I refuse to turn on the heat, but I want to.
Wait, wait. Just now a weak sun is trying to burn a hole in the clouds giving me hope! I uttered the sentence, "I am so sick of rain." yesterday, then quick-prayed to the gods for forgiveness remembering the recent dry summers and my vow to never complain about rain again. Fingers, eyes, and toes crossed, turn around three times that I don't get punished for my words. Please, please, please no drought!

Something garden every day...

We do something in or with our garden everyday. Way back in the coldest days of winter I pruned our little apple trees. I saved the twigs putting them in my old, cheap Brinkman smoker to wait for warmer days. Today is the day. A big fistful of rosemary stems, soaked apple twigs with leaves, and a great, big, ole Boston Butt and some Larry's sausages will smoke all day and into the night. Then we will have yummy pulled pork for months to come. The good life is right there in my back yard.

Seed Saving

Arugula seed pods are like tiny pea pods. Surprise. Each pod is full of seeds.

Saved seeds be free food, maties. I've been seed saving for a few years now and am genuinely shocked that it is so easy. Plants are programmed to make seeds if Big Seed Companies doesn't get hold of them,  genetically modify them,  and patent them. Give the plant time which means holding space in the garden or pot longer. This is hard when you have a small garden.
The Mammoth Swiss Chard I saved last year is case in point. It took time for them to bloom, more  time for them to make seed, then more time for them to dry out. Substitute patience for time. It takes that too. There were surprises along the way. The flower stems were twisty, curvy three foot long curls with hundreds of teeny, tiny not-showy flowers tightly packed on each stem. They were incredibly, pleasantly fragrant. Bees loved them. The seeds matured from the bottom up and were identical to beet seeds. In one important way they differ from beets: I am successful with chard. Ah, yes. It germinated when planted and grows beautifully in my spring garden.
I am currently working on saving arugala seeds. The flowers were delicate, dainty, white, single-petaled, single flower beauties held upright  on long stems. It is taking forever for them to mature. I check them daily hoping they will be the kind that pop from their pods when squeezed. Soon, very soon. Patience.

No Place Like Home

Most of these houses were in decay when I was a child. 

Amish Deer Tongue is, to me, an unappetizing name for a lettuce. It really is off-putting. Perhaps because Bro-in-Law Peter-the-Cajun once hung a gutted deer under his barn, and poor thing, there it was with it's tongue hanging out and the name of the lettuce, turns out, is actually somewhat descriptive ,at least of a dead, deer's tongue. The visual gets me every time. Because of the name I never bought the seeds but, good friend and neighbor, Joy gave me a packet of seeds for Christmas. I planted them. They were a gift for cryin' out loud. They prospered. We ate some because I know Joy will ask if we did and I do not lie well. Ta-da! We like Amish Deer Tongue! It is tasty. Somewhat like Buttercrunch not as tender, more robust, with a delightful Romaine-like crunchy rib. This analysis of lettuce officially makes me a foodie.

In keeping with foodie analysis can I just say, Somewhere North of Broad over-salted the farrow with roasted vegetables? My thought is the farrow was seasoned perfectly, the veggies as well, but together it was just too much. I ate it all, however, knowing that my fingers would puff up like fat little sausages. The lamb rack was perfect. The Pear Ginger Pear Sangria was brilliant. A mild white Sangria that tasted deceptively non-alcoholic. The ambiance just right after a long day of sightseeing; relaxed and quiet. My view of the kitchen could not have made me happier. It was great fun to watch chefs cook. Busy, busy. The waiter made us laugh with a Freudian slip. He, from Massachusetts, likes Charleston (there is only one Charleston) because of the women, oops make that the weather. He blushed, and I'm like, I know right?! We had such a nice evening we forgot do the obligatory foodie picture. I offer instead my new favorite color for a door. Ciao Bella!

Orange? Persimmon? Salmon? So Southern. So Charleston.