Compost

But here it is: the nuts and bolts of our garden. Somewhat like the pumbing, eh? All inedible vegetable waste goes into our compost bowl on the kitchen counter. Every day or so we trudge outside maybe twenty, thirty steps and throw it on the compost heap. Very stressful. Then mother nature does the rest. Like I said, very stressful, lots of trouble.
Oops,I didn't mention the part where Scott, the yard man and husband, turns the whole thing over to aeorate it so it can breath because it is a living, breathing thing. Which reminds me of The Trash Heap on Fraggle Rock. She, the Fraggle's oracle, ended all wise conclusions with a dismissive, "The Trash Heap has spoken." and with a singular pppppfft of gas as she sank back into her warm den. Jim Henson lives on in memory and on youtube.com "Cast your cares away, worries for another day, let the music play, down in Fraggle Rock." In these worried times we all need advice, so get your compost goin' and stay tuned for consultation. Consider: compost is more productive as an investment than the stock market. Hmmmm, now you're on it.

On Peas and Pansies

The peas have been a pain this year. We keep planting hoping they will get the break in the weather they need to germinate. On a happier note the pansies I planted last fall burst into flower as soon as the warm days returned. They are so pretty in pots at the doors greeting me when I get home from work transitioning me to my world, my place, separate and apart. Spinach, swiss chard and mustard are slowly growing and the arugala is up. Our weather is just right for them.

Green Eggs and Hams

The winter garden lives on. Soon we'll have crisp cabbages and cut and come again lettuce. Turnips are up, mustard and spinach have sent out seed leaves and most of the broccoli seedlings survived the cold nights of the past week. The peas are pea-ing. The onions and garlic are robust. The world is slowly shifting toward the sun and the days are getting longer. This means my co-worker's hens are laying more eggs. I am on the list for extra eggs. For $1.50 I get a dozen home grown Gray's Creek eggs. Aren't they just wonderful. I did not color them. They come colored! No matter the color of your eggs, eat some on Monday in honor of Dr. Seuss-it's his birthday!
So...we scrambled the eggs on Friday, March 6th, with some students. One, a young six year old took one look at the eggs saying, "Oh, I get it, Green Eggs and Ham." Older students, in fifth grade, provided the ham. They were "egg-cellent, and "egg-static", and "egg-ceptional". For just a few cents I had a very good time and so did the kids. Party on, Dr. Seuss!

Charleston

Two February's ago we made a pilgrimage to Charleston. It'd been 30 years. I lived there as a child and have fond and funny memories of being the child of a mill worker there. The fifties were a charmed time, at least in my neighborhood,where neighbors were like family. Hugo, the hurricane, destroyed my childhood home and tore up most of Charleston in the 80's but Charleston lives on as a beautiful antebellum jewel. While there I picked up a persimmon colored gem of a cicad palm seed, brought it home, laid it on some soil in a pot and left it on my potting bench. Ants ate the orange seed coat revealing a buff colored kernel. I ignored it.Years passed and this summer a small shoot appeared. Well howdy doodey! Wonders never cease! Behold: Cicad with Cicada. The orange glass heart hales from Seattle and is nearly the same color as the seed coat.

Stalwart Friend

Rosemary rustlers lurk in our alley stealing long stalks of rosemary on which to roast chicken. We use it often to enhance our dinners. This week she was cloacked in a white gown of snow, the first lady of our garden.





stal/wart-adj. strongly and stoutly built; sturdy; robust

Is there anything prettier than softly falling snow?

Winter Morning

Ogden Nash

Winter is the king of showmen,
Turning tree stumps into snow men
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes.
Smooth and clean and frosty white,
The world looks good enough to bite.
That's the season to be young,
Catching snowflakes on your tongue.
Snow is snowy when it's snowing,
I'm sorry it's slushy when it's going.

2009

2009.The last year of the decade in the new millenium. Amazing. We made it! Y2K a distant memory and the human race still bumbles and bumps along. Barrack Obama, America's messiah according to some, will whip the economy around, end two wars, bring peace to the Middle East, and save the planet. How's that for Change? My heart goes out to the man. Hard times, come again no more.

Down South when the going gets tough, the tough eat collards, and these are tough times. In the natural world the lowly collard plods on getting no respect. A grave injustice. Much reviled, like grits and pig feet, collards just can't get traction in the culinary world. I have seen the poorest of poor folks cooking collards outside in a cast iron pot over a wood fire. To this backyard gardener they are a money tree. They grow, in fact thrive, when the thermometer dips into the 20s when all other cole crops wilt. Collards are food for the gods when cooked simply and quickly. Cooked long they are stinky, faded and slimy. Here's my best shot:

Bert Greene's Collards

Washed and chopped collards
Small amount of water and a knob of butter
Braise 10-15 minutes
Squirt of lemon juice to taste

That's it. No canned broth, please. The lemon juice is my personal favorite but vinegar is an acceptable substitute.