Saturday Farmer's Market - More Odds and Ends

Created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and now hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

UPDATE from Last Week:  

The African daisies are filling out, looking beautiful and right at home in that bed.

UPDATE #2:   

Remember my expanded bed? Well I have four sunflowers growing from the spilled birdseed, and I decided to let them grow and see what happens.

It's past time for sunflowers. In fact, in the fields it's what I always refer to as 'sad sunflower' time, where the farmers withdraw the irrigation and dry them in situ. Since we have a long growing season and relatively mild winters, they should have time to grow, but we'll see.

UPDATE #3:   

My tiny, 3 foot tall, navel orange tree is loaded with oranges.

Some More Odds and Ends . . .     

Had a fun little encounter with a run away dog this week. I saw a Bull terrier (Target dog) digging enthusiastically in my front corner bed (probably looking for a contribution from my resident fertilizing feline) and when I went out to shoo him away, he thought it was play time. The next thing I know, a red faced woman with a leash is running down the road looking like she's about to have a heart attack. My new little friend got really excited then, and the bed got a bit torn up before we corralled him. 

'Bubba' had gotten away from his mom two streets over and she'd been chasing after him. I gave her some water and had her sit for a while. I really thought the poor woman might not make it for a while. She was so upset about the flower bed, but I tried to reassure her. I'm not sure I succeeded though. My Petunia gets out occasionally so did I understand her situation.

The mums were dug up but intact, and since I was going to dig them up and divide them in the spring anyway, I figured I might as well do it now. I moved them to the side of the house and put coreopsis in their place.

I've harvested the last of my cucumbers. My three little plants gave me two huge batches of refrigerator sweet pickles and some cucumber salads.

I took this picture of the spent vines right before I pulled them up.

*moment of silence*







Can you see another of my little buddies? This praying mantis is in shades of brown. He blends in much better than his green cousins.

In spite of triple digit heat, it still feels like an early Fall to me. I don't know why; It just does.

Don't take my word for it. My Japanese Maple seems to be feeling the same way. It has already started putting on its Fall crimson, a whole month early.




 
Do you have a favorite cookbook? As gardeners, do you look for recipes to utilizes the fruits of your labor in books or online? Do you have a favorite chief?

I don't really use recipes much. In fact, I tend to wing it when I cook. And even if I do use a recipe, I'm pathologically incapable of following it exactly.

But, strangely enough, I have a collection of cookbooks. It's a fairly unusual collection.

I have two from the kitchen of Kay Scarpetta, and one by Harry Hairsteen's Little sidekick, Sneaky Pie. Nero Wolfe's favorite dishes also grace my shelf, as do those of The Cat Who and Harry Potter worlds. (Can you tell I'm a murder mystery fan?)

I also have a zombie cookbook and one whose recipes are cooked on your car engine.

There are others, tea time recipes and general cookbooks. But my all time favorite is Jamie Oliver's "Cook Your Way to the Good Life." It's the only cook book I've seen that is organized by the seasons of the garden and the different crops it offers up. Jamie offers basic down home type dishes that showcase and celebrate their ingredients.

Why, you ask, am I talking about cookbooks in a gardening post? Simple. I'm hungry.

A while back I offered my Refrigerator Sweet Pickle recipe. Has anyone tried it? Here is another one of my staples that might have broader appeal, my Simple Sweet Scones. I've changed the recipe mostly because of my disability. Scones (including these) are usually kneaded and cut. If you want, you can do that, but dropping them works just fine for me.

I usually make a double batch because they seen to disappear quickly around here. If I haven't seen the grandkids in a while I just bake a batch of these and they show up. Somehow they just know.

Simple Sweet Scones

Ingredients:
2 1/2 C all-purpose flour
1 T baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
8 T (1 stick) cold, unsalted butter, cut up
1/4 C granulated sugar (or 1/3 C for slightly sweeter scones)
2/3 C milk
raisins

Also:
1 egg
granulated sugar

Combine dry ingredients in mixer bowl, then add butter and mix until mixture looks like fine granules. Add sugar and mix again. Add as many raisins as you like (I use about 1 1/2 C) and mix again. Add milk while mixer is running, and continue mixing until a soft dough forms.

Drop by spoonfuls (in size you like) onto parchment lined baking sheet.

Wash with beaten egg and a sprinkle of sugar.

Bake at 425 degrees F. for about 12 min. or until medium brown on top.

Saturday Farmar's Market - Maiden, Mother, Crone

Created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and now hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

UPDATE from last week:  

Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Pickles! Remember when I shared my recipe for sweet refrigerator pickles? Well, if you had started them at that time you would be enjoying wonderful sweet pickles right now!

I have enough ripe cucumbers for a second batch (after I get more canning jars). I'll put up as many as I can, since my family loves them, but I won't have nearly enough for the winter.

UPDATE #2: My Cherry liqueur is coming along nicely. I think. My actual alcoholic expertise is limited to a Guinness or two after yard work and an occasional weekend cooler. (My mother in law and I used to 'sip' some sangria while working in the garden. My husband rolled his eyes and called it giggle gardening. He's no fun.)

Is it supposed to smell like cherry flavored paint thinner?
 
              Here is an interesting vision of a Garden by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

If I could put my woods in song

And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

In my plot no tulips blow,--
Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;
And rank the savage maples grow
From Spring's faint flush to Autumn red.

My garden is a forest ledge
Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
Then plunge to depths profound.

Here once the Deluge ploughed,
Laid the terraces, one by one;
Ebbing later whence it flowed,
They bleach and dry in the sun.

The sowers made haste to depart,--
The wind and the birds which sowed it;
Not for fame, nor by rules of art,
Planted these, and tempests flowed it.

Waters that wash my garden-side
Play not in Nature's lawful web,
They heed not moon or solar tide,--
Five years elapse from flood to ebb.

Hither hasted, in old time, Jove,
And every god,--none did refuse;
And be sure at last came Love,
And after Love, the Muse.

Keen ears can catch a syllable,
As if one spake to another,
In the hemlocks tall, untamable,
And what the whispering grasses smother.

Æolian harps in the pine
Ring with the song of the Fates;
Infant Bacchus in the vine,--
Far distant yet his chorus waits.

Canst thou copy in verse one chime
Of the wood-bell's peal and cry,
Write in a book the morning's prime,
Or match with words that tender sky?

Wonderful verse of the gods,
Of one import, of varied tone;
They chant the bliss of their abodes
To man imprisoned in his own.

Ever the words of the gods resound;
But the porches of man's ear
Seldom in this low life's round
Are unsealed, that he may hear.

Wandering voices in the air
And murmurs in the wold
Speak what I cannot declare,
Yet cannot all withhold.

When the shadow fell on the lake,
The whirlwind in ripples wrote
Air-bells of fortune that shine and break,
And omens above thought.

But the meanings cleave to the lake,
Cannot be carried in book or urn;
Go thy ways now, come later back,
On waves and hedges still they burn.

These the fates of men forecast,
Of better men than live to-day;
If who can read them comes at last
He will spell in the sculpture,'Stay.'

This Farmer's Market post finds me feeling kind of introspective. I hope you don't mind too much.

In early spring my Iceberg rose bushes were solid white. Unfortunately, my camera and I were still on the outs at the time, so I have no pictures to prove it. I debated whether or not to leave the rose hips, and opted to deadhead and maximize the rebloom. After cleaning up, I finally got a few pictures.

What do you see when you look at this picture? Myself, I find that the three stages of roses reminded me of, "Maiden, Mother, & Crone."

That particular trinity means different things to different people - goddess triad, phases of the moon, realms of the world - but to my eyes, it is a memoir.

I remember the intensity of youth, the striving, the incessant need to move forward. To what, I was not always sure, but I knew I had to keep moving.

Then came motherhood, equal parts insecurity and satisfaction. To be honest with you, it's all quite a blur. Don't get me wrong, I have many wonderful memories of those years. But for the most part, it mixes together like the colors of an impressionist painting - all working together to create a thing of beauty. My kids are relatively well adjusted, so I must have done something right.

And here I am, Crone at last. I always expected that, like Dylan Thomas urged his father, I would rage against the coming sunset. But, no. I find myself embracing the calming time, and willingly following the path as it spreads out in front of me.

New experiences, new understandings, new friends, all collude to draw me forward once again.

I still don't know where the path is taking me, but I'm okay with that.

Flowers, anyone?

My garden.
My therapy. My inspiration.

These lantana are under my lavender crepe myrtle. (there are five of them) They share the same homeland (Australia) with the tree, so I figured they would play nice. I love the fiery colors and they are starting to fill in nicely.















My Jade tree was badly burned this winter even though I had it covered. It's quite old and has survived a lot, but the usual precautions weren't successful this time. I have been coddling it and it is coming back quite well. However, I hope to have a place to move it permanently inside before winter. It is much too large to be moving in and out.





This little sweetheart (whose name I can't recall) is tucked in among the rocks beneath my rosemary bush.










I have these hens and chicks, larger than the span of my splayed fingers, both in the rock garden around the rosemary and in a pot with other succulents.

This is actually a bright pink laundry basket that I've drilled for drainage, and it contains a motley assortment of succulents.

These are my avocado trees, started on my windowsill. Yup. There are two of them in the pot. I'm trying apply some bonsai techniques to keep them manageable. (The two sixty footers I see every day out my front window lead me to believe it's going to be a futile endeavor.) They were a bit peeked at first, but they seem to have rallied.





There are so many things I want to do in the garden, but you know how it is. Money, time, and ability are never up to optimum levels. I'd like to turn a couple of our old windows (replaced last year) into small cold frames.  I could use a truck load of mulch. I want to get rid of the grass, make some paths, . . . and on and on . . .

Until I am able to get around to all the ideas racing around in my head, my garden journal will keep them safe.