Bad Gardener

Bad mother, bad schmother-- what I am is a bad gardener. I didn't used to think this. I used to even imagine that I had a green thumb, but turns out I just lived in a house whose backyard had very fertile soil (as a result of probably 40+ years of being a Portuguese man's backyard before it became ours). When we moved last year, we set up a pot garden on our deck, and it was a disaster. I think we got three cherry tomatoes and a bean from the whole lot, in addition to a crop of thyme we never managed to harvest. I will try again with a pot vegetable garden another time, but not this year, when I'll be too consumed with another little seedling. But seeing as our deck might be as far out into the world as I venture some (most?) days, I wanted something to be growing there. We went to the garden centre last weekend and bought a bunch of annuals that should take off without a great deal of work on our part. Though not if the squirrels have anything to do with it, bruddy squirrels, those vandals. It would be one thing if they ate the plants, or if their nuts were actually buried there-- but there are no nuts, they have no interest in the flowers but to unearth them. The squirrels just dig until the pot is sufficiently ransacked, then go about their merry way. Or as merry as a way can be for vermin. If I were a different type of person, I'd be gedding out my shotgun...

Abundant abundance

We're entering that wonderful time of abundant abundance, and our aubergine/eggplants are blossoming purple. I didn't even know that eggplants blossomed in purple, which is only one of the thousands of things I don't about the food that I eat. As well, lots was blooming at the market today-- we got blackberries, tomatoes, and cantaloupe in particular. And also purple dragon carrots, which are fabulous.

In other news concerning marvelous creation, may I please introduce you to our cousin site, Create Me This. It is the homegrown initiative of my talented husband, with a little help from me.

Poem in the Post

Kawaii. Today in the post was a "Hello Kitty Everywhere! Haiku Postcard" from my sister. Haiku as follows:

Peeking through the soil,
The flowers shyly emerge.
I am their first friend.

Pea-pods

Spotted today was pea-pods in the garden, which this year is pots up a fire escape more than a garden, but it certainly makes for easy weeding. The pea-pods are a miracle! The lettuce and chard are also ripe for harvest, the herb garden getting bigger every day, and we're avidly following the progress of the heirloom tomatoes we've grown from seed. Inside the house is lots of plants too, which is strange because in our old apartment we didn't have a single living thing (except the mice). Something about this space just wants green things to be growing.

Also exciting is strawberry season. There was a whole bunch of perfect berries at the market last week. I am sorry that I won't be able to make it this Wednesday, but hopefully Saturday will make up for it, when I am going strawberry picking. Which means strawberry jam in my near future (though probably just freezer jam, as I'm not sure I'm ready to take on real preserves), as well as a few strawberry pies (frozen, to last throughout the year, once fresh fruit is behind us).

The Wait is Over

"The earliest recipes for this vegetable are about 2500 years old, written in ancient Greek and Egyptian hieroglyphics, suggesting Mediterranean as the plant's homeland. The Caesars took their asparagus passion to extravagant lengths, chartering ships to scour the empire for the best spears and bring them back to Rome. Asparagus even inspired the earliest frozen food industry, in the first century, when Roman charioteers would hustle fresh asparagus from the Tiber River Valley up into the Alps and keep it buried there in snow for six months, so it could be served with a big ta-daa at the autumnal Feast of Epicurus. So we are not the first to go to ridiculous lengths to eat foods out of season." -- Barbara Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Last summer it was well-documented when three events coincided to change our lives. The first was the garden, our first, and through some miracle it grew, bearing melons, tomatoes, lettuce and cucumber. Second was our local farmer's market, which we started attending at the end of July, and these visits brought us yellow tomatoes, blue potatoes, abundant squash and extraordinary cheese. And third was that we both read Animal Vegetable Miracle, an extraordinary story, from which we learned about seasons, how we're connected to them and to the earth through the variety of things we eat. Because we'd really had no idea before, and coming to understand was the most amazing (and delicious) education. I'd missed twenty-seven asparagus seasons by that point, and so I swore I'd never miss another.

Ontario asparagus appeared in our grocery store last week, and we've been eating it by the bundle. Looking especially forward to the local farmers market here in our new neighbourhood starting up in less than two weeks, so we'll be able to catch the end of the asparagus crop there.
And then we'll follow the culinary season, as we're learning to do, feasting on the vegitannual. I'm rereading Animal Vegetable Miracle too, but taking it slow, following its seasons as they mirror our own. We've also got a garden here at our new house, albeit in pots--the plants of which some failed to survive a run-in with squirrelly types sometime last night. Such are the challenges though, and how pleased we are to face them. Here at our house we're looking forward to a delicious summer ahead.

Below, check out the pie I baked last weekend, made with the localest of rhubarbs. And do note that we're going to see Barbara Kingsolver on Tuesday, reading at This is Not a Reading Series. I think that tickets are still available.

It isn't Saturday

This weekend was one highlight after another. To meet my beloved Bronwyn, and realize we live in the same city again after more than five years-- she and Alex came around Friday night and we went out for dinner and it was so nice to welcome them home. On Saturday we went to the ROM to see the dinosaurs, the early typewriter exhibit, and then the Darwin: The Evolution Revolution, which was absolutely extraordinary. So fascinating, inspiring, exciting, beautiful and educational-- simultaneously. If you get the chance to go, you'd be crazy to miss it. Speaking of crazy, we spent last night watching EastEnders omnibuses my mum-in-law had sent to us-- that Bianca! And also eating Dairy Milks she'd enclosed in the package. Also baked were tiny pies, whose We Help Mommy allusion was not considered until later. Today we went to the garden centre, and bought pots and pots of flowers and veg for our urban deck garden. And then Erin came for dinner, and we sat drinking wine as the sun went down. Commenting that the only problem with today was that it wasn't Saturday.

Until asparagus is in bloom...

Once again I've got a reason to declare summer officially gone, and I think this time I mean it. Tonight was the final Trinity Bellwoods Farmers' Market, which we've been dutifully attending since July when Barbara Kingsolver changed our lives with Animal Vegetable Miracle. And what a summer it has been: blueberries to blackberries, cucumbers to squash, blue potatoes and black tomatoes. We've learned how to cook swiss chard and kale, beetroot and pumpkin. Grilled veg on the barbeque became roasted vegetables alongside chicken dinners as the nights grew cooler. Yum organic sheep's cheddar, and beef, and lamb. We've been so lucky, and beyond as we also reaped our own harvest this year, our garden providing us with lettuce, tomatoes, melon, peppers, and cucumber. This summer we've been quite successful at purchasing local produce, and it's sad to contemplate giving all that up now that the season is over. Our goal for the winter is to confine our fruit and veg to the continent, which is a bit lame I realize, but it's still going to be a challenge. We've got some frozen tomatoes and strawberries in the freezer for the depths of February, to remind us what freshness tastes like. And in the meantime, of course, we'll be longing for spring. For asparagus season, which, can you believe, I've lived through 27 of already, but never knew enough to appreciate.

Tomato Soup

This weekend was less than remarkable, but more than enjoyable. I've been tired for ages and now I'm not, and I've read a zillion books, and scrubbed my tub. Finally. Yesterday I read memoirs Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy, and Ann Patchett's Truth and Beauty. Both were extremely well done, but I was also surprised at how much Patchett's book was a writing memoir more than anything else more controversial. Last night we went to see The Great Space Debate. Should we send people to Mars? It was more hilarious, particularly when Robert Zubrin (president of The Mars Society) became enraged at the premise of colonizing Mars being a sorta bad idea. We also got freeze dried ice cream, which tasted like real ice cream but made us thirsty. Sunday has been such a Sunday, but also v. cool as the abundant tomatoes from our garden were turned into a delicious tomato soup thanks to my husband. And it's a beautiful day outside-- the sun has been pouring in through the windows deliciously.

What blooms

Our backyard garden was born of a whim. Tired of staring at the rubbish heap outside his backdoor, our downstairs neighbour Curtis ventured out one spring day to purchase seedlings. He came home with lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, cucumber, peppers and melons, but then he left them on the back step for three days.

We understood the sudden death of Curtis's gardening enthusiasm. Our house has been under construction as long as we've lived here, the backyard serving as a receptacle for all the refuse. An eyesore, with piles of bricks, pieces of toilet, old pipes, kitchen cupboards, and artifactual empty beer bottles. We are a blot in an otherwise lovely row of backyards, so well-tended by our Portuguese neighbours. The yard had become embarrassing, but ameliorating the situation seemed to require forces beyond our capabilities. A few seedlings in the face of such general awfulness would be no weapon, we thought. And so we were all quite content to let Curtis's seedlings wilt away and die.

It was surprising, then, to wake up one morning and look out the window to see the seedlings planted. My husband Stuart and I consulted Curtis who knew nothing about it, which left only the possibility that our neighbour next-door had been as embarrassed by our backyard as we were. It appeared that he'd snuck over in the early morning and started the job, determined not to let the seedlings go to waste. Maneuvering his way around the detritus, he had planted tidy rows of vegetables, and now it seemed we had a garden after all.

Of course, the lettuce would be ready first, but we didn't know that then. We didn't know anything then, until somebody told us. We would learn quickly, however, that seven lettuce plants were probably more roughage three people could handle.

Lettuce was king throughout June, and our regular weeding and watering were paying off— the garden was growing. The old man next door who'd started it all liked to poke his head over the fence from time-to-time, observe the work we were doing, and to tell us, in his limited English, "It is good."

And it was good, we thought. A garden was a neat trick, and finally we had a backyard we could be proud of. Everything in the garden appeared to be thriving— and then the lettuce bolted.

Bolting, I have since learned, is the process by which a plant goes to seed when faced with danger, in this case the onset of summer heat. In this last-ditch attempt at propagation, our lettuces suddenly grew tall with a thick ugly stalk and their leaves became too bitter for eating. Lettuce season was finished, finally, and we were a bit grateful at a reprieve from green salad.

So that was bolting. Never before have I learned so much in such a short time as I have from our garden. We also learned the way cucumbers grow with their yellow blossom at one end and the stem at the other, and that until they're ripe they are spiky to the touch. We learned, with regret, that carrots in clay soil won't grow downwards, and turn into a horrible mangled knot of root instead. We learned not to put the barbecue so close to the tomato plant, and that in spite of burns, tomatoes will persevere.

We learned that a melon plant can take over the entire garden, its vine spreading wherever there is room to grow, wrapping merciless tentacles around everything in its wake. That red peppers come into season later than green peppers, quite obviously it seems now, because of the additional sunlight and energy necessary for its fruit to blush.

Our garden was blooming, and although the lettuce was gone, we had the rest of the salad. Even though we had to pick the workmen's cigarette butts out of the tomato plants, and I kept finding bent nails in the soil.

We knew we were doing particularly well the day the boy next door— the old man's grandson— called over the fence to tell us that our garden was cool. "I like it," he said. "It's way better than the rats that used to be back there."

Recently I read that it is difficult to grow watermelon. Apparently watermelon are quite sensitive to wind, require enormous amounts of sunlight, but if you provide them with a great deal of care and attention, your own may prosper. Which I found surprising considering the gorgeous melons nearly ready-to-eat in our own little laissez-faire patch of earth. We have had ample beginners' luck, it seems, but then never has a garden needed it more.

It was August soon and the cantaloupe was ready. One afternoon we cut the first one open, revealing the perfection of its orange flesh, dark green around the edges, and the miraculous mess of seeds inside. We were sitting down to eat and I was about to devour my half, just like all the melons I'd taken for granted before, when I realized that only moments ago, here had been a living thing. A dramatic realization— food comes from somewhere— though of course I ate that melon all the same. But I didn't just eat it, rather I savoured it. I appreciated it. And without a doubt, the melon tasted better for it.

This summer we've learned what a long haul it is to the table, even if it's only the distance from the yard.

Bounty

Wonderful...

Now rereading Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin, which I remember nothing about. I read it the first time, according to the inside cover, beginning October 8 2001, and finished that October 27 with a note on blank page at the back, "Wonderful...". Let's hope it lives up to my previous reception. And that I read it a bit quicker than I did the first time around, as there are so many books I've got scheduled to be read before summer is over. Also now reading the latest Walrus which is proving interesting, though The Future of Reading was less interesting than I wanted it to be.

Earlier today I was happy to be reading a little interview with Margaret Drabble (via Maud Newton). "The biggest fate of all is your marriage partner. It's extraordinary that you should happen to be at such a party or such a university or even on such a bus ride and meet the man that you're going to marry, for better or worse. I find these accidental conjunctions that turn the plot of your life fascinating."

News on the homefront: we've just cut into our first homegrown watermelon, and we've got a Japanese houseguest arriving on Wednesday.

All the melons I have taken for granted

The garden education continues, and this afternoon my world view shifted. We had harvested our first cantaloupe, minutes off the vine we were each eating half at the table, and it dawned on me how much work this little melon had done to come to life. Not to mention the work we'd done to further that life, and I considered the abundance of energy involved, and here we were about to devour it in mere minutes. I thought of all of the melons before that I've taken for granted, and how strange it is that we rarely think hard about what we eat. And the melon even tasted different after that. I think I'll think harder now. And the fruit was lovely, delicious, and absolutely precious.

Golden tomatoes and blue potatoes

Now rereading Carol Shields's Unless, her masterpiece. I reread this book every summer, an amazing experience that allows one to, for example, pause and ponder the first paragraph for about ten minutes straight. It's also sad and heartening to be reading this book after having read her book of letters with Blanche Howard in June. I also still maintain that this book is a treatise on novel-writing, which is very exciting seeing as I am returning to my own novel in just a few weeks after this summer of short stories. Anyway, I am enjoying this much the same way I always do, but also differently, of course.

I liked Michael Holroyd's exasperation with author acknowledgements, as much as acknowledgements are the first part of any book I read. I also enjoyed Holroyd's sister in law AS Byatt's treatment of Middlemarch, which you might recall I read for the first time and fell in love with earlier this year. Byatt's Possession is being "twinned" with Middlemarch for the Vintage Classic Twins Editions, which were brilliantly introduced to me here at dovergreyreader scribbles.

And it's been nearly a week since I mentioned the garden last-- you all must be on the edge of your seats! For your information my husband is now reading Animal Vegetable Miracle and is more obsessed than I was. We revisited the brilliant Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market and brought home tons of wonderful stuff, including blue potatoes and blackberries. We did a harvest of our garden tonight, and brought in two enormous bowls of tomatoes of all kinds-- the window sill is crowded. Tomorrow night I am going to attempt a golden tomato sauce.

Boys are ordinary

Happy she is tonight, what with golden tomatoes ripe in the garden, and a short story forthcoming in The New Quarterly. Up to her elbows, also, in To the Lighthouse, and with a date scheduled with Rebecca Rosenblum. The whole third person thing because she's somewhat delirious with glee, and because sometimes the universe sets up so well.

Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market

And so the garden continues to churn out baby tomatoes, cucumbers abounding, no critters have yet eaten the melons, in a few weeks we'll have red peppers. We're a bit worried about the big tomatoes, which may have been living a bit too close to the bbq lately and just don't seem to be ripening, but fingers crossed. All goes well. And tonight we went to Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market which is very close to our house, and we were thrilled to find their bounty a-plenty still at six o'clock when we were able to get down there. Brilliant! We got swiss chard, pattypan squash, yellow zucchini, baby eggplant, basil, beets (red and yellow), and corn. How fun is eating local in August? Tonight we had pizza and it was absolutely delicious.

In related news, I'm now getting a bit of Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking on the side.

Animal Vegetable Miracle Update

Just like one of my favourite bloggers, I found Animal Vegetable Miracle quite inspiring when I read it last week. And it was quite timely, I thought, that this book came my way right about the time the garden started exploding. The lettuce may have bolted, but we've got cucumbers and tomatoes at the mo, and red peppers and watermelon still ahead of that. (Please excuse my rubbish photo, but I forgot to get one while the sun was out). As well this was the June I finally got my act together, and made strawberry jam. Half of which I plan to save until the dead of winter, so we can pull it out and remember what fresh berries tasted like, and I'm going to freeze some sauce made out of our tomatoes so I can do a similar thing. (I do not know how to can yet, and I will wait until I no longer live in an apartment to do that).

And so riding the wave of my blooming garden, and the Kingsolver book, I've made a pledge to eat (more) locally. Thinking of small steps, as the book urges. We went to Dufferin Grove Farmer's Market last week, and I got Deborah Madison's Local Flavors from the library. We revelled in swiss chard, basil, zucchini and garlic with flavours we'd never given these veggies credit for. When we went shopping at the regular grocery store (which has to happen, unfortunately, as the farmer's market is only around weekday afternoons and by the time we got there after work, all the treasures were gone) we resolved to only buy Ontario produce, and we got beets and greens, swiss chard again, kale, leeks and zucchini. The fruit, ashamedly, had to come from California. But we did pretty well, and it was fun to try food we'd never had before, and find new recipes instead of the ones we've used over and over.

But all of this is a bit lame-- I've managed to bring my meals only moderately closer to home, and this at the peak of the season. I want to better. First, I want to learn what is in season, and when-- the Kingsolver and Madison books are geared to more southern climes. How can I learn about Southern Ontario's bounty? Are there markets more accessible (though St. Lawrence market is on Saturdays, and I could get down there once in a while)? What are we going to dinner come winter when the only Ontario produce is an icicle? And fruit fruit, we hardly knew you. What if I dare to eat a peach?

All of this and more will be grappled with in future updates, and any advice you could offer me, I would be happy to receive.

Not Kurashiki

And so here we are, anticipating next weekend in Muskoka in a big way (ha ha). Yesterday we got to Toronto Island, finally, and so it won't be this summer's Kurashiki. (Kurashiki was the city in Japan we meant to vist almost every weekend that we lived there, and then we moved away). We had a brilliant day, riding our bikes down to the ferry docks-- we adore riding through the financial district on the weekend when the sidewalks are as wide as usual, but perfectly empty. We landed on Ward's, and had an ice cream. Spent some time on the beach reading our books, and then we rode along the boardwalk. To Centre Island, which was perfectly madhouse, and great in its own way, and then along to Hanlan's Point where we got the ferry back. And then we rode up to Kensington and picked up blueberries, and then up to Mexitaco on Bloor Street for food aplenty plus Coronas which surely undid all the good our exercise did. Oh well.

Today was not so notable, except that we tried our carrots-- they may look bizarre, but they taste good. The big tomatoes are coming out now too, and they're extraordinary. If all goes well, we might soon have more watermelon than we know what to do with (imagine that predicament!). And a bit of a low point as whilst turning off the hose I fell seven feet off a ledge to the bottom of our concrete basement steps. That was not so fun, and yet fascinating also as I've not been so scraped in years, nor can I remember the last time I lost my footing and failed altogether to find it.

In better news, I finally replaced the $10 Canadian Tire helmet I bought when we were broke, and got a fabulous new one-- in pink!

Time time it was

Time it was. Friday night date, out for dinner and then to the ROM. I had no strong feelings about the new addition, except that I was startled by sunlight once we emerged from the wonderful Hiroshi Sugimoto exhibit "History of History", as I had forgotten about the world. There is something to that. Saturday we got a new hi-fi, very exciting. We bought our old one in the days of impecuniousness, and it wasn't very good-- the CD player door had become awfully choosy about functioning. And so no more. Saturday night was dinner, theatre, and drinks drinks drinks until well in the morning with friends oldest and dearest, et. al. Somehow hangovers were avoided, and I spent today well in the relaxing way (though freshly baked scones were involved).

Devastating gardening event was that our two watermelons, whose development had been as thrilling to watch as a small baby's, were ruined by some sort of creature with teeth. A sort of creature that doesn't appreciate the treasure which is watermelon, as they disconnected them from the vine, gnawed on the green bits leaving gaping holes, and broke my heart a bit. Honestly honestly, I could have cried.

In sort of related news, now reading Animal Vegetable Miracle.

Our lettuce is bolting

Our lettuce is bolting. Since I was very young and new, I don't think anything has taught me so much so quick about the world as has having a garden.