How my garden grows

 

Okay, ignore the picture. Me in my work-day outfit, which means pajamas, no make-up, hair barely combed. But a happy smile on my face. I’m digging into the dirt and planting herbs in my new portable garden. It’s exactly what I wanted, because I can sit on my rollator and work in it. It’s taken us a while to get to this point—Christian wanted to varnish the outside, but with the rainy weather we’ve had that didn’t go as quickly as he wanted.

Then I had to buy some gravel to put in the bottom. As usual, I overthought the whole thing. At first, I thought there was a gravel company really close to us, but then I discovered it had closed. Then I tried to call gravel companies to ask what kind I needed and could they deliver. It was obvious they weren’t interested in a tiny job like mine, and most had no phone contact. Finally, I did what I should have done all along: I called the nice young man whose crews maintain our yard. He said to get it from the local hardware. Duh! Always glad to patronize a local small business.

So we got the gravel and dirt, and today Jordan put in the liner, pea gravel, dirt, and potting soil. I sat in my rollator and helped spread gravel and dirt evenly. This may sound insignificant, but so much is done for me that I can’t help with that it was a delight to be able to be part of this. And doing it with Jordan—and some laughter and giggles—made it special.

We planted the herbs we had. Tomorrow’s errand list includes a trip to the nursery where fall herbs are on sale—we have thyme, oregano, basil, and chives. Those are my basics, but I’d like to add cilantro, parsley, and dill (I’ve never had luck with dill because caterpillars eat it). Jordan pointed out some trailing plants would look good on the bottom shelf, so I want to look at trailing rosemary. Though I suspect that shelf should be reserved for tools, etc. Anyway, I’m delighted to have plants in the soil.

A good day in other ways. I wrote 600 words on an article—or what I hope will be an article. The first words are always the hardest, and this struck me as a longish introduction and perhaps too personal for the market I’m targeting. But I’m a believer in writing it the way you hear it in your head.

Tonight we planned salmon for dinner, but when dinnertime came Jordan and I found ourselves staring at each other. Jacob had a high school football game, and Christian had an event. I thought a pound and a half of salmon was extravagant for the two of us. But then, just before we were to eat, Christian came home. I made a vinegar/oil herb sauce for the fish—really good. But then we had very lemony salads with avocado and blue cheese, and hearts of palm angel hair pasta with lemon butter. Jordan loved it, but it was too much acid in one meal for me.

The pasta is interesting. It felt soft in the package (not cellophane so we couldn’t see it) and the directions said nothing about cooking it. Just pour on sauce and heat. So she did—and it was pretty al dente. Next time, Jordan says she’ll cook it. But it is carb free, gluten free, etc. That always makes me nervous, because I want to know what they added to compensate for what they took out. (I would never make a good vegan.) I did not taste hearts of palm in it at all, which was to me a disappointment and to Christian a benefit.

Tomorrow Megan comes from Austin for the weekend. So excited to have her here. The girls will go to the football game, but then tomorrow night Christian will grill and we’ll have a big family dinner. Sunday, brunch at Pacific Table and take-out dinner from Joe T.’s. I’m so looking forward to all of this, but mostly to having my Megan here.

Sunshine and problem solving

My romaine harvest

Loving this bright, sunny day even if it is still cold enough that I have my woolly gray sweater around my shoulders and my prayer shawl over my knees. Sophie, feeling better than she has in a couple of weeks, is out enjoying the sunshine instead of sleeping in a chair. Her day got off to a better start than mine—she ate the biscuit I had put out to defrost for my breakfast.

My day got better though. I woke in the night worried about three things—hearing aids, my herb garden, and the novel I think I’m writing. You know how sometimes in the night your brain gets wired, and no matter how hard you try to think of other things your mind always goes back to what’s bothering you? That’s where I was at two-thirty this morning.

I am having hearing-aid-battery troubles—one ear keeps going dead, which I could stand except that, because my aids are hooked to my phone, the phone quits when the battery goes out. The other day I picked Jacob up from a sleepover. Not wanting to disturb people I didn’t know early on a Saturday, I parked at the curb and called him. The phone rang once and disconnected. About that time, I realized that right aid had died, but I didn’t connect the two. Kept trying to call—I’d hear him say, “Juuu” and then nothing. When he finally came out, I asked why he didn’t answer and he said, “I did. You called so often I thought you were butt dialing me.” Later that day when I went on an errand by myself, I had to choose which was more important—the hearing aids or the phone. I chose the phone.

This morning the wonderful Tracy Burger at TCU’s Miller Speech and Hearing Clinic told me I can use disposable batteries until the rechargeable one on order comes in, so I feel relieved about that.

And the equally wonderful Zenaida who cleans my cottage every other week was able to undo

The out of control mustard

the extension on the arm of my herb garden, so now the light is back down low, directly on the seedlings. Last night Christian and I transplanted the basil, which is semi-flourishing, to a separate pot, and I started seedlings in the herb garden, having figured out that mix and match wasn’t a good idea. If you do three of the same things, they grow at the same rate, and you aren’t raising the arm for one plant and thereby depriving of the warmth and light it needs. I worried about not being able to raise and lower the light not just because I didn’t want to waste seedlings but also because I didn’t want to be a failure at indoor herb gardening, after my son had given me the garden.

So far I’ve harvested romaine—made a salad—and mustard greens, which I added to a salad I served a friend the other night. The plant had grown tall—taller than the highest extension of the light arm—and had flowered, which to me indicated harvest time. It was good but there wasn’t enough to make a real difference in the salad.

And I’m working on that novel, putting into play all the notes I made yesterday, trying to get to know the characters better, figuring out their backgrounds. Usually I get the first line and just sail into a story, but it wasn’t working this time. I didn’t feel I knew the characters well enough. I’m slowly getting a handle on it. Thirty-six hundred words; only sixty-seven hundred to go!

Enjoyed my weekly Tuesday night happy hour with neighbor Mary Dulle tonight, and then had sauerkraut and potatoes for dinner. I intended to add meatloaf, but the vegetables looked so good I just stuck to them. So glad I don’t have to watch a political speech tonight. I didn’t want to watch trump last night but kept it on in case coverage switched to Beto. It didn’t on the channel I was watching.

Interesting and horrifying times we live in.

First harvest and a cookie cooperative

I harvested my first crop from my Christmas herb garden today—romaine that had grown long and lanky and kept folding over on itself. So I had a big salad for lunch—mixed a little leftover iceberg in with it, but the dark green leaves in the picture are my home-grown romaine. Added blue cheese, croutons, and my favorite Paul Newman’s vinaigrette dressing. A salad fit for a queen. In place of the romaine in the garden trough, I put a seedling of garden cress. We’ll see. I was tempted to use the mustard in my salad today, but I think it needs a bit more growth—it isn’t what I’d call plentiful yet. If you’ve never used raw mustard greens in a salad, I urge you to try them—peppery and spicy, a wonderful perk in a green salad.

Another cooking day. I seem to have a lot of them lately, not that I’m complaining. Yesterday I made the overnight salad and stashed it in the fridge. Tonight, I made a chicken/green chili casserole, but I fudged with the recipe a bit. Jordan found a recipe she really liked, but it gave no quantities. If you wanted to download the actual recipe you had to allow some program to put something on your computer—not going there. I found an approximate recipe and decided to make it, but the more I studied on it, the more skeptical I got.

The recipe said you could pour the sauce over raw boneless chicken breasts, but I elected to use diced chicken that I had poached yesterday. The sauce called for cream cheese, green chilies, spices, and grated Monterey Jack. I couldn’t see anything that would make it fluid enough to be a sauce. Cream cheese, evens often, is pretty solid. I added sour cream. Then I thought the recipe needed “finishing”—so I put a Ritz-cracker-crumb-and-butter topping on it. Pretty good if I do say so.

I sautéed the rest of the sugar snap peas and asparagus in the refrigerator. At Christian’s request, I splashed soy on them, though I questioned adding soy to a chili-based dish. Oriental and Mexican? My palate was not sure about that, but I went light on the soy, and it was all good.

For dessert, we had molasses cookies. Jacob and I baked them this afternoon. Well, sort of. He was a willing helper when I mentioned it this morning, but his enthusiasm waned when confronted with the task—assembling cookie sheets, greasing them, getting a small dish of sugar for rolling the cookies, etc. We had to do this in the house—I have a miniature jelly roll pan that fits my toaster oven, but I can only do five cookies or five biscuits at a time. We’d have been at it all week. So we went inside, but most of my cookie sheets, like lots of my kitchen stuff, have disappeared.

Like the cookie sheets, Jacob kept disappearing. His phone rang. He’d pet a dog or put on socks, and I’d send him to wash his hands again—he must have washed them five times. Once we got started and he saw what was involved, he decided I should roll the dough into little balls and he’d roll them in sugar. One pan, and he said, “We’re done, aren’t we?” Nope. It’s one of those recipes that makes five dozen. With Jordan’s help, we finally got it done. And I have to say, those are some darn fine cookies. But I’ll think twice before I commit to cookies again. Still….some chocolate chips, made the true old-fashioned way—oh, my so good!

 

This is how my garden grows

One of my Christmas gifts this year was an indoor herb garden. We’ve all seen indoor herb gardens—ho hum, the herbs wither and die before you can do anything with them. Not this one! It’s hydroponic, automatic, and nearly foolproof. You place little cups of pre-planted seeds in the designated holes, fill the receptacle with water, and plug it in. The light in the arm over the plants cycles on for 16 hours, off for eight; all you have to do is fill the reservoir with water when the indicator gets low. My gift came with a wide selection of seeds—later I read the reason the starter kit was three basil plants is that basil is easy to grow and fairly unforgiving. I didn’t read that in time, so I planted basil, mustard greens, and romaine—shoot, if it’s dangerous to buy, I might as well grow my own. The kit comes with two extensions for the light arm so as the plants grow you can raise the light and allow them to increase in height.

Called Click and Grow, the company has a web site and is most responsive to questions—I asked about why my light was going off and on because the instructions didn’t say, and I got not one but two quick responses. Apparently, there are also all sorts of videos on YouTube about pruning, etc. I will explore, but for now I’m in the seedling stage. Even Jacob is having fun watching them grow.

Last year, neighbor Jay planted basil outside my front door. It struggled but finally flourished into a big plant as basil will do Trouble was I couldn't get down from the walker to harvest it, so if no one was around to cut it, I couldn't get to my basil. Now it will be handy on my desk top.

A last look at Christmas ligh ts

It’s all over but the shouting and maybe that’s over too—another holiday season has come and gone. Son Jamie, giver of the herb garden, was here today, and he and Christian had a mournful discussion about how sad it makes them to take down the Christmas tree. “The house looks so boring,” Christian said. I definitely feel that and am turning on my Christmas lights as long as I have them. Tonight, Jordan whisked away the wreath from my front door, the snowman who stood outside the steps, the large snifter of Christmas ornaments, and the German Kinder Claus and Scottish Santa Mac from my coffee table. I’m back to Mexican tin art—a Chihuahua and a wise old owl--on the coffee table. I’m sure the tree and the lighted glass block will disappear soon, so I took one last picture. My spray of green neon lights—from a diffuser that throws these dots of lights on the neighbors’ wall—remains all year, and I love it. Somehow though I haven’t figured out the cycle. I turn it on in the evening and off when I go to bed, but if I wake in the night—says three or four in the morning—the lights are on again, though they are always off when I get up in the morning.

Last night, Jordan and Christian lingered by the firepit after the guests had left, and Jordan found herself buried in dogs with the most amazed expression on her face. This picture somehow seems a fitting end to the holiday season, though I must say I woke during the night because the cottage smelled to strongly of pinion smoke. Today I’m used to it, but Jamie said he smelled it immediately when he came in, and Christian came in and threw open the doors to get fresh air in. Next time we have a fire we will keep my French doors closed.

The end of a wonderful holiday season is but the beginning of a new year. May all your dreams and hopes and wishes come true and may the Good Lord smile upon you.