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Edited on Mon Jul-12-10 06:51 PM by Fly by night
Good early Monday evening, all y'all. After our May floods here in Tennessee, I could be excused for some fear last night at the start of the two inches of rain that fell on my farm (on my Garden). To the contrary, it was just what the Goddess ordered (and provided). I've been up and about in the Garden all day, feeling the now-spongy ground (not the dust) beneath my bare feet, transplanting sunflowers and zinnias, listening to the Garden plants breathing faint sighs of well-watered relief, admiring my 90 foot (this year) gourd and pumpkin caterpillar – ten feet tall in places – covered with large and small, bright yellow blossoms; tendrils entwined in the nylon netting, PVC pipe and bamboo that provide the basic structure; tendrils occasionally reaching out their fingers to me in the walking paths, hoping to be redirected toward the sun.
Yes, the hours of abundance are here.
On the second day of summer, I picked my first ripe tomato (a cherry type.) Now, three weeks later, I am twice-weekly hauling half-bushel boxes of large and small ‘maters (Early Girls and Better Boys, Roma, red cherry and yellow tear-drop, even a few large pink Bradleys) to be divided among eight Nashville households. Taking them also equal amounts of Straight 8 cucumbers, yellow crook-neck squash and sweet basil, cut from the plants in large amounts to introduce pesto to a number of uneducated Southern palettes and to help the plants grow bushy with new leaves for the summer and fall.
An early smattering of Hatch (New Mexico) green chiles have made their way to town, along with green and gold Bell peppers and some early potatoes (the major dig for those is coming in the next few weeks). Following right behind is my first planting of Silver Queen sweet corn, stalks now eight feet tall and newly revealing their white tassels and silk, bound to bring fresh off the stalk, briefly into boiling water and then in my mouth bliss within the month. The sweet potatoes and butternut squash, though planted later, have jumped with last night's dousing, as has the entire late Garden planting -- two full 4X100 raised beds into which I have alternated sweet corn, cantaloupes, sunflowers and crook-neck squash down the length of the Garden. Those late beds will feed me and others in September and October, as will some of the other beds that are not yet planted with fall greens and turnips, but within a month will be. Beds that will give me three harvests this growing season.
Then there are the pole beans, this year's lesson in patience and observation.
I spoke recently with my younger brother, an avid gardener like me who lives in Columbus, MS. He and his wife were driving around Columbus last Friday evening, delivering field peas, tomatoes and zinnias to folks they know at several nursing homes. (An old geometry teacher of mine -- Miz Carnes – had remembered me to Steve at one of the homes, which had occasioned his call.) Like me, Steve was pretty pleased with his own Garden this year. Also like me, he was puzzled that his (Kentucky Wonder) pole beans had made no beans at all, despite being covered with masses of green leaves. This year, I have devoted three 20 foot sections of trellised row to pole beans, and I told Steve that I also had not seen a single bean. However, I was beginning to notice a scattering of flowers (small white and yellow waxy blossoms, tucked inside the greenery) in my vines, so I told Steve I remained hopeful.
Steve and I spoke on Friday evening and, in my early Saturday next morning walk in the Garden, I looked with a more open eye and (finally) noticed not only pole bean flowers but fully-formed bean pods tucked in the corners, tender green, sweet and ready to pick without rushing the rightful timing of their harvest. The beans still appear elusive in the Garden for the moment, but they are beginning to be sufficient for me. That's always the first step in the process of enjoying any new portion of the flow of fresh food in these hours of abundance. First I feed myself with the new harvest of whatever, then I feed my Nashville and Franklin families, then I fill the freezer and cupboard. That whole process will be in motion next week as I begin to can extra tomatoes to carry me into and through the winter. This year, tomatoes will be replenished in the cupboard and corn and beans will help fill the freezer, their green and gold colors offsetting the blueberries.
Oh, did I mention blueberries?
I planted over an acre of blueberries eight years ago on my northern ridge and, folks, this is by far my best blueberry year ever on the farm. The plants are six to eight feet tall and their branches are covered with ripe berries (NOW). The deep soaking rain we got last night (and may get again tonight) should help push the blueberry harvest season into fourth gear for the next month. My local middle Tennessee friends come visit and either buy the berries for $10 a gallon or go halves with me and take their half home free. Either way helps now, and helps later as I make homemade blueberry jam and syrup once the days start cooling down.
It would be so nice to be able to introduce you to this year's Garden face-to-face, in all Her ten foot tall, flowering, fulfilled form and fancy. To send you home with vegetables to balance your sweet blueberry buzz. To show you what's up this summer, as I recuperate and learn to walk again. Recuperate?
Yes, it's nice to end this note to you by telling you that – six weeks ago – I had my left hip replaced, rather than starting the note with that news. It has certainly been interesting, and a real challenge, to live these past weeks without being able to drive, or put my shoes on, or lower myself into the bath-tub, or .... lay on my left side in bed. Yes, there are tales attached to my new ten inch left hip scar. But that is just a passing (though still painful) process of slowly becoming a bionic man. For now, and for you (and me), I'd rather focus on the Garden.
Her abundance during these summer hours is measured not only in the harvest, but in the level and complexity of my expanded roles in keeping Her healthy, happy and focused this time of year. Having to go day after day post-surgery without being able to walk on Her paths, or weed Her rows -- that was the real challenge for the past few weeks. One day I pushed too fast to get back to weeding and I paid with day-long pain the next. But now I know the pain, and I know what I can do. And I am doing it, staying within the bounds of what is acceptable for me for healing. (Well, at least most of the time).
Despite the May Day flood, despite the surgery, despite the slow moving shuffle with my walking staff these days, this year's Garden is still one I can be proud of. Close your eyes in this graying dusk, muted by the low-lying, north-laying clouds pregnant with more summer rain. Close your eyes ‘cause I am sending you images of fruited (and vegetabled) abundance, in the harvest and the helping, right outside my moistly-misted window.
Images of the sights and sounds of my home -- my Tennessee deep hollow, well-watered, tightly-bound-in-what's-left-of-my-bones home.
Take care and keep loving your own Garden. Now to bed – I know that more abundance will await me when I open my eyes. Here's hoping you'll see the same.
FBN
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