Mid-August Garden Update

The gardens are looking dramatically different from a month ago as we head towards the Ides of August.

The broccoli bolted. (That is such a great phrase: it bolted. The broccoli plants are the size of four year olds, and I have visions of them suddenly dashing across the backyard to hide behind the shed.) I haven't yanked the plants yet, but will probably do so this weekend. Then before next year, I need to figure out where to plant it so it doesn't overpower everything within its shade line.

While the broccoli was bolting, the tomatoes decided it was time to turn red. Fortunately, given the numerous tomato plants, they are not turning red all at once, but they are following close upon one another's heels. Meanwhile, the peppers and the eggplants are finally responding to the warm days and starting to produce. Well, they're trying to, at least. I have picked a handful of peppers so far and am eying a small (very) eggplant, wondering if it will grow large enough for two to share. Only time will tell.

I don't think I will get any artichokes. While the plants are spectacular, there is no sign of a flower and at some point the weather will start to cool down too much to make a difference. However, the onions are ready to pull and the basil needs picked and processed. Next year, I am planting more basil and less of every other herb. I love fresh basil.

Down in the sod garden, I am picking zucchini every few days. There are several green pumpkins and a couple of adolescent cantaloupes. I am trying to be patient. Before leaving last week, I shoveled a half cubic yard of compost onto the potatoes at the one end of the sod garden to encourage more potatoes. This caused my backyard neighbor Kris, a prodigious gardener, to ask "do you have any idea how many potatoes one plant can produce? And you have how many plants, April?"

I guess I will find out soon.

Tomorrow my dad and I are going to Mrs. Hough's house to pick vegetables. She is a nearby neighbor of my parents, living just up the road and over the railroad tracks. Mrs. Hough is in her 80s, and apparently has a homestead sized garden, planted with great zeal and proficiency by her son. She called my mother a few days ago asking if mom knew anyone - anyone! - who was interested in beans, tomatoes, and the other delights that were inundating her garden and her kitchen.

So dad and I will pick while mom visits with Mrs. Hough. Everyone is thrilled with the arrangement, especially Mrs. Hough, who cannot bear the thought of all that good food going to waste.

Neither can we. I have been filling the basement freezer with zucchini and green beans, and there is still so much to come. The sweet corn is ripe and we will be buying armloads of it from Donna. Warren and I are discussing buying a second freezer as one of the bailiffs at court has one for sale cheap.

Even if we go that route, I know there is a lot of canning in my near future. When I shared that news today with Margo, she responded: And speaking of canning, you're a far, far better woman than I. I might do a little freezing when the spirit moves me, but canning! I'd sooner walk a wire across Niagara Falls.

Margo cracks me up.

I enjoy canning. It is one of those activities that has a rhythm of its own, like baking. There are a lot of canning women in my background, all on my father's side except for my mom, who learned it from her mother-in-law. I grew up watching relatives - always women - can. I still remember as a little girl loving to wear as many canning rings as I could slide up my arms as bracelets.

Mom canned intermittently throughout the years, more or less abandoning it for freezing most of the produce they grew. When she finally decided she didn't want to can ever again, I got the pressure canner, the tongs, and more canning jars than most local stores carry even at this time of year, as I inherited not only all of mom's jars but also all of Grandma Nelson's jars.

I keep a couple dozen of them here at the house; the rest are out at my parents' house, tucked away on the second story of a garage until they are called into action. This may be the year when they are called up for service.

This Saturday, Sam arrives for a nine day visit. Sam was very excited about the garden back before he decided to move to Oregon and I imagine he will do cartwheels (figuratively, not literally) when he sees what has happened.

I emailed my sons and Alise (my almost daughter-in-law, engaged to Ben) my recent medical news, then asked whether they wanted me to send zucchini bread back with Sam. Ben answered quickly: I would love some Zucchini bread.

Zucchini bread it is then, from me to them, full of spices, raisins, and love. It should travel well. Love always does.