Presto!

Maybe it's not quite magic, though some days the way garden keeps feeding us, it feels that way. 

Today was a day for making containers of pesto for the freezer. There are plenty of different ways to use it (ours goes mostly to pasta dishes), and probably just as many ways of making it. 

All I do for the freezer packs is whir garlic (again, from the garden), basil, lemon juice, and olive oil in the little food processor. Later, when I'm ready to use it, I'll add cheese and nuts. Most recipes call for pine nuts, but those are soooo expensive, I generally use walnuts. 

It may seem silly to some, but one of the reasons I decided to make this today -- besides the fact that the basil is growing like crazy out back -- is that I heard a friend read such a beautiful poem that she'd written. "Sweet Basil" it was called, and it's stayed in my mind all day. 

I suspect I'll likely think of it again sometime this winter when I'm once again using this magically delicious concoction, pesto. 

Fruits of the Earth

Although I guess, to be more accurate, I'd have to call them vegetables. Still, Vegetables of the Earth just doesn't have the same ring as a title. 

Home-grown potatoes always seem like such a miracle to me. After all, they started as small chunks of potatoes that had started growing 'eyes' and all we had to do was bury them in some good dirt. Then, it seems like not all that much time later, here they were: tiny potatoes, ready for becoming part of a summertime meal. 

Maybe my affinity for good potatoes goes back to my own Irish roots, even though my people there somehow managed to make it through the Great Potato Famine. My grampa didn't come to North American until the early 1900s, and I'm still hoping to see where he lived one of these days, as Ireland is included on the travel bucket list. 

In the meantime, fresh potatoes are definitely on the menu!

Fleeting

Feels like summer is flying past too quickly. Not as fast as the blur of the hummingbird's wings, but wheee, here we go, nearly August!

The blackberries are fat and sweet and plentiful, but the rest of the fruit in the yard is pretty pathetic. Even the quince tree (usually loaded) has only a few for us to pick this year. Maybe by September, a few more will have magically appeared. 

Worst, I suppose, is the plum tree: one plum. At least that was the score last time I checked. Who knows, the squirrel may have decided it looked ripe enough for him. 

Lettuces, basil, tomatoes--hurrah for the die-hards. Even if the freezer won't be filled with berries this year, at least we're still happily enjoying fresh salads. 

And probably best of all, after a couple of months with no hummers in sight, it's great that a pair (at least) seems to have returned. 

Small perfections

Okay, it's just a little plate of tomatoes. But they're still warm from picking. Come winter, I'll be grumbling, and probably ready to pay whatever it takes for just about any kind of tomato I can find. For now, they're free gifts from the garden. And yes, the yellow and orange ones are exactly the colours they're supposed to be. Golden and delicious. And just right to eat right now. 

Summer bounty

These July days are, I suspect, just about as perfect as anyone's time on earth could be. The other day, reading a book outside, I looked up from the page and thought: If there's a heaven, I hope it's as good as this.

Yes, I still go to the grocery store, though every day we eat something or other from the yard. And so much of it seems to just come up on its own -- golden plums, the berries (though I do prune them almost weekly from March through August) and this year, a trio of peaches.

The salad bar takes a bit more fussing, with much of it needing to dangle in hanging baskets to keep the slugs at bay. Still, fresh greens every night (oh yes, beans too) are hard to beat.

And as for those blackberries, they can be pickety. I'm often competing with bees, who still love visiting all those sweet white
flowers, but at least they seem to leave me alone. A few of them might buzz around my hand or head, but they seem to prefer the flowers to me.

It's the thorns that keep wanting to grab, and are the reason I wear glasses when I pick.

Still, a few nicks don't bother me, especially when I know what dessert will be. Blackberries, fresh off the vine, with even one of the last stragglers from the raspberry canes.

Heaven. Who needs it. Not yet anyway.

What is real??

Although Easter might seem like an appropriate time to quote what's likely the most famous line from The Velveteen Rabbit, that's not the answer to today's question.

The item in question is definitely real, though when I first saw it, I thought it was a stone, not what it actually is -- a tiny egg. My brass swans look as though they're feeling proud, and my pie bird crow might well be cawing a celebratory squawk.

When I found the egg, it was lying on some grass near the back door. I'm still not sure what kind of egg it is -- what bird might have laid it -- but I couldn't spot anyone's nest nearby. All I could think of as a possible source for the egg is the garden basket still up from last summer -- the one that seems to be trying its best to start making strawberries again. And it's true, I have seen little birds alighting there, as if they're looking for a spot to build a nest.


But the egg isn't the only 'found gift' that came to me this weekend. I also encountered some real live bunnies who looked like they were getting ready to make a batch of baby bunnies.

Not only is today what many observe as Easter Monday, it's Earth Day as well -- and also the day Elizabeth May, leader of Canada's Green Party, is getting married. I wasn't invited, though a friend of mine was -- and she'll be wearing a tiny feathered hat that I lent her.

So, although I won't be there, I'm hoping my little hat will come home with a few stories it's found for me.

Survivors

These little lettuces might be looking a little straggly, though you might too if you'd been living outside during the start of our rainy season.

Still, I'm pretty happy that a couple of these have hung in this long.

Two pots of geraniums are still blooming red out front, and I even picked a half-dozen raspberries the other day.

Survivors? Yes, but not for long, as tonight's salad bowl is looking a little empty -- but not for long!

Icing on the cake?

Last night, past midnight but well before dawn, light crept into the bedroom, waking me. Outside I discovered the reason. No flash on the camera, just reflected light from the glow of the unexpected white stuff, thus the spooky glow.

I admit to not being a big fan of snow (okay, it can look pretty for a few minutes, especially if it's Christmastime). And even though today is a friend's birthday, the icing on the cake I'm talking about isn't exactly the bonus kind.

Last week broke temp records here.

On Tuesday I was still wearing sandals.

This morning I need to find the shovel and figure out something saucey for those little yellow dots still there shivering on the vine.

Or, I suppose I should just think of all this as icing on the tomatoes.

Nosing into a new month

Even the tomatoes from the garden are pointing the way to October.

In another week, Thanksgiving -- then Halloween, and yikes -- not long after that, Christmas.

And then we'll nose our way into yet another new year.

Almost peachy

To someone who lives in Georgia or in BC's Okanagan, our tiny peach tree would be a joke. But here in the Lower Mainland -- or at least in our little yard -- it's a treasure. This year, it has a whopping big crop of nine (admittedly undersized) peaches.

And I figure that's good enough to qualify as peachy. As it turns out, there are a few phrases based on glorifying this luscious fruit, some weirder, some punnier, some more profound than others. (Can anything based on the description of a fruit be profound? Probably not.)

Even though they're getting nice and rosy, they're still too hard to want to pick and eat. But I'm trusting it won't be long -- and also that they'll be at least as good as last week's little crop of three golden plums. Those were so juicy, we had to eat them outside. I ate mine over top of a plant in a pot, and pretty well managed to water it with the drippings.

Almost...

The April rains, traditionally reputed to bring May flowers, have nearly lived up to expectations. Although the daffodils have long since come and been, the tulips are still standing and even the stalwart daisies have started asserting themselves. As for the lilac, you can see that it's still in the 'almost' category, just about ready to pop open, with that wonderful once-a-year scent.

But the garden isn't the only place where 'almost' is the operative word. It's almost time for our provincial election, one we can only hope will bring about a more positive direction for people here.

My happiest 'almost' is the fact that my new book about Amelia Earhart is now at the printer and is expected to be ready for take-off later this month. One of the most exciting parts of that particular 'almost' is the fact that I will be launching the book at Harbour Grace in Newfoundland -- the same town where Amelia took off for her history-making transatlantic solo across the Atlantic -- and on May 20th, exactly 85 years after her departure from there.

Wintry thoughts

This was the view out the back door this morning. Fresh snow adding its weight to the snow that's been here for a week or so already. It's a far cry from the way the same space looks during the summer, verdant with all those salad fixin's.

In some ways, I suppose such a "Christmasy view" should put me into a bright and cheery holiday mood. In other ways, I'll admit, it depresses me. The negative effect comes when I think about the homeless, all too many of whom surround us. Where do they go when the weather's like this?

And even more depressing is the numbers that keep rolling in with just about every day's news, how many more overdoses can there be in a single night?

The fentanyl crisis has led me to a longer piece of writing -- one I'm still working on, one I'm hoping may find a broader audience than this little blog, one that might even help change things for the better. While words seem to be the only defence I have against any of these horrific situations, there are certainly too many days when words are nowhere near enough.

Yet I'm not sure what I can do beyond seeking words. And where to look for them, but to the garden -- even in winter -- for encouragement and inspiration.

Especially to the hardiest green, the kale. A lesson in survival, to be sure.

Fearsome contrasts

This is the beautiful rhododendron that grows in our front yard. If it looks a little fuzzy, that's because I took the photo last night at dusk when the light was beginning to fade. Still, I loved the glow that the blossoms seemed to emit.

In the twenty years we've lived here, these flowers have always opened for Mother's Day. The only year that proved to be an exception was last year, when just about everything seemed to be a bit late. As if to compensate, everything in this year's garden has been early.

Considering all that's been on the news this week -- the conflagration in Fort McMurray -- this bush with its glorious blossoms seems like a full-blown miracle. Here, the world comes in colours -- lush greens and vibrant flowers. There, it's become a world of ash -- stark tones of black and white, the aftermath of hell.

But back to those rhodos. Being the lazy gardener that I am, my slogan is pretty much, "If it comes up on its own, I am happy." Thus, my satisfaction at daffodils and tulips, those stalwarts whose bulbs do all the work in early spring. And now, the lupins and daisies are opening, with the lilies sure to follow them in turn.

If I can be called the lazy gardener, my friend Jane would be my polar opposite. She knew more than anyone I've ever met about flower gardening. Vagaries of weather, soil conditions, what to grow in shade or sun, rain or drought -- she knew it all. Today marks the day that she arrived on the planet and should have been a day when she would be here to glory in the blossoms of the season. Yet again, a candle is alight on my kitchen counter, though my greatest remembrances of her today are outdoors in the midst of all that life and colour. In addition, I am doing something I'm sure she'd approve: making a donation to the Red Cross and its relief fund to help the residents of Fort McMurray

Exhale

Well, this time the weather people were right about the rain. It started yesterday morning and came down pretty much all through the night. Hurrah!

With this end to the drought, it feels like I can exhale. There's something about waiting (and waiting) for rain that makes me feel like I have to hold my breath. I guess I must be acclimatized to where I live.

Along with the wet came a whole lot of wind, but we were among the lucky ones. None of our trees came down (huge ones at a friend's place did, crushing her deck), just a lot of small branches, spruce cones and cedar bits.

Our power was out for nearly 24 hours, but we're pretty well set to deal with those sorts of emergencies. Still, it was a good wake-up call -- enough of one that the generator has been tuned up and is set for the next round of whatever.

The garden sure looks happy though and the trees appear to be smiling again. Me too.

The House that Birdie Built

We have a bird living with us this summer. Earlier, she tried building a nest on a ledge in the gazebo, but that one didn't work out. This time she's taken up lodging in behind a potted begonia.

Where the last posting here featured the front door of our house, it seems only fair to give the same treatment to the back door. And really, this nest (hidden) is not even a metre from where we go in and out to the back yard.

I can only surmise that Birdie must have been watching decorator shows on tv, as really, this spot seems more about looks than practicality. Not only does she have pink begonia blossoms, every now and then she has waterfall sound effects, as there's a shower just inside the bathroom (nearest) window.

The little mother seems to have grown used to us, though we do try to be quiet when we pass by her
home. And watering the plant has become an exercise in precision so as not to flood her home while keeping the plant alive.

Not exactly something that should show up on Dress My Nest, but Birdie has certainly made herself a a very pretty home.

It's official

Yesterday was officially the first day of autumn. For once, the calendar and the weather seemed to be in agreement.

Saturday was sunny, the perfect day for end-of-summer chores -- digging the last of the potatoes, tidying up the grape vines, pulling off the last of the berries for a fruity dessert.

But Sunday -- anything but a SUN day. The rains began in the night and lasted for most of the day, announcing with a kind of finality the end of summer.

Equinox, a time of balance, a time for change.

Salady days

Not the same thing as the 'salad days' referred to in Shakespeare, but these salady days are every bit as permeated with green.

Once the Solstice has passed, I want it to be full-on summer, and fresh salad greens from the backyard are part of that. Yes, this batch rides in a wagon. It can easily be moved for mowing (or, to get more sun). And by being that little bit raised off the ground, the lettuces are safe from slugs and the resident bunny.

Having our own daily salad bar is a treat. But seeing all the condominiums that have sprouted in our neighbourhood, I wonder how people can grow any of their own food. And when I see so many vacant lots (houses torn down, developers waiting for whatever it is they wait for), I wish some of those lots could be turned into community gardens, even if only temporarily.

Disappointingly, Surrey, the city where I live, has only four community gardens. Comparing this to Vancouver, with its 75 community gardens (with one of them occupying the grounds of the City Hall in the city's downtown), this seems just plain not good enough.

For now, about all I can do is be grateful for how lucky I am -- to have a bit of a yard where we can grow such a nice part of our daily food.

Gone to ground

Even though there are a few hours remaining in summer -- technically, it won't be autumn until 8:09 PDT this evening -- there's a definite bite of fall in the air.

In keeping with the season, it's been a day for doing things that tie in with the change.

For one thing, there's a new template for this blog. Not sure how long I'll keep it, but it seems to be appropriate for my autumny mood.

For another, it's the day the tent finally came down. No more sleeping out. Time to pack it away for next year's camping adventures (even if this year, those were all in the 'wilderness' of our foresty yard).

It's also the day the garlics go back into the ground, so they can hunker down over the winter, readying themselves to raise their heads into the sunlight of 2011. Nestled in beside the oregano and rosemary, another couple of tough-minded neighbours who should make it through the winter, they'll even have companionship over the long cold months ahead.