Today is my brother’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Eric!
My morning meditation has been rolling dill seeds off their dried flower-heads. I know that the season is shortly coming to an end when the mornings dip below 60 degrees in mid to late August. My gentle approach to the garden this year has seen big success stories with a little less variety; fewer crops with bigger yields. I let grow what wanted to grow. Bread has made use of it all; I’ve stuffed it with onions, topped it with herbs and flowers, and now filled it with seeds, especially dill seeds. Soon we will be overrun with tomatoes and all the BLTs and Bruschetta won’t be able to save us. I’ll freeze some, sauce others, try to give away more.
Months ago the chamomile filled my dining room on drying racks alongside calendula. I sorted it all into tea bags before in came the cured onions and then the dill which I’m working into jars. I don’t can, and I only quick-pickle, so I appreciate the simple crops that keep only through drying. Lettuce kept us in salads all of June and July. There’s more out there, but I’ve had to make room for the sprawling poll beans threatening to engulf the world. Every day the beans are giving us a pound or more to eat. Sautéed, baked, as casserole, as salad, we’re eating green beans several times a week.
Out back there are three pumpkins on the vine, only one so far is orange. There is one patty-pan squash that looks ready to eat, but a disappointing showing from admittedly old seeds. We trellised the raspberries. Birds put a hole in the blueberry net. The catbirds got more strawberries than we did, but there was enough to share. A sunflower is as tall as the gutter and the marigolds are lighting up the boarders with fiery red and orange.
