Strawberries

We are just now finishing the last bag of our own frozen strawberries from 2010, as this season's berries turn ripe and ready for harvest. This is nice to know: our roughly 120 square feet of strawberries now officially keeps us in pink smoothies year round (32 pounds in the chest freezer so far!).

I'd say strawberries are a highly recommendable crop for urban gardeners, because with a small amount of labor and space, you can get a pretty hefty yield. I thin out old plants in the early spring, throw some shovelfuls of compost on them, mulch them with straw if there is any, weed them once or twice, and spend the rest of my summer drinking bourbon on a picnic blanket beside the strawberry patch. (It's that easy.)

In this picture from early spring, the espaliered fruit trees
on the right side are underplanted with strawberries.
There's also a patch of berries in the foreground.

If you are very lucky, you will attract a small basket-worth of baby bunnies who shoot like furry ping pong balls out of the patch when you pass. If you are not so lucky, said bunnies will nip the tender young stems of your berry clusters, leaving the berries to moulder away in the mulch. Blasted bunnies.

It Takes Every Last Ounce of My Willpower...

...not to snatch one of these rotund baby chickadees out of the mountain laurel, and keep it for my very own.

Oenothera, unfurling

The first few real summer nights, when the backyard is too enchanting to leave before dark, we wait for the evening primrose to open. The plant is a tidy rosette of jaggedy, dandelion-looking leaves, with a little flock of pointed, pale green buds bobbing six inches above.

The unfurling is easy to miss, if you are not there, reclining on the sidewalk with a cocktail in hand. The sheath splits, and then... Well, you can see for yourself, right here (this is in real time, not sped up).

I *believe* this is Oenothera flava or triloba or acutissima, but I am not sure of species. The song is Picador by Calexico, from the Hot Rail album.

Shiitakes!

It was, like, forever ago that Matt inoculated a little stack of hardwood logs with mushroom spawn. I can't be any more specific in my timeline than that, because the half of this partnership that is in charge of remembering things (Matt!) can't remember what year it was. So my best guess is: 2009-10ish.

A few days ago, after a week-long soaking rain, look what happened! Shiitakes!

I was so happy! The logs are behind my parents' firewood pile, so I cut the mushrooms and brought them home to Matt. I opened the bag to show him, and held it out for him to heft the weight in his own hands. First, I made him behold the giant grin on my face, in case he did not understand the scope of his fungal success.

This brown sack weighed, like, a ton! Oh phooey, of course I did not weigh them. We just ate them.

First there were tofu-shiitake tacos, and then there were biscuits with shiitake gravy. I did not take pictures of the tacos because I was too busy stuffing myself, and I did not take pictures of the biscuits and gravy because only a professional food stylist could make biscuits and gravy look appetizing.

So you'll have to take my word for it: fresh-from-the-log shiitakes don't look like the ones from the store. They are mahogany colored and plump, and they come with integrity. As for taste, I wish I had a chef's palate, but I don't. I'll just say they were excellent. And also: oh, yum!

Roar of the Antique Cat

Garden composted, grill going

Pink Faerie Wings

I once knew a little farm girl who was really cute and a total pill. I can't remember her name, but I do remember that her pet bunny was called Cumbaline, after the flower. This flower.

Isn't that sweet? Maybe you have to love odd words and bunnies and Aquilegia to think so... but I happen to fit into that category.