October Magic

In a contest between the most beautiful months of the year, I’d say it comes down to a tie between May and October. Here in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, May is the month of blooms. Maybe it’s not actually a state law, but it seems that everyone and their credit union has a rhododendron. Or an azalea. Or, both--because more blooms, “most better.” Mother Nature is at her greenest, leafy best. The hills are purple, blue and green—the clouds dramatic, the sunbreaks glorious. May is clearly the Most Beautiful Month.

The Season of the Great Pumpkin

Then October rolls around and makes me rethink my belief system. The daylight is waning, but the days are still warm. The nights are a crisp counterpoint, and who could argue with the magnificence of a harvest moon? The leaves catch fire and their colors blaze out the close of summer, the scent of them intoxicating. Every sunny day seems like a bonus, deserving of celebration. 

 

October is the season of Pumpkin Spice Everything—and I’m ok with that. Since my strawbale garden pumpkins took over my back yard, I’ve been looking forward to the day I could go kill harvest them with out fear of retribution. October seems a reasonable time to do that; pumpkin spice bread with cranberries a worthy end.

The end of the tomatoes

Since we have yet to experience a killing frost, my zucchini is still putting out fruit, but not—thank God—as prolifically. My tomatoes haven’t really recovered from the elk attack, but that’s ok—I had planted WAY too many of them and they were producing WAY too well. I am sorry that they ate the little sweet orange tomatoes plant—that one was amazing as bruschetta topping, and I feel the opposite of forgiveness when I recall it. Stupid elk.

Bruschetta goodness.

It’s still too early in the fall season to plant my bulbs, the ground hasn’t sufficiently cooled and I don’t want them to try to grow above ground before next spring. That means I’m free to ignore other garden chores until I can do them all at once. I’m all about efficiency. 

Or avoidance.

Whatever.

 

Jack and the Cinderella Pumpkin Stalk

I have a tale to tell, but it’s kind of hard to believe. You remember the story of Jack and the Beanstalk and how he traded his mother’s cow for some magic beans? He threw them away after his mom got a little bit miffed about the poor bargain; in the morning there was a towering beanstalk that reached into the clouds, and there was a giant, some thievery, bone-grinding and bread making, a talking musical instrument –I think it said “Help, help, I’m being oppressed!” But I could be misremembering that part. Anyway, the story ends with Jack chopping down the beanstalk—possibly killing the giant, but probably in some sort of pseudo self-defense—and living happily ever after with his ill-gotten gains. One hopes he at least bought his mother a low-mileage cow, if not a new one.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if this story was more an allegory about Wall Street than a fairy tale, but I digress.

My story is kind of like that. Except my name isn’t Jack, my mom hasn’t owned a cow in 50 years and the seeds in question are pumpkin seeds—Cinderella pumpkin seeds, to be precise.

Perhaps it is the Cinderella part that infused these seeds with magic, because I planted those things and holy cow! (Hah! There is a cow in this story after all!) Those seeds are growing at a phenomenal rate. They have already taken over my entire straw bale garden—it’s all pumpkin vine, stem to stern—the vines have forced me to remove my inner-pheasant fence by threatening to climb right over it, and now seem intent on neighborhood domination.

So far, there have been no talking musical instruments, ill-gotten gains, or bone-grinding. There was a bit of bread making-- but everybody is making bread these days so I’m discounting that.
But if a really, really tall guy starts hanging around mumbling “Fi, fi, foe, a deer, a female deer,” or mice begin to talk and offer to make me a ball gown-- I am out of here.

Secrets and Gardens

I have a secret, and it’s too delicious not to share. However, it seems that I may have promised not to share it—not yet anyway. So as difficult as it is for me to keep it to myself—I shall attempt to do just that.

Gosh, I really don’t know what else to talk about...Secrets can be marvelous, keeping them can be a full-time job. I suppose I could give you a garden update, tell you how my Straw Bale Garden is growing.

My SBG is growing like a weed. And it is growing weeds—despite all the assurances to the contrary, it had sprouted so many green shoots it looked like a shaggy green Cousin It. Every time I walk by it I grab a hand full and yank.

It is also growing veggies. My potatoes plants are leafy green, my tomatoes have blossoms, my radish crop has come to fruition. It was so exciting to pluck that first radish! To marvel at its lovely color, to rub it clean on my pant leg and then crunch it right up. First fruits always taste best when eaten right there in the garden. Who needs Farm to Table when you can just skip the table part?

After the third harvest of radishes I noticed that my “sweet radish” radishes seemed to be getting progressively spicy. I also remembered that I’m not a big fan of radishes to begin with.

My lettuce crop seemed to go from sprout, to baby tender—I know, because I picked a leaf and ate it—to looks like we have salad for days, to holy cow somebody grab the machete.

The peas are being temperamental, but the beans are taking off, the carrots should probably be referred to as THE Carrot---I don’t know what happened there. The Cinderella pumpkin is already setting fruit and appears set on world domination. I’ve been afraid to look at the zucchini plant—what if I’m the only person in the history of zucchini who can’t grow them? After all the unkind things I’ve said about zuke prolific-ness, I’d hate to have to eat my words.

Come to think of it—my words might taste better than veggies. I look at my vegetable garden and I’m starting to get overwhelmed at the thought of eating all that. Do I even like green beans? Oh sure, with enough bacon in them—but how healthy is that?

Luckily for me, the pheasant seems to like radishes more that I do so I guess it won’t hurt me to share with him.

Gardening in a Time of Pandemic

The sun has been lovely these last couple of days. I find it so much easier to be optimistic with the sun on my face. My gardens are receiving a little more TLC that is “normal”—in part because of the sun, but the truth is the Stay at Home order has a lot to do with it. “Stay at Home” means not running off to nurseries near and far and indulging my flower fixation. Or buying shoes. Or whatever. Anyway, I’m at home.

Working on the layout.

I’ve decided that I want to have a vegetable garden this year. Since I own neither tiller nor tractor-- and am far too lazy to employ a shovel—I’ve decided to go the Straw Bale Garden route and save myself a lot of labor. My bales were well under $10 each, and available locally—Overby’s Hay & Grain, for the curious.

For once, I’ve started the 12 day “maturation” process well ahead of local planting time, so I’ve had time to play with the design layout of my garden. I’m going rather small—a five bale garden—and have oriented the garden to best take advantage of the sun, while still staying clear of any lawn shenanigans that might ensue over the summer: Slip ‘n Slide, Beersbee—it’s Frisbee, but with beer, Wiffleball, Cornhole, what have you. I’m holding on to optimism that perhaps some little “normal” will be reestablished and the clan can gather once more. When it does, I plan that my SBG won’t be in the path.

I’m still mulling over what I want to plant: tomatoes are a given, but there are carrots, green beans, potatoes, radishes, lettuces, pumpkins...I don’t think corn is a good crop for SBG—too top heavy/tippy and would use up a lot of my available planting area---and I’m having fun choosing what to plant. I may or may not have added a packet of zucchini seeds to my shopping cart. Strange days indeed.

I have NO IDEA how those
zucchini seeds got in there!

I have a package of marigold seeds to plant—I’ll transplant the seedlings into the sides of the bales. There they can both beautify and protect, as many garden pests don’t like marigolds.

One of my favorite summer activities that revolves around gardening is taking and giving garden tours with fellow gardeners. I suppose this year we can do it “virtually” --but they will be a lot less likely to help me weed or deadhead. **sigh** Fortunately, one of the upsides of SBG is you have far fewer weeds to pull.

My neighborhood is busy with vegetable garden prep, and I have a feeling many people will be looking for a healthy, at-home hobby. Gardening can nourish both body and soul, so go get your grubbies on and go play in the dirt. 

Or the straw, whatever.

Tis the—Which Season Now?

Tis the season, once again—and you know what that means.  

Wait—which season? It’s WAAAAAAY too early for Christmas, so it’s not that season, step back from the tinsel, put down the twinkle lights—your day is coming. Just not today.

It’s not Chicken Poo season, still a wee bit early to add chicken poo to the flower beds. Let Mother Nature cool off a little bit first or you will encourage new growth, only to see it nipped in the bud. Literally. And it’s still too early to dig up dahlias—or at least it is at my house. I like to dig my dahlias at the last possible second before they turn to slime.

Is it hunting season? Kind of, I guess, but not FULL ON SHOOT ELK season, so no—that’s not it. Elk for Everybody season starts locally next month. Good luck and be safe.

The frost is on the pumpkin--- so it’s Pumpkin Spice Everything Season? Well, technically yes, but that’s not the season I’m referring to. And—full disclosure here—the only things I like that are pumpkin spice are candles and pumpkin bread. Which allows me to simultaneously mock the “PUMPKIN SPICE EVERYTHING!!” people while looking forward the scent of pumpkin spice. Win/win, really. I have stocked up on pumpkin spice coffee creamer, because BEST MOM EVER.

The season I’m referencing is---drum roll please-- Rotate the Air in Your Tires Season! Truly. It is time to take the summer air out of your tires and put in winter air. Frankly, I’m surprised I even have to mention this. Now with temperatures dropping into the 30’s, summer air just won’t cut it. Go immediately to the nearest air compressor—I prefer the kind with an attendant attached, shout out to Packwood Chevron. Oh, sure I have my OWN air compressor but I prefer the professionally applied air—and add the necessary amount of winter air to bring your tires up to winter driving requirements.

Meme courtesy of the internet. And probably Al Gore.

Next week: Sue discusses blinker fluid levels. Probably.

Harry’s Harvest Tradition

I took a trip down Hwy 508 the other day, past Harry’s old gray house near the blinking four-way stop light, accompanying a friend on her annual quest for the perfect pumpkins.

The sun wasn’t coming warm through the windows the car this year, instead, the sky was overcast and gray, the rain more threat than promise.

I looked to see if the pumpkins had been harvested yet--- on this, the opening weekend of the fall decorating season—and they had; all were lined up in orderly groups on Harry’s former front porch, the Honor Can with its bills and coins, standing at attention, ever ready to supply the change needed to pay for your selections.

There they all were, lined up, piled up, group together by size and purpose. Tall skinny pumpkins stood with rounded shoulders among more rotund pumpkins of all sizes, their blank orange faces an invitation to carve, to create, to bring life to all the expressions that imagination can conjure. Tiny baby pumpkins remind me that, in another season or two, my grandson will discover for himself the joy of digging out the seeds and stringy, sloppy slime of pumpkin guts.

The lovely deep red of the Cinderella pumpkins—perfect for pies—shine brightly, waiting patiently for people to come and turn them into something magical. Even now my mouth waters with the thought of spicy pumpkin bread, pumpkin roll-up with a smooth, cream cheese filling, pumpkin dip that pairs perfectly with gingersnaps. Oddly enough, I don’t really care much for pumpkin pie. Try not to judge me.

 There were plenty of white pumpkins—one can’t help but imagine them as ghosts—and multi-varieties of gourds for fall decorating.

Harry has been gone for several seasons now, gone to his reward, gone to that Great Garden in the sky. His daughter, along with family and friends, still carries on the planting and the harvesting in his honor, and I feel blessed to have some of Harry’s Harvest adorning my doorstep.