Farm Report

 


It was dewy when I went out into the garden this morning.  Look at these green cherry tomatoes in the early light.  Cool, huh?





 
I'm glad I planted just one tomato plant.  The lettuce is done so the Sweet 100s have all this room to spread out like a pear tree espaliered on a garden wall.  It makes picking tomatoes very easy.  Those are yellow squash flowers behind the tomato plant.



Here's today's harvest--a bunch of cherry tomatoes, a nice size patty pan squash, a few white onions, and one shallot.  I thought shallots stayed clumped together like garlic bulbs but they splay out away from the center.  I suppose if a person tied them together or heaped up soil as they grew they'd clump but I'm happy to have them however they've grown.



When I was eating lunch there was an almighty crash on the patio door.  This oriole fledgling had banged into the glass and stunned itself.  It sat there panting and looking around for a couple minutes and then flew away.  One winter a hawk learned that it could dive down, scatter the juncos, and one would usually klonk into the glass and stun itself, thereby making an easy hawk meal.  Pretty smart, those raptors.




As promised, I had the second Chicken Burrito Bowl for supper tonight.  This time one of the avocados was ripe enough so I could slice half and have it on top.  Yum.  I halved some cherry tomatoes and put them on top too.  That was one filling bowl of supper.





Most of what I did today was sew up the second version of the two-piece swimsuit I've envisioned.  I didn't have enough of that cool print to make the whole thing so the bra and trunks are the black with white dots and the over top is the print.  I haven't tried it on yet, maybe when I undress for bed.  Being able to make swimsuits feels like extra special sewing magic.




17 August--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.

             Thursday promised to be one of those perfect early December days; cold and sunny with just a bit of snow to make the decorations look good.  I picked Clara up early, before 8 a.m., and drove into Simpson to a little place I’d passed by a couple times.  We walked into a warm steamy restaurant dotted with small tables ringed by mismatched wooden chairs, about half of them filled.  The cozy room was rich with the aromas of brewing coffee and baking bread.

            Clara stopped and looked around.  “This looks like a nice place; kind of homey and kitchen-y.”

            “It smells great, too.  Let’s find a place to sit.  I’m hungry.”

            We picked out a table and were waited on by a young woman in an apron with wisps of hair escaping her ponytail and a smudge of flour on her cheek.  “What can I get you ladies?”

            “Coffee,” we said together.

            “Coming right up.  Regular or decaf?  Flavored or plain?”

            “Regular for me,” said Clara, “my wimpy friend will have the decaf and we’ll both have it plain, no cream or sugar.”

            We each grabbed a menu.  It was full of the most unusual and delicious sounding things: omelets with cream cheese and chives or salsa and cheddar, scrambled eggs with sour cream and strawberry jam billed as “Jackie Kennedy’s favorite breakfast,” six kinds of muffins from lemon-poppy seed to pineapple kiwi, West Indian French toast with rum syrup.  They also had the usual bacon, sausage, and egg offerings.

            After our waitress poured our coffee, we had the devil of a time deciding what to order.  It was tempting to go with the old standby of bacon and eggs but we agreed that today was the day to try new things.  So Clara ordered the French toast and I had the Jackie Kennedy scrambled eggs, each of us promising to share with the other.

            "That was fabulous," Clara said, as she put down her fork after the last bite.  "Your Jackie special was good, but the French toast was to die for.  I'd never have thought of putting vanilla and nutmeg in the egg, and that rum-flavored syrup… intoxicating.  It tasted a bit like your banana bread."

I took a sip of coffee.  "I liked mine too.  I was a little unsure of whether I'd like sour cream and strawberry jam with eggs, but it worked."

The waitress came over to remove the soiled plates and refill our coffee as Clara pulled out her voluminous gift list and I unfolded my single sheet.  "You ladies doing your Christmas shopping today?" she asked, leaning over my shoulder to pour more decaf.

"Yes, we are," I said.  "We're breaking out of our Walmart rut this year.  Can you give us any suggestions about good, interesting places to shop?"

"Well, let me check."  She turned away to a dresser near the door covered in baskets stuffed with leaflets and picked out one to bring back with her.  "Here.  I thought I'd seen this.  It's a guide for shoppers.  It just came out last week so all the newest places should be in it and there's a map, I think.  Maybe you could use it to plan your day."

Clara took the pamphlet from her outstretched hand.  "Thanks.  I'm sure this will be a big help."

We flipped through the pages to find places we thought might have the things we were looking for, then huddled together to plan our route.  The map was a big help.  It was inconveniently bound into the center of the pamphlet but we ripped it right out.

The first place we stopped was a boutique filled with imported stuff, picture frames made from exotic woods, brass urns and trays, carved stone figures, and a few clothes.  It was the clothes that attracted me, and not for gifts.  I wanted it all for myself.

“Gail, get a grip,” Clara said, as I stepped out of the changing room in a swirly skirt and spangled peasant blouse.

“Why?”  I looked up at her smiling face.

            “Aren’t we supposed to be buying Christmas gifts?”

            I looked at my reflection.  “I guess it’s a bit much, too young for me, but I bet Samara would love it.”  I turned back to change.  “See? I’m really shopping for others, I just needed to see it off the hanger.”

            I could hear Clara’s chuckled “okay, Gail” as the curtain closed behind me and she walked away to keep looking.

            That first store was a good choice.  We each filled more than half our lists.  I got a beautiful carved totem that I knew would be just right in Sam and Merry’s modern house overlooking San Francisco bay, a brass vase that the boys couldn’t break for Lisa, and that outfit for Samara.  For Clara I found a beautiful fruitwood jewelry box that just glowed and I knew she’d love seeing on her dresser.  I got a smaller one for myself, my Christmas gift from me to me, as well as an emerald and teal tunic top with ivory embroidery and little mirrors I couldn’t resist.  It took Clara and a clerk two trips to get her purchases to the car.  As we sat there buckling our seatbelts, ready to drive off, she turned to me and said, “This was a great idea, Gail.  I can’t wait to see their faces on Christmas.”  She picked up the map.  “Okay, our next stop is The Schoolhouse.  It says they have a lot of educational toys.  Let’s go.”

            That store was a hit too.  We were like kids racing around the aisles finding all sorts of wonderful things for our grandkids.  And, best of all, we weren’t spending much more than we would at that giant discount store, but the toys were much higher quality.

            The sun was setting as I turned the car onto the highway toward home.  Clara sat slumped in her seat, her head resting back with eyes closed.  “So, Clara, what do you think of my idea now?”

            My oldest friend turned toward me and opened one eye.  “You’ve worn me out, Gail.”  She laid her hand on my arm.  “But I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun Christmas shopping.  Thanks for jerking me out of my rut.”

 I could feel the I-told-you-so smile curving my lips as I drove but, in the interests of peace, kept it to myself.

I have three lilies left to plant; that has to get done tomorrow, and I need to either take a nice long walk or go to the Y.  Or both.  I fell asleep after lunch again.  Taking a nap sure shortens the day.  I don't like it.  One week from today I'll be in Bozeman, MT getting ready to see as much of Yellowstone as we can manage.  Yikes!
--Barbara