A few things have happened since the last post. For brevity's sake, I'll make the review short (and full of pictures) and go back only as far as last Tuesday . . . November 4.

Bright and early, we did this:
Then I worked like a crazy person taking pictures and doing a video about other people doing exactly that same thing.

And then this happened:

And then I stayed up all night shooting and editing this:


And then I did this for about 20 hours:
And then today, I went outside to find this:(Oh, yeah. . . I have a garden!)

So that's what I've been up to, and that's why I haven't written. Seeing that I work for a news organization, I cannot mention my feelings about the outcome of the election, except to state several facts. This is history, and whatever your feelings about the promised "change," -- well, change has already occurred. Both of those things are incredibly positive developments, and that's all I'll say about that.

Back to the garden, my little squares of non-partisan dirt that at the same time speak volumes about my politics.

Last weekend, I painted the inside of the coldframes white (using non-toxic, no-VOC paint) so they can make the most of the limited winter sunlight. That paint, by the way, is massively expensive! $26 for a small can!Then, Erik and I sealed the joints and screw holes with clear silicone so they'll cold up for several seasons in the rain. They are also stained and sealed on the outside to protect the wood.

Each night, if it looks like the temperatures will dip near freezing, we place the windows on top and close them. But if the weather is balmy and wet (as it's been for about 4 days here now), I just take the tops off entirely. Unless it's really cold, I leave the windows open so air can circulate. As the days get colder, I'll adjust this, and perhaps only leave the windows ajar during the sunniest hours. Again, learning as I go here -- advice is welcome, if you've got some!

It's been several weeks now with the cold frames, and the plants seem to love them. The lettuce has gone nuts:So is the Swiss chard:And we're getting little baby turnips (? - forgot to remember what I planted there - could be radishes, but I don't think so)Speaking of radishes, I went to check on them, and !#&@^#*#*@(@!!!!!!This little jerk is responsible:And this is how I feel:So I dusted off the ravished radish -and ate it.

Good news about the brussels sprouts! Remember this plant that would not, could not, mature so I chopped off its head?Well, now the sprouts have filled out. I think we're going to make then into dinner soon.There were two cantaloupes that hung on late in the season, though they remained tiny. I've left them on the vine in the hope that they'd get a little bigger, but to no avail. So today I plucked them from their home and introduced them to my kitchen knife.They weren't very good.

The composter in the front is just about ready.
And the back composter is full of the tomato, bean and pepper plants I tore up in the rear garden.Speaking of the rear garden, I decided that next year, it's going to be the dedicated vine and tomato spot. The tomatoes did great there this year (especially the Brandywines) and the purple pole beans - oh my. However, the one thing that all the vining plants needed was more support, so we (actually, Erik will) are going to build a trellis that stretches from the fence to the roof of the adjacent garage.
(like my illustration?)

And while I'm sharing my plans for next season, here's the area where we're (actually, Erik will - again) going to build the chicken run:I'm about out of updates, and both the cat and the husband are snoring, so I think I'll wrap up with some pretty pictures of rose hips, which I may harvest tomorrow to make jam.Th-th-that's all folks!!

Million shades of green

I’m on the plane to Minneapolis via Atlanta, which confuses my understanding of American geography, but at least it gives me more time to write.

After a whirlwind return to Massachusetts, I’m returning to a week or more on the road venturing to the infinite places that aren’t my home. It’s an exciting time right now. Politics looms large in the collective consciousness, as does hurricane Gutav, which is barreling toward the Gulf coast as I now write. The Republicans have just pretty well called off the RNC, and my editors are making scrambled eggs out of their brains trying to figure out how to send the right photographers to the right places. So down in the cargo hutch of this airplane is a red suitcase packed with nice black slacks, pressed shirts and mascara. Next to it is a sister suitcase containing, among other things, walkie-talkies, industrial-strength D rings, a water filter and Cipro.

I know where this plane will land, but I don’t know where I’m going, when or how.

As I said, it’s an exciting time right now, especially for a journalist.

The mood is very different in my garden. I returned home last Friday evening to discover, not the riot of ripeness or pestilence I feared, but the result of a steady week of peaceful churn. There were babies everywhere, all asleep. Erik spotted our first cantaloupe, the first of an otherwise unproductive crop of plants.

The pepper plants decided to try it all over again after a rough patch with the snails.
And my stubborn, brave squash just won’t give up, and have pushed out ever more tiny squashlets, powdery mildew be damned. I just shake my head and wish them luck.
From now on, I plan to plant radishes every chance I get. Multiple plantings each season. Wherever I can. I’m not even sure if I like radishes, but the sheer joy the seedlings exhibit upon germination is worth the effort and space. I bent down to check on their progress and to evaluate how many went the way of the skunk salad bar and was met with a tiny, green, full-throated “Yippeeeee!!!”

They are so lovely, and so excited to be alive. I love radishes. I don’t care if they’re awful. I just love them for this un-ironical reminder of the joy of living.

Oh, God. Bad pun alert: Lettuce all be like radishes.

Sorry…sorry.

One of our squashes fell victim to some furry animal with sharp teeth. It’s now in the shed, where I hope it will cure without rotting.
We harvested a bunch more pole beans and I made the tuna salad with them again. I think that’s going to be a staple around our house. It’s easy, healthy, cheap and delicious.
And in the 48 hours I was home, I made four loaves of bread. That sounds ambitious, but it is so incredibly easy and so sinfully scrumptious when hot out of the oven that to only make four loaves was restraint.

We ate two of those loaves with caprese salads, made divine by just-picked Brandywine tomatoes and expensive-but-worth-it buffalo mozzarella. I am in love with summertime garden eats.

The compost needed a turn, and in the process of turning it, we managed to explode the composter in half. That was fun.

Lesson learned: if using an “Earth Machine” brand composter, glue the damn thing together before filling it up with stinky stuff.

Mostly, I just puttered about outside, barefoot, dirty, and probably not wearing enough sunscreen. I admired the ginormous spider, sniffed the jasmine that’s just starting to flower along our fence, and tried to absorb as best I could the very different priorities of dirt, sun and plants.

Our left brains are tyrants. They narrate constantly, and not just the negative events of our lives. They ruin the restful and beautiful moments as well, like red-faced sports announcers, and they just never shut up. Well, almost never.

My left brain retires after a glass of red wine.

Sometimes, it shuts up for a blessed minute toward the end of a great yoga class.

But I think the reason I’ve fallen so completely in love with gardening, has to do with that insistent narrative. It’s not that gardening turns off the voice, but it tames it, and the telegrams streaming through my consciousness begin to describe what is actually happening in front of me.

That – flower – is – gorgeous. The – tomatoes – smell – great. I – feel- sorry – for – the – squash. How – amazing – is – germination. I – am – incredibly – lucky.

It’s a different time zone. A different sort of planning. No deadlines, more just a continuum. And no black and white.

Rather, I just see a million shades of lovely green.