A Garden of Memories

This morning while watering the garden, I saw something glistening beneath the leaves of the sprawling cucumber vines, which are not trellised. After I was done watering the garden, I went around to the various beds to harvest ripe tomatoes, peppers, okra and herbs. When I got to the cucumber vines and dug below the tangle of vegetation, I pulled up a behemoth Armenian cucumber, which is pictured above (21-inches long and four and a quarter pounds).

That cucumber reminded me of my mother's garden.

Growing up, my mother always had a small, but very productive, vegetable garden in the backyard. At the time, I didn't realize it wasn't a hobby.

There were seven kids in my family and keeping us in groceries on the modest income my father brought home as a warehouse supervisor was a challenge--but one my mother met with grit, determination and compost.

On the kitchen counter next to the sink was a compost bowl, but I don't think that's what she called it. My mother insisted that all scraps from cooking or from our plates (not that there were many of those), should be diverted from the trash and instead go into that bowl. Each morning, she would go to the back of the yard and actually bury these bits in the soil around the plants.

She cultivated a raised bed garden that was less than fifty square feet, but the bounty that came from it was phenomenal. And large. Especially the zucchini. The zucchini that came from my mother's garden were as big as full-term newborn babies. They were often twenty inches long and about six to eight inches in diameter--and heavy. She would cut them into thick disks, dip them into batter and quickly fry them. With salt and pepper, they were delicious. Or she would cut them into chunks and add them to other dishes. To me, that's what a zucchini was supposed to look like.

Imagine my surprise when I began my life as an adult and went to the grocery store the first time and discovered zucchini the size of bread sticks. At first I felt ripped off, but later learned that they are "best" harvested at a more diminutive size than the zucchini of my youth.

I've grown a lot of zucchini since becoming a vegetable gardener, and have usually harvested them when they were "just right." Every now and again I have missed one or two, and they have grown large, but never as large as what came from my mother's garden.

Yet, today's harvest of that amazing cucumber brought me back to my childhood and my mother's garden. While we never had much in the way of material possessions, my mother made certain that we always ate well. And that meant eating from the garden.

Watering by Hand

I'm not going to lie to you--it always feels like a huge chore to get up in the mornings to water the garden, especially when soaker hoses are not that expensive and would save me a lot of time and fire ant bites.

My soaker hose and drip system gardening pals think I am behind the times, and I wonder about that myself. But the moment I open the garage door to go outside, and feel the cool morning air on my skin, I forget about the "inconvenience" because morning is like that.

I love that I get to witness the magic of the garden. Today, I caught sight of my first baby cantaloupe. It was out in the open, minding its own business, looking as cute as could be. Of course I immediately began to worry--as any new mother would--about whether I could give it what it needed and protect it from harm. I'll do my best.



It seems I am on the same morning schedule as the bees. At first I would only see one or two, but since my wild arugula started to bloom with a mutitude of delicate yellow flowers, I see many more. I do my best to avoid wetting the flowers, as not to "dampen" the important work of these hard-working bees.

I harvested some of the leaves of the arugula plant--and the smell was intoxicating--and will use them in a dish I plan to make for dinner tonight: pasta, white beans wild arugula and walnuts.

The light in the morning is welcome; it is soft and casts gentle shadows. I feel at peace in the morning, with the sound of birds, wind, and running water. Watering my garden by hand in the early morning is easy and quiet and not something I plan to give up any time soon.

Grasshoppers

Although last year's vegetable garden--the first one at this location--was not as productive as I had hoped (there's always a learning curve at a new place, no matter how much experience you have), I remember feeling pleased that I had not had any pest problems of note.


I was aware, though, from listening to callers to John Dromgoole's gardening show on KLBJ-AM in Austin, that grasshoppers had been decimating other Central Texas vegetable gardens. I also remember feeling more than a little smug about my good fortune.

This morning as I was watering my garden, a chill ran through my body as I saw a grasshopper on one of my tomato plants. And not a little one. This was a creature big enough for Mothra to wrangle with.

And this grasshopper wasn't alone.

Everywhere I looked I saw grasshoppers in all stages of development. And now I am beginning to think that the tomato damage that I had attributed to the mockingbirds, may, in fact, be the work of these horrifying little beasties.

Okay, no more sumgness. Now I have to find a control for these critters before they get out of hand.

Any suggestions?

Tantric Tomatoes

When was the last time you devoured a large, succulent, vine-ripened tomato whole, allowing its luscious, sweet and earthy juices to dance on your tongue, or to run between your fingers and down your hands and arms, unselfconsciously permitting bits of its seed-imbued gelatinous pulp to cling to the corners of your mouth and slowly slither down your chin and onto the front of your shirt where it collected in a viscous pool of pale red?

If you're buying tomatoes from the grocery store, the answer to that long, drawn-out, and oddly arousing question is: probably never.

Even if you're not laying down your hard-earned cash for the pink and crunchy "tube tomatoes" at four to a pack covered in plastic wrap, most store-bought tomatoes still have as much flavor as a bag of crap. No, wait. Crap has more flavor.

Farmer's markets are everywhere these days, making it easier than ever for you--the consumer--to buy a wide variety of delicious vine-ripened tomatoes in a rainbow of colors.

And even better than a farmer's market tomato is one that you have grown yourself. Tomatoes are easier to grow than you might imagine, and will reward you with tangy, juicy, sweet and savory fruits to eat raw, or to use in your favorite recipes. Oh, and anyone to whom you serve a dish featuring your tomatoes will become your slave. THAT'S the power of a homegrown tomato.

If you are a fan of the pomme d’amour (love apple, so named for its alleged properties as an aphrodisiac—oh la la), then you ought to grow them—at least once—so you will know firsthand the joy of an honest, fresh, ripe tomato.

Be warned—once you cultivate, harvest and consume tomatoes you have grown yourself, you’ll have the bug (and we don’t mean hornworms…well, maybe...but we’ll deal with that later).