I never really understood the interest in growing monster vegetables to see how big they can get. To me, the point of vegetable growing is to eat the things. But more often than not once a vegetable reaches gigantic proportions it is no longer edible.
But perhaps it’s akin to my fascination with sunflowers. I have grown short, bouquet-worthy sunflowers. I have grown stunning, nearly black sunflowers. I have grown dainty sunflowers. But what I really adore is a colossal sunflower. Towering sunflowers. The kind of sunflowers that makes visitors stop and say, “Is that real?”
Until this year the tallest sunflowers I have grown were Mammoth. They grew to about 8 or 9 feet, towering over the rest of the garden.
But this year I grew Titans—the biggest yet. I measured them this morning at 12 feet tall.
Visitors ask me if they are staked because it seems so improbable that a flower on a single stem that tall could stand up without assistance. But the stalks are nearly as round as my wrist, so they are standing tall all on their own.
Every since I heard that my local friend Kirsti has successfully grown and harvested as many as 12 artichokes a season in her small garden, I’ve been having serious artichoke envy.
For several years in my younger days I lived in California not so far from Castroville, a major hub of artichoke activity. Before I moved from east to west I had never before even tasted an artichoke. But in California you can’t go to a party or a restaurant without being offered some sort of appetizer, soup, entree or dip whose main ingredient is artichoke.
Faced with a steamed artichoke for the first time I was confused and a bit intimidated. How are you supposed to eat this baby?
The natives and seasoned immigrants quickly showed me how to peel off the outer leaves, dip them into a proffered sauce and gently nibble away or scrape the tender bottom part of the leaf with my bottom teeth. Once you’ve eaten all the leaves and remove the hairy, choke-y innards (if they’re still there) you remove the heart at the bottom, slice it up and eat that too. Oh heaven.
The only thing better is to have all that work done for you and mixed into a dip or soup or some such deliciousness that undoubtedly has unspeakable numbers of calories and a high percentage of fat. Oh, those were the days when those thoughts never even crossed my mind. *sigh*
Well, earlier this spring my artichoke envy was reaching frantic heights when I couldn’t locate any starters and was thinking I would have to start the whole process—a bit late—from seed.
Isn’t it appropriate that my friend Mary Ann from Gardens of the Wild Wild West, oh roper of cattle and wearer of cowboy boots, should come riding to my rescue? She sent me seven wonderful little plants all the way from Boise, Idaho, to plant in my garden.
I treasure these plants and fret over them. I can’t let Mary Ann (some of us call her Ida) down!
Here’s my first baby artichoke. I don’t know what’s going on with the other six plants, but one little artichoke plant has decided to encourage my efforts by pushing out a little globe about the size of a large marble.
About a month ago I shared a photo of my rustic mimosa tree trellis for the cucumbers. I fashioned the trellis from the trunks of mimosas from a few of the trees he had chopped down a couple of weeks before. I was hoping they would look just rustic once they were covered with the cucumber vines. I didn’t expect them to grow!
Unfortunately, they are. They are sprouting everywhere. They’re sunk about two feet into the soil and now covered with cucumber vines, so I’m not inclined to hoist them up mid-summer. But pulling them up is definitely on the to-do list for fall cleanup.
Trust me. Although mimosas are rather pretty trees with charming fan-shaped pink flowers, they are extremely invasive. We have a grove of them—and many more volunteers—to prove it.
It was nearly 100 degrees while I was working outside today. I have a sliver of wood in my big toe, poison ivy and am covered in bug bites. Sometimes I think I need an easier hobby.
Holy moly, it’s hot. I was just outside providing drought assistance to the suffering greenery. Now excuse me while I cower here in the air conditioning for a bit before making dinner.
It has been such a busy work week. I have been chained to the desk. I can’t wait until the weekend. I have tomatoes to stake, flowers to plant, garlic to harvest, strawberries to keep in control, some clipping and pruning and, who can forget, weeding!
My friend Helen Yoest, from Gardening With Confidence, will be here in about 10 days. I plan to pick her brain and get advice about some real problem areas here. I was hoping for more time to prepare for an esteemed guest, but that’s just not to be. She’ll have to take me as I am.
You can’t pick up the newspaper or turn on the television without hearing more about the Gulf Coast oil disaster.
The wildlife population will be devastated for years, perhaps decades, to come. You can help with the conservation, monitoring and aid to the birds by donating to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. This is the top school and science center for birds in the U.S. and sponsor of many, many programs, including citizen scientist-type programs. If you cannot afford to donate, it’s a great place to just be informed or to get involved through volunteer activities you can do in your own back yard.
Over dinner we were talking about blast-from-the-past music and then blast-from-the-past comedy. Harry and I explained how we would play stacks of 45s on the turntable to my 19-year-old son. And I remembered my parents’ Dick Newhart album and “Driving Instructor.” And while we were talking about old comedy, who can forget, George Carlin’s “Seven Dirty Words?” Ah, the things I am teaching my 19-year-old son! Yes, I taught him about seven dirty words!
I am also grateful that the chickens had walkabout time without destroying my garden this afternoon.
And I am grateful for that arms and shoulders P90X workout, although I will be sore again tomorrow.
