September 14th, 2007
What blooms
Our backyard garden was born of a whim. Tired of staring at the rubbish heap outside his backdoor, our downstairs neighbour Curtis ventured out one spring day to purchase seedlings. He came home with lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, cucumber, peppers and melons, but then he left them on the back step for three days.
We understood the sudden death of Curtis’s gardening enthusiasm. Our house has been under construction as long as we’ve lived here, the backyard serving as a receptacle for all the refuse. An eyesore, with piles of bricks, pieces of toilet, old pipes, kitchen cupboards, and artifactual empty beer bottles. We are a blot in an otherwise lovely row of backyards, so well-tended by our Portuguese neighbours. The yard had become embarrassing, but ameliorating the situation seemed to require forces beyond our capabilities. A few seedlings in the face of such general awfulness would be no weapon, we thought. And so we were all quite content to let Curtis’s seedlings wilt away and die.
It was surprising, then, to wake up one morning and look out the window to see the seedlings planted. My husband Stuart and I consulted Curtis who knew nothing about it, which left only the possibility that our neighbour next-door had been as embarrassed by our backyard as we were. It appeared that he’d snuck over in the early morning and started the job, determined not to let the seedlings go to waste. Maneuvering his way around the detritus, he had planted tidy rows of vegetables, and now it seemed we had a garden after all.
Of course, the lettuce would be ready first, but we didn’t know that then. We didn’t know anything then, until somebody told us. We would learn quickly, however, that seven lettuce plants were probably more roughage three people could handle.
Lettuce was king throughout June, and our regular weeding and watering were paying off— the garden was growing. The old man next door who’d started it all liked to poke his head over the fence from time-to-time, observe the work we were doing, and to tell us, in his limited English, “It is good.”
And it was good, we thought. A garden was a neat trick, and finally we had a backyard we could be proud of. Everything in the garden appeared to be thriving— and then the lettuce bolted.
Bolting, I have since learned, is the process by which a plant goes to seed when faced with danger, in this case the onset of summer heat. In this last-ditch attempt at propagation, our lettuces suddenly grew tall with a thick ugly stalk and their leaves became too bitter for eating. Lettuce season was finished, finally, and we were a bit grateful at a reprieve from green salad.
So that was bolting. Never before have I learned so much in such a short time as I have from our garden. We also learned the way cucumbers grow with their yellow blossom at one end and the stem at the other, and that until they’re ripe they are spiky to the touch. We learned, with regret, that carrots in clay soil won’t grow downwards, and turn into a horrible mangled knot of root instead. We learned not to put the barbecue so close to the tomato plant, and that in spite of burns, tomatoes will persevere.
We learned that a melon plant can take over the entire garden, its vine spreading wherever there is room to grow, wrapping merciless tentacles around everything in its wake. That red peppers come into season later than green peppers, quite obviously it seems now, because of the additional sunlight and energy necessary for its fruit to blush.
Our garden was blooming, and although the lettuce was gone, we had the rest of the salad. Even though we had to pick the workmen’s cigarette butts out of the tomato plants, and I kept finding bent nails in the soil.
We knew we were doing particularly well the day the boy next door— the old man’s grandson— called over the fence to tell us that our garden was cool. “I like it,” he said. “It’s way better than the rats that used to be back there.”
Recently I read that it is difficult to grow watermelon. Apparently watermelon are quite sensitive to wind, require enormous amounts of sunlight, but if you provide them with a great deal of care and attention, your own may prosper. Which I found surprising considering the gorgeous melons nearly ready-to-eat in our own little laissez-faire patch of earth. We have had ample beginners’ luck, it seems, but then never has a garden needed it more.
It was August soon and the cantaloupe was ready. One afternoon we cut the first one open, revealing the perfection of its orange flesh, dark green around the edges, and the miraculous mess of seeds inside. We were sitting down to eat and I was about to devour my half, just like all the melons I’d taken for granted before, when I realized that only moments ago, here had been a living thing. A dramatic realization— food comes from somewhere— though of course I ate that melon all the same. But I didn’t just eat it, rather I savoured it. I appreciated it. And without a doubt, the melon tasted better for it.
This summer we’ve learned what a long haul it is to the table, even if it’s only the distance from the yard.
August 19th, 2007
Wonderful…
Now rereading Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin, which I remember nothing about. I read it the first time, according to the inside cover, beginning October 8 2001, and finished that October 27 with a note on blank page at the back, “Wonderful…”. Let’s hope it lives up to my previous reception. And that I read it a bit quicker than I did the first time around, as there are so many books I’ve got scheduled to be read before summer is over. Also now reading the latest Walrus which is proving interesting, though The Future of Reading was less interesting than I wanted it to be.
Earlier today I was happy to be reading a little interview with Margaret Drabble (via Maud Newton). “The biggest fate of all is your marriage partner. It’s extraordinary that you should happen to be at such a party or such a university or even on such a bus ride and meet the man that you’re going to marry, for better or worse. I find these accidental conjunctions that turn the plot of your life fascinating.”
News on the homefront: we’ve just cut into our first homegrown watermelon, and we’ve got a Japanese houseguest arriving on Wednesday.
August 13th, 2007
All the melons I have taken for granted
The garden education continues, and this afternoon my world view shifted. We had harvested our first cantaloupe, minutes off the vine we were each eating half at the table, and it dawned on me how much work this little melon had done to come to life. Not to mention the work we’d done to further that life, and I considered the abundance of energy involved, and here we were about to devour it in mere minutes. I thought of all of the melons before that I’ve taken for granted, and how strange it is that we rarely think hard about what we eat. And the melon even tasted different after that. I think I’ll think harder now. And the fruit was lovely, delicious, and absolutely precious.
August 8th, 2007
Golden tomatoes and blue potatoes
Now rereading Carol Shields’s Unless, her masterpiece. I reread this book every summer, an amazing experience that allows one to, for example, pause and ponder the first paragraph for about ten minutes straight. It’s also sad and heartening to be reading this book after having read her book of letters with Blanche Howard in June. I also still maintain that this book is a treatise on novel-writing, which is very exciting seeing as I am returning to my own novel in just a few weeks after this summer of short stories. Anyway, I am enjoying this much the same way I always do, but also differently, of course.
I liked Michael Holroyd’s exasperation with author acknowledgements, as much as acknowledgements are the first part of any book I read. I also enjoyed Holroyd’s sister in law AS Byatt’s treatment of Middlemarch, which you might recall I read for the first time and fell in love with earlier this year. Byatt’s Possession is being “twinned” with Middlemarch for the Vintage Classic Twins Editions, which were brilliantly introduced to me here at dovergreyreader scribbles.
And it’s been nearly a week since I mentioned the garden last– you all must be on the edge of your seats! For your information my husband is now reading Animal Vegetable Miracle and is more obsessed than I was. We revisited the brilliant Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market and brought home tons of wonderful stuff, including blue potatoes and blackberries. We did a harvest of our garden tonight, and brought in two enormous bowls of tomatoes of all kinds– the window sill is crowded. Tomorrow night I am going to attempt a golden tomato sauce.
August 2nd, 2007
Boys are ordinary
Happy she is tonight, what with golden tomatoes ripe in the garden, and a short story forthcoming in The New Quarterly. Up to her elbows, also, in To the Lighthouse, and with a date scheduled with Rebecca Rosenblum. The whole third person thing because she’s somewhat delirious with glee, and because sometimes the universe sets up so well.
July 31st, 2007
Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market
And so the garden continues to churn out baby tomatoes, cucumbers abounding, no critters have yet eaten the melons, in a few weeks we’ll have red peppers. We’re a bit worried about the big tomatoes, which may have been living a bit too close to the bbq lately and just don’t seem to be ripening, but fingers crossed. All goes well. And tonight we went to Trinity Bellwoods Farmers Market which is very close to our house, and we were thrilled to find their bounty a-plenty still at six o’clock when we were able to get down there. Brilliant! We got swiss chard, pattypan squash, yellow zucchini, baby eggplant, basil, beets (red and yellow), and corn. How fun is eating local in August? Tonight we had pizza and it was absolutely delicious.
In related news, I’m now getting a bit of Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking on the side.
July 27th, 2007
Animal Vegetable Miracle Update
Just like one of my favourite bloggers, I found Animal Vegetable Miracle quite inspiring when I read it last week. And it was quite timely, I thought, that this book came my way right about the time the garden started exploding. The lettuce may have bolted, but we’ve got cucumbers and tomatoes at the mo, and red peppers and watermelon still ahead of that. (Please excuse my rubbish photo, but I forgot to get one while the sun was out). As well this was the June I finally got my act together, and made strawberry jam. Half of which I plan to save until the dead of winter, so we can pull it out and remember what fresh berries tasted like, and I’m going to freeze some sauce made out of our tomatoes so I can do a similar thing. (I do not know how to can yet, and I will wait until I no longer live in an apartment to do that).
And so riding the wave of my blooming garden, and the Kingsolver book, I’ve made a pledge to eat (more) locally. Thinking of small steps, as the book urges. We went to Dufferin Grove Farmer’s Market last week, and I got Deborah Madison’s Local Flavors from the library. We revelled in swiss chard, basil, zucchini and garlic with flavours we’d never given these veggies credit for. When we went shopping at the regular grocery store (which has to happen, unfortunately, as the farmer’s market is only around weekday afternoons and by the time we got there after work, all the treasures were gone) we resolved to only buy Ontario produce, and we got beets and greens, swiss chard again, kale, leeks and zucchini. The fruit, ashamedly, had to come from California. But we did pretty well, and it was fun to try food we’d never had before, and find new recipes instead of the ones we’ve used over and over.
But all of this is a bit lame– I’ve managed to bring my meals only moderately closer to home, and this at the peak of the season. I want to better. First, I want to learn what is in season, and when– the Kingsolver and Madison books are geared to more southern climes. How can I learn about Southern Ontario’s bounty? Are there markets more accessible (though St. Lawrence market is on Saturdays, and I could get down there once in a while)? What are we going to dinner come winter when the only Ontario produce is an icicle? And fruit fruit, we hardly knew you. What if I dare to eat a peach?
All of this and more will be grappled with in future updates, and any advice you could offer me, I would be happy to receive.
July 23rd, 2007
Not Kurashiki
And so here we are, anticipating next weekend in Muskoka in a big way (ha ha). Yesterday we got to Toronto Island, finally, and so it won’t be this summer’s Kurashiki. (Kurashiki was the city in Japan we meant to vist almost every weekend that we lived there, and then we moved away). We had a brilliant day, riding our bikes down to the ferry docks– we adore riding through the financial district on the weekend when the sidewalks are as wide as usual, but perfectly empty. We landed on Ward’s, and had an ice cream. Spent some time on the beach reading our books, and then we rode along the boardwalk. To Centre Island, which was perfectly madhouse, and great in its own way, and then along to Hanlan’s Point where we got the ferry back. And then we rode up to Kensington and picked up blueberries, and then up to Mexitaco on Bloor Street for food aplenty plus Coronas which surely undid all the good our exercise did. Oh well.
Today was not so notable, except that we tried our carrots– they may look bizarre, but they taste good. The big tomatoes are coming out now too, and they’re extraordinary. If all goes well, we might soon have more watermelon than we know what to do with (imagine that predicament!). And a bit of a low point as whilst turning off the hose I fell seven feet off a ledge to the bottom of our concrete basement steps. That was not so fun, and yet fascinating also as I’ve not been so scraped in years, nor can I remember the last time I lost my footing and failed altogether to find it.
In better news, I finally replaced the $10 Canadian Tire helmet I bought when we were broke, and got a fabulous new one– in pink!
July 16th, 2007
Time time it was
Time it was. Friday night date, out for dinner and then to the ROM. I had no strong feelings about the new addition, except that I was startled by sunlight once we emerged from the wonderful Hiroshi Sugimoto exhibit “History of History”, as I had forgotten about the world. There is something to that. Saturday we got a new hi-fi, very exciting. We bought our old one in the days of impecuniousness, and it wasn’t very good– the CD player door had become awfully choosy about functioning. And so no more. Saturday night was dinner, theatre, and drinks drinks drinks until well in the morning with friends oldest and dearest, et. al. Somehow hangovers were avoided, and I spent today well in the relaxing way (though freshly baked scones were involved).
Devastating gardening event was that our two watermelons, whose development had been as thrilling to watch as a small baby’s, were ruined by some sort of creature with teeth. A sort of creature that doesn’t appreciate the treasure which is watermelon, as they disconnected them from the vine, gnawed on the green bits leaving gaping holes, and broke my heart a bit. Honestly honestly, I could have cried.
In sort of related news, now reading Animal Vegetable Miracle.
