Soiled.

Tomatoes.  One of the main reason so many of us garden.  There's nothing at all like a ripe heirloom tomato straight off of the vine.  They're poetry in the round.  We love the colors, the taste, the snap of the skin, the smell of the plants and the variety of uses that one standard veggie is good for.  We as well know that good tomatoes are the result of good care.  Water, sunlight, nutrient rich soil and a good horn worm deterrent system all need to come together in the perfect dance in order to produce those vibrant, luscious tomatoes we all crave. 

Rewind to 'nutrient rich soil.'
Hello.  My name is Alex (no, really, it is), and I've been remiss in tending to my soil for 2 years.

All cynicism aside, I really have been.  For the first few years of the garden, I went to the local mulch place and got a few yards of compost and amended and tilled in like a good girl.  These last two years, I just amended with bagged compost and even then only sparingly.  Not my best of moves.  My laziness came back to bite me in a very, very sad way.

I decided to amend the side yard's soil with your standard cow compost at the start of this year.  I was lazy, missed a good window to go fetch compost with the trailer and was impatient, so I figured a few bags of the cow would hold me over until next year when I would take the trailer (note, I had this same opinion last year i.e.: laziness). 

The plants started off fine.  They grew like weeds.  They grew tall...the leaves were another story.

They were all curled up into themselves and there were no flowers to be seen anywhere, even though the plants were huge.

 

If you look at an individual leaf, you can see a squiggly vein running down the center and the leaf itself was almost fuzzy looking.  Very strange.



So, I began researching and found that, most likely, the cow compost I used was contaminated.  Contaminated compost = woppy plants = no tomatoes for me.  I like to about have cried.  In my frustration I walked away from the whole thing to see if it would even out.  It never really did, but eventually some of the plants got some flowers, but the tomatoes they were putting out were oddly shaped - not just your crazy cat faced toms, but teardrop like toms on Cherokee purple and brandywine plants. Those that were there were few and far between and the plants still looked quite terrible sitting there in the side yard.  I was crushed, so what did I do?  I took a cue from my daughter, shut down and walked away again for a few more weeks.  If I don't look at them, they and the contaminated soil to not exist.

 

Fast forward to Tuesday night.  I received a text from the Family and Consumer Sciences (Home EC) teacher at our school which showed a friend of hers - a hoity-toity chef at a local Atlanta restaurant, eating some of the canned green tomatoes I made last fall and asked when I was making more.

 

Cue epiphany.

 

We have such a long summer growing season here that it's crazy if I don't give something else a try in that bed.  Maybe all hope isn't lost.  So, yesterday I packed both kids in the car and busted down to fetch some more okra and pepper plants.  I set the girl to picking whatever woppy toms she could find and the boy dragged the plants to the back 40.  I replanted the beds and in addition to the 9 cans of salsa - using stupid store bought toms, I canned seven cans (three still in canner) of dilled green toms.

 I don't remember there being so much dill in the other batch I made, but I'm sure there was since I think it's the same recipe. 

In the end, I think things turned out pretty spectacular.  I never would have pulled green toms just to pull green toms.  It borders on sacrilege.  Therefore....it all worked out to my master plan.  I meant to contaminate the soil all along, just so I could do this.  Why, of course I did. 

The morning comes early.  Sweet pickled green tomato dreams.

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?

Robert Burns called it spot on.  There's nothing like the shock of watching an "ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, / Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner" crawl out of a lady's bonnet at church.  Unless you compare it to finding one on your six year old daughter and that one leads to what can only be hundreds.

Yes, sports fans, the girl has lice.

Beware, this post has the possibility to quickly devolve into the use of juvenile and uninventive language.

The girl has been itching her head a lot.  For weeks actually - Insert Mom of the Year award here, please.  I checked her for lice, I really, really did.  I never saw anything and assumed it was because we had shifted shampoos and/or maybe she wasn't doing a good job of rinsing it out of her hair when she showered. 

So, I finally let her do what she's been asking for months on end.  We cut off her "Rapunzel hair."  I thought for sure she'd have cutter's remorse, but she kept that silly grin on the entire time and said, "Told ya."  She loves it and it's adorable.

Here's K and her new cut and a picture of me around the same age.  Scary, huh?

Anyway, as the woman was cutting it, we both remarked on a rash of some sort on the nape of her neck, but it didn't scream "LICE!" to me, but it surely should have to her, don't you think?  Regardless, home we came to endure another two weeks of scratching.  (God, I'm so stupid.)

Monday we were playing outside and she was scratching again.  I pulled her over and looked at her head some more for dandruff or more rash or SOMETHING, and boy did I find something, that's for sure.  I bet that if I would have looked in sunlight I would have seen them all along.

We went to the dr for a confirmation and the boy and I were scoured as well.  We're shockingly clean.  It's shocking to me since we all share a hair brush and wallow all over each other on the couches and beds and everything.  *insert tirade here*  The more I read about "the facts of lice" the more I realize that no one knows anything.  Each site and pamphlet contradicts each other.  Do this, don't do that, this kills them, this does not, pets can't get them, pets can carry them, put stuffies and pillows in plastic bags, plastic bags don't help.  It's beyond frustrating. 

I know it's not en vogue with the times, but the use of pesticides doesn't bother me.  At this point, I don't care if the treatment kills me, I'm killing you, dammit.  So, I bought what the dr recommended and I spent two hours that night treating her hair only to realize that the chemicals didn't necessarily kill the lice so much as piss them off and make them run for purchase elsewhere.  Seems for every dead louse I combed out, there were three running for glory.  I picked and picked and then reversed it and picked and picked again...only to look down at myself and find them crawling on my arms and clothes.  Cue the Benny Hill run.

So whereas I wasn't infested before, I'm likely infested now.

I got them all.  I was confident.  I sent her to bed, checked her Tuesday morning and found MORE LIVE bugs.  I retreated her and did the process all over again.  Later that afternoon, I couldn't find a single bug.  I did another perusal before bed - FOUR MORE LIVE BUGS.  It's driving me nuts.  I've washed everything twice over in hot, hot, hot and treated the couches etc.  I'm not thinking they're in the couches because then the rest of us would be infested, right? 

Grrr.  Thank goodness for neighbors.  I ran out of detergent and since I washed her car seat covers, I didn't want to put her infested self back in one to go to the store, so my neighbor gave me her bottle and then was kind enough to spend a half hour checking me to make sure I was still clean.  How do you thank your neighbor for grooming you like a chimpanzee?

Veggies and fresh canned salsa.

So, long story longer, I'm headed down to see what the damage is this morning. 

The morning comes early.  Oh, and Mr. Louse?  "Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner /On some poor body."  You're not wanted here.  Sweet gardening dreams.

'Tis Better to Give

 

Sometimes I wonder why I garden.  I like the fresh veggies, to be sure.  We cook with the bounty of the harvest each day and night, but I only seem to put up a few pounds each year in the freezer.  This year I think I've realized that I don't garden for me.  I garden to give.

 

I love it when neighbors call up to ask for herbs or veggies.  I love sending the kids down the street to drop off veggie grams and unsuspecting houses.  I  like it when the front office staff, teachers and parents at the school wait patiently for the Monday basket and then the Monday basket becomes the mailroom basket once the school year begins. 

 

So, I'm still considering myself a selfish gardener.  I horde my fair share and get pure and selfish joy out of seeing other people happy.

 

This is one of the first baskets I brought to the front office this summer.  Note the three tomatoes in there.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have been more selfish.  A LOT more selfish.



 

This next is another school basket.  Note the cucumbers.  I didn't get a single viable cucumber last year and this year I've had enough to make two batches of pickles, eat daily, AND give scores away.  Crazy how things work like that, isn't it.

 

This last basket was supposed to be this week's Monday basket for the school....but they are closed for the holiday week.  The kids clamored to have a veggie sale in the front yard, so I let them have at it.  We put up a sign, wrote in chalk on the mailbox and put it on the neighborhood's Facebook page and...

 

 



Thanks to some OVERLY generous neighbors, the kids walked away with about $25 between them.  We get to go to the used book store today.  Maybe....It depends on how things worked out yesterday and how they'll go today regarding that doozie that was dropped on Monday.  Give me one more day and I'll fill you in completely.

The morning comes early.  Sweet gardening dreams.

The Prodigal Blogger Returns

Well, once again, it's been six months, give or take.  I hope everyone is well, hardy and hale, and in full gardening swing.  Me?  I'm well in and well nigh done.

For each of the last four or five years I've had a panic attack when it comes to bugs in the garden.  I took a cup of soapy water with me to the garden two or three times a day and took great pleasure in popping in each and every squash bug and Japanese beetle within sight, even enlisting the small ones to help scope out the enemy in the underbrush.  They never saw me coming.  I silently slid around to the leaf or stem where they were quietly reposing and then, with the smack of doom, upset their balance and toe hold quite effectively until they, in a state of supreme shock, plummeted unsuspectingly and met their soapy demise.  Ninja.

This year?  Not so much.  I didn't do a fall or winter garden and the spring one was minimal, but this summer I planted hard and left everything to fend for itself.  The only effort I've put in is to hand pollinate the zucchini/squash because the bees didn't show up until last week. For the most part, I've watered every other day if it hasn't rained and gone out to pick every other day as well.  It was okay if production was down a bit.  We still had zucchini and squash left over from 2012.  I could handle the pathetic yield weights and the emotional trauma of diminutive yields, and then I come to realize that I've wasted a hell of a lot of time in the previous years.

I can't tell a lick of difference between my vigilante bug snatching methods and this one. 

I have stocked my freezer, left numerous goodie bags with neighbors and family, and brought a basket full of decadence to the school's front office each Monday and there's STILL MORE.  Note:  This is a good thing.

 

Above are the two beds in the main yard.  The beans on the back of the trellis on both are looking a bit sick around the gills, but that's the damage of Japanese beetles.  It makes me upset, but then again, I'm likely ready for them to be done anyway (insert shocked gasp of northern gardeners whose beans may or may not be producing yet here).  The potatoes are ready to be pulled.  I'm just waiting a few more days for the vines to die back.  The okra is going strong, the squash is busting out of the boxes as well as is the zucchini, but I've gotten VERY few zucchini out of the deal comparatively.  Garlic is pathetic in size, but it is what it is. 

 

The zucchini/squash is already full of vine borers, but it's still producing so I'll let it be for now.  I think the kids and I will go fetch some more peppers/okra to put in its place when it begins to show signs of dying back.  That, and we need out of the house.  We got hit with a doozie yesterday.  I don't know quite how this will play out, but we'll find out within the next week.  NOT awesome, but I suppose it's to be expected.  I'll let you know what it is and how it plays out as soon as I get round 1 taken care of.

 

I need to fix that box in the foreground.  I forgot it got bumped by the lawn tractor.

 

There have been some triumphs and a very, very big garden failure this year.  I'm writing up and scheduling some posts while I'm thinking about it as this one is getting long as it is.

 

The morning comes early - even during summer vacation.  Sweet gardening dreams.

 

 



 

 

Happy Holidays!

Happy Holidays from the Man, the Boy, the Girl, the Dog and me.

Give Me a Break!

I've said it over and over again, but it still rings true.  Do you know what I like most about winter vacations and the like? 

Going to the restroom whenever I please.

That and sinfully having a beer at lunch. It's all about the beer at lunch, for that exemplifies the beauty of going to the restroom whenever I please.

It's the small things in life, my friends.

Vacations are usually a very bad thing in my life.  I don't react to inactivity very well.  I'm not saying that I've got down TIME during vacations because there isn't a minute to spare, what with running around and entertaining the kids and all, but when the day is done, my mind isn't tired.  My mind sits and spins and I can't sleep.  This leads to skeptical decision making like taking the entire yard over for the garden, putting red stripes in my hair and the like. 

Good thing, is that vacations do let me take care of things that need tending.  You may remember that within the last two years we lost both our dogs, a Malamute (Vladimir) and our Great Dane (Gibson).  I can't remember if we still had Gibson when EG visited or not, but he was an excellent dog.  Vladimir, on the other hand, was Vladimir.  More on that in a moment.

Fast forward to this summer.  The loss of Gibson was still fresh on my mind when the man came home and said, "How do you feel about getting another dog?"  I wasn't ready and didn't want another dog.  He responded, "Well....it's too late."

And it was.....

This was Duke, the Great Pyrenees when we brought him home in June.  He came home in that laundry basket and was quite comfortable in it for weeks.  Then, as dogs tend to do, he grew.

 He still loves to crawl under this table even though he fails to realize that at 8 months, it's getting rather difficult for him to fit.  See that look in his eyes?  I'm coming to that.

Back to Vladimir.  The dog was allergic to dog food.  What, you say?  I say, whatever.  You can't buy venison legally here so I had to cook rice, broccoli and rabbit for quite some time.  Ever smelled a house full of boiled rabbit?  I broke down sobbing on a regular basis.  So now it seems we're struggling with Duke.  He's got terrible sores under his arms and we're thinking it may be a food allergy as well.  The break has allowed me time to get him to the vet.  The dr. seems worried that it likely may be a drug resistant staph infection which isn't good either, but we're looking into if he qualifies for a study being done at UGA.

Two days ago the dog was having some trouble and the man had to express his anal glands.  Duke now assumes the seated position every time the man is in the general vicinity.  Today, I had the unmitigated pleasure of spraying the antibiotic/steroid onto Duke's very raw under arms.  This is his, "Et tu, Brute?" look.  Hence the cowering under the table. 

Looks like lunch is over and the kids are clamoring to go outside - in the freezing cold and rain.  You know...why not.  Hot showers and cocoa are in our future.  Well, their future.  I'll be having myself a hot tottie, oh yes I will.

The morning comes early.  Hold on to your butts.  Sweet gardening dreams.  (I really did work out in the garden a few weekends ago.  I promise to get back to gardening soon.)

What's With the Hair, Yo? (Growing up - our out. Whichever.)

Well, we may have lost, but we were not beat.  What an amazing game - and that was all I had wished for.  All four of us were yelling and screaming at the television until I tried to breathe while having a mouth full of wine.  I got a little taste of what it was like to drown and the girl freaked slap out.  While we were winning the game - and we were for a whole chunk of it - the kids went nuts with their "Georgia Style" dance.  I'll have to post it some time soon.

 

Got an email yesterday from a friend whom I haven't seen in a long time.  She saw yesterday's picture of me and my sister-in-law at the GA game and wrote, "What's with the hair, yo?"

 

Ah...the hair.  Reason number 3,048 that I shouldn't be allowed to have summer vacation.  I'll get to that in a minute. 

Suffice it to say that since this summer when I last posted we've all grown up quite a bit.  Well, the boy and girl have grown up.  I've grown out...semantics.

 

I couldn't resist this picture of the boy and girl.  Every kid loves jumping in a pile of leaves.  Jumping on your brother in a pile of leaves is priceless.  They're both runts, still, but they're good kids.  The boy's struggling with some silly behavior at school, but otherwise doing well.  We've started up drum lessons again. he loves Cub Scouts and he's got a student who comes to teach him French once a week before school.  The girl is attracted to shiny things.  You never know if she's picking up what you're putting down.  Her teacher says how quickly she learns, but God love her, she's a ding-bat.  The other day, she told me that I was doing a good job as a Mom, but that there was 'room for improvement.'  Of that, I am sure.

 

A couple of weeks ago we took a boyscout trip to "See Rock City" and then a side jaunt to Ruby Falls while we were there.  We all had a great time.  I love taking day trips like this.  But wait...there's the hair again...It wasn't just for the game?  Yeah....no.

 We have a new principal this year, and he's amazing.  We are able to do so much for the kids that we've never been able to.  One of these things translated into spirit days for homecoming.  We had character day...

 Nerd day - I borrowed the boy's Mercer math camp shirt.  He was a bit shocked to find this qualified him as a nerd.

 and then we had decade day.  My classroom neighbor sported what the kids said was the "50's goth" look, but was undoubtedly 80's and I relived my high school years with the 90's grunge.  Felt strange to be in high school wearing the same thing I wore day in and day out in....high school.  Surreal....even the hair is similar......

 So here it is - nice and shockingly close up - you can go vomit now.  I got bored this summer, and since there was no more room for more garden boxes, I bleached and then dyed a swath of hair on the underside of a side of my head red.  Bright blood red, actually.

I've kept it since August and I think I'll keep it a little longer.  It keeps people guessing if nothing else. 
The morning comes early...and I'm headed to clean out that garden.  If I don't come out, don't come searching for me.  Save yourself.  Sweet gardening dreams.