Gardening: The Good, the Bad, and the Vile

Important things have been happening around here.  If you consider tomatoes important, that is.  I really don't know why you wouldn't.

This was my first tomato of the season, a Mortgage Lifter heirloom tomato from a plant generously given to me by Derek's mom.  I picked this lumpy fellow and then immediately sacrificed him for my BLT needs.  He was delicious.

I got the first two of what promises to be several hundred yellow pear tomatoes, if their blooms are any indication.  

These look like they should have cartoon faces, canes, and tap shoes for a jaunty little dance number, don't you think?

This means I now get to add diced yellow tomato to almost every dish I make.  This also means my family now gets to leave a pile of diced yellow tomato on their plates after they've eaten everything else.  I don't know why I insist on planting more than a single tomato plant every year when I'm the only one in the house who will eat them.  The heart wants what the heart wants.

My rain lily yet again went from the pot-full of brown, withered leaves I pulled from its winter perch in the basement to magically full of blooms.  Every year I am amazed by this plant, and tell it so every day when I water it, whispering, How are you so amazing?  I don't understand how you do this every year!  

Sometimes I feel like I wasn't meant to live in town, where other humans can bear witness to me doing things like whispering to something that can't whisper back.  Oh, gosh, but thank God it can't.   Whisper back, I mean. Looks like I'm supplying my own nightmares tonight.

The roses were particularly beautiful this year.

It almost made me want to plant some more rose bushes, which is a little miraculous, as I've tended to look at roses with no small amount of disdain in the past.  I'm really not big on divas, floral or otherwise, and any plant that needs to be pruned in a specific way and lovingly tucked in and catered to every fall is really too much for me to handle.  Our local public garden had some really beautiful Buck Roses last time we were there, though- Buck roses being a variety developed by an Iowan bearing the last name of Buck who wanted roses that could actually survive an Iowa winter.  

I particularly liked these, as they were a beautiful peach color that I managed to capture not at all in this photo, but still- "Sunbonnet Sue."  Someone remember that for me.

If you follow along on Instagram, you've seen that anytime I leave our yard, my plant-related activities don't go so swimmingly.  To summarize, what started as a gorgeous blackberry crop

ended in maggots.  In my kitchen.

And yet somehow, I still believe this:

Thanks Cassi (I think it was Cassi) for sharing!

For now, though, I think I'll stick to my own yard.

Fall Indoors, Fall Outdoors

It finally feels like fall.  I mean, it kind of, sort of did before, but now with all the leaves bidding adieu to their chlorophyll and the National Weather Service sending me threatening emails about Frost Warnings, which in turn cause irrational amounts of panic in my person- well, it's definitely fall.

That is 10 1/2 pounds of tomatoes, because I wasn't kidding about the panic.  I've managed to get rid of a few pounds' worth so far, but that means I still have around 7 lbs of mostly green tomatoes.  What the heck am I supposed to do with that many green tomatoes?  I like fried green tomatoes as much as the next person, but I feel sick just thinking about putting seven pounds of fried food in me.  Any alternate suggestions?

I also brought it in the last of the rhubarb, which is still sitting on my counter, waiting to be turned into a tasty treat, along with a giant pile of tulip bulbs, because thirty minutes ago I said to myself, "I only have time to do one of the following:  Bake rhubarb bread, plant bulbs, or write a blog post."  As you can see, sitting on my keister won.

When I'm not huddling under a blanket indoors, however, I'm struck with how beautiful it is this time of year, from the view on my morning run:

...to watching Caedmon explore puddles with his hands while waiting for the elder two to disembark from their giant yellow chariot every afternoon:

Signs of fall indoors are a little less thrilling, but still welcome.

Hello, Favorite and Most Wonderful Slippers in the Universe.  You had a solid five months to hibernate, but now you're back on Active Duty every single day until next May.  My icicle feet will appreciate the tar out of you, even if my clumsy hands can't help but spill food on you every blessed day.

Hello, giant mound of flannel sheets.  The temperature in the house has hovered right around sixty degrees for most of the last week, and so when I switched out the cotton sheets for your soft warmth on all four beds, our children rejoiced, I rejoiced, even Derek the Furnace rejoiced for a while.  

Hello, unspecific succulent.  I'm sorry I can never remember your actual name.  I'm sure it's beautiful.  (Not sure at all, actually; so many flowers have seriously ugly names:  Why did your mother hate you so, Spiderwort?)  You've thrived all summer in benign neglect on the back deck, and now I will bring indoors for the winter, where you will mostly likely curse my name as you succumb to a slow death under my well-meaning ministrations.  Sorry in advance.  It's not you, it's me.

And now look at that!  I still have time to throw a few bulbs in the ground before I leave the house, after all.  God forbid I go out in public with clean hands.