Resurgence, rehab, reflection
To water your garden adequately, your mind must be clear. Some folks claim your mind will be clearer if first you wash your dishes, vacuum the floor and walk 3500 steps at a brisk pace. I can’t agree or disagree because I have little experience therein. My habits indicate purposeful watering – watching puddles soak down through straw and soil – can clear a mind even if your dishes are dirty.
And a clear mind sees the tomatillo rehab project, for example, worked in spite of the oppressive July heat and the dried-out soil. Several plants were space-starved in a planting container and overdue to go into the ground, but they were still growing, so I planted them in an empty spot and paid attention. A few rains plus some careful oversight have brought on a late summer bloom, and everybody is happy now. Chile verde soon enough.
I carved into the hillside garden beds – I am borrowing the space – and I try to be a good steward, but the hillside owns the hillside. It has adopted some of the things I’ve planted and sprouted them again, but I never know where I’ll find them. And the natives live here, too. All they ask for is a place in the sun. Some are useful, some are intrusive but with no ill intent.
So, with a clear mind (and a sink full of dishes), I surveyed the late summer scene in the garden, and here’s part of what I saw.
Do you know who likes my garden as much as I do? Morning glories. They are to be admired for their resourcefulness and relentless drive to show off their vibrant, colorful flowers on top of every other plant in the garden. Pathways, too. “Hey, look! It’s another purple flower.” Pretty purple flowers in all the sunny places with vines becoming an insidious omnipresent trip hazard. A garden is a place to ponder, and if I ponder long enough in one spot, morning glory vines might begin to climb my leg.
They will always be here, so I can’t fret their presence. I attempt to control the population, but they are better at spreading themselves around than Roberto Clemente was at baseball. They are also skilled at slithering through the middle of things, and suddenly there’s a resplendent purple morning glory on a pepper plant.
I try to maintain order in the beds, but morning glories keep on cruising on in. Cosmos, too. I brought both these colorful additions to the hillside, and apparently they have been adopted because they are here every year. The history of this property will record that 2010 was the year new residents began to move in.
Along the way, like with cosmos and morning glories, I planted amaranth, a stately burgundy plant which can tell you the tales of old Mexico if you stand beside it long enough (but watch out for creeping morning glories). Amaranth leaves are nutritious and plentiful, but the seeds are what made it an Aztec staple. If you go to the trouble to sift the seeds from the chaff, you can heat the tiny seeds and they’ll hop like popcorn.
Mexican sunflowers might be the next regular on the scene. The flowers are a showy orange and they make plenty seeds. I’ve heard the entire plant will decompose into a beneficial soil amendment at the end of the year.
A first-year returnee this year was a thin-leafed chicory marketed as Italiko Rosso, or Red Dandelion. It adds zest alongside lettuce in a salad, and it’s prolific. The first returnee this spring eventually got six feet tall and made a trove of seeds. Another couple plants leafing now came up out of that same root apparently, so maybe it lives on the hillside now. Cool!
One last clear-minded observation from my refrigerator is this month should be renamed Cucumtember. The crisper is getting crowded, and pickle night is nigh.