picktober

The month of September should be renamed Picktober. It is high season for harvesting and preserving. This year, I'm working on a new (to me) method though. With cucumbers hitting the market in force, I have turned into a pickling fool.

I started with the batch on the left. Straight forward, lacto-fermented pickles. They smelled so good after the first week that I went ahead and pickled some more stuff, starting with okra. Yep, okra. I'd had some about two years ago from a market vendor and they just floored me. With only the barest hint of slime, but crunchy and spiced oh so nice, I made a mental note: make these. So, here we are, one big half gallon of it later. Oh, and the last jar is what happens when you trade stuff, come home with various cucumber varieties and chuck them all together. I haven't sampled these yet, but I suspect they'll be just fine.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, the main body of the post, right. Time for tomatillo talk. Last year, I planted tomatillos, and as suspected many sprouts poked their heads out of the ground and reported for duty this year. Elder monkey watered them often early in the season, convinced she had planted them. They flourished. For comparison, I was given two tomatillo plants this year that when I transplanted, were much larger than the volunteers. They are puny compared to these robust creatures now.

Speaking of now, these plants are producing fruit like mad. Little dude and I went ouside and picked ourselves a nice bowl full. I was lacking any onions or peppers from the yard this year, so I was not thinking about sauce. Then it hit me: pickle them! Hell yeah, that's gotta be good right? I hit the bookshelf for a pickled tomatillo recipe for guidance. None. Damn. Not fazed by the lack of instruction, I consulted my own senses and went on.

The first batch of cucumber pickles were done and came out great. I used some of the leftover brine to start the tomatillos going. I added a few whole jalapeños, a few teeth of garlic and a sprig of epazote. While I was at it, in another bowl I hacked up some carrots and peeled more garlic, got out some more jalapeños, then collected some oregano twigs from the yard. The pickling sickness was really setting in about this point.

One short week later, everything was no longer bubbling and the brine was nice and cloudy. I tasted a few tillos and was stoked by their taste, but not really their texture. No worries though, as blending them up was now the plan. I drained everything and then dumped it in the food processor. Hitting blend for a while, it needed a tad more moisture so I gave it a splash or two of the brine. Getting nearer the consistency I was looking for, I gave it another little splish. Just by the fumes, my nose could tell it was going to be hot as hell.

Tangy from the ferment, not too salty, and indeed hot, but not unpleasantly so. Now, it goes on everything. I start my morning with a dash on the eggs. At lunch, leftover rice sure is nice. For dinner, anything. As long as it can go with some mind-bendingly easy to make, love that I ran this kind of experiment, pickled salsa verde.
(fade to the sound of a bag of chips being popped, mild diabolical laughter, then enthusiastic cookie monster-esque noshing......)

gringo verde

This is my first year growing tomatillos. Being a relative of the tomato, they share many of the same attributes, but in what seems like a wilder form. I forget exactly how many we planted this year, but I think it was only four or so in the "box." Growing three to four feet tall, with an understory of lemon cucumbers, it became the green hedge we have out front. In July, they were a riot of blooms and paper bells, foretelling of a green salsa in my future.

I've been feeling a bit neglectful of my garden lately, and noticing tomatillos beginning to fall of the plants all on their own (I mean, it was mid-September by now) meant time for action. I brought the monkeys out front and we conducted a fruit raid.

Easily filling a gallon sized bowl, we brought the loot back in and took the skins off. I've learned that my elder monkey has a propensity for the tedium, and will gladly work on this task as I tend to the "lil' bruther." After a quick rinse to remove the remaining bits and pieces, and maybe, just maybe a bit of whatever the sticky, strange, not quite entirely oily feeling stuff on them is off, we tossed them in a roasting pan (whew, talk about a run-on!)

I haven't had much luck with growing peppers here in oaktown. I've tried, boy I have, sporadically, for like five years or so. I'm no Chilebrown. (Let me tell you, he's got such a peppery green thumb, that after the simple act of shaking hands with him, you better wash up before touching any sensitive membranes around your eyeballs.) Anyway, this year, once again I gave it a go. I forget which varieties they were, something compact, but mild for sure. Because of all this, I made sure to include the seeds in the salsa to extract any bit of heat they had.

I had a few onions from earlier in the year out in the back shed and I was hoping to use them. I had envisioned an all from the monkey ranch salsa. But no. They had started to rot on the inside after sprouting a bit. Damn. I used a big white onion on the counter and went from there. All mixed up and ready for roasting I had a laugh. I always enjoy the look of all the little green balls in a pan. It reminds me of those ball pits they have at amusement parks where you can "swim." Okay, maybe that comes from having a beer with this one, but, what the hell.

I gave the roasted mess a blend and then went and picked some cilantro to finish it off. After mincing and mixing in we chowed down on some chips. It was super tangy and puckery. Given that it was at least 3/4 tomatillos I wasn't too surprised. I made a mental note about growing these husky tomato relatives here: flavor is good despite small size of fruit. Combine this with the ease of growing them and we have a winner in my book.

I have a feeling, that after seeds get into the soil this year I'll be harvesting volunteers next year. Well, and the next, and so on and so forth. With any luck, all the way into the sweet with heat, chile verde sunset years of life.

oaktown hip hops

Yo!
You heard the 411 on the hop crisis?
Well, whether you have or not, for us malt liquor lovers, it's like, damn! Fo' shoe-a.
Luckily, my abode here in Oaktown be in a middle latitude on dis' orb and gots a hella mild climate. Means you can grow'em yo'self my peeps.

So somehow seeing into the future and anticipating the shortage of some hops for craft brewers, about this time last year, I bought a few hop rhizomes and planted them out front. Really, I bought them down at the Oak Barrel because they had some, I love growing things, and a town named Hopland is under two hours away so I figured they'd do at least alright. Anyway, they were planted in half barrels containing crappy soil that needed much amending and aerating. No worries. I read they don't do much their first year. Sure nuff, they went up about four feet reeeel slowly and then all the greenery died about November during our first almost frost.

This year, I looked at our garden space more closely and hatched a plan for hop production. I transplanted them into a patch that I used an acidic conditioner on (sulfur bits). Apparently, the new environs and second year of growth have coincided nicely, for we now have a few plants climbing. Getting them to grow is one challenge. Directing their growth is another. So, to push the learning even further, I put strings I tied to tomato cages at ground level and to a few rusty screws near our roofline (placed so fortuitously by a former tenant) for the Northern Brewer to climb, while the Cascade are being directed to go out horizontal above the cold frame and toward the street.

Looking out the bathroom window now involves a leafy view, particularly downward. The bines grow clockwise around the strings and haul themselves up rather nicely. And if you like watching things grow, these are fun. On that hottest day a few weeks back here in the bay area, one of them seemed to grow about eight inches. I couldn't believe my eyes, but it corresponded with it coming up over the gutter and finally onto the roof so it was easy to see its progress over the course of the day. It was amazing.
I love plants.

On closer inspection a few days later, I noticed that what I thought might be the developing cones, must indeed be. From a distance, it looked like the plants had blurry spots on them. I hauled myself up for a closer look and there they were in open flowering mode, fuzzy and hoppy. I went back inside and did a little happy dance feeling totally stoked at the prospect of a future hop harvest. I thought to myself sheee-iiiit damn! DIY rules! (followed by whispering to myself) Just don't fuck it up now.........

The little ladies in the neighborhood have been diggin' on the hops too. I guess it it still technically spring for a few more days and they might as well make the best of it. I welcome any thing that pleases them for there have been no pests of any kind so far. By the looks of these critters, I can probably count on aphids at least being out of the picture. Or can I? A horrid thought crossed my mind: we had some enormous garden pests last year, chiefly in the form of the North American bastard corn swiper. They better not return and like hops too!

Well, I'm off to go make a few bamboo stake booby traps and maybe a slingshot or two. So, remember, whatever you may consider doing in my yard, make sure you have explicit permission!

garden pests

Is is just me, or are the aphids going bonkers this year? Not only in sheer numbers but in individual size too. And what about other mites and worms and stuff like that? I say this because it seems to me like everything is getting good and munched this year. In fact, talking to one of my neighbors this morning, I heard of the biggest pest of the year. The kind responsible for eating the corn that is just becoming ripe. Get this, it was a gigantic corn worm that topped out about 5 foot 7 inches and came complete with opposable thumbs. In my yard!

Back in April, I built a large cold frame in our front yard and sowed some seeds. After the seedlings were well established I started to remove the cover of the frame for incrementally longer times until I felt they were ready for our foggy nights in the low fifties near the bay. At this point some of the corn and a few 'maters were pressing against the top so it was definately time. The tomatoes were looking promising but only about half of the corn came up. The cucumbers, cantaloupe and zucchini were still wispy and in doubt. Anchoring the front I needed something that could withstand the occasional shot of dog urine, so I transplanted some rhubarb from the backyard for experiments sake. I felt that in celebration of the cover being off, I should take my first picture. It was the summer solstice.

Just two short weeks later everything seemed like it was enjoying the full sun. The rhubarb filled nearly the entire front spot (and wasn't being watered by canines) and the corn was no longer looking like upright crab grass. The zuke were beginning to fill in and I was worried for a while that the majority of the corn would start being shaded out. Still. I started drooling at the prospect of fresh corn. Last years experiment resulted in stalks about a foot high with ears looking something like the earliest corn, only having some 8 to 12 kernals, so this year came loaded with hope.

Two more weeks later and I had confidence the corn would be just fine. The cold frame was almost completely obscured by greenery, except for a glimpse of the front panel afforded by me hacking out two large rhubarb leaves that were infested with enormous patches of aphids. After seeing the front panel in the picture, I started looking up how I could try managing the pests with a home remedy because I was sure cutting off leaves is only a temporary solution. In our back yard, we had begun harvesting some sungold cherry tomatoes and the early girls were looking a bit orange. Out front the tomato blooms were going mad and I started dreaming of tomato sauce.

{static} Uh, roger that Houston, we have tassels. Over.

The rhubarb is straight up nuts. The squash is blossoming rather profusely and the cucumber and cantaloupe (that I had nearly forgotten about by now) is working its way out into my neighbors yard to get out from under the corn and squash. The first zukes are being harvested and the corn is showing promise of having ears longer than the lilliputian kind, maybe even approximately the right size. We'd begun picking a few romas and loads of cherry tomatoes were being set. The first brandywine are looking good and few have been sampled.


Although some of the veggies are being used on nearly a daily basis, we are still eagerly awaiting an ear of corn. Well, truthfully, what I mean is an ear for boiling, as last week the older monkey and I ate one raw. And dare I say, holy crap it was good. Sweet, white, but a tad under ripe. After another week the first few should be just right.
But.
This morning while going out on an early morning walk, I noticed that the couple ears I have been eyeing as just about ready have been being eyed by another and are now gone. Some rat bastard, two legged, opposabled thumbed, mammalian corn worm, with a bag and child in tow came and swiped them. My neighbor, bless her heart, witnessed the event and assumed that I had given permission to the lady due to her level of preparedness, casualness and sense of family. Hell no. I mean, the folks who do have permission do so when I'm around. I'm trying to give this person the benefit of the doubt, and assume that they are horribly misled and think that this is a community garden of sorts. It is. But it's for my family. We live on one income, things are always tight and I really don't appreciate folks taking the harvest of my hard work. It's a small garden, unfenced and out in the open. My sister warned me. She said folks would steal whatever I planted out front. Especially corn.

Why can't they steal the zucchini? Or a few cherry tomatoes? I mean, these are prolific enough that with careful attention to time of day, I'd hardly notice they were gone. But the corn? Damn! And teaching your children that this act of theivery is ok. Shame on you. Shame, shame, shame. With any hope they got the ears home, boiled some water, shucked the corn and discovered that the choicest parts were infested with aphids and ants.

All of which makes me ponder the meaning of cornholio. I've wondered where the term came from but now I have a clear idea. It's the spot on a person you aim for with your slingshot or bb gun when yer home and witness them yankin' produce from your yard.

Not to brag, more like a warning: I'm a good shot with just about any high velocity pest deterrent. Stay out of my garden or your ass is mine.......