A 'Shroom in a Box

For Christmas, my sister and bro-in-law gifted James and I some goodies from The Gardener's Supply Company.  It was my first time getting anything from this company, though I'd browsed through their catalogs a number of times.  A lot of their items are out of our price range... or just not stuff we'd want to splurge on.  For example, I have a serious crush on compost tumblers, but right now our make-shift DIY composter (a.k.a. a $5 Rubbermaid bin with holes poked in it) will just have to do.  Anyway, back to the gifts.  We received their Super Shovel with crazy sharp teeth on the end AND a lifetime warranty!  Can't beat that!

And secondly, my sis and bro-in-law sent us a Portabella mushroom growing kit!  This kit is great because the mushrooms actually grow IN the cardboard box the kit comes in.  No mess whatsoever!  Perfect for in the corner of the dining room, in a closet, anywhere...  We started the growing process in early January, and we are already enjoying our second harvest of 'shrooms.  It just might be the best gift we've ever gotten!  Edible, fun, and super easy.  Here are some pictures of the 'shrooms hanging out in their cardboard box next to our dining room table... the beer bottle is for scale (and Goose Island Nut Brown is gooood, if you were wondering.)

Eatin' good in the neighborhood

In the few entries I've written, I've talked a lot about the kooky neighborhood my boyfriend and I live in.  It's mainly overrun by undergraduates that can miraculously afford BMWs and Lexus SUVs (thanks Dad!)  However, there are also other folks: recent immigrants to the U.S., drug dealers, drug addicts, overgrown hippies, some who may or may not be homeless, and then just a few seemingly responsible, reasonable people.  I like to think I belong to that last group, but who knows.  

Anyway, our little garden has been overproducing lately.  In early spring, our eyes were way bigger than our stomachs and we selected and planted at least twelve little tomato plants, several rows of cukes, and ten or so pepper plants.  For two people?  Yeah, perhaps a bit much.  We've canned our hearts out, and we've eaten so many cucumbers that I wouldn't even blink if you told me I couldn't have another one all year.  

Now, we've taken to feeding the masses.  It usually goes something like this: James, the boyfriend, goes out to the garden and picks a few ultimate frisbees full of veggies (they make excellent trays for the basket-less.)  He sets it on the front porch, at which point I see the piles of cucumbers and groan loudly.  I just cannot eat another bowl of cucumber soup.  I just can't.  We take some veggies inside for lunch or dinner, but there's still a dozen cukes, a pile of jalapenos, and even more tomatoes sitting on the porch.  From that point on, James accosts pretty much anyone who walks by and ends up giving them as many vegetables as they can carry.  The quiet girl next door? Yeah, we forced some cucumbers on her.  The middle-aged Hispanic guy who works at the deli?  Oh yeah, we loaded him up with a little bit of everything.  The young student who drives a $50K SUV and frequently lets his French Mastif take giant shits in our yard?  You better believe he's eatin' good in the neighborhood. 

 To be honest, I had never actually talked to several of these people until we had garden goods to give away.  Sure, I had waved or said hi as we passed on the street, but overall these neighbors are not good friends or even acquaintances.  Still, it surprised me to see how excited and appreciative they were of our offerings.  Because I enjoy the fruits of our garden day in and day out, I sometimes forget about the excitement of free garden-fresh produce from a neighbor.  Part of me also worried that maybe our neighbors would laugh at us or refuse our offerings.  But really--who would refuse a freshly-picked tomato on a hot July day?  It was interesting to hear some of the reactions to our offerings.  One guy kept repeating, "Seriously? Seriously?" like he was absolutely shocked that someone would offer up a little bit of produce to their neighbor.  In a way, that response saddened me, like giving away fresh cukes is now a thing of the past, at least in our neighborhood.  But on another level, it made me so happy so see someone so excited about our garden and about using locally-grown produce.  Maybe this place isn't so bad after all.

Flower Power

We live in a little university neighborhood that is, quite frankly, less than charming.  I'm not talking about one of those cute little college towns with lots of unique shops and restaurants and fairly nice, older homes.  No, no, no.  We've got the older homes--lots of late 19th century and early 20th century Victorians that have fallen into disrepair and are now used and abused by 21-year olds playing beer pong through the night.  Also, lots of the older homes have been burned down for insurance money or razed to make room for rip-off apartments geared toward undergraduate students at the university just a few blocks away.  Overall, there are very few owner-occupied homes in our 'hood--most are rented out to students and other assorted characters (drug dealers, old washed-up hippies, the like.)  

Despite the shortcomings, we love our neighborhood and will be sad to leave it in a couple of weeks when we pack our bags and head Up North for a new adventure.  Plus, we feel like we've given a little back to our less-than-charming 'hood through our garden.  This year, we decided to expand the garden into the front yard, lining the little front walkway with snapdragons, impatiens, marigolds, lilies, and daisies... Oh, and a pair of tomato plants that sprung up from last year's seeds.  We also planted sunflowers in front of the house, several of which are now blooming!  Granted, it's no rose garden, but we love it all the same.  The good news: other people love it, too.  We've gotten several compliments on our flowers from neighbors and passers-by, many of which seem downright flabbergasted that two students--renters!--would actually take care of their yard.  Shocking, right?  We're hoping our pretty little flower garden starts a trend.  Who knows, maybe when we come back to visit, there won't be any more burnt couches on the sidewalk and trash everywhere.  On that note, I'm not quite as sad about moving anymore.  Let's hit the road.

Au revoir, mon petit jardin

The moment is nigh.  

It's almost time to bid farewell to our little garden in the backyard (that has now expanded into the front yard as well.)  In just a few weeks, we'll be loading up our precious few belongings and movin' on up... to an apartment in a big old house in a big old city in Ohio.  What does this mean for our little garden?  Our downstairs neighbors will become the sole proprietors (and tomato-eaters) and hopefully they will continue to shower the garden with love... and more importantly, water.  Meanwhile, we will be Up North, trying desperately to turn our new backyard into another little garden.

Why move right smack dab in the middle of "garden season"? Well, it's actually always garden season, in one way or another.  Here in Tennessee, we have garden-fresh veggies (radishes, spinach, lettuce) even in the winter.  But it is true that by moving, we'll miss a whole lot of tomatoes, peppers, cukes, zucchini, and other goodies.  The bottom line: too bad.  Life marches on, zucchini blossoms or not.  We've been trying to make up for what we'll be missing by taking full advantage of the garden before we make the big move.  Tonight, after a round of mini golf with friends, we parked ourselves in the kitchen and canned five jars of homemade tomato sauce.  We have now successfully (we hope, anyway--won't know until we open them months from now) canned six jars of wineberry jam, three jars of diced tomatoes, twelve jars of dill pickles, four jars of tomatillo salsa, and of course, the recent five jars of tomato sauce.  Although our first adventures in canning were intimidating, it's amazing how quickly you get used to the system.  Now, it's almost old hat.  We're veterans--kind of.  That doesn't mean we don't occasionally burn ourselves with boiling water, of course.  The great thing about canning is that we can take a bit of our garden with us when we move north.  Come December, when absolutely nothing is growing in the frigid North (okay, so Ohio isn't exactly the Arctic, but it's cold up there!), we'll be munching away on jam and pickles and reminiscing about the good old days down south in Tennessee.

On cucumbers

When I created a blog a couple of months ago, I fully intended for it to be about geography.  Now, 150+ thesis pages and a Master's degree later, geography is pretty far down on the list of things I want to think about, let alone write about.   So now that the school year has drawn to an end, what am I thinking about?  Well, the truth is... not much.  I am far too busy canning pickles, pureeing cucumbers into cuke soup (it's good--I promise!), and counting down the days until the first ripe zucchini to even think about thinking about geography.

Also, I've been thinking more and more about keeping some sort of garden (b)log to keep track of when the important events occur each year--you know, when the first tomato plant blossoms and when the first bell pepper is ready to eat.  And less exciting but equally important events like when the weird beetle things finally killed the broccoli plants.  As my gardening partner (and boyfriend) and I have quickly learned, gardening isn't all sunshine and roses.  In our backyard in particular, it's more mosquitoes and weeds than sunshine and roses. 

This year, the mosquitoes and weeds hit their stride in late June, just as the first cucumbers came in.  In fact, the cukes were so exciting that I barely noticed the 67 mosquito bites I had after spending just 15 minutes in the garden.  (Note: If anything, 67 bites is an underestimate. These cucumbers come with a hefty personal sacrifice.)  That first week of cucumbers, it was cucumbers on a bagel for breakfast.  Cucumber and tomato salads for lunch.  Cucumber dill yogurt dip for a snack.  Every morning for the first week, the boyfriend and I would excitedly go out to our little garden in the backyard, pulling back the big cucumber leaves and vines in search of our precious garden bounty.

Then, all of the sudden, the honeymoon faded.  Just yesterday morning, as I stood in front of the hot stove putting quarts and quarts of pickles into boiling hot water to seal the Ball canning jars, I found myself wishing for some Evil Garden Pest to come and quickly devour all of our cucumber plants.  But come December, I keep reminding myself, when I'm eating homemade pickles out of the jar with the refrigerator door open, it will all be worth it... Right?