The sungolds taste good again, after an extended period of mushy thick-skinned strain after the 100 degree pickathon drought. [sungold soup, turned sungold sauce for pizza, sungolds in salad, sungolds balanced on strips of bacon as Zelda ate them today]
The summer squash plants crawl and wilt, but they can't help but make fruit. [garden bread, zucchini fritters, zucchini rice gratin] The north beds, which are the summer garden this year, are a thousand times (or maybe ten) healthier than last year, after their long sleep under a layered mulch, but still, I have my doubts. Still, I have to water every day.
The lettuces in the back are bolting (grrr), so the whole crisper drawer is full of them. [best salad yet=holly's dressing, chevre, cucumbers, tomato, beets, copious lettuce] I never buy lettuce any more. Either there's too much, or I'm relieved there's no more.
The romanos are just coming on [currently in the japanese curry with pork and noodles I made for Jeff's post-surgery meal], with some other pole beans behind them, and then some other ones. I'm going to need a plan.
The cucumbers and Zelda are dead even. They grow, she eats. I love cucumber plants. I love Zelda.
The mustard crop that I threw into bed #1 has predictably taken over and I am ripping it out and dumping it into the sink, and into the pan, and into everything I eat. [eggs, black beans and chorizo, lentil soup, pasta, my mouth] Along with the occasional tomato, a month of blue skies, half a melon a day, and a couple of cloves of garlic, young mustards are all it really takes, it turns out, to make a summer.
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