skip to main |
skip to sidebar
I can’t think of a sweeter way to add sparkle to a dreary day than this little bowl full of ‘Sugary’ grape tomatoes. A steady rain began pelting the porch roof yesterday afternoon. Today, 24-hours later mind you, the steady pitter-patter of raindrops continues. Prairie Creek is out of its bank and ebbing and flowing through our bean field. The chickens convalesced to the coop for the remainder of the afternoon. And the dogs are sleeping away the day on their very own couch in the garage.
Any other August we would have welcome a gentle rain—a “good soaker” as we say. But the soil is saturated from previous liquid gifts from Mother Nature and another 5 inches is the last thing we need.
Which brings me to the tomatoes. A pick-me-up was in order this afternoon and the tomatoes seemed to beckon like little rubies just waiting to be gathered. Lacking proper rain attire, I donned my cotton coat, cowboy hat, and Birkenstocks and squished across the soggy grass to the garden. With amazing foresight—more like sheer luck—I planted my grape tomatoes at the end of the row so I could pluck them from the vine without sinking ankle deep in mud. I stuffed the pockets of my coat full of tomatoes and grabbed a handful of basil before retreating to the porch.
It may be raining outside, but we’re having little bits of sunshine for dinner tonight.
It’s county fair time. Once quiet fairgrounds come alive with 4-Hers shepherding sheep, church ladies cutting wedges of raspberry pie, and singsong tunes of the merry-go-round.
I love how the fairgrounds burst with activity at the same time that the garden is in full production. While the food stands are churning out cotton candy, the garden is bursting with green beans. This is an especially formidable arrangement for me as I encourage Hannah to eat up her beans so we can grab a pink ball of spun sugar.
Cotton candy in hand we carefully pick our way through the cattle barns (inevitably wearing sandals—a very poor choice for cow pie dotted walkways), peek in on the chickens, pet a goat, and then, with a little negotiating on my part, make our way to the horticulture building.
Almost as colorful as the carnival, the hort building dances with daylilies, zinnias, marigolds, and petunias. Little bits of cotton and plastic wrap keep the stems upright in their recycled water bottles vases. Blue ribbons denote plant perfection—the matched trio of hosta leaves, a gigantic dahlia, and perfect pickles.
I don’t visit for the blue ribbons. I go for the diversity. What are my neighbors’ growing? I always have the “if they can grow it, so can I” attitude and come home with a bushel of inspiration. Unlike show gardens and glossy magazine photos, there is something empowering about admiring the flowers and produce of neighbors. They plant and harvest in conditions similar to those on my farm and just look at their results.
Dahlias caught my heart this year. Yes, I’ll be growing them all next year—the cactus types, the sweet little pompoms, and even the big gaudy dinner plates because if Darla had success, so can I.
