jane at the garden gate

What A Difference A Year Makes

2010-04-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

OMG! that's right...OMG! What was I thinking?! A couple of months back I started oh, gee about 100 OR SO seedlings. I figured with my green thumb NOT! that only one seed would actually turn into a plant. The other 99 were insurance.

Well, as luck should have it, keeping the seedlings next to my bed, reading bedtime stories about other garden success and descriptive passages out of the Western Garden Book of what each should look like...you know, my version of affirmative action, piped in music, perfect light 16 hours per day, a gentle move to the larger set up in the greenhouse with the grow lights... I had 99 plants...one died...oh well...maybe he couldn't take the pressure.

However basking in that somewhat limited success created a much larger problem. Where the hell do I plant all of these pippy upstarts in my now not-looking-so-big vegetable garden? While pondering that I found myself in the parking lot of Tomatomania, a tomato fanatics candy store. Hundreds , no thousands of heirloom tomato plants...all screaming in their wee tomato voices, 'pick me! pick me!' And so I did. Home I came with my flat of tomato plants. Didn't even cross my mind to count as I was choosing.... Not thinking for one instant that back at the ranch I had two in the ground already, one that had rescurrected itself, two in the greenhouse growing out of control and bearing fruit in March and oh yes, the other nine seedlings - that didn't die. Not problem I thought. I'm going the intensive garden route. Yeah right, there Ms.GreenThumb.

So after a couple of days wringing my hands and a couple of evenings soothing my panic with a martini while sitting in the greenhouse and wondering how to negotiate more yard space I called on the terrific Christy Wilheim of GardenNerd. I thought better that than a round at the Betty Ford.

We made a date and it was like a load had been lifted off my shoulders.

As soon as she arrived she started counting....16.....17...18....19.....oh my!

You have 20...no 21 tomato plants here! Oh really, I said ...like I knew that... NOT!

And you have 4....5....7.....10....squash...and how many peppers...10 oh and 4 eggplants. OK. Well then. Our work is cut out for us!

Sigh

That's what I love about her. She uses the word 'us' even though she will go home to her absolutely beeeutiful garden leaving me behind to make this one work.

We gave up on the celery, found homes for most of the tomatoes. The strawberries will remain intact, the okra is OK where it lives, the parsely and cabbage are good along with the tomatillos that are already flowering. There's still lettuce in the ground that really should be eaten this week and that will open up space for a couple tomatoes. Oh My. I just know my wish for abundance in the garden is on the verge of busting into my universe and I will experience my own version of tomatomania - although more like tomatomaniac!

I offered that I was OK with sacrificing the squash since I really need some space for cucumbers and radishes and celery....oh my! I felt a bit like a serial killer of sorts, but then again...what a little sacrifice for the good of the whole. It's a bigger picture way of thinking.

I also figured, hey...last year my crop wasn't exactly bumper...if you get my drift. So what the heck...one or two will survive and the rest are insurance!

Stay tuned.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!

2010-01-01T21:03:00.001-08:00

I hope all your dreams come true this year.

xo

Jane

Happy New Year to Me NOT!

2009-12-29T08:51:00.000-08:00

OK...so what happens in my garden between planting and harvesting? Please anyone...just take a guess.... OK...well the answer is NOTHING. In fact, there is no 'harvest.' My biggest success this cool season has been to pick a few leaves off a lettuce. Not the whole lettuce mind you....just a few leaves. Cuz the rest of the lettuce ISN'T GROWING!

Truly.

My garden does not grow.

It just does not grow.

I plant seeds or seedlings and nothing happens. NOTHING. The beds look terrific for awhile and then...they look the same the next week and the next and the next and the next and the next...and as long as I continue watering..they look the same...as if they've been frozen in time.

Is this a lesson in patience? Are the Gardening Gods on high rolling in laughter, barely able to catch their breath? Well, if your listening, Gardening Gods...this is NOT FUNNY. Look closely at this mug... not laughing. Not amused.

I admit that I don't have luck much with things that need to grow. I had a cat once, it never grew bigger than a kitten. Kinda strange. I had large fish tank with a couple fish in it that never grew - even though the pimply faced kid at the pet store told me they would grow bigger once in the larger tank. The thought that I could see them swimming to and fro from across the room without my glasses excited me. Not only didn't they grow, they died. So much for container serenity.

I have a problem getting yeast to grow and indulge me a perfect loaf of bread.

'Just add water' sponge figures don't grow.

My son is a slow grower. Little scruff of a thing at 13.

Hmmm.. is there a bigger picture here that I've not stumbled upon. Maybe it's time to burn sage.

Simply put - I'm not so excited about the pending New Year. Why? Because I've just lived through my first full year of two great growing seasons that haven't panned out for me. It's not that I'm a sore loser... OK, well, I am a sore loser - a frustrated farmer! In fact, I'm about as BITTER AS THE LAST LETTUCE I CONSUMED! OK, I pretended it was arugula...and everyone 'bought it.' But the 'bitter Betty' that I've become can only live in my world so long.

You know, it could be that my biggest mistake was positioning my greenhouse in an area that gets full sun in the winter while my raised beds are in shadow most of the day. !!! Hmmm so much for planning!

AHA MOMENT.

I'm doomed.

Or, do I start growing inside the greenhouse?

What to do, what to do?

Any hints?

Garden Coach?

2009-12-06T20:44:00.000-08:00

It's been some time since I've posted on this blog and for anyone that is actually still checking in - I apologize. I mean, you can only read about worm castings so many times, right?

The summer months were not good to me. After the overwatering fiasco, I experienced drought which was equally devastating to the garden and to my enthusiasum as a green thumb wannabe.

I attended another beginners class with SilverLake Farm's owner Tara and although she's the best there is, I couldn't translate her instruction to my garden and so it continued to fall behind the season. Tomatoes were OK, but not great. In fact a couple of my plants never even grew. And I mean that literally...they were physically small and never produced fruit. sigh.

I searched the internet in vain trying to find the answer to my particular garden woes. Neat the coast, overcast mornings, less sun and heat. You get the picture. Then the universe spoke to me - there must be someone who would be willing to come to my garden and help me. But of course! Why hadn't I thought of that before? Someone that would come to my house, to my garden and talk about my dirt and my plants and my sun angle and my overcast mornings living so close to the beach. And so the hunt began.

I stalked the garden at the church on the corner by my house but never saw anyone there. "How can the be?" I thought. "The garden looks so terrific. Someone must be tending it?" . I asked the plant guy at my office for tips. He seemed clueless to help. So I googled. G. A. R. D. E. N. C. O. A. C. H. and hit 'enter.' And there they were. A regroup on the search to add Los Angeles and there she was...the GardenNerd. Yeah! She not only coaches, she had a cool blog AND she was in my neighborhood...so she would totally understand the weather conditions! Now I had to examine my ego, banish it from the exercise and called for help.

I was giddy with excitement. I sent her a note pleading for her help. She replied and a date was set.

Christie arrived on time early one Saturday morning and immediately set an atmosphere of calmness by her open, friendly manner. I could tell right away that she knew her 'stuff' and I'd have a jam packed hour to pick her brain. I offered tea, (it seemed more appropriate than coffee) but she declined choosing instead to get right to work. With my notebook and pen in hand we headed to the garden.

Her first words were, "I'm jealous." I thought - we'll that's very kind of you to say, but I mean, this garden is pathetic - a jumbled mess of random plants with barren patches of soil in between. The greenhouse was vacant of life and the my rosemary which I could count on year after year for beautiful blue blooms around this time of year was looking like driftwood. A graveyard of various sized empty pots and urns lay next to the dying herb garden.

"Soil looks good, " she said casually, crumbling some in her hand, breaking the silence. "you have quite a lot of space here." Is there any reason that you are planting your basil here and then over there and then over there? Do you like that scattered look?"

"well, I....I...."

Before I could speak she said politely, "your garden will work better if it's more organized."

Ding! there it was, the "O" word. Organization.

'well, I......"

"Have you even made a planting plan?"

Ding! There's the "P" word. Plan.

"well, I.....

"You really need a plan so you know what you're doing here."

"yes, well, I have made a plan, in fact many plans...," I stammered. "But when I get out to the garden, my plan sort of vanishes."

Before I could continue a more intelligent explanation, she started organizing the garden for me...

"All of your basil should go here, you'll do square foot gardening to make best use of these three beds...you are familiar with that, right? Plant some nastursiums here, here and there - they'll ramble over the empty pots there and liven that up through the winter. Put some violas here and here.

I was taking notes as fast as I could.

"Two bags of Bumper Crop and a cup of organic fertilizer in this bed and two and a half bag plus fertilizer in this bed...."

And on it went. As I tried desperately to take it all in, I realized that at the end of the day, gardening like life takes organization. Everything can't be spontaneous. I grew up with order. Friday was fish night. Spaghetti only on Saturdays and pot roast was saved for Sunday. The house was cleaned Saturday morning before noon. Tuesday was wash day. Could it be that I've been rebelling against the order my mother injected into our day-to-day upbringing? Hmmm. Possible. I would think I was a bigger person to let bygones be bygones. But maybe not.

When Christie left I looked around and realized I had my work cut out for me. I'd really spend my first season as a novice gardener wasting such precious time (not to mention money!) Or had I? Nothing is really wasted in the long run, it's all a learning experience, isn't it?

I decided to embrace Christie's suggestions with gusto and voila! Suddenly my hodge podge garden took on a beautiful order. I transplanted all the basil to one spot and there was suddenly more basil then I will eat the rest of this year. I put the broccoli that was scattered into a big barrel and interplanted gorgeous lavender violas. I put lettuces and spinach and strawberries in another bed creating a quilt of color. A pale peach viola here and there added punch. I broke down and took apart my herb bed and replanted it. Now it thrives. My parsely is happy, the beans are heading up the pole, the garlic is in the ground as are shallots, beets, endive and potatoes.

Next up I will tackle seedlings in the greenhouse with my new grow lights. I can still hear Christie's last words before good bye.... "if you start from seed it will be much less costly to garden and you'll be able to grow more interesting vegetables especially if you're into the heirlooms!"

Sigh. Plan. Organize. Plant. The mantra grows louder as box after box of seeds from all across the globe hit my mailbox.

Plan. Organize. Plant. Plan. Organize. Plant

where are the rain gods when you need them?!

2009-12-06T20:06:00.000-08:00

The weather gurus keep teasing rain here in Los Angeles yet nary a drop has fallen. I've held off watering today in hopes that the garden would get a really good soaking from above although I'm not sure what will happen if the winds kick up. I haven't experienced a good storm since my little patch of organic heaven was born. Guess it'll be a good time to see what I may need for times like this.

What's the best way to protect the garden and ensure that after a storm there's something left!?

the simple art of over watering

2009-07-05T07:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, I believe I have actually accomplished the exact opposite of what I set out to do - over water my garden. If not that, then I am perplexed. The tomato plants look weary but the water meter says wet. I'm feeling just a wee discouraged on one hand and on the other, well, a bit like I may possibly be on my way to becoming a real gardner. Why? Well, because I know that in reality I'm not alone. That's the good news. The bad news is what now?

I run through the checklist in my head, soil, compost, fertilizer, mulch, too much or too little sun. Well, I know there's too little sun because I live just a couple miles from the coast. Our mornings, often into mid afternoon, are filled with gray skies and cool temps. What was I thinking packing eight heirloom tomato plants in my happy boxed beds? I don't know?! Maybe that people in England have tomatoes, too?

My pepper plants have peppers on them that are bigger then the plant itself! Well, let me clarify - they each have ONE pepper on them. Since each pepper plant sports a different kind of pepper - well you get the picture. Not much you can do with just one pepper. My lettuce is insufficient at best. In fact, I think that were I to make a sandwich and need lettuce, that currently each head would be just enough for one sandwich. My eggplant has one, well, eggplant on it that I eventually had to pick off because it was weighing the darn plant down - no new buds on the horizon. I'm going to translate that to probably no more eggplant on the horizon either. My sugar snap peas grew just enough for a snack - for one. My squash isn't even growing! What's up when your squash won't grow? Anyone can grow squash! Well, I'm here to tell you apparently that is not a true statement. My strawberries are just starting to bloom - although I do believe the season is somewhat over? My beets are still just one beet ..the one I planted.....My chives are wimpy, my celery has not budged, my potatoes pooped out (although we did have enough for one meal, my tomatillos have given their all, my parsley could better be called 'sparsley' and my basil still comes from the grocery at $9.00 a sprig! This garden was suppose to save me money! ...oh, I'm not happy. Is this because I wanted to be organic?

The good news I suppose is that we have two seasons here in Southern California. I can always try again and quite possibly have success. Then I'll have next summer to look forward to. One way or the other I'll figure out this garden business and be able to fulfill my dream of sharing my bounty and bumper crops with friend and family or spend all my hard earned money on produce at the farmer's market! As is stands now, I'll have to sneak the only red tomato on the vine and tell the rest of the family that a raccoon must have eaten it!

If any of you reading this has any advice for me, I would sure appreciate it!

what's to eat tonight?

2009-06-28T08:47:00.000-07:00

OK. As a lark this morning because I was up early and lord knows have nothing else to do...or possibly this was another method of procrastination to the real world at hand....I started listing my cookbooks here on the blog. (see sidebar) I'm embarrassed to say that the list is incomplete!

Why is it then that I can never think of anything to make for dinner?

Do you have a favorite cookbook I should add to my list?

No Kidding Boiled Eggs

2009-06-23T06:36:00.001-07:00

For some, a hard boiled egg is nothing more than a bridge to an egg salad sandwich. Well, not anymore! Give this method a go next time you've got a dozen hangin' in the fridge and you'll be amazed at what an egg really tastes like. I'll bet it never makes its way between two pieces of bread!

Hard Boiled Eggs

1 sauce pan
Eggs * put as many as you like just use a pan that fit them all in the bottom
Water to cover eggs by at least an inch
Bring to a hard boil
Once the water has come to the hard boil TURN THE HEAT OFF, cover the pan and
set the timer for 8 minutes EXACTLY.
When the bell rings, pour off hot water, place the eggs in a bowl of ice water (yes, with ice cubes -- this bring the cooking of the egg to a quick halt.)

Cooking Note: a fresh egg doesn't peel as easily as a non fresh egg~

Peel and enjoy with a bit of sea salt and fresh cracked pepper! No mayo needed.

WARNING: After the first bite you'll be tempted to keep these little pillows of egg goodness to yourself, but be nice and share.

Where Does the Time Go?

2009-06-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

I swear I was going to take pictures of the garden's progress this weekend but somehow, well, time got away from me! There are so many things I love doing, gardening, sewing, reading, cooking, silversmithing, knitting, etc etc etc. I've got a full time job that pays for all these sweet indulgences, but not enough time left each week to do them! I promise, new photos soon. In the meantime, enjoy this beauty that was taken on a recent trip to my hometown of Portland, Oregon. We were on a couple of garden tours just across the Columbia River in Washington and ran into this beautiful lavendar farm quite by accident. Serendipity!

Banana Fritters

2009-06-18T21:49:00.000-07:00

Peanut oil for frying

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1/2 cup cold milk

3T light brown sugar

1C flour

Pinch of baking soda

4 ripe bananas, sliced diagonally into 1/2 inch pieces

2T confectioners sugar

Heat 3 inches of oil in a heavy saucepan or deep fryer to 375 degrees. Mix the eggs, milk, brown sugar, flour and baking soda together in a medium-sized bowl. Add the banana slices a few at a time, coating them well with the batter.

With a long slotted spoon, remove the banana slices a few at a time and place them into the oil. Fry the bananas for 2 to 3 minutes, until lightly browned, turning them once. Drain them on paper towels and transfer them to a serving platter. Repeat the process until all of the bananas have been fried. Sprinkle them with the confectioner's sugar and serve warm.

In a word - addictive.

Zucchini Fritters w/ Minted Creme Fraiche

2009-05-28T20:50:00.000-07:00

Zucchini is never in short supply in the summer garden. This is one of the recipes from my culinary class yesterday. It was the class fave. Well, that and the banana fritters. OK...I'll share that recipe tomorrow.

Minted Creme Fraiche

3/4 cup creme fraiche

1 T minced mint leaves

Combine the creme fraiche and mint. Cover and hold in the refrigerator.

Fritters

4 lbs zucchini

salt and pepper

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped

2 bunches chives, finely chopped

1/4 all purpose flour

4 eggs, lightly beaten

1 tsp grated lemon zest

1/4 cup olive oil

Grate the zucchini, place in a colander and salt generously. Allow to drain 20 - 30 minutes. Squeeze out all the liquid.

Combine the zucchini with the garlic, chives, lemon zest, flour and egg. Season

Fry in the oil in batches. Brown on one side. turn adn bron second side. drain on paper towel.

Serve with creme fraiche.

Serves 4

Enjoy!

The Garden Today

2009-05-26T21:32:00.000-07:00

It's actually growing!

A Lesson From the Garden

2009-05-25T07:36:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming sense of sadness. I didn't get out of bed right away, I lay there in my half sleep and thought about my mother. She's been gone now for almost 13 years. A stranger wouldn't know that this morning looking at me though - tears running down my cheeks and all. I wonder how different my life would be now if I were able to pick up the phone and call her for advice in this troubled time. What would she say to me? Would she cheer me on in my daily battles or would she soften and let me run back home and hide. Probably both. And maybe that's why I miss her so much today. Maybe I'm having one of those life moments this morning as I lament that my world isn't as I want it to be now. A class I'm taking isn't teaching me what I want to know now. My child isn't as tall as he should be by now, My job is not as secure as it should be right now. I thought my husband would have another job by now. Maybe what I'm really feeling this morning is that my life isn't what I think it should be right now.

When I first planted the garden several months back, I'd run out every morning to see if there were any seedlings poking their sleepy heads out of the dirt. I really wasn't very patient to say the least. Soon I discovered that the dirt brought in for the planter beds wasn't any good and had killed off my seedlings. So I bought some vegetable starts - interesting ones - from a new nursery I discovered out of a need to pick something up now on my home from the office one evening. I planted and the bugs came to dine. Oh my, the beds looked like I was growing lace! My desire to have an organic garden - well any garden at that point - was going up in smoke! I used row covers, made trips into the garden in the middle of the night to spray the offenders, used traps, implemented the remedies of old wives, read books, searched articles on the internet, chatted with other gardeners and drove the kind staff at my new found nursery crazy with my need to know now questions when all I really had to do was have patience. Instead of wanting it all now I needed to learn to live in the now.

My nursery man took me aside during one of my recent visits and said to me, "You've given your garden a foundation of good soil, water, fertilizer, compost and mulch. You just haven't given it any time." "Give it some time"

His words could not have been more true. In the last few days under the warm Southern California sun, my garden has begun to come alive. Plants are growing at record pace and I can't believe there are actually vegetables! Maybe, just maybe, I do have a little bit of a green thumb, or maybe just maybe the garden is teaching me patience.

Perhaps it's slowly showing me that nothing every happens now accept what's going on right at this very moment. Yes, I miss my mom and I wish with all of my heart that she were here now. She'd love my garden. Yes, I wish the economy would change for the better and at a faster pace so my husband could find work now. Yes, I wish my son were taller now. Yes, I wish my job were more secure right now. But none of that is true for now. One day all of it will come to pass because nothing can stay the same in this universe. It's all just a matter of time - like the garden.

For Someone Special

2009-04-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here's something to go with your new starter...

Sourdough Waffles

(Two Day Recipe)

DAY ONE

4 ounces (1/2 cup unsalted butter)

8 ounces (1 cup) whole or low-fat milk

9 ounces (about 1 cup) White Starter

1 tsp salt

1T brown sugar, packed

About 1 1/2 C all purpose flour

Place butter and milk in the small saucepan and warm over low heat until the butter melts. Set the mixture aside at room temp to cool.

Place White Starter, cooled milk-butter mixture, salt, brown sugar, and flour in a large mixing bowl and whisk together. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and let the batter stand at room temp for 8 to 12 hours.

DAY TWO

Have Ready:

Waffle iron

Pastry brush

2 large eggs

1/4 tsp baking soda

vegetable oil

Preheat the waffle iron 10 - 15 minutes before you will be ready to use it.

Uncover thebatter and whisk in eggs and baking soda until well combined. The batter should be thick and elastic. Lightly brush the hot waffle iron with vegetable oil. The oil should sizzle on the iron, signaling that it's hot enough. Pour 1/2 to 3/4 cup of batter onto the hot waffle iron. close the lid and let the waffle cook until it's golden and crisp. 3 - 5 minutes. Repeat with remaining batter.

Recipe from Nancy Silverton's Breads from the La Brea Bakery

Wise Words

2009-03-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

Gardening is a humbling experience

Martha Stewart

Worm Castings

2009-03-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading this blog you know I'd been on pins and needles waiting for the clearance to attend a gardening class with Tara of Silver Lake Farms a week or so ago. Lucky me made the cut and today was the day.

And oh what a great day it was!

I motored through the quiet morning streets on my way to the Silver Lake Farms beginner's vegetable garden class in of all places - Silver Lake! Although it took me over an hour - the shortest most direct route found on Mapquest to get 15 miles in LA - I didn't mind at all. I was in areas of the city that I only find myself in while skirting them at 60 miles an hour or so on the freeway. It was interesting to take in the neighborhoods as they changed from Asian, to Hispanic, to Armenian - each one having its own quiet way of coming alive on a quiet Sunday morning. I thought about the different foods, and ingredients used to make those foods. Yes, all relating to my much anticipated class.

I meandered down Franklin Blvd until I reached the gorgeous Franklin Bridge. My directions said once over the bridge, look for St. George Street and the famous Franklin Blvd steps. Ah, 'the steps.' Well, I figured I could get down them, I was more worried about getting back up. Although I found comfort in the fact that I had on sensible shoes.

I made my way down the steps and to the community garden. There wasn't a sound in the air. The lesson this morning was being taught on the grounds of the Francias Elysee. Better known to anyone not bilingual as the French/American School. Sitting high up in the clouds overlooking the city I took a moment to wonder why I had to learn French in an all American school in the middle of a hay field. Some kids have all the luck, I guess.

There were only ten of us -all a good bunch. We talked about setting up seedling, great organic seed sources, planting, crop rotation, watering, container gardening and pest control. We meandered in the garden, I discovered that one of my classmates lived just three block from me, and I finally understood the difference between compost and mulch. Then came my 'aha' moment.

You see, I have a thing about worms. I know they're good for the soil and that in turn is good for the plant which is in turn good for me. I get all that on some level. But I could never get past the fact that a worm is a worm is a worm. There've been times while gardening that if I overturned a worm I took that as a sign that it was time for me to put my shovel away and wait till that worm was no longer in my way. Like maybe the next day. I've even had nightmares about worms. Maybe it goes back to my childhood and the crazy, tow-headed boy that lived next door to us. He use to come out into his mothers garden with a paper plate and a spoon, find worms and then just eat them! I kid you not. Looking back I'm sure it was his passive aggressive way of getting out of tending the garden as a chore. He didn't want to pull weeds, his mother didn't want him eating worms. She won. He had to stay out of the yard. Whatever the catalyst for my phobia, it wasn't going away with age.

During the compost talk of course the worm bin came up. I squirmed. No pun intended. But then, from behind the compost bin, Tara pulled out a bag of - you guessed it - worm castings! Yeah! I could buy the worm poop in a bag! For ten bucks I could throw the darn stuff all over the yard and never have to be a worm farmer! Woo hoo! I almost did a flip. Gardening all of a sudden seemed brighter and lighter. And then she dropped the bomb. Interspersed with the castings were eggs. Worm eggs. Yes, so little baby worms would hatch in your garden. Oh well, I guess one moment of euphoria alone was worth the price of admission.

PS. I came home and planted 50 seedlings and saw only two worms. Stay tuned to see what happens.

It's No Wonder

2009-03-15T22:00:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up my mother's first rule was that we get all our our house chores, homework and all other of life's obstacles to our perceived happiness out of the way before we could have fun.

Bummer.

It just dawned on me that although I'm an adult now - and far enough along in that adulthood that no one checks my I.D. anymore - I still hold that way of life to be true. Well, no wonder I have a bunch of unfinished fun projects sitting around my otherwise clean house!

I'm up at five in the morning, commute 14 hours to and from work each week, get my son to school on time, stop at the grocery on my way home several times so I can make dinner, pick up the madness I left behind in the morning, set the table, clear the table, throw some laundry in the wash (or put it in the dryer) unload the dishwasher so I can load in the dinner dishes, dog my son to get ready for bed, pay a bill or two, tuck my son in, take my bath and get ready for bed myself... and then comes the weekend - the grocery store, the dry cleaners, laundry, house catch up, garden chores, ...and it goes on....gee .where on earth is MY time?

I hear what you're thinking right now; Quit complaining! Your bills are paid, the cat is fed, the bed is made, fresh towels are hung, the laundry is folded, your son will be smart one day, the coats are on their hooks, the pantry is stocked, the car is washed.

But it's 10pm!

I'm going to bed.

Wise Words

2009-03-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

People who love this world, people who pay attention, are gardeners.

People who are invested, people who are aware, they are gardeners regardless of whether of not they have ever picked up a trowel.

Because gardening is not just about digging. Or planting, for that matter. Gardening is about cherishing.

- Terry Hershey, Soul Gardening, p. 159

Im In!

2009-03-13T06:51:00.000-07:00

I'm in! I'm in! I'm in! Sunday morning. 11am! Yeah!

The Bee

2009-03-07T12:00:00.000-08:00

Like trains of

cars on tracks

of plush

I hear the

level bee:

A jar across

the flowers

goes,

Their velvet

masonry

Withstands

until the

sweet assault

Their chivalry

consumes,

While he,

victorious,

tilts away

to Vanquish

other blooms.

His feet are

shod with

gauze,

His helmet is

of gold;

His breast, a

single onyx

With

chrysoprase,

inlaid.

His labor is a

chant,

His idleness a

tune;

Oh, for a bee's

experience

Of clovers and

of noon!

- Emily Dickinson

On Pins and Needles

2009-03-05T10:30:00.000-08:00

I'm on pins and needles today. Holding my breath as I wait for a return email from Silver Lake Farms telling me that I'm 'in' the group for private gardening classes the weekend of March 14. Who better to learn the way around my raised beds from than the gardening guru herself, Tara Kolla, Silver Lake Farms founding mother. My head is spinning - breathe already.

My excitement is not unfounded...I discovered Tara and Silver Lake Farms when my own urban garden was in its infancy. Read that as 'all in my head.' I thought it might be a grand idea if I were to actually learn a little bit about growing organic veggies before I took the plunge. I searched for gardening classes in the Los Angeles area via the internet and came up with a rose pruning demonstration at the local Armstrong's Nursery. Not exactly what I had in mind. Smart enough to know that not everyone is born with a green thumb, some of us (hopefully) can learn; I knew I needed to find someone that had experience in organic gardening in an urban setting and was willing to share their knowledge.. My hour long internet search ultimately landed me at the beautiful Silver Lake Farms website. My excitement was dashed however when I saw that all the classes offered that month and the next were full. Sigh.

With the holiday just around the corner I shrugged off the notion of starting an early season crop and rejoiced that at least through the holidays the urgency to get the greenhouse and raised beds built and operational during my vacation had eased. It looked like the gardening gods were showing me that everything takes time. I focused my attention on seed catalogues and how-to books.

It wasn't but a week week later that I found myself at an open house holiday party with my guy up in beautiful Malibu at the home of a very dear friend. We were poured a glass of wine and made our way out onto the balcony that hangs out over the ocean - just feet below us - to watch the sunset. It wasn't long before a young couple joined us. The woman was striking with long dark, wavey hair,olive skin and a great smile. She introduced herself as Tara. She was with very nice looking man. Both had Australian (??) accents. We introduced ourselves and carried on a brief conversation about the beauty of the sunset, the wine and a book my guy had just finished reading called,"Salt." As the other guests floated in and out, our group was separated. In no time, out of the corner of my eye I saw our hostess whisk a new arrival by the arm over toward Tara. I heard her introduce Tara as the woman who 'owns Silver Lake Farms.' Talk about being in the moment. Nothing registered. Tara, Silver Lake Farms. Nothing.

Time passed, we enjoyed visiting with old and new faces until it was time to leave. As we pulled out onto the PCH, I shrieked, "Tara!" "Silver Lake Farms!" "That. Was. Tara. Silver Lake Farms Tara" OMG! My guy thought I had lost my mind. All the way home, I kicked myself for not realizing in the moment that I was talking to the very woman whom I had come to admire through her website and all the work she accomplished. Not to mention that I was totally envious that she was living 'my' perfect life. Thank god she was as nice as I knew she would be!

A few days later I got up the nerve, sent her a note, explained who I was and asked if she could find me a place in the group for her class on organic soil. "Of course!" she replied and I was 'in.' Well, sort of. As the class weekend approached I fell ill and was in bed for the duration. I held onto my spot for as long as I could and then had to let go just in case I was taking a place from someone else just like me...waiting for the email saying 'you're 'in'! Talk about being bummed out.

So now my scheduled has opened up and I've been given a second chance. Of course, my greenhouse is now built, my seedlings are growing (much to my dismay, I admit), the beds are ready to receive them...and I'm ready to learn how to make it all come together successfully. But when that email came last night I jumped on it.

So there you go, that's all I have. It ends here until I get that lucky 'golden ticket' email.

In the meantime, if you're reading this, live in the Los Angeles area and visit the Echo Park, Silver Lake or Hollywood Farmers Markets, do stop by Tara's stall and purchase some of her gorgeous flowers! She's got produce coming soon, too. And OK...Ill make the rush of getting into one her classes even more insane... check out her class schedule, garden design business and Farmers Market schedule at http://www.silverlakefarms.com/

Maybe I'll see you there!

ROASTED BEET AND CARROT SALAD WITH PITA AND HUMMUS

2009-03-04T06:01:00.000-08:00

10 or 11 medium choggia beets, cleaned and trimmed.
6 T plus 1/2 extra cup of extra-virgin olive oil
1 tsp kosher salt
2/3 c water

7 medium carrots with green tops trimmed to one inch
2 tsp fresh thyme leaves (stems removed)
1 1/2 tsp cumin seeds (toasted)
3 T good red wine vinegar

1/2 C fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1/4 cup thinly sliced shallots (about 1 large bulb)
4 tsp fresh squeezed lemon juice, divided

Hummus (recipe to follow)
Pita or flat bread

Preheat oven to 450. Rub each unpeeled beet with olive oil and place in roasting pan Sprinkle with 1tsp salt. Add 2/3C water to the pan. Cover with foil. Roast until tender, about 45 to 55 minutes. Let cool.

While beets are in the oven, Peel and cut carrots into thirds crosswise, then quarter lengthwise. Place carrots on baking sheet. Drizzle with 3T olive oil and sprinkle with thyme leaves, salt and pepper. Toss to coat. Roast until carrots are tender and beginning to brown, stirring occasionally, about 20 minutes. Cool.

Using fingers, rub the peel off the beets. Cut each beet into 6 wedges. Put beets in bowl with carrots. Add the parsley, shallots, 2tsp lemon juice,and 2/3 cumin vinaigrette to bowl, toss to blend.

Vinaigrette
Transfer 3/4tsp of the toasted cumin seeds to mortar or spice mill, grind fine. Place whole cumin seeds, ground cumin and vinegar in a small bowl and whisk in the 1/2C olive oil. Season vinaigrette with salt and pepper.

To Serve.

Place dollop of hummus and 1 flatbread or pita on each plate. Spoon the beet carrot mixture alongside serve.

Do Ahead
Beets, carrots and vinaigrette can be made one day ahead. Cover separately and chill. Bring all to room temperature and whisk vinaigrette before continuing.

Serves Six

Wise Words

2009-03-02T20:28:00.000-08:00

The kiss of the sun for pardon,

The song of the birds for mirth,

One is nearer God's heart in a garden

Than anywhere else on earth.

Dorothy Frances Gurney, " Garden Thoughts"

The Apple Farm ..... Stay Tuned

2009-03-02T06:39:00.000-08:00

SUMMER TOMATO SANDWICH

2009-02-28T06:53:00.000-08:00

1 fresh picked ripe tomato still warm from the garden sliced thick

2 slices of soft white bread

a slather of mayo (optional)

pinch of sea salt

eat

Substitute the white bread with a fresh croissant, add a thin slice of swiss cheese and voila` you have another treat!

Enjoy

Coming of Age

2009-02-27T10:11:00.000-08:00

At the wise old age of 12 years old my mother and father went their separate ways. It depends on who you talk to as to who left who. That didn't matter to me. What did keep me awake at night was the fact that my day-to-day life as I knew it had changed. No more lazy Sunday mornings with Nat King Cole on the stereo crooning 'Unforgettable' while dad wrestled up his famous ranch style breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs and pancakes. No more hearing him shout out on a Sunday evening after the dinner dishes were put away, "Let's go for a ride and get some ice cream!" No, those days were behind me. My mother threw in her apron and dish towel for a two piece suit and a paycheck. The house was quiet. Eventually the nice car we had was replaced with an old beater that embarrassed me to no end. I begged my mother to drop me on an unfamiliar side street two blocks from school in the mornings lest my friends or strangers were to see me and ask questions. The first summer without my dad was dismal. Mom had already left the house by the time I woke up. She was gone physically, but she was never really far away. She'd call home every half an hour. If the line was busy, then next time she called I got an ear full the minute she heard my voice. "Stay off the phone so I can call you!" I want to know what you're doing!" What I was doing? I was answering the phone every half an hour. I told her I was cleaning the house and that seemed to make her happy. But truth be told, between phone calls my sister, Sharon and I were lathering on the baby lotion and and laying on our beach towels in the backyard, sipping lemonade and working on our tans. We didn't know about skin cancer. Maybe it hadn't been invented yet. I don't know. About 4 o'clock in the afternoon mom would make her final call of the day to walk me through the dinner prep. I can't tell you how many times my spaghetti sauce resembled sloppy joes. I waited for her review upon arriving home before I put on the spaghetti or opened a package of hamburger buns. I didn't really care either way. And so it went... I read Nancy Drew, answered the phone every half an hour, practiced the art of a red sauce and with that - fell into the rhythm of the long, lazy summer.

Eventually life caught up with me as it seems to do and by the next summer my life that I was just settling into took a turn. Mom announced that it might be a good idea if I had 'something to do' that would 'build character' and help me 'mature.' I was thrilled. Sort of. She explained that while she'd 'love to' she really couldn't afford sleep away summer camp but she'd found something better. I was thrilled again.

I'm going to tell you now that this experience was the one event that would mark my coming of age. I'd like to admit that it was a handsome young buck I met while making gimp keychain fobs in the park down the street at the office of Parks and Recreation. But it was not. No, my coming of age involved a 5 am wake up call, a 4 block walk to the corner, and a truck load of Hispanic farm workers. Day laborers. Berry pickers. Didn't speak any English. So let's put this into perspective. I was thirteen. It was 5:30 am. I was on a street corner waiting for a rickety truck, opened in the back with wooden seats bolted to the floor, filled with young Hispanic men. OK. Just so we have that picture in our heads. By the time the truck reached my stop, most of the seats were taken. Did I mention I was thirteen? I climbed in with my little sack lunch tucked under my arm and took a seat. No one looked at me and no one talked to me. I'm sure they figured I didn't speak Spanish.

The rickety truck sped on its way as the sun came up, eventually we turned down a dirt road. We bumped along for what seemed an impossibly dusty eternity, finally coming to a stop near the only shade tree for as far as my eye could see. We tumbled out of the back of the truck. As I stretched my legs and took in the endless rows of green I realized to both my delight and horror that I was in the middle of a strawberry field. Yes, my mother had traded the joys of an inner tube swing over the lake and the faintest possibility of my bonding with a lifelong friend at summer camp for a two week stint as a farm laborer. Under the shade tree next to a weighing scale was a big, fat, sweaty man with dirt under his nails and a straw hat. He wiped his brow with a red checkered kerchief and smiled at me. I smiled back. His large silver front tooth gleamed. I was suspicious but oddly not frightened. My mom and I had our differences, but I couldn't find it in my heart to believe that she'd feed me to wolves. At least not in daylight.

The large man pointed to a pile of flats and said something in Spanish. The driver of our truck spoke English; "That's Jorge. We call him 'boss.' He wants you to leave your lunch here and pick up a flat for the strawberries. I'll show you what to do." Reluctantly, I sat my brown crumpled lunch sack down in the dirt, lacking faith that it would be there when I returned. Jorge looked hungry. This was not what I had in mind of how I'd spend my summer days. I'd envisioned chasing boys tripping over their own puberty, gossiping with the new neighbor girl across the street, blasting my transistor radio, practicing walking in my mother's high heels and working on my dance moves. Clearly the universe had other plans for me.

And so it went.

For two weeks it was the same drill. Each morning at 5:30 am the truck showed up, I hopped in, rode to the fields, smiled at Jorge, dropped my lunch, picked up a flat and headed into the field to pick the ripened berry. I ate some, picked some, ate some and picked some. As each flat was filled, I carried it back to Jorge who weighed it and handed me cash. 97 cents per flat. It was gold to me. It was my freedom. I opted in for another two weeks the next summer. The girl across the street, now my best friend, joined me. We had a blast. And with all that, I still love strawberries. Only now I appreciated how they get to market. I'll bet you're wondering, 'so what does any of this have to do with a new garden?' Well, this summer I'm planning on growing my own strawberries. Not many, just enough to remind me that sometimes the most simple twists of fate make for the best memories.

The Beginning

2009-02-26T21:43:00.000-08:00

It all starts at the beginning, doesn't it? How I've longed for the taste of a warmed-by-the-sun heirloom tomato eaten straight from the vine on a lazy, hot summer afternoon, where the only sound to be heard is the buzz of a honey bee as it roams from flower to flower ever since I can remember remembering. As a young girl growing up in Portland, Oregon, I would toddle out to the garden in late Spring to watch my mother plant tomatoes. She'd bury each one so far into the dirt that I thought it would disappear. "It'll make the stock strong," she'd tell me. I'd delight when the plant started to grow and claim its patch of garden. As the little green fruits warmed to a brilliant red she'd pluck them in the heat of the afternoon, eating one as if it were an apple while she made her way to the kitchen with an apron full. I'd climb up on a chair to stand beside her at the counter and watch her cut into the ripe bounty, the juice of the simple fruit floating onto the counter. Thick, red round slices were carefully laid onto a piece of soft white bread, slathered with fresh mayonnaise. Following the slightest pinch of salt she'd place another slice of bread on top. Then she'd take a bite. While she chewed she offered me a bit of the same heaven. No worlds were ever exchanged. It was as if time stood still. We'd eat that tomato sandwich in silence, smiling at each other with every bite. I'll never forget it. That simple time and the simple pleasure of sharing a taste only found the fruit from the garden. It defined my summers.

I've not always been so lucky in recreating the simplicity of that memory until one year when I planted a yellow grape cherry tomato in the garden strip running next to my driveway in the San Fernando Valley. In the hectic swirl I called my life back then, I forgot to water it. But it didn't seem to matter. The little plant grew like a monster out of control until it reached smack dab into the middle of the driveway. It mocked my neglect with its prolific bounty. At the end of the season I cut it back and forgot about it. But that tomato plant didn't forget about me! By the next Spring it was back, slowly at first, reaching toward the sun and then it took off. It seemed to grow two feet a day! Within no time it returned to the middle of the driveway and I was relegated to parking curbside. But I didn't care, I had killer tomatoes without a green thumb!

And so the years progressed and the little tomato plant 'that could' kept dying back in the Winter and reaching for the sun when the days started to grow longer. And then it all came full circle. My two-year-old son ventured out to that driveway garden one hot summer day and discovered the tomatoes. They were warm and ripe, waiting to be plucked from the vine and popped into the mouth. He asked me what they were. While I tried to explain their magic I showed him how to pick and eat them - right from the vine. He thought that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Soon we were plucking and eating the warm, sweet fruit, laughing in-between bites. And there I was, now the mom, sharing with my son what my mother had shared with me. I believe the plant kept coming back just for that moment. When summer ended I cut the plant back, but when Spring came it did not return. And so it begins. My new garden. A much more intentioned effort from that sliver of dirt along my old driveway. I'm a bit naive about the work ahead of me, but nonetheless enchanted by the possibilities, not to mention the chance to grow, experiment, share, delight and create memories. Come along for some fun, if you dare. And if you're close by maybe you'll stop by for a tomato sandwich on a hot summer day.