In Search of the Not-So-Wild Onion

Traveling, sheepdog trialing and training are not conducive to gardening.

The garden that I lovingly planted, weeded and tended in May is now lush with weeds.

But I am an optimist.

Surely my veggie plants would survive the chaos.

And, so tonight I went in search of the onions.

If I could find one, I reasoned, I could make out the row and follow it through the weeds.

With a little effort, a few mosquito bites and some thistle pricks, I found and rescued the sweet onions.

They will pair  nicely with the zucchini and cucumbers that seem to thrive on neglect, and go from blossom to ginormous overnight.

One person can only eat so many cucumbers and zucchini, so I've cut a deal with the chickens. I get the tender produce--and anything over 6 inches is theirs for the slurping.

It works for now, but I see them eyeing the tomatoes.

The tomatoes, peppers, potatoes and eggplant are for another night.

Reclaiming the wild garden takes time.

Venturing into the Garden

This is what my garden looks like after three weeks of high temperatures and humidity followed by one week of rain (4 inches), heat and even more humidity.

The weather broke this morning, and I ventured into the jungle.

There have been years when I've given up on the garden in mid-August. Instead of reaching for a hoe, I get out the mower.

But I was feeling optimistic this morning. A drop in temperature and humidity can do that.

I weeded the raised bed, and then sowed lettuce and pea seeds.

Then I moved onto harvesting. When picking cucumbers, I found Mr. Toad.

 He agreed to smile for the camera.

When picking tomatoes, I heard a demanding cluck. The hens know that when I'm in the garden, they get the split tomatoes, the overripe cantaloupe, the foot-long zucchini.

I tossed the hen a few split cherry tomatoes and watched her swallow it whole.

Soon, she had friends.The beggars were in luck. Heavy rainfall during tomato season usually causes the tomatoes to split. I had lots of split tomatoes.

I still have plenty of weeds in the garden, and the potatoes are ready for harvest. But that will come another day.

The Perfect Tomato

Tomato season is here, and so is the debate about the perfect tomato.

The Black Pearls, black cherry tomatoes, began ripening about a week ago. A few days ago, I picked my first full-sized tomatoes--the Paul Robesons. A Russian heirloom, they are described as black tomatoes, but their color ranges from a smoky red to a glossy green.

The tomatoes pictured are all ripe and ready for eating.

I describe their size as perfect. They're baseball size, fit into my hand and are the right size for a single serving.

Most black tomatoes have a flavor that is salty, rather than sweet or tangy, and these are no exception.

I describe them as a perfect tomato.

But because I like variety--and like tomato salads composed of a mix of colors, I've planted other varieties. I'm waiting on other blacks, reds, pinks and green tomatoes to ripen.

The Zucchini Solution

Mama Hen and her three chicks inspect a tomato, their first of the season.

Because it is summertime, and I have a garden and a flock of chickens, I am a picky produce eater.

When I find three zucchinis that grew a foot overnight, I don't make them into bread or mix them with cheese and bread crumbs. I simply break them in two and toss them over the fence to the chickens who cluck in delight.

Is that cucumber past its prime? Over the fence to the chicken yard it goes.

Tomato have a spot on it? The mama hen and chicks will love it.

In my Before Chicken years I felt compelled to use or give away everything I grew in the garden. The 2-ft. long zucchinis and bushels of tomatoes that I had no time to process took away the joy of gardening and eating fresh produce.

But now that I have chickens, I take joy in tossing the excess and damaged produce over the fence and watching them gobble it up. And, I can savor the six-inch tender zucchini, the perfectly ripe tomato, the crunchy, snack-sized cucumber.

The Volunteers of the Year

Each year, I appreciate the volunteer tomato plant, dill weed and parsley.

Their seeds lie hidden under winter's snow until, under the spring sun, they sprouted and grew, often a little faster than the weeds.

Sometimes, I pluck them before they have a chance to mature. Other times, I leave them and spend the summer wishing they weren't growing in the middle of a row.

The volunteer garlic is already curing for winter -- and the onion has been sauteed and eaten with the planned spinach.

But one group of volunteers really outdid themselves this year.

I was late tending the garden this spring. When I found them, the sunflowers were a few inches tall.

So I let them grow and grow and grow.

They grew taller than the fence.

And then they bloomed, adding their sunshine to the morning sky.

The Second Sin of Summer

The plastic tag said Black Pearl.

But instead of sweet, little cherry tomatoes like these (a volunteer):

 I got this:

These are the worst type of tomatoes -- too big for popping in my mouth and too small for slicing or canning.

But the plant is prolific.

And, so every day, I pick up dozens of tomatoes,

 and offer them to the chickens.

Who are hoping for corn cobs, apple peels and melon rinds.

Most are still eating the tomatoes. But a few are glaring at me.

And I am glaring at the tomato plant that is producing tomatoes that I don't like.

So I do the unthinkable.

I pull up a tomato plant that is in its prime, and offer it to the ram.

I'm sure that sin ranks right up there with killing a mockingbird.