her able hands

The peppers seem to be limping along in the face of the slugs and the beetles. They’re all producing tiny flower buds even though their leaves are a total and complete trainwreck.

Nightshade flowers are so, so dainty. Really, I’m going to have more potatoes than I know what to do with, and need to look at some recipes for the freezer. Then buy a freezer! You can see the 30-foot long tomato trellis in the background. I moved around the volunteers, I guess about 24 of them, and so far so good.

Again, with the photoshop silliness. I don’t know, this one didn’t come out the way it did in my mind…the nightshade in the shade of the giant oaks at dusk. Almost.

I love having a clothesline. Chris installed it two weekends ago and bless him, he’s going to change out the cheap-ass plastic clamps that make the arms extend (two of which busted before we even had the sucker set up) to heavy-duty steel clamps. Why is everything made like such crap any more? I didn’t want a long, rope clothesline going across the yard. I felt like the visual interference would have cut across my sense of stability here, or my creativity. Or something. I like this contained cubic area of energy efficiency. Isn’t the little clothespin bag my mother made so perfect?

I’ve never grown Fava Beans before, and only eaten them once. Truth? I don’t remember what they tasted like. I just love to say the name, Faahvaah Bean. The plants are stunning. So friends, tell me how to cook them!

Can I do anything with them on the grill? Have I mentioned how much I love my grill? I cooked on it both nights this weekend. Sausage and vegetables on Saturday; chicken last night. I never made it out to grocery shop yesterday, so my One Local Summer meal will come later in the week.

I intend to toss a few of these volunteers into the salad that night. So far we’ve got five little patches of re-seeded nasturtium, and thank goodness, because I forgot to plant any.

No shortage of salad greens yet, but the mustard family is going to seed.

My mother in-law came over to eat with us last night. After dinner we sat out on the back steps and chatted while Chris and Lila took Old Tangerine down to the ice cream shop for a couple of pints (Orange Pineapple and Black Raspberry) because I never did manage to do anything with the strawberries and rhubarb. Maybe tonight some muffins and a sauce for homemade vanilla ice cream?

Anyway, mom and I both noticed how luscious the petunias are looking since the nights cooled down a little.

I’m just not a huge fan of annual flowers, but petunias always make me so happy, in spite of the absurd amount of watering and dead blossom pinching they require.

This weekend wasn’t nearly as productive as I had imagined, on paper, with my giant list and grandiose plans. But it was again an exercise in attention. The children needed quite a good deal of my focused energy, and every time I got into a project, something would interrupt. Always something pressingly immediate. I’m apparently still working on the whole surrender thing. Otherwise, why all of the practice runs?

I broke away from my cooking to rub arnica on Ty’s giant, stinky foot. He sprained his ankle pretty badly at a picnic yesterday afternoon, which means for at least a few days Chris and I will be handling his jobs, including taking care of the neighbor’s property and cat while they’re on vacation. One must drop down deep to find the sympathy when faced with a surly young man who thinks his sudden injury requires every waking hour be spent in front of the computer screen playing World of Warcraft. Not happening, buddy. Sorry for your pain, here’s an ice pack and some ibuprofen. And a good book. Password is changed.

As I sat on the toilet lid listening to Lila chirp on about her friends in the neighborhood while she had a bath (mid-afternoon emergency soak and alcohol rubdown, after she went traipsing barefoot through a giant patch of poison ivy) I felt this vein of frustration, of being thwarted. But on and on she sang her sweet song about swinging, and sliding, and how much she loves everyone. I made myself pay attention—let the garden and the filthy, messy, disorganized house all drift away. The tension drained out of me and I couldn’t have cared less if the garden failed again this year as long as she keeps on singing.

So something about feet. I’ll have to think on that a bit.

How was your weekend? Did you learn anything new about yourself?

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