gardening at night
Long day, late dinner. The sun was well down by the time I checked the weather -- and there it was, first frost advisory of the season, a few days ahead of schedule.
Outside, the wind was quiet and the yard was dark. I held the flashlight between my teeth as I snipped the stems of serrano and poblano chiles, bright red frying peppers, yellow peppers with a blush of green still on the shady side, a few small cucumbers. Then the sheets: fitted sheets to tuck around the basil and chard, flat sheets for the peppers and melons and raspberries, pillowcases for oregano, rosemary, sage, tarragon, parsley, lavender, mint, thyme. One more fitted sheet for the Sara's Galapagos tomato plant, still flowering and fruiting as if it's in the tropics where it belongs. The leeks won't mind a touch of frost; the parsnips have been waiting for it all summer; the remaining shell beans will have to fend for themselves.
Back inside, I set the trug of vegetables on a low shelf for the cats to inspect, washed my hands, made tea, and assembled supplies: compost bag set in a large bowl, clean plates covered with clean kitchen towels. And then I shelled the Yellow Indian Woman beans I picked this morning, saving the best for next spring's planting, sorting the rest: most ready for storage, a few not yet dry. Toby purred on my lap; Theo demanded a bean pod to play with.
And now it's later still. The dry beans have joined last week's harvest in their glass jar to wait for winter soups; the halfway beans are drying on their cloth-covered plate, safely out of the way of curious cats. Having tucked in the garden for the night, I should put myself to bed as well.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read
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Outside, the wind was quiet and the yard was dark. I held the flashlight between my teeth as I snipped the stems of serrano and poblano chiles, bright red frying peppers, yellow peppers with a blush of green still on the shady side, a few small cucumbers. Then the sheets: fitted sheets to tuck around the basil and chard, flat sheets for the peppers and melons and raspberries, pillowcases for oregano, rosemary, sage, tarragon, parsley, lavender, mint, thyme. One more fitted sheet for the Sara's Galapagos tomato plant, still flowering and fruiting as if it's in the tropics where it belongs. The leeks won't mind a touch of frost; the parsnips have been waiting for it all summer; the remaining shell beans will have to fend for themselves.
Back inside, I set the trug of vegetables on a low shelf for the cats to inspect, washed my hands, made tea, and assembled supplies: compost bag set in a large bowl, clean plates covered with clean kitchen towels. And then I shelled the Yellow Indian Woman beans I picked this morning, saving the best for next spring's planting, sorting the rest: most ready for storage, a few not yet dry. Toby purred on my lap; Theo demanded a bean pod to play with.
And now it's later still. The dry beans have joined last week's harvest in their glass jar to wait for winter soups; the halfway beans are drying on their cloth-covered plate, safely out of the way of curious cats. Having tucked in the garden for the night, I should put myself to bed as well.
Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read
comments on Dreamwidth