I'll Show You Eating Local

Flowers are lovely, what with their colors and scents; yet they are also in grave danger should they cross my path. I am a killer of flowers. It's not malicious, mind you, merely negligent. My poor mother, a great lover of all things floral, tries to help me with my black thumb by, you guessed it, bringing me flowers which, also guessing correctly, I promptly kill.

So what on earth could possibly account for the frank bounty of my small garden? It's that I can eat my garden. I have a vested interest in its health because it feeds me. And it has been feeding me quite well.

I started with some seedlings from seedsavers.org and I waited until May to nestle them in the dirt by our front door. And then I waited. And watered. And waited. And watered. My herbs I was less concerned with: herbs are weeds - they grow anywhere (not so interesting side note: I grew some black peppermint in a pot on my fire escape and really paid it little heed; so little, in fact, that when winter came, I didn't bother bringing the plant in - after all, it cost me like 3 bucks, I could buy another one come spring - after a winter during which it was snowed on and frozen, wouldn't you know it, the plant rose again come the warm weather). By the time we came back from Nicaragua, the plants had nearly outgrown their stakes. More, bigger stakes were purchased. Then the plants started flowering and then, about 2 weeks ago, there was fruit ready to be picked.

The most glorious fruit possible. Tiny Mexican midgets, blondkopfchen, black cherries, purple Cherokees, green zebras, stupices; all sweet, all scrumptious. My awe is disproportionate to the event in question given how long we humans have grown things, but I simply can't get over the fact that I have successfully not killed plants.

And last night, in an effort to pretend we're eating while not really eating, I made the following (I'll leave it to you to guess which item someone else was responsible for procuring, but mind you it was local too): broiled Spanish mackerel (too lazy to get out the grill) over oven roasted cherry tomatoes with a parsley and mint salsa verde.

We ate the things that came from our garden. The things I water and prune and worry over. And it tasted good and fresh and low-fat and all the things the locavores say it should taste like.

Next year I'm definitely branching out into more than tomatoes and herbs, but for now, for the next 6 or so weeks, I will be blissfully happy with just that.

Aside to Clay: thanks for the mention, but crap, I try to keep my own political ranting down to 3x a month or so.

Around the House

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Originally uploaded by reallyct

This morning, as devoted partner removed the screen from our bathroom window in order that he might have a clear shot at the family of feral cats cavorting in our yard with his air pistol, it occurred to me that I hadn't updated much about the domestic suburbification. Perhaps it's that, while I think shooting at cats is perfectly normal for a Monday morning, I worry my former citymates would not. Perhaps it's that, should my gardening projects end in tears, I will be embarrassed at my total inability to thrive in grassy cultures. Perhaps it's simply that because the quotidian is so easily taken for granted.

So let's get right to it: my blue table still needs some help. I'm hoping the "Coming of Amy" will help with this. I just kinda need some guidance and some motivation. The laundry room could stand to be emptied of, well, laundry. Apparently it is true that the more space you have, the more space you fill. I feel distinctly cluttered until I remember that we have an attic for "emergencies."

But I guess there are two big changes, one of which I'm sure you can guess at based on the photograph: I am gardening. I dug little holes and lovingly put plants in them and sprayed them with water when they looked thirsty. Sadly, for my mother at least, these are not the pretty kinds of plants. These plants are utilitarian. 8 varieties of herbs and 9 heirloom tomatoes. I envision a long summer of endless fruitings (in reality, I know I'll be lucky to get one salad's worth). I even paid the neighbors' kids to water my pretty little plants while we were in Miami. Yes, I fear for them when it gets hot and they look wilty, but a cursory evaluation of their health while I was gone yields some positivity: they seem spry.

Now there are some problems. For one, I have not consulted the great Internet for information on, let's just use this example, what it means when the leaves are yellow. Does that mean too much water or too little? (Oh, and by the way, now that I have searched, there are more new questions and too many answers.) Also, at the same time as plants were going in the ground, another outdoor toy landed by the front porch. My new bird feeder, a small gift from devoted partner. It is now exciting to see birds eat things out of my feeder (though I need to create a blind from the kitchen window so I can try to take pictures of them feeding). But, of course, the bird feeder has also brought squirrels who, I am not certain of this, might enjoy eating my garden. (The nice man at the garden store assured me to the contrary, but I am skeptical.)

So we sit back, relax, shoot some animal intruders, and await our homemade mojitos and tomato/basil salads. Kids, this, it seems, is what it's all about in the suburbs.

P.S. Many Miami postings coming once I edit and upload the photos.