Spread the Love

Blackberry Jam. Package design my Mary.

Brought to you by the letter B

Through the eyes of a child you will see the world just as it ought to be. 

- author unknown 

Our cousins came to visit on Saturday. Nathan and Julia, ages 7 and 3 (soon to be 8 and 4), were visiting their grandparents for the week. Their grandmother, a teacher by trade and passion, organized their week's activities by the letters of the alphabet. Their visit to Farm Dover was brought to them by the letter B, as in Birds, Bees and Blackberries.

Before we sat down to a lunch of BLTs, we headed out to the garden to gather the makings for our lunch and baskets full of vegetables to take back to their grandfather.

My whole day was made when they pulled up a dried potato vine and discovered a handful of new potatoes just below the soil's surface. You would have thought they had found pink Easter eggs by their cries of delight.

As we made our way through the garden they were totally up for tasting what they picked. They unwrapped the ground cherries and willingly popped them into their mouths; they found a few lone strawberries hiding beneath the patch's green leaves and gobbled them up. Okra, straight off the plant, and raw green beans were each cheerfully sampled; and cherry tomatoes were snatched up for snacking. Nothing could have pleased me more than to see these kids being excited by the garden goodies and willing to try new tastes.

Before the afternoon was over, we had played ping-pong, hiked to the blackberry patch, picked wildflowers, watched for birds, danced in the drizzling rain, and toured around the trails on our Polaris, with little Julia begging Mary to "go faster and faster."

We loved their visit and hope they will come back anytime they find themselves in Kentucky.

Truism

It is far more pleasant to pick blackberries on a 60 degree July morning than a 95 degree one.

Sunflower with Small Moth

Model Kids

A number of of highly competitive ping-pong games have taken place on our back porch this summer – mostly between Mary and Jack. So imagine my delight when I pulled this week's New Yorker magazine out of our mailbox and found an uncanny likeness of those two on the front cover. What do you think? Just wish our backyard looked like the background in Lorenzo Mattotti's illustration....

The Secret Garden

We planted part of one of our fields in sunflowers. The field runs along our gravel road for several hundred feet and I couldn't wait to enjoy the view as we came and went up the driveway. What we didn't plan for was the tall Johnson Grass that grows up on the edges of the field and completely blocks the view of the sunflowers.

Today, I waded through the Johnson Grass to see how the sunflowers were doing -- and sure enough, they had started to bloom. Behind the curtain of grass were hundreds of sunflower plants, with dozens that had started to bloom.

I think tomorrow we'll take a machete and clippers out to the field and see if we can't clear the view a bit. I'll let you know if it works.

Up with the Birds

It's hot here this week, which isn't surprising as it is mid-July in the Ohio River valley. An hour ago, we gave in and shut the windows and turned on the AC. Both Ed and I prefer to leave the house open. Windows with screens, ceiling fans, and pitchers of brewed iced tea are all we need to stay cool...until the thermometer inches up into the mid-90s.

The thing I love the most about sleeping with the windows open is hearing the birds begin to chirp in the very early morning hours. I hear them, but then immediately fall back asleep. Ed rises early; I sleep until 7:30 or so.

This week I've been trying to rise earlier. It's just so pleasant in the early mornings. This morning I headed out early to pick blackberries. They are just starting to ripen, maybe one ripe berry to every 20 red ones.

I worked my way deep into one of the best patches and was busy picking away when I heard a funny-sounding bird in a nearby tree. I could see it was bright yellow, but couldn't tell if it was a gold finch or something else. Usually when I turn to look at a bird, it takes off. It's like they can tell when a pair of human eyes train on them. This time, the bird just kept calling and calling with a series of whistles, cackles, mews, catcalls, chuckles, rattles and squawks. Soon, its mate began to call back, coming closer and closer.

The bird flew from the top of an osage tree to a tall weed just feet from my blackberry bucket. It was a yellow-breasted chat: one of my favorite birds.

I stood still and watched it for several minutes. I never saw his/her mate, but could tell he/she was close by. I felt like I could have reached out, petted it, and had a little chat with the chat. Soon enough it flew off and I continued on my way.

Awaiting a Visit by The Great Pumpkin

We brought a packet of pumpkin seeds back from a farmers' market in France two years ago. They sat among my seed packets until this spring when Maggie and I made a small hill in the back corner of the garden and planted four or five of the seeds.

Because the package language is in french, I can't tell you much about them, other than they are named Kürbis Rouge trés d'Etampes, which roughly translates to: Very hasty Red Kurbis of Stamps. So, that's not very helpful. Ed just informed me that d'Etampes is a suberb of Paris. These pumpkins are evidently quite reknown in France and are often called "Cinderella" pumpkins as they are wonderfully round and squat – the perfect shape for a carriage.

On the back, I can kinda make out that they are supposed to become numerous fruits with smooth orange red skin. The flesh is moderately sweet and best for storage, pies and purees. Weight up to 5 kg. Harvest if the stem is brown.

In any event, it is thrilling for me to go out to the garden in the morning and check out these glorious pumpkins. The vines are flowing everywhere; there are a bunch of yellow flowers, and so far, two large pumpkins have appeared – almost overnight.

So come October, I'm hoping to have pumpkins to carve, seeds to toast, and pumpkin flesh to make into soups and pies. In the meantime, come sit with me some night in the pumpkin patch and see if we are visited by The Great Pumpkin. Good Grief.

Proud Owner of a Monster Fern

My friend, Kathleen, is downsizing and moving to Cincinnati. Slowly over the past few months she has been sorting through her extensive collection of books, furniture, kitchen items – deciding what to take, what to sell, what to give away. It's a huge job. I know. I did it three years ago when we moved to Farm Dover.

And because I know how easily possessions can pile up, I have been especially mindful about purchases. The last thing I want is a cluttered house -- or any more cluttered than it already is. But when Kathleen put out a SOS for help finding a good home for her spider plant and fern, I responded. I thought Mary might like a plant for her new home in Lexington and I figured I could find a spot for the fern on our back porch.

When I said "yes," I didn't know what I was bargaining for. I swung by her house over the weekend and found the spider plant waiting on her front porch, as promised. It was sitting on a waist-high wicker plant stand, which I could hardly see; it was a huge plant with about 50 baby spider plants hanging down to the ground. It looked more like a muppet convention than a plant. It barely fit in my car.

Once I saw the spider plant, I should have been suspect of the size of the fern. Kathleen suggested that I bring the truck -- and Ed, to help me lift it. She volunteered her dolly to help move it. We somehow managed to get it into the back of the truck and unloaded onto our back porch.

I'm a little worried about the commitment I've made. I mean, this is a living thing. It needs watering, feeding, loving. Kathleen mentioned that it likes to come inside for the winter months. Yikes! What have I gotten myself into? I feel like I might as well get a dog and some chickens.

The closest I've come to this kind of commitment (besides my three children) was when Mary was nine and her piano teacher gave her a sourdough starter for Friendship Bread. Mary and I diligently added one cup each of sugar, flour and milk every five days, with bread baked and extra started shared every tenth day. One night, the starter escaped the plastic baggie and ran all over the counter. That was the end of our commitment to the sourdough starter.

I hope I do a better job of taking care of Kathleen's monster fern. Wish me luck. And let me know if you have room for a winter resident.

Bringing Back Memories

I found these 1950-era kitchen canisters buried deep in the back part of my parents' basement. They hadn't been used in at least 40 years, but I remember them from my childhood. I brought them home, washed them out, scrubbed a bit of mold off the wooden tops, and now they are ready for a new life in a 2013 kitchen.

I'm hoping Mary might use them in her new apartment, or maybe Maggie, or one of my nieces. Pretty cute, don't you think?

The Grandest Grand Marshall

Missing Aunt Gladys this 4th of July...

Happy Pattern

My new i-phone has an option to take a panoramic photo. Yesterday morning, I leaned out an upstairs window and took a photo. I was supposed to keep the camera steady and follow an arrow along a horizontal line. Not sure I've got the technique down, but I love the wide-angle of the photo. The fields look so green and the stepping stones to the cottage seem to curve in a happy pattern.