Rosslyn Redux

Tag: Compost

  • Why Are My Cucumbers Orange?

    Orange-Yellow Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)
    Orange-Yellow Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)

    Why are my cucumbers orange? They’re turning yellow-orange, to be precise…

    This summer we have enjoyed more productive cucumber plants than ever before, but recently the enormous fruit are discoloring from green to yellow to orange before we can eat them. Here’s the reason why.

    Cucumbers turn orange when they grow excessively ripe before harvesting, explains Veggie Gardener. The cucumbers first turn yellow, and if left on the vine, they quickly develop a vibrant orange hue. This happens because chlorophyll levels decrease past the point of peak ripeness… [They become] very bitter and unsuitable for human consumption. (Source: Ask.com)

    Bitter. It’s true. I taste tested just to make sure they were no longer suitable for human consumption. They aren’t, though our caretaker assured us that his wife can still turn them into pickles. I encouraged him to take all he could haul!

    Green, Yellow, Orange Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)
    Green, Yellow, Orange Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)

    Our yellow and/or orange cucumbers are an unfortunate result of the extended heat wave and drought we’ve been enduring. It’s true we may have overplanted. But our beautiful cukes growing, greening, and spoiling before our eyes is heartbreaking. What to do?

    The only way to prevent cucumbers from turning yellow and orange is to harvest them at the proper time. Ripe cucumbers have firm flesh with a medium-green rind and feel heavy for their size. Most varieties ripen between 50 and 70 days after planting. Size is also an important indicator of ripeness. Each cucumber variety has a different optimal size and quickly develops a bitter flavor if allowed to grow larger. Some cucumbers, such as those used for pickling, are naturally smaller than other varieties. Consequently, gardeners must know what type of cucumber they have planted and the target size for ripe specimens in that category. The most common cause of orange and yellow cucumbers is over-ripening, but the discoloration is sometimes a symptom of the Cucumber Mosaic Virus. According to Gardening Know How, the Mosaic Virus produces soft, mushy cucumbers with mottled patches and curled, withered leaves. This incurable virus also affects peppers. When a cucumber displays symptoms of the Mosaic Virus, the best course of action is to remove it from the garden. (Source: Ask.com)

    The good news is that we don’t have Cucumber Mosaic Virus. But the bad news is that our compost is becoming overwhelmed with yellow and orange cucumbers. Perhaps we should redistribute these technicolor cukes to our wild neighbors for their enjoyment? (See Woodchucks & Cucumbers!)

    Green, Orange, and Yellow Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)
    Green, Yellow, Orange Cucumbers (Photo: virtualDavis)

    And if wild omnivores turn up their snouts at the curiously colored cukes, they’re not bad inspiration for a freewheeling riff…

    The oranging skin
    is a warning:
    I’m overripe,
    too mature,
    untasty, even bitter,
    and I’m 100% unfit
    for human consumption

    (Source: “Orange Cucumbers”, Rosslyn Redux)

  • Radishes and Radish Greens

    Radishes and Radish Greens

    On this technicolor Tuesday I present to you one of our flashiest May garden treats, French Breakfast Radishes.

    French Breakfast Radishes: The peppery-but-sweet taste of spring.
    French Breakfast Radishes: The peppery-but-sweet taste of spring.

    Field and forrest foraged veggies — like stinging nettles, wild ramps, and fiddleheads — are nature’s charitable reminder that winter has once again yielded to spring. Then our vegetable gardens begin to awaken with asparagus and spinach that spoil our palates with succulent, vitamin packed hints of warmer days.

    Radishes (my favorite are French Breakfast Radishes) celebrate precocious summer’s spicy return with vibrant, bye-bye-mud-season colors, a super satisfying crunch, and tastebud reviving explosions of peppery sweetness.

    French Breakfast Radishes: The peppery-but-sweet taste of spring.
    French Breakfast Radishes: The peppery-but-sweet taste of spring.

    And radishes aren’t just crunchy eye candy for the crudités. Radishes are nutritious. Especially the radish greens!

    My ever-curious, ever-creative, ever experimenting mother introduced me to cooked radish greens a year or two ago, and I’ve been a fan ever since.

    French Breakfast Radish Greens: Don't compost this nutritious spring green!
    French Breakfast Radish Greens: Don’t compost this nutritious spring green!

    Radish Greens Recipe

    This evening’s sautéed radish greens were prepared by my bride, a far more gifted cook than she willingly admits. I pulled about nine large French Breakfast radishes from the garden, scrubbed them up and separated the bulbs from the best greens. The second and third photographs above show you what my wife inherited.

    Preparing sautéed radish greens is quick, easy, and delicious. I’ll offer you the steps I offered my bride, but duplicating the perfectly peppery and garlicky side dish she served is up to you.

    • Clean radish greens and soak in cold water
    • Lightly chop greens and remove any “woody” stems
    • Heat olive oil in a sauté pan
    • Crush 1-2 garlic cloves; add to olive oil
    • Brown the garlic and add radish greens
    • Stir gently with a splash of white wine
    • Add balsamic vinegar and/or soy sauce
    • Salt and pepper to taste

    My bride chopped and sautéed a yellow bell pepper with the radish greens which added a subtly caramelized nuance (and intriguing texture variety) to the radish greens. It was delicious!

    Radishes (and Radish Greens) are Nutritious

    [Note: I won’t pretend to be an expert in matters nutritional, especially when it comes to Raphanus sativus. But I’ve stumbled upon an inspiring article from Full Circle that helps fills in some gaps. I’ve excerpted some of the best below.]

    As a cruciferous vegetable like broccoli, radishes have a host of health benefits but are typically under-appreciated… However, for both their health benefits and amazing array of flavors radishes top our list of foods to start paying more attention to and eating on a daily basis… here are nine reasons to “eat your radishes!”

    1. Naturally cooling Radishes are… highly regarded in eastern medicine for the ability to decrease excess heat in the body…
    2. Sooth sore throats [Radishes] can help eliminate excess mucus in the body and… help clear the sinuses and soothe soar throats too.
    3. Aids digestion Radishes are a natural cleansing agent for the digestive system…
    4. Prevents viral infections … regular consumption of radishes can help prevent viral infections.
    5. Eliminates toxins [Radishes] break down and eliminate toxins and cancer-causing free radicals in the body.
    6. Protects against cancer … radishes contain phytonutrients, fiber, vitamins and minerals that are cancer protecting.
    7. Relieves indigestion Radishes… can help relieve bloating and indigestion.
    8. Low in calories, high in nutrients [At] less than 20 calories in an entire cup, radishes are a great way to add nutrients, fiber and tons of flavor to your meals…
    9. Keeps you hydrated With a high water content and lots of vitamin C as well as phosphorus and zinc, radishes… can help keep your body hydrated… (Source: Full Circle)

    Cooked Radishes

    I’ve been hearing more and more about cooked radishes. Not radish greens. Radishes. So far I haven’t tried grilling or roasting radishes. Have you? I’m looking for advice…

    SaveSave

  • Poetry of Earth

    Poetry of Earth

    I missed my mark — Earth Day, April 22, 2023 — with this post extolling the poetry of earth. It was germinal then, and it remains germinal today (albeit marginally more mature?)

    Sometimes a seed germinates with exuberance, practically exploding into existence as if overcome with the glory of imminent bloom and fruit. Other times a seed lingers dormant — cautious or reticent or simply, inexplicably vigorless — for so long that its potential is overlooked, obscured by the foliage and flowers and harvest of its neighbors.

    And through it all nature’s song endures. Just when we are lulled into torpid tranquility it swells in symphonic crescendo.

    “The poetry of earth is never dead.” — John Keats, “On the Grasshopper and Cricket” (Source: Poetry Foundation)

    Poetry of Earth, May 2, 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Poetry of Earth, May 2, 2010 (Photo: Geo Davis)

    Often a blog post is sketched out with a few simple strokes that distill the essence for what I expect to write about. A mini map yo I de ate my route. As I develop the post, filling in the voids, perhaps adding texture and color and context, I approach the anticipated narrative scope. Upon arriving at my destination I publish and share. But exploring a preliminary sketch or fleshing out a rough outline sometimes occasionally renders surprises. Wayward adventures lurk in the most unlikely places. I plan to take journey A, but I end up taking journey B.

    And then there are the posts that linger dormant. A seed is planted, but it doesn’t leap to life. Perhaps the ground is still too cold, the earth isn’t sufficiently fertile, or the rain and sun remain elusive. A sketch, an outline, a map. Perhaps even a journey — or several journeys — but they are abbreviated and fruitless. False starts.

    It is wise on these occasions to move on. Maybe circle back in the future. Try again. Or compost the effort that it might fertilize another seed. For this is the wisdom of nature and the gardener. This is the poetry of earth.

    My mind meanders from Pollyanna printemps — nature reaching and bursting, reinvigorating all that withered and laid dormant these frosty days and nights of winter — to autumn’s harvest. Symphonic crescendo and resounding applause. Such success and such succession. Sweet reward and bitter decline. Decadence and decay.

    This seasonal swan song’s poignance is the marriage of expiry and infinity, waning and immortality. 

    As when winter succumbs
    to spring’s tender caresses,
    thawing and refreezing,
    thawing and refreezing,
    melting into muddy mess,
    then gathering composure,
    turning etiolated
    tendril toward the sun
    begins to warm, to green,
    toward foliage and
    flower and fruit and… fall.

    The poetry of earth is a consoling refrain. It is a reminder that beginnings end and endings seed new beginnings. Out of the mud, a sprout. From the sprout a life full of wonder and another generation of seeds.

    “The poetry of earth is ceasing never…” — John Keats, “On the Grasshopper and Cricket” (Source: Poetry Foundation)

    Keats’ poem delivers where I have come up short. Perhaps grasshoppers and crickets and birds lend themselves more willingly to the poetry of nature. Perhaps not. Perhaps this still muddled effort is destined for the compost where it’s decomposition will enrich a subsequent effort to compose this song of seasonality that so far eludes me. To convey the tragic beauty, and the profoundly consoling inspiration of the poetry of nature…

  • Autumn Vegetable Garden Update

    Autumn Vegetable Garden Update

    It’s been getting considerably cooler at night lately, and feeling fall-like much earlier than the last few years. We’ve already had two nights that broke forty degrees! But still no killing frost.

    The vegetable garden is still thick with produce. We’ve been eating cantaloupes and musk melons just as quickly as we can. The same goes for eggplant and tomatoes. We’ve lost the battle with cucumbers which are getting so big they’re almost obscene. I have to apologize before giving them away as a gifts lest I offend someone with tender sensibilities. Fortunately they still taste good. The key is to slice them the long way and scoop out all of the seeds the same way you do with melons.

    Several varieties of tomatoes have succumbed to blights. Fortunately the affliction hasn’t really damaged many tomatoes themselves, just the plants. It seems to primarily be an issue with the determinate varieties. 75% of the indeterminate plants are still growing like gangbusters, pumping out large, delicious heirloom tomatoes.

    The zucchini seem to have gone dormant, although they’re still producing lots of blossoms. I would love to cook up some squash blossoms before the season ends, but haven’t managed to do it yet.

    Lots and lots of sweet peppers too. And a full crop of green beans, spinach, lettuce, Swiss chard, and baby kale coming online soon. I grew a small quantity of beets with the intention of harvesting their “greens” (actually, their deep purple/red). We ate about half of the crop in our salads this summer, but at this point many of them have grown into full grown beets. So we’ll end up harvesting those as well this fall.

    What else? The Brussels sprouts are just beginning to set, so I need to snap off most of the foliage to concentrate their energy into sprouts. We pulled up all the corn stocks and composted them. The leaks will be ready to start harvesting in about a month, and only the artichokes have failed to produce. After last summer’s bumper crop, it’s a mystery. Half of the plants succumbed to root rot during the rainy month of June. And the half dozen plants that lived are runty and unproductive. To date none have set even the smallest of chokes. Not giving up yet though…

  • Buried Peony Crowns

    Buried Peony Crowns
    Buried Peony Crowns

    Catherine Seidenberg, an exciting new addition to “Team Rosslyn” this spring, has been tackling all sorts of vegetable and flower garden projects.

    Most exciting? I’m learning lots from her!

    Her most recent caveat was that I’ve been using too much manure around our peonies.

    She warned that burying the peony crowns will hinder them from blooming.

    Yikes!

    She’s carefully excavated all 15+ clumps, so we should be in the clear now.

    Buried Peony Crowns
    Buried Peony Crowns

    I have to admit that I’ve been mounding nutrient-rich composted manure over the expired peonies in the autumn for as far back as I can remember. Fortunately I’ve gotten lucky in the past. But now I’ll remedy my ways.