Tag: Vegetable Garden

Chilled Dairy Free Broccoli Soup

It’s been a hot and steamy Independence Day weekend so far. When we entertained family last night I wanted to prepare something light and garden-fresh to transition into dinner. With the first crop of our Brassica oleracea var. italica succession crop ready to eat, we opted for a chilled dairy free broccoli soup.

Chilled Dairy Free Broccoli Soup (Photo: Geo Davis)

Let’s begin at the beginning. We grow several varieties of broccoli (Brassica oleracea var. italica) under row covers in 2-3 succession plantings (and/or transplanting) to ensure vibrant, pest free, flavor and nutrient rich abundance. So. Much. Green.

Broccoli in the Garden (Photo: Geo Davis)

For steaming and eating hot, chopping into crudités and enjoying cold with hummus or dip, juicing into ultra-green magic potion, and puréeing into a refreshing summer soup, broccoli is one of our vegetable garden all stars.

Harvesting Homegrown Broccoli (Photo: Geo Davis)

Green perfection! The massive organic broccoli florets in the photo above overshadow the diminutive cluster of hammocks in the distance. I enjoy the contrast (and the rightful reign of this nutrition superhero!)

Broccoli, Radishes, and Summer Squash (Photo: Geo Davis)

In the photo above a pair of colorful companions (radishes for crudités and yellow summer squash to be thinly sliced on the mandolin and mixed into a green bean salad with vinaigrette), harvested during the same veggie garden excursion, are washed and standing by. Technicolor flavor bombs ready for action!

Garlic Scapes, and Spring Onions, and Broccoli (Photo: Geo Davis)

And speaking of flavor, there are a pair of hidden-but-not-secret ingredients with which I complemented this chilled dairy free broccoli soup. Garlic scapes and spring onions from our Full and By Farm share, sautéed in olive oil to soften the fibers and release the savory deliciousness were then tossed into a blender and puréed. Liquified, really, to ensure it mixes with the steamed and puréed broccoli and the boiled and puréed potatoes.

Sautéing Garlic Scapes and Spring Onions (Photo: Geo Davis)

What do I miss. Ah, right, the dairy free twist. Obviously sautéing in olive oil rather than butter is the first step, and then thinning the blended soup with a non-dairy alternative. My go-to would be unsweetened (and no vanilla) macadamia milk, which would’ve worked perfectly in the soup. But we had none, so I substituted an unsweetened, vanilla-free almond milk. And it worked out pretty well!

A fair amount of chilling is key to develop and meld the flavors, so I moved the pot into the fridge for a little R&R. Once chilled, I whisked and seasoned the chilled dairy free broccoli soup with some lemon juice, celery, salt, and white pepper. Tada! So refreshing.

July 2, 2023
Hemerocallis Fulva

Hallelujah! The daylilies (Hemerocallis fulva) are blooming. That, THAT is the color and exuberance of early summer. Sometimes known as Fourth of July Daylilies because their bloom time (in the northeast) roughly corresponds to Independence Day, Hemerocallis fulva have begun to erupt into spectacular fireworks-esque blossoms about a week ahead of schedule. Must be the intermittent but persistent rain.

Hemerocallis Fulva (Photo: Geo Davis)

Daylilies Abloom

Although my floral polyamory (flower zealotry?) is wide ranging and broadly inclusive, summertime vibes are captured in a quasi Norman Rockwell way when Hemerocallis fulva joins the fête. What?!?!

No, that wasn’t a challenge — can you work, polyamory, zealotry, inclusivity, and Norman Rockwell into the same sentence? — but I concede a slightly self indulgent surrogate *MAY* have hijacked the keyboard. But I’m back at the helm. Back to basics…

Hemerocallis fulva, the orange day-lily,^[3]tawny daylily, corn lily, tiger daylily, fulvous daylily, ditch lily or Fourth of July lily (also railroad daylily, roadside daylily, outhouse lily, and wash-house lily),^{[citation needed]} is a species of daylily…
(Source: Wikipedia)

A daylily by any other name. Hemerocallis fulva by rights (but least applied name.)

Just beginning to bloom in the last couple of days. Should be a tiger orange riot by Indepence Day. And then a chance to gather the expired blooms for a meal or two.

What?!?!

Hemerocallis Fulva (Photo: Geo Davis)

Daylilies are not only edible, they are spectacular…

Let me start by saying that edible daylilies are the common daylily, Hemerocallis fulva, as well as its various Hemerocallis friends and relatives…
(Source: Hank Shaw, Hunt Gather Cook)

Perfect. Hemerocallis fulva is exactly what we have in abundance at Rosslyn, so I declare a feast. But how?

According to Shaw, the best way to dine on Hemerocallis fulva is to sauté the unopened flower buds in butter and salt.

Delicious. Briefly cooked, the buds have a bit of knacken, a German expression meaning a “pop.” Yet the insides reminded me of squash blossoms. The taste? Green, with a whiff of radish and a dash of green bean. Honestly, I’d eat this as a side dish any day, any place. It needs nothing else.
(Source: Hank Shaw, Hunt Gather Cook)

That’ll be clarified butter (aka ghee) for me in order to juggle my lamentably dairy free diet. I’ve also read that the post-bloom flowers are tasty, especially when dried and added to soups and stews. Time for a little experimentation…

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Ct_wlDGgwi6/

A harvesting I go…

June 27, 2023
Heaven Can Wait

“Heaven can wait…” while we enjoy the inimitable crunch of June: French breakfast radishes!

French breakfast radishes: Heaven can wait! (Photo: Geo Davis)

Remember when I asked if you were ready for radish time? Well, it’s upon us. Lots. Of. Radishes. French breakfast radishes, my favorite, to be precise. That slightly spicy, slightly sweet crunch is sooo satisfying. For breakfast. For lunch. For dinner. For snacks all day long.

French Breakfast Radishes

For the uninitiated, I’m a bit of a garden geek. And radishes, in all their punchy, hyper saturated color, flavor, and ASMR glory are one of my early season favorites.

The French Breakfast Radish (Raphanus sativus) is red-skinned root vegetable… with a white splash at the root end… [that] is distinguished by its oblong shape… [and mild flavor] if harvested and eaten early. Widely considered a spring radish, the French Breakfast Radish is ideally grown and harvested when temperatures are still cool. Hotter temperatures increase the “spiciness” (peppery bitterness common to most radishes) and often result in a pithy interior.
(Source: French Breakfast Radish)

So the increasingly hot weather (and the week of rain in the forecast) threaten to abbreviate prime time for radishes. So, we’re enjoying them without restraint!

And not just the tasty red and white roots. We added radish greens to the succulent homegrown spinach we wok-sautéed with garlic and olive oil last night. Sublime.

As with standard radish varieties, the “radish greens” of the French Breakfast Radish can also be eaten. Washed and tossed into a saucepan of olive oil (or avocado oil), garlic, and onion, this wilted green is a delicious accompaniment to just about any meal!
(Source: French Breakfast Radish)

And, have I mentioned that they are remarkably easy to grow?

French breakfast radishes (Illustration: Geo Davis)

Heaven Can Wait

Cue Dean Martin’s “Heaven Can Wait”.

Heaven can wait, heaven can wait.
This is just paradise being here with you.
“Heaven Can Wait”, Dean Martin

A little piece of paradise, French breakfast radishes, just being here with you…

June 24, 2023
Ready for Radish Time?

Spring-into-summer is a celebratory parade of gastronomic gateways. Nettles, ramps, fiddleheads, asparagus, rhubarb,… So many seasonal ingredients and tastes. And now it’s radish time!

Ready for Radish Time? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

These early French Breakfast Radishes are almost impossibly delicious. Crisp and spicy. Uniquely refreshing.

The French Breakfast Radish (Raphanus sativus) is [an] early summer classic — and perennial staple of Rosslyn’s vegetable garden — [that]… tends to be mild (less “spicy” than other standard radishes) if harvested and eaten early… (Source: French Breakfast Radish)

Ready for French Breakfast Radish time? (Illustration: Geo Davis)

Perhaps four years living in Paris account for my preference, but these early season benisons — as enticing to the eyes as to the tongue — beguile me year after year.

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. (Source: Radishes and Radish Greens)

Such sweet springtime seduction. Love at first crunch. New and invigorating each year despite familiarity and anticipation.

And that’s just the red and white taproot. To be sure, the tuberous vegetable is what we envision when radishes are on the menu. But they’re only part of the radish time rewards.

Radishes aren’t just crunchy eye candy for crudités. Radishes are nutritious. Especially the radish greens! (Source: Radishes and Radish Greens)

That’s right. The lush greens you snatch to lift a ripe radish from the soil are a delight themselves.

As with standard radish varieties, the “radish greens” of the French Breakfast Radish can also be eaten. Washed and tossed into a saucepan of olive oil (or avocado oil), garlic, and onion, this wilted green is a delicious accompaniment… (Source: French Breakfast Radish)

Whether wilted alone or mixed with spinach and shredded Swiss chard, these nutrient rich greens will improve your plate. And radish greens sautéed then puréed with cream (or nondairy alternative such as Macadamia milk) make a delicate soup as pretty as it is piquant.

These are the delights of radish time…

June 6, 2023
High Tunnel Tomato Plants, Take Two

High Tunnel Tomato Plants, Take One: Frost Damaged Tomato Plants, May 18, 2023 (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

Sometimes, when I’m trying to explain the many merits of gardening, I describe the cultivation of plants as a quasi-religious force in my life. Sincerely. Hyperbole? Perhaps, but there’s much in the practice of planting and sowing, cultivating and composting, even weeding and pruning and grafting that underpins my worldview, informs my optimism, and provides a circular and self sustaining system of belief and practice. What constitutes a religion is a debate for another blog. But tossing this into the mix may help contextualize the significant ache I was veiling in my recent High Tunnel Hubris post.

I tried to remain matter-of-fact, sidestepping the debilitating discouragement that sidelined me for a day or two after a severe frost shocked dozens of the plants that I’d helped transplant.

High Tunnel Tomato Plants, Take Two: Suckering Back to Life? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

So… when we jumpstarted our spring starts in the high tunnel, I was fueled with fervor and faith. We’d have tomatoes by the end of June!

But a severe frost reminded us that BLTs and gazpacho aren’t a matter of pipe dreaming alone. Yes, nature humbles.

High Tunnel Tomato Plants, Take Two: Suckering Back to Life? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

No blame, except my own optimism. I understood the stakes. I understood the risks. And I understood the consequences. Although the perspective is pretty bleak, at this point, I’m tentatively hopeful that some of the tomatoes may recover. If the soil was warm enough, the roots may remain vital. If a sucker shoots in, we can cultivate it into a new plant. The prospect, of course, for tomatillos is less good. But I’m not prepared to give up yet. The possibility of new growth might yet eclipse the discouraging dieback we’re now witnessing. After all, I’m not aware of anyone who has ever died of optimism! (Source: High Tunnel Hubris)

And so I fell back on optimism. Pollyanna optimism. We left the cold-shocked tomato plants in the ground. And little by little *some* regrowth has occurred. A minority, but an inspiring minority of our zapped tomato plants have rebounded, sending up new growth as “suckers” that we’re endeavoring to cultivate into new stems, new productive tomato plants.

High Tunnel Tomato Plants, Take Two: Suckering Back to Life? (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

It’s still early, as you can see in today’s photographs. They may endure. They may thrive. They may produce a robust tomato crop. Or, they may not. But we’re tending them. Loving them. Believing in them. We’re fertilizing these resilient tomato plants with optimism. If fortune so chooses, we’ll have learned from our hubris *AND* we’ll be able to celebrate our wisening with the sweet tangy sacrament of Black Krim and Green Zebra tomatoes!

June 4, 2023
Artichoke Time Prequel

Just as there’s a time for asparagus (and tulips and dandelions and radishes and maple syrup and…) there’s a time for artichokes. As it’s only just beginning, today’s post is more of a prelude, an artichoke time prequel.

Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

Look at those healthy artichoke starts ready to transplant into Rosslyn’s garden! We were actually ready a week ago, but the damaging cold snap tempered are enthusiasm. So we post plowing to our planting until we know that temperate weather is here to stay.

Artichokes Ready to Transplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

At this point, we’re probably safe, but if you more days of delay, can’t hurt. We’re still crossing our fingers and waiting to see if any of the frosted tomato plants recover, so at this point, we’re experiencing the gardener-equivalent of “gun shy”, I guess.

Once these beautiful thistles are thriving in the ground, I will post an update. And then, the next magical moment will be the formation of the chokes!

May 29, 2023
Rosslyn Gardens: Mid-July Veggies

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mQqE7yNGkA&w=600&rel=0]

After the rainiest spring/summer in years, the summer of 2012 appears to be one of the driest, and Rosslyn gardens have mostly profited. Time for an update on our mid-July veggies, plus an important question about squash blossoms at the end.

Lake Champlain water levels are plummeting (waterfront/dock/boating update soon) and lawns are either crispy, crunchy or perpetually showered by sprinklers. With the exception of new grass we’re starting as part of ongoing repairs to the damaged waterfront, we’re trying to minimize our environmental impact by letting the lawns dry up but drip, drip, dripping the vegetables, herbs and orchard.

Eggplant and Blossom, Rosslyn Gardens

It’s a curious twist of fate that we were just beginning to repair our waterfront from flood damage at this point last year, and this year we’re experiencing a sustained drought. But we’re taking advantage of the heat for lots of Lake Champlain watersports and Adirondack Coast bike rides. Life is good!

What about that mid-July veggies update I promised?

So far, the drought winners in the vegetable garden appear to be the zuchini and yellow squash (Are they are channeling their “inner tropics”?!?!), Imperial Star Artichokes, eggplant, peppers and tomatoes. Although I keep expecting the watermelons and cantaloupes to explode, they’ve been sluggish. Bizarre. Many years our seasons are too short for them, and yet when we blast them with dry heat day after day, they get logy. Why?

The leeks are also struggling. I suspect they need even more water than they are getting… Will try to keep them wetter this week. The pumpkins and cucumbers are also way behind where they’d normally be at this point in the summer. I’d hoped to trellis the cukes this year. Never done that before, but intrigued by the smaller plot and self-shade possibilities as well as the opportunity to keep the cucumbers up off the earth so they’ll be less vulnerable to pests. Unfortunately the plants are still so small I haven’t been able to train any of them up onto the cedar trellises yet. Soon, I hope!

Zuchini Squash Blossom, Rosslyn Gardens

The good news is that we’ve been devouring radishes (see French Breakfast Radish) and greens for over a month. Already finished with the first radish and lettuce patches and making good headway through the second patches. Will plant more lettuce this week along with beans and another squash crop. No more radishes. I think I’ve already hit my limit.

Why so much squash? Yes, we too get sick of squash, but each year I plan to harvest and prepare squash blossoms. But so far it’s never happened. This year I’ve vowed to learn several good ways to prepare squash blossoms. I have some interesting recipes, but would love to hear your favorite way to prepare squash blossoms. And I need to figure out the best way to clean the squash blossoms before cooking. Seems that ants in particular love to get inside. How do you prepare your squash blossoms?

Thanks to Sacha Marcucci for her tasty sounding recommendation:

@virtualDavis one of our favorite restaurants stuffs them with ricotta, then lightly batters and frys (fries?sp.) them. delish.

— sacha marcucci (@sachamarcucci) July 15, 2012

July 15, 2012
High Tunnel Hubris

Looks like my spring 2023 veggie garden exuberance (and perennially Pollyanna optimism) served me poorly. As we all well know from the time tempered tale of Daedalus and Icarus, the consequences of taking risks can send us plunging. Or, in the case of cheating the calendar by prematurely planting tomatoes, tomatillos, and other delicate spring starts in the hoop house, the fickle fates can zap our healthy vegetable transplants. Ouch! The consequences of high tunnel hubris is at once humbling and heartbreaking.

High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Peppers (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

Rewind the calendar a few weeks. I was chomping at the proverbial bit, anxious to get plants into the ground, overconfident that the high tunnel would take the sting out of any late frosts.

There’s something about springtime, about gardening, about the promise of colorful blooms and produce that I’m finding too tempting to resist… with all the enthusiasm and optimism of an almost 100% planted garden. May 2023 be as abundant as 2022!(Source: Giebel Garden Flashback)

For a couple of months, we’d been monitoring a dozen data logging thermometers positioned strategically throughout the high tunnel. I made the apparently ill informed decision that we were ready.

The high tunnel is now officially planted for the 2023 growing season. Hurrah! (Source: Green Zebras 1st in High Tunnel)

Humility? Not much. Hubris? Plenty!

High Tunnel Hubris: Freeze Watch (Source: Apple Weather)

I’ve learned again, and again that worrying about the weather is an unhealthy and unhelpful practice. So I won’t. Or, I will try not to worry. Nature, benevolent nature, will offer us what she considers right. (Source: Giebel Garden Flashback)

Benevolent, yes, in the grand scheme of things. But the peaks and valleys of nature’s day-to-day EKG is perhaps, slightly less benevolent.

This will be our second season high tunneling, but it’s our first opportunity to jumpstart planting (by about two weeks).

[…]

We’re tempting fate by leapfrogging the typical Mother’s Day planting date, crossing our fingers, and imagining tomatoes by the 4th of July. (Source: Green Zebras 1st in High Tunnel)

There it is: “tempting fate“. No blame, except my own optimism. I understood the stakes. I understood the risks. And I understood the consequences. But, friends, I find no analgesic in any of this today.

High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Tomatoes (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

With metaphorically melted wings and a painful plunge, it’s now time to regroup. Time to triage.

High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Eggplant (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

Geo: How do the damaged plants look?

Pam: Not good. Looks like three tomato plants survived. Possibly lost all of the tomatillos as well.

Geo: Crushing. Hardly seems possible. Let’s allow them to adjust. Tomatoes may send out new shoots. Tomatillos too, but less likely.

Pam: The garden is fighting me this year. Soaker hoses and timers have been a struggle.

High Tunnel Hubris: Damaged Peppers (Photo: R.P. Murphy)

Although the perspective is pretty bleak, at this point, I’m tentatively hopeful that some of the tomatoes may recover. If the soil was warm enough, the roots may remain vital. If a sucker shoots in, we can cultivate it into a new plant. The prospect, of course, for tomatillos is less good. But I’m not prepared to give up yet. The possibility of new growth might yet eclipse the discouraging dieback we’re now witnessing. After all, I’m not aware of anyone who has ever died of optimism!

May 19, 2023
From Artichoke to Sea Anemone

From Artichoke to Sea Anemone

When you don’t harvest your artichokes in time they bloom. And then they look like sea anemones!

On the one hand, it’s a pity. One fewer chokes to steam and dab in mayonnaise or butter or… hollandaise sauce. Yum.

On the other hand, these giant thistle blossoms are stunning! The size of softball, and violet purple the same shade as those sickening candy-shelled, marshmallow filled Easter candies from my childhood. They honestly look like sea anemones. Beautiful. Lethal.

This year we had sooo many artichokes that allowing a few to blossom wasn’t such a sacrifice. In fact, now that the frosts have dried and desiccated the last couple of dozen chokes, I think it’s fair to venture an estimate of how many Imperial Start Artichokes we produced this summer.

We planted fifteen plants, and all survived. Until today I’d claimed that fourteen out of fifteen had produced chokes. Only one plant “aborted” as gardening books sometimes explain an artichoke that fails to produce an edible choke.

But today, with all of the plants beginning to expire I discovered that the one plant which had remained a bit dwarflike, failing to produce any artichokes was the most vital of them all. Short but lush with green foliage. And in the very center, a lime green artichoke!

So even our one “dud” had come through. Fifteen out of fifteen. Not bad.

Artichokes. (Photo: Wikipedia)

The other fourteen plants produced, on average, 12-15 artichokes. Nobody believes me until they visit our vegetable garden and witness it for themselves. We’ve been harvesting for more than three months. I don’t think we’ll manage to eat any more, but on Saturday I gave away the last half dozen edible artichokes. So we grew at least 180 artichokes on a mere fifteen plants. This is far and away the best season we’ve ever had. Most of the credit goes to nature, good luck and attentive assistance from a couple of loyal watering helpers. But the single most notable difference between this summer and the preceding three years that we’ve experimented with Imperial Star Artichokes is that we planted them in mounds to ensure that the roots wouldn’t rot if we received excessive rain. That seems to help. We’ll repeat next year.

And now, as we put this summer’s garden to rest for the winter, I’m tempted to try and overwinter a few of the artichokes. Last year’s attempt flopped, but I’m curious to see if it isn’t possible to keep a few plants alive to produce again next year. Any advice?

November 3, 2014
Broccoli Bonanza

Broccoli Head, July 2015

For the first time in my gardening life I am enjoying homegrown broccoli from our vegetable garden. Better yet? It’s totally organic and totally pest free! That’s a broccoli bonanza!

Our friend, neighbor and gardening guru Catherine Seidenberg asked me back in May why we weren’t planting broccoli. She had just agreed to join “Team Rosslyn” for the summer, and she was sorting through my garden geek database, seed orders, and seedlings.

“I’ve always heard and read that it’s too difficult to grow broccoli without using some sort of pesticide,” I explained.

She told me that she was confident we could grow broccoli without pesticide if we used plant covering to keep creepy crawley critters away from the tender plants. I was wary, but she seemed convinced me that we should give it a shot.

Catherine Seidenberg with Broccoli, July 2015

We planted broccoli and kept it covered until about a week ago. The pet plants grew quickly, and the heads formed faultlessly. The heads were large but anemic-looking, pale yellow in color, more like cauliflower than broccoli. But a week ago Catherine Seidenberg removed the row covering and allowed the plants to absorb sunlight The heads quickly darkened, and last night we harvested two of the biggest and healthiest broccoli heads I’ve ever seen. And they were delicious!

It’s worth noting that we soaked both heads for well over an hour in salty water to remove bugs/worms/etc. We found nothing. The broccoli was clean, healthy, tender and super tasty. Thank you, Catherine Seidenberg.

Garden Fresh Broccoli, July 2015

July 19, 2015
Snakes, Swiss Chard & Automobiles

Rattlesnake decoy among the Swiss Chard to deter the White Tail Deer

A week ago today was a day for snakes. Though – sadly, I must add – it was not a day for living snakes…

Rattlesnakes and White Tail Deer

Let’s start with the good news. Or at least the benign-if-slightly-amusing news. To set the stage, imagine yourself walking across the still dewy lawn south of the carriage barn. A light morning mist still hangs in the air adding a slightly bluish, fuzzy aspect to the vegetable garden, orchard, and meadows beyond.

[pullquote]Your eyes would suddenly, inevitably notice a coiled rattlesnake in the middle of the Swiss chard![/pullquote]Approaching the southeast corner of the vegetable garden your eyes would be drawn to the delicious, spicy radicchio growing in the cedar raised bed at the corner. Next your eyes would dart to the bright orange nasturtium sprawling alongside. Perhaps you would bend over and pick a succulent, young leaf to munch on. The flavor drifts somewhere between the subtlest peppercorn and cinnamon stick.

As you wander along past two varieties of beets interspersed with a fresh crop of French Breakfast Radishes your eyes would suddenly, inevitably notice a coiled rattlesnake in the middle of the Swiss chard!

But don’t panic. It’s not real. More precisely, it’s not a live rattlesnake. It is a lifelike rubber decoy. Before I explain to you why this rubber rattlesnake is coiled, rattle raised and head drawn up and back with fangs bared, here’s a quick backstory.

Rattlesnake decoy among the Swiss Chard to deter the White Tail Deer

Duck Doodoo

Back in May Lake Champlain water levels were low and dropping. But June brought rain, rain, rain. The lake level went up, up, up.

[pullquote]Doug called to say that two ducks were cuddled up asleep with the rubber rattlesnake…[/pullquote]The shoreline shrank, so the mallards decided that our dock was the perfect place for snoozing, eating, and… evacuating the rather rich byproduct of their rather rich diet. This stinky mess created an undesirable obstacle course for accessing the boat. So we hosed and scrubbed. But within a few hours the situation repeated itself.

After many weeks of duck waste remediation (DWR) I suffered a small stroke of genius. We needed a decoy predator! I researched and discovered that others had found that a coiled rubber rattlesnake deterred ducks, geese, seagulls, even pelicans. Perfect.

I placed the order and chuckled my way down to the dock on deployment day. An hour or two later Doug called to say that two ducks were cuddled up asleep with the rubber rattlesnake…

White Tail Deer Decoy

What to do with a worthless rubber rattlesnake? A few silly pranks came to mind, but before I could regroup and execute, I discovered that Doug had transferred the rubber rattlesnake to one of the Swiss chard patches in our vegetable garden that the white tail deer have been devouring. Good idea!

It’s too early to determine for certain whether or not the rattler is going to dissuade the deer, but I’ll update you if there’s any news.

Corn Snake Roadkill

In sorrier stories, this unfortunate sight caused me to pause during a recent bike ride.

Is this unfortunate snake spotted on Willsboro point at the end of July 2015 an anerythristic corn snake?

I pedaled past this exotic roadkill on a Willsboro Point bike ride, and circled back to try and identify the unfortunate fellow. Aside from the always disturbing sight of roadkill, this snake instantly reminded me of the mystery snake I spied in the rhubarb a few years ago. In fact, I’m almost 100% certain now that is the same species I failed to identify then.

A quick search online suggests to me that it might be an anerythristic corn snake. Check out the photograph below and decide for yourself.

An anerythristic corn snake (Source: Wikipedia)

SaveSave

July 29, 2015
Why Are My Cucumbers Orange?

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)

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, 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)

August 5, 2015