So the kid’s garden last year didn’t exactly work out as well as I had hoped. This was mostly due to the fact that she wouldn’t water it, and I had become increasingly lazy about it; so it dried up, save the thyme, but thyme lives through anything. Then the survey determined it to be on Tim’s side. So instead of replanting the same plot, I repurposed a large plastic pot, and indulged her with whatever seeds she wanted from Lowe’s.
There’s a balance to cuisine. I say that simply, not in the way Zen philosophers obsess eternally to achieve celebrity validation when Halle Berry, the guest judge on Iron Chef, says: “I like this.”…do. No, it’s far simpler. Foods have 3 properties: sweet, savory (salty/acidic), and bitter. And it’s this last category that I had failed to consider.
I need to use these up before the new harvest
I’ve been on a quest to make tomato sauce, but they always come up short, probably because I’m neither Italian nor have access to the list of unpronounceable Monsanto-patented ingredients (nor wish to).
My initial troubles involved flavor-enhancement. An acid-base is common in sauces for the kick, but tomatoes, already being acidic, couldn’t handle the addition well, as the resultant sauce had an extreme sour bite. I tried wine, vinegar, lemons, and most recently-powdered citric acid. Then, to balance the sour, I added sugar for sweetness, but this only created a sweet/sour tomato sauce.
Fortunately, the Internet came to my rescue, and I discovered that cocoa powder would balance things out. I was skeptical, since my sauce already had sugar, so it seemed that I would be adding a chocolate taste. But I was wrong.
Bitterness–the oft-overlooked basic human taste, essential in this case. And my sauce was good enough that Liz took more in for lunch the next day. Now that’s a true culinary win!
Since we moved here, I’ve gotten the impression that our presence has been a neighborhood disruption. The prior owner, an elderly woman, had let the landscaping fall into mild neglect over the years. That’s hardly her fault, but the encroaching wilderness had sent its signal to adjacent residents that the property had become a plot of wilderness–land that wasn’t owned, and could therefore be mildly encroached upon without consequence.
I don’t condemn anyone for this, as it’d be easy to say, dump firepit ashes in the honeysuckle hedgerow, or allow a brush pile to move further and further back. So when we showed up and started gardening, we introduced a variable into this status quo. The property lines, determined de facto by everyone’s landscaping, became more and more hazy, and more important, as we developed the property. So in order to put the issue to rest without confrontation or hurt feelings, we got a land survey.
Ironically, that had the opposite effect.
The first to come talk about it was Diane–with whom we share a 10-foot border, and the owner of the brush pile. She had been maintaining the area around the silver maple behind the pile, but we had suspected that the area was ours. She asked me, directly, if she had done something to piss us off.
The pile doesn’t bother me, but the tarp is a bit of an eyesore
Keep in mind that for months preceding this event, we had dropped hints to all our neighbors, on multiple occasions, that were were going to get the survey. Nonetheless, Diane seemed surprised. I assured her that we were just getting a full survey done as we were putting in gardens, but that we would like the brush pile to be removed eventually. She took the news well, having been assuaged of her fears that we were not installing an electrified fence with concertina wire, and has even since taken to burning off the yard waste.
Then I saw The Motorcyclist out talking to the surveyor. I liked the surveyor–he was a kindly older chap from Kentucky, clearly experienced in his profession, but not imposing. So I felt bad as I watched him humor The Motorcyclist, and went out to offer a distraction.
The Motorcyclist fits into an odd class of old-school masculine ideals. Years back, he had been involved in a motorcycle accident and had suffered lingering damage to his foot, and (I suspect), some head trauma. I don’t wish to speak ill of the infirmed, so I offer my prognosis matter of fact-ly. He strikes me as a man who relished the seemingly consequence-free recklessness of manly youth, but became a statistic on when such a lifestyle goes awry. He lives the life of a bachelor, yet maintains delusions of a Steve McQueen persona, going so far as to ride around on a 3-wheeler, or bright yellow jeep, depending on his mood; interested in finding a girlfriend but generally unsuccessful (according to one of his church friends), for after all–a handicapped middle-aged man without a career would be a tough sell to women his age.
But The Motorcyclist was concerned about his estate. His chainlink fence between our yards had been set back several feet, due to the pipeline and the former honeysuckle hedgerow. Previously we had discussed this region, which was his, and he expressed no desire to maintain it and had given me unofficial permission to maintain it. And I had, eventually weeding a portion and replanting it with clover so that neither of us had to deal with the upkeep.
I moved that garden
But the survey had revealed that more of this general region was his. I had been mowing several feet onto his side. Now, that the irrefutable truth was known, he developed a sudden problem with my maintenance of his property. The concerns were justified, and I asked him how he wanted to proceed with this newfound knowledge.
In short, he didn’t want to maintain it, because he had no convenient access to it, a la his riding mower. But, he didn’t want me maintaining it and claiming eminent domain on it later (despite my assurances that I would not do so). After all, the extra mowing was minimal and I’d be perfectly happy with helping out a neighbor in need. But no, he didn’t like that answer, and instead wanted to sell me the property. I had strong doubts over the economic viability of that plan (later confirmed). I gave him a noncommittal answer at the time, then later moved my encroaching landscaping and gardening from his side. What he’ll decide to do remains to be seen.
The landscaper stopped by briefly, but his recent tree-planting was spot-on. A landscaper who knew the exact bounds of his property. Go figure.
No problems here
I worried for a time that we had upset Brian and Kelly–our family-oriented neighbors who indulge the kid. And when I saw their daughter go out to the garden in question with a shovel, I panicked and ran over to explain that their garden was on their side and we didn’t care about our shared border anyway. Turns out that she was simply edging, but she called her mom, who in turn called Liz, to explain that no one was upset, resulting in an amusing bit of message relays. But after The Motorcyclist drama, I had started to worry about everything.
All good
Ultimately, the property line was reasonably aligned with what we expected, and had the necessary effect of signaling to our neighbors that we were serious about it–though for mutually-beneficial reasons. We certainly didn’t want to start planting in someone else’s yard. And it’s land for which we’re paying, not to mention the property taxes, so there isn’t a good counter-argument to knowing the exact border. Still, while getting a land survey done didn’t necessarily upset anyone, it certainly didn’t make us any friends.
There’s an incredible amount of dandelions this year. And I can’t deny their charm, as their happy yellow blooms dot the landscape–a prelude to my daughter’s romp through their seeding masses, almost colloidal as they hang in the air.
Yet a part of me cringes as I watch countless potential dandelion progeny drift throughout my yard. I’m conflicted. Do I despise them as a blight, or tolerate them for their aesthetic/medicinal value?
Like all exotics, they’re unstoppable
I considered buying an herbicide, and I admit, I use Roundup. But despite the dandelion’s invasiveness, I’m opposed to fighting nature with such overkill tactics. History has proven that such measures always yield unforeseen, and undesirable, consequences. So I began removing them manually.
What is this, Chinese steel?
But the weeding tool proved inadequate.
And so I debated.
Many times have I learned that fighting the natural world results in only temporary victories, that instead I should either appease or compromise. Such was it that I’ve preserved many a garden crop by planting instead tastier alternatives for the neighborhood rabbits. So why should I dwell on the humble dandelion?
Nay, I shall harvest this plant. I will use this formerly unwanted bumper crop to instead experiment with salad and tea. Stay tuned!
Tomato plants can be quite ungainly, amusing since once upon a time they were European garden ornamentals. And the indeterminates I find especially difficult to corral, as they quickly overtake any type of cage or post to which they’re lashed.
Definitely looking petulant
Perhaps its their collective personality, much like a petulant child’s–they don’t know what they want, just that they know they don’t want what you gave them. So I’m trying something different this year–a net. Now they can grow free from linear vertical restriction, or at least they get two dimensions instead of one.
If I placed it along the property line, would the kids stay out of my yard?
I wonder if it will be strong enough to hold up the vegetative mass. Soon to find out, I suppose.
