October 6, 2016 - Another reprint from the original column - Thoughts from Quail Thicket

I have unearthed another column from my original Thoughts from Quail Thicket.

This is a reprint from Aurora Magazine, Volume 2, No. 2, September, 1990.

          Early morning mists are the perfect cover for slipping out to the garden in pajamas, robe, and slippers to look at the misty dew drops on the spider webs strung between the canna leaves, and the pearls of dew on the tiny fall cabbages, and to locate the summer squash bugs that seem to magically appear overnight.  Each brilliant yellow squash blossom seems to have a shiny black and fuzzy yellow bumblebee covering itself with pollen.  The sound of their soft drone is a simple country delight as they slowly move in the mist and cool morning air.

          The sun is rising fast and its rays skid across the garden paths back lighting the yellow blossoms with their marauding pollen gatherers.  A neighbor taking out her trash notices me and waves.  Later, during a friendly chat with neighbors that evening, she asks, “What are you looking at so early in the morning?”  Knowing she is a city girl, I wink at my other neighbor and say, “I go out to see how many bumblebees my squash blossoms trap.  You see, as the sun comes up the open blossoms instantly snap shut capturing any slow pollinating bumblebees.”  “Really?”  She gullibly gushes.  I answer her still retaining my poker face, “Yeah, only got ONE this morning!”

          My other neighbor is trying to suppress a grin, but the corners of his mouth are curling mischievously.  He drawls, “Did you plant your potatoes on a hill so you can just tug on the vine and they’ll roll down the hill into a poke?”  I smile at him winking, “No, I forgot to, but remind me next year.” Secretly we chuckle together.  Moments later we let her know we were teasing her about the squash blossoms.  She asks, “What about the potatoes?”  We shake our heads and laugh again.

          I planted my potatoes late this year.  I don’t plant many, only enough for two people for several meals.  The short row I plant is simply to watch them grow and have a few to eat fresh because I have difficulty storing them.  And, potato beetles seem to thrive in my garden. [When I pluck the brown and tan striped shiny beetles from the leaves, I think to myself what wonderful earrings they’d make to wear with a brown dress.]  It amazes me that something as beautiful as a potato beetle can be so devastating to one’s garden.

          Digging potatoes is a family ritual.  I wait for a rain and the next day when the soil has dried out a bit, but is still moist enough for easy digging, my husband and I head out to the garden to dig what I refer to as our “brown gold”.  I set the spade and push it firmly in with the ball of my foot.  Then, while I am on my hands and knees, I sift through the friable soil locating the underground vine and tug it to dislodge the “brown gold” vein.  The tubers, small and large, tumble out of the earth by tugging the dried stem. I direct my husband to continue to dig along the row edge.  We are silent a I set the unearthed brown tubers behind me in the path and creep down the row.  Next, the largest potatoes with their thin, soft grey-brown skin are compared to find the heftiest and the ritual of weighing the brown “nugget” is complete.

          Finally, the small golf-ball sized spuds are grouped together for tonight’s fare of seasoned potatoes.  After they are scrubbed, I pare a half-inch ring around each small spud. As I steam them, I gather fresh herbs from the garden to snip into a pan with melting butter.

NOTE:   I re-printed the first column on my September 24, 2016, Blog.