every day is a good day
Ripe thimbleberries, Rubus parviflorus, prove that summer is here. A berry you won’t find in stores, these berries are too fragile to pick and ship. Once ripe, they only last a day or so. To enjoy them, you need to grow them or find somewhere where they grow.
The Shasta daisies are another sign that summer is here. Summer in north Puget sound, cool, chilly nights and warm, sunny days. As close to heaven as you can get.
We will eat like kings tonight. While tending to the potato patch, my fingers touched fresh, firm potatoes. I can finally start selling potatoes at the Bow and Mt. Vernon farmers markets this week. This year, I’ll ration them out, picking just enough so that each week I can have fresh ones for sale.
Fresh potatoes and just picked greens, a meal doesn’t get better than that. Sitting at a table with a fragrant bouquet of sweet peas brought by a friend, life doesn’t get much better than this.
Claire realizes that something is up. She’s making a lot of noise this afternoon. Claire has a voice suitable for the opera. I can hear her calls from far away. Her voice would easily carry to the very last seat in the highest balcony.
The sky is a July blue this morning with mother of pearl clouds drifting by. A sea of poppy heads floats along the garden path. I shake them and listen. Can I hear the poppy seeds rattling inside? Not yet, but soon. It won’t be long before I’m spreading poppy seed jam on morning toast.
It’s the season when perennials rule. There’s no effort required. No spring planting. No weeding. The perennials take over and bloom. The bees are happy. We are happy.
The latest chicks are growing fast. It’s time to think of new names. What goes through the minds of chicks? It’s hard to fathom. Their senses are so different than ours. For one thing, as we go about our daily lives, we can’t see behind us. We hardly ever see our backs. Yet chicks, with their eyes on the sides of their heads, with their heads high above their bodies, always have a good view of their backs and what’s behind them. How different would our thinking be, if we had the peripheral vision of a chicken? We’d rarely be taken by surprise by something sneaking up behind us. Such vision would profoundly change all the mystery novels ever written. No lover would ever be able to sneak behind their loved one, cover their eyes, and say, “Guess who?” Cars wouldn’t need rear view mirrors because drivers could always see what’s behind them. There would probably be a whole category of accessories for our backs since we’d be aware of what they looked like. Hairstyles would be vastly different. “Do you want short bangs on the back of your head, or long bangs?” We wouldn’t have sayings like, “Forward and onward” because we’d be just as focused on backward as we would on forward.
Few things bring as much delight to the table as fresh onions. So sweet, so juicy, your knife crunches slicing through them. This is when they are at their best, before they harden, while they are still green and shiny. Onion green is a green of its own.
Let them go to flower and they put on a comedy, first with their silly caps which make you laugh. And then their charming flowers open, hundreds of little happy faces, tickling the air with sweet perfume. It’s an onion grower’s dilemma. Eat you or let you bloom, eat you or let you bloom?
Having good friends is a good thing. Come to think of it, is there such a thing as a bad friend? A bad friend would no longer be a friend, right? Friends of ours have a large pine tree in their backyard which rains down pine cones. Left alone, the pine cones would cover the ground and pile up to their roof, eventually smothering their house, eventually.
They asked us if we would like some of their pine cones, and recently they dropped off bags of pine cones. I used them to line the pathway into the vegetable garden.
The pine cones are amazing. Hold one in your hand and their beauty and design blows you away. All this effort just to hold seeds. And the coloring, why go to the trouble of painting the insides of the scales black? What is that all about? In the bright sun, the black has a purple hue to it.
Thanks to the kindness of friends, I may have the only pine cone lined poppy bed in the world.