In my vegetable garden, there’s nothing left to plant. All the seedlings and all the seeds have been crammed in with a shoe horn, and I’m again wishing I had more space for eggplant and okra and kohlrabi. Next year. There’s more included than left out, and if half of it produces, we won’t need to buy much at the farmers market by mid-summer.
This is year 2 in the garden. I didn’t have to plant as much this year, as a lot self-seeded. The arugula, lettuce, green onions, onions, bok choi, cilantro, and dill (holy hell, the dill!!) all volunteered themselves. The garlic I planted in the fall looks great. Most of the asparagus and neglected onions, and all of the green onions and oregano and chives and currants survived the winter.
This year I added a border around the fenced-in veggies for perennial herbs like lavendar, chamomile, calendula, climbing nasturtium, anise hyssop, etc etc etc. Some rhubarb, yarrow, hollyhock, and cosmos are in there for good measure. I’m looking forward to the herbs growing so it’ll be extra pretty and the boys can make their own herbal tea from a whole host of choices.
Pea is an enthusiastic garden helper. Today he earned 91 cents pulling black nightshade seedlings at a penny a piece. Normally a bit lax on the weeding, I didn’t really want to let those get big, being poisonous and all.
A young friend planted a tomato in our bed today, too, and we look forward to extra kid-hands helping weed and water this summer. Or at least extra kid feet running through the yard, which is also nice. ;)
For me, today is the day the garden is at its height. Everything planted is still fully possible. Weather hasn’t yet failed to cooperate, bugs haven’t yet descended, and the pestilence of last summer’s powdery mildew is a distant memory. You can’t plant a garden without a whole lot of hope. I see it lush and full of delicious food and beautiful flowers in my imagination. The garden is full of possibility, and I love it dearly.
Our awesome PTO offers an after-school class called Book and Cook, where Pea’s beloved kindergarten teacher reads a story involving food to a group of 5-7 year-year-olds, and then they make said food together. In a kindergarten classroom, with 25 kids and 3 adults, in one hour.
If I taught this class, I would find a story where a hedgehog eats apple slices, or an astronaut builds a baloney sandwich. Not this group.
- Week one: a full breakfast of waffles made from scratch (including beating and folding in the egg whites), pancakes, sausage, and eggs.
- Week two: Spring rolls with noodles and zillions of veggies and herbs.
- Week three: homemade roti and mango salad.
- Week four: tacos with salsa rice, homemade refried beans, and all the fixings.
There are two classes left, and Pea is living for each one. He counts down the days until his next class. This morning, it was, “I HAVE BOOK AND COOK TODAY AFTER SCHOOL! And THEN I only have to wait SEVEN MORE DAYS until it’s BOOK AND COOK AGAIN!!!” It’s a huge hit. He recites the recipe for roti from memory like a prayer. He pumps his teacher for clues about the next week’s menu. He is a little boy obsessed.
Wanting to capitalize on this interest, and inspired by my friend Cindy, whose kids cook each Monday, we’ve recently made Tuesday “Kids Make Dinner” night at home. The boys alternate weeks. When it’s their turn, they make the menu and the shopping list, and are in charge of all cooking. I hang out in the kitchen to operate the oven and make sure everyone keeps a constant number of digits during chopping.
We’ve had some good meals from the kids so far. Pea’s spring rolls, for example, were second to none.
This week, however…well… I don’t know how to put this kindly.
Anyone who’s an Arrested Development fan (and if you’re not, how are we friends?) will remember Lindsay’s brief foray into cooking.
“Mmm…so watery. And yet there’s a smack of ham to it.”
Pea is possibly a little too comfortable in the kitchen, and never wants to use a recipe. This is OK with spring rolls. His choice this week was soup. “Perfect Soup”. He claims he read it in a book at school.
Our conversation to make a shopping list:
“Corn. And carrots. And tomatoes, but not the ones in a can. The ones you have to cut up with a knife.”
“Sounds good. Anything else?”
“OK, and some salt?”
“I guess so. And pepper.”
“Great. Can you pick a protein? There’s lentils, quinoa, chick peas, tofu, any kind of beans…”
“Perfect. Sounds delicious. Do you want to make bread or scones or corn muffins or something to eat with it?”
“No. French fries in the oven.”
The soup wasn’t terrible, but it began with a stockpot filled nearly to the brim with water. There were at least 20 cups of water in the pot. Mmm. Water. When his back was turned, I ladled out a whole lot of it, which wasn’t easy because he’d already dumped in the corn. Still, it was a bit weak. We all ate more bowls than usual to feel full. I am not complaining, because he is gleeful about cooking, and presumably, by the time he’s 10 he will be able to make something on his own that doesn’t taste like it came from the tap. Also, the french fries were delicious.
It is currently -2°F in Madison. I’m not complaining. I will enjoy the warmer weather when it gets here, but this is February in Wisconsin. It happens. I have coffee and Hulu to see me through.
What really surprised me is that in the last week, I’ve gotten orders for 4 of the decoy wasp nests I put on Etsy last year. Truth be told, I’d forgotten I had them listed. There haven’t been any wasps around here for at least 4 months, and won’t be again for several more. But still, I knit them and tucked them into boxes, ready to send them on their way to places that must be far warmer than here.
Today, I carved a stamp so I can pop a note in before I seal the box. I probably should have mopped the floor instead, but sometimes I need to make something that isn’t going to be undone in an instant. I decided to focus on the fact that there is warm weather around the corner. My Master Gardener Volunteer training starts next week, so it must be so.
Now excuse me while I put on long underwear, wool knee socks, my jacket, mittens, facemask, and scarf to get the box to the post office. Brrr.
All that was left to finish up my sweater was the buttons. I have failed to find the perfect buttons for my cardigan, and for now I am giving up the fight.
I drove around town to 4 places. None had 5 matching buttons that were right. My preference was wood buttons, but they were all the wrong size, the wrong color, or the store had but 2 of them. I tried leather but it was the wrong look. I would have tried something silver and old fashionedey if I’d found the right ones. No store stocked more than 3. What would you do with only 3 buttons? I am disappointed in you, Madison Button-Stockers. You are falling down on the job.
I ordered some buttons on Etsy – and gave them the wrong shipping address. They ended up back with the seller in California. You could say I took it as a sign, but really I just lost patience. I ultimately settled on the wrong color for the sake of being able to wear the sweater sooner. I’ll still keep a look-out though. Switching buttons is easy.
Punkin and I now rock matching sweaters, which feels very lucky. She’s had a rough month, poor old girl, with cancer-removal surgery and then emergency surgery to deal with an scary abscess. Happily, her staples came out yesterday, thank goodness, because she was an absolute menace to the Christmas tree – the cone of shame flung ornaments in all directions every time she walked by. But I digress. This is about our lovely matching sweaters (I did not knit hers).
BUTTON UPDATE: Moments before hitting “publish”, the doorbell rang. The post man delivered a small package from California – the buttons found me after all, despite the long-expired forwarding address and being marked “return to sender”. Hurray! It’s a button-miracle!
Shortening the sleeves on my cardigan was far more mentally than technically challenging. I used instructions from the excellent TECHknitting. I measured 42 times to verify where the cuffs should begin, picked up the stitches onto my needle, and chopped off below it with scissors. Cutting straight through knitted fabric feels reckless and horrifying. I don’t believe I will ever be able to steek anything.
I thought I’d be thrifty and reuse the yarn, but since I’d already blocked (washed) the sweater, the yarn had definite ideas about what shape it wanted to stay in – small intestine shaped- and reknitting it wasn’t going to happen. Luckily I had spare yarn, because I didn’t want to take the time to recondition the old yarn. I know it can be done, and I’ve saved the yarn to
sit in my yarn stash forever collecting dust fix it in the future.
Overall I’m happy with how it turned out. Three niggling things annoy me a bit but not enough to keep me from wearing it.
- My row gauge must have been a bit off because the arm hole is too deep. This makes things fit a little wonky so I just try not to think about it.
- I made an error on the yoke in the back, probably using the wrong-slanting decrease, so there’s one bloody stitch that looks out of place in the nice crisp line of stitches across the shoulders. I can’t see it when I’m wearing it. But I KNOW IT’S THERE.
- The length is longer than I was going for – I should have taken the weight of the fabric pulling it longer into account. But better too long than too short.
It’s not terrible, it’s just not perfect. It drives Kyle crazy that I say this, as he knows the time I put into it, and to him it just looks like a sweater. He is not a knitter, so he does not understand, and so I forgive him his annoyance. I’ll still enjoy wearing it, and I can give it another go, maybe next fall with a different pattern, and incorporate the things I’ve learned.