strawberry jam, strawberry rhubarb pie, strawberry smoothie…
I once read a description of the landscape before New York City was an idea. I don’t remember the source or the author, but have always remembered the description of strawberry fields. The author claimed that Manhattan could have been described as strawberry fields forever. That sounds like paradise to me. Maybe I would move back there if it returned to that state of being.
I have never been able to grow too many strawberries, or blueberries or blackberries. If I can enough jam or jelly to last all year, then I can make pies. And if I bake and freeze enough berry pies to last all year, then I can make juice. And I have never canned enough juice to last my family of five all year, so therefore I can never grow too many strawberries, blueberries or blackberries (or grapes either.) Continue reading
Mr. Mims filled up a hole in the field with these two blackberry bushes. It ought to do well in this spot.
We have some wild blackberry bushes growing along the edges of the woods. One year we had a nice crop, enough to make some blackberry jam. But that was it. And I’ve been craving more ever since. Continue reading
Pots waiting to be potted.
Today was a shopping day. I missed my garden. But tomorrow is a planting day. I have plans to put these two couples to bed, and nurture some grapes and blackberries. Two things you could never have enough of for jam and juice or just fresh off the vine. If all goes well they will outgrow their pots in a year or two. Then we’ll find a spot on the grounds somewhere, for them to flourish.
The heavy rain cut a trench through the middle of my asparagus bed.
We had some heavy rain and even hale yesterday, and now the ground is soaked and I have some repair work to do in my garden. If the Big Daddy isn’t too muddy, then Mr. Mims will put in his lettuce, cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower starters. I know he has some corn, but what he really wants is okra. He’s determined to get an early crop of okra this year. Last year there was a weather mishap every time he planted okra and we never did get a good harvest.