To This: (In The Blink of an Eye)
Yes, I know, it is that time of the year, spring is right around the corner, Christmas is coming and there is a time for every purpose under heaven -- a time to plant, a time to harvest, a time to dig out the last of the goddamned tomato roots that have grown down to the point that they're singed from scraping along the edge of the earth's core.
Everything is out, though, strangely enough, the parsley proved to be the most troublesome. The tomatoes mainly came out of the ground just fine (took forever to get them untangled from the tomato towers), but the parsley just wouldn't pop out. It took a shovel to finally dig it out, which the dogs just loved. (Lemme bite it, Dad. Lemme bite it.)
I was going to let the parsley just stay, in the hopes of seeing it come back next year (it survived the hard frost just fine), but as the neighbor's dog has used it as a regular potty stop for the past month and half, I decided to start again fresh next year.
Luckily, we pulled some before he discovered his bright green favorite tinkle spot.
New fertilizer is already down, with the hopes that the winter snow and rain will work it into the soil. I've got to take the pitchfork out there as well to work in the leaves that have fallen. As for the compost bin, I may empty that out and just toss the bin itself. All it grew this year were flies, and we had a bumper crop. I know in the great, grand scheme of greenery, I should keep on with DIY compost, but it is just too easy to go out and buy the premade filtered stuff by the bag. (And lord knows how many zucchini seeds are buried in the bin.)
As for the help:
A Rather Trumpian View of Myself
As for me, it's time to relax, replenish, and join in that new Colorado hobby of Indoor Gardening:
Tomatoes! I'm growing tomatoes, goddammit!
(I have problems enough with grazing and the munchies without getting that shit involved.)
Well, it seems that all the little weather prognosticators are predicting that Sunday night into Monday we'll get snow, while Monday night to Tuesday, we'll get a hard freeze. I'm taking them seriously, even though only one of the crowd of perhaps 20 weather folks has been right all summer long.
(I'll let them drive themselves crazy as they try to figure out who it is ...)
Still, with that in mind, I started the Great Autumn Gathering of the Final Bounty. Nick, the upper garden, is still having soil troubles. I may have to buy a cheap-ass soil testing kit in order to figure out what we're missing. Once again, peppers did fine, but the tomatoes (mainly Romas) got some weird kind of "end blight." Just the tip of the tomato rotted away. It may be a lack of calcium in the soil, but I won't know until I test. (And, given my performance in the Iowa Basics, I have little faith in the results.)
Nora did great this season, despite being stuck with too many tomato plants (I did get carried away) and the mistakenly purchased zucchini, which are still producing like the Duggars.
The final gathering -- at least I think it is -- showed some good results.
The sweet potatoes may look strange, but I've got to tell you, they taste magnificent. (425 degrees for one hour.) Also, the Cherokee Purple tomatoes had a great run this summer as did the Anaheim peppers and a number of tomato varieties I don't remember planting.
Maybe Mr. Bitterman and Furious George planted them when I wasn't looking. I don't know what they were doing this summer when they weren't binge watching Charmed and Father Brown. They also got into my Betty Boop collection and Bitterman fell for that siren and is determined to meet her in LA once he gets home. He'll stay the winter with his mother in Anaheim. (He went home yesterday by Amtrak. He should be there anywhere between the next two hours and three days from now.)
Mrs. Bitterman and Reggie (yes, Reggie) on his first day of school. (1995)
Meanwhile, Furious George just got back from having a celebratory end of summer martini with the Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor on the latter's back porch. He can't really focus his eyes, but is off tomorrow for a Furious Family Reunion in Cabo San Lucas.
They're planning to stay at that hotel that hosted some rock band that trashed three floors a couple years back, hoping, because of that experience, that the hotel won't be shocked by the damage they leave behind. Furious and his brothers, Curious, Spurious and Injurious have reputations for rather outrageous parties.
Well, as long as I'm not stuck with the bill. (Though I do seem to be missing a credit card.) Sometimes, I swear, I'm stuck in a game of Jumanji around here.
With both of them off on their well deserved vacations, I still have to pull the last of the plants, pick the few remaining tomatoes and sweet potatoes, plus, find homes for another 53 zucchini. Then, I'll have to shut down this year's new and fanciful water features:
"The Lime Green Lenin Leaker"
And my favorite of the bunch: Uncle Joe Upon Hearing that the US had the A-Bomb.
You'll have to excuse me until next time. Seems the FBI is at the front door again.