Iswear I haven't abandoned you all... I'm on the road, checking out the Gift Fair in NYC with pal Carla from Plastica (check out the online version of her LA store at www.plasticashop.com).
I'll post some shots of East Coast beauty while I'm relaxing in Long Island.
Until then!
Is growing your own tomatoes really worth it? Well, check this out and tell me what you think:
YES! It is! Who cares about the damned rat? I'll do battle with ten of them to be able to serve a dish as luscious as this beautiful Caprese Salad to my friends.
The tomatoes I used were my heirloom Beefsteaks - they are the winners of my summer tomatofest '08. I couldn't believe how absolutely delicious they were, all decked out with Genovese basil from the garden, festooned with thick slices of buffalo mozzarella, generously baptized with extra virgin olive oil, and then sprinkled with a chiffonade Purple Ruffles basil to bring it home. Mwa! I'm kissing my fingers in that Italian gesture that means outrageously yummy!
Right now, my tomato plants are getting ready for the fall. I'm fertilizing them with a balanced formula from Dr. Earth, and giving extra potassium. And of course, compost - can't forget the backbone of my soil! If there were any doubts, any fears about this vegetable garden experiment being a folly, where all I get would be a few incredibly expensive nibbles of freshly harvested produce, they were dispelled this past weekend as my dear friends cooed and licked their lips and fluttered their eyelids, deeply enjoying the fruits of my labors.
How lovely is that?
Sorry it's ben a while, but I've been at one of my favorite places in the world - Deep End Ranch, the lovely home of artists David Bunn and Ellen Birrel. Jan and I have known them for just about ever, and seeing them becoming happy lemon farmers and horse rescuers (in addition to teaching at my alma mater, Cal/Arts) is absolutely thrilling. Deep End is in a little town in Ventura County called Santa Paula - I swear, it is the kind of place where you wouldn't be surprised to see Atticus Finch reading the paper over a cup of coffee at the local diner.
The craftsman houses on the ranch were built in 1908 - there is the amazing main house, a guest cottage, and a tree-house like apartment over the horse stables. We were in the cottage. I could have stayed forever!
Deep End is a lemon farm, with groves of oranges and avocados thrown in for good measure. Every morning one wakes up to fresh squeezed orange juice along with a yummy scramble (made from fresh eggs from the chickens and veggies from the gardens) and a steaming cappuccino, all made even better by breakfasting poolside, under the canopy of cassia and pau d'arco trees. I'm telling you ... heaven! Watching the flowers floating in the pool made me think about how much charm is lost in landscaping when we follow the rules too closely. Conventional wisdom tells us never to plant a flowering tree next to a pool - petals will fall into the water and give you maintenance problems.
But what about the opportunities for beauty we miss when we plant too neatly?
The big news at Deep End right now was the birth of Pepa, a sweet little filly. Her Mama is the beautiful Andalusian mare Josefina, the queen bee of the ranch horses - who made quite an impression on Dexter and Sadie the last time we were there. Watching the little horsey-girl trot around on her long, long legs ... wow! I never had a 'horse phase' as a girl, but I might be entering one now!
The best way for you to get a feel for the place is to show you some pictures, but the images can't convey the feeling of tranquility that settles around you like the mist that comes over the Santa Susanna Mountains. I need some of that peaceful stuff! Don't we all?
So I'm thinking of looking for a tiny parcel of land to set up my own little citrus farm - anybody have any leads? Tips? Money? I'm ready to fall off my own deep end - and if Jan and I end up with even a smidge of the wonder that David and Ellen ended up with, we'll be very happy. Very very happy indeed...
I have been praising the wonders of the homegrown tomato for a while now, but there is another emblem of summer that has been stopping me in my tracks lately ... the simple sunflower.
Again I have to come clean about my plant snobbery. Once I had my gardener's consciousness raised, I refused to use lots of good plants just because they were common, or 'ugly'. HUH? WHATEVER!!! Like the old saying goes, there's nothing more dangerous than a little knowledge - swaddled in my baby gardener arrogance, I was sure I knew all I needed to know to make sweeping pronouncements about what plants were worthy and which ones were 'icky'.
The sunflower, possibly the most proletariat of all blooming plants, was just too earnest for me. Too easy. Too eager to please.
But this year it is like the proverbial scales have fallen from my eyes. What was I thinking? These giants with halos of summer sun, icky? Please! Why was I exempting these plants from my version of the Golden Rule, that any plant, well combined in appropriate planting associations, can be beautiful? I can imagine these beauties rising up behind the majestic Phormium 'Sundowner', with Aeonium 'Zwartkopf' and Anigoanthus 'Red Cross' bringing the whole thing home. Add in Salvia 'Indigo Spires', and you have yourself a kick-ass late summer combo.
I make you a promise, here and now. No more plant snobbery. Not even for petunias. I'm sure I can find a way to use petunias in a way that will make me love them. It'll be a challenge, but I am up to it. Stay tuned for The Germinatrix Does Petunias Her Way! It might take a while, but I won't give up!!!
My little town within a city, Eagle Rock, is MAD about Dahlias. The biggest, oldest, fanciest, and somewhat haunted-looking house in Eagle Rock is on Dahlia street. The annual late summer street festival is called 'Dahlia Days'. And everybody plants dahlias.
I snapped a few shots as I rode my bike to the market the other day, and I passed by many others. They are so ... juicy. Statuesque. They almost look fake, but the bees buzzing circles around them clearly show you that they are very real.
I have never planted dahlias. My rule about plants is that I want at least three seasons of performance - I live in a climate that doesn't freeze, so I can demand alot. I've always thought dahlias were prima donnas - there's all this expectation for them to show up, and when they finally do, they show up with a bang. The leaves unfurl, shoot up, suddenly there are buds, and then WOW ... the FLOWERS! What divas - total scene stealers, these ladies.
But now I'm thinking, is that really so bad? A beautiful, beguiling dahlia is like a special guest star; the garden version of a cameo appearance by Greta Garbo (they had faces then!). With my insistence on toughness, drought tolerance and multi-season performance, am I throwing the baby out with the bathwater? As I look at these thick, petal heavy flowers, I start musing about interesting combinations I can make with them. I can see them rising up behind an Agave weberi, or mixing it up with a Salvia clevelandii. Why not take advantage of that sudden, dramatic appearance on the summer stage? Hmmmm...
I think I need to consider this plant. Who am I to be rigid and say no? I think I'll think about it.... I think.
This is my tomato harvest for the day:
Here's what the rat ate:
Do you notice anything? The light on the rat's midnight snack might obscure the fact that this little vermin is an epicurean. He only nibbles on the heirlooms. There are bites taken from my Black Krims, my Hawaiian Pineapples, my Juliettes, and my Stupice. What an A - hole, this rat!
Sheesh. I can't really complain, I've had lots of great tomatoes, and the season has barely hit it's stride, BUT STILL!!!
I have to admit, after tasting all the tomatoes except Stupice, Lemon Boy, and the Beefsteaks, my favorites are .... drumroll ... the Juliettes. I know. Not the Black Krims, not the Early Girls, nor the Green Grapes... not the Hawaiian Pineapples, the Heatmasters, or the San Diego Reds. IMHO, the little oblong Juliettes have the best balance of acid and sweetness, and the texture is perfect. I make caprese salads with them twice a week, cooked salsa, and I've roasted them for pasta and sandwiches. Total yumminess from these, and they keep on coming! My next favorite is Champion, but the production on my two plants is pretty low. Rounding out the top three is - Early Girl. I guess I love a classic tomato - to me, the Black Krims that I've grown are a little watery and a little salty. That could be due to a break in my driplines that flooded my Krim for almost two weeks before I discovered it - too much water is known to break down the texture of a tomato, but I can't account for the extra saltiness.
My dear husband is ready for my tomatomania to end. The only place he likes tomatoes is in ketchup or salsa. Whenever he hears me complain about the rat's nighttime raids while bringing in bowl after bowl brimming with red, pink, purple and orange globes of summer goodness, he rolls his eyes.
I know that in the vegetable war between me and the rat, my dear spouse is on the rat's side.
Foolish husband. Foolish rat...
Color means so much in a garden. When working for clients, I make lists upon lists of plants and their characteristics - winnowing and honing until only the plants that work best together are represented, and color is the most important factor I consider. I can't help it! I'm color MAD!
I tend to use alot of color contrast in my work - I love to punch up one plant by combining it with a horse of a different color (That's a metaphor, of course - I don't plant horses). In the picture above, the green of the juniper 'pops' the Echeveria 'Afterglow'...
In this image, the same echeveria is paired with a complimentary flax - Phormium 'Red Dark Green' ... the 'Afteglow' doesn't seem as rich, but the monochromatic pairing is so thrilling that I don't care! Looking at this combo in my garden would make me so happy. I think I'm going to get me some of this and make it happen.
Now, I am not a color theorist, and I'm not talking about contrast and compliment as they apply to the color wheel; to me, in gardens, compliments are colors that harmonize and contrasts are colors that vibrate when put together.
Vibration ... OOooooLaaaaLaaaa...
I never really understood about tomatoes.
Why do people flip their wigs when it comes to tomatoes?
They go berzerk - but it isn't those pale, mealy globes that we can get year-round at the supermarkets that inspires these strong feelings. No. This passionate lunacy is seasonal. It's all about summer, and it's all about ... Heirlooms.
Heirlooms. The word confers such status to this segment of the vegetal population ... they are precious, handed down to us from people who care about us; people who want the best for us - people who love us. They didn't want us to eat what is grown by some agri-business conglomerate; the kind of produce has been bred for storage and long-haul transportation with maybe a smidge of taste and nutritional value left intact. I found out that the lovely fruits and vegetables we ate before we were duped by convenience were quietly being saved, in the background, by small farmers and home gardeners all over the country... passed down to the next generation like the precious jewels they are. Heirlooms.
The poster child for the heirloom movement is a tomato. A big, beautiful, delicious wonder called 'Brandywine'. Doesn't the name sound juicy and tasty and great? Like you want to hurry up and put some of that in your mouth? The brandywine tomato radicalized the gardening community - there was no way to get that superlative taste other than growing it yourself. Or buying them at farmer's markets. they are simply too delicate, too easily defiled, to be transported the way their cardboard - tasting cousins are.
There are so many wonderful heirloom tomatoes, and I had a hand in writing an article in the glossy pages of DOMINO that gives you recipes so you can fully explore the flavors of these gifts of the summer garden. Here are some of the very best varieties that you absolutely MUST try before the cool winds of autumn make heirloom tomatoes a fond memory.
Jump with me to get my top picks!
It isn't all about food in my garden - all though you wouldn't know it these days...
One of my favorite things to look at is the planting I call my "Side Porch Garden", because it is the garden next to my ... well ... you follow.
Check out that MADNESS! That crazy color work! This is not a planting for the faint of heart - it is a gaudy party dress of a garden ... and I LOVE IT!
I have a heart stopping amount of variegation in this garden - the orange flowered Canna 'Tropicanna', the tiny Euphorbia 'Helena's Blush' (in full bloom), Phormium 'Red Dark Green', and - somebody STOP me - Cortaderia 'Silver Comet'. What got into me? Well, mixing different variegation is supposed to be a no-no, so guess what I wanted to do? Play. Experiment. See if I could make it work.
If you look closely, each of the variegated plants has a soft yellow tone connecting them. The cortaderias - the grasses in the background- seem to glow with their own light, and that same color is present in the center of the canna leaves, as well as the edges of the phormium. You can't see the foliage of the euphorbia through it's spent blooms - but those blooms have become a soft buff that ties them to the rest of the variegated posse.
What makes this garden really sing for me is the blue tones of the agaves - Agave franzonii in the background and Agave 'Blue Glow' down in the left front part of the frame. They are like the yogurt raita you eat with a hot curry - refreshing, delicious, and neccesary. Their forms are dazzling, and even though this planting is a color study, shape and texture still have to be considered.
If I were putting this same moment into a client's garden, I'd probably bring in more green mounding plants to give a little more balance into the picture, and I might change the Euphorbia 'Helena's Blush' to the non variegated variety Euphorbia 'Martinii'. But in my garden - this planting stays as is.
Until another variegated wonder comes over to play!
Reader Emotional Mullet - to whom I pledged my undying affection because of that rad name - has a mystery plant sitting on her windowsill! She has enlisted the Germinatrix to sleuth out the identity of this cutting she took from a friend's plant...
... and this was my answer:
So, fasten your seatbelt. I think that attractive slice of stem and leaf you have sitting in a glass is a ... sweet potato! Ipomoea batatas 'Ace of Spades' to be precise. I have these ornamental sweet potatoes growing in by veg beds - but my version is Ipomoea batatas 'Blackie', which has more pointed, witchy type leaves. If I am right, check the 'mother plant' at your friend's house. If you dig where the main roots should be, you should find a big, swollen root - the potato! That will make my guess right - but I'm practically 95% sure right now. The stem is correct, the placement of the leaves is correct, the fact that they emerge green and then turn purple is right on - and the fact that the stems root easily is 100% sweet potato! I think we can throw caution to the wind and call this case closed!
This is one of my favorite plants ever. I like to use it as a cascading element in containers, and I also often plant it where it can drip over retaining walls ... it is really sexy at the height of summer and well into the fall. It'll disappear in the late winter for us here in California .... probably a little earlier for you - but it comes back every June, bigger and better. There are also wonderful golden green and bronze varieties. Once you go sweet potato, you don't go back!
People say you can eat the root, just like the edible sweet potato - but I'm not gonna do it. This plant is the one 'cheat' in my vegetable garden, because it is so damned awesome! Good choice of plant, E-mullet, even if you didn't know what it was you were choosing! You have excellent horticultural taste... Let's be friends!
