Category Archives: weather

Gardeners happy in the weather.

my garden, weather, work, , ,
Strawberry tree (arbutus) fruit I didn’t get to eat.

Last week we got quite a drenching, and it was exhilarating. Early in the week the wind blew down pine needles and strawberry fruit, midweek featured 5+ inches falling on one day, and the day after that the landscaper “Dan” worked in the rain all day and installed many plants in my front yard. He was sopping at the end, and only quit when he did because he still had to drive an hour to get home before dark; his eyesight is not good and he’s having cataract surgeries starting this week — hence the need to accomplish as much as he could beforehand. The things not planted are waiting in the utility yard. Look at those ferns! I’ve never had ferns in my garden before.

I worked outside myself, consulting with Dan and looking on as he tested how plantable the soil was after all that wetting. We were both amazed to find bone dry soil under some of the areas that had been thickly covered in mulch. Other places near the borders of the space, with less mulch, standing water filled the holes several inches down, in clay, and he didn’t plant there. While Dan soldiered away completely exposed (in his thin rain suit), I spent most of my time in the garage with the big doors wide open, organizing, cleaning and sorting, and when I took things to the trash bins or did a little trimming of dead flowers, I didn’t get very wet. I was wearing waterproof boots and a rain jacket.

The temperature was mild, so we were able to enjoy our work and the invigorating weather without being cold. That air was a strong tonic. I was happy to get started on the small area of relandscaping, and to have someone to talk to about all the plants and how to arrange them; he said he always loves planting; we were both joyful because we are always greedy for rain in California. Oh, and it was definitely a relief to see the garage quite a bit tidier.

From time to time when I went into the house I would put another log in the stove, so that when darkness fell and I closed all the doors and window shades, oh how cozy I was.

I like rain and roasted onions.

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Rain… rain… rain… It’s been raining All. Day. It’s night now and still raining. I’ve been exulting in it, because I didn’t have any responsibilities that required my going out. I could tend the fire, chat with my daughters online about their weather, roast onions, read, and even accomplish one housecleaning task that has been hanging over my head for months: cleaning the ceiling exhaust fan in a bathroom. Yippee!

The nodding violet that I brought indoors last week before freezing weather arrived looked so lovely with the rainy light behind it, I had to take its picture.

Sir Gawain by Howard Pyle

On the table by the violet are a few of the books I bought to go with an online course I am taking this fall: “Christian Wonder Tales.” It is taught by Martin Shaw, the mythologist and storyteller whom I met at the Symbolic World Summit last winter. Tolkien’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight didn’t get in the picture, but is another title he recommended, and I have it upstairs.

Who knows if I will read any of these books to the end — I haven’t even finished The King of Ireland’s Son, by Padraic Colum, which is quite delightful. Also perfect for listening to, because the narrator Gerard Doyle’s Irish brogue, telling the stories-within-stories as is the custom with Irish stories, has me journeying entranced from the Irish cottage to the castle and back again, meeting mysterious characters and challenging assignments around every bend in the road.

Now to the topic of food: Back when my friend Susan was also my housemate, sometimes I would walk in the front door to another sort of captivating story, the aroma of which was the essential part. What are you cooking?? I would ask, drawn immediately into the kitchen, and it took a few repetitions of this encounter before my nose remembered what she had told me: “It’s only roasted onions!” I eventually had to start making them myself.

(Above, onions in my kitchen as it was 28 years ago. Notice bread rising in pans at left. The only thing that is the same now is cast iron pans always on the stove top.)

To keep up with my appetite for them, I’d need to roast a batch of onions once a week, but it ends up being more like twice a year. As soon as they are out of the oven I always serve myself a little bowl of them, which seems to be about one onion’s worth… or two — so I usually double the recipe below. Do you roast onions? You can find many recipes online; here is my version:

ROASTED ONIONS

3 large onions, yellow or red
2 tablespoons olive or other oil
1 tablespoon balsamic or other vinegar
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground black pepper to taste
(1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme) – I never add this

Cut the onions vertically into quarters or sixths, and then slice those wedges crosswise as thick as you want; I make mine 1/8 to 1/3 inch thick. Toss them in a bowl with the other ingredients and roast in a sheet pan at 375 to 400 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour, stirring occasionally, until they are as brown as looks good to you. I think sometimes, in an effort to get them crispier, I have overcooked them and made them a little tough.

This evening I didn’t use balsamic vinegar, because recently I was given an extra special bottle of “plain” red wine vinegar with a noble heritage. Just as bakers like to pass their sourdough starter around to friends, so chefs and winemakers often share a vinegar mother (also called a vinegar scoby). My vinegar was fermented with a mother whose mother belonged to Alice Waters, and whose grandmother grew in Julia Child’s kitchen. Does that make my onions taste better? You know, I think they might just be the best I’ve ever made!

Betwixt the North wind and the Sun.

my garden, poetry, summer, weather, , , , , , ,

I’ve showed up again to tell you that summertime is the best thing. Lucky me, I live in a temperate climate, and do not have to rush about meeting deadlines put upon me from other people; my days often pass in what seems like a natural and unhurried way, even at my work: in winter I carry wood and build fires, and at this time of year, there is lots of strenuous gardening to do.

Excepting the occasional heat wave, it’s typically just Very Warm midday, with the nights down to 50, and the cold fog often hanging on until late morning. One morning in July I used the furnace, which showed me that I am turning into an old lady. This week included another extra-chilly awakening, but I took the conservative route and added a wool cardigan to my first two layers.

Peder Monsted

So, summertime is perfect, in my case, for sharing a poem mentioning The North Wind. His counterpart around here is The Marine Breeze. I’m not that close to San Francisco, but I do often think of the comment (mis)attributed to Mark Twain: “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.”

What I love is that at least by noon, and usually much earlier, I can walk around my garden in the pleasant air and eat breakfast next to the pineapple guava tree, where graceful arches of salvia flowers lean in, and the Sun persuades me to take off my sweater.

Coucher de Soleil Sur le Village, Leon DeSmet

THE NORTH WIND AND THE SUN

Betwixt the North wind and the Sun arose
A contest, which would soonest of his clothes
Strip a wayfaring clown, so runs the tale.
First, Boreas blows an almost Thracian gale,
Thinking, perforce, to steal the man’s capote:
He loosed it not; but as the cold wind smote
More sharply, tighter round him drew the folds,
And sheltered by a crag his station holds.
But now the Sun at first peered gently forth,
And thawed the chills of the uncanny North;
Then in their turn his beams more amply plied,
Till sudden heat the clown’s endurance tried;
Stripping himself, away his cloak he flung:
The Sun from Boreas thus a triumph wrung.

The fable means, “My son, at mildness aim:
Persuasion more results than force may claim.”

-Babrius, aka Aesop (2nd century) Syria
         Translated by James Davies