Tag Archives: Swiss chard

Maggie and other marvels.

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Granddaughter Maggie was here for a few days with her mother Pearl. Maggie continued her road trip back to college but Pearl is with me still. They fill my heart and my days by being their sweet selves. Since I typically do all my own work, I am constantly startled when I notice that someone is loading the dishwasher or shredding the lettuce for tacos or whatever task, before I even get to the point of realizing it needs doing.

We went wine tasting for a short while one day; at one vineyard we took a one-mile walk through the rows of vines, and it smelled really good in there: chardonnay, cabernet, syrah, viognier, dried grass, all lending their scents to the air, but mildly, because it was a coolish day.

Ice plant at the beach.

The next day, to the beach! Pearl and I walked down the shore quite a way, and when we came back we all just lay there in the sun. I lost consciousness for at least a few minutes, lying on my back with the sun heating my face through my hat. As we stared out past the edge of land to the vast Pacific, Maggie said that the ocean seems to our eyes as big as outer space. I thought how nice it would be if I could restart the regular beach outings that I made so often in 2020 and 2021.

My granddaughter spent quite a while collecting tiny pieces of sand. She was conceiving a plan to use them in the Instagram-alternative scrapbook she is starting; she will glue them on to the page and then paint over them with clear nail polish so they might continue to look wet.

That evening we were able to sit on the patio for a dinner that I made, which included chard from my garden. I had washed it up a few days before, during which process I realized that I had four varieties of Swiss chard growing out there.

I pulled out some of that chard, to make room for new plants that I grew from seed in the greenhouse over the last month, and most of which I have set out in the planter boxes. Portuguese Kale, two varieties of collards, Italian Silver Rib Chard — and a new one from the mustard family: Tatsoi. Here it is when its true leaves were barely emerging.

Also Detroit Red Beets. If half of the seedlings I set out thrive, I should have plenty of greens to get me through the winter and into next spring.

Lastly, I show you the barrel planter, where the the snapdragons and Tropical Sage seem to take care of themselves and keep reseeding and blooming. The salvia that was pink for two or three years just last week sprouted stems of red-orange flowers. I saw them from the kitchen window, and had to run out right away to see what they could possibly be. When I give my attention to the garden, even just a little bit, it rewards me abundantly.

Months overthrown by a calendar.

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Redbud on my walk.

This is the season when every day’s wandering in the garden reveals sprouts and blossoms that startle me: Can this lithodora already be filled out, and I didn’t notice it happening? When did the coral bells get as high as my nose?

At church the scents of wisteria and other blossoms are heavy in the air, and when I walk to and from my car I have to slow down and focus on breathing as I make my way.

Maybe all of this botanical activity wouldn’t be as surprising if I’d been more attentive to the garden, but I’ve been restraining myself from going to the nursery or planting anything new just yet; the next month or so involves a lot of traveling, when I won’t be able to tend to anything. The reason for travel is, two of my grandsons will marry this spring, and one granddaughter. But in between the May weddings I hope to put a few zucchini seeds in the planter boxes where they will get automatic irrigation.

Wisteria at church.

The plant just above, I can’t remember the name of. [Mrs. Bread already looked in here and reminded me that it is Tasmanian Flax, Dianella tasmanica.] This one is at church, but Mrs. Bread gave me a specimen last year and I’ve planted it here; mine isn’t blooming yet. They eventually have berries that look like elongated dark purple grapes.

I bought one more wall calendar to help me do better at keeping track of where I am in time. I love having calendars and clocks all over the house. It’s from Beauty First Films and claims to promote “the overthrow of months.” I ordered it late, so we are already into Lent, which is revealed by this calendar to transcend the months, and to infuse the everyday chronos of life, emphasizing the gifts of the Church that lead to kairos. This year’s version also features the churches of Serbia:

Lithodora with Salvia behind.
Smallage

Many years ago Mrs. Bread and I split a six-pack of smallage plants. Then I re-landscaped and let mine go. She gave me a sprout from hers a year ago and it is Not Small At All now. I like having smallage around because it’s nice to put in soups, but I don’t really want to give a quarter of the planter box to it. Unfortunately, I think the boxes are the only place it would get the amount of watering it likes.

Swiss chard, on the other hand, I can’t have too much of. I procrastinated picking this crop for a couple of months, during which time a couple of snails fattened themselves on it. There was still plenty left for me, and I finally took off every last beautiful leaf from a dozen plants and cooked it all up. Most of it went into the pot to make my favorite lenten Garlicky Chard with Cannellinis. I’m showing the Italian Silver Rib Swiss Chard, but I actually harvested about twice as much Rhubarb Chard.

April may have rushed in to my life, but now that it’s here I’m pleasantly surprised that we’re only half way through the month. We Orthodox are more than half way to Pascha, which is also surprising. I can tell I was made for kairos, because I never can get used to this chronos life!

Fresh news just before publishing: My dear friend and brother in Christ, “Mr. Greenjeans,” who started me working in the church garden and taught me tons about plant and plant names; who for many years and several times a month made all the huge bowls of dough for our church prosphora bread; who got me literally up to speed chanting the Hours in church; who became an even closer friend since 2020 when he and his wife began hosting small tea-and-talk sessions at their house — That Friend no longer has to struggle in this chronos world, but has fallen asleep in death, has gone to his rest, to await the Resurrection. Memory Eternal!

Louise Bourgeois, Woman and Clock

Garlicky Chard with Cannellinis

food and cooking, my garden, ,

GARLICKY SWISS CHARD WITH CANNELLINI BEANS

Probably I saw a recipe online that inspired this creation, which was prompted by great quantities of Swiss chard growing in my garden a year ago. I never wrote down amounts of ingredients, but at the request of a commenter yesterday, I can tell you how I made the dish.

In a 6-quart pot sauté several (5-15) chopped garlic cloves in a generous amount (several tablespoons) of olive or other oil. Just before it is turning brown, stuff as much washed, chopped chard as you can (or as much as you have on hand — I think at least 3-4 commercial bunches) into the pot, with salt sprinkled between the layers, and about a cup of water. Cover the pot and simmer this mixture, stirring occasionally to distribute the garlic, until the chard is tender. Uncover at the end if it is soupy, to let some of the liquid cook off. Drain and rinse one or two cans of cannellini beans and add them, generous grindings of black pepper — and bits of dried tomato if you like. Adjust for salt.

I didn’t take a picture before I put my last batch into the freezer, but I will try to remember to take one when I defrost it, and come back here to add it in.

Update later the same day: For some reason, I love this dish the most when it is made with Italian Silver Rib Heirloom Chard, which features very meaty, thick and wide white ribs. Maybe the “Italian” in the name prompted me to add the cannellinis. I can’t find a picture of it in real life, but this seed packet shows it very accurately. I’ll be planting new seeds this week.

Communing in the gardens.

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Scaly Rustgills under my fig tree.

Late this morning the sun came out again, and shined on all the droplets of dew and fog. I had a date to keep in town, but I noticed through the window that the fountain was dripping instead of flowing, so I went out to put the hose in there for a few minutes. Of course I saw many glowing leaves and caught the scent of decay. How can decomposition smell so fresh, and how does the earth’s breathing wake up my whole body?

Lavender under a net.

I took a few pictures and then I was happy to be on my way, on to the community garden to meet my friend Bella where we have been together a few times before.  Strolling through other people’s gardens is thoroughly relaxing and nourishing; lots of interest and no responsibility. A garden comprised of dozens of gardens, each with its special personality, is even better.

Often we get to take home some treats, for immediate food or for seeds. Bella found ears of corn lying in the path, and she showed me where a few beans hung from a trellis, the seeds somehow still dry and clean inside the mildewed pods. How could I not bring a few home to try? The way those beans offered themselves suggested a small planting, which is not intimidating. And they are intriguing Mystery Beans to me as yet; does anyone here know what kind they are? Such a dreamy-creamy color…  (below).

After my first big greenhouse planting project last winter, and the way so many of my starts did not take off, or for various reasons never bore fruit in my own garden, I am ready this spring to try just a few things, a few seeds…. a more minimalist garden.

What if my pumpkins had been successful, and I’d ended up with half a dozen of those gorgeous French cucurbits such as I roasted yesterday? They would have been too heavy for me to lug around the neighborhood as gifts.

I picked a bagful of meaty, rainwashed collard leaves from Bella’s plot, and the sweetest parsley ever from the free-for-all borders. The calendulas I gave my friend last spring are still blooming there under the collard canopy, and looking wintery — the sun may be bright on days like today, but its rays are sharply slanted, and every image is darkened by shadows.

Another plot owner was there with his teenage daughter, whose name I didn’t learn, but I will call her Maria. They gave me cilantro from their bed, a generous bunch of it, which I’m sure was the most fragrant I’ve ever got a whiff of, just picked after being hydrated for weeks. Maria came to talk to me while I was bent over the parsley, and we chatted about cooking. She filled me in on the hearty ham-and-eggs meal she had helped to make for breakfast this Saturday morning, and agreed that cooking for only oneself the way I do would be difficult.

Her father José talked about how his children don’t like to come to the garden with him. Maria explained, “We never want to bother getting out of bed and going outside unless something is happening that day, if we are going somewhere or people are coming over….” She smiled when I said, “Oh, but things are happening here: the plants are busy growing!”

Today, of course, was unlike any other, and I felt the restfulness of January, and cautioned how it would not even be a good idea to pull weeds when the soil was so wet. Maria and her father seemed quite contented. She may have had the same unconscious rejuvenating response in her body and psyche that Bella and I were having, being in the open air surrounded by trees and grass, fava bean plants and every kind of brassica exhaling oxygen. And Maria did get to be with people.

After our new friends left, Bella and I wandered up and down the rows, admiring every leftover bit of life, such as two tiny bright red peppers clinging to dead stick stems. We examined a banana tree that appeared to have been stricken by frost, but we hoped not killed. And we sat at a picnic table listening to the tinkle of the wind chimes, as hummingbirds swooped back and forth over our heads. It was a simple gift of a day.