Late Summer's Tomato Haul

Photo: Chronica Domus

It's late summer and the tomatoes in my garden have been superb this year.  Funny thing is, I've practically ignored the poor things believing I had picked the last plump and tasty fruit weeks ago.  It turns out, I have been wonderfully mistaken.

Surely, this must be the final clump of tomatoes of the growing season, right?
Photo: Chronica Domus

Not counting on benign neglect to be such a growth booster, my family and I have been hauling in the (we think) last flush of tomatoes for the past two weeks.  They just keep coming and coming.  I stopped watering the plants weeks ago which has only served to sweeten the bounty would you believe.  Perhaps that is what the pros call 'dry farming'.  Whatever it is that is going on, this gentlewoman gardener is just glad for it.

These large egg-shaped fruits are Japanese Black Trifele tomatoes, 

picked when their shoulders turn green

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you remember last year's tomato post and the White Current heirloom tomatoes I grew?
Well, here they are again, all volunteers!
Photo: Chronica Domus

As you can well imagine, the kitchen has been abuzz with activity centered around our ongoing tomato harvest.

Tomato sauce made with a mixture of the Japanese Black Trifeles and the White Current tomatoes
Photo: Chronica Domus



Romano beans purchased at the farmers' market cooked in ...yes, you guessed it
(I used French heirloom tomatoes St. Pierre which did not yield as much fruit
as the Japanese variety I grew this year)
Here's the recipe from the New York Times
Photo: Chronica Domus

And what would summer be without setting aside some tomatoes for everyone's favorite salad?
Photo: Chronica Domus

A classic Caprese salad made with homegrown heirloom Black Cherry
and White Current tomatoes, both varieties were, happily, harvested from volunteer plants this year
Photo: Chronica Domus

Aside from all the cooking, one of the greatest pleasures of having such a bountiful garden is sharing our crop with good neighbor friends.  I hear reports that my friend Jeannette's young daughter is an avid consumer of tomatoes and she rates the White Currents as particularly sweet.  Sweet for the sweet, isn't that what they say?

Do you have a favorite variety of tomato you look forward to eating during the summer months?  How about any good recipes or ideas on how to use my excessive bounty?  I'd be very pleased to hear about them if so.

What's Blooming Inside: In Praise of Heirloom Sweet Peas

It has been said many times over that a picture paints a thousand words.  However, as I contentedly find myself captivated by Lathyrus odoratus, that most delicious of summer's blooms, I ask myself how it could possibly be fair to share a mere picture with you.  Or, for that matter, few words.

Photo: Chronica Domus

The humble sweet pea happens to be my favorite summer flower.  It helps, of course, that summers in the San Francisco Bay Area rarely ever sizzle; sweet peas loathe excessive heat.  On most days, the thermometer hovers around the agreeable lower- to middle-70's range.  All of this, of course, makes me a fortunate girl as I am able to enjoy a bountiful flower haul throughout the entire summer season and into early autumn.

I adore sweet peas so much that I would like to propose a new holiday in their honor, National Sweet Pea Day.  On this day, the ephemeral and beguiling beauty of Lathyrus odoratus will be praised and celebrated throughout the land. Gardeners will clip the flowers from their tangled vines to bring indoors by the basketful.  And, for those fellow admirers who lack either a garden or a green thumb, a trip to a local florist or market to procure a bunch to bring home will be the order of the day.

If you derive as much pleasure from this old-fashioned garden staple as I do, you'll be satisfied in the knowledge that the pretty undulating blooms should be clipped with regularity.  I can think of no other plant that replenishes its flowers as swiftly as the sweet pea.  It is nothing short of horticultural magic!  Happily, one's garden shears are pressed into service on an almost daily basis during summer's flush.

Lathyrus odoratus Cupani's Original (circa 1699) basking in the June sun

Photo: Chronica Domus

The sweet pea vines as photographed on a foggy day back in late June ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and yesterday, mid-August, still going strong

Photo: Chronica Domus

Daily cutting encourages a profusion of blooms

Photo: Chronica Domus

Once indoors, sweet peas should be arranged in vessels and vases and the posies placed about the house. The simple act of doing so provides me with the greatest of pleasure.  It is a rite of summer I look forward to undertaking each and every year.

Ah heaven!... how I wish I could share the exquisite perfume wafting from these blooms with you

Photo: Chronica Domus  

Every room, no matter its size or decoration, will surely be enhanced by the delicate beauty and scent put forth by these posies.  At least, that is, if you select wisely and cultivate the old-fashioned heirloom varieties.  Some may argue that the daintier pink and white blooms of Painted Lady (circa  1730) for example, or those of Lathyrus odoratus America, a rich raspberry-red and white striped example dating back to 1896 are not as showy or as large as modern hybrids.  On that score, I am in agreement.  However, these are among the many older sweet pea strains I favor and believe to be far superior not only in their form and beauty, but in their scrumptious scent, an attribute so often lacking in modern sweet peas.  Why deny yourself one of nature's most luscious and exuberant scents I say!

As I meandered through the house this past Sunday afternoon, while snapping away with my camera to bring you the images you see below, it was as though I was being carried away upon a fruit and spice scented cloud.  Each room was saturated with that oh-so exquisitely delicious fragrance unique to older sweet peas.  I won't even pretend to do justice to the scent with mere words.  You'll just have to believe me when I tell you the agreeable air in those rooms could rival that of any fancy perfumery.  

A bedside posy to sweeten the air and delight the eye

Photo: Chronica Domus

A vase on the kitchen counter brimming with resplendent purple and violet sweet peas
Photo: Chronica Domus

A diminutive posy of pink and cream, and a lone striated Lathyrus odoratus America bloom, is placed upon a table in the corner of the drawing room ... 

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and its twin posy is perched atop the secretary bookcase to enliven an 

otherwise quiet corner

Photo: Chronica Domus

It is now midway through August and I've been clipping at the gangly sweet pea vines since late-June.  The blooms, I am pleased to report, exhibit no sign of dwindling just yet. Over the coming weeks I anticipate the good fortune of filling my vases with many more splendid stalks of Cupani's Original, America, Painted Lady, and other heirloom strains I planted in the spring.  

Late-afternoon summer light rakes across a sweet pea arrangement

Photo: Chronica Domus

Won't you please join me in planting a packet or two of these older types of sweet peas in your garden over the coming year?  I highly recommend an Old-Spice mix for heat resistance and, of course, for an abundant yield of colorful fragrant blooms.  You will then be ready to celebrate that much longed-for future holiday, National Sweet Pea Day.  Now, isn't that a day worthy of a celebration?

Norton Helps Prepare Some Easter Flowers

Although we won't be home for Easter Sunday this year, I am still compelled to add a few festive touches to the house to mark the holiday.  So, bright and early this morning, Norton and I trotted down to the garden to snip away at some of the narcissi I had planted in mid-February. Anticipating, with a bit of luck, that most of them would have bloomed for Easter, it turns out, most of them had.

Planted on February 19, narcissus Cragford, an award-winning heirloom, 

is ready for picking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Another heirloom variety that bloomed vigorously this year is the aptly named 

narcissus Cheerfulness 

Photo: Chronica Domus

It did not take long to fill my trug but I must admit, I did receive a little help from Norton.

Norton supervising in the cutting garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

As you can see below, the effort of picking a few narcissi was all a tad too much for dear Norton. Declaring he'd had quite enough of it all, he proceeded to plonk himself smack dab in the middle of the vegetable patch, exhausted it seems.

Gardening is so overrated!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Coming into the house via the back stairwell, Norton was obviously still very tired from his gardening escapades so I left him there, with the trug, while I nipped downstairs and around to the front garden to clip a few more blooms.

Norton takes a well-earned break

Photo: Chronica Domus

Narcissus Thalia, my favorite of the whites, has been reliably blooming and multiplying in 

my front garden for several years

Photo: Chronica Domus

Just a few Thalia to complete the morning's pickings

Photo: Chronica Domus

I had adequate blooms to make two cheery arrangements to place in the drawing room, with a handful left over for a third smaller arrangement that I placed in the kitchen.

Photo: Chronica Domus

Here they are in situ

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, what would Easter be without a few chocolate treats to nibble upon?  Here are some chocolate eggs corralled in a favorite English Regency era teapot stand painted in a pleasing shade of orange to match the centers of narcissus Cragford.

Please, help yourself to a chocolate egg or two

Photo: Chronica Domus

My collection of various bird eggs round out the decorations in the drawing room.  Eggs are, after all, symbols of rebirth and renewal at Easter time.  A glass vessel below holds quail, araucana chicken, and partridge eggs ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and another holds a turkey egg, the egg of a scrub jay, and more delicately-shaded araucana chicken eggs.

Photo: Chronica Domus

A simple but pleasing Easter arrangement in the drawing room

Photo: Chronica Domus

Oh, and I almost forgot the funnest, and smallest, decoration in the house, a charming vintage hen and her chicks.  They grace a porcelain stand on the kitchen counter.  Don't you think Mrs. Hen and her brood look quite at home surrounded by ... more eggs!

Happy Easter Everyone!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Norton and I wish you all a very Happy Easter!

Betwixt The Seasons

There is something so endearing about this time of year here in Northern California.  The dregs of summer are barely holding on in the garden with the last few tomatoes clinging to the withering vines, and a final clutch of cheery summer nasturtiums offering themselves up for gathering just as autumn creeps upon us.

Summer's last nasturtiums gathered this morning and placed in an earthenware
vessel to brighten up the kitchen

Photo: Chronica Domus

Sweet White Currant tomatoes holding on for dear life

Photo: Chronica Domus

The subtle signs of autumn play 'peek-a-boo' with the foliage.  Look here!  The first wisteria leaflet splashed in warming shades of amber.

Aha, a turning leaf upon the climbing wisteria ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... and here's another, signaling autumn's arrival

Photo: Chronica Domus

It's funny to celebrate the colors of these few turning leaves when I think back on childhood memories of knee-deep piles of them, blown across from the woodland, only to settle in the front garden. There were many October Saturday mornings spent raking seemingly endless piles of oak leaves into the wheelbarrow in the company of my two younger sisters and my father.  We made a game of it so that what would otherwise have been a wearisome task became a fun but exhausting rite of autumn.

Of course, that special golden light that rakes across our house in the afternoon is yet another undeniable signal that autumn is here.  The intensely saturated sunsets too have been nothing short of spectacular as of late.  I captured this one a few weeks ago on our travels home across the Bay.

Photo: Chronica Domus

And, although our daytime temperatures are mild at present, I am certain all of that will soon come to an end.  Last night was the first night I felt as though I needed a blanket to get me through the cooler night air.

How is it where you live?  Are you betwixt the seasons or did autumn arrive on cue with the calendar, in the latter part of September?  Please, do tell me.

You Say Tomayto ...

There's nothing quite like the taste of home-grown tomahtoes

Photo: Chronica Domus

... I always say "tomahto".  Despite the fact that I've lived in the United States for well over two decades, I cannot - with a straight face - say "tomayto".  It's just never going to happen!  Whichever preference you may have as to pronunciation, tomatoes are among summer's greatest pleasures.  I am, of course, referring to those perfectly sun-ripened fruits, just at the pinnacle of freshness, bursting with sweet, juicy flavor. I'm just mad for them!

Tomatoes happen to be one of my favorite foods and I would eat them by the bucket load, year round, if I could.  I have, however, come to the conclusion that the old adage "all good things come to those who wait" holds much truth, particularly when it comes to the consumption of tomatoes.  Out of season, well, it's really just not the same.

During the month of August, and into September, the farmers' market is awash with tomatoes in a multitude of colors and shapes.  The red tomato of my youth is there alright, but so is the yellow and orange, brilliant scarlet, and the deepest, darkest maroon.  Believe it or not, there's even a vibrant stripey green variety.  It really is a mad, mad, tomato world out there ready for eatin'.

I adore tomatoes so much that although I am no fan of artificial air fresheners and scents, and believe these manufactured fragrances are wholly unnecessary (just open a window for the best type of air known to mankind), I did once succumb to this:

Yes, it really does smell of tomato leaves!

Photo: Chronica Domus

The astute noses at Floris, England's oldest retailer of toiletries and scent, and Royal Warrant holders since 1820, somehow managed to trap the delicate aroma of tender tomato leaves within a bottle.  It really is rather marvelous as a single squirt fills one's room with the promise of everlasting summer. I binge purchased six bottles of the stuff on a shopping expedition to Floris' charming outpost on Jermyn Street several years ago and I am so glad that I did.  Not long after, the entire Tomato Leaf range was discontinued.  I am, sadly, down to my last remaining bottle.  No matter, I could always grow the real thing I suppose, and that's exactly what I did earlier in the spring.

It dawned on me in April that I had failed to plant tomatoes in my vegetable patch for the past few years.  Correcting the error of my ways, I came home one morning from the farmers' market with a lone four inch potted seedling labeled "Black Cherry Heirloom".  Into the soil it went.  A few weeks later, emboldened by the seedling's rapid growth, I planted another. This one was identified as "White Currant Heirloom".

The heirloom Black Cherry tomato plant photographed in July

Photo: Chronica Domus

By mid-July, both plants were thriving and had scrambled far beyond their support structures reaching an impressive height of six feet.  I picked my first tomatoes at the beginning of August. Here they are:

The first batch of tomatoes  ...

Photo: Chronica Domus

... went straight into the salad bowl moments after picking

Photo: Chronica Domus

It is now the end of August and both tomato factories are humming along in full production mode. The more the plants continue to mature, the sweeter and more flavorful the fruits become, and the deeper their color.  What a pleasure and a privilege it is to be able to step into the garden and gather up the fruits of one's labor. The following photograph shows last Saturday afternoon's pickings, enjoyed as part of an early dinner at home with friends. I made a simple chopped Caprese salad using summer's Holy Trinity of ingredients - the just-picked garden tomatoes, fresh basil, and creamy mozzarella.  The salad was enthusiastically devoured by all.

My garden trug is full once again with tasty tomatoes and happily, there's no end of them in sight!

Photo: Chronica Domus

Won't you please help yourself?
There's not much to compare to the simple pleasure derived from popping a perfectly
ripened, home-grown tomato straight into one's mouth moments after picking

Photo: Chronica Domus

Do you savor the flavor of summer's deliciously sweet tomahtoes and if so, do you have a favorite way of preparing them?  Please, do tell, no matter your pronunciation preference.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZ3fjQa5Hls

Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.

More Pink Flamingo Than Prince of Orange

Hooray for Prince of Orange the first sweet pea bloom of the season,
but wait ...it's not orange!

Photo: Chronica Domus 

It's that glorious time of year in my garden, a time to rejoice and celebrate the first of the season's sweet pea blooms.  As has become my habit in the last few years, I was again enticed into growing my sweet peas purely from the delicious descriptions printed on the attractively illustrated seed packets. Well, that and the fact that I rather fancied delving into the world of orange sweet peas, a color I had not previously attempted to grow.  Two varieties fit the bill, Prince of Orange and Henry Eckford. The Prince promised "pure, clear orange flowers of excellent substance", while Mr. Eckford assured "spectacular bright orange flowers".  I could not wait to get planting!

Heirloom varieties of sweet peas in zesty shades of orange beckoned 

to be taken home and planted in my garden

Photo: Chronica Domus

I sowed half a dozen of each variety on April 29 and patiently awaited their germination.  Sweet peas, as you may know, can take an age to get started so I make it a point to soak the seeds overnight in hopes of softening their rock-hard shells.  Right before I sow them into the moist, compost rich soil, I chip away a little of their coating in an effort to aid them along.  Even with this additional step, the seeds can take up to two excruciatingly long weeks to germinate. As William Langland reminds us in his poem, "Piers Plowman" patience is, indeed, a virtue.  I do try though.

Three months have now passed and I'm not exactly sure what happened to Mr. Eckford.  All I have to show for my efforts is a lone plant.  Perhaps the gentleman is a little shy?

Lathyrus odoratus Henry Eckford was first bred by the man himself in 1906

Photo: Chronica Domus

The few blooms I have been able to gather thus far possess such peculiarly stunted stems that arranging them in a vase is next to impossible.  Ah well, as I'm not one to give up easily I will try planting Henry Eckford again either later in the autumn or early next spring.

What in the world has happened to Henry Eckford's stems?
Photo: Chronica Domus

And, as for the Prince, imagine my surprise upon seeing his true colors come to light.

Looks more pink flamingo than Prince of Orange to me!

Photo: Chronica Domus

With barely a scintilla of orange to behold, my dream of gathering orange-hued sweet peas this summer has, alas, been dashed.  Admittedly, despite the unanticipated color, I am really quite chuffed to have pink flamingos taking flight in my vase.  The blooms are exceptionally pretty, no matter their rosy hue.

Might the Prince's orange reveal itself if I squint I wonder?

Photo: Chronica Domus

As a gardener, albeit an amateur one at best, I am constantly humbled by the act of nurturing the tiniest seed.  Regardless of how meticulously one plots and plans ahead, and despite the coddling and cosseting, Mother Nature always has the last word.  Either that or, as I suspect might be the case here, there was a mix-up at the packet-filling end of things.

Have you ever grown anything from seed with unexpected results?


Nota bene: I am neither paid nor do I receive recompense in exchange for applauding products or services within my blog.  I do so because I enjoy them.  If you are a kindred spirit, you too enjoy recommending nice things to fellow good eggs.