A Send-Off Party For The Gals

Eldest returns to university in a couple short weeks. She wanted a get together with her ladies before it gets hectic and silly in the mad rush of return, in the next week.  She asked her parents if we would help plan some sort of evening.  Yours truly of course grabbed the chance to cook a fancy meal, and charm the ladies.  Yes I know I am an eternal flirt - it's in my genes, my father was the worst!

The centerpiece, all harvested from the flower beds.

An individual place setting, using great grandmother's dishes (an aside, none of GGrandmother's dishes were harmed in the making of this event - whew!)

The meal consisted of five courses.  Below is the start of the h'ordeuvres -- escargot in mushroom caps.  Seasoned with fresh garlic, parsley, thyme and butter, they were broiled for a few moments to toasty golden orbs of perfection.

The chicken is marinating, encrusted with dried garlic flakes, sundried tomato and fresh rosemary.  The missus was on barbecue duty for this portion of the supper.  I willingly acede barbecuing duties to my better half - I know this is reverse to most marriages, but it works for us.

Prior to sit down, the ladies had a photoshoot outside.  Unfortunately all the group shots are somewhat blurry.  So here are the guests of honour.  Eldest is the tassle-dress clad wonder.  Black dress is a friend since kindergarten, and is the only rookie first year heading off.  The other three are second year veterans.  Two print dresses are friends since grade nine.

Goofus doofus herself!

So here they sit like birds in the wilderness, waiting to be fed.  All growed up and classy, but still little girls at heart.

Yours truly serving up h'ordeuvres

Fresh salads, pretty much all from the garden.  Please note the nasturtium blooms gracing each plate - a major hit with the girls.

Phylo pastry buns with harvarti cheese and basil.  These were tasty and they'd have devoured twice as many if I'd had them.

Goofus taste testing nasturtium blossoms.

Serving up the entree.

The entree, again was mostly fresh from the garden.  Fingerling potatoes are one of our new favourites in the garden.  I've grown them in the past, but never got much yield.  This year is a bumper crop and they are such wonderful buttery-tasting, waxy-textured gems.

Desert was more phylo pastry, topped with vanilla pudding, garnished with fresh berries and drizzled with maple syrup.  Didn't hear any complaints about this one - and so easy!

So the ladies had a lot of fun, as did the parents.  Now if I could just somehow make a business out of small time catering.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

The Next Generation of Gardening

We're rapidly approaching that time of year again - the return to post secondary institutions.  Eldest who has spent the last four months, working and at home with us, will return to university, six hours away.  I know I won't be quite as big a mess, as I was a year ago, but my heart does start to ache a bit, just anticipating her leaving again.  Why do we let the little buggers get such a grip on our heart strings?

It is too short a time since I was telling her to "get your big bum over", when she would scuttle into the driver's seat as I fed the cows.  To the tiny two year old, this was the biggest game in the world.  Yes I'm aware she should have been buckled up in a car seat, but it was just the old farm truck, and we were just out back in the fields.

She was an early bloomer in the garden.  As I planted gladioli corms in rows, I happened to check behind me and watched her nimble toddler fingers tossing the planted corms aside, as quickly as I could lay them down. How could you scold or reprimand?

I have to say, her green thumb has failed to develop a great deal over the years, not for lack of encouragement, but I guess the gardening gene just isn't dominant in the next generation.

But then last week, she brought home a bunch of spearmint cuttings.  A patron had left it in one the rooms she cleans at the motel. "Can we plant these?"  I must admit, my first thought was, why bother.  But I quickly thought the better.

So I got out my soilless mix, and my rooting hormone.  We carefully recut the slips, dipped them in powder and placed them in the pots, misted and covered with plastic.  Just for good measure, I went out and grabbed a few more fresher cuttings from my herb garden.  After all, success was not optional.

"Daddy I need a blooming plant for my room too."  Of course she wanted some of the magnificent specimens blossoming freely in the garden.  I had to break it to her gently that these would neither move, nor tolerate her little basement apartment gloom.

So off we went to the grocers, to see if we could find a little plant that would bloom and thrive in relative darkness and probable neglect.  African Violets seemed to fit the bill.  There were several fine specimens, but it was the little bedraggled one in the corner that caught young missy's eye.

The pile is starting to grow, as we pack up her belongings for another year.  And there in the midst are her two little potted plants.  I've got my green fingers crossed that they will have a good year, thrive and blossom to their full potential.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Rainy Sunday

It started out as a heavy Scotch mist in the early morning, progressed to steady downpour by church letout, and then came down in buckets all afternoon.  It was a perfect rainy Sunday and we needed it.  The gardens just sat there like sponges and the lawn, well it's never looked better.

I dropped young lassie off at work for breakfast duty, and then drove to a spot along the highway, where I could pick up some flat rock/flagstone for a gardening project.  That only took a few minutes, but my bomber jacket was soaked to the gunnels.

During church, the pounding rain on the roof did battle with the minister.  I must admit, a few times it almost lulled me off.  Folks met in the atrium after service, husbands bravely venturing forth to retrieve cars from the flood-puddled yard.  Sodden vehicles splashed up to the doorway, one by one, and the crowds quickly dispersed, damp shouldered and steaming to partake of their Sunday brunch.

Time for a Sunday afternoon nap.  Torrents of rain pummeled our roof, and in no time at all I was in la-la land.


Unfortunately our storms caused severe damage and death elsewhere in our province.  One of my favourite towns, Goderich, was hit by an F2 tornado about the time I was sawing logs yesterday.  One man was killed, and 37 others hurt, as well as numerous buildings and structures severely damaged. Goderich tornado



I should have taken photos yesterday, while the ditches were overflowing, but as it is still sprinkling this morning, I grabbed the camera and took a few shots of the full ditches and rain drenched blossoms.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Phlox - My Prodigal Child of 2011

I have what I consider to be a good selection of perennial phlox plants, but they are pretty much a write-off this year, with the powdery mildew/rust issues we seem to be facing here in eastern Ontario.  So while they are not the magnitude I would like, I will share a few of the happier specimens, and dream that next year will be sans mildew.

Nicky, purple

Blue Phlox, this is the actual colour in the early morning light; it goes more pink as the day progresses.

Magenta

White David (and this one is supposed to be rust/mildew resistant)

Pretty pathetic, this should be a mass of five contrasting colours, not a few skimpy blooms.

I wasn't going to bother publishing this post, but those of you who are avid gardeners will realize that most years, some plant fails to live up to its potential -- 2011 it was perennial phlox in my garden.  Next year it may be another key player, who chooses to go black sheep on me.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

Farm Dumps - A Glimpse Into Yesteryear

 

The farm dump used to be a fixture of most farms for many years. In my tramps through the woods (trespassing I'm well aware) I have located a dozen or so such vestiges of a former generation.  Unfortunately on one local farm, the farmer still has this same practice in present day, with plastic bags and detritis floating about his back forty in a shameful display of modern affluence and loathsome effluence.

However I find most of the old dumps of yesteryear a rather fascinating glimpse into life in a simpler time.  The collections of glass and metal are probably somewhat innocuous from an environmental perspective, unlike our chemical and petroleum based trash of today.


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Children's playground?

Rock-a-bye baby ......

Polly put the kettle on ......

Tractor front end and fender wells

Car bonnet with encroaching tree or is is vice versa?

I'm especially fond of the old skeletal remains of farm equipment, the rusted wheels, cogs and chains that laboured for many a year under the watchful eye of the careful farmer.  The era, the farmer and the livestock may be long gone, but the old machinery stands testament to the labours that made agriculture the backbone of our nation.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

A Walk In The Wildside

This is from my most recent walk in the woods behind our house.  Late yesterday afternoon I slung my berry pickin' pail over my arm, and headed off through the bush to see if I could find me some more blackberries.  I've about exhausted the neighbour's patch , but we do have quite a few quarts of frozen wild fruit in the freezer for winter.

In my mind's eye I could recall there being a bramble patch way back in the middle of nowhere.  My mind's eye plays tricks on me some times - perhaps it's an age thing.  When I finally arrived after tripping through spent grain fields, boggy marshland and jungle-like vistas, there were just a few vines, and only one with a couple wizened little berries.  So much for fruit gathering.

But there was more to the journey.  I had my trusty little camera with me and here is what I harvested.

Top side, not sure if the powder rusty substance is spores (I thought they were on the underside, but I could well be wrong).

Underside - in another life these made wonderful little painting canvases.  I should try one again.

This photo does not begin to capture the texture.  I do not know what this grass is, but it is almost as fine as hair and has only grown in the swamp in the past few weeks since the water has finally dispersed for the season.  It is like petting a dogs back.  Wonderful stuff, I want it for my lawn, sun-dappled and emerald green.

Christmas ferns are fairly rare about these parts, but I did discover a very healthy little grouping.  Here is one of the finer specimens, along with a maidenhair in the forefront.

Another elusive, deep-woods friend.  This is a wild turtle's head - if you can supply me with a correct botanical name I would appreciate it.  The flash overexposed it a bit much and I didn't realize it until I got home and transferred to the computer.  This specimen was actually a very delicate pink, as opposed to the usual stark white.

Something caught me vision, just about as I arrived home (I'd been looking for my friend Mr. Cardinal).  The first red leaf of autumn.  It's coming folks.

I didn't add to the freezer, but somehow my inner storehouse runneth over.

And this is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.

An Afternoon With Grandma

I blogged a couple of weeks back about my impending task of cataloguing and organizing all of my mother-in-law's photo albums.

Well I have two albums scanned thus far.  And in doing the first of them chronologically I realized that there were many of the pictures not properly identified.

The lovely old vintage album

Last Sunday we headed to Grandma's at the retirement home.  Well actually, we went to church with her first and then took her out to lunch - kind of the equivalent of dinner and a date.

Then we went back to her room and proceeded to spend most of the afternoon looking at the old album.  At first she didn't remember ever seeing any of these pictures, and then eventually she realized that she had probably taken most of them with her own camera.

She perused each picture and with each she remembered some little story or setting, which she shared with me.  A few of the pictures she could not recall the individuals, but the majority she was able to eventually name.  Sometimes it took a bit of prodding (I eventually started to recognize people and patterns).  I think she thoroughly enjoyed the process, but I know by the final pages she was tiring.  I think it required a lot of mental energy to come up with all that information.  I wonder if my mind will be as sharp at 86?  That's why I carefully label everything now, just because I'm quite sure it won't be.

Little orange sticky notes with all that precious information as to identities.

And that is about all I have to say for today.

Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.