Cukes: Cornichon, medium, and large
Hello chefs and welcome to the pickle palace. Those bread and butter pickles we made a few days ago are nearly gone, but before we made a second batch we tried some fridge pickles, beyond easy with three ingredients (cukes, salt, and vinegar), four if you count the dill but I didn't have any so left it out. You could add any fresh herb, really. These are a lot of fun. You assemble, put in fridge, and then shake the jar periodically.
again at Smitten Kitchen
Stand by. Next we're going to make fermented pickles.
Trellis shortageA funny think happened a couple weeks back when I phoned our local hardware store and asked if they had trellises to tame my rampaging cucumbers.
"How many do you need?," the woman asked. "Well, I'd take ten if you have them," said I.
Whoa, she said, you must have a lot of cucumbers. She asked me to wait while she checked their main storage facility on the computer, came back a moment later, and in a low, serious voice said: It appears we have a trellis shortage.
This made me laugh for days, which tells you a lot about my state of mind.
I did finally pick up ten trellises, fastened together as shown here with zip ties to make a nice support for cukes or tomatoes. Then I phoned back and the same woman picked up and she immediately said: Heidi, do you need more trellises? (I did.)
Jimmy Fallon, the Original Hamilton Cast & The Roots
Art's solution to partial sun
The other day a big package arrived. I had no idea what it was, but soon found Art assembling an outdoor movie screen. "What's playing tonight?" I asked. "ET?"
Instead, it was his attempt to boost the hours of sunlight on our newly developed garden space. Most vegetables (and cannabis) are happier with maximum sun. This spot gets about five hours daily but I longed for more. So here we are, reflecting sun toward the back of the garden where large trees cast shade.
He's a crazy guy,
but he's my crazy guy
By Claude McKay
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.