Pepper Harvest

I don't know why these are called the "dog days"  of summer.  I wouldn't send my dog out into the heat of the afternoons we have been experiencing.  But what is not good for dogs--especially long-haired Cavaliers--is great for peppers.  The peppers (habaneros, poblanos, serranos) just keep coming and coming.  So I decided it was time to do something with the abundance.

Here is the harvest of a couple of days:

First, the peppers were picked--very carefully.  Most often I have to cut the fruits from the stems  so that I don't break off part of the stem with the pepper.  When I am dealing with this volume, by experience I have learned every step must be accomplished by wearing latex gloves.  Habaneros, especially, can linger on the hands for days.  They are that powerful.  The next step was to rinse the peppers, but in fact there is rarely any insect damage to the peppers.  Insects know not to bother them.

The next step--the drying process:

I added some wood chips to impart a smoky flavor and then set the grill to its lowest setting--200 degrees is ideal.  It took several hours, but here is the result:

Now these peppers are ready to flavor a winter's worth of chilis and stews.  It's a good thing I won't be entering the St. James's Chili Cook Off this year--they would have to retire the trophy!

Clematis Paniculata

This is the story of clematis paniculata.  I spent most of my life thinking that clematis was pronounced "cle-maa'-tis"  until someone gently informed me that "clematis"  is pronounced cle'-muh-tis.  Just so we know what we are talking about here.

When we constructed the deer-proof garden in the back forty, we decided that it would be fun to have some flowering plants in addition to the vegetables, so I erected some lattice work with the idea of having several climbing plants that could perhaps be seen from the house.  Climbing roses were a natural  choice, but I thought a clematis would be nice--if one could be found that would withstand the heat of the Hill Country.  There are lots of clematises--a plant that we had grown both in Massachusetts and Connecticut--so the question was which clematis to choose.  Clematises are somewhat particular about their growing conditions, I knew from experience.  They like their heads in the sun but their feet in the cool shade.  I knew we would have no trouble with the first requirement (there is lots of sun) but I figured the only way for cool roots would be an abundance of mulch.

Last winter as the garden catalogs arrived, I salivated once again at the publication of White Flower Farm.  It's not only the lushest plant catalog you can find, but we knew the nursery, located in Litchfield, Connecticut, about 30 miles from our former home.  White Flower Farm is a place to visit as often as possible--it is a dream nursery.

I spotted the beautiful picture of clematis paniculata (also called Sweet Autumn Clematis)--an autumn-blooming clematis with masses of tiny white flowers, and I thought, perfect!  A clematis that would bloom when everything else was going dormant, so I called and placed my order.  The WFF operator informed me that clematis paniculata would not grow in my region, and they could not guarantee its survival.  Buoyed by optimism, I said to send it anyway--I would take my chances.  Unfortunately, the order was not due to be shipped until the first of May (it takes a while for Connecticut-grown plants to emerge from their winter dormancy) so I was resigned to waiting--knowing, however, that "spring"  begins in these parts in February.

A few weeks later I was nosing around a local nursery, which still featured only a few, sad-looking plants that were still in their winter rest period, when I came across--a single clematis paniculata!  I asked the attendant if the plant would grow in our climate; when she assured me that it would, I bought the plant on the spot, came home and called WFF and canceled my order.  The dormant clematis went into the raised bed along with two climbing roses, and a lot of mulch was added to keep the soil around the roots as cool as possible when the hot summer sun was blazing.

Imagine my surprise when the autumn-blooming plant began budding in July and then began blooming around the first of August!  Here it is, in all its glory.

I would say that the plant seems rather happy in its new home!

And here is a close up of the multitude of blossoms.

Should I let White Flower Farm know that clematis paniculata in fact flourishes in the Hill Country?

The Gardener's Dilemma

Or at least one of the gardener's dilemmas.  Discarding plants, that is.

Directions for sowing seeds always indicates to space seeds far enough apart that they will have room to grow and to pull up seedlings that are crowding their neighbors.  I confess:  I hate to pull up a perfectly good seedling and throw it away.  I will do it, of course, but I hate wasting a perfectly good seedling.  Sometimes I wait until the seedlings are a little bigger and then try transplanting seedlings to more commodious parts of the garden (usually not successful).

So that leads me to the lovely Brandywine tomato plant I found in a nursery last spring.  There was only one plant of this heirloom tomato that I had always wanted to grow, so I grabbed it eagerly and brought it home to the new raised bed I had just constructed.  I knew that it was a little early in the year for cold sensitive plants, like basil and tomatoes, but I decided to take a chance.  Well, that night the temperature dipped down into the lower 30s, and here is the result:

If I had only waited!

So I pulled my Brandywine plant from the ground, resolved to be more patient in the future.  But I just could not stand to toss the shriveled plant onto the compost pit, so I stuck it in a pot--just in case.  A few days later the plant bravely put forth a new leaf in the warm spring Texas sun, and then another.  Eventually, the plant looked like a real plant again (not pretty, I must admit--really rather misshapen).  

So I decided to find another corner of the garden to tuck this plant into--just in case.  Yesterday, after returning from our vacation, "Brandywine" welcomed me home with these three beautiful fruits:

Yes, there is a little insect bite in the tomato on the right--evidence that there were no poisons or chemicals used on this dainty heirloom tomato.  Tonight will be the time to savor the "fruits of my labor"--and to rejoice that the blasted plant did not get thrown onto the compost pit.

The Secret of Eternal Life?

The banana tree.  That's right, bananas--as in long, yellow fruit.  Here's the story.

When we moved into this house in the Texas Hill Country about 18 months ago, the former owners had landscaped the property with banana trees.  There was a large banana tree right next to the front door which, when we first viewed the house, had some bananas ready for picking.  There was another large banana tree next to the garage and a third clump of banana trees at the far corner of the front of the house.  Now, I love bananas (especially before they become over ripe) but we did not exactly want our house to look like it belonged in Central America.  We both agreed that the banana trees did not add to the look we wanted in a house.  The banana trees had to go.

Before commencing the formidable removal task ahead of me, I did some reading about banana trees, which will in fact grow and flourish in this part of the country, but which also die back in winter, leaving a large display of brown banana leaves.  Yuk.  I learned also that the banana tree is almost all water (it must be a very thirsty plant, also not good for these parts where rain is sporadic and unpredictable).  Finally, I learned that coral snakes are attracted to banana trees because of the abundance of water around them.  Horrors!  The most poisonous North American reptile!  For sure, the banana trees had to go.

Removing those trees was my first experience dealing with a huge tropical plant.  When I cut off the tree at the base, I found why it is characterized as being hydrophilic:  the tree gushed water as if I had just hit a subterranean spring.  The root excavation process was challenging, as each tree had huge roots.  Knowing that some plants can regenerate from even a small portion of rootstock, I removed all of the roots.  Since the trees did not return to these spots, I know I got all the roots.

What to do with the wheelbarrows full of banana roots?  I dumped them at the back of the property behind the compost, figuring that eventually they would decompose and turn into soil nourishment.  After winter had passed, I undertook to create a berm to block some of the unsightly areas of the back of the yard, and I realized that those old, rotting banana roots would provide a good base over which I could put top soil as I built up the berm.  Surely those roots which had been out of the ground, subjected to the elements for several months, were harmless.

That's when I learned that banana trees seem to have acquired the gift of eternal life.  The berm is working.  The tithonia and oleander I have planted in the berm block the unattractive areas in the back of the yard.  But guess what?  A banana tree lives!  Eighteen months after exhumation, a banana tree is growing happily as if I had planted it and nurtured it.  I fear that banana trees may be a permanent fixture at this address!

The Daily Harvest

It is mid July in the Hill Country, and that means it is hot.  When the temperature rises, some of the crops in the garden celebrate summer with vigor.  Here is the harvest for today (click on the picture for a full view):

"Most gracious God, by whose knowledge the depths are broken up and the clouds drop down the dew; We yield thee hearty thanks and praise for the return of seedtime and harvest, for the increase of the ground and the gathering in of its fruits, and for all the other blessings of thy merciful providence bestowed upon this nation and people.  And, we beseech thee, give us a sense of these great mercies, such as may appear in our lives by a humble, holy, and obedient walking before thee all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost be all honor and glory, world without end.  Amen" (Book of Common Prayer)

Tithonia to the Rescue!

We have had a break in our company for a while, so I can return to the blog.  And the subject today is tithonia (sometimes called Mexican sunflower).

The challenge was to hide a rather unsightly septic apparatus from the house and the casita.  Sometime in the future, perhaps, when I am really hard up for a topic, I might write about the unusual septic systems in this part of the country--not now.

Suffice it to say that we wanted an attractive living blockade, so while thumbing through garden catalogues last winter I hit on the annual tithonia--which was a new plant to me.  As regular readers will understand, the gardening solution to our problem needed to be 1) deer proof, and 2) able to withstand the heat of a Hill Country summer.  From the catalogue description, and from what I could gather from the internet, tithonia seemed to fill the bill.

The results could not be more pleasing!

The plants are 5-7 feet tall and are full of bright orange flowers.  The stand is attractive from the house and the flowers seem to appeal both to hummingbirds and butterflies.

Here is a closer view of these beautiful blossoms, which seem never to wilt, even on the hottest days:

And this closeup will show you what a stunning flower this is, with its strong upright stem (perfect for cutting):

Today I decided to deadhead the spent blossoms.  Here are the seeds for next year's tithonia fence!

Our Domestic Deer Drama

There's almost always some drama going on in the backyard.  This afternoon it was this little family scene.

Mama grazes while the babies snooze.

Then they hear a sound--your patient photographer?

Is it real danger?  Or a false alarm?

It's definitely time to look for safer pastures.

This drama is over for today.  What will tomorrow bring?