Oh, does the garden ever grow.

Lewisburg.

It's been a rainy, cool spring. (Today: raining yet again.) This is good for some of the garden - i.e., the lettuces and other greens, the onions, the peas - and less than awesome for other parts of it, such as the tomatoes and peppers. Those hot-weather crops are doing well enough, considering. But it's unlikely to be a bumper crop year.

That's how it works, it seems; I doubt it's possible to have a perfect year of vegetable weather, one that'll goad every plant into producing like mad. The superproductive ones make up for the weak links, and the farmers' market and CSA options fill in the gaps.

And then there are strawberries:



This is just one of very, very many. Yesterday's picking brought us up to quart number sixty-two. That's just a shade under two bushels, though, admittedly, packing strawberries into bushel baskets would be especially disastrous. Or, to put it another way: at an approximate pound-and-a-quarter per quart, that's more than seventy-five pounds of strawberries. For less than thirty bucks' worth of plants put in last year, that's not a bad return. Plus, we've got plenty of jam, syrup, liqueur, and goodwill from friends to tide us through until next year's harvest.¹

The peas are coming on, too. Lovely purple flowers...



...turn into delicious golden pods:



Prolific and delicious, and I've had the presence of mind let a handful of pods grow to maturity for next year's planting.

Also maturing: blueberries. The bird netting's gone up - though the occasional crafty avian has already figured out a way inside - so we'll be transitioning from one fresh fruit to another. And making more jam...



Meanwhile, the garden proper is looking better by the day:



There is, of course, some very happy lettuce:



As well as some vigorous oregano, alive and well from last year:



The potatoes are happy, too, with clusters of flowers opening atop the Purple Peruvian plants:



They even have purple veining on the leaves, though it fades to green as the leaves grow. I was hoping for purple flowers, too, but I guess there's only so much purple one plant can produce.

Last, of course, is the so-far-lovely tomato cage:



Twenty tomato plants and three tomatillos. (They're the three smallish plants nearest to the camera. More sensitive to cold weather, they transplanted later than tomatoes.) They don't look like all that much now, but the Stupice are flowering, and the rest have flower clusters about ready to pop. In fact, they might have already; the rain's keeping me inside.

So far, it's been an effective deterrent to critters of all sorts. There's no roof above, and the crossbars are about six feet up, so I can open up the "gate"² and walk through unimpeded. I train the tomatoes to strings running down from the support beams, carefully removing unwanted suckers - one per plant's nice, and the occasional extra isn't a problem - and by midsummer, I'll be walking in a corridor of tomato greenery and fruits. With a little luck, of course.

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¹We're not done picking for this year. But it's slowing down considerably. Peak picking, going out every other day: a dozen quarts. Yesterday was a mere seven.

²Extra netting attached to a length of conduit that's tied into place, so it's like the cheapest, laziest door ever built.

So many strawberries.

Lewisburg.

Last year, I filled a garden bed with strawberry plants.¹ After removing the flowers and letting them send out as many runners as they liked, we now have a bed that's fully packed with them. And with all those plants come an amazing quantity of ripe, delicious strawberries.

I picked the first quart about a week and a half ago, after working to remove the protective netting and yank the weeds. Every other day or so, it was time to pick again, until we ended up with this for yesterday's picking:



Nine quarts, which brings the total for the season to seventeen. These nine, it's worth noting, were those that had ripened since we'd picked on Friday, two days earlier. Strawberry season is officially in full force.

In addition to devouring them fresh, we've been doing what we can to limit the number taking up fridge space by preserving them.

Strawberry-rhubarb jam? Check. Straight strawberry's going to be the next batch - quite possibly tomorrow, given the rate at which the plants are producing.

Dried strawberries? Check. Especially good in scones; their flavor really seems to sing in baked goods.

Strawberry ratafia? Check. I'm planning to try a strawberry liqueur shortly, too.

We'll freeze some, too. They're perfect for summer smoothies, especially after coming home following a good run on a hot and humid morning.

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¹I also planted some alpine strawberries, which are doing quite well in their second year, but they're a pleasure of a different sort.

Planters and transplants.

Lewisburg.

It's been a little while since I last wrote anything about the garden, but it's not as though I haven't been busy. It's just that plain dirt doesn't make for the most engaging photos. Now, however, with greenery abounding, I can blather on once more.

Behold, the mighty deck planter:



It's actually one of two. Currently, this one holds French breakfast and easter egg radishes, hakurei turnips, broccoli raab, and two kinds of peas: a yellow edible-podded variety from India and a blue shelling variety from the Netherlands, I think. Seed Savers gives the name as Blauwschokker, and it's certainly a shocking sort of blue. I don't know how they taste, since the deer ate the plants last year, but the ornamental blue pods alone are worth the space.

This planter's big, by the way. The plantable area's six feet long, twenty-one inches wide, and eighteen inches deep.¹ Big enough to plant just about anything short of a tree, which means I have options. Other than moving them, of course; they're heavy and unwieldy enough empty to require two people to maneuver.

Also visible here: Alpine strawberries, overwintered from last year, and quite vigorous; half of a pot of mint - the other half having moved out to the back garden to take over as much space as it likes; lavender about to flower; a miniature rose for Sharon; and lots of tomato and pepper seedlings.



I took the picture Saturday. Yesterday, the tomatoes moved outside (and into their protective structure, dubbed the "tomato cage"), and the peppers went today. All but for four of them, that is; the Fish and Red Thai chillis will stick around in containers on the deck. Fish, so that they can be seen; Red Thai so that I can ripen them indoors if the weather turns too early. They're hot, delicious, and dry well, and there were far too many sitting green on last year's plants when the frosts overwhelmed the plants.

Meanwhile, it's harvest time for salad greens and radishes, and I had my first ripe strawberry yesterday. (Full-size, not Alpine. Unbelievably good.) At this point, more than half of the season's planting is done, so it's down to trying to protect everything from the critters in the yard so there's enough to harvest. It's a progressive learning experience.

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¹I got a little carried away, I suppose, but they're really quite nice to have.

A snapshot of spring.

Lewisburg.

Spring is here. The violets are out:



The crabapples are ready to burst into bloom:



The thyme is looking bigger and better than it was when I covered it up in the fall:



And the grow table is covered in miniature greenery:



Complete with lovely little true leaves on the tomatoes.¹



True to spring form, it's also raining today, meaning that the radishes, turnips, and shallots can wait a little longer for planting. I doubt they'll mind all that much.

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¹They're looking even better today. This photo's from a week or more ago, and they're at the point where I need to seriously consider thinning them out.

Mussels.

Lewisburg.

I love mussels. I realize that they're not for everyone, with a relatively powerful shellfish flavor, and a pretty high "ick" factor for those who're squeamish about where meat comes from, but I just adore them. Even with all of the other seafood options available, it's one that I'll swing back to, time and time again.

For starters, there's less question of freshness and quality with mussels, as compared to, say, fish fillets. They're still alive when you get them, with a handy tag telling you when and where they came out of the water. No concerns about multiple freezings, or sitting too long in the cooler display, or any of that.

Unlike other bivalves, they're sand- and grit-free. As tasty as clams are, it's always aggravating when you realize another change of fresh water would've been appropriate. And they don't require specialized, hand-puncturing knives¹ to enjoy, unlike oysters. Also: no little hidden bones or other, uh, textural surprises.

The sand-free benefit comes from the cultivation method used, which involves suspending ropes seeded with mussel spat from rafts, thus keeping them well away from the ocean floor. This gets mussels a big thumbs-up from the Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch, which notes that "[mussel] aquaculture operations often benefit the surrounding marine habitat."

Mussels are also very, very easy to cook, which makes them a real treat for busy days. I like to cook them the day that I bring them home,² if possible, but another day or two in the fridge has never been a problem. Even Emily Weinstein agrees that they're about as simple as can possibly be. My preferred method is how Sharon and I used to enjoy them at the Hopleaf Bar in Chicago: in wheat beer with shallots, celery, thyme, and bay leaf. Theirs also comes with a basket of heavenly frites and aioli - sometimes I'll make potatoes, but I'm too lazy for frites - but that's just icing on top.



Also good if you've got some: a fine Breton or Norman dry cider. Traditional? No. But never not delicious.

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¹Okay, I've never actually tried shucking oysters before, but my access to high-quality ones is extremely limited, anyhow. I'm perfectly happy leaving the shucking to the professionals, and only having them as a very occasional treat.

²Ideally Wednesday, since the trash goes out that night.

Yogurt.

Lewisburg.

Harold McGee makes his own yogurt. Now, so do I.

The process is so wonderfully simple that it doesn't even merit a recipe sidebar:

• Heat milk until it reaches 180° to 190°F. I picked up a gallon of whole milk, and ladled out half for ricotta when it hit the 160°F mark.
  
  
• Cool to 115° to 120°F. Mix in two tablespoons of live yogurt per quart.
  
  
• Keep warm for the next four hours, or until it's set and appropriately tangy. I poured the cultured milk into - of course - old yogurt containers, wrapped them in kitchen towels, and set them inside an insulated cooler.¹

Then it's either eat or refrigerate. I can't imagine how this might get any easier. (Or cheaper.)

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¹It's insurance against accidental dog collisions as much as anything.