March 18, 2024

Wilted lettuce

Our Empty Nest Garden is exploding! The lawn may be burning up, but thanks to a couple of 100’ lengths of hose attached to the barn hydrant, there’s water galore for the garden. Our Rural Water bill might double, but when I see those Garden Rose Radishes grow to the length of carrots, and as fat as my arm, I just laugh and sprinkle more. Ginnie and I paw carefully through the viney jungle of cucumber, “mushmelon” and “punkin” vines, and apply water directly to the roots. This way we’re not watering bare ground that will sprout weeds, although the “cupes,” melons and “punkins,” by spreading out, are doing a respectable job of weed control, like a web covering the earth.

After our early morning run-walk, we stop and do a little garden work before a “hearty,” hobby-farm breakfast of bacon and eggs. I find the early-morning garden work a quiet, relaxing way of starting the day. The sun is coming up, the wind is calm, and the morning dew, cool against bare legs, makes for easy weed pulling and hoeing. We keep the hoe hanging on the fence for handy use. After the initial weeding, and selective watering, weeding is almost fun.

Our Empty Nest Garden may have started out as a sad patchwork quilt, because a lot of seed didn’t germinate, but it is filling out quite nicely, like a gangly teenager growing up. Live and learn. Next year we will get the garden in earlier, and see if that helps. We’re also planning on doubling its size.

The “punkin” vines are proudly displaying sherbert balls of glory, with the flaming yellow bloom still attached. The “mushmelons” are striped green, handle-less suitcases, and the “cupes” are getting to the stage of too-many-for-salads, and “it’s-about-time-for-Ginnie-to-take-a-sack-full-to-work.” We have cucumbers and onions with almost every supper. Next will be fried cucumbers. Here’s a question for you. Our “cupes” are “Burpee Burpless.” Isn’t that an oxymoron? How can something be “Burpee” and “Burpless” at the same time?

The pride of our garden, however, is lettuce. It’s “Paris Island Romaine,” chosen by default — there was no other lettuce seed left. It’s nothing like the romaine you get in plastic bags at the store, it’s more like spinach—large leaves of green, elephant-ear sheaves, that keep in the refrigerator for days after picking. We have so much lettuce that we give bag fulls away to anyone foolish enough to say they like lettuce, along with a couple elephant-trunk radishes for ballast. One old boy told me to cut the radishes into slices, roll in batter, and deep fry like mushrooms. Sounds scrumptious, like the radish sandwiches we used to make as kids.

I mentioned to Ginnie that I like wilted lettuce. She went to work. Oh, man, we made a meal out of it. Here’s the recipe for wilted lettuce: 2 bunches leaf lettuce, washed; 4 slices bacon, diced; 1/4 cup vinegar; 1/3 cup chopped green onion; 1/4 teaspoon salt; 1/8 teaspoon pepper; 2 teaspoons sugar. Shred lettuce. In large skillet, fry bacon until crisp. Add vinegar. Remove skillet from heat. Add lettuce and onion. Season with salt, pepper and sugar. Toss until lettuce is wilted. Enjoy.

A good cure for constipation (trust me), wilted lettuce is sort of like dying and going to garden heaven.

Our candy corn is tasseling and forming ears. It won’t be long.

Garden Joke: What did mama mushmelon say to her daughter when the daughter wanted to run away with Big Boy Tomato and get married?

“You cantaloupe!”

Contact Curt Swarm at 319-217-0526

or curtswarm@yahoo.com