The perfect Thursday night includes a recipe of the following:
- One giant bowl filled with Calendula, Lavender, Pansies, three types of Roses and Sweet Peas.
- One steaming bathtub filled with water.
- Candles. So many lit candles that smoke detectors could possibly go off.
- Cold Champagne.
- No one else in your house (this is key!).
Open the latch on the little gate that guards my front door, and you will be greeted by two barking dogs in a window, roses (‘Benjamin Britten’) in full bloom, and a riot of color to the left and right of you. You will also find a smattering of nasturtium sprawled across the few steps leading to the door. By now, anyone in my life worth a grain of cottonseed meal knows not to walk up the front steps, avoiding a potential and unforgivable accident of squashing my annual’s orgy (*note that it reads “annual’s orgy”, not “annual orgy”). I’ve noticed the entrance to my house has slowly evolved into the fabulous little hermitage I’ve always wanted. The nasturtium and lavender are like constantly vigil bouncers, turning their foliage away when confronted by any non-plant like being, saying “too filled with flowers to allow for people, sucks for you.”.
And the sweet peas occasionally attack if you smell too close. Beware and enjoy.
Here is my interpretation of snails at a rave.
(Brought to you by us propagating succulents and grasses, and scraping off the clusters of asshole snails off each one gallon, plastic container. I can’t express how revolting it is to feel snail goo imbedded in your finger nails, before 10am. Ungodly.)
Yesterday in the early evening, I drove down to my farm to unload some flats of tomatoes and lavender I bought from the nursery. I normally wouldn’t drive all the way down to the farm to just unload a couple flats, but it was the tail end of a shit-tastic week and driving south tends to help my mood, in the event I’m feeling less than great. I slowed my truck on the driveway, which made that fabulous crunching sound, which for some reason reminds me of Fall no matter what time of year it actually is. I pulled the flat of Lavender out of the back of my truck, and placed it at the end of the newly mowed planting strip. The field had been cover cropped in early Fall, and now was a bona fide meadow, just under knee high with favas, mustard, thistle and little wisps of grass leaves. I walked through the field and surveyed how everything was doing; herbs like lavender, thyme, sage and rosemary were thriving in their little mulched beds. The ground was hissing with a beautiful cacophony of bugs moving from mowed section to meadow, probably somewhat displaced but happy to be soaking in the last bit of sun for the day. I walked back down the driveway, and thought about getting in my truck to drive home. Instead, I thought it best to nap on the driveway, next to the field. The flat of thyme I forgot to plant the day before made a wonderful pillow for the next hour.
I’m not talking about the always effusive ‘Altissimo’ climbing rose or an over zealous Jasmine vine. I’m talking about social climbing in the garden world, mostly seen in plant descriptions on website and online nurseries. Here’s an example of what I mean:
“Clematis are the aristocrat of climbers; their rich hues and varied bloom times enable the gardener to have masses of bloom from late winter to late fall. “
I’m assuming they mean that clematis is hobnobbing with nobility, spending “old money” and purchasing vast acres of land? The latter being why they sprawl out so much?
In any event, this got me thinking about my own social class and where I would fit in. Is my gardening style and plant preference indicative of French Revolution or kombucha-pushing Berkeley farmer? Am I a lady who lunches kind of gardener, or an antiquated clodhopper?
I’ve tried to get in with the Boronia crowd. A few years back I had a brief but thrilling affair with one in my old garden, but since never have really tried to rekindle anything. It’s a botanical social circle I just don’t seem to fit into – they have uptight drainage needs, and I have an unacceptable amount of clay soil. Rhododendrons are another class I just can’t get with. We’ve both actively tried to spend some time together, rubbing shoulders at landscape design events and garden parties – I’ve even made the gesture of planting some for a few clients. But neither one of us feels at home with the other, keeping our guards up and realizing things could end badly.
I’d like to think it’s not my style to climb a social class, but rather to sprout a new one. Cultivating one part cover crops, one part annies annuals, another part heirloom veggie seed with a smattering of vertical succulent growing. Oh, and mushroom compost.
A flute of cuvée de prestige doesn’t hurt either.
Ipomea suducing the nasturtium
*To the poor, poor souls who hate Valentine’s Day… find another blog post to read. But if you love Valentine’s Day, and want to spice it up naturally… continue below.
Her breath is like honey spiced with cloves,
Her mouth delicious as a ripened mango.
To press kisses on her skin is to taste the lotus,
The deep cave of her navel hides a store of spices
What pleasure lies beyond, the toungue knows,
But cannot speak of it.
- Srngarakarika, Kumaradadatta, 12th century
Valentine’s Day is for lovers… in what ever capacity you like to love. So, in tribute to love, here are some veggies and spices you may want to bring to the dinner table tonight – or every night for that matter.
Anise (Pimpinella anisum) a fabulous ingredient for making jams, cookies, salad dressings, and liqueurs. (*Also fabulous in sugar scrub form)Anise is the base for Pernod, a liqueur fashionable in 19th century Europe, when drunk in excess leads to madness and death. Drunk in smaller doses, it is said to induce “lust in newlyweds” and to cure impotence.
Dill (Anethum graveolens) The leaves are used especially with fish, and the seeds in salad dressings, baking, breads and eaten raw for good digestion. Is said to instigate arousal within one hour (or your money back!). Plus… the leaves are good for tickling.
Parsley (Petroselinum crispum) Sooo that’s why parsley is on the side of every dish! Some texts say that parsley, prepared as a balm for rubbing on one’s body (erogenous zones), produces hallucinations before climax.
Asparagus (Asparagus officinalis) Quite possibly the finest of all in the vegetable kingdom. They taste great, fun to eat and phallic… what else could one want? In Sheikh Nefzawi’s The Perfumed Garden, we find several recipes for reviving the enthusiasm of exhausted lovers: “He who boils asparagus and then fries them in fat, adding egg yolks and powdered condiments, and eats this dish daily, will see his desire and his powers considerably fortified.”
Carrot (Daucus carota) Otherwise known as the “widow’s consolation” (I guess it would be a consolation, depending on the slouch you were with…), carrots were first cultivated in the Europe in the 16th century and were brought to America by the fist English colonists. Due to the vitamin A content and its shape, it is ascribed the power to feed sexual appetites… in one way or another.
Garbanzo (Cicer arietinum) In The Perfumed Garden the young Abu El Heidja fulfills the Herculean task of deflowering 80 virgins in a single night (wow, a good night at the club!), all thanks to a meal with an abundance of garbanzo beans.
Truffle Also called “testicle of the earth” (how sweet!) this fungus has an intense scent and a sensual flavor that, unless you were dead, will be sure to illicit your sensual side.
This beauty is a Gunnera that Rob (the famous Pitch Plant guy) gave me.
Wait.
Let me begin, from the beginning… Rob had dug up a giant cluster of gunner he had growing rampant in his garden, and asked if I wanted some. He reminded me of how giant they get and told me he had a bunch of them. I enthusiastically said Yes! I wanted them all. I am a glutton for plants, and even though my garden is tiny – between my vast driveway, little farm, and endless plant friends – I figured they would find a home. So Rob drove them to my house (encased in garbage bags, seat-belted in the back seat of his car – that looked eerily reminiscent of dead bodies) last Sunday and I now have a family of gunnera.
I planted two in my back garden, to (hopefully, one day) achieve the hermitage I’ve always wanted, in and amongst giant plant foliage. But one cluster is going into a giant pot in a really bright room I have upstairs in my house. I understand no one in history has attempted to plant gunnera inside of their house in a pot – but I will, and it will prove to be fabulous. I’ll keep you posted.
(Thanks again for the hook up, Rob!)
Here’s Sprout, pouting because I’m forcing her to take a picture next to the gunnera. She’s such a little bitch sometimes.
This time of year we (gardeners, and the like) prune everything back for the Winter. Almost every mature plant in your garden gets some sort of hair cut, be it significant or a small dead-heading. But have you ever wondered what the plants thinks of all this?
I like to assume my plants enjoy when I prune them. My roses feel refreshed when I dead-head old, spent blossoms. My boxwood is happy when it gets a swift sheering on all sides; I like to imagine it feels like its just lost 10 pounds – but not in the “I worked really hard by going to the gym” way, but more in the “I have a hot date and am starving myself except for alcohol for the next three days” way. Shearing boxwood is like cutting out carbs for a couple weeks.
So. Yeah! I think plants like to be pruned, right?
Plant sensitivity has been widely studied since the beginning of… well, studying. I guessing (since that’s what you do on a blog, as opposed to a doctoral thesis) phototropism was the first noticeable, almost tangible studying of plant sensitivity. Phototropism is a growth movement induced by light or sun, or lack there of. Pretty simple, where there is light, a plant will move toward said area. The perfect example always being – sunflowers. Even (especially) as seedlings, they tilt and stretch towards a source of heat or light. And that we get. We understand this very obvious and visual plant sensitivity. But what about simply touching a plant, speaking a certain way around them or even (here we go! off to the races…) having a certain energetic way of being around them?
Take this picture of this orchid. The fine, tiny hairs on a Paphiopedilum orchid are purely functional. The trichome have evolved to grow for a number of reasons, namely to mimic aphids – which in turn, attract aphid eating insects including the Syrphid fly, one of the plant’s pollinators. Smarty pants little orchid, no? But by simply looking at these hairs they have a connotation around them that they could possibly be for feeling something else.
Do you think this orchid blossom can feel what I’m feeling? Does she feel tickled when I touch the small hairs on her petals or the difference of when I water her with warm or cold water? Does she have a preference between Snoop Dogg or Marvin Gaye?
I say, Yes.
However, your thoughts are more important… please comment.
(Much more to come on this topic… consider this a teaser.)
I’m feeling really clicky today…
Here are a handful of my most cherished lovelies at the moment… take a peak and let me know what you think! xoxo
Dinner last night came partially from my amazement that I had never tried a Julia Child recipe, and partially from being completely in lust with all the fall fruits and vegetables. (No, I don’t feel strange for lusting after root crops or the like.) What’s not to be inspired by?
Here, I’ll say it s l o w l y…
one hardback “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” book
onions
brown eggs
butter
fresh cheese
spinach
sea salt
champagne
mission figs
warm strawberries
champagne
grapes with seeds
champagne
some other stuff but you get the point.
Needless to say it was delightful. Soupe à L’oignon Gratinée and a Quiche were served with local, fresh fruit.
Carla (celebrity blogger) enjoying (or at least pretending) French Onion Soup.
Here is my favorite fork, stolen from the Palace Hotel in SF. Long story.
Ah, the champagne cork. An old friend.
Cheers! Go out and eat the season as much as possible before it gets cold!
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Dirty Girl Gardening is a sister company to Wildflower Farms ,our organic landscape design company based out of Half Moon Bay, California.
For information and to get started on your next landscape project please contact Jennifer at Wildflower Farms or 650-726-5883 
