Tomato Tuesday and Delayed Gratification

Tomato Tuesday reflections on planting seeds in the garden, and in life, and the wait to harvest.

I say to-may-toe, you say to-mah-toe...  Let's definitely NOT call the whole thing off, because I have been waiting and have big plans to devour these little yellow darlings!  Finally have something to show off for Tomato Tuesday!

These little grapey yellow ones were grown from the seeds of a market mixed tomato clamshell, so I don't know the variety.  They look pretty much as I recall seeing/eating them last year, so I am happy they developed true to type; the interwebs say sometimes that doesn't happen with the hybrids that end up in the markets.  Never sure if that is just heirloom hype or actual fact.  The yellows were leaps and bounds ahead of the super sweet red grape ones I grew last year and tried sowing again this year - the yellows probably benefitted from all the compost in their pot, whereas the reds were planted in the same pots as last year, with very minimal amendment, just a bit of compost applied to the top around the plants after they were planted.  (Ah well, learning for next year.)  Always just thrilling that the seeds I started months ago in Spring have actually turned into something edible!

Now, I just need to get back to them, or get them to me... all of the tomatoes are still at the Mother Garden; the yellows have grown tall enough that I am not sure I can transport them back to the city without damaging them.  They may stay at Grandma's till they are done for the season.  The reds probably could come in by car - they are so far behind that they would fit - though they will probably get more sun at Grandma's, and have a better chance to mature and set fruit.  So they, too, may stay at Camp Grandma's.  We shall see; I so want them here so I can pick them at just the peak of ripeness.  But they are better off there.  And I can go out and catch them on weekends.  That's probably for the best.  A little bit longer of a separation and they stand a much better chance of becoming the tomatoes they are meant to be.  So I should  just be patient and wait.

Like my vision for my new, more balanced life: I made some initial moves toward developing and building my side gig.  Spoke to two friends who have connections to my target clients.  All to test drive this idea that's been at the back of my mind for probably more than a decade, when the seed was planted in some volunteer work.  So this Summer into Autumn will be the dry run phase - free services in exchange for feedback.  We'll see whether any of it bears fruit, and after that, whether I can actually build the life I want with this as one of the building blocks.

Planning, work, delayed gratification ... all  hallmarks of maturity - the tomatoes', and mine.  Patience.

[Edited August 11, 2021.]

Bobbitted Blossoms, Battered (and Fried)

Aubrey (suspected cousin of Audrey from "Little Shop of Horrors"), the mystery volunteer squash plant of gargantuan proportions that arose from the compost top layer dumped into the largest planter during the mandated rooftop exile, the plant that strangled its tomato planter mates with its climbing tendrils, that collapsed of its own weight over the side of the planter, crushing and bending the tomatoes as it fell, nonetheless nurtures and feeds me, even without mature squash. 

Since I don't actually want to grow squash (my guess so far, from the single female blossom with its little immature ovary, is that we are expecting a little pumpkin) and am just letting Aubrey be, to live out a full and productive life this season with the one squash that seems to be forming, a squash blossom meal, for squashy birth control as much as seasonality of ingredients, was in order. And since I am (somewhat guilt-strickenly) giving myself permission not to work on my day off, today was the day for new ingredient research and experimentation (and a timely blog post!).

First off, the Bobbitting - the interwebs say the stamen is not edible; only the flower is. A shame, because as the stamens were plucked, they had a nice, fresh, vegetally juicy aroma.

Felt a little funny about processing, but 🤷🏻‍♀️. Most of my blossoms were past prime, hard to pry open, the petals crepey and thin and delicate and stuck together, full of pollen. 

Note to self: prime harvest time is just as they first open. I only had one in that stage; it was larger and fleshier and turgid and pre-pollen, perfect for meal prep. The rest, even the one that was in full bloom in the morning, were withered and unyielding and messily yellow-staining. Most of the recipes call for stuffing the blossoms; I didn't bother. It's my day off and that would have been too much effort for likely failure; they just looked like they would tear if I tried to peel them open yet again.

So I just lightly battered (corn starch, salt, smoked paprika, cayenne pepper) and fried and finished with a sprinkling of sea salt while hot, and they were delish! Next time, maybe I will try with seltzer for an even lighter batter. And batter in one batch and fry all of them together while the oil is still hot and plentiful (this go around, in mini batches, some of the batter steamed and looked uncooked, rather than golden crisp). 

And I quite liked my base accompaniment pilaf of rice/quinoa (yes, left over from yesterday) with plentiful spinach and scallion, seasoned with salt and lemon pepper, too. That's another repeater.

This Jardin-centric meal has me counting how many more blossoms Aubrey has budding, and wondering whether enough can come in simultaneously for a repeat meal. Or, the blossoms are supposed to keep up to a week refrigerated; maybe I will try harvesting at peak and storing until the yield is suffucient. And supplementing with young stems - I did one, and it was lovely, not spiny at all.

Salivating for Aubrey's next yield.... 

Reintroduction

Ephraim The Maple and his new treepit mates.

Sometimes, Mother Nature's creations are presented and named before their true selves are known and knowable, and then they are renamed and presented anew.

With love, I re-present to the world Ephraim T. Maple - he needed a middle name, and The is as good as any other (borrowing from the tradition of the clever creators of my favorite frog, Kermit).  

I read that, and it echoes items I have seen of parents reintroducing their at-birth misgendered children, reintroducing them in their teens as their true selves - such a loving approach.  We have come a long way as a society, though much longer to go.  Conversations are a start.  Difficult, contentious conversations ... with Papa Rooster, for one.  He doesn't get it - yet.  He is having trouble understanding how little John-John from next door now has breasts and presents as female.  We have not been introduced to whom I presume to be a her yet; we do not know her name - but I have advised the parentals to listen for it.  Mama Hen gets it.  Hard to know if she is simply more open minded, which I think she is, or if the difference in their ages accounts for the absorption of the concept.  Or maybe mothers are more accepting?  Not always, though - that's too much of a generalization.  But Mother Hen IS more accepting than Papa Rooster; she passed on her nurturing ways towards living things to me.  Though she slaughters plants that I beg to save - the latest batch rehomed to join E.T.Maple.

Yes, I mother plants - I accept and own my quirks; so, yes, I anthropomorphize them too, and bestowing names comes with that territory.

Giving my guerrilla gardens hashtags also comes with the territory.  E.T.Maple's is #YorkvilleUESTreepit507E81, and I finally made a little label so his other caretakers can follow along, and maybe identify themselves, and communicate and coordinate!  Or not - we shall see; it's an interesting experiment.  I met some more of his supporters - it just seems if people follow pet accounts, they might also follow hashtags for the trees that make them happy, and several of my neighbors have shared that E.T.Maple's survival through an exceedingly rough, COVIDy 2020 did just that 😊.  The latest supporter was the lovely young woman who emerged from her building by the tree pit and stopped by to chat and said she had contributed the three river rocks at his base, all the way from Oneonta!

The Before

The tree pit's new little informational label.  Right - a graphic designer I am not; I was far too optimistic about the width of that wooden post.  Perhaps I should add his name.

So yesterday E.T.Maple got new pitmates, evictees from the Mother Garden.  There are four main clumps of sedum in the corners that will flower come Fall.  There are also four pairings of some sort of pale pink poppy-like flower and yellow flowering plant - if they survive the intermittent scorchers of days forecasted, and my absence, over the coming week, they should flower this Summer.  Lastly, the little grape hyacinths in the circle around E.T.Maple - those already flowered this Spring in the Mother Garden, but with their little bulbs now buried and their leaves hopefully absorbing a bit more sun and energy, they may grace us next Spring.

Sedum.

Pale pink poppy-like and yellow flowering plants.

And updates to the seedlings begat from Carl Schurz Park: the mirabilises in each of the side pebble circles are still living, and at least one of the additional pre-soaked seeds that I direct-sowed last time seems to have germinated!  The cleome seedlings interspersed in the tulip circle at the front also seem to have survived and have true leaves!  They should flower late Summer.

The more robust mirabilis.  And above it - that looks like a new mirabilis seedling!

The battered mirabilis seedling - still hanging on.

Cleome seedlings with true leaves.  Above them, the Oneonta river rocks contributed by an E.T. Maple supporter.

Then new tulip bulbs that I dug out a few days ago from the Park Avenue medians supported by Fund for Park Avenue will be planted in Fall for Spring 2022.

To my neighbors: Please help water E.T. Maple and his friends when you walk by!  Thanks!

[Edited May 24, 2021.  NO More to come. Subsequently edited August 27, 2023 to close out.]

Cons of Cooperativeness

Terrace Season Cut Short - Trials and tribulations of living in a New York City cooperative apartment building.  

Barren main part of the terrace.

And just as the growing season got underway, so it came to an abrupt halt. The frustrations of living in a New York City co-op are myriad, not the least of which is having to abide by an unsympathetic board's decision to repair terrace membranes with little warning -  requiring moving every single item off the terrace - on ridiculously short notice, at one's own expense. And losing the use of one's outdoor space for four months, at the height of terrace season, just as vaccination rates have finally kicked in and the CDC has loosened restrictions and recommendations on socializing after a long pandemic.  Oh joy of joys.

The terrace has never been so empty since I have been here.  During all the other bouts of repairs, the planters and furniture were just shifted around. Not this time.

And I fought, and protested.  I wrote long emails.  I recruited my neighbors in the effort.  At the end of the day, all I got was more time and the right to hire movers of my own choosing, for half the cost of what the board's contractor would have charged.  It's not nothing, but a partial victory at best.  And still just annoying, and it took up so much time that I didn't have.  I appreciate that the work had to be done at some point, that my downstairs neighbors have been living with leaks - which is not fun either.  But episodes like this, when I feel so utterly unheard, make me reconsider living in the city; my fantasies turn toward buying a piece of dirt somewhere and living off the grid, where I can garden and kayak at will - try to survive off running an air bnb, go with the blueberry farm plan....  Sissy hit this point two years ago with the big flood, the one that went down five floors.  Living with others is just hard sometimes; communal building living, that microcosm of New York City life, can be trying - it can really feel like the urban jungle, especially without the respite of the terrace to soften the blow.  But then, it's New York - I am not quite ready to be put out to pasture in the suburbs yet.

So the mandate was for everything to come off the terrace.  The large planters and furniture have gone up to the roof.  Assorted small items are inside my apartment and the guestroom. 

But until work actually begins and they shut me in here, the little seedlings can still be put out to get some sun...

Catching the last remnants of sun.

...And, in my act of defiance, I decided the gutter garden could stay - it's not in the way of the terrace pavers or membrane. It will need to serve as my temporary garden until the rest is allowed to return from exile on the roof.

Gutter garden.

With all the busyness of the massive move, I neglected to spritz the tomato seedlings for a few days, and nearly murdered them. But they seem to be bouncing back now with water and sun - all but the smallest and weakest.

Poor, suffering tomato seedlings.

Before the forced exile went down, all of the smaller pots (a guestroom floor's worth) were driven to the Mother Garden for safekeeping. And some of the seedlings that have been indoors got transferred into the large planters to fend for themselves up in exile on the roof; after all, they will just die inside the apartment without proper sun, so might as well see if they can make it in the world on their own.  I had so much hope; the planting of seeds is an act of hope and faith.  The little first-time pepper successes got put out. 

First year of successful snacking sweet pepper seedlings.

Some of the mirabilis and cleomes were put out with the peppers.  It's like sending kids off to college and changing the locks.

Cleome babies, mirabilis babies.

Mirabilis cluster.

Mirabilis planted to fend for themselves.

Mirabilis close up.

Cleome cluster.

Cleomes - settled in.

Cleomes closeup.

Good luck and God speed!

Hope to see all the green babies thriving and well on the other side of this.

Measure of a Decade

Marking the passage of ten years.

Back before I ever heard of frozen shoulders.

Ten years ago I had my first major surgery.  A Facebook reminder came up on my timeline earlier this year marking the day; the post was from Sissy saying she would see me when I came out.  It took five hours; we were only expecting a couple of hours.  I lost so much blood that I got two units infused.  There was some preparation and lead up to the surgery that took up some of the five hours, of course, but the surgery was the bulk of it and the main event/culmination - and in some ways the grand opening to the long, slow personal journey that ended last year.

That surgery was precipitated by little observations from years prior - physical changes I noticed but didn't tend to because they didn't really bother me and I was too busy.  And I just didn't know, didn't connect the dots that I was genetically susceptible.  And then I finally got myself checked out in 2010, the year before 10 years ago, and it became clear that I needed a medical intervention.  

Everything coincided with a professional rough patch - an anchor client died, and I was overwhelmed with work; I came close to breaking...  His widow was of Chinese descent, and I suspect she set their wedding - an odd Sunday in January - precisely to occur on the last possible day before she was to begin an "unlucky" zodiac year, but he died before they'd been married even a year - she couldn't escape it.  That was notable to me - as much as I believe in science, well, sometimes there are inexplicable forces that must be respected.  I took that to heart.  The estate tax return came due toward the end of MY unlucky zodiac year, and there would still be enough time left to schedule the surgery afterward to fall within that year - to be a responsible professional AND tend to my personal needs, and take an extended medical leave, and work break - to usher out my unlucky year and ring in a new and better lunar year.  So that's how that surgery came to be scheduled. 

So what has happened in the decade since that personally significant year?

The Arab Spring happened during my surgery; I spent the first day after the surgery watching coverage from a hospital bed.  Democracy has not taken hold across the Middle East as we had hoped.  Syria is still a sad mess.

That recovery period made me think about what I wanted from life - a baby was one, that was the whole point.  But even though the doctor said to give myself six months to heal and get to getting preggo, I hadn't met Mr. Right and I wasn't quite ready.  That's why we had last year.

The seed for this blog was planted during that first medical leave.  How did I REALLY want to spend my time?  Not in BigLaw.  So how could I learn about this social media thing, and could I monetize any of my hobbies to supplement a step away from BigLaw?  Well, I haven't monetized this thing, but I am still learning from it.  And for now, I own this domain that I conceived of back then (again).  That's something. 

I reached out to my high school ex-boyfriend during those unprecedented five weeks away from work.  I blame my feeling vulnerable as a woman and wanting affirmation of my femininity for that lapse in judgment.  Good thing he didn't respond.  But I saw him at reunion the year after, and he apologized, albeit belatedly, for his hurtful actions.  I learned of his surprisingly long marriage, and two young children.  I think the older of them is a legal adult now, and sleuthing indicates that he remains married.  Pettily, I have held up better than she.  But, of course, she is a married mom of two who owns a business.  So perhaps I need to think of better ways to assess my accomplishments. 

My law school reunion happened that year.  It coincided with Will and Kate's royal wedding.  With the time difference, I watched it in New York before heading down for the reunion.  At reunion I reconnected in person with an acquaintance,  who became a Facebook friend and led me to an increased use of Messenger - and into a phase of electronically reconnecting with boys from my past - turning over all the stones, so to speak.  At the end of that weekend, I visited friends nearby and we were up talking into the night, so we missed the live announcement of the assassination of Osama bin Laden...

... So ten years later and law school and college reunions are slated for underwhelming virtual formats.  I am going to agitate for later in the year real life flash mob reunions - whoever can make it comes.  We need to see and hold each other, confirm that we actually still exist.

... Will and Kate have produced three littles, the youngest of whom just celebrated his third birthday.  The English laws were changed so their second, a girl, will actually precede her little brother in line to the throne.  Slow progress for women in the English monarchy.  In the meantime, we had Megxit and the Oprah interview bombshells, so the monarchy shows itself as moving at snail's pace.

... Those boys from the past: There have been five of varying intensity, a few more if we count the ones who were never in the running.  They are all now friends - an acceptable result.  Some were definitely missteps, but valuable lessons learned.  A couple were real contenders in The Project.  For one, I believe I was his penultimate potential foray before he met HIS soulmate, with whom he now has a long-awaited baby girl.  They did the journey too, ahead of, but overlapping mine.  He offered, and I actually considered calling his wife in my lowest moments of The Project.  And then there was the boy who touched my soul - or, I still feel like he did.  But my Mr. Right remains elusive, still hiding under his stone somewhere. 

When I shared with friends the surgery that decade ago, I learned of a few who were in late stages of pregnancy then, including my sole single mom friend.  She's been the reassurance it could be done.  But also the reminder of how hard it can be.  She took a leave and brought the baby home to visit family, and when I recovered enough to  travel by plane, I went down to spend a week at the beach with them.  That child just hit double digits.  

And my cousins had babies.  And I went out to visit those nuggets, who also hit double digits this year.  And to pass the week between my imposing myself on their parents, I vacationed by myself for the first and - unintentionally - only time.  I took myself to an all-inclusive, activity-centric resort in Mexico, and LOVED it.  I learned the trapeze, I learned to climb a wall, I tried water skiing (with less success); I learned to be by myself but also to make new, casual, short-term friends.

During the week away with my single mom friend, my closest friend from high school got married at city hall for health insurance reasons - impromptu, and compelled in part because the changing local marital landscape meant less recognition of domestic partnerships, in her husband's employer's case - with everyone able to get married, they needed to be married for coverage.  So they are still strong, and marriage equality remains the law, even if constantly under attack. 

And the year after, with more family travel and wanting space to host - gentlemen callers, among others, I bought space downstairs for Sissy.  She was supposed to launch to offset the expenses of her space.  She is out of the apartment, technically, but not yet launched.

Vacation vistas.

So we measure a decade, and I suppose my frustration is that not much has changed for me at all.  Still in BigLaw, which is now close to unbearable.  Unlaunched sibling.  No Mr. Right.  No nugget - and so when news hits for others, for all I want to be happy, there is a tinge and a tug and a tear.

It's hard to give myself a good grade for this decade.  And I have to take responsibility for that, and grab the steering wheel, and drive already.  Then when I hear happy news for others, I can be happy for knowing I have done all I can to be happy.

 [Edited April 25, 2021.]

Sustenance for the Soul

The Obelisk in Central Park.

A walk around the Reservoir with friends and other Springtime rituals in Central Park - almost like before COVID.

Friend N was in town this past weekend visiting her mother-in-law and gave late notice that she could sneak into the city to meet with our classmate A.  So much to do, but visits with friends are rare these days, and to be invited by an out of towner is special - worth making the time and effort.  I declined outdoor lunch - still a week off from dose #2 and playing it safe - but proposed instead a masked, outdoor walk around the Reservoir felt ok.  So on Sunday I headed over to Central Park for our mini-reunion.

Oh, how replenishing it was to see old friends, and nature, and Spring - how long I have gone without those ordinary pleasures (how long we all have - over a year now); how it fills the empty space inside of me to drink all of them up, even if only for a few short hours!  

To see people I have known over two decades now, to feel safe and be able to speak openly about hopes and dreams and disappointments, to sow the seeds - or, at least, to cast them broadly and see if any will germinate - for the future.  

To actually experience the seasonal changes - the return of the plants from their Winter’s hibernation - more widely than on my tiny (but mighty!) terrace, in beloved Central Park!  How I’ve missed the exercise, and the checking on the progress of the plants, Mother Nature's grounding rhythms... they used to be the cornerstone of my fitness and sanity maintenance routines, in the Before Times.

Magnolias - showy stars of Spring.

Heading back east, approaching the Obelisk, I caught a glimpse of Alex Da Corte’s “As Long as the Sun Lasts” atop the Met rooftop. Love me a sighting of Big Bird, even when he’s blue.  The work is a unity of two of my favorites - Sesame Street and Calder.

New exhibit on the Met Rooftop.

And then there were the lovely Spring garden vignettes of the fancy townhouses.

Townhouse front garden for Spring. 

[Edited April 24, 2021.]

Forays into Foraging

Rice noodle "salad" with vegetarian chorizo and chickweed.

Returning to the blog with food porn - eating the weeds from the planters.

I was introduced by my friend E to @green_thyme recently when E posted that a lot of the edible wild plants featured by @green_thyme were growing in her own lawn, and she was going to give a wild greens pesto recipe a try.

So, the other day, @green_thyme featured chickweed, among other "weeds," and I realized it looked familiar. Upon closer inspection of my planter containing the maples, there it was, in abundance. I Googled to confirm it was, in fact, chickweed, took a little nibble, did not die or get sick, Googled some recipes, and, emboldened, decided to go all in with a harvest...

Tasty weeds.

Now, I have been following @66squarefeet for years, and so gradually have become accustomed to her forages (though, really, I follow her mainly for the small space/container gardening aspects of her blog). Born and bred city girl that I am, foraging and wild foods have not been in my wheelhouse. Mother Hen, my gardening mentor, also was born and raised and has lived all her life in cities, so there was no foraging in her upbringing to pass on to me. Gardening for her came of necessity when she arrived in the United States and could not find the fresh herbs that are so essential to Vietnamese cuisine. In New York City, she began with pots on the windowsills of our first apartment when she was able to get seeds from friends - everyone had to grow their own if they wanted herbs Vietnamese herbs in those early days. And when Mama Hen and Papa Rooster finally got a house with a yard, Mama Hen's inner gardener finally had a canvas with which to work. So my green thumb was trained in the world of domesticated and cultivated plants. Wild edibles are new and strange and still somewhat scary.

Wild edibles aplenty.

So harvesting the chickweed, which in past years I cut down and mulched in place to make room for edible plants (ha!), is a new step. I decided on  Vietnamese style rice noodle "salad" topped with vegetarian chorizo. Happily, my hodge podge, multicultural dinner was DELICIOUS! I am now sold on the chickweed! Thanks to E for the encouragement, and @green_thyme and @66squarefeet for the inspiration, information and tips!

[Edited April 24, 2021.]