The dog days of August

There’s an inevitability to August. From the beginning of the gardening season until mid-August, it’s all about growth. Then in mid-August there is a subtle but noticeable change. This year it happened on August 13. That was the first day when the sun set here in Morristown before 8:00 p.m. To be precise, it set at 7:59. Today, August 17, the sun set at 7:53. We’ve lost 6 minutes of daylight in just 5 days. Conversely, the nights have become longer and that seems to be the trigger. While the days may still be hot as blazes, plants seem to feel the darkness and cool more. One manifestation of this change is the dew that forms on the plants overnight. As the night hours lengthen, dew stays on the leaves longer. This sets up the conditions for a host of garden problems. One of the most common is powdery mildew. This common fungal disease can affect a wide variety of plants. In my garden, zucchini are the first to fall victim. Now some people might be happy about this by mid-August. I’m not one of them. While certain organic treatments provide a modicum of relief, my experience has taught me that this is the beginning of the end for my zucchini. It’s not just the zucchini, though. The arrival of powdery mildew always signals the end of the relentless movement upwards in the garden. Despite the bounty arriving every day, I know inside that the days are numbered.

Most people I know in the Northeast find February the most difficult month. But for me, it has always been August that stirred me to melancholy. I think there is an interplay of both physical and psychological factors at work. There is something about the unrelenting heat and humidity that characterizes late summer, which puts me in a funk. In the days before we had AC, some of that was caused by night after night of sleeping badly on soggy sheets.  I recall being perpetually cranky as a result. I can’t use that as an excuse any more. 

I have noticed though that, as I age, the accumulated effects of several months’ worth of physical work begin to take their toll on me. When summer begins, I don’t care how much I have to sweat to get the job done. By mid-August, though, I’m just thinking whether I really need to do that task at all. I find myself feeling lazy and apathetic. The chores that animated me in June, now just seem mechanical and tedious. The psychological factors of this malaise are a little more difficult to pinpoint. In the garden, part of the ennui come from knowing that even one’s best efforts cannot counteract the forces of nature at work. The ineluctable ticking downward of the celestial clock marks the days now. The long shadow of winter seems to be just over the horizon. Additionally, when I was teaching, I would experience a kind of mourning for the imminent loss of freedom from a schedule that awaited me. I’d find myself being angry and resentful about having to give up even the work, which, at the moment, seemed so uninteresting. Sometimes the anticipation of returning to the classroom would provide temporary relief, but not much. It was only when the first cold front of late August would push through that I would find real relief. The same air that swept away the haze and humidity of the dog days of August would freshen my thoughts and emotions too.

Mea culpa

By every standard, this has been an amazing growing season and I feel blessed that I have the time to take full advantage of it. We have had day after day of sunny and moderately hot- but not too hot - weather. There has been consistent rain too, mostly in the form of late afternoon and evening thundershowers. I have not had to water much at all. The result is a garden that is overflowing with fantastic vegetables. It also is the reason why I have not written a blog post since June. The work has kept me so busy that I have had little time to write. We may have had one rainy day since my last post, so I have not been inside much.  Until recently, I would even  go back to the garden for an hour after Compline. Then it was time for a quick shower, a little housekeeping and then to bed. So,my apologies. I hope to be posting more regularly soon.

Angelus

A little break in the garden reporting. I have been attending the General Chapter (meeting) of my monastic congregation at St. Anselm Abbey in Manchester, NH.

It’s just 6:45 in the morning and we are gathered in the dimness of the abbey church waiting for Matins and Lauds to begin. The monastic choir is quite full; yet, one senses a stillness that is almost tangible. It’s not totally quiet, though – there are coughs, the rustling of papers and the shuffling feet of the late arrivals. The stillness is something different. It’s like a scale that has just come into balance. This stillness is equipoise. At the same time, however, it is packed with energy, like runners waiting for the starter’s gun to fire. The monks await in readiness the start of Morning Prayer.

 All at once, the stillness is broken. A bell begins to ring. It tolls three times – the Angelus. The kneelers fall into place and the monks drop themselves onto them, some effortlessly, some with the weariness of age. “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary . . .” Why are we doing this, anyway? This is not meant for us. The Angelus came into existence for the layfolk to pray, while the monks and nuns were praying in church. It was intended to be substitute for lay people to take the place of the Liturgy of the Hours that the professionals were reciting. Three times a day – morning, noon, and evening – the bell summoned the faithful to this prayer. They would stop where they were and bow their heads.  The familiar image of a young girl at silent prayer comes into the mind’s eye. “and she conceived of the Holy Spirit. . . Hail, Mary, full of grace”

The bell tolls again, three times. I sneak a quick look around me at all the heads bowed in prayer. “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.” We are beginning this day recalling the very beginning of the story, the greatest story ever told, as it is known. The Almighty is asking this young girl, the chosen of the Chosen, to become the unwed mother of her people’s messiah. “Let it be done to me according to your word.” She accepts and say ‘yes’. Does she know? How can she? But she trusts. This day has barely begun. Do I know? How can I know what will happen today. I mutter the words, “Let it be done to me according to your word.” I want to believe and put my trust in God alone. In reality, I’m thinking about all the things I have to do today.

A third time the bell rings three times. “And the Word became Flesh”. In the silence of love, the Creator of all things visible and invisible fills the womb of this young virgin. In the iconography of the event, the full of grace bows her head in acceptance. Along with my brothers, I bow my head in wonder and adoration of this ineffable mystery. “and dwelt among us.” The God of heaven and earth has become one of us and dwells among us now, this day, here with these monks from across the country. This is my prayer as we finish, “Help me to see You in these fellow human beings, these incarnations of God’s love. Hail Mary, full of grace.

The bell begins its final peal. Nine times. “Pour forth we beseech Thee, O Lord, thy grace into our hearts. Yes, Lord, pour your grace into my heart. I need your grace to love these creatures, all creatures, as you love them. Oh, I can be nice to them well enough. But, can I see You in them? Love You I them? Worship You in them? “that we, to whom the mystery of the incarnation was made known by the message of an angel. . . “

All goes still again.  We continue to kneel in silent prayer as the first rays of the morning sun pierce the stained glass. Poised. Ready to begin our sacrifice of praise. Somewhere in the distance, the abbot knocks. Obediently we rise to our feet. From the other end of the room, a young monk intones: “O Lord, open my lips.” The silence of the night is broken and; once more, this band of black-robes takes up the fragile chorus, “and my mouth shall show forth your praise.”

Crunch Time - Part 1

In my work career, I often had occasion to say, “Every job has crunch time and this is ours.” Well, for a gardener in the Northeast, mid-May to mid-June is crunch time. During this period, it finally warms up enough to get the more sensitive plants into the ground. The last few weeks have definitely been crunch time for me, which is why there have been no new posts. I have spent most of the daylight hours for the last three weeks getting both seeds and transplants into the garden’s soil. Today is the first rainy day in weeks, so I will try to catch up.

Potting up the seedlings

Crunch time for me has three distinct areas: seeding, hardening-off, and transplanting. While the activities are distinct, they are all happen simultaneously. There is a very small window in which these key gardening elements need to be carried out in order to insure success.  This is what makes the work so intense. For me, late spring has always been a juggling act at best, given the demands of work and the weather. I am so blessed that this year I have all the time I need; and, the weather has been extremely cooperative. Even so, I have struggled to get it all done. Fortunately, almost all of it is finished now.

New Jersey's cool,wet spring

While early spring was relatively wet and cool, late spring has been pretty close to ‘normal’ for our area. By mid-May, the weather settled down and temperatures began to rise. The soil was now warm enough to direct seed most vegetables. I sowed some bush beans, zucchini, cucumbers and sunflowers. I planted my favorite Italian beans earlier than I probably should have; but I decided to take a chance. The worst thing was that I would lose some seed. So, I was pleasantly surprised when they all seemed to germinate. Encouraged by my success, I planted another row a week later and a different variety a week after that. We should be eating fresh beans much earlier this year!  Zucchini was a little more hesitant, but eventually they popped up too. Cucumbers went into the ground right before two days of torrential rain. They are also in the wettest part of the garden, so I was not surprised that germination was spotty at best. The good news is that I had started some seeds indoors in pots, so I can use these now to fill in the gaps. Sunflowers at the top of the garden obliged readily and are already about 6” tall. I love the sight of them, especially in late afternoon when they catch the last rays of the setting sun. The practically glow!

Seedlings in the greenhouse

Hardening-off is probably the trickiest of the gardening tasks that need to be done at this time. If you don’t know, hardening-off is the process of gradually exposing seedlings that have been started indoors to the outside world. In my case, this means beginning to move all my eggplant, pepper, and tomato seedlings from their climate-controlled comfortable indoor environments, to the harsh reality of direct sunlight, wind and wide swings in temperature. The first to take the plunge were the eggplants and some of the chile peppers. These vegetables have the longest lead-time, so they get started first. They were also the ones who had spent some time in the school’s greenhouse. With them, I needed to be extremely carefully. If I proceeded too quickly, they might go into shock and that would delay production.

Plants hardening-off

Once again, I was fortunate. We had a series of warm but relatively cloudy days. These are ideal conditions for hardening-off, because it is the least stressful for the plants. I have several wheeled carts with shelving that I use for this purpose. The plants initially spend two or three hours outside the first day and then are wheeled back inside. The next day, they might stay for four or five hours (this really does depend on the weather) before heading back indoors. This process continues until they have been exposed to the elements for ten to twelve hours. Then, if the nights are warm enough, they stay outside all night, or, if not, they come inside. Gradually I added the remaining peppers and began with the tomatoes. By the week before Memorial Day, almost all the seedlings were spending most of the time outdoors. It was now time to begin transplanting!

A Visit to Well Sweep Farm

This is mentuccia / nepetella

A number of years ago, I got it into my head that I wanted to have mentuccia in my garden. Mentuccia is an herb that is used frequently in Roman cooking, especially some vegetable dishes. It tastes a bit like a cross between mint and oregano, in fact, its name in Italian means “crummy or inferior mint”. I looked for seeds for it on a trip to Italy, but did not find it. So, when I got home, I decided to see if I could find it here in the States. First, though, I had to establish what its biological name was. I began doing research on the web. There I quickly discovered that more than one plant carried that moniker in Italian. After consulting several sites, I concluded that the plant I was looking for was calaminta nepeta, or nepetella, as it is known in English. Equipped with its name, I began trying to source either seeds or plants. To my delight, I found it in my own back yard, at a place I had heard about for years, Well Sweep Farm. Well Sweep Farm specializes almost exclusively in herbs and their online catalog included nepetella. I decided to make the trip.

The beds at Well Sweep Farm

Well Sweep Farm is located in Port Murray, NJ. The area has the name because it was on the Morris Canal back in the 19th century. It is technically part of Mansfield Township and is not far from Hackettstown. While it is not that far from Morristown as the crow flies, it takes a while to get there because it is not located on any major roads. The whole way there, I kept repeating the name “calaminta nepeta” over and over in my head. It was a chilly spring day the first time I went there. When I arrived, I was the only car in the parking lot. I got out and began looking around. There were row upon row of beds with herbs. I thought, “How am I ever going to find this?” Fortunately, a fellow emerged from somewhere and asked, “Can I help you find something?” I quickly responded, “Yes! I am looking for a particular herb; it is called . . . “My mind had gone blank. At the very moment I needed it, the name that I had been repeating to myself for 45 minutes had disappeared. At a loss, I just blurted out, “I can’t remember its real name, it’s called mentuccia in Italian.” “Oh, we have that” he answered in a completely matter of fact way. “I was in the Air Force and was stationed in Aviano (the big US airbase in Northern Italy), that’s how I know the name.” What were the chances, I asked myself, that I should just run into this person. That day, I went home with three healthy nepetella plants: one for a friend and two for me. My two are still thriving in the garden and provide me with all the mentuccia I need.

Many different varieties of rosemary

Having left the garden unattended for a year, there were some fatalities. As the spring wore on, I could see no signs of life in my thyme plants and my sage bush did not appear to be returning either. On the other hand, a few lavender plants that I had moved before going away were flourishing. The location seemed very favorable for lavender so maybe a few more plants were in order. I also wanted to experiment planting rosemary along the south wall of the cottage. I decided that it was time for a return trip to Well Sweep Farm. I knew that I would find a much wider selection of herbs to choose from there, not to mention nepetella.

My purchases

I made the trip last week on a day when it was too wet to work in the garden. I let my phone plan the route and it took me all over the place, probably not the most direct route. Still, I found it OK. It was a cloudy and cool day, so there weren’t too any other customers. I was surprised, too, that many of the beds were still empty. Clearly they were not rushing the season! I located the lavender and there were at least twenty different varieties. I hadn’t done my homework, so I just picked three healthy looking plants. I managed to find some French thyme, but not much else. Of course, I had to ask about the nepetella. That was still “out in the field”, but the same man who had helped me before went out to get it. While waiting for him to return, I picked up some rosemary and, just for fun, some lily of the valley for the back of the house. He returned with two plants and advised me that they were not fully rooted yet, so I needed to wait at least two weeks before putting them in the ground. Not a problem, I informed him. So, I loaded my hod and went inside to pay. While the woman was writing me up, she told me that someone had published an article about mentuccia or mentioned it in one. She said that they had been receiving calls from across the country placing orders for it. Who’d have thunk it?

Fields near Port Murray

Now that it was almost lunchtime, I decided to try a new burger place in Long Valley, called OMG Burgers and Brew. I put the address in my phone and soon I was on my way. Once you come down off the mountain where the farm is, you arrive at the very easternmost end of the Lehigh Valley. I crossed the remains of the Morris Canal and found myself in farmland. You might have thought you were in Ohio, not 40 miles west of New York City. Even here though, new housing tracts were being developed right on the edge of fields that were still being farmed. Even on this misty day, the countryside was beautiful. I’d like to go back on a sunny day. New Jersey still has some remarkably undeveloped spaces, but who knows for how long.

My OMG burger

I reached my destination and had lunch. The place is very attractive. It’s a new building, but it has the feel of an old barn. The burger was good, but nothing worth making a special trip for. The beer selections were extensive with lots of local craft beers. I’ll give it three stars . . . By the time I arrived back at the house, it had begun raining seriously. It seemed like a perfect afternoon for a nap.

Foodie Interlude #2

Most people who know me or follow me will know that I am an inveterate Italophile when it comes to food. What most people will not know is that Italian was not the first ethnic cuisine to capture my imagination. The first one was Greek. It happened this way. As an undergraduate Classics major at Catholic University, our department organized a yearly outing to the Akropolis restaurant in D.C. ( I think it was on M Street) The Ancient Greek instructor, Mr. Theodore Papaloizos, a native of Cyprus, would help us with the menu and make recommendations. If my memory serves me correctly, it was the moussaka that won me over. Following graduation and the summer break, I took a 5 week trip to Europe. About 5 days in Rome, the rest I spent wandering all over Greece. I took the ferry from Brindisi, Italy to Corfu and traveled on from there, eventually making my way to Crete by way of Santorini. It’s interesting to think back on that trip. I spoke no Modern Greek (though I could read the signs!) and back in 1975, Greece as not the tourist destination that it has become. Somehow, though, I managed and had an amazing experience. Sadly, I have never been back. I tried to work it into my sabbatical travels, but it just never happened. I still love Greek food and always seek out Greek restaurants when traveling.

In March, I registered for a three-hour daytime cooking class at the Natirar Cooking School. The class featured a Greek menu with five different dishes. I was very much looking forward to it when I received an email a few weeks later saying that class had been cancelled due to low enrollment. I was very disappointed. The school allowed me to transfer my registration to another class, but there wasn’t much that appealed to me. Eventually, the woman who handles the registrations encouraged me to sign up for an evening session called “A Greek Easter”. Up to this point, I hadn’t considered an evening class, but the menu looked interesting, so I signed up.

Wrangling an octopus

When the evening came, I was a little anxious. I wasn’t sure what to expect at Natirar. The other cooking classes I have taken at the Farm Cooking School were rather informal and egalitarian affairs. Natirar, on the other hand, is a very high-end restaurant and event space on the former estate of the king of Morocco. I arrived, parked and went inside. The hostess informed me that they were still preparing the classroom, but I was welcome to wait in the bar and someone would come get me. Not sure how long the wait would be, I ordered a glass of wine. Of course, the minute it arrived, they came to say we could go in. Fortunately, I could bring my wine. There appeared to be about a dozen of us. We sat at a counter surrounding the cooking area while the instructor explained how the class would unfold. We would work on six dishes: smoky eggplant dip; grilled octopus salad, marinated butterflied leg of lamb, lemon potatoes, moussaka stacks and kolourakia – Greek Easter cookies. A quick inventory of the participants revealed that a majority were of Greek descent, as was the instructor. Before we broke up into “teams” to prepare different parts of the menu, Joanne, the instructor showed us how to boil the octopus.Then we set to work.

John grills the octopus

The instructor must have deduced that I was Irish, so I was assigned the task of preparing the lemon potatoes. That was fine. I had to cut the potatoes into wedges and then season them. I was working alongside the team that was making the marinade for the lamb and across from a couple who were preparing the moussaka stacks. It was a convivial group and there was a lot of banter as we finished up our tasks. Then it was back to the counter to watch how to prepare the lamb. Once that was in the oven, we shared some marinated feta, olives and the eggplant dip, while she was demonstrating how to prepare the octopus for grilling. The grilled octopus was dressed and plated for us to sample.

I made these at home

Then it was back to the worktable to make cookies. She prepared the dough in the stand mixer and then gave each of us to turn into cookies. Kolourakia are typically braided is some shape. A piece of dough has to be rolled out by hand into about an 8” ‘rope’ that is then braided, brushed with an egg wash and then baked. I’m not sure how many dozens of cookies we shaped and baked that night, but I know I did almost two full cookie sheets.

First step - Browning the lamb

By now the lamb was done, so we returned to the counter to eat our main course. The lamb was delicious and I must say, the lemon potatoes were outstanding! The moussaka stacks were also yummy. The cookies didn’t take long and emerged from the oven while we were eating our meal. Soon we were all finished and, after sampling our cookies, people got ready to leave. Goodie bags were offered, especially for the mounds of cookies. I took about six, but I already knew that I would be making my own! It turned out to be a very fun evening.


Happy Easter!    Καλή Ανάσταση!

Two Foodie Interludes

April is galloping along and will be over soon. This has been a time of intense garden work, which is why I haven’t written much. At the moment, besides the work outdoors, I have been transplanting like mad into individual pots. I have finished almost all the eggplants and peppers. I still have about half of the tomatoes to move. Fortunately, the new grow cart has plenty of room, so I can work more calmly. If the temperatures remain consistent, I may even be able to skip the step of moving the tomatoes to the greenhouse. I may get away with just bringing the plants indoors at night for a week or so. That would be great.

Katie with her book

If you know me or have been reading this blog, you will know that there is a deep connection between my love of gardening and my love of food. This month, I enjoyed two interesting events in the food department. Early in the month, I attended a book signing for “Food of the Italian South” by Katie Parla. Katie, a New Jersey native, has been living in Rome for about 15 years now. In that time, she has established herself as a tour guide, food and drink journalist, cookbook author and all around expert on the food scene in Rome particularly and Italy in general. I have followed her online for many years. I even had the chance to take a tour with her when I visited Rome with a Delbarton group in 2011. I am a big fan of Katie’s and recommend her website to anyone visiting Rome. Suffice it to say, she has the job I would have wanted for myself – had God not had other plans.

Katie chatting with guests

The book signing took place at the Bell Market in Holmdel. Unfortunately, it was on a Friday evening with a 5:30 start. This being New Jersey, the traffic was horrendous. A trip that should have taken just an hour ended up being an hour and forty minutes. Fortunately, I had given myself plenty of time. I found a place to park and went inside. The event was being held at Corbo and Sons, an artisanal pizza place. I checked in and made my way inside. There was a nice crowd, but certainly not large. I procured a glass of wine for myself and grabbed some antipasto. I saw Katie off to one side with a woman, whom I recognized from Katie’s blog as her mother. I was waiting for a discrete moment to get my books signed – I had both of Katie’s cookbooks with me, the current one and her earlier one on the food of Rome.  Eventually she was alone so I went up and introduced myself. We chatted for a bit, mostly about Rome. I then asked her to sign my books. She was a bit surprised when she saw the Rome book. I explained that I had been unable to attend a book signing for that one. She was very charming and graciously personalized the message in each one. A glance over my shoulder told me that a line was forming, so I thanked her and made way for the next fans.

Pizza oven at Corbo & Sons

By now, the pizza was beginning to come out of the impressive pizza oven. It was typical Roman style pizza – not something you see very often in the States. It not only looked authentic, but it also tasted like the real thing! I was trying very hard not to look too eager, but I wanted to taste all the varieties that were coming out of the oven. Unfortunately, so did all the other guests. While waiting my turn, I fell into conversation with a woman who turned out to be the owner’s wife. She gave me the whole history of his passion for pizza that had led him to this relatively new venture. She seemed delighted when I raved about the pizza and how much it tasted like true Roman pizza.

Proudly posing with Katie Parla

By this time, it was after 7:00, so I grabbed one more piece of pizza for the road. On my way out, I managed to get a picture with Katie. I returned home very happy with how the evening had gone. I was back at the Hobbit House in plenty of time for my regular Friday night appointment with “Midsommer Murders” on PBS.

To be continued . . .