It has been a long time since I wrote a haiku. Here we go…ahem…

Fragrant garlic scapes

Unsure how to cook with you

Had no luck before

When we were part of the CSA (that failed experiment I’ve mentioned before), we were introduced to garlic scapes. They are the flower and stem of a garlic bulb that farmers remove so that the plant directs its energy toward the bulb and not the flower. The bulb is the goodness (but I know I don’t have to tell YOU that, gentle reader). Anyhoo, the CSA sent us home with scapes for a few weeks in a row with mentions of, “Garlic Scape Pesto, mmmmmm.” Well, I tried to make that. The scapes were sort of grainy, even, dare I say, woody. They were still green, but, well, stiff and no matter how much I boiled or sauteed them, I didn’t like the texture of the pesto. It was like eating pasta with flavored, green wood shaving sauce. (I have this texture-thing with food. Bamboo shoots, for example, have been invented by Satan to ruin my food with their grainy, crunchy grittiness. Ewww. Putting fruit chunks in ice cream is equivalent, in my book, to boiling live kittens. Wrong. Very wrong. And gross. Powdered mashed potatoes…you get my point.)

So, the garlic scape pesto was inedible. Here we are and it is garlic scape season. They’re patiently sitting in the fridge, waiting to be transformed from deliciously garlicky flavor-sticks (they smell fantastic, like a combination of pea pods and super mild garlic) into something edible.

First, here’s the process of procuring a garlic scape.

Step 1. Notice the garlic scape.

Step 2. Cut and save the garlic scape.

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Step 3. Use the garlic scape. This is where I’m lost. I need to do some hunting for recipes. If you have one. Please share. If I find any that work, I will post them.
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My potato haiku…ahem…

I love potatoes

Mashed, Roasted or as Salad

Ideal comfort food

On January 2, I ordered the Rare Potato Mix through Southern Exposure Seed Exchange.  They arrived 2 weeks ago and smiled at me through their pretty, colorful bags. The potatoes were from Wood Prarie Farm in Bridgewater, ME.

2.5 pounds of Cranberry Red, 2.5 pounds of Carola, 1 pound of Russian Banana Fingerling and 1 pound of Rose Finn Apple Fingerling – all ready to take their place in the DaisyPatch. Then it rained. All weekend. I know, I know, what’s a little rain? I didn’t feel like dealing with it in the rain.

So they waited. This was the weekend of the potato. A few years ago, we made “bins” of chicken wire and filled them with soil, using them as planters for the potatoes. We got potatoes and a lot of slugs who made their way through the chicken wire. Last year, we tried 5 gallon buckets with drainage holes drilled in the bottom. We got potatoes, but not very many. The containers were just too small. So, finally, I got to it this past weekend.

Step 1. Move plants and weed.

Step 2. Lay down landscape fabric.

Step 3. Bring out the chicken wire fencing and grab the wire cutters.

Step 4. Make bins. Step 5. Fill with compost.

Step 6. Plant seed potatoes. Cover with more compost. Label.

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I didn’t count the steps where I went inside to get bandaids because the chicken wire snagged my leg. Or the 4 bandaids – one for each blister on my right hand from the wire cutters.  Those are extra steps I hope to skip next year.
Now, we water, watch, “hill” by adding more compost as the greens emerge. And wait. Mmm. They came with a recipe for Buttermilk Potato Soup. Doesn’t that just sound delish?

My “Yay it’s Spring” haiku… Ahem…

Yay. It is Springtime.
The sun warms up the garden
And I play in dirt

It rained one day last weekend. It was chilly the weekend before. This was the first weekend since our gardens woke up that we have been able to be outside both days. And we were. Outside. Both days. All day.

Being the weekend warriors that we are, we had a lot on the agenda. First, finish weeding all the front gardens and the kitchen garden. I got a lot done on the one sunny day last weekend, while Keith edged the beds, but I didn’t finish.

Next, spreading the bark mulch. All 10 yards of it. There was a lot. A whole lot. The size of a car, lot. It took up Keith’s parking space, that’s how lot.

Next, pretty. We wanted to add more color.

We got it all done this weekend. Edging, check. Weeding, check. Bark mulch, wow, but check. Pretty, yup, check. We bought blue pansies and yellow pansies and a heather plant (pink) and planted them in key spots that needed a splash. We even picked up after ourselves and put the equipment away (which is the last thing you want to do when you just want to go in and take a shower).

Ah, that feeling of satisfaction. That stand back, fold your arms and survey what you’ve accomplished kind of feeling. That, holy crap, I haven’t moved my muscles like this since last Fall, I can’t move, can you? feeling. (We are a little sore to say the least.)

But I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Different folks need different things. (“Whatchyou talkin’ ’bout, Willis?) Some need the adrenaline rush of putting the pedal to the metal and going top speed (and if you’re one of the folks who feels the need to hit the North Road hill off Route 1 at Mach 20 in order to get maximum speed on the straight-away, nearly killing me as I plant pansies by my mailbox, I swear I will throw my trowel through your front windshield next time I hear you picking up speed on the way down the hill, comprende?)

Others need to get in a plane and travel to an island, just to sit on a beach chair with an umbrella drink and not move for 6 nights, 7 days (although that REALLY sounds good right now, except I would be under the hut because I got a teensy sunburn today). (“Hey Mon. Everyting IRE? Two No Problems and a Rum and Coke please.)

Me, I just need dirt. I love the smell of it. I love that my kitchen and yard scraps make more of it. I love that it has POSSIBILITIES. I can plant tomatoes in it that I later squish to make sauce for pasta. I love that it feeds the maple tree that gave us sap to make syrup (mmm pancakes!) I love that I can plant a little speck of a seed, and dirt with some water will yield me a fragrant and tasty basil plant, or a large butternut squash that Keith can make into the most delicious soup, or a painted daisy that make me smile with it’s cheery pinkness.

Now, if you want to give me a fast car or a vacation, I surely won’t say, “Nay,” but I have everything I need to make me happy; the man I love working right next to me, a goofy dog and three cats waiting for me inside, and a little patch of dirt where I can putter. And make things grow.


DaisyPatch Farm – Glog Post. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last post.

Sorry for being gone so long. Life gets in the way of writing, no matter how good my intentions or my electronic to-do list with reminder alarms. I love writing this blog, however, so resolve to spend more time here. I suppose I should be able to do that considering it is April 1 and f’ing snowing outside. Not a small amount of snow, but a good covering of the thick slushy stuff too. Grr.

Really Mother Nature? I was going to rake the hay off the garden beds this weekend. (Hahahaha, I had a typo and almost raked the “gay” off the garden beds. How does one do that? Would I use a “gake?” Ok, ok, enough of that.) Anyway, where was I? Right, hay. So, as you probably have read in prior posts, because you are a DaisyPatch devotee and have read all my musings, you know we had 4+ feet of snow on the ground for most of the winter. Snow melts, pull back the frost blankets and lo and behold, lettuce. Alive. (Yes, I said, “lo and behold.” I know no one from the last few generations uses the phrase “lo and behold,” but I stand by my choice because I am an independent thinker and am ok in my own skin (she said defiantly, hands held on her hips in a Superman pose.))

Anyway, where was I? Right, lettuce. So, we have lettuce. And it is alive. It looks like crap, but it is alive. And we all know that we must put away our preconceived notions of pretty food when growing it ourselves and be ok with better, yet uglier food. So, what did I do with said lettuce? Yeah, it is still there and now we have more snow. Whatever. Now that I know it will withstand 4 feet of snow for 3 months, it can handle a goddamn weekend covered in a bit more snow whilst I stay inside in my snuggie and and read my first issue of Urban Farm (thanks big sis!)

Gake. God that’s funny.