Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Ratatouille and the Bacchanal Nature of Peavines

When stepping off the sidewalk onto the stone path shaded below the Ginkgo tree in front of the garden it is not uncommon to feel a certain lightness and relief from the humidity and berating sun.  It is easy to see that while the rest of us are sweating our ways through a heatwave and black-tar-to-the-soles-of-your-shoes days, the Garden is unfazed and enjoying the rays.  There is something about the place that makes the heat less oppressive.  Maybe it's the lack of pavement, or the mouthfulls of hosewater.  It could be the unrepentant snacking on sweet peas, russet belted apples and berries, but I think it's something in the compost.  
Although we don't see them in stores,
russet skinned apples are fine to eat and, like ours, often delicious.

Vines are the undisputed givers of life.   Bachus,
 the god of wine and fertility, spent plenty of time  in vineyards,
but for my money, the pea-vine is where the real business happens.

That's where eggplants come from.  This time of year I look 
around the garden and see ratatouille  in it's infancy.  
A small group of rugged volunteers pulled in the harvest and
basked in the sunshine.
We may never know what  the main draw to the garden is,
 but I think it's the mouthfulls of hosewater.