Tomato Growth Spurt

My backyard is supposed to be too shady for tomatoes—six hours of sun rather than the recommended ten to twelve. But I planted these just for kicks. Nothing happened.

Then suddenly, over the last few weeks, they grew.

Of course, the real test will be to see if the tomatoes ripen.

Becoming Presentable

I spent eight hours on Sunday dusting, vacuuming, weeding, mulching, doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms, and cooking. Oy vey. I'll be glad to forgo any domestic activities for the rest of the week. We were having T. and R. over for dinner, and somehow having people over for dinner puts me in obsessional-cleaning mode. Mr. Flossie can do things like write whole book proposals the same day people are coming over, but I can do nothing but clean.

Making meals for people also freaks me out a bit. To show how bad we are at returning dinner invitations, when T. and R. last had us over to dinner they announced that R. is pregnant. Last night I asked when she is due and she said next month!

Luckily, with all the cleaning and gardening, I planned something easy for dinner. We grilled portobello mushrooms marinated in lemon juice, garlic, and olive oil to make "burgers" and also grilled some veggie burgers for the mushroom-averse. We grilled corn too. I am somewhat wary of the grill because I never know when it crosses the line between too hot and not hot enough. But everything went well (I did a test run earlier in the week and learned that keeping them on the grill longer is better than shorter--it ended up being just over ten minutes for each mushroom/burger/corn). We served store-bought potato salad and T. and R. brought a green salad.

I weeded our "mulch garden" because I thought we might eat outside, but it ended up being too humid. The main visual difference, besides less weeds and more mulch, is this circle I made of bricks around the forsythia, in the hopes of preventing it from being weed-whacked to a nub again.

Much appreciation to T., R., and others for being the guinea pigs in my first forays into domesticity.

The Forsythia Clings to Existence

When I moved from my old house to my current one three years ago, I brought with me a cutting from a giant forsythia bush that was the highlight of the property (I had nothing to do with its gloriousness—I inherited it from the previous residents). Not knowing what would happen, I planted the cutting in a mulched area in my new backyard and it soldiered on, not exactly flourishing but still putting out a few yellow flowers each spring.

Then one day a few weeks ago—I don't want to place blame so I'll use the passive voice—the forsythia was weed-whacked to oblivion. And understandably so: it was hard to distinguish from the overgrown weeds surrounding it. Just a couple nubs of stem remained. I was sad because the forsythia had nostalgia value. Not only did it come from my first house, but it was the first plant name I learned in adulthood, when I was finally becoming aware that the world around me was full of trees and flowers and bushes that weren't all oaks and tulips.

After a week away, I just noticed...new leaves on the aforementioned nubs! How did that happen? I'm going to be keeping an eye on this situation.

We Planted a Tree

Our house sits right up near the sidewalk at the intersection of two busy streets, so hanging out on the porch feels like being on stage. There's Mr. Flossie playing the part of "Man Working on Laptop."

My dream is a big screen of trees providing us some privacy and shade. Here's what we could afford.

It's a Prairiefire Crabapple. Cute, huh? It's currently only seven feet tall—thus its three topmost branches extend a few inches above the porch rail—but supposedly they get to be up to 20'.

Grow, tree, grow!