Last summer, our cucumbers took over the garden, sprawling and creeping out and beyond the confines of raised beds, protective wires, and onto the lawn where they produced prodigiously.  We jerry rigged sticks and twine, adding and improvising as the vines grew, but this proved a challenge because the plants took on a strength of their own, leaving us playing hide and seek come picking time with cukes growing in locations other than the most visible.  Though we enjoyed the crisp, watery results, we nearly ran out of ideas for recipes containing cucumbers, and even (almost) cried uncle for having too much gazpacho sitting around.  In brief, the heat and conditions made cuke production one of the most successful in years, as you may also have experienced.

This year, looks like the early humidity and heat are encouraging a repeat.  We are excited, but will be prepared this time.  I’ve planted fewer seeds and given them more real estate in the garden, so the plants can grow and sprout without cramping and tangling with other veggies.   Here’s a picture of our new design, a modified tomato (trellis) attached on one side by sticks and twine so as to create a canopy effect and promote growth within the raised bed.  If the vines reach outwards, we will train them back and around the bed, creating a looped effect so as to give space and air to the plants, and allow for easier picking.

Here  is a simple recipe for baked cucumbers that is sure to please.  From Julia Child’s kitchen, this dish surprises guests who usually need a minute or two to identify the vegetable correctly.   Cooked cucumbers change flavor as they simmer with butter.  Who would have thought?

Peel 6-8 cucumbers, cut into lengthwise strips about an inch long, then scoop out the seeds. Toss them in a bowl with 2 T. wine vinegar, 1 teaspoon salt, a pinch of sugar.  Let them sit for 30 minutes, tossing occasionally.  Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the cucumbers in a buttered oven proof dish with a half chopped onion and a sprinkling of pepper.  Optionally, cut up and sprinkle fresh basil or dill atop the cucumbers.  Cook for approximately 1 hour, tossing periodically.  When they are tender and slightly crisp, remove and serve.  (serves 4-5 as a side dish)

You see them blooming all over Harvard right now, but what are those gorgeous spreading trees?  They’re Japanese Dogwoods, or Kousas.  Their four-pointed white blooms are actually not blooms at all but bracts below the cluster of inconspicuous yellow-green flowers.  The tree flowers in late spring, weeks after it leafs out.  Later in the season, and once the white petals are gone, pinkish spiky red berries 2-3 cm in diameter appear.  I’m told that the fruit is edible, though have never tried it in a late summer tart!  The ornamental value alone has kept us thrilled for over ten years, as we watch it rise and spread at one side of our house, so much so that we planted two more at the street.  They too continue to grow and produce the same spectacular display as the original one, all with minimal maintenance. Of benefit, too, is that these dogwoods are resistant to the disease, anthracnose, caused by a fungus and damaging to most other strains of dogwoods.

Kathleen Comstock

http://kcomstock.com

Do you garden and grow your own?  What do you do with all your extra zucchini?  Ample Harvest can help you to find a place for some of your extra garden bounty.  One out of six Americans needs food assistance, but can’t get fresh produce from the local food pantry. You can help though — through Ample Harvest, you can find a place close to you where you can take your locally grown produce and share it with people who will really appreciate it.

image from cape cod lavender farm

Well, my lavender bushes have decided to expand for another year, which I celebrate in this month of May along with emerging white and yellow irises alongside the exploding greenery of creeping vines and summer blooming bushes. Years ago, I read up before planting the lavender on a sunny dry hillside, to insure they would survive. Indeed, as they are heat tolerant and require little maintenance, they’ve thrived. It also turns out that the authenticity of lavender is sometimes debated, with certain circles distinguishing the plant into two large categories, one as ‘fake’ lavender, the other the real McCoy. Wow, who would have thought? To look at the ‘fake’ versions that one can purchase here in New England—the Hidcote, the Munstead, the Vera (English lavenders)–it’s nearly impossible to discern from the real deal, which hails originally from Southern Europe and North Africa.

Why then this distinction and, like a Champagne from Champagne, is there a requirement that the lavendula hail from a certain place? So even plants are now discriminating and at arms length?

Actually the native plant, lavandula and its associated cultivars, spread and co-mingled over time, thus developing into even more varieties. One, the ‘lavendin’ species, is used for most commercial sales because its flowers are bigger and plants easier to harvest. In general however, the use of the umbrella term lavender covers these distinctions. So there you go, no need to panic. Whatever lavender you grow, consider it the real deal and take pleasure in the airy fleeting aroma that is thankfully so versatile and robust that you don’t need to pay a small fortune for a trip to the south of France at just the right week in Spring, or setout on a quest for expensive seeds from catalogs.

P.S. If you’re near Harwich on Cape Cod this summer, don’t miss the wonderful Cape Cod Lavender Farm with gardens to stroll in and a gift shop (also online) with everything lavender.

Wild strawberries taken by Philip Jägenstedt in Stora Hultrum, Sweden.

In France, they’re called ‘frais du bois’, and a strain in Italian is called ‘fragola di bosco’ , both phrases roughly translate to ‘strawberry of the woods’.  In English, we call them Alpine strawberries, those dime-sized berries often found growing wild in wooded and shady areas.   Their sublime flavors are very unlike traditional larger-sized strawberries, and you can cultivate them here in New England if you know what you’re doing!  In the dead of winter 2009, I planted hundreds of miniscule fragola seeds in tiny pots to watch them grow with gusto from my windowsill.  The idea was to eventually transplant these lovely green leafy shoots, some already showing tiny white flowers, to hillsides and bare spots around my garden areas.  But once outdoors, most of them fell victim to cold snaps, rain, incorrect fertilization, not enough sun, you name it.  I was happy to at least guard a dozen or so stalwart plants here and there.  By fall, some of these survivors had even born fruit.

Nonetheless, the berries that did produce offered a taste that’s difficult to describe other than perhaps how one describes an oyster fresh from the sea as tasting, well, like the sea.  The berries tasted like the earth, like the woods, like a bittersweet brush of spring rain and, because they were so tiny, the taste lingered barely, at least until I pulled at another one to pop in my mouth.  Needless to say, my lackluster produce did not extend beyond these hand to mouth tastings, and my recipes for Italian berry liqueur, iced drinks, and sorbets had to be temporarily shelved.

This is why, during a recent warm spell, I was thrilled to find my fragolas pushing forth along with daffodils and hyacinths, upwards and outwards to a deep shade of green that could only mean they are ready to commence another season, this time perhaps with the idea of spreading a bit across those empty hillside spaces, offering up a late spring production, and even maybe a second one in fall!  This picture to reminds me not to give up.  These little guys didn’t so why should I?  These delectable perennials can be had at some local garden stores, or from a friend who may allow you a few cuttings, or by ordering on the Internet.  Recipes abound on the Internet, but one of the best ways to delight in their flavor is to enjoy them straight from the garden.

Liz over at Hyperlocalvore recently posted an interesting calculation about yard sharing and going hyperlocal – as in growing your own — that presents some interesting calculations.   She figures that if you yard share (with 2 other people) 2 apple trees, 15 blueberry bushes and 4 almond trees, that over 20 years you can actually make a profit of  over $61,000 (by pure re-invested savings)… and by that calculation, if you don’t yard share, and instead bring your extra goods to the market to sell you can make over $320,000  — all for a very modest investment of $1700 — check out her #’s and let us know what you think.

Oh, and we are sending out applications for our 2010 season now, so email us if you have some extra fruit trees that you are ready to make some $$ from.

I found this at The international Year of the Potato website (which was 2008 – we missed it!). If you click through, it is a little easier to read.

I am especially intrigued by their adventures in ketchup making.  Rob made his first attempt at homemade ketchup last year with a huge pile of tomatoes from Evans Farm.  We are hopeful that the Evans will be back again this year with tomatoes.   We planted our own in double quantities, but the blight is bring us down.  Did you plant tomatoes?  Are they healthy? Or will you be hoping, like us, to be able to share in the success of someone that hasn’t been so unlucky?