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This flower is pretty enough to eat — and for once, you can do so.  I like the idea of chowing down on pure Beauty.  There’s all kinds of symbolism in that act.  And the fact that the blossom in question has a strong peppery taste and is at home garnishing all kinds of savory dishes… that’s just the icing on the cake.  Maybe we should change that expression to “the nasturtium on the chef salad.”

I don’t like icing at all.  I love pepper.  (Raise your hand if you’re surprised….)

For those of you unfamiliar with this lovely, she’s a Whirlybird nasturtium.  That’s a series bred with the idea of lifting up the bloom faces to where they’re easier to see among the foliage.  Traditional nasturtiums tend to get lost in all that blowsy greenery, with spurred, downward-facing flowers — not that anyone minds.  For most of the summer, my plants have been almost exclusively foliage.  I love their rounded leaves, which are also, incidentally, edible, and the way they soften the edges of the garden beds, tumbling gracefully into the paths.

I’d certainly sow them for the foliage alone.  The blooms are just a bonus.  A gorgeous and tasty bonus.

Just for your information, I would definitely recommend nasturtiums to beginning gardeners.  Super easy to grow from seed, and because they’re drought resistant, you’re likely to be rewarded unless you have truly freakish weather or soil conditions.

She looks just like stained glass when the sun is shining.  The sun didn’t cooperate for this photo, but I think the deeply saturated orange pigment is all the more visible under cloudy skies.  That’s good, as this is my photo for Orange as I unofficially follow along with Capturing Beauty‘s rainbow challenge.

Once, while at a party, we were playing the game of “if” and the question for me was, “If you had to define yourself using a color, what would it be?”  I chose orange, and a friend there said she would have also chosen orange if asked to define me.  I’m not sure if I still feel orange.  Perhaps I’m changing with time.  But I still love orange and have a visceral response to it.  Something about it corresponds to something in my soul.

What about you?  Do you have a color that you instinctively respond to?

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Right after the deluge, I took this photo.  A whole branch of cherry tomatoes was ripening basically in the mud.  We had not sprayed anything toxic in our garden, so we didn’t have to worry about what might be in that mud, and we could still eat the fruits that landed there — unless the birds got to them first.  Birds seem to regard anything that has touched the ground as fair game.

What is most interesting about this photograph to me, as a brand new 100% organic gardener, is not the bright red fruits — although they do gleam like jewels there in that muddy setting; don’t they?

It’s the leaves that draw my attention.  The Victory Garden has confirmed the truth of what I’d read from several sources, most recently Steve Solomon:  that the insects actually perform a valuable service in the natural world, weeding out the unhealthy plants, and will rarely attack a healthy plant with enough force to damage it — unless the local insect population is out of balance due to monocropping or repeated use of pesticides in the area.

Our tomato plants in this area were already beginning to worry me, even before the cool rains came.  My spacing had been a little tight at the beginning of the season.  This is because I was overly ambitious and wanted to try too many different kinds of plants for the space I had available.  Also, because I have difficulty walking out of a nursery without buying one more tomato plant.  (As I mentioned before.)

I forgive myself for that.  It was my first real kitchen garden, and I was bound to be enthusiastic and ambitious.  It’s in my nature to tackle things with a little too much oomph! at the beginning, and I actually don’t mind that character flaw.  I’d much rather go too far toward that end of the spectrum, rather than live my life tilted toward apathy.

Still, there are consequences to the choices made under the influence of my imbalanced character.  One is that the tomato plants had basically grown into one another’s space, becoming a wild tangle.  A worrisome development, as the plants need air circulation to resist disease.

Add in some rain, a little mud spatter, and let the leaves stay wet and chilled for about four and a half days… and some kind of blight entered the Victory Garden.  It may have been there all along, just that the healthy plants were able to fight off any would-be invaders.

Not so after the heavy rains.  Sigh.

And within hours, or so it seemed to me, I had major insect damage where before there was almost none.  I’m imagining two possible scenarios from the point of view of whatever is chowing down on the tomato leaves.

  1. It’s autumn, and the plants are already slowing production and will soon be gone.  Let’s not waste this glorious feast.
  2. These are sick, elderly plants.  Mother Nature is urging us to clear the land for new, healthy shoots next season.

Either way, several of the tomato plants are now doomed.

I’m just grateful it took until September for me to reap what I’d sown in planting too close together.  There is a learning curve to organic gardening, and you have to be as gentle with yourself as you are with the land.  Learn from your mistakes, but don’t beat yourself up about it.  (My first two years were disaster!)

I’ll definitely be more wise about tomatoes next year.  For one thing, I planted way too many cherry tomato plants.  We had far more than we could eat all summer, and I’m just about sick of them.  I could go a few months without eating one and not miss them.  It sounds crazy, when they are so good, but we’ve got a bowl of them in the kitchen right now that both of us are resolutely avoiding — and many more are sitting on the plants, waiting for me to come out with my little basket and pluck them.

For another thing, 20 tomato plants is too many for 2 people.  I’m limiting myself to a half-dozen next year.  Well, I’ll try to limit myself, anyway.  I haven’t been too skilled at limiting myself in too many areas of life so far.  But practice makes perfect; right?

(Today is the start of a new week of Capturing Beauty‘s R-O-Y-G-B-I-V challenge.  And that means Red.)

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This gorgeous, ethereal being is a blossom which might become a ‘Black Beauty’ eggplant, if it gets fertilized.  It’s hard to imagine it not being fertilized if looks are the sole consideration.  Frankly, Mother Nature has outdone herself on this one.  I’ve fallen in love with the eggplant blossoms this summer, and I would probably plant them again just to enjoy the pretty — although eggplant parmesan and salata de vinete (a delicious Romanian recipe I’ll have to post sometime) make it certain I’d want to have these plants in my kitchen garden every season.

If possible, I’d like to have more, since this classic full-sized eggplant is not exactly generous with her fruits, and they take a super long time to ripen.  But, oh, the taste of truly ripe eggplant!  It made me realize I’d hardly ever seen a ripe one in the grocery store.

And here’s a detail you might not pick up on in the photo:  all of the surrounding surfaces are downy soft.  See how fuzzy the stem looks?  That’s because it feels a bit like lambs’ ears.  Lambs’ ears were my introduction to texture in the garden.  I can still recall with piercing clarity the first time I felt them, over 20 years ago.  I’d made friends with a wonderful plant expert at my local nursery, and she laughed with delight at the wonder etched on my face.

Plants are meant to be touched.  Some of them enjoy being caressed just as much as our kitties do.

If I were a bumblebee, I don’t think I could resist that luminescent lavender, that velvety landing pad, those stamens (or pistils?) fat with pollen.  What a seduction scene this plant has set!  The sad part is, I know that even if this flower does get fertilized, the resultant eggplant likely will not reach maturity before first frost.  I am not yet so sure of this that I am removing the blossoms, but we are nearing that moment in the season when I’ll want to discourage the plant from putting any extra energy into producing more lovely blooms, so that she’ll focus on ripening the eggplants already in progress.

How will I ever get up the resolve to rip that loveliness from the plant?  It seems impossibly cold-hearted.  Perhaps I’ll just leave them be for the bees’ sake….

This photo will be my response to Violet in Capturing Beauty‘s R-O-Y-G-B-I-V challenge.  A very pale violet, perhaps, but it still seems to fall within the range.

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