Late Fall Garden Update

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The weather is turning nippy and the winds are blowing the remnants of fall's brilliant leaves around into whirlwinds of color. My garden, which has been so productive, is beginning to slow down in preparation for winter. Nevertheless, it still has some bounty to share before the long sleep. Here are the last of the apples in my tree. These beauties are the inaccessible ones at the very top of the tree. Since they can't be reached, we have to wait for them to fall. The squirrels and birds haven't been very cooperative in this regard, helping themselves to more than half the apples on the tree.  Apparently they have had their fill as they have left these few alone. Fortunately these apples did not get mangled, beaten or bruised from the fall and fell onto the soft dirt instead of the hard concrete surrounding the garden. There's good eatin' here.

My monster tomato plant (yes, plant...singular) has all but obliterated the azalea bush that supports it. Only a little bit of the bush is visible on the extreme right side. The rest is all tomato. It is still producing flowers which I am ripping off as fast as they are being produced in the hope of redirecting the growth hormones to the developing fruit. There are still hundreds of little green tomatoes on the vine. Because of the shorter days and cooler weather the ripening process has slowed down drastically but I am still harvesting quite a bit. I was out of town for a week and upon my return the bowl of tomatoes you see here was waiting for me.


Now begins the long process of readying my garden for winter. Spent plants must be uprooted, Pots must be brought in, and plastic must be draped over the hoop house to shield it from the ravages of snow and ice. I'm tired just thinking about it but it inspires me to look forward to next season's garden. Now I have property upstate that I can plant also. More work. More fun. More food. I love my garden .

Always and All Ways,
#Gitana the Creative Diva

Bringing in 2015

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My New Year's eve celebration was intimate and special. My husband, son and I picked up my two nephews and traveled to my parent's house to feast on a simple meal of rice, beans and fried chicken topped with a healthy serving of my mom's special gelatin mousse delight. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, yet it was special precisely because it was so ordinary and comfortable, like a well worn pair of slippers.

During dinner, my father made a comment about my mother's delicious stewed white beans which we were wolfing down like ravenous buzzards. He said something to the effect of the beans were delicious going down and deadly coming out. This reminded me of the famous campfire scene in "Blazing Saddles" and in the ensuing discussion we discovered that neither of my nephews had ever seen that particular movie. As it turned out, my father had an old VHS copy of it handy so during dessert, my nephews were treated to their first viewing of Mel Brooks' famous comedy western. Needless to say, they loved it as did we all.

Afterwards the menfolk gathered around a small table to play a few hands of dominoes while my mother chatted on the telephone to relatives who called to wish us well in the new year. Dick Clark's Rocking Eve played in the background until it was time for the famous ball drop.

No matter how many times I experience that ten second countdown it never gets tired. I am instantly transported back in time to when I was a little girl at my grandmother's house, surrounded by family, hugging and kissing everyone in sight yelling, "Happy New Year!" It is the annual replay of a family tradition that has been handed down for generations and lives on for generations to come. In the faces of my children and nephews I see the continuum and look forward to the day that they carry on the tradition and make it their own.

Shortly after the midnight mayhem, we watched a few minutes of Sir Elton John's show being broadcast from Barclay's Center in downtown Brooklyn, then we packed up the domino table and returned all the furniture to its place. Coats on, doggie bags packed and back home we all went but not before another round of hugs and kisses, thank yous and goodbyes. The tradition never changes and yet it always manages to stay fresh.

There's a word for that. It's called family.

Ballo ergo sum
- Gitana, the Creative Diva