The tomato isn't new, it was eaten and enjoyed in August, but the poem from a grateful friend IS new. What a great gift!

There it is so round and firm with just a hint of earth
A season's early entry with seductive plumpness girth
The color red in different shades surrounds its outer wall
And one cannot evade nor still a delicate siren's call
The cut to reveal the inner glory is done in tender slice
The juice and seeds within reveal flavor's design to entice
O Jersey tomato of world renown, your time no more to see
NOT POSSIBLE say the Jerseyites this simply cannot be
Jersey fame has come and gone, the pain not soon to pass
Face it, the Pamela tomato has whupped your sorry ass.

by MEHurwitz

The times we live in.

First snow of the winter.

What a difference a day can make.

These are volunteer yuccas that I potted up last week. Not sure what I'll do with them. I murdered their mother because I don't like big yucca plants. But the babies are sweet. Maybe I'll put them in nicer pots and try to make bonsai yucca out of them.

Hunkered down. Three of the four who spent all day yesterday behind my house.

It rained all day and they sat all day, from late morning until dark. All that's separating them from my entire back yard is that thin bit of cheap plastic.

I had only three deer break-ins this summer, and two of them barely count. Unbeknownst to me, twice in the early summer the newborn single fawn was nesting near the fencing. I didn't see her and was poking around near her, cleaning up leaves. She got scared and, apparently, scurried under the fencing and ended up trapped in my backyard. The other break-in was just last week --- a small deer, at least a year old. He just nudged over a weakness in the fence and made his way in. He managed to find the two small hydrangeas I had hidden back there. One of his ancestors all but killed these plants several years ago and they're clinging to life back there.

All in all it was a successful summer --- the hostas got to live their full lifespan for the first time in years, maybe decades.

I think city girl Steph's drawing sums up our recent trip to the Amish Market -- about half-way between DC and Baltimore -- very nicely.

Defending my islands. Should this yard be plowed under? Apparently yes, says another blogger.

Over at Garden Rant, right here, someone has opined about islands in front yards, you know, those roundish areas some of us create in lawns so we can plant shrubs, grasses, and other plants. Who knew this was in such poor taste? Not I. The real question is why I am bothered by a stranger's personal opinions. Maybe posting about it here will help me stop grumbling in my head.

Marie, over at 66 Square Feet, would no doubt saute these up for dinner. I'm still doing research. But they are beautiful.

No, I don't want to get rid of this. I love my rotary phone and would use it if it still worked.

Good friend M--- says "my house needs bulbs." So we planted 120 bulbs--approx 60 on each side of the front door. Next report: March 2010.

M--- said "I hope it will be a riot of color!" Pickings were slim at the nursery when she shopped for bulbs on Nov 18. Yellow tulips, daffodils, a few red ruffly tulips, and one lone bag of white tulips (I think).

That's a lot of blue paint. I would love to walk through this house, with all its curious additions.

More fungus among us.

These nice specimens are on a tree stump next to the pond next door. The beavers got the tree a year or more ago, and then it looks like there may have been a stupid human trick with fire. Looks and feels ashy to me. I wonder if the fungi would have grown even if the stupid humans hadn't applied fire to the stump?? You just never know. It's things like this that make me so interested in climate change. What are we doing right now that we aren't aware of that might have an impact 100 years from now? How can we understand it all so we can make the right decisions in the right order in the right place? I'm not a denier or even a skeptic. I'm a confused. I heard an architecture critic say the other day that we are so fixated on car emissions when actually buildings emit more bad stuff into the atmosphere than vehicles. I guess we just do the best we can for now and hope. Or have faith. Or knit.

The zen of my knitting fixation.

I do the same stitch, knit, over and over and over. In different colors of either cotton or bamboo thread. Different lengths and widths, but all end up as a neck scarf. I've given away two (three?) but eventually I'll hand them out to all friends & family, until the fixation ends.

Sage from my herb garden.

I made this recipe. Instead of gnocchi I ended up with a kind of cheesy, creamy spinach that was very, very good. I'm sure I failed because I (a) didn't follow the instructions very closely, and (b) didn't measure the ingredients. I don't think I'm well suited, psychologically speaking, for recipes that demand much attention to detail. So rebellious of me.

The pond next door. Those grasses!

Purple cauliflower.

I planted narcissus bulbs in early summer, in a couple of big pots. Could these be baby plants from the bulbs? That doesn't seem good.

Basil seeds for next year. I miss my basil.

Rain has made me grumpy. I want to be outside doing .... anything.

All gone now. I picked these late last week.

Persimmons. I like them a little under-ripe. I wonder if I could grow a tree / shrub? around here. Inside the deer fence, I'm assuming.

Hellebores surrounded by maple leaves. And the mystery flower continues to bloom despite frost that has killed most other annuals. What IS this thing?

Bees first, then (maybe) chickens.

When I saw chickens on Sunday at the farmers market, it of course renewed my interest in raising a few. For the eggs. The idea of raising chickens who will happily produce protein for my dinner table is very appealing. No need for store-bought meat and chicken and fish that has been god-knows-where and is full of god-knows-what. There are obstacles to overcome: local rules and regulations, keeping a vigilant watch over the hens while they're out of their house so the hawks, foxes, and raccoons don't get them, convincing my husband that this isn't a crazy idea.

I talked to a beekeeper and hen-raiser on Sunday. He told me one thing that has stayed with me. He said, kindly and not condescendingly, "just don't turn your chickens into pets." Even though I really do want to raise chickens for the eggs (and for a little meat when the chickens, you know, pass on) I fully acknowledge that I would turn chickens into pets in short order.

I think I'll start with bees and graduate to chickens if the bees work out. I don't think I'll have an emotional attachment to bees. Although now that I think of it I do have an emotional attachment to my worms. I'll keep on thinking about this.

Still hanging in there.

From bottom to top: Parsley, chives, fennel, and burnet (or something like that).

Chickens! I want chickens!