Tackling the tomato mountain
Sep. 26th, 2012 04:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceHeh. I was warned, y'know. Karen did say that tomatoes run wild out here. So I was careful, I only planted four plants.
Oof. I just harvested another several kilos, and filled my compost-bin with plucked and trimmed tomato branches, and I haven't even fought the plants back to the confines of the vegetable-bed, they're still reaching over to the lawn.
There are more woodlice in my compost bin than I have ever seen foregathered. Chow down, little cheeselogs! There is much, much more where that came from, and at the moment there is no room for any of it. I watered the bin thoroughly to encourage them - it's important to keep your woodlice hydrated, y'know, this is a desert climate - and next time I lift the lid, I am hopeful of witnessing compaction.
On Saturday we're going to a friend's cook-in. I may very well be cooking with tomatoes. Meanwhile, I am cooking with tomatoes; I just roasted a trayful with rosemary and garlic, and I shall be making soup.
In other news, a pack of us went to the Winchester Mystery House yesterday. Apparently I don't yet understand the vernacular of US architecture; the lady spent millions on that place, and I really couldn't see the money. It's probably that shift from stone and brick to wood; nobody builds houses out of wood in the UK any more, you build sheds out of wood. I look at wooden houses and they just look cheap or temporary or somehow artificial, like a fairground mock-up of a mansion rather than the thing itself. Very odd; I must adjust my aesthetic.
Then we took grapes to the sick, as is only proper (our friend![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
learnteach is laid up with raging cellulitis, which as I have cause to know is appallingly ouchie and nothing at all to do with ladies' thighs); and today in envy I tried to play sick myself, occasioning a long wait for the dentist to poke and prod at my own ouchies and swiftly say that I was fine, it looked to be healing up perfectly well, go away. In which case I don't quite understand why it is quite so ouchie, but hey. No doubt I'm a wimp or something. I shall swallow pills and look wanly at my wife and see what that elicits in the way of sympathy or scorn.
Also I rode my bicycle to the bank today, but I really need to get a little more ambitious. I don't plan on lifting up mine eyes unto the hills, for they are steep and far away; but there are bike tracks to the Bay, and I should seek them out.
Oof. I just harvested another several kilos, and filled my compost-bin with plucked and trimmed tomato branches, and I haven't even fought the plants back to the confines of the vegetable-bed, they're still reaching over to the lawn.
There are more woodlice in my compost bin than I have ever seen foregathered. Chow down, little cheeselogs! There is much, much more where that came from, and at the moment there is no room for any of it. I watered the bin thoroughly to encourage them - it's important to keep your woodlice hydrated, y'know, this is a desert climate - and next time I lift the lid, I am hopeful of witnessing compaction.
On Saturday we're going to a friend's cook-in. I may very well be cooking with tomatoes. Meanwhile, I am cooking with tomatoes; I just roasted a trayful with rosemary and garlic, and I shall be making soup.
In other news, a pack of us went to the Winchester Mystery House yesterday. Apparently I don't yet understand the vernacular of US architecture; the lady spent millions on that place, and I really couldn't see the money. It's probably that shift from stone and brick to wood; nobody builds houses out of wood in the UK any more, you build sheds out of wood. I look at wooden houses and they just look cheap or temporary or somehow artificial, like a fairground mock-up of a mansion rather than the thing itself. Very odd; I must adjust my aesthetic.
Then we took grapes to the sick, as is only proper (our friend
learnteach is laid up with raging cellulitis, which as I have cause to know is appallingly ouchie and nothing at all to do with ladies' thighs); and today in envy I tried to play sick myself, occasioning a long wait for the dentist to poke and prod at my own ouchies and swiftly say that I was fine, it looked to be healing up perfectly well, go away. In which case I don't quite understand why it is quite so ouchie, but hey. No doubt I'm a wimp or something. I shall swallow pills and look wanly at my wife and see what that elicits in the way of sympathy or scorn.Also I rode my bicycle to the bank today, but I really need to get a little more ambitious. I don't plan on lifting up mine eyes unto the hills, for they are steep and far away; but there are bike tracks to the Bay, and I should seek them out.