Lethargy and a big orange cat on my lap prevent me from shooting this morning, but picture the usual: Really big zucchini, really tiny tomatoes.
Like most high altitude farmers, we're in the waning days of our garden. The broccoli continues to amaze; it is the brassica that keeps on giving. After initially putting forth six large bouquets, our six plants weekly push out enough tender florets for dinner. And there's no end in sight. We will definitely repeat.
After fighting back from a bout of powerdery mildew, our zucchini has been a steady producer. Instead of showering us with more squash than is manageable, it's been languidly proferring food stuff, one dirigible-sized vegetable after the other. We've feasted on zucchini casserole, zucchini lasagna, zucchini bread, stir fry and quiche. It pretty much goes into everything.
We are also the happy parents of seven winter squash of questionnable identity. Beautifully striped like delicata, they are turban-shaped like the buttercups. We have no idea. They're curing in the basement, the mother plant succumbing to the aforementioned powdery mildew.
The Black Cherry tomato has been a champ, if a bit invasive. A garden hog if ever there was one. The Purple Cherokee persists in disappointing, laden as it is with heavy, green fruit. The Big Boy, reliable but unimpressive. Our sweet pepper, which gave us two brilliant red darlings, has late in the game sprouted seven offspring. We're hoping for a bit of speedy ripening but not holding onto our eyelashes.
And, the herbs? Brilliant as always. This weekend, there will be pesto, bags of it, pasley, sage and basil, stacked in the freezer for a taste of summer all winter long.
Is it time for lunch, yet?