They put pansies in the planters outside my work, replacing whatever forgettable flowers were there before. Pansies are my favorite, especially the dark red and purple ones whose color deepens into the black centers. They're not the sort of flower you cut and put in a vase like roses or chrysanthemums. Pansies are content to grow close to the ground, bobbing their smiling faces in the breeze.
It's strange sometimes, being in California, where seasons have names that have no bearing on what the plants around us are doing. Summer is long and hot, when the hills are golden, and then autumn begins. The ivy turns red in late September, and autumn continues for months, overlapping with winter and spring. Each type of tree takes its turn changing colors--some only managing to turn brown--and in February there will still be a few trees with red leaves dangling above bright spring flowers.
Winter is when it rains, and when winter lasts a while, the hills turn green and the wildflowers along the freeway start blooming early. By the end of January, the strawberry stands will open, and I'll be there buying three-packs to share with my daughter.
Spring--the time when the flowers are blooming--never ends. We just change the variety of flowers planted in the beds. It's Pansy Season now, and the snapdragons should be coming soon, many to stand guard in ranks behind the pansies, ready to snap when I press their jaws. In a while, it will be Iceland poppies and then another round of the forgettables--impatiens or petunias or some other flower that doesn't know how to snap or smile.
I look forward to the first after-summer pansies in the landscaping. I like to slide two fingers behind them when a dark one catches my eye, and tilt its face upward so I can get the full effect of its velvet beauty. The other pansies never get jealous that I've singled one out for special attention. They just stay where they're at, nestled in their green crown of leaves, and keep smiling. And I smile with them.
6 comments:
"impatiens or petunias or some other flower that doesn't know how to snap or smile."
See, I can't write like that. I wish I could.
But my question is this - Do your tomatoes taste like Ohio Valley tomatoes? I have bought the cardboard tomatoes from California, but I'm sure yours grown at home would be entirely different - not picked green and shipped. I'm sure your local vegetable and fruit stands have superior produce than what ends up in our local supermarket, but I'm zeroing in on your tomatoes. Soil, climate, seasons, temperature - all have their effect.
Have you been to the midwest during tomato season - August, and very early September?
Chris,
Thank you, but my writing seems ordinary compared to writing like this, from September: "Exhibiting a delicate blend of light and shadow, Manet's uniquely frank (and largely unpopular) depiction of a simpleton holding out a melon was immediately rejected." There's no comparison.
As for tomatoes, I survive primarily with the cardboard variety in the supermarket, though they offer what they call "vine-ripe tomatoes," and try to prove the point by keeping the vine connected to about four or five tomatoes. I usually fall for such obvious attempts to part me from my money.
The last time I was in the midwest (besides O'Hare--or Louisville, but I don't think it qualifies as the midwest, even if it is right across the river from Indiana) was Cleveland when I was 19. I believe that was August, but I don't remember the tomatoes.
And I can't remember growing any tomatoes when I had my garden for a few years in Spokane (1978 - 80). I grew leafy greens (and learned for the first time what exactly "bolting" looked like in spinach), peas, beans, and snow peas. And pumpkins, lovely pumpkins (Small Sugar and Big Max). But I have no memory of tomatoes gracing my garden, and I don't know why I'd forego that pleasure.
When I come to Indianapolis next month, will it be too late to find Indiana's finest tomatoes?
Tomatoes are best in the month of August. In July they're just "getting good" and in September the taste is waning.
By November, the gardens are put to bed for the winter.
Then I'll have to get my hopes back down and prepare myself for more cardboard.
You need to swing your RV through Indiana about mid-August next year and and start looking for homes with tomato cages out back.
March straight up to the door - tell them you're from California and you've heard about Indiana tomatoes - ask them if they have any extra. You'll probably find yourself well-supplied.
You haven't posted much lately. You OK?
Yes, Chris, I'm doing fine. I had one of those weekends (dog trouble--I might post on it (or not) if I have time) followed by one of those work weeks (which isn't over yet but feels like it should have ended days ago). I haven't had two blogging minutes to rub against each other, and the blog ideas are piling up. Sigh!
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