Survival of the Species

Puttering in the garden is the only activity that sets my brain free from the daily concerns of running a farm business, wondering what’s for dinner, will I have time to bathe my dirty dog tonight, what are those (bleeping) politicians going to screw up next, and so on.  It’s impossible to have stress in the garden, and that’s one of the reasons I spend so much time out there.  Time to recover from daily brain damage, time to listen to the birds, time to touch the dirt/compost/vermiculite/peat mixture that our veggies love to sink their feet into, to feel the cool greenness of our growing “children” who want nothing more than to end up on our dinner plates.

Shuckin' and Chivin'

My garden in autumn always looks like a hurricane went through it.  (My apologies and sympathies to so many out there who actually did go through some horrid storms this year!)  The tomatoes are at an end, still struggling to ripen before the rains descend, their leaves yellowed and tattered and pathetic.  Peas have come and gone a couple of times now and the stragglers hang on the fencing with their tongues hanging out, making seeds for next year.  Same with all the beans.  The cucumbers Bruce uses to make The Best Pickles In The Known Universe have succumbed to the cool and the chickens today are happily munching on all the immature ones left on the dead vines.

New chives under protection of fading cornstalks

Spud Berries and Other Distractions

Long ago and far away in a remote village in central France, a mere stone's throw from Chambord, we hopped into Dad's Van Ordinaire and headed to the local dump.  This place wasn't shown on any tourist map but it should have been well marked... even highlighted.  Aside from being the town's social gathering place on Saturday mornings, it was a literal treasure house of wonderful things, barely used, lovingly given up for adoption.  First come, first served.

A stainless steel goldmine!

Fin de Bagnols

Bagnols is a sweet little town in the heart of the Beaujolais grape growing and wine producting region of France, and I can't imagine a finer place to enjoy those delicious, sweet and tender green beans the French are famous for. But preferring to avoid airplanes, we now grow our own Fin de Bagnols from heirloom seed.

We don't know exactly why these beans were named Fin de Bagnols. It's a delicious little enigma since, in French, the word "fin" has about 50 different meanings.  It could mean "the end of the town of Bagnols," although the town still exists.  Or perhaps "at the edge of the town of Bagnols." Or "fin" could be taken to mean "thin, slender, or very fine."  Pas de quoi.  They're French beans and that's all we are ever likely to know.

Fin de Bagnols - delicious French beans