Recently, my friend Margaret of A Way to Garden inquired about harvesting her first big bounty of tomatillos and turning them into salsa verde. If you grow your own tomatillos, late summer is when their papery husks start to plump up and split, signalling that they are ready for harvest. The fruit tends to ripen all at once (or very nearly), and when we spoke, I was just preparing to make up my own annual batch of sauce.
I’m beginning to see the end*. Gaps are appearing where summer annuals have been yanked. Seed heads are quickly replacing flowers and colour in the garden comes more from the green leaves that are shifting towards yellows, reds, and browns.
The world is in transition. I’ve been thinking about this lately. The way I focus on an ending, when what is really happening outside is more closely akin to a transitional change. The only thing that is really coming to an end is the way I interact with my garden through the coming winter months… which (and I believe this is the real reason for my perspective) is not much at all.
“He who plants a garden, plants happiness.”
- Chinese Proverb
Inspired by this quote are a few recent scenes from my small patch of earthly joy.
I probably should have waited to post this until it was doing something more exciting than simply being alive in a pot, but the fact that it is alive at all is one reason why I find this euphorbia so thrilling in the first place.
Euphorbia platyclada is a living succulent plant that looks dead, or at the very least like a zombified plant taking imperceptible micro-steps forward with its leafless arms* splayed out and fingers dangling like dead weights. It is yet another oddity in my growing collection of alien euphorbias from outer space, and was also a gift from my friend and fellow Euphorbia enthusiast Uli.
‘Black and Blue’ salvia is really more blue and purple than black, but you know how these things go in the garden world. Dark purple is often considered black and identifying colour is mostly down to a bit of wishful thinking. This salvia is also reported to attract hummingbirds, hence the common name, hummingbird sage, but it does not live up to the hype there either, at least not in my garden where nary a hummingbird has been seen and not for want of trying.