weekend, part 2

What's sillier, do you think — having a standalone post labelled "weekend, part 1," or posting about the past weekend just over 24 hours before the next one?

Oh well. Here's the next instalment of tulips to brighten up the day (although these particular ones have raindrops on them — unavoidable, this week):


This may be the last of them, I'm afraid. The white and crimson one at the back is a "Carnival de Rio," which blooms in late spring (check!) and is the last of the tulips in the garden. They've been blooming but not opening since the weekend. The "Banja Luca" tulips were completely decimated by the rain — I think they opened and the heavy raindrops started weighing down the petals, so they've been dropping left, right and centre. No other flowers have come up yet, but I have high hopes for the gladiolas and calla lilies in a month or so. That is, if they haven't drowned.

And that's it for the gardening. I did no work last weekend — too cold and too drizzly. But the lawn does look green thanks to all of the rain. Now if we could get some sun before my herbs die of chill, that would be lovely.

The rest of the weekend, we finished the teardown and started building the sunroom back up. Pd and his brother laid the subfloor:


It now looks like this:


I know it looks kind of the same, but it feels more solid, somehow. We've bought the new flooring (laminate) already, but we're going to finish putting up the drywall before laying it.

I helped by using prying all of the nails from the old vapour barrier out of the frame. (This is both more and less strenuous than it sounds.) I wasn't allowed to stay for the actual flooring, though, because of the dust. Still, it's more physical labour than I was allowed last time, so that's something.

Here's something cool, that we unearthed during the teardown:


I don't know if I've ever mentioned it before, but the sunroom is actually a second-floor addition. There's nothing but air below it (in fact, it is right over the barbecue in the backyard). This is where the addition joins up with the original house, which apparently was once white brick. (It still is, at the front.)

I love seeing the original bits of the house peek through. It's an old house, built around the 1920s, and while I think the hardwood and some of the walls are original, a lot of it has been "updated" (in particular, the kitchen and bathroom — typical, isn't it? — and the former ceilings, also known as the DEATHTRAP!.). There aren't a lot of interesting or quirky architectural features, but it's still nice to see a bit of what used to be — kind of a sneak peek behind the curtain, as it were.

weekend, part 1

It was our anniversary this weekend, so Pd and I decided to treat ourselves and bought some nice, fat lobster tails to experiment with. Or rather, I wanted to experiment and he kindly indulged me.


I wanted to make a lobster risotto. (Actually, I wanted to make that or learn how to butter poach a lobster; I gave Pd the choice and he chose the risotto.) I've made my go-to mushroom cauliflower risotto a lot this winter, and I've gotten very comfortable with the ins-and-outs of it, so I thought it was time to vary it a little.

It was the first time I'd ever made lobster (or pieces thereof), actually. I've never been entirely comfortable with cooking live lobsters — not so much the slow death bit (I figure they're somewhat like frogs; there's a vague awareness of is it getting hotter in here?, and then merciful coma and death), but — what if they crawl out of the sink — or the pot, for that matter — and get away? And someone told me once that you're supposed to pierce the head or the bladder or something before you put it into the pot, but — how do you tell where that is? (Granted: it would probably help to remember the specific organ in question, as I'm fairly sure the head and the bladder are not in the same place.) And anyway, I'm not comfortable with that, either; killing via water is one thing, but sticking a sharp object lengthwise through a still-living thing is something else.

I know that there's a philosophy that one shouldn't eat what one isn't comfortable killing. I say hogwash. I have no illusions that the animals we eat have the same cute-puppy eyes as the animals we don't — someone ate my adopted pet bunny when I was five years old; when this happens and the adults treat it as an unfortunate oversight, you tend to lose that particular illusion rather quickly — but I'm kind of a klutz and I think it would be best for both me and the animal that I not be involved in its demise.

All that being said, the risotto was very good, and I did not have to kill anything that wasn't already dead — except the chives, and they had it coming.


Next: more renovations! Yay!

gardening for me (and also maybe some other people)

And ... as promised, the first harvest of the season:


It seems a bit early to be harvesting anything (especially since my brain, for some reason, still insists on thinking that it's April), but the rhubarb that we pulled was undeniably ready: thick and very bright red. I got a good half-dozen last night, and I'm going to pull a few more later this weekend for another friend.

I'm glad that I have friends who like rhubarb. I don't, actually, and it seems such a waste to not harvest it.

I cut the yellow tulips last night, too. It's always hard for me to do that — I know that other gardeners grow flowers specifically to be cut, but I just can't get away from the thought that, if I cut them, they won't be growing any more. (I am hoping a plethora of gladiolas and peonies will help with this.) It's especially hard with tulips, because there's only one per stem and they only last for so long.

But the thing is, I realised that the ones I cut — from the backyard — were half-hidden behind other plants (like the raging daylilies), and anyway, I couldn't enjoy them most of the time — we don't go out into our backyard very often, and even though our kitchen sink overlooks it, it's usually dark when I'm doing dishes or glancing idly out. Their being outside was not contributing much, if anything, to my enjoyment of the garden — whereas I do believe they look absolutely adorable on my dining table:


I've just got the stems, leaving the foliage to gather nutrients for the bulb so that they'll recur next year. (The previous owner planted these, so I've got good reason to believe them to be annuals.) I think it's a good compromise. After all, what's the point of gardening if I don't enjoy the flowers?
...
I need to make a decision as to how I'm going to map out the garden soon. I need to figure out a way to keep track of where the tulips are, and which cultivars, so that I don't accidentally dig naturalizing bulbs up as I'm planting more in October. (And I will definitely be planting more.) There's two possibilities: one, I draw a map in my little gardening notebook. Or, I stick little wooden tags in the ground — the downside to that, of course, is that they will be terribly obvious (especially after the foliage dies back). On the other hand, it's much more precise — the map would only give me a vague-ish sort of idea.

(Of course, the two are not mutually exclusive, and I would be paranoid in any case about losing the tags, so really I suppose it's either the map and the tags, or just the map alone.)

Thoughts, anyone?

another hit of spring, and an anticipated harvest

It looks like it's overcast outside again, even though it's so nice and warm, so here's another tulip-y pick-me-up:


These are the "Banja Luka" tulips, which really do look this vibrant and plastic-like (especially in the sun). They tower a good five or six inches over the "Giuseppe Verdi" tulips which, alas, are done for the year. I will have to deadhead them this weekend. What I like most about the "Banja Luka," besides their happy colour, is the fact that they open almost like teacup roses in the bright sun (as in this picture).

This morning it was cooler and overcast, and they had closed up into the proper tulip shape.


This is the side of the laneway that I am hoping to fill with naturalized tulips over the course of the next few years. The tulips in the background, the plain red ones, are remnants from the previous owner. (I had thought we had yellow ones, but those seem to be in the backyard only.) The green is not grass; it's chives. Of course it is.

After the "Banja Luka" there's just one more wave of tulip cultivar to go — I forget the name, but I think they have pale edges, and are slightly ruffled like parrot tulips. They've started to bud, but none have opened yet. Hopefully, by the time they're done, the rest of the garden will have caught up — things are coming back, and we've got some lovely violets and periwinkle (I especially adore the latter), but there's nothing tall and the tulips kind of stick out like a sore thumb. I'm thinking of removing them from the main yard entirely next year, actually. They looks kind of weird and out of place.

Meanwhile, in the back, the rhubarb is turning into the Plant That Ate Toronto:


I mean, good God. I had read that rhubarb doesn't like to be wet, and since we've had such a wet and cool spring, I thought that maybe it would be delayed a little. But, no. It's ready to be harvested now, and it's gigantic. (I am trying to be better this year. Last year I would look at the rhubarb, decide that it needed another week or two, and then forget to harvest altogether. Which might explain why I have a sudden explosion of rhubarb, as I think all the rhubarb I didn't harvest turned into new rhubarb plants.)

That's not the best bit, though. The best bit is — do you remember how, back in October, I transplanted the potted strawberry plants into the garden in a last-ditch effect to salvage something? Well, it seems like it may have even worked:


At least three of those plants are alive, have strong leaves and — astoundingly! — have proto-blossoms. There was even a nice, fat bumblebee hovering around them this morning. I have no idea if we will get any strawberries out of this; I'm still in awe of the fact that they survived.

demolition derby