Desperately Needed Happy Post
I’m going to give us a tiny little break from the Apocalypse in the Gulf, because by the time I post the next series of photos of oil-coated animals, I’m concerned that without something uplifting my readers are going to tear their eyeballs out.
It’s spring in Philadelphia, and my walk to work gets more pleasant every day. On 49th Street, just a few blocks from my house, a cherry tree is in full fruit: the only sad thing is I can’t reach the damn cherries.
The same cannot be said of the mulberry trees: we have at least two within a block of the house. If you’ve never seen one, it looks like a tree covered with white or black raspberries, although the flavor is entirely different.
Instead of being tart, the mulberry is creamy and sweet, with the black mulberries having a richer flavor. I could eat them all day, and often grab a handful or two on my way home: they are at their peak when they fall off the tree when you just barely touch them.
Over at 49th and Kingsessing, on the east side of the railroad overpass, there’s a white mulberry. A block away where St. Bernard Street meets Chester avenue, there’s a smaller black mulberry. I try to get to them once a day.
The story of how the mulberry came to America is fascinating. Today the tree is considered something of a nuisance, because as the fruit drops it attracts birds and insects, who poop and swarm everywhere. But back in the 18th century, they were imported to Philadelphia (and many parts of New England) as a domestic source of silk, as the leaves are a primary source of food for the silkworm. However, for one reason or another, the attempt failed: some blame the climate, but I’ve also heard that the wrong variety of mulberry was planted. In any event, the colonists’ failure is our gain, and i’m munching mulberries til late June, when the trees are spent for the year.
I haven’t written extensively about our garden yet (kinda pre-occupied with the ongoing disasters), but so far it has been a banner year. After nearly killing off a number of tomato seedlings with a too-strong DIY insecticidal soap, everything has come back strongly. The back bed is home to a cucumber plant and pumpkins. Tomatoes that we planted in last year’s potato planters are coming in strong, as are our sunflowers. The peas are full of pods, and the tomato bed is thriving.
best of all, we got a number of “volunteers” from last year. That’s what I call those tomato and squash plants that sprung from seeds that remained in the beds from last year or ended up in the compost. Put it this way: I have so many tomato and squash seedlings that spontaneously sprouted, they might as well be weeds. I’ve saved or transplanted the strongest of each (I was worried the squash I moved into a large pot yesterday would die overnight, but this morning it was standing tall and growing). I’m anticipating that the volunteers will be some of the hardiest plants in the whole garden.
And then there are my hops, which are more than halfway up the line to the second floor, and are well on their way to becoming a green roof over the deck.
We’ve also initiated compost pile number two, which is growing rapidly, comprised mainly of lawn clippings, a little bit of horseshit, and food waster. And I planted oregano for the first time: like mint and marigolds, it’s an all-purpose bug repellent that makes a nice ground cover.
Up next, oil coated birds. You’re gonna want to puke, and you’ll wonder why no one has taken a shot at BP. You’d figure with all the angry Louisiana gun owners who make a living from the coast, that someone with a good knowledge of the swamps would be lying in wait.
