I've been itching to get in there and clean things out, but the peppers were still producing and the Japanese eggplant and it seemed like they were asking for a little longer.
We had a solid, fill-the-buckets kind of rainstorm on Friday. I stood in the courtyard at work, face toward the sky, arms outstretched, palms up, with a great big smile. I drove home with the radio off, listening to the slap of the wipers, the tinny taps of raindrops on the roof. The sky was every color of grey, black and white and I gazed at the drops gain weight and trickle down the driver's side window. How I have longed for the smell, the sound, the promise of rain.
On Saturday the ground was still damp with the soil the color of dark mocha, and we tackled those giant tomato plants that had interwoven with one another and spilled out onto the walkways as if making a run for the gate. We harvested what we could and reluctantly pulled everything except for Audrey.
Audrey presents a special problem. She is a beautiful and robust plant and takes up most of a 4x8 raised planter box. All too late did we discover the mistake of planting her in a full sun garden. She cannot tolerate our style of hot, dusty endless summers. She is a coastal plant that needs the moist ocean air and cool breezes to make big, tender, flavorful artichokes. She produces big and promising artichokes in the late winter and spring, but they are tough. I'm attached to this plant. We have been told a full size artichoke is unlikely to survive a transplant, but we will try -- into a big earthenware pot on wheels to move her seasonally into the shade or to a greenhouse where she can enjoy some gentle morning mist and temperature control. If I know Audrey, she'll probably do well.
