Floral Purpitude

Purpleness
Busy Memorial Day weekend. I added a bunch of plants to the blue & purple garden, which has hitherto been a bit sparse. I planted
(1) leadwort
(2) society garlic
(3) 'Ophelia' egglplant
(4) 'Twinkle' eggplant
(5) 'Classic' eggplant
(6) mystery plum-colored perennial

The existing plants were
(1) Blue butterfly plant (Clerodendrum ugandense)
(2) white-flowered jasmine
(3) plumbago
(4) Crinum macowanii
(5) young X Chitalpa tree

When we (someday) build an arbor over the kitchen patio, we'll grow skyvine up it, producing even more lovely bluey-purple. It shall be SO serene.

Door Work
So that was Saturday. Sunday I sanded the three antique doors that Javier sized for us. I used 220 on problem areas (stains, bits of paint, &c.) and 600 everywhere else. I used my little hand sander, which really works reasonably well, though it was an undeniably long and tedious process to finish all three doors.

Then on Monday I stained (using a color called "Gunstock," to match the shelves in the study. Sheesh, that name is silly. If the stain could talk, it would say to me, "Wal, howdy ma'am." See? Silly.) The door to the master bed was darker than all the rest when stripped, so it naturally came out darkest when stained. The others are not only lighter, but brighter, so I'm thinking of applying a quick coat of a color I think was called "American Cherry." Inexplicably, it was quite light and distinctly greyish in color (shouldn't a "cherry" stain be dark and red?). I'm hoping that little bit of grey will dull down the orangey red a bit--but only a bit. Best test on the hinge side first.

The varnish will have to await our next paycheck (not to mention a resurgence of motivation). At the moment, the mere thought makes me despair (multiple coats, complete sanding of all sides between coats--faugh!--as medieval knights sometimes say when faced with a particularly foul-breathed dragon).

Even in their incomplete state, though, the doors look ever so handsome. I've always appreciated them as being solidly built, pretty, strong chunks of wood, but it wasn't until I was vacuuming off the dust--painstakingly, inch by inch--that I was really struck by how very solid they are, how smooth and satiny the surface is, how perpendicular all the pieces of wood are, and just in general how very satisfying and admirable the doors are, particularly when you consider that--unlike contemporary doors--they weren't extruded from some machine and steam-molded into a flimsy simulacrum of wood. Some person or people shaped them by hand. And--amazingly--everything fits together and all the angles are square and nothing is warped or caddywhompus. The things some people know how to do.

The Bard
And finally, I witnessed my new favorite Shakespearean reference of the year the other day. Jon Stewart and John Oliver were discussing the expenses abuse scandal in Britain:

JO: I'm from England, Jon. And even mid-scandal, I'm proud of this royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle and its moats, yay, its unwittingly public-funded moats—

JS: You—you’re gonna go Richard II on the moats thing?

JO: Fuck, yeah. Strap in.

Sing it, baby.

Bloom Digest

Enthusiastic Echinacea purpurea (presumably)

Hurrah for April! It's May at the moment, but much of what's blooming now is gliding on the momentum of April (except the echinacea, of course--that's just warming up). Summer and fall flushes of flowers can't match the juicy and exuberant profuseness of April. Already we're past the big flush of blooms for the roses. There are still roses in bloom, but not as jubilantly as a week ago.

In happy news, 'Lichterloh' is finally blooming. It took two years of grumpy stasis, but it's finally decided to act like an antique. I don't think the problem is with the cultivar itself: I suspect I just did a sloppy job of planting it or it got a particularly lousy bit of soil. I grew it for years and years in a big pot and it never complained--so I know it's normally tough.

'Lichterloh' finally blooms--and it's acting like it means it.

In other notable rose news, I got a decent picture of 'New Dawn.' 'New Dawn' is very prolific and very pretty from a distance, where you see masses of flesh-pale flowers on a glossy dark background. Up close, though, the flowers always seem to look a little faded and browned. However, I was taking pictures at 8:30 this morning, and I actually caught several especially fresh blossoms. Here are two.

'New Dawn,' looking especially crisp and fresh

It's been a good several weeks for the amaryllids. Almost all of my Hippeastrum have bloomed.

Miniature 'Pamela' in bloom. Sorry for the blurriness--but the color is accurate, anyway.

The Aztec lily (AKA Jacobean lily, AKA Sprekelia formosissima) is currently in bloom, looking as fantastical and improbable as ever. I don't know why people don't grow these more often. They're so very showy and striking.

Sprekelia formosissima in bloom

And there are crinum buds and blooms all over the place. The first to bloom so far are the C. × powellii by the study door.


We've also got some trees in bloom. The 'Little Gem' magnolia has more buds now than it did last year, though the tree itself is still a bit thin in terms of leaf cover. It's awfully airy for a M. grandiflora, which should be a dense pillar of dark greenness. Still. Happy to see the flowers.


And the new chitalpa is blooming like nuts, apparently oblivious to the fact that I just put it in the ground! What a trooper. The cordia is also stalwartly blooming, despite being young and scrawny. Attaboy!

Chitalpa tashkentensis 'Morning Cloud' isn't at all bothered by being transplanted.

Status Updates
From here on out, to be honest, the pictures get a lot less interesting. I'm tracking the status of some of my plants. From a horticultural perspective, "Yay! They're taller and greener!" From a photographic perspective, "Oh, look. It's a small green blob. How thrilling." You see what I mean? I won't hold it against you if you surf on at this point.

First bit of good news: The Meyer lemon still has lemons on it. Last year, we lost them all to the drought. Fingers are crossed that this year the weather gods will be kinder.


Three cheers for Eve's Necklace (Sophora affinis)! This plant gets the Most Abused Plant That Actually Lived award. We chucked it in the ground, didn't give it enough water, dug it up, chucked it elsewhere, still didn't give it enough water, and then subjected it to a drought. We've treated other plants that way. They're all dead (Pistacia texensis, we hardly knew ya...).

Sophora affinis--small, but doughty

The vegetable... it's not even a garden. The vegetable accumulation. The vegetable optimism. The vegetable petiteness. There's row of microscopic tomato seedlings on the right. There are several pots of somewhat promising tomatillos. There's a handful of tiny little fragile-looking chile sprouts. And there are some eggplants somewhere in there (I hope). (Apparently, I only grow members of the tomato family, the solanaceae. I can't explain it--it just happened.)

Behold! The mighty vegetable patch!

And finally, my "dark purple" passionflower from Garden of the Ancients has come back. A promising beginning.

The elegant curl of an adolescent passionflower

Update on the Recession Garden

(Will add pix later. Maybe. If I feel like it.)

So last you heard, I was harvesting my 6 radishes and the lettuce were starting to look lettuce-like. Some peppers had germinated, as well as some artichokes and maybe some okra.

Sadly, we never got the watering system really sorted out this winter: it watered most of the greenhouse, but not all of the greenhouse, excluding my seeds and rose cuttings some of the time.

So we're now down to one or two late-germinating chile seedlings, a handful of doubtful tomato seedlings, 2 okras, about 10 eggplants, and 6 or so tomatillos. Oh, and a fennel from that Austin Passion for Plants festival last weekend (it consisted of a bunch of informational/demo booths, and for every 4 booths we visited, you got a free plant. I got a 'Super Sweet 100' cherry tomato, and Matt got a 'Zefa Fino' fennel. I never got quite a clear answer from him on why he chose a fennel--I don't think he's a fan of the bulb or the foliage. He just said something airy about liking to have fennel in the garden. Well, why not?)

And we've actually harvested 2 side salads' worth of Lolla Rossa lettuce, which Matt loyally declared to be "really good."

Six more radishes languish in the pot, refusing to produce little bulbs. I think the intermittent watering stalled them out, along with some unseasonable heat. They're neither growing nor dying, just sitting there.

The pelleted butterhead lettuce never even sprouted, much to my consternation. And I think the lemongrass sprouts lasted about 1 day. The ahi limon chile crop, which was the inspiration for this entire effort, has completely died out. So sad. I may try to sprout a few more, just to see.

Amusingly, though, it looks like my initial prediction regarding the veg garden was right: I'm going to end up with almost nothing but buckets of tomatillos (and eggplants)--if I'm lucky. Well. It beats farkleberries and rotten turnips.

First Radishes

My first home-grown D'Avignon radishes. Aren't they pretty?

And now, suddenly, my radishes are ready to eat.

And I have abruptly learned something about radishes. You know how they sell them in clusters in the grocery store? They don't actually grow in clusters. 1 radish seed = 1 radish bulb. I'm pretty sure that as a horticulturist, I should have sussed this out somewhat earlier in the process, but I actually only just figured it out this morning.

This, as you might imagine, rather changes the mathematics around how many seeds you should plant, and when.

So my awesome, guerilla, recession-busting garden currently boasts 6--yes SIX!--whole radish bulbs. Well, actually, 3. I ate some.

Yep, this is going to be a huge savings in my weekly grocery bill.

So that's the sad news: radishes are lazy, underproducing bums.

The other sad news: radishes are not very filling. Three radishes for lunch, even with butter and sea salt, leaves you thinking, "That was great! Now where's my cheeseburger?'

But there is happy news: Boy, those squirts grow fast! I'm harvesting less than a month after seeding. And because they grow so fast, there just isn't much time for them to develop diseases or succumb to pests. Easy peasy.

To distill: if you want to have radishes for breakfast, like the French do (or so the radish lobby would have you believe), aim for at least 10 plants per seeding, and seed every 5 days. Also, buy a baguette, because radishes all by themselves, however crisp and refreshing, are like eating air. Unless you're either a chameleon or a monk, they don't make much of a meal.

Sash Locks and Garden Goings On

Installing Sash Latches
One of the results of our recent bout of weatherizing (which we totally have covered now, Mr. President. Can I interest you in replacing our HVAC system, though? I totally promise to blow the savings in a consumerist frenzy at Lowes. Hugs and kisses, your faithful constituent, Melanie) is that with our windows no longer painted shut, we needed to install some form of lock or latch on the newly liberated sashes.

Old-school windows like ours require old-fashioned sash locks (see pic below). However, the bottom piece of the top sash wasn't really designed to have a latch attached to it in the way shown in the picture--it's a narrower, beveled piece of wood--not strong enough or wide enough.

Package showing typical sash lock installation

I knew there was a way to make the darn things work, but for some reason, I had trouble figuring it out. I felt like a toddler who can't figure out the shape-holes game--I kept twisting the pieces around in different configurations and they kept not fitting together right.

The shape-holes toy

Anyway, for anyone as spatially challenged as myself, here's a pic showing how you do it:

Yeah, I know, we need to scrape the paint off the glass. Mañana, mañana...

Works like a charm. And so wonderfully antiquey. Seems like something we would have had on the camp on Grand Isle that was built by my great-grandparents. (Actually, I think the hurricane-optimized windows operated by crank, but they could have had this kind of latch. Would have matched the cracked brown linoleum with big bunches of roses and the claw-footed bath tub.)

In other weatherizing news, I added more closed-cell stripping around the windows in the living room, and that seems to have made all the difference--am now warm and snug. I also installed pieces of foam behind a bunch of our faceplates and caulked around the electrical boxes. Not sure that's really going to make much difference, but I was on a tear. Leave no faceplate uncaulked. That was my motto.

Now all that remains is to finish installing quarter round in the living room and dining room and caulk it in.

Movement on the Gutter Front
Meanwhile, we've taken another step towards gutterdom. We bought almost one whole side of the house worth of fascia (with a gift card from my mother-in-law's BFF, Lucy. Thanks Lucy! It arrived just when we were feeling motivated, which was great.) We put down one coat of primer Monday. And once again (how?! how, I ask you?!?) I got paint in my hair. I keep picking at it (and washing my hair), but I keep finding new little streaks. Anyway, I expect to get the priming done this week and maybe start on the painting next week. At which point, my hair will be completely white.

Needless to say, there is no real urgency around this project. Here's my weather station's graph of this year's rainfall, as displayed on the wunderground. That one tiny 0.4" spike of moisture? That's where I was testing the rain cup to see if it was actually in operation.


Seedlings Galore
My Recession Veggie Garden--which is entirely in containers in the greenhouse this year--is starting to look like it might add up to something.

My lettuce, for example, is looking kind of lettuce-like.

Lolla Rossa' lettuce seedling

I've got a number of artichoke seedlings coming up that are nice and stout.

'Violetto' artichoke seedlings

I have a plethora of spindly little lemon basils.

'Mrs. Burns' excellent lemon basil seedlings

And while the peppers have been very shy about popping up, I do have at least one sprout of each variety. The guajillos have been the least petulant so far.

Guajillo pepper seedlings

But my pride and joy is the radishes. Look how big they already are! I recently received a shipment of watermelon radish seeds, so we'll see if they do as well. It's probably a bit late in the season, but I'm going to try a few seeds since the D'Avignons are being such good sports.

D'Avignon radish seedlings

Other Garden News
The Meyer lemon is still blooming away, smelling lovely, and making weency little green baby fruits. I love the colors on this plant--the cool, ivory-mottled green of the leaves, the flush of purple on the buds, and the buff-colored anthers.

Meyer lemon flowers and embryonic fruit

We've also got some sort of kalanchoe coming into bloom. Not a huge fan of kalanchoe foliage, but these shiny, shell-like flower buds are really cool.

Kalanchoe flower buds

And finally, Matt has propagated something he's tentatively calling 'Louis Philippe.' It's a dear little thing, whatever it is. Like so many chinas, it manages to look spunky, dainty, and tough all at once. So endearing.

Possible 'Louis Philippe' rose cutting

Not _Quite_ Like Ft. Knox: Weatherstripping cont.

Well, I think our weatherizing efforts helped. But our problems are not, alas, entirely solved. For example, here I sit, blogging away on the new sofa, which is under a window. And although this window was weatherstripped and caulked, I can feel a steady, slow stream of cool air blowing over me coming from the window. Our indoor thermometer, sitting on the sofa with me, says it's 61 degrees here. This is especially disheartening because that vinyl gasket weatherstrip was such a fiddly, aggravating thing to install.

<...performing further research...>

Good news! I ran my hands all over the window. The gasket is working. However, the top sash needs more caulk, and I need to nail a strip of gasket to the top of the bottom sash, at the seam where it meets the top sash. In addition, the D-profile weatherstrip on the underside of the bottom sash doesn't appear to be accomplishing all that might be desired. I'll have to nail another strip of the vinyl gasket to the sill, flush with the bottom sash, to compensate for the D-profile's underperformance.

I am reminded as I ponder all of this that the wood of this particular window was more than normally tough, and most of the little finishing nails that I was using buckled instead of going straight into the wood. (Which is one of the reasons I won't be taking pictures of the window--it's best to keep my handiwork decently out of sight behind the blinds.) What fun to get to spend more quality time with this window! Once again: if I had just had the sense to buy an air compressor back when we began the bamboo project, I'd no doubt have a power nailer by now and this whole problem would be non-existent. Moral of the story: always buy the air compressor.

On a happier note, I also ran my hands over the windows in the study, and they are doing a much better job keeping out the cold. So success is possible, if I just apply myself.

Perfection has also eluded us in the area of the doors. Somehow, I failed to get the vinyl bulb stripping perfectly flush with one side of the study door, so it will have to be reinstalled; the spontaneously new kitchen door needs some refinement in terms of its fit; and the front door has to be slammed in order for the knob to catch, so we'll have to adjust the tongue holes (or whatever the proper word is). Also, the kitchen and study door sills still have leaks at the bottom corners.

This project consumed an entire weekend, and it looks like it's going to chew its way into another. But I guess if it will prevent the tip of my nose from turning into an ice cube, it's worthwhile.

Update on the Recession Garden
I've got several sprouting artichokes, one tiny, hesitant guajillo pepper, as well as the basil, radishes, and Lolla Rossa lettuce I mentioned before. I also sowed some eggplants 2 weekends ago, along with another batch of D'Avignon radishes and some Harmony butterhead lettuce.

In a similar spirit of frugality, I have discovered (and begun to use) the cutting swap feature of a rose site called (weirdly) helpmefind.com. They set up a system to allow users to post the roses they're looking for in order to swap for cuttings of roses they're growing. Brilliant! I've arranged for a 10-rose swap with a lady from Georgia (I think). Since her Fortune's Double Yellow won't be big enough till spring, I'm going ahead and rooting the roses my correspondent wants from my garden. By spring, they should have a nice root system and be ready to mail.

Do you know what would make a really kick-ass accesory for a Recession Garden? One of these. A residential wind turbine. There are a number of issues (it's only recommended for properties larger than 1/2 acre--ours is .48 acres--and it needs to be hoisted on top of a 50-foot tower), but it's way, way cheaper than solar panels (PBS says that even after California's generous incentives, Bill Nye the Science Guy still paid something like $32,000 for his solar panels. Which he apparently has to mop regularly.) In general, one small turbine won't let you live a comfortable, first-world lifestyle "off the grid," but it will--apparently--reduce your power bill to the double or even single digits. Sweet! Still pondering whether to add this to my I-really-want-this-for-real list, or tack it on to my well-it'd-be-nice-if-I-could list, where it can keep the solar panels company.

Recession Radishes

...and Other Seasonal Things

The Recession Radishes ('D'Avignon') have sprouted, as has one variety of lettuce ('Lolla Rossa'). I feel more solvent just looking at them. Still no action from the poppies, larkspur, peppers, lemon grass, artichokes, or basil.

All in good time.

Also, my final batch of seeds came in, so I'll be starting another variety of lettuce soon. The radishes have been so obliging that I'm thinking of looking for another variety, called 'Watermelon' (right) to add to the garden. Isn't it funky and interesting?

Meanwhile, I find myself wondering, why does everything bad happen in central Texas? Once again, we’ve got a map of the US in which the country’s glowing core of misery emanates directly from the hill country. This time it’s not drought, but cedar (juniper) pollen. What’s next, a plague of locusts? Raining blood? (which, come to think of it, would break the drought. Maybe not such a bad thing…)

There's Austin. Number 3 on the list of today's most pollen-infested cities.

The happy news is that my system hasn't completely made up its mind to embrace cedar allergies. I'm a little stuffy, but nothing to write home about. I suppose my body's storing up its mucous for oak season in April.

The other happy news is that we were able to have a quick grill out this evening. It's supposed to drop down to the twenties tonight, but presently it's a balmy 42, and as there is no wind to speak of (maximum gust in the past hour: 0.0 mph--thank you Oregon Scientific!), I was able to stay pretty comfortable huddled by the grill. Grilled food on a cold, clear night--one of the most satisfying things in the world.

Flower Update

Despite repeated freezes, some of our plants are blooming with grim determination. Take, for example, 'Ducher.' It's covered in buds, nevermind that those buds are covered in pink frost-damage lesions.

Frost-damaged 'Ducher' buds

Burgundy Iceberg, after a long lull this summer, has decided to repeat--in the middle of January. While most roses develop more dark pink pigmentation in the cold, the normally dark pinky-purple BI gets less color. The purple fades and the flowers turn a lighter, mottled pinky-lilac.

'Burgundy Iceberg's lighter, pinker January flowers

I'm also rather proud of one of our Lacey oaks, which, in its first full year in the ground has put on a modest flush of tiny, nearly unphotographable acorns.

Quercus laceyi, with tiny acorns

But the best blooming news is our variegated Meyer lemon, which is filling the greenhouse with the sweet fragrance from its blossoms. As you can see, it's already got some minute little lemons forming.

Meyer lemon flower and baby fruit

And look at all those buds! I'm hoping for a bumper crop. I've been doing a little informal pollination with my index finger every time I'm in the greenhouse. I'm afraid that there otherwise won't be enough insects to get the job done.

Meyer lemon tree

Recession Garden

In what my superego keeps naggingly telling me is an absurd and self-delusional exercise in futility, I have begun my Recession Garden.

My superego makes several solid points. It observes, (1) less than half of the things you plant will actually produce more then 4 ounces of harvest--drought, birds, and bugs will get the rest. (2) You'll forget to harvest half of the potentially harvestable produce, and it will bolt/rot/dessicate. (3) Of the remainder you do harvest, half will go bad before you buy the other necessary ingredients to make something with them, half will go bad because they'll look weird, mushy, and misshapen and you just won't be able to bring yourself to eat them, and half (the third half) will go bad because Matt cordially hates almost all vegetables and you won't want to eat them by yourself. However, you will harvest 2 undersized tomatillos, roast and puree them, and put them in the freezer to use later in a salsa. They will remain in the freezer for the next four years, slowing turning into astronaut food.

My superego frequently indulges in sage observations like these, and I just as frequently sing loudly while stuffing my fingers in my ears. In the case of my Recession Garden, though, I can't help it: it's the zeitgeist. Prudence and frugality and Puritan self-reliance are in the air. They aren't really qualities I possess, but I can't help going through the motions, all the same.

So, telling my superego to stuff it, I, Goody Melanie, planted half a large pot of D'Avignon radish seeds and half another pot of Lolla Rossa lettuce in our greenhouse. In a couple of weeks, I'll plant the other half of the pots, theoretically extending my harvest. I have intoxicating visions of salads comprised entirely of home-grown goodness. Of breakfasting on freshly dug radishes dipped in butter and fleur-de-sel. Of lowering my grocery bill by the whopping $4 I spend on lettuce and radishes every couple of weeks. We're in the money, baby.

I also planted some lemon grass (I'll be lucky if I use that even once in a bowl of Tom Yum soup--for which I would have to also buy Asian mushrooms, coconut milk, and galangal root), some Mrs. Burns lemon basil (delicious in marinara sauce... which I usually buy in a jar), and Violetto artichokes (a variety I have to remember to harvest punctually when young and tiny or they will turn woody and nasty).

Yup. This is going to save us a ton of money.

I suspect that for this enterprise to have any validity whatsoever, I'm going to need to institute Garden Days--maybe Wed and Sun. Take a basket with me into the garden, harvest everything that's close to ready, and make valiant efforts to work the results into a meal. I'll have to have failsafe recipes standing by for those occasions when my harvest consists of 1 baby artichoke, 2 cherry tomatoes, 5 leaves of lettuce, and 30 pasilla peppers. And I'll need to make strategic grocery purchases ahead of time (always keep lemons on hand for the artichokes; cream and pie crusts for the pumpkins; and breadcrumbs and parmesan for frying eggplants) so that whatever I harvest can be turned into something edible right away. And it would be helpful if I made a practice of trolling through the cherry tomatoes on the way to work to grab some for lunch.

This, I think, is not an aspect of vegetable gardening that is emphasized in the seed catalogs. You imagine yourself reclining at your ease in your garden, jewel-toned fruits and vegetables hanging fat and plentiful on the vine, while your harvest magically coalesces into a bounty of salad niçoise, artichoke and salsify bisque, swordfish provençal, and strawberries romanoff. But making use of your harvest requires at least as much planning and strategy and effort as growing the darn thing in the first place. It requires, in fact, a lifestyle change.

But this here would be the winter of our discontent. To be made glorious summer by rigorous applications of fish emulsion, mulch, and implacable personal discipline.

Making Stuff

Hideous Objects
Now that all the lucky recipients of this Christmas's arts-n-crafts projects have been given their dubious gifts, I can finally blog about them. They're picture frames (I later put a photo of Matt & me inside a giant, lightning-struck baldcypress trunk in each one).

I think I earlier characterized them as hideous objects. You can see why.

Ours, Ladonna's, Mom & Dad's

Aunt Pauline's, my brother & sister-in-law's

The responses were the most fun. I made a prototype for the K's (not a frame, but a star--not gonna try that again--too many edges), and when Kate opened it, she said "Oh! Did--you--make--this?" In the sort of strangled tone a non-smoker would use with a five-year-old who had just presented her with a particularly hideous hand-made ash tray.

Mom's response was along those same lines. Ladonna cleverly skirted the issue of the frame by commenting lavishly on the photo.

My brother, on the other hand, took one look at the object and said, "Oh my god the sofa!"

You'll remember the hideous old family sofa that we replaced earlier this year. Well, it had been a member of the family for so long (since before my birth), that I thought maybe some of my loved ones would like to have a keepsake. So I made little picture frame ornaments, using foamboard, hot glue, Swavarski crystals, and ribbons. I tried to dress them up as much as possible--that upholstery is really overwhelming--but to make them attractive was beyond my skills. Aunt Pauline's turned out best because it is the most thoroughly covered in ribbon. And Ladonna's wasn't too awful. The others, well, they have sentimental value. I hope.

Victory Garden
In other artsy-craftsy-homemakery news, I got a jump on a veggie garden for next spring. It's been a while since I've attempted such a thing, but in the current economic environment... Hell, it beats learning how to darn socks. Plus, I want access to those stripy eggplants and to our favorite Aji Limon chiles, which are so hard to find. I ended up ordering from The Pepper Gal, the only source that had poblanos, pasillas, chile pequin (for the wildlife, not for us--we're nowhere near that badass), and Aji Limon. In the past, I've preferred to buy seedlings from nurseries--it can be hard to match nursery-grown stoutness and vigor--but now that I have a greenhouse at my disposal, growing plants from seed seemed like the obvious choice--much cheaper, much more variety.

In addition to the Pepper Gal seeds, I also ordered from Harris and dark horse Swallowtail Gardens.

Here's what I should be receiving in the mail:

Ornamentals:

• Poppy, Oriental--Beauty Of Livermore
• Larkspur, Giant Imperial-Blue Spire (to go around the gazebo--I positively adore blue larkspur against a white fence)

Herbs:

• Basil, Lemon--Mrs. Burns (my favorite basil)
• Lemon Grass, East Indian

Veggies:

• Artichoke, Violetto (See artichoke advice from Natural Gardener)
• Lettuce, Loose-Leaf--Lollo Rossa
• Radishes, D'avignon (Do radishes grow in Texas? Especially ones with Frenchy names? We'll find out.)
• Tomatoes, Cherry--Super Sweet 100
• Tomatoes, Cherry--Yellow Pear
• Tomatoes, Heirloom--Black Plum
• Tomatoes, Heirloom--Brandywine, Pink (I know these heirloom tomatoes aren't going to grow here, yet I'm compelled to try)
• Watermelons, Charleston Grey (really, really pretty. see pic)
• Watermelons, Sugar Baby
• Eggplant Ophelia
• Eggplant Twinkle
• Eggplant Classic (Seriously? Three eggplant varieties? Damn those seed catalogs with their irresistable veggie porn!)
• Lettuce Harmony
• Okra Cajun Delight (which Matt doesn't eat, but we both feel that it's a necessary nod to our southern roots)
• Pepper Sweetheart
• Guajillo Peppers
• Aji Limon peppers
• Peru Yellow (Hopefully, a synonym for Aji Limon)
• Ancho Mulato (Poblano)
• Peter Hot (a very naughty pepper that Matt loves, yet refuses to eat. I don't suppose I can blame him--I expect I'd feel the same way if it were a girly-part pepper.)
• Chile Pequin pepper
• Holy Mole Pasilla pepper
• Aji Cristal pepper

For Fun:

• Gourd Baby Bottle
• Pumpkin Fairytale
• Pumpkin Lumina

So far, I've only received the pepper seeds. Today I planted a few seeds of the most practical varieties, hoping for an early harvest: Aji Limon, Ancho Mulato, and Guajillo.