Right now the star of our vegetable garden is definitely our 5-foot clown pepper “tree.” It’s loaded with shiny green, orange, and bright red bells that dangle from the branches just like Christmas ornaments. It’s really a sight to see. I call it a clown …
On Saturday Rob and I stopped by Dudley Farm in Newberry to do a little agritourism (we were spending the weekend in nearby Gainesville). In case you’ve never heard of Dudley Farm, it’s an authentic Cracker farm that’s been preserved as a state park. It’s …
Today I’m talking up starry rosinweed (Silphium asteriscus), a native perennial that’s at the height of its bloom season now. The bright yellow daisy-like flowers are about 2 to 3 inches in diameter and make me think of smiley faces. They’re just so dang cheerful, I can’t help being charmed.
I became acquainted with starry rosinweed about 10 years ago when I was working at Georgia Wildlife Federation in Atlanta. We held a native plant sale as a fundraiser, and starry rosinweed was one of our offerings. I got to help put together a little catalog for the sale, with descriptions and pictures of all the plants. Researching and writing about starry rosinweed made me want one of my own, so I bought one at the sale.
My rosinweed thrived in my tiny inner-city Atlanta yard, in the heavy clay soil next to my front porch. I loved how tall it was (about 5 feet) and how straight it stood (it never flopped over).
I also liked how busy the flowers were with sulphurs, painted ladies, and other butterflies, as well as various interesting flies and bees. At Georgia Wildlife Federation, one of the big reasons, we said, that you should plant native plants is that so many animals depend partially or entirely on insects for food—and native plants support native insects. My rosinweed demonstrated the point quite nicely. It was a regular hub of insect activity, full of merry buzzing and fluttering, and I always enjoyed watching the action.
I brought my rosinweed with me when I moved to Quincy, and later I bought more at Native Nurseries, a terrific nursery in Tallahassee specializing in native plants. Rosinweed spreads itself around somewhat, but not in an aggressive way. It’s popped up on its own in several of my sunny and kind-of-sunny beds, in both clay and sandy soil.
The bright green leaves have a sandpaper-y texture and edges that are usually coarsely toothed. They’re long (about 5 or 6 inches) at the bottom of the plant and get smaller as you get to the top of the stem. The stout, sturdy stems are mostly green but are often tinged with some maroon or purple. The flower buds and seed heads have a star-like shape, which is maybe how the plant got its pretty common name (I’m just guessing). I’ve read that goldfinches eat the seeds in winter, which would be a neat sight to see, but I’ve never been so lucky.
What I can tell you for sure is that starry rosinweed is tough. It never wilts, even in the driest times (and there have been lots of those lately). The dog days of summer are here, rain is rare (again), and yet somehow the rosinweed is still perky. I stroll around my faded, tired-out yard and see it smiling, twinkling.
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| The day I took this picture (Wednesday) was the first time I’d ever seen a zebra longwing in my yard. I was so excited. |
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| This lovely lady (eating a moth) spun her web between two rosinweeds growing near the front steps. |
I wanted to show you one of my favorite places in the whole world, the Tallahassee Museum. It’s a quiet, peaceful little spot under the oaks, with exhibits on native wildlife and local history. I’ve visited hundreds of times (I’ve been going there since I …
I always try to leave some space in my yard for pokeweeds that pop up, from seeds sown by the birds. This year I have one by the picnic table, one by the arch that leads into the vegetable garden, and one by the bird …
Every weekend Rob and I try to make some small improvement to our house or yard. To me, that’s one of the requirements of a good weekend: it ought to involve a beautification project (no matter how tiny). I always want to make things better.
This month we’ve been working hard, weeding, painting, planting, etc. But the most positive change around here doesn’t have anything to do with us and our efforts. The yard is lush and healthy again. It’s been raining!
After two years of extreme drought, normal rainfall seems like such a miracle—a blessing for sure. Every afternoon shower is a cause for celebration.
When I’m at work, Rob will call and notify me as soon as it starts raining at the house. (He works from home.)
“Well, it’s raining pretty good here,” he’ll say in his jolly way. And I’ll be filled with a sense of well-being that lasts for the rest of the day.
The rain has definitely lifted our spirits. We’ve been rejoicing over the yard’s new jungle-y look, all the mushrooms that have popped up, and the wonderfully soggy nature of the lawn. I don’t even mind that our usually white house has taken on a decidedly greenish cast. I’m so grateful for the rain that I’m trying to think of algae, mold, and mildew not as problems but as decorative accents.
And now on to the improvements we can honestly take credit for: We went to Dothan last weekend and bought this wacky lamp for the back bedroom. It weighs a ton (the base is brass), and the shade, which resembles an 18th-century mob-cap, is made of delicate frosted glass. The fringe of crystals around the bottom of the shade, is, in my opinion, the pièce de résistance. Rob says the whole thing is “so old-ladyish it’s actually kind of cool.”
While we were in Dothan, we also picked up a new plant stand for the kitchen. It’s got a nice sturdy marble top, so it should be immune to cat scratches (I’m hoping). I like having lots of houseplants around since they improve indoor air quality and look pretty. The cats like to eat them, so I usually choose ferns or peace lilies since I know they’re non-toxic.
We’ve been touching up the paint on our breezeway again, and last weekend we hung up a new Coke button sign and Coke thermometer for decorations. The cats seem to approve of our improvements. Even though it’s really hot and humid these days, the breezeway is still their favorite hangout. June Baxter likes sleeping on the little railing under the windows. She straddles it (it’s the funniest thing) and rests as comfortably as a leopard on a tree branch.
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| June perched on the railing and surrounded by friends (Frankie, Tellie, and Leroy |
We recently added a new decoy to our collection—the handsome plover you see below, carved around 1910. Rob and I aren’t into hunting, but we enjoy collecting decoys as folk art. Besides the new plover, we have an owl, two flickers, an eider, two crows, an unidentified brown duck, a dove, and a turkey.
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| The whole collection |
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| Eider with a mussel in its beak |
I thought I’d show you some pictures I took after work this week. “After work” is my favorite time, especially in summer when it’s light ’til 9:00 and I can do a little weeding when I get home from the office. For me, weeding is …
I actually took these pictures in early June, but I never got a chance to write about them until today. I took them on the sleepiest, quietest Sunday evening, when the square was totally deserted except for me and the mockingbirds. First I meandered around …
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| Just a bit of the weekend’s tomato harvest |
On Sunday (well, two Sundays ago, before our Oregon trip), Rob and I made another batch of our Super Baked Ziti. Rob stayed up ’til 3 a.m. the night before, making the sauce. It was an epic sauce. He started working on it about 8:00, when I was hanging up our new shower curtain and the house was being flooded by cricket and katydid music. (The summer nights are so wonderfully loud.)
He went out among the fireflies to pick fresh basil and oregano. He used our homegrown garlic and onions too, and our meatiest tomatoes–Cherokee Purples, Romas, Amish Pastes, and Brandywines.
“The only thing in this sauce that didn’t come from our yard,” he bragged, “is the olive oil! Oh, yeah, and the salt.”
At 2:30 I woke up after a bad (but extremely dumb) dream. I expected the house to be dark and silent–scary, depressing. But no. Rob was still at work on his sauce. Every room smelled of garlic and basil, and lamps were lit all around. There was a festive, merry feeling, and we sat on the floor and played with the cats until I forgot about my dream and the sauce was finally ready to be tasted and then stored away in a Tupperware.
Super Baked Ziti
Ingredients:
Ziti:
1 lb whole wheat ziti
1 batch (about 4 cups) homemade marinara sauce
1 batch cashew ricotta
1 onion, finely chopped
3 Asian eggplants, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Crushed red pepper
1 package mushrooms, sliced
1 cup chopped, pitted kalamata olives
2 3-oz packages chopped sun-dried tomatoes, reconstituted
Salt
Olive oil
Cashew Ricotta:
1 package silken tofu
2 cups raw cashews (soaked in water overnight)
1 Tbls lemon juice
¼ tsp salt
Topping:
1/2 cup Panko
2 Tbls nutritional yeast
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbls olive oil
Directions:
Preheat oven to 420 degrees F. Smear some olive oil around a 9 x 13 casserole dish. Boil noodles until al dente. Drain and set aside. Sauté chopped onion and minced garlic in olive oil until onions are softened. Add a little salt. Set aside. Sauté the mushrooms in olive oil with some crushed red pepper and a little salt. Set aside. Sauté the eggplant in olive oil with a little salt. Set aside.
Make the cashew ricotta by blending everything together with an immersion blender. Make the topping by mixing all the ingredients together.
Toss cooked ziti and marinara sauce in a large bowl until pasta is well coated. Add onion and garlic, mushrooms, eggplant, sun-dried tomatoes, and kalamata olives. Mix well. Add the cashew ricotta, stirring gently and leaving some pockets of cheese. Add everything to the oiled baking pan. Top with Panko mixture. Cover with foil. Bake for 25 minutes. Uncover and bake five minutes more.
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| Freshly harvested garlic |
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| Tomatoes, just rinsed |
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| That’s fresh basil behind the tomatoes. |
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| The ziti, finally done! |
