The Urban Farmer's Almanac

My design class took a field trip to the Volunteer Park Conservatory (one of Seattle’s best-kept secrets) yesterday, in search of patterns in nature for their final project. Though I have a relatively strict no-decorative-plants rule in my garden, I’m loosening up on that stance in my advancing years. I’ve planted some succulents along the front stairs, and I don’t fight against the poppies and daffodils that come up every year.

I can only aspire to a thumb green enough to cultivate a whole room full of cacti like the Cactus Room at the Conservatory… if you’ve never been there it is a must-see.

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We have a history of neglecting the fruits of our garden, and here is another instance. We grew a bunch of little delicata squashes last year, which were a bit of a pain to use because they were kind of petite. So down into the basement they went. We’re trying to pinch pennies these days, so in scouring the food storage, Alicia found them and decided it was time to make some risotto. They had changed colors from white with green seams to a golden yellow, almost like little pumpkins. Those things were over a year old, and still going strong… talk about staying power.

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Our friend Lark just invited us to the most impressive dinner party the other week, inspired by a festival she ran into somewhere in Europe I want to say. Maybe France? Or Spain. At any rate, it celebrated the late-season root vegetables and hearty greens that are still around, nearly forgotten in the garden. She and her sisters-in-law cooked probably 10 different dishes, served thali-style, and it was absolutely incredible.

I was doing some late-fall putting away of the garden this afternoon, and came upon three artichokes that were still OK. Inspired by the Feast of the Forgotten Vegetables, I tossed them on the porch to bring inside, though I will admit that in the back of my mind I was thinking, “Those will sit in the crisper for a few months before I throw them in the compost.”

We just let our artichokes bloom this year, partly because the purple thistle was so pretty, and partly because I was for some reason intimidated by the spiky things. This is our second year growing artichokes, and until tonight, we’d never cooked them. But after the kids went to bed I wanted a snack, and there they were.

Boiled for 20 minutes. Melted butter with lemon. Seriously, these were the best artichokes I’ve ever had. Surprisingly tender. But seriously, as a side point, who figured out you could eat those things? “Ok, now you’re going to scrape inside of the very bottom of the leaf off with your teeth — no seriously, it’s good.”

I’m on board. No more letting them blossom for the color, we’re eating them from now on.

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I teach color theory every spring, and when we talk about color psychology I always say that blue is an appetite suppressant because there are no naturally occurring blue foods. I’ll have to add an asterisk to my lecture next semester. We grew these blue potatoes this year, and when they are mashed, they make the most impressive blue color. They get a little more purple when they’re heated up.

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My brother Alex told me that the hops would be ready when the tips started turning brown, so I guess it’s go time. I planted them with a long rope to climb all the way up to my office window on the top floor, and they didn’t make it last year, but this year they did, and how. I pulled one off the vine and it smells delicious. Some people would say BO, I say IPA. It’s time to drop the rope and pull all the hop blossoms (flowers, blooms, what are they called anyway?) and get them dried. Or better yet call up Alex and set up a fresh hop ale brew day.

Get to know your Urban Farmer’s Almanac history and read about the history of these hops here.

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