Morning Glory Wars
(and how to use of all those peppers and tomatillos from August’s garden)
The hottest year on record has just been punctured by cool air. My dog, Tula Boo, feels it. A border collie-husky mix (a buskie), with a fantastic fur coat best suited for snow, has a new spring in her step. And I have come out of my usual humidity-induced summer stupor. I am like one of those people portrayed in a current commercial for a fast-food restaurant coffee: customers drink the coffee for the first time and suddenly wake up to realize to their utter surprise that they have been married for years or have a twin.
It has been so hot and dry even the weeds paused and pondered if it was worth it. I would say this is just the tip of the iceberg of climate change but that is too ironic, sadly. For weeks I have surveyed my yard from the safety of air conditioned rooms after giving up on watering. But this morning I walk into the yard, expecting dry shards of grass like nails, but the grass is soft and dew cools my feet. I survey the damage — hydrangea bushes full of flower heads not dried to perfection but burned to a crisp, droopy hostas, and zinnias that look as if they have been roasted over hot coals. The impatiens gave up long ago.
The only sign of color and vigor are the morning glories. They have overrun the entire yard and everything in it – trellises covered, bushes buried, tomato plants strangled, the badminton net full of blooms that look like shuttle cocks in a game gone crazy. The vines have crept and climbed and smothered all, and they have lived up to their name – they are glorious.
I declare defeat. War over. I have been bested by a beautiful flower. It started years ago when I became frustrated with the pure heavenly blue morning glories, stunning but coy, refusing to bloom till after labor day. I needed blooms in midsummer, the hot wasteland known as the dog days. I would go with a riotous mix of heirlooms – they looked so innocent and sweet on the seed package. My daugther, Lizzie, said – don’t do it Mom, they are weeds. Oh, no, darling they are flowers, just look at those colors, and they will bloom early! They are weeds, she repeated, don’t you remember me telling you how they took over my vegetable garden when I lived on Peralta Street?! I refused to believe her. I refused to understand that the folks who bred the Heavenly Blue variety engineered them so they did not produce seeds that persisted – so one has to purchase them anew each year. Clever sods. I scattered the mixture of seeds by the base of the arched trellis in early spring and by July 4th it was draped with a heavy curtain of blooms: white, deep purple, lavender, white with blue throats, magenta and striped. A silent riot of color. I was in love. They were not weeds, look how well mannered they are I said as Lizzie and I toured the back yard. They are weeds, Mom, you will see – next year they will be everywhere.
That next spring I did find sprouts several feet out from where I had planted the originals – I plucked them out and planted tomatoes, basil and parsley in the four square feet of full sun we own. And I kept on plucking for months. When we left for our annual two weeks up north the garden was free of morning glories. When we returned they had strangled the tomatoes. Murderous flowers, oh my. And so it has gone every year since; they sprout, they climb, they conquer. At some point each year I give up and let them take over. I now have morning glories popping up in my front yard and my neighbors have started complaining that they are finding them in their yards.
I should have listened to my wise daugther, I should have known from my own observations – my sister has a cottage on an island that was christened the Isle de Fleur by an 18th century priest – and it is overrun by morning glories. I have seen them in the wilds of Hawai’i. But so strong was my desire for flowers before Labor Day that I ignored all of this. The curse of the novice gardener is the blind thirst for blooms, unending blooms.
I will have to sell my house and move to escape them, and my angry neighbors. And you can bet I will check for morning glories before buying.
But at this moment I see them for their unstoppable beauty and the wisdom of weeds is made clear. Bloom where you are planted, do not give up no matter how dire the conditions. And put out seeds to ensure the next generation will thrive.
Tula disrupts my reverie and reminds me these flowers are my bête noire. I vow that next year I will kill them. I conjure up Google genie and type in “how to kill morning glory plants”. There are whole sites devoted to this noxious weed. One starts, “help! Morning Glory taking over my yard” another asks, “can I burn morning glories to oblivion?” Responses to these pleas are long on sympathy and purported “cures”. Many say to paint each leaf, carefully, with Roundup—that would take me years. Another writer says his mother managed to rid her yard by clipping off each leaf, and addes, to never, ever pull them up as that just encourages them. It only took her two years. But another writes: if you could x-ray the ground and see the thousands of miles of layer upon layer of that stuff, you'd just give up gardening all together. Good luck, you might get it to the point where you're not having your plants drug to the ground by it, but you'll never completely eradicate them, not even if you Crossbow the hell out of every inch of your property and put down asphalt. They WILL survive. Might as well accept it as a part of your family – the obnoxious Uncle Steve!
The world rests on a bed of morning glories.
I am optimistic that if I name it I can kill it. I dub it Uncle Paul; next spring I will cut off all of Paul’s leaves. I may have to take a sabbatical but I will conquer. I the meantime I know not to fall asleep in the backyard or leave my convertible out in the drive for too long lest we become but mounds of morning glories.
Chile Verde
Because my own garden produces only mutinous flowers I have been forced to join a CSA. This week a plethora (not quite a peck) of peppers arrived. I am happy to report that this recipe used up all the peppers, of all the varieties. And we topped it off with the first of the sweet corn, shaved off the cob, and diced fresh tomatoes. Something about the sweetness of the corn and the bite of the chilis made me swoon. Cheese is also a good addition but not necessary — which is something you will rarely hear me say.
(serves 20)
• 6 lbs cubed pork stew meat
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 2 large yellow onions
• 6 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon sea salt
• fresh ground pepper, to taste
• 1 tablespoon ground cumin
• 4 1/2 quarts chicken broth
• 8 fresh poblano chiles, seeded and chopped
• 4 fresh jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped
• 2 yellow bell peppers, seeded and chopped
• 3 lbs fresh tomatillos, husks removed
• 1 cup cilantro leaf, coarsely chopped
Directions:
1. In a large stock pot over high heat sear the pork in the vegetable oil until browned.
2. Remove the pork from the pot, reserve 3 tablespoons oil in the pan.
3. Saute the chopped onion and garlic seasoned with salt and pepper in the reserved oil until onions are tender.
4. Add the cumin, then stir in pork and chicken stock.
Simmer for 1/2 hour.
5. Add in poblanos, jalapenos and bell peppers.
6. Puree the tomatillos and cilantro in a blender, and add them to the pot.
Cook for an additional 30 to 45 minutes.
(and how to use of all those peppers and tomatillos from August’s garden)
The hottest year on record has just been punctured by cool air. My dog, Tula Boo, feels it. A border collie-husky mix (a buskie), with a fantastic fur coat best suited for snow, has a new spring in her step. And I have come out of my usual humidity-induced summer stupor. I am like one of those people portrayed in a current commercial for a fast-food restaurant coffee: customers drink the coffee for the first time and suddenly wake up to realize to their utter surprise that they have been married for years or have a twin.
It has been so hot and dry even the weeds paused and pondered if it was worth it. I would say this is just the tip of the iceberg of climate change but that is too ironic, sadly. For weeks I have surveyed my yard from the safety of air conditioned rooms after giving up on watering. But this morning I walk into the yard, expecting dry shards of grass like nails, but the grass is soft and dew cools my feet. I survey the damage — hydrangea bushes full of flower heads not dried to perfection but burned to a crisp, droopy hostas, and zinnias that look as if they have been roasted over hot coals. The impatiens gave up long ago.
The only sign of color and vigor are the morning glories. They have overrun the entire yard and everything in it – trellises covered, bushes buried, tomato plants strangled, the badminton net full of blooms that look like shuttle cocks in a game gone crazy. The vines have crept and climbed and smothered all, and they have lived up to their name – they are glorious.
I declare defeat. War over. I have been bested by a beautiful flower. It started years ago when I became frustrated with the pure heavenly blue morning glories, stunning but coy, refusing to bloom till after labor day. I needed blooms in midsummer, the hot wasteland known as the dog days. I would go with a riotous mix of heirlooms – they looked so innocent and sweet on the seed package. My daugther, Lizzie, said – don’t do it Mom, they are weeds. Oh, no, darling they are flowers, just look at those colors, and they will bloom early! They are weeds, she repeated, don’t you remember me telling you how they took over my vegetable garden when I lived on Peralta Street?! I refused to believe her. I refused to understand that the folks who bred the Heavenly Blue variety engineered them so they did not produce seeds that persisted – so one has to purchase them anew each year. Clever sods. I scattered the mixture of seeds by the base of the arched trellis in early spring and by July 4th it was draped with a heavy curtain of blooms: white, deep purple, lavender, white with blue throats, magenta and striped. A silent riot of color. I was in love. They were not weeds, look how well mannered they are I said as Lizzie and I toured the back yard. They are weeds, Mom, you will see – next year they will be everywhere.
That next spring I did find sprouts several feet out from where I had planted the originals – I plucked them out and planted tomatoes, basil and parsley in the four square feet of full sun we own. And I kept on plucking for months. When we left for our annual two weeks up north the garden was free of morning glories. When we returned they had strangled the tomatoes. Murderous flowers, oh my. And so it has gone every year since; they sprout, they climb, they conquer. At some point each year I give up and let them take over. I now have morning glories popping up in my front yard and my neighbors have started complaining that they are finding them in their yards.
I should have listened to my wise daugther, I should have known from my own observations – my sister has a cottage on an island that was christened the Isle de Fleur by an 18th century priest – and it is overrun by morning glories. I have seen them in the wilds of Hawai’i. But so strong was my desire for flowers before Labor Day that I ignored all of this. The curse of the novice gardener is the blind thirst for blooms, unending blooms.
I will have to sell my house and move to escape them, and my angry neighbors. And you can bet I will check for morning glories before buying.
But at this moment I see them for their unstoppable beauty and the wisdom of weeds is made clear. Bloom where you are planted, do not give up no matter how dire the conditions. And put out seeds to ensure the next generation will thrive.
Tula disrupts my reverie and reminds me these flowers are my bête noire. I vow that next year I will kill them. I conjure up Google genie and type in “how to kill morning glory plants”. There are whole sites devoted to this noxious weed. One starts, “help! Morning Glory taking over my yard” another asks, “can I burn morning glories to oblivion?” Responses to these pleas are long on sympathy and purported “cures”. Many say to paint each leaf, carefully, with Roundup—that would take me years. Another writer says his mother managed to rid her yard by clipping off each leaf, and addes, to never, ever pull them up as that just encourages them. It only took her two years. But another writes: if you could x-ray the ground and see the thousands of miles of layer upon layer of that stuff, you'd just give up gardening all together. Good luck, you might get it to the point where you're not having your plants drug to the ground by it, but you'll never completely eradicate them, not even if you Crossbow the hell out of every inch of your property and put down asphalt. They WILL survive. Might as well accept it as a part of your family – the obnoxious Uncle Steve!
The world rests on a bed of morning glories.
I am optimistic that if I name it I can kill it. I dub it Uncle Paul; next spring I will cut off all of Paul’s leaves. I may have to take a sabbatical but I will conquer. I the meantime I know not to fall asleep in the backyard or leave my convertible out in the drive for too long lest we become but mounds of morning glories.
Chile Verde
Because my own garden produces only mutinous flowers I have been forced to join a CSA. This week a plethora (not quite a peck) of peppers arrived. I am happy to report that this recipe used up all the peppers, of all the varieties. And we topped it off with the first of the sweet corn, shaved off the cob, and diced fresh tomatoes. Something about the sweetness of the corn and the bite of the chilis made me swoon. Cheese is also a good addition but not necessary — which is something you will rarely hear me say.
(serves 20)
• 6 lbs cubed pork stew meat
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 2 large yellow onions
• 6 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon sea salt
• fresh ground pepper, to taste
• 1 tablespoon ground cumin
• 4 1/2 quarts chicken broth
• 8 fresh poblano chiles, seeded and chopped
• 4 fresh jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped
• 2 yellow bell peppers, seeded and chopped
• 3 lbs fresh tomatillos, husks removed
• 1 cup cilantro leaf, coarsely chopped
Directions:
1. In a large stock pot over high heat sear the pork in the vegetable oil until browned.
2. Remove the pork from the pot, reserve 3 tablespoons oil in the pan.
3. Saute the chopped onion and garlic seasoned with salt and pepper in the reserved oil until onions are tender.
4. Add the cumin, then stir in pork and chicken stock.
Simmer for 1/2 hour.
5. Add in poblanos, jalapenos and bell peppers.
6. Puree the tomatillos and cilantro in a blender, and add them to the pot.
Cook for an additional 30 to 45 minutes.
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