(Began this post during the "missing months" but never finished it. Liked it well enough that I couldn't abandon it, so will attempt to complete and publish now.)
My first "garden glory" post focuses on a "project" that I happened to make a bit of progress with in the past few summers. Through my seasons at the greenhouse, my familiarity with herbs has traversed the continuum from all-but-ignorant, to familiar, to attraction--even enjoyment of the flavors, to cultivating, and now on to limited use and sharing. Ample improvements are still needed in the "growing," "using" and "sharing" categories. My earliest feeling about herbs (from a greenhouse-laborer perspective) was simply annoyance that they needed to be watered too often, but in fulfillment of said irrigation duties, said laborer rapidly learns of herbs' potent fragrance. They suffer no demureness, emitting aroma at the slightest touch. Sometimes, subtle and inviting; wafts of flavor floating free from a Mediterranean cuisine kitchen. Other times, wanton and forceful--a nearly nauseous nasal invasion. Nonetheless, a relationship is forged. My first tasting experience with fresh herbs happened one afternoon, many years ago now. I was making my way out of the summer greenhouse heat toward the cooler breeze and shady seats of our break area in the courtyard. As I passed Sweet Mrs.Owner watering the herbs and veggie pots, she plucked a ripe red cherry tomato, wrapped it in a large leaf just pulled from a basil bush, and whimsically popped the potent tidbit into my mouth with nary a word of warning. Can't remember what reactions or words were exchanged as I endured this very shocking first herbal encounter. Never mind the intense, savory tang of fresh basil, I didn't even like raw tomatoes back then.
Basil happens to play the lead role in the next scene of our herbal plot as well. In order to promote optimal growth and shape, herbs benefit from frequent trimming throughout the season. This results in healthy greenhouse merchandise--and lush leftover sprigs of flavor, which ought not be left to wither in the waste bin. So, one summer evening, I came home with a sizable portion of clipped-basil leftovers. A quick googling rendered us a plethora of pesto recipes to peruse as a logical method of using our herby gleanings, and a bit of time spent with the pungent leaves, some garlic, cashews, and olive oil spinning through the puree cycle on our food processor yielded a gritty, green batch of savory "sauce." The samples I shared with my greenhouse friends the next day garnered glittering reviews, and encouraged further experimentation. So, we've made a batch or two every summer since. It's easy to freeze in baggies in small portions and then microwave to thaw and heat to use as a garnish for pasta, pizza, or chicken. Some results are more "successful" than others, but it always adds a bit of homemade zest to a meal.
These and other herb exposures--the tongue-teasing tang of cilantro in Mexican cuisine, the pleasant piquancy of chives with soy sauce over chilled tofu--lead to the tradition of creating an herb planter as a Mothers' Day gift for the dear bride each spring. Seems the first few featured chives, cilantro and basil. (I'm now back to complete after l-o-n-g hiatus.) Think where I was headed with this was that the make-up of the herb pots changed over the seasons. Cilantro was never very successful for using--quickly goes to seed, and then bears no more usable leaves. Chives stays alive forever. Basil, after some seasons of experimentation, and lessons on adequate irrigation and fertilization, can do pretty well.
So, slowly, the "herb grower" habits increased seasonally. One year, I decided to re-vamp the haphazard random rock-walled garden space next to our front entry, so with a bit of scavenging through available "building materials," came up with a 3-tiered stair step herb planter adjacent to the steps into the house. Culinary sage occupied the top tier for first few seasons, very easy, prolific and hearty. However, I didn't find many uses for it, or other folks who knew many ways to utilize it either. It finally did freeze one winter after several years of growing, harvesting, drying, jarring, and some sharing. I was quite thrilled late one fall to supply a sizable handful of live sprigs to a fellow teacher who needed some for making her brine for the Thanksgiving turkey. Basil still strove to thrive on the middle tier. Can't quite remember what I planted on the bottom tier originally; seems I tried an herb or two that didn't succeed, before filling with mint--and it's still there, reaching, spreading, and perfuming its space. Happy to harvest frequently in spring, summer, and fall to brew refreshing tea, flavor ice water, or occasionally use in Mediterranean veggies. Yum. Also, it's fun to use a sprig or two to add a bit of lush and fragrant greenery to small "thinking-of-you bouquets," that the bride frequently assembles for friends or coworkers.
So, slowly, the "herb grower" habits increased seasonally. One year, I decided to re-vamp the haphazard random rock-walled garden space next to our front entry, so with a bit of scavenging through available "building materials," came up with a 3-tiered stair step herb planter adjacent to the steps into the house. Culinary sage occupied the top tier for first few seasons, very easy, prolific and hearty. However, I didn't find many uses for it, or other folks who knew many ways to utilize it either. It finally did freeze one winter after several years of growing, harvesting, drying, jarring, and some sharing. I was quite thrilled late one fall to supply a sizable handful of live sprigs to a fellow teacher who needed some for making her brine for the Thanksgiving turkey. Basil still strove to thrive on the middle tier. Can't quite remember what I planted on the bottom tier originally; seems I tried an herb or two that didn't succeed, before filling with mint--and it's still there, reaching, spreading, and perfuming its space. Happy to harvest frequently in spring, summer, and fall to brew refreshing tea, flavor ice water, or occasionally use in Mediterranean veggies. Yum. Also, it's fun to use a sprig or two to add a bit of lush and fragrant greenery to small "thinking-of-you bouquets," that the bride frequently assembles for friends or coworkers.
Then one day a few springs back, I got the idea to further herbalize our entryway. The removal of an awkwardly growing Mugu pine from our landscaping yielded some fun branches that "should be useful" for something, so bundling like-lengths of pine sticks together with wire and securing them in a vertical stack created walls for a not-so-matching second stair-stepped herb planter on the other side of the front stoop. It's definitely unique, charming in a country-boy sort of way, and functional. I try to find varieties of herbs that survive the winter; some have, some have not. My amateur herb farmer challenge the past couple seasons has been to keep up with the harvesting, drying and storing of my herby yields. Moderate success meeting that objective has populated my frig top with 13 jars of varying sizes; multiple hues of gray-greens show through the beveled glass or cloudy plastic, and torn-pieces of recycled charity-"gift" address labels identify the leafy contents: currently, sage (still 3 jars!), mint, oregano, basil, chives, marjoram, rosemary, and thyme. Guess maybe I view my several chances this year to present cute, little, herb-filled jars as travel or holiday gifts (that seemed to be appreciated) as my first step toward herb farmer success. Wishing you moments of calming flavor and fragrant contentment!
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