Annuals Are For Pansies.

Last year, understandably, the only annuals permitted to exist in my garden were the ones I could eat. As it was my first summer with a yard of my own, frankly there was no time to waste my heart and soul on annuals. If they could be eaten, they were acceptable because they paid their way. But otherwise, I suppose I've always regarded annuals with some suspect as perhaps being a little too carpe diem for me.

They say that you can't achieve the same kinds of colors with perennials, and this is slightly true. Annuals are bright, at times brilliant. But, on the other side of the coin, certain annuals can also be rather showy and flamboyant, somewhat too liberace for my tastes. I've seen my mother wear dresses with patterns exploiting the color of annuals. That alone should be enough reason to keep them out of my garden.

This year, however, I was given a couple of packages of nasturtium seeds as a birthday gift and hence, already had them by early spring. I do like the gorgeous blooms of the nasturtium, so I dutifully wrestled with peaty pellets and pots and started them indoors, rather early if judged by my own schedule. I then painstakingly hardened off these seedlings.

And for what: not a single bloom.

It says on the package that nasturtiums are edible flowers, and indeed, they would look spectacular on any buttercreamed cake. However, if there are no flowers, there is nothing to eat.

So next year, vote no on nasturtiums.

In fact, for the most part, most of my started-indoor efforts fell flat on their face. There was the lettuce I planted too early - now sickly yellow and probably permanently stunted. The basil that for whatever reason decided just to die (maybe I should have kept up with watering). Various other flower seeds that also did not flourish. And above all, many of my peaty pellets got moldy after someone dropped almonds from a cake onto my miniature farm.

Next year, vote no on starting indoors.

Of course a real gardener and lover of land has to start something from seed, so I hear. But in our short growing season in Alaska, it is the antithesis of natural growth to mess with seeds in the darkness of April, setting up grow lights in your basement for confused seedlings, hardening off, covering your kitchen table with dirt, etc., etc.

Most of all, it's all way too much trouble for a lazy gardener prone to disaster.

In fact there are plenty of things to plant into the ground as soon as you can work the soil - things that will even survive a mild spring frost. For example, lots of varieties of peas seem to thrive in the colder climate. I grew them last year, which means even a pony could grow them. And although the gardening gurus say start planting gladiolus bulbs in March, the truth is when I plant 70 bulbs, I can't be bothered with finding coffee cups for each of them and transplanting them into the garden.

After all, gardening, for better or worse, is an exercise in realism. It is about working with, against, and within Nature, gently negotiating what we can achieve with human hands. Of course, if left entirely to her own devices, it seems Mother Nature would prefer a yard of chaotic dandelions. I'm still negotiating with her on that one.

In addition to my non-blooming nasturtiums, I have a few annuals this year due to a sudden rash, live-in-the-moment-loss-of-pragmatic-sense morning I spent at the lovely local nursery. While delicate and beautifully colored, I look upon these annuals with some sadness knowing that they have limited lives and will die out with no long-term future better than feeding the worms in the compost pile.

In contrast, my perennial bed is truly flourishing this year. Sure, there were some Home Depot perennials that didn't make it, but a surprising number of sorry specimens have managed to regain strength now that we are solidly in the growing season. A burning bush that had been painfully pruned by moose has re-leafed itself with enough foliage to provide an exciting vibrant display come fall. Daylilies, columbine, irises, wild geraniums, meadow sage ... they've all been putting on a good show. Strawberries that I tore out my first year thinking maybe they were weeds (that's how little I knew) are back with fierceness and have stretched out their runners to claim more of the garden. Even raspberries planted late summer, on one of the hottest days most hostile to transplanting, will probably bear fruit this year and spread next year.

And of course, there is the perennial, quintessential, Forget-Me-Not. Not only is it the state flower, but it is truly oh so lovely. Delicate, perfectly blue blooms with yellow center ... Forget-Me-Nots capture the true heart of a perennial. Without much care or attention, they beg us to remember them forever - which we do - because they come back every year.

I love perennials because they are seemingly loyal - despite winter's cruelest deliverances, they come back to say hello and make me happy. Beyond being beautiful in the moment, they are also something that I look forward to again and again, year after year.

How could I possibly keep myself from falling in love with that?

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Weeding Is Good For the Gluteus Maximus!

The problem (or blessing) when it comes to a private blog is that one is never accountable to the masses. I can blog with irregularity, about the most undesirable topics, the innermost grumblings of my belly.... I can, for example, have a blog entry touting the benefits of weeding for purposes of firming up the derriere!

Solstice has blown through this joint, "joint" being myself. After a rollercoastery two months of rain, intense sunshine, and so much daylight that I've taken to sleeping with my sports bra wrapped around my head, the pendulum now swings the other way as we are technically on our way to... is it winter??

Don't tell the garden about this turn of events. It is just getting warmed up, starting to share its blooms, and offering glimpses into the harvests to come in the upcoming weeks. This year, I've delayed nuclear warfare on the dandelions, mostly due to a sudden surge in yard traffic thanks to sundry friends and barbecuing folks. Last year, I engaged in a questionable scientific experiment in which I retained a control group (organic lawn) and nuked half my yard. Although it pained me to kill my microbes and threaten the livelihood of my worms, I have to admit that chemicals accomplished over the course of a few days what months and months of devoted, back-breaking hand-weeding could not deliver: some semblance of control over the Chaos that is called Dandelion.

Unfortunately, the organic control lawn has basically turned into a dandelion patch. As for the rest of the lawn, the unintended side benefit of not getting serious about war has been that the lawn has not grown exponentially on steroids as it did last year, thereby allowing me to escape with fewer mowings. In fact, I am so indifferent to the front yard lawn that I am rather pleased to put it through the throes of starvation - anything to avoid that "furry" look it had going on last year!

Weeding can be magical if you have the right temperament and set of circumstances. I find that it maintains my tenuous sanity, and truth be told, I am probably slightly addicted. Rare is the occasion when I'll enter the house NOT bearing a bouquet of puffy dandelion seeds freshly yanked from the lawn. For anyone who doesn't have a pair of idle hands, weeding is second nature. It is my very microcosmic way of trying to create order in a world that will otherwise choose chaos ... if only it were so easy to yank puffy dandelion balls from my psyche. In the meantime, this emotional exercise also yields physical benefits. Very few positions required for weeding can happen without engaging in a set of muscles that would otherwise lie unused.

So get weeding - it's good for the soul ... and the gluteus maximus.

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The Danger of Edible Accoutrements....

Sometimes it is lovely to dine alone. I find that it is an excellent opportunity to make your food your best friend. You can't be distracted by the commentary of a dining companion; the eating experience becomes a one-way conversation between you and your entree. And the food has only one thing to say -- Eat me.

I decided to dine in a manner uncharacteristic for me. The restaurant at the top of my hotel in Dallas this week, Chaparral, rated *four stars* by the esteemed AAA. It's no Zagat rating; my experience with Triple A recommendations has been confined to finding a hotel/motel when stranded with a van of crazy family members without housing in the open Southwest. Still, the advertisements in the hotel elevator and all over my room seemed to invite a visit. That and the fact dining in the hotel restaurant would spare me from the hot mugginess that is Dallas in June.

crudite
assorted bread
ice tea
roast sea bass
coffee
lemon chantilly mousse

CRUDITE
This was an unexpected house complimentary offering which although fetching to look at and good for passing the time while waiting for my entree, was unexciting. It came served in a giant martini glass with young veggies embedded in shaved ice. The garlic hummus spread that was to serve as a dipping sauce of some sort was confused, neither hummusy or garlicky. Just kind of brown with green herbs in it. Nevertheless, I enjoyed cleansing my palate with a few stalks of jicama. Left the celery untouched.

ASSORTED BREAD
I like it when a restaurant brings out an assortment of special breads rather than slapping some run-of-the-mill stuff on the table, as if to say, you look like you need to feel bloated today for no reason - try some bread. There was butter in one of my breads; I could smell it when it hit the table. Can't find fault in that.

ROAST SEA BASS WITH TOMATO COULIS SERVED WITH SPINACH AND LOBSTER RISOTTO
Most waiters don't know that if I've had the opportunity to do so, I've previewed the menu on the Internet. I find that in the quiet space away from the din of the restaurant, away from the foreign-accented descriptions by the waitstaff of tonight's dishes, I can shrewdly calculate what I want to eat. Tonight was such an occasion. I had pre-selected roast sea bass although I permitted my waiter to go through the motions of explaining the day's specials. He actually independently recommended the sea bass at the end, which I took as a green light.

My first bite of the sea bass was quite good. It was cooked just enough - still tender but flaking gently with the push of a fork. Had a nice little crust to it. Had the fish been served alone like this, I might have joined Triple AAA in its quadruple star rating.

The problem with the word LOBSTER before anything other than MARKET PRICE or WHOLE is that usually whatever it is, it doesn't have enough lobster soul in it. Tonight's "lobster risotto" was no exception. I don't think it is enough to treat "lobster" as a mere color of cream sauce for some otherwise unexciting rice. (Nothing arboriol about this risotto.) While the entree as whole had pleasing colors, I of course had to taste the colors as well. The tomato coulis over the fish was decent, but not exactly the right accompaniment. I thought that perhaps if served in another context, I might have enjoyed it more. And then there is the subject of other obligatory vegetables: in this case, a small bed of spinach, one carrot, and two shaved spears of asparagus. The asparagus was nondescript and the carrot, while young and full of carroty flavor, seemed misplaced with its perfume. Lying next to a big steak, it (and I) might have been happier. The only nonintrusive accompaniment was the lightly seasoned spinach.

In finishing the sea bass but leaving the various accoutrements, I decided that the Chinese (or more inclusively, Asian cuisine in general) have the right idea when it comes to fish. Don't dress up fish like it's poultry or steak. All of it robs the fish of its most exciting flavor, which is that of the fresh open sea. There is something to be said for serving a bowl of plain rice with fish - let the fish be on stage, not standing behind senseless vegetables and costumed in directionless cream sauce.

(Note: The sea bass also came with an interesting garnish/condiment - a half lemon wrapped in what appeared to be yellow muslin-like fabric, complete with green bow, ostensibly so that when you squeeze the lemon, the seeds do not fall onto your precious fish. At first, I wondered if a bouquet-garni had wandered onto my plate, but I am sure that many other restaurant goers have unwrapped this surprise not understanding its utility, despite its obvious aesthetic acknowledgement.)

Overall, however, the sea bass was decent enough that it was a pleasing meal. It did have the unfortunate experience of tasting less and less good as I continued to eat, but you can't have everything.

COFFEE
The menu offered an array of "specialty" coffees for $8.95 each, apparently made "special" by the addition of a splash of some type of alcohol. That is way too much for any coffee unless it comes with a bottle of booze attached to it. The fancy splash was not enough so I ordered plain coffee, which nicely turned out to be solidly good.

ICE TEA
Never-ending refills when you dine at the top of a hotel! I drank buckets.

LEMON CHANTILLY
After I interrogated the waiter regarding the chocolate used in the "Godiva Chocolate Bread Pudding," I decided I had enough of having my chocolate hopes and expectations dashed by inartful American sweetness. So I elected to get the lemon mousse chantilly. It had a decent pistachio cake crust to it, but the lemon mousse was about average. A little too greasy feeling. A little too much of store-bought lemon flavor. Also, there was a cookie-like curly garnish on the top of my mousse which of course I tried to eat. It tasted stale, like an after-thought. Word to the wise: don't put garnish on top of anything unless you're ready for someone curious like me to eat it. Still, at the end of the meal, I no longer needed chapstick, which I had earlier noted was being sold at the hotel gift shop at the highway-robbery prohibitive price of $3.00.

SERVICE
Only nerds eat early, which meant I was given a large table right by the window with a less than most flattering view of Dallas. Probably no fewer than six different staff members either greeted me, refilled my drink, brought my crudite, cleared my table, etc., etc. And given it was Dallas, it was like being served dinner by a kindly troupe of Hispanic grandfathers and uncles. Very pleasant.

THE BELLY'S RATING: 2.95 out of possible 4 cow bellies. I'm feeling generous tonight!

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