BIG.
DAY.
Think I’ll ride my hoverboard to the grocery store to celebrate.
mumbling and fumbling my way through backyard restoration
by Holly
by Holly
If you will indulge, I would like to create for myself a Dear Diary of what to Do Different next, Dear…I mean Year. {Otherwise I will not remember. I blame two small ones for the state of my memory.} This year’s learning curve was pretty steep, and I hope year after year things will even out a little. So, without further ado, I give future me The What To Change For Next Year List:
9b. While we’re here…easy on the pink zinnias. I know the bitties have a preference for all things pink…but there is such a thing as overkill.
by Holly
We’ve been a little under the weather around here. ‘Tis the season.
Thankfully these little guys haven’t caught our colds.
The peas look off to a great start.
As do the various lettuces.
However, this is the broccoli. All of it.
I would love to say that I only planted this many seeds, but alas, I planted an entire package. I’m not sure what happened, bad pack or operator error…probably the latter.
Several of the summer things are still going strong and I just don’t have the heart to pull them yet. The okra is still gangbusters.
The peppers are small, but still coming on strong. I wonder if they need to be picked small or can make it to first frost.
I can’t figure out how to collect alyssum seed. I’m guessing it’s about that time but I don’t see anything on these tiny plants that looks like it’s the seed.
If you know of a good “how-to” on alyssum seed or any tips will you say so? Otherwise I’m off to The Google again…
Happy weekend!
by Holly
We love soup over here.
In fact, there are two seasons in this house: soup season and not soup season. {The latter is said with disdain, in case you’re wondering.}
So when I opened soup season with carrot and butternut squash soup I promptly got my own little dose of disdain from dear David, who said “really? This is your opener?” {Not a fan of butternut squash, that one.}
Which I sort of don’t understand at all especially since this little fella rallied after the powdery mildew infestation a couple months back and sprung up out of nowhere:
{I feel the same about that little guy as I did about the baby watermelons. Baby children, not so much…baby vegetables get me talking like a two year old with a mouth full of marshmallows.}
But I feel terribly sad for David because this soup is yummy. AND the carrots came right out of our garden. Maybe next year the squash will too. Yesterday I had this for lunch with some leftover chicken pesto pasta, and BOOM.
In case this piques your interest and you’re feeling all autumnal {as my college bff used to say}, here ya go.
Carrot and Butternut Squash Soup
Serves about 6 nice big bowls
-1 butternut squash, chopped
-½ pound of carrots, peeled and chopped
-1 large onion, chopped
-2 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed
-1 quart chicken stock {homemade is preferred by those spoiled by Ina Garten’s suggestions, ahem, US}
-Whole milk or heavy cream, give or take ½ to ¾ of a cup {heavy cream is preferred by anyone with a pulse} {you could also do half cream and half milk and give yourself a pat on the back}
-Olive oil
-Lots of salt and pepper
-lots of roasted, salted pumpkin seeds to top
Toss squash, carrots, onion, and garlic with about 3 Tbsp of olive oil {depending on how big your vegetables are} and a big pinch {about 1 tsp} of salt and about ½ tsp of pepper. Roast in a 400 degree oven until tender and covered with those yummy browned bits on the edges, turning a couple times as you go. {Somewhere around 30 minutes total.}
Transfer all vegetables {in batches, if necessary} to a blender and puree. Put into heavy bottomed soup pot on medium low heat. Add chicken stock and milk until you like the consistency. Add salt and pepper to taste. {We end up adding about another teaspoon of salt and about a ½ teaspoon of pepper…just depends on how salty my stock batch was on that occasion.}
Warm and serve. Top with pumpkin seeds and a drizzle of olive oil. Tastes even better the next day!
by Holly
As I type I’m pulling mom hours. {You know you’re on duty and you’re not really sure when you can clock out. Perhaps never is the correct answer.} I’m in the middle of these hours because of my insane and unequivocally unfair request that my bittiest bitty drop the pacifier before she enters middle school. Also, because the dentist told me it needed to be done.
Alas, she cries.
I get losing your cool. I have lost mine many a time. And there are a variety of things that I would currently lose my cool about if someone tried to take them from me. Added to the list as of this weekend are these:
Oh, I love them.
We put up the base hardware for them approximately a month ago. Then vacation, and life, and The Wheels On The Bus Go Beep Beep Beep, and the kitchen got dirty again, and oh but you see Project Runway is on, and well, we just got around to hanging them on Saturday.
This was problematic because it rained all day Saturday.
My husband and I have agreed that “hanging things” is a point of contention for our marriage. From this point forward, we have decided that if Hanging Blank is something that needs to be done, then we will pursue hiring someone to do this for us. Our, shall we say, finest points of marital growth have happened directly after the experience of trying to hang something. {A chandelier, a door, mirrors, wall art…but really, who needs to go digging…} {Also, if you hang something as your career, now would be a good time to give me your card, as I will be assembling a rolodex entitled People Who Hang Things.}
{How did I get here. OH, THE LIGHTS.}
They’re up. They’re so beautiful. They remind of me this awesomeness in graduate school where we used to go, eat Cuban food out of some trailer-type-assembly, and BYO-anything because they were in the county and couldn’t serve alcohol. They had tiny white lights strung above, connecting all the tables in their hazy vibe, inviting you to eat more plantains and enjoy your friendships in a transient time.
Last night we had dinner on the patio and watched our girls dance popsicle-faced under our lights. The ones that we hung. And then this happened:
We watched it brighten, and brighten, until my camera couldn’t even take it anymore:
And I looked and snapped and pressed it down deep and tried to convey the promise to my children. {Bitty G did say “GOD,” so win.}
Oh, it was so good. I’m etching in the memory.
Maybe it will help give me a better attitude the next time we hang something. But, unlike the rainbow, no promises.
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