The Garden Basket.In every garden magazine you always see people collecting their garden produce with these sorts of baskets. These people wear wide brimmed hats, sunscreen, and sensible-coloured clothing (that matches from head to toe and probably has no carbon footprint, not to mention the fact that it probably decomposes nicely after they discard it). They always have a proper hairstyle. They wear garden clogs (fancy clean garden clogs with fancy clever patterns on them). They have nice smiles, too (gleaming sets of teeth that give me huge Tooth Envy). And their baskets are always the same: wide, flat, natural fibres. Filled with strangely coloured vegetables I've never been able to grow. They stand in their twenty perfectly groomed acres plus super cool greenhouse-made-from-antique-glass-windows with their baskets on their arms, dog frisking around their feet, chickens off to the side. Stuff like that. It's a beaming portrait of garden bliss.
It's also rather galling. I am so not a beaming portrait of garden bliss. Ask the teenager - he's taken to giving me startling and horribly disconcerting comments on my advanced decrepitude of late. Tonight we were discussing the Spanish soccer player Puyol at dinner and how he's the Old Man of the team (at 32) and Max burst out with "Ha! Imagine what YOU GUYS would be if you were on that team! Ha ha ha!"
Editor's note: Teenager now knows never to refer to mother's age with scathing/mocking/jocular tones ever again, particularly if he wishes to live to see his own decrepitness one day. He also knows not to chortle too loudly with a open mouthful of hummus when mocking mother's imminent senility but we won't get into that...
Anyhow. Back to me and my decrepitude. It's why I never feature photographs of myself in my garden on the blog. My summer clothing is always a tattered stretchy dress and rubber boots or grubby, falling apart runners. My figure is a little on the frumpy side. I neither gleam with rude health nor do I glide around gracefully in my well-matched garden twin-set. And most of you already know of my travails with my teeth. No gleaming, beaming well-matched sets there, either. (Sheila gives a sob as she considers the rude state of her teeth)
But...I do have a basket. I almost gave it away to the Sally Ann a while back, thinking as I did so about all those Beautiful Garden People and their baskets. "Ha," I thought, "this is a stupid-looking basket. Who gets stuff out of their garden with this? I'd feel completely idiotic."
I saw one of these baskets on Martha Stewart's blog the other day, funnily enough. It was filled with way too much tarragon, a fact which made me wild with envy because I love tarragon and it's the one herb I struggle to understand. I bought five plants when we moved here and today I have two and a half (the half is somewhat dead and no it is not pining for the fjords). And you what my first thought was when I looked at that gorgeous Martha basket of tarragon? I thought "OMG, Martha and I have the VERY SAME BASKET."
Can you guess where I'm going with this? (Sheila rolls her eyes)
I started using my Martha Basket. I gathered kale leaves, young beets, lettuce, peas, and stalks of mint before dinner. I used it to collect cut flowers for the house. I put a little peg on the wall near the door so I always know where it is. (I also used a big whack of duc tape to mend the handle but maybe we shouldn't get into that - kind of spoils the picture, doesn't it)
And I hate to admit this, given how much I take the mickey but it's actually a very sensible design: the flowers can lie flat, the vegetables can recline in their own little corner without rolling together, and you can pile a fair bit of greenery in it.
So there you go.
I would have subtitled this post In Which Sheila Has A Moment Of Rude Awakening About Garden Baskets And Discovers That It's All Good but that would have given it all away, then, wouldn't it?
By the way, I made some of these ice cream sandwiches for my kids and their friends today. I cheated a bit, using a box of cookies and some big box store ice cream and chocolate chips on the top (instead of ganache) but it's hot here right now. Too hot to be baking and ganaching. But they sure were good. So I'm going to leave you not with my Tarragon Travails but with a nice sweet finish.
9 comments:
You're better then Martha. You're Sheila.
That basket of goodies looks so fresh and delicious and that ice cream and cookie treat looks like pretty darned tasty as well!
You rock!
I want a trug.
But even more, I want peas. Wah. What was I thinking??
cossatt: v. the act of sitting on one's cos.
n. like a corset but in past tense
Samantha, I wish you were my neighbour and then you could tell me how beautiful I look in my scrubby grubby cossatt-less dress. In turn I would tell you how wonderful and creative your garden stepping stones are.
Rebecca, what is a trug? I am mystified. Do I have one?
Guess what, I just bought two lemon trees today...
Your basket of goodies looks great! I'd actually like to see more gardeners photographed true to life instead of in their photo op attire. Surely no one Really gardens in such nice, tidy get-ups as you see on the cover of magazines (although I do notice that I manage to get waaaay grubbier than the other gardener at work so maybe some people can manage to stay clean??).
I have a special basket that I use for gathering herbs now as well as my garden basket - they really Do work so well for this purpose (much better than my old pull-up-the-bottom-of-my-shirt-and-see-how-much-veg-can-fit-in-there trick I used to use -KWIM?).
I just got home with a whack more zucchini (collected shirt style as no basket at town garden) and our first beets of the year. Can't wait for dinner!
OK, my word is mankbobl. That just sort of speaks for itself, doesn't it? Man k bobl
Mankbobl.
I love it! It should be a word. It reminds of Ish Kabibble.
Regarding trugs... ah, trugs. From Sussex. Just google "Sussex Trugs" and you get all sorts of links for independent English trug makers.
I've wanted one since 1996 and I likely should have indulged at the time as there was a garden shop on 4th street that carried them. I think I've likely waited long enough. Maybe Santa will oblige...
Or cater to my whim. As is my word: cater. (huh??? what fun is that? I demand a recount!)
Rebecca, I vote you make yourself a trug. Go on, cut down some sweet chestnut and carve that baby. Honestly, do you really need to spend $95 on a basket?
Heather, I was thinking about you today as I used my skirt to carry peas. Thankfully our garden is private enough for me and my skirt to do such a thing. I too tend to get very grubby. My hair especially: now that it's short it's hard to clip back so it gets the Brush With Wet Muddy Hand routine.
There is a house for sale a few doors down from Shelly... with a lovely pool... You would have to get creative with the garden space though, since most of the backyard is pool and deck.
Have you ever seen The Good Life?? I think you would love it! It's an old British comedy about a couple who quit work and live off the grid on their small neighbourhood property. It's very funny!
I want to spend $95 on a basket. I do. I really do.
That's only $5.00 more than I remember them costing in 1996. Does that seem right?
A pool? Sob. It's getting to me, Samantha. I'd love to have a pool. I don't know if Shelly would like me as a neighbour though.
I will check out The Good Life. I don't know if I've seen it or not.
Rebecca, you do NOT want to spend that much $ on a dumb old basket. Give it to me and I will buy a nice bottle of scotch and fashion you one out of old limbs of something. It will look pretty much the same and I assure you it will perform much the same.
Post a Comment