Since I haven't posted pictures lately, I thought I would throw a few in for good measure, even though some are old.
Here is my first harvest....
Then, this weekend, I decided that I wasn't going to wait any longer for the chard. So I picked some (note the lovely colors but relatively small leaves):
So I made some black eyed pea and country ham soup with chard. A small onion and two cloves of garlic sauteed in some olive oil and then the ham added. About a half a cup of country ham chunks (I got greedy and used more and it was a little too salty). Then two slim stalks of celery and a carrot. Next I added bay, thyme, sage and rosemary, all from the pots out front, including, get this.... the bay. They have wee plants at Southern States and I couldn't resist the expensive little buggers. Then went in a half pound of black eyed peas (soaked over night) and a quart of chicken broth (purchased - I HATE to buy it, but the alternative is eating chicken WAY too much). All simmered for an hour or so and then the chard was pitched in and the heat turned off. Add pepper to taste. It was pretty good, other than salty and it could have used more chard...
Here it is done, nice colors, huh?
And then of course, the gratuitous cat photo. Kitty loves to help in the garden by rolling on the seedlings and generally flopping around in newly turned soil. Here he is just being cute by standing between my feet. He does this when he really wants to be inside eating breakfast but I am in the garden. It is a not so subtle reminder that he hasn't had is third breakfast yet. He seems to think that somehow I am responsible despite the fact that he always has food in the bowl and can eat whenever he likes.
My gardening this weekend was mostly mowing, though I did plant some potatoes. And some perennial seeds. I needed a break from the mowing. After day one I thought I was going to be permanently crippled. It is always good to be really aware of your slothfulness, really embrace the reality of it. Nothing does that like a really sore butt. And hips. And feet. And back. Since I am not flexible enough to embrace all that, I let the alcohol do it for me. Wine on the back porch in May, even when you are crippled-sore is a pleasure.