Monthly Archives: July 2019

Tomato Time

tomatoes; garden, Uncategorized, , ,

The 100+ heat index last week was good for at least one thing: hastening the ripening of the tomatoes in our “suburban vegetable farm.” The moment the backyard gardener waits all year for, that first juicy flavorful bite that banishes all memory of the sad waxy things passing for tomatoes the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, that first bite is sometimes taken by some other creature than yourself. Grab onto a big delicious looking specimen, and you may encounter a messy, gooey, open wound. Chipmunk, squirrel, bird, or something else that comes by night and chews…no matter, damage done and hopefully something left to salvage.

Most of our tomatoes were grown from seed. This year, I got several varieties from the Gurney seed company because they had a sweet introductory discount. I was intrigued by a variety called Mortgage Lifter, explained (at a farm museum I toured last spring) as being so prolific that it raised Depression era farmers out of debt. Makes a good story, and, if I have figured correctly, a good tomato too.

“Figuring correctly” is what one must do in our garden, since the varieties of tomatoes somehow always get mixed up between the seedlings and the planting, no matter how I try to keep them labeled. So you just have to wait for them to mature to find out what sort of tomato they will produce. Even then, I am not sure sometimes, especially since I purchased a “rainbow” package of heirloom seeds with a number of varieties mixed in. Is it a Cherokee Purple or a Black Krim? Is this one going to stay yellow or has it just not started turning red yet?

  • I call this “BT toast.”

Who cares, really. They are all yummy. If you don’t have your own, go find a farm stand or a farmer’s market and pay whatever it cost for a few pounds. It’s the essence of summer, and it’s gone all too soon.

Let Freedom Ring Elsewhere for a Change

tourism, Wilmington; Brandywine Valley

For the first time since 1986, I had the 4th of July off, officially. Because I have worked on the Smithsonian Folklife Festival every year since then and it always incorporates the 4th of July. Only two times in all those years was I somewhere other than the National Mall on the 4th: sick, once and attending my great uncle’s 90th birthday party the other time.

This year, our shorter Festival did not encompass the holiday. Seemed, therefore, like a good time to experience Independence Day elsewhere. We picked the Brandywine Valley, and nearby Wilmington, Delaware. According to my research, Wilmington was reputed to have a good fireworks display, and there are plenty of DuPont mansions and other cultural wonders nearby.

With our destination about two hours from home and in no hurry to get an early start, our adventure commenced with lunch. Others might have enjoyed grilled hot dogs for the 4th; we dined on Mayalsian fare at Rasa Sayang, which is (aptly considering the date) located in a shopping center called Independence Mall a short distance north of Wilmington.

Next up, a trip to Europe via one of the lesser known DuPont estates: Nemours. At least I had never heard of it, as it seems to fly more under the radar than its sister estate, Winterthur. The 77-room mansion and extensive French gardens were the home of Alfred I. DuPont and his second, and then third, wife (until they bailed for Florida). It was built in the 1910s as a sort of Delawarian version of Versailles. Visitors are invited to wander by themselves around the grounds and house; friendly guide-staff let you explore at your own pace, but answer questions if you have any.

Next, a caffeine pick me up in the Trolley Square neighborhood, then finding a parking space near the waterfront in Wilmington to settle in for the 4th celebration. (Parking was delightfully available and free, the perks of a small city versus the nightmare of parking in DC.) We killed time riding up and down the Christina River on the water taxi, and then strolling nearly the entire length of the River Walk. Finally, it was time to find a place to watch the fireworks.

Our viewing space was directly across the river from the place they were shooting off the fireworks; any closer and, according to the security patrol, we would be in the zone where fireworks debris might fall on our heads. (The Christina is deep but not particularly wide, as you may have guessed.) Sure, the backdrop of the Washington Monument and the thrill of being in an excited hoard of half a million people was missing, but the show was just as impressive and the smaller crowd and immediacy of the display made up for not being in Our Nation’s Capital. Thanks, Wilmington, for making my first Fourth of July in over thirty years fine and DC-free.