The latest recap of what’s happening in the dirt outside the window.

Tonight there were 4 green sweet peas in the pod, all ready to pick. That was the work of about 10 seconds, but think how much more fun it could be if I could get some helpful child to do the farm labor in exchange for the crop. A new neighbor is Miss Ariel, four years old and bursting with ideas and happy commentary about the world. So I asked Miss Ariel’s mom whether Miss A. might have leisure to help. Once Mom graciously gave permission, Miss A. rocketed off to her room in high excitement to select and put on a suitably pretty pea-picking outfit. Soon she reappeared in a fetching garden costume. Mom carried Baby Brother Tristan, and the four of us headed for the pea field 10 steps away. As expected, Miss Ariel proved to be a stellar hand at spotting green pods in green leafery. I held the stem while she did the picking. Our next chore was to train the pea vines to nestle their little tendrils around the poles where they belonged, rather than latching on to other flowers or one another. “If we let these sprout tips touch the pole, the plant will recognize that this is a safe place to climb, and tomorrow it will already be growing up this pole,” I told her. “They’re like children: with a little bit of guidance and good sturdy support, they can really grow and be healthy.” Miss A. was pleased to have a contribution to suppertime, one pea pod for each member of the family.

In other news, Mrs. Wing’s white daikon radishes and purple daikon radish plants are four feet high and flourishing in a splendid manner with, respectively, a show of lavish white blossoms and lavender blossoms. Captain brought home a big barrel for keeping thin red worms, and showed me the different screen layers of operation: lots of grass clippings and other mulch in the top layer, then fruit scraps in the middle layer packed with worms munching away (Captain reports that the worms really gravitate to melon), then below that the sediment, and below that a layer for worm “tea,” with a spigot. There was a good gallon’s worth of fruit scraps; he explained that it would all be eaten and turned into compost in about a week. The Wing family finally obtained one of the very coveted city garden plots to expand their base of operations. These plots have been in families for generations; they are well seasoned and lush, in a beautiful setting; securing a prized new slot can take years. The Wings happily went and cleared and dug up their new assigned patch, fertilized and primed the soil, laboriously dug up all of their Sunchoke tubers grown in pots around the house, transplanted them all to the new patch, and got them growing beautifully. Oh boy! A bumper Sunchoke harvest! Except that when they returned to view their new holdings, somebody had ripped out the Sunchokes and planted some other crop instead. The Wings could have gone to the garden committee and instead of raising produce could have raised some Cain. But they came home with their tools and a shrug and a smile to patiently start over with new Sunchokes in pots again.

Tariq and Darina are a radiant industrious couple who put in raised beds outside their door. The picture above and the picture below are only very small corners of their successful beds of all mixed greens.

Earlier this spring, last year’s crop of overwintered Tuscan kale was still hardy and strong with massive stems, just ready to bolt into flower. One day I stopped to admire the kale, and we got to chatting. Darina and Tariq were telling me all about their pet snails (they had interesting astute observations about the fascinating habits of these shelled creatures), and Darina noticed my admiration of their giant kale plants. She invited me to cut down and take away all I could eat before she cleared the ground. Well! For a couple of weeks I was out by 6:00 am, picking a big double handful every morning for breakfast. Tariq and Darina’s bedroom window is a good six feet up off the ground, and every morning I would hold the day’s pickings high within their view, and wave the greens in a vigorous salute so they could look outside and know that this interloper was me. I always finished off with a kale pompom happy dance of gratitude for their generosity before waving goodbye and heading indoors.

One day, when Angelina and I were walking the wolf pack, I pointed out the kale garden and their window. The conversation went off the rails something like this.

Mary: That’s Tariq and Darina. They said I could pick their kale! And they are such interesting people. Just the other day, they told me all about pet snails.

Angelina: That’s nice. Where did she have them done? (Note the stellar extraextravert people-personality. Anybody else would have said “Why should I care? Why are you telling me this nonsense?”

Mary: Who?

Angelina: Pat.

Mary: What?

Angelina: Where did she have them done?

Mary: Huh?

Angelina: Pat’s nails.

At that point I sat down on the ground gripping my sides, and was unable to catch my breath or stand up for the next three minutes. In our parallel conversation, what my ears heard Angelina say (honest, hand to heart, because she is after all a nurse who talks to me about medical stuff all the time) was “Pap smears.”

Angelina: When people see us together staggering around out here, they must think we’ve had a few drinks.

Mary: Around you, who needs a drink?

Angelina: We’d be terrific at the game of Telephone.

Mary: Like, “Let’s put these two at opposite ends of the line, and watch the fun.” We’ll be the life of any party.

Later I relayed all this to Darina. I also mentioned how much I’ve enjoyed breakfasting on her kale forest and doing the kale dance outside her bedroom window.

Darina: Dance?

Mary: Yes, at 6:00 a.m. Right here at your bedroom window. See? (Hopping about.) Like so.

Darina: Oh, I didn’t know. Mm…… Our apartment is next one over. That’s someone else’s bedroom.