I picked carrots yesterday, intending to put them in a couscous-with-broiled-tomato/zucchini/onion/green beans dish for dinner, but I forgot and put the pan in the oven without cutting up the carrots. So I ate them raw, while reading, and that was much better anyway. I was quite pleased at having yet another almost-entirely-from-the-garden meal, too (as well as the snack).

I’m thinking that I am not as much a tomato lover as I ought to be, because I tried some of the enormous Brandywine raw before I cut up the rest for dinner, and it’s a good tomato, but it didn’t wow me. Oh well…I’m still marinating some seeds in their own juices to save them for next year. And next in the tomato lineup is a ripening tomato that may be a Cherokee Purple or may be a Celebrity, come to look at it…I grew them next to each other and the branches are sprawling everywhere, so it’s hard to tell. Next year, I’ll space and support the tomatoes better. Right?

The Moody Blues were playing last night, so I went out to the garden and pulled weeds for a while as I listened. I love how the weeds aren’t such a problem in midsummer…of course the ones that are there are the ones I’ve neglected and so are bigger and tougher. I also clipped as many cucurbit vine ends as I could find. Three cantaloupe plants is more than anyone needs, and three slicing cucumber plants is way more than anyone needs. I had always thought cucumber/basil sorbet sounded awful, but I’m considering it now just to use up some cucumber. Maybe I’ll learn to make lotion, or facial masks. Maybe I’ll buy a pepper and make a bunch of gazpacho. Maybe I’ll plant fewer plants next year.

Finally, the amaranth is doing well and looking beautiful, and it’s time for me to start experimenting with dyeing. I’m going to save one plant for seed (both for eating and for planting next year–apparently you can pop amaranth like popcorn) and the rest will go into the dyepot…once I get the time. Since I’m traveling this weekend and flying to the Dominican Republic next weekend, it may be a couple of weeks, or it may be the occupation of a lazy weeknight.