Sunday, October 9, 2011

Inflationary Pressure

or Changing Planes

The only things missing were the balloons.  For the last two weekends I've been comfortably ensconced in the Adirondack chair at 08:15, sunglasses on, camera, coffee, and crossword ready to hand, just waiting for a little floating poetry to drift by.  It never did.

I'm not an avid enough spotter to go out of my way to find hot-air balloons, but usually during the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, which just wrapped up today, I don't have to.  Some of the gathering's 500+ balloons typically come this direction and sail past within hailing distance; this year was apparently the exception.  Contrary winds were possibly the culprits, winds being contrary by nature, although the Albuquerque box effect often overrides them.  When the box is working, winds closer to the ground blow from the north, while at higher altitudes they blow from the south.  Pilots can choose either direction by moving vertically, changing from a lower to a higher plane.  Since I live south of Balloon Fiesta Park, wind direction doesn't usually keep the balloons away like this.  Ah, well.  Maybe next year.

The closest I came to seeing a balloon was this:


The tomatillos in the microgarden are producing enthusiastically these days—producing, but not ripening.  Even the largest and roundest husks are as full of air as any balloon.  The tomatillos wait to set on until the weather cools down, which happened unusually late this year.  Now the pressure's on them to fill out those husks in the few weeks remaining before frost.  Their performance so far hasn't earned them a place in the microgarden again next summer; they've just been wasting water and prime real estate.  The clock is ticking on them in more ways than one.


One of my friends likes to start knitting projects.  Eventually something else claims her time, so she unravels her work and winds the yarn into a tidy ball, and then the next time she has a chance to knit she starts all over again.  Her philosophy is that a ball of yarn is easier to store than half a sweater, and even if she never finishes a project, she's enjoyed the time she's spent knitting, and enjoyment is really the point.  The doing is the fun part; getting anything wearable out of it is a bonus, a happy accident.  She has been cheerfully knitting for years, and so far as I know is still working on that same ball of yarn.

Her approach is admirable in many ways (to those who don't need or want scarves, sweaters, and woolly mittens)—really on a higher plane than a tit-for-tat, "if I put something in I want to get something out" mentality.  The journey is more important than the destination, and all that.  I get the sense that most of us take a similar approach to gardening, at least to some degree.  Overall I do, too, but not so much where edibles are concerned.  If I plant an edible, I really do want something to eat by summer's end.  Or at least, someone should get something to eat, and that someone had better be more interesting than an aphid.  As I wrote a couple of posts ago, the amaranth may not have fed me this summer, but it's fed all kinds of other things, from katydids to goldfinches, and has been more than worth the resources it took to grow.  But the tomatillos?  Even the bees aren't that enthused.


On the other hand, their shy blossoms really are endearing, and their leaves beautifully sculpted. The papery husks are fascinating to watch grow.  When they get big and round you feel like you could blow on one, just a gentle puff of air, and send it soaring like a balloon.  (Whereas actually, you can't.)  (That is, you can blow on it all you like, but it's not going to go anywhere.)  But those rangy, gangly plants are nothing I would give garden room to if I weren't expecting an actual tomatillo to eat at some point.  A big crock of chili verde is calling me, and I cannot answer, because of those slowpoke tomatillos.

I clearly need to put some gardener's version of the Box Effect into practice, move up to a higher plane, and change mental directions.  After all, I fully enjoyed the mornings on the patio with camera, coffee, and crossword (and sunglasses—very important), balloons or no.  They would have been icing on the cake, but weren't necessary to my happiness.  Why not enjoy those irritating lollygagging endearing, sculptural, and fascinating tomatillos for what they are, and forget what I want out of them?  I'm not going to hurry them along by sniping at them.  Most likely.  Or even, apparently, by giving them regular water and the occasional dose of fertilizer.  I'll just put the cookbook away again.

Ah, well—maybe next year.

19 comments:

  1. Oh Stacy your tomatillos are my pumpkins. Two yrs in a row with lots of flowers but no pumpkins. How hard can it be? I am not thwarted though...there will be pumpkins..I will discover what i need to do just as I did with the green chiles which are still producing...although the tomatoes were not to be this year...oh well I guess I found enjoyment in the knowing, the discovering and the challenge...here's hoping your tomatillos produce for you!!

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  2. Love how you captured your feelings about the tomatillo plants!

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  3. I grew tomatillos this year (I had grown them before but that was in a poly tunnel) and I did get fruit from them but not very many. Although the plants were staked they fell over and I got fed up propping them up. An interesting experiment if nothing else.

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  4. Your knitting friend, first I think, how silly. Then, I think, but actually I love knitting, making up the pattern as I go. And two pullovers have been sitting in hopeless pieces for years. The pieces are right, it is just hopeless expecting me to sew them together - there, my love of knitting ends.

    Your friend has the answer ;~)

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  5. Lots of things didn't work out for me in the vegetable dept. this year. But I'll try again next year. And I'll still have great expectations. The knitting thing I don't understand. No expectations, except to have a ball of yarn again at the end. At least we gardeners hope! Here's hoping your tomatillos do much better next year!

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  6. Donna, your optimism is so encouraging. Like you say, how hard can it be? After all, those pumpkins and tomatillos ought to want to reproduce--it's just a matter of tweaking the conditions until nature can take its course. I will grow tomatillos again next year if you grow pumpkins, and we can compare notes again in October.

    NHGarden, thank you.

    Janet, they do seem to be born to flop. All the seed catalogs claim tomatillos are easy and prolific, but I guess they would, wouldn't they?

    Diana, my friend not only has the answer but also one very well-used ball of yarn... :) I suppose when it's not your own project it's easier to wonder why the maker doesn't finish it. When it's yours, you know just how much pleasure the creating gives. Maybe the Ungardener has a hidden skill at sewing pieces of knitting together...?

    Holley, I don't understand the knitting thing with knitting, either, but then I'm not much of a knitter. With other activities I do get it, though. Sometimes I'll start a book I have no intention of finishing, just because it's a nice day to sit and read, or plan a novel that will never get written, because the planning is so much fun. Hopefully you will have much better conditions for growing vegetables next year! I'll try starting the tomatillos indoors in the spring, and maybe then they'll set on before it gets hot.

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  7. It is galling when something you've planted and nurtured doesn't do as you want it to do. I have experienced it far too often. I should nip down the greengrocers if I were you - chilli verde sounds delicious. Oh, and I've made a note of lollylagging - thanks.

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  8. It really was one strange season for vegetables this year. The ones that did mature were less than tasty. But the flowers are always pretty to appreciate. Even though you explained the reasoning, it seems so counter-productive to keep starting a project over and over. It reminds me of the movie Groundhog Day. That is what I would be thinking as I was unwinding yarn to start all over again.

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  9. We had way too much rain and that really affected our vegetables as well.... too many blooms, too few veggies. But I am not going to be discouraged. I will plant again next year! And we are going to try tomatillos... we love them!

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  10. I can't remember eating a tomatillo, but I imagine they taste like cherry tomatoes which might be easier to grow.

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  11. So true that the journey is more important than the destination. Maybe that's one reason I don't grow any edibles - it's so hard not to have high expectations and harder to be patient.

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  12. Dave, that turns out to have been really, really good advice of yours. Three cheers for grocery stores and a delicious dinner! Maybe now that the "watched pot never boils" thing is out of the way, the tomatillos in the garden will ripen, too. (Lollygagging--a great word. It was addressed to me often as a child, especially when there were dishes to be done.)

    Donna, yes, Groundhog Day definitely springs to mind. My friend is generally a very busy, fast-paced person, with two young children and a career--I think what she really likes about knitting is a reason to sit down...

    Cathy and Steve, thanks for visiting and commenting. There does seem to have been too much of one thing or another across the country all summer. (If you averaged us all out, it would have been a completely normal year!) I always find myself waffling about trying things again--if it was just the year, then it's worth giving a particular vegetable another shot. But what if it's the growing conditions in general?

    b-a-g, tomatillos are surprisingly tart, almost citrusy. They pair really well with lime and cilantro. (And New Mexico green chiles, of course!) They also seem to be immune to the Curly Top Virus (a western scourge spread by beet leaf-hoppers) that my tomatoes always fall prey to. :/

    Ginny, I came across a quote a while ago from... Goethe? I can't remember quite. Someone of that era, at any rate, who said, "Ask birds or children what cherries taste like. They're the only ones who ever get to eat any." Such bitter disappointment...

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  13. One year I did not have any luck with tomatillos. I never figured out why. They just did not seem to set. Perhaps it was much too hot of an autumn.

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  14. OK, that's it, I've yet to read a single blog post about how easy tomatillos were to grow and how prolific in fruit, so thank you, you have saved me from giving them a go. The little lanterns are lovely, but like you, in the edibles department I expect something back for my efforts! Thanks for calling in at my blog.

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  15. Michelle, for things that are supposed to be such child's play to grow, tomatillos are awfully fussy. Maybe they're bratty child's play. If you do have luck with them the rest of the time, I'd love to hear what you do.

    Janet, I've been looking in on various online forums to see just what it is that tomatillos want out of life, and it seems to be warm temperatures, but not too warm, and a particular but undisclosed daylength, and moist soil except when they're setting on, when they like it a little bit dryer, but not too dry... Turns out they're pretty cheap at the grocery store. I enjoy your blog--thanks for the return visit.

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  16. Stacy, there's a blogger in the Washington, D.C. area, Bumble Lush, who had some tomatillo's this year. Unfortunately, the growing conditions are not very similar to Albuquerque.

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  17. Thanks for pointing me to her blog, GirlSprout. They did get a gorgeous harvest--I tasted one of the purple tomatillos once, and it was almost sweet. Washington, D.C., hmmm. Maybe if I get a (really hot) humidifier...

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  18. Stacy, You may not need your cookbook as often as your camera with your balloon like tomatillos. You are feeding the spirit and soul instead of the tummy. Gorgeous photographs!

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  19. Carol, thank you. The tomatillos did end up feeding one fat and sassy tomato hornworm, so at least one tummy did get filled. I was surprised at how ornamental the fruit turned out to be!

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