In the spirit of “try something new”, M and I went for a bike ride on the Wallkill Valley Rail Trail yesterday. Yet again, I had fun. It would seem that my instincts for routine and the familiar have been serving me ill.

The weather was perfect, not too hot, and when pedaling along the breeze felt mighty fine.

The trail crosses an old steel bridge where there are now benches, and we took a break and sat and enjoyed the view and the passing characters.

By the time we got back to the car we’d covered just shy of 10 miles — I had a sore behind but lunch tasted fantastic!

For the last fortnight the hummingbird activity at the feeder on the porch has been intense. A couple of times I’ve seen ten birds at once.

For such tiny creatures they have big attitude, reminding me of New Yorkers with their fast moves and “You lookin’ at me?” moxie.

(It was raining when I shot this, which made for noisy background, accentuating the traffic sounds.)

Indoors there’s been a lot of silent, focused, staring.

One morning I was standing looking out the side door at the garden. I was waking up, sipping my coffee, with Noola draped across my shoulders (she likes it there).

A hummingbird perched on the fence next to the tomato plants. All of a sudden he flew directly towards us and stopped at eye level, a foot away, hovering and checking us out, and then just as suddenly flew off into the trees.

Noola and I were both blown away by the experience.

The Shawangunk ridge above Ellenville is covered in wild blueberry (or huckleberry) bushes, which a hundred years ago supported a berry-picking industry.

While living in New York I never went to Times Square or Central Park unless friends were in from out of town; to this day I still haven’t been up the Empire State Building.

It’s the same here, there are unbelievable hikes and views just minutes from the house but we never seem to go unless we’re entertaining visitors. So it was a lucky coincidence when family came to stay at the peak of the blueberry season, and got us out of the house.

We went up to Minnewaska Preserve and followed a narrow path on the far side of the lake, climbing down the side of the mountain to where the blueberry bushes were plentiful.

Look down and see blueberries all around. Look up and see this view. Pick, pick, pick.

Afterwards we sat high up on the rocks where one of the hotels used to be, looking down at the lake and some long-distance swimmers cutting through the water with perfect form.

A couple of days after our guests left I cooked up a small batch of intensely-flavored blueberry jam.

So good. So unbelievably good.

When I got home from the city on Monday, there was a wonderful still life of old objects set up on my kitchen table, left for me by my friend Susan who takes care of the cats when I’m away, and has been cleaning out her basement.

Treats!

She gave me this lovely, simple, old apple corer. I love the way the handles are a twist in the wire frame.

This useful jar lifter with soft wooden handles. Feels so much nicer than plastic.

And two little flower frogs, of which this round one is my favorite. The shape is so satisfying, I want to keep it where I can look at it all the time.

Thanks, Susan!!

The first cucumbers and tomatoes are in. Or I should say, they’re gone. Gobbled up after passing feline inspection. But there are more on the way.

I’m growing two kinds, Boothby’s Blonde (described by a friend as a naked Kirby), and Suyo, which is pretty spooky-looking but delicious.

Last night I picked some of each and made them into a salad that was made for me when I visited Serbia several years ago. I don’t have a recipe, it’s so simple you can make it however you like it. More or less garlic or dill. Creamy yogurt or low fat…

I sliced the cucumbers thinly using the slicing side of my box grater and put them in a colander in the sink, salted them heavily and let them drain for a while.

In a bowl I mixed some plain yogurt with a couple of cloves of garlic, crushed, and some chopped up dill. I rinsed the cucumbers, dried them a little, and tossed them in the yogurtey mix.

All done. Simple and refreshing.

I thought I’d post about it today since it’s Cukes & Zukes day on the cross-blog Summer Fest. Find more cucurbit recipes and info on Summer Fest at awaytogarden.com.

I love it when “water garden” is on my list for the day and I wake up to the swishy sound of tires on wet road, and the patter of drops in the gutter above the bedroom window.

Can’t help feeling pleased with myself when I’ve crossed something off my to-do list before getting out of bed.

Last October I planted half a pound each of four types of garlic. I haven’t grown garlic before, being as this is my first year with a year-round garden, and I had no clue how much I’d be harvesting. Granted, the garlic took up more than 10% of the raised beds, which was kind of a clue…

This is the Inchelium Red softneck garlic, just one third of the harvest. The hardneck is still in the ground, waiting to be dug up.

I used the compost sifter M built for me and laid them out to dry in the shade on the patio.

It’s been 2 weeks and they’re looking ready to braid.

When all 4 types are harvested and cured I’d love to have a garlic tasting but I can’t figure out what dish would be a good comparison vehicle. Aioli? Garlic bread? I don’t think I’m up for crunching raw cloves.

It’s mid-summer hot — too bold to be out in the midday, but I ventured into the garden early this morning to water and find inspiration in the shapes and colors.

The ferny leaves of a garbanzo plant…

Soft focus constellations scattered across the Moon & Stars watermelon…

Snapdragons grown from seeds so small I had to use a damp toothpick to pick them up have turned into these complex, elegant blooms…

The cucumber and pumpkin vines are perfect spirals…

The fractal bloom on last year’s parsley plant and the perfect red of its Salvia neighbor…

The psychedelic iridescence of a resting fly…

And the spiky dome of vibrant orange at the center of an echinacea flower…

If I spent every minute of my life making, I could never come close to the endless creativity of this natural world.

Earlier this week I happened to look out the kitchen window when a fawn and her mama walked into the yard. They were nibbling the “deer-proof” forcythia. Then the fawn picked her way back to the maple in the far corner by the brush pile and curled up under it and her mom wandered away. The little one stayed nestled under the tree, almost invisible, all day.

I was a wee bit concerned and placed a call to in-the-know friends who confirmed that this is normal. Apparently does find a safe place to stash their babies and leave them there, coming back to check on them periodically. All week I’ve seen the mom come and go leaving her fawn stashed away in the weeds for hours at a time.

This morning I was making coffee when two female deer wandered into the yard, together with the fawn who raced around in the long grass. I was watching her run crazy loops when all of a sudden there were two fawns, both racing around, up and down the hill. Hilarious.

I wasn’t able to capture them both, but here’s a glimpse of one of them – a speck of fawn at speed.

The sound in the background in Noola chewing cardboard. Still.

When I lived in the city my connection to the weather and the seasons was very limited, the markers of change broad and unsubtle. Rain. Snow. Hot and sweaty. The day the leaves arrive on the trees.

Here, I look out the window and the grass looks 2 inches taller than yesterday, but has that sweet smell; the clover is blooming.

The peonies are here, gorgeous and brazen, then all of a sudden over, knocked out by the rain we wanted so badly.

The peas need to be picked daily… but not for long, and here’s the first strawberry. It tastes so good, shared between friends. Fruity communion.

Nature’s changing is fierce and constant. There’s an intensity not unlike riding the subway at rush hour, and it is tempting to turn the abundance and ferociousness of all this growth and plenty into another “should”, another chore, another reason to complain.

I hope I won’t do that and ignore the potential lesson — that life is plentiful and messy and overwhelmingly beautiful. And that just as we grieve the passing of one life, or season, or botched crop, another bursts open ahead.

“Listen, God love everything you love – and a mess of stuff you don’t. But more than anything else, God love admiration.

You saying God vain? I ast.

Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.

What it do when it pissed off? I ast.

Oh, it make something else. People think pleasing God is all God care about. But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back.”

— Alice Walker (The Color Purple)