Autumn in central Virginia; the first frost is probably a week or more off but the trees are already shedding their partly turned leaves. For many of the trees around here, leaves begin going limp in September and then drop off quietly and unostentatiously in October.
After several hot days, the wind turned Friday evening and cold air from West Virginia is flowing over us. A perfect day for working in the yard.
Side view of the main vegetable garden today, 65 degrees F
So that is what I did. I finished mowing the back yard and the garden, which is still supporting a lot of unfrozen hot peppers and a last few tomatoes.
Last year we ordered a packet containing 8 or 10 heirloom pepper seeds attributed to the Central African Republic. These produced two or three plants which eventually bore a total of a half-dozen one-inch peppers. I saved and dried the seeds from the half-dozen pepper fruits and planted them this spring. Almost every saved seed produced a plant this year, and these plants are producing far more African peppers than last year’s plants — industrial levels. They have been peppering since July. The picture below was taken in a chilly drizzle Friday.
I doubt the explanation for this year’s success was overnight natural selection. More likely, the key to success was more seeds, leading to a hundredfold improvement.
This African pepper is fairly hot but no more so than a cayenne. The yellow color is pleasant and artistic. A single pepper thinly sliced and de-seeded makes a good individual dose. There is a strong hard-to-name flavor other than heat, as found with habaneros, and all-in-all a great fresh hot pepper.
I doubt the explanation for this year’s success was overnight natural selection. More likely, the key to success was more seeds, leading to a hundredfold improvement.
This African pepper is fairly hot but no more so than a cayenne. The yellow color is pleasant and artistic. A single pepper thinly sliced and de-seeded makes a good individual dose. There is a strong hard-to-name flavor other than heat, as found with habaneros, and all-in-all a great fresh hot pepper.
Central African heirloom hot pepper
We also planted two varieties of cayenne, one a fancy heirloom and one from the Milmont Garden Center in the Shenandoah Valley. Fresh cayenne is a gastronomical necessity and not a luxury.
Also essayed was a recherché New Mexico chili which has produced only a few fruits, but with intricate heat and flavor. This variety will have its seeds saved and next year we will see if more seeds are the answer to production again.
Also essayed was a recherché New Mexico chili which has produced only a few fruits, but with intricate heat and flavor. This variety will have its seeds saved and next year we will see if more seeds are the answer to production again.
Two varieties of cayenne
As it happens, we've found this year that we have also raised a fine crop of snakes. The larger and more sporting varieties are correspondingly smarter and do not intend to be seen. Total copperhead sightings in the garden were one last year and none this year. The smaller house-and-garden snakes are regular discoveries and not really shy, and they seem to enjoy as many insects as they can lay their tongues on.
The snake in the photo, which short of better identification I have dubbed a hybrid tea snake, climbed a bean vine to get well up into gnat territory, for its favorite prey.
The snake in the photo, which short of better identification I have dubbed a hybrid tea snake, climbed a bean vine to get well up into gnat territory, for its favorite prey.
If your garden is not raising snakes, something is terribly wrong. Gardens attract the snake clan’s favorite food, bugs, in insane and incalculable non-Pythagorean numbers.
Unmortared or free-stone walls, good dirt, and no chemical pesticides are the first steps to cultivating snakes. Insect predation is certainly a literal purpose in the life of snakes, and snakes are worthy of their hire. If you don’t get snakes after a year or two, then it’s on the snakes to keep trying. Human existence is predicated on some other purpose anyway.
Unmortared or free-stone walls, good dirt, and no chemical pesticides are the first steps to cultivating snakes. Insect predation is certainly a literal purpose in the life of snakes, and snakes are worthy of their hire. If you don’t get snakes after a year or two, then it’s on the snakes to keep trying. Human existence is predicated on some other purpose anyway.
On a more authorial note, my novel in progress, formerly known as Astral Bodies, has, I think, reached its final title, which will be Exemptions. "Astral Bodies" was at least the third or fourth name of this novel, which I started in the 1970s, and never seemed quite satisfactory. Submitted to the Brains Trust for consideration, fresh potential titles included “Diffusion,” “Nuclear Diffusion,” “Thermonuclear Xanadu,” “Werebabies of the Reich,” “Head Raid,” “Misplaced Comas,” and “Student Exemption.” While not as obvious a title as "Thermonuclear Xanadu," which remains my personal favorite, Exemptions is appropriate enough and has a literary flavor. I think I'm going with it. Publication as an ebook on amazon.com is imminent.
Does everybody find titles this difficult? In my salvage bin there are pages from a manuscript I began in 1988 and worked on spasmodically for the next four years, which has never been called anything but “The Baltimore Dog Novel,” a frankly terrible title. TBDN (for short) once reached a length of 400+ pages, and I have yellowing typewritten pages to prove it. The total length of the surviving manuscript is closer to 100 pages, as scattered fragments.
Then there is my manuscript of "Geology Tours Unlimited," which is another appalling title. GTU was also once over 300 pages. The surviving elements are half that long. Hardly a tragedy. Shorter, less elegiac texts may well be preferred these days, and comparative brevity may be a wave of the future.
To my sensibility, such as it is, titles are more essential for short stories than for novels, often supplying the key to the lock. Novels may just require an identifier or mnemonic. Thomas Pynchon’s novels illustrate this perfectly. Gravity’s Rainbow is an ideal title for that book, an inspired title, but the book itself was unaffected by its name. Meanwhile V, Mason & Dixon, Vineland, and The Crying of Lot 49 are just good mnemonics. You have to call them something.
Does everybody find titles this difficult? In my salvage bin there are pages from a manuscript I began in 1988 and worked on spasmodically for the next four years, which has never been called anything but “The Baltimore Dog Novel,” a frankly terrible title. TBDN (for short) once reached a length of 400+ pages, and I have yellowing typewritten pages to prove it. The total length of the surviving manuscript is closer to 100 pages, as scattered fragments.
Then there is my manuscript of "Geology Tours Unlimited," which is another appalling title. GTU was also once over 300 pages. The surviving elements are half that long. Hardly a tragedy. Shorter, less elegiac texts may well be preferred these days, and comparative brevity may be a wave of the future.
To my sensibility, such as it is, titles are more essential for short stories than for novels, often supplying the key to the lock. Novels may just require an identifier or mnemonic. Thomas Pynchon’s novels illustrate this perfectly. Gravity’s Rainbow is an ideal title for that book, an inspired title, but the book itself was unaffected by its name. Meanwhile V, Mason & Dixon, Vineland, and The Crying of Lot 49 are just good mnemonics. You have to call them something.
The real owner of the garden
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