I'm practically up to my eyeballs in lemons and loving it

Last week I stood and looked at boughs heavily laden with fruit full of liquid sunshine. This year our eleven year old Eureka lemon decided to produce a crop above and beyond it's "semi dwarf" status. Sacrificing thick green leathery leaves, it has poured all its energy into the fruit. The Eureka is an ever-producing variety that year-round has blossoms, developing fruit, and ripe fruit on it all at the same time. But never have we been blessed with such a bountiful harvest all at once like this year.

I stood looking at a branch ready to break after the added weight of waterdrops from a spring rain shower were almost too much for it to bear. I knew I couldn't put off the harvest any longer.

So despite dealing with severe bouts of spring-allergy-induced vertigo, I got out under the tree with my garden cart, green-waste can, and two sizes of pruning shears. The branch that was precariously close to snapping and jeopardizing the whole tree was cut off before it could do damage to the form of the tree.

I removed the lemons from the cut branch... but there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled my harvest satchel... and there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled a laundry basket... and there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled my garden cart... and there are still so many lemons left on the tree.

Although I had dosed myself with plenty of sinus medication to reduce the swelling and fluid in my inner ears and keep the head-spinning at bay, it was still tricky having to look up over my head to pick each lemon. Silent prayer, wishful thinking and sheer stubborn tenacity kept me from pitching forward and landing in the pond or on the ground. After I had the cart fairly full, I decided I had gathered enough and the rest of the fruit on the tree could wait until another time when someone taller and less equilibrium-challenged could harvest them.

After a couple of days, I tackled the next task of processing the lemons. We chose to juice them all into 8-ounce freezable stacking containers Hubby found at a local restaurant supply store. My count for containers of fresh squeezed juice is now over thirty. They sit in neat columns of golden yellow in our large supplemental freezer and will be thawed as needed for various uses in cooking, baking or drinking. I still have almost a full 5-gallon buckets worth of lemons to go before the juicing is done.

Hubby and I have read together many times in Frances Mayes' books Under the Tuscan Sun and The Tuscan Sun Cookbook about the Italian limonaia (literally translated "lemon house") where this important staple is stored in various forms to be used to feed the family throughout the year when the lemons aren't in season. It's the reason I planted the lemon tree in the first place. I feel like we finally have our dreamed of limonaia (of sorts) in our freezer.

It's wonderful to imagine all the things that the juice will become in the artful hands of Hubby (my personal chef-in-residence). Some will go into savory entrees such as pan sautéed lemon chicken. Some will probably be combined to make homemade lemon-infused extra virgin olive oil. I will most surely want to use some to make my favorite dessert, Cheery Cherry Cheese Pie. And I am a lover of lemonade so most assuredly a lot of the juice will be used to make large pitchers of ice cold lemonade on hot summer days.

Now my mouth is watering.

For sunshine, daffodils and lemons in February... for these I am grateful

Oh blessed February! On the darkest day of the winter solstice I yearn for this month to arrive with its respite of sunshine both from the sun and from the garden.

The daffodils, jonquils and lemons glow yellow as if heralding to the world that the days are indeed growing slightly longer.

I chase the light with the lens of my camera and with the lenses of my eyes. I drink it in like rays of lemonade. I bask in its warmth and listen to the birds chirping out their courtship rituals around the bird feeders filled with seeds because there are not enough bugs to go around yet.

And I am profoundly grateful spring comes in February in the Bay Area.

Lemons... like summer hanging on a tree

Female Anna's Hummingbird on lemon tree

Taking a break between sips of sweet nectar out of the lemon blossoms on our Eureka lemon tree, this little gal was the perfect model.

A branch full of sunshine

For the past couple of days, my afternoons have been spent staring at bright white railings and decking as I've painted and caulked the seams of our almost-completed deck (I promise as post with photos as soon as it's done). The bright white deck is up against our little buttercream yellow house. The light reflects off of both in a brilliant way.

I've had to slather on SPF 50 sunscreen every day before heading out because if I didn't, I'd be burnt to a crisp in less than an hour. The breeze has kept the sun from being too oppressively warm up until today which began a stint of hotter days that may take us into the low 90's over the weekend.

As I've been out soaking up all this warmth and sun, I have been reminded that some of you just had a good deal of snow dumped on you. And some of you have been under rainy skies. I don't take my sunshine for granted. I know it is a blessing. Through this photo of our lemons, I wish to send a branch full of sunshine to all of you that are desperately longing for it.

Last Harvest

Today marked the last harvest of tomatoes for the year, as it was time for me to pull the plants out and get on with moving the dirt and planter box to a new location. The last harvest of the summer vegetables is always bittersweet, particularly when it's been a low-yield summer like this one has been.

Interestingly, the pole beans that gave us beans in fits and spurts throughout the summer had a sizable crop to pick. AND the vines are still sending out blossoms. Since I don't have to move the planter they are in, I'm going to leave them in and, hopefully, we'll get another nice crop in time for Thanksgiving in November.

The last cucumber was picked even though it is as huge as a zucchini. Left forgotten under a large leaf, the thing is out of control. I think Hubby may try to use it anyway.

And the current crop of lemons on the Eureka lemon tree are starting to ripen so we were able to put a couple in the harvest basket so they can be used to make the vinaigrette for the bean and tomato salad Hubby will probably make with this basket full of produce. I think we've got enough beans that we can freeze some to use over the winter. That would be really nice.

Tomorrow I'm going to photograph the latest garden wonder that I discovered while we were harvesting that has left me really scratching my head. Stay tuned...

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Brugmansia Sniffing and Pomegranates Blushing

Silly me! It didn't dawn on me to try and smell the brugmansia blossoms until Kylee from Our Little Acre commented that I should go take a whiff. Shortly after reading her comment, Hubby and I went out together to sniff for the first time. Wow! The scent is heavenly! It smells like a hybrid scent of lilac and daffodil to me.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me that they would have a scent. I guess it's because I've always been so entranced by the sheer size of these large blooms (about 4 inches wide and over 6 inches in length) I didn't even think to smell them. Silly me!

After the sniffing was done, I enjoyed photographing in the light of a summer evening--the best light for my style of shooting.

Hubby was headed back in the house when he stopped, turned and said, "Here's a sure sign that autumn is coming!"

I looked up from shooting the brugmansia to see Hubby cradling a blushing pomegranate in his hand. For Hubby, this is sign of hope--a sign that the heat of summer will actually end one day--sooner rather than later. He was very happy to see the blush on the shiny pomegranate skins. So was I.

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