People often talk about "watching the grass grow" as a sign of being bored. (They also can talk about watching paint dry, but that's another story.)
Here at Struan Farm I've been struck by our ability to see visible growth in the vegetable gardens and sometimes even the grass each day, and we're certainly not bored here. I can see it in the basil plants in the glasshouse, but most obviously with zucchini/courgettes. I check them each day after watering to figure out what we can eat and what will be trundled off to the Piopio Community Fruit & Veg Stand before they become what we call "marrows." They seem to grow in a major way overnight, something that has caught me out until now. They need to be checked both morning and night, zucchinis are sneaky like that. We've taken to slicing larger zucchinis lengthwise on the mandolin, brushing them with olive oil and grilling them until charred and soft. Yum.
It's the same with the beans. I thought I'd pretty much cleaned them out when we had six farmstay guests from Berlin, Germany for dinner last week. (I don't usually make dinner for guests, but in this instance I'd told them our local restaurant was open for dinner that night when it wasn't, and they hadn't brought provisions to cook. Lucky we had that leftover ham and veggies from the garden, and I whipped up a quick pavlova for dessert. But I digress.) We now have beans coming out of our ears once again. I make a delicious salad with green beans, puffed quinoa and chopped tamari almonds that John, who isn't all that crazy about beans, enjoys. You can find the recipe here.
Growing up my brother used to have "growth spurts" over summer as a child, when he became so much taller he needed new clothing. Parents sometimes say children can feel them, and often eat more when they're happening. The zucchini, basil and beans haven't confided in me about their experiences, so I'm not sure what happens with them either way. The zucchinis do tend to exhaust themselves after a certain point and ask to head to the compost for a nap.
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