The news from When Pigs Fly Farm 2.0

Now that the beans and I understand each other, we are getting along famously.

They are such celebratory plants, twirling and whirling around their bamboo teepee doing a wild green version of the tarantella (which we did, by the way, at The Vegas Wedding).

Slender, silent runners reach out inquisitively, every which way, seeking contact with any inanimate object willing to subject itself to a bean's version of a permanent bear hug.

Farmer Jim is quite captivated by the runners.

My beans are blossoming. The teepee is peppered with small buttons of flirty white that peek out from a dense, lush tree of vegetation, teasing you to come closer to fathom the mysteries of beans. A few pods have begun to set as well. They are serious little fellows, straining to grow long and lean amid the swirling chaos of the vines that anchor them.

All this agricultural lyricism notwithstanding, there is, of course, a WPFF conundrum. It wouldn't be The Farm without one.

The beans are supposed to be tri-colored -- burgundy, yellow and green. I thought it would add an air of jauntiness to the garden. But in true WPFF fashion, the beans appear to have missed this memo. They are green, green and green. Perhaps the pods color up as they mature, but I am willing to bet they will remain resolutely green. It is, after all, When Pigs Fly Farm.

***

I appear to have a bit of a crowding problem. (That, and I had to take these with my smart phone in the noonday sun so it looks like the Garden of Hades.)

Farmer Jim, on the other hand, is golden in the spacing department.

This is because he is an e.n.g.i.n.e.e.r and figures out this stuff ahead of time. I am writer. And do not.

Art and science. . . when worlds collide.

Let me just say, in hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to plant pole beans, climbing cucumbers and two heirloom tomatoes next to each other.

Each plant is ginormous -- and happily encroaching on each other's turf. I've got cucumber blossoms cozily tucked in next to golf ball-size tomatoes, beans wrapped around cukes and vice versa and Mr. Stripey and yellow Brandywine heirlooms banging against each other as an early morning breeze ruffles across The Farm. It's like some crazy, vertical tossed salad. Or so I like to reassure myself think.

Note to self: Next year, put a little more thought into where you position your plants.

Or not.

Life is short, right? At least at The Farm.

May 2012

Garden of Hades. August 2012