FECUNDITY!

Mine eyes have seen the glory



of the coming of the corn!

I will gather up the harvest

even though I'm old and worn.

They'll be pumpkin pie for breakfast

and beans at dinnertime.

My crops are growing strong!

Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli! Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli!

Glory, glory, Ange Ercoli! My crops are growing strong!

This stalk of corn has SIX ears growing on it so far.

Six! That's almost unheard of.
I've got alien ships, hovering overhead,

having traveled many light years,

just to make crop circles in my corn patch.

But I stand out there with a broom every night

and chase them off. Will I have enough strength

to hold them off until harvest?

That's the question. I could use some help.

Perhaps, I'll falter, wax old and croak,

a crumbled heap of pre-retired manhood,

gone the way of all fish.

My hens will miss me when I'm gone.

They and The Lovely One will eat the corn

and remember me in passing.
The weeping widow will be heard to say,

"Ole Holiday sure could grow the corn.

Too bad he's not here to taste it. Pass the salt,

boyfriend."

THE HARVEST BEGINS

I'm going to need some good squash recipes.
Everything is growing like crazy, but there were signs of a gopher this morning, so I'm on the warpath.

Look at my corn! Just look at it!

GARDEN UPDATE

To satisfy the aching curiosity of my growing fanbase, we are posting more photos of the Angelo Ercoli Memorial Garden, taken only this morning by The Lovely One. As you can see, there is a Hallelujah Chorus of the Very Corn of Love, reaching skyward for more of the monsoon rains that began last week. I have mulched the corn with golden straw in an attempt to minimize weed growth, retain moisture and promote beneficial microbial activity.
And then, there are the Squishes of Love, Crookneck & Zucchini, flowering and setting veggie fruit as if they had a contract with Safeway. The secret is in the songs I sing to them. "When you wish upon a squish..."

Moreover, in another raised bed, we have the Pumpkins and Potatoes of Love, lush and luxurious.

And then thar be beans, me boys, Bush Beans of Love.

Two rows of can-alopes. Yes, we can; yes, we can.

Tomatoes grown from seed from the best tomatoes we ate last year, doing mighty fine and so rambunctious, we have to keep them in cages.

Another shot of the corn we got. I hope they don't get arrested for stalking.

A close-up of a Crookneck.

A close look at a Zucchini performing its miracle.

There will be pumpkin pie at the Monasterio de Santo Holiday.

Another of the global elite.

Onion flowers. I will collect the seed.

Squash flower.

A closer look at a Can-alope plant on a mulch of pine needles.

Now you know the power of the Bright Side.

THE ANGELO ERCOLI MEMORIAL GARDEN

My grandfather on my mother's side, Angelo Ercoli, was born on July 17, 1899 in Pisa, Italy. He died on June 28, 1964 in Willingboro, New Jersey. He changed his surname to Ercol after he immigrated to the United States in 1921. I remember him well. He taught me about gardening. He was the steward of a large and productive garden situated on the back half of his property in Beverly, NJ. His garden had a path through the middle, and on either side of the path, supported by a sturdy fence, were grapevines, which gave us large bunches of purple grapes every year. He loved to grow asparagus and tomatoes and raspberries. When I was young, he taught me how to hoe his spacious asparagus patches. I was skinny and weak, and invariably, my mother would have to take me to Dr. Coopersmith afterwards to treat my strained back. I did not have the courage to tell Pop Pop, as I called him, that I was hurting, and so I would continue to hoe beyond my strength. Many times, he would take the hoe from my hands, as he stood next to me, and show me again the proper way to perform the task. He had the good sense to maintain a compost pile in his garden into which he threw his scraps and trimmings. He would have a load of cow manure delivered to the back of his garden every year, and I would help spread it around. I enjoyed his company and attention. He was very, very strong physically and stern, but he always treated me well. He taught me how to bend and cover his fig tree for the winter. I owe him a lot. So, I have named my garden after him. It is not nearly as wonderful as was his garden, but I think he would be pleased with my efforts. Here are some pictures of it, which were taken by the Lovely One this morning.