As you know, I have confessed to being a reluctant gardener, while at the same time finding nothing more breathtaking than a magnificent garden.
We have -- theoretically -- created ours to be low-maintenance with a wide variety of trees and bushes of varied colors, some with bright, shiny berries, that maintain their leaves throughout the year and huge, ancient pine trees.
Then, of course there is the potager -- lots of work (by my standards) and the roses, both of which give me immeasurable pleasure. The fruit trees are pesky, moody devils -- one year on, one year off, a zap of frost and it's all over; forget to feed them, forget about it; spray the leaves that are being eaten by some creature or other; and, oh yes, the birds -- it never stops. (Rest assured we use only eco-friendly sprays on everything.)
As usual, this is a prelude to a far, far more important point I would like to make. Waaaay at the bottom of the garden we have several wild mirabelle trees (small yellow plums). Their branches are so laden with fruit they are sagging toward the earth. We have delivered baskets-full to everyone we know, before this picture was taken.
These hardy, wild trees have led me to a major conclusion: Let nature do her own thing. Our mirabelles are completely immune to all weather conditions, bugs, worms or other insects, they don't care if there isn't a drop of rain throughout the summer and the birds won't go near them.
This is my kind of fruit. It's a shame I don't particularly like them. However, when referring to my French/English dictionary this morning to see if there was a translation for mirabelle, I noticed a second meaning, "liqueur, plum brandy." Now we're talking.
If anyone has a recipe, by all means please tell me. (I've also revealed on several occasions to being about as handy in the cuisine as I am in the jardin.)
It's gorgeous and sunny here again. I hope it's beautiful wherever you are. Have a lovely weekend. Can you believe it's the last day of July?
A demain for the line-up.