The deer scare has been written about here before, and is simply a large black pot with the moving parts in the middle. On the lip of the bamboo portion, there is a growth of moss topped with tiny jewel-like capsules. Frequently, this moss keeps the deer scare from working properly, but it is so beautiful that I leave it.

Recent rains have filled the pot to the brim, further hampering movement. This afternoon, the family member stood at the door and said there was something I should see, but it would make me sad. Oh no, not Sparky.

It was a hummingbird face down in the water. There was no way to tell if it was a male or female, it had been in the water a long time. A day or so ago, I saw what seemed to be a large leaf in the water. Only a small portion of the bird was visible, but once we got it out, the tail feathers all fanned out. Still, I couldn’t tell.

I did see what seemed to be Sparky only a few days ago. Male hummers are fierce defenders of their territory, and this could have been a potential suitor to the missus. It seemed too big to be a juvenile. Time, as they say, will tell.

The feeding station has been in place almost a year now. Regulars are the typical visitors to backyard feeders: chickadees, dark-eyed juncos, California towhees, titmouse, and occasionally, wrens. The hummingbird feeder is dominated by Sparky, a fierce but somewhat friendly fellow. On the periphery are woodpeckers, crows, blue jays, robins, cedar waxwings (at berry time), sparrows and a couple of lovely but as yet unidentified visitors. They don’t partake from the feeder.

Back in the spring, there were lively young chickadees that took a keen interest whenever I watered the raised vegetable beds. I assumed they were juveniles from their lack of grace when landing on branches. They took to hanging out in either the plum tree or the pyracantha bush next to it. One day I aimed the hose spray upward.

They went crazy. Such a racket, and before I knew it, there were ten or so, all calling happily to each other, shaking out their wings, holding their heads upward. Clearly this was a great treat. After a few days, a wren or two would show up, and sometimes, a hummingbird. At this point, there was no hummingbird feeder, but they visited the fuchsia plants and Mexican sage regularly.

I wanted a video of this so that family members wouldn’t think I had gone off the deep end. But before I knew it, the young chickadees were gone. Vanished. On to greener territories perhaps. The whole summer went by without a single one noticing when I watered. If I pointed the spray at the remaining chickadees, they flew away.

Today, I went out to check on the green beans and the last tomato plants that are still producing. More on those another time. Was that a happy chickadee sound? Yes, and several were answering. There was the buzz of a giant bee, which I suspected was Sparky. I sprayed up into the pyracantha, which needs pruning very badly. One by one, they flew into the bush, which is more like a tree. Even the juncos were there, but more subdued than the rest, who had their wings out, heads up, shaking their feathers. Giant bee buzz again. There he was, in the middle, little wings out and chirping away, bobbing up and down, my resident hummer.

Will they do this for at least another week? Temps are warm, in the 70s. I must figure out the movie function on the camera. I’m thinking this is at least a 2-man project.

It used to be home to a number of salamanders living under a large, rotting stump. Not sure if they are still around, but the local raptors like to dine in the branches above. If the collections of feathers aren’t a giveaway, the whitewash on the blades of the clivia certainly are. Not much grows here, mostly because I forget to water. Due to a massive network of fine oak tree roots, if something is put in the ground, it had better be tough and low maintenance. Most everything is in pots.

This is where the monstrous fern bought earlier this summer resides. It is thriving, mostly because it is big enough to have established its own microclime. Smaller ferns are encouraged by this, and are coming around. There used to be hostas, but they gave up years ago. A few pots of bamboo, some steppingstones. And, apparently, a kajillion ants, all lined up on the hose, ready to climb up my arms and legs.

Actually, I was prepared this afternoon. Not only for them but for the strange gnats that fly into the eyes. But I didn’t see the remains of the small bird underfoot until too late.

And so a little later than usual this season, I had the swarming-ants-on-the-person moment. Once safely in the house, I saw a leaf on my shirt that I tried to flick off.

Except it was a reddish spider of a kind I’d not seen before. After I screamed, I managed to get it in a jar. It actually played dead, and was hard to move because it had spun an obstacle around itself. Perhaps I will get a photo later. But then again, maybe not. It is suspended in the jar, looking sinister.

I go to give the hummingbird feeder a close-up check for ants, as in ‘Is that an ant in there or a shadow of something’, and the hummingbird decides to fly in at the same time. Jeez.

As if the ants have that much of a chance. The feeder is still hanging from a tomato cage in a pot with a struggling tomato plant. However, I took the trouble to put the pot in the pot bottom that my giant fern arrived in. This is filled with water. There is this moat and the moat built into the feeder itself.

Nepenthes attenboroughii, named after Sir David, is capable of putting away rats. Not wee mousies now and then, but . . . well, there’s a photo. The accompanying video shows remarkable footage of how the plant produces the nectar-filled pitchers.

I depend on my Mac dashboard to tell me how hot it is, and for a while this morning, Cupertino temps were lower than those in SF. That has changed.

The thing about the dashboard - on days like this, the projected temperature keeps edging up. Around noon, the temp was 93°, and the forecast was moved up to 96°.

The tomato plants must be blissed out, but a few of them are getting droopy, along with the squash. Maybe now the basil will finally take off. I’m in the process of clearing out the ivy growing on this side of the fence, because next year, that’s where the pumpkins and zucchini will go. But there will be no garden work today.

I will stay in the a/c. My Macs hate this weather, and yesterday one of them crashed in the heat when I failed to cool the house down in time.

Next to the feeder table, which is full of seeds and other tasty fare, is another table where I put the seeds I’m getting ready to plant. Well, there’s other stuff there too, an old semi-broken tabletop fountain, assorted hose nozzles, the odd cactus. But right in the middle is a container full of hollyhock seed pods from last fall.

What keeps me from planting them? There were pink hollyhocks and white ones. I forgot which is which. But today, I noted the heavy bird traffic to this table, mostly juncos. They’re after the hollyhock seeds, maybe as a palate cleanser to all that peanut butter and cornmeal.

If I get those seeds planted, there should be plenty of extras to go around by late summer.

For such a small bird, it made a very loud thump on the window. It didn’t seem to be moving as it lay on the ground. When I picked it up, it stretched out a wing stiffly. Oh no, I thought, a broken wing. Its tiny feet couldn’t get a grip in my palm so I set it in some veronica. And then of course, my main instincts kicked in, and I went inside for the tripod.

I managed to get a few shots taken. Suddenly, the eyes brightened, the heartrate quickened, and it went straight up in the oak tree. What a recovery!

My triglycerides are kinda high. After find out that flax seed would be a helpful addition to my diet, I went looking for it at the grocery store. When I asked a clerk where to find it, she looked blank and said, ‘What’s flax seed?’

I found it in the cereal section. It makes my morning oatmeal a little thicker, and will help me get a little thinner, along with many other benefits.

When I asked a family member to put up Christmas lights in the tree out front, he reminded me about the hornets’ nest at the base of the tree. Ground covers of vinca minor and honeysuckle grow underneath. Another family member was stung several times when he ventured near a few weeks ago.

The suggestions here sound doable without too much fuss, and while the torch of flaming rags sounds wonderful, visually speaking, it would give my elderly neighbors chest pains if they happened to see.

There might or might not be an update.

Late on an uncomfortably hot Sunday afternoon after spending way too much time at IKEA once again, it was time to seek out Cho’s in Palo Alto. The only other dinner option was leftovers, which I didn’t want to face. Something about the stale, vaguely cinnamon-infused, overused air amongst the endless sofas and tables put me off food in general and teeming masses in particular.

But what was this? Outside Cho’s humble establishment were some bowls filled with persimmons and pears. Rock hard and with price tags of $1.00 at each bowl. We placed our order for potstickers and egg rolls. Then I noticed the big cardboard box of fruit with a pair of pruning shears alongside. I picked out a few pears, and Cho sprang to life.

If you’ve been to his place, you know that Cho is seldom rattled. He presents the same bland, noncommittal face to everyone, whether you order 600 pork buns or his version of a value meal, he’s Cho in the perennially stained paper cap.

But he got animated, bringing out a plastic bag for the pears. I asked how much, being more familiar with exorbitant rates at local farmer’s markets. A dollar for the pears. His wife appeared, and said they were picked just that morning. I got some persimmons too. It’s all about the fresh leaves attached.

Some images from finalists in the 4th Annual Photo Contest.

Thanks to some very good recipes for organic fertilizer, I started making barrels of it this summer. Soybean meal was the main ingredient, and it smelled wholesome and pleasant. While repotting a new, but terribly potbound, gerbera, I used some of the magic stuff. Imagine my surprise when it smelled less than wonderful.

After checking the barrel, I noted some familiar shapes on the top. A family member had noticed that we have cat poop in various parts of the yard. I haven’t been shooing the neighborhood cats away, being overrun by squirrels of late.

There’s always a price to pay.

If you’re thinking this is another variation of tofu, you have a happy image coming. Long ago, the Tartars thought there was a plant that produced sheep. Tethered by an all-important umbilical structure, the sheep grazed in the vicinity of the parent plant. As soon as the surrounding vegetation was gone, the sheep and plant perished.

There is actually a plant this myth is based on, which is discussed here. But most scholars of this sort of thing agree that it was the cotton plant that inspired such creative theorizing.

Many of the tomato plants are dry and brown with large holes next to the rootballs, courtesy of our cuddly squirrel friends. These same adorable rodents are also going at the apples even though I don’t feel it’s quite time to pick. So this first fall afternoon, I did some tidying up in the garden. My lone producing zucchini plant had a large surprise. The squirrels felt it necessary to start chewing on the baby zucchinis, so I covered one with some garden cloth. Worked like a charm.

Since there is a lot of that cloth around, I think the apple tree will undergo some swaddling later today. It will look Halloweeny.

Why not cover the whole age spectrum? Fertile ground for ads, no doubt. Before you know it, there will be a fetal network as well. (Hi, do you have toes yet? Is that a twin I see? Post a recent photo!)

Gee, I sound a little cranky. It has been, at best, a most trying week. Today, I tried to catch up with all the things I was too distracted to do during the last few days, but the bumper crop of tomatoes has been piling up in the back bedroom. Partly because I had to empty the kitchen of clutter with our unexpected company last weekend. And every day I pick some more.

So I spent part of the day prepping the smaller ones for freezing. The last time I had this many tomatoes, the kids were still in junior high. Maybe elementary school. It’s wonderful, but labor-intensive.

Work was unspeakably dull this morning, and in an attempt to wake up, I went out to water the tomato plants around noon. I heard a bumblebee.

Next thing I knew, it was buzzing around my head so I had to duck. It didn’t look like the usual yellow and black bees that show up in the yard. This was much bigger, and the snapshot my brain got was iridescent, as in blue and greens. It disappeared into the tomatoes.

Was it a tomato hawkmoth?

Don’t think so, hawkmoths tend to be nocturnal. Perhaps a hummingbird hawkmoth?

It’s not bluish-green.

My tomatoes are doing well this year, unlike the last 15. The last thing they need is an influx of hornworms.

The insect went over the fence, but maybe I’ll be taking a noon walk around the garden for the next few days. I’ll try to get a photo.

There it was, stuffing a California poppy in its mouth. What a way to start the day.

One day this strange, but aesthetically appealing vessel appeared in one of my plum trees. No one knocked on the door to ask permission to put it there. It has liquid and a few dead insects inside.

When I remember to look again, it is usually in another spot. One of the branches was broken off one day.

Is it an experiment? I never hear a truck or vehicle stopping by, and have yet to see anyone with a ladder. I could call the city and ask. But that would kinda take the fun out of it.

Last night, the woman behind me had two geraniums, a pot of New Guinea impatiens and a rubber tree plant. My cart had a vat of olive oil, some artisan sausages, chicken legs, steelhead salmon fillets, cashew nuts, and a bag of oranges. Plus a very large hydrangea bush for ten bucks.

It is spring, after all.

A flock swept into the pyracantha bush during a brief lull in the winds. It never stopped raining, and one robin decided to freshen up a bit, shaking out his feathers, and having a drink too. This is taken through a less than clean window with camera settings for indoor shooting.

One of the others decided to keep an eye on me.

Water is pooling in the lower parts of the backyard. The house shudders from high winds, and the vent in the kitchen rattles with debris. The power will no doubt go out, fences will collapse and an explosion was heard earlier (transformer?). If anything, the wind is getting more powerful by the hour. The neighbors’ eucalyptus looks ready to fall.

We don’t get storms like this very often, this is the first in a series of three to pummel us through Monday. Up in the mountains, a family member is going to encounter 150 mph winds and no snowboarding, and might be stuck for several days.

They’re bringing out out the big ones, and I just got packages handed to me, so maybe the jinx of always missing the delivery guy is over.

Family members got a tree yesterday, but it leans crazily to one side. I expect there will be sawing involved this evening.

The birds are slamming into the windows with alarming frequency this afternoon after partaking of the berries. I went out with my camera and tripod, trying to blend in with the shadows. All of them - the cedar waxwings, the robins, the finches, the occasional bluejay - took off to the top of the oaks. They chattered in tones I’d never heard before, exuberant, a little frantic, definitely stoned.

Perhaps next year, I will have the right lens for this kind of shooting.

Last year I got some pictures, but this year there are fewer berries, and I’m having trouble with the invisible part.

Either they’re very, very late, or really, really early. Or else they’re just as confused as we are, what with daylight saving time ending, fermenting pyracantha berries, vague but disturbing earth movements and springtime temps.

According to a family member who accompanies me to local farmer’s markets, fellow customers are frequently puzzled by my shopping style. I will root through an entire pile of pears, kiwis, squash, plums, tomatoes - what have you in order to find the perfectly photogenic item. Sometimes the person behind me will politely ask what’s wrong with all the others, and then I tell them.

Many times they think I know what to look for regarding taste. At the Palo Alto market Saturday, I leaned over the crate of mixed pears. The lady across the box was also picking through, and as I began my typical culling, she handed me a large Bosc pear. ‘Is good’, she said. ‘You eat.’

I nodded, but she was persistent. She pressed it in my hand. ‘Taste good, fruit salad I make. Some better than apple. Cream.’ I smiled and held on to it while I looked at the red ones.

‘Red good too?’ she asked. I looked kind of blank. What usually happens is, I get the fruit home where it might sit for a few days, depending on how many things I’m photographing. Lots of times, fruits get dark spots or worse, and they are relegated to the compost heap before I have a taste. So I hated to tell her I didn’t know what these were like.

At this particular market, I run into elderly ladies who seem more in need of conversation than food. At times, I need the dialog just as much too.

I did indeed buy the pear, even though it failed my picturesque test. But I think I will take a photo now that it has a personality, so to speak, attached.

All this time, as scientists tried to devise ways to kill the antibiotic-resistant superbug MRSA, the solution was simple and close at hand. Thousands have died when they encountered MRSA in hospitals, especially the elderly and others with suppressed immune systems.

Garlic is powerful medicine.

According to the local paper, those of us with oak trees are not going crazy. Acorns in vast numbers are raining down on roofs and yards, and if you have skylights, it is particularly noisy. Such an abundance is known as ‘mast’.

This only happens every few years, and the current opinion is that the last one was in ‘89.

That would have been the year that Tollund Man made an appearance in our front and backyards. My boys would have been 6 and 8, and decided the gazillion acorns were nothing more than a multitude of well-preserved corpses.

I never quizzed them about the details of their play. But when I step out in the yard and see all those capped acorns now, I remember the man preserved in peat. And the little guys who suddenly had a ton of action (inaction) figures to play with.

You probably thought I killed it after taking pictures last week. That’s what any sensible tomato grower would have done.

None of the pictures came out well because it never stopped moving its mouth parts. It was late afternoon, and where I was shooting, it was not very bright. I didn’t want to turn on the lights, which might have made it twitch. Not only did it move more than I thought it would, it produced an enormous amount of droppings. No doubt because of its nonstop eating. Didn’t the plant-eating dinosaurs do this?

So I put it under a plastic dome, actually the lid of a spindle of CD-Rs. Left it with plenty of fresh tomato leaves, courtesy of a lush patch of cherry tomatoes. Plus the half-eaten green tomato.

The next day, I didn’t want to face the subject, which seemed quite active, moving around its pen on top of an outdoor table. I could see it out of the corner of my eye as I worked. The leaves were wilted.

I still wasn’t up to it the following day, or the next. But I kept feeding it. It kept crawling around the perimeter, kind of like a fat green train.

Before I knew it, almost a week had passed. Normally tomato worms don’t bother me, although they must be one of the most repulsive-looking creatures, especially when you find them on your healthiest tomato plant. But my previous episode with the pistachios left me a little more squeamish than usual. Perhaps there is a little pistachio left in my system still.

A family member remarked that the worm looked less than happy. Perhaps, I suggested, it was preparing for its next stage of development. He couldn’t find a suitable container for it (although he didn’t look very hard).

I am very relieved. Sometime I will discuss the writhing mass of larvae in the compost heap, but not today.

Word has gotten out over the past few years among the pest community that my tomato patch is nothing to get excited about. This year is a little different, and the plants are still producing a surprising amount. This afternoon, I noticed that the tiny dog from a neighbor’s yard must have gotten in the garden and left its droppings on the tomato leaves. They were that big.

I had hoped that the hornworm had matured and gone away, but no. It had eaten most of one tomato and started on this one. But what I actually had was a free model.

Albeit a messy one, and noisy on top of that. Try putting one on a clean sheet of white paper. When it moves around, it makes a rasping sound, which could be the mouthparts trying to ingest the paper. Who knows. It will remain under cover till tomorrow when the light is better. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of tomato worm food.

Was it the roasted beets (been in the fridge a while), the pasta sample at Costco, the bite of mysterious melon at the Palo Alto market from the fingers of the vendor, the bowlful of pistachios after dinner? Whatever, my poor stomach began lurching around at 10 last night. After a few minutes, I realized the cookbook I was reading was not the proper material. Tried The Barbarians are Coming by David Wong Louie, in which the hero is a chef. Bad idea. Salivating a lot.

Took some Pepto-Bismol. Two seconds later, decided that was probably the worst thing I could do. Even when I’m not queasy, taking that stuff kind of repels me.

Got back on the web to see the best approach to stop nausea because throwing up is not my favorite thing to do. Google produced many links with the word ‘vomit’ prominently featured. Really bad idea. Salivating more.

Got emails from friends, one just lost her dad. Set about composing a sympathy note. Unable to focus.

Finally, I just leaned on the bathroom wall and waited. Afterward, I was afraid to go to sleep, thinking I would just have to get up again. A few seconds later, my system said, ‘Get ready, this time it’s going to be coming out one end or another.’ I could have used more specific information, but grabbed Taylor’s Guide to Roses, and went back to the bathroom.

Taylor saved me. I looked carefully at every lovely rose, noted which photos were not in proper register, noted which I’d love to have in my garden, even looked at all the old roses, knowing they would never survive in my shady yard. Meanwhile, the system subsided, and I went to the garage to get a warm 7-up.

All night I dreamed of a screen with the upper third in kind of a noisy abstract of random marks. I had to stay in that upper level in order to be stable. I guess my system was still trying to talk to me.

The sun was a vivid red-orange this morning as it rose over the morning glories.

Someone once wrote that their world in the late afternoon looked as if it were immersed in a glass of iced tea. Smoke from the Lick fire is coloring the Bay Area with a yellow tinge murkier than tea, but promising sunrises and sunsets of spectacular brilliance.

We were only gone a few days. The squirrels removed the rocks from all the pots and planted their oak tree crop. In the kitchen sink, the Argentine ants set up camp, extending their reach to the dishwasher. The yippy yappy that lives behind us learned to enter the yard via a loose fence board.

It met my eye when I glanced out the window this afternoon. This triggered a huge startle reflex on both our parts, because the only eyes I meet in the yard are those of birds. In the case of this animal, its standard bark is the one that sounds as if someone jabbed a rusty but sharp, barbed spear into its rear end. It continued to bark as I coaxed it toward the opening in the fence, hesitant as I was to simply fling it over. From the safety of its own property, it kept up a steady racket.

A few minutes later, it taxed our hospitality again, announcing its whereabouts to all. I dispatched another family member, who decided to take the flashlight that is as long as a human leg. He reported that the guest departed in all due haste without encouragement. Another family member came home and patched up the opening. If the animal tries again, it will encounter a board with a nail.

Another day or so and deer would no doubt have come into the picture, starting with the bougainvillea and moving into the vegetables.

While I grow a few heirloom tomatoes, my specimens are puny compared to what’s available at farmers’ markets and the local supermarkets. The neighborhood varmints pay more attention to my ripening tomatoes than I do, apparently. Over the weekend, I found a very large Cherokee black beside a raised bed with several bites out of it. I was not aware I had one this big. Easy come, easy go.

Off to the farmers’ market I went, looking for a few robust heirlooms to photograph, the ones with broad shoulders and a faintly threatening air. Pricey, as usual, but I left with a bagful. On the way home, I stopped at Nob Hill, the big one on Grant Rd. for fresh corn, and found that their produce section featured a huge display of - you guessed it - heirloom tomatoes. For $2/lb. less.

There they sit, brooding in their hugeness, waiting for me to finish making seafood pasta before I can pay attention to them again.

They started down the redwood tree when I was deep into my book (She’s Come Undone by Wally Lamb) and half asleep. Still upset at losing all my goldfish, I got my flashlight and shone it outside. Nothing. Not that I could see that much with the shrubbery.

About an hour or so later, the sound of claws on bark woke me. I thought I would try to figure out how many there were instead of a futile attempt at spotting them. Clickety clickety whomp. Clickety clickety whomp. Six at least. From what I can tell today, they went through the tomatoes, knocking down some ripe ones, not eating them. There is a new bare spot near the mint plant, looks like something large has been rolling around.

The gophers have made part of the backyard a treacherous spot for walking around despite the scattering of human hair, a recommended but questionable deterrent. I’m thinking I should just hire a skilled bow hunter. There is actually one in the family, although he lives elsewhere.

Photographing herring is not the challenge that photographing Bombay duck turned out to be. Having herring and durian in the fridge at the same time means periodic wafting of odors that might get unpleasant as the temps rise. So far, the higher notes of herring are dominant.

Durian can only be described as hovering in the bass range. If ever there was a food that could walk out of a refrigerator on its own momentum, durian would certainly be it.

When a family member left for Seattle, he left behind his beloved cacti. I managed to repot one of them, although I could not correct its lateral tendencies.

While cleaning the patio just now, I moved this cactus out of the way of traffic. As I turned to move something else, I walked right into it.

Now I have a network of slightly raised, red spots on my leg. Itchy. Nothing embedded. Nothing remotely like shingles. So far.

After finishing ‘A Certain Slant of Light’ by Laura Whitcomb, I dove into ‘The Ruins’ by Scott Smith. I found the former more intriguing than the latter, but Smith’s band of luckless characters and awful villain kept me up long past my bedtime for three nights.

Perhaps I’ll just finish watching ‘Stranger Than Fiction’ this evening and avoid the stack of books on the nightstand.

Perhaps you’ve noticed if you live here in the Bay Area. It’s front page news in the local paper, and if you’re suffering, you’re definitely not alone.

I went to a library book sale Sunday, and in the fiction section, went through all eight tissues in my purse. In less than five minutes. Some of those around me were sniffing loudly.

In the nursery at Lowe’s last night, I was fine, but the clerk was a soggy mess. Hello, spring.

Not the shingles eye, but the one that now has a sty on the inside of the lower lid. Applying a hot teabag is supposed to help.

Wearing my usual contact lens is impossible. Getting used to glasses again is a slow process since the world looks very different without much peripheral vision. Straight-ahead vision is not bad, but tough when taking photos.

But now I can do something useful with all that tea I didn’t like.

A Thai researcher has created a durian without the offensive odor. His next goal is a durian without the formidable spikes. Not everyone, however, is thrilled with his improved product.

Despite mistreatment for the sake of a decent photo before it was planted, this amaryllis is doing okay.

Now if this duck could survive a shooting and a couple of days in the refrigerator, I’m guessing my durian could do the same. While not shot, it was split. Will it crane its stem and look at me?

It hasn’t been eaten for various reasons. Last night I made a beef pot pie, which disappeared before I could take a picture. It was filling. Just ask any household member. Then I’ve been eating fruit plate lunches, and while it could be argued that durian is a fruit, there’s little room on that plate. Not after the banana, the orange and the Laughing Cow cheese wedges.

Then there’s the raw egg analogy. Many years ago, a teacher talked about trying to swallow one. He claimed that as soon as he got it down, it slipped right back up again. Over and over. This will happen when I try the durian.

The logical thing to do would be to go to Indonesia, and get one fresh from a tree. But the weather can get violent over there, and maybe I’m more afraid of Indonesia than I am of the durian in the fridge.

For days now, it has sat patiently on the dining table, odorless, but compelling. I took photos in its mesh wrap. Actually, I’ve been kind of afraid of it, unable to pick it up except by its mesh top due to all the spikes.

But this afternoon, I took a knife to it. Mostly because a member of the household noticed that it was beginning to split on its own. How can I describe this. As you can see, there’s an element of alien autopsy to it.

Perhaps later this evening, some will be eaten. It is still a heavy presence over there, now wafting a slight, very earthy smell.

I think it’s still alive.

Sometimes, trees are not benign. The poisonwood is found in Florida, the Bahamas and the Caribbean. The locals have an interesting solution if you should be so unlucky as to touch it.

Plus, the article’s author eats a fruit from the manchineel tree, and lives to tell the painful tale.

Well, mostly animals anyway. You might be thinking, how much of this is due to clever software. And most importantly, at what stage does a plant transcend its classification and becomes an animal.

For the sake of argument, let’s suppose the head of Napa cabbage is for real. If someone has actually harvested something of that size, then as far as I’m concerned, it’s a beast.

Bicolor corn has names like Peaches and Cream or Chubby Checkers. The ears I bought last weekend at the farmers’ market are still crunchy and perfect for a summer lunch. Because that’s all I’m having, there’s Plugra melting on top.

Fans of Braveheart remember the vivid blue paint Mel Gibson and his followers wore into battle. That paint is derived from woad, a plant in the broccoli family that contains large amounts of glucobrassicin, a powerful anti-tumor compound that is especially effective against breast cancer.

It’s currently around 92°, and all 50 of the tomato plants are starting to droop even after being watered last night. (More on those later.) But after enduring temps of 112° and possibly higher for more than a few days, with nights hovering around 84°, we’re toughened up.

Not that 92° is sweater weather. But I can actually function. It’s not supposed to get much hotter this week, but just in case, there’s an unopened tub of chocolate fudge swirl in the freezer. Plus the Cherries Garcia that is also not tapped into yet.

I don’t eat it as often as I should, but tonight I stir fried it with pork, onion and shiitakes. If I had thought of it in time, marinating the pork would have been nice, but who has the time for this kind of thing on a Friday that feels kind of hot.

Must be those Easterners blaming us for all their heat woes.