Remember my impulse grab for a jar of whole grain mustard when I was in the awful supermarket? Man, is this stuff good. The seeds pop between your teeth as you chew your little sandwich. It’s like caviar, but with vinegar and white whine. Later on today, I think I’ll make a vinagrette with it. I wouldn’t have thought of that myself but the internet suggested it to me.
In other news, the sweet potato vine has taken to flowering again. Here is the creature in the early morning light. I believe that this is the first occasion in my lifetime that I seriously call myself gobsmacked.
And as long as we’re talking about weird in the garden – how far up can rats climb? The other day, I saw Stedman mouthing a small rat in the flowerbed*. He had the rear end of it in his mouth and was shaking it while the thing chittered up a storm. The rat wiggled away from him and kept chittering in protest or in pain. Hard to know.
Then last night, I was sitting out on the deck with Sami and a bunch of birds started squawling all at once. Furious birdcall from about 5 birds in the same location high up in the trees. And chittering coming from the same direction. Is it possible that it was an alert to the bird community that a rat was bothering their nest? How far up can rats climb anyway?
* I blame the creek project for this. Before they started slamming down those major league tree trunks, the rats were happy to stay in the creek for their whole life cycle. the only other time we saw rats is when a neighboring farm sold to housing developers and they cleared that land with dynamite. The rats went looking for calmer quarters and found them on our street. Now the creek trees made the ground shake and disturbed the rat colony that nobody even knew was there.
FYI – The creek project is at a total standstill and has been for weeks. See entry of April 27. The temporary pipe segments were delivered the next day. They sit undisturbed to this day. Undisturbed, that is, unless the rats are living in them.
The cool green foliage that gave me privacy is gone, my carefully cultivated shade-loving plants are burning up from exposure to their new lighting situation and the lookyloos are killing me. I could set my clock by the twice-a-day gawkfest of that ass with the white poodle. The rushing water during each rainstorm continues to erode the bank under the shed and the contractor and the township are squabbling over who will pay for the temporary pipe since it wasn’t part of the original plan.