Cynorrhodon. Now there's a word I didn't know. It's French for rosehip. Rosehips are the "fruit" of the rose bush — technically, the rosehip isn't a fruit or berry. Bon. The other French term for rosehip is «
gratte-cul » — "butt scratcher," to use a polite term. It seems that children and adolescents used to stick them down each other's shirt collars or trousers or throw them in each other's beds because the spines sticking out of the rosehip are particularly scratchy. Now why it it that we call this thing a "hip"?
Grape vine leaves. These aren't the kind you can roll up around rice or meat stuffing, however. Actually, the grape leaves are almost all gone now, for another year. The few that remain display their fall colors. A windy day or two, or a few more hard rains, and they'll all be on the ground. The vineyard will take on the skeletal look it has in winter — all naked vines, wires, and posts.
Looking through a neighbor's yard last week, you could still see quite a few yellow leaves on the rows of vines just beyond. And there were still a few roses around the hamlet. Most are gone now. We're still waiting for our first hard freeze, but it isn't predicted for this week or next.
Apples and apples and apples. Between rainy weather, pinched nerves, and bad colds, we haven't been able to get them up off the ground this season. The ones on the path are plainly visible. The ones in the grass, which is sort of high right now, are harder to see. When you walk down the path, you can smell apples fermenting on the gravel. We should call it L'Allée du Cidre. And to think I never got around to making any apple jelly or apple sauce this year.
"Hens and chicks."
Sempervivum. Houseleeks. I have thousands of them. The original few were given to us by a woman who lives on the other side of the village. When I set them out in this big planter box, I didn't expect to have them for long. I figured frost and freezing would kill them. But that was probably five years ago, and they are still going strong. I've heard my neighbors call them «
ces petits artichauts » — "those little artichokes."
Cynorrhodon. Now there's a word I didn't know. It's French for rosehip. Rosehips are the "fruit" of the rose bush — technically, the rosehip isn't a fruit or berry. Bon. The other French term for rosehip is « gratte-cul » — "butt scratcher," to use a polite term. It seems that children and adolescents used to stick them down each other's shirt collars or trousers or throw them in each other's beds because the spines sticking out of the rosehip are particularly scratchy. Now why it it that we call this thing a "hip"?
Grape vine leaves. These aren't the kind you can roll up around rice or meat stuffing, however. Actually, the grape leaves are almost all gone now, for another year. The few that remain display their fall colors. A windy day or two, or a few more hard rains, and they'll all be on the ground. The vineyard will take on the skeletal look it has in winter — all naked vines, wires, and posts.
Looking through a neighbor's yard last week, you could still see quite a few yellow leaves on the rows of vines just beyond. And there were still a few roses around the hamlet. Most are gone now. We're still waiting for our first hard freeze, but it isn't predicted for this week or next.
Apples and apples and apples. Between rainy weather, pinched nerves, and bad colds, we haven't been able to get them up off the ground this season. The ones on the path are plainly visible. The ones in the grass, which is sort of high right now, are harder to see. When you walk down the path, you can smell apples fermenting on the gravel. We should call it L'Allée du Cidre. And to think I never got around to making any apple jelly or apple sauce this year.
"Hens and chicks." Sempervivum. Houseleeks. I have thousands of them. The original few were given to us by a woman who lives on the other side of the village. When I set them out in this big planter box, I didn't expect to have them for long. I figured frost and freezing would kill them. But that was probably five years ago, and they are still going strong. I've heard my neighbors call them « ces petits artichauts » — "those little artichokes."
No Ken, we didn't throw the hips at one another.. you scrape out the innards and introduce them to the victim's underwear... usually in the changing room at games/sports time. It is the inside of the hip that makes you itch [like crazy]... that's what a miss spent childhood does for you!!
ReplyDeleteThe contents of the rosehip was the main component of joke-shop itching powder.
Such great pictures, although the coming weather is not my cup of tea. As for the hens and chicks, my mother had them in our garden on Long Island when I was a kid. When we moved to a city apartment, she took some with her and put them in a planter on the balcony. They have wintered out on the balcony and have come back in force every spring (for 47 years).
ReplyDeleteRose hips have a lot of Vitamin C. I've seen it spelled "heps" in English gardening books, and that's as far as I can go without consulting Google or wikipedia.
ReplyDeleteI love following the changing seasons on your blog :) I am really enjoying your current color scheme, too. You bring such a nice little "oompf" to my daily life, Ken :))
ReplyDeleteWish I were there to pick up your apples. I learned what a chore it was when Lewis and I picked up a couple of barrels full.
ReplyDeleteThe hen and chicks are nice. I need to start some hens here. No hard frost here...yet.
Wish I lived closer, I would ask for a "start" of the hens and chicks. Why are the photos so small? Is it a new look? I know I can enlarge them, but I really like it when they are larger in the original presentation. I am enjoying your recipes and plan to use another one this week.
ReplyDeleteMaggie
We used to do the scraping out the seeds of rose hips as well. That and make rose hip syrup to keep colds at bay - it's that vitamin C thing again.
ReplyDeleteLove the colors.
ReplyDeleteSo, what are the right kind of grape leaves for cooking (besides green, I mean)?
ReplyDeleteHi Chris, I guess I could have expressed that better. I think any grape leaves can be cooked, but they need to be the fresh new growth of spring. We have a few vines in our yard, as you probably remember, and we've made dolmas with their leaves.
ReplyDeleteAh, rosehip syrup. It was a regular in school meals when I was a child, as an addition to a milky pudding (rice pudding, sago, semolina, tapioca, that sort of thing) - partly to make it sweeter and more interesting, but mainly I think as a hangover from WW2 when collecting rosehips and distributing the syrup became a national effort to add vitamins to an otherwise starch-heavy diet.
ReplyDeleteAnd it legitimised "playing with your food" as you stirred it in, to make the pudding an interesting shade of pink.