The $10 Toaster, Butterfly Attacks & Emergency Dessert

The first tomato sandwich of the year happened this week. Which means summer can now officially begin. Or end. I’m not really clear on the rules.

The tomato came from a Black Krim plant I have in a big pot in the backyard. It's the one I showed you on August 1st. The tomatoes stayed green for four centuries and then turned colour almost overnight.

So I picked the first tomato. I admired it. I revered it. And then I cut it up to make the first toasted tomato sandwich of the year. A BLT actually.

I hauled out the $10 toaster which was the second toaster gifted to me by Betty in the past two years. The first toaster was great looking, expensive and it consistently made toast that was charcoaled on one side and untoasted on the other.

Betty replaced it with a $10 toaster she found. The $10 toaster carbonizes the bread in a different place than the other one did. Last night it made toast the consistency of petrified glass shards.

I matched it up with my coleslaw and ate it anyway.

Because it was the first tomato sandwich of the season and nothing was going to ruin that. Except maybe the toast.

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Emergency dessert protocol initiated

After the sandwich, I wanted something satisfying because I hadn't experienced that with this meal yet. I had nothing. No cookies, no chocolate, no cream puffs. It was a true crisis.

I considered melting a handful of chocolate chips in my palm and calling it fudge. Then I remembered: Emergency Dessert.

That’s what I call the can of whipped cream I keep in the fridge for situations like this. I spray it directly into my mouth because why wouldn't anyone?

I keep spraying until I'm satisfied and then I continue until my stomach gurgles in a way that's concerning.

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I cut all the cosmos

I have about six cosmos plants tucked around the yard, and this week I chopped the top clusters off every single one. Not out of rage. For flower arranging.

When you cut cosmos like this, it forces them into sending up new buds from the sides and bottom. Which means more flowers. It’s like tough love, but for plants.

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was go look at my arrangement.

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Snacks is off

Something’s not quite right with Snacks.

He’s been standing with his legs locked, shoulders up, eyes kind of glassy. I thought maybe he had a pellet stuck in his throat but now I think he’s just molting.

Also—I don’t think this is Snacks. I think it might be Snacks Jr. Or a Snackette. But for ease and emotional continuity I’m just going to keep calling every owl in that box Snacks.

Like a royal title.

In the image below you can see his pinfeathers coming in between his eyes and on his head. He always looks like he's just waking up from a bender.

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Zinnias and butterflies

While I was out poking around in the flowers, I got dive-bombed by a couple of Giant Swallowtails. Apparently, they’re obsessed with this year’s zinnias. Especially the “cupcake” variety that have these ridiculous poofy centers.

I don’t love that they’re mostly burnt orange, but I did get a paler yellow one (it hasn't grown its puffy centre yet) that I’m going to try to self-pollinate and save seeds from.

This is how it starts. One butterfly. One poofy zinnia. Next thing you know, you’re in the front yard at 2 a.m. with a pollen Q Tip and a headlamp.

I've never raised swallowtails, and technically made my flower garden for monarchs but anything that's a pollinator loves my yard.

As a reminder, you can grow your own Monarch butterflies. Here's the start of my series on how to raise monarchs.

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I made Philip laugh

I don’t know what I did or said. Probably something deeply intellectual like “Philip! Boop!” But he laughed.

So that was this week.

A tomato met toast, whipped cream met despair, and all the cosmos met my scissors.
Also—an owl might be molting.
And my dog laughed at me.

Standard stuff.

Have a good weekend. It's roasted tomato sauce day for me.