Diary of My Country Life-August 1st, 2026

The original source of this blog: https://www.lotusandmichael.com/blogs/diary-of-my-country-life

08/01/2026 Saturday 69-87F Cloudy 

To me, summer without basil is incomplete. In fact, this herb isn’t popular at all in China, or more precisely, people seldom hear its name. But in my hometown, its cousin, a very similar cultivar called “Jing-jie” is the most welcome summer vegetable. In the memory of my childhood and teen hood, summer means sleeping on the flat roof of the house under the twinkling stars; soaking a watermelon of twenty pounds in the freshly fetched well water; the smell of mosquito incense; and basil cooked in soup noodles.  

Lucky that no critters eat basil in my neighborhood. So, every spring I sowed the seeds, counting the days when I could enjoy my first basil feast. For some reason, this year my vegetables are flourishing. The basil, which I planted three pieces in a row and in total about thirty-three pieces, has grown into a jungle. The second batch I sowed later has established their roots and has started to grow quickly as well. Suddenly, I own a lot of basil, which can never be a problem: Other than using them for our daily cuisine, we shared them with our neighbors, and I plan to sun dry some for storage. 

It’s harvest season now. The days are getting shorter, the mornings and the nights are cooler. Some yellow hue has crept onto my baby tree peonies’ leaves. The fruit and vegetables’ flower buds swell every day. “Hurry up! Autumn is at the corner!” They call each other. I extended my six-feet bamboo poles to eight feet high, but they are still insufficient. Several tomatoes have already reached the top. Nothing I can do now but top my tomato plants. And I do notice that some tomato plants have more fruit than some others, though they are planted in the same area and tended in the same way. I didn’t mark whether those weaker ones are the seedlings grown from last year’s fallen tomatoes in the soil, but the two young tomato plants I bought from a nursery this May now grow very well ladened with fruit and flowers. I heard people say that the second generation of a seed usually doesn’t perform as well as the first generation (otherwise people would stop buying seeds and seedlings); I am not sure if that’s the case. Perhaps it’s still too early to tell; sometimes the slower ones flourish later. 

Last week I harvested my onions. I sowed eighty-eight bulbs in early April and harvested eight-two onions. Considering some bulbs were tiny and damaged so I didn’t expect anything from them, it turned out that my ROI actually is pretty good. I don’t cook onions that much; I prefer green leafy vegetables. But since onions are easy to grow and store, never to be bothered by deer nor groundhogs, they become regular residents in my garden every summer. My husband has developed his skill of making very good bread, which is perfect to pair with my onions for French onion soup—one of my favorite and my signature dishes.

Home-growing vegetables is a blessing. Clean, healthy, and yummy. During the hot days when we don’t have much appetite, just simply pick a few tomatoes, stir-fry them in the pan for one or two minutes, then add some water to boil and dress it with some basil, shredded cheese and one egg, a nourishing “tomato-egg drop soup” is done. You can either dip bread in it or mix it with boiled pasta or gnocchi or rice or noodles to create a simple, full meal.  

I figure the relationship between us and plants somehow is like a partnership. We are together to do a project. For example: We bring up a proposal to plant an apple tree for apples. Therefore, we find an apple tree and reach agreement with it-we provide it with soil, space, water and other necessary support, while the apple tree will do the rest of the job like establishing its roots, leafing out, flowering, and fruiting. When the apples are ready to harvest, the project succeeds; otherwise, we have to either acknowledge our failure or be more patient and wait for the next season. We are the apple tree’s anger angel investors; while the apple tree is the executor. Planting an apple tree can be considered a long-term project and commitment; planting vegetables is a one-shot deal. With this thought, now I look at my plants in a different way: I tend them not only for their sake, but also for mine, for my project. We are partners; I can’t fail my responsibilities.  

When a female flower blooms under the loofah leaves, I shall pollinate it in case the bees miss it and the baby gourd dies immaturely; when slugs attack my chrysanthemum, I shall protect it otherwise I will get no flowers... 

“With our fresh basil, garlic chives, loofah gourds and tomatoes, we basically don’t need to buy vegetables.” My husband claimed as such this morning when I weeded the vegetable bed. Yes, that’s my dream, though my vegetable selection is limited, and this self-sufficiency can only last for a short season. For the rest of the year I plan to do something new: I will sow celery, spinach, coriander, and bok choy seeds in August. Hopefully groundhogs won’t salivate at the seedlings so they can have the chance to mature. With these leafy vegetables, plus garlic greens, we shall have a tasty autumn, and even part of winter. How beautiful! 

About the groundhog that lives nearby, in fact it has behaved well this year 😅 (perhaps because it likes nothing grown in my garden). One day I saw it from the window chasing another groundhog; it has absolutely claimed my yard as its territory. That’s good—dealing with one familiar groundhog is far better than other strange ones. It still keeps checking on my garden perhaps once a day to make sure everything is ok, or if any miracles happen so it can find its favored food; but except for two or three tomatoes bitten and left on the ground, all the other plants seem to haven’t been disturbed. Occasionally, when I see it busy eating the clover’s white flowers on the lawn, I feel relieved: “Keep going, be a good boy.”