A Bioluminescent BBQ

 Saturday was a glorious, perfect summer day, with temperatures in the low to mid 70's and no humidity. A light breeze fluttered back and forth in a pleasing manner, there was nothing that was wanted to make the day better, it was perfect. And there was no better way to enjoy this wondrous weather than to spend it with friends, so we drove over to Bill and Jen's beautiful historical house for a BBQ with their other guests, cooking lamb, ham, burgers and hot dogs with veggies, and accompanied by a tasty spread of homemade concoctions from everyone that came. Our contribution was a loaded potato salad, with bacon, spring onions and grated English coastal cheddar, and also a strawberry almond cake.

Both of which were very easy to make and, best of all, didn't use every pot and dish and utensil in their creations. We arrived at the party, fashionably 20 minutes late, and after greeting Jen in the kitchen, went out the back to find Bill. There were a few other folk there, some I recognized, and others I didn't. After introductions, and promises to try and remember names, we headed for Bill's vegetable and fruit garden, fenced off from deers, but apparently no match for rabbits and groundhogs who are regular night feasters.

I am rather envious of Bill's garden, having the space to grow so much food, and in awe of how neaty and tidy he keeps it. The paw paw trees are in the top photo, no fruit yet, but maybe in a year or two. The blackberries were rampant over a chunky wooden framework, hanging heavy with unripe fruit and flowers. Plus, he had managed to grow tobacco plants. I was rather chuffed at being the only visitor he's had who identified them correctly, but then I've tried to grow these and failed, but seeing his gave me a new incentive to try again next year.

His elderberries had grown huge, and I wondered if the new elderberry bush I'd planted at home, close to the front porch, would have enough room. I guess we'll find out! The hops were ready to be introduced to their string trellis, and were making do in its absence, by twining around each other in a skyward spiral, along with the honeysuckle, which was also corkscrewing up the fence. I nearly joined in with a twirl myself.

These two beds will be the total size of our vegetable garden out the front of the house next year. I just hope we can keep it as well organized as Bill and Jenn's incredible garden. They also have regular tomatoes, peppers, herbs and pollinating plants, as well as squash plants overflowing from their beds with fingerling tendrils outstretched towards the outer fence. There are peach trees, with apples and figs too.

Elliott and I walked to the back of the property to check out the creek that's bubbling alongside a stand of trees. It was so quiet and peaceful back here, only the sound of water tinkling over rocks, birds trilling above and insects buzzing around us. Bill had fashioned a small bench using logs and a slab of rock that overlooked the little stream. This beautiful dry wall runs down the side of Bill and Jen's home, built over a hundred years ago and likely to still be standing in another hundred years time.

The vegetable garden from the back, resembling Stalag 13, according to one of their friends, which made me laugh. I've never seen a fence around a garden like this before, but it is impressive. But not so, for this furry little chap, who wasn't at all delighted that he had a garden to run around in, especially when everyone else, and the food, were on the other side.

Lovely views of Bill and Jen's property, the last one taken from a small bench that Elliott and I found, and sat on, savoring the quiet beauty while being shaded by a tree and cooled by a gentle breeze.

Stuart Little's car, according to another friend, and I burst out laughing. It was actually a Triumph Spitfire, meticulously restored. We sat and chatted while watching a small group of new friends being taken on a tour of the old buildings and land by Bill.

And then it was time to grill. Bill and Jen had prepared fresh local lamb on kebab sticks, with peppers, tomatoes, zucchini and onions. I giggled and pointed out the copper 'sticks' holding the lamb; they were the same as my plant name sticks at home. Bill was amazed again that I recognized them and we laughed. They were certainly doing a better job of holding the meat than identifying my plants. The 'copper' plates were impossible to carve letters on and I'd discarded them. Halfway through cooking, an engineer friend had to move and place rocks inside the grill base so the meat would sit better over the coals while it slowly transformed into a succulent slab of deliciousness.

And then it was time to eat. Someone had brought Tennessee moonshine, which was very tasty, and plates were loaded, everybody heaping their plates high with spoonfuls of everyone's culinary contributions. It was a veritable feast! Chairs suddenly became occupied very quickly so Elliott and I went onto the front porch and sat on the swing, enjoying the shade. One guy found a tiny bench in a flower bed and enjoyed his food there, no doubt sharing it with the insects that must have suddenly surrounded him!

After we'd eaten, Elliott and I went for another wander to work off some of our huge dinner. It was cooling down, strange weather for June, and so we grabbed additional clothing from the car. But I welcomed the lower temperatures, intensely grateful that there was no humidity. An old shed stood sagging out the back, and I forgot to ask Bill later if there were any plans for it. A few people were leaving, no doubt wanting to stretch out on their own sofas for a post feast nap, and we waved to the neighbors who zoomed past us on their golf cart.

Bill and Jen flicked on the outside lights and the pace began to slow down. The music was turned off and people sat chatting while fireflies ascended from the long grass, their little lamps flickering as they floated across the lawn. One guy trundled his BBQ, loaned to Bill for the afternoon, towards his car, and failed to notice that the wheels had caught up in a cable, nearly tugging all the lights to the ground, until alarmed shouts made him stop. Tragedy was averted and conversations resumed.

I wandered over to Bill and Jen's old barn that I'd never peeked in before. The floor was decades old packed earth, and as I stood still inside, the musty warm air resonated of many past lives spent working inside here, countless seasons of corn piled high, for animal feed or to be ground into flour. A door in the side of a wall stepped up to a 'secret' chamber, where the fading evening light could be seen through old weathered boards.

Bill had pulled out one of his art pieces which I'd never seen, an obelisk of computer motherboards. It was incredibly sturdy and a shame, because it wasn't weather protected, that it couldn't stay forever in the exact position he'd placed it in, the fading dusk glinted off its tiny parts, making me fantasize about it having been gifted by an alien, appearing suddenly as a thanks for a sumptuous evening it had been part of, but unseen by the rest of us.

The evening ended with a show at the back of their property by the fireflies. Not having my camera, it was pointless trying to get shots with my phone, so I'll describe it instead. Along the tall tree line that followed the creek, thousands of tiny glittering lights bobbed and flittered  in the dark, soaring up high into the trees and bobbing above the grass below, flashing and twinkling, glinting and glowing, a panorama of tiny beacons. Some came close to us, shining bright for a couple of seconds, then quickly disappearing as they moved on elsewhere to blink again, and briefly sparkle once more. We stood for a while watching this spectacular show, only usually seen throughout June, then after one last backward glance, left to go home.