Tendrils are silky, curling little strands reaching out from vines, searching for something to hold onto. Like all of us. The moment they touch a tomato cage, a trellis, a branch, or another plant nearby, they quietly begin wrapping themselves around it. Strengthening their plant, reaching for the sun.
Many plants have splendid and mysterious tendrils. Peas, the Cucurbitaceae family (melons, pumpkins, squash), grapes, passion flowers, clematis, cup and saucer, Virginia creeper, and honeysuckle, to name a few.
Plants aren’t just growing; they’re sensing, responding, adapting, just like us.
It’s impossible to direct them exactly where you want them to go. I have tried and failed! They simply keep reaching until they find what they need.
I’m certainly not the first person to be fascinated by tendrils. In my internet puttering, I learned Charles Darwin was so captivated by these symbiotic, climbing plants that he devoted his time to them in observation and wrote an entire book reflecting his studies called The Movements and Habits of Climbing Plants. Darwin’s book explores how climbing plants use tendrils and other mechanisms like rootlets, twiners, and root and hook climbers to cling to supports. The book examines how these remarkable adaptations evolved. He also investigated how the environment, like light and gravity, influences the way climbing plants grow and move. And it includes beautiful, simple illustrations drawn by Darwin.
A tendril is defined as a thread-like plant structure, modified from a stem, leaf, or leaf stalk, that wraps around nearby objects to support a climbing plant’s growth.
How do those tiny tendrils know where to reach? Scientists have discovered they’re incredibly sensitive to touch. The moment a tendril brushes against an object, it gets to work. Specialized cells inside the tendril begin shifting water. One layer of cells shrinks while another stiffens, causing the tendril to curl into those adorable spirals. Then, the tendril actually twists in opposite directions with a little bend in the middle, creating what looks like the perfect strand of curly hair. That spring is more than just beautiful. It’s brilliant. It gives the vine strength and flexibility at the same time. Instead of holding the plant rigidly in place, the tendril can stretch and bounce with the wind, absorbing movement without snapping. As the vine grows, the older tendrils tighten their grip while the younger ones stay more flexible, allowing the plant to keep climbing and adjusting to its surroundings. This natural process feels like a reflection of human life. When we’re young, we reach out with curiosity; we are flexible and wild. With age, we settle, hold on, and feel more comfortable with structure.
Every time I look at the cucumber tendrils in my garden, I’m amazed that something so delicate can be so strong and resilient. They remind me that true strength isn’t always loud or obvious. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking of every tendril as “her.” And then I think of the women I know. They have quietly held families, friendships, and communities together while still finding the strength to keep reaching for the sun.
Source: www.indefenseofplants.com/blog/tag/tendrils, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tendril, www.amazon.com
by Paula D.
on August 8, 2026 5:23 am in Food
I invented cold tacos last weekend by accident.
I was craving something light and fresh, and started looking around the kitchen. In the pantry, I found cans of organic black beans and corn from Trader Joe’s that I had picked up a few weeks earlier in Brooklyn, when it was cooler and still acceptable to leave the peninsula. Sitting on the counter was a big, juicy tomato. There was cilantro growing right across the street in the Beach 91st Community Garden that I could grab,
My original plan was to make a simple summer bean salad. But as I started chopping and mixing, I realized I was a lot hungrier than I thought. That’s when the idea popped into my head – I’m making cold tacos!
Fresh, crunchy, and with just a little spice, Cold Tacos are best enjoyed on a shady porch with a cool breeze. Summer is here!
I picked up some wheat tortillas, toasted them lightly for a little crunch, and piled them high with the chilled bean and corn salad. The result was fresh, filling, and perfect for a hot summer afternoon.
Make the filling ahead of time and keep it in the refrigerator for up to three days. My accidental invention, the Cold Taco, is made for shady porches, beach days, and those summer afternoons when turning on the stove feels like a terrible idea.
Cold Summer Tacos
Ingredients
- 1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
- 1 can corn, drained (or 2 ears of fresh stripped corn)
- 1 medium to large ripe tomato, diced
- 1 small red pepper
- 4 sprigs cilantro, chopped
- Juice of 1/2 lemon or lime
- 1–2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 tablespoon white vinegar
- Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- Wheat tortillas
- Sour cream, shredded cheese, and hot sauce for topping (I used habanero sauce)
Directions
- Chop the tomato and place it in a large bowl. Add the black beans, corn, and chopped cilantro, then stir to combine.
- Add the lemon or lime juice, olive oil, and vinegar. Stir well.
- Season with salt and pepper to taste.
- Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes to let the flavors combine, or make it earlier in the day and chill until you’re ready to eat.
- Lightly toast the tortillas in a dry pan until warm and just a little crisp.
- Fill each tortilla with the chilled bean mixture.
- Top with sour cream, shredded cheese, and a few dashes of habanero sauce.
Enjoy and Happy Summer!
Follow Paula in the kitchen on Instagram: @theglorifiedtomato.
My father was recently in the hospital. I stayed with him for a bit to help while he recovered. Meals, Windexing, finding matching socks, walking the cutie-pie Angle, his dog, and with his garden.
I was also working from home, from my childhood home — using the kitchen table as my desk. In the same spot where I used to struggle with my homework. My mother encouraged me to finish, with a cigarette in one hand and a yellow pencil in the other. The coffee cup lukewarm.
The days at my father’s house felt dreamlike, strange, and also good and comforting.
My father kept mentioning with frustration that the mulch had been sitting in the driveway for weeks now. He was supposed to get his spring garden work in, but the three-week stint in the hospital got in the way.
“I love this type of outdoor work. I’ll do it!” He kept saying the bags were too heavy, and I kept saying, “Dad, I’m strong, doing a funny muscle arm thing! And if I can be outside in the garden all day, I would.” Maybe he forgot my love of gardening began right here, in his garden, when I was Dad’s little helper.
He finally accepted my offer. He felt bad and kept saying, “Sorry, I can’t help.” That was really hard to hear.
Pulling each weed before laying the mulch “very evenly,” as I was instructed, I thought about my days as a kid on the block—running around in the summer heat, making mud soup with my sister Maria, fingernails black with dirt, and the famous Long Island Cicada Hospital founded by my oldest sis, Natalie. Those summer days felt like we had all the time in the world.
Every weed I pulled spurred another family memory. My brain was flooded with flashbacks and the emotions that were rooted with them.
The next day, with the front finished, I started mulching in the backyard. Time rolled. It’s 1989. My father walks into the yard with his green, sweat-stained DSNY uniform on and his leather black bag, heavy on his shoulder. He must have seen the stream of water running down the blacktop driveway as he pulled in from his exhausting day behind the truck.
His face turned red. My sister and I stopped, turned around, and stared at him. What will happen?
His prized, once perfectly green lawn, was decimated. At this moment, I swear I saw steam coming out of his fire-red ears like Yosemite Sam, the scariest cartoon character my 8-year-old brain associated a bad situation with.
“You run, you slide, you hit the bump, and take a dive!” My father was very against Crocodile Mile from the start. This toy was a spin-off of the better-known Slip ‘N Slide backyard summer water contraption we begged my parents for. He loved us so much he caved. Dad rarely got mad, but when you mess with an Italian man’s lawn, all hell breaks loose.
I got to the evergreens, I was tucked in, on my knees, spreading the damp mulch out with my bare hand. I remembered all of our beloved pets we buried around here. We always had beautiful ceremonies with holy water when they passed away. The small ones, like my hamsters, fish, and birds, always went in the round, blue Royal Dansk butter cookie tins. My dad’s favorite, so we always had plenty of “coffins” around.
Behind the bushes, hidden beneath the evergreens, surrounded by memories of all I had loved and lost, I finally burst into tears. I cried like a child.
So much time has passed. I never pictured this stage of life, the one where the roles begin to reverse. My parents, who once seemed invincible, now need help. Some days I feel guilty that I’m not doing enough. All of this is real and is my present.
If my father came outside, he wouldn’t see me hidden behind the bushes. The release felt good. A weight that had been building – busy workdays, my father’s care, my mother’s illness, talking with Dad, and remembering that he is a person and not just my father.
With all this, I am so grateful to have this precious time with my parents. I can still ask about old family stories and laugh and learn from them. A few of my friends recently lost a parent, and their passing happened suddenly. I wonder why God calls some people so abruptly, and others endure the long process of passing to the next.
Later that night, Dad inspected my work. The weeds were gone, and the garden looked sharp. He was happy and impressed with me. For a moment, I wasn’t caring for my father. I was just his kid again, helping him in the garden.
by Paula D.
on August 8, 2026 5:00 am in Recipes
The night of the big sandstorm in mid-July, I was at Rippers. Real Young & Lazy Horse was playing (@realyounglazyhorse). The wind suddenly picked up in fury! Within minutes, the sand was swirling, and the sky had turned to sand. It poured.
Someone suggested taking cover on my porch, the closest refuge, so we all made a run for it. It turned into one of those impromptu porch hangs that always seem to be better than planned parties. As the night went on, the conversation got weird, as late-night conversations so often do, and somehow we found ourselves talking about beets. The root vegetable. My friend Paige, an Aussie, mentioned that beet sandwiches are a classic Australian thing. Oh, I remember now. It came up because we were talking about Vegemite (there’s a column).
Sometimes the best recipes come from late-night weird conversations, sandstorms, and friends who come from the land down under.
Paige told us the ingredients of the traditional Australian Salad Sanga (as it’s called). We all listened intently with curiosity and excitement. The sandwich is: cheddar cheese, sliced canned beets, tomato, iceberg lettuce, and mayonnaise. What about the bread, someone shouted! It’s true, the bread is so important. Paige radically said, “It varies a lot! The very classic version that you would get from a deli – aka “milk bar” would often be on a white bread roll. But any type of bread is also normal. It’s very nice on a seeded white bread.”
According to sandwichtribunal.com (which has an amazing web design), some Salad Sanga Sandwiches also include carrots, cucumbers and alfalfa sprouts. The origins seem to date back to Gen-Xers’ childhood years, and the sandwich is now considered retro. The New York Times deemed the Salad Sanga almost extinct five years ago. But alas! It has had a resurgence, thanks to fancy vegetarian people in big cities across the globe. People in smaller, cuter cities with food trucks, one converted car repair shop in Sydney that The Guardian wrote about. And one middle-aged woman from Rockaway with a weekly column in The Wave. The rainbow veg-packed delight comeback comes with some ingredient variations such as fancy dill spreads, microgreens and pickled onion stuff. Fair.
A few weeks after the sandstorm, I was hungry. The porch / Paige / sandwich convo popped in my head like a happy kangaroo. I couldn’t quite remember every ingredient, so my friend Tom and I made our own version with sliced beets, Swiss cheese, arugula, cucumber, a drizzle of oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper, all piled onto hearty whole wheat Italian bread.
The takeaway? Beets belong on sandwiches. Their earthy sweetness pairs with salty cheese in the best way. The beets add just the right amount of moisture to a thick slice of bread too. This is a must-make, crunchy, sweet, and fresh vegetarian sandwich for all to try. Thank Paige and the summer sandstorm for this one!
Instagram: @theglorifiedtomato
