Last summer I visited the tiny farming community of Ahualoa, on Hawaii’s Big Island, for a magazine article. I was there to interview a farmer and cheesemaker, and while he gave me a tour of his goat dairy, he stopped to show me his compact vegetable garden. Directly over the fence in front of me was a lush plant, nearly six feet tall, covered in red fruits. “Is that a.... chile?” I asked, incredulous. “Yup," he replied. "It’s perennial here.” I may have gasped.

He could easily have emulated Peter Piper and picked (or pickled) a peck of peppers. But in my Northeastern garden, I haven’t been able to raise even a pint. Last year, I abandoned all peppers in frustration. The prior summer, I had harvested exactly three fruits from half a dozen plants: a couple of serrano chiles and one lonely jalapeño. Most of the plants didn’t produce at all. I had planted them with dreams of making my own hot sauce and instead got exactly one bowl of fresh salsa.

I was all set to continue my pepper boycott this year, but on a tomato-buying trip to a local grower, the nursery woman convinced me to try again. “They don’t fruit,” I whined. “Hmmm. That could be a lack of potassium," she said. "Try digging eggshells into the soil.” She steered me toward a couple of varieties, and I left with five seedlings.

Skeptical, I stuck them at the western end of my broccoli bed, digging in crushed eggshells as instructed. And ... I am cautiously optimistic. I have picked three (three!) peppers already, one jalapeno and two of a mysterious, unidentified shishito-like variety. A chocolate bell pepper is flowering but has yet to set fruit.

While I wait and worry, I’ve been studying. Although some gardeners blithely assert that growing peppers is just like growing tomatoes (they are related: like potatoes, they belong to the nightshade family, Solanaceae), others are more thoughtful. I'm not alone in struggling with chiles; they can be temperamental, especially for those of us gardening in cooler climates. The quick list of pepper rules:

• Keep them warm. They don't like cold nights (below 60 F) or high winds.
• Water, but not too much. You want moist, not wet, soil.
• Mulch to keep the soil temperature even and cool.
• Weed well -- they don’t like competition.

This week in my garden:

READING: Peppers aren't my only vegetable concern right now. My potatoes haven't flowered, and the foliage is already yellowing, which makes me worry about disease. My tomatoes are producing, but not as lavishly as I would like. Given my various nightshade frustrations, I think it’s time to do some more serious reading. I’m leaning towards The Kitchen Garden Grower’s Guide by Stephen Albert (BookSurge, 2008), a comprehensive guide to growing vegetables. The author maintains another of my favorite gardening websites, the chock-full-of info Harvest To Table.

SEEDING: This time of the season, nurseries near me are clearing out stock. I just scored some gorgeous nasturtiums and variegated pineapple mint to plant in containers by my front door. The mint should overwinter nicely, and I may try to save some seed from the nasturtiums, as I’m particularly pleased with their strong orange and magenta colors.

I’m also sowing yet more lacinato kale for a fall harvest. My latest group of seedlings has been eaten to shreds by ... something, and I’m determined to get one more harvest of this favorite vegetable.

NEEDING: Dirt Couture offers so much glorious garden-alia it’s nearly impossible to choose. A one-of-a-kind hayfork, handmade in Oregon? Maybe a meditating garden gnome? In keeping with my obsession for hand-forged tools, the beautiful trowels made by Montana blacksmith Tuli Fisher are at the top of my gifts-for-gardeners list.

FEEDING: I love eating peppers, hot or sweet, with eggs. Maybe it’s my mother’s influence; scrambled eggs with Julia Child's piperade (a Basque sauté of tomatoes, onions, and sweet peppers) was a dinnertime staple during my childhood. I haven’t made that in years, but one reason I’m trying to grow my own jalapeños (besides homemade salsa) is migas, a homely but irresistible Tex-Mex scramble of eggs, squares of fried corn tortilla, tomato, and chile. You can skip on frying your own tortillas, but it’s worth the extra (not so much) effort.

Migas (adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook, Conde Nast, 2004)

serves 4-6

4 thick bacon slices, cooked until crisp, then crumbled
12 corn tortillas, cut into 1 to 1-1/2 inch pieces
1/4 cup canola, peanut or grapeseed oil (plus more as needed)
1 white onion, finely chopped
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 jalapeno chilis, seeded and finely chopped
2 cups chopped tomatoes (canned tomatoes will work fine if you don’t have fresh)
2 teaspoons ground cumin
10 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup grated white cheddar or monterey jack cheese
1/4 cup chopped cilantro for garnish (optional)
2 avocados, peeled and chopped for garnish (optional)

In a large skillet (I prefer cast iron) heat the oil until shimmering, but not smoking. Depending upon the diameter of your skillet, you may need to add more oil, enough so that the tortillas float a tiny bit on it. Add the tortillas, a handful at a time (I usually do this in four batches) and fry, turning often, until golden brown. Remove from the oil with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels.  When all the tortillas are fried and the excess oil absorbed by towels, set aside.

Pour off the oil in the skillet so that a thin glaze remains in the pan. (If you’re not using a nonstick pan or well-seasoned cast iron, you may need to keep a bit more oil in the pan.) Add the onions, garlic, and jalapenos, and saute over medium heat until softened, about five minutes. Do not brown them. Add the tomatoes, bacon, and cumin, and saute until some of the tomatoes’ liquid evaporates off, leaving a nice thick salsa. Add the tortilla chips and stir gently to combine. Add the eggs and cheese, and scramble together, gently, over medium heat, until the eggs are set to your liking.

Sprinkle with cilantro and serve immediately, piping hot, with avocado on the side.

Photo courtesy of imrahil2001 via Flickr