There's been a lot of buzz about the organic garden that the Obamas are growing at the White House. Good for them. I'm supportive, but not quite as gleeful as I expected, and I think it comes down to this:
To me, gardening is an intensely private activity. While I might talk about it, or write about it, actual gardening is like meditation - or maybe it *is* meditation. The physical realities of weeding and sowing and cursing and watering are supplemental to an entire mental reality, the emotional and intellectual world of my garden that I don't discuss much.
On occasion, I joke about having a farmboy come and weed for me, or build me a trellis, but something deep within me rebels at the idea. I want my garden to be mine alone, where only I know what the sprout is likely to be, and where only I get to decide whether a plant stays or goes. The idea of having my garden in the most public residence in the land, aided by a group of children, planned by someone else (even if it's a really great chef) makes me cringe. It's hard for me to get excited on a personal level, even though I like the idea.
I think that's why I'm deeply horrified when cities intrude on the privacy of the garden, declaring wildflowers to be overgrown weeds or lawns too brown to bear. Blanket prohibitions stir the libertarian in me - if someone wants to grow a yard of dandelions, who am I to protest? (I will make exceptions for things that are a clear public hazard - no mercury in the water supply.)
This doesn't stop me from judging other people's gardens, of course - where would we be without the great Puritan pastime of passing judgment on one's neighbors and feeling superior? But that judgment shouldn't extend any farther than that, unless we can argue a serious public health or ecological disaster in the making.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Spring Restraint
There's an additional burden to reading blogs when you're trying to save the soil in the north - everyone's posting photos are all their stuff. Gardeners in DC have sprouted favas. Gardeners in the south have planted tomatoes. Meanwhile, there's still no fruit blossoms here (soon, soon), and the ground has that dangerous, boggy look to it - a couple clear days don't counter last week's rain and snow.
The favas might be fine, but I'm going to give the garden time to dry out a bit more. This will mean more weeding, and less prettiness, but I really think it is the right thing to do - for the soil, if not for my spring pea crop.
Still, it makes me jealous, seeing those favas pop up. I want *my* favas to be popping up. I am glad there's a spring here, and it's not time to plant tomatoes yet. As much as I love the tomatoes, I'd like to honor the spring crops, too.
So what I've been doing it plotting my beds with semi-obsession, until I think I've got it just right - not too many overlapping crops from last year, enough pole beans, space for herbs and flowers. Not enough cover crops, but there's plenty of beans from nitrogen. I'll continue encouraging the clover in the paths, and sow plenty of rye in the fall before it gets too cold. (I say that now with confidence -we'll see how things go.)
My beds are laid out not quite correctly - they're slightly strange sizes, depending on how easy it is to get to them. This is my general layout.
The external path is required by the garden rules, and cheerfully ignored by pretty much every gardener. Half the trouble is that things *grow*. The rest of it, of course, is our desire to grub every spare inch of space.
I'm good about keeping the path at the bottom of the garden; to the west, I tend to create a sort of barrier of old vines and sticks - compostable stuff that will take a while to break down. This is part habitat for predators, and part laziness. There's a hill next to the plot, and I can't really see anyone voluntarily walking along that side, but them's the rules.
The internal garden path - the main one - is just wide enough to maneuver a garden cart down, to dump leaves or manure. When harvesting, I'll usually pile things on my jacket or into a bag if I'm prepared for harvest that day, and carry it out to the main paths. As I said, I try to encourage the clover. I like clover; it fixes nitrogen, it's pretty, and pollinators like it. Plus, it should help reduce erosion somewhat.
Last year, Bed 1 was favas, fennel, herbs, turnips, and onions, Bed 2 had beans and my sad corn and pea attempts, Bed 3 had tomatoes, peppers, a tomatillo, and a basil, and Bed 4 had some more tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, dead squash, dead melons, and radishes. I'm doing a partial rotation, which unfortunately leaves many of the same families proximate, but that's what happens when approximately half the garden is in the bean family and approximately half is in the tomato family. Here's the highly theoretical current layout. All the brown-red dots are poles for beans. The onions are perennial bunching onions, grown for the greens rather than the root. (The lower right corner says onions - that's a lie. That's actually basils. Have I mentioned that I'm growing lemon, cinnamon, anise, and sweet basil this year?
Future thoughts: I'd like to have a bird-bath and seat-like thing (rock? chair? log?) in there at some point.
The favas might be fine, but I'm going to give the garden time to dry out a bit more. This will mean more weeding, and less prettiness, but I really think it is the right thing to do - for the soil, if not for my spring pea crop.
Still, it makes me jealous, seeing those favas pop up. I want *my* favas to be popping up. I am glad there's a spring here, and it's not time to plant tomatoes yet. As much as I love the tomatoes, I'd like to honor the spring crops, too.
So what I've been doing it plotting my beds with semi-obsession, until I think I've got it just right - not too many overlapping crops from last year, enough pole beans, space for herbs and flowers. Not enough cover crops, but there's plenty of beans from nitrogen. I'll continue encouraging the clover in the paths, and sow plenty of rye in the fall before it gets too cold. (I say that now with confidence -we'll see how things go.)
My beds are laid out not quite correctly - they're slightly strange sizes, depending on how easy it is to get to them. This is my general layout.
The external path is required by the garden rules, and cheerfully ignored by pretty much every gardener. Half the trouble is that things *grow*. The rest of it, of course, is our desire to grub every spare inch of space.
I'm good about keeping the path at the bottom of the garden; to the west, I tend to create a sort of barrier of old vines and sticks - compostable stuff that will take a while to break down. This is part habitat for predators, and part laziness. There's a hill next to the plot, and I can't really see anyone voluntarily walking along that side, but them's the rules.
The internal garden path - the main one - is just wide enough to maneuver a garden cart down, to dump leaves or manure. When harvesting, I'll usually pile things on my jacket or into a bag if I'm prepared for harvest that day, and carry it out to the main paths. As I said, I try to encourage the clover. I like clover; it fixes nitrogen, it's pretty, and pollinators like it. Plus, it should help reduce erosion somewhat.
Last year, Bed 1 was favas, fennel, herbs, turnips, and onions, Bed 2 had beans and my sad corn and pea attempts, Bed 3 had tomatoes, peppers, a tomatillo, and a basil, and Bed 4 had some more tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, dead squash, dead melons, and radishes. I'm doing a partial rotation, which unfortunately leaves many of the same families proximate, but that's what happens when approximately half the garden is in the bean family and approximately half is in the tomato family. Here's the highly theoretical current layout. All the brown-red dots are poles for beans. The onions are perennial bunching onions, grown for the greens rather than the root. (The lower right corner says onions - that's a lie. That's actually basils. Have I mentioned that I'm growing lemon, cinnamon, anise, and sweet basil this year?
Future thoughts: I'd like to have a bird-bath and seat-like thing (rock? chair? log?) in there at some point.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Worm Bin
I've been contemplating how to compost my food scraps for awhile. This is partly because compost is awesome for plants, smells good, and makes me feel like I'm got an army of microbes at my command. Mostly, though, it's because I feel intensely guilty tossing food into the landfill. My city, like most US cities, doesn't separate and compost food scraps. For homeowners, the choices are pretty broad - you can have a compost heap, a compost bin, a turner, worms, windrows, bury your stuff in the ground, chickens, pigs, a goat, etc.
Unfortunately, budget and apartment dwelling limit things considerably. For example, I'm pretty sure the electric lines run straight through the narrow grass alleyway that is all the great outdoors I can lay claim to. Also, the ground would require a pick-axe to cleave it. So burying is out. So is heaping, as the landlords dutifully sweep through every few weeks to mow and remove extraneous crap.
Worms are the logical choice, of course. E. foetida, red wrigglers (or wigglers), are commonly used to compost food scraps. I've been wary, because I'm not usually very good with maintenance activities, and if the worms aren't happy, they can run. This sounds terrifying, as if 1,000 worms might take up arms and march through my apartment. I'm not creeped out by crawlies, but 1,000 worms trying to get out, chased by my cats, might try my patience. Also, worms are pricey - at ~$35/lb., they're not quite a bit more expensive than heaping stuff together and letting the microbes do all the work. And the warnings about keeping the right moisture levels and acidity make me nervous, because I have no idea what 60% moisture feels like. (Do you?) So like all things new, it's intimidating.
But I have a cunning plan. I rescued an old plastic organization system from the street last year. You know the type - it usually goes in your garage, and has a few shallow drawers, and a couple deep ones. It's probably 4 feet tall. My plan is to turn this into my worm tower over the summer, and if I love it, move it inside over the winter. I'm not sure how this will work out - the sides of the bins are clear, for one thing, and the shelves aren't tight together, so getting the worms to move between levels might be a challenge. But it's worth a try, especially since I have a load of cardboard boxes that are no longer good for holding things together. Those will serve well as bedding. And thanks to Geico and the local cable company, I have colorless computer paper. And thanks to my worthless union, I have newsprint! So having all that, how could I not order some worms, cross my fingers, and give it a go?
Of course, I have fantasies about using the worm castings to feed my seedlings, which will grow big and strong and feed me and the worms all over again. But even if I never use the castings, I'll feel much better having recycled some of my waste close to home.
Unfortunately, budget and apartment dwelling limit things considerably. For example, I'm pretty sure the electric lines run straight through the narrow grass alleyway that is all the great outdoors I can lay claim to. Also, the ground would require a pick-axe to cleave it. So burying is out. So is heaping, as the landlords dutifully sweep through every few weeks to mow and remove extraneous crap.
Worms are the logical choice, of course. E. foetida, red wrigglers (or wigglers), are commonly used to compost food scraps. I've been wary, because I'm not usually very good with maintenance activities, and if the worms aren't happy, they can run. This sounds terrifying, as if 1,000 worms might take up arms and march through my apartment. I'm not creeped out by crawlies, but 1,000 worms trying to get out, chased by my cats, might try my patience. Also, worms are pricey - at ~$35/lb., they're not quite a bit more expensive than heaping stuff together and letting the microbes do all the work. And the warnings about keeping the right moisture levels and acidity make me nervous, because I have no idea what 60% moisture feels like. (Do you?) So like all things new, it's intimidating.
But I have a cunning plan. I rescued an old plastic organization system from the street last year. You know the type - it usually goes in your garage, and has a few shallow drawers, and a couple deep ones. It's probably 4 feet tall. My plan is to turn this into my worm tower over the summer, and if I love it, move it inside over the winter. I'm not sure how this will work out - the sides of the bins are clear, for one thing, and the shelves aren't tight together, so getting the worms to move between levels might be a challenge. But it's worth a try, especially since I have a load of cardboard boxes that are no longer good for holding things together. Those will serve well as bedding. And thanks to Geico and the local cable company, I have colorless computer paper. And thanks to my worthless union, I have newsprint! So having all that, how could I not order some worms, cross my fingers, and give it a go?
Of course, I have fantasies about using the worm castings to feed my seedlings, which will grow big and strong and feed me and the worms all over again. But even if I never use the castings, I'll feel much better having recycled some of my waste close to home.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Haha, not dead
So, not dead. I suck at regular posting, apparently. I've completed my seed orders, and as usual, my promises to focus on one thing have gradually fallen away. I was going to make this a soil building year, but then there's awesome new varieties to try, and herbs to grow, and co-planting to experiment with.
Here's my seed purchase list for this year. It *looks* shorter than last years list, but only because I didn't get free seeds this year. (It's okay, Seed Savers. I still love you.)
-Masai Bush Haricots Verts
-Kentucky Wonder Pole Bean
-Multicolored Pole Bean Mix
-Windsor Fava Bean
-Taylor Dwarf Horticultural Shell Bean
-Black Coco Bean
-King of the Early Bean
-Blizzard Snow Pea OG
-Easter Egg Radish
-Shinden Risoh Daikon Radish
-White Egg Turnip
-Prisma Shallots
-Mustard Mix
-Fish Hot Pepper
-Some Like it Hot Pepper Mix
-Verde Puebla Tomatillo OG
-Green Zebra Tomato
-Cherokee Purple Tomato
-Sun Gold Cherry Tomato
-Sweet Basil
-Anise Basil
-Wild Bergamot OG
-Zefa Fino Fennel
-Broadleaf Sage
-Danish Flag Poppy
-Akanata Mame - Sword Bean
-Kyoto Kujo Negi- Bunching Onion
-Ginkaku Korean Melon
-Tae Baek - Korean Radish
-Kurogoma -Black Sesame
The plot's legume heavy this year. I also requested a couple trial varieties, but I'm not sure if they'll pull through or not. I'm also holding out hope for purple tomatillos and Purple Russian tomatoes. I haven't sorted through my seed box to see if any are left from last year. If not, I may have to do an emergency purchase. And I'm going to do some cover cropping - rye and vetch, and buckwheat.
I'm really excited about the bergamot (bee balm), which is supposed to grow cooperatively with tomatoes, and attract insects that eat or parasitize nasties AND attract pollinators. Oh, and it's supposed to make a mean tea.
I'm planning a veritable fence row of pole beans, because it's fun having something so clearly enthusiastic in the garden. Squash and melons are out, except for my own last attempt at growing melons. (I love them, and cannot come to terms with the total non-response of all things squash and melon last year.) These are small and fast, and Korea has a short growing season. I'm also planning on buying row covers for them. If it doesn't work this year, I'll add melons to my black list.
Things on my blacklist from last year:
Corn - because it attracted umpteen thousand beetles and didn't pollinate, leaving me one mockery of a kernel of corn amongst all the ears, and because it sucks nutrients and has a long season. Seriously, this is not a small-plot friendly crop.
Cucumbers - two cucumbers are not an adequate return from three plants. And one was bitter.
Eggplant - I don't have anythign against eggplant, but it wasn't prolific enough for it's deliciousness. If I only sort-of like a plant, it has to have a redeeming factor, like being fun to grow, or super attractive, or something. Mine weren't, so they're off the plot until I gain a passion for them or read a *really* tempting description.
Lovage - because it is disgusting. Seriously, seriously disgusting. People eat this? Voluntarily?
Marjoram - just not enthusiastic enough to warrant a place in the herb patch. I got three sprigs.
Squash - I think I need to baby my plants more, or maybe I just am doing it wrong, or maybe my garden hates squash. Either way, all the plants died horrible, horrible deaths.
Some of this looks like fertility issues - pollination and/or soil. Hopefully the soil will improve with time and cover crops (and every other type of organic matter I can lay my hands on). Maybe I'll try marjoram again when I've upped the soil quality. I love winter squash, so I can't imagine I won't attempt it again. But sticking with the tried and true - tomatoes, beans, more beans, radishes, turnips, tomatillos - and the only the deeply loved finicky ones - peas, shallots - and the experimental - sage, sesame - until I get the right mix is the way to go. Maybe eventually I'll have spare space again to trial big plants on, but a hill of squash will fit a load of other plants. Diversity is definitely my preference, especially when production is questionable.
Here's my seed purchase list for this year. It *looks* shorter than last years list, but only because I didn't get free seeds this year. (It's okay, Seed Savers. I still love you.)
-Masai Bush Haricots Verts
-Kentucky Wonder Pole Bean
-Multicolored Pole Bean Mix
-Windsor Fava Bean
-Taylor Dwarf Horticultural Shell Bean
-Black Coco Bean
-King of the Early Bean
-Blizzard Snow Pea OG
-Easter Egg Radish
-Shinden Risoh Daikon Radish
-White Egg Turnip
-Prisma Shallots
-Mustard Mix
-Fish Hot Pepper
-Some Like it Hot Pepper Mix
-Verde Puebla Tomatillo OG
-Green Zebra Tomato
-Cherokee Purple Tomato
-Sun Gold Cherry Tomato
-Sweet Basil
-Anise Basil
-Wild Bergamot OG
-Zefa Fino Fennel
-Broadleaf Sage
-Danish Flag Poppy
-Akanata Mame - Sword Bean
-Kyoto Kujo Negi- Bunching Onion
-Ginkaku Korean Melon
-Tae Baek - Korean Radish
-Kurogoma -Black Sesame
The plot's legume heavy this year. I also requested a couple trial varieties, but I'm not sure if they'll pull through or not. I'm also holding out hope for purple tomatillos and Purple Russian tomatoes. I haven't sorted through my seed box to see if any are left from last year. If not, I may have to do an emergency purchase. And I'm going to do some cover cropping - rye and vetch, and buckwheat.
I'm really excited about the bergamot (bee balm), which is supposed to grow cooperatively with tomatoes, and attract insects that eat or parasitize nasties AND attract pollinators. Oh, and it's supposed to make a mean tea.
I'm planning a veritable fence row of pole beans, because it's fun having something so clearly enthusiastic in the garden. Squash and melons are out, except for my own last attempt at growing melons. (I love them, and cannot come to terms with the total non-response of all things squash and melon last year.) These are small and fast, and Korea has a short growing season. I'm also planning on buying row covers for them. If it doesn't work this year, I'll add melons to my black list.
Things on my blacklist from last year:
Corn - because it attracted umpteen thousand beetles and didn't pollinate, leaving me one mockery of a kernel of corn amongst all the ears, and because it sucks nutrients and has a long season. Seriously, this is not a small-plot friendly crop.
Cucumbers - two cucumbers are not an adequate return from three plants. And one was bitter.
Eggplant - I don't have anythign against eggplant, but it wasn't prolific enough for it's deliciousness. If I only sort-of like a plant, it has to have a redeeming factor, like being fun to grow, or super attractive, or something. Mine weren't, so they're off the plot until I gain a passion for them or read a *really* tempting description.
Lovage - because it is disgusting. Seriously, seriously disgusting. People eat this? Voluntarily?
Marjoram - just not enthusiastic enough to warrant a place in the herb patch. I got three sprigs.
Squash - I think I need to baby my plants more, or maybe I just am doing it wrong, or maybe my garden hates squash. Either way, all the plants died horrible, horrible deaths.
Some of this looks like fertility issues - pollination and/or soil. Hopefully the soil will improve with time and cover crops (and every other type of organic matter I can lay my hands on). Maybe I'll try marjoram again when I've upped the soil quality. I love winter squash, so I can't imagine I won't attempt it again. But sticking with the tried and true - tomatoes, beans, more beans, radishes, turnips, tomatillos - and the only the deeply loved finicky ones - peas, shallots - and the experimental - sage, sesame - until I get the right mix is the way to go. Maybe eventually I'll have spare space again to trial big plants on, but a hill of squash will fit a load of other plants. Diversity is definitely my preference, especially when production is questionable.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Big Chill
There's not much garden stuff happening now. I'm impressed by all the blogs that show people digging out leeks and waving frozen bunches of turnips in the air. Some of my turnips never got pulled up, but they're going to be there in the spring. So there.
I keep meaning to go out to the garden and see what everything looks like under the snow, because I think it would be pretty, what with all the structures and everything. A few things prevent me from doing so:
1) I should find my camera first, replace the batteries, test it, find the computer cable, and replace the computer cable because I remember it not working.
2) There's a very real possibility I'd break my ankle trodging through the garden.
3) It's really, really cold.
We've got some sort of arctic thing moving through, which wouldn't be so bad except for the wind, which manages to wick the temperature all the way down to -30. Fahrenheit.
Mom wants to what I wear to stay warm, and the answer is: a building. With the heat on. (Har, har.)
When I have to leave (to, say, go to work), I am wearing:
Hiking boots - the rubber toes helps keep my socks dry.
Socks, pants, shirt - all normal weight and quality. I should dig out my long johns, but haven't.
A sweater
1-2 scarves
A pair of alpaca-blend mittens and a matching alpaca-blend hat
Occasionally, a pair of black knit gloves that had their fingertips accidentally removed. (It involved a bucket of water and a frozen pole.)
A Lands' End Serious Weather Coat, with Serious Lining, hood up.
The key bit is the Serious Weather Coat (not it's real name.) But the other key bit is to get inside as fast as possible. This means no long leisurely strolls through the countryside. I know there are people that do that, just as there are people that run on the icy sidewalks, but I like to feel all my limbs all the time.
I keep meaning to go out to the garden and see what everything looks like under the snow, because I think it would be pretty, what with all the structures and everything. A few things prevent me from doing so:
1) I should find my camera first, replace the batteries, test it, find the computer cable, and replace the computer cable because I remember it not working.
2) There's a very real possibility I'd break my ankle trodging through the garden.
3) It's really, really cold.
We've got some sort of arctic thing moving through, which wouldn't be so bad except for the wind, which manages to wick the temperature all the way down to -30. Fahrenheit.
Mom wants to what I wear to stay warm, and the answer is: a building. With the heat on. (Har, har.)
When I have to leave (to, say, go to work), I am wearing:
Hiking boots - the rubber toes helps keep my socks dry.
Socks, pants, shirt - all normal weight and quality. I should dig out my long johns, but haven't.
A sweater
1-2 scarves
A pair of alpaca-blend mittens and a matching alpaca-blend hat
Occasionally, a pair of black knit gloves that had their fingertips accidentally removed. (It involved a bucket of water and a frozen pole.)
A Lands' End Serious Weather Coat, with Serious Lining, hood up.
The key bit is the Serious Weather Coat (not it's real name.) But the other key bit is to get inside as fast as possible. This means no long leisurely strolls through the countryside. I know there are people that do that, just as there are people that run on the icy sidewalks, but I like to feel all my limbs all the time.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Fall of Hope
So the blog experiment didn't go so well this summer. I seem to have lost a few entries somewhere, but more than that, I found it difficult to keep up - and the farther behind I got, the worse it became. But with the change in seasons, in presidents, and in gardening activities, hopefully I can reestablish a pattern.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Rooftop Gardening
Go read cityfarmer.org's recent tour of Rocket Restaurant's rooftop garden.
Cool, cool stuff. I would feel nervous about the weight, although he talks about using light, fluffy soil. I just have visions of buckling and crashing through the roof. I don't like heights, and I don't want any extra stressors while I've up there, like wondering whether the landlord is going to discover the roof beginning to cave in. However, I think this would be a really interesting opportunity, especially if you have a water spigot up there. (Hauling water is bad enough with a wheelbarrow and/or bucket, and yes, I've done both; up flights of stairs would be unbearable, especially during Pdx's dry summers when pretty much all water would need to come from the gardener.) I wonder how much more it would cost to build buildings with stronger roofs with spigots?
What I love most is that this is a business. I bet it is cheaper (or a close call) to grow salad greens yourself if you're a restaurant, given the steep cost of greens and assuming that they're sourcing local and organic/eco-friendly. (We can get a bag of spinach for $2-3 here in season, but Portland's market is usually more expensive. And how many bags would a restaurant go through? Even with a discount, I bet it's a pretty high amount.) It's nice when restaurants have a garden attached, but it says something really great about Rocket that they're willing to go an extra step when the space isn't easily available. I envy their year-round climate, though - even mache would be better than nothing. Also, having grown the crop, they're sort of obligated to use it, which makes seasonal eating that much easier.
I still think gardening in the earth, on the ground, is most inviting - container and balcony and roof gardening doesn't appeal much to me, partly because I haven't ever had a sunny exposure and/or accessible flat roof in my apartment, and if you're going to travel to garden, you might as well try to get into community garden. And it shares a problem with the community garden in that you have to go there. Ideally, at least by our current standards, you don't have to travel to your garden because you live there, or you're there naturally, all the time. Under normal circumstances, I do think this is ideal, and it certainly makes it easier to do a little weeding or a little enjoying of your space without making it an event. I don't know many peopl
e who hang out on the roof enough so that gardening wouldn't be a separate activity. Of course that's not possible everywhere, and of course it's good to have plants in many places (as long as they're "good" plants - seeding your roof with kudzu would not be good. Although think about how horror-movie cool it would be to watch the building being consumed.)It would be interesting to consider the environmental impact of something like this garden vs. growing under grow lights inside, especially with crops that can be raised under energy-friend fluorescents, like lettuce. There's probably no right answer - how to you calculate the pump power needed to get water up to the roof vs. the power to do fluorescent lights, or compare the tiny amount of mercury in a fluorescent to the additional steel beams needed to make a stronger roof? I imagine plastic breaks down faster outside, and more water is used. The soil probably contains more elements that need to be shipped (i.e. perlite). Still, it feels better outdoors, and no doubt the conditions - if you're growing the right crops - are much healthier. I think something like this garden in Chicago (above) might be even better - the roof is lower, reducing wind - I bet those extra stories make a big difference. Or maybe I just like sunflowers. Hmm.
But looking at these pictures, I get a strange sensation . . . and further google imaging proves it. The uniform for men doing rooftop gardening is khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. (Picture yoinked, then lost the url, but it's from a Canadian rooftop garden news article. I'm extrapolating that the gardener is not the guy in the tie.)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Ow
The clouds are moving out, the barometer is changing, and like magic, I can feel a migraine tightening around my head. No aura this time, just blam, migraine, complete with nausea and lights dancing around the edges of my peripheral vision.
Damn, damn, damn.
Hopefully something magic will happen and I'll be better enough to go sweat in the sun for awhile.
Damn, damn, damn.
Hopefully something magic will happen and I'll be better enough to go sweat in the sun for awhile.
Planting Out
Today I carried my first pots to work, with the intentions of planting them out in the garden later today. I put my peat pots in little Gladware containers, and carry them on the bus like that. For the bigger tomatoes, I think I'll need to carry them in a 5-gallon bucket, since they're both large and top heavy. I'm setting out one tomato in honor of the traditional "you can plant tomatoes on Memorial Day in Madison" folklore. The weather is wavering between hot, thunderstormy, and cool - 44 this morning. By far, I'm not the first person to put out tomatoes - there were some in the garden at least two weeks ago, but they appear not to have grown much. Some people even have peppers out. So my goal is to carry a few to work and then to the garden each day until the only thing beneath my grow lights is my indoor sprout/salad mix collection, and an indoor tea garden. The lemon balm is finally shaping up nicely under the lights; I think with a little outdoor time, it will be perfectly happy.
The Amish Paste I'm setting out today is among the least happy. Thin, leggy, and small. I'm hoping that it will either thrive or die quickly so I don't have to kill it myself. I'm also setting out a lemon balm, a lovage, and what I suspect is a sweet marjoram. Cooking delinquent that I am, I'm not really sure what to do with sweet marjoram, but fragrant plants are always welcome. (Unless you're mint.) Or comfrey, which is actually an issue around the edges of my plot.
Anyway, these plants give me an opportunity to see good green in the plot, and to experiment with my hole-digging technique. The tiller has stood me up for the third time, so I think I'm just going to start working the soil the old-fashioned way- lots of sweating, blisters, and water gulped from the hose. (Beer is a luxury reserved for people who live in houses and don't have to haul the bottles up a hill and find a way to keep them cool.) I've got 1-3 inches of leaves over the whole plot, which makes it look nice and really does cut down on weeds. Not as much as I'd hope, but some.
The Amish Paste I'm setting out today is among the least happy. Thin, leggy, and small. I'm hoping that it will either thrive or die quickly so I don't have to kill it myself. I'm also setting out a lemon balm, a lovage, and what I suspect is a sweet marjoram. Cooking delinquent that I am, I'm not really sure what to do with sweet marjoram, but fragrant plants are always welcome. (Unless you're mint.) Or comfrey, which is actually an issue around the edges of my plot.
Anyway, these plants give me an opportunity to see good green in the plot, and to experiment with my hole-digging technique. The tiller has stood me up for the third time, so I think I'm just going to start working the soil the old-fashioned way- lots of sweating, blisters, and water gulped from the hose. (Beer is a luxury reserved for people who live in houses and don't have to haul the bottles up a hill and find a way to keep them cool.) I've got 1-3 inches of leaves over the whole plot, which makes it look nice and really does cut down on weeds. Not as much as I'd hope, but some.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Remembering the Fallen
Yesterday, I made a last-ditch attempt to rescue some of my seedlings. It's at least another week before I put out the first of the hardiest of the summer seedlings (tomatoes) and probably two or three before I think about eggplant, peppers, or cucumbers. So a little tidying up was in order.
Two 4' shelves seems like a lot of space when you begin planting things, but as the plants expand, the space quickly becomes tighter and tighter. Sacrifices must be made. Up-potting must be done (again). And as in eany good expansion effort, some must give their lives to the cause.
There's the eggplant that the cat ate the first leaves right off of. The Sandia pepper I accidentally brushed with the force of falling water. The tomato I crushed with my elbow. The tomato I forgot that was sandwiched behind the bigger, meaner tomatoes (I'll get to them in a moment) and so, cut off from water and light, shrank to nothing. The cucumber that got caught in a draft on a cold spring night, and remained sullen for weeks - it was just recovering when I ripped it out so I could rescue a pepper from the clutches of the giant tomato plants. An eight-pack of onions, and another of nasturtiums, given for the same cause.
A mass dispersal was necessary because some of my tomatoes have grown large and mean under their pampered conditions. Without the aid of fertilizer, they grew stews thicker than pencils, branches that extended across the lights, and tendrils that shaded out shorter, less aggressive plants - mostly eggplant and pepper, but even some of the smaller tomatoes. These bullies are almost exclusively Fedco heirlooms tomatoes. I don't know if it's the freshness of the seed (most of the other seed was packed for 2006 or 2007), or the variety (Big Mean Bully will be the name of my first created cultivar), or what - I treated these tomatoes exactly the same as the others. To be fair, one of my yellow tomatoes (Giant Yellow Gourmet Stuffer, I think) is also large, but less invasive. My tomatillos are very happy, too, but my peppers and eggplant remain healthy but not enormous. So the shorter plants got moved into space vacated by less important plants. It gave me a chance to eat a large portion of plants - onions, nasturtiums, cucumber roots, a basil, a thyme, a lemon balm. Sort of a weird impromptu salad. It was fun.
Pepper update: I have *one* Sandia pepper sprout, among 12 seeds planted. I'm praying it survives. I have two Thai hots, two Georgia Flames, and a couple others, but peppers are definitely not the winning species at Chez Chick. I overplanted on the seed, with good results for everything else, but not so much with the peppers. I know the germination is supposed to be erratic, but still.
So: several small tomatoes I hope will thrive eventually, plus 4-7 big tomatoes I have high hopes for, plus a few "rescues" that replanted themselves and thus have been allowed to live for awhile. 2 enthusiastic tomatillos. 5-6 eggplants that seem very happy, plus one or two that don't. 6ish peppers, plus rescues. Sage, thyme, lovage, 10ish happy basil plants, 2 sullen holy basils. All in all, not a bad haul. If even 25% of these make out, I should have home-grown tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, and herbs. If they all do, I will have to start sneaking around the farmer's market, dropping eggplants and tomatoes into baby carriages and unattended bags. Next year, I want to start peppers earlier, and tomatoes later. The eggplants have worked out fine.
Interesting note: Cucumber roots have an aftertaste *just like* cucumber. Who knew?
Two 4' shelves seems like a lot of space when you begin planting things, but as the plants expand, the space quickly becomes tighter and tighter. Sacrifices must be made. Up-potting must be done (again). And as in eany good expansion effort, some must give their lives to the cause.
There's the eggplant that the cat ate the first leaves right off of. The Sandia pepper I accidentally brushed with the force of falling water. The tomato I crushed with my elbow. The tomato I forgot that was sandwiched behind the bigger, meaner tomatoes (I'll get to them in a moment) and so, cut off from water and light, shrank to nothing. The cucumber that got caught in a draft on a cold spring night, and remained sullen for weeks - it was just recovering when I ripped it out so I could rescue a pepper from the clutches of the giant tomato plants. An eight-pack of onions, and another of nasturtiums, given for the same cause.
A mass dispersal was necessary because some of my tomatoes have grown large and mean under their pampered conditions. Without the aid of fertilizer, they grew stews thicker than pencils, branches that extended across the lights, and tendrils that shaded out shorter, less aggressive plants - mostly eggplant and pepper, but even some of the smaller tomatoes. These bullies are almost exclusively Fedco heirlooms tomatoes. I don't know if it's the freshness of the seed (most of the other seed was packed for 2006 or 2007), or the variety (Big Mean Bully will be the name of my first created cultivar), or what - I treated these tomatoes exactly the same as the others. To be fair, one of my yellow tomatoes (Giant Yellow Gourmet Stuffer, I think) is also large, but less invasive. My tomatillos are very happy, too, but my peppers and eggplant remain healthy but not enormous. So the shorter plants got moved into space vacated by less important plants. It gave me a chance to eat a large portion of plants - onions, nasturtiums, cucumber roots, a basil, a thyme, a lemon balm. Sort of a weird impromptu salad. It was fun.
Pepper update: I have *one* Sandia pepper sprout, among 12 seeds planted. I'm praying it survives. I have two Thai hots, two Georgia Flames, and a couple others, but peppers are definitely not the winning species at Chez Chick. I overplanted on the seed, with good results for everything else, but not so much with the peppers. I know the germination is supposed to be erratic, but still.
So: several small tomatoes I hope will thrive eventually, plus 4-7 big tomatoes I have high hopes for, plus a few "rescues" that replanted themselves and thus have been allowed to live for awhile. 2 enthusiastic tomatillos. 5-6 eggplants that seem very happy, plus one or two that don't. 6ish peppers, plus rescues. Sage, thyme, lovage, 10ish happy basil plants, 2 sullen holy basils. All in all, not a bad haul. If even 25% of these make out, I should have home-grown tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, and herbs. If they all do, I will have to start sneaking around the farmer's market, dropping eggplants and tomatoes into baby carriages and unattended bags. Next year, I want to start peppers earlier, and tomatoes later. The eggplants have worked out fine.
Interesting note: Cucumber roots have an aftertaste *just like* cucumber. Who knew?
Organic matter should be easier than this
Plot is still not tilled; the worker missed my appointment. I have half the plot covered with leaves; today I'm hoping to finish the job. I have 9 big cart-loads on the plot, which doesn't sound (or look) like much, but by the time I get down the hill, to the mulch pile, load the leaves, and get back up the hill, it's pretty tough. Sometimes the leaves are wet, and that really adds weight.
The plot catty-corner to mine is full of raspberries. And when I say full, I mean full. No-way-in, gouge-out-your-eye full. I met the gardener who gets to deal with that, and she left not ten minutes later, after being poked in the eye and gouged deeply down her arm. I have to admit, I felt a little smug as I bent back down to wrangle the spiny joys of a thistle. (Bull thistle? Canadian thistle? Who knows. Let's just say that I have removed this particular plant three times, and each time is appears, completely whole and hale and bursting with enthusiasm, and bigger than before. The taproot I dug up was a foot long, as big around as my wrist at the top, and still an inch round where it broke off.)
So the plan is to cover the rest of the plot in leaves, and then, if I can stand it, add more. I'm convinced only organic matter can turn my soil into anything worth planting over.
The plot catty-corner to mine is full of raspberries. And when I say full, I mean full. No-way-in, gouge-out-your-eye full. I met the gardener who gets to deal with that, and she left not ten minutes later, after being poked in the eye and gouged deeply down her arm. I have to admit, I felt a little smug as I bent back down to wrangle the spiny joys of a thistle. (Bull thistle? Canadian thistle? Who knows. Let's just say that I have removed this particular plant three times, and each time is appears, completely whole and hale and bursting with enthusiasm, and bigger than before. The taproot I dug up was a foot long, as big around as my wrist at the top, and still an inch round where it broke off.)
So the plan is to cover the rest of the plot in leaves, and then, if I can stand it, add more. I'm convinced only organic matter can turn my soil into anything worth planting over.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Rain . . .
Thunderstorms and rain off and on kept me out of the garden this weekend, and it's happening again today. Grrr. And the changes in barometric pressure have triggered a migraine that has me seriously contemplating this "Egyptian papyrus which describes therapy of migraine by bandaging a clay crocodile with herbs stuffed into its mouth to the head of the patient." Hey, whatever works, right?
And I just looked out the window and it's SNOWING. This means:
1) Ha, ha, woman I saw put tomato plants outside in Wisconsin in April - they are now dead
2) I was right when I said it would snow again before spring was up, and other people (including Wisconsinites who should know better) are wrong.
Ah, that's like a like analgesic right there!
And I just looked out the window and it's SNOWING. This means:
1) Ha, ha, woman I saw put tomato plants outside in Wisconsin in April - they are now dead
2) I was right when I said it would snow again before spring was up, and other people (including Wisconsinites who should know better) are wrong.
Ah, that's like a like analgesic right there!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
So a gardener walks into a plot . . .
Monday I found my plot. For one thing, it's quite a bit smaller than I expected; 14x23', roughly. (Yes, I took my tape measure.) That's about half the size I'd been planning on, so that throws things off. Most of that area I had planned to put in beans and squash, so I have to decide what I'm going to do without. Potatoes, probably, for starters, and much fewer/no carrots and parsnips and other veggies that require loose soil.
My plot's pretty new; it was only cultivated for the first time last year, by people who my neighbor described as "planting a whole bunch of stuff and vanishing." It shows; the remaining stalks showed that something grew last year. I found plastic tags indicating tomatoes and peppers (the boring kind you get from the greenhouse). And there are two onions that somehow survived the winter without protection of any kind. I hate to take them out, but they're in the middle of my planned beds, and I need to dig in stuff around them.
There's a fair amount of junk I need to haul away; bottles, broken plant containers, and random trash. I scratched my arm pretty badly pulling up one of those hideous short green mesh fences with SHARP WIRE EDGES. Thank goodness I remember my last tetanus shot (May 2005) - sometimes travel has peripheral advantages. I took out the worst of the weeds, piled up most of the organic matter from weeds and dead tomatoes on one end of the plot (to be hauled/composted), and dug up a bed approximately 14x2.5'. One wheelbarrow provided ~1 inch of organic matter, and a healthy quantity of worms. I put in a few onions, a sprinkle of forget-me-nots, and a few salad greens.
I'm seriously considering tilling - just once. There can't be that much microlife in the soil now; I found an entirety of one worm in the clay I disturbed. Not a good ratio at all. I've been reading a lot about not tilling, to avoid disturbing the fungi hyphae, which create a giant web throughout the undisturbed soil, doing all sorts of good things for plants and bacteria, but physically loosening and mixing in compost is incredibly difficult work, and I'm not convinced that the bed I "prepared" is properly prepped at all. It should have been better mixed and loosened deeper.
Something bit me, and my arm is now covered in lovely strawberry-pink dots. (I was examining this in class while my prof was lecturing on the dangers of Scarlet Fever, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and other Really Scary Diseases. Allergies pale in comparison to those scary things, but I did spend an unhappy few hours last night wondering why I had neglected to stock my medicine cabinet with hydrocortisone cream. Fun fact: vodka, applied topically, actually helps with the itching. Another fun fact: Just because you enjoy putting your hands in mulch, dirt, and weeds doesn't necessarily mean that's the best idea you ever had.
Also, one Red Ruffled Eggplant is up (barely, as of this morning). This is a Hmong variety, which is appropriate considering the large Hmong population in the area. I really want my Purple Laos to sprout; I haven't given up hope, although I'm beginning to wonder about some of the tomatoes I planted two-three weeks ago. The radish seeds I planted Sunday were up last night; I knew they were fast-sprouting, but that's *awesome*. They're very cute. (And doomed; they're part of my indoor green collection, which is destined to be added to the rice cooker as an American version of Seven-Herb Rice Porridge, a traditional Japanese food for the 7th of January. It's not the 7th of January, of course, but then it's not going to have seven herbs, either.
My plot's pretty new; it was only cultivated for the first time last year, by people who my neighbor described as "planting a whole bunch of stuff and vanishing." It shows; the remaining stalks showed that something grew last year. I found plastic tags indicating tomatoes and peppers (the boring kind you get from the greenhouse). And there are two onions that somehow survived the winter without protection of any kind. I hate to take them out, but they're in the middle of my planned beds, and I need to dig in stuff around them.
There's a fair amount of junk I need to haul away; bottles, broken plant containers, and random trash. I scratched my arm pretty badly pulling up one of those hideous short green mesh fences with SHARP WIRE EDGES. Thank goodness I remember my last tetanus shot (May 2005) - sometimes travel has peripheral advantages. I took out the worst of the weeds, piled up most of the organic matter from weeds and dead tomatoes on one end of the plot (to be hauled/composted), and dug up a bed approximately 14x2.5'. One wheelbarrow provided ~1 inch of organic matter, and a healthy quantity of worms. I put in a few onions, a sprinkle of forget-me-nots, and a few salad greens.
I'm seriously considering tilling - just once. There can't be that much microlife in the soil now; I found an entirety of one worm in the clay I disturbed. Not a good ratio at all. I've been reading a lot about not tilling, to avoid disturbing the fungi hyphae, which create a giant web throughout the undisturbed soil, doing all sorts of good things for plants and bacteria, but physically loosening and mixing in compost is incredibly difficult work, and I'm not convinced that the bed I "prepared" is properly prepped at all. It should have been better mixed and loosened deeper.
Something bit me, and my arm is now covered in lovely strawberry-pink dots. (I was examining this in class while my prof was lecturing on the dangers of Scarlet Fever, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and other Really Scary Diseases. Allergies pale in comparison to those scary things, but I did spend an unhappy few hours last night wondering why I had neglected to stock my medicine cabinet with hydrocortisone cream. Fun fact: vodka, applied topically, actually helps with the itching. Another fun fact: Just because you enjoy putting your hands in mulch, dirt, and weeds doesn't necessarily mean that's the best idea you ever had.
Also, one Red Ruffled Eggplant is up (barely, as of this morning). This is a Hmong variety, which is appropriate considering the large Hmong population in the area. I really want my Purple Laos to sprout; I haven't given up hope, although I'm beginning to wonder about some of the tomatoes I planted two-three weeks ago. The radish seeds I planted Sunday were up last night; I knew they were fast-sprouting, but that's *awesome*. They're very cute. (And doomed; they're part of my indoor green collection, which is destined to be added to the rice cooker as an American version of Seven-Herb Rice Porridge, a traditional Japanese food for the 7th of January. It's not the 7th of January, of course, but then it's not going to have seven herbs, either.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Shopping!
I didn't spend as much money as I expected today, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The weather was gorgeous today, and there were lots of people with the same idea. (Trying to spend money, that is.)
The bamboo canes I bought weren't what I had in mind; they're pretty thin, so I'll see how much bracing is necessary. But I found a very reasonably priced light, so I have space to start a few more seedlings; I'm not sure, but I think it will be a few more peppers, a few more tomatoes, and flowers. Oh, half a flat is now devoted to my apartment nibbling garden; herbs and lettuce for consumption on the premises. We'll see how that goes.
I also thinned most of the plants that double-sprouted; it's disheartening, but I'll be sorry if I don't. Hopefully, I'll have a few more seedlings over the next few days; tomorrow I go to the garden to start laying things out.
The bamboo canes I bought weren't what I had in mind; they're pretty thin, so I'll see how much bracing is necessary. But I found a very reasonably priced light, so I have space to start a few more seedlings; I'm not sure, but I think it will be a few more peppers, a few more tomatoes, and flowers. Oh, half a flat is now devoted to my apartment nibbling garden; herbs and lettuce for consumption on the premises. We'll see how that goes.
I also thinned most of the plants that double-sprouted; it's disheartening, but I'll be sorry if I don't. Hopefully, I'll have a few more seedlings over the next few days; tomorrow I go to the garden to start laying things out.
Seedlings up!
The first seedlings are up - not from the seeds I planted first, under my desk light, but the others - which means that in slightly less than a week, the following have germinated:
-All my sweet basil
- The Turkish Orange Eggplant
- Representatives from each pot of heirloom mix tomatoes
- Probably a piece of Amish Paste (I didn't want to poke it - it's pretty freshly emerged)
- Giant Syrian
- Excellent sprouting of marjoram and thyme (which look more or less identical - it's a good thing I remembered to write everything down.
- One tomatillo
- Both lemon balms
Not a bad showing at all. I'm going to the nursery tomorrow, and plan to pick up "real" seedling trays and fertilizer (among other things), so I'll probably do a little more sowing tomorrow night. Does this mean I should give up on my lamp plants? Probably so; the quality of light under the compact fluorescent may not be good, and I only put one seed per pot, which was a mistake. And there's some pretty happy green algae growth there. It may be time to admit defeat and scrap them. We'll see - I may wait another couple days. I know there will be a point where I feel vindictive enough to dig out the soil and look for sprouting. I just have to wait for it.
Next quandry: pre-sprout anything else? I have quite a few summer flowers, but I could always use more herbs and hot-weather vegetables. I'd like to set up a permanent apartment herb-and-baby-green tray. Hmm. Something to chew over.
Until then, I better go to bed. Tomorrow morning, maybe more things will have sprouted!
Update: One of the desk tomatos heard my threat, and has emerged. Maybe it will survive. Another tomatillo shoot is up - no peppers as of yet. It's really cool how fast the seedlings can emerge; from a little spindly thread of stem to distinct leaves to some of my heirloom mix, which are a good 1.5-2" tall.
-All my sweet basil
- The Turkish Orange Eggplant
- Representatives from each pot of heirloom mix tomatoes
- Probably a piece of Amish Paste (I didn't want to poke it - it's pretty freshly emerged)
- Giant Syrian
- Excellent sprouting of marjoram and thyme (which look more or less identical - it's a good thing I remembered to write everything down.
- One tomatillo
- Both lemon balms
Not a bad showing at all. I'm going to the nursery tomorrow, and plan to pick up "real" seedling trays and fertilizer (among other things), so I'll probably do a little more sowing tomorrow night. Does this mean I should give up on my lamp plants? Probably so; the quality of light under the compact fluorescent may not be good, and I only put one seed per pot, which was a mistake. And there's some pretty happy green algae growth there. It may be time to admit defeat and scrap them. We'll see - I may wait another couple days. I know there will be a point where I feel vindictive enough to dig out the soil and look for sprouting. I just have to wait for it.
Next quandry: pre-sprout anything else? I have quite a few summer flowers, but I could always use more herbs and hot-weather vegetables. I'd like to set up a permanent apartment herb-and-baby-green tray. Hmm. Something to chew over.
Until then, I better go to bed. Tomorrow morning, maybe more things will have sprouted!
Update: One of the desk tomatos heard my threat, and has emerged. Maybe it will survive. Another tomatillo shoot is up - no peppers as of yet. It's really cool how fast the seedlings can emerge; from a little spindly thread of stem to distinct leaves to some of my heirloom mix, which are a good 1.5-2" tall.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
A Taste of Home
From the wonderful, not-updated-enough blog of outsidethebox.comI wrote briefly about my love of peppers and Big Jim chile in particular last week. This week, I happened across a pack of New Mexican chile pepper seeds - not Big Jims, but Sandias. The Sandia Mountains were an integral part of my life until I left New Mexico - I lived in them, oriented by them, saw them everyday . . .
So it's fitting that Sandia would be the cultivar I found. We'll see how it does up north; New Mexico State warns direly that green chile grown outside Hatch (and presumably Las Cruces) is not as good, just as some grape vines are particularly well suited for Italy or California.
It will be hard to do a taste comparison, since I'm unlikely to find anyone with a large propane-fueled chile roaster who will put my freshly roasted chiles in a large garbage sack to haul home. (You non-New Mexicans may think I'm kidding. I'm not.)
In other news, none of my seeds have sprouted. Yes, I know it's only been 8 or 4 days, but I want to see sprouting!
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
I seem to be growing a lot of two kinds of plants – those that are mostly root vegetables, and those that are vines. Part of this is the joy of heirloom gardening; almost all old-school tomatoes are indeterminate (i.e. vining); so are many beans, although there’s a few older bush varieties. Most heirloom peas are tall. Most squash are not bushy.
So lots of my plants go up. I’m a big fan of vines, especially ones you don’t have to tie to things (yes, tomatoes, I’m looking at you). On the other hand, I’m a big fan of less labor, and however you cut it, trellises are labor. Something I’ve been thinking a lot about recently is how to make all that trellising as low labor as possible.
Since I’m not in my own space, I need to use something that can come down at the end of the season (or after I leave/move spaces). Bamboo, according to sources in the know, is relatively cheap. It’s also renewable, light, and comes in long sections. There’s also varieties that grow around here; I doubt that’s the variety in the gardening center/hardware store, but the potential is good. So I’m trying to come up with a way to plant/configure these poles that is aesthetically pleasing, but relatively easy and (most importantly), stable.
The teepee is traditional – three or four poles tied together at the top for climbing beans or squash. I don’t like that the poles will be closest to the paths, while the fruit will be farthest into the row; stretching into masses of scratchy squash leaves for every harvest seems a little more like pain than I like.
Since so many things are going up this year (and hopefully next), I’m considering something more along the lines of this:
which is beautiful and simple. I may try strings on the vertical, especially for the lighter crops. If I’m feeling very ambitious, two of those frames linked together (at the top and/or bottom) would be more stable.
If I’m feeling ambitious at some point, I love the clean look of these designs: http://www.tucsongardener.com/Year02/Spring2002/trellis.htm.
I don’t really want extra tool (drill) but I do like the idea of bolts and wingnuts. It won’t happen this spring, but maybe after my bamboo trellis goes the way of the compost heap.
Also, this is totally the sort of thing I’d pay a handy-person a little extra to put together . . . if there are any starving artists handy with a truck for delivery and a drill, they could make something. (But generally the prices charged are completely out of hand. I don’t need my trellis buffed, polished, painted bright green, or inlaid with butterflies. I just need it upright for a season.)
Monday, April 14, 2008
It's like Magic!
There's a feeling you get after days of looking for the first seed sprouts, and finding only dirt, and then you see a little flash of green - like magic. And then there's the feeling that comes when you realize that it's only green discoloration on your perlite. *sniff* Is it mold? Or fungus? A sign I'm overwatering? But if I don't water, the seeds will dry out.
No seeds up yet. I think the soil isn't quite warm enough; what does the ambient temp need to be to raise soil temp to 70F?
I did swing by the gardens today; it's really too wet to be out there, but there were people working the soil anyway. I hope that works out for them. I'm going to wait another week or so, and hope it dries out some. In the meantime, the gardens are just off the lake, in a really beautiful part of the city. All the ice is off the lake (even up to last week, we had dangerous blue ice - you wouldn't want to be anywhere on it, but the lake was technically iced over).
I scored a few packets of seeds from the boxes (literally) donated by various companies. I love you, various companies! Especially those of you (Heirloom Seeds!) that donated this year's seeds and not just old ones.
It's interesting to see what's there. Of course, I don't know what people donated, but what remains now is:
-No peas to speak of. Either they weren't donated, or they were snapped up. (Ha, ha - get it? Snap peas? Snapped up?)
- Approximately 1 giant box of summer squash seeds, almost all one variety.
- A few beans, mostly yellow wax. (Nothing like equating a bean with ear wax to make me want to plant it.)
- Even less corn, but interesting varieties, including an heirloom blue sweet corn.
- A huge box of flower seeds, mostly marigold, funny sunflowers (ie dwarf or fuzzy or deformed in some way)
- Lots of heirloom tomatos
- Some root crops, including a 5 pound bag of beet seed. I would expect beet seeds to look like turnip seeds, because in my mind they're almost the same crop, but they look really different. Or else the package was mislabeled.
- Plenty of lettuce and endive seeds. No spinach. Maybe 2 arugula. No mustard. Very strange.
I was very restrained - I got a few packs of flowers, and a pack of beans because I loved the packaging. OK, OK, I might have also got some salsify. And sage. And rutabaga. And, all right, I may have a slight issue with the overstocking of seeds, but I can't help it. It could be worse - do you have any idea how expensive art supplies are these days? I am sharing seeds with a co-worker and my neighbor, so it's not completely out of hand. And I gave some pea seeds to someone who was very distraught there weren't any left.
No seeds up yet. I think the soil isn't quite warm enough; what does the ambient temp need to be to raise soil temp to 70F?
I did swing by the gardens today; it's really too wet to be out there, but there were people working the soil anyway. I hope that works out for them. I'm going to wait another week or so, and hope it dries out some. In the meantime, the gardens are just off the lake, in a really beautiful part of the city. All the ice is off the lake (even up to last week, we had dangerous blue ice - you wouldn't want to be anywhere on it, but the lake was technically iced over).
I scored a few packets of seeds from the boxes (literally) donated by various companies. I love you, various companies! Especially those of you (Heirloom Seeds!) that donated this year's seeds and not just old ones.
It's interesting to see what's there. Of course, I don't know what people donated, but what remains now is:
-No peas to speak of. Either they weren't donated, or they were snapped up. (Ha, ha - get it? Snap peas? Snapped up?)
- Approximately 1 giant box of summer squash seeds, almost all one variety.
- A few beans, mostly yellow wax. (Nothing like equating a bean with ear wax to make me want to plant it.)
- Even less corn, but interesting varieties, including an heirloom blue sweet corn.
- A huge box of flower seeds, mostly marigold, funny sunflowers (ie dwarf or fuzzy or deformed in some way)
- Lots of heirloom tomatos
- Some root crops, including a 5 pound bag of beet seed. I would expect beet seeds to look like turnip seeds, because in my mind they're almost the same crop, but they look really different. Or else the package was mislabeled.
- Plenty of lettuce and endive seeds. No spinach. Maybe 2 arugula. No mustard. Very strange.
I was very restrained - I got a few packs of flowers, and a pack of beans because I loved the packaging. OK, OK, I might have also got some salsify. And sage. And rutabaga. And, all right, I may have a slight issue with the overstocking of seeds, but I can't help it. It could be worse - do you have any idea how expensive art supplies are these days? I am sharing seeds with a co-worker and my neighbor, so it's not completely out of hand. And I gave some pea seeds to someone who was very distraught there weren't any left.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Indoor Planting, Part Deux - The Reckoning
It is still wet, so all gardening is happening indoors.
Today, I finally got my shop lights set up. One sort of exploded and tripped the circuit breaker. Good thing I didn't wait until night to try this project out. So I now have one four-foot long light, which hums reassuringly when it's on. My cat enjoys lying on the shelf above it and purring with it, which is very cute.
For all of you without easy access to a car, extra cash, or a greenhouse, allow me to introduce you to the wonder that is Gladware. Pop your mini-peat pots in there, water, and you have a very portable, bus-friendly, water-proof, clear (so you can see the water levels), markable (for those seed names), and easily obtainable (people throw them out/leave them behind all the time) container. Using various plastic containers, I can fit 35 pots under my one light, which I think is quite adequate for now. In fact, it works out just about right.
Some of my seeds have gone walking, including my much-anticipated Georgia Flame pepper seeds and my fractal broccoli. I have no idea where they could be, but I hope they show up soon. I'm saving a couple pots for my Georgia Flames. (Come back!)
Also, Fedco sent me a pack of mixed heirloom tomato seeds. I love a good mystery, and so it's hard not to plant them. There are no clues as to what's in the mix - the website says "You’d love to be adventurous and try them all but you haven’t space for that many tomato plants? Or can’t make up your mind which ones to select? Here’s the solution: Skip the fuss and leave the choosing to us! We’ll mix together a bunch of varieties (all organically grown seed) in one packet. You’ll get different colors, sizes, shapes and flavors. All you’ll need is an open mind, a good sense of observation, unjaded taste buds and acute deductive faculties. Then you can figure out which ones you like and order them by name next year." I know this would drive some people nuts, but I love it, and appreciate the thought (what, not everyone wants to buy individual packs of every variety?). There are 31 varieties of heirloom tomatoes on their website, though, so you have to be a *really* good investigator. Or lucky.
Anyway, 35 pots is enough for: 1 eggplant of each variety, 2 Thai peppers, 1 each of other varieties, 2 tomatillos, 9 tomatos (I know, I know, but did you read the paragraph about mystery seeds?), a thyme, a rosemary, a lavender, a marjoram, 2 lemon balm (1 for the garden, 1 for the patio/indoors), 3 sweet basil, 2 thai basil, a mint (for the patio), and a couple empty pots for replants/rediscovered seeds. Not, as one garden book suggests, lettuce. (Hint: any plant you can consume in less than 3 weeks from planting goes outdoors.) Nor, I'm afraid, cabbage or broccoli. They'll just have to tough it out with the other plants.
Today, I finally got my shop lights set up. One sort of exploded and tripped the circuit breaker. Good thing I didn't wait until night to try this project out. So I now have one four-foot long light, which hums reassuringly when it's on. My cat enjoys lying on the shelf above it and purring with it, which is very cute.
For all of you without easy access to a car, extra cash, or a greenhouse, allow me to introduce you to the wonder that is Gladware. Pop your mini-peat pots in there, water, and you have a very portable, bus-friendly, water-proof, clear (so you can see the water levels), markable (for those seed names), and easily obtainable (people throw them out/leave them behind all the time) container. Using various plastic containers, I can fit 35 pots under my one light, which I think is quite adequate for now. In fact, it works out just about right.
Some of my seeds have gone walking, including my much-anticipated Georgia Flame pepper seeds and my fractal broccoli. I have no idea where they could be, but I hope they show up soon. I'm saving a couple pots for my Georgia Flames. (Come back!)
Also, Fedco sent me a pack of mixed heirloom tomato seeds. I love a good mystery, and so it's hard not to plant them. There are no clues as to what's in the mix - the website says "You’d love to be adventurous and try them all but you haven’t space for that many tomato plants? Or can’t make up your mind which ones to select? Here’s the solution: Skip the fuss and leave the choosing to us! We’ll mix together a bunch of varieties (all organically grown seed) in one packet. You’ll get different colors, sizes, shapes and flavors. All you’ll need is an open mind, a good sense of observation, unjaded taste buds and acute deductive faculties. Then you can figure out which ones you like and order them by name next year." I know this would drive some people nuts, but I love it, and appreciate the thought (what, not everyone wants to buy individual packs of every variety?). There are 31 varieties of heirloom tomatoes on their website, though, so you have to be a *really* good investigator. Or lucky.
Anyway, 35 pots is enough for: 1 eggplant of each variety, 2 Thai peppers, 1 each of other varieties, 2 tomatillos, 9 tomatos (I know, I know, but did you read the paragraph about mystery seeds?), a thyme, a rosemary, a lavender, a marjoram, 2 lemon balm (1 for the garden, 1 for the patio/indoors), 3 sweet basil, 2 thai basil, a mint (for the patio), and a couple empty pots for replants/rediscovered seeds. Not, as one garden book suggests, lettuce. (Hint: any plant you can consume in less than 3 weeks from planting goes outdoors.) Nor, I'm afraid, cabbage or broccoli. They'll just have to tough it out with the other plants.
Monday, April 7, 2008
"Capsicum." It rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Not like "Solanaceae," which is simultaneously hard to pronounce and sounds like a variety of cancer. Capsicum is upbeat, punchy, pithy. And we could all use a bit more pithiness in our lives.
Capsicum includes both hot and sweet peppers, and as far as genus rivalries go, vies with allium (onion, garlic, shallots) for best flavoring group ever. I don't care much about sweet peppers, but hot peppers are essential.
Wisconsin is a land of plenty in many ways. We have master cheesemakers. We have beautiful herds of cows. We have corn and soy, and brats. (Not to mention beer, oh best beloved.) However, spice is not something that is common. In restaurants, I ask for 5-star hotness, and assure the waitresses that, really, I want it hot. If I'm lucky, what arrives produces a moderate tingle. Even in Thai restaurants, one of the places I've generally assumed to be free of mid-Western understandings of heat, where spicy = Tobasco.
What's even more amazing is that we have immigrants; Madison, at least, has Korean, Thai, Hmong, and other heat-loving palates.
So what's in the garden and market becomes even more valuable as the source of vital heat.
The farmer's market, of course, has peppers. There is, in fact, a pepper stall. (My favorite bit is that the mild and sweet chocolate peppers sit next to the habañeros of fire without any sort of distinction, as though inviting innocent Wisconsin market goers to choose. It's like the lady and the tiger, but botanical.) And the little finger-long Thai peppers are ubiquitous, and can be brilliantly hot, like biting into lightbulb.
So why worry? In Wisconsin's short season, wouldn't it be better to grow things you can't get in the market?
Peppers taste different, for one thing. Try replacing New Mexican green chile with a Thai version of similar heat, and the taste just isn't the same. I think this is one of the things that marks fake Mexican food so distinctly - making the jalapeño the sole source of heat, instead of one of a constellation of flavors. And there are subtleties in flavor, too. Big Jim is my favorite New Mexican pepper, good enough that I can forgive it for being the biggest type of New Mexican chile (biggest usually is not a bonus in my book), for being a latecomer (1975!) and for the horrifying appelation "NuMex Big Jim." (It's the Nu that is really irritating.) I almost placed a separate order for it this year; common sense won out, but next year, it's going in. Also: Dear market gardeners of Wisconsin, please grow and roast New Mexican chile for me, because I am tired of going through airport security with frozen bags of chile and cold packs. Thank you.
This year I have six options for peppers.
Balloon Pepper - little funky-shaped peppers that look a bit like off-color habaneros to me
Candlelight Pepper - the narrow, finger-length peppers so common in the market - gorgeous.
Georgia Flame Pepper - not from the south but from Georgia-near-Russia. Supposedly hot and good for salsa. Hopefully also good for drying and adding to things.
Thai Hot Pepper - another small peppered plant, hot and gorgeous. I may have this confused with candlelight peppers - the pictures are pretty similar.
Tobago Seasoning Pepper - supposedly "mild", whatever that means, although Seed Savers also thinks it's "variable." (Yay!)
Wenk's Yellow Hots - how could I not, after this line? Seed Savers: "Grown by the late Erris Wenk, one of the last large local truck farmers in Albuquerque's South Valley." Hey, I've been there! How could I not plant these? RIP, Erris. Marked as both medium hot and hot. Supposedly good from canning and pickling, neither of which I've done before.
So, knowing that I have options, I really only need a plant for trial of Balloon, Candlelight, and Thai Hot. (That means I'll plant 2-3, because I'm perverse like that. Also, things die.) Georgia Flame is the one I want lots of - the peppers look very ristra-y, which means they may dry well. Or not.
Either way, I'll have options for my endorphin high, which is excellent, because cayenne is getting really boring.
Capsicum includes both hot and sweet peppers, and as far as genus rivalries go, vies with allium (onion, garlic, shallots) for best flavoring group ever. I don't care much about sweet peppers, but hot peppers are essential.
Wisconsin is a land of plenty in many ways. We have master cheesemakers. We have beautiful herds of cows. We have corn and soy, and brats. (Not to mention beer, oh best beloved.) However, spice is not something that is common. In restaurants, I ask for 5-star hotness, and assure the waitresses that, really, I want it hot. If I'm lucky, what arrives produces a moderate tingle. Even in Thai restaurants, one of the places I've generally assumed to be free of mid-Western understandings of heat, where spicy = Tobasco.
What's even more amazing is that we have immigrants; Madison, at least, has Korean, Thai, Hmong, and other heat-loving palates.
So what's in the garden and market becomes even more valuable as the source of vital heat.
The farmer's market, of course, has peppers. There is, in fact, a pepper stall. (My favorite bit is that the mild and sweet chocolate peppers sit next to the habañeros of fire without any sort of distinction, as though inviting innocent Wisconsin market goers to choose. It's like the lady and the tiger, but botanical.) And the little finger-long Thai peppers are ubiquitous, and can be brilliantly hot, like biting into lightbulb.
So why worry? In Wisconsin's short season, wouldn't it be better to grow things you can't get in the market?
Peppers taste different, for one thing. Try replacing New Mexican green chile with a Thai version of similar heat, and the taste just isn't the same. I think this is one of the things that marks fake Mexican food so distinctly - making the jalapeño the sole source of heat, instead of one of a constellation of flavors. And there are subtleties in flavor, too. Big Jim is my favorite New Mexican pepper, good enough that I can forgive it for being the biggest type of New Mexican chile (biggest usually is not a bonus in my book), for being a latecomer (1975!) and for the horrifying appelation "NuMex Big Jim." (It's the Nu that is really irritating.) I almost placed a separate order for it this year; common sense won out, but next year, it's going in. Also: Dear market gardeners of Wisconsin, please grow and roast New Mexican chile for me, because I am tired of going through airport security with frozen bags of chile and cold packs. Thank you.
This year I have six options for peppers.
Balloon Pepper - little funky-shaped peppers that look a bit like off-color habaneros to me
Candlelight Pepper - the narrow, finger-length peppers so common in the market - gorgeous.
Georgia Flame Pepper - not from the south but from Georgia-near-Russia. Supposedly hot and good for salsa. Hopefully also good for drying and adding to things.
Thai Hot Pepper - another small peppered plant, hot and gorgeous. I may have this confused with candlelight peppers - the pictures are pretty similar.
Tobago Seasoning Pepper - supposedly "mild", whatever that means, although Seed Savers also thinks it's "variable." (Yay!)
Wenk's Yellow Hots - how could I not, after this line? Seed Savers: "Grown by the late Erris Wenk, one of the last large local truck farmers in Albuquerque's South Valley." Hey, I've been there! How could I not plant these? RIP, Erris. Marked as both medium hot and hot. Supposedly good from canning and pickling, neither of which I've done before.
So, knowing that I have options, I really only need a plant for trial of Balloon, Candlelight, and Thai Hot. (That means I'll plant 2-3, because I'm perverse like that. Also, things die.) Georgia Flame is the one I want lots of - the peppers look very ristra-y, which means they may dry well. Or not.
Either way, I'll have options for my endorphin high, which is excellent, because cayenne is getting really boring.
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