Looking Ahead: The Garden to Come

On Sunday night, we received a fresh 6 inches of snow. It hasn't been an especially snowy winter around here, but it seems the more the snow stacks up, the more a little green sprout of an idea that it's time to start thinking of spring and gardens grows inside of me.

 Somewhere, underneath all of that are a couple raised beds.

Although we're nearly two months away from starting seeds, the seed catalogs have been piling up in the mailbox since just after Christmas. Those early bird seed catalogs have been destined for the recycling bin where I toss them without even rifling through their pages a single time. When a neighbor called last month to ask when he should start his seeds, I realized I hadn't thought about this coming summer's gardens at all.

To be honest, last September kind of kicked the stuffing out of me -- what with the working 6-7 days a week and dealing with a seemingly endless green bean harvest -- and I've been taking the gardening off-season very seriously this year. As much as I enjoy using last summer's produce in the kitchen all winter long, including the aforementioned  3+ gallons of blanched green beans (so good when sauteed in olive oil with onions, lots of pepper and a splash of vinegar), it'll be a few weeks before I'm ready to meticulously plan out the vegetable gardens and place my seed order.   

For now I'm content with grabbling over the big garden decisions in my mind. Should we expand the gardens yet again this summer or we content ourselves with the existing infrastructure, which would make the gardening a much more economical endeavor? Is it time to throw the towel in on growing onions? What about potatoes? Andy swears he lost sleep over the potatoes last year and although growing potatoes in straw did result in a delicious (if not paltry) harvest, I have to admit poking through the straw to check on the potatoes and finding salamanders living in the potato bed was not my most favorite experience.  (I may be woodsy, but a girl has her limits.) 

As these February days pass, I know I'll greet the seed catalogs in the mailbox with increasing enthusiasm. Soon I'll fill notebook pages with garden diagrams and lists of seeds to order. They say hope is for fools, but we gardeners are always rewarded for our patience and perseverance during the winter with that first little sprout poking through the cold, spring soil.

Are you thinking spring and gardens yet?

 

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How Does Your Garden Grow? Early May 2012

We're having a bluebird blue, beautiful sunny day today. Andy and I took a paddle down the lake this afternoon and as we pulling into the cabin bay, I felt the wind on my back and the sun in my hair. This past week was especially dark and drizzly, but the happy result of all of that chilly dampness is that the leaves on all of the shrubs and trees have popped open in the last couple days. With temps in the lower 70s, I felt like I should be going home to pick some tomatoes off the plants for a batch of homemade salsa.

Of course, it is only the second week of May, so we've got a long wait yet before there are fresh, homegrown tomatoes to be had. But here's what I wake up to each morning:

The tomatoes are currently in the stage where they double in size every week, but I'm hoping I can keep them in their yogurt containers until they get put out in their permanent homes on the deck.

I've mentioned the new raised beds we built earlier this spring a couple times, but I never posted a picture. Here they are:

The sun was so bright today that it's kind of hard to see what growing in the one raised. It's garlic that I transplanted about a week ago from the large raised bed. To be honest, the garlic's not looking so good right now. The tips of the outer leaves have all gone yellow. I'm hoping it's just adjusting to its new home!

Last night, Andy and I planted a big pile of hay and compost:

Actually, there are seed potatoes underneath that mess. We're attempting the Stout potato growing method where you just set the seed potatoes on the ground and then they grow up through the straw. *fingers crossed* (Please don't let this turn into one big slug haven!)

Our stealth rhubarb (in the far left hand corner) is bigger than it ever was last year, but I have a feeling we're not going to be having too many rhubarb pies compliments of this patch. It's still so teeny compared to every other patch of rhubarb I've seen so far this year. Who wants to barter their rhubarb for some of my homemade jam?!

But just look at these beautiful salad greens!

The greens were planted back when we had that warm snap in March and they've been chugging away in the cold frame ever since. I predict homegrown salad before Memorial Day! 

How does your garden grow?
 

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Garden Envy. Garden Lust.

Gardening really is an addiction. One you get that first, sweet taste of gardening success, you just want more and more.

They really should put warning signs on seed packets. You know, something in big bold letters like "This is only the beginning!" or "Slippery slope ahead!" or "For the love of your wallet, don't plant this!" If they'd done that, maybe I wouldn't have a cabin brimming with houseplants and a perpetual scheme in the back of my mind about how to expand my gardening space in the backyard.

Warning signs or no, I'm a goner by this time. 

Each summer I convince myself that I finally have just the right amount of gardening space. After we put in the large-ish raised bed last summer, I was sure I had plenty of gardening space to keep myself content until we move onto bigger, green pastures (aka, some place where the septic mound doesn't take up all the good planting spaces).  But then the new raised bed was super successful, which only inspired more great ideas for garden expansion.

It kind of defeats the purpose of gardening to be thrifty when you just keep buying more and more bags of top soil, manure, and peat moss. Somehow, there's never compost to go around and I'm always in need of more large pots and building equipment for raised beds.

But then, I always keep stumbling upon something I just have to grow. Here are some fruits and veggies I'm currently lusting after:

Asparagus: 

I love asparagus and we've been eating a lot of it this spring. But each time I throw a bundle of asparagus grown in Central or South America, I suffer terrible locavore pangs. After all, it is a vegetable that we're perfectly capable of growing in the Northwoods and if I simply waited until it was in season in these parts, I could enjoy all sorts of locally sourced asparagus. So why not grow it myself?

As one of just two perennial vegetables (the other is rhubarb), asparagus takes a couple years to establish itself and because it doesn't offer instant gratification (or as instant as any vegetable can offer) I worry that we will have perhaps moved on before we can actually enjoy the asparagus.  The bed would also require special insulation during the winter months and of course, we'd have to built another asparagus bed to house the patch. . .

Strawberries: 

Another source of locavore guilt. I buy far too many strawberries that hail from California. There are plenty of pick-your-own strawberry farms just over the border in Ontario, but when the strawberries ripen in mid-July, I'm too overwhelmed with summer mayhem to make the two-hour trip up to one of these farms. Which makes me want to grow my own so badly.   

But they're kind of a pain to grow (or so I'm told) and I don't think they'd like a raised bed much, since they're pretty susceptible to frost damage. I'd have to figure out some way to make some sort of an embedded patch for them and we just don't have much top soil to play around here.

Potatoes:  

I might just have figured out away to grow potatoes this year. Our growing space has been too limited in the past years to give potatoes the garden real estate they need. But I think we might have some success with potatoes if we grow them using the Stout method.

We recently moved all the soil out of the roadside garden into a new raised bed and I think we'll try to put down a layer of compost in the new empty space, then throw down some seed potatoes, and cover them with mulch and maybe a layer of top soil, just to make the garden a little more presentable to passersby. What the heck, eh?

What veggies and fruits do you have a hankering to grow this year?

 

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Sowing and Socks (But not sewing socks)

I fell asleep last night to the pitter-pat of rainfall on the roof. While I'm no fan of sleeping through thunderstorms, I think the sound of a gentle rain is one of the loveliest sounds there is, a sweet, happy tinkling herald of spring and regrowth.

I always welcome a good rainy day, but we're especially grateful for rainfall this spring. After a low snow year, we need plenty of moisture to help the woods green up and to keep the forest fire danger down.

After last night's rainfall, the ice in the bay looks like it's seriously thinking about shipping out for the season. The ice is already out on some of the larger lakes up here, making it the earliest ice out up here ever. We're beating the prior earliest ice out dates by nearly three weeks. Yowzers!

The rain inspired more action outside today. I found a trio of sprouts out and about the yard this afternoon:

From left to right: lettuce sprouting in the cold frame, the first rhubarb nubs poking up (please let these be productive this year; otherwise I will have to barter homemade jam for rhubarb - I can't go two springs without it!), and garlic shoots. Last year, none of these guys were poking up until the end of April.

While Mother Nature is getting way ahead of herself this year, I'm planning to stay right on schedule with my seed starting schedule. I figure if I start things way ahead of time just because right now it feels like the end of May, we'll probably end up with a series of killing frosts when it actually is the end of May. (Hey, I never said I was an optimist.)

I'm not getting any more adventurous with this warm weather than starting a pot of lettuce in the cold frame because, frankly, I'm not terribly attached to the lettuce. Sure, it would be swell to have a fresh lettuce salad in the middle of April, but I'm not going to be too heartbroken if my little lettuce sprouts succumb to some unforeseen disaster in the next few weeks. Since spinach likes cool weather so well, I may start some spinach too because, well, same thing, I don't care too much if it flops. 

For things I don't have such a laissez-faire attitude towards - i.e. my tomatoes, peppers, basil, etc -- I'll be keeping them inside until late April at the earliest. Better safe than sorry.

Last night the UPS man delivered the pack of seeding starting mix and the last seeds I needed for this season, so tomorrow I'll be clearing off the kitchen table, turning on weekend NPR, and getting the first set of seeds planted. I'm planning to stagger my planting a bit more this year so I don't have nine kohlrabi that all want to be eaten at the same time this summer.

Here's what's getting sown tomorrow:

• Tomatoes (Early Girl, Brandywine, and Yellow Pear Cherry) 
• Jalapenos 
• Bell peppers 
• Herbs (Parsley, Sweet Basil, Thai Basil)
• Broccoli (first planting of three) 
• Cabbage (first planting of three) 
• Kohlrabi (first planting of three) 

I should start some flowers tomorrow too, but I honestly haven't put much thought into those.  All of our prime growing real estate (that is to say: sunny spots) in the backyard are devoted to veggies, so our flower beds tend to be rather sad and scraggly. In a twist of ultimate irony, I spent my pre-gardening days longing for a flower garden, but now devote most of my energy to vegetables while Andy, who initially wanted to grow vegetables, tends to the flowers. I will for sure start some nicotiana tomorrow because it smells so very lovely on summer evenings. As for the other flowers I'll start, who knows, eh.

Other weekend plans include finishing up this little sock's mate:

If you're looking closely, yes the top ribbing is a different color. I used little bits of leftover yarn for the ribbing to make this a true stash busting project. This is my first toe-up sock and I have to say, it was a revelation; no blasted kitchener stitch! That said, although I like the appearance of the toe much better than I do on my leg-down socks, I don't particularly like appearance of the heel when handled with increases instead of decreases. However, the fact that I have more control over how much yarn I use is great for when I have limited amounts of yarn at my disposal because I can stop knitting at any point on leg. That means things like this can't happen: 

Remember those frilly anklets I started back in January? Where I ran out of yarn halfway through the second sock? The yarn I need to finish up that forgotten little sock went on sale this week (you didn't think I'd pay full price for it, did you?) and with any luck, the yarn will arrive tomorrow.  Maybe this weekend will end with two new pairs of woolen socks. . . .

And to those of you (ahem, Mollie) who kindly suggested I just finish up the sock with orange yarn, I'm sorry to say that I am a wimpy, unadventurous knitter who ordered more matching turquoise yarn to finish the anklet. I am boring.

Have you started seeds for the season? What are your weekend plans?

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Wordless Wednesday: How Does Your Garden Grow?

No silver bells or cockle shells to be seen, but the little gardens have been growing, growing, growing since their move out to their permanent summer homes.

Onions in the foreground, then cabbage, kohlrabi, broccoli, and various squash plants

Zucchini with sunflowers in the background

Tomato blossoms

Tomato Escalade is turning into a jungle!

Happy Wednesday and happy growing!

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Transplanting

Yesterday, we had a break in the drizzly, cool weather and I managed to sandwich transplanting all seedlings into their forever homes of raised beds and flower pots around a full work day. This meant changing into my grubby clothes twice in one day, but really, it had to be done. 

I know half of you have had your gardens in for at least two weeks so least you think I'm a slacker, let me assure you that around here we don't dare plant outside until Memorial Day weekend. June 1 is pretty much the unofficial "it probably won't freeze again until September" date. Then again, it might freeze on July 4. You've got to keep your head on a swivel in these parts.

And this shall be dubbed "Salsa Escalade" (Peppers, tomatoes and tomatillos)

I've been feeling a bit transplanted myself lately. The whole return to work thing has turned my weekly schedules and daily routines upside down. While I know I should feel like the transplanted seedlings, all refreshed with a cool drink of water and ready to spread out my roots, the truth is that I feel more like I've gone from my roomy home in the raised bed and am now trying to shove myself back into a seed starting tray. Just . . . not.  . .quite . . . enough . . . room.

Hmmm, they looked bigger when they were in their trays. (Broccoli, kohlrabi, cabbage; zucchini and squash in the plastic bottle "cloches")

It's the time of the year when both my successes and my failures become a little more obvious to the entire world. Plants that have been nurtured along all spring get put out in the elements, where they'll either thrive or flop. (I've already managed to kill off one basil plant.) We'll see just how much the plants really like the "soil" (a mixture of sand, peat moss, top soil and humus and manure) we placed in the new raised bed garden. And we'll see how long I can maintain perpetual busy-ness before I just want to curl up in a ball in bed.

Sometimes I forget that transplanting is an adjustment period for both me and the plants. It's a shock to suddenly find ourselves submerged in brand-new surroundings we're supposed to feel instantly at home in. "But this place is a little shadier than where I've come from," we think. "I'm not sure if this soil is quite ready for us."  

Onions, garlic, carrots, radishes, herbs, and mystery plant

But with plenty of water and a bit of sunshine, this will all be feeling like everyday in no time.

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Planting Seeds in the Cruelest Month

First sprout up: basil

T.S. Eliot betrayed his Midwestern roots when he wrote in the Modernist poem The Waste Land: “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”

April, if you live in northern Minnesota, is a good time of year to not be at home. Around here, the month brings lingering ice, lurking snow banks and April showers that come in the form of snow. Meanwhile, mud season makes a bold entrance, so that even as Old Man Winter refuses to give up his icy grip over the land, mud splatters pant legs and dirt get dragged indoors on shoe soles and ground into the rugs. Vacuuming becomes a twice daily chore and during the slow melt that is April, even snow grows dirty.

Throw in Tax Day and we’ve got a rip roarin’ good time up here this month.

It probably comes as no surprise after that flattering description that I try to spend as much of April away from the Ol’ North Woods as possible. Last year saw Andy and I jetting off to the Pacific Northwest and I followed that up with a reunion trip to NYC. This year I’m headed to . . . maybe the Twin Cities for a weekend?

As you might imagine, attempting to avoid an entire month is a rather expensive proposition and this year, the old wallet wasn’t up to the task.

But I’ve been planting seeds.

The very end of March and early April mark the prime time for starting the summer vegetables and flowers. Because I’m usually gone during this span of time, my seeds usually get started closer to the first week of May and those seedlings are pretty piddly and sad when it comes time for outside planting. This year, the seeds got started right on schedule.

As I planted my tomatoes, peppers, broccoli, cauliflowers and flowers Saturday I was reminded of the uncertainty that surrounds every thing we do. The directions on the little Jiffy greenhouses I purchases told me to put two to three in each little seed pod. There’s no knowing which seeds will germinate and from the seeds that do sprout, which ones will weather the transplanting into the garden and of those, which of those will produce. I tried to get nicotiana planted in the pods, the seeds so teeny they seemed to disappear on my finger tips and thought, “it’s a miracle these can amount to anything noticeable at all.”

In the misty, grey chill that is April, ennui tends to be the prevailing emotion. But if I’m going to spend the whole accursed month up here, then I might as well commit to getting 1000 words written on the current novel in progress each morning before anything else happens. Unless I keep planting seeds, I can’t expect anything to grow and blossom in the warmer months to come.

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I Will Buy You A Garden

“I made you something,” Andy said when I got back to the Shack on Sunday. Cranky from my five-hour drive back from the Twin Cities and feeling (somewhat melodramatically) as though I’d arrived up at the very end of the world, I raised my eyebrow.

“Yeah? What?” I asked.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe, a necklace made out of bubble gum wrappers?

It turned out to be a lot better than a bubble gum wrapper necklace.

While I gallivanted in New York City, Andy constructed a raised garden bed at the cabin where we’ll be spending the summer. My mother gave me some flower seeds for my birthday in March and at the time, I didn’t know quite what to do with the seeds. While I’ve been dreaming of a garden all winter, the Shack is located in a shady valley that doesn’t appear particularly agriculturally viable. But my new summer job has lead to shift in residencies for the summer where the raised bed Andy built as well as the pre-existing terraced beds with warrant plenty of digging in the dirt this summer.

Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.

Now that the means exist to have a bit of a garden, we’re faced with the dilemma of deciding what to plant. Although it’ll still be awhile before any seedlings can be put out in the garden, we’re a little behind on starting seedlings. I really don’t want to bite off more than we can chew when it comes to garden maintenance, so I want to be as smart about this project as possible. One of my concerns is that the garden is as sustainable as possible.

Gardening seems the ultimate sustainable act, but gardening can generate a ton of largely unusable plastic waste. Just think of all the dinky little plastic 4/6-pack containers you accumulate on a trip to the greenhouse. Molly over at the Snyder 5 has a great idea on how to use egg cartons to start seedlings: Composting for Newbies. That’s so smart! I need to pick up some potting soil from my parents’ house tomorrow and then I plan to start a batch of flowers in an egg carton tomorrow evening.

We plopped a few tulip bulbs – excess favors from coworkers’ wedding last September – in the perennial garden last fall. Like most things you “plop” in the ground, I promptly forgot about them. So it’s fun to see all three tulips poking up now.

I have a cold, probably just travel fatigue catching up with me. We’re also in the process of moving out of the Shack for the summer. Our bedroom currently looks like a suitcase vomited in it and my desk space is a teetering cityscape of notebook towers and paperclip ponds. I should spend the evening organizing, but I’m more keen to plant my sweet pea seeds in the far corner of the raised bed.

I’ve gotten back to work. I have some calls out for an article that needs to be done by the end of the week and as long as I actually get some calls back, I think it has potential to be a really good article. I’m also in the process of setting up some interviews for my radio project and my current priority needs to be hammering out a draft of a commentary.

Speaking of commentaries, here’s my recent effort.

A college colleague got in touch with me yesterday regarding a freelance opportunity for the website he edits. My interest is piqued, but I need more details before I make a commitment to any more work.

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