Live blogging the NCAA Championship

Well, sort of.

See, there are two parts to married life. The first is proximity. Example: after dinner, Erik and I are sitting on the couch together. The second is compromise. Example two: 'we' are watching basketball. But not just any game -- a 'very important' game, I am reminded.

So I'm going to live blog about what I'm thinking about, which is about how I just planted a crazy amount of asparagus, or what the seed company promises will someday be asparagus.

Because right now, it looks like a 3-day dead squid:

Ah, this just in: "Butler knocking down threes like crazy from way outside the line to go up one."

I have no idea what that means.

Back to asparagus.

So it arrived in a box today with the strawberries we ordered. Our plan was to plant 4 little squares of asparagus, and allow that to become the permanent asparagus stand. But as you can see, we had quite a few of these little roots (or 'crowns' as they're called).

Game time interruption: something just happened in slow motion involving an orange ball and about 4 armpits.

So instead of 4 squares, we cleared 6 and decided to plant the rest in the back garden.

Time out; Duke. 2:40 to go in the half.

We dug down about 6-8 inches and placed the crowns kinda far apart (but not as far as the direction sheet recommended), and fanned the roots out.

Interruption: apparently, there's a button on our remote control that freezes the image on the TV. Amazing.

Then we covered them up with dirt. Yay.

Going to the half - a one point game. Many cheerleaders.

I scooped up the rest of the crowns and assessed the back garden.

In my digging, I encountered what could only be buried treasure simply because it was too big for me to dig out myself. Intrigued, Erik came along with his shovel to help.

We figured out what it was: a concrete footer for an old fence. But it left an astounding hole, perfect for me to sit in.

(That's my impression of a spring bulb. A 'tulip,' to be exact.)

And the sun went down, so I worked fast. Here they are - planted.

Apparently, it's still halftime, so they keep showing spirited and informative segments about how fabulous these teams are. And still more slow motion and color commentary. Lots of mentioning about how "hard these guys work."

Strawberries have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid. I leave you with some pretty tidbits to give you a sense of how the garden grows.

Chard (overwintered):

Lettuces (various types):

Kale (Lacinato):

Spinach:

And my perennial favorite:

Game's tied. Wait, no, now 36-38. Wait, no - tied again.

I'm going to bed. Y'all are just going to have to watch the game yourselves.

Plans becoming plants (and chickens)

Yay!

Today was a 'makin' things happen' day. Erik and I went to our local Agway (more on that in a minute) to get supplies for our chicks, who are coming on Thursday, March 4 or so, and also some extra plant-starting stuff. I'll tell you, one of the challenging things about doing this urban agriculture stuff is that it's so in vogue and in style these days that most of the places that cater to urban gardeners are over-priced, shi-shi boutiqu-ie type places. No joke - I can buy a decent latte at my local garden outlet, but the prices I pay make me feel like a fool. So now that I'm in the market for chicken feed (and organic chicken feed, at that), I have to do some serious pecking here in metro Boston to find a decent and reasonably priced supplier.

Found one!

Agway in Waltham. Annoyingly, though, they have zero online presence. You can't search their stock online or even view a website. All you can find is this google link with an address and phone number. But take it from me - it's a great value, the staff is super friendly and helpful, and you can find anything you need for pretty heavy-duty gardening and basic livestock needs.

So when we get the chickies, they'll need oodles of TLC. They can't regulate their own body temperature for a while, so they have to be raised in a brooder - a small, protected area that can be heated to body temperature (about 100 degrees), protected from drafts and from (most importantly in our household) our cat. A proper reinforced brooder can cost in the hundreds, so Erik took matters into his own hands:

He's constructed a basic brooder that will house our 5 buff orpington pullets (young female chickens) from age 1-day through 5 or so weeks.

Here are his architectural sketches:

He designed it to be tall enough and wide enough to hold five 5-week old pullets (which is about how old they'll be before graduating to their next home). The height is about 20", which is the height the heat lamp needs to be to produce a 100-degree reading at floor level.

This simple brooder is constructed from chicken wire and plain wooden stakes.

Then they'll move up and out into the larger world, and into their henhouse, which I've decided needs to be called the Nunnery.

Meanwhile, I sorted seeds and started the varieties that will need to get an indoor head start.

Started in pots are: tons of basil, marigolds, fennel, kale, tomatoes, ground cherries, all sorts of flowers, chives, cilantro, eggplant, and I forget what else.

Oh, I planted directly into pots that will decompose when planted in the ground. For the last two years, I've struggled with transplant shock - the crashing that happens to my fragile seedling starts when I rip them from their nursery container and plant them naked in the ground. This year, I decided to try this method, which seems to me to be kinder and gentler on developing root systems. Of course, it's alway important to harden off the seedlings (expose them gradually to the elements) before setting them out permanently.

Tomorrow or the next day, I'll direct seed the beets, carrots and spinach in the cold frames.

Seeds they are a-comin'!

Seeds!


Here they are!! Some have already arrived. Now I have to figure out what to start early indoors and what to put out in the cold frames. I'm thinking the two kales are going to be early pioneers this year.

Oh, before I forget, do NOT plant beans and beets next to each other. I did this last year and wondered why both crops were so puny - apparently they inhibit each other's growth! Who knew?

Seed you later...

(Oh, and if you want to do some good online ordering, I recommend www.seedsavers.org and www.burpee.com. Those are the two I used.)

First Planting of 2009!

Let the growing season begin!!!

During an unseasonably warm afternoon yesterday, I seized the torch of optimism and sprinkled the first seeds. Here's short video I did about my planning and process. Hope you enjoy! (And yes, I know my outfit is ridiculous.)

If you're interested, or could use it, here's the planning template I designed. Feel free to use it!

Garden Porn ("Winter vs. two but's" final installment)

The mailman came the other week and delivered a fantasy. The seed catalog is 98 pages of wishful thinking and undreamed-of self confidence. Gorgeous images of vegetables - voluptuous, dewy and thrown together in opulent piles - promise themselves to me, if only I am skilled enough.

There's the rub. The produce is one sort of taunt, the obvious one. But the real fantasy here is that I could be the sort of master gardener to coax these beauties from the earth. That I could pop a seed, maybe two, check in the morning and wham, I'm a garden goddess. Gone would be the memories of puny carrots, short as erasers and equally tasteless. Forgotten is that dreadful August day when I accidentally cut the main vine of the winter squash. And I'd no longer feel so inadequate when faced with the mountains of robust produce at each farmers' market.

The etymology of the various vegetables listed in the catalog could be a study in itself. Some names are plainly descriptive: (ie, the albino beet)

some are mildly offensive:
(the "lazy housewife" bean),

and some are straight to the point: ("Jacob's Catle Gassless" bean - which is "Reported to have half the flatulence of regular Jacob’s Cattle." FYI).

I think two of my favorite names (given that I've think this whole magazine is a greener, dorkier version of porn) are "Kentucky Wonder Bush" and "Kentucky Wonder Pole." I am not making this up.

I guess Kentucky really is for lovers.

Moving on - let's talk about carrots. And my very, very inadequate, puny carrots that fed only the ants. I have hope for this year, though, for several reasons. First, now that the soil has had a year to assimilate all the compost I've added, I think it will encourage more downward growth (longer carrots). I think that last season, too many nutrients near the surface encouraged the carrots (and some beets, too) to hang out close to the soil surface.

So I'll try again with my Danvers Carrots, but a new bull's in town. Meet Oxheart:

"Hard to find heirloom introduced in 1884. Uniquely shaped short, very thick roots are 5-6" deep by 3-4" in diameter and grow over 1 pound very rapidly."

I like that they're already short, so when I pull up short carrots, I'll know they were meant to be that way. Also, I'm a Taurus and feel an affinity for anything stubborn and purposeful. Those veggies look pretty fierce. My money's on them.

Corn came next. I almost skipped this chapter because I don't really want to grow any corn in the space that I have. Besides, I'm getting chickens this spring and 8-foot-tall rows of corn may just push my neighbors over the edge.

But let me show you the pictures that nearly changed my mind. Meet Japonica Striped Maze:"Blue Jade":. . . and "Strawberry Popcorn:"The jury's still out.

Have you ever heard of ground cherries? I came across "Aunt Molly's Ground Cherry" and now I can't think of a more perfect plant."Ground cherries were recorded as early as 1837 in Pennsylvania. This outstanding variety originated in Poland and is prized for its clean flavor. Fruits are ½ to ¾" in diameter and are encased in a papery husk that turns brown when the fruits ripen. Stores 3-4 weeks in the husk. Extremely productive plants have a sprawling habit and grow 18" tall and 24" wide. Excellent citrus flavor, can be used for preserves, pies, over ice cream or in fresh fruit salads. Starts fruiting by the end of July and continues until frost and a little beyond, extremely productive."

To summarize the rest of my notes:

Definitely going to plant eggplants. Looking at Florida High Bush ('cause they produce lots of sturdy little eggplants),Lista de Gandia (because they're gorgeous) and Thai Green (because I like to eat them).

As for lettuce, I'm totally confused. I wasn't happy with last season's variety (I picked up some seeds at a grocery store), and I don't know where to begin.

I'll plant as many peas as I possibly can, especially the Amish Snap Pea.

Ditto for sweet bell peppers such as Wisconsin Lakes.

Tomatoes, OMG. SO many. Mostly Brandwines, because they are divine, and lots of yellow pear-shaped miniature ones such as Beam's Yellow Pear Tomato.
I have to stop here or this post will go on an on and on and...

Bottom line: I'm staying away from the monocrop seed packets at the hardware store. This season, it's all about genetic heritage, hope and luck.

The In Betweensies

It's an interesting time in the garden right now. Mid-August, that is, and I should qualify this by saying that I'm only speaking for my garden. Perhaps it's because I'm new at this, and that I didn't read the directions, so to speak, or consult the experts, but it's a sort of tired time, a struggling time out there, in the plants.

Members of the cucurbit family are really unhappy about the non-stop rain we New Englanders have endured since mid-July. I am not a squash, however, and am thrilled at the rain. For me, water falling freely from the sky is a wonder of nature I just can't get over. Then again, I don't have powdery mildew eating away at my limbs.

Last I wrote on the subject, I painted a triumphant picture of sturdy, organically managed plants overcoming a fungal invasion. That was true -- two weeks ago. However, since then, the picture has turned grim. I go out each morning and cull the worst affected leaves and vines. I try to keep the leprous foliage from the yet-undiseased parts.  But I know that my hands and scissors could very well be doing more harm than good by spreading mildew spores. I've even stopped spraying for the past few days. I just can't stand the idea of contributing still more moisture to the already burdened plants.

Lessons learned:

1. Seek out powdery mildew resistant strains of plants next season.

2. Only plant vining plants on trellises, raised far enough above the ground to allow for good ventilation.

The awkward in-betweensies I mentioned earlier has to do with the "now what?" stage.

I've harvested all of the early and most of the mid-season crops. And now my square-foot garden looks more like a jack-o-lantern than a lush grid of greenery. It's only now mid-August, so I figure there's at least 50-60 days before any serious risk of frost (thank you, global warming), and since I refuse to read the directions, I just don't know what to do with all that dirt real estate. 

I do know that beets are yummy, so this evening, I planted another 3 squares of Chioggia beets (4x4x3=48). And when my seeds arrive from Seed Savers Exchange, I'l plant Purple Top white globe turnips, Five Color Silverbeet Swiss chard,  Bull's Blood beets, St. Valery's carrots, and Plum Purple radishes. And in late-October, I'm giving it a go with 2 seed bulbs of German extra-hardy garlic.

The best laid plans, right?

I think I'm writing this because I feel a little like a failure right now - a little fraudulent. This is ridiculous, I know rationally, but I feel like I've let my plants down, in a way. Disease and bad weather shouldn't have happened to my first, perfect garden, and if it did, I should have protected it.

In June, we experienced an awe-inspiring thunderstorm late one evening -- the kind only summertime can produce, that are more than a little scary, and manage to remind you who's boss. I returned home from a day at the office, and was about to run inside to get out of the downpour when the wind started to whip around crazily. Immediately, my mind went to the spindly adolescent plants making their way in the garden. They lacked the girth of mature plants, and were still very vulnerable. So I ran to them and watched as the winds battered them about, and was impressed at their flexibility and strength.

But then it started to hail, and I began to panic. I stretched out my arms and fingers over the pepper plant's leaves to try to deflect the ice pellets, but they tore dozens of holes in the broad leaves. Still, I ran in circles making sounds of alarm, like a Killdeer diverting a predator from her nest. Eventually, though, I had to laugh. The temperature had dropped a good 20 degrees, and I was soaked through, my blouse plastered to my sides, and my hair tangled up in my eyelashes.

There's only so much I can do, I concluded, and went inside to dry off.

This time, though, it's different. Instead of a sudden storm, the threat is an ugly disease that is at once bigger and smaller than my weapons. Maybe all the knowledge in the world couldn't save my squashes, but the fact that I am so ignorant, such a newbie, makes me feel plain foolish right now. 

Is this how parenting will be?