The second child

I am a first-born. My arrival on the scene, though not entirely planned, was a serious game-changer in the lives of all involved (not least, of mine). And for a number of years, give or take some rough patches along the way, I enjoyed the full focus of the sun, so to speak, on my little life.

And then my brother was born on April 11, 1985. Cue the thunder clouds.

Of course, in the end, the world is better place for his existence. And had I been the one making those decisions that no one actually makes, I would choose for him to be born. But there's something back-seat-y about the arrival of a sibling, something like the Spears-cum-Aguilera-cum-Simpson phenomenon: In with the sparkly new pop diva, out with yesterday's.

Parents don't apologize for this natural order of family events, and goodness knows the public is so unforgiving as to support an entire industry that mocks yesterday's pop divas (thank you, US Weekly). But I believe that I have pranced a few steps in this little dance recently, and I am going to hold myself to a different standard:

I'm sorry, my little potatoes.

And I'm sorry, all you pretty seedlings, so patiently lined up on the dining room table. I'm sorry, Arugula, for not trumpeting your first sprout yesterday. And I should be ashamed, Chard, for not shouting from the rooftops that Erik and I ate half of one dinner this week courtesy of your hard work throughout the winter.

I am a jerk: I got chickens and ignored my garden because it doesn't squawk and do uber-entertaining dumb things with ping-pong-balls.

So for the record, today I planted two varieties of heirloom potatoes (all-blue and French fingerling). Some of the spinach didn't take, so I replanted a bunch of that last week. Lettuces are poking out of the dirt like algae on a pond, and not much of anything is happening with my carrots (what is new...).

The container garden on the porch is swinging into gear, though I may have been a bit impulsive (who, me?) and planted several herbs too early, as there's a frost tonight. And some of my young plants may have bit the dust due to my aggressive "hardening off" schedule.

So yeah, we have chickens, and they're fascinating and have sucked all the oxygen out of this once-garden-centered blog, but soon the oxytocin is bound to wear off and I will seek my jollies from the green grow-y things again.

I love all my children the same. Honest.

I just wish my plants would grow as fast as the chicks.

And chirp.

Crawling out of my hole

When a thing is born, what does it first do?

Write a novel? Wash the dishes?

Nah. It cries. And sleeps, and learns to crawl.

Are rules the same for the re-born? And is too grandiose to suggest that in a way, this is happening to me?

It's not about the new year - it's about the final days of a deal that I reluctantly made with myself last spring, when I thought my company was going down and me with it (yay, newspapers). I decided to launch myself into the industrious, ambitious, obsessed business world to see if I could "make it" outside of the only job I've ever known.

In doing so, I made this deal and traded in my entire life. No more pottery, no more twice-daily yoga, or long hikes, or friends, or painting, or GARDENING, or blogging (which you are surely to not notice, as no one reads this anymore, therefore, there's no you there).

However, I did not lose my job. I just gained another full-time job, and for the past 9 months, been doing them both - and nothing else.

Boring.

That, though, is ending. I can't say for sure how, but I desperately want my life back, the connection to the earth and things that grow and have nothing to do with this man-made world of concrete and invisible economies.

This was a pre-meditated rebirth - meaning that I've been planning for it for months. Stage One was full of crying and being totally unimpressive, like most infants.

Stage Two came this weekend. I dusted off my seed catalogues, recruited the ever-supportive Erik and set about to make Plans for this year's Garden. Or, ahem, gardenS. We're expanding the operation.

On tap this growing season:

kale (dwarf blue curled scotch and lacinato)

potatoes (French Fingerling and All Blue)

tomatoes (Sidduth's strain Brandywine and Black from Tula)

Chinese cabbage (Joi Choi)

beets (early blood turnip)

carrots (Paris market and Danvers)

zucchini (green tiger)

summer squash (summer crookneck)

winter squash (table queen acorn-type)

dill

cucumbers (sweet success hybrid)

chard (Fordhook giant)

corn (Reed's yellow dent)

sunflowers

garlic (German extra hardy)

eggplant (listada de Gandia)

purple pole beans

ground cherries (Aunt Molly's)

lima beans (Big Mama)

spinach (America)

bell peppers (purple beauty)

hot peppers (mustard habanero)

asparagus (Jersey giant)

arugula

basil (sweet Genovese)

cilantro

strawberries (3 types)

lettuce (8 types)

And Erik has finally agreed that this is the year of the Chicken! So eggs are hot compost are coming to a blogger near you.

It is January 2 and about 12 degrees outside. Most would agree that it's winter. But for me, it's springtime. And parts of me that have been crusted over by ice and buried in a snowbank are beginning to thaw. Beginning to believe that my life can be drawn back into it's old, more earthy orbit, and that soon my eyes will be filled with visions of green and growth and tiny, fluffy, helpless chicks wobbling about, squawking, just barely born.

And I will totally understand.

My garlic is so Money!

Remember these?

The other day, curiosity overcame my patience. I had to meet my underground friends that have lived in the front garden since, well, November!

So I dug and dug,

And pulled a little and . . .

It smelled so wonderful!

Hooray!

I dug up the rest (all 11) and now they're drying/curing in the kitchen. 

As a triumphant aside, I went to the Davis Square Farmers Market yesterday and had an experience that thrilled me to my toes. Usually, I walk the aisles of the market and feel a wee bit inadequate because my city-girl produce doesn't often match the pros' goods. Well, that has all changed with this garlic harvest! We blew them away. It would have taken 3 of their bulbs to match even one of ours! Finally, something came out of our ground that I can be really proud of. 

I mention this because on the same day I dug the garlic, I also pulled the a carrot and the beets.

Yah, don't get too excited. They're pretty tiny.

So I sliced them up, sauteed them in some EVOO tossed in the beet greens and served it over proscuitto brown rice and wild salmon garnished with fresh green snap peas.

And look who else came for dinner?

It's not the size that counts . . . (well, maybe it is)

We're talking carrots here, people. (But at least they're dirty carrots.)

Last year, as you can see by looking back at some of my old posts, my adventures in growing carrots proved me to be a miserable failure. None - NOT ONE - of my many dozens of carrots of the 4 different crops of carrots topped an inch in length. And the ones that managed to take carrot-ish form were eaten through by ants. 

Pitiful, right?

So this year,  I tried a new approach: plant carrots that are supposed to be short and stubby so I can claim victory no matter what. Meet the Danvers Carrot.

The other morning, I started the day in my favorite way - coffee, husband, garden tour with the sunrise.

(and no makeup)

We wandered over to the front gardens to see what we could see.

(That's Erik, seeing all that he can see.)

And Hark! I spotted something!

A mature carrot?!

So I tugged and tugged and came to an instant conclusion:

 - that I didn't have to tug very hard. Not a good sign.

But it was bigger than an inch and not an ant in sight. So that made me declare a 73% victory.

And then I ate it. It tasted like a carrot. The rest are still in the ground. I'm aiming for a 100% victory in one week. Set your watches!

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.

Out of Fall, Into Coldframes

I signed off last with a long to-do list, and I'm happy to report that the list is now bordered by a long vertical column of red check marks. It is done and things are good.

1. Turn compost and collect finished compost.
Admittedly, that's not me. But I talked him into turning the front composter because it's completely full. I took care of the back one, which over the past few months has produced gorgeous, pitch-black finished compost.
As an aside, I really recommend having two composters going at all times so you can have an "active" pile (one that you add stuff to) and a "cooking" pile (one that you're waiting on to finish up). And when you harvest all your finished compost from one of them, leave a little at the bottom to get the next pile of gunk cooking faster.

2. Level with the damn brussel sprout.I killed the poor plant once, around July 4, when I decided it was never going to do anything that resembled producing a sprout. I tore up all 6 plants and my father-in-law gently pointed out that it was about to start bud formation, so I promptly stuck the most intact plant back into the ground. Lesson learned. Brussel sprouts take their good old time.

But really. It's freaking October 24 and the thing is still not done? I'm never planting these dumb things again, or maybe I'll do a little research first (novel idea) and plant them either very early or very late in the season, when they do best.

One piece of advice I found in the great cybergarden was to lob off the top of the plant so it stops growing up and starts getting down to business. So I did.Who knows if that will work. (?)

3. Harvest basil, coriander (cilantro gone to seed) and random other things to prepare beds for turning and enriching.
Here is about 1/20 of the basil I harvested. I got adventurous and harvested my two ginormous "ornamental" basil plants (the purple kind that's described as pretty but not tasty) and tried it out in my pesto recipe. I used walnuts instead of pine nuts because I figured the heavier flavor of the walnuts would work well with the stronger basil - and because walnuts are cheaper. So if I blew it, I'd be less mad.

Anyway, it rocks. And now I have enough pesto for . . . well, just look at my freezer:We could literally eat pesto for 15 days straight.

For the recipe and pictures, click here.

4. Enrich beds with finished compost.Here you can see that I removed the grid (and most of the plants) to prepare the bed for a major redig and enrich. It's sort of like exfoliating and moisturizing, but with dirt instead of your face.

Exfoliate:
Moisturize:and admire critters:- I planted a bunch of the vacant squares with more hairy vetch (a green manure) and some with more with turnips and radishes just for the heck of it. -

5. Rip up squash vines (and discover squash!)

6. Plant garlic.

I ordered "German Extra-Hardy certified organic garlic from Seedsavers.org, and it arrived in the mail a few days ago.Garlic over-winters in the garden, and you're supposed to plant it sometime after the first major frost of the season (which was the night before).

Inside the package were 2 bulbs and an instruction sheet.It said to separate the cloves only at planting time, and to plant them 4-6 inches apart and 2 inches down.These cloves (which you must plant root-side-down) will sprout before the winter, but if properly covered (by mulch or a cold frame) will go dormant and survive the winter - even in New England.

After planting, I covered the squares with extra compost (instead of mulch).
I'm saying all this, but honestly, I have no idea whether this will work. Theoretically, I should be digging these up next June!

7. Check in with fall crops.Here's the lettuce in the front garden. I harvested the lettuce in the rear garden because the sun patterns have changed such that it's not going to get any full sun until spring. Also, I needed some lettuce for the fajitas I made with all the zillions of bell peppers I just harvested.

The turnips and beets - and the 3 radishes that survived the squirrels - are doing great, too. The beets were "topping out," or basically growing themselves out of the ground, so I packed some finished compost around the tops. This happened on my early crop of beets, and it worked just fine.

8. Admit defeat with the carrots. Again.I failed. Don't know why, but both crops this year have ended badly - with short, confused looking carrots. I've varied the soil textures, the sunlight, the amount of compost. They taste good, but it's embarrassing. I have to tell people that I planted dwarf carrots or something. More research needed.

9. Harvest the marigolds.
They were going to get squished by the coldframes, and their main job, which was to repel harmful bugs, is not as important now that it's fall. So now I'm just giving them away.10. Finishing touches, then tuck into bed.Add the coldframes. . . and then the windows.And then wait for things to grow!