The other day, my mother rightfully pointed out that my blog still said "Christmas is coming." Guilty as charged. Unfortunately, the urge to blog just isn't in me these days. So will you settle for a list of what we're planting in the garden this year? At least it's sort of informative, even if it isn't scintillating prose.
SPRING
Snap pea - Sugar Sprint (a LOT of these)
Chinese Kale
Beet - Burpee's Golden
Beet - Chioggia
Chard - Five Color Silverbeet
Sorrel
Escarole - Biona a Cuore Pieno
Carrot - Scarlet Nantes
Carrot - Parmex Baby Ball
Turnip - Purple Top White Globe
Rutabaga - American Purple Top
Potato - La Ratte (fingerling)
Potato - German Butterball
SUMMER
Tomato - Sun Gold
Tomato - Green Zebra
Tomato - Cherokee Purple
Tomato - Pruden's Purple
Tomato - Principe Borghese
Tomato - Better Boy
Tomatillo - Toma Verde
Eggplant - Rosa Bianca
Eggplant - Pingtung Long
Pepper - Quadrato Asti Giallo (yellow bell)
Pepper - Orange Bell
Pepper - Napoleon Sweet (red bell)
Watermelon - Ali Baba
Canteloupe - PMR Delicious 51
Summer Squash - Benning's Green Tint (pattypan)
Summer Squash - Partenon F1 (zucchini)
Summer Squash - Success PM Yellow Straightneck
Winter Squash - Honey Nut Mini-Butternut
Winter Squash - Potimarron
Pumpkin - Baby Pam
Cowpea - Pinkeye Purplehull
Bush Bean - Dragon's Tongue
Bush Bean - Sonesta (wax)
Cucumber - Picklebush
Purslane - Goldberg Golden
Parsley - Flat Leaf
Basil - Genovese
Okra - Clemson Spineless
Okra - Burgundy
Fennel - Perfection
Edamame - Ustie
Bitter Melon - Comet
Jicama
Sweet Potato - Porto Rico
Peanut - Early Spanish Type
FALL
Turnip - Purple Top White Globe
Rutabaga - American Purple Top
Kale - Ripbor F1
Purple Sprouting Broccoli - Santee F1
Beet - Colossal Long Red Mangel (for the chickens!)
Strawberries - Fresca
Strawberries - Red Wonder Alpine
Cabbages
and a whole bunch of other stuff TBD...
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
One goose a-laying
Today I'll be taking three of our roosters on an adventure. One is the Langshan we originally gave to L2's dad. He, er, didn't work out in that situation. He got along with everyone peacefully enough for two months, then got his confidence up and gave their other rooster a bloody thrashing. So he was returned to sender.*
He and two of our four Mille Fleur d'Uccle bantam roosters will be given to a Freecycle guy who has 66 acres. Supposedly they'll be pets, and he and his son will dote on them. I hope that's true, although you never know! These three rooster fellows are too handsome to eat...not to mention awfully old and tough for the American palate.
The Langshan rooster is already in his transport cage. I was sequestering him in the duck house--the better to catch him later--but one of our geese started obsessively trying to get in because she has a nest in there. I was afraid she'd sand her beak all the way off, so I freed up the space. Now she's nesting happily. She looks absolutely adorable sitting in her carefully constructed whorl of straw. I could swear there's a beatific expression on her face.
The goose nest has been in the duck house for about a week. And yes, we have had a goose egg:
Isn't it impressive? And beautiful?
We ate the enormous egg scrambled with spinach and red peppers and mushrooms. It is my sad duty to report that goose eggs are not as delicious as chicken, turkey, duck, and quail eggs. They are a bit watery and insipid...or at least this one was. But it wasn't bad by any means. Just nothing special.
In other news, the chickens are adjusting well to their new situation. All the disagreements seem to have been worked out, and everyone plays nicely together.
They enjoy the long chicken run, too! The only thing that's lacking is fresh vegetation. But the s.o. seeded the second run a few weeks ago, and it is greening up nicely. We should be able to release them into it later this month.
Here's a shot of the February garden:
It doesn't look like much yet, but so far we've planted some peas, fava beans, carrots, and radishes. We plan to do some very extensive tilling in the near future, because we have to get our greens and turnips in as soon as possible.
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* On the other hand, the turkey we gave to L2's dad is living the life of Riley. They actually purchased two turkey hens for him, and now he is in "full puff mode" at all times. Most excellent.
He and two of our four Mille Fleur d'Uccle bantam roosters will be given to a Freecycle guy who has 66 acres. Supposedly they'll be pets, and he and his son will dote on them. I hope that's true, although you never know! These three rooster fellows are too handsome to eat...not to mention awfully old and tough for the American palate.
The Langshan rooster is already in his transport cage. I was sequestering him in the duck house--the better to catch him later--but one of our geese started obsessively trying to get in because she has a nest in there. I was afraid she'd sand her beak all the way off, so I freed up the space. Now she's nesting happily. She looks absolutely adorable sitting in her carefully constructed whorl of straw. I could swear there's a beatific expression on her face.
The goose nest has been in the duck house for about a week. And yes, we have had a goose egg:
Isn't it impressive? And beautiful?
We ate the enormous egg scrambled with spinach and red peppers and mushrooms. It is my sad duty to report that goose eggs are not as delicious as chicken, turkey, duck, and quail eggs. They are a bit watery and insipid...or at least this one was. But it wasn't bad by any means. Just nothing special.
In other news, the chickens are adjusting well to their new situation. All the disagreements seem to have been worked out, and everyone plays nicely together.
They enjoy the long chicken run, too! The only thing that's lacking is fresh vegetation. But the s.o. seeded the second run a few weeks ago, and it is greening up nicely. We should be able to release them into it later this month.
Here's a shot of the February garden:
It doesn't look like much yet, but so far we've planted some peas, fava beans, carrots, and radishes. We plan to do some very extensive tilling in the near future, because we have to get our greens and turnips in as soon as possible.
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* On the other hand, the turkey we gave to L2's dad is living the life of Riley. They actually purchased two turkey hens for him, and now he is in "full puff mode" at all times. Most excellent.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Big doings
Under cover of darkness, we have just combined our two chicken houses. The birds will have all night to get used to each other's presence before they are actually able to see each other. And when the sun rises, I'll be there to make sure no one gets injured in the pecking-order-sorting-out process.
All of the roosters tried to "spur" me, but the only injury I sustained was when I whacked my head on a shelf in one of the houses. (For the record: Ow.) Some of the birds screamed their little lungs out while we were moving them. It sounded as though we were torturing someone. I halfway expected a police cruiser to pull up in the driveway!
So why all the animal-shuffling? Well, Chicken House #2 is plenty large enough to accommodate all our chickens, and it has two big outdoor yards that they can run in. We don't want to grow our chicken operation any more; I like knowing all the chix individually. So we are converting Chicken House #1 to a garden shed, and we're plowing the outdoor yards of Chicken House #1 and making them part of the garden.
Speaking of the garden, the s.o. and I spent a while today preparing some beds. Peas and fava beans will go in this week!
All of the roosters tried to "spur" me, but the only injury I sustained was when I whacked my head on a shelf in one of the houses. (For the record: Ow.) Some of the birds screamed their little lungs out while we were moving them. It sounded as though we were torturing someone. I halfway expected a police cruiser to pull up in the driveway!
So why all the animal-shuffling? Well, Chicken House #2 is plenty large enough to accommodate all our chickens, and it has two big outdoor yards that they can run in. We don't want to grow our chicken operation any more; I like knowing all the chix individually. So we are converting Chicken House #1 to a garden shed, and we're plowing the outdoor yards of Chicken House #1 and making them part of the garden.
Speaking of the garden, the s.o. and I spent a while today preparing some beds. Peas and fava beans will go in this week!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Why September is so much better than August
Late September is prime time for the s.o.'s flower garden. It's close to the road so everyone in town can enjoy it--and indeed, we often get compliments on it. He is always improving it; the goal for next year, I'm told, is "to plant so many perennials that there's no room for weeds." A worthy goal.
And now that the worst of the heat is over, the vegetable garden finally has a chance to revive. These are the very first of the fall produce: a bunch of Jaune D'Or radishes.
The other big plus is that now the nights are cool and foggy. Interesting to drive in sometimes (where IS the road, anyway?), but much easier on the plant life and on the soul.
And now that the worst of the heat is over, the vegetable garden finally has a chance to revive. These are the very first of the fall produce: a bunch of Jaune D'Or radishes.
The other big plus is that now the nights are cool and foggy. Interesting to drive in sometimes (where IS the road, anyway?), but much easier on the plant life and on the soul.
Friday, September 07, 2007
It all comes out in the wash
Previously I complained that blister beetles had ravaged an entire row of my chard--which, indeed, they did. They skeletonized it. I was forced to cut it down to nubs.
But I can't complain too bitterly about the situation, because here's what that row of chard looks like now, after regrowing (click to enlarge):
Maybe those bugs aren't so bad after all. No, wait, they are. They also took out my Dragon Langerie beans (although the heat had damaged the plants pretty badly beforehand). And they've been making tomato-picking a harrowing experience.
By the way, note the young cabbages at the left of the photo. Also note the netted chicken runs in the back, draped with overenthusiastic vines of bottle gourd. On the right of the chard (currently not yet poking through the soil) will be a row of variegated land cress.
The fall garden is in progress. So much more fun than summer.
But I can't complain too bitterly about the situation, because here's what that row of chard looks like now, after regrowing (click to enlarge):
Maybe those bugs aren't so bad after all. No, wait, they are. They also took out my Dragon Langerie beans (although the heat had damaged the plants pretty badly beforehand). And they've been making tomato-picking a harrowing experience.
By the way, note the young cabbages at the left of the photo. Also note the netted chicken runs in the back, draped with overenthusiastic vines of bottle gourd. On the right of the chard (currently not yet poking through the soil) will be a row of variegated land cress.
The fall garden is in progress. So much more fun than summer.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
What's goin' on
• After years of making do with a percolator, we bought a new drip coffeemaker. It is programmable, so it can make coffee all by itself and have it waiting for me when I get up in the morning. Needless to say, this represents a huge jump in Quality of Life.
• The s.o. completed an outdoor chickenwire-and-netting aviary for Chicken House #2--a porch-covered vestibule area that will later lead to a number of separate pens--and today the young chickens and turkeys ventured into the great outdoors for the first time. Bravery is definitely breed-specific: Barred Rocks were the first out the door, followed by Red Star boys (remember them--the padding in the shipment? they are nice guys and we will be rather sorry to eat them, but there's nothing that can be done, because we all know the problems associated with Too Many Roosters), then Speckled Sussexes. Cornish boys were curious, but very flighty and scaredy. Ameraucanas were so docile that they would stay outside if placed there, but they took no initiative. Brahmas, Langshans, and Mille Fleur banties wanted nothing to do with the strangeness, and only ventured out after everyone else had been happily pecking grass for quite a while.
• We are harvesting the first Sungold tomatoes. There is a small Lemon cucumber on the vine, and green beans are starting to roll in in quantity.
• My back is getting better.
• My chores--the ones I can do with a delicate back, at least--have recently been made more interesting by heavy use of podcastable language lessons. I'm taking three languages at once, something my mom did one semester in college. "It won't screw you up," she reassured me. Which is a good thing, because I am enjoying all three. The Mandarin is the best by far, and I have actually plunked down money for a basic yearly subscription so I can download the pdfs. That same company also offers Spanish, but I wasn't crazy about the hosts, so I went with this one instead. It's clear and sensible, and kind of quirkily fun because it's taught by Scots. (I hope I'm not picking up an odd accent.) Lastly, I'm doing French. I already read it pretty well, but I speak it quite badly, so I'm using this for review and reinforcement. I recommend podcast language lessons to anyone; they're great for keeping your mind busy when your body has to do the dishes.
• We have bees again, magically. A while ago our hive swarmed, and half the bees absconded to the top of a 60-foot pine tree, from which we were unable to recover them. We watched the remaining bees closely and were horrified that no brood appeared--they seemed to have been unsuccessful in raising a new queen. The colony began, predictably, to die out. And then...inexplicably...there was a healthy hive again, full of young fuzzy bees that are now busily pollinating the garden. We are extremely puzzled, but have decided not to look a gift bee in the proboscis.
• Lately I am all about this recipe, made with shrimp instead of avocado. I love avocado, but trust me when I say shrimp rocks all over it in this particular instance. I suppose one could use both. Hmm.
• The s.o. completed an outdoor chickenwire-and-netting aviary for Chicken House #2--a porch-covered vestibule area that will later lead to a number of separate pens--and today the young chickens and turkeys ventured into the great outdoors for the first time. Bravery is definitely breed-specific: Barred Rocks were the first out the door, followed by Red Star boys (remember them--the padding in the shipment? they are nice guys and we will be rather sorry to eat them, but there's nothing that can be done, because we all know the problems associated with Too Many Roosters), then Speckled Sussexes. Cornish boys were curious, but very flighty and scaredy. Ameraucanas were so docile that they would stay outside if placed there, but they took no initiative. Brahmas, Langshans, and Mille Fleur banties wanted nothing to do with the strangeness, and only ventured out after everyone else had been happily pecking grass for quite a while.
• We are harvesting the first Sungold tomatoes. There is a small Lemon cucumber on the vine, and green beans are starting to roll in in quantity.
• My back is getting better.
• My chores--the ones I can do with a delicate back, at least--have recently been made more interesting by heavy use of podcastable language lessons. I'm taking three languages at once, something my mom did one semester in college. "It won't screw you up," she reassured me. Which is a good thing, because I am enjoying all three. The Mandarin is the best by far, and I have actually plunked down money for a basic yearly subscription so I can download the pdfs. That same company also offers Spanish, but I wasn't crazy about the hosts, so I went with this one instead. It's clear and sensible, and kind of quirkily fun because it's taught by Scots. (I hope I'm not picking up an odd accent.) Lastly, I'm doing French. I already read it pretty well, but I speak it quite badly, so I'm using this for review and reinforcement. I recommend podcast language lessons to anyone; they're great for keeping your mind busy when your body has to do the dishes.
• We have bees again, magically. A while ago our hive swarmed, and half the bees absconded to the top of a 60-foot pine tree, from which we were unable to recover them. We watched the remaining bees closely and were horrified that no brood appeared--they seemed to have been unsuccessful in raising a new queen. The colony began, predictably, to die out. And then...inexplicably...there was a healthy hive again, full of young fuzzy bees that are now busily pollinating the garden. We are extremely puzzled, but have decided not to look a gift bee in the proboscis.
• Lately I am all about this recipe, made with shrimp instead of avocado. I love avocado, but trust me when I say shrimp rocks all over it in this particular instance. I suppose one could use both. Hmm.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
I'm back
I had a great time, but it's taking me longer to recover from the late nights than it has in the past.
I came back to find a zucchini in the garden as big as a cantaloupe. We ate half of it, and the other half went into a doggie dinner.
There's fresh basil, and the first of the wild blackberries are ready!
I came back to find a zucchini in the garden as big as a cantaloupe. We ate half of it, and the other half went into a doggie dinner.
There's fresh basil, and the first of the wild blackberries are ready!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
I think this means summer's here
That's about a 14-inch colander, by the way, if it helps you get the scale. The Tondo Chiaro di Nizza zucchini got rather large overnight!
Tonight I'll cook one of my favorite recipes: Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's pasta with creamy zucchini sauce. For those who don't own the River Cottage Cookbook, all you do is slice a couple of pounds of zucchini very thinly and cook them quite slowly with a couple of good glugs of olive oil and some minced garlic, without browning, until it all completely breaks down. This removes the wateriness from the squash and turns it into a sauce. Then you season it, add a few tablespoons of cream, and grate in some Parmesan cheese. Serve it over any kind of pasta you like.
Friday, May 25, 2007
In other news...
The geese spent most of the day out in their yard yesterday, happily crunching grass and gargling water. They seem to have no desire to re-test the electric fence. I'm about to go put them out again. I'm sure the turkeys appreciate the relative cleanness of their living quarters without their big clumsy friends in the room.
The s.o. took the old ragged plastic off the greenhouse and weed-whacked a good percentage of the garden paths. The garden looks much more impressive now that the intentional plants are taller than the unintentional ones. Foolishly, pridefully, I wish that J and her sister and her nephew could have seen it the way it is now, instead of the way it was on Wednesday when they visited! Don't mind our squalor, people. Nothing to see here. Heh.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I don't feel 37, although actually, when I think about it, I have no idea what 37 feels like. So maybe I do feel 37. All I know is, in general I am very happy and I feel lucky to lead the life I lead! Hugs and kisses to the s.o., the dogs, and our families and friends for bringing so much joy. It's been a good year and (weather aside) I think it'll be another good one.
The s.o. took the old ragged plastic off the greenhouse and weed-whacked a good percentage of the garden paths. The garden looks much more impressive now that the intentional plants are taller than the unintentional ones. Foolishly, pridefully, I wish that J and her sister and her nephew could have seen it the way it is now, instead of the way it was on Wednesday when they visited! Don't mind our squalor, people. Nothing to see here. Heh.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I don't feel 37, although actually, when I think about it, I have no idea what 37 feels like. So maybe I do feel 37. All I know is, in general I am very happy and I feel lucky to lead the life I lead! Hugs and kisses to the s.o., the dogs, and our families and friends for bringing so much joy. It's been a good year and (weather aside) I think it'll be another good one.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Climate change is not our friend
Lately, about every second or third day, we are bathed in smoke. At first I thought the forestry department was doing controlled burns in the national forest nearby, but then I realized they'd never be so foolish since the weather is so dry. Then I thought there might be local brush fires, but none of consequence came over the s.o.'s fire department pager.
Finally I realized it was smoke from the vast, raging wildfires in southeastern Georgia, about 150 miles away. When the prevailing winds are a certain way, we get a faceful of it. It lingers in a thick, polluting haze. It must be terrible closer to the fire. It is expected to keep burning until the area is hit by a hurricane.
There is no rain here. Everyone's crops are a month behind and tenuous at best. The grass crunches when you step on it, and clouds of dust rise whenever a vehicle turns onto a dirt road.
The other night some dimwit was shooting off fireworks. The s.o. and I tried to see where they were coming from. "One more, and I'm calling the police."
What with the late freeze that killed all the fruit, and now this, it's not a good year so far.
Finally I realized it was smoke from the vast, raging wildfires in southeastern Georgia, about 150 miles away. When the prevailing winds are a certain way, we get a faceful of it. It lingers in a thick, polluting haze. It must be terrible closer to the fire. It is expected to keep burning until the area is hit by a hurricane.
There is no rain here. Everyone's crops are a month behind and tenuous at best. The grass crunches when you step on it, and clouds of dust rise whenever a vehicle turns onto a dirt road.
The other night some dimwit was shooting off fireworks. The s.o. and I tried to see where they were coming from. "One more, and I'm calling the police."
What with the late freeze that killed all the fruit, and now this, it's not a good year so far.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
The rose of neglect
I've never been able to figure out why roses are supposed to be hard to grow. Yes, black spot disfigures their leaves. Yes, aphids descend on them. But they are definitely not the high-maintenance princesses they are made out to be. They are a lot of joy for a very little effort.
I do absolutely nothing for my roses. I think the s.o. might occasionally throw some fertilizer on them. But they all seem to do pretty well. I have a Don Juan, a Yellow Rose of Texas, and a Volkswagen-sized bush of stunning hot-pink roses that came with the house. I plan on planting more because they are such a pleasure.
This rose, a Cardinal de Richelieu, is in a particularly awful spot--a patch of unforgiving crusty silt, fire-ant-invaded, unmulched, baking in the sun on the south side of the house. We are in a drought, and this is the area we mostly reserve for prickly pear cacti, rosemary bushes, and ornamental banana plants. But the rose thrives anyway. It has put on about 20 buds this spring--twice as many as last year--even though I think I forgot to prune it. I don't think the picture captures its deep velvety purple color. It definitely doesn't capture its alluring grapey smell.
The only thing I can figure that this rose really has going for it is deep roots. It was one of the very first things I planted during our first spring here, in 2003. It's my favorite rose.
Monday, April 23, 2007
PELC on the road!
My dog pal Silver and I are at Stew's place in North Carolina, and the humans among us have embarked on our first day of the Penny-Wise Eat Local Challenge. We've also been on several local farm tours this weekend (this was my favorite), and we've been planting seedlings in Stew's garden. What a blast!
I'll be home tomorrow, and your regular 10 Signs programming will resume...
I'll be home tomorrow, and your regular 10 Signs programming will resume...
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Mixed media
I have a theory about Netflix: It's very important to organize your queue so that at any given time, you have two very different sorts of movies in hand. The worst thing you can do is end up with, say, two very depressing dramas or two collections of similar TV episodes. If you do that, you'll inevitably find that you are not in the mood to watch what you've got--but of course, you can't get anything new until you return them. It's what I call a Netflix Blockade.
(Yes, I know one could simply return the offending movies without watching them, but I can't make myself do it. It seems wasteful.)
For several weeks I have been locked in a particularly bad Netflix Blockade: Two serious, potentially rage-inducing documentaries. One, The Future of Food, I still haven't forced myself to watch. J recommended it to me, and I know I very much need to see it, but I can't quite commit to it just yet because I have a pretty good idea how it will make me feel.
The other, though, I finally watched this morning: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room. It was recommended to me a long, long time ago by someone I interviewed for a business article, and over time it filtered to the top of my queue. It was fantastic and infuriating. I guess before I watched it, I never fully understood the shell game Enron played with the California utilities during the power-grid crunch...or, for that matter, what exactly was wrong with the way the company did its accounting. Now I know, and I'm pissed. Better late than never! Everyone should watch this movie.
And now I can watch The Devil Wears Prada!
Meanwhile, I've been reading. I've just finished Bill Buford's Heat, which I absofreakinglutely loved. For those who haven't heard of it (I hadn't, before I miraculously discovered it on the New Arrivals shelf of our tiny local library), it's a memoir about a writer who apprentices in Mario Batali's restaurant Babbo, then goes on to apprentice with all the people Batali apprenticed with. It reconfirmed for me that I would hate working in a restaurant kitchen (that's not cooking!!!), but it also hit all the right notes about the importance of small, local, artisanal food production.
Now I am embroiled in Beryl Bainbridge's The Bottle Factory Outing, a novel with (I'm guessing) all the potential for hilarious trainwreckiness.
For me, reading and movie-watching are like all my other leisure pursuits. I'm either full-speed ahead, staying up late and immersing myself in them; or I can't go anywhere near them for weeks at a time. Knitting's that way, too. Right now I can feel a rush of knitting coming on, but I haven't quite gotten there because I'm way too busy.
And, on that note, I'd better go plant some more vegetables, if the rain will hold off. Not that I have anything bad to say about rain--we need it!
(Yes, I know one could simply return the offending movies without watching them, but I can't make myself do it. It seems wasteful.)
For several weeks I have been locked in a particularly bad Netflix Blockade: Two serious, potentially rage-inducing documentaries. One, The Future of Food, I still haven't forced myself to watch. J recommended it to me, and I know I very much need to see it, but I can't quite commit to it just yet because I have a pretty good idea how it will make me feel.
The other, though, I finally watched this morning: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room. It was recommended to me a long, long time ago by someone I interviewed for a business article, and over time it filtered to the top of my queue. It was fantastic and infuriating. I guess before I watched it, I never fully understood the shell game Enron played with the California utilities during the power-grid crunch...or, for that matter, what exactly was wrong with the way the company did its accounting. Now I know, and I'm pissed. Better late than never! Everyone should watch this movie.
And now I can watch The Devil Wears Prada!
Meanwhile, I've been reading. I've just finished Bill Buford's Heat, which I absofreakinglutely loved. For those who haven't heard of it (I hadn't, before I miraculously discovered it on the New Arrivals shelf of our tiny local library), it's a memoir about a writer who apprentices in Mario Batali's restaurant Babbo, then goes on to apprentice with all the people Batali apprenticed with. It reconfirmed for me that I would hate working in a restaurant kitchen (that's not cooking!!!), but it also hit all the right notes about the importance of small, local, artisanal food production.
Now I am embroiled in Beryl Bainbridge's The Bottle Factory Outing, a novel with (I'm guessing) all the potential for hilarious trainwreckiness.
For me, reading and movie-watching are like all my other leisure pursuits. I'm either full-speed ahead, staying up late and immersing myself in them; or I can't go anywhere near them for weeks at a time. Knitting's that way, too. Right now I can feel a rush of knitting coming on, but I haven't quite gotten there because I'm way too busy.
And, on that note, I'd better go plant some more vegetables, if the rain will hold off. Not that I have anything bad to say about rain--we need it!
Monday, April 09, 2007
Better weather on its way
Well. They say our cold snap is over--the low will be 37 tonight, and after that, it isn't supposed to dip below the 40s again. Thank goodness.
I managed to save plants I thought I'd never manage to save. We rescued almost all of our peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, and eggplants, and the tender young fennel is unharmed. The zucchini made it through, too. On the other hand, I am going to have to replant a few cukes, and I am going to have to reorder violet podded beans altogether. It was a wholesale bean slaughter, despite the sheets I tented over them. I should have dug them up.
What's strangest about this untimely freeze is that even though it never got colder than 26 degrees, I lost some cold-hardy plants that had stood all winter. I think it was the harsh, dry wind that did it. My lovely Italian escarole, which was planted in the fall and has withstood far colder temperatures, is suddenly a gelatinous mass of garbage (sob!). The lemon balm was killed back to a third of its previous size. And although they're still alive, my peas, chard, and radishes are all badly burned and will not be as presentable as I'd hoped.
So! Onions, turnips, and collards at Wednesday's market, then. Let us soldier on.
I managed to save plants I thought I'd never manage to save. We rescued almost all of our peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, and eggplants, and the tender young fennel is unharmed. The zucchini made it through, too. On the other hand, I am going to have to replant a few cukes, and I am going to have to reorder violet podded beans altogether. It was a wholesale bean slaughter, despite the sheets I tented over them. I should have dug them up.
What's strangest about this untimely freeze is that even though it never got colder than 26 degrees, I lost some cold-hardy plants that had stood all winter. I think it was the harsh, dry wind that did it. My lovely Italian escarole, which was planted in the fall and has withstood far colder temperatures, is suddenly a gelatinous mass of garbage (sob!). The lemon balm was killed back to a third of its previous size. And although they're still alive, my peas, chard, and radishes are all badly burned and will not be as presentable as I'd hoped.
So! Onions, turnips, and collards at Wednesday's market, then. Let us soldier on.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Winds of change
I don't want to talk about the vile, horrific weather. It may look sunny enough when we glance out the window, but we are currently in the middle of a four-night stint of shocking record-low temperatures. The wind howls nonstop, and my sinuses are bleeding. I was forced to unplant several rows of garden vegetables, troweling them into Dixie cups so they could spend the night in safety indoors. Other tender plants are wearing protective sheets or mini greenhouses made of Mason jars. So far it all seems to be working.
In the midst of all this, I took several boxes of vegetables, herbs, hot cross buns, etc., to the Oconee Farmers' Market this morning. It was 31 degrees, and despite my parka, mittens, neckwarmer, hat, New Zealand opossum socks, and four layers of clothing, my Raynaud's still kicked in with a vengeance. I never managed to put up my chalkboard sign because my hands were too stiff and blue to grasp a writing implement! Business was slow, but the most of the regulars trickled in one by one. I eventually sold enough to make it worth my while.
The cold did me an unexpected favor: It helped me get to know some of my fellow vendors. Part of the morning I spent huddled next to a gas-powered smoker, eating little sample bites of delicious brisket courtesy of the Clarke-Oconee Cattlemen's Association. And when the cold became too much to bear, I took off for the restroom, which the market manager had revealed was heated. I found it full of Asian women--a family of flower and vegetable vendors who, like me, had been slowly freezing to death.
The women turned out to be Hmong and, further, turned out to be fellow ex-residents of St. Paul, Minnesota. There's a large Hmong community there, and I'd known several during my college days up north.
We started sharing reminiscences. Then the talk turned to our current situations, which are remarkably similar. They have a small greenhouse; we have a small greenhouse. They have 30 chickens and aspire to have about 100; we have 30 chickens and aspire to have 75. We have ducks and turkeys and (soon) a few geese; they have ducks and geese and a few guinea fowl. We both succession-plant--in the case of the Hmong family, all through the winter. ("Mom starts the carrots way early, under buckets. She's crazy.")
When we finally left the restroom, I visited their table and bought this story cloth.
It takes four 10-hour days of patient needlework to create a record-album sized piece like this one. It depicts, they explained, "the way things used to be before everything changed."
Maybe it's romantic of me, but I feel drawn to this story cloth. I feel connected to the tiny embroidered people who are feeding chickens, hulling rice, picking squash, and carrying baskets to the market.
I don't want to live in a stone-age culture--who does, who has an opportunity to live in a society with flush toilets and the internet? But at the same time, I am glad there are still people who remember that kind of life and are trying to hold onto what's good about it.
In the midst of all this, I took several boxes of vegetables, herbs, hot cross buns, etc., to the Oconee Farmers' Market this morning. It was 31 degrees, and despite my parka, mittens, neckwarmer, hat, New Zealand opossum socks, and four layers of clothing, my Raynaud's still kicked in with a vengeance. I never managed to put up my chalkboard sign because my hands were too stiff and blue to grasp a writing implement! Business was slow, but the most of the regulars trickled in one by one. I eventually sold enough to make it worth my while.
The cold did me an unexpected favor: It helped me get to know some of my fellow vendors. Part of the morning I spent huddled next to a gas-powered smoker, eating little sample bites of delicious brisket courtesy of the Clarke-Oconee Cattlemen's Association. And when the cold became too much to bear, I took off for the restroom, which the market manager had revealed was heated. I found it full of Asian women--a family of flower and vegetable vendors who, like me, had been slowly freezing to death.
The women turned out to be Hmong and, further, turned out to be fellow ex-residents of St. Paul, Minnesota. There's a large Hmong community there, and I'd known several during my college days up north.
We started sharing reminiscences. Then the talk turned to our current situations, which are remarkably similar. They have a small greenhouse; we have a small greenhouse. They have 30 chickens and aspire to have about 100; we have 30 chickens and aspire to have 75. We have ducks and turkeys and (soon) a few geese; they have ducks and geese and a few guinea fowl. We both succession-plant--in the case of the Hmong family, all through the winter. ("Mom starts the carrots way early, under buckets. She's crazy.")
When we finally left the restroom, I visited their table and bought this story cloth.
It takes four 10-hour days of patient needlework to create a record-album sized piece like this one. It depicts, they explained, "the way things used to be before everything changed."
Maybe it's romantic of me, but I feel drawn to this story cloth. I feel connected to the tiny embroidered people who are feeding chickens, hulling rice, picking squash, and carrying baskets to the market.
I don't want to live in a stone-age culture--who does, who has an opportunity to live in a society with flush toilets and the internet? But at the same time, I am glad there are still people who remember that kind of life and are trying to hold onto what's good about it.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Slight oversight
Er, hi. Sorry for the lapse in posting. A friend and I went to Savannah for the weekend (we had a great time--even spent some quality time on the beach on Tybee Island!), and I didn't manage to check in before I left.
Allow me to vent. I'm absolutely grinding my teeth over my new farmers' market project. Basically, my problem has to do with culture. When we northerners come down here and experience the massive freedom and potential of Georgia's growing season, we tend to respond by gardening year-round. We constantly succession-plant throughout the year for maximum output. That's how most of the organic market gardeners I met at the Georgia Organics conference do it, that's how I do it, and that's how I assumed everyone with a big garden did it. I mean, it makes sense.
Now I've come to find out that most gardeners in this area--even the ones who grow six or seven acres of vegetables--divide the year sharply into two big plantings. There's one in August for the winter greens, and there's one that occurs right about now for tomatoes and corn and okra and squash.
I was sheltered and knew only the Georgia Organics crowd. So not fully appreciating the local culture, I decided that April 11 would make a great opening day for the farmers' market. Now I find that all my new backyard gardening friends (the ones I'm trying to encourage to get in on the action) have pulled up their winter vegetables all at once (!) and have nothing but bare earth and flats of tiny seedlings. They won't have any more vegetables ready until July. Gaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.
Why on earth would people do that? When you plant everything simultaneously in this climate, it encourages bugs and diseases to wipe out your crops. And you get one big glob instead of a sustained flow. It makes absolutely no sense, but that's what everyone seems to do. Am I missing something?
I can't see how I could be. My garden is really productive at this time of year. I'm not trying to be a smartass or to act superior. The last thing I want to do is be That Yankee who thinks she has all the answers. (I actually have a lot fewer of them than I'm comfortable with!) But at the same time, I do think the results speak for themselves. It's what our few sustainable market gardeners--who are perhaps not coincidentally mostly from other parts of the country--do in order to ensure constant production.
So we will be opening with a very few vegetables, some live plants, some homemade soaps, some crafts. I hope the damn thing survives. It's a long time until July.
*slaps forehead*
Allow me to vent. I'm absolutely grinding my teeth over my new farmers' market project. Basically, my problem has to do with culture. When we northerners come down here and experience the massive freedom and potential of Georgia's growing season, we tend to respond by gardening year-round. We constantly succession-plant throughout the year for maximum output. That's how most of the organic market gardeners I met at the Georgia Organics conference do it, that's how I do it, and that's how I assumed everyone with a big garden did it. I mean, it makes sense.
Now I've come to find out that most gardeners in this area--even the ones who grow six or seven acres of vegetables--divide the year sharply into two big plantings. There's one in August for the winter greens, and there's one that occurs right about now for tomatoes and corn and okra and squash.
I was sheltered and knew only the Georgia Organics crowd. So not fully appreciating the local culture, I decided that April 11 would make a great opening day for the farmers' market. Now I find that all my new backyard gardening friends (the ones I'm trying to encourage to get in on the action) have pulled up their winter vegetables all at once (!) and have nothing but bare earth and flats of tiny seedlings. They won't have any more vegetables ready until July. Gaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh.
Why on earth would people do that? When you plant everything simultaneously in this climate, it encourages bugs and diseases to wipe out your crops. And you get one big glob instead of a sustained flow. It makes absolutely no sense, but that's what everyone seems to do. Am I missing something?
I can't see how I could be. My garden is really productive at this time of year. I'm not trying to be a smartass or to act superior. The last thing I want to do is be That Yankee who thinks she has all the answers. (I actually have a lot fewer of them than I'm comfortable with!) But at the same time, I do think the results speak for themselves. It's what our few sustainable market gardeners--who are perhaps not coincidentally mostly from other parts of the country--do in order to ensure constant production.
So we will be opening with a very few vegetables, some live plants, some homemade soaps, some crafts. I hope the damn thing survives. It's a long time until July.
*slaps forehead*
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Exuberance
During the three hours I worked in the garden today...
• Three Violet Podded bean plants poked up through the soil.
• Three Lemon cucumbers emerged.
• A couple of rows of Cherry Belle and Watermelon radishes went through a visible growth spurt.
Try it sometime: A week or so after your last-frost date, look closely at the garden when you arrive, then look again when you leave. Count your seedlings. You will be truly amazed.
• Three Violet Podded bean plants poked up through the soil.
• Three Lemon cucumbers emerged.
• A couple of rows of Cherry Belle and Watermelon radishes went through a visible growth spurt.
Try it sometime: A week or so after your last-frost date, look closely at the garden when you arrive, then look again when you leave. Count your seedlings. You will be truly amazed.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Sacre bleu
Every night one of us takes a flashlight outdoors in order to lock up the poultry and collect the eggs. Tonight, as I was doing this, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye.
It was a green reflection: a pair of eyes. A deer. I held up the flashlight and saw more pairs--three, maybe four. And then I started panning around the perimeter of our open acreage.
There was a 180-degree panorama of deer eyes.* They were everywhere!
I approached each cluster of animals, waving the flashlight and shouting. One group included two fawns. All were unafraid, and I had to get within 10 or 20 yards to chase them away. Once a group that I had chased away returned and had to be chased a second time. In all, I counted at least 14 deer. The number may have been as high as 20.
Welcome to the next generation of marauders...
----------
* One pair of eyes appeared 20 feet in the air, on a tree branch. On further inspection, it turned out to be a raccoon--which is a good thing, because if deer start climbing trees, we are all screwed.
It was a green reflection: a pair of eyes. A deer. I held up the flashlight and saw more pairs--three, maybe four. And then I started panning around the perimeter of our open acreage.
There was a 180-degree panorama of deer eyes.* They were everywhere!
I approached each cluster of animals, waving the flashlight and shouting. One group included two fawns. All were unafraid, and I had to get within 10 or 20 yards to chase them away. Once a group that I had chased away returned and had to be chased a second time. In all, I counted at least 14 deer. The number may have been as high as 20.
Welcome to the next generation of marauders...
----------
* One pair of eyes appeared 20 feet in the air, on a tree branch. On further inspection, it turned out to be a raccoon--which is a good thing, because if deer start climbing trees, we are all screwed.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Roast beast
I am congratulating myself, because I have managed to get all the ham leftovers into the freezers. It took some rearranging. We ate quite a bit of roast ham at dinner tonight, but there were still three 1-quart bags of lunchmeat, a 2-gallon sack of random bits and pieces, and a meaty hambone.
The ham is absolutely freaking delicious. It was cured for 30 days, give or take, in a hard cider brine. Last time we used Woodchuck, I think, but didn't get quite enough and had to pad it out with apple juice; this time we used Hornsby's in great quantities. I think this year's ham is even better than last year's, but I can't prove it. At the very least there's more of it, which is a very good thing.
I cannot emphasize this enough: I don't think there is any kitchen activity you can do that's more satisfying than curing your own meat. It's absolutely magical. Please, please, please try it yourself. There are all sorts of reference materials that can help you; I'm partial to the River Cottage books and DVDs, but they're by no means the only ones.
This photo is apropos of nothing, except that I was entranced by the gorgeous impracticality of the plants that were sitting in the bathroom sink. They're outdoors now. We had had a couple of very chilly days, with lows in the mid-30s, but now we seem to be rebounding. The s.o. has been busy planning improvements to his flower bed. Every year it gets better. We are known for it.
I am working on a 4000-word writing assignment and am totally exhausted.
The ham is absolutely freaking delicious. It was cured for 30 days, give or take, in a hard cider brine. Last time we used Woodchuck, I think, but didn't get quite enough and had to pad it out with apple juice; this time we used Hornsby's in great quantities. I think this year's ham is even better than last year's, but I can't prove it. At the very least there's more of it, which is a very good thing.
I cannot emphasize this enough: I don't think there is any kitchen activity you can do that's more satisfying than curing your own meat. It's absolutely magical. Please, please, please try it yourself. There are all sorts of reference materials that can help you; I'm partial to the River Cottage books and DVDs, but they're by no means the only ones.
This photo is apropos of nothing, except that I was entranced by the gorgeous impracticality of the plants that were sitting in the bathroom sink. They're outdoors now. We had had a couple of very chilly days, with lows in the mid-30s, but now we seem to be rebounding. The s.o. has been busy planning improvements to his flower bed. Every year it gets better. We are known for it.
I am working on a 4000-word writing assignment and am totally exhausted.
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