EXPLODING COLOR
Tag: Gardening
PUSSY WILLOWS
Nothing has demonstrated to me how varied growing conditions can be, even in a small plot, more than the six pussy willows we planted our first year here. Some of it is the amount of light each receives, and some, how much water. The soil itself varies widely as well.
One of the sprigs died within a year. One, planted where we thought we had a natural spring at the head of the Swamp, has proliferated – so much, in fact, we must harvest drastically early each spring to keep it from becoming a full-blown tree shading the garden.
After a decade, two others, in the berm along the sidewalk, were finally established enough to begin lopping off budding branches.
The last one, close to the house, is no bigger than when it was first planted.
My wife is always elated by the soft gray budding. I remember both my third-grade teacher, who brought them into the classroom, and the Japanese artists and poets who laud the seasonal marker.
We have so many we give them away, at work, at school, at Quaker meeting.
One March, yes, I still remember so many crows in flight while I cut pussy willow against an incredibly blue sky. Those artists and poets are right.
FORCED BULBS
Especially when you live in a climate like northern New England, you can find winter dragging on. Really dragging on. Never mind that by this time of year, we’re getting as much sunlight as we do in late October. The snow often remains deep, and the frost heaves on the country roads are just beginning.
Sometimes you can cheat, though. That’s where I try forcing bulbs to bloom indoors early. Daffodil, iris, hyacinth, especially, or paperwite, in a room where my elder daughter won’t be offended by its aroma. A personal thing, you know.
My wife, meanwhile, goes for the amaryllis, hopefully in time for Easter.
WINTER BLOOMING
SIMPLY DECKED OUT
OUR HOLLY
BRUSSELS SPROUTS & LETTUCE (INCLUDING UNDER PLASTIC)
Some vegetables turn sweeter if you leave them in the garden after the first hard frost. The Brussels sprouts and kale are good examples.
My wife’s best friend and I are the ones who love the miniature cabbages, and that’s led to a tradition at our Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, regardless of whether we’re all sitting down to eat at their place or ours. Yes, like me, she’s especially fond of the sprouts, any way they’re served. So here’s looking ahead, with anticipation.
BRUSSELS SPROUTS ETC.
out in the garden, I use an ax to dig out Brussels sprouts
from under two feet of snow
for Christmas dinner
and maybe some kale
to boot
poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson
GREAT TASTES FROM NEARBY SOURCES
There are some things we’ve decided not to grow. Sweet corn, for example, requires more space than we’re willing to allocate.
Part of our decision reflects the reality that we have some fine farm markets nearby, and we welcome the exchange of a local economy. The same-day butter-and-sugar or all white ears are unbeatable, especially when accompanied by our own tomatoes. Who says a feast has to be expensive?
A pick-your-own orchard presents another example. We have fond memories of family journeys to Butternut Farm in Meaderboro for peaches and apples. For me, of course, the visit reminds me of living in the orchard in Washington state’s Yakima Valley, so many years ago, now, though I welcome its many varieties other than Delicious. A Gala, anyone?
The annual trek to a Christmas tree farm here in the city feels related – first, to pick out our choice, and then, a few days before Christmas Eve, to harvest it and somehow fit it into the car. We still treasure the bird nests we’ve found in ours some years.
PYRAMID OF VINING BEANS
Back on June 14, I posted a photo of our newly erected tepee for the pole beans. Now that they’ve sprouted and taken off, here’s how it looks.
If the plants produce as well as our first round of sugar snap peas did, I’ll be feeling like a pharaoh of beans. (I hear the groans in our household already. So, she might ask, did that make me a sugar-snap daddy?)
NATURALLY, SHE HAS REASON TO WEEP
You may remember my writing of the wildlife we have in our yard, even though we live in a city. Maybe I was even bragging, a tad.
Meanwhile, our garden was looking better than ever. Some of it was likely a consequence of all the seaweed we’re using for mulch, plus the compost. Some of it a matter that we got just about everything transplanted on time, and some a reflection that my being free from the office has allowed a little more help with the weeding and harvesting.
On top of everything, the weather has been uncommonly cooperative. There were no late frosts in May, though there were nights we had to bring plants under cover as they “hardened off” before transplanting. We largely avoided a wet June, which kept the garden slugs under control and meant the strawberries didn’t get waterlogged. (They’ve been very tasty. The berries, that is.) July has brought rainfall as needed and also stayed out of the tropical range of oppression.
And then, about a week ago, disaster struck. A groundhog (apparently dwelling under a shed three houses down the street).
We had some near misses in the past, but nothing like this. One year, in fact, a band of possums evicted the groundhogs from their burrow. My wife’s always like opossums.
Overnight, half of our Brussels sprouts and a half-dozen heads of lettuce were obliterated. The rest were wiped out a day or two later, despite our efforts to fight back. Without the possums coming to our rescue, my wife’s taking this personally. For that matter, so am I. What about all that teaching about peaceful coexistence, anyway? What if the other side just doesn’t care?
Living in the city, we can’t resort to the usual line of defense, either, the one many vegetarians no doubt practice. No, a .22 is not an option here. You can run down the list of other weapons and strike them off one by one. Children and pets, after all, live in the neighborhood.
So here we are, mopping up and hoping the cantaloupe slices in the Hav A Heart trap do the job. And wiping our tears.
Jnana's Red Barn 