Existential Gardener

Gardening and Farming

    

I grew up on a farm.  Despite that, I am a gardener, and have been most of my life.  Unlike my wife who wrote last week about her first experiences with plants, I was raised on large scale production.  For me, there is something fundamentally different about gardening.
     From my perspective, a farm is a large parcel of land used to make products, an agricultural factory if you will.  The farm is analogous to a factory worker (albeit one who is also the CEO, mangager, and foreman too).  The farmer is interested in volume at an acceptable quality.  But his plants must be heavy producers and resilient ones.  His rate of return is dependent on mass production of his goods.  They are certainly delicious and more than adequate.  Most importantly, they are consistently familiar to the average consumer.
     In contrast the gardener is more akin to cottage level industry.  The gardener is a craftsman and artisan who will not forgo quantity at the expense of quality.     Additionally, like many artists, s/he will experiment with different varieties of numerous common vegetables in an attempt to elevate them in an uncommon culinary experience.
     To be honest, most farmers I know also have their own vegetable gardens.  It is here that their true passion unfolds.  My parents' garden kept our entire family fed for a year at the cost of a few hours work a week.  While the farm produced food for the masses, our garden produced delicacies that would make any NYC chef jealous.
     Gardeners till their plot for the joy seeing their creation.  Any dividends above their investment (necessary or not) are a source of amazement and pride.  They are the artists who work a green canvas and reap a cornucopia.

Hardening-Off Plants Pays Off

   Do you remember planting seeds in milk cartons in first grade?  I remember that as my first, personal experience with being responsible for a new life.  Mrs. Williams gave us each a bean, some dirt, and a milk carton.  We each planted our seed and decorated the cartons.  We placed them on the huge window sill in our classroom and watched each day, fascinated as, miraculously, every last one of those seeds sprouted.  By the time spring break arrived, they were ready to go home.  I babied my sprout in my lap the entire car ride home, and put it next to my bed that night.  The next morning, contrary to my father's instructions, I planted that bean, demonstrating a stubbornness that only a six year old can have.  The following day, prepared to prove my father wrong, I marched outside to find it limp.  I watered it and talked to it.  But by the middle of the break, it was dead.  I thought I was a failure as a gardener.
     What Dad knew and I didn't was that plants need to be hardened-off before they are sent out into the wide and treacherous world of your garden.  If you have started your seeds inside, they have been coddled up to this point.  You have been providing them all of their nutritional needs and adjusting the temperature accordingly.  But that's not the reality of your garden.
     Hardening-off is a rather simple process.  Ideally, the first day of exposure should be mild and only put the plants out for a couple of hours.  You might think that a bright sunny day would be best, but that first day, slightly overcast is better.  Each day, let the plants be exposed to a little more light.  Also, start to reduce the amount of water you are providing over the next 7-10 days.  This reduction will help plants when they are transplanted.  However, do not let them wilt.  If temps are ideal, you should be able to leave them out overnight at the end of this process.  Just keep checking the weather report and adjust accordingly.  If you don't have cold frames for your plants, bring them indoors.  Finally, make sure you check the hardiness temperatures of your plants.  This information is usually on the back of your seed packets.  If you already tossed those, a quick search online should do the trick.
     If things have gone well and the weather has been kind to you, you should be able to put your plants in the ground at this point.  They may need extra water and some fertilizer to help them get over the shock of the transplanting.  Your local nursery should be able to help you find one that is appropriate to your plants, soil type, and organic perspective.

Waiting to Garden

      March weather around here has been up and down.  And like most gardeners, I've got spring fever, and the longer, sunny days have me itching to plant.  So what should you be getting into the ground now?   Check out what zone your in first, and then consider some of the following suggestions.
     I'm a zone 6 gardener, and we are still in danger of a frost.  Although the trip to the mega-store Sunday did make me buy some plants that are already started, they can't be put in the ground just yet.  Over the next few weeks, I'll be hardening those off and getting them used to being outside.  For those of us in similar zones, we should be primarily focused on getting the ground turned and planting spring or early summer crops.  Peas, kohlrabi, cabbage, lettuce, broccoli, brussel sprouts, and cauliflower are all good candidates for this early planting.
     A few friends have succumbed to temptation and already planted some veggies and flowers that maybe should've stayed in the greenhouse for another couple weeks.  Admittedly, their gardens and front yards looked summer fresh during the balmy, tease-of-summer week we had.  Now, unfortunately, they've got black leaves and lighter pockets.  If they had consulted the almanac, they would have been better off.
     If you still can't stand the thought of not running your fingers through the dirt, go to your local farmers market and get some advice.  Most farmers are more than willing to talk shop with you and can tell you some of the secrets of watching nature for cues on planting.  For instance, my husband's family, long time farmers, won't plant a single thing until a certain tree in the yard starts to bloom.  Although it sounds like to mumbo jumbo, most of these old-time tricks have a basis in science if you just scrape the surface.  That tree only blooms when the danger of a hard frost is completely over.  The family learned a century ago that to plant before that tree flowers is folly.  So listen to the lore your farmers have to offer.  Maybe practicing watching nature can help curb the craving for damp earth.

Megastore leeks

Leeks hardening off and waiting to go back in the ground.

Where do your seeds come from?

    

     Ahh . . . the fruits of your labor.  Can anything be more delicious and satisfying?  But wait, where did that come from?  I know you grew it, but where did your seeds come from?  You aren't sure?  Shame on you.
     It is difficult to determine where your seeds come from these days.  It is easy to say, "I got these at Stiffler's, my favorite garden store."  But where exactly did they get them?  Turns out only a few large scale seed producers still exist in this country.  Most seeds, even if bought from different places in totally different packages come from the same conglomerate.  This fact isn't necessarily bad; it just limits your real choices.  If you choose to go with a smaller seed company, you will certainly get a higher quality, but be prepared to pay.
     So where should you get your seeds?  The four main choices are your local hardware/general store, a nursery, seed catalogs/websites, and seed savers/exchanges.  However, the nursery often gets the seeds from the same places you do, so in reality there's only three true choices.  A large part of your choice will depend on your budget, your seed politics, and your desire for something different.
     For those of you new to urban gardening, store seeds are a good place to start.  They are inexpensive, and they perform well.  They do tend to be the "plain Jane" variety, but usually, that's the draw for most people.  They know what to expect.  Some tremendous bargains are to be had if you shop at the right time.  (Right after Thanksgiving is great.  We purchased a huge lot of seeds at our local hardware store at 85% off!)
     For those who have no luck (or time), nurseries have plants already started for you, so you can skip the step of starting your own.  But keep in mind that those plants can be a little pricey.  Are you going to get enough broccoli to offset the $6 per plant price tag?
     The best find that we have found is using seed savers or exchanges.  They specialize in heirloom varieties, and most can be had for the price of shipping and handling or a self-addressed stamped envelope.  Some require membership, but most of the time membership is free or a small fee. Wherever you choose to get your seeds, make sure you need them and can use them.  Don't be enchanted by descriptions only to find you never cook anything with rutabaga.

Pedigree or Mutt: How do you prefer your garlic?

I love looking at pedigree dogs.  They are bred for beauty or for a job, and they are very good at that.  But for all the dogs (and cats and rabbits . . .) that I've owned, I have always loved my mutts the best.  Mutts have greater adaptability and can be much better all around dogs.

Similarly, garlic comes in many vareties.  Softneck- Hardneck, Italian, Russian--the list is endless.  But what kind do you pick up in the grocery store?  Is it good enough to cook with?  I am not a "any kind of garlic is good enough" kind of guy, but if you want to grow garlic, start small.

Please, don't go out and buy some really great cultivar of winged Ethopian Hardneck garlic.  Go to your grocery store and buy generic garlic.  This mutt of a variety is highly specialized to grow, not for taste, so it should be relatively easy to raise.

I take a bulb of garlic and pop it into the fridge for a day or two.  After that dunk it into ice water for an hour or so, then break it up into individual cloves and let it dry.  Poke cloves into the soil so the top of the clove is about an inch (right between the second and first joint of your finger) under the soil.  Then wait.

If you plant the garlic now, you might have a nice small bulb by Novemberish.  The best practice is to plant it in the fall and let it wait until next fall.  Once the garlic bug bites you, feel free to try all the fancy pedigrees while you enjoy your mutt.

Gardening with Uncle Peanut (1)

     The following is the first in a series from my Uncle Peanut, a longtime, very successful, urban gardener.  As frequently as we can, we will feature his insights and reflections that have been shaped by the Depression, the rationing of the 1940s, and the various ups and downs of the US market.  Not only does he have quite a bit of practical know-how, but he also possesses a genuine love for what he does and sharing it with others.  We hope you will look forward to these interludes as much as we do.
     About two generations ago in homes all over America there was a happy anticipation and excitement for the arrival in the mail of the "Sears Rear Back" and the "Monkey Ward" catalog.  The delivery of the catalogs to the mailbox by the burdened mailman was a long awaited family Event.  Event spelled with a capital E.  The wish books were perused endlessly, pages dog-eared, special items carefully circled by pencil, and hope reigned eternal that all things so beautifully pictured would soon be ours.  Alas, precious few of the coveted things were actually purchased.  And the ones that were had colors that were not quite as bright as the photographs, the garment of lesser quality than pictured, and really didn't meet our expectations.
     There is a definite parallel here with the home gardener that merits consideration.  Beginning in February we anxiously haunt the mailbox for the arrival of the Henry Field's Seed Catalog, the Jung Seeds and Plant catalog, the Miller Nurseries Catalog, and so many others.  Finally, the Holy Grail of all seed catalogs arrives, The Burpee Seed Catalog.  Printed on glossy paper and with brilliant colors that would even make the National Geographic Magazine envious, the home gardeners Event begins.  Event spelled with a capital E.
     The real home gardener begins the Event by settling in his/her Lazy Boy Recliner armed with sharpened pencils, highlighters, lined lawyers pads, and a stapler.  Why a stapler?  An authentic home gardener has no truck for bright yellow marigolds, purple fuchsias, or dazzling impatiens.  None of the wimpy stuff for him or her, no sir.  So the dedicated home gardener simply staples the flower pages together so they won't impede his/her work.  This person allows no waste motions or impediment to interfere with the serious business of the occasion.
     S/he quickly becomes overwhelmed by the endless variety of even the most common of garden vegetables.  Take the tomato, everyone's favorite garden fruit, one of the easiest to grow and to guarantee a large and delicious harvest.  S/he can choose the Big Boy, the Better Boy, and the Lemon Boy.  Of equal quality is the Big Girl, the Better Girl, or hundreds of other varieties, each proclaiming to the be the largest, the most colorful, the most prolific, and definitely the most flavorful.  What a dilemma for the poor gardener.
     Just for fun, some of us enjoy growing the Heirloom tomatoes.  They are not the prettiest tomatoes, but they certainly have the aroma and the delicious taste that old-timers equate with a real tomato.  Think about the Rutgers, the Brandywine, the Oxhart, and Mr. Stripey.
     Many of the Heirlooms have a very fascinating fable attached to their origin that goes way back to pioneer days.  These unique stories and the seeds have been passed down to succeeding generations.  For many years these stories and seeds remained in the locale and were not widely known or planted outside the community.  They are not usually offered by the large seed companies, but are available if you search diligently.  How about the Turkey Craw tomato, the Break O'Day, or the Rattlesnake?  In West Virginia we have our own famous Mortgage Lifter tomato, the West Virginia Hillbilly, and more recently the West Virginia 63.
     Well, we haven't planted a single seed, have we?  Isn't this one of the better joys of gardening, just reading and talking and comparing notes about what we want to do this year and the anticipation of a good harvest?  Hey, I have to get to work.  I'll see you at the back fence tomorrow morning.  You bless God and He'll bless your garden.
--Uncle Peanut

The Gardening Widow

     Much has already been written about the lonesome plight of the golfing widow or the football widow, but not much attention has been given to those that suffer the never ending battle of being the gardening widow.  I hope that readers about to embark on the wonderful journey of gardening as a couple read the following as a cautionary tale.
     Unlike football or golf, gardening is not a seasonal sport.  Certainly from March to October, the physical activity of gardening increases.  However, it must not be overlooked that during those long, dreary months of winter, the passionate gardener will be intensely involved in planning.
     It was during the winter holidays that my father-in-law gave us the first of the seed catalogs that had arrived at his house.  I was certainly excited and spent many days perusing them, making lists, (and price comparison spreadsheets).  I personally thought that I might be just a tad excessive. Nothing compared to my husband.  Out came diagrams, charts, and extensive appendices to accompany his growing knowledge of well, everything.  
     I spend most of my days blogging, working on other writing projects, and taking care of the lion’s share of the general upkeep of the house, inside and out.  Part of this does include the garden, which becomes primarily my responsibility because my husband works a traditional full time job. I have a great deal of items that I wish to discuss with him at the end of a long day.  Yet, when he arrives home, it is not his wife that he rushes to but to his garden. Although I would be happy to give him a detailed report, he seems to need to get his hands coated in dirt as soon as he is home the way some men would rush for that first cocktail.   While I try to tell him about some important milestone our child has reached in school, he will interrupt with such things as “Do you mind if I build bee houses for bees that are sort of microscopic and don’t produce honey?”  And if I’m not quick enough to keep the dinner conversation going I’ll hear such stunning queries like “How do you feel about borage?” or “What’s your position on purple cauliflower?”  I am not sure I have a strong opinion about either, but I certainly must get one soon or I fear my marriage may suffer.
     So what lessons are to be taken from my plight?  First, if the idea of gardening was suggested by one partner and the other has just happily gone along with it, you may be about to become a gardening widow.  Second, if you can’t become as passionate about gardening as your partner (as I have slowly, over time) you might want to let him or her do this as a solo venture.  I for one have accepted that there are worse things in life than for my husband to have an affair with mother earth.

State of the Garden Address

Ahh . . . Spring is here, the weather is unstable, and we want our garden back.  Winter has moved through like an incompetent bulldozer bringing wacky temperatures and killing most of the garden.  But some determined late October crops are rallying.

As the snow from Monday melted, we surveyed the plot.  All of our warm weather crops packed up with the October bluster, but the cold tolerant few are still trying to tough it out.  Our unproductive broccoli and cauliflower are still poking up tender green shoots, even though we planted them too late in the fall.   The carrots we left in the ground over the winter are starting to green back up (they make great bunny food but not so tasty to the human tongue after wintering over). 

 And, in a surprising turn of events, we are still enjoying fresh parsley.  The cold killed off the outer leaves but a warm snap here and there always rewards us with fresh leaves.  But the prize for stubbornness will certainly go to our chard.  Planted from seed last summer, it constantly produced new leaves after each cutting until the first snow.  Now that the weather is slowly coming around, it is poking up more green leaves.

But the main portion of the garden is still peaceful under its blanket of composted leaves.  The only things attempting to grow there are some large boulders and stray bricks, the remnants of a long forgotten farm wall that was devoured decades ago by the landscape.  (Just like Robert Frost says "something there is that doesn't love a wall . . . .)

Although the garden certainly looks like it is ready to put up another long fight, last year's lessons will come in handy.  We have big, cheap plans for this spring beginning with basic spring cleaning.  Though most people like to jump in with both feet, the preparation time of raking, tilling, and, if necessary, fertilizing the soil will have big payoffs at the end. 

Welcome to the Garden (A Quick and General History)

About a year ago, while looking at the doleful state of our backyard, my husband and I decided to plant a garden.  It didn't matter to us that grass didn't even seem to grow.  We were convinced that with the proper measure of care (and apparently $2000), we would soon enjoy succulent tomatoes and verdant peppers.

By the end of the summer, we had spent $150 in seeds and plants, $1,000 to chop down a tree so that our garden could get sun, $500 in materials for raised beds and screened dirt, and $400 for other miscellaneous  but absolutely can't live without items apparently too mundane for me to recall.

In other words, from May to November, I could be found in the sweltering heat stacking wood, lugging a dump truck load of soil from our front yard to our backyard, or using a gigantic tiller that outweighs me by about 100 pounds and has a sixth sense for finding enormous rocks that nearly break the blade.  It was one of the most expensive and laborious semesters I have ever taken in the school of life.  But my husband and I graduated with honors.

While eating homemade spaghetti sauce and other garden goodies all the way through March, we began making plans for The Garden-2009.  On cold winter nights while the garden slumbered, we scoured books, trade papers, and the net for information.

It was out of this process that the Existential Gardener was born.  We wanted to provide a place for urban and suburban gardeners like ourselves to find resources and products that we have tested and moral support along the way to produce independence.  So hang out with us as we chronicle the ups and downs of our patch of green this year.  We promise we'll amuse you.