Know thy enemy

  It has been a beautiful week, more like summer than spring-- temps in the 80's,  hot and humid.
Heavy dews in the morning have watered my new seedings more gently than I ever could. With the heat and the burgeoning garden come many hungry insects, and the battle over the garden begins again.
  Cultivated vegetables have been interbred for many generations to produce big, tasty foliage and fruit- tasty to both mammals and insects. I can fence to keep out the mammals, with a little help from Sol, but the insects are a more complicated problem. 
  I don't spray my gardens with chemical pesticides.  Just a few years ago, everyone did. I have a companion book from PBS's 'Victory Garden' TV show from the 1980's which advises routine weekly spraying of many crops with chemical pesticides.  There are several reasons I don't, including concerns about what pesticide residue can do to my health. But I also don't use chemical sprays because they are expensive, and in my small garden I'd rather save the money and invest some time.
  I visit the garden every morning and afternoon, and examine the plants.  I  turn over leaves to look for eggs, I pull weeds and thin seedlings, I pick a few things to eat.  I know my garden well, so I notice quickly if things change.  
  When black aphids appeared on the fava beans last week, I looked at all the growing tips to gauge how many there were-- the plants can handle a modest infestation without much damage. I noticed both daddy-long legs and ladybugs eating the aphids.  If the infestation gets too heavy for these insect predators, I  may wash the aphids off with water, and monitor.  Finally, if I decide favas always have major aphid problems, I'll stop growing them and plant a different bean next year.
  I saw a new insect on the potato plants yesterday, while I was picking off and crushing scale bugs.  It was small and gray, and had a predatory stance, so I didn't try to kill it. I'll go online and try to ID this new insect, so that the next time we meet I'll know for sure whether it is a friend or foe.
  I know cucumber beetles are the enemy.  I have never grown cucumbers, but every summer I wage war with these colorful, zippy black and yellow striped beetles.  They prefer to eat things in the cucumber family (which includes many squash plants, which I do grow), but will nibble on many other plants. 
   I have gotten very good at stalking cucumber beetles on cool summer mornings. I called them zippy because they are very good fliers, and will zip out from under my crushing fingers in the heat of noon, but in the morning they are as slow as college students.  I often find several of them snoozing the morning away inside squash blossoms, and gleefully crush them by squeezing the flower between my fingers.  Unchecked the cucumber beetles will eat leaves to the ribs, but they are even more dangerous as carriers of a nasty fungus that can rot the leaves they barely nibble.  Last year I planted a zucchini called 'Tigress" which was touted as resistant to this fungus, and they did well.  This year I am spreading the squash out around the yard, even in the flowerbeds, in the hope that cucumber beetles won't find them all, or at least, not too early in the summer. 
 And then there are the caterpillars-- cabbage worms, tomato hornworms, the awful army of winter moth caterpillars. For them I have a weapon that is not chemical, but bacteriological-- BT, which when sprayed on a leaf and then eaten by a caterpillar, slows and stops them eating, finally killing those that eat enough. Once again, there is no outright victory, because some damage is done, but I get most of the produce and the bugs get a little. I can live with that.


  

Celebrating the Average

   Last weekend I gave away tomato seedlings. I had about fifty extra plants, and over the course of two days I found new homes for them all.  The first delivery was to to some of the regulars at the local diner where I eat breakfast. I brought a cardboard box full of plants to work and gave them to co-workers and customers, and I even delivered several to my pharmacist. Then things got a bit out of hand when more people asked for plants, and I ended up giving away many of the tomatoes I'd been saving for my own garden. Finally, I came home Sunday night to find that the remaining plants had been sun-scalded, and were barely alive.  I felt like a character in the O'Henry story 'The Gift of the Magi', and lay awake that night wondering if, after growing so many tomatoes, I'd end up at Home Depot buying ones someone else had grown.

  The next day I looked over my remaining seedlings and judged them ugly but alive. I've been nursing them back to health for the last week, carefully regulating the air flow, light and water they receive, waiting for the day I could plant them. 

  Finally, today was it, the magical 'Last Average Frost Date' for my area, according to the charts produced at U Mass Amherst.  Last year I was cocky and planted early, only to have tomatoes blasted black by frost in the first week of May.  

 This year I've waited, but not patiently!  I had a little party in the garden today-- sharing a pile of freshly pulled radishes with Sol in celebration of the  last frost date.  Sol ate his carefully, holding each radish by the leaves with a paw while he gnawed on the root. I tore the leaves off with a twist and popped each spicy red globe into my mouth. We both grimaced with pleasure at the burst of heat as we bit into a radish. 

  Then I planted.  The 'Mortgage Lifter'  tomatoes had survived the scalding best, and were still tall and dark green, while 'Celebrity', 'Gold Nugget' and 'Yellow Pear' were each a bit bleached but had healthy clusters of leaves at the top.  I planted them deeply in beds enriched with horse manure, put cages over them, and hoped for the best.  Just in case I started a few left-over seeds last week after  the big giveaway, figuring I 'd at least get new plants to put out in July.  They've all sprouted, so I've got a back up plan if today's planting doesn't take, or if it does, more seedlings to give away.  I hope all the little tomatoes out there in new gardens are thriving and growing, safe from frost and ready to make lots of fruit.

May 11th pictures

I've got an essay to post, but things have been so busy I have not gotten to it... but here are some pictures from today. It has still been cool, and as a result the plants that like such weather are burgeoning; lettuces, spinach, peas and favas.  I'm holding the tomato and pepper seedlings in the cold frame for at least another week, since they won't make any growth in this cool weather.  Above are pics of: lilacs and lettuce, favas and potatoes (with my jury-rigged cold frame), and Sol's doghouse bed mulched with salt-marsh hay.  This bed will be home to winter squash (butternut and delicata) in a few weeks, and meanwhile the hay will keep weeds from sprouting.

Daffodil Spring

  I really should not complain about the weather here in New England when tornadoes are hitting St. Louis and Texas is drying up and blowing away, but the last few weeks of colder than usual spring temperatures have been a bit annoying, especially following a long snowy winter.  But a remark from my brother-in -law Jon made me realize that there has been at least one good thing about the cool spring.

'Wow, your daffodils are amazing' he said several times as he toured the yard last week.  I looked around and realized that the early flowers were still blooming as the late ones began.  All around the garden my many clumps of daffodils were blooming so heavily I could  hardly see the foliage.  Not only had the cool weather prolonged the blooms, there had also been no pounding rainstorms to crush the fragile blossoms. I cut several bouquets for the house and felt a lot less annoyed.

   We bought our house twenty years ago this September.  The realtor told us the elderly owner had once been an avid gardener.  I thought a lot during the winter about what might sprout in the overgrown beds out back.  There weren't many perennials that survived, but there were daffodils-- hundreds of them, in many shapes, colors and scents. I studied bulb catalogs until I could recognize many -- big yellow 'King Alfred', bicolor 'Ice Follies', delicate little lemon species, intensely fragrant 'Double Cheerfulness', and more.  Many clumps were thick with spiky green leaves, but had only a few flowers. I knew they were crowded and needed dividing to reinvigorate them.

  I made a diagram of the locations of each clump, then let the foliage ripen until it died ( I did not cut it...  that would weaken the bulbs).  In September I began digging up the clumps. I put the biggest bulbs back into new planting holes with some fertilizer, planting them each about twice as deep as the height of the upright bulb-- pointed end up! I threw the rotted bulbs and the small ones over the fence into the briar patch.  Now there are some nice clumps back there for the rabbits to sniff.

 Did I mention that daffodils taste terrible? Apparently they do, since my healthy rabbit, woodchuck and vole population never even nibble them. Crocuses and tulips get eaten in my garden, usually just as the flowers are about to open, but the daffodils thrive.

  Over the years I've  planted even more daffodils,  both subtle and brazen. I love the delicate white  bells of fragrant 'Thalia', but I've also got a soft spot for the more garish doubles-- they make me smile at their silliness.

 My daffodils increase every year because I do three things for them. I fertilize them early every spring, often while snow is still on the ground.  I  also always let the foliage ripen and dry, even though  it makes my June garden untidy.  Finally, I  now and then mark and later dig up and divide overgrown clumps.  It's not much work for the show in my backyard every spring, especially when we have a 'daffodil spring' like this year.

Bearing Gifts Part 2

  My grandmother grew rhubarb,  and each year in late spring there would be a jar of homemade rhubarb compote in her refrigerator door.  Sometimes after lunch she would carefully potion out a dollop of this precious sauce over plain yogurt and eat it slowly.  I turned up my nose at the strange pink mixture, preferring maple syrup on my yogurt.  But I know she loved her rhubarb-- I can still see  her smiling gently as she ate it, the smile showing in the crinkles by her her eyes rather than her serious mouth.

  I discovered I like rhubarb about forty years later, when my neighbor Rick gave me some stalks last spring.  Rick's family and mine have an unspoken, twenty year mutual non-involvement pact that has served both families well, but recently we've modified our relationship to include limited transfers of garden produce. I gave him some arugula last spring, and he gave me some rhubarb.

  I took the rhubarb inside and put it on the kitchen counter. It looked like a pile of pink celery. How exactly was I supposed to cook it? I went to my shelf of cookbooks and started reading.

  My favorite rhubarb recipe is simple. Chop  a big handful of clean rhubarb stalks into half inch pieces, pile in an ovenproof dish with a quarter cup of good strawberry jam an a couple of spoonfuls of sugar or honey, and bake in a three hundred and fifty degree oven until soft-- maybe half an hour. Serve warm or cold over yogurt, ice cream, or cake. 

  I became addicted to the stuff, just like my grandmother.  I couldn't keep asking Rick for stalks-- I needed my own supply!  Luckily he said his patch was overgrown, and offered mt some divisions in the spring.

  I thought about those rhubarb divisions quite a lot this winter, and where I would put them.  I didn't remind Rick  of his offer during the  long cold snap in March, but last week I saw him getting his newspaper when I was walking the dog, and asked him if the offer was still good.  Yes, and they'd be dug that weekend.

  I came home from work on Saturday to find a big cardboard box from the liquor store by my gate, so full of rhubarb and dirt I could barely lift it. I had just the place for them, a new bed next to Sol's doghouse that I had stayed out until dark Friday night weeding.  I added a liberal amount of horse manure and planted the rhubarb.  Three big divisions (giant compared to the small pieces I had seen for sale at the box stores) spaced about two feet apart. If the middle one gets too big I'll move it, leaving plenty of space for the other two.  My mouth is watering at the thought of many years of rhubarb and yogurt ahead. Thanks Rick, thanks grandmother Alice.

  

Best Laid Plans Part 2

 On April 8th, 2010 the thermometer in the shade on my front point reached 92 degrees.  I had forgotten last April's heat until I consulted my garden notebook from 2010 to check on planting dates.

  That same thermometer registered 34 degrees, with an inch of snow on the ground, at six thirty this morning.  By five pm the temperature was 40, and the only snow left was a small pile on the deck beneath my solar power panels. 

  Many parts of Massachusetts got several inches of snow this morning, which was actually one of the warmest mornings  since I planted my first seeds on St. Patrick's Day.  I had planned to sow beets, carrots, Swiss chard, Fava beans and more peas in the intervening days, but the unseasonably low temps kept me from planting.  Past experience has proven that planting most crops before the days are consistently above 50 degrees is not efficient, because germination is so slow that seeds planted later mature simultaneously.  There has been some good news outside-- my   discarded storm window coldframes work!  Lettuce, arugula and spinach are growing  quickly under glass. I wish I had more windows.

  As  most of the outside plantings wait for warm weather,  the seedlings I've started inside  (in two upstairs south-facing rooms) are thriving in makeshift setups. I supplemented the window light first with fluorescent lights in emptied bookshelves, then under  one of the same lights tied to a broken lampstand. It may look funny, but everything is growing, especially the 'Mortgage Lifter' tomatoes, which already have two sets of true leaves and will need to be re-potted soon!

  Tomato 'Celebrity' is not far behind, while the pepper seedlings continue to mosey along at their own deliberate pace-- but I got around 95% germination, which is great for peppers. The bottom heat I provided for the peppers definitely helped-- I used an old plug-in back heater, separated from the plant tray by a steel baking rack.  Later plantings of more tomatoes, cabbage, moonflowers, chives and basil are all doing well. On the floor nearby are crates of potatoes 'chitting', or presprouting.  I did not find any local blue potatoes, but I got a great deal on Yukon golds at Tractor Supply.

  My planning and growing continue, a bit thrown off by the weather, but ready for Spring when it finally comes-- and it will!

Best Laid Plans

  St Patrick's Day here in Southeastern Massachusetts was  a comfortable fifty degrees and intermittently sunny.  Just after lunch I loaded my wheelbarrow with aged horse manure and rolled it into the fenced back garden. Then I paused and consulted my crib sheet, a barely decipherable list of beds and crops copied from  the lists carefully written out during the winter in my garden notebook. 

  I'm left-handed, and it takes considerable effort for me to write neatly--my mind seems to move too fast for my hand.  I spent a lot of time in January meticulously mapping out the garden on a large sheet of paper, using ruler and pencil, and compiling lists of what to plant where.   Yes, there are computer programs, but I like to keep my garden notes on paper. 

  The lists of plantings for each bed consider several things, from how much sun it receives to the crops planted there in the last three seasons. I try to keep a three year rotation for potatoes and tomatoes-- most other rotations are tricky in beds that grow two or more crops a year.  But somehow  I can't seem to follow my lists. 

  I think it goes back to the basic difference between cooks and bakers-- the first see recipes as guidelines, the second as scientific formulas.  I'm more of a cook in the kitchen, where being impulsive may ruin dinner.  In the garden it can kill the ingredients for a lot of dinners. And so  I stood and looked at my scrawled list on St. Patrick's day and fought back the urge to ignore it.

  By late afternoon I was finished with the year's first plantings, and had done well.  The onions, peas, lettuces and arugula all went in the beds on the list, and they were all labeled.  I saved paint stirrers (ok, I took a few extra at the store) and used these as markers, with the crop and date written on them in sharpie.  I added some radishes on the edges of several beds that were not on the list because I had forgotten them, and I put the spinach in bed eight instead of beets, but I also saved the right three spots for the potatoes that are now pre-sprouting on my bureau. 

  I also did not over-seed! In the past I've planted tiny seeds too thickly, resulting in several rounds of laborious thinning to get good sized lettuces, arugula and spinach.  This time I was patient and meticulous, just like a baker.

  I know the rotation will probably go awry later in the year as weather speeds or slows the crops. That's when my cook's adaptability will help out-- I may plant the butternut squash in a flower bed, or hold potted seedlings a bit longer than planned, and I know I'll be proud of of the creative solutions I come up with, and perhaps make them part of my plans next year.  And I'm going to relax a bit and realize that  sometimes the sweet June peas are worth keeping the tomato plants in pots in the cold frame a week or two longer than planned.