My prize cabbage

This was our first attempt to grow cabbage.  We have grown broccoli, cauliflower, brussel sprouts, pak choi, and turnips, with less than laudable results.  I like to blame the cabbage moths that allow their ravenous offspring to destroy the leaves.  Radishes have always seemed to escape the pestilence, which is a faint blessing because they usually bolt and make their roots unpalatable before the eggs even hatch.

This year's quest for failure was Red Express cabbage.  Sown March 30, planted out May 6, narrowly escaping an avian abduction May 18, one of the plants became the jewel of the garden.  I soon began referring to it as "my prize cabbage" and wondered if there was indeed a contest it could enter, a beauty pageant for vegetables.

The Hope Seeds catalogue declared that the cabbage should be ready for harvest 65 days after transplant.  The above photo was taken several days past that point.  I still thought it might want to grow a little more.  Plus, I was deriving so much pleasure from the sight of it, it was hard to imagine that eating it could be any better.  Ironically, the only way we could ensure those fabulous unblemished leaves was to keep the cabbages under row cover fabric.....opaque white row cover fabric.  But then I did not become habituated to its beauty, and I gasped with delight each time the cover was removed for watering or weeding.  

Weeks passed.  Cabbage moths had gained entry.  The row cover fabric that had sustained minor hail damage in June was now strained by the upward mobility of several stout broccoli stems.  Who knew they would grow so tall?  Holes were enlarged enough for a determined butterfly to pass through and the fabric was just barely wide enough to reach down to both sides of the bed.  Fat green cabbage worms were having a feast on the smaller cabbages.  There were a few holes in the outer leaves of the prize cabbage, but the head seemed too solid to penetrate.  Nevertheless, even if it was safe from chewing, it might not be wise to leave the cabbage in the garden much longer.  

The summer has been hot and dry. Not exactly cabbage weather.  I have read of cabbage heads splitting and bolting, which sounds very dramatic and I would like to witness it, but not occurring in this particular individual.  Even if it didn't bolt, what might be going on chemically?  I much prefer my cabbage cool, and did not want to be confronted with the burning sensation that has put me off cabbage before.  My fear that it might go to waste helped me to do what had to be done.  On August 24, with the head in my left hand and the secateurs in my right, I slaughtered my prize cabbage.  The experience suggested to me that maybe I should not raise animals for meat.

Fortunately, once all the outer leaves were removed and the plain bald purple head was left bare, it was less familiar to me.  There was no hesitation when it came to cleaving the head in half with a kitchen knife.  

The inside was as perfect as the exterior.  Tight folds of white and purple, crammed together by forces I could not fathom.  How do the leaves get packed so tightly by only the force of other leaves?

The entire head was shredded for coleslaw, on quarter at a time.  Delicious. None of the heat I was worried about; just sweet and tender, for days and days.  This cabbage gave me a lot of joy this summer.  It will be remembered fondly.  

Growers' guide to good beets

Beets should look like this.....

or this.....

but not like this.  Don't eat these.

I have searched online for beet diseases but yet found nothing to explain this affliction.  They are all from the southeast quarter of the beet bed, the same area where all the sunchokes were covered in fungus when unearthed in the spring, and, interestingly enough, close to one of our many ant hills.  I can't help wondering about that.  Another group of ants appears to have done in this cabbage in an otherwise healthy population.

This colony held its mating event yesterday.   Ants flying through the air are even more off-putting than ants crawling on the ground.  It was of some comfort that the sex-crazed drones were contained within the row cover.  I wonder if mating can happen when the queen's flight is limited to less than two feet.  Later in the afternoon, all was quiet, which is nice in a way but also probably means the queen is back in her chamber manufacturing a fresh batch of workers.

CSI Cabbage Patch

2 square holes discovered in brassica bed, one  each in the cabbage and broccoli sections.

Shape of holes match  transplanted seedling pots placed there 12 days earlier.

No other transplants disturbed.

Small impressions in the surrounding soil surface, not clear enough to identify fingerprints, footprints, or tool marks.

survivor - Red Express cabbage

The broccoli plant is known to have been dead at the time of disappearance, but the missing cabbage was said to be vibrant and healthy, with its whole life ahead of it.

Who would steal a tiny cabbage and a deceased broccoli, and why?

cucumber seedlings in coir pots

A witness interview revealed that an unidentified bird was recently seen flying from the yard with a large mass of fibrous material in its beak.

The starter pots for both missing plants were made of coir, fibre from coconut husks.  Could the need for nesting materials have motivated a bird, or perhaps birds, to dig up the brassica pots?

found!

Within minutes, both fibre pots were spotted where they had been carelessly discarded in the beet and chard bed.  The perpetrator had obviously worked away at the pot material with little effort to protect the health and safety of its inhabitant.

not dead yet

The traumatized cabbage was replaced in its original spot.  Odds for survival are not good, given the stem damage sustained, but we are doing all we can for it.  It is fortunate that the incident occurred on a cool, rainy weekend.





With all the seedlings that have been set out to harden off in the last few weeks, unprotected in their coir pots, it is remarkable that there have not been more incidents like this.  It was a careless gardener who put her plants in such peril.