Terra firma - literally

The highs have been several degrees above 0C all week and the sun has shone on the parsnip bed.  It stood to reason, I thought, that the ground would yield sufficiently to allow me to remove a parsnip or two, even if they had to be pried out of the side of the mounded bed.  No go.  Not with an ordinary garden fork and my ordinary body weight, anyway.  Try again in March.

Desktop gardening

Late last summer I once again did my best to sketch the layout of the vegetable garden and write in what might go where the next year.  The plan has to take into account how much of everything we want to eat, what likes to grow together, and a sensible succession from year to year, ie givers follow roots follow leaves follow heavy feeders, or something like that.  It was all on one sheet of letter-size paper, and was lost to me by the end of the year.  Before I realized it was lost, though, Garden Rant tipped me off that Kitchen Gardeners International (KGI) had introduced an online garden planner.  For the low price of $25 per year, I could draw the plan onto a grid and copy it from year to year, and trust that it could always be found safely on my hard drive (or in the cloud, which is fine).  That was enough to sell it to me.  I believe there is more to it that I haven't discovered yet; that's icing on the cake (or ice on caked soil in our case.)

I measured the garden beds one afternoon last week, quite hastily on account of the deeply cold air and colder steel tape measure and the near impossibility of conducting the measurements and notations while wearing mittens.  The grid measurements are only to the nearest 10cm anyway.  The beds in the image below are, to the best of my knowledge, to scale.  The placement doesn't look quite right.  Some are more rectangular in theory than in reality.  But this is a good approximation of what I have to work with in the backyard.  There are a few bits missing, bits for which I wasn't willing to risk frostbitten fingers.  Another day.


Once the beds were all laid out, I added images of huge, awesomely perfect vegetables to them (Barry found the lost sketch.)  Is this what Farmville is like?  The hugeness was a mild shock.  The vegetable plant images come with built in personal space for each one.  Regulation personal space.  Where it shows I can fit three tomato plants into a raised bed, I am more likely to try to cram in ten of them.  Is it possible the experts at KGI know better than I do?

The planner was also kind enough to count up all the plants in the plan and tell me how many of each I will need to implement this scheme.  Next step is to compare this listing to my extensive seed inventory to determine what needs to be ordered from the seed mongers.

Gardening for shut-ins

This is nothing new.  We have sprouted alfalfa, clover, and mung beans on the kitchen counter during many winters.  We have also enjoyed a few crops of arugula grown in a dish of coir.  I meant to get some arugula going last weekend, but could not find the seeds, so instead sowed some of the cress seeds saved from last summer's garden.  So far, spindly.  But I believe they will grow leafier in good time.  This is a plant that readily bolts in the warm sun.  It should enjoy the cool climate of our living room.

Much more robust in appearance is this wheat grass.  Barry has been eating is for nutritional benefits, as well as jaw muscle development.  I'll chew on a small bunch of grass if reminded about it several times.  It isn't horrible to taste, and because it does encourage me to floss, I'd say it's a healthy addition to my diet.


This post is just to remind me that we could be growing more greens indoors in the winter.  We don't want to get all technical and hydroponic.  Just some basic substrate, water, and a window (and remembering to raise the blind before traipsing off to work in the dark morning).

Enduring onions

One day, maybe, we will learn to grow large onions, as large as promised on the packaging for sets we poke into the ground.  That is the extent of my complaints about my onions.  They grow reliably, resist diseases and pests, are edible at different stages, can be harvested with fingertip strength, and have a shelf life (bulbs only) if treated well.

The first stage of bulb curing is a day or two on the ground where they were yanked.  Why?  I have not a clue.  Still, I do this.

The next step is to give them good all around air exposure for about two weeks.  The major soil chunks should be removed at this point, gently.  In the past, I have hung them on the clothesline to cure.  I can't quite achieve all of the recommended conditions - no direct sunlight, good air flow, protection from rain, warm but not too hot - so I choose a couple of them.  Because I was leaving town for several days early in the curing period, I placed them on a wire rack in a shady corner under a narrow awning.  (The photo is indeed of curing garlic bulbs.  Pretend they are onions.)  






After peeling off the flaky outermost skins, this is what we had.  Small shiny yellow onions.  They are in a plastic bag merely for display, and perhaps weighing, purposes.  They must not be left this way.  The onions were stored in a kitchen drawer (short term) and in an open cardboard box in the (semi)cold room in the basement (longer term).











Barry just sliced an onion or two for the salad.  We have four left, in excellent condition, in the middle of January.  I no longer care if our onions are a bit short in the radius.  If they are going to keep like this, I will just plant more sets in the spring.  Problem solved.

August Saturday

In a few days I will be taking a break from gardening, not to return to it until September.  Holy smokes!  Where has the season gone?  This past week there was an overnight low of 2C.  All the things I thought I could get done "over the summer" are not done.  What on earth did I do with all that time?  I present a randomly selected and rather leisurely day of garden maintenance - yesterday.

There was little watering required Saturday morning, thanks to Barry's thorough efforts the day before.  We water everything by hand, which can take a person-hour when everything needs a soak and the tanks are running fast, longer if tank pressure is down or we have to use city water.  I watered a few of the vulnerable front yard perennials and Barry watered the containers later in the day.  Most critical right now are the three newly cut and potted haskap branches that have been working on their root balls for at least three months.

Morning is supposed to be the best time to harvest herbs for drying.  Prior to flowering is also highly recommended.  I can't arrange the latter at this point so decided to at least do the former, cutting a largish sprig of sage with one purple flower on the tip.  The leaves were washed, patted dry and spread out on two dehydrator trays.  Hours later there was almost nothing left of them.  I hope it has mitigated the odor of drying garlic from the previous two days.

The morning harvest also included a few ground cherries, a couple of zucchinis, the first ripe bunch of grapes, two ears of corn, the first raspberry of the final crop.  

Weeding has eased off lately, largely because of the lack of rainfall, I believe.  It would be nice if it is also an indication that I am winning the battle for the garden beds.  Unwanted foliage is still rampant in other areas and I try at least to nab the flower heads before they are ready for flight.  Dandelions are rare these days, but sow thistle and hairy goat's beard continue to plague me.  I pulled up purslane, grasses, pig weed, and a few undesirables that I know well by sight but can't name.  CBC Calgary recently aired some feedback to pesticide restrictions in the city from farmers who say urban weed seeds end up in crop fields and increase their herbicide usage.  This is interesting.  I try to do my part for the Coaldale area farmers, but without the use of toxins.  

Besides the noxious weeds, I also disposed of some of our abundant borage, at least the parts that appeared to be done flowering.  Where there are blossoms, there are bees, which I like immensely.  Nevertheless, any part of the plant with an aphid feedlot gets removed, nectar-producing or not.  Though we don't poison them, we also do not provide an ant-positive atmosphere.  For the most part, I am too late to prevent self seeding of borage for next year; most of the flower capsules were empty.  Unlike sow thistle and field bindweed and deadly nightshade, this is a plant with huge leaves that I will have no trouble locating and removing before it goes to seed next year.

The garden had some midday visitors, a Lethbridge friend with her mother and aunt from out of town.  They lightened our zucchini load by three and left us with two jars of home made home grown raspberry jam.  I'd say we got the better deal on that one.  For a moment I considered the danger pay factor of harvesting zucchini, but raspberries are hazardous, too.

After lunch I returned to the boulevard, where I had been breaking up some old sods to use as a base for a new bed.  The sods came from where the lawn has been replaced on the boulevard and from some parts of the back yard and have been drying in the hot sun for some time now.  They fragmented quite easily.  Not knowing (or not wanting to decide) what to do next for bed preparation, I brought some salvaged bricks from the back and continued the winding border around the elm tree then installed a short brick pathway across a strait in the bed.  We don't have enough bricks to complete the loop and I have no solution to that, other than to use plastic edging until we happen upon some more unwanted bricks.  An elderly woman cruising by with her walker told me I am a glutton for punishment, in reference to my toiling under the afternoon sun.  She may be right; I had to take some ibuprofen for a headache early this morning.  Now the headache is gone and I'm pleased with the progress I see when I look out the bedroom window, even though the project is far from complete.

While I worked on the boulevard, Barry picked most of the remaining basil, some badly slug-eaten, all past it's pre-flower prime, and prepped it for a large batch of pesto.  He used sunflower seeds for the nut component.  We grow enough sunflower seeds that we could have used our own (from last year) if only we could find an easier way to get them out of their tough shells, and before the tiny creatures get to them.

After the tools were put away, we clinked our beer glasses together and toasted the bounty of our garden.  The beer is from the store down the street.  We grow hops, but both plants are male, so no actual hops are available.  We don't grow barley, unless those volunteers from the straw bale are barley.  (We both chewed on a mouthful of the grains and decided they were gummy enough to be wheat.)  I'm not keen on adding beer-making equipment to our already over-stocked household.

The ensuing dinner included dill zucchini with garlic sauce (our zucchini, onion, dill and garlic; imported oil, rice and yogurt), potatoes (ours) with pesto (our basil, garlic, Swiss chard; imported sunflower seeds, parmensan cheese, and oil) and sour cream (imported), beet greens (ours), beet salad (our beets and onions; imported vinegar,, sugar and mustard), and corn (ours) with imported butter, plus curried lamb sausage from the Old Country Sausage Shop.  We are a long way from providing our own meat.

After dinner I meant to write and post this recap, but fell asleep instead (because of a poor sleep the night before, no due to Saturday's modest exertions).  Today is another day.  We have so far watered the works, harvested more zucchini, and sliced zucchini and garlic for drying. Barry is in construction mode, finishing a raised bed he started weeks or months ago.  I should get back to work.

What would William think?

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. 

 ~William Morris (1834-1896), British craftsman, designer, socialist, poet

Who can argue with Mr. Morris about his rules for the contents of one's house?  Of course, one might quibble over the nuances of "useful".  It would be a good rule to apply to the garden as well, and I think we all strive for it.  The difficulty, though, is the degree of control we have over living things as opposed to, say, dishes and carpets and shampoo bottles.



In the space bordered by greenhouse, alley, south neighbour, and the big box of potatoes we have a random assortment of unattractive items.  Garbage bags filled with leaves and grass clippings.  Pails.  The shredder, covered with an old topsoil bag.  Sticks and stalks accumulating until it is worth my time to drag an extension cord out to the shredder.  Paving stones.  A heap of soil, sods, and clay that had now where else to go.  Cinder blocks that used to border two garden beds, packed with clay and grasses.  Gravel.  Weeds.  None of these are beautiful.  Nor are they very useful at any given moment.  Paving stones keep the muck off my shoes when the ground is wet, which hasn't happened lately.  Some of the material is compost of the future.  The shredder is helpful for several hours a year.The cinder blocks have potential use as a wall.  I console myself with such reminders when moving through this area.  I am also mindful that this is what people see when they stroll down the alley and look past the chain link fence.  Not the lush, tall vegetable garden, but this, and the loose tar paper flapping around the windows at the east end of the green house.  I have no need to impress the neighbours with my landscape design; I would just like to make their journey more pleasurable.  It's tempting to post a note on the fence, explaining the need to sacrifice beauty for utility by times, even though I don't quite believe that to be true.

the wasteland

compost bins

The composter is an exception here.  Its continuing role in converting kitchen and yard waste into soil is always useful.  I believe the symmetry and aged wood are beautiful.  I am fortunate to have a talented and hardworking partner; I would never have built this myself.

A nest built by paper wasps is a beautiful thing.  Not breathtaking, maybe not something you would take time to create for yourself, but so interesting in its shape and blend of colours that results from the collective work of a team with no central direction and a different sort of vision from what I can comprehend.  What do they care about the exterior appearance of it, anyway?  Is it useful?  Useful to the wasps that built it, for sure.  Useful to us only if those wasps kill critters that harm our plants.  It also has negative utility, though.  This morning I suddenly decided to cut back some of the cedar boughs that every year shrink the view out our front window.  Then I realized, hey, there is a nest of wasps four feet from my head, and several are milling around the opening.  They did not seem to notice me or care if I was there, but I ceased my pruning anyway.  There is a big weird-looking gouge in one of the trees now.  The nest is also a few feet from the front door, which could be a problem if and when the wasps do become aggressive.  While I prefer not to be visited by those who want to share the Good News with me, I also don't wish those people to be stung.  Nor the mail carrier.  The beauty of the nest does not balance the pain of wasp venom.

snow peas drying up

Peas are wonderful. They start early and can be harvested over a long period of time. They are not at their best in hot weather, but keep watering them and they will stay alive to produce again under more favourable conditions. It's easy to give up on them, though, because they play dead. Right down to the ground they will go brown and crispy and the caregiver might think there is no way that dead dry stalk can deliver water to the little green bit at the tip. But it does. Even though I know it, I still cut down most of my front yard peas yesterday because they looked so bad. (I am not entirely without hope that they will regrow fresh and green from what I left in the ground.) In the private back garden, I endure the frayed and spotty brown parts, in spite of how badly they contrast with the deep greens around them.  They are still useful for conducting water.  They also serve as a reminder that even though the garden just got going (it seems), it's not too soon to think about the clean up phase.

squash ladder

Left to their own devices, the winter squash vines would have by now tunneled through two tomato beds, crossed the lawn, and ascended the neighbours' six foot fence.  With human intervention, they are instead heaped upon a repurposed wooden ladder.  The vines still attempt to wander.  Three are currently trying to reach across a path to the coriander.  Once the vine is long enough, it is easily looped back onto the ladder and finds something to grab onto within the day.  This way, we are not tripping over vines across pathways and we don't have to go hunting for squashes at harvest time.    The whole structure - ladder and squash plants - happens to be beautiful as well.  Furthermore, if we place our happy hour lawn chairs  by the bee balm, the squash highrise blocks our view of deteriorating pea vines.

scarlet runners all grown up

Not long ago I griped about the slowness of the Scarlet Runner pole bean, how blossom after blossom fell off and left nothing behind on the stem.  Last week I looked at the great towers of intertwined bines, deep green leaves and scarlet flowers and realized that this is one of the most beautiful plants growing in our yard.  Bee balm and four o'clock flowers take up space in the garden and aren't expected to provide us with edibles.  Should I really ask more of this species?  There are a few beans now, small with great potential.  They grow so large that three or four must surely constitute an official serving of vegetables.  Given the beauty of the leaves and flowers, the edible pods are a bonus.  Or, given the delicious pods we eventually eat, the visual appeal is a bonus.  I must remember this in October while chopping up a hundred or so meters of bean bines for compost.

rhubarb fixer-upper

Before Costata romanesca, there was another backyard monster known simply as Rhubarb.  It held a choice position in the sunny southeast corner of the big garden and received the overflow from the carport roof when the water tank was full or the torrent was too fast for the intake.  Rhubarb was a vigorous sprawl of shiny deep green leaves on thick stalks.  I tried to give it some distance when planting other things, but it never seemed to be enough.  Whatever I picked of it last year, most went into the freezer and has not been seen since.  Not useful to us.  Hence, Rhubarb was moved to the boulevard where its grand leaves would delight passersby and its tart stalks could be enjoyed by neighbors with alternative taste buds.  Alas, the move was not a good one for Rhubarb.  Losing a good chunk of its root system (if you have ever moved a rhubarb plant, you'll know the choice is between renting an excavator and breaking the roots) could not have been good for it.  The water supply has been far inferior, and it is in a much windier spot now.  Who knows what the previous tenants of that bed, sunchokes, did to the soil.  The leaves are small, dull green, and get rather chewed up in the course of their short lives.  First I determined that Rhubarb was not useful, then I relieved it of its beauty.  It must go.  I hope I can find a good home for it.


What would William Morris think of all this?  One look inside our house and he would know there is little hope for the garden.  But if not for his sage advice, it would be even worse.  I will not give up.

Your daily squirm

About once each year we find a large and revolting larval form on the property.  This year's catch is a tomato hornworm, found by Barry this morning on the concrete patio, nowhere near the tomatoes.  It is 7 cm long, firm and leathery to the touch, and enjoys doing laps of whatever it is trapped in or sticking its head in the ground when permitted to roam about the lawn.  Unfortunately, the grotesque undulations of its locomotion can't be conveyed by the still camera.  If some lucky bird hasn't snapped up our hornworm by morning, maybe I will get a video.