little gardener, big carrot

Remember and Don't Forget

Remember to garden next year, don't forget that you love it and it's worth the annoyance of getting out your flats and cells in February.

I'm going to shift into winter mode now. Leaves are falling, snow will follow, and I won't have much to say on the garden for a while. I'll be over here, if you want to watch the circus I'm making of my life.

Guest Speaker Today

Back in April, she'd have killed for a tomato. Not the imported store tomatoes that were strip-mined in Texas, but fresh garden tomatoes that taste like tomatoes. That's how my mother felt, too, back then in my youth, so in May she set out thirty or forty tomato plants to satisfy our tomato lust and now, going into August, fresh tomatoes are no more rare or wonderful than rocks, each of us has eaten a bushel of them and there are plenty left where those came from.
One night, she and I snuck over to the Tollefsons' after their lights went out and left a half-bushel of tomatoes on their back step.

Garrison Keillor, from Lake Wobegon Days 

A Late Summer Overview

the September garden:

Thinking of year one in the garden, all I can say in summary is "surprise." I put a few sunflower seeds down, only to watch the young stalks be mowed down by rabbits, then miraculously shoot up again and bring hundreds of bees out of hiding. I put a few little herb transplants side by side, then struggled to find enough room for them as they outgrew my expectations. My kale grew short and bushy and my amaranth grew tall and spindly, completely messing up my attempts at ornamental-edible. 

Surprise, we accomplished more in a summer than I was going to allow myself to do, surprise, home ownership makes a fiend out of me, surprise, let's put rocks between the pavers and not creeping chamomile. Surprise, we have really great friends, though that should not have come as a surprise.

I treat gardening as an experiment. Part of me thinks that after a few good experimental years I would have a better grasp on this stuff: what works in Minnesota, how big things get, how to get carrots to germinate... but I still feel like I'm just fooling, just playing around, and I never know what to expect. Now I'm beginning to think that that's how gardening is supposed to be - that "experiment" is the wrong word because it connotes repeatable results, and no garden I know has grown the same way twice. Maybe "conversation" is a better description of what I'm doing out there - making little suggestions, getting some sassy vegetable retort, confessing "I love you anyway," and seeing the discussion from a different perspective - but that makes me sound a bit crazy, doesn't it.

the changing landscape

garden lowlights: stuff that doesn't deserve it's own post

Here are some minor notes from 2014:

free potatoes

I'm still making my mind up about potatoes. Feel free to disagree. To me, these heavy feeders are a big investment for what they return to you - they take up a lot of space for a one-time harvest (unless you feel around for new potatoes in mid-summer, which I never had much luck with), require trenching and mounding and mulching, and then sprout in your basement while you forget to eat them. 

This spring, I had some of those sprouted lovelies leftover from Holly's city farm, and after filling and planting my raised beds, I had a tarpful of leftover dirt as well. It seemed like it was worth the gamble, so I cut up a few and plunged them into my dirt-bag (I guess that can be a real thing). All in all, I got about 8 or 9 plants (here you see them half-harvested) and about 10 or 15 pounds of buttery heirloom potatoes to try to remember to eat.

I have to say, I am pretty excited about my modest potato gleanings, if only because they were so, so free. Also, children love harvesting potatoes, and that might be worth all the care in itself.

Michael's serviceberry, my weed garden

On the right, Michael's serviceberry. We planted it on my birthday, just above where we buried his placenta, long due to get out of our freezer and into the ground. It's gross, I'm sorry. The serviceberry is supposed to bloom white in the spring, bear nutty blueberry-type fruit in the summer, and show great colors in the fall. I put it here to be an anchor of the woodland part of my native restoration project in the backyard.

On a related note, the weed patch below the pine tree are some very lovely pink-to-purple woodland flowers that have survived years and years of mowing, Ben was experimenting with not mowing the back lot, and we discovered a diverse little habitat back there, growing and growing despite the prejudice and persecution of the American lawn. We got a citation from the city. 

You can imagine my inner turmoil as I hacked back the gangly flowers and grasses, watching tiny critters flee the destruction as their homes were reduced to "organic material." In defiance, I left an "underplanting" of the pinks and purples. We weren't fined; I think the city backed off when it saw my sassy attitude and fierce resolve.

compost cucurbits

after powdery mildew

Thanks to Farrah, Max, and Jessi for helping us establish our compost heap. Not only are we making bonus dirt, but we got bonus food out of those bins. Every year since I started composting with Holly and Jesse, there have been volunteers in the compost bins: cucurbits and nightshades mostly, which can handle the hot heat of decomposition. I remember vividly the compost squash of 2011 that took over half the yard, vining out from the sod heap and producing lush, dinosaur leaves from all the nitrogen of decomposing grass.

This year I got a butternut squash for free, and I let it grow, training it to a trellis as it spread. Esther and Michael loved it - it provided a wall of greenery for a sort of play fort between the compost bins, back stair, and trellis. 

Today I am watching 7 beautiful butternut squashes ripen on the vine - albeit a much less beautiful vine after I chopped off 3/4 of the powdery mildew. Look at the size on those!! One is a foot and a quarter long! Here's hoping the flesh is not tough and bitter!

You can't save the world

THE RAIN BARREL. This is a dream come true for me. Ben hauled out to Hudson to get this one for $10. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Sometimes I Call on my Friends, and They Really Come Through

So, this summer I got really tangled up in garden dreams. I knew I wanted a raised bed vegetable garden, and thanks to my husband, my parents, and the very gracious Kayla and Micah, I had that by the end of May. It could have been enough - at least enough for the year, since I had firmly decided to take it slow with the gardening.

It began so innocently: I just read a few books about garden planning (see post below) to help me place my seeds and transplants. They served that purpose, all the while whispering temptations in my ear - create a space! create a vision! transform your oversized lawn into something really special! I started the summer as a gardener, but by July I had inadvertently become a landscaper. oops.

To make a long story short, I decided we needed a patio between the raised beds. As it stood, the lawn between the beds was very difficult and time consuming to mow (directly opposing my goals of less lawn fuss) and looked rather scruffy up against the cedar boards. It wasn't a complete idea... it was a loose scattering of garden beds and not a garden in the high-minded conception of my garden design books.

ratty beginnings

First there was lawn, then the hideous and embarrassing process of solarization - killing the grass with heat through black plastic sheets for six weeks (no pictures of this, too ugly). Meanwhile, Ben took four trips to Forest Lake for craigslist pavers. My hard-working, ever-giving father came out in August to help us excavate - we dug down around the beds 5-6 inches, leaving dull, hard-pack clay walkways and beds on stilts. The garden sat in this phase for another month, thanks in part to The Incident (will I write about this?), and the ugliness continued.

watch your step

Finally, one Friday morning, we decided to just lay the patio on Saturday. Mom and Dad were booked, and they couldn't come help us, so Ben and I decided to man up and do it - have the paver base delivered, rent the tampers, see if a few friends would help us make it happen.

I sent out three emails for help on Friday morning; on Saturday morning, five willing and able bodies showed up at my door.

Farrah "womans" the rock-sled - yes, we are still moving rocks.

"driveway trap"

level, scrutinize, water, tamp, tamp, add more, thanks Holly, Nicole, and the missing Matt L

the (mostly) finished work at dusk 

it's a place now. "Esther's bedroom" to be precise

Esther and Michael are nowhere to be seen in these photos, courtesy of my dear friend Brittany, who was an awesome playmate for them - until she had to go home and "take her nap too."

It's really humbling to have such good and generous friends, who will work hard, sweat, and get sore side-by-side with you because you didn't have any idea what you were getting yourself into. 

A Summer Bibliography

After many years of pretending to love books, I've finally admitted that I'm really not a great reader and don't love to read. It's such a shame to me and to my family, but it's the truth. I really, really don't want to "just curl up with a book" or do whatever it is my book-loving-mind of a husband does in his basement Bar-brary (he'll want me to mention that that is my name for his study, not his). I'd rather watch a show, listen to the radio, have a chat, or - what inevitably happens when I do pick up a book to read - fall asleep. Shame on me.

But there is one glaring exception to this rule, you guessed it; I love books about gardening. They are beautiful, they are useful, inspiring, challenging, they answer my questions known or unknown, and on and on. I love them and read them cover to cover and then leaf through them incessantly until I have to bring them back to the library - or pay for them because I left them out in the rain.

This year in books was especially memorable, but just in case, here's a recap:

WOW! This one blew my mind. I spent so long entrenched in garden rows and mini-monocultures, and this book suggested I make an aesthetic space out of my vegetable garden. Shocking! Mixing perennials with annuals! Flowers with veggies! Adding groundcover to a kitchen garden (still trying to digest that one)! Also, it is very lovely to look at and daydream of growing persimmon in MN.

I left it in the rain and am now the proud owner of a wrinkly, moldy, withdrawn-from-the-library copy of the book.

Same idea as The Beautiful Edible Garden, much less perfectly executed. Ivette Soler has lots of good ideas and a nobody's-perfect approach to gardening that I really appreciate, but her voice! Too sassy. As if I could be the judge.

Take the inspiration of The Beautiful Edible Garden and translate it to your entire property. More bonus mind-blowing, with lots of useful lists, such as: edibles for privacy; edibles for shade; edibles for foundation screen; etc. Featured are gardens of the rich and famous, including photos and diagrams of Chuck Close's amazing edible front yard. I'd love to own this one. It's very expensive.

Here's a farm-style gardening book that I keep coming back to because it is so very helpful. Holly has a copy, which I skeptically leafed through a few years ago and discovered a gardener's treasure trove of good information. Deep bed method gardening with really helpful sections on interplanting, crop rotation, and other matter-of-fact needs-to-know of vegetable gardening.

One from my mother. I didn't care much for it at first (years ago) because I didn't believe in growing anything but vegetables. This book covers everything but vegetables. Now that I'm a homeowner, I've discovered its use: specific notes on specific plants that are good for Minnesota, with pictures. Thanks Mom!!

Another nerdy book, but it's exactly what I need to have lying around the house. I got it at the bookstore by the Matchbox!!!

I will always love you, John Seymour. This was my very first book on gardening, a gift/cast-off from Matthew Beaver, and I reference it year after year after year. I'm trying to reconcile the deep bed/row style gardening of this book and Ed Smith's with the aesthetic approach I'm working toward in my front yard garden. I want to believe it can be done.

Finally, an impulse buy from left field to guide our transformation of the backyard into native prairie. Not a showstopper, but I'd read it again.

-----------------

I wish they had good books about sewing childrenswear and ladies' nightgowns in the dead of winter in your cold basement.

A Grateful Heart

I know now - more than ever before - that I garden because, in gardening, I am a part of the strength of life. Life is surprising, unashamed, and most of all, tenacious.

It's enough for me to watch my plants grow and thank God for them, but then,

HEY,

they give me food to eat.

my beet box

beautiful pink Rose de Bern heirlooms

a gorgeous mini-harvest

Sweet Pea Currant - tiny and fantastic

A "mass planting" (3) of globe amaranth

The illustrious Scarlet Runner Bean. Pink to purple seeds hiding in there

Bees can't resist

Provider green beans - kids dig 'em

resident bloom-toucher

Some Things Spiraled Out of Control

Sigh.

It's more than it looks.

This spring, Ben had mentioned how much he hated the river rock around the house, and, last fall, our home inspector suggested that we raise the soil level around our house and grade it away for water drainage. I filed these thoughts in the "it would be nice to get to someday/after the important stuff is done" folder, since pulling rock, building soil, grading soil, and mulching the new beds is no weekend project. In my wild race to eliminate lawn, I thought I would leave the rock beds alone, since - of course - rocks are not lawn.

Well,

here we are; in our first year at the house, we are pulling rock, building soil, grading, and re-mulching the perimeter of the house. I have reasons, but they're complicated, not worth the explanation. It's a slow, backbreaking, unrewarding task, and, one month later, we aren't even close to being done.

I don't really even want to write about it. It's like a specter casting shadows on my mind, seeding paranoid thoughts about neighborhood scorn, city citations, and general trashiness.

The fruit of this trial will be, quite literally, fruit: I mean, fruit, some herbs, some wafting wildflowers, and asparagus, God willing. I've been able to give my blueberries a blanket of pine needles, and to dig a bed for asparagus, and I have room enough to re-site my rhubarb as a foundation screen (if it survives). My forsythia has a new and happier home and I moved some hostas and daylilies (I found daylilies, they were hiding) to where they can be seen.

Now I just have to finish.

I Was Just So Worried About Bees

The whole bee worry sort of sneaked up on me while I was busy worrying about topsoil erosion, desertification, groundwater contamination, //insert ecological threat//. Some time in 2008 or 2009 I remember hearing that bees weren't coming back to their homes and birds were falling out of the sky, that cell phone signals were to blame, or something. It seemed far away and outrageous, so I didn't dwell on it.

Then in 2013 and 2014, BEES were suddenly the thing - almost the only thing. I think at some point it hit the general would-be-bee-worriers that bees pollinate 70% of our top 100 food crops. I watched some documentary footage from a region of China where rapid industrialization had wiped out the bee population; now migrant workers do the job, dipping paintbrushes in sticky sauce and, one blossom at a time, hand pollinating food crops.

Esther prepares for catastrophe

It's a picture of devastation way more immediate and accessible than "climate change," for example.

Worry, worry, worry, bees, bees, bees.

It turns out there is, by my own uneducated estimation, a fairly healthy bee and wasp population in the Heights. It took a while for them to show up, but they finally found my garden and helped me out. THANKS GUYS!

They loved the catmint and rudbeckia I picked up at the Bee-iesta this spring, and now they are all over our anise hyssop (which, by the way, makes a great cocktail). Thanks to Anna Dains for a generous donation to my native-perennial-bee-corner, which I established in July to make more room for my edibles in the raised beds, and to be awesome. I hope some day it will be awesome - for now it's rather unimpressive.

So here it is:

Viola, a bee garden. Rudbeckia hirta, Orange Coneflower (ratibida), Anise Hyssop, Zig Zag Goldenrod, and one lonely native grass, Indian Something, towards the center. I don't know what else there is; the rest will be a fun surprise next year or the year thereafter. I'm hoping it will all grow up and together into a glorious mass of color and nectar in a few short, short years.

I love the mudpit at the end of the sidewalk, by the way. Hooray, Columbia Heights.

Did I Mention Raspberries

The raspberries came before the raised beds, thanks to Pedro, my accomplished neighbor gardener. I enthusiastically planted them way too close together on a way too short fence one day when Esther was with her cousins. We got berries this year in spite of my enthusiasm, though I must admit that Michael ate most of them while they were still green.

See them? on the right in front of the maple tree.

Shrubs Were a Consideration

I love growing vegetables. For a long time I didn't think any other kind of gardening was worthwhile - I thought flowers were frivolous, wasting space that could otherwise be used to fill bellies, and I didn't hardly know the meaning of the word "shrub." Of course that had to change when I found myself a suburban homeowner with an enormous lot of grass, grass, grass. Some shrubs were provided (sad and spindly bridal veil, poorly placed peonies, a beautiful pair of lilacs in back awaiting the ax, and something I suspect to be rhododendron) but my biomass consisted mostly of a few shade trees and a bunch of tenaciously suckering weed trees.
For Mother's Day I went to Fleet Farm and spent way too much money on bushes and shrubs. Happy Mother's Day to me. First, a forsythia, the one shrub I've known I would plant as soon as I owned a spot of land. This was a beast to place - I wanted it near the front door, which meant scraping away layers of rock and landscaping plastic, relocating a peony to a spot beneath layers of rock and landscaping plastic, and finally regretting how close I put the forsythia to the front door. But now I have a forsythia, and I can't wait for next spring.

Then there were three blueberry bushes. OKAY, not shrubs, but shrub-like, especially considering their bonus vocation as foundation screen. I haven't had my soil tested but I believe it's acidic, in part because the blueberries are killin' it in my lightly amended clay soil.

I also bought a red currant from fleet farm for $10. Who could resist a fruit bush for $10? No, not me. Thanks to my mom who, after weeks of that poor currant sitting in its pot, pointed out the perfect location for it to grow. It anchors the front corner of our yard and balances out the vegetable beds.

The spirea (bridal veil) gave us a lovely bloom in the spring, but sadly the blooms were like a toupee on a mass of lifeless branches. I thank Carol from the Guthrie for suggesting I rejuvenate the poor things. We cut them back drastically, down to 6" from the ground. As I write, they are lush as chia pets in my lawn. I'm talking seven little chia pets, green and bushy and wild.

So I Got Some Friends Together and Put In a Kitchen Garden

I'm a garden voyeur. In the summer you can catch me walking through alleys, peeping over fences at any little garden in the neighborhood. I want to see what people prioritize in their gardens, what kind of veggies they eat, how they structure their growing space. I look for answers to questions I didn't know I had, for great new ideas, and for really, really bad ideas. I am learning how many decisions go into the making of a garden, and how every decision is a reflection of the gardener and the gardener's community; peeking into a stranger's garden is a little bit of peeking into their life. It's an intimate glance at best, invasive in the worst case.
We put our garden in the front yard so that nobody would have to feel like a voyeur if they wanted to look.  And the day we put it in, it felt like the whole neighborhood was looking. They asked us where we bought our beds (we built them from lumber at Siwek's in NE), why we were arranging our beds the way we did, what we were going to plant in our beds. "VEGGIES" I said. Kayla and Micah came over that Sunday morning. The men built beds and played Kubb, the women dug sod and forked dirt. I was foreman, telling everyone what to do and where to put things, and cook, making sure the kids had snacks and the volunteers had beer and spaghetti. We worked all day, drew lots of attention, got four raised beds built, sited, and forked, then we showered and drove to brats at John L's. My muscles quivered from it all.

Some early days in the vegetable patch:

so enthusiastic