post-summer solstice update

It's damn hot out there. Here's an update on how things are faring in the fertile food factory:

Spinach has long since shot up to go to seed, so I'm waiting to collect the seeds for a fall and/or spring crop. Lettuce is not far behind. Cilantro is going to seed as well, but it is still keeping plenty of leaves at the base.

I'm still getting a few raspberries. I'm pretty sure we've passed the peak though. Corn and beans are growing well, and my zucchini plants are huge and starting to produce a lot.

Small green tomatoes are forming on my Early Girl variety and a few of my volunteer cherry tomato plants. Thanks to some trading with the neighbors, I have a new plant in my plot: callaloo (apparently a.k.a. amaranth). Many of my neighbors are from the Caribbean islands, and just as I gift my volunteer tomatoes, dill and fennel plants, in return I've received okra, black eyed peas, and now callaloo. I was told I could eat it raw, which would be great since then I'd have something leafy for my salads during the summer. But I'd also like to veganize the famous Calaloo soup.

This spring I learned two important gardening lessons.

1. The "last spring frost" date cannot be trusted. As soon as I put tomatoes, peppers, basil and eggplant out, it turned really cold a couple of nights. While it didn't kill all the plants, they've never quite recovered and are still short, stunted, and for the most part, not producing. I was in a rush to put everything out April 15 because things were quite crowded under my set of indoor grow lights. Next year I either need to start fewer plants indoors or find a better way to prioritize what can go out and what probably should stay in another week or two.

2. The bicycle is the community gardener's best friend. Seriously, that's the case for me, living about a half to 3/4 mile away from the plot. In previous years, I only had time to stop by maybe once a week since I was either walking or driving, which meant not only that weeds quickly got out of hand and I didn't water as much as I needed to, but I missed out on peak times to harvest. Now that I'm regularly biking to work, I'm there 2-3 times a week in the mornings. Raspberries get ripe every couple of days and 1 ft. zucchinis appear out of nowhere. It's good to stop by every two days to keep the machine slowly smoothly. Plus the mosquitos don't seem quite as bad in the mornings.

meanwhile at Ravenna ...

Here's a pic of one of my apple trees. It's the Spitzenburg variety I'd mentioned earlier. I know it doesn't look so nice cramped up in chicken wire, but there are so many deer up there and young fruit trees are a delicacy for them. I'm also trying to encourage it to grow up, rather than out, so it will be less vulnerable to the varments later on.
And here are the grapes. Both doing well so far. Will there be concords on the table late this summer? That would be an unanticipated bonus.

Cascade hops, now sprouted, and hopefully will soon be climbing the string I laid out. The centennial hops has now also appeared.

Spudzinnabarrell - (n), faux German, see definition below

Spring 2010 - the good, the bad and the ugly thus far in the living laboratory:

Check out how crazy happy my oregano plant is. This has been its best year ever & I've been regularly snipping bits off to dry the leaves. That's a bok choy plant in the foreground which also seems to be flourishing. Too bad only one survived the early spring transplanting.

Corn and beans are progressing, as are the zucchini and muskmelons I planted in between the clumps. I ate a couple of ripe raspberries when I stopped by on my way to work yesterday.

But the tomato & eggplant plants I've grown from seed and the replacements I've bought at the farmer's market are looking pretty dim. They're not growing well at all, and a couple more died. I'm blaming the weather since it got unseasonably cold a few times this spring. But perhaps there was something preventative I could have done (more mulch when I saw the temperature was going to drop or some other kind of covering?). The silver lining is that the "gold current" cherry tomato plants which have spread as prolifically as the dill and fennel plants are having another good year. Anyone want one? They produce loads of small yellow tomatoes - perfect size for salads. I've got plenty of plants to spare.

But a brand new thing this year is my experiment growing potatoes in a barrell. In late March I bought a couple of old-looking yukon golds, kept them around until the sprouts were fairly prominent, and planted them in a plastic trash can I had drilled holes in for drainage.

Here's how the experiment was looking yesterday morning:



Looking good, eh? Well, then I did this:

Are you crazy Steve?? Why would you cover up those perfectly good potato plants?

Well, because I learned that potato tubers grow in the space between the soil surface and where the plants have started. All I needed to do (supposedly) is leave some foliage above the soil line. The plants will continue to grow and probably spill over the side of the barrell in a month or two.

Harvest depends upon if you like new potatoes or want to wait for the full-size ones. New potatoes are around once the plants have finished flowering. But full tuber maturity will be in late fall after the plants have died back completely. Decisions, decisions.

and we're back ...

Sorry for the absence, folks.

Today is significant in the annals of the 2010 garden since I stopped by this morning and gathered all the ingredients for my lunch salad today (red & green lettuce, spinach, dill, cilantro, parsley and oregano).

But things have been moving along in the meantime. I planted six batches of corn and they're starting to come up. I'll follow with some beans either next week or two weeks from now.

I sounded all smug when I said something like "I don't think it will freeze again after April 15." I was barely right. Last week it got damn cold and nearly had frost at night. The tomatoes and eggplants I had carefully grown indoors the last few months? When I came by on Sunday, it looked like they were all goners. I sheepishly made my way to the farmer's market to buy replacements.

"Don't water them!" my garden neighbor (not the mean one) warned me, when I told him what had happened. He was right. After a warm week, I think two out of the four plants might make it. The other two are barely clinging to life, but perhaps there's a chance.

Anyone out there want any dill or mint plants? They're coming up wild. I can even give you a volunteer raspberry plant since I noticed Ed's not just expanding, but apparently spawning as well.

Shalom, chaver

One of my oldest friends passed on this evening. It will be hard to sleep without him cuddled up and purring beside me, waiting for my first stir in the morning to nudge me out of bed to get him breakfast.

Motek, somehow fate led you to be found by me instead of the nasty and brutish life as a Middle Eastern street cat that seemed pre-prepared for you. I'm so grateful. We're so grateful. You are deeply, deeply missed.

Shalom, chaver. Ya khatouli. 'Ain, 'ain b'olam. Lila tov, Motek.

what awaits the "last spring frost" (April 15)

Despite the fact it may get up to 90 (!) this week, the average last frost tends to coincide with the tax deadline. Here's my garden layout as of yesterday, when I stopped by to start my "potatoes in a barrel" scheme, as well as to transplant dill, cilantro, parsley and thai basil and harvest some asparagus. If I was less of a risk taker and had more room under the grow lights, the dill and thai basil would still be indoors until the 18th, when I'll transplant pretty much everything I've started indoors.

You can't see 'em, but there actually are very small spinach and lettuce plants sprouting up. The peas, however, did not make it. Each year I've tried, they've eluded me in separate ways. Meep meep.

My garlic is doing quite well. It's all cloves I bought from the co-op or farmers market over the past three years that planted after they started to sprout, and which subsequently produced seeds. Onions are not too shabby either. The big ones are from seeds I planted last year. And Ed the raspberry is almost getting so big that a pruning will be in order this coming winter/spring.

trellis: done

There ya go. One grape trellis (for two plants), and yes, the ground looked just as overgrown as what is behind it before I started. This is at the site of my grandparent's place. I've gotten pretty adept at clearing, but you probably don't want to see all the briar scratches on my arms. I fortunately managed to get this project done before it started raining up there. The posts are 3 ft into the ground, and I dug out the areas in the middle where the grapes will grow, put down pea gravel for draining, some mulch for food, and piled the dirt back in.

I also prepared spots for apples. I had to gas up the chainsaw and cut down a few locust trees so there will be enough sun for them as the trees up there start filling out with leaves. Looks like Grimes Golden didn't work out. They're getting me Granny Smith instead. Tartness. April 9 is delivery day. Memo to self: get a sh#tload of cayenne pepper to sprinkle around to keep deer away (till it washes away). I'll have chicken wire as well, but the more the deterrance, the better.

Barley plants are starting to materialize. No word on when the hop rhizomes will be in.

This weekend I'll be starting potatoes in a barrel back home. I've got a couple of russets that are sprouting.

wine-not?

That's it. I'm dropping everything else and going into the wine business.

Apparently that was the sentiment of most of the other people who attended the Monticello class. Fortunately for them, Gabriele Rausse (the teacher), a native Italian who has grown grapes in the Albemarle County area for a couple decades, gave them a healthy dose of reality. Between the many diseases and hungry animals/insects all nefariously plotting against your investment (he estimates it would cost about $23K to establish a 10 acre vineyard, not including upkeep and maintenance), junk bonds seem to be a safer bet. Jefferson's own love of wine was one of several factors that helped drive him into debt. Pictured is a section of his vineyard.

Still, once I master the art of grape cultivation with those two concord vines, I could always expand ... OW. Just slapped myself across the face.

I got some great pointers on how to plant (like soaking roots overnight in copper sulfate to combat disease, shortening the roots, etc.) and a primer on pruning. Of course, there is patience involved since I can't expect any fruit for another 2-3 years.

After the class, we went to Mr. Rausse's place to try out some of his wines. Very impressive. Also daunting to see all the equipment that's needed for even such a small operation.

I think I've found a new favorite wine variety: Nebbiolo. Bit pricier than other varieties, but Mr. Rausse's was quite good and original ($35/bottle).

I've had decent luck this year starting my seeds indoors. This is what I've got sprouting so far:

riverside onions (transplanted 3/14)
Imperial black beauty eggplant
Sioux tomatoes
lettuce (transplanted 3/14)
stupice tomato
thai basil
bok choy (transplanted 3/21)
french dinant celery
slow bolt cilantro
sweet basil
Lebanese and suyo cucumbers
dukat pack dill

Outside, I'm looking for peas, spinach and carrots. There's much more to come. Unfortunately, the jalapeno pepper, Bolivian chile, and Italian parsley still have not sprouted indoors. Guess that means I'll be buying a few plants at the farmer's market.

historical geeky-ness pays off

I'm contemplating a "fake America" dinner in reference to the Palinites and in which I will veganize some cherished southern recipes. Searching for Jefferson's mac & cheese recipe, I found this announcement on the Monticello Web site:

"Mar. 20, 2010 Starting a Vineyard Workshop Gabriele Rausse will lead this two-hour workshop in the Monticello vineyards. He'll discuss the basic principles of grape growing -- variety and site selection, trellis systems, soil preparation, planting, pruning, pest control, and harvesting -- and provide beginning grape growers a foundation in serious viticulture. Reservations required; call 434-984-9880. Meets at the Jordan Classroom in the Thomas Jefferson Visitor Center and Smith Education Center, 9:30 a.m. $10."

Perfect timing, eh? Anyone is welcome to come with, but when you consider that I need to leave by 6:30 am on Saturday, I'm sure you'll much prefer having me tell you later how it went.

Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer

A couple of weeks ago, I was saying there was no way I could plant barley up at Ravenna with all this snow. Last week’s 60 degree temperatures changed that. But this weekend’s rains made me feel like one of the peasants stacking mud pies in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

I’d had a grandiose goal of clearing a 40 ft square barley field. But, you see, mud gets heavy and is hard to shake off of shovels, rakes, etc. More importantly, I did not have as much barley seed as I’d thought. So the result was these two trenches instead of a square field. I removed all the sod, tilled and raked the rows, and planted the seeds. There’s no time to order more barley seed for this year. I’m just going to see how this much goes, what it yields, and then decide whether to expand my operation. It was a much easier time clearing the spots for my apple and grape plants.



Saturday morning, I thought the flood was going to get into screen house in front of my parent’s place. Didn’t happen. I’m very glad of that, since I remember painstakingly scraping all the mud off the concrete stones after the 1996 flood.

fruiting the plain

It's good to be somewhat acquainted with local agricultural representatives when you're contemplating big crops. As I've said, I want to plant apples and grapes at Ravenna this year. But what are good varieties for Allegany County and what are the pitfalls? (Besides disease, apparently it's deer and wild turkeys which are now hungry from the winter and eating anything with a bud on it.)

Enter Ben Cooper, county soil conservation planner who has advised my family on planting and maintaining trees to prevent erosion and improve the water quality of Town Creek. The creek is a significant contributor to the Potomac, so to all my DC friends drinking city water, I'll just say "you're welcome."

I called Ben up and it turns out he sort of knows me. "Yeah, I saw you clearing brush off the main road one day," he said. Yes, George Bush and I apparently at least have brush clearing in common. But I'll bet I'm more of a badass with a machete than he is. Then again, I don't use fire. I only go after vines and thorns.

There are no good nurseries in the vicinity, but the soil conservation folks are taking orders by Friday for an April 8-9 delivery. Ben recommended Grimes Golden. I also wanted to plant a red variety and chose Spitzenburg (I like hard apples, as well as Jefferson in spite of his hypocricies. Also, how can you possibly resist something that improves "drastically" as it ages?). The only grape variety they have is concord blue. Not great for future wine making experiments, but I'm in. Put me down for two.

The tiller awoke before dawn. He put his boots on.

Yes, I did visit Jim Morrison's grave when I was in Paris.

So I rented this tiller for 4 hours and went to work. I've got onion and lettuce plants I've grown from seed for about a month that need to go in soon. The lettuce plot will get a sprinkling of additional seeds soon after. I've learned with lettuce that it's good to have plants at different stages of development since they otherwise all tend to bolt to seed at the same time.

As I said in a previous post, this was an air strike against the deeply rooted "choker plant." I'll know in a few weeks how effective it was. Honestly, I don't think the mechanized tiller went much deeper than my efforts by hand, but it was a hell of a lot easier and quicker.

If you're playing close attention to the photo, you'll notice three significant changes from previous years. One is I redesigned the wooden planks. Originally they were meant to cordon off different sections and provide a boundary to the plot as a whole. I decided I needed wider walking paths instead (so you don't compact the soil and it's not such an acrobatic exercise to get around in there). The weeds were growing under the planks anyway. Somehow.

Secondly, I "moved the goalpost" - that trellis type thing I fashioned for peas. They never seemed to survive in the original location, so I picked a more shady spot near my neighbor's fence. I'm also going to try seeding them directly this year instead of starting them indoors.

Thirdly, in the background you'll notice my new Nissan truck. My Honda Civic was a beloved old friend, but since I hardly drive and need cargo space for tools, mulch and musical equipment, I finally overcame my sentimentality and gave it up. I cracked the front windshield twice trying to cram my bass cab into the front passenger seat which was the only place it could fit. Last month I did a gig with North of Canada in Arlington and equipment was no longer an issue. Now I just need to relearn how to parallel park.

I'm snow impatient

We had 40 degree weather again today, and the DC remnants of snowmageddon seem confined to the ice mountains assembled by the plows. But west of here there's still nearly six inches of compacted accumulation, even on the south facing hillsides. That means, barring a heat wave or lots of rain, it will be a while before I can prepare and till my barley field in Ravenna and get my crops in. I had been hoping for mid March. Not looking likely at this point.

I brewed some ale this weekend from store bought ingredients (pictured) and reassured myself that April could still work for planting.

The snow does not bar me from hiking anymore at least. On the Appalachian Trail near Boonsboro, it was desolate except for one team of folks doing some clearing of downed trees off the trail. "Howarya," we exchanged in greeting. They looked at me and my friend Mohammad like we were slightly crazy for deciding to wade for miles through the snow. "Cabin fever," I explained casually and shrugged my shoulders.

They missed the part where we decided to slide Mohammad's iPhone down a snowy hill while it was recording a video. So at least I didn't have to explain to a man armed with a chainsaw that, hey it's ok, we're the good kind of crazy. "Please put the saw down now, sir." Have a look.

keep on rottin' in the free world

Once when I was sailing in Bahamian pirate land, I met a Scotsman who lived up to every frugal stereotype in the book. Maybe he had to. He lived with all of his possessions on a wind generator-powered sailboat with a cat as his first mate, as he migrated bi-annually between St. Augustine and Marsh Harbour, chasing the warm weather. He lived the most free existence I have seen thus far, though he was a pensioner, so it's not like he also had to pull in some sort of salary. Anyway, before he would have a single malt, he would first swish some water around in the glass and pour it out.

"Does that make it taste better?" I asked.

"Nae, lad," says he, explaining the water served to line the glass. "Aie can't abide the thought o' one bloody drop gwin ta waste."

Makes sense to me. I hate waste. I mean, I hate it to the point where I feel compelled to scavenge whenever I see useful items in the trash. Reusing is of course much greener than recycling. Dumpster divers, we understand each other, my brethren, do we not? Anyway, the same mentality lends itself very smoothly and admirably to composting.

I throw out the equivalent of one small grocery bag's worth of garbage every two weeks. I'm sure I could do better. The reason for the small discharge is that the remains of the carbon-based life forms (in my case stuff like vegetable & fruit peelings, stems, onion skins, coffee grinds & filters, and paper) get composted. Yes, even the junk mail (minus envelopes, colored paper/ink and plastic windows) gets shredded and added to the pile. Very satisfying, considering how my efforts to get off the ad men's lists have never seemed to work. The system does especially well with a purely vegetarian diet, but carnies don't have to totally despair.

I switch the location of the compost bin (pictured) around each year, which makes it easier to plow the decomposed material into the soil. Everyone's happy.

We should all aspire to be compost someday. Such thoughts arouse my morbid sense of curiosity, which has just led me to this article. Spare me your disgust. We live our entire lives as parasites. I eat plants now. I have no problem with them eating me later.

three sisters

By 2008, I'd made up my mind to plant the area around Ed and "Mintania" with corn. There was enough space, and the general gardening rule of thumb I've learned is you either choose between crops or weeds. There is no such thing as a dead zone. You simply make a decision on what you prefer. In the first two years, I chose weeds because I didn't have the time to keep plowing them up.

Corn is probably one of America's most prolific and subsidized crops, hence the rise of the ethanol industry. But it's damn good and it's more versatile than wheat since you don't have to mill it in order to consume it. It's useful fresh or dried.

Some time ago, I got interested in Native American culture and history. This intensified after I discovered "the family secret" on my maternal grandmother's side. I think we're part Cherokee. Now I have an answer whenever people ask me if I'm part Asian. Seriously, they do sometimes. But back in 1920's Virginia, when you could only classify yourself as either "white" or "colored," and that determined where you lived, went to school, jobs, etc., if you could pass for white, then that's what you said you were. My great-grandmother Lelia (pictured) was a remarkable woman with many gifts. If I ever have a daughter, I hope to pass her name along.

Anyway, Native American agriculture was based upon the "three sisters" system of planting corn, beans and squash together. In summary, the corn stalk provides a pole for the beans to climb. The beans add nitrogen to the soil. And the squash spreads out in between and crowds out the weeds. Nice and harmonious. So this is what I set out to do.

My first attempt faltered. I planted the corn in rows, you know, like every good farmer does. That crowded out too much sun for the squash and often left one corn stalk shouldering all the weight of the bean plant. Then, after seeing how it's supposed to be done at the National Museum of the American Indian, I wised up and did circular clumps of 3-4 corn plants spread out in mounds, with a bean plant in the middle, and squash (I like zucchini) in the wide patches between the mounds. Much better.

the witnesses

I've decided you kind of develop a friendship with your perennial plants that come back year after year. My oldest is a spearmint plant that began life in my late grandmother's garden. "Such a nuisance," she said. "It just takes over." Ah, but when there is mint tea and tabouli to be had, you work out a compromise with its expansionist nature. It lives in the black plastic pot, half submerged in the background (back left of photo). It stealthily tries to take over the whole corner, but I refer back to our 2006 negotiated treaty that established the mutually recognized borders of Mintania. As the pot slowly deteriorates, those terms will probably have to be renegotiated.

The second is the red raspberry plant in the foreground. "Ed," as he was named by an ex girlfriend. Ed has expansionist privileges that the mint can only dream of. This pic was taken in June 2006, soon after I drove Ed over from the nursery and installed him. He's at least 3X bigger now. As you can see, the weeds have already recovered from my labor the month before. This was before I started growing corn in that area.

Along with the asparagus, oregano and thyme are also permanent residents. "Be fruitful and multiply," spake I. It's supposed to be good to talk to plants anyway. This study shows that women have an advantage in that field though.

beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy

I'm temporarily skipping ahead to the present day. By way of another century.

People who know me well know that I have a lifelong love affair with beer. It started when I was four and an older cousin, as a joke, let me have a taste. Minutes later I was finishing off unclaimed beers at the family crab feast (we're all Marylanders on my dad's side). I don't think anyone realized this occurred until the ride home when my parents looked in the back seat and asked themselves "What's wrong with the boy?" My happiness was cut short by bewildered scolding and my many demands that we pull off the road so I could pee.

A few years ago, I began brewing my own, with good results. On a visit to my paternal ancestral town of Biedenkopf, Germany, I let slip over some Bosch that I was a brewer and was politely asked to restore the family presence there since the small town, which once boasted four breweries (like the one in the picture), was now utterly deprived. If someday there is a such a thing as a President Palin or President Cheney (what's Liz up to?), I'm going to have to keep that offer in mind.

I digress. This year, I obtained permission to plow up some land adjoining my trailer home at Ravenna to grow barley and hops. The do-it-yourselfer persona is excited with anticipation. OK, so I don't know how to actually malt barley ... yet. I've got a few months to figure that one out. But my first attempt to "grow my own beer" will serve as more blog fodder as the year progresses. I've already got the barley seed from Seeds of Change and I'm going to order the hop rhizomes today.

life in West Nile

I spent a full May 2006 Saturday digging up the weeds by the roots, turning them over, chopping up the exposed soil with the blade of the shovel, and moving on to the next shovel-full. I discovered that the mosquitoes here are pretty damn hungry. After covering every bit of exposed skin with itchy welts, they went on to bite through my jeans and shirt.

Once when I was in high school, I'd managed to cut myself pretty badly on a piece of glass on the way to a talent show audition and I remember some friends following the trail of drops of blood through the hallways to the music room where they adoringly told me, "You have such pretty blood!" Apparently if you're a tiger mosquito, it tastes pretty good too. Whenever I go to my garden, it's like I'm wearing a dinner bell around my neck. My neighbors don't seem to have this problem. Vegetarians really do taste better (or at least smell better according to this study).

Anyway, by hand tilling I managed to save all the asparagus plants. I also found some plants that looked like, well something potentially edible. They weren't. BTW, I still do this when something different looking shows up. I've had better results since. Last year, this strange vine appeared out of nowhere and I decided to let it be. Turned out it was a lima bean plant.

I do plan to finally rototill the non-perennial sections of my plot this spring. There is some kind of deeply-rooted mean-spirited weed that pops up everywhere on extremely short notice through inches of mulch and even wooden boards, and it chokes the hell out of my plants. The winter strategy review concluded that the infantry can't always handle it quickly or thoroughly enough, so an air strike is needed.

welcome to the jungle

H.D. Thoreau, where would my life be without you? You are the most prominent among my personal pantheon.

I like the outdoors. I have a do-it-yourselfer streak. I like to cook. I like the smell of dirt, freshly tilled. The best night's sleep I ever had was after I spent a whole summer day bailing hay in order to bribe a farmer into showing me the whereabouts of a forgotten family burial ground.

Gardening is the answer to a life sentence of the slow fluorescent death in an indoor office. It's also a kind of a laboratory in the event that someday I decide not to make that particular compromise anymore.

So, step one, I contacted a local community garden to see about plot availabilities. It was May by then, but there was one 15' by 20' plot left. "It needs a little cleaning up," said the manager, in a clever understatement. "I'll take it," says I, enthusiastically, and sent off my $20 annual rent that afternoon.

The photo is of my garden plot as I first saw it in early May 2006. "I'll rototill it for $60," said the manager with a sly smile. Nope. Perhaps he didn't see that there was some asparagus somehow surviving in that mess. This needed a hands on approach. Anyway, I like physical labor right? Or at least I guess I really like asparagus.