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. . . something nice pops up. Just yesterday, I was lamenting my poor lost tulips, and today there they were.
(And another thing I discovered today--this is not a carrot seedling. It's a weed; a fact that became very apparent when the real carrots decided to make their much more feathery appearance this evening.)
For the Wednesday poll this week, I asked you all to give me suggestions for a name for the vegetable plot in the Community Garden. I think Fergus' Mom (Fergus being Moe's soul-brother in terms of mischief and charm) hit on a winner. Henceforth, the vegetable plot will be known as "The Burrow" (the Burrow being the Weasley's house in the Harry Potter books). To quote J.K. Rowling:
"It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which, Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.
"'It's not much,' said Ron.
"'It's wonderful,' said Harry happily . . . ."
You know how sometimes certain things just don't go right, and you assume it's something you've done wrong, and then you find out it's just something that everyone has problems with, and then you get that contented/relieved little feeling in your chest? (What, you mean everyone doesn't go through that?) Well, it happened to me twice today--twice.
First, I was reading local gardening columnist Gwyn Mellinger's weekly column. This week, in her discussion about garden planning, she says:
"Some gardeners who are pressed for space try to reuse the areas of the garden where early crops grow by replanting late-season crops there. The term for this is succession planting. For the average home gardener in Kansas, the concept is difficult to implement because of the length of our growing season.
"Because we generally don’t plant our early-season greens and cole crops until March and we plant our hot-weather crops in April and May, we don’t have adequate time to plant twice in the same spot. Seeds and transplants have difficulty getting started in the summer heat, so the first practical opportunity to replant is in fall. In this part of the country, fall gardening is complicated by the arrival of frost in October.
"Most home gardeners who use succession planting as a space-management strategy are located in more temperate climates with much longer growing seasons. If we could plant our greens and cole crops in early February, this would be worth trying. As a practical matter in Kansas vegetable gardens, every crop needs its own space."
OK, I know this may not seem big to most of you, but many, many, many gardening books say that secession planting is the way to go when you're limited on space. I've been trying to make it work for two years now, and have always thought myself a bit of a failure when X vegetable didn't mature fast enough to pull it out and put something else in. Come to find out, it's not me, it's my climate--hooray!
Continue reading "I'm Normal, It's My (Fill In the Blank) That's Screwed Up--Hooray!" »
As all of you regular readers are aware, I recently acquired a new little "Bit of Earth" in the Eastside Community Garden. It seems kind of dumpy to refer to it as "the Plot" all summer. I think it needs a real name, but I can't seem to think of anything that sounds fitting.
So, for this week's poll I'm taking suggestions. I'm thinking something short, something witty, something with some sort of literary reference (e.g. "My Bit of Earth)--but more than all of that, I'm looking for something that fits a little hodge-podge, hippy, maybe-a-little-shabby-to-outsiders-but-beautiful-to-me vegetable garden. Any ideas?
Everyone--well, everyone except our local gardening columnist Gwyn Mellinger--has told me that carrots can be persnickety to grow. You have to dig the soil extra deep and then sift it (says Sweet Husband who apparently learned this from his Grandfather--a Master Gardener who knew his stuff). Then you have to pray that the seeds stay put, and a crust doesn't form on top of the soil, and the bunnies don't eat the seedlings, and even if you do all of that you still might end up with (gasp!) crooked carrots! Doesn't that seem like a lot that could go wrong?
And, to make matters worse, in my hurry to just get the seeds in the ground, I violated many of the above rules. (Don't tell anyone, but I only dug down about six inches . . . and I didn't sift . . . .) However, despite my shortcomings, I was relieved to see I have some carrots growing.
Will they be crooked? Only time will tell. But on the bright side, I bet we could use them for some interesting food sculpture, er, stuff . . . .
I must have sat and watched them for 20 minutes. One of the store employees finally came over and asked it I wanted to hold one; I sadly said no, patted the offered duckling on the head, and resumed my trellis hunt.
But, of course, seeing the little ones reminded me of my little imaginary flock and my little imaginary cute chicken coop. Although it may subside at times, my chicken fever is just biding it's time; so, to tide myself over for now, I'm going to start a list of links to fun chicken websites as I find them. You can check it out at the (way) lower right. Cluck-cluck.
(Golden Campine chick photo courtesy of Valerie Ackley and www.feathersite.com.)
We took the pups for to the river this afternoon for their first swim of the year. I was a little nervous given that the first time we went swimming last year I ended up in the river--very muddy, very wet, very cold. Thankfully, today was much less exciting.
Moe (aka "He-Who-Must-Chase-Tennis-Balls") enjoyed splashing in the water, but didn't want to put his nose under to retrieve his ball.
Porter did a bit of dainty wading, but mostly just looked at Moe like he was a little nuts.
And we all made it back to the car about two seconds before it started pouring!
The first community garden workday was this morning. There was much digging and discussing. I helped dig up the community strawberry patch and herb garden, and then retired to my own little plot.
After doing some digging of my own, I covered up the areas that aren't going to be planted for a few more weeks (or for as long as I can stand to hold off). As I was working, I noticed I've got a few little onion sets starting to peek up, and some teeny-tiny salad greens and radishes.
Unfortunately, it looks like the bunnies got to my cabbage plants; they're still there, but they were pretty stripped down. They may have been just trying to be nice, but the other gardeners opined that the cabbages weren't beyond recovery, so maybe they'll grow back. Or maybe I'll have to make them some little cages to keep them safe. Or maybe I'll take Moe up to the garden and let him catch some bunnies (not really, just kidding).
And as for the little flying terrier statute in the picture? Well, I found him at the nursery the other day, and decided that every garden needs a little deity. Now he just needs a name . . . .
If it's not too much trouble, could you please try and win by a few more points today against UCLA than you did against Southern Illinois? I know--a win is a win is a win--but if you could just make it a bit less stressful that would be great. Thanks!!!
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