GroHappy

When 1 is better than 13

One of the more gratifying aspects of volunteer work is the response you receive from your clients. I was especially looking forward to a recent horticultural session at Ann’s Place as we had nearly filled up the class with 13 pre-registrants. This class focused on creating sachets and mulling spice packets. So I got to the facility early to ensure everything was in place. Chairs for everyone plus a few possible drop ins, everything laid out on the table for sachet making, pens to decorate the sachets, a coffee urn cleaned out to make mulled cider, an ironing board and iron to seal the tea bags that would be used for the mulling spices, etc.

With 20 minutes to spare everything was ready for the crowd.

And with 10 minutes to spare everything was ready for the crowd.

And with no minutes to spare my first client shows up. And that was it.

After we made some small talk, she looked rather embarrassed saying, “I was really looking forward to this. Perhaps I should call my husband.” I told her no that we would have a session between the two of us. She didn’t want to put me to any trouble, but I said that since we were both here we should just go on. She turned up a little smile and we started.

While my last session focused on Tussie-Mussies and the language of flowers, this one dealt with more of the smells and tastes that can be derived through the mixing of herbs and flowers. “What is your favorite smell?” I asked.

She replied, “Lavender. It reminds me when I was young,” I added that my mother’s favorite was lilac because her mother had lilac bushes in her yard as a child. She smiled and agreed that it was a wonderful smell. I told her that one of my favorite smells was that of pickles (which are predominated with dill, bay leaves and vinegar as the dominant  flavorings) as it reminded me of when I used to eat lunch outside with my father during the summer.

“So one of the things we need to consider when making a sachet is how and where it will be used. For example, if you wanted to create a sachet that would be used in the kitchen or bathroom, it would probably have very different scents than one for a drawer where you kept your fine scarfs.” My client looked at me and said she had never thought of it that way and started taking notes.

“One of the things you need to consider is how to combine different scents.” I had collected 12 different botanicals and 7 different oils that could be used in a sachet. “But you have to be careful how you combine them, because certain things sit better together.”

“There are four category of scents: sweet, sour, vegetable, and animal.” I then described each one and told her that she needed to choose what she wanted to be her fundamental scent and then surround it with related scents.

“Well I think I will pick nutmeg,” she said after sniffing many of the different spices and herbs available. To unlock more of the nutmeg's scent, she started to grind it with a pestle. “Oh my,” she said after a few grinds released the essence of the nutmeg. She then looked over other scents. She took a bit of cinnamon, some chamomile and another spice or two.

As she mixed them she was amazed at the complexity and complementary nature of the smells as they combined in her bowl. And with each turn of the spoon and new scent came a different story and memory of her past. As the scents were being liberated, old and pleasant memories were being unlocked. But now we needed to come to a decision of what type of essential oil to add to the mix. “How about peppermint?,” I suggested. “It is very complementary to what you have put together and it will bind well with the oak moss we need to use as a fixative. We will  place it in a separate bowl so you can smell it as well as your mixture together.”

She agreed. After mixing the oak moss and pepermint, she held her emulsion along with her mix up to her nose. “This is incredible. It’s nothing like I thought it would be. Thank you.” I smiled telling her that I didn’t want to give canned recipes to clients but rather let them explore and discover how smells could be blended.

As we finished making the kitchen sachet we then moved on to mulling spices, which are different parts of cinnamon, clove, allspice, orange rind and lemon rind. We sipped some mulled cider I had made up and I asked her to reflect on the flavors she sensed and to consider which ones she enjoyed more than others.I showed her the mix and then I gave her four tea bags to be filled with spices and suggested that she experiment with different proportions to decide what type of mix she would ultimately enjoy more than others.

More stories and memories emerged while she blended the different spices. We were chatting about her experiences as well as mine. Before you knew it, it was time to clean up and she was looking forward to experience her mixings later in the week. As I was picking up I realized that I didn’t miss the dozen potential clients who didn’t show up.  And in fact more than a little part of me was happy they did not.

Seeding interest

This has been a cruel winter in Connecticut not in that the weather has been so severe but rather it has been a tease.  The 18 inches of white stuff I saw in October represents over 75 percent of all the snow we have had this season. The plants know not what to do as mild (and even warm) temperatures predominate. It feels like it should be the end of March, early April in the middle of February. I can’t plant anything now even though I feel as I should. But I can buy seed.

The only solace that January and February has for a gardener is the stream of seed and supply magazines that pile up in the mailbox every day. Johnny’s,Territorial, Burpee, Bluestone Perennials, A.M.Leonard, Lee Tools, John Scheepers are just a few of the catalogs that I greedily pore over looking for inspiration and new vegetable cultivars to plant this spring. My current favorites are Baker’s Creek, Comstock (owned by Baker’s Creek) and Fedco. Because I no longer will have access to the greenhouse at Green Chimneys, I have decided to start my own tomatoes, leeks and other veg myself this spring and have purchased grow lights and a heating pad to help the process. I have become spoiled because I am used to the varied and flavorful varieties of vegetables that you can’t get at local nurseries and have to grow yourself.

Because I purchased greens and root vegetables last year to plant in the fall, I needed to purchase only seeds for summer harvest. My challenge is that like a glutton at a dessert bar, I have a difficult time making my seed choices fit the space I have for my vegetable garden even though I’m a big fan of Mel Bartholomew’s Square Foot Gardening approach. But I kept my choices to (what I thought) to a manageable few: Beans, broccoli, carrots, cucumbers, endive, leeks, peas, and tomatoes. I had good luck last year starting flats of flowers so I will continue with cosmos, pansies, zinnias and nasturtiums.

Comstock got all my business this spring; Fedco got it last fall. I like to spread my seed purchases around to experiment with different cultivars as well as support all the different companies that send me colorful magazines that get me through the winter doldrums. I just placed my order. Spring feels that much closer.

Tussie-mussie mashup

After a series of natural mishaps, I have finally been able to start the horticultural therapy program at Ann’s Place. While 2011 was the year of building out the landscaping, this year I hope to build out programs as well as a number of therapeutic gardens. Creating tussie-mussies would be my first project.  Tussie-mussies were popular among women in Victorian England in the 19th century and represented the high point of flowers as an expression of language. There were countless pocket volumes of books that became essential companions of young women attempting to decipher the meaning of a bouquet. Red rose means passionate love, a daisy, innocence and rosemary, remembrance. During the heyday of tussie-mussies young women would consult a variety of different “floral dictionaries” to discern the true meaning of a received bouquet from a suitor or friend.

While flowers are often considered to be expressions of beauty and loveliness, they can also have not-so-nice meanings. For example, the combination of foxglove, nettle, lettuce, and a yellow carnation would basically say “ I have distain (yellow carnation) for you, you cruel (nettle), cold-hearted (lettuce), insincere (foxglove) person. If you add the herb valerian (shown on the left) to the mix you add the insult ‘drunk and slutty.’ This is probably a flower you never want to include in any bouquet (unless you want to break up with someone.)

But none of these plants were part of the bunch I put together for the half dozen or so of clients I had to work with. All save one were women. While many had a good background with flowers, few knew of the tussie-mussie story, which goes back to Aztec and Middle-Age cultures.

You can make a tussie-mussie with just a few flowers but given the fact that I didn’t know what people would want to say I had to collect a wide variety of flora, some of which I clipped from my yard and surrounding gardens.  They were:

Arborvitae—Unchanging friendship
Baby’s breath—Pure heart, festivity
Carnation —Admiration
Carnation, Deep red—Alas, for my poor heart
Carnation, Pink –Woman’s love, beauty, pride
Cedar—Strength
Daffodil—Respect, chivalry, gracefulness
Daisy—Innocence, simplicity
Fern—Fascination, sincerity
Forsythia—Good nature
Holly—Good will, domestic happiness
Ivy—Fidelity
Lily, tiger—Wealth, pride
Moss—Maternal love
Periwinkle—Pleasures of memory
Primrose—Early youth
Rose—Love
Rose, Red—I love you
Rose, Yellow—Friendship
Rosemary—Remembrance
Sage—Virtue, wisdom, skill
Spruce—Farewell, hope in adversity, immortality
Thyme—Activity

As I showed my clients how to put together different bouquets I told them to be watchful in the future of what types of bouquets they purchase from stores as it is easy to make mistakes. I had pictures of four different flower arrangements, each of which looked very nice, each of which had very different meanings. “This one, for instance, is for a hangover as the main flower is hens-and-chicks, which means,’welcome-home-husband-regardless-of-how-drunk-you-are”  One woman mused how perhaps she could send that to her ex.

Cedar, which represents strength, was a favorite adornment but was easily confused with arborvitae (unchanging friendship). While they look very similar, cedar has the smell of cat urine when cut; it was easy to differentiate once with a simple snip. Some of my clients initially made their bouquets too large but were able to scale them down with a bit of help and guidance. It takes a bit of a knack to tie everything together as many people have the tendency to grab a large number of samples and try to tie the group together rather than layer in one or two at a time, attaching them with florist wire.

I created a small tussie-mussie for my wife, showing my clients that bigger is not necessarily better. I picked a red rose, daffodils, periwinkle and primrose. They thought it very beautiful and when I brought it home to Juana (with a crib sheet of meanings) she thought it equally beautiful and sweet and rewarded me with a kiss.

Splitting up is easy to do

In this unusual winter, things are a little different in the garden. I can still harvest some winter greens as they have stubbornly held on to life and moisture. The ground is often not like a brick but rather can be easily dug and worked. And the typical cover of snow is nowhere to be found leaving a mat of old hosta leaves looking like decayed tissue paper covering large swaths of the back yard by the fence. Trimming the hostas was not the only chore that I was unable to finish the fall: splitting the wood was another.

In past years I would typically have between two and three cords of wood split, ready for the winter ahead. It is rarely a good idea in Connecticut to wait much past Thanksgiving to have your wood stove-ready as we have had over three foot of snow on the ground by Christmas. Last year in January we had nearly five. This anticipation is in stark contract to Long Island, only 40 miles south of Ridgefield, where we would rarely have more than a few inches of snow on the ground.  Wood splitting was a winter activity when I lived on Long Island.

But with a hurricane in late August and Snowtober taking power out for more than a week each, wood splitting was placed on the back burner of chores as it took us weeks to merely clean the property and repair storm damage. Without power,  Snowtober kept the wood stove running 24x7 keeping the house warm and cooking meals for me during the day. In that one week I probably burned at least 1/4 a cord of wood. So this Thanksgiving I was not prepared for winter.

In December I manically looked for an hour a few times a week where it would be pleasant to split wood. While it was cool, it was not always dry. And when it was dry it was not cool. After a while I needed to just get on with it regardless of the conditions. Putting on my Carharrt jacket and leather work gloves I went out to the shed and picked up a splitting wedge and my 6-lb. maul.

It was a good crisp day for splitting wood it being in the mid 20s with bright sun and little wind. The first log was easy to split as it was only 8 inches across with no knots. Other logs were not so cooperative. While a well-branched tree is a beautiful thing to behold, it is a challenge to split. Logs that have been long laying on the soil often develop an obstinacy to being moved. They require a gentle reminder in the form of a smack with the blunt end of your maul.

Even though some friends have recommended against it, I enjoy splitting wood. It is one of the few things you can do on a winter’s day and not be cold. In fact, when it is much above 40 degrees, it is too hot to split wood as the layers peel off with each successive stroke or two.

So now is perfect for splitting as it is quiet with the only noise being the simple thwack of my maul against a log. As it is below freezing, the logs split readily after being coaxed. These logs are a few years old so there is none of the sweet smell of sap or moisture coming from the log. Some logs have become ant hotels and eviction is fast and absolute. Others have corrals of grey woodlice being rounded up by iridescent green centipedes between their bark and the soil.

One log that had been split a while ago was stuck to the ground. A kick with my boot dislodged it revealing a tapestry of leaves, cobwebs, detritus and a fern stuck to a yellowish vein that followed the grain of the wood. The log had become an abstract canvas of nature. I threw it on to the stack but later took it off, putting it back on the ground to see if an unseen artist will lay in another coat of paint.

Potting up, young and old

While the days begin to lengthen, January is still a month where there is little to do in the garden save catalog the catalogs that arrive on a nearly daily basis promising seeds, plants and new growth in the months ahead. But there are a few things that I can still do in this increasingly cold month. Potting up.

Amaryllis is sold and pushed as a Christmas bulb, but for me it is one that sustains me after Christmas. Though I buy new bulbs every few years, most of my blooms are from bulbs I keep and let sleep in the basement after the have flowered and summered in my backyard. They have done quite well and increase in size year to year. My challenge has always been to get them to bloom at Christmas; last year I stopped trying and said that I will just pot up a few every other week so that I have big blossoms late January through early April. 

I also noticed that the soil for my Christmas cacti had become calcified and also needed refreshment. So I had a big potting job in front of me and I thought that the best helper I could get to mix the soil would be my granddaughter Charlotte.

Charlotte has been helping me to make bread ever since she was 5 months old. She loves to stick her hands into the dough picking out little chunks for a forbidden snack. Her kneading skills would come in handy when I hydrated the soil before potting up.

I have learned the hard way that you always wet your soil first before potting up so that your carefully placed seeds and plants stay where you placed them rather than float up or tilt badly. For Charlotte, this was fine as it offered her the opportunity to get her hands good and muddy.

I gave her a small spoon as a mixing tool but Charlotte, like many of the children I have worked with over the years, preferred to use both her hands to squeeze and squish the soil. When water was added, so much the better as she started grab chunks of soil breaking them up and creating muddy balls that she smiled and giggled over. More than a few times my wife needed to remind Charlotte that soil was for mixing, not for eating.

After we got the mix right I tried to get her to help me put soil in the pots but she was too interested in embedding her arms in the soil to care. Soon she was covered hand to elbow and enjoyed the fact that we let her stick her arm deep into a watering can to remove this new layer of topsoil coating both arms.

Potting up took little time. I’m looking forward to the Spring and Summer when I can show Charlotte the fruits of her labor. Though I think for her it’s all about the mixing.

Timberrr!!!!!!

As I have mentioned in a prior post, one of the large challenges my vegetable garden faces is its exposure or its lack of one. Though its raised beds are situated on a greenhouse foundation, the combination of northern exposure and tree cover, which wasn’t there when the greenhouse was built, makes for light light (particularly in the Spring and Fall.) But last year my neighbor, Donna, agreed to let me have the trees taken down in the space between our properties so that the greenhouse (and my garden) would get the sun my vegetables actively crave.

This area between our properties has been a no-man’s-land of opportunity as maple, locust, cherry, hickory, oak and ash have fought for dominance by spreading their branches and leaders in every direction save straight up. Besides their leaves, these trees were clothed with a spreading dress of grape vine and poison ivy. 

The consecutive storms of the late summer and fall took down some trees and crushed much of the undergrowth. A  locust came through my fence landing in the small 10 foot space between the corner of my greenhouse and that of the garage. Another leaned on a cherry that had its top broken off. Other trees also had broken and hanging branches. So it seemed that now was the time for a clear cut as there were few trees that were not either damaged, leaning too close to my house or somehow damaged by the storms.

Unfortunately after all the trees were removed neither my wife nor neighbor (and me to some degree) were ready for the stark barrenness of the newly denuded landscape. It is perhaps made worse by the fact that no refurbishment or plantings can be attempted for at least two and a half months. Instead of an overgrown patch we had mountains of wood chips and crummy looking undergrowth. I spent the better part of two days trying to clean up and make the area look a bit better. 

As I cut back the broken, overgrown and deformed undergrowth of grape and poison ivy vines I started to discover some real gems: a rhododendron that had been overgrown with grape vine and forsythia, beaten down heirloom roses and tangled masses of raspberries. A pile of vines revealed a fledgling three foot fir that was attempting to make a go of it.

The chips proffered a more muscular exercise with a large and extended pile that was shot across the back area. However, I was able to fill in some very large depressions in the property and grade the area for a nice set of spring plantings. Its consistent and light patina contrasted with the darker leaf litter surrounding it. In a year, however, all would appear the same. And now that I can see what is already there and what can planted in a few months, I’m looking forward to the spring.

Happy new Spring?

Yesterday I was outside clearing some brush when I quickly noticed that my trusty Carthartt jacket was way too warm as was my scarf and cap. By 10 am I was stripped down to my turtleneck working up a good sweat as I piled up brush to be later chipped; by noon I was a complete sweaty mess as the temperature hit the mid 50s.

I was not the only one confused. The forsythia was beginning to bud out as well as lots of other bushes. My cold frame was beginning to develop some early signs of mold from the hot and damp environment it was finding itself in. A once dormant tick tried to crawl up my leg. The daffodils were beginning to emerge from the leaf litter in the back.

While I am not complaining about this uncharacteristic warm spell I have to wonder what the plants must be thinking and reacting to. In the past 10 days we have had temperature swings of nearly 50 degrees vacillating between Artic-like cold and wind and Spring-like warmth and growth. None of this can be helpful and in all my years as a gardener I have never had this type of experience. I can’t even guess to figure out how this will effect the plants this Spring.

Will the buds of my American Beautyberry (Callicarpa Americana) explode when they are refrozen in the weeks to come? Or will they winter over nicely? I’m not too worried about the daffodil bulbs as they are often fooled and have a premature growth before quieting down, waiting for a more permanent warming trend.

My hellebores (Christmas rose) are budding out looking as if they will flower in the next few weeks. Only in the past few years have my hellebores reached their potential by providing lovely cupped shaped flowers in the early Spring. The foxgloves are all looking fresh albeit not tasty to the deer or anything that hasn’t developed a taste for digitalis. 

This warm weather has created a sense of (perhaps) false security as I haven’t felt pressed to continue splitting wood. I have probably only a bit more of a cord of wood split, which will not get me through the winter if it returns with a passion. Perhaps its time I start swinging a maul.

Solstice salad

Going out for the newspaper a few mornings ago, I was greeted by a warm 50 degree breeze and sunny skies. Normally, such weather is more appropriate for the Spring Equinox than the Winter Solstice. But this has been a year of unusual weather so I shrugged off the morning breeze as yet another aberration in a year full of such occurrences. Splitting wood a few weeks ago, I was attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes and gnats. I continue to pull ticks off the cats when they come into the house from the outside. Buds on the bushes look as if they are about to burst into bloom. It doesn’t seem as if we are in Connecticut anymore.

On of the happy byproducts of this mildness are the salads we have been able to harvest every other day from the cold frame. Depending upon what is more up we have combinations of space spinach; sylvetta arugula; winterbor kale; romaine, red-tinged winter, and slow-bolt lettuce; claytonia; tatsoi; mache and parsley. Given the mild weather it has been easy to harvest continuously though one evening when the temperature was down to 26 degrees I made the mistake of trying to get a few leafs for a sandwich I was making. Upon opening the frame I noticed that the glass was glazed with frozen mist dripping with ice. Each leaf was preserved solid and cracked as I broke a leaf off a few stems. I made the mistake of trying to defrost my greens in cold water, which transformed icy greens to brown mush.

Few believed that I could produce greens almost year round but this year my efforts let us grow greens between mid April to the end of December. Next year I hope to extend that time even further; I’m beginning to figure out how to crack this. But a few days ago, as I looked at my greens, I could tell that my harvesting days were coming to an end. This is the season of harvesting, not of growth as the days are cold and the nights dark and long. I have, perhaps, only a few more harvests left so I cut most of the greens this Thursday so Juana and I could enjoy a large salad still from my garden. It was delicious, an early Christmas gift.

Therapy on hold

It’s been too long since I have last posted, which has been due to a combination of events out of my control. The first, and perhaps most relevant, is that I am between horticultural therapy programs. I am no longer working at Green Chimneys as a volunteer, as my mentor has moved on to other jobs and situations. I have missed working with the children but at the same time excited about starting up a new program in February at Ann’s Place in Danbury to help those whose lives have been touched by cancer.

So my activities have been around putting the finishing touches on different therapeutic spaces at my new facility in Danbury as well cleaning up after all the storms we have experienced.

At Ann’s Place I just finished planting 3,400 alliums and daffodils in the front of the facility. While that seems like a daunting number of bulbs it provides only the most basic of foliage and flowers when all emerge from the ground. I planted the bulbs in three different layers: Daffodils eight inches down, medium-sized alliums four inches down and tiny allium bulbs 2 inches below the surface. The hope is that they will spring up between April and August giving clients and staff a nice display as they enter our facility.

We have also installed nearly 200 ferns as well as hemlocks and American hollies around a picnic area with benches and a table. I am hoping that staff as well as clients can use this area for reflection and support. I planted many Christmas ferns around one holly as a holiday focal point. Hopefully next year it will be in full bloom.

Walkways and winter rye have finished the job for this season so I can focus on building a program this winter.

Working around the garden at home has been another story; it’s been more work than therapy. I have always tried to approach garden work with a Zen-like serenity and enjoy the moment. This year, unfortunately, that has not always been the case as combinations of illness, accidents and natural gotcha’s have delayed and added to the many garden tasks.

This last month was focused on getting ready for winter. As I burned up nearly one-quarter of my split wood supply keeping the house warm in early November, I spent quite a few days splitting more wood to just replenish my supply. Every day for a week and a half, I would go out to split oak and ash for an hour or so. Splitting wood has a rhythm that I enjoy. The picking up and splitting again and again of the same piece has a calming effect while I listen to the music of my back yard.

But I felt more stressed than relaxed as I felt that the weather could turn to the worse at any moment. Ironically, that was the furthest from the truth as this past November has been the mildest I can remember. There were quite a few days where my skinny bleached white legs exposed themselves to passers by. The lack of consistent hard frosts manifested itself through my cats picking up tick after tick during their outdoor forages. Gnats, mosquitoes and other flying vermin swarmed around my face and arms. For Thanksgiving I had more bug bites than servings of my favorite dessert.

The warm weather, however, permitted me to repair over 100 feet of fencing that had been damaged or downed by the two storms we have had this fall. It was warm enough to replace and set in concrete 10 new posts as well as reset existing posts that had not been felled. My local arborist dropped nearly 20 yards of wood chips for me to distribute and I spent the better of a week wheelbarrowing the chips to all the different beds needed to be refreshed. As I started the task, wisps of warm composting smoke rose from the top of the pile and continued until I knocked down its mass a bit.

Through all this I have been able to harvest salads nearly every other day as my cold frame and Agribon hoop house has kept the lettuces and Swiss Chard all the ready to eat. Even though the temperature hit a low of 22 degrees this week, all the different plants are doing well.

Now that I have finished all of my autumnal chores (with just days to spare to winter) I can now concentrate on the few things you can still do in the garden like harvest the remaining (and surviving greens), splitting wood as it gets used and starting to review the catalogs that start to come this time of year in preparation for the spring.

Recalling a blackout and October snow

Writing by candlelight and fire evokes images of Abe Lincoln or Ben Franklin recording their thoughts at the end of a long day. But there is little else I was able to do after days without power finding myself alone tending a fire to keep the house warm and the pets fed. This trip back to an off- (or non-existent) grid New England was caused by a freak October snow storm that dumped nearly 18 inches of snow on my back yard. Only now, have I had the chance to post after more than a week of cleaning and catching up.

Initially pretty with large fluffy flecks covering the ground and plants, the snow became more and more menacing as the trees and bushes started to groan and sag against the weight of the snow. By 4:30 in the afternoon nearly 10 inches had dropped in a little over 4 hours and with it many a branch. The progression was fairly consistent: a slow and constant drop of a limb until it stopped moving downward. Nothing save more snow. It then became a waiting game. Could or would the tree be able to hold its own against the snow? Would the snow stop soon? How much would break or crack off?

Sometimes the branch released its cargo with a whoosh and thump like flour from a bag. It then shot upward to catch more snow and start its slow, downward movement again. Other times the snow was liberated only after a branch snapped with a large crack followed by a thud. This spectacle was repeated all evening until the morning when all was white and silent. Everything was broken and we were without power for nearly an entire week.

The butterfly bushes were crushed and laid over on their sides. The hydrangea snapped into pieces with their dried flowers smashed and spread all over. The Montauk daisies were crushed. The ornamentals fared the worse, particularly the Japanese maples.

All of the maples save one lost large chunks of their upper canopies. Like so many toothpicks the branches were scattered with jagged edges some hanging by a thin sliver of bark or wood. One of the trees split into three parts; one for each main leader that rose near the ground from a common base. It was splayed helpless among the pachysandra resting between a concrete Buddha and a crescent of azaleas. It seemed hopeless.

But the next week brought rapidly melting snow (though there is still a small pile in my yard) and progress. The damage forced me to cut back bushes and trees much sooner than I would have. Remarkably I was able to cable the trisected maple together with the base fitting neatly and cleanly together.  I started to split wood every day as I burned through 1/3rd a cord in just a week. With each exhausting day came repair and the a view that this natural pruning process was not as bad as it could have been.

 

One surprise was how well my fall greens held up. Covered with Agribon and glass, my cold frames withheld the weight of the snow and saved the lettuces as well as the Swiss chard. My carrots emerged from the snow with tops still green and looking well. Even the herb garden suffered little damage save a few burnt leaves.

Last week I harvested a salad to have with my dinner. It was delicious.