GroHappy

A turtle in need . . .snap!

Last Sunday I turned out of my driveway and headed for Ann’s Place for some early morning penance in the form of weeding. While the lawn is beginning to come in nicely albeit slowly, the weed population continues to grow quickly and invasively like all weeds do. As I reached the bottom of the hill and made a left turn, I noticed out of the corner of my eye an orb-like shape on the road that was light on one side with markings and dark on the other. Like a bowl with a lid.

It didn’t register with me immediately but a few hundred yards down the road I thought it could perhaps be a turtle that was upside down in its shell. I kept driving for another 30 seconds or so before my conscious got the better of me and I turned around. Pulling up on the side of the street opposite the object, I realized that my initial hunch was correct. It was a turtle; a big one about a foot long and eight inches wide. Probably a snapper.

It has somehow been flipped over on its back and was just inside the white line marking the edge of the road. Perhaps it had tried to climb or down the embankment that was next to it. It lay helpless with a pool of urine draining away from it. I walked across the street to see how it was doing.

It was still alive.

I took it across the street and placed it gently on its bottom shell. After a few moments it looked and stared at me but was unwilling to extend either its head or legs outside its protective shell that rested on some brown and gray leaf mold. I waited for a few minutes to see if it would come out of its shell but it would not budge. It was time for me to leave and I hoped the turtle would soon saunter away.

While I was weeding, I though about the turtle and all the other creatures we inadvertently come across every day. I put a deer fence around the back yard area of Ann’s Place to ensure that the deer would not decimate the fledgling trees and shrubs as they had in the prior year. But it would not stop the bunnies, frogs, possums and other local residents from enjoying the sanctuary that we have created.

As I headed home I hoped that the turtle had recovered from its topsy-turvy experience. I slowly pulled my car back into the space it had stopped at a few hours ago. No sign of the turtle. A good thing.

A re-bolting situation

Today it is normal. It was in the mid-30s when I woke up and is supposed to reach the 50s later this afternoon. Tomorrow it will snow or rain. Typical for late March. And all my lettuce is bolting.

I thought that I was poised for a good spring harvest of greens. I was feeding my granddaughter Charlotte samples from my garden in early March. I had successfully transplanted everything that survived our very mild winter to my cold frame, fed them with compost and watched them grow.

But before the Ides of March, Nature decided to throw a few curve balls in the guise of not just warm but unbelievably hot weather. Days in the 60s, 70s and even a few in the 80s. Nights in the 50s. This isn't March. This is May or June. And that is exactly what my greens thought. They were growing fast and large, requiring water as the soil was beginning to dry out. Now who in the Northeast waters their garden in March? Well this year it was me.

I had perfect greens for a week. Fast growing and delicious. But soon that was over.

Beyond getting big, my winter greens developed summer-like flowers and blooms. I have never had VIT (Valerianella locusta)  flower and Miner’s lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata) doesn’t flower until mid June. The Asian greens, usually succulent and slightly sweet in early Spring, are bitter and leather-like. I usually eat all of it well before that is possible. Not this year. I am already weeding for chickweed and I have seen a slug or two saunter toward a leaf or two of some seedlings I have planted. This season it seems as I can’t trust anything. And now it looks like snow.

Charlotte salads

We are in the midst of near record heat, which is making all of us want to shed our down vests like a snake sheds its skin. Charlotte, my granddaughter, has spring fever as bad as any of us and doesn’t want to stay inside but rather wobble outdoors and experience nature. For her, that still means putting nearly everything in her mouth ranging from small rocks (to perfect her speech like Demosthenes) to large sticks (to clean her teeth after a meal of grass.) But I figured it was time to get her up in the garden to show her what we could eat from the outdoors this time of year.

The lack of snow and cold permitted many of my greens to winter-over nicely. The Swiss chard was coming back as well as the spinach I planted last September. Amazingly some of the slow-bolt leaf lettuce is growing along with the pak choy. The best crops are the heart-shaped miner’s lettuce and mache (Vit). They are a tasty snack and very sweet this time of year. We have a surfeit of crunchy little leaves; ideal for a small, fairly toothless mouth. My raised beds are the perfect height for her to grab and play with the soil. She plays, moving her hands across the black warming soil in a circular motion. After a bit,  she wants a little snack so I feed her leaf after leaf that she sucks down using her little pink tongue.

The garden is a new experience for her and she can’t decide how to react. What should she put in her mouth versus what should she just grab? Sometimes I think it is too much for her to handle. I often think about what she will remember of her crazy grandpa and his obsession with gardening. Is he just too weird or wonderful? Perhaps someday I will find out. Regardless spring is coming and I will just keep feeding Charlotte from the garden letting her well within reach of the lettuce but blocking out sight of the foxglove that has established itself. You can never be too careful with those you love.

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.

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.

Building a program—Part 2: Finishing the back

Putting up a deer fence was both an end and starting point. It was the end of the carnage by the deer. If the snow didn’t save them from deer last winter, any remaining plants got chewed up in the spring or died during the rainless July this summer. But now we can start anew. Out of the 70 or so plants we put in last year, 45 were gone and needed to be replaced. Then another 40 needed to be put in around the building and walls now that work was finished.

So many of the plants we had installed last year had been reduced to dead twigs. Because hay instead of straw had been put down to control erosion, we had a big crop of rye grass and associated weeds, which was not the fescue we needed to plant for the back yard.

A backhoe was brought in to remove the sod and grade the area so that water would run away from the building and into a trench leading to the wetlands. Two knee walls were constructed earlier to ensure that the run off would not drain into a patio area.

Mark, the operator, had a wonderfully light touch as he delicately scraped the old sod away and replaced it with new topsoil. He was able to just pull away the right amount of soil with a huge steel arm as a child would run her fingers through the sand. Within a few hours, the area was ready for seeding.

While Mark was working on getting the back ready for a lawn, I with a bunch of landscapers started to plant all the different trees and bushes: American Cranberry, Inkberry, Winterberry, Swamp Azalea, Mountain Laurel, High and Low Bush blueberry, Elderberry, Gray and Red-Osier Dogwood and Spirea were just the beginning. Planting was bittersweet as for almost every plant I positioned another needed to be yanked and discarded. I now understand why professional landscapers around here choose such large specimens: more survival chances against man and beast. In a few cases, I needed to direct the laborers not to step on Witch Hazel saplings, indicating that they were not sticks but rather living plants.

Soon the lawn was ready for seeding. I have had 100 pounds of fescue seed in my basement for 5 months waiting for this moment. Ironically this was the last possible day (October 12) that I could plant: the next week or so looked warm so that the seeds would have the needed sun and temperatures for germination. Rain looked imminent so we worked quickly smoothing out the soil, broadcasting the seed and then spreading shredded straw over the area to hold the seed and erosion. We had just enough seed and straw to finish the job.

As we started to put away the tools it began to rain. Not heavy, but a steady soft rain that would moisten the soil and give the grass, transplanted trees and bushes a good start. I thanked all the people who helped me, loaded my shovels, pick ax and rakes into the car happy that we had finally finished the back area before the bad weather hits. 

Gardening makes me sick

This time of year I should be deadheading the late spring bulbs, cutting back tulip stems, weeding, harvesting lettuce, mowing the lawn, etc. Instead I find myself crouched in fetal position vacillating between cold shakes and hot sweats. I have wet the bed (with my sweat). Everything is sore. I’ve got fever to burn at 105 degrees. I’m as limp as over-boiled pasta. I want to die. I’ve got ehrlichiosisis. From a stupid tick.

Only now though the miracle of antibiotics and the loving care of my family do I start to feel human again. It turns out ticks don’t just transmit Lyme’s disease, named after a nearby Connecticut community, but also lots of other nasty things. But that doesn’t really matter to me as I lie unable to move my head without being in a huge amount of pain. What does matter is how can I prevent this from happening again?

I know that you should always remove all your clothing and take a shower after you spend anytime in the garden. And I always do that. . .most of the time. You should look for any little creatures hanging on to you. I do that though it is a difficult thing in the steam of a hot shower without my glasses. You should spray tick repellant like DEET at least on your shoes, pants, anything that comes into potential contact with a tick. But I haven’t gotten anything in the past decade and I really hate to spray pesticides around. OK, I have pulled some ticks off and I have gotten some preventative treatments of Doxycycline in the past. And I know you are not supposed to walk through fields of grass and try to stay away from brush. The problem with that this year, however, is that we are building new gardens at Ann’s Place and some unwanted rye has sprouted in the back that needs to be plowed under.  Doesn’t sound too convincing, does it?

Well maybe I have learned my lesson and for the next three weeks because of the sun-sensitivity side effect of Doxycycline I will be walking around fully clothed with a wide-brimmed hat looking like some Miami Beach retirement wannabe. And perhaps I need to take showers more often and buy myself some DEET.

Leaves of three, let them be

The morning was crisp and cold but with cloudless skies promising a much warmer day. The back gardens at Ann’s Place were as I left them last fall with a blanket of straw covering everything I planted last November but with one big difference: daffodils. The 3,400 daffodils I planted last year have come in full bloom and grace the little hillside on the southern portion of the property. They stand trumpeting the beginning of Spring and the emergence of all we did last year. A few weeks ago I planted 400 stragglers around the stairs and statue base that were installed after the initial planting; they too have started to poke their heads above the straw.

There was little time to appreciate this sight as I needed to remove all the straw from the beds we had created last year and start to prepare the ground to be seeded. The straw decayed little over the winter and each strand held on to each others forming chunky sheets. Underneath was the stirrings of new growth and old nemeses. Barberry babies were raising their heads, looking to take a first feeding of light. Like a ruthless mercenary, I pulled them out of their warm beds and discarded them with little thought.

Pale green grasses were starting to grow. Other weeds were starting to present themselves. I spotted what looked like poison ivy with its tale-tell three leaves. I removed it with little thought.

Many of the plants did well during the winter. The chokeberries, dogwoods, spiraeas and viburnums had been pruned a bit by the deer. The blueberries had not even been touched. The inkberries, unfortunately, had been heavily sampled and the mountain laurels that I (perhaps naively) planted have been eaten down to the bark showing little life. I may have to replace them. But overall everything is starting to bud out nicely and telegraph its rebirth to the surroundings.

As I kept removing the straw, I noticed more of the three-leaf plants. It was strange as I didn’t remember any poison ivy when we cleared the area last fall. And also the stem was red, not green as it should be. So I decided to grant mercy on the plant and wait to see how it developed. I’m glad I did because I started to discover hidden treasures.

The little three-leaf plants were scattered around but I soon started finding small rose bushes. Then a few ferns that I had not planted. Then a patch of wild strawberries. Then a jack in the pulpit: it was not poison ivy. Jack in the pulpit is easy to confuse with poison ivy as both have a similar three-leaf structure; the difference is when an erect spike forms (a spadix or Jack) that holds many tiny flowers and the sheath-like spathe (pulpit) appears that opens to form a hood. Though it is not endangered, I haven’t seen one for years in my walks in the woods even though they are rarely eaten by deer as they are poisonous.

You could never see any of these things under the barberry that covered the back portion of the property. I was pleasantly surprised to find that native plants were still around, just hidden from view by the barberry that we had removed. They had already gone dormant when I there in the fall.  I quickly became attuned to the potential for plants under the straw, which was now wrapping paper for the gifts of Spring.

After all the straw was removed, I was encouraged to see that besides what had been planted in the fall was complemented by flowers, bushes and ferns that had already been here. The soil was now bare and needed a bit of roughing up to better take the seed I will soon sow to restore other species that had long disappeared from the site. Milkweed, Joe-pye weed, New England Aster, big bluestem, goldenrod, Indian grass are but a few of the new plants that would perhaps reestablish themselves in this area. After broadcasting the seed I then spread a thin layer of shredded straw. This weekend it is supposed to rain and the cycle of growth will start again at Ann’s Place.