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.

The Day of the Dandelion

With more rain in the last two weeks than we had received in the prior three months, the weeds have decided to make a mad dash to maturity. Small and stunted garlic mustards shot up overnight. Dandelions that had been hugging the soil decide to flower and then seed in a matter of days. And don’t even get me started on the thousands of maple trees that are now growing on my lawn.

So this year, weeding has taken on more urgency as I hope to curtail next year’s crop by removing this year’s crop of flowers and seeds. For me it seems that the dominant weeds rotate over the years. In the beginning, the focus was on poison ivy where some vines were like adjunct limbs on my neighboring ashes and maples. But after cutting and pulling and spraying, I was able to rid most of the property of this undesirable ivy.

Next on the list was garlic mustard. On Long Island where I used to live, I never saw garlic mustard and when I encountered it here I thought it quite pretty, particularly in the first year where its large heart-shaped leaves provided a nice ground cover in my more barren areas. Not realizing it was a biennial, I did not know that its year-two form of a spike with small white flowers would multiply ad infinitum. So I have spent the last decade coming to an acceptable coexistence with this European native.

The same has been true of plantain, chickweed, dock, and other opportunistic refugees that have invaded my space. And the dandelion has maintained a balance not requiring me to care too much about its place in my gardens. Until now.

For the first 10 years of so, dandelions were the food stuffs of our rabbit collection so when food was collected, a bit of simple weeding and feeding worked hand in hand. After our rabbits died, the dandelion population held constant appearing to know that if they popped up, they would be dug up and fed to the bunnies.

This year, however, they have emerged from the lawn and gardens with unrestrained vigor and brazenness. They are in the blueberry and strawberry patches. They cover the lawn. They grow in cracks in the stone walls, They grow in the gravel parking space. In short, they are everywhere.

Now when you weed these bad boys, you have to focus on the flowers that have been pollinated and about to or have already gone to seed.  Each flower can have nearly 200 seeds so you can see what you are up against. So over the course of a week, I am scurrying like a bee from one about-to-disperse-seeds dandelion to another. I sometimes think that they are conspiring against me practicing floral camouflage. As I sweep through a patch of flowers I could swear that some decide to seed and scatter the minute I am no longer facing them. Are they somehow communicating with each other?

It may not be so far-fetched as an article in the May 2012 issue of Scientific American suggests. Plants apparently send biochemical markers out when threatened. Could plants that are being pulled out by their roots be sending smelling screams to their peers? I don’t know but I’m just going to keep pulling.

Eating on the wild side

As rains and warming temperatures bring new growth to wanted plants, our unwanted plants “weeds” seem to always outpace those more desirable cultivars. But one must remember that a weed is just a plant that you don’t want in a particular place. So with that in mind I thought about changing a few heads at my recent horticultural therapy class at Ann’s Place about the “weeds” that might be all too common to their yards and gardens. And even quite yummy.

With all the talk of eating veg raised nearby I thought the most local way that you could eat would be from your own back yard. Time to forage. This was an easy class to prep for as my yard is replete with weeds as I use no herbicides or fertilizers on my lawn or ground-cover areas. So when I went out for a quick search for eatable plants. They were easy to find. I found burdock, chives, clover, dandelion, garlic mustard, mints, plantain, Queen Anne's lace, sheep sorrel, sweet woodruff, violets, wild garlic, wild onion and wild thyme.

At this time of year the dominant weeds are garlic mustard and dandelion, though red and white clovers are beginning to make a good push through the Earth to cover the bald spots on my lawn. And I have to admit that I picked some sweet woodruff a week ago, dried it and then mixed it with strawberries to make May wine to serve to my students.

As I laid out my different samples I was a bit shocked on the diversity of plants I had. It was a mix of sweet and tangy greens and different herbs that could dress up any salad we made or freshen up a dish with a unfamiliar flavor. After taking my clients out for a walk, they came back ready to dig in somewhat amazed at what you could do with the different plants.

“This first one, burdock, is a delicacy in Asia. The tap root is cooked. But the small leaves can be used in a salad while the larger ones sautéed,” I said. “Historically this has been used as a diuretic as well as a remedy for skin problems.”

I offered clients a taste and the group was very divided with half deciding to take a chance while the other half demurring politely. Perhaps I should not have told them first that poison hemlock (used to kill Socrates) looks just like Queen Anne’s lace though it is easy to tell them apart (QAL has hairy stems, hemlock does not; the root of QAL smells like a carrot; the disturbed leaves of hemlock smell as would a rodent.) But I did need to warn them about foraging in the wild as there are a variety of very poisonous plants out in the yard, as well described in Amy Steward’s excellent book Wicked Plants.

“If you are not very, very sure of what you are ingesting, don’t take a chance. Also don’t harvest food from areas that have been sprayed; on the other hand if the areas had been sprayed, the weeds would likely be dead.”

That said, all were very interested in at least the smells of the different plants: no harm in smelling. I was able to clip a mint from our property that my mother-in-law had smuggled in from Guatemala many years ago. It has a very strong minty scent with a bright purple stalk. “It is really best used for chicken soup,” said my wife Juana who attended the session along with my granddaughter Charlotte. Each client took a sample to start at home.

“Sorrell is a great addition to salads if you want a bit of a kick,” I said. “Another name for it is lemon leaf because of the flavor and it is a favorite with kids.” And then almost on cue Charlotte reached over to stuff one in her mouth. She chomped on it with a big smile.

After I finished with the plants I got out the May wine, a traditional German drink to celebrate May Day as well as the coming of Spring. As I opened the carafe I let each client smell the mixing of the herbs, fruits and wine. “This is amazing,” said one. All were smiling in anticipation of that first sip.

“Now be careful when you drink this as it does have a reputation as an aphrodisiac,” I said. They all smiled at me and took their first sip. No one was displeased.

A teddy becomes a grizzly

One of the nicest (and sometimes the most frustrating) things about gardening is the unexpected. In the garden, one of the more pleasant experiences that can manifest itself is an opportunistic crop or plant. For instance, this year an ornamental squash started in my bed where I planted Swiss chard in the spring. So far it has delivered 15 squash with at least another 6 on the way in the next few days. At Green Chimneys this year our opportunistic plant is not squash but sunflowers.

Three years ago we planted three different types of sunflowers: Moulin Rogue (all red), Gigantuous (big and yellow) and Ring of Fire (red in the center, yellow on the edges.) But since then we have not planted a single sunflower but we keep getting more and more sunflowers in the garden with each year. This year they were as thick as chickweed and we needed to pull out a lot more than we would have liked to.

But the interesting thing about these sunflowers is that only a few bear any resemblance to their elderly relatives. We have many different shades and configurations of red and yellow sunflowers in the garden because they have been cross-pollinated with a different cultivars for three years running. So a wild variety of flowers has bloomed with different heights, colors and flower configurations.

We have a couple of sunflowers in the garden that are over 12 feet high with a single defiant spike daring the squirrels to climb and eat (like the one to the right). Others have formed big clumps with small, but tall flowers.

But perhaps the strangest was the mutant Teddy Bear sunflower that appeared a few weeks ago. At the top of one of the large clumps, about 8 feet in the air was a Teddy Bear sunflower blossom about the size of a small seedless watermelon.  Teddy Bear sunflowers grow to a maximum height of two feet, with a smallish flower. This was not your typical teddy bear: it’s a grizzly.

“This must have cross pollinated with a Teddy Bear that was planted in the barrels down by the administration building [about a half mile away],” said Tracy. “It’s pretty cool looking.” Tracy and I agreed to try and save the seed of this big flower so that we could see what its offspring will look like next year.

 

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.

Continuing to no-mow a low-grow lawn, part 5

It has been nearly 11 months since the installation of a new septic field “altered” my yard necessitating a rethinking and landscaping of a good chunk of our property. Remarkably it has emerged more lovely than we could have expected. New beds now holding blueberry and blackberry bushes are maturing, the asters and flowering quinces have filled in nicely and with the exception of one butterfly bush, everything made it through the winter, spring and summer intact. And I have mowed my new lawn fewer times than I have fingers on one hand.

 

As I have mentioned in prior posts, I decided to install a lawn that would require little water, little fertilizer and even less care. Overall it has worked beautifully. Today we have a lush, full and green lawn where mounds of soil, sand and gravel have been replaced with fescue grass and Dutch white clover. Now I have to admit that I perhaps went a bit overboard on the clover. I bought a 1 pound bag for about $8 dollars, mixed it with 40 pounds of play sand and spread it over approximately 6000 square feet of lawn in March. I figured that it would fill in some of the fescue gaps nicely, By the end of May, however, it had taken over a good chunk of my lawn. Ironically I used about 40 pounds of grass seed, costing around $100, to cover the same amount of land.

But I don’t mind. White clover grows to a height of between four and six inches and stops. There is little need to mow it; so far I haven’t. And there have been lots of unexpected benefits and pleasures.

Between our flowers and the clover, we always have bees flying around, pollinating their brains out. While much has been written about colony collapse disorder I have seen little evidence of it on my property as large numbers of bee workers commute in and out of my yard every day. As I walk across the lawn, I notice that I leave a trace footprint much like you would in a freshly fallen snow. You get a fluffy walk that unlike snow will spring back in a short while. And within the clover there is all types of life. You can see the leaves quiver ahead of your movement as some toad, snake or mouse gets out of your way. There is lots of life just beyond where your eye can perceive.

Now clover by itself is probably not a good lawn if you have lots of young children who would pound away on it. It is not supposed to wear well. But I have to admit our lawn held up pretty well at our annual 4th of July Wiffle ball tournament. Only the pitching mound and home plate got worn out and both have nearly recovered.

The fescue has been able to hold its own over the new septic fields, especially where the effluents enter each field. The grass there is thick and lush. After an initial invasion (and removal) of tall grasses that would laugh at my Scotts reel mower, the lawn is well established with few weeds (or at least ones I care about.)

Now we have had a hot and dry summer leaving most lawns looking scorched and brown. My lawn, though hardly trimmed within an inch of its life, is thick, green and indifferent to the heat.

Weeding out anger

My first realization that gardening could have a therapeutic effect was over a decade ago when I worked at a company called Gartner. At Gartner I would analyze different companies, software products and technologies each day to render dozens of judgments with either a thumbs up or down. By the end of the work day my nerves would be frayed and my disposition tense. Even a 45 minute drive home would not be enough to soothe the savage beast within as decisions would be revisited and work would continue via cell phone conference calls.

One of the ways I returned to the human race was to spend time in the garden even before I would see my wife and children. After pulling the car into the garage, I would look over the vegetables, pull a few weeds and water plants in need of a drink. Better them than me. As I spent more time in the garden, the stress and pressure of the work day would disappear like so many dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. Within 20 minutes I was renewed and could be a good husband and father.

I often reflect back on those days when confronted by a child who is angry or upset when they come to the garden. At Green Chimneys letting a child come to work in the garden is a reward for good behavior. But I think sometimes we forget that it can be the salve that can heal broken feelings and pain.

Whenever I pick a child up from class, I ask them how they feel and how their week is progressing. Often the response is quiet indifference but occasionally a child will let loose.

“I’m really pissed off,” said Peter last week to me.

“What’s the matter?”

“My friends are leaving and I hate it.” Two of Peter’s friends were leaving the school and Peter was feeling alone and upset. He just wanted to hit something.

“Peter I know how you feel as friends have moved away from me. But it is part of growing up and will happen again to you.”

He nodded but couldn’t help choke back some tears.

As Peter likes to do physical work I decided to tackle a fairly hard weeding job where we needed to pull large tuffs of crabgrass, mint and other thickly rooted weeds that resided against the fence near the gooseberry and raspberry patches. It was a physically exhausting job as the roots would not give up the soil in their grasp easily.

“Peter try to transfer your pain and anger to the weeds. Every time you feel bad, send your feelings to the plant that is giving you a hard time. Trust me, it will make you feel better.”

As Peter started his job, he didn’t really get into it but rather stood around looking out past the meadow where our sheep graze toward some nearby foothills.

“Come-on Peter. Put your back into it,” I called out. “Get to work.”

With that nudge, Peter started to work. First slowly and then with more gusto. Soon he was digging, prying and pulling up weeds filling our wheelbarrow taking only a break when it filled and needed to be emptied into the compost heap. He grabbed a tuff of crabgrass and with all of his strength pulled back, hard against it. He first started to liberate it from the soil with a little tear before a larger rip followed along with an explosion of soil.

“Wow! Look at this Mr. Keller!” he said holding up a mass of green weeds.

Other clumps were beyond his strength alone and together we pulled the recalcitrant plants from the ground. He seemed to enjoy working next to me. Before he knew it, our time was over; he was a sweaty mess and it was time to clean up.

“Are we done? Can’t we keep going?,” he asked.

“I’m sorry Peter, but it’s time to get you back to class. How do you feel?”

“Much better. That was great.”

We both smiled at our accomplishment. As a reward, Peter got a piece of lemon leaf and one of our first ripe strawberries. A small stream of sweet juice leaked out of his mouth as he chomped down on the large very red berry.

“Can we do this next week?” he asked.

“I’m sure we can Peter. There will always be weeds to pull.”

November bouquets

With Thanksgiving a few days away, I continue to scurry in the garden so I can finish all my chores before the snows hit. Given the spate of warm weather we have had this fall, this urgency may be the result of an unwarranted fear borne from years when snow has covered the ground from Thanksgiving to tax time. You never know when it is going to hit.

So yesterday’s chore was to cut back all the remaining irises, lilies, hostas and other plants that were on their way out or close to it.

As I started to cut back some of the Montauk daisies (a type of chrysanthemum) I noticed that some of their blooms were still fresh on the stem. I cut the better looking ones and was able to form a small bouquet. It made me think and consider how many other flowers were still out in my yard. There were more than I would have thought.

Ironically most of the other chrysanthemums that we had bought a few months back had already bloomed and died back. Even though sold as perennials, the mums we are able to purchase at local nurseries are merely annuals and the flowers are often short-lived though lush and full. The Montauk daisies, on the other hand, are very hardy and have wintered over for the last four years. Their blooms may not be as exaggerated as garden-variety mums, but they are dependable and comforting.

Walking around the side of the house, I was pleasantly surprised to see that our Shasta daisies were doing equally well. I cut a few of them. To put together my bouquet, I took a fairly large tour of the property as I was unsure of what I would find or how it would hit me. I decided to take this opportunity to wander and explore so that I could discover and spontaneously choose flowers (and other plants) of my liking.

Strangely a yellow butterfly bush I had planted a few years ago was still full of bright yellow plumes, some of which I took. Next to that bush a purple cousin had long since gone to seed. But the delicate texture of cone-like spires gave them a life that I thought would look well in a vase.

I then walked over to our rose bushes and found that one of our shrubs had a spray of tiny pink roses, perfect for my collection. I snipped just what I needed leaving developing buds in the unrealistic hope that I will be able to get another harvest this December.

All the obvious flowers had been picked so I started to look for the unobvious. I found a specimen in our winterberry, which had long since dropped its leaves but was full of fat red berries. The winterberry (ilex verticillata) is a holly, one of the few that are deciduous, and can easily be confused with a viburnum this time of year. The berries stood in sharp contrast to its gray bark and their shape would add a nice contract to the other plants I have picked.

The last flower was a surprise as neither me nor my wife planted it.  Corydalis lutea or yellow corydalis has become a weed on our property; we pull it as much as we keep it.  I barely noticed that it was still delivering clusters of delicate trumpet-like yellow flowers. It would fill in open spaces nicely.

So rather than just cut down and compost I was able to arrange a bouquet of Montauk and Shasta daisies, butterfly bush florets and set seeds, winterberry, Corydalis lutea and a collection of shrub rose flowers. Unusual and pleasing for a November afternoon. As I was picking the roses, an adjacent bush was pushing out red buds that would be ready within a week if they don’t get hit hard by a frost. Perhaps we will have a red Thanksgiving rose from our garden. I’ll take a look in a few days.

My love-hate relationship with garlic mustard

About 10 years ago when I was an occasional rather than an obsessive gardener, I discovered this tiny plant in the back yard that would send up the most delicate little white flower in the spring and then large heart- and kidney-shaped leaves in the summer. To me it was beautiful creating waves of leaves that undulated over a densely shaded hill. At the time it seemed a good idea to let it flourish as it would cover otherwise barren areas of our garden with a blanket of toothy, deep green leaves.

I am reminded of that time this fall as I continue to pull its offspring from the ground before it dies off and becomes dominant only to reemerge in the spring to flower and reproduce. For years I let it flower and spread with abandon unknowing that one of our more invasive plants, garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata) was slowly taking over the yard. By the time I figured it out, it had smothered out anything else I was trying to grow in certain areas.

Now I could have decided to cultivate this 19th-century introduced European biennial import as its seeds, stalk, leaves and root are edible. There are recipes for pesto, garlic mustard in lemon sauce, as well as  medicinal uses. But I my family has nixed this idea as they have tired of me experimenting on their stomachs with “weird vegetables.” Besides it is too bitter for their palate.

Instead in the early spring before it flowers and early fall before it goes dormant I become a human mulching machine pulling as much as I can with both arms flailing. A decade later it is under “control” and my weeding has become less frequent and manic.

But now I wonder how far should I go? After all it is attractive as a groundcover in the backdrop. Unfortunately I can’t have a conversation with it and work a compromise.

“OK plant, how about you stay in this area and keep to your current numbers. If you replace kind with kind it will work for me.”

“Sure Erik, no problem. We’ll keep to that agreement.”

But you can’t do that and even if you could the plant would lie. Besides it has no way of relaying this to its offspring, which can remain viable in the soil for three to five years. Thus I continue to pull it so that its respective population remains in check.

When I am in the garden with children, the question, “What is a weed?” often comes up and the answer is always, “A weed is a plant that you don’t want in a given space.” If you have a tomato plant in a spinach patch it is a weed.

For me garlic mustard, unlike poison ivy, can’t be easily categorized. As I attempt to clear a section, there is always a few I miss to pull. I guess their eradication can wait till next year.

New and old seedlings

The garden in September is bittersweet as you harvest many of your summer fruits and start a new crop of students. While some of my kids seem to be perennials, over half are new and like plants in the garden must be transplanted into their optimal environment.

The first introduction to a new student is always a challenge as I never know what the best “soil and light” will be to get him or her to bloom. Some children do well with delicate tasks such as sowing carrots while others do better moving large piles of soil in wheelbarrows. Regardless, initial impressions are everlasting and I want to excite and empower the children during our first meeting so that they will want to come back to work with me in the garden.

The first new student I had this year was very indifferent to the garden: it seemed to have little therapeutic impact regardless of the different activities we tried. Fine motor activities didn’t interest him, nor did physically exhausting chores. He appeared perpetually sad regardless of the task. He would work at his assigned task but after a minute or so stop and stare into the distance. As we work the soil, I always try to keep a patter of conversation going with my charges in the hope that I will find something that will stimulate the student’s interest. But few things have worked with this student during the early weeks of the school year.

My next new charge was excited to be in the garden but totally unfocused. We decided to weed one of the garden rows and he was happy and pleased that I gave him a stirrup hoe to rip out the weeds. He told me that no one ever lets him use tools and this one looked cool. After I showed him how to use it, we started to weed the row. After about 5 minutes of work I noticed a large grasshopper in the weeds and captured it to show my student. With that distraction, however, weeding became superfluous to the examination of the insect and we placed the grasshopper into a magnifier to better see its parts.  And with this find, other children in the garden swarmed around also wanting to take a look. That was all the weeding we did that day.

My next new student was the polar opposite of the first: he was effervescent, talkative and highly motivated. He wanted to please everybody and anybody. In fact, his energy level was so high that he couldn’t get anything done; he just wanted to spend all his time talking about it.

“Aren’t I doing a great job, Mr. Keller?”

“Absolutely. Now let’s focus on putting the spinach seeds into the ground.”

“If I do a great job, I will get a big pepper, right?”

“We’ll see. But we have to do the job before we get anything.”

“That’s for sure. But I am working well, aren’t I.”

This is the kind of banter that went on for our entire session together. Any time another student or teacher came within earshot, he would start telling them about how good a job he was doing. He was a smart and high functioning student, but he just couldn’t keep his excitement contained. I discovered, however, that by leaving him alone and isolated from other people, including myself, that he was able to refocus all his energy on the task at hand.

For instance, another day we were seeding turnip greens and I needed to speak with one of the other instructors. I gave him a rock with a diameter of one inch and told him to plant the seeds one inch (or one rock) apart in the furrows we had created. He agreed and I left. I was gone for over 5 minutes but was keeping an eye on him from afar and saw that he painstakingly concentrated on his task without talking or interruption. When I came back, he showed me his progress.

“You did a great job here by yourself. I think that deserves an extra carrot when we finish up.” He beamed at me and together we finished up planting the greens with a little less talking than was typical.