Trees to Save the World

 

A few years ago I fell into a deep, unshakeable funk. Maybe it was because it was winter and I had a significant case of no-sunshine-on-my-face-or-dirt-between-my-toes. Whatever. All I know is that my mind kept revolving around climate change and "what can I d?", I'm not doing enough." Of course I had taken more than a few steps to help reduce my footprint on the planet. I mean, doesn't growing so much of my own food count for something?

But it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough, I kept thinking.

I've got to do more.

All the doom and gloom stories I read about climate change just made it worse. I quit reading them. Unless a headline indicated I might get helpful information about, or contained something positive, I didn't read them. I already know it's bad.

That didn't help much. The funk remained.

I tried writing about my funk in a journal. That helped some, but not enough.

I kept reading things that said, "Plant trees."

"Plant trees."

That was at least part of the solution.

Plant trees.

I can plant trees.

So planting trees became my personal "save the world" project.

I didn't go out and buy a bunch of trees, though. I bought a few, but they weren't necessarily part of my save-the-world project. Instead I planted seeds and started digging up seedlings the squirrels had so generously planted in my garden.

The fact that I collected the seeds of some of these trees myself made this project more than a save-the-world project. It is quite fun. Many of my little trees also will eventually provide food for me, and, without a doubt, for wildlife.

Paw paws and persimmons were the first seeds planted. I had received paw paws to eat at a music festival and saved the seeds. Later I received seeds from local paw paws. At the same festival I found an American persimmon tree full of ripening fruit, ate some fruit and saved the seeds. I also dug a couple of little chinquapin oak seedlings some generous squirrels had planted in the garden. 

My favorite bit about pretty much all of the trees in my little project is that they are native here. I may be at the far western edge of the range for persimmons, but I am not that far west of the area where I found the fruiting tree. 

The site where I planted the paw paws isn't ideal, but I do have a grafted tree that I planted seven or so years ago that appears to be doing well there. It has not provided fruit because the few paw paw trees I've seen in the woods seem to have died, and the pollinators for paw paws, which are flies instead of bees, are not terribly efficient. However, this year my paw paw produced three little fruits on a puny branch at the bottom of the tree. You can bet I saved and planted the seeds.

Likewise, my site isn't ideal for persimmons, but that's never stopped me with anything else. American persimmons (a Chinese persimmon also exists) are dioecious, meaning that male flowers grow on one tree and female flowers grow on another tree, so you need both female and male trees to get fruit. Except when you don't. I have a young grafted persimmon that is a self-fruitful variety. And sometimes a tree will produce "perfect" flowers, meaning that one flower has both male and female reproductive structures. Apparently a tree of one sex also might suddenly start producing flowers of the other sex. So they seem a bit "gender fluid."

The persimmons you find in grocery stores are invariably of the Chinese species, as the fruit is much larger than that of the American species.

Until this year I've only relocated chinquapin (also spelled "chinkapin") oak seedlings rather than planting the acorns myself. However, a couple of months ago I found several dozen little acorns lying on the road and gathered them up. I don't think I stored them properly, though, as when I cracked on open to test the flavor it was hard and dry, but tasty still. I think I should have put them in a plastic bag in the fridge instead of in a paper bag. They might not be able to grow, but I planted some anyway. I will crack open the rest and maybe soak them or grind them before eating. All acorns are edible, but require a leaching process to remove the excess of tannins. However, chinquapin acorns contain far less tannin and can be eaten without leaching.

To plant the tree seeds I filled gallon-size pots with wet potting soil and pushed the seeds in about an inch (two centimeters) deep, ideally one seed to a pot. However, I put two or three seeds in each pot because I know some might not germinate. The pots live on the north side of the house, which allows the seeds to experience the natural freezing and thawing of winter. This enhances germination. I will water them periodically to keep everything moist and may devise covers for them to help prevent drying. Soaking them prior to planting might help, but I'm not in a hurry for them to sprout. 

Seeds I planted three years ago no longer live in pots. At some point they all graduated to five-gallon buckets with holes drilled in the bottom, because I wasn't ready to plant them after a year. Initially I wanted to plant them out last fall. That didn't happen. Then I wanted to put them out this spring.

That didn't happen, either. However, they got planted this fall. Ta da! Most of them were surrounded by chicken wire, even though the area they were planted in is surrounded by concrete reinforcing wire. Rabbits, which will eat little seedlings, can get through the six-inch squares of the taller fencing, and the chicken wire will keep them out.

Now I just need to keep them watered, and maybe provide a little shade for the baby paw paws this coming summer.

I have no illusions that my little project will have a huge impact on climate change, but every little bit helps. We've lost half of the world's trees in the past century as jungles and forests were/are cleared for agriculture, industrial uses and the spread of towns and cities. Everything helps.

Tropical zone trees suck up far more carbon than temperate zone trees, but I live in a temperate zone. To "plant" trees in the equatorial area I have donated to a fabulous organization called Tree Sisters. They not only plant trees, but work with local populations to make sure the trees are cared for, which often means providing assistance that enables them to support themselves without cutting down trees, or teaching them to properly manage their use of trees. In some areas, their programs also empower women. You can make a one-time donation, or set up a monthly donation. Check them out and plant some trees. Future generations thank you.

Summer's Finale

 

The beautiful arch-trellis my husband built for me as an entrance to the garden. Loofa gourds, bitter
melon and malabar spinach climb either side, with giant loofa gourds hanging inside.

The first frost of the season arrived about three weeks ago, dusting the grass with rainbow sparkles and silver. These photos were taken the day before the frost to preserve the late autumn beauty that first manifested in summer.

Even though the grass sparkled with frost, the temperature had not fallen below the freezing point. Here the National Weather Service explains how we have frost without freezing temperatures. So the following day nothing appeared to have changed. But a real freeze arrived a little more than a week later and I was glad to have preserved these last bits of summer.

This is the final (I thought) harvest of summer vegetables -- Peppers (peppers and more peppers in a large basket) eggplant, Sun Gold cherry tomatoes, jalapenos, Carolina reapers, and a couple of okra pods.

I thought surely the frost would take out the eggplants, even if it didn't freeze. However only the tops were a bit burned and I cut a few more small eggplants a few days later.

I also picked a few more Sun Golds later. Some of the peppers are still in my refrigerator's vegetable drawer.

I also filled a couple of vases full of flowers -- zinnias, marigolds and a few snapdragons. But I couldn't save them all. So here are a few. (The snapdragons are still going, even after yet another freezing night.)

I love these beautiful scarlet zinnias.

And these Candy Cane zinnias.

The marigolds lasted through the end of October.

These outrageous amaranths were a great surprise to me. The seed was in a small bag simply marked "amaranth," so I did not know what to expect. The plants grew to at least five feet tall and sported these fabulous flowers.

No one expects to see iris in the fall. I certainly didn't the first fall after I planted these beauties. It came as somewhat of a shock. But twice-blooming iris are a real thing. They bloom a couple of weeks earlier in the spring than other bearded iris and then again in the fall. 

Unopened buds even survived the first real freezing weather, to bloom a few days later.

And so ends the final review of summer, a little late, but here all the same. 

Introducing...

 

October

What says "October" like big orange pumpkins?

Maybe apples?

This pumpkin didn't grow in my garden, but the apples grew on our trees. You can tell that they were grown in truly organic style because they are warty and spotty with little "worm" trails, some more than others. When we first started our orchard we researched how to do it organically. We read "The Apple Grower," by Michael Phillips (a great book) and found an organic spray schedule and recipe that included liquid fish, kelp, neem oil, and maybe a couple of other things that I can't recall. This was supposed to not only keep pests at bay, but also help prevent diseases and feed the trees.

We sprayed one time (the schedule calls for spraying several times a season). My husband operated the spray wand while I stood in the pickup bed and kept the sprayer engine going. 

I got sprayed in the face once -- maybe twice. Fortunately I was wearing sunglasses and the spray contained nothing toxic, but it was smelly.

After that we decided it was too much work and we'd put up with a few "worms" in our apples. After a while even routine pruning fell by the wayside (life happens, y'know). But the trees keep producing, not spectacularly, but they make apples, wormy and spotty and sometimes not worth cutting into. But this was a good year and the squirrels didn't get too many. 

Before planting 25 or more trees, we did a little research on varieties. We looked for disease resistance, ability to grow well here in Kansas, and flavor. So we tried lots of different kinds.

The apples in this photo represent two different varieties. The one on top is Tydeman's Late Orange. The bottom one is Liberty. 

Tydeman's actually would grow better in the northeast. We knew this when we planted it, but the flavor description could not be ignored. The apples, when allowed to ripen on the tree are truly delicious. However, the tree, healthy as it is, produces sparsely. This year was its best year in 12 years. We're glad we tried it, but we would not recommend it if you're only going to grow two or three trees.

The Liberty, though, comes highly recommended. It has a wonderful flavor and is indeed disease resistant. It may get a few spots of cedar apple rust, but it is not much bothered by it. It must be partially self-fertile, as for the past several years it has been the only apple tree up by the house, and yet it produces every year. Even though the books and online information say that Liberty apples tend to be more attractive to pests than other varieties, these apples have fewer worm trails and damage than the others. Perhaps because it's the only apple up by the house? All the other trees are a good distance away, at the bottom of the hill. The best flavor develops when you wait until early October to harvest these. One year the little tree bore so many nearly perfect, dark red apples that it looked as if it had been hung with Christmas tree ornaments. Never since then, but it does produce relatively well.

My second recommendation is Enterprise, another disease-resistant variety. It also is best picked in early October or a little later. However, we picked ours way to early. Another disease-resistant apple in our orchard, Freedom, ripens on the early side. I was waiting for late September to get them at their ripest. Then my husband noticed that the red apples began disappearing (dang squirrels). So on the Autumnal Equinox we took the tractor down to the orchard. I rode in the front loader and my husband raised me up so I could pick the highest apples. We picked from all of the trees except the Tydeman's. I wish I would have left the Enterprises as well. They were still green enough that I think the squirrels would have left them. They still had a nice flavor, especially after sitting in the refrigerator for two or so weeks. Enterprise has always produced the largest apples in our orchard and they seem less bothered by pests than the others.

Thousands of other apple varieties exist besides the seven varieties in our orchard and the two or three other varieties that once grew there. In 1900 an official publication listed 14,000 different varieties -- and that's after some varieties went away. What is this love affair we have with apples? I am not sure. They've always found a place in my refrigerator. I grew up eating homegrown apples. My siblings and I would snack on green apples as we played. We climbed the apple trees and ate homemade, homegrown apple pie.

When European settlers came to this continent they brought cuttings from their favorite apple trees, and seeds. If you plant an apple seed, you have no idea what you'll get.

Of course, it will be an apple tree, but what kind of apple? Will it be tasty or hard and bitter? You never know. Careful cross-pollination and serendipity both have brought us various kinds of apples. Some lucky orchardist will find a seedling in his orchard producing large, delicious fruit and make a fortune selling scions for grafting and propagation. Or, years of cross-pollination and failure will yield an extra special apple. It's a gamble, always. And it's why we once had 14,000 apple varieties.

So why did my husband and I plant 25 or more apple trees 12 years ago? Because we love apples. And we weren't very smart. We're smarter now. Please don't start off planting 20 plus trees and struggling to care for them. It's ok to dream of having that many and more, but unless it's going to be a business, start smaller. Plant three or five. Find out how much time it takes to care for them properly and efficiently, then plant more, or not. I'm glad I got to taste so many different varieties. Those Red Delicious in the grocery store just can't compare to the the complexity of flavor some of these varieties offer.

But, if I had it to do all over again.........

Summer to Autumn (Part 2)

 September

Yes; sweet potatoes in September.

Sweet potatoes are so easy to grow, and we love them. I planted a lot of sweet potatoes this year-- almost three times as many as I typically do. My husband encouraged me to plant more than usual. He urged me to plant lots of them. He begged me "pretty please" and promised me his first born if I planted lots of sweet potatoes. (OK. I think his very adult first born would have something to say about that.) 

So I ordered almost twice my usual amount from K-State; their slips are very inexpensive and they comes as small, unrooted slips. They are shipped to a local hardware store, where we pick up our pre-paid slips, selecting them from boxes full of green slips. Local market growers get some of their sweet potato slips this way. We can order as many or as few as we wish, however. I ordered 40; 15 each of two varieties and 10 of a third.

Forty sweet potato slips sounded like a lot of sweet potato potential to me. However, last year K-State delayed their slip delivery by a month because weather delayed the planting for slips (more about how to grow your own slips later) and we got very few sweet potatoes. So my husband was a little nervous about this year's delivery, especially when we got word that the delivery would be delayed by a week or so. He then stopped by a local nursery and bought 25 large, well-rooted slips. This was just after the middle of a rainy, chilly May, at least two weeks earlier than I usually plant sweet potatoes. I planted them right away, though. They did quite well in spite of the less than ideal planting weather. They are very forgiving plants. I was able dig them about the middle of September.

The other slips arrived not much later than usual, in early June. I stuck them all in water for several days to get some roots going. That's not necessary, you can plant slips directly in the soil, but I always feel better about planting slips that have at least started rooting. By mid-June I had planted them all.

The weather had gone from chilly and rainy to very hot and dry. Sigh. So I stretched shade cloth over the newly planted slips and watered them every day. Most of them survived. Hurray. I dug those at the end of September.

Usually I wait until they forecast frost in mid-October. But I wanted to avoid the rush of trying to dig more than 60 hills of sweet potatoes, while dragging out old blankets and sheets to protect the summer vegetables I wanted to save and throwing frost blanket row cover over the fall lettuce. Besides, I figured that in September and early October we'd still have enough heat to keep the attic warm enough to "cure" the sweet potatoes. Curing for one to two weeks heals wounds (I always poke a few with the garden fork or break them while pulling them out), dries them a bit so they keep longer, and, most important, converts starches to sugars and improving the flavor.

It was difficult waiting two weeks to eat the sweet potatoes.

Four different varieties went into the ground. I don't know what variety went in first -- most likely Beauregard, as that is a commonly planted orange variety. The nursery had only that one, so that's what my husband got. The other three, from left to right in the photo were Bonita (white skin, white flesh), Covington (all orange), and Murasaki (a Japanese variety with purple skin and white flesh). In the past I've also planted an all-purple variety. I was somewhat disappointed in their production, and the slips are hard to find and expensive. However, my husband insists that I try them again next year. All righty, then. Apparently a yellow sweet potato variety also exists. I was not aware of that before. I may search out a source for slips next year. O'Henry is the variety that someone told me about.

Next year, I think I will give the white and Japanese sweet potatoes a little extra time in the ground, as they had many more of the small tubers and fewer really large ones than the orange varieties. However, for the most part, they produced a lot more tubers per plant. 

White and Japanese sweet potatoes are a bit sweeter than the orange varieties. The purple ones are starchier, but quite nice. 

As I said before, sweet potatoes are easy to grow. Other than some TLC when the slips first go in the ground, you can almost ignore them. They grow best in loose, loamy soil, but will grow in almost anything but concrete. Of course, the tighter the soil, the weirder the tubers will look. I've also grown them successfully in large tubs. I hardly ever water sweet potatoes. The only real work I do with them during the growing season is to cut back the vines so they don't cover the paths and other vegetable beds. You can eat the tender growing tips as a summer green, if you wish.

Rather than spend a lot more space on describing how to create your own sweet potato slips, here is a link to one of many sites with that info. The only thing I would add here it that it is not necessary to pot up your slips before putting them in the garden. 

A final note: You can do a lot more with sweet potatoes than the sickly sweet, marshmallow topped sweet potato casserole that I grew up eating at Thanksgiving. They need no added sugar and can be savory as well as sweet. I must do a blog with our recipes for various garden vegetables. That will definitely include my Southwest style sweet potato salad, and others. 

Locally, October was declared Sweet Potato Month a few years ago. Apparently there are some national observances, as well, in February (Why February?) and November.

But now seems like a great time to Celebrate Sweet Potatoes!

 

Through Summer and Autumn (Part 1)

 August.

I know, August is so two months ago.

But here I continue the summer saga. The diggers I wrote about at the end of June have been evicted. In all we trapped seven racoons, two opossums and one rabbit. All but the rabbit were relocated. Rabbits don't cause much trouble here. I know what their favorite snacks are and protect those plants with chicken wire fencing until they're too large for the rabbits to find them tasty. They and the deer prefer clover, so as long as I leave the red clover that has somehow found its way into the garden we're all cool.

July brought on the tomatoes, slowly, then the blackberries, and melons toward the end of the month. The first tomatoes to ripen were the Sun Golds, a little orange cherry type. August brought the tomato boom, however, and okra, eggplant, melons, ground cherries, summer squash and more blackberries.

This photo represents my August, which was dominated by tomatoes.

The huge tomatoes here are Amish Paste, a large heirloom paste variety, destined for slicing and dehydrating. I've grown this variety for years. It seems relatively disease resistant and has always produced abundantly. This year was no exception, although it was strange. Planted in a rainy, cool May, and suddenly thrust into a hot, dry June they nonetheless grew sturdily (with irrigation, of course). July eased up a bit and August seemed more normal. However, they went into decline much earlier than usual. Typically, they're still producing into October and I scurry to pick the remaining green tomatoes when the first freeze is predicted. But this year I took them all down by the end of September. They were the last to go, however, except for the Sun Golds, which are always the most robust tomatoes.

The Black Plum tomatoes, the ones I roast for sauce-making, are always the first to come down. However, they are so productive that I am glad when they start their decline. This year they came down even earlier, but not before I took down the slicing tomatoes. Usually my slicers hang in there until frost, but not this year. 

I tried some new ones, though. Mortgage Lifter replaced my usual Brandywines. They were nice tomatoes and nearly as flavorful as the Brandywine, with less cracking. But they went into decline early, probably a result of the weather fluctuations. I'll try them again next year, perhaps alongside a Brandywine and see how they do. Another slicer in my garden remains unidentified. It was supposed to be Dark Galaxy, a little salad tomato, dark purple with white star-like spots. This was a purple-red slicing size tomato, however. I grew it from seed saved by another gardener, so who knows what happened.

Another new variety this year was Indigo Rose, a small salad tomato that turns dark purple, almost black where the sun hits the fruit and ripens to brick red on the underside. It's a pretty tomato. When I searched for information about this variety I read mixed reviews about the flavor. You can count me among those who were not impressed. I might grow this one again for the color, but not the taste.

Because I took the tomatoes out early, you might think it was a bad year for them. However, I wound up with three and a half gallons of dried tomatoes and 13 pints of roasted tomato sauce. Plus we ate tomatoes at every meal but breakfast and gave away pounds and pounds, to friends, family and a neighbor whose plants were stunted and produced fruit that refused to ripen. 

We were rich with tomatoes. And okra, and melons, and berries, eggplant (most of which survived getting dug up by our diggers), long beans, summer squash.  Not only was August busy with work in the garden, I also spent a good bit of time in the kitchen processing the produce. Some days were spent just picking and processing.

So I was glad when September brought a little slow-down. I'll show you September later.

Ups and Downs and Diggers

A recap of my summer so far: 

 May -- Will it ever stop raining and warm up? 

 June -- Will it ever rain again and cool down? 

             What is digging up the garden?

With almost constantly cloudy skies throughout May and cooler than usual temperatures the spring cabbage crop was phenomenal. (Why did I think we needed 60 cabbages?) But I was worried about the summer vegetables. I did eventually get the tomatoes, peppers and eggplants in the ground not too much later than usual. They all seem to be doing fine... except for the eggplants. More about them later.

After we received 8.5 inches of rain, about three inches or more than average for the month (with some areas near us receiving much more) it finally quit raining and warmed up. 

I mean heated up to warmer than "normal" temperatures for June (as if there is such a thing as normal anymore). Highs in the mid- to upper 90s Fahrenheit, I was concerned about all of the new plantings baking. The weeding and some other projects moved along slowly, or not at all, as I spent a good bit of time everyday watering. The heat just sucked the moisture out of everything, which had not put out extensive root systems because the soil was drenched in May. The water levels in my rain storage tanks were running dangerously low. But then...

As you can see by the water dripping off these lilies it did rain again, on Thursday morning. Then it rained again yesterday (Friday), bringing thunder and lightning. Quite nice. It's showering this morning.

And we found out what was digging in the garden.

Every morning we'd go into the garden and find the edges where the path meets the raised beds dug out -- hay mulch pulled off the sides of the beds and the chipped wood mulch of the paths disturbed. This didn't occur in just a few places, but all along several beds. Initially I thought mama rabbits were going nuts with nesting behavior. But the digging became more extensive, not destructive yet, just a big mess Every Single Morning. This can't be just one animal, I thought. Then the holes became deeper, going into the soil. Maybe it's not rabbits.

One night my husband couldn't sleep so he went out around midnight and discovered the culprits.

Raccoons. He saw at least four adolescent raccoons. 

Out came the live trap and the marshmallows. We would relocate them.

So far we've given three of them new homes, but not before they started digging in some of the growing areas. Fortunately, no serious damage. Not until I fertilized my struggling eggplants with liquid fish. 

I know, I know, stupid move. Stooopid move. They didn't dig up all of them, however. I replanted and watered the ones that looked as if they would potentially survive, and a few days later went to a local nursery to get a few more plants. To prevent that from occurring again, I put chicken wire around them. Plus I laid chicken wire in areas where the digging was threatening plants.

And the raccoons?

We trapped a fourth one. My husband saw it in the trap at 3:30 in the morning. But when he went out at 7 a.m. to take it for a ride it was gone.

How?

We don't know.

No vandalism last night when we had storms. 

Was it the storm, or did the vandals decide to go somewhere safer?

Only time will tell.

The forecast contains chances of rain every day well into next week, with cooler but more "normal" temperatures. Are we heading into another period of me wondering if it will ever stop raining again? 

Whatever. Our rainwater storage is full again, and I'm ready (more or less) for when it stops raining again. I'll spray insecticidal soap on the eggplants to curb the flea beetle population, and I hope the eggplants will grow better.

Up and down go the temperatures and the rain chances. In and out of the garden go the diggers (I hope out for good now). I'm waiting for blackberries to ripen and watching the tomatoes swell and possibly we'll have cherry tomatoes very soon.

Ah, Summer. 

Third Winter?

 

So, this morning.

Yes, I know. It's beyond mid-April. Isn't it supposed to be Spring?

At least it's not the second of May, which is when it snowed last in 2013. Like all spring snows here in Kansas it didn't last long, and neither will today's snow. These photos were taken late morning, after some melt had occurred. 

Snow started falling off the trees even before snow quit falling from the sky. I'm not sure it ever dropped below freezing here, so the melt was on quite early. That makes it difficult to tell just how much snow fell overnight. It was a heavy, wet snow, so it brought a fair amount of moisture.

We are in a freeze warning for tonight, still. While the forecast low for this morning was 31 degrees Fahrenheit, the low for tomorrow morning will be 28 degrees F., according to the National Weather Service. I hope that it does the same as this morning and does not fall that low. At least I hope it does not fall lower. I spent yesterday, all day yesterday, doing what I could to protect the baby plants in the ground -- 60 cabbage plants, 199 leek plants, rows of snap peas, garlic, and lettuce, radish, kale and collard seedlings. I put tubs and blankets over strawberries that had started blooming (the plants will survive freezing, but not the blossoms), lilies (some of which were almost two feet tall already, but most were shorter), tarragon, and twice-blooming iris that are beginning to blossom.

Redbud in full bloom, coated in snow.

I began the day in kind of a "we're doomed" mood, but as I got into the task, I felt better. By lunch time I had at least a third of it done. I was quite tired at the end of the day, but I didn't have to go out after dinner to finish up. Yay.

So much else is green, however, and I am holding my breath hoping, hoping, hoping that the weather is kind to us tonight. All the columbines and other irises, leaves on trees and shrubs, lilac buds, all of those I am hoping, hoping, hoping will survive tonight. 

If you want evidence of climate change and the impact it will have, this is it. Weather that is far more erratic than usual. Yes, Kansas has always experienced these kinds of anomalies because we sit where many weather fronts collide. But not every year an anomaly. I used to be able to depend on the seasons following a certain progression. I cannot entirely count on that anymore. Raising my own food has become more difficult because of it... and I am not alone. I feel for the market gardeners who depend on their crops for income. I feel angry at people who, in spite of the evidence before their eyes, continue to deny that climate change exists, and at the people who want to continue the status quo of reliance on fossil fuels when we have the technology to implement cleaner power. It's time our governments take this seriously.

Thank you.

Off my soapbox now.

Love to all.

Frosty Flowers

The dwarf Liberty apple tree at the edge of my garden, planted in 2009.

Sunday, April 11, was beautiful -- warm and sunny. This lovely little apple tree was in full bloom, with tiny bees visiting its flowers. But I stood near it, not paying attention, focused on cilantro seedlings in a bed nearby.

And then the little tree reached out and grabbed me by the nose, the fragrance of the blossoms released by the sun and warm temperature, enticing bees and me to Pay Attention. I stood by the little tree inhaling its rejuvenating fragrance, dreaming of juicy apples come fall. I did not know until then how fragrant apple blossoms are.

Fragrant apple blossoms. Take a whiff.....

Now, today I look at the forecast for next week -- rain mixed with snow. Tuesday morning's low 32 degrees F. Wednesday morning's low, 28 degrees F.

Time to pull out sheets and blankets to cover young vegetable plants -- lettuce and leeks, kale and collard seedlings, cabbages -- and snuggle the pea seedlings and asparagus shoots with hay.

But what about the apple, cherry and pear blossoms? I cannot do much there.

However, I have a list -- provided by K-State Research and Extension -- of tree fruits and the temperatures at which flowers and new fruits will be killed. According to this after petal fall blossoms-soon-to-be-fruit for each of these will be killed at a rate of 10 percent with a temperature of 28 degrees. The percentage of kill increases with each degree downward, until you get 90 percent kill at 25 degrees F. Pears are a tiny bit more hardy, being 90 percent killed at 24 degrees. 

I feel a little better having checked this, but am keeping my fingers crossed that we won't drop below 28 degrees. My heart goes out to all of the local fruit farmers.

Buds and Roots

 

Spring progresses with a procession of blossoms.

First we had crocus and winter aconite, after which a couple of little snowdrops appeared.

Next came these beautiful little rock irises, no more than six inches tall. During the week that followed their blossoming, the wind beat them up a bit, but rock irises in another bed came after the wind.

Now daffodils bloom.

This is an exciting time of year. Our first harvest was stinging nettles. Once cooked the sting is gone, leaving a richly flavored and highly nutritious food. And we've got chives again.

Today I saw bits of peppermint peering out. Soon I can brew peppermint tea again, my stash of dried herb having been used up a few weeks ago.

This week I hope to plant little cabbages and broccolis, as well as leeks and onions. Pea seeds are in the ground and radish seedlings are up. In a day or so I'll plant more radish seeds, as well as lettuce.

An exciting time of year, indeed.

And one filled with a tinge of sadness.

Just minutes after publishing my last post I learned that a friend and neighbor had died in an accident. I did not know him well, but considered him "friend," and the news shocked me. It also took me back to the death of another friend, which also occurred in March but toward the end, so the fourth anniversary of his death is imminent.

Death in Spring. Is this a mercy or a curse? 

On one hand, it can be difficult to take joy in the budding of new growth, in the blossoming, the increasing activity of birdsong, the raucous singing of the frogs when mourning a death. 

But on the other hand, one can take comfort in all of this -- Life renews itself again and again and again.

Sixteen years ago a faithful cat companion died in the spring. I buried her beneath a spirea bush that showered white petals on her grave. She was laid next to her sister, who had died a few years earlier, also in the spring.

Both times I took comfort in the return of life seen through my tears. 

As I do now. 

In this season it is difficult to not believe in the never-ending cycle of life, in renewal of the spirit, in the return, as the roots of Soul dig deep into the soil of Spirit to return shoots to the Light, and blossoms. And in this season we can dig in the dirt to bury seeds that appear lifeless, but in truth contain great potential. Comfort.

Death in Spring. That is the time I choose, if I have a choice. To lie down among the green and blossoming, when the roots are awakening and digging where they may find nourishment in me as I have found in them.

Spring Marches In

 

Crocus!

And Winter Aconite!

Pretty things to make it seem as if Winter is closing up shop. Crocus come back year after year. I keep saying that I will "plant more crocus this fall," and then it doesn't happen. But this fall, for sure.

The winter aconite is a pretty bit of sunshine that I planted years and years ago. It doesn't bloom in the spot that I originally planted it. When the first few blossoms broke through last week, I thought it looked as if it were diminishing. Then more and more popped up. I'll plant more of this, too, along with the crocus, and daffodils, maybe tulips again. I haven't had tulips for some time. Now when the earth is wakening and I feel my energy rising I am confident about getting those in the ground in six months' time. The first step is to get the bulbs. Often the middle of summer, when I need to order them, I can't get myself to put out the effort. Start sooner. I want more of these pretties. 

Oh, yes. A couple of snowdrops have decided to come back, too. No picture, though. But Yay! And on Saturday I planted peas, radishes, lettuce and turnips! (More on that later.)

Spring is marching in.

February Funk

My world remains locked in snow. 

It's not much snow, we might have gotten a bit over an inch after several days of snow. Unlike most northeast Kansas snows, however, it has remained on the ground for days. Usually sunny days follow a snow, at least after a day or two, and thawing ensues even if the temperatures don't climb above freezing but just hit the upper 20s.

This snow, however, was followed by the coldest stretch of weather we've had in years, and the forecast says it's about to get even colder. They say the sun will shine tomorrow, for the first time this week, although the temperature will remain in the single digits Fahrenheit and even fall below zero.

The bitter cold and cloudy skies don't do much good for one's mental state. I've been feeling scattered and distracted all week, unable to end the day feeling that I have accomplished much.

February is like that.

I started the month on a high note. I'd learned that some ancient cultures considered February a time of purgation, when they would conduct cleansing rites. So I decided to "purge" by doing some deep cleaning. I spent an entire day on our bedroom and master bath. Then moved on to the kitchen. I picked up an old writing project and refreshed that. Started organizing the recipes on my computer so I can print them out and tidy up the binder in which we keep recipes.

The first few days of that first week were a whirlwind, then my energy dropped, it picked up after a couple of days and then fell again. So this week I've kind of been at a standstill, although I feel that I'm doing stuff, I'm not just sitting around... sort of.

February is like that.

I find that getting outside helps me stave off the winter blues. This past week I've meant to get outside and wander around. My insulated overalls, heavy coat and work boots keep me quite warm, especially when I'm moving around. But highs in the teens and cloudy skies and February have kept me inside.

I do get outside a little each day though. Every morning and every evening before bed, and sometimes in between I step outside my back door without putting on a coat and stand for a few minutes just breathing fresh air. Feeling the cold, really feeling the cold and embracing it puts me in touch with the natural world around me. I feel more connected. 

Sometimes I go out barefoot, even stepping into the snow, my footprints alongside those of birds and rabbits. The biting cold of the snow reminds me that I am alive, washes away the numbness of dark February days spent indoors.

The amaryllis have quit blooming, but this little orchid  has 
stepped in to brighten the winter days. The blossoms last for
quite a long time.

I started the habit of stepping barefoot in the snow many years ago, when I went bobbing for apples on Halloween and came up with one in which an exclamation mark had been carved. I took that to mean I needed to get more exclamation marks in my life. Stepping barefoot into the snow certainly does cause some exclamations. It's invigorating, enlivening, exhilarating... I've begun to crave it.

I stand outside my back door on a 10-degree F. morning and sing to the wakening world. 

I stand outside my back door as the frost forms in the late evening and look for the moon and stars. Even if it's cloudy I search the sky.

I step barefoot into the snow and feel the cold bite as a freezing breeze brushes my face and seeps through my sweater. 

I breathe deeply of the bitter air.

I am at one, at peace with the frozen land around me bound by snow.

This gets me through February.

It gets me through.

I go back inside and check the tiny cabbage seedlings that will go into the garden in just six weeks or so. One more turn of the calendar page and I'm looking at planting season. But the planting has begun... cabbages, broccoli, leeks... Soon I'll start some lettuce, then eggplant and peppers, then... then...

Suddenly it's March.

This gets me through February... the "longest" month, when we are so tired of winter.

It gets me through.

We All Dig This Vegetable

Good morning from Spirit Bird Farm.

Everyone loves them.

Boiled, steamed, mashed, baked, and fried. In stews, in soups, in salads, as chips, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They even turn up in desserts and other bakery goods in the form of starch and flour. For everyday meals, as well as holiday meals. Some of the best comfort food around. They've infiltrated nearly every one of the world's cuisines in about 500 years, although many Europeans initially thought they were poisonous. They are among the top most important food crops of the world, right up there with wheat, rice and maize (corn). They had become such an important crop in the 1800s that when Ireland experienced a widespread crop failure, famine ensued, killing maybe a couple of million people. A few decades later, Luther Burbank developed a variety resistant to the fungus that killed the Irish crop... potato blight.

Ah, yes, the ubiquitous potato. 

Let me take you back, to the very beginning....

The story of the lovely potato begins when the line that developed into our mashers split off from the parent line of the Solanaceae (nightshade) family a long, long time ago... 350 million years ago to be precise. Maybe not precisely. Dinosaurs weren't good at keeping records, what with their focus mainly being on eating other dinosaurs and/or NOT being eaten by other dinosaurs. They figure this out through deeply studying genes. I don't know how they determine it... by magic is my guess... but they can make a good guess.

Taters!

The story is foggy after that. But at some point the Incas or their predecessors in the Andes region of South America began gathering the tiny, but tasty and nutritious tubers as food, maybe as early as 8000 BCE. Archaeological evidence, however is not quite that old. I couldn't find reliable accounts of what the oldest archaeological evidence shows -- some sources said 3400 BCE, some 2500 BCE and one just 400 BCE. Regardless of the archaeological evidence, we know that the Andean natives have used and cultivated potatoes (about 20 different species) for a long, long time... developing thousands of varieties, most of which continue to be grown only in their native region.

Those early potatoes and many of those still grown in Peru, were much smaller than the large tubers of the species Solanum brevicaule now grown worldwide. In my search for information about potato's history, I found so much more written about it's introduction to Europe than about its use by the native people of South America. The Spaniards introduced the potato to Europe around the mid 1500s, but most of Europe resisted it as a food crop because of its relationship to the poisonous nightshades (the tomato also suffered this). 

The aristocracy of some of the European countries recognized the value of the potato as a food source, because of its nutritional and caloric density and its ease of growth. So they worked, sometimes using a little subterfuge, to convince the agricultural class to grow and consume potatoes. The little tricks worked, but for the most part potatoes were considered working class food, except in China, where it became a delicacy of the Imperial family. Go figure.

Then a little fungus caused the Irish potato famine, where it had replaced the rutabaga and turnip as a staple crop. And can you blame the Irish? I like turnips and rutabagas, but given the choice between them and potatoes... guess which wins.

So that's enough of that. You can find that stuff anywhere. But I had to look in a lot of places for info on the Inca use. The Incas apparently thought quite highly of their potatoes, even making pottery vessels in the shape of the tubers, which looked more like the fingerling varieties of today. They used them as medicine and possibly even in religious ceremonies. I believe that the ancient people of the Americas held their food plants in much higher regard than we do today, considering them spiritual allies. 

According to most of the history I found, the potato was first grown in North America in the 1600s, introduced by European settlers, of course.

However....

Recent archaeological discovery has uncovered that North American indigenous people used a species of potato more than 10,000 years ago. Starch grains on stone tools found at a site in Utah were identified as belonging to that of a potato, S. jamesii. That predates evidence of potato use in South America. What's more, that potato species still grows in North America, in the Four Corners area of Arizona, thus it's called the Four Corners potato. Indigenous people there still use the little tuber.

The next time you sit down to a helping of mashed potatoes, thank the Incas and their predecessors for discovering the delicious goodness of potatoes. They are "Inca" potatoes in truth, not Irish at all.

NOTE: I did not intend to make this blog post all about the history of potatoes. I was supposed to put some growing information in here. I promised the readers of my newspaper column a link to the K-State Research and Extension publication on growing potatoes in Kansas. So here is the growing potatoes link. It looks like I will need to do another post for all of you wanting to know more about growing them. Maybe I'll wait until I'm planting my own potatoes, for the first time in many years, then you can follow my experiences on that. Or I'll do my next post on them so I can let you know about their awesome nutritional value and tell you how to make the best baked fries.

A Winter Garden

 We had a couple of pretty little snows last week, which were gone by the weekend when it rained all day. So the sun hasn't been out much for more than a week.

Yet it's bright inside here, where the amaryllis have put on quite a show.

They've already lasted a full week, although a few blossoms have faded. They will be around for most of this week, though.

We're also harvesting yummy greens during this gloomy time. Microgreens.

A few years ago I wrote two or three posts about microgreens, as I'd just started doing them. These were lengthy posts, first about how to grow microgreens, then how to deal with the fungus gnats and damping off that showed up. (I don't add the cinnamon anymore. No more damping off since I'm not reusing the soil. I still deal with fungus gnats, but not for long.)

While I was able to grow microgreens and get rid of the fungus gnats, my microgreen project wasn't perfect. I had trouble keeping them watered properly. When the little greens fell over because they wilted, they usually didn't stand completely tall after receiving water. My husband noticed that after being that way for several days some of the greens near the soil would get slimy. Not pleasant. I tried to be more diligent about keeping them watered, but it still didn't work quite right.

Red cabbage microgreens  about a week away from harvest.

I had been growing the microgreens in a solid bottomed flat and watering from above. But I learned that wasn't the best way to do it. (Obviously, because they were getting mushy.) Then True Leaf Market Seed Company, where I get some of my microgreen seeds and supplies, sent out its e-newsletter with a link to their microgreens growing guide. So, of course, I checked it out.

Aha! I should have put the soil in a flat with a slotted bottom, set inside a solid bottom flat. The soil needed to go into the flat dry -- I had been wetting it before putting it in the flat. After scattering the seeds on the soil and pressing them in, then it's time to wet the seeds and surface thoroughly with a spray bottle, cover the flats so they sprout in the dark. When they sprouts are half and inch or more tall (they'll be yellow green having sprouted in the dark) put half an inch of water in the solid bottom tray and set the tray with the soil in side, so the sprouts are bottom-watered and set them in the light. Then bottom water them from then on. I've found that once they get growing well I need to water them every other day. 

The growing guide I linked to above will give more detailed info. The first step on it is to soak the seeds, but you only need to do that with large seeds, like peas. I'm planting tiny seeds -- broccoli, brussels sprouts, kale, and cabbage -- so I don't soak them. I start new trays of microgreens as soon as I set the sprouted ones in light.

My husband is now much happier with the microgreens he eats every day. If you're craving fresh greens from the garden, try microgreens. It's a great gardening and fresh food hit, even in the middle of winter.

Flowers in January

The amaryllis are getting ready to bloom. The photo was taken a few days ago and now the stalks are much taller and the buds plumper. In a few more days the buds will show some color and by this time next week the large orange blossoms will trumpet their arrival. The larger amaryllis hasn't yet started sending up its flower stalk. It always blooms much later than the others.

I have had the amaryllis for at least 15 years. I started with two pots of them, obtained at different times. Through repotting and divisions those two have multiplied into five pots of amaryllis. It's pretty easy to get them to rebloom and their brilliant blossoms can take the gray right out of a winter's day.

Once they quit blooming, I'll cut off the flower stalks and keep them in the plant room, watering them regularly so the foliage remains healthy. When the weather warms and quits freezing this spring they will go out to their summer home on the north side of the house.There they will remain until the weather starts freezing again. A dim corner of the attached, unheated garage becomes their winter home and I all but forget about them. They need no light, no water. The foliage dries up and the bulbs go dormant. 

Six to eight weeks before I want them to bloom, I bring them back into the warmth and light and start watering them. You also can hold amaryllis bulbs in the cool, dry dark until the weather begins to warm in spring. Then you can take them outside to revive and set them among other flowers and herbs in the garden for a brilliant, tropical display. They prefer morning sun.

If you want them to bloom by the Solstice or Christmas, bring them in at least by early November. I had hoped to have blooms by New Year's Day, but for some reason didn't get around to bringing them in until almost mid-December. 

No worries, though. I am grateful to be able to look forward to the large bright blooms on this cold, blizzardy day. 

I also am looking forward to the arrival of the first shipment of seeds today. I am hoping that another one arrives soon, as some things, such as the onions, will need to be started before the end of this month. The leeks, too, but I already have the seed for those.

Some of the other seeds I am looking forward to won't be planted until August or September. Those include winter radishes. I covered them in my last post, but didn't talk much about different varieties, focusing on the purple daikons (because I still have lots of those in the refrigerator). I also had the long white daikons, as well as Sichuan Red Beauty, which is red clear through. I thought Baker Creek had stopped carrying the seed, but this year it is listed under simply "Red Beauty Radish." So, Yay. I've also got seed for watermelon radish, with pink flesh surround by a ring of white, and an outer ring of green. Quite stunning as a garnish or when used as a "chip." 

A radish I will plant for the first time this fall is the Shawo Fruit Radish. These roots supposedly are sweet enough to replace fruit during winter tea parties in Beijing. I am looking forward to testing this.

I also will try some other vegetables for the first time this year... or at least my son and his fiancee will. I ordered the seeds and will get the plants going for them. These are the Indigo Rose Tomato, a pretty little cherry type, and the California Reaper Pepper. The California Reaper is the hottest, edible pepper. The only one that is said to be hotter will kill you, so the grower says. For myself, I ordered the Atomic Grape Cherry tomato, a prettily striped oval shaped cherry type. Will it nudge out the Sun Gold? I will let you know.

P.S. At the time I wrote this, Baker Creek had closed their Web site so they could catch up with all of the orders they've received this year. Be patient. Other seed companies also are experiencing slow downs. The pandemic has spurred greater interest in home gardening so they are being overwhelmed with orders.

Radical Radishes

 

Purple daikon radishes sliced for dehydrating.

Here I am, in a new year. Let's see if I can keep the posts flowing in 2021. In this post I will try to "root" myself into a new habit of sharing with you all.

And so today I will write about roots.

Roots are amazing. Not that plants in general aren't completely awesome, but how many of you have really dug into the subject of roots?

The first thing to emerge from a seed is the tiny root, the radicle. Roots anchor plants into place. They absorb water and nutrients from the soil. They store water and nutrients for dormant times. They exchange nutrients with fungal mycelia. They set up symbiotic relationships with bacteria. Roots excrete substances into the soil that may benefit or harm other plants. Roots communicate with fungal mycelia and other plants. Roots sense things. At the very end of each growing tip roots possess sensory structures that guide the roots' grow away from harm or toward moisture, nutrients and beneficial relationships.

At least 50 percent of most plants' mass is in their roots, especially during the growing season when the plants send out hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny feeder roots, each tipped with a tiny "brain" directing growth. (Are you getting chills of delight? I am.)

Watermelon radishes on the left, spring/salad
radishes on the right.

I just thought you ought to know this before I started writing about a specific root -- radishes, especially winter radishes.

We pulled lots of winter radishes from the garden this fall/winter. Lots. Lots and lots. You can say we had a bumper bumper crop of fall-planted radishes.

You may wonder what we're going to do with all of those radishes.

As we've discovered, there's not much you can't do with winter radishes. 

We've got two crisper drawers of them for fresh eating. Using different colored the radishes allows us to create beautiful garnishes. Today I'm adding some to a stir-fry. We chunked, steamed and froze a lot of them. My husband likes to take steamed ones from the freezer, thaw, and mash with potatoes and seasonings. I baked slices and dehydrated them as crunchy snacks. A jar of fermented purple daikons sits in the fridge. I baked some smaller ones whole, oiling them, putting them in a casserole dish, covered and baked until done. They can also be roasted; sliced or chunked, oiled and spread on a cookie sheet to roast in the oven.

Radishes are very easy to grow, but give the larger ones a little space. I was instructed to space the purple daikons at three inches. Watermelon radishes, red beauty radishes and white daikons can also reach considerable girth, so space them well. Regular watering helps keep them crunchy. 

When the weather started getting cold, I mounded lots of hay over the radishes as they will stay fresh in the ground for quite a while. However, when I pulled the last purple daikons just before Christmas, some of them had obviously been frozen at the top. Usually they're still good, but if they've started to turn a little brown inside I discarded that bit. We had so many. I did not feel bad about composting some of them.

Winter radishes do not do well planted in spring. When the temperatures rise, they want to produce flowers and seeds instead of plumping up their roots.

One root fertilizer I learned about is made up of potato peels, banana peels and spent coffee grounds. Dehydrate the potato and banana peels and grind them (a food processor works better than a blender). Dry the coffee grounds and mix it all together. Scatter onto the soil before you plant your seeds. This homemade fertilizer provides potassium, nitrogen and other nutrients. If you have a lot, use it to fertilize other garden plants. We don't peel our potatoes, but get plenty of banana peels and coffee grounds, either of which can be used alone as fertilizer.

I posted about radishes a couple of years ago. There should be more information there.

I was curious about the difference between regular winter radishes and daikons (which are a type of winter radish), so I looked it up. Daikons tend to be a little larger and less "spicy" than other winter radishes. I can tell you that this is true. Winter radishes are much larger than and take longer to mature than spring/salad radishes. Spring radishes will mature in about 30 days, as a rule, so they can be planted about two weeks apart maybe three times starting in early spring. Plant the winter radishes in late August later. Some you can harvest small at 30 days, let them go longer for larger roots. They grow best in cooler weather. If you leave them in the ground too long, they will get pithy, although the last purple daikons, planted in August and pulled late December, were not pithy. Some of the red beauty radishes were (planted August and the last ones pulled early to mid-December).

This fall I don't think I'll plant quite so many winter radishes.

Then again, with all the ways we've discovered how to use them. Maybe I'll do it again.