Fire Tale

Sometimes things don't go as planned.

Or maybe they go as planned, but not quite the way you thought.

For weeks we contemplated the task of burning some brush piles in a grassy area north of our house and garden. Over a couple of years my husband has pruned up a lot of trees, most red cedars, and piled the limbs in that grassy area because it was out of the way and not really visible.

We had planned to eventually burn it, but it was not a priority until recently.

This past fall we decided to install a bank of ground-mount solar panels before our electric company met its net-metering maximum -- which is appeared it would meet sometime in November.

After considering a couple of other locations, this spot north of everything seemed the most ideal, given our choices. (The most ideal spot, in truth is an open area a little closer to our house, but it's the most open area because it's over our lateral field.)

So we had to get rid of the brush piles and some standing woody invasive plants before installation. We had already decided to postpone the installation to January, but knew there was no way we could be guaranteed appropriate weather for a burn if we waited.

We needed a perfect day for the burn, i.e. "not windy." Stiff winds are never good for a burn, but our site added a little extra anxiety because the brush piles sat in tall, dry grass with a substantial grove of large cedar trees looming too close for comfort. If you've ever seen a red cedar tree burn, you know why we were concerned. They go up whoosh. If the fire got into those large trees, it would have been hot and furious. No way would we be able to push it back on our own.

We contacted neighbors asking for help with the burn. The area is small so we didn't need many. Four volunteered. Six of us should easily contain it, barring any unexpected gusts of wind.

We watched the weather forecast and a Sunday three weeks ago appeared to be, not ideal, but workable. The high was expected to reach into the 40s and air calm winds. We told our volunteers the burn would begin at 11 a.m. and promised them a hearty lunch after.

We prepared -- rather, my husband did. 

My husband, the wizard, conjuring fire.

He gathered together several pairs of old jeans with which to beat out any escaping flames. All volunteers were asked to bring hand sprayers to douse little flames. We strung more than 200 feet of garden hose from our outdoor tap to the burn area and began by spraying the mowed fire break, making the short dry grass less appetizing to hungry flames and prevent fire from creeping toward the cedar trees. 

We had found two old cans of camp fuel (essentially, gasoline) in our garage and decided to use that to get things going fast. My husband dumped some on one of the brush piles. A match was struck and, fwoomp -- fire. 

But it didn't last long. Once the fuel was burned, little fire was left. The dried grass burned slowly, if at all. 

Contrary to our fears, the fire was not in danger of blazing out of control, things didn't burn easily.

It was maybe a little too cool, a little too damp, and a little too calm. The brush piles were not very dense and just didn't burn. 

We kept trying, though. Eventually we started consolidating the piles. I kept trying to light grass and some piles of dried garden debris near one of the smaller piles. A slight breeze sprang up, giving breath to the flames and sending them toward the wood piles.

The burn took a little longer than we anticipated, but we didn't have a blaze in the cedar trees.

And our volunteers were well-rewarded for their help with a hearty chicken soup lunch topped off with not one, but three kinds of desserts.

We are grateful for helpful neighbors.

 

Brief Snowy Wonderland

This happened a couple of days ago. White stuff fell overnight, disguising the brown winter shades. By late afternoon the above-freezing temperature and intermittent sun had wiped it all away, except for a few shaded patches.

The next day I was out weeding and turning compost. 

Tonight we'll huddle deep in our warmth against an overnight low in the mid-teens Fahrenheit. We'll have a few days of that, with one day not even breaking the freezing mark for the high. 

On Monday it might be almost springlike, with a high in the 50s. 

Ah, this fickle weather.

I had hoped to keep a few things going in the garden... kale, lettuce, cabbage, radicchio... but the extra cold forced me to bring it all in. In times past, the teens waited until December, but we can no longer count on what used to be considered "normal." (Pssst. It's climate change.)

Yet, I will persevere and adapt however I can. It's all I can do. As climate change surges ahead, adaptability will mean the difference between some success and total failure.

I have not preached on climate change, but I am very aware that it is here. I want you all to be aware, as well... not terrified, that has no value, but aware. We can do something.

I suggest checking out the Cool Block program. It was designed for urban communities, but we and some of our neighbors have been trying to adapt it to the rural setting. Our biggest challenge has been that most of us have already done a lot to decrease our carbon footprint, so the program seems a bit redundant. However, we have found value in the stronger sense of community we have developed among us. And we are adapting the curriculum to suit our particular group and circumstances. The part on emergency preparedness has been quite valuable.

This program would be more valuable to people who have only dabbled with reducing their carbon footprint. Yet, the emergency preparedness part and community building can be valuable to anyone. It is missing info on climate activism, but maybe you can find other sources for that. And now that we have federal tax incentives for installing solar power and other energy-saving measures, we can do more.

Go in peace, friends. Keep smiling, keep going, keep hoping... most of all, keep gardening. 

Laid to Rest

Buckets and buckets of leeks, and still more to pull. They'll stay in the garage until I can trim them.

 The temperature this morning was 25 degrees Fahrenheit. This followed Thursday's high of around 70 degrees F. For at least the next week the forecast calls for lows in the 20s, and at least one low in the teens.

So I've called it quits. The garden has been generous and I'm ready for a little hibernation. It was time to pull all the leeks and radishes, chop off the heads of cabbages and radicchio, and, finally, cut the lettuce and arugula. I even cut all the kale and cilantro. I spent three days doing all of this. The garden is done.

Cabbages

But I'm not. The cabbage roots are still in the ground, their large lower leaves splayed out. Eventually, I'll put them in the compost heap. Kale stems also still stand... perhaps if I leave them they'll come back in the spring? It's happened before.

The ground where the leeks grew must be smoothed and covered with hay, same with the bed that held the purple daikon radishes.

All of the beds need to be tidied. The plastic hoops that held up row cover and shade cloth stand uselessly in the ravaged garden and should be put away. 

Purple daikons and my not-bare foot.

I haven't even yet taken down the trellis that the long bean vines climbed, even though it's been at least a month since I pulled the vines.

Once the growing areas are tidied up and mulched with hay (if I can find any spoiled hay to buy for my mulch) I can move on to other projects.

For example, I had hoped to have dug all the unwelcomed plants from my little sweetgrass prairie last winter, as well as digging all the apothecary rose from the corner of the strawberry compound. -- I love the apothecary rose, but it needs better containment so it doesn't invade the strawberry beds. -- I started both projects last winter, but weather intervened. Then spring planting prevented me from making much headway. Of course, summer always brings its own busy-ness.

I did make a little headway, but all are far from done.

And the paths must be weeded, again, so my husband can lay fresh wood chips. The garden continues to beckon...

... and so does the kitchen. Both are crammed with the last of the harvest. Something must be done. We'll make cabbage curries and maybe some sauerkraut. I wound up with 21 heads out of the 30 plants I set in the ground. A few plants just didn't make it, and some just didn't make heads. For whatever reason, maybe the heat, the cabbages developed slowly, so they were all fairly small, but still lovely heads. Some are not much bigger than my fist and a few are smaller, more like giant brussels sprouts, but still dense and firm. 

Radicchio, Rossa de Verona.

More than a dozen heads of red and white radicchio made their way into my harvest basket. Not everyone likes this bitter relative of chicory, but I have learned to love bitter foods... they're really good for the digestion. I like to chop a little radicchio into salads. Vinegar and oil tames the bitterness -- at least my tastebuds think so. And I've found that I really like radicchio sauteed in ghee with leeks and carrots. It feels nourishing. 

And on and on... we even still have apples in the refrigerator drawers. Baked apples? More apple butter?

The garden has been laid to rest, even though I'm not getting much rest. And next year's garden is already growing. Last month I planted garlic. The rows are now marked with little green garlic shoots soaking up sunlight to make bulbs for me to dig next summer. The circle is unbroken.

Garlic!

Compost Happens

 

For the past few weeks -- maybe even the past couple of months -- I have been eyeing the compost piles, eager to stick a shovel in them.

Working compost might not seem like the most glamorous job in the garden, but I find it very satisfying.

Dead plant materials -- weeds, garden debris, kitchen scraps -- go into a heap, and plant nutrition comes out. Stuff that no longer serves, becomes something of value.

What happens is this:

Becomes this:   

In between the two, trillions and trillions of microscopic organisms -- mainly bacteria and fungi -- live, eat, excrete and die. They break it all down into essential parts by "eating" it (generally through chemical processes, not with teeth), and they excrete it into nutrients plants can use. The best compost is still alive when you apply it to the garden soil, where the microorganism populations shift to different species and set up shop, creating mutually beneficial relationships with the plants.

It's a magical, alchemical process that never ceases to amaze me.

While decomposition is a natural process that occurs without our intervention, we can enhance the process to make the highest quality product possible, as well as to speed up the process.

The most basic "recipe" for compost is to have the proper amounts of "browns" (carbon-containing materials) and "greens" (nitrogen-containing materials). All plant matter contains both carbon and nitrogen, but some contain a higher ratio of carbon to nitrogen and vice versa. The "best" way to build your compost pile is to layer the greens and browns, setting aside the carbon materials to scoop on top of your green materials (such as kitchen scraps) when you add them. Some plant materials, such as comfrey and yarrow enhance the decomposition process and improve the nutritional value of the compost.

All the official recipes aside, I simply pile stuff in the bin, then when enough is enough, I rebuild it, layering and watering as I can.

Composting requires living organisms that need water and oxygen. Dry decomposition does occur, but the end product has little value. Anaerobic (without oxygen) microbes also decompose things, but that gets smelly and doesn't produce top quality compost. The compost heap must remain damp -- not soggy, or that anaerobic process occurs -- and be "turned" occasionally to get air into the mix. Turning can be anything from chopping into the pile with a sharp spade, to digging everything out of the middle, pulling the edges into the middle and putting the stuff from the middle on the edges. Whew! That was a lot of work.

I simply rebuild my heaps in spring and fall and turn (the laziest way possible) whenever I think about it. 

I use a three bin composting system (working, cooking and finishing piles). The bins are made of old pallets, chicken wire, welded wire fencing and old baling twine. It's not pretty, except when the morning glories climb the walls (see morning glory photo at the top). However, the morning  glories are no longer allowed on the compost bins, because hundreds of seeds fall into the compost, so I have hundreds of morning glory seedlings everywhere I spread the compost. 

If you'd like more info on proper composting, follow this link to the K-State Resources and Extension publication on composting. The Internet also is full of people who are happy to tell you how to do composting "right," or their version of right.

However you do it, compost happens.

Season's End

 

This was the final harvest of summer vegetables made one week ago.

The weather service had forecast a low in the low 20s Fahrenheit for two nights in a row, with last Monday night being the first. 

I spent that day scrambling, not only to pick the last of the summer vegetables, but also to cover the cold season crops with blankets and sheets, hoping it would be enough to let them survive. Twenty degrees might not kill them, but they wouldn't look pretty afterward, especially since the temps had not gone down gradually enough to allow the plants to prepare for the cold.

It was a long day. I worried that the covers over my kale and lettuce and cabbage would not be enough, but I hoped. Tuesday morning the temperature was 26 degrees F. Not so bad. The next morning it was 20, and that was on our porch right next to the wall of the house.

With rising temperatures and sun that afternoon, plus a more reasonable low forecast for the next morning, I pulled off the sheets and blankets. To my relief, very few leaves sustained cold damage. Even the lettuce, the most tender of them all looked hale and hearty. It was beautiful.

The lettuce had also been covered with shade cloth to protect it from the hot sun, and I left it on as I added the cover of blankets. Since the weather had cooled somewhat, I removed the shade cloth, folded everything up and put it away.

And the deer came during the night and ate down all my lettuce.

I can't fault them, really. It's been dry, dry, dry. The grass is dry and brown and the lettuce was juicy and green. Which would you choose.

They even nibbled at the radicchio! The bitter radicchio. Weird deer.

So I've covered the radicchio, cabbage, and the baby lettuce that they had spared. If we get enough of the appropriate weather, we might have a little lettuce yet. 

Good Morning

 

Black rat snake high up in a goldenrod plant in front of the house, waiting for the sun.

Beauty in Decay

 I came upon this dancer, broken and gone, yet graceful in her demise. 

There is beauty yet in her decay, life in her death.

Highlighted in snow, one last bow, perpetual, until she collapses into decay.

There is beauty here, yet. Life in her decay.

A rotting corpse feeds the tiniest ones, which in turn feed roots and seeds, feeding stems and leaves.

A single tree no longer one, continuing to live on in many.

The magic, the beauty of the cycle.

Beauty, life, from one many, and on.

PS The day before this photo, when I first saw her, her arms held more snow and made a more striking scene. She was more obvious. But there yet is beauty here.

Snowy Days

 Snow moved in Friday night and blew through Saturday morning. The day was gray and cold, cold, cold. A lovely fog shrouded the world beyond the woods this morning and the afternoon turned sunny.

I went for a walk in the woods, looked for animal tracks (deer, birds, house cat, mouse?), hugged a giant Osage orange tree, and watched the snow that had collected on branches of the red cedar trees melt, sparkle and glitter as it dripped in the sunlight. I came in with twigs and red cedar leaves stuck in my hair. A great afternoon.

In my last post I noted that the germination test on the leek seed was a resounding success. It looked as if all of them had sprouted. Since it's about time to start my leek plants, I planned to go ahead and plant them. 

Three days later I went to do just that and found that not only did all of the seeds have tiny roots poking out, but had produced itty bitty greenery, as well. No problem. I went ahead and planted them anyway. However, instead of just dropping the seeds onto the soil and sort of patting them in, knowing the little roots would know which way to go, I poked holes into the soil and dropped in each seedling one by one. That took a little more time than my original plan would have, but it worked.

Initially I made the little holes with my fingers, and then decided I needed a tool. A chopstick works

nicely for that task. With the tip of the chopstick in view, you can see how tiny the little seedlings were. 

On that same day I started germination tests on some other seeds and checked them yesterday.

The six-year-old Orangeglow watermelon seed germinated 100 percent, it looks like. This seed I collected from watermelon growing in my garden. I am not sure what melons from this seed will be like. I first planted Orangeglow in 2014, along with at least one other melon variety and they likely cross-pollinated. A melon somehow got missed, or I spit seed into the garden, not sure, but a watermelon vine or two grew there the next year. I didn't realize it had produced any melons until I started clearing away cover crop. It was a huge melon, orange and sweet inside.

But I can't depend on that being the case when I plant these seeds. We will see what comes of these. 

I will stick a few of these sprouted seeds in a pot and hope I have a nice little melon plant or two when the Extension Master Gardeners Garden Show comes around in two months. I'm in charge of the Edible Garden table.The watermelon plants might be too leggy and pale for a nice display along with the cabbage plants, tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, nasturtiums and begonias. (Begonia flowers are edible.) 

When I started the germ test on the watermelon seeds I also started one on some six-year-old carrot seed (just for fun), six-year-old jalapeno seed and seven-year-old cayenne seed. Only a few seeds of each had put out little tails. It will be interesting to see how many actually sprout. I don't plan to plant any of these seeds, but I was curious to know whether they were still viable.

Besides, what else gardening related is there to do in January?

Start onion and cabbage plants! Buy seeds! 

Test Results

 The results are in... mostly.

After I wrote my last post I started germination tests on several different seeds. 

Of greatest concern were the snap peas. I have lots of seed in two different containers and no idea when I bought them.

Germination was successful, with a high percentage for both batches of peas. Yes! I will have snap peas again... barring a horrible infestation of cutworms, such as took out my peas two years in a row several years ago. The peas were the first seeds to send out a radicle.

The Roma II bush beans also germinated successfully, taking a couple of days longer than the peas.

The leeks also showed nearly 100 percent germination. Since it's about time to start my leek plants, I'll go ahead and plant these little seeds. The leek seed was purchased in 2019, and supposedly leek seed has a life expectancy of only a couple of years, which is why I tested it.

The Brandywine tomato looks iffy. So far only two seeds out of probably 30 are showing signs of life. I'll give  them a few more days.

The celery test must start over. Because I thought celery seed needs light to germinate, I put the damp coffee filter with the seeds out flat an stuck in a plastic bag. I forgot to check them for a couple of days and today they were dried out. So, start over. Apparently celery can take two to three weeks to germinate, although I don't recall it ever taking that long when I planted it in soil. Do I want to mess with getting new seed or just take my chances? I don't want to wait three weeks to order seed. 

Decisions, decisions.

That wraps up the necessary germ tests, more or less. I think I'll probably order more Brandywine tomato seed, unless the germ tests gets radicles soon. 

I have some other old seeds earmarked for testing, but that will just be to satisfy my curiosity as these are not seeds I'll replace. One packet contains five-year-old purple haze carrot seeds. I didn't care for the way they grew, but I'm curious if carrot seed that old will germinate. I'll test some seven-year-old jalapeno seed and eight-year-old cayenne seed. I only need two or three plants of each, so I've just been buying plants instead of starting them. Plus I have some six-year-old Oranglow Watermelon seeds that I collected from watermelons growing in my garden. Not sure if I'll plant any if they still germinate, but I'm curious. Science, you know.

I'll let you know how things go.

Seeds for Thought

It's that time of year again. I'm thinking about seeds, seeds, seeds.

Seeds are incredibly amazing beings. Each seed, no matter how tiny, is a miniature plant curled up inside a protective shell. Each seed has a tiny root (radicle), a stem (hypocotyl), and miniature seed leaves (cotyledons). 

At left is a little drawing I did of the interior structure of a seed. The green part is the cotyledons, seed leaves, that contain food to nourish the little seedling once the seed coat cracks. 

Although the seed appears to be sleeping, lots of enzymatic and chemical actions take place to prepare the seed to germinate and grow. 

No matter how tiny the seed is, it contains the same structure and processes as much larger seeds, like that avocado pit you just tossed into the compost bucket.

The seed waits for the right conditions -- the proper amount of moisture absorbed, the appropriate soil temperature, and who knows what else the seed is waiting for that will disintegrate the germination inhibitors that all seeds contain. All seeds and/or the fruits they form within, contain germination inhibitors, otherwise they might germinate at a time or place the seedling cannot survive. When the germination inhibitors are gone, the radicle is the first to emerge, digging into the soil. Then the little seed leaves unfurl, soaking up sunlight. And you have a plant.

The photo at the top of this post is of the refrigerator drawer where I store my seeds. When stored in proper conditions seeds can remain viable for quite some time. Just how long seeds remain alive depends on what plant they come from. Melon seeds, for example, remain viable for much longer that seeds of leeks and onions. So I can stock up several years worth of melon seed, but only a couple of years' worth of leek and onion seeds. However, seeds will survive past the expected life expectancy when stored properly. According to "The Seed Garden," published by the Seed Savers Exchange, okra seeds have a life expectancy of just two to three years. Yet I had 10-year-old okra seeds germinate almost 100 percent. Then we have ancient varieties of beans and squash that germinated after thousands of years in buried clay pots. Some of these, such as the "Cave Bean" featured in Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds catalog, have been propagated and shared, reviving those old varieties.

None of the seeds in my refrigerator drawer are thousands of years old, or even 10 years old, but some are six or seven years old.

Tonight I started germination tests on some of the older seed so I know whether I need to replace it, or whether I can plant it for another season. A germination test is pretty simple. Basically, you need water, a paper towel, and seeds. Here are step-by-step instructions and pictures on a blog post I wrote for our Extension Master Gardeners' Web site. 

Not all of my seeds are those I've purchased. For a number of years I've saved seeds from cultivated flowers, like poppies, and some wildflowers. I pretty much stick to those that are easy to gather, like poppies and celosia, or columbines and royal catchfly.

At right are some of the seeds in this year's collection, Royal Catchfly, Clammy Weed, two kinds of celosia, and something I can't identify in this photo. 

At some point I will shake the seeds loose from their pods and capsules and store them in much smaller containers for planting and sharing later. For now, however, they are in bags, buckets and other containers in the garage. I have only a little more than a month to do this if I want to take any to the local seed fair to share.

This year I hope to start saving some vegetable seeds. Those of beans and peas are pretty easy to collect and save. You just wait until the pods have dried, then separate the seed from the pods. Pepper seed also is easy to collect. The seed is mature when the peppers have ripened to their mature color, which is when I think they taste best. Spread them out to dry before putting them into storage. You don't want them moist enough to mold.

Tomatoes are trickier, as you must "ferment" the seeds in the pulp, then clean and dry them.

Saving seeds begins when you are planning where to plant things. Plants that rely on insect pollination have long "isolation distances." That is the distance you must have between different varieties of one species to avoid cross pollination. Wind pollinated plants, such as corn, also might require long isolation distances. Corn varieties, for example must be separated by 800 feet to a half mile. Self-pollinating plants, such as tomatoes, require much less distance for isolation. Tomato varieties need be only 10-50 feet apart. So it is important to find reliable information about how to plan for saving seed. "The Seed Garden" is an excellent resource, but I am certain you can find a lot online, as well.

One benefit of saving seeds is having a reliable supply that costs you nothing. If you want to put in more effort, you also can select seed only from the healthiest plants that exhibit the best desirable traits. Over the years, then you are cultivating plants better adapted to your garden's conditions, and exhibiting the traits you most desire.

Never save seed from unhealthy plants or splotchy fruits because the seeds could carry disease from one generation to the next.

I'll let you know how my seed saving goes. Let me know what your seed saving experiences are.