Death Only an Illusion

 

Asparagus... Dead or Alive?

Winter, and the world around me appears lifeless. 

However, that is an illusion. Beneath the surface of the soil roots of perennial plants continue to pulse slowly in their winter's rhythm. They even grow a little. Bulbs and rhizomes of daffodils, crocus, iris and others unhurriedly prepare for their spring appearances. Leafless trees continue their lives within the soil, in their broad roots that reach deep and wide. Even high in the cold air, branches and twigs tentatively form buds that gradually swell.

While annual plants that grow, flower and set seed in a single season are truly dead, they still continue to live, in a fashion. They've scattered seeds -- tiny little plants wrapped in a coat that hide in the darkness of the soil, patiently waiting to sprout when conditions are right, Life.

Grass roots dig deep.

Death at winter is merely an illusion. Roots and seeds thrive.

I find it fascinating that for most plants, especially perennials, at least half of their mass remains unseen, in the roots beneath the surface of the soil, where they survive apparent death. These roots can connect with the roots of other plants, sometimes directly, more often through fungal mycelium that lives in symbiosis with them -- connection and communication.

I believe that humans are the same. Most of what we are exists beneath the surface, our roots, in the realm of spirit -- or whatever you wish to call it -- where we can connect. And even once we no longer exist in the material plain, we continue on in the unseen realm. Our roots remain.

Roots continue to pulse slowly, regardless of appearances... Spirits remain, regardless of appearances.

My family begins the new year looking a little different. My father died in early December, at 100 years and one week old. He took his last breath in the same house, and likely in the same room where he took his first breath. As a final poetic touch, it was also his mother's birthday.

Three of my four siblings, a niece, and a sister-in-law, my mother (of course), and I surrounded his bed. Because my parents always said the rosary before bed each night, Mom insisted that we pray the rosary while he still breathed. So we did. I have not practiced any type of Christianity, in decades, yet I held a rosary and prayed. It was an honor and privilege, a sacred act. Not long after we finished, Dad took his last breath. 

A beautiful, holy moment.

My dad's roots ran deep. Mom was surprised at how many people showed up at the visitation the evening before the funeral. The women who served the post-funeral meal told her that they had never served that many people at a funeral dinner. So many connections. His roots had spread wide; he had scattered many seeds.

Deep roots helped my dad survive and persevere. The Great Depression hit during his adolescence. He later served in the Army during World War II, seeing fierce battle. His best friend was killed next to him. He was nearly executed before being taken to a German prisoner of war camp, where he survived until the end of the war.

He persevered. His roots ran deep.

Once a soldier, always a soldier, it seems. Even though he came home from war to become a farmer/rancher, to marry and raise five children, the war stayed with him in dreams that caused him to scream in the middle of the night. He finally found respite in his 80s by speaking about his experience to students in area middle and high schools, as well as during gatherings of an organization for those who were in service during the Battle of the Bulge.

Even though he had not been a soldier for 80 years, the local American Legion honored him for his birthday, presenting him with several plaques. They honored him again at his funeral, lining the sidewalk to the church with flags and veterans of other wars at attention. At the burial, the U.S. Army Funeral Honors Details gave a 21-gun salute, and the flag that had draped his coffin was ceremoniously folded and given to my mom.

We leave our tracks through life.

When he had his stroke at the end of October, my only prayer was that he live lucidly until his 100th birthday. That prayer was answered. 

Once I notified my husband that Dad had breathed his last, he lit a candle by a photo of Dad. We kept a candle lit, day and night, for more than two weeks. When the last candle died, I felt sad. So I lit another candle for a short time. I needed one more farewell. 

I still feel his presence. His roots ran/run deep. I am like him in many ways, and keep digging my roots deeper. I hope that his spirit within me will inspire the strength to persevere through whatever difficulties come. I have been awed at the way his grandchildren, even my own son, viewed my dad as their hero. His legacy lives on within them, seeds sprouting. 

In a way, I do not feel that my father has died. It seems I have come to know him better in death than I ever did in life, by seeing him through the eyes of others. He continues on, unseen, but not unfelt.

Like the browned and crisped leaves of the purple coneflowers outside my back door, his roots and seeds survive; his death only an illusion.

Final Harvest... Almost

 

Here it is, the last lettuce harvest of the year, cut yesterday afternoon. Plus some arugula, a little dill, and a few stalks of celery.

It was a good run. I planted the lettuce in early September, making two plantings a week or two apart. The bed was draped with row cover and shade cloth to protect it from critters and intense sun. It was still really warm in September. Soaker hoses laid along the rows made it easy to keep the little plantings hydrated through the dry fall.

The lettuce seemed to take off much more slowly than I anticipated. However, once it started to reach harvestable size it kept us in lettuce, pretty much. As production dwindle, we supplemented with a little lettuce from the store. This last harvest will keep us in lettuce for a couple of weeks, since we recently bought some because we're take a huge salad to share with family tonight.

While this is the last harvest of lettuce, I still have more stuff to pull from the garden.

Yesterday, I dug horseradish, pulling out muddy roots. I soaked off most of the mud in a bucket filled with water, but they still need to be scrubbed. We still have a jar of horseradish sauce made from last year's roots, so I won't need to processed them quickly. Once they're scrubbed and trimmed, they'll keep well in a bag in the refrigerator. 

My sauce recipe: peel and cut up the roots. Put them in the blender with a little water and some cider vinegar. I use two to three tablespoons of vinegar per cup of puree, and just estimate how much vinegar I will use. I don't add the whole amount at first, but add the rest when I can see how much it will make. I do this because my husband doesn't like watery sauce, so I don't add so much water this way. You do need the liquid to get it to blend, though. I always put the blender near our range and turn on the exhaust. fumes from the horseradish are pretty potent. Don't put your face directly over the blender when you open it.

Yesterday I also pulled more purple daikons. These are my favorite radishes. I planted a lot. Maybe too many. We'll see. About one third of them, maybe less, remains in the ground. I will protect them from the coming deep lows -- in the upper teens Fahrenheit -- with heavy blankets. There are just too many to store in the space we have. When the root cellar reaches an acceptable temperature, they can go in there with the sweet potatoes. I read that you can keep them in a root cellar if you wrapped them individually in newspaper, as you do with sweet potatoes. I hope that works. The purple daikons are the fall vegetable I most look forward to.

Thank you for reading my blog. Have great holidays, however you celebrate.

Blessings.

Through the Mist

 

I love morning fog.

Everything shrouded in mist seems extra magical, because you can't quite see clearly. The world seems more quiet.

Are we waiting for something?

As is my habit, I took my morning coffee outside, so I could feel the fresh air on my face, and get a feel for what's going on in the land.

Robins were fluttering around in the large eastern red cedar next to our house. They like to feast on the juniper berries. 

I went to the tree to see what the birds were up to, and saw one robin perfectly framed by branches, a dark silhouette against the gray beyond. A perfect picture.

But I don't carry my camera with me. By the time I went inside and got it, the opportunity was gone. None of the other birds were cooperative subjects. Every time I moved to get a better look, the birds would flutter away.

A missed opportunity. 

Oh, well. Here's a shot of fog droplets hanging from the cedar's leaves. If you zoom in to a droplet, you can see the world upside down. 

Different perspectives are good to have.

Love the Earth

 

Kneel upon the Earth. Touch the Earth with a bare hand. Take off your shoes and dig your toes into warm soil or cool grass.
Lie face down, spread eagle upon the ground, with your heart area in contact with the Earth as much as possible. Hug the Earth. Open your heart to her energy. Relax fully onto, into the Earth.
Feel her embrace you in return.
Feel her with your Heart; with every molecule in your body make a connection.
She supports you, nourishes you.

Say, “Thank you.”
Feel, “Thank you.”

Let the gratitude for her gifts fill you, lift you. Let gratitude flow from you into the Earth.
Speak to the Earth as your dear Mother. See the Earth in Her fullness.
Let your love for her fill you, lift you. Let love flow from you into the Earth, spreading outward, touching all her Children.

Caress the Earth. Love her. Embrace her and feel her holding you fast.
Thank you, Mother.
Now hug a tree.
Thank you.
Dig your bare toes into sun-warmed soil.
Thank you.
Walk barefoot through the garden.
Thank you.

Let every step you take be a prayer to the Earth that holds you.
Pick up some soil and feel it, smell it.
Rub a soft lamb’s ear leaf against your cheek.
Or stick your face into the soft, ferny foliage of a silver mound artemisia, inhaling its sharp, yet earthy fragrance.

 Touch the Earth.
And she will touch you.
Love her and she will love you.
Every step I take, a prayer.
Every step I take, a prayer of gratitude.
Every step I take, every act, a gesture of love. A gesture of Love.
 
Open all of your senses to the mysteries and the magic around you. Feel the Earth’s heartbeat in the soles of your feet, vibrating upward and through you.
Feel the magical, the spiritual energy flowing from and through the Earth, through you.
Open your eyes to the beauty and mystery of the Earth.

Listen to the Earth.
She speaks to you with the vastness of a mountain valley and the tiny voice of a ladybug wandering among the leaves. It is all magical, however ordinary.
Every step, a prayer.
Every step, gratitude.
 
The Earth is my Mother,
I shall not want.

Solstice Greetings

 Lighting the Solstice candle at sunset.

May we all make it safely through the longest night 

And find Joy, Peace and Abundance in the coming Light.

Snow Magic

 

Snow hushes an already quiet world.

The scene Sunday morning before sunrise. Six to eight inches of fluffy flakes on the ground and piled on the branches of evergreen trees. The world changed completely overnight.

That evening I did my after-dinner walk in a magical world lit by the Full Moon. Because I didn't go out until about 8:30, the moon rode high. Everything was bright. Several times I paused in my walk just to look at the Moon and sing to her.

Always take a walk in the snow when the Moon is full.

Always take advantage of every possibility to experience magic.

Feast of Gratitude

 The morning sunlight set the blossoms of my Thanksgiving cactus on fire, brightening our morning meditation.

Since our family gatherings will take place on different days than this, we set about creating a day of grateful ease for ourselves. I made a special feast for a late lunch. One of the stars of the meal -- of course, every part of it shines, but -- was roasted radishes.

One of my favorite reasons for planting a fall/winter garden is the winter radish. Winter radishes are larger and denser than the little spring radishes, and I can get a lot of pounds in a relatively small space.

Here you see slices of Szechuan Red (which are supposed to be red all through, but some are white with red skin), purple daikon (my favorite), Watermelon radish, and the green Shawo Fruit Radish (which is not sweet, but rather spicy. Lovely roasted or baked.)

I toss the radish slices with avocado oil (which has a higher smoke point and so does not produce toxic substances as quickly as other oils when heated); lay them in a single layer on a parchment lined cookie sheet; season with salt and pepper and other seasonings as desired; and bake at 400 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 minutes, or until at desired doneness.

And easy and delightful dish.

Along with the radishes, we had brussels sprouts roasted with apples and onions, and roasted carrots. Both had been cooked weeks ago and frozen. So it was easy just to put them in the oven to warm. Baked shrimp rounded it out as the protein portion.

It's not traditional turkey, but we like shrimp for special meals.

As a nod to "traditional" Thanksgiving fare, my husband made a "pumpkin" pie, no added sweetener, no egg, no dairy, and a gluten-free crust. It is killer, proof you don't need to add sugar to get a wonderful dessert. He used baked sweet potato, coconut milk, flax seed and tapioca flour. It stands up beautifully. The crust is made with tiger nut flour -- expensive, but he can't eat nuts, so almond flour is out.

Tonight we'll have nettles and button mushrooms, along with some chicken thighs, and more dessert. This time a blueberry cobbler, again, with no sugar and a gluten-free crust. Yes, it's good. Oh, and a little Rogue River Bleu cheese, one of the best cheeses in the world -- seriously.

I took a break from my keto diet today in order to enjoy some treats. When I started that diet, I did not mourn desserts, or wine, or any of those typical things. I wasn't consuming them much, anyway. For me, not being able to eat vegetables with abandon was the most difficult part of it. Even though I'm eating low-carb, non-starchy vegetables, those carb grams add up quickly. I've done some tweaks to allow for a little more satisfying amounts of vegetables. However, I am not eating nearly as large of quantities as I was, and I have to weigh and record it all. It's getting easier. One day I'll write a bit about it.

Today, I'm grateful that I have nutritious and delicious food to eat. May that be so for everyone.

 

Waiting...

 

This happened yesterday.

I finally put up some bird feeders. 

I know. Most of you have had your feeders up for weeks, or months, maybe you never take them down.

But... things and stuff. I was going to do it last week, but then... COVID. So I put them up yesterday. Usually we have another shepherds hook with feeders on it, but it broke. My husband being who he is, immediately went online to go shopping for something else on which to hang bird feeders. They, and another feeder are supposed to arrive on Friday. We have our winter's supply of bird feed -- sunflower chips, a wild bird food blend, suet cakes, and these round seed cakes that go in a round holder.

Now we wait. Wait for the birds. I saw two goldfinches at one of the feeders yesterday, but since then, not one.

The past couple of years we didn't get as many birds as we used to. That is worrisome. Birds disappearing is not a good sign. Putting out bird feeders is helpful, but it's not going to save them.

To save the birds, we must stop trying to eliminate insects. It's come to the point where I'm glad to see insects buzzing around. (Not squash bugs, though. They don't seem to be nearing extinction. Still, I'll try to only take out the ones that are on my squash and cucumbers.)

It will take more than that. But I think we all know what we need to do.

The bird feeders are a beginning, though. 

Bittersweet Days

 

Bittersweet

More Sweet than bitter, though.

Yesterday morning I rose late. It was Sunday, after all. 

I grabbed my coffee, as usual, sat on the front porch and watched the gray skies brighten as the sun rose higher behind the.

"I am so blessed," I thought.

I had just spent most of the week, probably the last really warm week of the year, glued to the couch, with a fever and scratchy throat. COVID had knocked me down.

Less than a month ago I significantly changed my diet -- giving up some tasty foods, possibly for good -- in order to heal some health issues. 

The weather had been dry, along with being unusually warm, so I worry a bit about the trees and perennials in the garden.

My father is in the hospital after having a stroke.

But there I was, feeling grateful for my life.

Life is sweet, because when the night is over, the sun rises. Clouds may cover it, but yesterday it meant rain was coming, finally.

My recovery has been rapid and yesterday I finally stopped blowing my nose every five minutes. My energy was rebounding. (Today, I'm even better.) The diet is getting easier, and I've seen promising results.

My father slowly improves with therapy and my mother's constant presence. We're assured that he will see his 100th birthday on Tuesday next week.

However, even if it hadn't rained, or my illness had lingered longer, life is still sweet. My dad will never get back to where he was before the stroke. And the diet remains challenging.

Yet, I am grateful. 

Gratitude.

It's not just something we dust off and put on the mantel for Thanksgiving, it's something that's best worn every single day. Even when the day is rough, a little gratitude smooths the waves a bit.

Every morning I grab my mug of coffee (Thank you), I walk out the front door of my cozy home (Thank you), I sit on my front porch and look out toward the sunrise (Thank you) and say, "Thank you for this new day and whatever it brings."

Gratitude doesn't make life easy. It does, however, sweeten things.

Some of you reading this may feel that life is far more bitter than sweet. I hope that you can learn to see whatever sweetness there is. Even if it does not, at the moment, outweigh the bitter, I'm sure it is there. Keep your eye on it, let it draw you toward it, the way this bittersweet vine in the redcedar tree drew me to admire it. Let it's seeds sprout and bring more sweetness into your life. That is my prayer, my wish for you.

(NOTE: The photo above is of American bittersweet, Celastrus scandens, a native vine, not to be confused with the invasive and destructive Oriental bittersweet, which can strangle trees.) 

Cycles

 

From Death, Life.

Yesterday, while at a neighbor's place searching for stones fallen from a rock wall, I came across this dead tree covered with these little shelf fungi. How beautiful.

It's a reminder that when anything ends it becomes food for something new. The dead tree feeds the mushrooms. When it all is broken down, both tree and fungi will feed other living beings.

What beauty. Nothing goes to waste. All cycles and recycles.

That's Life and Death.

Moving On

 

This photo was taken more than a week ago, after the first rain we had in more than a month of drought and heat. Rain fell over three days and we netted a blessed 2.5 inches (6.35 cm). When the rain ceased, I spent three days preparing the garden for freezing weather to arrive on the weekend. 

It wasn't going to just fall to 32 degrees F. (0 degrees Celsius) or a little lower. Oh, no. Almost all of the cool season vegetables would survive that without protection. The forecast called for it to drop to 25 degrees (about minus 4 Celsius), and continue going down for a few days.

So I spent Thursday, Friday and Saturday picking summer vegetables and covering the cool season ones, hoping to protect them enough that they would survive the warmer weather on the other side. (It won't even freeze tonight.) I picked a lot of lettuce -- there was finally enough to sustain us! It was so beautiful! I then covered it with several layers, hoping beyond hope it would survive the forecast 20 degrees (minus 6.7 Celsius), which turned out to be 18 degrees (almost minus 8 Celsius). I haven't yet uncovered the lettuce. I have a feeling it won't be pretty.

I picked all of the eggplant and peppers that had started to turn color on Friday, planning to pick tomatoes and the still green peppers on Saturday. The low Saturday morning was supposed to be above freezing. Surprise! The temperature was just enough below freezing to kill them off. Oh well, less work for me. I spent two days harvesting cabbage and greens (kale and collards), while my husband cooked them to put in the freezer. Some of the cabbage was later used in making soup and sauerkraut. Some are left to turn into other delicious dishes.

The purple daikon radishes before I covered them against
the coming bitter weather. 

I covered the purple daikons with heavy blankets and plastic (so the blankets wouldn't get wet in rain and snow that was forecast, but failed to arrive).

Sunday morning brought 24 degrees, and Tuesday brought the 18. The gardens pretty much melted. 

I kind of enjoyed the look of disaster in the garden. The reminder of cycles. I was in no hurry to clean things up. 

However, yesterday afternoon (Tuesday) and today my husband went out with the wheelbarrow and tools to clean it up. He can't stand the look of decay. He sawed down the okra plants, some of which looked like small trees, and pulled the peppers and eggplants; chopped down the kale and collards, and cleaned away the remnants of cabbages that I'd left in the garden. He cut down the melted kale and collards, took down the long beans and their trellises, and remove the loofa and malabar vines from the trellises. Wow!!!

The garden is tidy now. Only three tomato plants stand. 

The next week or so will be much warmer. No freezing in sight.

And such is the way of things. We have always had warmer weather after our first freezing night, but "normal" was not with lows of 20 or lower. However, we cannot rely on the old normal. Our new "normal" seems to be unpredictable, too cold too early, warmth coming too soon... then leaving. Drought and deluge.

Climate change isn't coming, it has arrived.

But we keep going on. 

We move on after the freeze... try to figure out how to raise a garden in a new normal that might not settle in to a normal for a while. 

I move on to the next thing. 

Keep moving.

This year I have moved on from a decades long practice.

About 30 years ago I started writing a little gardening column for the newspaper I worked for. It began as a little box in the corner of a page, where I put in gardening information from the Extension -- what to plant now, what other gardening tasks might need done, and so on. Somehow it became more about what I was doing in the garden and evolved into a personal -- sometimes profoundly personal -- column about gardening, more or less. I continued writing it even after I left the newspaper and moved to the next county over, where I offered it to the local newspaper. For the past 15 years, it has been published in two newspapers, then.

And now it is done. 

A couple of months ago, I decided it was time to close that chapter. The column had become a burden, rather than a joy. I listened to a podcast in which they discussed "what do you want to give your energy to?" I decided I no longer wanted to put my energy into that column.

A little more than a week ago I wrote the last one, the finale. I feel a weight lifting, an expansion of my being.

I started doing this blog to supplement the column, because I often had more information than I could fit into the word limit. I could put the extra info in here, for my readers to follow. It never quite worked that way, though, and the blog became its own thing. 

I hope to put the energy that went into my column into this blog now -- part of it, at least.

And I feel that something else is on the horizon.

I keep moving on.

Because standing still isn't an option... not if you want to keep living.

Waiting...

 

The Souvenir de la Malmaison rose by my front door still blooms in late October.

The rose has looked more lush and beautiful than it ever has. Typically, at some point its leaves show signs of black spot, a fungal disease that affects the foliage. This causes my husband to keep pruning and trimming.

This year was very dry and warm. Not the kind of weather conducive to the development of black spot. So there was some benefit in the heat and drought. We, of course, watered the rose regularly with our dishwater, an easy task because the rose is near the front door, which is next to the kitchen.

While Josephine's souvenir from la Malmaison gardens blooms, we are in a season of transition. The summer rose blooms as the geese fly to their winter home. I pick tomatoes and okra, while the winter radishes swell underground. All is in flux. As always.  

And tonight I sent off the last gardening column in 30 years of writing it, first for one small town newspaper, and then two. It might not seem like much from the outside, but it consumed a lot of head space and time for me. It's been a good run, but it's time to end. 

And now it has. 

I will turn that energy to this blog, and other things. 

We'll see what happens now. 

In transition. 

In Between

 

We are in that in-between phase of the seasons...

The summer garden has started its decline and the cool season plants are bursting with life.

And yet...

This hardy hibiscus in front of my house keeps blooming. I started it from seed early this year and planted it out in early summer. It has achieved most of its mature size in just one season, from seed. It is the "Luna" variety of hardy hibiscus. The seed packet contained a mix of colors. Besides this luscious pink, white-blooming ones also grow in my flower garden, although they are not as robust as this specimen.

If I keep them watered, they should live through the winter to bloom again. 

Water will be the key to winter survival for many things. We are in moderate to severe drought conditions here in Northeast Kansas. Summer brought us a couple of extended periods of high heat (100-plus degrees F. for a week or more). And so far autumn has been a little warmer than the norm. If it remains dry, perennial plants and trees -- especially young trees -- will require water throughout the winter, as long as the ground does not freeze. Evergreens are particularly susceptible because they continue to transpire (lose water through their leaves) even though their "metabolism" slows considerably in winter.

As they transpire they pull water from their roots. Drying winds will cause that to occur even more. In the spring they are likely to show signs of "burning," their leaves brown and dead because of it. Keep your valuable evergreens watered -- but don't drown them.

This hibiscus plant is planted in a choice spot, where it is easy for us to water it with our dishwater. We always capture dishwater in tubs and use it to water the flowers and herbs next to the house. 

When I planted the fall vegetables, the kale, winter radishes, collards, cabbages, broccoli and lettuce, I laid soaker hoses along the rows for ease of watering. The reward is these wonderfully robust purple daikons (left) and other veggies. Several more cabbages are ready to cut. I'm looking forward to turning some of them into sauerkraut. 

Enjoy this in-between time of beauty and abundance. 

Transitions

 

Autumn has arrived!

A season of transition from summer's big production slowing into a season of rest.

We had our first "frost advisory" last week. No frost in our hilltop gardens, but frost at the bottom of the hill. This is our "pond," which has had no water in it all year. It's been dry since last fall. So many different plants have taken over. I love the way the plants have created this variegated effect, with different colors and textures. The white areas are a froth of grass seedheads covered in frost. The rising sun highlights the plants in the front of the photo, while the bowl of the pond is still in shadow.

We have another advisory for "patchy frost" early next week. So I'll ponder whether to protect some of the tender summer vegetables, or let them go. Since the days following the supposed frost have no frost potential, I will most likely drape them in sheets and blankets, while others I plan to take down regardless. Transitions.

My life contains another transition. I recently decided that after 30 years I would quit writing my gardening column for a couple of local newspapers. Enough is enough. I will put that energy into other things... like making more regular posts here.

More later.....

Bonus Abundance

 I always try to scatter my kale seeds (and others) thinly so they don't require too much thinning. I am too impatient to dry a single seed at a time at appropriate distances, so I just scatter lightly. Yet, some spots (or even a whole row) always wind up looking like this (above), lots of little plants growing tightly together. 

This makes them more difficult to thin, but that's my karma. Of course, even if I'd scattered them at more appropriate distances, they would need to be thinned. You don't sow kale seed one every eight or 12 inches (recommended growing distance) because you must account for some seeds not germinating. 

Thinning plants is rather tedious, and I've often avoided it. However, the thing that gets me out there thinning is thinking of it as a bonus harvest. Clip off the tiny plants just above the soil and you have baby greens -- a free gourmet offering! They can be used in salads, steamed, or stir-fried.

I also harvest the baby winter radish greens, although they grow so fast that they were pretty much toddlers by the time I got to them. I've been using the as my main salad green. Not everybody likes them (they're too much spice and bitter for my husband), but they feel so nourishing to me. Last year I couldn't get enough of the winter radishes themselves, especially the purple daikons, so I'm hoping for a good crop this year. I'm not sure I'll make it through all the radish greens before they get too old if I only use them in salads, so I will try them in stir fry or soup, or just mixed into other veggie dishes.

I also planted collard greens -- a day later than I planted the kale and they are so much bigger than the kale. I've also planted brussels sprouts, for greens only. I haven't ever been able to grow satisfactory "sprouts," but the greens are tasty, especially after a frost. Because they grow more slowly than the other greens, they're still waiting to be thinned... I mean harvested as baby greens. They should make a tasty stir fry.

Don't Overlook These Gems

Welcome to my garden.

My husband built this archway a couple of years ago out of hedge wood harvested from our place. He built it to replace a makeshift archway that I had thrown together with concrete reinforcing wire and t-posts. On that first cobbled together archway I had planted these lush, tropical vines. When freezing weather killed them, my husband cleaned up the dead vines and took down my archway.

When I objected, because I wanted to leave it in place for the next season, he promised to build a better one for me.

Which he did.

And each year I plant these outrageous vines, luffa (loofa or louffa) gourds. I also plant Malabar spinach, but it gets overgrown by the luffa vines. I plant these two vines because they stay good looking through the whole season, until frost. None of the local insects (except bees and other pollen and nectar gathering insects) recognize them as food, so they don't get eaten up.

Immature luffa gourds being prepared to get roasted.
Paring knife for size comparison. 

Both of these vines also provide food for us. Malabar spinach leaves are edible, and not bad tasting. And the vines, with their red stems, pink flower, and nearly black berries, are beautiful. So are the luffa vines. The mature luffa gourds can be as large as my lower leg. Inside those are a network of fibers that, when stripped of skin and seeds, make the familiar luffa "sponge."

Very immature gourds, however are edible... and tasty. I toss them in oil and seasonings, then roast them at 400 degrees Fahrenheit until tender (20 to 30 minutes). Delicious! This is how I cook summer squash, as well. Between the squash bugs, cucumber beetles and extra summer heat, however, my summer squash pooped out early. So I turned to the luffa. We don't always harvest the luffas because usually the summer squash floods us. Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to overlook these tasty treats.                                                                                            I typically plant the luffa seeds in mid-May, or so, at about the same time I make the first planting of cucumbers and summer squash. If I wanted to make sure I got fully mature luffa gourds to make "sponges," I would need to start them indoors in late March or early April, because they have a long growing season. I don't care if I get mature gourds, though. I want the tender, young ones. When frost threatens next month, I will harvest all of the tiny ones, even though they might be too small for roasting, and make a gourmet stir-fry.      

Luffa gourd (Luffa aegyptiaca) is in the cucurbit family, along with all squashes, pumpkins, other gourds, and cucumbers. It is as tropical as it looks, and so is sensitive to frost, as are the other cucurbits. The vines grow rapidly. I don't know how long they can eventually get. I must frequently prune them, or they would make my garden entrance impassable, and overwhelm anything growing nearby.

Because I've always had plenty of summer squash, I've only harvest immature gourds when they readily presented themselves. Now I go searching for them, which requires diligence, as they often are hidden among the large leaves. One day I counted maybe half a dozen little gourds that I thought would be ready soon, and when I went out a couple of days later to harvest, I actually gathered more than a dozen. They do hide. 

It's a treasure hunt.

Cucumbers!

 Cucumbers, cucumbers, cucumbers.

This photo is the beginning stage of brine-fermented cucumber pickles. Onions, garlic, dill and black peppercorns. Oh, and cucumbers. For crispier pickles I added grape leaves, which provide tannin that helps crisp them. The final ingredient is time. I let them sit for about a week, but more or less time is fine. Whatever gives you the flavor you want.

To make brine, dissolve three tablespoons of salt (canning/pickling salt, not table salt which has anti-caking agents added) to one quart (four cups) of water. Weight a plate with a jar full of water so that everything stays submerged.

I grow Miniature White cucumbers, and have grown other small, white varieties. I think they are pretty and make beautiful pickles and cucumber salads. The Miniature Whites stay relatively small, even when mature. They get fat, but not long. They're dense and juicy, and remain sweet. They don't get bitter in hot weather, not when the plant becomes mature.

I do lots of things with cucumbers besides pickles. Cucumber salad has onion, dill, cider vinegar and olive oil. Or just chop them into salads. Raw cucumber slices can be dipped in hummus, baba ganoush or other dips. I make "chips" by slicing cucumbers very thinly, sprinkling on salt and pepper (or other seasonings, if desired), and then dehydrating until crunchy. Stored in an airtight container (canning jars are best) they remain crisp for a long time. Pull out the juicer and juice the cucumbers. Cold cucumber juice is quite refreshing after a hot sweaty day in the garden.

My favorite way to use cucumbers is gazpacho. Gazpacho is a cold soup made with raw, pureed vegetables. Most recipes use tomatoes, but I use only cucumbers. The recipe I use follows:

2 1/4 pounds of cucumbers

1 teaspoon ground ginger

3/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup of your favorite balsamic vinegar (we like quince pomegranate flavored white balsamic)

2 tablespoons lemon juice (freshly squeezed is best, but bottled works fine)

Put all in a blender and blend until smooth. Chill well and enjoy. You will need to stir or shake it before serving, as the solids tend to float a bit.

We like to serve it in small wine glasses. For fun, pull out the spiralizer (what? you don't have a spiralizer? get one. They're fun.) and make cucumber "noodles" to put in a bowl of gazpacho. Float edible flowers on it as garnish. 

Flittering Fluttering

 

No Monarch butterflies have visited my small stand of common milkweed, as far as I know. I've seen none supping at the flowers, and the leaves have not been chewed by their caterpillars.

But this crowd of Great Spangled Fritillaries have had a grand party at the fragrant flowers for the past several days. It is a joy seeing the fritillaries fritillarying about. While one source discussing the Great Spangleds says their flight pattern is in a near straight line, I usually see them dancing around each other in a small crowd.

It's no wonder that we have these lovely butterflies fluttering around, as their host plant (the plant which feeds their caterpillars) is viola. We have many wild violets growing here and there and everywhere. Their pretty purple, sometimes white, flowers are often scattered on our daily salads. Their eggs are little greenish balls, and their caterpillars are spikey. 

The Great Spangled is the most common of the many fritillary (Speyeria) species. I was quite enamored when I discovered that there is an Aphrodite Fritillary. They are very similar to the Great Spangleds, with only minor differences in appearance, one being the Great Spangleds are a bit larger. Violas also host their caterpillars. But these are probably Great Spangleds, although I can pretend they're Aphrodites.

Butterfly season in general is heating up. I've seen a few specimens of some different species. Earlier, in May I saw one or two tiger swallowtails and zebra swallowtails. Paw paw trees host the larvae of the zebras. I know of at least one wild paw paw tree in the woods, and there are the paw paws I've planted.

The most numerous butterfly at this moment is the Hackberry Emperor. Their markings are lovely, but the colors are rather dull. The impressive thing about the Hackberry Emperor is in its numbers. Hundreds and hundreds of them congregate, once they emerge from their chrysalises. Our driveway is covered in them. They like to gather anywhere they find dampness, which includes the pile of poop some critter recently left in the middle of the driveway. 

We find it humorous that they often hitch rides as we drive. At first it feels like a magical experience to step outside the door, or walk down the driveway and have clouds of butterflies rise up around me -- here I am, the Faerie Queen. After a bit it does become a little annoying. I try to relax and enjoy it, though, as the season lasts only a couple of weeks. 

The Gauntlet

However, hundreds gather outside our front and back doors, fluttering and swirling about whenever we emerge. We must exit and enter quickly, or find ourselves chasing them down indoors. No matter how hard we try, we always let a few in.

Their larvae feed on the leaves of hackberry trees (and a couple of relatives). A hackberry tree grows behind our sauna, and last month a number of the horned hackberry caterpillars attached themselves to the sauna wall in order to create a chrysalis and pupate. The top branches of that particular tree are bare of leaves. While the caterpillars are feeding, a gentle rain of caterpillar poop falls beneath the trees.

Lovely.

Who Needs Lettuce?

 

So, yeah. Lettuce. Who needs it?

For the past month or so I haven't... much, anyway.

My daily salads have overflowed my bowl, made largely with foraged greens. The salad pictured here does have a little lettuce in it, but on many days, I've used none.

The forage has included lambs quarters (lots), cleavers, chickweed, dandelion leaves, radicchio sprouting back from last fall's planting, violet leaves (young) and flowers, bronze fennel, second-year parsley, chives and/or garlic chives (especially chive flowers popping open now), sometimes herb leaves like monarda, mint and lemon balm, and even a little henbit. I've noticed some wood sorrel/sour grass/oxalis, so I'll start including that, too. Plus this has carrots (not homegrown... yet), freshly picked asparagus, arugula microgreens, apple, nuts of some kind, and I don't remember what else.

These salads not only are tastier than store-bought lettuce, but far more nutritious. However, the season is getting late. The cleavers already is too mature for salads, and the chickweed won't last much into the heat. The herbs will hang around and be available all summer, though.

Never fear, the earliest planted lettuce has now reached a nice size, so I'll include some of that in future salads. Also, the garden-grown arugula is ready to pick.

I love my salads!

Rad Radicchio

Rossa de Verona Radicchio

Last fall, while showing off my end-of-the-season harvest, I bragged about my lovely radicchio. Then a friend asked, "What is radicchio?"

Regardless of what this photo looks like, it is not a cabbage. In fact, it is much more closely related to sunflowers, lettuce and other members of the Aster family (Asteraceae). 

Radicchio is a form of chicory (Cichorium intybus), an inconspicuous roadside weed that suddenly becomes conspicuous in late summer when it sends up a stalk bearing bright blue flowers along it. Roasted chicory root can be brewed like tea, or even coffee, to make a lovely dark, rich coffee-like drink. Chicory has often been added to coffee, and is considered a caffeine-free coffee substitute. Although, while the flavor might be similar to coffee, don't expect it to taste just like coffee. 

Start with leeks and carrots.

Endive and escarole are other forms of chicory that you might find in the grocery store or at the farmers market. To grow radicchio, start transplants about six weeks before planting in the garden, or direct sow once danger of frost is past. I have had the best luck in getting my radicchio to head when I plant it as a fall crop, putting in transplants at about the same time as I plant my fall cabbages, as it heads best in cooler weather. When I've planted it in spring, I got no heads, but it did flower in late summer.

This isn't supposed to be a post about planting radicchio, however, but about using it as food. I had thought that one way to keep the blog posts coming during the winter was to switch to sort of a cooking blog -- just how do I use these veggies I grow? Well, it's late March and I've done one... you remember... the apple one?

So here goes.

Like chicory leaves and its relative the dandelion, radicchio is a bitter vegetable. Americans, as a rule do not eat enough bitters, which are good for your digestion. People once ate lots of bitters, recognizing their benefits in aiding digestion, especially of fats and meats. While most people aren't used to the flavor of bitter in their vegetables, one can grow to love it. I have.

Add radicchio.

You certainly can buy bitter herbal tinctures, but those are best left to when a stronger medicine is needed. In general, using bitters (and other herbal things) as a daily food is better for encouraging health than using strong concoctions. Eat bitters, then, like dandelion greens and radicchio. Even lettuce can be a mild bitter, especially when left in the garden a little too long.

The way I use radicchio and other bitter greens most is in salad. A small amount of bitter greens mixed in with sweeter lettuces cuts the bitter flavor a lot. Dressing it with vinegar and oil also dampens the bitterness. You get the benefit of the bitterness (because you are still tasting it, even when you're not tasting it) and the crunch and color of the raw plant.

Another way to tone down the bitterness of radicchio is to cook it with a bit of oil. My first introduction to radicchio was as a plain, roasted vegetable served before the rest of the meal (which is when you should have your bitters). The bitterness was somewhat of a shock, but one that I later sought.

Last fall's radicchio was abundant enough that it lasted into December. It was more than I could use in salads, so I brought out the pots and pans, and grew quite attached to the concoction I made.

It's been a few months, so I will try to remember what I used. Fortunately, it was a pretty simple recipe. 

And I use the term "recipe" loosely. I can give you ingredients, but... What? Me measure? Leeks and carrots were harvested at the same time as the radicchio, so they were the other main ingredients.

Done.

Radicchio and Leek Stir Fry

Leeks

Carrots

Radicchio

Fennel seed

Oil -- preferably avocado oil or extra virgin olive oil

Thinly slice carrots and leeks. Chop or shred radicchio. Pour oil into heavy skillet (I like cast iron for any kind of sauteeing) and start heating. Toss in a tablespoon or two of fennel seed -- I really like fennel seed, and it's also good for digestion. Add the carrots and cook for five minutes or so, stirring frequently. Add leeks and continue cooking. Leeks are drier than onions, so will burn more readily. Stir frequently. When the carrots and leeks are getting tender, add the radicchio and cook until all vegetables are done.

Serve with some chicken, or sweet potatoes, or potatoes. It might also be a good accompaniment to a game meat. I don't know. I haven't tried it. 

Now you know a little bit about radicchio and how to use it. I'm sure the online gang can provide a wealth of ways to use radicchio. One more tip about radicchio. It's expensive to buy. The last I looked, one head of organic radicchio was nearly $6. So if you want to try it, it's much cheaper to grow.

Get radical with radicchio.

Goings On

 

Look at this!

The sweet potatoes I set out a couple of weeks ago are producing sprouts! It's particularly exciting because this is the first time I've grown my own slips.

I've cut free five already and stuck them in soil to root. The first to produce sprouts were two of the all purple ones (top of image). A third all purple (lower center) is being pokey about sprouting, but I think I saw a tiny little sprout on it yesterday. 

The next to sprout was one of the Jerseys (lower right), a white variety that is very sweet. Its sprouts are not yet big enough to cut and root, but it's getting close. A second one (lower left) has tiny buds on it, and a third (in a different container) is being stubborn. Three of the six Japanese sweet potatoes (purple skin, white flesh) are just beginning to sprout.

These won't provide all of the sweet potato slips I want to plant. Soon I will order a few Murasaki (like the Japanese ones) and Bonita (white) from K-State through a local hardware store, and in May I'll buy all of my orange variety from a local nursery that gets in huge slips that are already rooted. We are going to be laden with sweet potatoes come fall.

I thought we'd have plenty of sweet potatoes from the 160 slips I planted last year, but we've had to start buying them. 

It's also time to start "hardening off" the baby cabbage and broccoli plants. In two to three weeks, depending on the weather forecast, they will go out into the garden soil. A two- to three-week hardening off period helps them adjust to the great outdoors. 

Tiny eggplants are reaching toward the lights, and bell pepper seeds are just beginning to germinate.

Bees visit the crocus blooms and purple rock iris outdoors, the winter aconite is beginning to fade, and little green shoots are popping up all over.

I've already planted some snap peas and lettuce, and will plant more next week. It's an exciting time of
anticipation. The rosemary plants have been moved from the "plant room" onto the front porch, and the fig and Kentucky coffee tree seedling have been moved from the garage to the porch. 

Lastly, indoors, the walking iris has finally bloomed. Last year it bloomed in late January. I'm not sure why it's so late this year. It probably needs to be divided into two or three pots. It doesn't look crowded, but maybe the plants feel crowded. 

Can't wait to see what's next.

Sticks

 

This looks like a bunch of sticks stuck in pots of soil.

And that's exactly what it is.

But they aren't just any old sticks. They are cuttings from two hazelnut (filbert) trees that I hope will develop roots and eventually become nut-producing trees.

The two original trees were planted below the dam at the bottom of our hill. However, they were planted too far apart to pollinate each other properly, so no nuts. I found two nuts on one of the trees one year, but otherwise, none. 

That could be because hazelnuts fall to the ground when they're ripe. The trees are surrounded by tall grass, so even if they produced nuts, unless I happened to see them on the trees (not real likely because I don't visit them often) there isn't any way I would have known nuts were produced. Plus, squirrels and other critters would have scavenged them before I could get to them. 

So I'm going to try rooting these cuttings and growing the trees/large shrubs in the cultivated areas around our house. I took some cuttings last year, but in late March, I think. No luck with those, so I'm trying again. I covered the cuttings with a plastic bag to maintain humidity and left them in our attached garage to acclimate more slowly to a warmer environment. In a few days I'll move them indoors.

After reading a couple of things on rooting cuttings from woody plants, I might shove these a little deeper into the soil, and make up some homemade rooting solution to pour onto the soil in a few days. Rather than buying a rooting hormone I can place one-inch pieces of fresh willow growth in a jar and pour boiling water over them and let them soak in a sunny spot for 24 hours. Pour that into the soil. 

You also can use honey as a rooting solution: 1 tablespoon honey in 2 cups of boiling water. Stir well and let cool. Pour into the soil around your cuttings within two weeks.

Or, apple cider vinegar and cinnamon. Before sticking the cuttings into soil, dip the ends into a solution of 3 teaspoons (1 tablespoon) of cider vinegar in one gallon of water, then dip into ground cinnamon and poke into the soil.

I cannot vouch for these methods, but I do know that fresh cuttings from the ends of willow branches contain root-stimulating properties. I will probably try the honey solution, because the willows are still dormant and I've already put my sticks -- excuse me -- cuttings in soil.

I am hopeful. A year ago this past fall I took cuttings from the fig trees my husband was preparing to dig out. I think I took a dozen cuttings and one took hold, even though it was the wrong time of year to do it. That same year, but in the early spring, I took a cutting or two of the elderberries when I pruned them and just stuck them in the ground. They took root and grew leaves. 

So I'm hopeful. I guess that's what my gardening adventures are all about... Hope.

Before I go, here is a link to a Web site with instructions on how to propagate trees from hardwood cuttings. It doesn't mention hazels, but still, I'm hopeful.

Sweet, Sweet Potato Slips

 

Flowers of the sweet potato vine. Yes, they do look like morning glories. The two are closely related. Both are species of Ipomea. However, morning glories are somewhat toxic, and every bit of the sweet potato plant is edible.

Get ready, set, 

Start! Sprouting, that is.

Last week I put my "seed" sweet potatoes in a paper bag and set them in a warm spot for the "pre-sprouting" process. About the middle of February I'll pull them out of the bag and put them in soil. You can lay them in flats or place them vertically in pots and cover lightly with damp soil. Set them in a warm, bright location and wait for the sprouting to begin -- if it hasn't already started during pre-sprouting.

When the sprouts are six to 12 inches long, cut them free and root them in either water or soil. You can plant them straight into the garden soil, if it's the right time of year. The sweet potato is a tropical plant, so the weather and soil must be warm. 

Last year I started planting sweet potatoes in mid-May (I'm in Northeast Kansas), but can wait until late June. These were robust, rooted slips purchased from a local nursery. I also planted slips ordered from Kansas State University research garden. Those slips don't arrive until sometime in the first two weeks of June, and they are not rooted. While they can be directly planted in the garden, I feel better if I root them first. It is best to root them in pots of soil, rather than in a jar of water. If you root them in water, don't crowd them or cover a lot of the stem with water, as that will encourage rotting. I also ordered some slips from a seed company. They arrived late and were in poor shape due to being shipped during the hottest days we had last summer. I put them in a pots of soil and many of them survived.

This is the first time I've tried growing my own slips. I bought organic sweet potatoes from the grocery store because we've eaten all of the white-fleshed sweet potatoes I grew last year. They must be organic, as conventionally raised ones often have been sprayed with something to prevent sprouting. I will still buy some from the nursery and K-State this year, but the ones I got from the grocery store are different varieties. I will keep you posted. 

Once you've planted the slips in the garden, water them regularly until they are well established. I often water the newly planted slips daily, especially since I'm often watering new seed beds daily at that time.  Hot sun can stress the slips and delay their recovery, so I like to shade them a bit by suspending shade cloth over the beds. And I put up temporary fencing because the rabbits and deer find the leaves much to their liking.

Once the slips are well established, you can almost ignore them, except to water in long, dry periods -- and pruning the vines so they don't cover the entire garden. I've rarely had to water mine. However, in really loose, quickly draining soil, they will need regular watering. 

When pruning the vines, go ahead and eat the leaves. The younger ones are tastier and more tender. Cook them or eat them raw. The vines produce a milky sap, but don't let that worry you.

In late September to just before the first frost in October, I will start digging. Don't leave them until after frost or the soil starts to cool a lot, as that will damage your tubers. 

For more information on a sweet potato expert, check out this video from the Douglas County Extension Master Gardeners YouTube channel. It's from the advanced education segment that followed one of our meetings.