Thank You

 I've been thinking about my dad a lot this past few weeks. 

His 101st birthday falls on Thanksgiving Day. One week after that is the anniversary of his death last year.

He lived long. I hope he felt that it was a mostly good life. The first two decades, though, were difficult. The  Great Depression colored his life as an adolescent and teenager. 

He didn't say much about those years, except to comment that he didn't much like beans. His family consumed a lot of those during the Depression.

Then again, I never asked him about life during the 1930s, the Dust Bowl years. I wish I had. One doesn't get a real sense of historical events unless you hear people's stories. Especially when it comes directly from someone's lips to your ears.

I did hear first-hand accounts of his time fighting overseas during World War II. 

He saw fierce combat; saw his best friend killed next to him on the battlefield. German troops captured him and others in his group. They were nearly executed, but then spent several months in a German POW camp. Not a fun experience.

But he did what he had to do. All of his life he just did what he had to do without complaint. At least I never heard him complain.

As I face an uncertain world, I will strive to draw on his strength, to do what I have to do without complaining (much, anyway). 

Lend me your strength, your resolve, your conviction, Dad.

And I will do what I must do.

Thanks.

Burn It

 

Sometimes you've got to let it burn.

Fire clears the way, gets rid of useless debris, and allows the sun to warm the soil to make way for new growth. 

A few weeks ago two people from the fire department set our 10 acres of weedy brome grass ablaze. Today the field is green with fresh, succulent growth.

We're not sure whether we'll take the next step of killing out the brome grass with herbicide to clear the way for seeding native prairie grasses and wildflowers next year. Or will we let the brome grow a while for hay?

If we kill the brome and don't get the cost-share fund to help us seed it to native grasses next year, we'll be left with a dead field full of weeds and no hay. We won't know until next year whether we get the funding. Federal agencies are notoriously slow. 

Of course, a method exists by which we can plant native seed without poisoning the brome, but it takes longer. And we still won't get hay because the brome must be kept mowed too short to bale.

Or we can simply grow and maintain a good stand of brome grass and see if our neighbor wants to use it for hay.

None of the choices are entirely satisfactory. I want native prairie, which can make great hay, too. But uncertainty plagues us. Will we get cost-share funds? Native prairie seed can be quite expensive. Could we renovate the field without cost share funds? 

What's our next step?

At least the way is cleared.

Sometimes you've got to let it burn.

Fire moving across the field.

Late Harvest

 Honoring the Ancestors at this season. Lighting a candle to show them that I am thinking of them and that they are welcome guests at my feast in their honor.

This is the time of the last harvest (not really, but it's all root vegetables and leafy greens), but I celebrate the late harvest and pray for sufficient food to get me through the Winter. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.

This also marks the traditional Celtic New Year. May your year be full of blessings, love, and appropriate abundance. Share your wealth.

Seeds

Spent flower heads of Compass Plant (Silphium laciniatum). 

Autumn is a time of gathering in...

Gathering in the final crops of the season... sweet potatoes, winter squash, winter radishes, cabbages (if you were fortunate enough to have a fall crop of cabbages... mine failed), and seeds. 

The spent flower heads above have dried, bearing mature seeds. Today I collected the last of them, which I will share with a couple of native plant enthusiasts.

The compass plant that bore the seeds is somewhat precious to me. Several years ago I found compass plant, which typically grows in open prairies, growing among a grove of red cedars. I was told that the presence of compass plant could indicate that an area is unplowed native prairie. This intrigued me. Beneath those trees lay an unplowed prairie that might spring back to life if the trees were gone.

Well, I wasn't going to cut down all those trees... but what if I tried digging up one of the compass plants?

I consider compass plants to be quite majestic. Their basal leaves look like large ferns. The flower stalks can get very tall. The stalk bearing the above immature seed heads was at least seven feet. The flowers look somewhat like small sunflowers rising above the prairie grasses. 

I have always been enamored of compass plant, which seems kind of rare.

The name "compass plant" comes from the tendency for the basal leaves (the leaves growing from the base of the plant) to align their edges north and south. Some indigenous people believed that lightning struck frequently where compass plant grew, so they would not camp in those areas. They also then burned roots of the plant to ward off lighting during storms. 

I wouldn't want to burn the roots of this precious plant no matter how vicious the lightning.

The roots grow very deep, which is why the plants survived to live among the cedars. I knew that digging up large tap roots to transplant can be chancy, with no guarantee of a new plant.

So I went out with my shovel in late winter/early spring to dig one plant.

I was ecstatic when I saw the first new leaves later that year. 

It took a few years for the plant to get as large as it is today, but it is a beauty. Starting it from seed will be a new project for me. Many native wildflowers require "stratification" (freeze and thaw) to germinate, so I will start them as a "winter sowing" project. I wrote about winter sowing as part of a post nine years ago. I also found a site that gives a good step-by-step for winter sowing, but focuses on garden vegetables instead of wildflowers. I've never tried it with veggies, but have had success with wildflowers. Winter sowing is a great activity for the Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Christmas season.

Seeds of native plants also make great gifts for any native plant enthusiast, by the way. Vegetable and herb gardeners also might enjoy receiving seeds of new or unusual varieties. Get your holiday gift buying done early!

Dig This

 

Pruning shears for size reference.

I dug one hill of sweet potatoes yesterday to see if it is harvest time.

And look at this! 

All of this from just one plant, and 24 more plants in this one bed. Of the six beds of sweet potatoes -- approximately 250 plants all totaled -- this one bed might be the highest producer. It was one of the first beds planted and the orange sweet potatoes -- Beauregard -- tend to be larger with more sweet potatoes per plant than either of the whited-fleshed or all purple ones. The Beauregards planted a couple of weeks after these also might produce less. The only way to know for sure is to dig them up.

Today I removed the fencing and cut away all the vines in this one bed. I will wait a couple of days to dig. That supposedly gets the curing process going. It also makes this big job (remember, 250 plants more or less) a little more manageable, taken in smaller steps.

In the meantime, my husband is cutting back the vines poking through the fencing. I was depending on the deer and rabbits to keep the vines pruned back to the fence. After  a solid start on the task though, they got lazy.

Once we get all the roots dug up, I will cart the sweet potatoes (500 pounds and more, we're hoping) up to the attic in buckets. This is the warmest place in the house when the sun shines, so it will provide a good temperature for curing. The sweet potatoes will get packed into boxes and crates to maintain humidity. The curing process changes starches to sugars, making the sweet potatoes sweeter and tastier. You can eat them right out of the ground, but they don't taste as good. About two weeks is the recommended curing time, but longer doesn't hurt.

After curing, we'll pack the sweet potatoes into sturdy plastic crates, sorting by size and variety, and put them in the root cellar. The best temperature for long term storage of sweet potatoes is between 55 and 60. Packing them in crates keeps the humidity high around them.

My husband ate through last year's crop by January or February (they're mainstay of his diet), so I'm hoping this crop lasts a bit longer. The rains we had in late spring and early summer helped get the sweet potatoes on a good start. And I watered them regularly. 

Anything you can do with regular potatoes, you can do with sweet potatoes -- stews, fries, chips, mashed -- plus. They also lend themselves to sweet dishes, and don't necessarily require additional sweetening.

The white-fleshed sweet potatoes are even sweeter than the orange ones, while the all-purples ones are starchier, but oh so tasty and pretty. 

Nutritious, flavorful, and pretty easy to grow. That's the sweetness of sweet potatoes.

Asters and Goldenrod

 The asters are beginning to bloom among the goldenrod. Here, the purple flowers of a lone New England Aster pops out in the yellow field of goldenrod.

A beautiful symbiosis of color, as the goldenrod seems to allow a spotlight on the aster.

Why do asters and goldenrod look so beautiful together?

That was the question Robin Wall Kimmerer (author of the much loved and acclaimed book "Braiding Sweetgrass") said she wanted to answer, when asked why she wanted to become a botanist during her freshman entrance interview for college. 

Of course, the "real" scientist interviewing her scoffed at that answer. 

But... why do goldenrod and aster bloom together, the colors yellow and purple complementing each other so well?

It's almost as if some intelligence designed it that way. Mother Nature is such an artist.

White Snakeroot, Ageratina altissima

Other asters also bloom at this time, but they are mostly white-flowered. Some of the "asters" are fleabanes, which are related but in the Erigeron genus. They can be distinguished from the true asters by the fact that their flowers have many more petals.

Tall Boneset, aka Tall Joe-Pye Weed also blooms white in the meadows now. A closely related species, White Snakeroot, lights up the edges of the woods with its fuzzy white flowers. 

The most famous of our yellow flowers, of course, is the sunflower -- rather sunflowers. So many species of sunflower populate the meadows and roadsides that it's nearly impossible to tell which is which. Except for our common, annual sunflower, Helianthus annua, with its large, dark center. Many of the other sunflowers are perennials, including sunchokes (most commonly, Jerusalem artichoke) which provides a tasty tuber. 

But these are not the flowers Robin Wall Kimmerer expressed curiosity about when she sought to be a botanist. It was the beauty of the asters and goldenrod growing together that most impressed her. 

So, why do they look so beautiful together?

Did they evolve together for our benefit?

Not likely. We, perhaps, simply evolved in order to be able to appreciate their beauty.

Precious

 

It's paw paw season here in Northeast Kansas, and some people are out hunting for this precious treat, trying to beat the local wildlife to the ripening fruit.

Maybe 15 years or so ago I discovered a couple of paw paw trees growing just beyond the edge of the woods around our house. I noticed the first one because of its deeply colored, bell-shaped flowers that are large enough to be seen from a moderate distance. Even though paw paws are native to the eastern third of Kansas, I had never seen a paw paw tree before.

I was delighted to discover the tree's identity. The paw paw is the largest native fruit in Kansas, and seems more like a tropical fruit than a temperate region one. The fruit is probably about the size of a medium to small orange, but oblong in shape (as you can see in this photo). It is sweet and custard-like in texture when fully ripe.

The tree I found in our woods never produced fruit, although it had numerous blossoms. And it died two or three years later. I discovered another one in another area nearby. It is still alive, but is struggling. This rocky hill is not the best habitat for a paw paw tree.

The paw paw tree does prefer a shaded habitat, but does best in rich soil, especially near water. I've heard that many can be found in the woods around nearby Clinton Lake.

About 10 years ago I planted a paw paw tree near our house, but out in full sun next to some other fruit trees, which are now gone. I shaded it when it was young, but a mature tree can handle sun. It started fruiting about three or four years ago, but not prolifically. We did get nine paw paws last year. Such abundance! About a month ago I found four paw paws lying on the ground beneath the tree. It was a hot day and they were lying in the sun. They still felt firm, although warm. I brought them in the house and set them on the counter. It was far too early to harvest paw paws, but they do ripen off the tree. In about a week they were ripe enough to eat. So we ate them. 

One paw paw still clung to the tree, and I checked it frequently, fearing squirrels or some other wild being would make off with it. Squirrels often steal apples from our tree.

A few days ago I couldn't bear it anymore and plucked the above pictured fruit from the tree. It is now ripening on the kitchen counter, and has softened some. Soon we'll feast on paw paw.

You can learn a little more about this tasty native fruit at Kansas Wildflowers and Grasses.

Tomato Time

August brings tomato abundance in my garden. 

It starts slowly in July, when each tomato is precious. In August, however, tomatoes pile up on the kitchen counter and must be processed.

These little tomatoes are called "Black Plum." I love to roast these little paste tomatoes and puree them into a sauce for immediate use or for canning. I simply slice them in two and place them in a glass baking dish, sort of single layer but crowded, then cook them into a 350-degree Fahrenheit oven for one to two hours. When they are deflated and much of the juice has evaporated, then they are done.

This year I decided to dispense with canning the sauce. But neither am I sticking them in the freezer. Instead, I decided the dehydrate the roasted tomatoes. When I want some sauce, I'll just crumble them up and add water, or whatever liquid seems appropriate.

Or, I can just snack on them.

For several years I've dehydrated the large paste tomatoes that I grow. I cut them into thin slices and dehydrate them... no cooking. I can rehydrate them for cooking, or for tossing into salads. Most often, though, I eat them as a snack or use for holding baba ganoush or some other dip -- especially the particularly crispy ones. I still have some from last year, even while I'm working my way through this year's crop.

Dehydrating tomatoes and other vegetables saves time and freezer space. It does take 20 or more hours in the dehydrator at 135 to 145 degrees, but I don't have to do anything to them while they're in the dehydrator. I also dehydrate thin slices of summer squash and cucumbers, raw. Eggplant I slice thinly, and bake at 350 for 10 to 15 minutes, then dehydrate. These three are great snack "chips." Okra also can be dehydrated, either raw or cooked. One of my neighbors ground dehydrated okra into "flour" for use in various dishes.

However, today, the focus is tomatoes. Even the little Sun Gold Cherry tomatoes are dehydrated into sweet little snacks. Just cut in two and dry them crunchy.

But the best way to eat the Sun Golds is fresh off the vine, when they are still warm from the Sun.

Oh, my!

August Gold

 

It's August. The slow slide into Autumn has begun.

In the woods and prairies the blues and purples have given way to yellow and gold. The light at sunset becomes slightly more golden each day.

A week or so ago, this same spot along my daily walk was filled with the blue of the native American Bell Flower. Now it lights up with the gold of one of the many yellow flowers that run rampant through the countryside. I'm guessing this is a species of Rudbeckia, black-eyed or brown-eyed Susan. Goldenrod scatters yellow flowers throughout the prairie, and soon sunflowers of all kinds will shine their yellow suns along the roadways.

The temperature moderated a bit shortly after August began. We've had cool mornings, and the afternoons were warm, but not blazing hot. It even rained yesterday and today, always a blessing in August. 

But we're back to hot weather tomorrow. The temperature won't be so bad, but the anticipated humidity has them calling for a heat advisory tomorrow afternoon and evening.

It's August, and the cicadas are singing. You almost can tell what month it is by the emergence of our annual cicadas. 

The cicadas are singing, singing, singing.

Golden flowers are blooming.

Tomatoes ripen and summer squash swells. 

It's August. 

Woodland Blues

 

My daily morning walk takes me past this stunning scene of woodland flowers. The color in this photo, of course, does not bring out the brilliance of the flowers' blue/purple color. Plus, this section is maybe a quarter of the area with these beautiful native wildflowers. The size of the patch and the bright color of the flowers are what make it truly stunning.

American bellflower (Campanula americanum) grows along the edges of Kansas woodlands. Many, many different species exist in the Campanula genus, including non-native and cultivated species. A number of other flowers that you can find in nurseries also are related to campanulas, but fall into a different genus -- such as Platycodon grandiflorus, Chinese bellflower or balloon flower, that grows in my flower bed. This is the only Platycodon specie.

I hope to someday find the native bellflower for my gardens. For now, though, I must be satisfied with this beautiful woodland scene, which has bloomed for weeks. 

It seems to me that most woodland flowers native here are blue/purple, such as woodland phlox, aka blue wood phlox, and sweet william phlox (Phlox divericata) that brightens Eastern Kansas woods in the spring. 

May your life be filled with such beauty.

Happy Summer Solstice

 

The high point of the year, the Summer Solstice is upon us. The sun reaches it's highest mark in the sky and begins its descent toward the south, where it will rest on the Winter Solstice.

One might say that the seed of Winter is planted today. However, we are a long way from winter. We are about to experience the hottest part of summer. Next week the highs will near 100 degrees F (37.8 C). Fortunately, today we received nearly 3 inches (7.6 cm) of rain.

Elderberry flowers

The season passes and the garden progresses through its summer cycle. The wild rose (above, not in the garden) is nearly done blooming. The elderberries shrubs have bloomed once already and a different variety is now in bloom.

Because of our warm late winter and gloriously luscious spring, many things are moving forward more quickly than usual.

The yarrow flowers are beginning to fade, whereas they usually are at their peak now.

I consider yarrow, elder flowers, roses to be the quintessential flowers of the Summer Solstice.

Yarrow

I have been neglectful of this blog, although I've been gardening like mad all along and have had many ideas to share with you. As I said, I've been in the garden for long days, which took any energy I might have had for writing. So I took advantage of this rainy day to set down some words. To celebrate the Solstice, I wanted to share some images from the garden and take you through the season.

The Asiatic lilies have dropped all their petals, but the Tiger lilies are fresh and bright. I have always thought of tiger lilies as being red-orange. Several years 

ago I bought a package of mixed colors and think these white tiger lilies are absolutely stunning. The package also had the red, as well as orange and yellow. Right now I feel partial to these white ones, however.

The season of fruiting began with strawberries (sorry, no photos) my favorite of all fruits. They were highly productive this year, starting around mid-May and ending in early June. They were accompanied by asparagus season.

The Purple Passion variety that I grow is so fat, tender and sweet. I could hardly get enough of it.

 Our favorite way of cooking and eating it is roasted. We had roasted asparagus almost every day for a few weeks, and I was still able to steam and freeze quite a bit of it. I look forward to eating asparagus this winter. I reluctantly quit harvesting it about a week ago, to let the fronds form so the leaves could feed the roots for next year's production.

That was followed by cherries. We have beautiful little Montmorency pie cherry tree that has produced every year since it began bearing fruit. The cherries, while tart, are sweet enough to eat out of hand. Not like sweet cherries, but to me better. 

With my cherry pitter, pitting them was not an onerous chore. I highly recommend getting one if you have a cherry tree.

As soon as the cherries were done, the black raspberries (no photo) were ready to pick. They did not do so well because I was so busy planting sweet potatoes that I let the raspberry sawfly larvae get out of hand. They decimated the foliage, significantly reducing fruiting. The sawfly larvae didn't cause big problems on the black raspberries last year, but they were far more numerous this year, for some reason. 

In a few days I'll cut down all the fruiting canes and hope for better next. I hope they don't get hit by the black raspberry decline virus.

And now, the blueberries are starting to ripen. The puny little bush among my strawberries just keeps going, in spite of being sorely neglected. Several years ago we decided that blueberries just were not a wise choice for Kansas. They require a lot of water, acid soil, and a little shade in summer's heat. So I took out all but the one bush and said I would only water it when I watered the strawberries. 

And it hung on. This year it is loaded with berries. Perhaps this is its final hurrah and it will give up after this. Or maybe it will cling to life. I will find out next year.

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit

 

This photo was taken at my home by my good friend Kris Holmes after a special event.

This is the time of year when dust bunnies cavort wildly and multiply exponentially in the corners, under the couch, behind the kitchen stools, and anywhere else they can hide. 

Crumbs of damp dirt and tiny rocks follow us into the house and drop out of the treads in our shoes, little bits for me to find when I walk barefoot across the floor. I find them with my feet, but rarely find what I've stepped on.

After a few days I can barely bring myself to walk barefoot in the house, and the dust bunnies start creeping out of hiding. 

Poppies popping.

But who has time to clean? 

Vegetable beds must be cleared of henbit or cover crop before I can plant tomatoes and sweet potatoes, lay soaker hoses, and mulch. A basket of seeds waits for me to scatter them in the ground -- zinnias, sunflowers, marigolds, nasturtiums. Like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland I'm muttering, "I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," already too late for some things. Some of the seeds must wait until next year.

But then, too, roses are blooming, poppies are popping, and luscious red strawberries fill my basket daily. Those aren't late. In fact, they're early. 

And the rabbits -- the real ones with long ears and brown fur -- are multiplying. At least, I presume so.

The other day, as I crested the hill in our driveway after taking a walk, a rabbit hopped cautiously from under a large red cedar tree. It (she?) paused, keeping a wary eye on me. I stopped, looking straight at her. Unlike other times when I've surprised a rabbit on the path, this one did not run, but remained still, watching. 

"Do you have babies under that tree?" I asked. "I hope they're doing well." I continued to chat for a few moments. She remained motionless. She definitely has babies hidden beneath the low branches and tall grass. "Good day," I said and moved on. 

I've seen her a few times since, near the tree, hunched and munching grass. She doesn't cast a wary eye at me anymore, but neither does she run when I'm near. I'm certain this isn't the first, or the last bundle of baby bunnies she'll have this spring and summer.

Rabbit sightings used to be common here, but have gotten more and more rare. At one time we'd see a few rabbits in the clearing "playing" in early spring. Later we'd see more, then more. Often we'd go out in the morning and see half a dozen rabbits or more grazing near the house. I would find nests of bunnies in the garden, and relocate them. I once found nestlings under the low leaves of a large cabbage.

Rabbit sightings aren't so common now. Usually it's just an occasional sighting of just one. Perhaps we'll see a few more later this summer.  

I am always happy when I see a rabbit these days. They really aren't much of a nuisance in the garden, especially since I've learned which things will need protection. It's a little extra work to put up the chicken wire fencing to keep them out. However, some things only need protection until they're too big to be considered tasty by the rabbits. The rabbit (rabbits?) sometimes get a weird tasted for something, like the radicchio that came back from last fall. That is a pretty bitter plant... but then, I've seen them eating dandelions, including the stem. So bitterness doesn't deter a rabbit. Bitter is good for digestion.

So rabbits are smarter than humans in knowing they need to eat bitters. 

Welcome rabbit. Just don't raise your babies in the garden.

Bane or Boon?

 

Another name is "fairy horns." Take one of the purple flowers and blow into the pointed end for 
nature's miniature kazoo. It works; saw a video of a woman doing just that.

For years I've considered this plant the bane of my gardening existence.

Henbit, Lamium amplexcaule, pops up everywhere. While it's considered a winter annual, germinating in mid- to late winter and growing and growing and growing through the spring, I continue to find little seedlings all over, usually where it was cleared just days earlier. So frustrating. 

In April, whole fields cleared of crops are awash in purple with the mass blooming of henbit. While this may seem like a problem, it doesn't seem to affect crops that will be planted later. As the henbit dies, the purple fields turn golden. Both phases are beautiful.

It completely covers some of my growing beds that didn't get a heavy mulch last fall or where I didn't get a good stand of a fall/winter cover crop established. Some even pokes up through mulch laid last fall. 

It's frustrating and lots of work to clear it away... But also lots of work to take down any established cover crop as I prepare to plant the vegetables.

Henbit seems like a mixed bag -- a frustrating weed on one hand, a free cover crop protecting the soil on the other. I've decided to look on the positive side, a free cover crop that deserves a little bit of respect and appreciation.

Respect for its hardiness and ability to germinate in winter to grow through the remaining cold. Appreciation for its beauty and the fact that it's edible and nutritious.

I had eaten it a little in some past years, but decided its flavor wasn't exciting enough to continue eating. This year, though, I decided that since it is so abundant I would add the tops to my lettuce salads. It's the first thing I can forage in late winter and early spring, other than dandelion greens. So I snipped off the tops and tossed them into my daily salads by the handful. The flavor adds an earthiness to the salads and when it blooms, perks up the look of the salad. You can also cook it. I haven't tried that, but there is still plenty out there, so I just might toss some in with some lambs quarters, which is growing rapidly now.

Making a tea from the flowering tops was one suggestion I did try. Not bad. It won't be my first choice, but I'll make tea with it occasionally. I like eating things that grow here, whether I planted them or they pop up of their own accord. I think that the wild, foraged foods are particularly good to eat for the different nutrients and enzymes they provide. I also believe that their hardiness in might rub off on me.

Apparently, henbit is rich in vitamins and minerals (particularly vitamins A, K, and C) and has for generations been used as a medicinal plant to treat fevers, body aches and joint pain, as well as to induce fever. 

Who knew?

My ancestors, probably.

Henbit originated in Europe, Asia and Northern Africa and was brought here as fodder for chickens -- hence the name hen-bit.

One of its nutritional/medicinal properties, some claim, is that it boosts energy. Who couldn't use some of that.

Bring on the henbit!

Colors

 

This evening's harvest: Purple Passion Asparagus and Cilantro, with a side of spearmint.

I love how the green of the cilantro highlights the color of the asparagus. The orange handles of my herb snipper really pops out, as well.

Color in the garden doesn't just arrive in blossoms. Vegetables can be just as colorful, plus they're more filling and nutritious.

I like to grow red and purple varieties of vegetables that are typically green, such as the red noodle bean Asian long bean, or various colors of snap beans (Although beans of any kind don't figure into my diet very well at the present time, but that will change), red lettuce varieties, red cabbage, and so on. I am tempted to try growing the purple cauliflower this fall. It's been a while since I've grown cauliflower.

Chard provides another opportunity for color in the vegetable garden with varieties like Rainbow Chard, Bright Lights Chard, and Five Color Silverbeet with their yellow, red, pink, green and white stems and ribs. Asian mustards can come in rich purples. 

I've grown pink celery (didn't live up to my expectations), and pink snap peas, which were not as good as regular sugar snaps. So sometimes the colorful varieties aren't as good or as hardy as the standard green. But I keep trying them anyway because sometimes they are the best, or at least just as good but more colorful.

I am definitely passionate about the Purple Passion Asparagus, which is sweeter and more tender than the green varieties I've eaten. And it can get pretty big around.

Plant nasturtiums in the vegetable garden -- colorful and 
flavorful on the dinner plate.

If you want easy color in the garden you can just look at all the colors of tomatoes that are offered. One of my favorites is the orange cherry sized Sun Gold. This year I've got an orange slicer called Mandarin that a friend recommended. We'll see if his enthusiasm for it matches its performance.

Peppers, of course, either sweet or hot, can offer quite a bit of color. Eggplants, too, with various shades of purple skins and sometimes white skins.

I don't recommend tearing out the flower garden to make way for colorful vegetables, although I might recommend planting certain attractive vegetables in the flower garden. Those colorful chard varieties make wonderful, edible accent plants. However, I can't put chard in the flower garden. It has to remain behind rabbit-proof fencing because the bunnies love it. Many hot pepper plants are quite attractive.

Go ahead and plant flowers in the vegetable garden, too. They have value there. Just don't think that flowers are the only colorful thing in the garden.

And Now This

 

So, this is happening.

My sweet potato garden. 

These are "slips" cut from whole sweet potatoes I put in soil, half burying them. One variety surprised me by sprouting within a week or so. Last year it seemed that this one was very pokey about sprouting. It's called "Jersey" and has white flesh and tan skin.

Sweet potatoes sprouting. These are Jerseys.

The second variety is "Murasaki," or Japanese sweet potato. It was presprouted at the same time as the Jerseys, but has only recently started sprouting. It has white flesh and red skin. We find the white sweet potatoes to be sweeter than the orange ones, although probably containing less beta carotene and some of the orange related nutrients.

All purple sweet potatoes have a good deal of "anthocyanins," potent antioxidants that help prevent a variety of health issues. Last year I presprouted the all purples at the same time as the others, and had tons of sprouts before the others started sprouting much. By the time I put them in the ground, they had started putting on tiny sweet potatoes. So I started presprouting them about the time I put the others in soil. They are starchier than the other varieties of sweet potatoes.

I'm not sprouting orange ones. One of the local nurseries will have slips to sell be mid-May, so I can get them all in the ground by the end of May.

I started presprouting the Jerseys and Murasakis around the first of February, and put them in the soil around the first of March. I used a bird feed bag for presprouting. It had a thin sheet of plastic sandwiched between two paper layers. It must have maintained humidity too well, as some of the Murasakis, which were at the bottom end of the bag, were moldy when I pulled them out. One was so moldy I tossed it. However, the others have started sprouting in spite of the mold. Next year I'll use a bag without the plastic.

In spite of starting to sprout the potatoes later than last year I will still be inundated with slips by planting time. Lucky neighbors who receive the excess.

Last year I did a post about starting and planting sweet potatoes. Rather than go into all the information here, you can read all about it in my Sweet, Sweet Potatoes post.

The slips I'm growing now are from sweet potatoes we grew last year. The originals came from organic sweet potatoes from the grocery store.

Growing your own slips and sweet potatoes really is a fairly easy process. Timing is important, though.

Last year I planted a little more than 200 slips. This year I will plant even more. My husband practically lives off of sweet potatoes and has had to start buying sweet potatoes after consuming all that I grew, except for a few white flesh ones he's save back. Since I'm on a low carb diet right now, sweet potatoes are mostly off the menu for me. Sot the sweet potato garden is pretty much all for him.

Sweet potato love.

Balancing Act

 

My ButzeFrau created on Imbolg.

Equinox fires bringing Light,

     What is out of balance, make it right.

We are now nearly a full week past the Spring Equinox, which occurred at nearly 11 pm (Kansas Time) on Tuesday, March 19. This morning the Moon hit its fullest light (with an eclipse, apparently) at about 2 am CDT.

Both of those can be considered times to seek Balance. The Equinox occurs when the Sun sits  at a point halfway between the Solstices. The Full Moon (and New Moon) represent a balance point between Light and Dark, Dark and Light.

At Imbolc (which I described in my Feb. 1 post, Spring Whispers) I dedicated myself to seeking a greater connection with my land, an ongoing task. In this Equinox season of balance, I pledge to seek better balance in my life.

Balance. Yin and Yang; Dark and Light: Passivity and Assertiveness; Rest and Work; and ???

Where do I need better balance? What does Balance mean?

I want to find better balance between my focus on chores/work and play and spiritual practice, and all of the other things I want to do. Where do I fit in my writing? My brain training? My family? My friends? For nearly six months I've been working on a balancing act with my diet, a proper fat-carb-protein ratio for a ketogenic diet.

None of us are in a position where we must balance just two things, but many. It's a juggling act. That's why it's so difficult.

The thing with balance is not that everything is equal all the time, but everything has its time and place. Some days are all about chores, and work (play?) in the garden. Some days all I do is weed and water. Today my focus was on doing laundry. On laundry day I can't expect to get much of anything else done. 

So, is that out of balance?

Of course not.

Tomorrow I won't do any laundry. Tomorrow it will be chilly and damp, while today was warm and beautiful. In spite of it being Laundry Day, I planted lettuce and radishes in the garden and had a sauna with friends. Tomorrow I might sleep in, and will focus on things indoors, maybe work on one of my long-term writing projects. On Wednesday, I will probably spread beneficial nematodes over the garden to reduce certain soil dwelling pests. Thursday we hope to go plant shopping.

Balance. Sometimes it's all Light. Sometimes it's all Dark. Sometimes it's all work. Sometimes it's all play. Sometimes I focus on one thing, sometimes on others. Juggling and balancing. Balancing and juggling. 

In the end, it all works out more or less ok. Sometimes not as ok. The key is to not worry that you're working hard all day today and getting in no play, but to be sure that the work gets done and that at some point you have a proper portion of play. I'm working on that one.

On Saturday I set up the Butzefrau in the photo above. She's sort of a magical scarecrow, an old tradition from Germany (where most of my blood ancestors originated). The ritual is to create the Butzefrau, alternately the Butzemann, on Imbolg (that name is Irish, I'm sure it's different in German) at the beginning of February from natural items found on your land. Then you dress her/him. On the Spring Equinox, the scarecrow is given a heart and paraded around your land/garden, showing her/him what they were created to protect. They are set up in a prominent place to keep watch.

This Butzefrau is tied to a piece of rebar behind a large stone we call our altar stone. She is protected by a group of Eastern redcedar trees. I wanted her prominent, but a little protected from the elements. So I spent some time trimming back branches to make sort of a shrine for her. I did not get to do a proper observance of the Equinox on either Tuesday or Wednesday, but Saturday was good enough. I wanted to be sure to do something to observe the Equinox. I spent a good bit of time on this project on Saturday. It was part of my seeking balance. Part of that seeking is making time to observe these natural holidays and put more focus on my spiritual practice.

Balance, sometimes you work, sometimes you play, sometimes you pray.

Frost on the Nettles

 

The other day I went out to the garden first thing in the morning to offer thanks to the nettle patch where I had harvested a small basket of the tender young nettle tops. I steamed them for dinner that evening and relished in the potent nutrition and medicine they offer. Although the thermometer on my porch had not yet fallen to freezing, the leaves were coated with frost.

All week I've been foraging other spring greens for my daily salads, reducing the amount of lettuce and other purchased greens needed. I love this time of year, when the spring pulls green from the earth and I can connect with the garden and land around it by searching out food.

My ancestors, no doubt, foraged a good deal, looking forward to fresh greens after a winter of preserved and stored foods -- salt-preserved meats, fermented vegetables, and possible root vegetables that had not gone bad. Foraging not only connects me to the garden, then, but also to my ancestors  

At present I'm foraging henbit (there is lots and lots of it out there), wild garlic, dandelion greens, a bit of wild lettuce, tiny violet leaves, and some of the herbs, such as catnip, spearmint, fennel, young horseradish leaves, and monarda. The chickweed, my favorite weed, is not yet robust enough to make up much of my salad. I look forward to that day, though. The flavors of these plants range from strong to mild. Henbit has a slightly minty flavor, more earthy than peppermint and other "true" mints to which it is related. It's pleasant enough, but I've never found it tasty enough to pick much of it. However, it is growing on me.

As the spring moves into summer, the composition of my forage will change. Violet flowers and a few other blooms will add spark to the salad. Oxalis and lambs quarters will come in abundance, perhaps I'll even search out garlic mustard. I will continue to harvest nettles to steam for dinner, as well as freeze for later.

When the garden greens start growing, I may slow down my foraging -- but maybe not. Foraged greens tend to be more nutritious than those I plant in the garden or buy in the store. They tend to be a bit more bitter (good for the digestion) and stronger-flavored than the cultivated varieties, indicating their potency as food.

I feel stronger and healthier with my salad bowl full of foraged foods. I feel stronger in my connection to the earth; stronger in my connection to ancestors.

Lots of "weeds" are edible. If you decide to try foraging for yourself, make sure you have a positive identification, and don't harvest from some place where herbicides, insecticides, or chemical fertilizers have been applied. Foraging along busy roads also is not a good idea because of the noxious fumes vehicles emit.

It is an opportunity to look at the job of weeding the garden as "harvesting" good nutritious food. It changes the atmosphere of that chore.

Happy foraging. 

Ready, Set, Go... Slowly

 This is my Winter sunrise, a brilliant light shining through the bones of trees. Once the branches fill with leaves I won't see the sun for another 15 to 20 minutes. At this time of year I readily rise well before sunrise, so I can experience the gray predawn light and watch the light brighten and the sun top the hill beyond my woods.

Winter aconite

I almost always go out, barefoot, to experience the early morning and take a few deep breaths of fresh air. I like to start the day slowly.

Signs of spring are obvious then in the number of songbirds that fly through the clearing as they wake up and begin to sing. 

This is a time of beginnings... each morning a fresh start. And Spring definitely brings all kinds of new, renewal, regenerations. The birds begin singing, preparing to bring new life into the world. Green begins to poke through the soil and flowers pop up. 

The winter aconite was the first to open its yellow eyes. The yellow crocus is always the first to bloom. The purple and white ones will come soon. 

I love the it's the yellow flowers that are the first to pop open. It's like bringing more sunshine into the world.

More sunshine is what we need at this time of year.

The yellow flowers pull in Spring and encourage all the other flowers.

I think I will strive to be a yellow flower blooming as Winter ends.

Winter Pruning -- Another Look

These apple trees want to be pruned!

Pruning of the elderberries -- which might more properly be called "slashing" of the elderberries -- has been completed for the year. Although, I will do more pruning as they grow out over the path, or crowd each other. That pruning won't be as severe.

The elderberries aren't the only things to be pruned at this time of year, though. Our apple trees also need to be pruned. Some haven't been taken care of in a few years. As you can see in the photo below, the little Liberty apple tree has become quite crowded with branches. Winter pruning shapes the trees, opens them up so sunlight can reach all the leaves and help produce more apples, and spurs growth. It must be done before mid-March or so, before the tree starts to really wake up. 

The branches of this little apple tree are too crowded.

Pruning apple trees requires more thought than slashing the elderberries, plus a bit of intuition. We've got a book called "How to Prune Everything," and you can find lots of online resources about pruning, plus the local Extension office probably has a resource on pruning fruit trees. Pears and stone fruits (cherries, apricots, peaches, etc.) should be pruned during summer when they are less susceptible to certain diseases. 

I'm also thinking of another kind of winter pruning, often called "decluttering." My sewing room, which also contains a deep freeze and our second refrigerator, needs a good decluttering. I've been going to really go through it for a couple of years. Last winter I even started... cleared off, rearranged and dusted the shelves on one wall.

Thought I'd get back to it. Didn't.

Our garage needs decluttering, clearing out... so does the attic. And the filing cabinets in the office contain files no longer needed. Some files could be thinned. How many years of bank statements do I really need. I could get rid of one of the cabinets if I'd just...

But like with our apple trees, the "pruning" waits.

Another type of pruning has little to do with physical space, and more about mental and emotional space. Do you feel overwhelmed with all the things you must do? Maybe postpone a task or two on the "to do" list. Do you feel too busy with regular activities or commitments? Which one of those things do not "spark joy?" Does something feel like just an obligation, a burden, and no longer something you want to do? Cut it out. Use that energy for the other things that have value to you.

For 30 years I wrote a gardening column. I started it when I worked for a small town newspaper. It began as just a corner of a page with information from Extension. Gradually, it took root and blossomed into a personal column about my gardening experiences. When I quit that job and moved to a neighboring county 16 years ago, I offered it to what is now my local paper. I enjoyed sharing my loves and experiences of gardening.

A few years ago, however, I began to enjoy it less, then it became burdensome. I kept at it because I made a little money from it, and I thought readers would be disappointed if I quit. So I kept slogging away. Last fall, though, I realized that it was dragging me down. I would agonize over the topic, sometimes for days. When I got around to writing, it took a few hours or more. I kept procrastinating for longer and longer periods. It sapped all my creative energy.

One day last fall, I listened to a podcast in which they discussed the topic "Where do you want to put your energy?" One of the people told how she sometimes lays awake at nice worrying and fretting. When she catches herself she asks, "Is this where I want to put my energy?"

Immediately my mind went to the column. My response was lightning fast. In that moment I decided to abandon the column and move on. I sent in a few more and bowed out.

Since then, I've had the energy for creating more posts here, plus start looking at other writing projects that I'd put on hold. I feel free.

We prune apple trees and some other trees in winter when most of their creative energy is in their roots. With fewer branches, they have more energy to put into growing the remaining branches, filling them with leaves and fruit. Proper pruning gets rid of dead, dying and diseased limbs, opens up the canopy so sunlight can penetrate more deeply, and (it is hoped) create a more pleasant looking form.

A little personal pruning can do the same.

Barefoot Again

 

I was barefoot gardening today! 

I began tidying things, starting at the very back of the garden where lots of perennial things grow. The little strip I worked on today contains some native plants that delineate where the back edge is. It creates sort of a transition. Tomorrow I will move to another spot at the very back. I want to start there because when it's time next month to put plants and seeds in the garden the back edge will get neglected, so I want to do some work on it now. The top inch or so of the soil was soft enough to pull little henbit plants, but deeper it's still frozen. That means I have to wait to dig out some things that have gotten too large for the space.

It's also time to start my cabbage and broccoli transplants so they'll be ready for the garden by mid-March. Time to get busy!

Winter Pruning - Elderberries

 

I took advantage of the spring-like weather yesterday to prune the elderberries, something I had wanted to do for three days. These are the prunings taken from just one of the bushes. Sixteen years ago I bought elderberry cuttings from a woman in Oklahoma who supplied elderberries to a Kansas winery that specializes in elderberry wine. She told me that they needed to be pruned severely each year. She didn't tell me exactly what she meant by "severely," so I did the pruning in various ways. The first few years I pruned a bit timidly.

One shrub pre-prune

For a few years I tried pruning one clump in a more tree-like form. My elderberries are a shrubby, native species, Sambucus canadensis, as opposed to the European black elder, Sambucus nigra, which is a true tree. 

As years went by I started being bolder with my pruning, cutting them back to about my height (5' 3" or 160 centimeters). I would take out some of the really old, large trunks, which often had a lot of dead branches, as well as pruning back unruly branches that stuck out too far. No matter how much I cut off, they always grew to more than eight feet tall with a pretty good spread by the end of the season.

A neighbor told me last night that he prunes his elderberries various ways each year, leaving some unpruned, pruning some to a few feet tall, and whacking some off clear to the ground. He said he hasn't paid any attention to how each pruning style compared to the others. Elderberries are tough plants that grow wild in road ditches and at the edges of wooded areas. When I say they're tough, I mean it. They do prefer damp areas and a tad bit of shade, though. But they will grow in denser shade, full sun and not-so-damp areas.

Same shrub, post-prune

I pruned my elderberries a bit more severely this year to revitalize them. In the process, I took a couple
of cuttings and stuck them in the ground in the larger patch of shrubs. One of the plants is too close to the edge of the patch, where it can interfere with mowing and walking, so I stuck the cuttings in a little farther. Yes, they will take root if you just stick a healthy cutting in damp soil and wait. I was surprised, too when it actually worked. Until I learned that, I had started more plants by digging up the runners, which didn't always work well. Next year I will keep cutting back the shrub that's too close to the edge to keep it in check. 

Several other Sambucus species are native to North America, and most are edible and medicinal. I have no experience with any of those. According to some of the things I've read, some are a cross between S. canadensis and the European elder.

Elderberries provide a number of health benefits, including being antiviral. So the juice, jam, etc. are good to have on hand. You also can make tinctures, and dry the berries to make teas. Elderberry seeds are mildly toxic, so don't eat large quantities of raw berries. The toxin is destroyed by drying and cooking. If you want raw juice put the berries through a juicer that won't crack the seeds. 

Elderberry flowers in June.

The flowers also have health benefits and a delicate flavor. They can be dried and tinctured or used for tea. A pleasant way to use them is in Midsummer wine: steep a lot of the flowers in a white wine overnight, then strain. Pour a glass half full of the wine and add sparkling water and ice. Oh, dear, I'm already anticipating the flowers at Midsummer (in June), and it's only February.

I freeze the whole berries after destemming so I can work them up at a less busy time of year. This year I processed them into a pulpy juice planning to do jam, but stuck it back in the freezer because unanticipated events delayed my working it into jam. It's still in the freezer, patiently waiting.

When I thaw the whole frozen berries, A lot of juice separates from the berries. I dump it all in one of those crank food mills to remove most of the seeds and skin. Then I'm left with a thick, kind of pulpy juice. I use Pomona's Best Pectin, which is reflected in the recipe because it has pectin powder and a calcium solution. 

Elderberry Jam
4 cups processed elderberries
¼ cup lemon juice
¾ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon cardamom
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
Pinch of clove
2 teaspoons calcium water
1 cup honey
2 teaspoons pectin powder
 

Mix elderberries (measured after processing out seeds), lemon juice, seasonings and calcium water in large saucepan. Bring to boil. Blend pectin with honey. Once liquid is boiling, add honey/pectin blend and stir vigorously for 1 to 2 minutes to dissolve pectin. Bring to boil and remove from heat. Fill hot, sterile jars and process in boiling water bath, 10 minutes for half pints, 15 minutes for pints.

The Thaw

 

We keep a 2x4 horse tank next to our sauna so we can take a cold plunge during saunas... My husband and I do a cold plunge every day because of its many supposed benefits. It's a challenge to get in, but we feel better once it's done.

During our week of bitter, bitter cold the water in the tank froze solid, all the way to the bottom. After three days with the temperature a few degrees above freezing we attempted to dump out the ice. Some melt had occurred, but it wouldn't come out. A day or so later my husband took an ice pick and broke up the ice. And this is a photo of it. The ice is now all melted, except for a very small chunk. 

That makes this a fitting photo for today, the Celtic first day of spring, Imbolc. The thaw begins. I have always dedicated this day to honoring the Great Goddess Brighid -- healer, patroness of artists and craftsmen, forge fire, hearth fire. She has many sacred wells where people go for healing. This is something I wrote for her a number of years ago, and modified a bit today. 

Born in Fire,

Born at the break of day,

You cracked open the World, 

Setting the hills ablaze

With your Sacred Flame.

Your Crown of Flames

Reaches to the Heavens, 

Your Heart is filled with Fire.

You are Living Flame.

Ignite your fire within us

To melt the icy grip of fear.

Ignite within us your fire to melt hardened hearts.

Ignite within us your fire of passion.

Ignite the flame of inspiration.

Ignite the flame that forges,

Create us anew to forge a better world.

Ignite the fire of Justice.

Let your Sacred Wells overflow,

Bringing healing to all hearts.

Throw your Bright Blue Mantle over the world

To heal us all. 

Let your Sacred Wells overflow,

Healing us with Peace.

Spread your green cloak across the land

Growing until it covers all the World

That all shall be Free.

 

Spring Whispers

Beneath the snow, the garden is green.
This dianthus remained green all winter.

Spring whispers to the trees,

“I am coming.”

Buds swell a tiny bit. Sap rises slowly.

 

Spring whispers to the roots, and bulbs, and rhizomes,

“I am coming.”

Tiny roots begin to dig through the soil, searching.

 

Spring whispers to the seeds lying in the soil,

“I am coming.”

Something stirs within… a tiny plant preparing.

 

Spring whispers to the birds,

“I am coming.”

One bird begins to sing… then another… and another…

 

Spring whispers throughout the land,

“I am coming.”

Winter loosens its grip…

Geese call in formation, headed to summer homes…

A fresh wind blows…

Daffodil shoots test the air…

River ice cracks…

The thaw begins…

The ewe’s belly swells,

Her milk flows.

Spring whispers, “I am coming.

I am here.”

The ancient Celtic holiday begins today and ends sundown tomorrow -- Imbolc, Oimelg, Candlemas, or (not so ancient or Celtic) Groundhog Day.

Ancient holidays always focused on the seasons. They were less about worshiping or honoring deities than about tuning into the cycles of Nature, hearing the rhythms of the Land. They celebrated the ebbs and flows of agriculture and food gathering. In some traditions, this is the true First Day of Spring.

The daylight hours are noticeably longer. River ice might start to thaw. I often hear the call of geese overhead as they fly toward summer homes.

My goal for this coming year is to become even more attune to the cycles of the seasons. They do seem to be changing, so it will require a heightened awareness. And I want to develop a more intimate relationship with the land I live on, not to just learn where the hills and dales are, but to get to know the trees and stones and other beings that live here… to attune energetically with the land that supports me. We can all do this to at least begin to develop a better connection with Nature around us and within us. For we are Nature, too. We’ve just become disconnected from that fact, and thus, disconnected from who we really are, our essential selves.

So I’ve developed a little meditation to help me connect with Nature and the Land on which I live. You can play along, even if you live in a big city. The “concrete jungle” is supported by land, and Nature lives there, too.

Meditation to Honor the Land

Find a place in Nature, with something growing. It can be an open field, a woods, a single tree, a patch of grass, or even a potted plant in the mall.

Look at it closely. Notice colors, shades, shapes, shadows, textures, if there are smells, or sounds. If you feel comfortable doing so, touch the soil, or a plant, embrace the tree, or sit with your back to the tree (ask the tree/plant for permission first). Feel the texture and temperature. Does moss grow on the tree or the soil? Are there pebbles in the soil? And so on. Pay close attention to physical details. No judgement, just attention.

Now breathe, slowly, deeply as you remain aware of Nature around you. Breathe slowly, deeply, become aware of Nature within you. Breathe with the tree, the grass, the soil, the potted plant. Breathe with the Land, slowly deeply. Breathe…

Now, assume that the tree, the grass, the land, etc. has a heartbeat of some sort, a rhythm it keeps. Sync your heartbeat with that heartbeat. Sink deeply into your heartbeat and that of Nature around you, within you.

And breathe… slowly… deeply.

Breathe...

Inhale slowly, deeply...

Exhale, slowly, deeply...

Again...

Do this until you feel satisfied.