Goodbye MayVember

 Goodbye to May—which at times seemed more reminiscent of November than of May—and hello June! Goodbye to hail, sleet, and snow—-although to be fair I don’t remember if we actually had sleet/snow in May, but boy, it sure felt like we did.

I finally planted my flowerpots on the 25th of May---the latest ever. Now I am free to battle the slugs for my plants and lament my petunia choices every time it rains. In other words—-business as usual.

 

I have twice relocated my garage toad to the front flower bed. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to live in his little clay Toad House, surrounded by flowers, but apparently he derives some perverse pleasure out of appearing unexpectedly indoors. Yes, that screeching noise came from me.

Garage Toad

Garden Toad

 

My straw bale garden is busily composting away. I have yet to plant any peas, carrots, beans, or anything by seed. My tomato starts are cozily tucked into the bales, and the pepper plants that have survived the slugs are starting to look like they might recover. I don’t have to plant any cilantro or dill as they have both self-propagated—the cilantro at a prolific, nearly noxious-weed rate. This year I have one pumpkin plant—so far—so the neighborhood should be relatively safe. I only planted one hill of zucchini. Time will tell if I can keep the number of drive-by veggie drops to a minimum.

 

As is my way, I have started a new project—before completing my last project. One of my garden sheds from last year is still without its roofing shingles, but I didn’t let that stop me from ordering two loads of cedar chips from Packwood Prospecting and putting in a play area for the grandkids—the landscaping of which will probably be completed in three to five years, or 18 new projects later, whichever comes first.

They Tell Me It’s Spring

 
It’s spring—or at least that’s what my calendar says. We’ve had rainsnowhailrainsnowhailrainrain 80degreeweather, followed by more rainsnowhail. I, for one, am in favor of unplugging Mother Nature and then plugging her back in to see if that helps.

Snow Skittles

Usually by this time of year I will have already visited a couple of my favorite dealers—I mean local nurseries—for inspiration and supplies. I would have quite the happy little collection of baby plants sitting in the shelter of my back deck, waiting for the first week of May, so they can be safely tucked into their summer homes. My straw bale garden would have been properly conditioned and ready to go.

Alas, spring this year has been super “F”—as in super fickle. I have my straw bales (SBG) in place—conveniently delivered from Overby Hay & Grain by my co-worker Haze and her husband Guy, and currently being watered by the aforementioned Mother Nature. I only have to remember to go out about every other day and sprinkle a half-cup of nitrogen fertilizer on them.

Unfortunately, “Mom” is handling the watering requirements to her specifications and not according to the needs of my SBG. The SBG book clearly states that the bales should ideally be watered with “warm” or “day old” water—water that has been sitting around in buckets. I’m pretty sure they didn’t have water with a top coating of ice in mind when they wrote the book.

At the end of winter this year I thought I’d get a jump on the growing season by starting seeds indoors. I planted green beans, snow peas, and sweet basil. Then I promptly embarked for a three-week trip and left my little sprouts in the loving care of my cat sitter (Hi Eileen!)

Kitchen Table Harvest?

When I came home, not only my cats but my plants had thrived under her green thumb care—to the surprising extent that my green beans were bearing fruit! With the way the weather has been acting, indoor gardening might be my new hobby... 

Scare Spider

How does my garden grow? I can’t really tell because my garden is being guarded by a Scare Spider and I can’t/won’t get close enough to see.

This is the scary fellow:

Object in photo is MUCH LARGER
than he appears here.

He set up housekeeping next to my one and only basil plant a couple of weeks ago. Since he was bigger than me, I conceded the basil and went on about my gardening, always keeping a watchful eye out. Day after day he stayed in the same spot, on the same web and I thought we had reached an understanding. Or what I hoped was an understanding—he wouldn’t jump on me and I wouldn’t bother him. Or harvest any basil. Or at least not the basil that was closest to his web—but if I juuuust reached my hand up and under and gently, oh-so-gently picked only the leaves farthest from the monster arachnid...slowly, slowly...all would be well. And we could both have some basil. Win/win. Or so I thought.

Then one day I went into the garden and he was gone. The only thing scarier than being confronted by a giant spider is being confronted by a giant spider’s EMPTY SPIDER WEB.

Immediately everything felt creepy-crawly, my skin got all twitchy, and itchy, and I was sure I felt something in my hair. How on earth could I ever summon the courage to reach my hand into the hidden depths of a zucchini plant WHEN I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE THE SCARY GIANT SPIDER WAS????

Several days went by, and I gave the garden a wide berth. Zucchini went unharvested. Peas hung neglected on the vine. I don’t know how the carrots were doing because the zucchini had covered them. Good luck carrots, you’re on your own.

Finally, Mark agreed to come help harvest the veggies. He promised to keep an eye peeled for the slightest signs of a sneak attack, and to keep watch for any movement near my hair. I piled his arms full of veggies—all the while making jokes about needing a flame thrower, just in case. 

I don’t know enough about spider predators to know if I can relax-- because the empty web signifies that something ate him—or if the empty web means he’s a predator spider and he’s somewhere, spinning a giant web and planning on dining all winter on an unwary gardener...

Mark's Veggie Self Portrait

Garden? Growing

My straw bale garden is coming along quite well. My peas survived the convection oven blast we had in June—I covered them with shade cloth and managed to keep most of them. 

I also planted tomatoes, peppers, carrots, beans, fingerling potato, and eight zucchini plants—I know! I can explain... The first zucchini I planted rotted. So, I started a second planting in little pots, and only half germinated. But those that grew were doing quite well—until they weren’t. Slugs found them and decimated my entire crop of starts in a single night. By this time, it’s mid-June and I have only nine seeds left. I’m afraid I’ll be the only person in North America that can’t grow zucchini—how embarrassing! 

Desperate people do desperate things; I planted all nine seeds in three “hills” on the side of my straw bales, forgetting two important things. One: what happens if all nine survive? And Two: zucchini don’t trail the way pumpkins and cukes do. Zucchinis tend to grow in a big old clump—and I had planted NINE OF THEM. 

Slugs chopped off one early one, literally “nipping it in the bud,” but the other eight keep on growing. And growing. And—well if you’ve ever planted zucchini you can imagine what my garden looks like. Between the pumpkins that are once again bent on neighborhood domination, and the zucchini –well, it’s pretty difficult to see the forest for all the squash trees. You’ll just have to take my word for it that there are carrots and peppers, et al, in the midst of squash-a-ganza. 

 

My flowers are still losing the battle with slugs, but if you didn’t know what it was INTENDED to look like, some of my pots are quite pretty. 

                                                                And I have blueberries!

Tah-Dah!

This Week in Gardening: It’s Raining Slugs

 

Attack of the Slug Ninjas.

 

Look how skillfully he avoids the slug bait on the soil! 

It was a busy week in the garden last week, I hardly know where to start. I killed approximately 286 slugs, but still lost nearly every marigold I had in the process. I finally decided to dig up my remaining plant “stubs” and relocate them to the Plant Protection Program-- AKA the top of my patio table—when nothing else seemed to work. The previous week of rain, rain, and more rain overwhelmed my “slug bait” and it was Mardi Gras for Slugs, 24/7. Maybe living at table-top height will give my plants a chance to grow instead of being slimed back to dirt level. Every. Dang. Day.

The slugs also ate ALL of my zucchini starts and I have mixed feelings about that. On one hand WHY ON EARTH did I plant an entire PACKET of zucchini seeds? And on the other hand, it’s semi-bemusing that I have--inadvertently--found a cure for too much zucchini, one that doesn’t involve ding-dong-ditch. On the third hand (which I don’t have, but really could use) it’s kind of embarrassing to admit one is incapable of growing—of all things! —zucchini..

A garden pest of the cuddly sort

All but two of my dahlias from The Dahlia Guy rotted during our wet spring. If the dahlias did manage to sprout, they were promptly eaten back to ground level by the slug onslaught. I warned TDG when I acquired the tubers that I was not a safe space for dahlias, but even I thought I’d be able to manage one season of growth. Sadly, the slugs were not content to wait that long. 

Marigolds are DELICIOUS

Slugs have even eaten my Ghost Pepper plant out in my straw bale garden. I would have thought that since the fruit of the Ghost Pepper is super-hot, some of that zesty nature would have made its way to the leaves, but either this is not the case, or my local slug population has developed quite the sophisticated palate. Either way, Ghost Pepper has now been un-baled and added to the PPP/Patio Table.

Judging by this week’s forecast, I’d say the Slug Hay Day had reached its zenith. Sun, sun, and more sun ought to keep the little slimy munchers at bay.

How it started

How it's going

May Flowers

 May is an excellent month for gardening. And by gardening, I mean buying flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. 

Besides all of my usual flower buying sources, May is the month of Gardening Groups Plant Sales and student horticulturist sales. If you play your cards right and plan your route carefully, you can make a single weekend into a plant-buying bonanza. Or so I hear.

It is also possible to tack on a little plant buying onto whatever activity you have scheduled. Need a new spark plug for your mower? Bet there’s a garden center where they sell spark plugs. On a family weekend away to the beach? Bet there are at least three nurseries that you’ll drive by on the way home...couldn’t hurt to stop in and see what they have to offer.

In addition to my flower buying habit, I have recently started vegetable gardening. The addition—finally-- of an electric fence to keep the elk out has made vegetable garden a lot less frustrating. Strawbale gardening has made it easy to grow tomatoes and cucumbers, beans and peas, zucchini, and pumpkins. To be honest—the zucchini and pumpkins grew a little too well; so much so that occasionally I would hack the vines back to keep their quest for neighborhood domination in check.

Tim Kelly brought his tiller over last week and smoothed out my future corn patch. I aspire to grow a bumper crop of corn this year. Last summer I planted about ten hills of corn as an experiment and it was promising. I harvested about 6 ears total, until there was the unfortunate incident of the Elk that ATE EVERYTHING. All because I left my fence unplugged when I went away for the weekend...stupid dang elk.

My garden would be a lot further along if it weren’t for the lawn that needs constant mowing, and the grandbabies that need kissing, and all those good books won’t read themselves. I don’t let any of those things discourage me from buying more flowers though, anytime the opportunity to crosses my path.

Procrastination, Eventually

 I can’t remember what my opening sentence was going to be about because instead of typing it, I got up and got a handful of peanut butter M&Ms. Buy the time I got back to the keyboard the idea I had had melted away...the chocolate of ideas melts in your brain... if you don’t have words in your hand-- worth two in the bush? Brain? ---strike that. That’s lame. Let me try again.

Every week I intend to write my column in a timely manner. “Timely” often ends up being one of those “eye of the beholder” flexible words; it means different things to different people. I have yet to decide on a final definition. Procrastinating on defining “timely”—classic Sue!

I’m also procrastinating in other areas. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that here we are, up to our eyeballs in April, and I have only purchased two—that’s right T-W-O—flowers. Usually, by the end of April, I have a couple of boxes full of tender blooms sheltering on my porch, waiting for the last of the frost to move on so I can safely plant them in my pots and baskets and beds. Two flowers—nemesia “Babycakes’; three tomato plants, two sweet peppers, one Poblano pepper, and fistful of seed packets for my straw bales comprises the totality of my plant purchases for 2021.

Sigh. I think I have Spring Fever. I can’t seem to settle on a task for long without wandering outside—between rain showers—and looking at all the growing things. It’s an on-going argument with myself not to hop in the car and go on an epic nursery tour...First I’ll stop at DeGoedes and wander thru the green houses, then on to Bennie’s Gardens in Chehalis/Napavine. Perhaps a quick stop at Adna Floral, before hitting up Sun Birds garden department...Any hardware store, 4H plant sale, or garden club I pass on the way by is also fair game. Please, take my money-- I must have all the pretties.

If my travels take me south, I’ll swing in to Tsugawa Nursery in Woodland. North, and I’ll find my way to Windmill Gardens in Sumner. But why go home yet—I’m this close to Flower World in Maltby, might as well keep on going. If you don’t know where Maltby is I’ll bet your Siri does. Ask her, she’s quite the enabler and Flower World is worth “getting around to.”

 Eventually.

Mish, Even More Mashed—Support Groups and SBG

 I’m thinking of starting a support group. NOT, as you might be supposing—based on this title—for Straw Bale Gardeners, but a support group instead, for people who love to complain about the weather.

I love to complain about the weather, and—all bragging aside—I’m very good at it. Unfortunately for me, my talents will have to lie dormant this week as we are scheduled to have day, after day, after day of good weather. That’s bound to put my skills into cold turkey/withdrawal mode. Hence the need for a support group. I’m thinking we could all get together and complain about having nothing to complain about—thereby keeping our skills sharp and our muscles warm, ready for the next round of complaint-worthy weather. Now I just need to brainstorm meeting locations—grange? Umbrella factory? — figure out the best cookie baker in my bunch, and we’ll be set to go... Thursdays at 10 a.m. work for you?

Abby is helping.

Speaking of SBG—and I was, earlier, sort of—I got my straw bales over the weekend and am ready to start prepping them. Since it’s scheduled to be sunny all week I’ll have to unfurl my garden hose to water them. Last year it rained so much during my twelve-day straw-prep period that I only had to water them myself once or twice. (Please note that I have very skillfully managed a near-complaint about being saddled with a stretch of good weather. Skillz, I haz ‘em!)

If you’re thinking a SBG sounds like fun, get yourself to your nearest feed store or friendly farmer—I go to Overby’s in Randle. Good prices, and he loads it right in the vehicle for me. It would be even better service it he UNLOADED it for me—but in all fairness, I didn’t actually ask him the availability of that service. He offered to bag the bale for me, to keep the chafe out of my upholstery. Which turned out to be a service I should have taken him up on. In other related news: air compressors and lint-rollers combined, will—eventually--remove the chafe. “Eventually” is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

Ryan Gosling--get it?

If you live in Onalaska, I recommend Premium Quality Hay and Feed for straw. They are located right off of Highway 12, which is handy. Unfortunately, they also carry adorable baby goslings, and I spend way too much time trying to convince myself that that I don’t really need a baby Russian Goose named Ryan...

Once you have your straw—I’ll leave it to your own discretion when it comes to your goose needs-- just place the bales in a sunny location, sprinkle ½ cup of cheap, nitrogen rich fertilizer on them every other day for a week. Give them a good soaking each day you fertilize. Days 7-9: ¼ cup fertilize; use warm water to saturation. Day 10 is one cup per bale of a balanced, slow release fertilizer. On day 12 you can plant!

Probably best you didn’t get the goose after all, since Ryan is bound to pull up all your little seedlings...but it WOULD give you something to complain about...

It Must Be Spring

 You know how I can tell? If you guessed robin’s tugging on worms or daffodils blooming or <please insert some other signs of spring I’ve failed to mention here>. If you guessed any of these you are sadly mistaken. I know it is spring because I need to mow the grass-- but my lawn got snowed on.

Of course, it wasn’t a lot of snow-- but that’s not my point. It’s also not my point that, resting on the laurels of the prior year’s successful lawn mower maintenance, I completely forgot to do any last fall. And here I am again, with my grass slowly greening, wondering if my mower will start...

Fortunately for me, there was some pre-season use of the mower-as-skidder, so all that dragging away of trimmed of tree limbs means that it hasn’t been that long since my mower has been powered up. It’s entirely possible that the next time the sun peeks out, my mower will fire right up.

This time of year, it’s a race to trim my grass before it gets as high as an elephant’s eye while avoiding rain-mixed-with-snow-showers. Or the ever-unfortunate “it’s a gloriously sunny day but I’ve got spring fever and am either 1) on a picnic; or 2) on a road trip to every nursery with in a day’s driving distance,  buying all the plants; or 3) both.”

A sure sign of spring around Casa Sume is the appearance of plants, seeds, straw bales—and usually in that bass-ackwards order. After the impressive—sometimes frightening success—of last year’s Straw Bale Garden, I’m kind of chomping on the bit to get going again. I can’t wait to have my first plateful of tomato bruschetta—topped with fresh whole milk mozzarella and new basil. I may have already purchased a tiny little nibbin of a start of my new favorite heirloom tomato, “Kellogg’s Breakfast.” While I have yet to purchase the straw that will be Mrs. Kellogg’s new home, I’m having her keep me company in the house. She has already grown to three times her height at time of purchase and I think it’s because she likes bingeing on Netflix with me...

Annie isn’t sure if a tomato on the couch is A GOOD IDEA

Perfect Storm is Perfect

 I have a bad habit of seizing on the first sunny day after the snow melts and declaring “Early Spring!”

Monday was perfect for such a declaration. We turned the calendar page from snowy February to springy March and the sun rose to meet the occasion. Yes, yes, I can hear all the literalist out there saying “actually, the sun rises every day” but I think you take my meaning. I’ll show you my poetic license if I must-- but now we are getting way down the bunny trail here and why do you always do this to me?

Where was I? Oh yes, Perfection.

A sunny start to a new week, a brand-new month. March is the month of Spring, of an extra hour of daylight, of green things—including green beer, but I shall not digress again. March is the perfect month of new beginnings.

Aiden Allen

I used my perfect day to go play outside with my grandson Aiden and it was marvelous. We played in his clubhouse. We examined tree bark, and needles and cones—some of which tastes better than you might imagine, just saying. We walked around his backyard a looked at all the growing things his mom has nurtured. Things that are now readying themselves to burst forth and bloom—and I can’t wait.

I started daydreaming about seedlings, about straw bales and garden centers...about trips to all my favorite nurseries....

Anyway—all of that is to say that Monday was such a perfect storm of Perfect that I plum forgot I needed to write a new Over My Garden Gate.

Sorry about that. Maybe next week?

Fried Green Tomatoes Part 1

 I planted way too many tomato plants this year. And because I planted way too many, they all preformed admirable. I was looking at a harvest of epic proportions—I could make salsa, and sauce, and paste, and juice, and—well what all can you make from tomatoes? 

 I was almost at the stage of scouring the internet for tomato recipes when the universe decided to have a little fun at my expense. While I was away for my son’s wedding, elk breached my electric fence and partied in and amongst my plants. (Full disclosure: I had unplugged my fence because I was afraid a wind-blown limb might short out my fence and start a fire. Remember fire? When it was so hot and dry we were afraid to shuffle our feet on a shag carpet, lest we spark a blaze that could take out Smokey’s mother? With the absolute deluge we’ve had the past few days it seems far fetched that I unplugged my fence out of safety concerns and not out of my usual “Oh crap. I forgot to plug it back in” forgetfulness, but I swear, this is the case. Safety first.)

Elk being what they are—in this instance, big and insatiable— ate my tomatoes, plants and all. All they left were some green tomatoes, and a couple of red ones with big, old bites out of them. Stupid dang elk.

I had hoped we might get enough of a lingering summer to ripen all the green ones that were left, but such has not been the case. And considering the fire danger we were facing, it’s probably just as well. So just ahead of the downpour I picked all my nearly ripe tomatoes and placed them on newspaper in a cool, dark to ripen. That still left a lot of very green tomatoes—what to do, what to do?

Next week: You’ll never guess...or maybe you will, who knows!

PRE Post-Apocalypse

I’ve always been a reader; books have long been my drug of choice. I enjoy a good dystopian, post-apocalyptic tale-- probably more than most. Lately, though—I’ve come to reconsider my preferences.

 We seeming to be living in that awkward period right before the apocalypse kicks in; a period I hadn’t ever considered before. The entire west coast seems to be on fire and what isn’t, seems to be poised on the brink of immolation. Add to that mix the crazy winds that gust, and swirl, and switch direction. It’s so bad I’ve begun to even question my apparel choice: This outfit isn’t too reflective, or frictional is it? I would hate to cause the spark that sets my neighborhood ablaze. 

 I was away from home most of last week, and in my absence I decided the only responsible thing to do was to disconnect my fence. I was worried that the wind might drop a branch across my electric wires and spark a conflagration worthy of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow. A little fame is nice, but I don’t want to be cow famous. Besides, elk have really left my fence alone. They’ve probably forgotten all about my flowers. I’m sure it will be fine. Probably fine? Hopefully fine? Responsibly fine, anyway. 

  Narrator: you can stop reading if you’ve already guessed how this tale ends, but here we go: It was not fine.

     Sometime on Saturday, a couple of greedy little juvenile delinquents climbed through the no-longer-hot-safety-first wire and did what elk do. When I left my garden last week I had way more tomatoes than any sane person needs, pumpkin vines so vigorous I was afraid to stand near them, green beans, a modest amount of corn, and “some” zucchinis. By Sunday afternoon I had—had I planted tomatoes?? My corn was trampled, tossed and torn. The beans were cropped and chopped. The broccoli was bitten, the pumpkins smitten—well, there were a few pumpkins that didn’t have teeth marks in them, but many had been nibbled and/or stomped...they had even eaten every leaf off my two baby cherry trees.

Huh. Whatever could have done this?

Wanna know what DOES survive the apocalypse--besides cockroaches? And Zombies?

Zucchini.

Ding Dong Ditch 2

 My straw bale garden has been growing and growing, and I am in full on harvest mode—desperate to off-load produce onto unsuspecting friends and neighbors.

Unfortunately, most of the people I know are in a similar situation and the search for produce-receptive people has become rather competitive.

I had lamented my lack of victims—er, my lack of “recipients” on Facebook, and a couple of friends messaged me with various “someones” they believed would welcome piles ‘o produce—specifically zucchini. 

I know, I know-- I too, found it hard to believe that such people existed, but desperate gardeners are not about to look at a miracle too skeptically, so when I was informed that a such willing person existed RIGHT DOWN THE ROAD from me, I immediately loaded up a brown paper bag with zukes, put on my mask, and headed over.

Now, the more suspicious among you might assume the mask was to hide my identity but I assure you, this was not the case. I was just trying to do my part to mitigate any possible virus transmission; the fact that I’d be harder to ID in a police line-up was only a secondary consideration.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t worked through the entire produce delivery scenario in my head. And when my neighbor opened the door to my rather quiet knock I wasn’t quite prepared, and panicked. Do I just thrust the bag into her arms and run? Was I supposed to have put the produce on the porch, then ring the bell? Wait—was I supposed to set fire to the bag first?

While these and other thoughts zipped thru my brain, I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Luckily for me, my neighbor is a very kind person and she not only accepted the zucchini, she invited me to sit on the porch and have a visit—at the approved socially-distant distance, of course.

Embolden by this success, I will admit that it has been over 48 hours since I last shined a spotting scope on my garden...What could possibly happen that my newly acquired delivery skills wouldn’t be equal to the task?

Hubris. 

I haz it.

Ding Dong Ditch

 Summer is at its peak and you know what that means: everybody you know is offering you zucchini. And by offering, I of course mean dumping it on your lawn in the middle of the night and speeding off.

Experienced gardeners try to avoid this situation by harvesting their zucchini early and often. It’s a lot easier to “share” your zucchini with others if it’s smaller than a large canoe. But harvesting squash before it becomes unwieldy can be more challenging than you might expect. Zucchini is a master of the art of camouflage. Hiding in plain sight is also a common tactic. Sometimes, these two tactics are used together.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just a l’il ol’ harmless zucchini, just hanging out here at the edge of the garden, right where you can keep an eye on me. Please go on about your business. I’ll just be here, minding my own. Probably check back with me in, say, oh two days and I’ll be the perfect size for harvest.”

DO NOT FALL FOR THIS SUBTRAFUGE. Zucchini apparently have a bad steroid/growth hormone habit and will expand exponentially once your back is turned. And even if the zucchini in question doesn’t grow to gargantuan proportions in that amount of time, I can say—based on my own real-life experience—that the minute you congratulate yourself and bend over to harvest your Just The Right Size Zucchini, before you can straighten back up, your eye will fall and at least three other squash that have been stealthily assuming prize-winning proportions behind the cover of the harmless, l’il ol’ zucchini out front.

What to do with the four squash you’ve now staggered into the house with? Sure, you have plans for the ONE harmless (deceitful) zuke but now you’ve acquired three more, larger fruit. Fortunately for me, I happen to be Facebook friends with a woman whose mother is my neighbor. My FB friend claims her mother would love to have some zucchini and I should just take it over to her.

So, I did.

Next week: Part two of Ding-Dong Ditch. Spoiler alert, no bail money was required, hooray!

Jack and the Cinderella Pumpkin Stalk

I have a tale to tell, but it’s kind of hard to believe. You remember the story of Jack and the Beanstalk and how he traded his mother’s cow for some magic beans? He threw them away after his mom got a little bit miffed about the poor bargain; in the morning there was a towering beanstalk that reached into the clouds, and there was a giant, some thievery, bone-grinding and bread making, a talking musical instrument –I think it said “Help, help, I’m being oppressed!” But I could be misremembering that part. Anyway, the story ends with Jack chopping down the beanstalk—possibly killing the giant, but probably in some sort of pseudo self-defense—and living happily ever after with his ill-gotten gains. One hopes he at least bought his mother a low-mileage cow, if not a new one.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if this story was more an allegory about Wall Street than a fairy tale, but I digress.

My story is kind of like that. Except my name isn’t Jack, my mom hasn’t owned a cow in 50 years and the seeds in question are pumpkin seeds—Cinderella pumpkin seeds, to be precise.

Perhaps it is the Cinderella part that infused these seeds with magic, because I planted those things and holy cow! (Hah! There is a cow in this story after all!) Those seeds are growing at a phenomenal rate. They have already taken over my entire straw bale garden—it’s all pumpkin vine, stem to stern—the vines have forced me to remove my inner-pheasant fence by threatening to climb right over it, and now seem intent on neighborhood domination.

So far, there have been no talking musical instruments, ill-gotten gains, or bone-grinding. There was a bit of bread making-- but everybody is making bread these days so I’m discounting that.
But if a really, really tall guy starts hanging around mumbling “Fi, fi, foe, a deer, a female deer,” or mice begin to talk and offer to make me a ball gown-- I am out of here.

Secrets and Gardens

I have a secret, and it’s too delicious not to share. However, it seems that I may have promised not to share it—not yet anyway. So as difficult as it is for me to keep it to myself—I shall attempt to do just that.

Gosh, I really don’t know what else to talk about...Secrets can be marvelous, keeping them can be a full-time job. I suppose I could give you a garden update, tell you how my Straw Bale Garden is growing.

My SBG is growing like a weed. And it is growing weeds—despite all the assurances to the contrary, it had sprouted so many green shoots it looked like a shaggy green Cousin It. Every time I walk by it I grab a hand full and yank.

It is also growing veggies. My potatoes plants are leafy green, my tomatoes have blossoms, my radish crop has come to fruition. It was so exciting to pluck that first radish! To marvel at its lovely color, to rub it clean on my pant leg and then crunch it right up. First fruits always taste best when eaten right there in the garden. Who needs Farm to Table when you can just skip the table part?

After the third harvest of radishes I noticed that my “sweet radish” radishes seemed to be getting progressively spicy. I also remembered that I’m not a big fan of radishes to begin with.

My lettuce crop seemed to go from sprout, to baby tender—I know, because I picked a leaf and ate it—to looks like we have salad for days, to holy cow somebody grab the machete.

The peas are being temperamental, but the beans are taking off, the carrots should probably be referred to as THE Carrot---I don’t know what happened there. The Cinderella pumpkin is already setting fruit and appears set on world domination. I’ve been afraid to look at the zucchini plant—what if I’m the only person in the history of zucchini who can’t grow them? After all the unkind things I’ve said about zuke prolific-ness, I’d hate to have to eat my words.

Come to think of it—my words might taste better than veggies. I look at my vegetable garden and I’m starting to get overwhelmed at the thought of eating all that. Do I even like green beans? Oh sure, with enough bacon in them—but how healthy is that?

Luckily for me, the pheasant seems to like radishes more that I do so I guess it won’t hurt me to share with him.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Straw Bale Garden, growing.

I’ve been thinking about the adage that it takes a village to raise and child—and I think it also applies to gardening.

It’s true, that as a parent, I did a great deal of the heavy lifting when it came to childrearing—but my children had the impact from-- and the influence of-- their community. Family, coaches, teachers, assorted community members, and friends all had a hand in shaping my boys into the men they became and I am grateful for their loving participation.

When it comes to gardening—doing the heavy lifting is much less appealing. It is, you know, HEAVY.

This spring, I was lucky enough to score a free dump truck load of rich topsoil, full of lovely decayed leaves and chock full of all kinds of nutrients---and the occasional aluminum can. The fine folks who work for the county were doing some serious maintenance on the Cline Road and needed a place to dump all the dirt. Being public spirited and happy to help save the county transport costs, I naturally volunteered to take a load. And by volunteered I mean I begged—because the spot they were working in was under alder and maple trees, and sure to be super loamy and I WANTED it.

They cheerfully dumped a full ten-yard load out in the back 40 and went on about their business. I hitched my wagon to my lawnmower, grabbed my “#2 backhoe” and set to work moving my mountain of dirt into place.

By the second load of dirt that I HAD SHOVELED BY HAND, I decided it was time to call on my village. Fortunately, I have good neighbors with BIG tractors who came and moved the dirt for me. Neighbor Jim claims that zucchini is a reward, and if I drop some off on his doorstep this summer, that would be thanks enough. I feel like I got the better end of that bargain. And when you see me dropping off a load of squash on his lawn and then speeding away, please do not call the police. He ASKED for it. Literally, I swear.

My gardening friend Tim came and rototilled the relocated dirt for me-- I like to think it’s because he too, wanted some zucchini and not because his wife made him--thanks Eileen! Or maybe he did it because he’s hoping I’ll grow my own corn and stop loitering beside his Kelly Corn every harvest, I can’t really say.

Look at all that lovely dirt!

I realize that you’re probably wondering what 10 yards of topsoil, one giant tractor and a rototiller have to do with a straw bale garden. Turns out, SBG might be a gateway drug—because in addition to my SBG I also have a small, in-ground garden patch that has a bazillion tomato plants, some cilantro and peppers, and yes! TWO ROWS OF CORN. All thanks to my Village.

Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

It’s Tuesday morning—if you can call 2:30 am “morning” --- and I can’t sleep. After two hours of tossing and turning and annoying the cats, I finally give in and get up. Rising at 4:30 am makes me feel virtuous—as though I were getting a jump on the day --- get the cows milked and the chickens fed, all before sunup.

After my first cup of high-octane tea I remembered I have neither heifer nor hen. Mostly because getting up early is not my cup of tea. By my second cup of tea—which is, literally, my cup of tea-- I remembered I have a Garden Gate due yesterday. Oops!

What to write? My SBG is still at the water/fertilize/nap stage so there’s not much to write about there. Do I write about the Stay at Home/Stay Healthy Don’t Kill My Friends Order? Because while I know it’s hard to do—I miss my kids and grand kids in a visceral way-- I also understand the science behind it and the need for it. But even I am not in the mood for that soapbox today.

Should I write about how weird it is when I went to Costco for supplies and they had zero fresh chicken? As in NONE. They did have plenty of ground turkey—and by plenty I mean they had the entire refrigerator case that used to hold chicken tenderloins, breasts and thighs stacked three deep … now holds ground turkey—spread one package deep over the entire case. It’s very good psychologically—It keeps people from getting that “plague of locusts” I-must-consume-this-before-you-do feeling. Which is good, because I’m not a fan of ground turkey.

I am a fan of bathroom tissue. Out of curiosity I check to see if they have any. Nope. But I was told they had some earlier.

As Americans, we are so used to plenty, so used to buying in bulk at Costco—because it’s COSTCO for heaven’s sake! It’s what they’re FOR, and having limits on items is rather disconcerting. Once again, I’m glad they have them, I just wish we were back in a time when limits weren’t necessary.

None of these topics are entertaining me this morning; they are all a little too close to the bone. So, after my third cup of tea I thought, “What if I tell you about my many adventures in on-line dating?”

GULP.

I think I’m going to need more tea.

Gardening in a Time of Pandemic

The sun has been lovely these last couple of days. I find it so much easier to be optimistic with the sun on my face. My gardens are receiving a little more TLC that is “normal”—in part because of the sun, but the truth is the Stay at Home order has a lot to do with it. “Stay at Home” means not running off to nurseries near and far and indulging my flower fixation. Or buying shoes. Or whatever. Anyway, I’m at home.

Working on the layout.

I’ve decided that I want to have a vegetable garden this year. Since I own neither tiller nor tractor-- and am far too lazy to employ a shovel—I’ve decided to go the Straw Bale Garden route and save myself a lot of labor. My bales were well under $10 each, and available locally—Overby’s Hay & Grain, for the curious.

For once, I’ve started the 12 day “maturation” process well ahead of local planting time, so I’ve had time to play with the design layout of my garden. I’m going rather small—a five bale garden—and have oriented the garden to best take advantage of the sun, while still staying clear of any lawn shenanigans that might ensue over the summer: Slip ‘n Slide, Beersbee—it’s Frisbee, but with beer, Wiffleball, Cornhole, what have you. I’m holding on to optimism that perhaps some little “normal” will be reestablished and the clan can gather once more. When it does, I plan that my SBG won’t be in the path.

I’m still mulling over what I want to plant: tomatoes are a given, but there are carrots, green beans, potatoes, radishes, lettuces, pumpkins...I don’t think corn is a good crop for SBG—too top heavy/tippy and would use up a lot of my available planting area---and I’m having fun choosing what to plant. I may or may not have added a packet of zucchini seeds to my shopping cart. Strange days indeed.

I have NO IDEA how those
zucchini seeds got in there!

I have a package of marigold seeds to plant—I’ll transplant the seedlings into the sides of the bales. There they can both beautify and protect, as many garden pests don’t like marigolds.

One of my favorite summer activities that revolves around gardening is taking and giving garden tours with fellow gardeners. I suppose this year we can do it “virtually” --but they will be a lot less likely to help me weed or deadhead. **sigh** Fortunately, one of the upsides of SBG is you have far fewer weeds to pull.

My neighborhood is busy with vegetable garden prep, and I have a feeling many people will be looking for a healthy, at-home hobby. Gardening can nourish both body and soul, so go get your grubbies on and go play in the dirt. 

Or the straw, whatever.

Straw Bale Gardening

Straw Bale Bible

If you’re planning to plant a SBG, now is the perfect time to start the process, don’t wait two weeks like I’m probably going to end up doing. Either way, please enjoy this helpful info I wrote previously:

I have a friend who has recently become enamored of straw bale gardening—you know, planting veggies on top of bales of straw instead of tilling up the soil and planting seeds in the ground, the cold, wet, muddy ground as God intended. And like all good, newly-converted enthusiasts she couldn’t wait to bring her subversive literature over to my house and attempt to convert me. Now, I’ve seen it done before and my reaction has always been WHY? It just looks, well—MESSY. Green plants sprouting out of shaggy, slowly decomposing bales of straw, not at all attractive to my eye. Then she handed me her propaganda, a book filled with various sized gardens and all sorts of cute configurations—there was even a straw bale garden in a shopping cart. The literature claimed amazing results with little effort—that’s sound good, right? And the small footprint such a garden would require could be easily and inexpensively fenced to keep those pesky elk at bay. I have to admit that at this point the entire idea was starting to sound pretty enticing. It seems rather straight forward to get started: buy some straw bales—straw, not hay. Hay seeds will sprout and, unless your goal is to grow a baleful of hay, nobody wants that. You will also need some potting mix or garden soil, soaker hose, and fertilizer. Along with seeds and/or seedlings that’s all you need. Before you know it one of my sons was interested in the whole process and started thumbing through her propaganda . . . and that’s all she wrote.