Tag: gardening

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The temperatures in the garden have been getting into the mid-fifties recently. And it’s time to start bringing in the tender plants. The new three-tier plant rack with lights is all ready, and I’ll begin to ease the most tender in tonight.

At first, things will be a muddle, no organization. It’ll be a mix and match with everything together by proxy until I sort things out into a more stable arrangement.

A close-up view of a three-tier plant rack with various indoor plants, including succulent and carnivorous species, illuminated by grow lights, positioned against a window.
A close-up view of various indoor plants, including colorful orchids, under artificial lighting, with a background of a window showing trees outside.
Indoor plant rack with various plants and grow lights, surrounded by wooden decor and furniture.
A close-up view of several potted plants including orchids and other species, with visible roots and a softly lit background.
A close-up of various potted plants including carnivorous plants, with some in clay pots and others in plastic containers, arranged on a tray with water.

Some plants are organized fairly strictly by type. I have a fair number of carnivorous plants that mingle as a group because it’s easier to help them thrive indoors that way. But others are more mix and match.

This year, with the new stand, it’ll take a bit longer to make a stable presentation. I’m trying for a balance between the needs of the plants and a desire to show them off. Generally, things settle in by early November. But in the meantime, I spend time shuffling things about.

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A Woodland Walk

A walk through my tiny woodland garden yielded these views of flowers this morning:

Carolina All Spice
Canadian Ginger
Foam Flower
Silver Dollar plant
Tall Bell Flower
Yellow Ragwort
Jack in the Pulpit
Red Columbine
Soloman’s seal
White Dolls Eyes
Wild geranium

The silver dollar plant is an annual remnant from the days before the area was re-wilded as an open woodland. The Carolina Allspice is native to the regions to the south of us, but is native to the Eastern US.

Over the years, I introduced plants into the woodland garden, but some have become complete surprises. The Yellow Ragwort is a native that first appeared on its own last year. This year it bloomed. It’s always interesting when nature begins to take over your project. Just because you plant it doesn’t mean it will thrive. The surprise factor is one of the things that makes this sort of gardening frustrating and rewarding.

The earliest ephemeral flowers, like trout lily, are already done, and ths later ones, like sweet pepper bush won’t flower until early summer. It’s interesting to walk through every day just to see the progress.

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Cultivating My Garden – Stream of Consciousness Saturday

I have tried a variety of gardening methods over the years. I’ve finally settled on high raised beds. It’s not just that my back, knees, and arthritic feet complain less. It’s about post-glacial New England. I live on a hill composed mostly of gravel, sand, and rock left behind by the retreating ice sheets. Soil is incidental, and thin.

When we moved into the house, the surrounding area was truly scrubby lawn. It was lawn that seemed to gasp out, “Please let me die!” It was onto this surface that I labored to create a garden. First, I trucked in soil, then I kept on enriching with compost, mulch, and any organic amendments I could find. Slowly I had a few inches of soil to play with. One winter I covered the garden with salt meadow hay that a friend offered. A brief experiment with straw bale gardening wound up composting and becoming an offering to the garden soil.

From a bare few inches to really deep

At last, a few years ago, I took the plunge and got some high beds. I have not looked back since. If you were to ask me what the primary thing I truly loved about these new beds is, I’d have to say it’s the soil profile. Each bed has a deep, deep soil profile. I no longer have a mere few inches of soil. My soil profile is over two feet deep.

Of course, every bit of soil from the old beds went into the new, but that was nowhere near enough. At the bottom, I started with a variety of small branches, maple leaves, compost, and other compostable materials. On top of this went the soil, minus the good old New England stone. Each winter, more compost, shredded leaves, and the ash from the wood stove go. Sometimes called the kugel, or lasagna method, the idea is that the organic material in the lower reaches gradually decays and builds soil. As things settle, you add new material on top. For me, it has turned out that my oldest beds (about three years old) are now quite stable and have a deep, rich soil filling.

With this depth, I can finally grow some root crops. Root crops on the old beds were a joke. But this year I have beets in the ground, and I may experiment with some carrots.

Perhaps the biggest advantage I’ve found is that the deep soil profile allows for better moisture retention and less frequent watering.

Grow Pots

The other method I use to extend my garden is grow pots. I use these for most of my tomatoes, and they work well. On a two-wheeler, I can even move them about to find the optimum location. I find these work out really well for those odd spots that are perfect for one plant, but not for an entire bed. Garden centers in my area do not seem to carry them. So I’ve had to purchase them online. The come in all sizes. From the tiny to the gigantic. They are made from landscape cloth and will last more than many seasons.

I’ve pretty much built out my garden. But the other day I was reflecting. Some of the best sunlight available is on the driveway. It just goes to waste there. Hmmmm. Let’s see, I could put some solar panels out there, a raised bed or two….would my wife mind parking on the street?

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Cultivate

We’ve all heard the old saw about cultivating our own garden. It’s not hooey. I’ve had a small garden at almost every location I’ve lived since I came off the road. Sometimes it’s only been a window box, and at others, it’s been a big, fully configured garden. Currently, it features a variety of large, 30-inch-tall raised beds, planter bags, and assorted items filled with plants. The other day, my wife caught me eying the drive, it is the only sunny, uncultivated area.

No, we are not going to get rid of the car so Lou can have four more raised beds (but it is tempting!). But my point here is that if a bit of agriculture will improve your life, you should try it even if it’s a perfectly manageable plantation of one window box with some herbs.

A small herb garden is the ideal choice if you have limited space available. For the small space allotment, it could make the optimal gain for your culinary and aesthetic enjoyment.

For a friend who loves the garden but whose lifestyle precludes a garden, I created a small treat. I used one of those small landscape cloth planters to create a tiny herb garden. It can sit on her porch or steps, require minimal care, but offer the advantages of a garden. It has sage, parsley, rosmary, and Thyme. All herbs she enjoys for cooking.

I think of gardening as being an activity that improves our lives, and in its own simple way, makes us more than passive passengers on our journey through life. And the nice thing about it is that we do not have to have broad acreage to participate.

What do I do in winter? I’ve found that paying attention to care can allow me to keep some of my herbs indoors in the winter. While many of my plants live by the garden door, there is a window shelf in the kitchen with a light that has a bit of sage and rosemary.

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Getting Some Gardening Done

Lou Carreras photo

May first time to get more of the garden in. As you can see from the above photo I have some vast acreage. What? You don’t believe me? OK it’s actually at a greenhouse that I shop at.

But I did do a l ot of work today. Most of the herb Garden is in. These raised beds are an enormous back and knee saver. The two units have basil, rosemary, sage, parsley, oregano, marjoram, arugula, chives, and Tarragon. I plant onion sets around all the planted beds.

Moving right along I planted some of Martha Kennedy’s Scarlet Emperor Beans. Martha tells me that these are decorative and nutritious.

I also started work in my newly cleaned shop. I’m already to start making messes again. I like to start out easy. So I have a bunch of spoon, fork and spatula blanks prepped for work. The round object is a hollowed out form for a circular box. It will be smoothed inside, get abottom fitted, and then the top will have a carved boat portrait on it. It’s about five inches in diameter.

I am doing these smaller projects because I am cogitating my veratabilities about a bigger project, a portrait of a full-rigged ship. I like to back into these projects, and let my mind cogitate, and cook before starting.

But spring is here, and I’m getting moving.

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Not A River in Egypt

Am I in denial? Can’t do all-nighters anymore? Do my eyes glaze over with fatigue by ten PM? And do I find that I collapse on the bed as soon as I get undressed?

I assure you, it’s not age! It’s just the season of the year. Stack cords of wood, clean up the yard, and prepare the garden.

I’m in great shape…for a …Damn! How old am I?

Nope, I’ve never been….zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Did I nod off? What was I saying? Oh yeah, I’ve got garden work to do!

Springtime! Great Season.

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Early Starts in the Garden

Getting the garden going is taking up more of my attention. Even if I have yet to set one tap for syrup in a maple. And even if February winds are howling outside the window. At the end of January, I set up the seed-starting trays with the domes. I also got out the plant lights. You ask, “Are you nuts?”

No, I am not mentally disturbed. It’s part of a twofold approach to getting the garden, and myself going by the first bell of spring. First, there is me. I get seasonal affect pretty bad, and I find that keeping myself active in January and February helps keep it at bay. Secondly, it’s a budgetary measure to limit and distribute the cost of supplies.

Starting early lets me inventory supplies and plan replacements rather than have surprise expenses. It also aids in the slow process of going over many seed catalogs. That allows me to compare prices and quantities – do I need sixty tomato seeds, or will 20 seeds do? I’ll grow only six plants. By comparing prices this year, I noticed that floral and vegetable costs have increased significantly. I don’t mind paying for quality seeds. But taking it on the chin for an extra special glossy catalog I can do without. This year, the lion’s share of my seed order went to a Maine seed coop that offered the right mix of quality, quantity, and value. Without comparison shopping I couldn’t have done that.

This week, I’ll be sitting down with a handy little guide I have that outlines the starting times for seeds in my hardiness zone. In about a week, I’ll start the first lettuce and spinach. Those are because they will go out into specially prepared and sheltered beds as soon as possible. If I miss my timing, we’ll trim some baby leaves off for salad. I grow leaf lettuce, not head lettuce, and the plants don’t seem to mind a bit of trimming.

I’m a pusher when it comes to timing. I’m in New England’s hardiness zone 5b, and like to push for early crops where possible. This means that I use remay fabric to cover early and late crops, hot caps, covered beds, and other tricks to push my season earlier and later. It’s a game that I play to win.

The garden is an intangible in many ways. The emotional value you get from it is hard to measure. But it also is a game I play with cost and value. By careful maintenance of my equipment, careful selection of varieties to grow, and sound horticultural practice, I can produce better quality food for my family than is available at the market.

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Feverfew

The beginning of a new year is not a bad time to consider the benefits of gifts. Some seem inconsequential when they are received. But the original gift grows into something much more significant.

Right now, I am going through a stack of plant and seed catalogs and viewing websites with raised bed kits. While I am not the sort of gardener who can list different varieties of esoteric flower cultivars, I am serious about gardening. Aside from a few deprived years when I had no place to garden, I’ve had one since I was about twelve. It all started with one gift that cascaded into another and led to a lifelong interest.

When I was about twelve, my father moved the family from New York City into a smaller community on Long Island. There were real woods to roam in, streets with houses and not apartment blocks, and dogs roaming yards. Over a summer of walking past one particular yard, the dog that barked at me daily decided to walk alongside me companionably when I went by. We became friends. The lady who owned the house and parented the dog noticed the friendship. One day, she invited me into the yard. Aside from getting to know my dog friend better, I became fascinated with her garden. One day, she gave me a gift of a small potted plant, a feverfew.

I took the plant home and enlisted my father’s help in finding a place for it. Within a few weeks, my father decided to build me a garden bed for the tiny plant, some tomatoes, and what became a growing assortment of plants that we steadily acquired. Even after we moved back to the City, we managed to keep a tiny garden going.

Two gifts, a plant and a place to grow the plant, grew into a lifelong interest.

It’s not the size of a gift that matters. It’s the impact the gift has on your life over time.

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To the Garden – Early

Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday.

Normally, my year starts with the seed and plant catalogs. They begin arriving in December, but I firmly put them aside without glancing at the contents until a week or so after the New Year. Why? Winter, that’s why. A lengthy, slow peruse of brightly lit pages full of glorious plants, blooms, and fruits helps dispel the ick of a New England winter. I then slowly marked the pages and began a slow process of deciding on purchases to be made early in February.

Not this year. Yesterday I was deep into three or four catalogs. I was putting in page markers so when I order I can easily refind special items I desire. So what am I going to do in the middle of a cruddy New England snowfall when I’ve already run my way through the seed catalogs? Garden planning. I will finish plans to raise the last of my garden beds to waist height.

At the end of the last growing season, I was amazed at how well the new raised beds did. In part, they were more productive because weeding was a non-issue for the first time in years. A casual walk around the waist-high beds in the morning allowed me to pull weeds before they became established.
A second reason was that the soil in them was custom. Yes, the old soil was there from the low beds the new beds had replaced. However, the soil column in each bed had been compounded completely without the generous addition of New England gravel, stone, and glacial debris, which was the baseline characteristic of my gardens at this location since I moved in.
The hill on which my house sits is glacial debris, ledge, and such. Making a productive garden took years of coaching the soil into respectability.
So all the good went into the new beds as a top dressing for lasagna-type bedding of branches, mulched leaves, woodstove ash, and whatever compost. There was barely a small stone in the batch, and the soil retained moisture and was fertile.

So, the plan is to finish the process of lifting the garden.

But why have I broken with a working tradition of doing these things later in the winter? Fear. Fear that the antic idiocy of national and international politics will disrupt markets large and small. Inflation will worsen, and the cost of fresh garden staples will make it hard to afford a casual stroll down produce aisles for staples. I’m probably foolish in worrying that seed and plant providers will have shortages, or difficulties shipping, but that’s the nature of fear. Fear starts as a tiny, not unreasonable, suspicion. Then, it grows as uncertainty develops.

There is so little that I can control outside of myself. But the garden, at least, is within my grasp, and I can make it a small island of surety in the coming confusion.

You have to do what you can do.

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Seed Catalogs

I’ve been a voracious reader since the days when Mrs. Kresge proved the sisters of Perpetual Pain to be wrong about me being incapable of learning. So, that was third grade, a long time ago. I’m reading Mary Beard’s latest on the Roman Emperors and the latest issue of the Maine Antiques Digest. Ahh, discovery! OK, I confess there is also some science fiction.

But the inquiry should be what I am not reading. Why am I casting expressive and desirous glances toward the little periodical rack holding recent catalogs? It’s not lust for the LL Bean catalog or the fancy ones I only get before Christmas. It’s the first seed and garden catalog. 

The catalog arrived yesterday. It’s the first of almost a dozen that will appear over the next few weeks. I’ll cast looks in its general direction tonight, but I won’t yield. It will become a ritual between now and January one: look but do not touch.

I’ll grab the pile on January 1 with only the bleak prospects of winter to look forward to. Then I sit down for several hours of color, elaborate gardens, and new seed offerings. I’ll immerse myself in giddy expectations of the spring to come. Over the next week or two, I’ll prepare lists, compare prices and quantities, and remember the successes and failures I associate with various companies. By the end of the month, I’ve reviewed my findings with the wife. I’ve also cross-checked that I have everything she is interested in for the garden, and I am ready to order.

But first, I purge and recycle the catalogs I will not use. The ones I am ordering from have dog-eared pages and little notes stuck in between pages.

I am ordering seeds by mid-February. My raised beds received preliminary preparation in October and November, so until March, there is little to do.

That is the ritual of the seed catalogs, one of the methods I use to get me through New England’s Winter. 

We all do what we have to do! Onward to another growing season and discovery!

  • The photo is from a previous year’s collection of catalogs