The Good Morning Garden

A snap pea tendril reaches out to touch the full moon in the early morning hour—my favorite time in the garden.

Early morning in the garden takes me by surprise each and every day: fresh, bright, fragrant. Dew underfoot splashes as my bare feet make their way across the yard, and even as the sun rises a full moon hangs in sight.

Bright green parsley: I treat myself to a bite each time I walk by.

Drops of dew—or maybe it rained last night?—sit on every leaf, catching what little light cuts through the crisp air. I look for signs of visitors, my peaceful face chagrined only when I see the telltale of a cat nesting (or worse!) in my garden.

Cabbage and cauliflower grow in one bed, and peas climb trellises in the back.

I make my way from one corner to the next, leaning down to say good morning to all the plants. My fingers pluck at leaves, turning some over to assess any damage. Some plants appeal more to certain antennaed creatures, and they have feasted on the greenery. I notice small, perfectly round craters in some of the beds. I look up and see the answer; squirrels have been either foraging for or storing their treasures beneath the straw.

Lettuces begin to sprout.

 It is fall: let the harvest begin!

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The First Harvest: Lettuce Be Glad

Even a tiny harvest such as this is still food enough to eat.

Lately I've been enjoying one of my favorite evening rituals: I grab my pair of red kitchen shears and my favorite colander, tell Finley it's time to "check the gardens," and the two of us head outside, swatting at mosquitoes, foraging for part of our dinner.

A simple dinner of salad, bread, and pesto.

Our lettuces are only a few inches tall, but combined with our fledgling arugula, I trimmed enough to make a small salad with Texas grapefruit, avocado, and olive oil. A bounty of basil meant a batch of fresh pesto, which I served atop toasted homemade bread—and voila! Dinner from the garden, despite the tiny harvest.

It's so simple and rewarding to add a few garden leaves to every meal. And today, a new development: one of the volunteer tomatoes has fruit on the vine! What a lovely thing, to have fresh tomatoes this time of year... let's hope the volunteers keep up the great work.

What's going on in your garden?

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...My Grandpa Was a Farmer

This afternoon I called my grandmother and we got to talking about the vegetable beds. I told her our fall garden is starting to come up, and she said, "Well it's just about time for that, dear." And then I told her that I like to think my grandfather would be proud of me, now that I have a small farm in my backyard.

My sister and brother and I grew up on my grandparents' farm, our house nestled between fields of corn, cotton, and maize. My grandpa raised cattle and had a big garden in between our house and theirs. My mother inherited his green thumb, and now I have a feeling I got a little of it too.

And then my grandmother said something interesting: "It sounds like everybody has a vegetable garden nowadays. I mean, that's sure what I've been hearing."

Hold the phone, what's that? Even my grandma knows that backyard farming is coming into the norm? And I'll just come out and say that she's not getting this information from all the hipster blogs she's reading. No, this comes from network television and what she reads in the newspaper.

This is totally encouraging. Friends and coworkers are telling me that they're venturing into gardening—one took the simple step of getting a galvanized metal trough, filling it with dirt, and picking up a packet of lettuce seeds. She and her husband are tired of second-guessing how clean grocery store lettuce is, so they're going to grow their own. Another friend is excited to move to a house so she can try her hand at square foot gardening. And good friends of ours have been sharing their amazing okra harvest with us (we like it tossed in olive oil, sprinkled with sea salt, and grilled until they're charred).

Are you jumping on this backyard gardening bandwagon? What questions do you have about getting your garden started or keeping it going?

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Flecks of Green

Arugula sprouts up among pine straw.

This morning I woke up to water the seeds (over the weekend we planted kale, lettuce, carrots, Swiss chard, bok choi, dill, turnips, and kohlrabi) and marvel at what a difference a change in the seasons makes.

The air is cool and crisp. Dawn hasn't quite set in, so the sky is still purple with just a hint of light starting in the east. Grass under my feet feels alive. My heart lifts.

Our first seeds are starting to peek up through their compost and pine straw. The arugula I planted early last week enthusiastically bursts through to daylight. The shelling peas I planted two weeks ago are also emerging, bright green flecks in the browns and tans of the garden bed.

Now is the time I remind myself of the patience required to keep a garden. A few hours after planting the seeds, I told Ryan I was going out to see if they'd sprouted yet.

No, not quite. But the promise is there, waiting to be revealed.

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Progress: A Composter and a Refreshed Garden

New Year and Spring always get all the "fresh start" glory. But for me, Fall feels so full of hope! There is so much to look forward to.

Over Labor Day weekend, Ryan and I buckled down and got to work. We mowed, edged, trimmed the hackberry trees at the fence line, and got all of the un-fun stuff out of the way. Then it was time to focus on the garden.

A few weeks ago, I began what I imagined would be a quick, simple, and adorable compost bin building project. (Rose-colored glasses, anyone?) It only took a few twists of his arm to convince Ryan into driving around the city and loading up a truck full of free pallets. Then I armed myself with a crowbar and hammer and was excited to get to work.

The lumber is ok. The labor is crazy difficult.

That's when I learned that taking apart wooden pallets is not for the faint of heart. Or arm strength.

Ryan patiently showed me the best way to approach the situation, but I whined my way through it. I even recruited our all-too-kind neighbor, who enjoyed the opportunity to sling a heavy hammer at something for a while.

Pinterest makes it look so easy. "Build THIS shelf out of pallets! How about this chair? Pallets! Free! Just take them apart and voila! Something awesome." Don't be fooled.

If you decide to take on a pallet project, lured by the free-ness of the wood and the promise of DIY furniture just around the bend; be warned. It's not easy. And also, not all of the wood is in the best shape. But it's free, and I have to say I was happy to put in a little extra elbow grease to get us an almost-free compost bin.

After a couple of weekends spent taking some of the pallets apart, and then learning to use the circular saw, I devised a plan to build a compost bin. (Note: this began as a three-bin composting system and quickly morphed into the much more do-able single bin.)

Final touch: paint on the saying, "A Rind is a Terrible Thing to Waste"

With about 10 feet of hardware mesh ($15) and a bunch of deck nails that I had on hand, I built a passable version of what I really wanted. I was inspired by this beautiful three-bin composter. The "door" on the front can be completely picked up and removed so that we can easily turn the compost with a pitchfork or shovel.

We moved the bin to its new home in the back of the garden, and left a little space next to it for tomato cages and the wheelbarrow. It's a little bit charming, don't you think?

Meanwhile, we had a lot of other preparation to do to ready the beds for fall planting. I took a solo trip Sunday morning out to the Natural Gardener to walk the labyrinth and get pine straw and turkey compost. There's something very meditative about shoveling hot turkey manure. Or maybe that was the labyrinth.

By Monday, we were up with the dawn and turning over the dirt in all the beds. We dressed them with fresh compost and topped them all with pine straw to keep the cats out. The garden began looking like herself again!

The beds are primed and ready (almost!) to plant. 

In a week or two, after the hot turkey compost has settled and the weather has cooled ever so slightly, it will be time to plant. Here's what we plan to start from seed (direct sow):

• Shelling peas
• Snap peas
• Swiss chard
• Arugula
• Spinach
• Kale
• Lettuce
• Dill
• Bok Choi (tatsoi)
• Carrots
• Turnips
• Kohlrabi 
• Parsnips

When it's time for transplants, we'll get broccoli and cabbage. It feels so good to be in the garden again! Are you ready to plant a fall/winter garden?

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The Plan.

The fall/winter garden plan.

I've said before that the garden is quite a metaphor, and this summer I have felt the pangs of an unproductive garden rattle through me in a difficult way. I've been a mess, feeling much the same way my garden looks — disheveled, unkempt, hot, uninspired, unfruitful. I'm yearning to pull myself out of this summer slump, and feeling just a hint of crispness in the air gives me hope that fall is just around the corner.

Which means it's time for the plan.

My local nurseries aren't yet ready for the fall garden, but boy am I chomping at the bit. (In fact, I called; there are no broccoli transplants for me just yet, but soon. Very soon.)

In any case, here's what I have to look forward to. Leafy greens, broccoli, cabbage, sugar snap peas, and herbs. My favorite herbs, to be exact: cilantro, parsley, and rosemary. And carrots, turnips, parsnips, cauliflower, and (shh, don't tell the hubcap) a little Swiss chard.

Mostly, though, I have growth to look forward to. New life, nourishment, tiny plants that become so much more than simply leaves and stems.

This is the weekend to prepare the gardens. The cleaning out, redressing, nurturing the soil that will in turn nurture us ... This is what I need to refresh my own life. I am so looking forward to a change in the weather.

I feel better already.

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Wordless Wednesday: What 109 Degrees Will Do to a Plant

Yesterday we broke a record in Texas. A high of 109 degrees was recorded in the middle of the city, only a couple of miles from where our garden grows. Or ceases to grow. In case you were wondering what the garden looks like (and why I'm totally ok with saying goodbye and waiting for fall...), this should answer some questions.

The gardens at 6:30 a.m., after a little watering. (Sorry it's blurry, I had peppers in one hand.)

The same gardens at 6:30 p.m., after a peak temperature of 109 degrees. Fahrenheit.

Peppers and tomatillos, 6:30 a.m.

After. Fin stopped to smell the roses, and show how hot it is.

Cucumber vines, 6:30 a.m.

Cucumber vines, 6:30 p.m.

Close-up of the cucumber vines at 6:30 p.m.

Something ate this cantaloupe. Regrettably, it wasn't me. 

Despite some ugly leaves and way-too-small cages, the tomatoes are still producing!

The giant sunflower (taller than the house! almost!) and the watermelon patch.

Fin and Ryan showing the enormity of our magnificent sunflower.

My tall hubcap can't even reach the top!

Even with all this vine borer damage, two of the zucchini plants continue to produce about two zukes each week.

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Fruits from the Weekend

Here's a little taste of what I needed to know this weekend. The only thing not food-related was the ukulele search (it was unfruitful). The rest, as I'm sure you can tell, was very much so. In fact, we had a fruit-filled weekend.

After a couple of Googles, I decided there was indeed no time like the present to pick the muskmelon (cantaloupe) and one of our watermelons from the garden. The Internet told me that the cantaloupe would be more forgiving because it'll ripen on the counter for a day or two, but I had to be careful with the watermelon. There's no exact science to say when, precisely, to pick it. 

"When it ceases to grow any more."

"When thumped, it makes a hollow sound."

"When the ground spot is yellow or cream, but not green."

I should also mention that I could've sworn I planted Moon and Stars heirloom watermelons. But when they all grew into perfect little spheres, which are having a hard time making it past 5 pounds each, I got to wondering. I looked up a number of varieties. The Moon and Stars variety, which boasts spotted leaves and a dark rind with small yellow dots (and bigger "moons") can weigh in at nearly 30 pounds. And they're oblong. But Sugar Babies met the description of what I saw in our bed, so perhaps—perhaps!—that's what I planted. 

Watermelon and cantaloupe from the garden.

In any case, I picked the biggest one and hoped for the best. It weighed almost 5 pounds and when I cut into it, all was well with the world. Boy, was it perfect. We ate half of it plain, but I soaked the other half in tequila and sprinkled it with salt—impromptu watermelon margaritas. Thank you, Pinterest!

The muskmelon was even more delicious. Perfectly peach, super sweet, and deliciously fragrant. Our niece was standing next to me when I cut into it, and she exclaimed, "Wow. You can grow ANYTHING in your garden." Just another reason I love that kid. 

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Wordless Wednesday: The Garden Lives

After last week's sad tale of the squash vine borer attack, here's how the garden looks today. It's alive, and we're harvesting Plenty. Of. Food.

Have I shown you the watermelon patch yet? It's overgrown its boundaries, by a long shot, and there are some sweet little gems in there.

This smallish moon & stars watermelon will grow to about 20 pounds.

Eggplant starts are now growing where the zucchini once lived. One zuke remains, in the background.

All harvested this week: butternut squash, green tomatoes, and a trio of peppers.

Peppers, tomatillos, and heirloom green beans are going strong.

A bee happily at work inside a pumpkin bloom.

An heirloom variety of muskmelon (cantaloupe) nears full size.

Huge sunflowers threaten to bloom in the watermelon patch.

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Wordy Wednesday: The Life of a Farmer

Fallen zukes. Rest in peace, sweet plants.

It happened. 

Last week was a very busy week; we had fun social engagements every night and that left me very little time in the garden. So by Friday morning, when I noticed a little frass—the sawdust-like tell tale sign of squash vine borers—at the base of one, two, three... all SIX of our zucchini plants, I had a little melt-down. 

Here's the thing: there's little to no chance I could have totally prevented this. The fact that we've had two full months of unbelievable zucchini harvest thus far is remarkable in my book. Now happens to be the laying time for the vine borer moth and that means that the susceptible plants—those cucurbits with hollow stems—were especially vulnerable. 

I shed a couple of tears (because, in my own words, "I let my little plants down"), suffered through my husband's extreme eye-rolling at aforementioned tears, and then got to work performing surgery on the plants. 

Damage has been done.

"Surgery" meant taking a very sharp knife and slicing into the base of each of the stems. Any plants that show signs of wilting are probably goners.* But three of ours still looked strong, so I sliced into the stems and carefully pulled out the white inch-long grubs that were eating the plants from the inside out.

Then I stuck that sharp knife right through each of them, without any feelings of remorse for killing a living being, because those little bastards were eating my plants. A farmer has to put her foot down. Right on the bug that's doing the damage.

At that point, I poured BT worm killer, which is approved for organic gardening, into each of the stems and covered them with compost. Then I watered the bed and waited with bated breath.

Rescued, for now.

We lost a total of six plants, and the remaining squash plants don't look too great. But three of the zucchini plants are still alive. In fact, I picked two zucchini from the largest plant this week, and there are blooms and small fruits on the others as well.

This is what the garden looks like today—Wednesday, six days after the surgery.

The less-full bed with a couple of thriving living plants. I'll take it!

Hope, in the form of baby zucchini on the vine!

It's an important lesson in gardening. My mom says, reassuringly, "That's the life of a farmer." But the thing is, my livelihood doesn't depend on these plants; we simply grow them to enjoy and share them. I can't imagine the heartbreak caused by drought or natural disaster or unstoppable infestation for a farmer who supports her family with her crops. So I am grateful that we have this backyard garden to pick and choose from; it truly is a luxury, albeit one that involves a lot of work!

Meanwhile, we're eating from the garden every day and sharing as much as we're able (which is to say, when we remember to take it to friends and colleagues).

And the fact that our more susceptible cucurbits were attacked makes me hopeful for the rest of them; the butternut, cucumbers, watermelon, and cantaloupe are doing fine. The bugs can't get them all.

Today's garden harvest.

*I should also note that the squash vine borer can live in the soil; so it's best not to plant squash in the same bed for three years. It works out well, though, since we have enough raised beds to rotate. We'll also have to rotate our tomatoes, but more on that next time on the Gardenerd Chronicles.

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Wordless Wednesday: Pretty Beans and Godzilla Zucchini

Jalapenos ready for pickling.

Heirloom pole beans in stunning purples and greens!

Strawberry-basil margarita recipe test #1: needed more tequila.

A typical garden harvest, twice a week.

The Godzilla Zucchini, which I missed on the vine: 2 pounds, 6 3/8 ounces = 11 cups grated.

Tomatillos that look like tiny paper lanterns. They're so beautiful!

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When Life Hands You Zucchini...

What's left at our house of this week's harvest. Godzilla Zucchini weighs 2 lb, 6 oz.

Anyone have a recipe for zucchini-ade? Hang on while I Google that... (Of course! Zucchini-tini!)

I may have mentioned at one point that we planted our garden strategically this summer, hoping for a large crop of a smaller variety of veggies (as opposed to a large variety of vegetables with low yields).

Well. Large crop we've got.

My love for zucchini knows no bounds at this point; ask me again in a month and that answer may be different. In fact, zucchini salsa has been the find of the summer already, and it's not even June. This weekend, I whipped up a batch two batches of zucchini bread to share, giardienara pickles, zucchini salsa, and grilled zucchini enchiladas verdes (recipe forthcoming).

And it's funny; my stepmom asked me, after I touted my ten-pound harvest, "How many zucchini plants do you have?" "Six," I said, proudly. She hung her head in her hands. "Oh, wow. My mother told me to only plant one, it's all you'll ever need."

Maybe I've learned a little bit of a lesson for next season (plant only four zucchini plants?). That said, it's extremely rewarding to share this bumper crop with family and friends. I am not exaggerating to say I gave away ten pounds of home-grown vegetables to family this week (no, not just zucchini... a few peppers and squash, too!). It brings me so much happiness to share what we've grown. Tomorrow, I'll tote thirty-six zucchini muffins up to work to share with my colleagues. This evening, the neighbors are coming over for Sunday night zucchini dinner.

Maybe I'm missing my calling. Maybe I'm a little more like my farming ancestors than I first thought. Maybe I just need a big ole plot of land out in the country, and a tractor, and some goats.

But for now, I'm perfectly happy with our little backyard garden and its ridiculous yield of zucchini.

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Wordless Wednesday: Pole Beans and Green Tomatoes

Sunset in the garden of good. No evil at the moment.

Pole bean blossoms backlit by sunset.

Green tomatoes!

Green tomatoes (they weren't ripening on the vine, so this is an experiment).

One of my favorite parts of the garden.

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