2007: A Retrospective

2007: April through December

Every year, I try to keep track of what the garden looked like from month to month, and compile a photo montage for my own reference. Next year, I need to start doing this for all three of the major gardens-- this one plus the veggie plot out back and the cutting garden.

One thing I notice is that the garden doesn't seem as colorful this year as it did in 2006, when the front bed was dominated by zinnias, nasturtiums, gem marigolds, and dahlias. In future years, I will have to make sure to put more flowers into the front berm.

Structurally, this year I lengthened the center bed and added the trellis in the front bed. That trellis worked wonderfully and wasn't much trouble to build-- next year I think I may make one or two more.

The bare earth in the first photo reminds me that spring is around the corner! Last spring seems so far away now-- where did I find the time to start all those seeds? Next year will present new challenges, in any case-- I've lost use of the south-facing windowsills that I usually use to grow seedlings, and will have to resort to experimental methods. It's going to be an interesting seed-starting season.

All told, though, I'm feeling relatively optimistic where the garden is concerned. Winter sowing is coming up! And the approaching solstice means that we're almost halfway through the season of darkness. I will be thrilled to get some daylight back!

Looking back on things, 2007 was a good year for the garden. But with a little luck, 2008 will be even better.

To compare montages from previous years, click here.

Catalog season

Catalogs

We're all inundated with catalogs at this time of the year, right? Since the start of November, it seems like I've received holiday mailings from every company I've bought or received gifts through in the past five years. Most of them go straight into the recycle bin with a disdainful huff, but when it comes to the new season's seed catalogs, my attitude takes a complete 360.

I'm sure that seed companies know that by sending catalogs out in winter, they're hitting home gardeners up at our most vulnerable hour, when we're tired of ice and bare branches and desperately craving thoughts of warmer and more bountiful days to come. To be honest, I have enough seed stored away for a few years' worth of crops, but when the catalogs arrive, I can never resist treating myself to a few new varieties.

My favorite catalogs have tons of information on germination and cultivation of different crops-- after I'm done shopping from them, I keep them around as reference material and find myself turning to them at various stages throughout the growing season. I like colorful plant pictures as much as the next gardener, but I've come to be suspicious of catalogs with a photo-to-text ratio of less than fifty percent. I mean, they say that a picture's worth a thousand words, but unless those thousand words include germination instructions, dates-to-harvest, disease resistances, and so forth, I'd might as well be staring at photos of brightly-wrapped paperweights.

If you were thinking about giving your favorite urban gardener one of those gift paperweights, by the way, you might want to take a look at the You Grow Girl 2008 calendar instead. It is informational, beautifully designed, and full of fabulous photography. I've ordered mine! Admittedly, I don't know your favorite gardener personally, and it may well be that they really want a gift paperweight. (I suppose). I'm just making the suggestion.

By the way, a few posts back I mentioned Folia, a garden journal/community website that's in beta testing at the moment. At the time, there was a waiting list for new accounts, but there's a membership drive going on at the moment such that existing members can give out instant-access invitations to other gardeners. If you're reading this and interested in trying it out, leave a comment. I'm really excited to be able to share the opportunity, so don't be shy! I'm generally awful about replying to comments, but this is one thing that I can promise I'll get back to you about quickly.

That said, as this might well be my last post of the year-- happy holidays, everyone! See you in 2008!

Oh c***, I forgot the bulbs!

Crown Imperial

It happens to me every year-- in the rush of things that have to be accomplished after frost hits, something gets lost in the shuffle. This year, it was the spring bulbs. I've had them sitting around for over a month-- the crown imperials that I've been after for years, along with a massive quantity of daffodils.

To add to the calamity, the local grocery store put its bulbs on clearance this past week ($1.00 per package!), virtually forcing me to buy the alliums I had my eye on earlier in the season. (Uh-huh). As the cashier was ringing up my pile, she gave me a funny look and asked, "Can these really still be planted out?"

Well, I have my own doubts about whether or not it's still safe to plant out bulbs, but over the weekend, I went ahead and did it anyway. Although it's pretty cold, the ground isn't frozen yet-- the biggest difficulty in getting them out has been the non-stop rain that generally hits Western Washington at about the same time as frost. I've planted bulbs late before with good results, and feel pretty confident that most of them will come up just fine in the spring.

If not, I will report back in a few months. I'll be sad if they rot, but they won't keep anyway-- and hopefully, blogging my (possible) loss will serve as a caveat to anyone else who, like me, finds themself suffering from forgotten-bulb syndrome.

How sweet it is

Carrots - 'Purple Haze' and 'Nantes'

Last year, after being very impressed with myself for having grown my first carrot, I mentioned that I was going to try a variety called "Purple Haze." In the spirit of continuing to show off my carrots, here is "Purple Haze" mixed in with more of the Nantes type pictured in last year's photo. Pretty cool-looking, eh? Root crops are supposed to turn sweeter after frost; these post-frost carrots certainly do seem sweeter than their mid-season counterparts. I wish I'd planted fall beets!

Elsewhere in the vegetable garden, the sorrel is starting to succumb to the cold weather, after all; I'm debating whether to pull out my extra plants now, or wait until spring to give them away. I'm also worried about the leeks; they look fine so far, but I don't know how winter-hardy the variety I planted is. They're too small to use yet, though, so the decision to leave them in is a no-brainer. Finally, the radicchio is still not heading. I may pull out some of the plants and move them to an area that gets more sunlight. If that doesn't work, I'll be starting from scratch with a more sure-heading variety in the spring.

In the flower beds: last week, I cut back the dead dahlias to let the tubers cure. They're due to be dug up and stored next weekend. While I was messing around in the flowerbeds, I put in my fall-planted bulbs and rearranged the perennials to try and "fix" my plant height issues-- next year, I don't want to have to deal with two-foot larkspurs buried behind four-foot high dahlias again. Here are the before and after shots. The difference doesn't look very impressive right now, especially since the dahlias have been cut down and the annuals taken out, but by spring the improvement should be marked.

As a final note, we pruned the grapes this past weekend. Do not try this at home! Grapes are normally pruned in spring, but since the recent frosts killed off most of the foliage, and since my husband doesn't like the way that the vines trap humidity against the garage, we now have two naked, scrawny trunks on either side of a wooden arbor, defenseless against the impending cold. Husband wants to move the grapes next year; I think they're going to be too much trouble to move, and would prefer replacing them with a more flavorful variety, or maybe even wine grapes.

Even though I'm not very fond of red seedless, I have to admit that owning our own grapevines has increased my interest in and respect for viticulture. The grapes in particular have taught me to be a vigilant and merciless pruner; every year, we cut them way back except for a very few of the strongest vines from the previous year, and the plants always seem to bounce back with increased vigor. Even though we neglected the vines after pruning this past year and let the birds get most of the year's bounty, in a way, the business of pruning is its own reward. There is a calm to it, a sense of purposeful effort that I enjoy.

There are still bulbs to plant, tubers to store, and gardening supplies to be cleaned. I keep thinking that the gardening season (and thus, my blogging season) is done, but it still seems like there's always something to do. I once joked to a greenhouse grower that I couldn't have a greenhouse and do the four-season gardening thing because I needed the winter break! But there really isn't a break-- just a slowdown. And I think I like it that way.

As of yesterday, we have frost!

Pumpkins, assembled

The forecast said that temperatures would get down to 31 degrees overnight on Thursday and Friday. Well, the night before the big frost, I decided not to chance harvesting the pumpkins early, since they're not fully orange yet and supposed to be able to take anything down to 27 degrees, but then the weather decided better and dropped to 26 degrees. Bad call on my part!

Luckily, the pumpkins appear to be fine, at least at initial examination. I cut them from the vines and moved them into the garage to finish ripening and curing, and swear that the largest two must weigh twenty pounds apiece. Of course, it may have just seemed that way after the fifty-yard dash from the back garden to the garage door! In any case, with some luck (and judicious use of the food processor and freezer) we'll have pumpkins to last the winter.

As for frost's toll on the rest of the garden, most of the vegetables had already been removed, but some dahlias that I hadn't gotten around to cutting were lost. On the other hand, I was surprised to discover that the sorrel made it through, which means we'll be able to enjoy more of the cream of sorrel soup that I finally got around to making this past week.

There have been tasks that I've been meaning to get to, like planting my legumes, shallots, and spring bulbs, that I hope to work on over the weekend. Then it will be on to cleaning out the pots and plant supports, and then, finally, I can sit down to my favorite winter pastime... planning next year's garden.

October thoughs

Fall container

I know I said that the garden was dead a few posts ago, but the rumors have been... well, slightly exaggerated, anyway. It's true that the majority of the summer vegetables are done now. I spent a day last week pulling out all the tomato plants, the tomatillos, the beans, and the squash. But in the process, I harvested a number of green tomatoes that will hopefully ripen all right indoors.

And after the tomatoes came out, I put some raspberry canes in the back bed as a temporary holding spot until I'm able to build them a better one in the spring. The raspberries were being given away by someone at work, and I couldn't resist.

Elsewhere in the garden, the dahlias are still going strong-- the frost that got the tomatoes didn't touch them. Admittedly, my dahlia collection was based around autumnal colors (predominantly oranges and reds with muted yellows and pinks), but they're really producing some gorgeous seasonal bouquets.

Also going strong? The leeks and radicchio... finally! I'm beginning to understand that I planted them at the wrong time of year. In theory, they're supposed to be planted in early spring, or fall. I suspect that I planted mine too late in spring, because the leeks stayed spindly, and the radicchio green and floppy, all spring and summer long. But now the radicchio is turning red and looks as if it might actually form heads, and the leeks are starting to look almost leek-like. I'm very pleased. The sorrel is still going strong, as well. I'm going to have to thin out the plants before frost, so there is a large pot of cream of sorrel soup in my imminent future.

Today's photo is of a fall planter that I crammed together. I've never thought much of asters, but this year I'm into them-- they're autumnal without being chrysanthemums. If that heather makes it through the winter, it's going into the front yard.

If you are a gardener, you might want to check out Folia, an exciting website that's in beta testing at the moment. I don't know how long the waiting list is for an account, but it's very fun-- a plant journal, social website, photo album, and garden brag sheet all in one ;-) It doesn't look as if pages are open to the public yet, but if you snag an account, you can find me listed under the username Satrina0.

Halloween (and the average first frost date in this area) is coming up fast! Hopefully I'll be able to sneak in another post before we really get into the winter doldrums.

It blooms!

African Violet #1

You may remember this African violet from January, when it was just a leaf stuck in a plastic cup full of vermiculite. I transplanted my cuttings to terracotta pots a couple of months ago, and while I lost one plant in the process (the water-grown plant seen in April), the other two are looking very healthy, and this one is sporting delicate purple blooms.

In all, I started with eight cuttings and ended with two plants. I think I could have done better if I'd 1) trimmed my stems to 1" before sticking them in either vermiculite or water, 2) moved the plants to potting soil sooner, and 3) been more careful about keeping water off the leaves.

It was a fun experiment! I hope I'll have a chance to start African violets from leaf cuttings again.

The garden is dead... long live the garden

Canning

I wish I could say that I'd spent the past month tending the garden, but for the most part, everything's finished but the last few harvests and final cleanup. We had our first light frost this past week, which damaged several of the tomato plants and scalded the tops of the Green Zebra tomatoes. Last year, we didn't see a frost like this until late October-- so on top of the late spring, the end of the season is rushing up to meet us, making the 2007 growing year even shorter.

That said, the garden was productive this year, mostly thanks to the addition of the second bed out back. I've harvested about seven pounds of tomatoes each weekend for the past month and a half, many of which ended up going to friends. Besides the tomatoes, I have a surprise bumper crop of tomatillos in the back bed. Who knew that two plants could pump out so many mysterious, husked, green fruit?

I'm used to dealing with a certain amount of excess. In past years, I've dried all of my leftover tomatoes for use over the winter. This year, with three times as many plants in the garden, I knew that I was going to be in more trouble than usual. But it didn't occur to me to can anything until I looked at that pile of tomatillos. There was no way I was going to be able to give them all away, and I rightfully assumed (since at that point, I'd still never tasted a tomatillo in my life)* that there was probably a limit to the number of tomatillos our tummies would tolerate in a short period of time.

That was when I remembered the stack of food preservation books I'd accumulated over the past few years-- a copy of the Ball Blue Book. Putting Food By. The Complete Book of Small Batch Preserving. I did some quick reading, remembered that we had grabbed a boiling-water canner a couple of summers ago to use as a clam pot, and then picked up a few supplies at work. By evening, I was up to my ears in chopped tomatillos.

Two weeks and three batches later, I think I may be hooked on canning. It seemed intimidating at first-- you hear so many concerns about spoilage and bad seals, but after getting some practice and reading up on the potential hazards (especially Putting Food By), I'm feeling pretty confident. I'm glad I started with the tomatillo salsa, since it's such a high-acid food and the liquid consistency of the cooked tomatillos turned out to be forgiving of my neophyte errors. But all the uncertainty and labor was worth it to be able to look at my small stockpile of jars and think, "hey... I made that stuff!"

The score so far? Five jars of salsa verde, four bottles of tomato-basil sauce, and three jars of chunky tomato salsa. Next stop: spiced plum butter... and then there will be more tomatoes and tomatillos to deal with. Now I have another reason to look forward to next year's growing season (and farmer's markets)-- no more lost harvests!

Please excuse me now while I go off to gloat at my pantry.

* - P.S. The tomatillos were great in salsa verde! but I still don't think we could ever eat three pounds of them in a week.

The 2007 Tomato Round-Up

It's time for that post I've been threatening you with! So here they are: the tomatoes I grew this year, and what I thought of them...



Supersweet 100: This is a common, popular, hybrid variety of cherry tomato. They're almost candy-like in their sweetness-- I'm not a big fan of cherry tomatoes, but these were worth eating straight off the vine. They were great in salads (including insalata caprese), but my favorite way of preparing them was to saute them whole, which seemed to bring out even more flavor and sweetness. I popped a few in the dehydrator whole, and the skins prevented them from drying, but the heat cooked the insides... next time, I'll halve them before drying, but the resulting moist, shriveled fruit were delicious.




Pineapple: This yellow tomato was another sweet one-- not sugary, like the Supersweets, but mild and hardly acidic. I never got around to eating one while it was yellow-- after sitting on the counter for a day or two, they all ripened to a striped red-yellow color, both inside and out. The fruit were beautiful when sliced. These tomatoes were very large-- one of them easily made two generous (and yummy) tomato sandwiches. I'd definitely classify them as fresh-eating tomatoes.



Brandywine: I haven't tasted this year's crop yet. The first couple that ripened went to friends, and only two more have ripened this past week. From past experience, I can say that these tomatoes are very flavorful-- like no other tomato I've had before, with a rich, deep taste that I can imagine someone comparing to wine. The fruit are as large, or larger, than Pineapple-- one on my counter is six inches in diameter across the top. While I know from previous years that Brandywine is great for tomato sandwiches, I'll be saving this year's crop for pasta sauces and tomato soup.




Green Zebra: These green tomatoes are kind of infamous in the tomato world. Some people love them, others hate them. Personally, I rather like them. Their tomato flavor is mild and depthless, in contrast to that of the Brandywines, but they have a nice balance of tart acidity, flavor, and sweetness. I grew them mostly to serve fresh in caprese salads, but as the season comes to a close, I think I might use some of them for a green tomato chutney as an experiment.



San Marzano: You may recognize this photo from last year-- I haven't uploaded any from this year's crop, which is growing in my compost pile. The tomatoes coming from those volunteer plants are variable in size and quality, although they all have the trademark elongated, hollow fruit. These are considered paste tomatoes-- there is very little, if any, of the gelatinous, seedy goop that you find at the center of most tomatoes. I like them for that fact alone, and almost prefer them over "salad" tomatoes for salads, paste-tomato status notwithstanding. They are good raw. They are great for sauces. They dry beautifully. I will be growing them in earnest next year.

Early Girl (not pictured): I grew my Early Girls from seed this year. What can I say about them? The fruit are evenly-shaped, of respectable size (up to 3" across), and bountiful. They are the first in the garden to ripen, aside from the cherry tomatoes. The taste is better than that of a hothouse tomato. The flesh is compact and slices neatly. I like Early Girls, but they don't have much bling. On the other hand, they easily make up most of my harvest. There will always been room for at least one of them in the garden.

Principe Borghese (not pictured): These are small, dense paste tomatoes, and I'm kind of ambivalent about them. I can't stand them for fresh eating, although the other members of the household swear that they're "okay" fresh. To me, they taste like paste starch. The yield was disappointing-- IIRC, this is the only determinate variety I grew this year, and none of the plants got very large or pumped out many fruit. On the other hand, they seem to cook well, dissolving smoothly to a nice thick consistency, which is what a paste tomato ought to do. And they're very neat and pretty when halved and dried, and seem to lose the paste-like flavor.

So there you have it! I can tell you for certain that I'll be growing at least one Early Girl, one Pineapple, a couple of San Marzanos, and a Brandywine next year, and I'm looking forward to trying 'Persimmon,' as well. But since the garden will support up to twelve plants (without using the compost pile :-P), I'd love to hear suggestions for other varieties that I should try!

Pirates, peppers, pears, and... honeybees

Dahlia 'Weston Pirate'

Today's photo is for my sister: it's Dahlia 'Weston Pirate,' which I bought solely for the name. Oh, and its bold, swashbuckling, scarlet hue.

But mostly for the name.

Back to business: two new crops are coming up in the garden: jalapeño peppers and Seckel pears. The jalapeño peppers are a standby: they never seem to fail, and after all the guacamole and salsa has been made, there are always enough left for a big batch of jalapeño poppers.

The Seckel pears, on the other hand, are something new. The tree has been in the yard since we moved here, but it has never fruited until this year, despite producing beautiful blossoms in spring. There are about twenty pears on the tree now. We were disappointed to discover how grainy they were, but now I'm thinking about either cooking them or turning them into pear wine, which has revived my enthusiasm.

Elsewhere in the garden, the brandywine and green zebra tomatoes are ripe, pumpkins are starting to take on a russet tinge, the squash is on its last legs but still producing, the pole beans are sad, and the few edamame plants look like they might actually bear pods. But that's all fodder for future posts.

But before I go, I can't forget to mention the honeybees. You may have heard about so-called "colony collapse disorder," in which colonies of bees see unusually high percentages of their populations die off. Beekeepers in the U.S. were hit hard by collapsed colonies last year, and there has been worry that that if left unchecked, the problem could lead to a shortage of bees to pollinate orchards, especially in areas where agriculture is a major industry.

I have been really concerned about this story-- I don't know if it's just paranoia, but it seems like I've seen more dead bees than live ones in my garden this year. I generally try to avoid anything yellowish and buzzing, thanks to formative childhood experiences, but bees are a gardener's friend and sometimes even entertaining, so I've been hoping that the cause, and maybe even a cure for colony collapse disorder would be found.

Today, the news is that scientists have identified a virus that may be (partially) responsible for the bee deaths. It's encouraging to have some news, but on the other hand, it's not particularly encouraging news. With no way to inoculate or otherwise give the bees a fighting chance against the virus, will the slow demise of local populations be obscured by rising numbers of replacement colonies from foreign species? Will the bees in my garden today-- who have given me a bountiful crop of tomatoes, squash, and pumpkins-- be replaced in a few year with Australian immigrants? The prospect makes me sad-- and really, not so much for biological diversity, which would at least lend my mood some kind of nobility of reasoning, as because I'm silly enough to anthropomorphize my pollinators.

Prior to news of the virus, my favorite theory was that high-fructose corn syrup from genetically engineered corn was causing the problem. I'm really growing to detest HFCS and artificial sweeteners of all types in general, so that particular theory, I have to admit, made me almost cheerful. Alas, if only the world were so simple. And greater alas for the bees, who've received the short end of the stick in any case.

Winter Sowing Update #4: Columbines

Columbine 'Green Apples'

Back in January, I winter sowed four packets of columbines. It was my second attempt at starting columbines from seed. An earlier half-hearted attempt had failed-- I had basically just scattered the seed in a shady area of the garden in mid-summer, and therefore hadn't been too surprised when nothing sprouted. Still, I felt I had nothing to lose by giving them a second shot using a different method-- especially since the seed was acquired on sale!

On the whole, the columbines did very well, allowing for my own mistakes. All four packets sprouted (two of those under adverse conditions that later killed the seedlings), but I'm happy with the resulting plants. They probably won't bloom until next year, but right now they're green and healthy and the foliage has its own woodland charm.

What I learned from the columbines: avoid using containers with precut slits. The two varieties that didn't make it had been planted in strawberry containers with long slits all along the sides. They had better depth than any of the other containers I used, but the slits caused them to dry out any time our cloud cover broke. Since underwatering is one of my famous gardening peccadillos, this proved fatal to my 'Nora Barlow' and 'Magpie' seedlings. I will try again next year while I enjoy 'Green Apples' (above) and my Rocky Mountain columbines. For reference, here's a photo of the Rocky Mountain seedlings back in April at Flickr.

This should be the last of my winter sowing updates for the year, so I'll close with a round-up, listed in order of germination time from shortest to longest:

Pansy 'Swiss Giants' mix - 24 days to germination
Pansy 'Super Chalon Giants' mix - 24 days to germination
Delphinium 'Blue Bird' - 39 days to germination
Larkspur 'Giant Imperial' mix - 39 days to germination
Columbine 'Green Apples' - 64 days to germination
Columbine 'Magpie' - 78 days to germination (bad container)
Columbine 'Nora Barlow' - 109 days to germination (bad container)
Rocky Mountain columbine - 64 days to germination
Hellebores - never germinated
Primroses - never germinated

I still have hopes for the hellebores, which have apparently been known to take over 365 days to germinate, and so I've been keeping that container watered. On the other hand, I've given up on the primroses. They're supposed to germinate within a reasonable time frame, which makes me worry for next year since I've purchased some P. auricula seed and would really like to see something come of it. I guess there's nothing to do but read up over the winter before giving it a shot.

So there you have it! I've been happy with my winter sowing project and will definitely use this method again next year. I have a new experimental setup in mind, which I plan to finalize over the fall and early winter, so expect to hear more on that front in January.

Winter Sowing Update #3: Pansies

Pansy ('Super Chalon Giants' mix)

Of all my winter sown seedlings, the pansies gave me the most insight about the pros and cons of my winter sowing methods. The seeds were planted back in January, and the seedlings languished far too long in their flats before being hastily plugged into a layer of bark mulch in April. (Not to mention that in between, they were accidentally baked in their trays-- twice-- which killed off about 75% of the original quantity). By all rights, these plants probably should have been healthy and blooming back in late spring, but instead, it took them until mid-August to recover.

What I learned: 1) Pansies are easy to germinate via winter sowing, and seeds can be sowed thinly, provided they're relatively fresh, 2) but the seedlings have zero tolerance for the slightest bit of direct sunlight under plastic, and 3) one-and-a-half inches of soil just isn't enough!

Hindsight aside, the germination rate on these seeds was fantastic, and they're putting on a nice show now as the hydrangeas are fading. The two varieties I planted were 'Super Chalon Giants' mix (above, and at Flickr here and here) and 'Swiss Giants' mix. Despite the hardships I put them through, my $2 investment for two sale packets of seed paid off in over $40 worth of plants-- ordinary bedding pansies may only cost $1 - $2 each, but the cost can add up, and there are many unique varieties available from seed, all easy to grow.

Next year, I'll be more careful with my seedlings, and will plan on enjoying these colorful (and edible!) blooms from spring into early winter.

Diurnality (or: August and Everything After)

The cucumber stands alone

One of the sad facts about gardening in the Pacific Northwest is that while the days turn gloriously long in the weeks leading up to the summer solstice, our precious hours of sunlight decrease rapidly over July and August. Right now, I'm harvesting crazy amounts of vegetables, but everything seems to be losing its lushness. As soon as I remove a few yellowing leaves from the tomatoes, twice as many spring back in their place.

My books reassure me that this is normal. I spent the last few summers agonizing over powdery mildew and decreasing productivity, but this year, I'm prepared to accept the inevitable. I water the garden, pluck out the ripe produce, bring it indoors, and then run back to pluck out the dead foliage and toss it into the yard waste bin (Would I throw powdery mildew into my compost pile? I think not).

Other observations:

1) Next year, I need to do more to keep my cucumbers and beans healthy-- although I have the right number of plants, they ended up shaded by the excess rhubarb, and they're just not producing very well.

2) The 'Tromboncino' squash vines, on the other hand, pumped out seven healthy squash. That number may sound low, considering that I had three plants, but one of those squash was thirty-two inches long!

3) 'Sunburst' pattypan has proven to be a consistent performer, as its AAS award would suggest; it's my third year growing it, and I always look forward to it (especially picked small, halved, steamed, and tossed with herb butter).

4) The okra never really materialized (I have six stunted plants and one okra pod so far), but that's in part because the plants were overshadowed by the PUMPKINS! By fall, it looks like I will have five of them, and I'm really excited. They're gorgeously shaped, exceedingly large, and look like they'll start turning orange any day now.

5) Twelve tomato plants for a family of two is really TOO MANY TOMATOES! I'm growing seven varieties this year, and plan to do a special "tomato wrap-up" post later in the season, once the Brandywines, Green Zebras, and San Marzanos have ripened.

P.S. My dahlia madness has not abated, and the blooms are really starting to come into season. Have a look at a couple of the latest bouquets: Spartacus & Ruskin Marigold; Mystery Day, Joycie, & Sean C.

Winter Sowing Update #2: Delphinium 'Blue Bird'

Delphinium 'Blue Bird'

You may remember these delphiniums from back in March, when they were mere specks of green in a plastic deli rotisserie tray. Four months later, those tiny seedlings have turned into healthy plants-- almost 30 of them-- that are now sending up spires of these gorgeous blue-and-white flowers. I can't get the color in the photo just right-- it's much more vibrant in person.

I've always loved the name "delphinium," which sounds so much more elegant than the common name for the genus (larkspur). Getting prepared to post this photo gave me the opportunity to learn about the etymology, which I thought lovely: as it turns out, the ancient Greek physician Dioscorides saw dolphins in the shape of the flower buds, and named the plant "delphinion" accordingly. (The Latin name for the genus was later derived from the original Greek). Personally, I think of dolphins as graceful creatures, and wonder if Dioscorides found a kindred grace in the form of the delphinium. I believe I do.

On a less fanciful note, delphiniums are toxic to humans and animals, which is why they are not recommended for gardeners with pets or small children. Ingestion is likely to cause vomiting, respiratory and cardiac distress, motor system impairment, and in large quantities, death from asphyxia.

The moral of that morbid bit of trivia is (of course): enjoy your delphiniums in a vase, not on your dinner plate (like the one I used as a backdrop for this photo)!

Winter Sowing Update #1: Alpine Strawberries

Alpine Strawberries - 7/23/07

These poor strawberries never even received a passing mention here, so it's time to give them their due. Back in April, after most of my other winter sown seedlings had been transplanted to larger pots, I picked up a packet of alpine strawberry seeds at the store on impulse. I'd tried growing strawberries from seed before (with poor results), but thought they might be good candidates for winter sowing. It could have been a disaster if a heatwave had hit, but our April was quite cold and rainy, and the seeds germinated in about two weeks, to my delight.

It was a month before I transplanted the seedlings to a larger pot (the strawberry pot seen here), by which time it was almost too late; the roots had really taken off in the shallow bakery tray in which they'd been planted. To untangle the seedlings from one another, the roots had to be almost completely exposed. I spread the roots out as best I could in the fresh soil and hoped I hadn't killed my new babies.

Their fate seemed uncertain, but I kept the faith by watering the seedlings carefully and daily, and am pleased to say that about six weeks after transplant, they seem to have made a full recovery. I really love this container! Given, since alpine strawberries don't produce runners, the point of planting them in a strawberry pot is probably lost-- but the plants seem happy, so I'm happy, too!

P.S. You can see what they looked like one month ago here.

Summer delights

Bouquet

The problem with having a garden blog is that the height of the season is so busy that there's hardly time to blog!

I can't blame it all on the garden, though. It's doing fine with little maintenance other than a bit of watering and the occasional tucking of tomato branches and squash vines into their supports. I'm still harvesting rhubarb and sorrel, with fennel and squash close behind and the first cherry tomatoes on the brink of ripening. At the same time, the cutting beds have been supplying me with enough flowers to scatter small bouquets all over the house. It's a lovely time of the year.

Wish I had time to write more, but alas, housework beckons. To catch up on the latest garden going-ons, check my Flickr page, which I do update regularly. Freshly posted: basils, savoy cabbage, 'Supersweet 100' tomatoes, and dirty-joke inducing 'Tromboncino' squash.

Sorrel

Harvest - June 18, 2007

I'm back, as promised-- we finally got the last kinks worked out of our broken computers yesterday, so after a little more fine-tuning, I'll finally have a chance to catch up on everyone's happenings.

A lot has happened in the garden since my last post. We've had some nice rains over the past week, and everything seems to be taking off. Right now, I'm harvesting bountiful quantities of radishes, lettuce, arugula, and swiss chard, but the surprise bumper crop of the moment is the French sorrel that I started from seed in early spring. My herb bed is full of its lush, tart foliage. Salmon with sorrel sauce is on the menu for tomorrow-- I can hardly wait.

I've actually never grown or even eaten sorrel prior to this spring, but the flavor of the raw stems and leaves is both familiar and nostalgic for me. Its tang comes from oxalic acid, a distinctive taste component in both rhubarb (a relative of sorrel) and wood sorrel (genus Oxalis). It's probably more likely that you've tasted rhubarb than wood sorrel, but as it happens, there was a patch of wood sorrel growing through a neighbor's fence into my parents' yard when I was a kid, so despite having a rhubarb patch now, wood sorrel is closer to my heart. I have fond memories of sitting out in the California shade and chewing on its crisp, succulent stems. The taste of French sorrel brings that memory right back, so lately it's not unusual to see me out grazing in the garden in the afternoons.

Since I've digressed into the subject of oxalis, I guess I should mention that as with rhubarb and French sorrel, it's possible to have too much of a good thing. Rhubarb leaves are considered toxic due to high concentrations of oxalic acid, and sorrel and wood sorrel can produce the same effects in large quantities. On a more epicurean note, there are many weedy species of oxalis (you know, those little shamrock plants in the lawn with yellow flowers and nasty pollen?), but those species probably aren't what you want to eat. First off, the stems are too tiny; second-- lawn pesticides, yuck! I don't have species for the types I remember from childhood, but they resembled the illustrations of Oxalis pre-caprae and Oxalis violacea on the right hand side of this page at Wikipedia.

I love reading about foraging for wild goodies like wood sorrel and will probably make more foraging posts in the future, but for now, I'll leave you with a link to images of wood sorrel being foraged in places like Central Park (wow!) If you have the time and inclination, the entire website is filled with fascinating photos of wild edibles (and inedibles). Enjoy!

Eww, petunias

Eww, petunias

I have never liked petunias. They're exactly what I think flowers shouldn't be... worthless in bouquets, disgusting to the touch, and even more disgusting to smell. But after seeing baskets of wave petunias priced at twenty to thirty dollars in nurseries and at the supermarket, I figured I'd give a sale packet of 'cascading' petunia seeds a shot.

When I opened up the packet and found tiny, pelleted seeds inside, I grew even more skeptical. With such small seeds, I doubted the germination rate would be very high, and pelletized seed is often even less likely to sprout properly. But I went ahead and planted them in a nine-cell seed-starting tray, measuring out three seeds per cell in order to calculate germination ratios.

Boy, was I in for a surprise. Germination was a respectable seventy percent, which left me with a lot of seedlings! Instead of thinning, I repotted the extra seedlings into their own containers, and miraculously failed to kill a single one. The plants in the photo are ready to be stuffed into baskets along with some pansies and Calibrachoa (million bells). I'm really happy with the variety of colors that popped up. That, and the "easy to grow" factor, almost makes me not completely hate petunias anymore.

(They still stink, though!)

Bainbridge inspiration

Bloedel Reserve Visitor Center

My sister came to visit last week, which is why I haven't posted in a while-- we had a lot of fun running around Western Washington, eating good food and shopping up a storm. Of course, with both of us being cameraholics, we had to go on some kind of photo expedition... which took us to Bainbridge Island and the Bloedel Reserve.

The Reserve is different from botanical gardens that we've visited in the past in that it was largely designed to mimic nature rather than display plants or flowers. Much of the Reserve's woodland was covered in plants that I recognized from woodlands in my home area; at times, the only thing that revealed the hands of the landscape's careful maintainers was the conspicuous absence of fallen branches and other clutter. At the end of the day, I came away with a greater appreciation for native plants-- and an aspiration to compile a personal library as impressive as the one at the Reserve's visitor center.

Visiting the Reserve requires a reservation; it may seem like an extra hassle, but once you get there, it's easy to understand why the number of visitors is limited. The sights are best appreciated without the distraction of crowds.

For more photos, check out my Vox-based Bloedel Reserve photo collection. Sadly, I forgot my own camera, so if the photos seem better than usual, it's all on account of that. (Thanks for the loaner, Sis). Maybe it's time for an upgrade... seven megapixels and a foliage setting spoiled me!

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Upgrade time

Wintersown larkspur seedling

Remember all those wintersown containers that I started back in January and revisited in March? Well, I finally got around to transplanting them into larger containers this past week. They're so much happier now, and they're already starting to take advantage of the extra root space. I can't wait to plant them out in the garden.

The wintersown plants weren't the only ones to receive an upgrade. Some petunias that were outgrowing their plug trays have been moved to 4" pots, along with about 10 extra parsley seedlings (I have a feeling I'll be giving away parsley this year, along with the extra cabbage starts). My second batch of tomato seedlings were upgraded to quart-sized yogurt containers, and actualy looks as if they might catch up to their older siblings being hardened off outside.

I neglected to mention that the majority of my vegetable seedlings are out in the garden now, with only the truly tender summer plants (tomatoes, peppers, and squash) still being hardened off or sheltered indoors. For some reason, it just hasn't sunk in that tomorrow is our "safe date" for planting-- even those crops will have to be planted out this week.

Where does the time go?

Dahlias, dahlias, dahlias

Dahlia cutting


If you've been following this blog, you know that I have a Dahlia Problem. The problem is, I keep buying dahlias every spring, and have nowhere to put them. :-/

Well. I bought more dahlias this year, and suffice it to say that January's rotted tuber disaster may have turned out to be a blessing in disguise, since I went even more overboard than usual. This year, aside from my normal sources (the local dahlia society and packaged supermarket tubers), I tried something new and ordered dahlias online from a specialty grower in California. I was really excited about this-- in fact, I put in my order on the first day that the catalog opened last fall to ensure I'd get the varieties I wanted. And aside from one acceptable substitution, I was not disappointed.

The photo at top shows one of the dahlia plants that I received from that grower last week. These plants were grown from cuttings, rather than tuber divisions; I love this photo because you can see a baby tuber already forming in the tiny little plug pot. I could hardly believe how efficiently the plants were packaged-- these plugs were tucked into plastic containers not unlike the kind used to package fresh herbs at the supermarket, and everything arrived in excellent condition. If all goes well, I'll happily recommend the grower.

I won't list every variety I ordered, but have to mention that one of my purchases from that source was Ruskin Marigold (magnificently photographed by Eric of SF on Flickr), which I've been after since seeing it displayed at the South Bay Dahlia Society show in Southern California a couple of years ago. My order also came with two bonus plants... never let it be said that crack pushers nursery vendors aren't kind folk.

Now I just have to find the time to get my new babies into the ground! I've been so busy potting up and transplanting my wintersown flowers that I haven't had time to breathe... but that's a subject for another post!

African violet update

African violet propagation in water

It took a bit longer than I expected, but the African violet leaves that I talked about in January have finally sprouted baby plants! This goes for both the leaves planted in vermiculite as well as the leaves left in water.

You can see what the vermiculite cups look like now at Flickr. Those leaves just broke the surface of the vermiculite last week. They look much sturdier than the leaves growing in water.

I'm going to try transplanting the water-propagated plants to well-moistened vermiculite when they get a little larger to help them develop soil roots.

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Pineapple sage

Pineapple sage blossom

Before I started growing vegetables, I had a big crush on herbs. Vegetables took too much maintenance and space, and as for ornamentals, I told myself that I wasn't interested in any plant that couldn't earn its keep. But there was one herb included in all of my balcony and patio gardens that I could never fully justify-- pineapple sage.

Pineapple sage is not a particularly useful herb. Unlike culinary sage, it isn't very aromatic: the leaves smell pleasant, and faintly sweet, but not really like pineapple. It is not as hardy as culinary sage; it's considered a tender perennial, which means it wilts at the first touch of frost. It has no known medicinal value. The best suggestion any herb book can come up with for using it is to steep the leaves with other herbs for a tisane, or to use springs and blossoms as a garnish for cold drinks.

It hasn't turned out to be low-maintenance, either. Every one of my plants has attracted aphids-- the ones stressed by too much heat and sunlight are a more potent aphid magnet than roses. They do well outside in partial sunlight in Washington, but frost inevitably hits before they bloom-- that's just been my luck with them for the past seven or eight years.

So imagine my surprise when my root-bound, insect-ridden overwintered cuttings started sprouting racemes last week. O.o

The flowers are as beautiful as the nursery tags promise-- a gorgeous shade of vivid scarlet. If only I could get these plants to do this outdoors! Maybe I've been treating my plants too kindly-- rosemary, for instance, only blooms under stress. Maybe they need to be root-bound, overheated, and dehydrated. I suppose it's worth a try.

For now, though, I'm just going to kick back and enjoy this little run of luck. We're still getting snow in spurts outdoors, so this may be the biggest show I see for a while.

And I gotta tell ya-- after seven years of nothing, it feels like a mighty fine show.

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Cross-posted to Vox.

A quick shout-out to my peeps in L.A.

I can't resist passing this link on:

Digital Gardener's Southern California Vegetable Planting Schedule

Sometimes as I'm staring out at our Western Washington winter rains, I wonder what I'd be planting and harvesting if I still lived in Southern California. Well, now I know. It amazes me that the months I spend inside, pining for greenery that ain't a poinsettia, are the optimal months for planting over half the crops on the list.

It looks like it's time for Southern California gardeners to plant summer crops-- tomatoes, squash, corn, beans. I'll be starting some of those crops indoors here, as well, in order to get a head start on our shorter growing season.

I'm jealous of all the Mediterranean and other heat-loving delights I remember from childhood: avocados fresh from the tree, figs, citrus, loquats, and peaches. I even miss the damn bougainvillea that left me nicked up for a week from pruning it. But then again, I remember the days of mournful yearning for a lilac that would tolerate and bloom in zone 9, and the cherry trees in my Washington backyard would probably wither and pout through an L.A. summer, so I guess all things even out in the end.

Getting to it

Dividing rhubarb

I once read that one of Rosemary Verey's favorite phrases was "Get to it." Being a master procrastinator, I'm generally pretty bad about getting things done, but since we just got our first break from the rain in two or three weeks, I finally got started on a long-overdue task: dividing the rhubarb.

The rhubarb came with the house-- planted, presumably, by the previous occupants. There are two large clumps of it, and while they shoot up vigorously in the spring, they've never really produced very well. The stalks are mostly spindly, and we never seem to get more than four or five of them per crown. I've been meaning to divide the clumps since the first summer we lived here, but every year, it gets put off, undoubtedly because early spring up in our parts is almost always rainy and cold.

Today, I tackled the first of the two clumps, dividing it into four smaller clumps. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the heart of the plant turned out to be a giant, solid mass of root. I'd meddled around the base of the plant before, and had come across more conventional-looking roots... thick, fleshy, but definitely recognizable as roots. As it turns out, beneath the center of the plant, it's one big congealed knot, and in the case of this plant, that knot was nearly a foot-and-a-half around. That was not what I was expecting at all, so I cleaved it down the center with a shovel. I hope it all works out.

Other things I've gotten down to this past week:

• I pruned the grapes, lavender, and lavatera, and have started working on the roses. I'm a little behind schedule on all of this, but since I'm always late, every year, and the plants have never seemed to mind, I think it'll be okay. Husband helped with the grapes, and as usual worried that I was pruning too hard. He says the same thing about the lavatera, his favorite flowering plant, which he's convinced I'm trying to kill. The lavatera, by the way, is a cultivar known as "Barnsley," which was first cultivated by... guess who? Rosemary Verey, at her famous Barnsley House garden.
  
  
• I have started potting up some of my dahlia rubers to give them an early start on the season. I'm happy to report that no further tubers have rotted since January's tragedy, although a couple seem to have dried out, including some of my divisions of 'Pam Howden.' Luckily, this year's local dahlia society tuber sale falls on a Sunday, rather than a Saturday, so I should be able to recover the loss. I nearly danced around my cubicle at work when I discovered this fact, which may give you some idea of how obsessed I am with my dahlias. I still have no idea where I'm going to plant them all... have I mentioned that I also ordered about ten plants to be delivered in April? *headsmack*
  
  
• My garden auricula is starting to bud, which prompted me to head to the nursery to see if they had any different colors in stock yet. Sadly, they didn't, but that didn't stop me from browsing. I came away with some purple Calibrachoa (million bells) for hanging baskets and... wait for it... more frakking dahlia tubers!
  
  
• I transplanted my tomatoes to larger containers and started more tomatoes in seed cells, as well as basil and okra. This week, I'm planning to start some lettuce and transplant the cabbage and pac choi to larger pots. I've been watering my seedlings with diluted fish emulsion this year; it's not as odorless as the bottle claims, but if it gets me healthier seedlings, I can live with it. Although I suspect that the cats may be drinking from the drip trays.
  
  
• Blogwatch: Gayla at You Grow Girl has written a couple of excellent posts on the subject of seed-starting. Mr. Brown Thumb has been recording the process of saving Amaryllis / Hippeastrum seeds. This intrigues me because although I can't get my existing Amaryllis to rebloom, I've been thinking of taking up Hippeastrum as a hobby, following in the footsteps of George Washington Carver, who was apparently an enthusiast.

I can't believe how late it is now. I hate to rush a post, but it's time for me to hit the sack. I'll bang my head over typos in the morning. For now, I leave you with my favorite find from the garden today:



Take care, all!

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Cross-posted to Vox

Lawn Ornament Tragedy

Oh noes, it's Bambi's mom

Our neighbors claim that their deer lawn ornament has simply fallen and can't get up. Personally, I think it's some kind of Disney allegory about animal orphanhood. Or a warning to any stray deer that should happen to wander into town to nibble on that barberry bush.

Anyway, this little scene of lawn ornament tragedy has been on display in their front yard for almost half a year now. They seem like normal people, but apparently they have a morbid sense of humor.

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Organic fertilizer

Now blooming: forsythia

I know that today's photo doesn't really match the topic of fertilizer, but after two weeks of posting pictures of nothing but dirt, more or less, I figured it was about time for a break.

Fertilizer may not be much to look at, but it does wonders for a garden. Up until now, I've relied on compost, manure, and Osmocote to keep my veggies going, but this year, I wanted to break my dependence on Osmocote and switch to something more organic. The cost always seemed prohibitive in the past, but luckily, last year I started working for a chain of farm-and-feed stores that sell lawn and garden products, and our year-end bonuses came in the form of a generous gift certificate. A sane, non-livestock owning woman would probably have gone after a nice new coat, or expensive tools, or even patio furniture with that kind of money to throw around.

Not me. I wanted fertilizer. The equivalent of over two hundred dollars' retail worth of it. *headsmack*

This would not be a funny story except that I vastly overestimated how much I would need for my plot, which figures at about 100 square feet of workable space. And anyway, it was essentially free!! fertilizer!! Maybe I just didn't read the application rates closely enough. Long story short, I bought cottonseed meal, bone meal, kelp meal, alfalfa meal, dolomite lime, garden lime, greensand, and gypsum, but in such outrageous quantities that the store employees raised eyebrows at me. As I hauled the fifth bag of seed meal into my car, it should have occurred to me that I had overdone it. Alas, no.

Oh well. I didn't need that patio furniture, anyway.

To sum it all up: I have enough ingredients to keep me in fertilizer for the next eight years. If you're interested, the recipe I used was Steve Solomon's "complete organic fertilizer" blend, which is available on the Mother Earth News website here (I added some greensand for additional minerals). Solomon's Gardening West of the Cascades was an excellent research tool; I also referred to Eliot Coleman's classic Four Season Harvest. My first batch was whipped up last month, and I'll be amending my beds just as soon as the rain lets up... which the weather report tells me ain't gonna be happening anytime soon.

In the meanwhile:

• I've been working on entering my seed-starting data into a spreadseet over at EditGrid. So far, I'm happy with the site-- it's free, and the interface is pretty intuitive for anyone who's familiar with spreadsheet applications.
  
• My wintersown larkspur seedlings have set their first true leaves! And the two flats of columbines that had one seedling each mid-week are definitely sprouting.
  
• The crocuses have finished blooming, while the clumps of Dutch iris received from a co-worker and planted last fall have started sending up growth.
  
• I spotted my first bumblebee of the season today, making eyes at the potted hellebores on the porch.
  
• My ever-growing to-do list: 1) Dig up rhubarb. 2) Enlarge center bed. 3) Amend beds with fertilizer. 4) Replant rhubarb and strawberries; move herbs as necessary. 5) Prune grapes, lavatera, rhododendron.

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Fresh from the deli aisle

Wintersown delphinium seedlings

A quick update on those wintersown containers that I blogged about in January: 4 out of 10 trays have sprouted so far! It looks like I'll have plenty of pansies, delphinium, and larkspur in the garden this year. As for the latecomers, I'm still hoping that the columbines, at least, will make a show. So far, there are only two seedlings in the four trays I planted. I love columbines, but haven't had much luck growing them so far. Thank goodness I spied this thread at GardenWeb-- at least I know I'm not alone!

I went out and cleared mulch from the vegetable beds today in preparation for making them slightly wider and longer (in theory, to accomodate all the new seed varieties I bought this year). I was hating Daylight Savings this morning-- I have enough trouble getting out of bed without having to get up a whole hour earlier-- but in the evening, when I realized that there was enough daylight left at 6:30 PM to hit the garden after work, boy, did my attitude change! I'm looking forward to getting the beds reshaped by the end of the week-- then I can get started on moving the rhubarb and working in fertilizer.

I still haven't told you my fertilizer story yet! I guess that'll be one for next week.

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Time to get my garden on

Seed-starting tray

We've got a storm headed our way, with eight inches of rain expected over the next three days, so apparently winter's not quite done with us yet. Warmer weather seems like a far-off dream, but I'm not going to let the chill outside dissuade me from commencing with spring gardening indoors. My seed-starting chart tells me that now is time to begin sowing vegetable seeds up here in my corner of the Pacific Northwest, and in answer, I have gone forth and filled my seed trays! (Yea verily!)

I have a nifty new seed-starting gadget this year, a Christmas present from my husband: it's a seed-heating mat, which holds a temperature 10 - 20 degrees above ambient and is used to improve germination rates. Back when we lived in Italy, we had a tiled ledge in our bathroom that was built in right over the wall heater; even trays of notoriously difficult lemongrass seeds sprouted easily in that spot. I'm counting on the mat to get my tomatoes and peppers going; later in the season, I'll use it to give my African violet cuttings a boost.

So far, I've got pak choi, cabbage, sorrel, beet, chard, and tomato seedlings popping up, with fennel, parsley, and jalapeno yet to break ground. Tomorrow, I'll be adding leeks and flower seedlings. I have a feeling I'll be needing more windowsill space... but I'll just have to deal with that problem when I come to it.

Outdoors, sweet peas are sprouting (yes, I finally got them planted) and the crocuses are in full glory. Up and down the street, ornamental cherry trees are coming into bloom, and our forsythia looks like it's ready to burst into flower. Once this storm is over... it might actually be spring.

I can't wait!

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Cross-posted to Vox.

False spring

Hyacinth 'Splendid Cornelia'

It was a glorious 55 degrees today... what a lovely warm spell after two weeks of snow and ice! To add to the whole spring vibe, the first of my forced hyacinth bulbs has started to bloom at a time when the tulips and dutch iris outdoors are just starting to peek up out of the ground. The scent is wonderful. I have to remember to hunt down cheap hyacinth bulbs again in the coming fall.

Beside the tulips, rhubarb is starting to pop up outdoors, which reminds me that I've been planning to dig up the existing clumps and divide them this year. It's probably too early to get started with the digging, but it's never too early to start planning... and I've got a lot of planning to do this year, especially since I've got more seed varieties than my 100 square feet of garden can support. These divisions are going to need a lot more space, more sunlight, and plenty of fertilizer, and I'm short on everything but the fertilizer.*

Speaking of lack of space and more sunlight, this coming week, I need to get sweet peas (not to mention my beloved snow peas) planted. Last year, I unwisely planted my sweet peas in shade, and to make a long story short, they were spindly and pathetic. I overcompensated by buying three packages of sweet pea seeds for this year, and once again, I can't find a sunny place to plant them. So I'm setting myself a deadline to find a spot or make one-- next week, I'll either be blogging about my newly planted sweet peas, or sheepishly wallowing in shame and self-loathing.

So yeah, my sweet peas and I will be seeing you next week. (eep!)

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* - but that's a story for another week.

Cross-posted to Vox.

Meanwhile, indoors...

Propagating African violets

Temperatures this past week have been consistently below freezing. Outside, we've got snow lingering on the lawn and an icy stalagmite slowly forming on our back porch. inside, it's a different story:

1) Last weekend, I took some African violet leaf cuttings that I brought home from California and started trying to grow baby plants from them. I'm really excited about this project. The leaves are tucked into moist vermiculite in clear plastic cups sitting in my kitchen window, where I can keep an eye on them. I have to admit, the plastic cups are starting to grow on me-- they make such cute recycled mini-terrariums.

2) Back in November, a local store had packages of hyacinth bulbs on the clearance rack for under a dollar. I made up some improvisational forcing vases from empty Maille dijon jars, filled them with enough water to keep the base of the bulbs moist without touching, then wedged the bulbs in the openings and stored them in the refrigerator for six weeks. They're now out in my front window, and the leaves are starting to fan out nicely. I love the scent of hyacinths! I can't wait until they bloom.

3) Here's the not-so-pleasant one: back at the beginning of November, I packed my dahlia tubers away for the winter using a new method. In the past, I've always packed them loosely with leftover seed-starting mix. It's always worked; toward the end of winter, the tubers start to look a bit shriveled and pick up a bit of mildew, but I've never lost a tuber to either dessication or rot. This year, I went the professionally-recommended route: bleach wash, dusting sulfur, moist vermiculite. The process took about three evenings, all told. And last week, I discovered that about half of my packages had developed a major problem with mold. So I spent an evening re-washing, re-bleaching, re-dusting, and re-packing. It was about a 66% loss, but luckily, I still have at least one salvageable tuber for each variety. I'm pretty sure the culprit was excess moisture combined with insufficient sulfur dusting.

4) On a happier note, my Territorial Seed order arrived last week. Territorial is a well-respected company, especially in the Pacific Northwest-- they offer high-quality seed, run their own trial grounds, and publish an incredibly informative catalog each year. So I've moved on to planning the layout of the vegetable garden for the coming season. Sowing season feels so close at hand!! but my sowing chart tells me otherwise. It'll be a month before I can start planting seeds-- until then, I have to content myself with indoor pursuits a while longer.

Somehow, though, I don't think I'll be bored waiting ;-)

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Cross-posted to Vox.

Winter sowing

Wintersown containers

No, I have not turned my garden into an outdoor bakery and rotisserie!

This photo comes to you courtesy of the Winter Sowing forum at GardenWeb. Winter sowing is a method of seed-starting that works particularly well for seeds that need a period of stratification to germinate. Stratification is tricky-- it usually involves soaking seeds and chilling them in the refrigerator to mimic prime germination conditions in the wild. That's part of the appeal of winter sowing-- it lets nature do (almost) all the tricky work.

I have to admit, though: to me, a larger part of the appeal is the frugality of the approach. You can go out of the way to buy special cold frames for your wintersown seeds, but a near-infinite variety of recycled containers with clear tops will do just as well. You can see that my collection includes two strawberry baskets, four bakery boxes, and four roast chicken take-out containers. I've also got a bunch of milk jugs and sprout containers in reserve, should any additional seeds *ahem* fall into my shopping cart.

I'm hoping that this experiment will work out-- if so, you can bet I'll be on a seed-buying rampage this fall, when seed sales hit. I can't believe I'm actually looking forward to the end of the growing season... chalk it up to another point for winter sowing!

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Cross-posted to Vox.