Pick a Peck

I won't be pickling them, but I will have a peck of peppers to pick! My previous attempts to grow them from seed were complete failures, so this year I bought plants: two sweet and two jalapeños, The tag for the sweets blew away in a windstorm, so I can't tell you what variety these are, but the one in my hand is the second to reach maturity. The walls are rather thinner than I would have preferred, but they are tender and flavourful. The jalapeños, on the other hand, are just starting to form, and promise to be at least as abundant. Zucchini #5 is almost big enough to pick.

Nasties

Who doesn't love nasturtiums? They're easy to grow (well, most of the time), cheerful and bright, and they're even edible. Both the leaves and the seeds (when green) can be used in salads to add a piquant note. And...don't tell your kids this if you want them to keep blooming...if you bite the tip off the spur on the back of the flower, you'll get a sweet, nectary surprise. There are two basic types, trailing and bush. The latter name is a little misleading because they don't form a bush as such. They just don't vine off into other parts of your garden. They also come in a wide array of colours, although I don't seem to have gotten any of the dark maroon ones in this mix.

Tomato Candy

A friend calls Sungolds "tomato candy," and with good reason. They are one of the sweetest cherry tomatoes you can grow. I've done rather poorly with them for the last couple of years, but this year promises to be different. This is the first on two plants, and if the pollinators cooperate, there should be plenty more to come. The peppers also seem to be doing well, with both jalapeños and sweets starting to form. The eggplant (only one so far) is the size of a tennis ball, and the plant has numerous flowers. I think this is likely to be the best vegetable garden I've grown since moving here over 35 years ago.

Formative Eggplant

It's going to be an eggplant! I have never had much success with growing vegetables. Fruits and berries, yes. Veg, no, but I went out on a limb this year and bought starts rather than trying to grow anything from seed. So far, I have only harvested one zucchini, but this formative eggplant gives me hope. The peppers (sweet and jalapeño) are almost ready to bloom as well. The tomatoes are flowering, although I have yet to see any sign that the pollinators are doing their job. And then there's the kale. After enjoying the thinnings as "microgreens," I've returned to my original opinion that it's not fit for human consumption. Scratch that one off next year's list of possibilities.

Columbine Collection

The flower bed beneath my east window is the prettiest it's ever been this year with many plants in bloom all at once. Even though the peonies are past their prime and the delphiniums having retired of their own volition after 35 years of service, the whole bed is a live with colour as displayed by the columbines. This old-fashioned favourite provides a backdrop of foliage even after the blooming season is over. Trim the flowering stems back, leaving graceful mounds of leaves, and save the seeds! I've never managed to sprout them successfully indoors, but several have re-sown themselves in the garden. There's no such thing as too many columbines.

Gooseberry Bonanza

Take a gander at my goose...berries! I think this is going to be a record harvest! And a good thing, because not only is gooseberry jam my personal favourite, I've addicted my weaving partner to it. But he should be having his own gooseberries to harvest in a few years. I soil-layered a couple of starts for him last fall. Although you can't see the spines in this photo, picking gooseberries is hazardous and must be done with great care. And then there's the matter of topping-and-tailing each individual berry (i.e., cutting off the flower end and the stem) before you can make jam. There are no shortcuts, believe me! I harvest them as they ripen (a subjective matter, that...I pick when they first start to "give" a little when squeezed), and after I've topped-and-tailed them, I cut each one in two and freeze them. Then when the cooler fall weather sets in, I make jam.

In other garden news, I will also have a record crop of figs if all goes well. They're as big as the end of my thumb now, and there must be at least 40 on a six-foot tall tree. The kiwi vines are setting flowers, and I'm hoping the weather doesn't get too hot or too cold before they set fruit. On the other hand, I was terribly disappointed that my purple akebia did not produce a single female flower this year, so there will be no fruit there. The male purple flowers do not pollinate the white females.

Snowdrops in the Rain

Spring is coming. The Snowdrops herald the opening days. Other than the Hellebores, Snowdrops are the first to flower in my garden every year. The daffodils are only about four inches tall at this point, although some are already beginning to form buds, and the species tulips will be right behind them. Snowflakes (not to be confused with Snowdrops) will follow in the outsized flower pot they share with Chocolate Lilies. This year, I will not be starting seedlings indoors. The last several years have been almost complete failures in that regard, even though the plants were healthy when I put them outside. It's been alternately too hot or too cold, or alternated between both in quick succession, and they have not been able to survive despite my best efforts. I may pick up some starts at the garden store, but the hassle of having trays of seedlings in every cat-safe spot in the house is simply not worth it when the yield for last year was one single painted daisy. Or maybe it's that my mojo has changed gears. Where once I couldn't grow anything edible to save my soul while flowers loved me, last year, I got both figs and kiwis. I think that's a fair trade-off.

Easier To Spot

Day 4: There are only about a dozen and a half kiwi berries left on the vine now, and with most of the leaves having fallen, they're easier to spot. All things considered, I've had a good harvest this year. Almost every day for the last two weeks, I've been able to snack on anything from 3-4 up to about 20, and all but one from the "Anna vine." With judicious pruning, I may be able to train branches of the male "Clark" into "Issai" in the hopes of better pollination. "Issai" made a single, significantly larger berry. The garden has been good to me this year, what with 32 figs, a ton of blueberries on the foot-tall "Jelly Bean" bush, so many raspberries that I've been inviting guests to eat them because the freezer is full, and of course enough gooseberries for a batch of jam. A chipmunk helped itself to the last couple of Akebia fruits and a few low-hanging kiwis before acquainting itself with the interior of my larger Havahart trap. I'm still jealous of people who can grow veg, but in the fruit department, I'm doin' okay.

Honeysuckle

Day 237: Fond childhood memories of slurping nectar from honeysuckle blossoms meant that it was on my list of "must-have" plants for my yard. You have to understand that when I moved in here, the only "landscaping" was Big Doug (already over 100 feet tall and firmly established), the yew hedge out front, a weedy lilac and the Whatzit Tree, a flowering somethingoranother, identification of which even eluded the Master Gardener I went to for help in figuring out what it was. That was it. I immediately set about creating habitat for birds and pollinators, each year adding as many new plants as my limited budget would allow. Of course, the contorted filbert was one of the first things on the list, and the tree which is now 12 feet tall and about 15 feet wide began its life here as a single twig a foot and a half long. The Japanese maple now towering 20 feet above my driveway arrived in a one-gallon pot. You'd never recognize the yard now from what it was 35 years ago, now shadier and cooler and full of little chirpy birds, a happy haven for butterflies and bees. The hummers love the honeysuckle, so I leave it for them, although I have to admit that sometimes I'm tempted to nectar at its bright orange flowers myself.

Golden Chain Tree

Day 235: This is a Golden Chain Tree (Laburnum), not to be confused with Golden Rain Tree (Koelreuteria). It is part of the Family Fabaceae (legumes), not Sapindaceae (soapberry), placing it in the same botanical "box" as peas and Scotch broom as opposed to the one containing horse chestnuts and lychee. Now, have we got this straight? Stop calling Golden Chain Tree by the wrong name! Mine happens to be a weeping variety with droopy branches as well as dangly inflorescences, and it was one of my "must-have" plants for my yard. It took me a decade or more to find one I could afford, and the contortions we went through to arrange transportation from the nursery where I bought it on a fall close-out sale were hilarious. It was in an enormous pot, for one thing, and given the size of the pot and the height of the tree, the distance between the footwell in front of the passenger seat of my car and the back window meant that we had to carefully bend the top of the tree to get it inside. There wasn't much room for me in there as I drove it home with leaves tickling my ears, only to face the challenge of manipulating the pot (heavy!) out of the car and over to the "$200" hole I'd dug for my $20 tree. That was my father's advice showing: whatever you paid for the plant, dig a hole worth ten times the amount to plant it in. Okay, the rich soil I bedded it in didn't actually cost $200, but there should be bonus points for backache. My hard work paid off. My lovely Laburnum is now covered in pendent golden chains.

Allium

Day 234: Like chives on steroids, the flowering heads of this Allium variety tower two to three feet or above ground level, opening as a ball almost six inches in diameter. I planted several colours last fall, and so far, only the purple ones have opened. Not all types will have the height these do, but if you want tall, showy colour in your flower bed, I'd give this one a big thumbs-up. Best of all, since they are members of the onion family, they're ignored by squirrels, moles, deer, elk and raccoons, common predators of tastier bulbs like tulips. Purportedly, Alliums naturalize readily, spreading by both division (bulblets) and by seed. For my money, they can bring it on!

Garden Colour

Day 226: Around Memorial Day, my flower beds are almost at their best. While other plants are yet to come, the blood-red peonies my father loved are in abundant bloom, as yet unspoiled by rain. The fence line sports a bold showing of Siberian iris, and the Barren Wasteland hosts a broad orange splash of Oriental poppies with a dot of blue cornflowers off to one side. The alliums are new this year, and so far, only the dark purple ones have opened, but their wands stand two to three feet high in the front bed, each capped with a three-inch diameter knob of flowers like chives on steroids. Bright colours, the brighter the better, have always appealed to me. Pastels have their place, but I prefer flamboyancy in my garden.

Happy Wild Ginger

Day 189: My patch of Asarum caudatum (Wild Ginger) is now about 18" on a side, and thick as a high-quality fleece. I didn't feel any pangs of conscience in relocating a few roots when I discovered it on the vacant property next door to mine. After all, I was only moving it about fifty feet, and it is a native species. I just hoped that the location I had picked out for the starts would be to their satisfaction. In fact, they're happier here than they were in the trashy woods, having nothing to compete with them for light or room to expand, although I do have to keep the buttercups in check. Asarum caudatum is second only to Cephalanthera austiniae (Phantom Orchid) on my list of favourite plants. They bloom earlier here in the valley than in the high country where many of the patches are still covered with several feet of snow.

Dibble Time

Day 175: It's dibble time! I waited a little longer than usual to start my "8-10 weeks before last frost" seeds this year because we've been having rather chilly nights. The Pixie Bells of Ireland probably would have been okay to plant earlier since they require a chill period and have been in the fridge for ten days, but I didn't want Tricolor Daisies or hot peppers to stand too long in the sponge cells while they wait to be transplanted to the garden. That's all I'm growing this year. Tomatoes have been a remarkable failure three years in a row now, even when I've bought commercial starts. And if the truth be told, I have never, ever successfully grown any type of pepper, so Pot-a-Peño is probably doomed from the get-go. Still, the urge to plant and grow things is strong. You almost might think I believe a better world is coming.

Hellebore Season

Day 145: It's Hellebore season, and mine are heavily packed with flowers. They emerge from the center of the plant, rising above last year's deteriorating foliage which leaves the garden looking a bit tatty, but this can be forgiven in view of their sheer profusion. Only the "black" ones are in flower as yet. They are a major feature in my east-side flower bed, and the roots are so compacted that I can't divide them even when I jump on the shovel. Maybe I should sharpen my axe? In any event, even once the flowers have cycled out (and they bloom for quite a long time), the foliage stays lush and green throughout the summer. As perennials go, there are worse things to which you could dedicate a flower bed.

Spring Hope

Day 107: Where there's life, there's hope. Hope springs eternal. Even though we have another month of cold ahead of us, we've turned the corner of winter and are heading into spring. The species tulips I planted last fall have broken through the ground, along with snowdrops and snowflakes, and the crocuses and alliums can't be too far behind. Soon, the front flower bed which I so laboriously cleaned of grass and weeds in September will be filled with colourful blooms. Ostensibly, the bulbs will be followed by a wanton array of snapdragons, seed harvested and spread from those in the east bed. The east bed needs very little attention these days, having become the home of crowded perennials like hellebore, peonies, daffodils, grape hyacinths and yes, some rather unruly snapdragons of assorted heights and colours, but who doesn't love snaps? They do well here, so I am encouraging them to spread 'round front. There are worse things that could happen to a garden than having snapdragons take it over. They bloom early and long, often persisting well past first frost and even into early snow (which we have not had this winter, I might add). I'm of an age now that I want things to tend themselves in the flower beds with little intervention on my part. But first the bulbs! The upcoming flush of colour will put the roses back in Mother Earth's cheeks, and mine.

The Urge

Day 92: It is irresistible, the urge to plant and grow, and despite having had very little success even in the germination phase over the last several years, I refuse to throw in the towel. Three springs ago, I swore I wouldn't try to grow tomatoes again. Unseasonably hot weather alternating days near freezing was more than they could survive. My dill bolted. Lettuce didn't sprout. The cucumbers croaked, and I said, "That's it. Not doing this again!" But I did. The results in the two following years were almost identical, and I vowed to give up on vegetables again. Historically, I've had better luck with flowers than anything edible, but even the old faithful Gazanias failed to come through for me. I considered my source (usually reliable), and decided to shop elsewhere. So here it is, January, and the Burpee catalog arrived. A BIG catalog, not just a feeble flyer showing one or two varieties in each category. I don't like perusing web pages when I am in the mood to shop. Clicking from one page to another annoys me, but a paper catalog...well, let's just say there's a good reason they used to call them "wish books." Burpee was my breakfast and dinner reading, and I soon found myself thinking about peppers and posies, never mind that I've never successfully grown a pepper of any sort. There was one in particular called "Pot-a-peño,"  good for growing in containers. I have reasonably good luck growing things in containers, and the thought of making my very own jalapeño poppers was more than I could resist. And then I spotted a dwarf form of Bells of Ireland. I've never been able to grow the full-sized variety, but maybe a dwarf would be better. I added it to the list, along with Painted Daisies (in lieu of Gazanias, which they didn't offer). I mean, daisies are something anybody can grow, right? That was as far as I would allow myself to go with the "wish book," but I'm sure when starts begin showing up in the garden stores, I'll cave in and get a tomato or two.

Alliums, Crocus And Tulips, Oh My!

 

Day 357: Some time back, I think I mentioned that I wanted to clean out my front flower bed to remove all the weeds and ferns which had taken it over in the last several years. It looked like a fairly major undertaking, but when I got right down to it, it went more quickly than expected. It was hard to get the grass out of the interior of the hardy fuchsia stems, and that will undoubtedly remain problematic, but I relocated ferns to the hosta bed (under construction beneath Big Doug), pulled weeds (and probably redistributed a few thousand seeds), replanted all of the lily-of-the-valley bulbs I could find, and in the end, it was looking pretty good. This week, I planted spring bulbs: alliums of different heights and colours, snow crocus (i.e., early-blooming crocus) and species tulips which are purportedly deer-resistant. Between cervid-repellent alliums and the tulips, that should keep the elk off the crocus. Next spring, I will add some bedding plants or perhaps a couple of perennials to this semi-shady northside bed.

A Horticultural Shortcoming

 

Day 354:  For all of the fact that I have had some quite unusual horticultural successes (soil layering the contorted filbert comes immediately to mind), there is one area in which I have a grievous shortcoming: pruning grapes. It sounds so easy when you read about it! Grapes fruit on last year's wood, so you remove two-year, woody growth, prune this year's back to a manageable level and, as they say, Bob's yer uncle. However, when it comes to turning policy into practice, and you're out in the field with a crisp winter morning turning your ears red and your fingers into digital popsicles, identifying which is which...and harder, tracing it back through the spaghetti of vines to where it attaches to the main trunk...presents an altogether different prospect. I have had one or two good yields following my tender ministrations over the 35 years of this plant's life, but for the most part, I get only a handful of bunches or none, depending on who gets there first after the sugar sets, me or the jaybirds. In fact, one year I was expecting to pick roughly ten pounds based on what was on the vine before bedtime, but the following morning, I discovered the jays had cleaned me out right down to the last grape. We've had a few nippy nights, and I've been sneaking single-grape tastes for a couple of days now. My sample grape this morning was sweet enough for me, so I harvested the four small bunches which were the only fruit to develop this year. One bunch was already fragile, a good sign that they were ripe because the grapes dropped from their stems into my bowl when I bumped the cluster. I have just enough for a snack, although there may be a few upset jaybirds when they try to find their long-anticipated lunch.

Red Gold

Day 352: Every year, I have the same argument with myself as to whether or not to take out the raspberry patch. It tends to look rather unkempt where it hangs over its fence and the sidewalk, pruned by deer to be nothing more than wiry stems. I keep most of it tied up, but there are always a few vines which dangle right where I have to detour around them when I go out to get the mail, and when they're in bloom, they're usually loaded with bees (and I'm allergic). These inconveniences persist throughout much of the summer, and the annoyance (minor though it is) raises that question time and again: should I pull them? And then...and then the payoff comes. Heritage is best grown as a single-season crop although it is described as "everbearing." The overall yield will be better if it is restricted to being solely fall-bearing. As September approaches its terminal days and October waits anxiously in the wings, the fruits begin to ripen and those trips to the mailbox with side trips to the bee-laden vines become something to anticipate. The branch arching over the sidewalk above my head droops a little lower, putting its red treasure within easy reach. Who can resist a sun-warm raspberry? And my mental machinations do an about-face: yeah, I think I'll leave 'em another year.