Winter Garden

The end of the summer garden is upon us. Yellow pear tomato and the crook neck squash have died. The remaining plants look healthy enough, but there just isn’t as much fruit as there used to be.

We are inspired by our success in the okra-from-seeds experiment (just look at how tall the largest one to the right is — crazy that last may it was a little tiny seed we put in the dirt):

Of course, E noted that the shorter more root-bound okra plants we planted 3 to a pot produce just as much fruit as the larger one, which has the pot to itself, but that when we got to 4 to a pot, production per plant is negatively affected. So, if you are growing okra from seeds in Northern California, it looks like you need an unencumbered radius of 4 inches around each plant for optimal production.

The cucumber is a perfect example of the evolution of the garden. It was a great producer and it’s still producing fruit, but you can tell by looking at it that it’s on its way out:

What could we possibly do now that the summer vegetables (alas, we only picked 4 tomatoes this weekend!) are on their way out?

Well, what else could we do? Yesterday, we biked over to the nursery and I was inspired by the idea of lots of lettuces and cool-weather vegetables, so we decided to try our hand at a cool-weather garden. But first, we needed a place to put it.

E, do you mind if I dig up all the grass between the second driveway and the walkway?

E grinned bemusedly as I purposefully grabbed brother’s pick and said, No. I don’t mind at all. Go right ahead.

In case you were wondering, using a pick with a 3 foot handle to dig up grass and turn soil is a ridiculous workout. I suspect that had something to do with E’s grin. On Saturday, I cleared maybe 20 square feet. When I was finished, I was ridiculously sore. I had a *blister* and my fingers were swollen. I felt creaky, but good. Today, when I returned to the task, I ripped the blister open (childhood memories from gymnastics came rushing back), and re-used the same muscles from yesterday against their obvious displeasure until I was able to convince E he should finish the last bit (thanks E!).

So, yesterday, after evaluating my efforts and measuring the area with respect to the redwood we had, we moved the herb box to the left of the walkway and this is what it looked like:

Today, we went back to the nursery and acquired several plants to supplement the seeds we got yesterday. E made it *very* clear that winter vegetables from the garden are lame compared to summer’s rewards and that he’s only helping out as an act of love (thanks E!). The only winter garden plants he’s excited about are the beets (planted from seeds) and brussel sprouts (we bought seedlings). The remaining plantings of a lettuce mixed pack (6 plants of various types of leaf lettuce, I can identify butter lettuce, romaine, and the other 4, well, I’ve definitely had ’em before but I have no idea what they are called); a six-pack of spinach; a six-pack of arugula; and parsely did nothing to impress him. The carrots and radishes (planted from seeds) are equally unexciting to him.

Despite his lack of excitement, he built two boxes for raised beds, and cut and pre-assembled the pieces for a third if/when we decide to dig up the additional grass it would cover.

And so, I present our winter garden:

I am very happy.

First Harvest

E says the word “Harvest” sounds like “genocide” to our plants. He’s probably right.

Regardless, I don’t feel the tiniest twinge of guilt despite eating about 10 cherry tomatoes and eagerly awaiting the final ripening of Mr. Stripey’s firstborn:

As of last week, the garden as a whole looked like this:

Which is good, because we’ve successfully managed to control the fungus that infected 6 of our 7 tomato plants. We trimmed leaves. We fertilized. We sprayed antifungal. We switched to an every-other-day watering plan. And, thankfully, although they are a bit sparse for the wear, they seem to be doing much better. At last count we have somewhere around 150 tomatoes waiting to ripen. How exciting!!!

The earliest producer of the group was the squash. Over the last couple of weeks, we’ve picked about 7 great fruits like these:

The first meal was sautéed squash in a sage in browned butter sauce over whole wheat penne topped with black pepper and grated parmigiano reggiano:

And the lesson we’ve learned is that it’s best to pick them when they are still pale yellow. Apparently, the darker the rind, the thicker the rind.

Speaking of thick rinds, this dark yellow rind (an early developing fruit before we realized we should pick earlier) did a reasonable job of protecting its important reproductive portions from our local raccoon (I was still grumpy that we wouldn’t get to eat it):

Remember the Okra from seeds experiment? Well, several of the non-culled survivors have grown to full-fledged plants that have and will continue to flower, and should (hopefully) bear many fruits:

And finally, my fascination with the biology of the cucumber continues, unabated. It has grown from the tiny seedling, to the clutching, wrapping vining monster, to a fully trellised plant with a wingspan greater than 5 feet:

E and I shared the first cucumber with some store-bought tomatoes and we agreed it was amazing and we couldn’t wait for its siblings. Thankfully, after a few weeks of fallen flowers, the female flowers are now producing over-grown ovaries like no-one’s business. The babies look like this (look at the appendage attached to the unbloomed flower on the left):

And, they grow, very quickly to look like this (note the fully bloomed and wilted flower at the far end for scale):

We’ve got several proto-cukes and we can’t wait to enjoy them with the tomatoes, which are coming ever-so-slowly closer to being ripe each day.

Tonight’s garden-inspired dinner was a first course of sliced black krim (from the farmer’s market, ours are not yet ready) topped with olive oil, aged balsamic, basil and lemon thyme; followed by a second course of habanero, yellow crook-neck squash bisque that cleared my sinuses but was quite a delicious non-recipe invention, if I do say so myself.

Change

It’s halfway through June. When did that happen?

It seems like just yesterday that E and I planted the transplants in the garden and tried our hand at growing okra from seeds.

And yet, here we are, 39-days post transplantation for most of the garden, and they are huge! All of the tomato plants have at least one green tomato that is in development, and many have more. (11 days ’til early girl is supposedly bearing her early fruit, and just a few more for the others. I can’t wait!):

The herb box has been amazing. My success made me so excited that I purchased some herb seeds and planted those as well (cilantro, dill, chives). Predictably — it was less of a success — the dill sprouted, but died over memorial day when no one watered it. The cilantro is hanging in. And the chives, which the packaging swore were like weeds have not yet sprouted.

In particular, the basil is just kicking ass this year. I love it. Every week or two I trim the tops of all 6 plants for a huge harvest of the freshest basil available while forcing them to become even more bushy in their quest for sun.

In such a short time, despite many trimmings for meals, the herb box has gone from this:

To this:

And, much to our surprise, *all* of the okra seedlings. We actually had to cull some of the plants to prevent them from strangling each other. We’re still not sure how much success we’ll have in pots, but regardless, we’ve gone from this:

To this:

Plus, a fellow-tomato lover heard of our sunshine and asked if she could borrow some sun. She donated a yellow pear tomato plant that quick caught up with its friends and is doing very well. And as a thank you, she gave us a crook neck squash. This thing is out of control! When we got it it was maybe 2 inches tall with two leaves, and yet, here it is:

It’s even starting to produce squash:

But, the biggest surprise for me has been the japanese cucumber plant. It went from this:

To this:

But what’s most amazing is the structural supports this thing sends out. I swear, this plant has intelligence. It grows these long probes, which extend in search of things to support itself and when it finds supports, it attaches. And not just a little bit:

Amazing, I tell you.

I’m finding it so fascinating how quickly plants change — it’s a much needed reminder for me that everything is constantly changing. Every day, each of the plants are different from the day before. The squash, in particular, wilts without enough water, and then stands right back up when you alleviate the problem for it.

Yes, the best part will most certainly be the enjoyment of the fruits. But the care and observation of the growing is full of joy as well.

This year’s garden

Well, since last year’s single Black Krim seedling brought us much happiness, and supplied about 1/2 of our tomato needs for the months it was bearing ripe fruit, we did the logical thing, and planted 6 tomato plants this year.

So, in order of predicted fruit-bearing, assuming we manage to keep them alive until they bear fruit, you can expect to see tomato recipes featuring:

• Early Girl — 50-65 days from transplantation.
• Sweet 100 — 65 days from transplantation.
• Better Boy Tomato — 75 days from transplantation. And, the Guiness world record holder for weight of tomato fruit produced from one plant. I can’t wait!
• Black Krim — the favorite from last year returns again. 75-80 days from transplantation. But worth every one of ’em.
• Mr. Stripey — 80 days from transplantation. I mean, really, with a name like that, how could we resist?
• Beefmaster — 80 days from transplation. The logic from Mr. Stripey controls, clearly.

To go with these, we also planted an expanded herb box containing 6 basil plants, lemon thyme, rosemary, italian oregano, and marjoram.

In honor of our vacation, we’re trying our hand at 1 Japanese cucumber plant.

And, in honor of E’s southern roots, we planted okra, from seeds (but of course, we don’t know what the hell we’re doing, so we planted, literally, 10 seed-filled indentations with 1-4 seeds each, and it’ll be a miracle if we manage to raise one to a fruit-bearing plant.) After the planting was done, E read the packet to see we were supposed to soak the seeds for 24 hours before planting. We decided post-planting soaking was the best way to remedy this mistake and watered accordingly. So yeah… I’ll report back on that one. I’d say that at this point, one fruit-bearing plant would be a success, and none would not, necessarily, be a failure, since we couldn’t possibly plant the whole seed packet and the winner might still be in there.

So yeah. It’s good to be home. I’m excited about summer harvest.