Bill's Garden Report

 

Bill’s Garden Report

“But though an old man, I am but a young gardener” Thomas Jefferson

 

It is that time of year again for my garden report. Actually, the garden isn’t yet finished as I still have green tomatoes, peppers that haven’t matured, and a few ears of corn not yet ready. However, my experience in preparing these blogs suggests that if I wait until everything in the garden is finished, I probably won’t get around to giving my report, so here it is, despite my hope that there will still be more  vegetables for our dinner table.

The brightest spot thus far in this year’s garden was the success of my snow peas and green beans. I planted both on opposite sides of a frame that I built to support the pole beans and the naturally tall snow peas. Both beans and peas seemed to like the frame that I erected in early spring. The only negative to their vigorous growth was the mama snapping turtle who decided that the soil surrounding the bean poles was a perfect spot to lay her eggs. So she did. Her motherly duties of digging a hole, inserting her tail and nether parts into it and then depositing a dozen eggs or more demonstrated she had zero concern for the damage done to my beans.  I repaired her damage after she left the garden and the beans and peas resumed their growing, yielding a surprising bounty of vegetables.

This year I purchased my seeds from Burpee’s mail order catalog. One of the intriguing things the catalog showed was miniature corn that could be planted in a patio container, according to the ad. Surely my small raised bed gardens could be used instead of a patio pot so I laid out my plans and marshalled the work bench in the barn in preparation of planting my seeds. We had a lot of cold, rainy weather when I decided it was time to plant. The consequences of this delay in my planting plans was that I left the seeds in their packages in my barn while I waited for warmer weather. It didn’t occur to me that mice might just enjoy my seed corn. They did. I found the package of seeds had been chewed with the largest part of my seeds missing and some partially chewed by tiny teeth. Disappointed but not undone, I planted everything that remained and anxiously awaited corn on the cob that I expected to harvest about now. It didn’t work out as I had hoped.

The seed fragments didn’t germinate. After a few weeks, I had only eight stocks of corn from the unmolested eight kernels and nothing from the seed fragments. The few stocks grew slowly. One night some sneaky critter dug up  five of the eight, leaving me three healthy corn plants with a total of five ears that I have been watching like a hawk. I haven’t pulled any of the ears yet, but I expect to feast on the paltry little things soon. I marked the corn experience as strike one in my battle to derive some benefit from all my labors in the garden.

In addition to the peas and beans, I had remarkable success with six kale plants that I purchased from our local greenhouse. It was the first time I had grown kale and I came to understand that many people don’t like the green, leafy veggie that can substituted for lettuce in a salad. I also came to understand that six healthy plants are enough to feed a family of eight or ten. Our family of two didn’t make a dent in consuming this prolific plant – just ask if you would like me to send you a year’s supply.

Strike two in my garden was the results of the three zucchini plants that I grew. They grew to enormous size and I watched over them with hot anticipation for a bumper crop of the tasty ‘tubers’ that I enjoy in salads or as a stand-alone veggie. Never mind the fact that they grew so large they covered their neighboring plants.  (Now I can’t tell what the neighboring were since they were smothered out of existence after several weeks. The huge zucchini also threatened the existence of four little tomatoes that are still struggling to make fruit.) I began searching thru the massive leaves  every day for my first zucchini treat, but I found that as soon as the flower on the newborn tuber dropped off, a rotten end became evident and I was forced to toss the little devils. I looked it up. It was blossom end rot. The garden book said the plants needed calcium. Almost unbelievable, the cure was said to be dosing the soil with a calcium supplement. I didn’t want to tell you this, but I dosed my zucchinis with Tums and sure enough the blossom end rot disappeared. At this writing I still have had only three or four little tubers, so I am ranking the experience as strike two.

Do you like sauerkraut? I do. The reason I like it is because the preparation of the kraut after you grow the cabbages is incredibly easy if you happen to own a large crock with a close-fitting lid. I happen to have such a useful article and I decided to put it to use again this year, never expecting that this would become my strike three occurrence for this year.

I grew four cabbages from seedlings and, as luck would have it, I placed them next to the ill-fated corn plants. Since the corn largely failed, the cabbages had the benefit of extra space and careful watering as I watched over my corn. The result was a crop of four large cabbages, fully formed and free of the nasty little worms that sometimes hide in the folds of the cabbage. Last week I decided it was time to harvest the attractive cabbage heads and begin the process of making kraut. My better half insisted that I follow a recipe for making the kraut to ensure the safety of the finished goods from the canning operation. I reluctantly agreed. The recipe said I needed 20 pounds of cabbage – my four weighed a measly seven pounds. I purchased three more cabbages from the farm market bringing my total to seven cabbages weighing in at 24 pounds since the farm market had even larger heads than I.

Last weekend I decided it was time to make the kraut. I set up my base of operations on the raised outdoor deck. I lugged the heavy six-gallon crock to the deck. While stopping to catch my breath, I did a quick calculation: I would be adding 24  pounds of cabbage and 3 or 4 quarts of brine to the crock bringing it to a total weight of … too much to carry up and down the six steps to the ground and the garage where I decided to ferment the kraut.

The new calculation provoked me into carving the cabbages on  the deck and carrying the shredded mess into large handfuls for transfer to the crock. I began. I had made 5 or 6 trips up and down the stairway when I began to notice a strange buzzing sound. On trip number seven the hornets had enough – they attacked. Three or four of the little devils stung my face and two got my right hand as I was desperately swatting at them. The battle was touch and go for a second, but I escaped their attack and made for the barn where awaited my hornet spray bottle full of a poison so deadly that even angry hornets shudder when they see me with the bottle in hand. It took me a few moments to regain my composure and retrieve the 2^nd spray bottle that I needed after using an entire bottle on steps to the deck.

I went back to the tedious job of slicing the cabbages into slivers as small as I could make them. Another hour passed and stings became a distant memory as I watched the crock get fuller and the pile of seven cabbages get smaller. I was concentrating so intently on my cabbages that I didn’t happen to notice the grey clouds forming overhead. The clouds coalesced and a soaking rain began to fall. I calculated that it would be easier to get a little wet while I finished the job rather than to put away all my tools, find a place to store the uncut cabbages, and carry the  crock to the garage for safe keeping. I gritted my teeth, massaged the sting spots on my face and continued slicing the cabbage. A song popped into my head and I smiled while I sang, “Choppin’ broccoli, choppin’ broccoli.”

Another hour passed as I worked in the rain that had become a deluge. The fatigue that set in from the climbing, stinging, and rainfall made the making of sauerkraut the end of the inning for this year’s garden. I bet even Thomas Jefferson would have said “Whew!” or Damn! 

Awww well, next year’s garden should be even better with all the things that I learned not to do from this year.