Category Archives: My Gardens

Survivors of the Winter of 2019-20

I’m sometimes surprised to see what plants from my fall garden have managed to survive the winter and are surging back to life in spring, often with no help from me. This past winter, I didn’t bother to put a row cover over anything, as I have generally done in recent winters, and therefore wasn’t expecting any early harvest. But this March, in my Roxborough community garden plot, a half dozen long forgotten lettuce stumps sprouted beautiful red rosettes of lettuce leaves, and a patch of cilantro that produced little in the fall was flush with new growth.

Philadelphia is Overrun With Squirrels

Last fall, I met someone who was volunteering at a wildlife rescue station somewhere in the city, and when I asked what kinds of wildlife they were rescuing at that time, she said squirrels. Lots of baby squirrels–because it was a mast year for oak trees in the Philadelphia area, that is, “a season in which various species of trees synchronize their reproduction and drop large amounts of fruit and/or nuts.” That meant there were enough acorns to support three, not just the usual two, cycles of matings and births from spring through fall. Some in the last crop of squirrels were too late to make it when the weather turned–until the rescue station stepped in.

Many of us noticed the unusually heavy blanket of acorns last year. Look around and I believe you’ll notice that this year, we’ve got a bumper crop of squirrels. They are already wreaking havoc in my garden, a situation that is going to have to be rectified one way or another.

I photographed the very healthy squirrel (seen above), just as he was taking his first tentative nibble of a patch of leaf lettuce that I had recently moved over to my backyard garden from the greenhouse. He clearly liked it. It had been razed within a day or two (see below).

Microgreens to the Rescue

Who knew when I started growing microgreens at the Horticultural Center in February that they might come in handy as a dining room tabletop survival garden starting March 14. Not me.

But here they are, brought home today, after we were informed by the awesome organizer of the community propagation program, Zoe Blickenderfer, that we will barred from the greenhouse until further notice starting next week. Zoe will keep any seedlings we leave behind alive, but most of mine are ready to plant in my backyard garden, and in the case of the microgreens, harvest over the coming weeks and eat.

It looks like I’ve got several servings of salad a day for a month–a mix of sprouting daikon radish greens, red acre cabbage, ruby red chard, Russian kale, red amaranth, and dill.

How Not to Grow Microgreens

I’m learning a lot in my first winter growing in the municipal greenhouse in Fairmount Park, as other more experienced growers start to trickle in and get underway, admire my plants and offer suggestions. From one of my greenhouse neighbors this weekend, I learned how not to grow microgreens.

Don’t bury the seeds, as I did in my first plantings (see sprouting daikon radishes, above), not even under a skim of growing medium. Instead spread the seeds on top and cover the tray or pot with something that blocks out the light for a few days until they sprout. When the seeds are buried, the roots latch onto clumps of growing medium that are a pain to clean. I’ll do it the right way with my next batch.

It’ll be great to have as many as I can eat for the next three months. I served my first harvest with roasted beets, gorgonzola cheese and walnuts.

My 2020 Garden’s Indoor Jump Start

 

After a couple of years on a waiting list, this winter I got into one of Philadelphia’s hidden gems: the greenhouse in the Horticultural Center in West Fairmount Park,  run by the city’s department of parks and recreation. Part of the building is open to the general public. Another part of the facility is a working, commercial-grade greenhouse, half of which is used by parks & rec employees to grow seedlings for gardens in public parks and community recreation centers all over town. The other half of the greenhouse is occupied by a community propagation program. Community gardens, nonprofits, for-profit growers, and individual Philadelphians like me can rent an 8’x3′ table for $50 for the propagation season, which runs from the February through May. So, as I said, after waiting for a couple of years, I’m in, and have wasted no time getting my crops going.

It’s the third week of February, and I’m largely alone so far. Do my greenhouse neighbors know something that I don’t about the folly of getting such an early start? We’ll see.

By the third week of February, few of the other growers in the propagation program have gotten started, but I have eight or 10 different crops underway already including rutabaga, rapini,  kale, chard, cilantro, arugula, sprouting daikon radish, three or four varieties of lettuce and lots of spinach.

I’m planning to put the spinach out in my garden, under a floating row cover, in early March, followed by the lettuce a week or two later. We’ll see how that goes.

One of the propagation program tables near mine

Another table near mine with a myriad of herbs

Hakurei Turnips: Marvel of Almost All Seasons

I dug up some turnips and radishes from the thawed ground in my garden on a balmy 60-degree day in early February and roasted them for dinner. The radishes were firm and surprisingly tasty for midwinter. As for the turnips, though they look good (see photo), they had a mushy texture–nothing like they are in their crisp prime, and no wonder. They’ve frozen and thawed quite a few times in the last couple of months. But they were certainly edible, earning all the more respect from me.

Hakurei turnips are the one crop that never fails in my gardens. Almost all the seeds germinate, even the few I’ve spilled in the paths between rows, grow to maturity. Planted in succession from early spring into the fall, they yield a continuous harvest of tender little turnips and greens that are as good as the turnips themselves.

No Tolerance for Groundhogs This Year

Last year I let a groundhog eat almost everything in the garden beds and pots scattered around my backyard. Not all at once. It ate my garden bit by bit, leaving some things standing next to plants that got razed, as if to fool me into overlooking the mounting damage. The tactic worked, until he began doubling back around the circuit, picking off crops he had left on his first pass and those that had grown back. Still, I was slow to act because I had occasionally seen a groundhog near my garden in the summer of 2018, and didn’t lose much at all. Over the course of the summer of 2019, the groundhog ate almost everything including parsley, kale, cabbage, collards, chard, peas, beans, summer squash, winter squash, watermelon, okra, lettuce, spinach, potato plants, zinnias and tomatoes.

What pushed me to put an end to it was catching him in the act of climbing a couple of feet up a tomato stake, snatching a green tomato, and bounding into the woods with it clenched in his teeth. I borrowed three successively largely traps before I managed to catch him. I was told that groundhogs are fools for cantaloupe, but it took a fruit salad of cantaloupe, apples and bananas to catch my gourmet marauder. I released him in a park about half a mile away, which I later learned was probably not far enough. He hasn’t come back yet, but this year, I’ll act on the first sign that he or she or any others of their ilk are taking a fancy to my garden.

The few things that the groundhog did not touch included basil, oregano, lemongrass, peppers and the tomatoes he couldn’t reach.

One bonus was that my bumper crop of lemongrass and hot peppers got me thinking about what to do with that, and the answer was fabulous Thai curry paste (a puree of lemongrass, shallots, chili peppers, ginger, garlic, turmeric, cumin and lime zest).

 

 

Biodegradable? Yeah, Right! Maybe in 1,000 Years

It’s that time of year when I stir up my compost pile, which has been dormant all winter, and bring it back to life with a big helping of lush, green weeds that I’ve just pulled up. It’s also the time of year when I look to see if the supposedly “biodegradable” green spoon is still there. And yes it is. If I scrubbed off the dirt stains, I could probably put it right back where I found it more than three years ago, at a frozen yoghurt shop in a bin of plastic utensils boldly labeled “biodegradable,” and no one would notice.

“Biodegradable”? Really, I thought. What’s it made of anyway? Compressed cornstalks or something? It looked like standard-issue, practically indestructible plastic to me. But giving the yoghurt vendor the benefit of the doubt, I tossed it into my compost pile, through which many hundreds of pounds of kitchen and garden waste have been cycled since I tossed the spoon into the mix. There it is again this year–pictured above on the top of my pile with some other nonbiodegradable objects that surfaced–looking no worse for the wear at the start of its fourth growing season in my compost pile.

Survivors of the ‘Winter’ of 2016-17

Overwintered spinach that in mid-April is already starting to bolt

Note to self: next time you plant a crop of spinach in the fall intending to keep it going through the winter and into the next spring, jot down the name of the variety or varieties you plant.

I’ve attempted to grow spinach through the winter for three years in a row. The first of the three crops was a spectacular success, yielding a light harvest of baby spinach in the fall and bulging bags full of mature spinach from March into June. (And that was entirely inadvertent, as I explained in a post at the time.) In the fall of 2015, I planted hundreds of spinach seeds but just a few seedlings sprouted–and promptly keeled over and died long before winter set it.

collard green

This past fall, I planted two varieties, both of which got a healthy start. They survived the winter under a row cover in fine shape.But now that spring has arrived and I have uncovered them, they are already bolting after just one modest picking. What the heck? I was counting on a continuous harvest right up to the start of summer! I had alerted friends and neighbors to prepare to help me eat it all. Then this: my patch of spinach, lovingly tended all winter long, is going to yield a couple of servings.

cilantro

The weather is obviously one factor. And I probably kept the row cover on too long. We had a number of days during this past so-called winter when the temperature got into the 70s, which means it must have been in the 80s under the row cover. But the varieties of spinach I have planted these past three winters was surely also a factor in the wildly varying results. Trouble is, I have no clue what varieties I’ve planted. I’m going to try again this fall, but due to my lack of notes, I’ll be starting from scratch in my effort to get it right.

chives

Oh well. I’m getting at least some homegrown spinach this spring. And several other crops are coming back:  one collard, a kale and chives (no surprise with any of them). Unexpectedly a couple of cilantro plants are also coming back from a crop that I had given up for lost last fall. Most surprisingly of all, some parsley that I started from seed about this time last year and yielded a continuous harvest last summer is now coming back strong this year. Hurray for the parsley! It is showing no signs of bolting. I’ve already made one batch of chimichurri with, I hope, many more to come.

Italian flat-leaf parsley looking good to go for a second year

Growing Spinach Under Snow

My Mt. Airy spinach hoop house, Jan. 6, 2017, after a 1-inch snowfall

I didn’t want to toss off the blanket of snow and pull up the row cover to look, but the crops underneath are deep green and glowing in the sunlight filtering through after a 1-inch snowfall covered my backyard garden last night. The temperature will dip into the low teens tomorrow night. Most of my plants should survive–I’m not so sure about the radish sprouts and last little heads of lettuce–but the spinach, kales and one collard plant shouldn’t be fazed.

Nice place for spinach on a snowy day

I’m less confident about whether the tunnel covering them will make it through the winter. The hoops are too widely spaced and the cover is a mere light-weight Harvest-Guard frost blanket. So far it’s holding up under wind, rain, light ice and snow. I’m not going to press my luck too far, though. If there’s more than a few inches of snow in the forecast one of these days before winter is over,  I’ll take steps to shore it up.

Meantime, here are the salad fixings that I picked on New Year’s Day. Yes, it was a very tiny salad.  Keep in mind, folks, the main goal of my overwinter garden isn’t winter production as much as it is a really early spring flush of greens, from plants that will continue yielding cuttings right up to the edge of summer.

Spinach, lettuce, kale and radish sprout harvested on New Year’s Day, 2017