Rain

It's been raining and fairly cold (as Phoenix goes) for the past few days, so I haven't gotten much accomplished. The grass in the pathways is dormant and brown and more of the yard is in shadow more of the day. Some of the beans appear to be frost-nipped, although it hasn't actually gotten below freezing. Most of the deciduous fruit trees have dropped their leaves, the asparagus fronds are yellowing, and the tomatoes I planted in large pots as an experiment...well, let's just say they are surviving and leave it at that. I only planted one pony pack of broccoli this year, and I picked that (and enjoyed eating it my favorite way, roasted with a little olive oil and a squeeze of fresh lemon)

We like rain in the desert, and will take all we can get whenever we can get it. It's better for the plants; our tap water here is very hard and salt damage is a major problem in the summer because we have to rely mostly on irrigation. A good rain helps leach all that stuff away from the plant's roots. This time of year, it's also fun to go out and see all the different wildflowers that have begun sprouting. It is not so fun to see all the different weeds that also prefer to germinate in cool, moist soil.

The circle of life (botanical edition)

I always think of my mother-in-law's garden when I see marigolds. She had an abundance of them which arose spontaneously each year, and I can remember my then-two-year-old son being fascinated by them. I haven't done so well with them here...this was the only plant that survived the summer out of what was intended to be a border of them. I've been collecting the seeds as the flowers dry up, and sprinkling them on the drip emitter lines in different places. Quite a few have sprouted, and I hope to have better luck with them this year.  You can also see nasturtiums coming up, which is what we had along the border prior to the marigolds. Now that the weather has cooled, they are coming up all over the place. So are weeds, unfortunately. You can see one of those in the picture, too. I didn't plant the nasturtiums, or the weeds for that matter; they came from seeds dropped last spring.

So far, we've been pleased with the new drip system. In most beds, we've laid it out in a grid with lines about a foot apart, and each line has a 1 gph drip emitters spaced a foot apart. We plant seeds right under the emitters in a variation of  the "square foot gardening" method. This seems to be more efficient and effective in getting water to the plants where they need it than the minisprayers we had previously. In some of the raised beds where I want a flower border, we have also run 1/2 gph drip lines with 6 inch spacing along the edges.
 

Zinnias in the cleft of the rock

"He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock"

Most of the zinnias are gone, but this one, nestled up against the boulders that make up a rock waterfall next to our pool, is still healthy and blooming. It made me think of an old hymn with the line "He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock" that my grandfather used to sing.

When I think of "hiding in the cleft of the rock" I think about shade in a desert climate, or perhaps a refuge from predators. In this case I think the rocks heat up during the day, and radiate that stored heat back at night, making this tiny spot a more hospitable microclimate for the zinnia plant at this time of year.

What not to do with basil

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

This picture shows what you are not supposed to do to basil, or for that matter, most herbs. You're supposed to snip off the flower tops, because letting it go to seed will diminish the quality and flavor of the leaves. I was reminded of that this morning when I read this article on storing and preserving herbs. Fortunately, we typically won't get basil-killing freezing weather in the Phoenix for several more weeks, so if I cut them off now, there's still time for new leaves to sprout.

In our church, we recite the Lord's Prayer each week before communion. Perhaps that's why this thought came to me this morning while I was giving this basil a haircut. Gardens are more forgiving than we as people tend to be. That's fortunate for me, because I make lots of mistakes in gardening.

"All flesh is grass"

A voice says, "Cry out." And I said, "What shall I cry?" "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field.

I pulled the last of the zinnias up and chopped them up into small pieces. Rather than putting them in the compost bin, I put them in a bare area where I think zinnias would look nice, and I'm hoping their seeds will sprout in the spring.

As I was cutting them up (I just use rose pruners for this task; it's time consuming but effective) I thought about how transitory human life is. I learned this week that a friend from our seminary days had died, a victim of pancreatic cancer, which had also killed her father before her. I thought of her beautiful voice, which was like an angel's, and I imagine her now singing with them.We lost another friend several years ago, and a former coworker who retired at the same time as I did  is currently battling this disease, These beautiful souls were/are about my age, healthy and active, and now two are gone and another is fighting a battle I cannot begin to imagine. Then I thought about all the other people who I once knew and loved who are also gone.

We really are like the flowers of the field...here today and gone tomorrow. May the time we have be as beautiful as the zinnias were this summer, and after our time has gone, may we what we leave behind produce something beautiful for future generations.

Thorny things

This isn't a very good picture, but we have a small seating area looking towards the upper pond enclosed by what is meant to be a rose arbor. I got impatient when the climbing roses I planted didn't grow fast enough to suit me, probably because the area is too shady, so I planted honeysuckle vines there as well. To the right side of the arbor there is a Santa Rosa plum; to the left a Bears lime, and behind it is an orchid tree.

Today I worked on removing Bermuda grass from the area at the base of the climbing roses. This task can be somewhat dangerous because (a) I don't like to wear gloves when I'm weeding because it affects my grip and dexterity and (b) it's very easy to grab a thin rose cane along with a handful of Bermuda grass, resulting in (c) the painful realization that unlike Bermuda grass, rose canes are have thorns and express their considerable reluctance at being uprooted by leaving deep gashes in my hands.

This made me think about thorny things. One option would be: Don't plant thorny things. In our yard, this would include not only roses, but also bougainvillea and citrus trees. But then we would miss the fragrance of the roses, the extravagantly vibrant color of the bougainvillea, and the taste of tree-ripened oranges, grapefruit, lemon, and limes.

There's a lot that's thorny in life, especially when it comes to human relationships. People can frustrate, disappoint, and hurt you at times, but I wouldn't want to be a hermit, any more than I'd want my backyard to be a barren wasteland of crushed granite.

It's greener on our side of the fence

Today I noticed the snail vine was starting to creep over the block wall again. I think its cascades of dark green leaves and lavender flowers are lovely, but apparently it's a big no-no as far as our homeowner's association is concerned, so I snipped off the strands that threatened to peek over the wall behind our gazebo. All vegetation must be strictly confined to our side of the fence and not encroach on the HOA side. Our "green wall" consists of snail, lilac, and honeysuckle vines, and they are very vigorous growers. Besides being much more attractive to look at than concrete block walls, the vines cool the area by transpiration and blocking reflected light, making the gazebo an even nicer place to sit and relax. The honeysuckle also has an intoxicating fragrance in the spring.

The plants in the foreground are sweet potato vines. This was the first year we tried them, and we've been very pleased with how well they work to line the streambed leading from the upper to the lower pond. They spread vigorously and are easily rooted, yet aren't invasive. When we first built the system, we made the mistake of letting umbrella plant grow in the streambed. That was a bad decision; not only does it grow tall enough to block the view, it also sends its roots and shoots everywhere and actually caused water to start spilling out of the streambed and into the gazebo. I'm not sure how long these vines will last and how they will handle a freeze, but at the rate they grow, replacing them won't be problematic.

Strawberry fields aren't forever (but mint patches are)

I took a break today from putting up Christmas decorations to mulch the strawberries Mike planted a few weeks ago. We've not had good luck with strawberries in the past, but so far they seem to like the new drip irrigation layout. It's also possible they prefer cooler weather. This is the first time we've attempted to plant them in the fall rather than early spring, and we hope these two changes make a difference. Past plantings have resulted in only a couple dozen strawberries before the plants burned up in the summer heat. By the way, strawberries are delicious in salads. In the cooler months, when we have no home-grown tomatoes, we often enjoy strawberries and/or oranges in their place. I dislike the store-bought tomatoes available in the winter; they taste like cardboard.

This bed also contains broccoli which is beginning to head, and some petunias and nasturtiums for color. What you don't see is the back of the bed, where I planted one small mint plant last spring. It has completely taken over the rear part of the bed, and we had to pull quite a bit out of the front to plant the strawberries. We whacked it off to the ground about a month ago, and it's back stronger than ever; I am quite sure it will be an ongoing battle to restrain it from spreading indefinitely. In case you are thinking of planting mint, take a suggestion I learned too late in a Master Gardener class: plant it in a pot rather than directly in the ground. That way you will have some hope of keeping it at contained. Another idea that I think I may try this year with mint and other invasive but tasty herbs: put it in a hanging basket.

The tree in the foreground is a fig tree, and the one in the rear is a self-fruiting almond. We've gotten a few figs and no almonds so far. Some gardeners make take issue with our trees-in-the-middle-of-the-garden design. Assuming they survive, the trees will eventually produce so much shade that we won't be able to grow the things we're growing now. We know that, but why not use the space now to grow something beautiful and delicious?

Gardens evolve not only with the seasons, but with the years....just like humans, they change and age, and it's good to appreciate what one has in the present moment. Activities I enjoyed in my twenties (skiing and rock climbing come to mind) do not hold the same fascination in my sixties. So I think I'll enjoy the strawberries while I can, and the figs later...but I'll probably be fighting the mint for the rest of my life!

Green beans

I went out today to pick green beans for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner, and found more than I expected...and a few more eggplant I'd forgotten to bring in when I pulled out the plants.

While I was picking beans, I noticed quite a few larkspur seedlings coming up. I'll leave them alone and see what happens. They aren't getting much sun hidden away beneath the beans, but the beans won't last forever and it will be nice to have something else to take their place.

Second bloom

Although we lost several roses during this long hot summer, we are enjoying a nice second blooming season on the ones that survived. Our roses look best in the spring and truly awful during the summer. This is the first year I've remembered to do a fall fertilization, and these Queen Elizabeth bushes rewarded us by rebounding nicely.

We think the reason we lost several bushes this year was drip irrigation failure. (We also lost a Santa Rosa plum and a cape honeysuckle planted in this area) We had 4 gph flag drippers on them, but as part of our overall drip revamp this year, put circles of drip tubing in wells created around each bush. They should get the same amount of water, but it should be distributed better around the drip line.

In January, we'll do major pruning and fertilization but we should be able to enjoy roses through the Christmas season.

Tomatoes, take two

Last year we were disappointed with our fall planting of tomatoes. Per Master Gardener handbook instructions, we put out transplants in late summer and babied them through the hot weather with shade and mulch. When the weather cooled off, they set fairly large quantities of fruit, but we were hit with an early freeze in December (usually we don't have a freeze until January or February, if at all). We had six plants, two of which I attempted to protect with frost cloth, two of which I uprooted and hung upside down in the garage, and two of which I picked the green tomatoes and left them to ripen on the kitchen counter. The frost cloth was ineffective in protecting the first two plants, but most of the others ripened eventually. The fruit was not as good as summer tomatoes ripened on the vine, but it made an adequate tomato soup,

This year we are trying two short-season heirloom tomato plants in large pots, Glacier and Taxi varieties. The idea is that if frost is predicted, we can wheel the pots into the garage as we do with our plumeria trees. It generally doesn't dip below freezing for more than a few nights in a row here, so being in the dark for a couple of days shouldn't be a problem. At least that's my hypothesis. We also have a couple of volunteers that came up in the garden...one appears to be a Sweet 100 cherry tomato, and I'm not sure what the other one is yet. We'll see what happens to them as well.

Surprises amid monotony

Today I cleared another patch of primrose-infested ground under the apricot tree. Weeding is a monotonous, Sisyphean job. By the time I work my around and attend to all the places that need weeding, the first place needs weeding again. However, if I don't do it, primeval chaos is certain to overrun our backyard Eden.

Weeding is boring, but it's fun to walk around the perimeter of our yard and see what's new. Today I saw the first tiny head of broccoli beginning to form, gladiolus shoots poking their way through what appeared to be a barren dirt patch near the lower pond, and an errant sugar snap pea that decided to sprout in a gravel pathway. The ones I so carefully planted at the proper depth, right under a drip tubing hole and next to the sturdy trellis Mike built for them, germinated poorly, and are still struggling to reach the first rung of the trellis. Yet here is one, carelessly dropped in a seemingly hostile portion of the yard, stubbornly growing and apparently healthy. Gardening, like life, is surprising and unexplainable at times.

Time to uproot, time to plant

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot

Today I pulled up these eggplants. It was time. I planted six plants from a pony pack in late spring, and although the plants looked surprisingly healthy throughout the long hot summer, they didn't produce much until September, and really took off once the weather began to cool in October. In addition to enjoying eggplant lasagna, eggplant parmigiana, and eggplant souffle during the past few months, I froze several quart bags and gave some away. Although the plants look as healthy as ever, they have ceased bearing as the days have shortened and the nighttime temperatures have dropped. Therefore I decided  it was time to let them go and plant something else. They really had extensive root systems...it took some effort to pull them out.

What to plant? According to my gardening calendar, mid-November possibilities include transplants of broccoli, brussel sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower, celery, chard, kohlrabi, and lettuces, and seeds of beets, carrots, collard greens, endive, kale, mustard greens, peas, radishes, rutabagas, spinach, and turnips.

Starting small

 What shall we say the kingdom of God is like, or what parable shall we use to describe it? It is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds of the air can perch in its shade.”

It isn't that I haven't been doing anything in the garden...it's that I haven't been writing about it. Among other things, we completely reworked the drip irrigation system this summer to what will hopefully be a more effective and water-efficient plan. We harvested massive quantities of tomatoes in the early part of the summer, and an amazing number of eggplant this fall from only one six-pack of transplants, and I've tried growing some things I've never tried before. I've put up some rather impressive amounts of our produce, and tried some interesting recipes. Although I've frequently thought about writing, I've managed to also find various excuses not to do so. Either I couldn't come up with a good philosophical observation relating life to gardening, or I couldn't think up a clever title for the post, or I was just plain lazy. So today I decided to start small, and post about what I did today, even if is rather mundane.

Today I decided to tackle a neglected part of the garden which has been overtaken by the Mexican primrose I planted as a drought-tolerant border along a fence well before we converted the backyard to raised beds. I wish I had never planted the stuff...it spreads by stolons, seeds, and runners, and is as impossible to eradicate as Bermuda grass...but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I pulled up plants and used a spading fork to turn over the soil in an area of about five square feet, and pulled out as many of the roots and stolens as I could. Now I'm considering what to plant there.

Only a small thing....but small things add up over time. So it's a start.

Summer update, and some recipes

I'm back in the garden again, having gotten a green light from my chiropractor to resume (cautiously) my regular activities. I find there's nothing quite like digging out the Bermuda grass from the raised beds supposedly reserved for vegetables and flowers, to channel feeling of stress into something productive. I haven't been able to do that for a while, and I'm enjoying it- albeit in five minute intervals, because the temperatures here are above 100 degrees most of the time.

My current project involves planting things in the bare spaces left when I pulled out the broccoli, lettuce, spinach, nasturtiums, and larkspur. I seeded a border of sweet allysum around the perimeter of a couple of the raised beds, and I finally found some honeydew plants at Summer Winds nursery. It's rather late to plant them, even as transplants, but I thought I'd give it a shot. I'm trying a new planting method I observed in San Diego in a community garden...digging wells around the plants rather than planting them in the traditional mounds. Theoretically, that ought to help keep moisture around the plant's roots, which is always a challenge with new plantings in hot weather. I did mound up the soil a bit right around the stem of the plant, so water won't collect next to it. (not that there is much risk of that this time of year!)

We picked the last of the apricots and early peaches, and several varieties of tomatoes are doing very nicely. Our old standbys of cherry, Roma, and Early Girl tomatoes are already bearing, and some of the new ones we're trying this year have nice-sized green fruit. I found a delicious recipe for fish with roasted cherry tomatoes here and served it with roasted broccoli (my favorite recipe for that here) For dessert we had apricots in orange juice (recipe I used here) As you may guess, I enjoy trying new ways to prepare the food that comes out of our backyard as much as I enjoy experimenting with new things to grow and different ways to grow them.

Considering the lilies of the field

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

The closest thing we have here to "lilies of the field" is Mexican primrose, one of the plants at the top of my "things I wish I hadn't planted" list. It reproduces by both seeds and runners, and if I'm not very aggressive about weeding it out, it could take over the planet....or at least our backyard piece of it. As you can see from the photo above, I haven't been sufficiently aggressive lately. Two weeks of vacation followed closely by forced inactivity due to lower back issues = the invasion of the Mexican primroses. But they are beautiful.
My chiropractor has temporarily forbidden me from "lifting and bending over" which precludes a lot of garden activity. But walking is supposed to be good for me, so I can still enjoy my neglected garden by walking in it, which I do several times a day. I find that, because I can't do the things I think need to be done, I perhaps notice things I might not otherwise have seen. The peaches I had so carefully thinned are rather small, and I wonder why. Did I not thin them enough, or give them enough water and fertilizer? We experimented with several new plantings this year, and potatoes are going gangbusters in three different locations, but the raspberries I planted in a carefully-chosen sheltered location look terrible. There are tiny figs on the fig tree, and the Don Juan and Iceberg climbing roses may not be trellised properly, but they smell heavenly.
My Mexican primroses, and the "lilies of the field" passage remind me that life goes on just fine with or without our intervention. I'd be embarrassed if the RGFRP selection committee came to visit right now, because I don't think it would be what they are looking for. Yet it is beautiful in its own way, and I enjoy walking through it and noticing what has sprung up, all on their own, without any help from me. I realize that I'm a controller....I think that by thought and planning and making good choices, I can control life. But that's not true. I can increase the odds in a particular direction, but I am not in charge. And yet, there is still surprising beauty, and resilience. Life will find a way.

Surprised by apricots

I just noticed that there are several dozen marble-sized apricots on two different trees. I hadn't seen them before...maybe I was too busy thinning peaches and pulling weeds to see them. I wonder how many times in life we miss seeing beautiful things because we are too busy with necessary tasks?

On thinning peaches

"...every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful."

We're still thinning peaches on our oldest, earliest-bearing peach tree. Last year a late frost killed most of the blossoms before they could set fruit, but this year it seems that every blossom turned into a baby peach. Once the fruit is marble sized, you're supposed to thin it, leaving a 5 inch space between peaches. There are hundreds of peaches in doublets and triplets and clusters on every branch, and these need to be culled from hundreds to dozens. If you don't thin peaches sufficiently, the fruit won't have enough nutrients to mature into tasty, eating-size peaches, and too heavily laden limbs can break. So I'm thinning peaches, and as often happens when I'm working in the garden, thoughts about God and life come into my mind.

It's still the season of Lent, when tradition has it we're supposed to give careful consideration to spiritual things. Many people give up something they enjoy for Lent, or use it as some kind of second-chance New Year's resolution to give up a bad habit or start a good one. So, as I'm thinning peaches, I started thinking about sermons I've heard about culling things from your life that get between you and God, or spending extra time in acts of service to others. However, this isn't the direction my thoughts went today. There's nothing wrong with most of the peaches I'm discarding. There are just too many of them, and if I leave too many small peaches on the tree, I won't have any big ones, they won't taste as good, and the tree could be harmed.

Is it possible that sometimes what we need to "give up" is doing too much, even if the things we are doing are good things?

Spring has sprung!

Now blooming in Arizona Backyard Eden:

Nasturtiums, Bachelor's Button, Larkspur, California Poppy, Gaillardia, Snapdragon, Allysum, Roses, Gladiola, Nectarine, Apple, Apricot, Pear, Plum. Cilantro

Now eating: Lettuce, Spinach, Sugar snap peas, Asparagus, Broccoli, Oranges, Grapefruit, Lemons

Now planting:Yellow squash, Zucchini ,Eggplant, Armenian cucumber. I've planted some directly in the ground, and some in peat pots to be transplanted later wherever I find room. No seedlings spotted yet.

We should have a bumper crop of peaches this year as we didn't get a late frost like we did last year; right now they are marble-size, so we're busy thinning them out. We're trying a couple of kinds of heirloom tomatoes this year in addition to the Roma, Early Girl, and cherry tomato staples. The other main garden task this year is trying to stay ahead of the weeds.

Messy things

I was excited to receive an email yesterday from the chair of this year's Real Gardens for Real People tour informing me that she was forwarding information about our "Arizona Backyard Eden" to the people who are planning the 2013 tour. Because the 2011 tour was in the west valley area, it's not likely that another tour will be scheduled in this part of the valley, but her email was very affirming and complimentary. It did get me to thinking "what if", though. What if our garden is selected for a future RGRP tour? Although productive and pleasurable, it's rather messy compared to the ones we visited on last year's tour.

There's a large pile of vegetable debris under the lemon tree, evidence of our current experimentation with open-air composting. We have two purchased compost bins, a traditional squarish one and a cylindrical tumbler contraption. Neither have worked very well for us, most likely because I haven't been diligent about keeping the material in them sufficiently moist. So this time when I cleaned out the broccoli and cauliflower leaves after last harvest, I just dumped them on the ground under the lemon tree. It's too shady to successfully grow much under there anyway. I also dump coffee grounds, banana peels, and other kitchen scraps directly into the raised beds outside the kitchen. Not very attractive, but the vegetables and flowers growing in them seem to like these additions. I also don't rake up fallen leaves from around the citrus trees in the gravel yard; they too compost in place and add needed organic material to the heavy clay soil.

Then there are the dandelion-type weeds, which seem to explode on some kind of exponential curve this time of year. I don't "dig up" the beds very often- an idea I took from a Phoenix Permaculture Guild class- and I prefer to minimize the use of chemicals, so that means lots of hand pulling of weeds, which takes lots of time I don't always have. Our largest pond is currently overwhelmed by cattails that are crowding out the water lilies. (Cattails are #3 on my list of "things I wish I hadn't planted", along with Mexican primrose and Mexican petunia.) Of course, the fish don't seem to mind living in an underwater jungle, and the hummingbirds can use the cattail fluff as nesting material. The sandstone pieces lining our lower pond are crumbling in places because I step on them while dipping water out to water potted plants...but the plants love the nitrogen-rich pond water.

Yes, our yard is messy, all right. Hopefully I'm not justifying my own laziness, but I see meaning in its messiness. When I think about it, life can be pretty messy too. We can spend our time raking gravel and spraying weeds into submission, and end up with a barren moonscape of a yard...or a life. I think I'd rather tolerate....and maybe even learn to appreciate.....a little messiness.

No picture this time, though! Not comfortable enough with my messes for that!

Of springtime and ashes

"What a wondrous time in spring, when all the trees are budding. The birds begin to sing; the flowers start their blooming. That's how it is with God's love, once you've experienced it. You want to sing; it's fresh like spring; you want to pass it on."

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, which I never have fully understood, perhaps because of my non-liturgical upbringing. Our pastor says Lent is her favorite season...I can't say that I feel the same way. Lent is sackcloth and ashes and repenting our sinful nature, which may be necessary, but is not enjoyable, and (I hope I don't get struck by lightning) seems somewhat masochistic to me. Maybe it works better in more temperate climates, where February is still winter, rather than in Phoenix, where it marks the beginning of spring.

Our earliest-bearing peach tree is setting fruit; a later bearing variety is covered in blossoms; and the apricot and almond trees are also beginning to blossom. I've already picked a nice batch of sugar snap peas and a few asparagus shoots (only because I only planted two plants....must remedy that!) and our second planting of lettuce is reaching harvest-size leaves. Pear, plum, fig, and apple have not yet blossomed, but have full buds I expect to see open any day now. Some of the nasturtiums are blooming (maybe I should pick a few and add to the lettuce for a salad tonight); lilac vines are blooming, and the air is becoming heady with the fragrance of citrus. Calla lilies, which I'd wondered if had survived, are emerging from the ground...larkspur and hollyhock are coming up everywhere, in unexpected locations. Even in the gravel part of the yard I'm seeing marigolds, hollyhocks, nasturtiums...to quote my favorite Jurassic Park quote, "life will find a way."

And, there are a few weeds that need to be pulled. There are always a few weeds to be pulled, and it's generally best to pull them early before they have a chance to grow to giant size and set seed. I can see that part of Lent. There are weeds to be pulled in our lives, and with weeds, it's generally best to pull them when they are small and manageable. But in my garden, and I think also in our lives, it's an ongoing process. And I don't want to concentrate so much on the weeds that I can't enjoy the flowers.

A long overdue gardening update

I've neglected posting updates here for several months, primarily because I've essentially been working as a long-term sub for most of this school year. Where time constraints force me to choose between writing about my garden, and actually working in my garden, I usually choose to work in my garden. But I'm inspired to start posting again, because I just submitted our garden as a possibility for a future Master Gardener Real Gardens for Real People tour. If our garden is selected for the tour, I think it would be fun to do a kind of "Julie and Julia" blog and try to write something nearly every day for the next year (or two...they plan these things quite a ways in advance!) There is a science and an art to gardening, but there is also a lot of trial and error and experiments that don't work. I think people might be entertained and informed by reading about those- not just seeing the finished product, and thinking "I could never do that!".
So here's the several-months-overdue update: Yellow squash was a smashing success, producing a continuous and abundant crop until this year's December frost, as did our one Japanese eggplant. The six summer-planted tomato plants that I coddled with shade screen until late September were loaded with green tomatoes at the time of the frost, which was earlier than usual this year. We experimented with various suggestions as to how to save the tomatoes. We attempted to protect two of the plants with frost cloth and left them in the ground, we pulled up two of them by the roots and hung them upside down in the garage, and we picked all the green tomatoes off two of them and put them in baskets on the kitchen counter to ripen. The counter and garage tomatoes ripened gradually over a period of weeks; we still have of some of those left. The frost-protected plants were still hit pretty hard, and the tomatoes never ripened. I finally gave up on them so I would have room to plant another crop of lettuce as the first one went to seed in January. (I almost never have to buy grocery-store lettuce, except in the summer.)

We planted broccoli, cauliflower, and bush sugar snap peas in place of the tomatoes, eggplant, and squash. The broccoli did really well....we enjoyed fresh roasted broccoli, broccoli cheese soup, and wound up freezing 23 quarts to enjoy later. (Here's a link to my favorite roasted broccoli recipe. If you haven't tried it that way, it's amazing!) The cauliflower didn't do as well, although we did up with a bit fuller heads than we did last year. Because I was working, I didn't have sufficient time to address the never-ending Mexican primrose invasion into the place we'd planted the sugar snap peas, so the number of surviving plants was limited. However, the half-dozen plants that weren't choked out produced a surprising number of pea pods.

What didn't work? The picture above shows where I planted several varieties of lettuce and spinach, along with the vining variety of sugar snap peas. Note to self for next year: If you are going to put ground-up spent hollyhock plants in the compost bin, make sure all is well-composted before using it as mulch. There are actually a few lettuce and pea plants among the fine crop of hollyhocks you see growing here. Not exactly what I had planned, but then a garden seldom is.