Monthly Archives: April 2008

Another benefit of the greenhouse

Celery in front, tomatoes in the temporary bed

The greenhouse is a wonderful place, mainly because it so easily does its job. I’ve certainly gone over a few of its unintended benefits (reduce S.A.D. mid-winter, help take the pressure off the gardener to hurry up and dig, etc.), but here is another one.

It’s a great nursery.

Last night it got pretty chilly (28*F) and I wasn’t worried, even though my tomatoes, eggplants and peppers were outside. They were in the greenhouse! In the ground, too, as it happens: I have been moving the lettuce and winter stuff out at a fast rate, and replacing them, as the beds clear, with these tender baby plants. I *hate* transplanting seedings, so the greenhouse beds are a great halfway house for them.

I’m also seed-starting things like mad directly in the ground in the greenhouse. Seeds are going into the ground in the gardens, too (peas, favas, carrots, beets, etc.) but I reserve the greenhouse beds for items that, if chilled outside in the ground, will simply go to seed and not do their thing by producing goodies for me. The smaller brassicas are in this category: rapini, pac choi, tatsoi, mizuna. They’ll get to be about an inch tall and I will move them outside. Likewise, anything I want to hurry-up-and-sprout are seeded directly into the chill-proof greenhouse beds. Flowers (marigolds, calendula, cleome, cosmos) fit that category, as does another seeding of yellow storage onions. But in a month the only things that will be in the greenhouse will be the summer crops of tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, and a few garlic plants.

I know I sound like such a liar, but it really is a lot less work!

And of course it’s a place of beauty: frilled lettuce with chard and broccoli beyond

On sweating

Somebody had to do it: view from the greenhouse door

Busy weekend. Aren’t they all at this time of year? Sunday, I was feeling a bit poorly due to my own overindulgence of wine at a party the night before. It was a chilly day (40s) and all my light tasks had been accomplished, so I decided to sweat a bit and dug 80′ of trench.

I spoke to an old friend later that day and told her what I had done. “Have you become a masochist now that you’re a farmer?” she asked. Nah, I said: I figured, if I felt horrible already, I may as well feel horrible and feel like I accomplished something.

So, this was Step One in getting the new greenhouse going. That perforated drain pipe is now buried in the trench to avoid winter thaw/heavy rain water issues. Now I *just* need to till the clover in, build the beds, fill the beds with grass clippings, compost and more soil, refence the area from the chickens, plant the beds and then build the greenhouse itself. A lot of work ahead, but in 3 hours on Sunday, I got the worst part finished!

And oh, I felt a lot better afterward.

Long-stored food, part two

The end of the 2007 season

Yesterday, I cleaned out the root cellar. Doesn’t that sound so very…retro? “Excuse me, but I need to step down to the root cellar.” To even HAVE a root cellar sounds so…foreign. But really. ANY unheated space can be a root cellar, and it needn’t be a cellar, and you needn’t even store any roots! There is one and only one concept you need to understand about a successfully stored root-cellared item. This is the concept of transpiration. All plants transpire: they exhaust their liquids. (Ever wonder why they put that nasty wax on cucumbers, apples and peppers? To keep them from losing moisture.) A root cellar tries to prevent transpiration by being cool enough, moist enough, and well-ventilated enough to keep something from rotting or drying out.

Many things have a leg up on being potential root-cellared items. Apples, pears and quinces have a thick skin, and many heirloom varieties of the same actually improve with storage by becoming sweeter or softer with time. Potatoes, usually white ones, are also thick-skinned things that simply require a dark, not-dry but not-wet, unfreezing place to be stored. Beets and carrots and celeriac likewise can be grown to be stored. Onions, cabbage and winter squash are other candidates. Other veggies and fruits just need other methods of storage, like drying, freezing or canning.

What drives me absolutely crazy is we have lost, through our own disinterest, both the knowledge of root cellaring and many of the long-stored cultivars of vegetables and fruit best grown to be stored. Why this happened is the fodder for books and in-your-face documentaries, and not my focus today. Let’s just say my theory is we were hoodwinked into a “lifestyle” of “convenience.” Well, excuse me if I strongly disagree that, by putting bushels of apples and roots and cabbage on the back steps of my basement, this is not convenient? This is less convenient than me driving back and forth to the grocery store 15 miles away once a week for a whole winter, THAT is a “lifestyle” of “convenience”?

Another indication of our loss is that the cultivars listed in my holy book of root cellaring (named, univentively, Root Cellaring, by Mike and Nancy Bubel) as great storage types are not exactly easy to find. One must then rely on the literature of seed catalogs which were written, of course, to sell seeds. Again, this makes me crazy. My other holy book of vegetables is one that is the 123-year-old English edition of Vilmorin-Andrieux’s The Vegetable Garden: it lists, for example, eleven closely-spaced pages of cabbages: about 100 varieties total. The average seed catalog lists 9, mostly concentrating on today’s “convienience/lifestyle” market of “mini-cabbages.”

Anyway. The picture above is the last of the goodies from the root cellar. The spooky sprouted potatoes got their own corner of a garden bed yesterday. The collection of apples is a motley one, mainly Northern Spys and Baldwins. And yes, I had one more cabbage: this is a Winningstadt.

The other thing to note about growing things for storage I kind of alluded to in the treatise I made about onions: it’s a many-pronged approach. Mostly, I put seeds in the ground for the storage items later in the season. Excepting the leeks, which take forever to grow, I won’t plant the cabbages, carrots, beets and celeriac for storage until the end of June. Any little cabbage babies in the ground today are for summer consumption and sauerkraut and kimchi and the like. Things will get harvested and stored successionally, as they become ready and/or when it starts getting cold. I suppose this sounds like a lot of work. It’s not, really.

And again, I suppose someone could likewise say to me that they prefer NOT to eat a seven-month-old cabbage, a six-month-old apple. Well, in general, neither would I, but just look at that cabbage!

*Note to those interested in the storage varieties I use: I’ve got a running list, including sources, that I plan to upload to the Seeds/Trees tab above. I think with any long-stored item, the “long” in the idea is relative. Some of my long-stored carrots, or beets, I never expect to see in April! December, maybe. So it’s another thing to consider: storage does not mean “forever.”

On little promises

The fig trees were quite happy to spend their winter in the greenhouse

Definitely in the category of “don’t count your chickens,” I show you the hardy figs and their promise of fruit. I got an even dozen from the two trees last year. This year? Well, maybe this is a more promising sign.

So much of gardening is wishing and hoping, don’t you think? I think anything with this many variables requires a certain amount of faith. I am grateful at every sprouted seed, at every blossom…especially things like this. Maybe I will have a harvest I can at least share with my family…and not eat ‘em all myself.

Consider the onion*

*Shameless knockoff of my favorite extended food essay Consider the Oyster by M.F.K. Fisher


Love me, love my family

I posted a couple of days back about long-stored vegetables and their unexpected rewards. (To those of you who’re curious about a list of seeds/varieties, please hold on while I complete it!) I thought one item in particular needed some clarification (thank you, Danielle) and that is the onion. Actually, it is the onion family.

When one begins to consider local eating, one of course assumes this means one should just locally source any one staple item, like onions. If one is growing one’s own food you probably need to just grow a lot of onions. Well, growing a truly local diet does NOT mean I have 100 pounds of storage onions socked away for an entire year!  It means I have storage onions for approximately half the year. The other half of the year we eat our fill of onion-like things. (Go through every kind of vegetable and likely you’ll find the same story for me: early, middle, storage.) Nothing, with the possible exception of parsley, is eaten in the same form year-round. And this, dear reader, is a good thing.

So: It’s April 23, and I have a grand total of 2.28 pounds left of Fedco’s Clear Dawn (OP yellow), Rossa de Milano (OP red), and an unknown white onion. I grew all these in the garden last year and harvested them at the end of July. They’re still firm but a few are getting sprouty. What’s a girl to do, then, to flavor her dinners? Two and a quarter pounds won’t hold us until the end of July!

1. Leeks. Leeks have a far longer season in our garden than onions. I start the seeds indoors with the onions, then transplant them out at the same time. I start a second sowing in the garden, too. Leeks can be harvested out of the garden all winter long, right up to when they’re likely to go to seed in the spring. One can also force leeks into producing thinner, tender shoots by harvesting their seedhead, and I have also done this. I grow a Fedco variety called Bleu de Solaize, which is kind of short, but have also grown King Richard; the latter don’t reliably last through the winter everywhere, though.

2. Potato onions. These are planted shallowly in the ground much like shallots. They bunch up and produce a ton of baby onions. They can perennialize. In colder climates, they may not keep through the winter, but they’re a lesser-known old-fashioned variety of onion that really should be grown more. I grow a variety I got at the feed store. They’re a bit of a pain to peel, but they do in a pinch.

3. Multiplier onions. Similar to potato onions, but with a wilder growth habit: these are also called Egyptian Walking Onions. They top-set readily this spooky looking spider of a set of onions. The spider then weighs itself down and plants itself right in the garden. Reliably, these are the first things that shoot up and grow for me every spring. I am not sure the variety, as I got them as a gift.

4. Perennial (Bunching) scallions. This is an Asian variety of green onion that, well, bunches together and does not form bulbs. You can divide the greens and replant them to form more clumps. I grew them in the greenhouse and used the greens and the whole darned plant stalk. I have two types: Fedco’s Nebuka (white) and Kitazawa’s Red Beard (red). These grew quite easily from seed. I leave them alone in their corner.

5. Chives. Need I say more? I adore chives. They form a happy perennial patch in the herb garden, and require no care.

6. Shallots. Now, here is the easiest thing to grow ever from something you can get at the grocery store. And what’s wonderful about shallots is that, once you have them, you can replant the small or wrinkly ones and thus extend your supply forever. I have never done well growing them from seed, but…from the grocery store? Bingo. They are planted very shallowly. Each shallot will yield a bunch of paired babies. Harvest them when their stems yellow, like most onions.

7. Garlic, green and not. I grow storage garlic (softneck) and I grow eat-it-now-and-die-of-happiness garlic (hardneck, artichoke-type) and I perennialize some nasty stuff that started sprouting on me. So I always have a patch of garlic that I can haul out of the garden and eat. Green garlic is sublime. Hardneck garlic scapes are sublime. Storage garlic is not sublime but is necessary.

8. “Green” onions. Any onion green is a green onion in my book! So atop every salad or every soup is whatever is green and growing.

9. Eat-em-now onions. These are the sweethearts like Walla Walla, Vidalia and cipollini onions. Like early potatoes, there is a short but happy season for these things.

10. Those aforementioned storage onions. Yep, I grow from seed, but I also have been known to purchase seedlings and sets. Sets do not have the reliable storage quality that seed-grown onions have, but they’re readily available and you of course can get them just to keep you in onion greens. The most variety you’ll ever get is if you grow your own from seed. Unfortunately, it’s a long and arduous process. BUT! This time of year, when I have those sprouting onions? I select the prettiest and biggest, and stick it in the garden. It will immediately form a pretty seed head. I let the seeds dry out and then…voila! My own well-grown, well-known seed variety that I know will grow for me and will last.

So: Moral of the onion story: If you can grow your own, don’t stop at storage onions, folks.

Time to clean out the greenhouse

Wow! Lots of spring weather means lots of growth in the greenhouse. Too much growth in the greenhouse, actually. I am handing off gallon bags of salad fixings to anyone I meet.

I did need to recalibrate my idea of seeding. Out in the garden, I am pretty generous while seeding a row: twice what’s recommended feels about right. My clay soil can be tough stuff, see, so I try to hedge my bets. Well, the greenhouse beds are likewise clay, with lots of organic matter. I guess the lack of outdoor variables means I should plant as directed (suggested?) per seed packet when planting out in the greenhouse proper. Every single seed tends to sprout. SO: not only do I have a lot of lettuce, I have a lot of a lot of lettuce. And other things too.

So now the true harvest has begun. Out to the garden go smaller lettuces, all brassicas, all herbs. I will wait a bit to harvest the rest of the alliums (scallions, garlic, leeks), and I am letting some biennials go to seed (beets, chard) because…I need the seed. There are a couple of kohlrabi that are threatening to fatten and not bolt, but this is, like, one in 10 plants so I am not overly hopeful. The broccoli is still putting out its little bitty heads. Greenhouse broccoli is just the best: so tender, so not bitter! Otherwise, I am just eating my way through the mustards, tatsoi, spinach, lettuce, minutina, Italian dandelion and Catalonian chickory.

Meanwhile, the nightshade family waits, getting bigger daily.

On long-storage vegetables

Forgot to take a pic of the actual cabbage last night. In its stead, please accept newly-planted Savoy cabbage babies in the garden. It’s so exciting when the babies get big enough to move out from the greenhouse.

When I started seed-saving, I began to pay attention to heirlooms that were known for long-term storage. This was a different way of thinking for me. I would not necessarily say that I normally am motivated by instant gratification, but…dang, first taste out of the garden is how I had always selected my vegetables! So the very idea that things that’re grown to be stored, and actually improve with storage, was surprising to me.

The freezer is being emptied nightly. We’re also at rock bottom of the root cellar items. They’re as rare as hen’s teeth now: I probably only have about two pounds of onions left! Potatoes, winter squash, and beets are long gone, carrots (due to a wet August and not a gardener’s oversight) were gone by the beginning of December, and I have but one lonely celeriac left. And last night we ate our last cabbage.

But improve, change taste, they do. This cabbage? Positively sweet, positively darling. None of that sulfurous stink common to its species. It cries for butter, a touch of salt, a gentle heating. It’s like it’s saying to me: good things come to those who wait.

A little walk on a nice day

We went back to the abandoned asparagus farm on Sunday. I found one lousy 4″ asparagus: obviously, we came a bit early this year…though we are getting them out of the garden :) I do love coming to this property, even if the waste of it all makes me sad. It was abandoned in 1979. The fire department torched the barn down in a controlled burn in the 90s. Now, it’s just a hundred-plus acres a half a mile from Lake Michigan that is filled with overrun orchards, vineyards, and asparagus fields; ponds, a nice spring, and land that runs from the dunes to the clay of our own home turf. Oh, if I were only a cajillionaire, I would buy it from the bank.

Above Tom’s head is where the old house was. You can see the kitchen chimney still standing. That’s the pump house to the left and an outhouse at 2:00. The barn was to the right.

Tractor shed complete with tractor!! 1950s? I am sure someone could get it to run…

Front pond with six beaver lodges. Small farmhouse and barn are across the road from our house. We almost bought this house, but it was a bit too small for us. And too mushy to garden…

And then we went home and gardened and “ate” mud pies.  (By the way, she freaked out because I really did put that spoon completely in my mouth:  “Hey!  It’s pretend!”)

Of earthquakes and aftershocks

I’ve mentioned before how Michigan is one of the few states in this country that is not exactly prone to natural disasters. We’re kind of outside the twister/hurricane belt, most of our rivers drain just fine, our forests don’t burn with extreme regularity, and we’re not exactly expecting any of our Great lakes to breach their shores any time soon. No parching heat waves. No mudslides, no hail storms, no ice downing the trees and telephone lines. I suppose we get our share of snow. But we’re used to snow. It’s kind of an uninteresting place, if you’re itchy for a disaster.

This morning, though, there was a small earthquake in Illinois that was felt in our little corner of SW Michigan, and was felt many miles beyond. And, about two hours ago, there was an aftershock.

Did I feel either? No, I did not. Was our phone ringing off the hook, and is it the only thing people can talk about today? Why, yes!

So now I am on heightened alert, wondering if I’ll experience that shifting sensation of plate tectonics. If for no other reason, it gives me something to talk about…and think about. A stable earth is something we all kind of take for granted.

Gardeners’ ADD

Some species tulips are blooming. I love these things.

I am guessing it is fully spring now in most parts of the northern hemisphere. If the snow has not melted where you are, it is at least threatening to: no? Then I am sorry to blather on about spring gardening.

Yesterday I walked around outside without my tools or even anything remotely resembling “gardening apparel or accouterments.” The purpose of this journey was twofold: one, I was tired of (indoor, paid) work and two, I wanted to take a mental note of what lies ahead for me in terms of (outdoor, unpaid) work. I find it is very important to make one of these reconnaissance missions WITHOUT TOOLS OR GLOVES because, had I had either, I would immediately have set myself to work. And work is not the point: the assessment of work is the point.

How do you do it? Do you make lists? Do you zero in on a problem area and just get started? Do you pick one task only (say, raking), and then take that on? Are you, well, are you organized? If you do any of the above, I take my sunhat off to you, and bow deeply.

It is spring and I am a SPAZ. Techncially, I have been gardening all year long (thanks to the greenhouse) but now I somehow forget, completely, what it means to do the simplest of gardening tasks. So I ping back and forth, mentally cannot hold one complete thought in my head, and attack all the chores at once but accomplish very little. And I go through this every. single. year.

Somehow it all evens out and I calm down and things get accomplished. Now: I did bring my gloves outside with me, right? And my trowel?

Some answers to your questions

1. Like chicken, only better (richer)

2. Braised in a huge dutch oven for 2 hours at 375* on a bed of leeks, dried/fresh herbs, white wine and veg stock; he was still kind of tough; lots of breast meat

3. I am not that good at plucking. Then again, I hate shelling peas and beans too: I think it’s the time required, not the task at hand

4. Tom wanted nothing to do with it but the eating. At one time he yelled down from his upstairs window: “Is it safe yet?”

5. The guineas can still count. The three hens are bemoaning the loss of their leader and are still calling despondently.  I hope their small brains can forget

6. The other chickens, however, are very happy!

7.  I don’t think I have ever worked so hard for a meal

A guinea(less) post

I never claimed to be handsome

We got our four guineas last spring. As usual, though I wanted three birds, Tom brought home four. They are really hard to tell apart. I should say they WERE really hard to tell apart, as the largest bird has definitely embraced his inner testosterone. I have named him Himself.

He is a terror.

What was a very peaceful chicken yard has now become a very unhappy place. The other three guineas mostly ignore Himself, but all six chickens are now continuously on alert. There is so much stress in there! I feel awful, because when they could free-range, at least they could run away from that horny dude. I think of those poor female members of that nutjob Mormon sect in Texas, they of the 400 children who need new homes right now before they too become “spiritually married” to the male members of the sect…the only true parallel I can draw is neither my chickens nor those children had a choice. But someone must intervene.

Himself, I bid you adieu. I just hope you taste better than you act.

Other babies on the farm

Check these little ones out!

This means we need to go check out the abandoned asparagus farm this weekend. We usually find a few the deer have missed.

So far, this is the way the spring growing season has gone for me: The greenhouse contents are growing too quickly. The things in the gardens (perennials, bulbs, newly-planted peas and favas and spuds) far too slowly. The stuff under the lights in the basement, likewise, too slowly for impatient Me. Oh, and it’s been freezing the past 6 or so days, and will be for a while. Ah.

(Such problems I have.)

Mr. Jackson

Tiddly widdly widdly!  Bufo americanus in the greenhouse

I have always had a soft spot for toads. I love amphibians in general, actually; toads in particular. Maybe Beatrix Potter is to blame…or maybe I was just a fearless kid.

We found this guy in one of our basement’s window wells today. Tom told me about it, and said we probably shouldn’t tell the kid or she’d have it for a pet. But, well, he told her mother: I would love it for a greenhouse pet! Just think of the slugs this little friend could consume.

So I set her/him free in the greenhouse, complete with a couple of clay saucers of water scattered about to drink from.  Anyway, I have had toad friends in my gardens every year. Two years ago, that particular friend was huge (the size of a large apple) and I swear I would nearly jump out of my skin when he’d pop through the greenery.  This one won’t scare me nearly as much, I think:  it’s about the size of a plum.

Chick stuff

The kid, as can be expected, is beside herself with the new chicks.

Their first night, after feeding them, I watched the chicks for quite a while. So much about this “slow life” on the farm is doing just this: stopping and really looking at things. Of course, I am quite sure I had a goofy look on my face. Like all infants that are truly yours, you really think they’re the most special, most adorable and most clever things to ever grace this planet. Thus, my grin.

Unlike mammalian babies, the little chicks are pretty self-sufficient from their first days out of their shells. These little things already were exhibiting the particular poultry trait of pecking. I had just placed a small bowl of mooshed-up hard-boiled egg yolk (think what their diet was pre-emergence and you see this makes some sense) and I stood back and watched the fun begin. Once one chick starts pecking, the others (all 25) immediately become interested. So, that first chick picks up a large-ish piece, takes it slightly away from the bowl, and realizes s/he has 5 siblings chasing its find! So it runs away, and the others give chase, taking nibbles as they go. The other 20 have discovered the bowl. All those little heads pecking away. How fun.

After they eat their fill, they start preening themselves. And then they stop and fall asleep, right where they’re standing. Whew, it’s a tough job being a cute little thing!

So little they still have their egg teeth

(little bump on their beak that helps them get out of their shell)

Greenhouse: roll-up side

This weekend we installed the roll-up side to one side of the greenhouse.

It’s a pretty low-tech device. It’s a 20′ long galvanized tube that has a crank handle at one end. The tension of the plastic is how the thing rolls up. When winter returns, we will anchor the tube to the baseboard at the ground. The ropes are simply to keep the tube from flapping around: if it’s windy outside, this thing can sail pretty high.

Had I been less of a tightwad, I would have purchased another, for the other side of the greenhouse. Because the greenhouse is near the garage/chicken coop (about 6′ away), I thought, mistakenly, that there wouldn’t be much of an opportunity for cross-ventilation. (Sometimes, my penny-pinching trumps commonsense. I’d say it’s a fault but the cure is swift: just buy something.)

I put deer netting behind the opening to keep out most creatures (butterflies; birds, including chickens; it lets bees through). I will take the door off in high season, or at least take the plastic off of the door and put netting in its place. With the roll-up side in the “up” position, the door and the vent above the door both open, it can still get really flipping hot (about 90*) so maybe I will be limited to cactus in there. I know peppers, tomatoes and eggplants love it hot…but how hot? We shall see.

We intend to get roll-up sides for both sides of the new greenhouse. Having that cross-ventilation could help cool things off considerably. Shade cloth is also an option: this is a woven poly mesh that is set atop the tunnel outside the plastic. It covers about 2/3rds of the arc of the tunnel. Considering I won’t be erecting the new greenhouse frame until autumn, this won’t be an issue this spring/summer for the new greenhouse. BUT…I need to make the new greenhouse beds!

I passed a rusted-out van on the freeway yesterday (in my rusted-out 15-year-old VW). It had a bumper sticker that read “I Hate Narrow-Minded People.” Hmm. Maybe I am being narrow-minded in terms of what a really HOT greenhouse can grow. I started thinking about all those plants that hate our cool summers (we don’t even need air conditioning). So: who likes it hot, besides the nightshades? Peanuts. Sweet potatoes. Okra. Squash (and it would help avoid squash bugs and vine borers). Cucumbers, but I’d need the self-fertile types. In other words, a lot! Don’t be narrow-minded! I sure wasn’t when I planted the winter crops

Cheep cheep cheep!

And thus begins a new adventure at the farm

The telephone rang at the It Better Be An Emergency hour of 7 a.m. this morning. The chicks were at the post office!  Could I please come to the back door and get them?

So I picked up this tiny box and brought its peepy contents home.  When I popped the top I was somewhat amazed to see that they were holed up in only half the box!  Yep: this small container, about the size of some stereo equipment, is sized to hold about 50 baby chicks.

It’s 26 we have, though.  All hale and hearty, and really not much bigger than the eggs they emerged from only yesterday.

For bedding, I use towels for their first couple of days of life.  They won’t eat it (unlike sawdust), it’s not slippery (important for growing legs), and it’s warm.

So out to the potting shed they went. They’ll make their home in a plastic tub for a week or two.  The tub is inside the mini-coop, which will be their home for a week after that.  By the time they’re nearly a month old, they’ll be out munching grass and bugs in their tractor.

First baby to find the food.  Notice chickpile:  like all babies, they spend most of their hours sleeping.

Spring busy

Wow!  Didn’t mean to go so long between posts, but there it is.  Spring.  Busy season.  I couldn’t be happier, though I could be less sore…

On antsiness

Getting muddy is a family affair

I am remembering back to the oh-so-long-ago autumn we had: winter didn’t come quickly. Winter likewise isn’t losing its grip either, and I swear spring is going to pass us by!

I am so fidgety and willing, now, to dig, to get dirty. I think it is the sunshine, though I suppose I could simply be overcaffeinated. I cannot concentrate on work (paid work, that is: I am concentrating just fine with all the outdoor, farm-related tasks ahead of me). I try to tell myself that this happens every year.

But I think back to October and my unhurried stance at preparing for Winter’s heavy hand. About a week ago I was in exactly that frame of mind (that is, Slugville) but now? Can’t I just, you know, take a week off and dig?

What’s great about this feeling is that I know tonight I will collapse with exhaustion into bed. The chicks are coming, which require cleanup in the potting shed. The trees have been ordered: we can pick them up any time at all. I have 200′ of perforated drain pipe to help keep the main garden and new greenhouse area the relative islands of greenery they shall be. The greenhouse needs its roll-up side installed. In other words, it is Spring, or near enough; it is time to get busy.

On chickens, and meat birds

cornishcross2.jpg

Coming soon to a field, then dinnerplate, near us

Welp, I have placed my meat bird order yesterday. We should get them in a week.

So: did you know that Cornish game hens were simply really young chickens, and not necessarily hens at all? As a kid I was under the impression that these precious tiny things on our dinner table were something very exotic. Nope; we were just eating babies! Cornish chickens were developed around 1870 in Cornwall, England, out of a couple strains of southeast Asian chickens and some local heavier-bodied birds: in the breed’s native Cornwall, they are called Indian Game birds because of their heritage. “Game” birds, in chicken parlance, mean cock-fighting birds. Asils and Malays, the predominant Cornish ancestors, are skinny, big-boned, fight-inclined things with powerful long legs. Cornish chickens are heavy, long-legged, upright birds with close feathers and a fat and fleshy breast.

Most of the roasting chickens you eat are white Cornish cross birds, or Cornish X. The cross is usually white Plymouth Rock. Why white, you ask? Well, aesthetics, mainly: white feathers if missed at the plucking won’t look as disgusting as dark ones. The birds we’ll be getting are someplace along this tangled line of crosses with crosses. The Hubbard White Mountain Broilers (who comes up with these names, anyway?), like all the Cornish X birds, have been bred to go from hatched egg to your table in as little as 4 weeks. They are the ultimate production bird.

Chicken history is rather fascinating. It’s more interesting than garden flower history, and at least as interesting as vegetable history, in my humble gardener’s opinion. The hand of the breeder is so very evident in everything that we eat and that we plant.

Now, considering my slow lifestyle and insistence on DIY everything and heirloom breeds of vegetables, why in the world would I consider the most processed of processed bird breeds for my first batch of meat chickens? I ask myself this all the time. I suppose the only answer I can give is that, first time around, I want to make sure it’s a relatively easy process for me (as it is me, myself and I who will be killing, gutting and plucking these creatures). So the very idea that these guys have been bred for such a short lifespan does have a certain appeal. Sorry, babies.

On mistakes that at least taste pretty good

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Transpiration on bolting purple kohlrabi

Last October I had my list and my packets of seeds and went out and planted the nascent greenhouse garden beds. I planted kohlrabi seed and something clicked in my head: I don’t think this is on the approved list. Sure enough, kohlrabi wasn’t on the cold-loving greenhouse list at all. What’s the worst thing that can happen, I thought. I suppose they could bolt if they don’t outright die.

They didn’t die. But now they’re bolting (i.e., going to seed: the plant will spend all its energy now making seed and not those lovely bulbs of yum). However, these plants were great sources of leaves for the winter salads. They were very mild, a little tougher than lettuce, a little less tough than cabbage. They were great, in other words. And now, well, now I harvest the whole plants, chop them up and cook them like greens. Quite delicious! Really. Sometimes, one can rectify one’s mistakes, especially in the garden.

(FWIW: a lot more nutrition can be found in a broccoli plant’s leaves than in its flowers. One can also eat newly-bolted kale, brussels sprout, collard and cabbage plants. They’re all in the cabbage family, after all, and we cultivated those particular plants for their leaves. Bon appetit.)

Just in time for April’s showers

Mondays and Fridays are my work-in-the-office days, so I step away from the farm and drive a few miles and spend a good part of the day wondering about the farm. Yesterday it was pouring most of the day. “We really should do something with the chickens’ feed bowl when it rains, besides just put it in their coop or their condo,” I thought.

Luckily, my husband was thinking the same thing. I came home to find the girls pecking out of this. Add farm junk and presto: instant feed station!

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Bloody Beatrice and Letha think it’s pretty cool