Sometimes You Can Can; Sometimes You Can’t Can September 8, 2011

Tomatoes: when you grow a bunch, you should can them. I know this. I’ve done it once–an eight-hour day yielded four quarts (or was it five?) of peeled, seeded, diced Roma tomatoes. So if I was getting paid minimum wage for that work, each quart cost my employer at least $14. Eek.

This year I only planted two tomato plants. Both were heirloom varieties started from seed. I’d never grown heirloom before. I’d never started tomato seeds before. One plant withered, and the other pushed out about a dozen grape-sized tomatoes that split. Rather unlovely, and not even very tasty. All my other tomato plants were volunteers–sprouting like weeds (and with weeds) from last year’s rotten fallen tomatoes left to overwinter in (and out) of the raised beds.

From these eager volunteers, I gathered a large bowlful of Romas several weeks ago with the intention of canning them, or at least eating them. Then I left for a long weekend and a wonderful women’s conference. Then I got busy with… well… with life. The firstfruits ended up in the compost pile.

Second attempt: this past week, I gathered another, larger bowl of Romas.

I washed them.

Blanched them.

Skinned them.

And deseeded them.

Then I ran out of time.

I covered the bowl in plastic wrap and threw it in the fridge. (Yes, yes, I know the fridge is deathrow for tomato flavor, but I couldn’t have tomatoes growing mold sitting out on my counter for hours… or days.)

The skinned, seeded tomatoes languished in the fridge even though I knew canning wouldn’t take as much time this year as last because 1.) my new dishwasher could sanitaize the jars, 2.) new gas range would heat water faster, 3.) new water softener would eliminate nasty mineral deposits on everything, which may or may not really save time, but would certainly save frustration and general ickiness, and 4.) I’ve done this once before, and a former boss taught me that doing something a second time usually takes half the time.

The skinned, seeded tomatoes are still languishing in the fridge.

Why can’t I can them? Life got in the way: a few exercise classes, a day helping my in-laws with a crazy barn-moving project, an evening playing cards with my sister and her husband, a morning romping with the sister’s new puppy (and his needle-teeth), nearly a full day of meal-planning and grocery shopping with my husband, a Sunday church service, a few hours at the shooting range (and shooting, for the very first time, a super-cool and slightly-scary-until-you-try-it black powder pistol), and lastly, writing this blog. I suppose I could have cut down the time spent with the needle-toothed puppy, but really, the tomatoes are fine still in the fridge.

I can’t can time with my sister or boil an exercise class to save it for later. The hours pass, and with them opportunities. Even if the tomatoes mold in the fridge and the plants outside drop their rotten fruit before I pick it, I can buy Red Gold diced tomatoes for the rest of my life. I can’t get exercise, in-laws, sister time, husband time, God time, or even nipping puppies in a can. Some things you can can, but the better things you can’t can. Eat them now while they’re still fresh.

Cilantro: from seed to shining seed September 2, 2011

As I started gardening a few years ago, I didn’t really know what I was doing. One day in late spring (or early summer), I bought several herb and vegetable plants on sale from the local home and garden store. “What wonderous luck!” I thought, “Everything’s on sale!” Seasoned gardeners know why: most (all?) plants prefer certain growing conditions. Tomatoes: hot. Spinach: cool. Blueberries: acidic soil. And the plants need ample time to grow. These plants were on sale because… well… because it was probably too late in the season to plant them.

In my excitement (and plant ignorance), I bought tomatoes, peppers, basil, thyme, bee balm, and cilantro. The tomatoes grew well enough. I picked about three peppers. The basil grew; the thyme continues to grow (it’s a perennial); the bee balm tried to take over my garden the next two growing seasons (also perennial); and the cilantro… well, the cilantro bolted. But I didn’t know this at first. A church friend came over to admire my garden and I proudly pointed to my cilantro.

“Oh, that looks about done,” he said.

I just planted it last week, I thought.

My friend explained that when the plant gets “leggy” or grows up and spindly really fast without producing many leaves, that means it’s bolted and is bitter-tasting. Well, poop. I wonder if [insert local home and garden store] will refund my money?

Since then, I’ve learned a lot about cilantro and have seen its full life-cycle. Here it is:

Seeds:

At first the sprouts will only have their two sprout leaves, but when the third and fourth leaves emerge, you can see cilantro’s recognizable leaves.

Here’s a healthy little cilantro plant. Harvest a few leaves from each plant to “cut and come again” or harvest whole plants stems and all. Note: this plant is right next to a sprawling oregano..

Cilantro bolts when the weather warms up and/or the soil temperature raises above about 75 degrees (Farenheit). When it bolts, you’ll see it grow straight up very quickly and produce fewer leaves. It will also taste less cilantro-y and more bitter.

To keep cilantro from bolting, give it shade or part-shade towards the hotter part of the summer. Sometimes my cilantro will last a little longer if I cut the bolting stems down. I planted some seeds late in season this year but nearly under a large oregano plant (in the picture above). These plants lasted longer than the cilantro in sunnier spots. My friend, Bree, even planted some in a nearly full-shade area in the middle of summer. They sprouted and didn’t bolt for quite some time!

As cilantro continues its life-cycle, it flowers in full-force and grows about two and half feet up and out.

It can take over a large part of your garden–or walkway. See it there in the middle between the fence and raised bed? Yeah, I also have a lot of weeds.

The flowers get pollinated and turn to green seeds.

When the plants dry, the seeds are brown and ready to harvest.

When the plant gets a little dryer, I usually pull out the whole thing and hang it from my fence on a hot day to let it finish drying out. Then I collect the seeds (usually some stemmy parts get mixed in) and let them sit out in an open paper bag or on a cookie sheet to ensure they’re completely dry, then I store them in a ziplock bag in the cabinet or fridge. As long as they stay cool and dry, they should last a few years. The seeds can be replanted, shared, or used as-is: coriander!

And we are back where we started. Seeds!

A few words of caution: cilantro in seed will plant itself indeed! Seeds become plants even if (especially if) they overwinter. I had more cilantro than I knew what to do with the first year after I let the plants run their full life-cycle… but the plants DO smell good when crushed underfoot.

So, what do we do with all this cilantro?

I’ve used it in fresh salsa. Other ideas?

Lesson from a gourd vine August 24, 2011

Sometimes you try to instruct plants: where to sprout and which way to grow. Sometimes plants teach you: how to live.

I’ve enjoyed watching my birdhouse gourd vines really get growing, and I often find myself lifting the vines off the tomato plants and off the oregano bush and tossing them back toward the trellis erected especially for their climbing pleasure. In the midst of the tossing, I spotted this gentle handshake between a vine and a sunflower leaf.

Gourd vine reaching out

In their effort to steady themselves, to continue to grow, to find purchase in mid-air, these vines wind around anything. Here a vine links to a sunflower who has roots several feet away. This is normally my walking path from under the gourd trellis to the back of the garden, but I can’t pass through this new connection, and I am forced to consider how it is these vines stretch and reach and grow.

In a world that feels unsteady and unsteadies me from my feet–Indiana State Fair stage collapsing, earthquake in Virginia, changing governments in Libya and elsewhere, American economy clogged with unemployment–I am reminded to reach out to others and establish a connect that not only strengthens my small vine, but may steady the tall sunflower on the other end.

Gourd Decor August 11, 2011

So, what do you do with gourds after you’ve grown, dried, and scrubbed them clean? One idea is make birdhouses. I’ve seen lots of people paint them for mostly indoor decor, but I really want to use mine, and have birds use them, too. I’m not so sure paint would hold up for too many years, so I opted to try my hand at woodburning.

Here’s the practice I’ve done so far with an inexpensive woodburning tool from Hobby Lobby:

And a close-up of a small checkerboard section:

When I get some birdhouses finished and decorated, I’ll post more. Still in process for now. I’d love to see what others are doing with their gourds. Please share!

The garden in pictures August 10, 2011

Some of the prettier views of my garden this season:

I’ve only planted sunflower seeds once. Ever. Every year since then, several volunteers pop up in the back of the garden. Here’s one about to bloom.

And one showing its face.

I bought this guy at a local art fair. I hoped he would scare away all the ants living in my strawberry beds. No luck yet.

My strawberries were done at the beginning of June (they’re the June-bearing variety but think they’re May-bearing), and since then, the runners have been running or leaping out of the raised beds. I usually cut them off to promote larger parent plants, but I’ll let them go/grow this year so I have plants to give away next season.

The sugar snap peas have been the tastiest produce this year. If I plant more seeds now, I may get another crop yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not sure what kind of plant this is–it was gifted to me, and I plopped it in the middle of one of the strawberry beds. It flowers all summer and adds nice color.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two seasons ago, I planted chamomile. It wilted when its neighboring Roma tomato plant grew four feet tall and four feet around. Then my little Lady dog dug herself a nice shady hole under the tomato plant. The chamomile was totally done-for, or so I thought. I didn’t see any plants last year… but this year they grew in like crazy. I collected enough flowers to dry and fill and a 12 oz jar! Good for tea!

I tried some bush beans (a purple variety) for the first time this year. I didn’t get a very large harvest–about enough for two servings–but the plants are pretty.

The Rainbow Chard grew nicely this year. I was able to cut-and-come-again for several weeks until we had that month-long heat wave.

Sage. I had no idea how large it can get. Started with a 6 in. plant, and now have a 3 ft. bush. And it flowers.

And more sunflowers. The tallest ones stretched at least 12 feet.

What do you grow in your garden? What kind of volunteer plants do you get?

If I knew a few years ago what I know now, I’d plant my perennial herbs differently. I currently have sage, oregano, and thyme that continue to stretch out and take space away from annual vegetables. Soon I’ll either need to do some serious trimming or transplant them altogether.

Weather update August 3, 2011

Storm last night. Lightening and thunder. 1/2″ + of rain. Limbs down.

After a month (or close to it, it seems) of 90+ degree weather, today’s high is in the 80’s.

Garden’s still crazy-weedy, but some of my volunteer tomato plants are producing Roma tomatoes.

Woke up to this guy on my front window:

I was surprised to see such a large frog glued to the window. Normally, I find little guys like this:

The Great Gourd Experiment July 31, 2011

Last year was my first experience growing gourds. I bought Martin Birdhouse gourd seeds from the Indiana Gourd Society’s booth at the state fair. If I remember right, the seed packet cost about $2 and contained twelve seeds. After a lengthy conversation with a gourd-hat-wearing gourd enthusiast about proper planting procedures, I felt well-informed. I soaked my seeds overnight and then snuggled them in damp paper towels inside a plastic baggie and set them on the water heater (a little heat speeds up germination).

Two weeks later, they sprouted, I planted, and they grew… and grew and grew and grew.

The gourds themselves grew larger than I expected!

I ended up with twelve beautiful gourds from about six or seven vines (not all the seeds sprouted, and not all the sprouted seeds flourished).

They dried over the winter, and now I’m slowing turning them into birdhouses and/or works of art using woodburning tools (more on that later).

But THIS year, I didn’t get things started soon enough. I cut open one of the gourds, dumped out the seeds, and tried sprouting them like I did last year. A full MONTH later, the seeds were fuzzy with mold and hadn’t sprouted. Crap.

At the beginning of July, I threw some seeds in the ground in four areas of the garden:

I wondered if ANY of the seeds would sprout and was afraid that maybe the seeds I used were sterile or something.

I’m happy to report that some seeds have sprouted  from every site, but the ones in the garden box are growing the quickest. So, here at the end of July, I’m cheering them on and praying for a warm autumn so they have time to grow a few gourds.

The experiment continues.

Here are pics from a few days ago:

The other two sites (where I planted the seeds in mulch only or with dirt underneath and mulch on top) have not been as productive. They have 2 or 3 sprouts each and the plants are growing slowly. Part of the reason for slow growth is probably the trampled and compacted soil underneath. There’s a vast difference in the speed of growth between the seeds in the garden bed (nice loose soil with good mix of organic material) and the seeds in the walkway (compacted soil with some organic material from decomposing mulch).

Maybe I’ll have gourds this season, and maybe I’ll just have some adolescent vines. We’ll wait and see.

Rain! July 30, 2011

yay for rain!

1/2 inch of rain last night means I don’t have to water today. :0) I’ve read that an inch a week is enough for a garden. If I remember where I read it, I’ll add that here.

Update: Colleen Vanderlinden and Alison Beck of Edible Gardening for the Midwest do in fact recommend deep, thorough watering–enough so the water soaks at least 4 inches down in to the soil. One inch of “applied water” will do it.

The news this morning stated this has been the driest July since 1914 with less than half and inch of rain (at their Indianapolis weather station) all month. Fortunately my neck of the woods has gotten a few extra storms, but I have had to spend some time watering in the evenings.

Weeding July 29, 2011

I spent an hour weeding the veggie garden the path around the veggie garden this morning. This is what I have to show for it.

Churned-up mulch area = small weed-free area

Ta-da.

Impressed? Me neither. This July has been the driest ever in Indiana, but the weeds are flourishing. Here’s more I need to do.

weed-full

(Those are volunteer tomatoes and sunflowers in the background. They’ll probably stay.)

My central Indiana veggie garden this year includes beets, purple beans, sugar snap peas, thyme, sage, chives, oregano, carrots, walking Egyptian onions, cilantro, chard, chamomile, tomatoes, strawberries, gourds, sunflowers… and weeds (quackgrass, plantain, violets, dandelions, and other so-far-unnamed-quickly-growing-seed-throwing greens). I am an unperfect gardener tending an unperfect garden. This blog details my journey.

my garden