tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69477222024-03-18T20:53:15.226-07:00::: an eclectic garden :::dirt...garden as allegory...occasional imagerya gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.comBlogger95125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-36467673228420782352016-12-08T17:21:00.000-08:002016-12-08T17:21:57.348-08:00MovingAn Eclectic Garden has a new home. Future posts can be found at <a href="https://aneclecticnature.com/">An Eclectic Nature</a>.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-39595357994922889312010-03-03T10:09:00.000-08:002010-03-03T12:41:47.111-08:00Sleeping PeasThe garden is rife with opportunities to anthropomorphize. The plants are really thirsty, they reach for the sun and leap out of the ground, and they pout. We like to think of our gardens in terms we understand.<br /><br />Pea planting this last weekend (late, I know) allowed me a chance to indulge one of my favorite plants-as-human fantasies. I imagine the seeds tucked in a bed of rich soil, sleeping and dreaming of spring. The sun will come and warm the soil. The seeds will swell and sprout and the cycle will begin again.<br /> <br />And this is happening all over the garden. Perennials that appear dead aboveground are still hibernating in the earth, with pale tiny leaves and shoots. Fruit buds on trees are tightly closed but all manner of hormonal changes are taking place as the days grow longer and temperatures begin to moderate. Tomato seeds, little more than flakes when planted, will imbibe water, absorb heat and soon push out a radicle and cotyledons. <br /> <br />Last night a dusting of wet snow fell on the garden. As I lay under blankets in the pre-dawn darkness I thought about my newly planted seeds under their own rich blankets of compost and snow, waiting out the capricious early spring weather, waiting and ready to go.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-73964961084527339992009-02-07T09:38:00.000-08:002009-02-15T17:38:35.349-08:00Witch Hazel<a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/469084622_EpzGe-M.jpg)" title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/469084622_EpzGe-S.jpg" border="1" /></a><br /><i>Hamamelis</i> spp.<br />Witch Hazel<br /><br />Here in southern Oregon February is a liminal time. We are, literally, on the threshold. It is not yet spring, but it is no longer winter. Days are longer. Bulbs are pushing. And the Witch Hazel is blooming.<br /><br />Two <span style="font-style:italic;">Hamamelis</span> species are native to the eastern United States but here the Witch Hazel is planted as an ornamental. Its blooming marks for me the first sign of the seasons changing. <br /><br />The coming week's storms are lined up in the Pacific but a walk around the park assures me that the stormy season is passing. Witch Hazel cultivars from pale yellow to lemon yellow to orange russet contrast against the grays and greens. <br /><br />It won't be long now.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-35685750391295533252009-02-07T07:31:00.000-08:002009-02-08T07:02:13.222-08:00Server woesServer problems are nothing new but this problem seems permanent. I will switch to blogspot hosting while I try to find another solution. The new URL is:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.aneclecticgarden.blogspot.com/">aneclecticgarden.blogspot.com</a>a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-53709611915971161862009-01-15T19:36:00.000-08:002009-01-25T14:47:25.466-08:00On a Mission‘An abandoned blog’ is such a sad phrase. Better ‘a blog in hiatus’ or ‘a blog on sabbatical’ implying study and industry taking place in the background. But all good sabbaticals come to an end and it is time to rescue this blog from the comment spammers and rejoin the gardening blog community.<br /><br />Helen at Gardening with Confidence <a href="http://gardensgardens.wordpress.com/2008/12/31/writing-a-gardens-mission-statement-and-creating-a-garden-name/">recently suggested </a>that gardeners consider developing a mission statement for their gardens. This initially sounded like a wonderful idea and I have read with interest other blogger's thoughtful posts declaring their own reasons for gardening. I was stumped, though, with my own garden. It is so very small, a mere corner of a yard, and not really my own as it is a rental property. Even coupled with my community garden plot, my garden lacks of a sense of permanence and it seemed hardly worthy of something as farsighted as a mission statement.<br /> <br />I stewed about it for a while and discovered the flaw in this thinking. My gardens are indeed temporary but what gardener can claim to have real control over the long run? Mother Nature is capricious, some say fickle. She blesses some plants with devious powers of reproduction, the better to take over small beds with their minty presence. She is ecumenical, welcoming all manner of creatures in to alter whatever imposed order I have created. She conjures up rainstorms, snowstorms, windstorms and drought. She is, in a word, unpredictable. But she is kind and allows me to take part in the daily miracles.<br /><br />Gardeners are all temporary stewards, some more temporary than others. Looking back at my many years of gardening I realize that there is an underlying theme, a mission if you will, that emerges over time. <br /><br /> So my garden mission statement becomes clear: <span style="font-style:italic;">My garden will be a place of peace and abundance for the body, mind and spirit. It will welcome, nourish, teach and soothe. It will serve to honor its part in the harmony, in the dance, and in the continuity of our earth.</span><br /><br />Lofty stuff for my little garden. But as my grandmother said: Hitch your wagon to a star.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-40451455560593491232008-08-17T16:56:00.000-07:002008-08-18T12:11:12.574-07:00Puttanesca sauceAugust ushers in the great tomato extravaganza. Until frost I will be bringing in big bags of assorted varieties and will be caught up in processing sauce to freeze. A couple of years ago I came across an article in the local newspaper for making <a href="http://archive.mailtribune.com/archive/2005/0907/life/stories/03life.htm">roasted tomato sauce</a>. This has been my mainstay technique. It is dead easy. But last year, when all the frozen sauce was gone, I purchased a commercial Puttanesca sauce that knocked my socks off. I knew that I must find a way to duplicate it. <br /><br />With a little wandering around the internet I discovered a <a href="http://www.taunton.com/finecooking/articles/how-to/slow-roasted-tomatoes.aspx">nice page</a> on roasted tomato sauce. I also found a recipe for <a href="http://cherrapeno.blogspot.com/2007/09/puttanesca-tomatoes.html">Puttanesca roasted tomatoes</a>. Why not take these recipes and combine them? <br /><br />I sliced enough tomatoes in chunks to fill a single layer on two rimmed cookie sheets. I then added to each pan:<br /><br />Half an onion, cut in wedges and spread around<br />Several cloves of peeled garlic<br />A large handful each of fresh basil and fresh parsley<br />One half a small tin of anchovies<br />6 or 7 Kalamata olives, cut in chunks<br />¼ tsp hot pepper flakes (I used <a href="http://www.worldspice.com/spices/0027aleppopepper.shtml">Allepo</a>)<br />A generous drizzle of olive oil over it all<br /><br />Roasting at 400 degrees until the tomatoes collapsed took about 40 minutes. (I would like to try slow roasting at a lower temperature but it is too HOT! to leave the oven on). When cool, I transferred one sheet’s contents to a food processor, threw in a heaping teaspoon of capers, and processed. (I think that putting the capers in with the tomatoes before roasting would be just fine.) The two cookie sheets yielded six cups of very delicious sauce.<br /><br />High summer chores (albeit pleasurable) yield such treasure in the winter, not to mention reducing monthly food bills (ever increasing). Our household has been trying to do more preserving this year. M. is <a href="http://www.theworriedshrimp.com/2008/08/springers.html">smoking and canning salmon</a> that he catches. My pepper crop promises to be the best ever for freezing, drying and making hot pepper pastes and powders. We have concord grapes to steam juice if we can beat the raccoons to them. <br /><br />And now it’s time to make more <a href="http://www.ashlandinternet.com/~basile/2004_08_01_archive.html">pesto</a>!a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-49976096697127171982008-02-03T09:37:00.000-08:002008-02-03T09:43:07.872-08:00Winter DreamsA gardener’s spring begins in winter, in the imagination. And the imagination is a kind companion, forgiving and forgetful, encouraging and enthusiastic. Last year’s failures are recast as character builders and learning experiences. The coming year is still a blank palette. The seed catalogs are spread from hell to breakfast. Ideas loom large but still seem achievable. Pragmatism may win later in the year but now is the time for optimistic indulgence. <br /><br />And what indulgences! I am actually envisioning a gardening year where I thwart gophers, vanquish deer, redesign plots and finally grow tuberous begonias from seed. Quixotic you say? Well, we’ll see.<br /><br />Fedco, my mainstay seed company, knows about these rose colored glasses that we don in the dead of winter. This year marks their 30th year of doing business and the catalog ‘s catch phrase reads “30 Years of Spring Fiction.” Extravagant descriptions, gardener’s purple prose, fill the pages and tempt the winter vulnerable to further excesses of ordering. <br /><br />But honestly, who can resist a winter squash, Sweet Meat, that “grew over the bean trellis, vaulted the 8’ garden fence, and ran off into the woods like kudzu with pies attached.”a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-8687645597560861722007-11-27T06:43:00.000-08:002007-11-27T06:50:26.419-08:00Last week's stormStanding in the eye of autumn’s bluster is an elemental pleasure. Secure in the knowledge that warm shelter is but a few steps away, I can freely breathe the wildness of a coming storm without worrying over finding a place to hunker down and wait out the weather.<br /><br />In gust after huge exhaling gust, the wind showers me with a whirl of leaves; oak and maple, filbert and persimmon, gingko, dogwood and dove tree spin past me, get caught in air eddies and propel upward and on their way. No demure spring zephyr, the angrier fall wind can strip the leaves in one afternoon. <br /><br />The gusts, ushering in a chilling rain, calm as suddenly as they began. The temperature drops noticeably; the leafless trees stand still in the brooding air. <br /><br />In this brief between-time, the wind spent but the rain not begun, I am struck by the now exposed pattern of skeletal branches, from the thick scaffolds to the tiniest twigs far above. It is a fractal echo of leaf veins. The bare limbs reveal patterns within patterns.<br /><br />The drizzle begins, settling in, a wet cloak under a darkening sky. Time to go in.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-47808989987204393612007-11-22T07:59:00.000-08:002007-11-22T08:02:56.266-08:00Giving thanksA litany of garden blessings:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Fresh parsley and sage, thyme and rosemary, all in the garden for holiday cooking.<br /><br />A climate that allows for fresh herbs but still offers the wonders of winter.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.librarything.com/catalog/an_eclectic_garden">My library</a> of garden books to cozy up with in the cold dark time of introspection.<br /><br />Kale and chard.<br /><br />Leaf mulch and its complex microcosm.<br /><br />Clear cold days coinciding with time off to finish putting the garden to bed.<br /><br />Cockeyed optimism necessary for planting garlic in the face of gophers and deer.<br /><br />A single leaf hanging at the very top of a bare tree like a silver star.<br /><br />Rubber boots and warm wool socks.<br /><br />M’s unflagging willingness to help with the heavy lifting and cheer on even the most harebrained garden ‘innovations’.<br /><br /><a href="http://candlegrove.com/">Candlegrove</a>.<br /><br />A garden mostly dead above but teeming with life below.<br /><br />A clean slate.<br /></span><br />Happy Thanksgiving to all.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-57858581067897309652007-10-18T05:43:00.000-07:002007-10-18T10:09:21.797-07:002007 Bean ReportI grew several kinds of beans this last summer. Fresh eating bush varieties included Maxibel, Royal Burgundy and Pencil Pod Wax. I have long wanted to try growing beans for drying and chose Cannellini and Midnight Black Turtle Bean. <br /><br />Things in the garden rarely go as planned.<br /><br />The Maxibel, a haricot vert from Fedco, produced lavishly and boasted a remarkable flavor. The catalog cautioned to pick early and often, which is catalog-speak for lousy when over mature, so I harvested the Maxibels rather to the exclusion of the other fresh varieties. This left the wax and purple beans to swell with seeds, a bit of serendipity that gave me a chance to become reacquainted with what my southern raised mother called ‘shelly beans’. I simply couldn’t bear to toss those swollen pods in the compost. <br /><br />And they are delicious. I found several recipes for a creamy fresh shell bean soup. I was a little leery, though; since the beans from the Pencil Pod Wax were dark I was afraid that the blended soup might turn out mud brown instead of the described ‘jade green’. So I opted for a hearty soup from roasted chicken broth, spinach, noodles, chicken sausage and, of course, a generous amount of shell beans. Yum.<br /><br />The dried beans are almost ready to harvest. The plants are now permanently covered with reemay as we are firmly into frost season. And only one variety survived. Owing to my touchingly foolish belief that I would remember where each variety was planted I now have no idea which variety I am coddling through the vagaries of a Pacific Northwest fall.<br /><br />But I like surprises. And it should be easy to tell! No risk of confusing cannellini with black beans.<br /><br />Next year I will grow only Maxibel for fresh beans. I’ve tried for years to find a great fresh green bean and I think the search is over. And I am so happy to rediscover shell beans and finally try growing dried beans. There is much history for the heirloom bean varieties and I am looking forward to a little winter research into the subject.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-40774973543169825772007-10-16T05:41:00.000-07:002007-10-16T14:47:53.434-07:00Weather observation<a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/208968738-M.jpg')" title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/208968738-S.jpg" border="1" /></a><br /><br /><br />I shot this a few days ago. If the adage that a red sky in the morning predicts an inclement day then surely this kind of sunrise must portend an inclement season!<br /><br />Our autumn weather pattern here in my corner of the PNW usually includes mild days and cool nights with occasional rain showers. This year is shaping up differently. We have had a few storms with high winds followed by chilly rainy days. The weekend was mild but the character of these last storms is more in keeping with our late November storms.<br /><br />I looked out the window an hour ago and saw rays of watery sunlight shining through red Virginia Creeper, picking out and illuminating droplets of water. Now the sky has darkened and the wind has picked up.<br /><br />As they say around these parts, "If you don't like the weather wait five minutes".a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-65979736472227234832007-10-02T09:55:00.001-07:002007-10-03T10:16:21.421-07:00MetamorphosisI have celebrated late summer the last several years by searching any milkweed plant I see, hoping to find monarch butterfly eggs or larvae. The last couple of years the search has proved unproductive but this year’s efforts with coworkers yielded two large larvae. These provided another chance to observe the amazing phenomenon of metamorphosis. <br /><br />The larva does little but eat until ready to pupate. At this point it will begin to wander but eventually will spin a small knot silk on a stem (or another suitable location) and hang with the head curved up. It attaches to the silk with curved hooks on its two hind prolegs. This is called the “J stage” and the larva remains in this stage for about 24 hours. <br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879318-L.jpg')"title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879318-S.jpg" ></a><br />When the filaments on the head appear very limp it is time to start observing closely.. The skin of the larva starts splitting up the back and the larva gyrates rapidly, all the while remaining attached to the stem, and pushes the larval skin up to where the prolegs are attached to the silk. <br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ynpWuxicQNk"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ynpWuxicQNk" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br />At this point the chrysalis is very delicate and the skin must be discarded. In a split second the chrysalis pushes a black postlike cremaster into the knot of silk, twisting to embed the barbed hooks on the end into the silk filaments. It then pulls the hooked prolegs from the silk and flicks the skin away by more vigorous twisting and turning. In 2-4 hours the skin of the chrysalis will harden and it will hang like a green and gold jewel for about 10 days. <br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879339-L.jpg')" title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879339-S.jpg" ></a><br /> During the last day or so the colors of the butterfly’s wings are visible through the clear shell of the chrysalis.<br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201884913-L.jpg')"title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201884913-S.jpg" ></a><br />When the butterfly emerges its wings are quite small. <br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879366-L.jpg')"title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879366-S.jpg" ></a><br />Over the next hour the butterfly will pump fluid into the black veins on the wings and they will expand to full size.<br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879391-L.jpg')"title="Click to enlarge"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/201879391-S.jpg" ></a><br /><br />I never tire of watching this miracle.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-65573856585235354942007-09-23T11:50:00.000-07:002007-09-23T11:53:18.996-07:00A thank you to AutumnWhat better time to resume posting to this blog than on the day that marks the Autumn equinox ? My calendar tells me that we passed this point at 2:31 this morning. <br /><br />Changes in Autumn are incremental; the days are shorter by a couple of minutes, the night temperatures slightly cooler, and the shadows a little longer on the tawny hillsides. But taken together the whole seems greater than the sum of the parts. <br /><br />The garden in Autumn is rich with lessons if anyone cares to listen. Or it can serve simply as a source of comfort. Pulling out spent bean plants can give rise to a meditation on the transitory nature of life. Alternatively, the rhythmic nature of the work, coupled with the warmth of the departing sun and the cool edge to the breeze, can induce what I think of as the gardening trance, a kind of benign mindlessness that has the power to heal. <br /><br />Whichever mental path I choose, as I go about the business of cleaning and preparing the garden for winter, I win.<br /><br />Much as autumn changes are small but cumulative, so are the tiny changes in the mental landscape that culminate in the return to center. Months of living out of balance are left behind as I step back on the turning wheel, picking up where I left off as if I had never been gone. The earth cycles move along in that curious duality of stability and transition and my tiny speck of a garden is no exception. It feels good to be back in synch and I am grateful.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-24621018978328838802007-07-07T09:07:00.000-07:002007-07-08T13:10:56.510-07:00Annual first tomato postThere is a reason that so many garden bloggers post their first ripe tomato. It is akin to the clouds parting and a celestial ray of buttery sunshine pouring onto the garden, a heavenly host singing in the background.<br /><br />Yes. It is <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">that</span></span> good. <br /><br />My first ripe tomato this year was ‘Bloody Butcher’. Despite its rather base name the flavor was transcendent, still warm from the sun. The later tomatoes boast incredibly rich and complex flavors but the first tomato is incomparable after a winter of store bought tomatoes or, worse, no tomatoes.<br /><br />For me it marks the real, non-calendar beginning of high summer. A seemingly endless succession of languid afternoons, thick fragranced evenings and a parade of summer crops to be enjoyed and preserved.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-14032114350642377162007-06-08T07:30:00.000-07:002007-07-01T09:39:05.944-07:00Getting byI have lately been engaging in what I call 'going through the motions' gardening. Taking a page from a friend's fake-it-til-you-make-it strategy for coping with bouts of extreme ennui, this involves continuing with tasks despite the overwhelming desire to stay abed, reading trashy fiction and eating Dove bars.<br /><br />The work is getting done, the zest is absent. But life experience tells me that moving through such a malaise pays off. The garden can be a place of healing and the day-to-day work, no matter how reluctantly performed, keeps me where I need to be.<br /><br />Genie at <a href="http://inadvertentgardener.wordpress.com/">The Inadvertant Gardener</a> expressed it well in <a href="http://inadvertentgardener.wordpress.com/2007/06/30/the-darnedest-thing/">this post</a>. <blockquote>I went out this morning to take some pictures and ponder the mystery of what happens when you just wait out the rough patches and see what happens on the other side...</blockquote><br /><br />Waiting out a rough patch, getting by and getting on with it. I know I'll wake up one morning and discover that the magic was never gone, it was only staying in the background weaving its wondrous and healing spells. And I will be so glad that I kept plugging away.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-54044482009221819712007-05-20T07:09:00.000-07:002007-05-20T07:29:14.011-07:00The Seedsower's LamentCertain garden events stand out in my mind as clear markers of the seasonal changes. The arrival of seed catalogs is a midwinter benchmark. Swelling daphne buds give me hope that spring will arrive, despite <a href="http://www.ashlandinternet.com/~basile/2007/02/daphne-watch.html">atmospheric evidence to the contrary</a>. And I always feel a little thrill at the first appearance of cool weather vegetable starts in the nursery. But nothing says spring quite like that moment when the gardener surveys her flats of seedlings, purchased and started from seed, and whispers ‘My God, what was I thinking?’<br /><br />This year is no exception. The four varieties of coleus (Palisandra, Limelight, Wizard Rose and Kong Rose) are certainly lovely but did I need to sow with such reckless abandon? And what doppelgänger slipped into the greenhouse and planted all those <span style="font-style:italic;">Amaranthus</span>.? I can only offer Seasonal Affective Disorder as a feeble excuse. In the middle of a gray and rainy January who can resist the clarion call of the seed catalogs, trumpeting names like Dreadlocks, Fat Spike, Pygmy Torch and the always-tempting Elephant Head?<br /><br />You can be sure that my small herb garden cannot accommodate ten fernleaf lavender plants. But this irrefutable fact certainly didn’t stop me from planting the seed. And how could I not buy <span style="font-style:italic;">Lavandula</span> ‘Goodwin Creek Grey’ from the <a href="http://www.goodwincreekgardens.com/">very people</a> who developed and introduced this cultivar. The Master Gardeners Spring Garden Fair is always a source of grave temptation.<br /><br />The list goes on (and on). I haven't even mentioned the nightshade surplus and the bags of free <span style="font-style:italic;">Gladiolus</span> corms. Who could say no to free?<br /><br />I’m sure that I am not the only gardener pulling on some gloves and getting down to the serious business of planting. This morning dawned with perfect transplanting conditions. The air is cool, the skies cloudy. The weather report calls for a chance of showers. I’m sure I will find room for most of these seedlings. And my neighbor said she would <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">love</span></span> to have some coleus.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-88172231391854461472007-04-21T11:59:00.001-07:002007-04-21T15:48:06.803-07:00Tohono Chul ParkI recently traveled to Tucson to bring my parents’ belongings back to Oregon. When my parents were alive I tried to visit at least once a year and each time I included a trip to <a href="http://www.tohonochulpark.org/">Tohono Chul Park</a>, a 49 acre preserve of self guided trails and demonstration gardens. The park also contains a restaurant, art gallery, gift shops and a nursery offering native plants.<blockquote class="pullquote"><p>These designs are widely varied in theme from the whimsical to the serene...</p></blockquote><br /><br />A few years ago the park added the <a href="http://www.tohonochulpark.org/desertliving.html">Desert Living Courtyard</a> showcasing ten garden designs utilizing plants for arid climates. These designs are widely varied in theme from the whimsical to the serene and reflect the cultural sensibilities of the area. Each is intended as an outdoor living space offering relaxation and respite from the heat. They combine structural elements, art and water features with a wide array of plants suitable for different garden situations. <br /><br />The garden rooms have matured over the past few years and each is filled with ideas for creating your own garden space. The basic design can be modified for your own climate by selecting appropriate plants. I was happy to discover that the plans for each design are available at the Park website. Each plan provides a planting diagram and plant list as well as detailed information about the structural and artistic components. The plant list is very informative, listing botanical and common names, spread, water requirements and landscape use. It even lets the reader know if the plant is available for purchase at the large park greenhouse.<br /><br />Tohono Chul Park has always been a highlight of all my trips to Tucson. The addition of the Desert Living Courtyard added a creative dimension to my visits. These vignettes were obviously designed by gardeners who know that a garden space can offer much more than a collection of plants. Each is a little oasis offering a multi-sensory experience. The message I take from these gardens is captured by a quote found in the Moorish Garden: <span style="font-style:italic;">Nature is not a place to visit, it is home.</span>a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-76490825297314648992007-03-12T09:41:00.000-07:002007-03-12T09:46:23.198-07:00Let the spring garden begin!Yesterday I kicked off the spring garden season by planting allium seedlings. I <a href="http://www.ashlandinternet.com/~basile/2007/02/allium-adventure.html">started these</a> several weeks ago and they were more than ready to go. I trimmed the tops, some of which were close to six inches, and got down to business. <br /><br />I have planted purchased onion seedlings in the past and have always been particularly charmed by them. Each is a tiny replica of the mature plant complete with tiny green shoots, a miniature bulb and long wiry roots. They would be at home in some diminutive bowl on a miniature kitchen table in a dollhouse. <br /><br />This appeal probably explains my inability to discard even one seedling. This is usually not a problem but the King Sieg leek germination must surely have been 100%. And each and every one is now in the ground. The allotted space was not big enough to accommodate all the seedlings so I planted them at a 2 inch spacing. Barbara Damrosch, in her classic <span style="font-style:italic;">The Garden Primer</span>, recommends this planting because it allows early harvest of the younger leeks, giving the correct spacing for the mature plants. But I bet I will still be pulling leeks this time next year! I should probably start searching for leek recipes now.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-89872463584312153062007-03-05T10:43:00.000-08:002007-03-05T10:50:45.402-08:00Visiting the gardenGardening at a community garden has many advantages and a few drawbacks. But one of these drawbacks has a silver lining.<br /><br />Because my plot is not outside the back door my visits this winter have been infrequent. Before last Saturday I had not been to the garden for several weeks. At that time I had spread the last leaves on one remaining bed and checked the garlic and shallots for signs of shoots. These beds I had mulched with a thick layer of leaves when I planted the sets in late fall. I poked around in the leaves and saw only one tiny green shoot. When the weather turned back to winter I imagined the garlic and shallots in their mulched beds, snug under the snow and basically dormant, waiting to emerge when the sun finally came to stay for a while. <br /><br />And here’s the silver lining. <br /><br />We were blessed with a sunny day last Saturday. The soil was still too saturated to work but I couldn’t resist a trip to the plot, if only to imagine what might be growing there in a scant few months. I was completely and pleasantly surprised to see healthy 4 inch garlic shoots and the beginning of shallots sprouting. Every garlic set had sprouted and grown (<a href="http://www.bigjohnsgarden.com/">Big John’s Garden</a> quality does it again!) during my absence.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-85701839282880434182007-02-28T08:28:00.000-08:002007-02-28T08:41:34.971-08:00Planting peasMy spring garden is woefully off-schedule. Planting peas in January is usually an option, but if soil or weather conditions preclude an early planting then peas in my garden should be planted by mid-February, President’s day being a convenient marker. When the peas succumb to late spring heat the bed is free for peppers and eggplant. Those delicate prima donnas cannot be set out until night temperatures have warmed considerably, usually in late May. <br /><br />Conditions in the garden this year are decidedly inhospitable to any direct sowing. The soil is waterlogged and cold. I have abandoned my plans for planting bush peas, usually the staple of my spring pea crop. By the time the soil is dry enough to work the planting window will have closed. Instead I have planted Sugar Snap peas in the greenhouse and will set out seedlings when (not <span style="font-style:italic;">if</span>, ever the optimist) <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">when</span></span> more temperate weather arrives.<br /><br />I have always direct seeded peas. Last year I pre-sprouted, trying to get around the low germination that comes with cold wet soil. But I have never set out seedlings. Peas starts are always part of the spring vegetable line-up at nurseries so transplanting must be an option. Given this year’s weather constraints I’ll give it a try. Since Sugar Snaps grow on a trellis I will only need to prepare a small area of soil at the base. This area is slightly raised, presumably better drained than the other beds and the trellis serves for cucumbers later in the year. <br /><br />Gardeners are nothing if not adaptable and optimistic. The vagaries of weather may dictate what we <span style="font-weight:bold;">can’t</span> do, but we simply pull on our boots, step out in the mud or slush and do whatever we <span style="font-weight:bold;">can</span> do. I am so looking forward to sweet Sugar Snaps (on the veranda, sitting in dappled sun, with a glass of sparkling wine). ;) Here’s to winter dreams!a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-4614245621096899702007-02-24T11:13:00.000-08:002007-02-24T11:18:58.423-08:00Daphne watchI would like to apologize in advance to all of the intrepid gardeners living and gardening in Zones 6 or lower. But I really must whine a bit. I had been watching the progress of buds on the fragrant daphne (<span style="font-style:italic;">Daphne odora</span>) for the last two weeks. They were plumped up nicely and sported that lovely magenta color that promises fragrant blossoms, their delicate perfume carried on gentle March breezes. (At this point may I insert the sound of a needle being dragged across a record?) <br /><br />Thursday brought a record snowfall. The snow was especially wet. Branches broke from the venerable old cypress down the block, power lines sagged, and the daphne bush was a white hump. Fragrant March breezes? Hmphh.<br /><br /><a href="javascript:DisplayImage('http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/131771352-M.jpg')"><br /><img border="1" src="http://aneclecticgarden.smugmug.com/photos/131771352-S.jpg" ></a><br /><br /><br />But the snow has now melted enough to reveal a daphne virtually unchanged. I have never experienced a snow so far along in the bud development so the bloom status remains to be seen. But the buds look healthy and I am cautiously optimistic.<br /><br />Here in my corner of the PNW gardeners have been accustomed to a seemly progression of seasons with few surprises. But Mother Nature has seen fit to stop coddling us these last few seasons. Storms are stacked up out in the Pacific, ready for their marching orders. It is windy and cold today, the sky filled with flat, steel-gray clouds. I’ll watch the daphne and see if it lives up to one of its common names. It <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span>, after all, known as <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">winter</span></span> daphne.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-1170975585561116442007-02-08T14:59:00.000-08:002007-02-09T16:45:50.025-08:00Value SeedsImagine a cross between Thompson and Morgan Seeds and the Dollar Store. A place where a daydreaming gardener can find those special cultivars that TM is so famous for, where no seed packet is priced higher than 99 cents. A place somewhere in horticultural twilight zone you say? Check out <a href="http://www.valueseeds.com/">Value Seeds</a>.<br /><br />Prevailing internet wisdom claims that Value Seeds is an overstock outlet for TM. A quick scan of both sites shows the same descriptions for many items. Some contributors at <a href="http://www.gardenwatchdog.com/">Garden Watchdog</a> speculate that the seed is last year’s but many comments report good germination. And the selection, while small, contains some winners and boasts nine sweet pea cultivars.<br /><br />This value is no frills, however. The seed packets are not marked with plant information, only with a number, much like the small foil envelopes inside the larger paper TM packets. Planting information is available on the web site. One customer recommends marking your packets with an identification as soon as you receive your order, matching the number on the packet with the invoice list that comes with your order.<br /><br />Each spring I order many seeds and usually with no discernible self discipline. But placing an order for 12 seed packets with a total price of $9.77 including shipping effectively nips buyer's remorse in the bud. I look forward to posting a happy outcome when the seeds are germinated and thriving.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-1170531542393274172007-02-03T11:24:00.000-08:002007-02-03T14:00:33.936-08:00An Allium adventureShallot seeds have germinated!!!<br /><br />This year’s Experiment in Seeding<sup>®</sup> is the Alliums. I have always opted for sets or starts for my onions, shallots and leeks. But this year, while in the blissful fog of catalog browsing, I decided to try my hand at seeding my Alliums. <br /><br />My personal farming guru (PFG) has assured me that this is easy. Out of deference to said guru’s revered status as a consummate farmer I refrained from saying out loud that <span style="font-style:italic;">it might be easy for <span style="font-weight:bold;">you</span>, but what about <span style="font-weight:bold;">me</span></span>? But really, where’s the fun in any garden season that does not include some new experiment?<br /><br />And I did my homework. Wading through much confusion in Allium nomenclature and lengthy explanations of the relationship between latitude and onion bulbing, I was able to determine the cultivars I wanted to try. I asked my PFG many questions, dropping in a reference to ‘day neutral’ to demonstrate my commitment. He was full of good advice so I went for it and ordered seed:<br /><br />Onions<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Allium cepa</span> ‘Candy’ - <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A. cepa</span> 'Borrettana Cipollini'<br /><br />Leeks<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A. porrum</span> ‘Bleu de Solaize’<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A. porrum</span> ‘King Sieg’<br /><br />Shallots<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A. ascalonicum</span> ‘Prisma’<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">A.ascalonicum </span>‘Olympus’<br /><br /><br />I selected ‘Candy’ as a sweet hybrid, touted as an onion that will develop a bulb at any latitude. 'Borrettana Cipollini' made the cut because cipollini onions are, well, cute. Flat button shaped and described as superior in flavor. Fedco plans on offering a red cipollini next year. ‘Bleu de Solaize’ is a French heirloom from the 19th century. If it’s been around for that long then I surely must try it. ‘King Sieg’ is a cross of two well regarded varieties, King Richard with Siegfried Frost. It is supposed to take less time to mature. As for the shallots, few varieties were readily available, making me wonder if they are really that easy to grow from seed.<br /><br />Playwright Alan Plater described a zealot as one ‘who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten the point’. An apt description. I don’t recall the reason I decided to try Alliums from seed. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But in the fashion of a zealot, I will redouble my efforts: watch for more germination, prep the bed, plant the seedlings and cross my fingers.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-1169409301228310302007-01-21T11:36:00.000-08:002007-01-21T11:55:01.250-08:00Seed startingCarol at <a href="http://maydreamsgardens.blogspot.com">May Dreams Garden</a> posted a <a href="http://maydreamsgardens.blogspot.com/2007/01/seed-buying-method-or-madness.html">series of questions</a> about seed sowing habits and was rewarded with many comments and blog posts concerning seeds. A <a href="http://maydreamsgardens.blogspot.com/2007/01/can-you-be-gardener-and-not-sow-seeds.html">subsequent post</a> listing many of these answers made for fascinating reading. Responses ranged all along the spectrum, pointing up the marvelous diversity of gardening styles.<br /><br />This whole series of posts set me to thinking about seed starting. Nurseries certainly offer plenty of starts including a respectable number of heirlooms. What cannot be found at the nurseries is often available at farmer’s markets. So why start seeds? <br /><br />Pragmatic answers abound. Seed starting is economical, variety is vastly greater, and scheduling is not left to commercial interest. But for me there is some other intangible consideration that I can’t quite put my (green) finger on.<br /><br /> It could be as simple as the increasing daylength triggering my desire for garden activity. Opportunities are limited in January so seed starting fits the bill. My small corner of a shared greenhouse offers a warm space where I can almost imagine spring to be right around the corner. This alone could explain my annual seed starting ritual.<br /><br />But still there is a more elusive appeal. I think I am a little closer to understanding after recently reading a passage from <span style="font-style:italic;">Heirloom Vegetable Gardening</span> by William Woys Weaver. He writes of an elderly cousin Mary whom he credits with introducing him to the importance of plants:<br /><br /><blockquote>She was adamant: this was a Quaker thing, a fitting activity for a pacifist, and a moral requirement for a nurturing temperament.</blockquote><br /><br />Reading this passage I am inclined to think that the intent of her belief can be carried beyond Quakers to include all spiritual disciplines. But the phrase that really caught my attention was ‘moral requirement for a nurturing temperament’. Does this mean a duty of those with such nurturing tendencies or rather a prerequisite of sorts? I would like to add this woman to my list of imaginary dinner guests, seat her next to Thomas Jefferson and sit back to listen!<br /><br />My sense of all this is that gardeners possess a nurturing temperament, but on a more subconscious level. I don’t think much about the connection I feel when I sow the seeds, the deep thrill when they germinate and the satisfaction when I finally plant them in the earth. That’s just the way of it. Maybe for me this moral requirement is simply the unexamined visceral reverence for the miracle of a seed. <br /><br />Woolgathering and analysis aside, seed starting serves a very important function. It serves to bridge the wildly extravagant imaginings of seed ordering and the down to earth spring planting. By the time the seedlings are hardened off and ready to plant, the inevitable failures and successes will have readied the gardener as well for the real work of the garden.<br /><br />This week I will begin my seed starting with cool weather crops: parsley, lettuces and greens. Beginning the seed starting really marks <span style="font-style:italic;">my</span> first day of spring.<br /><br />Everything in its season; ain’t it grand?a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6947722.post-1166727348773448742006-12-21T10:54:00.000-08:002006-12-21T10:58:21.333-08:00In memoriamI returned to my garden a few weeks ago after a long absence. Late fall was my last opportunity to plant the garlic and shallots I had ordered a few months ago. Had I known at the time that life was about to pick me up like Dorothy in the tornado, dropping me later into a foggy November afternoon, perhaps I would have reconsidered that order. Or perhaps not.<br /><br />I believe that a garden serves as an anchor, grounding the gardener in fundamental and unchanging cycles, offering a chance to be an active part of a beautiful earth. And that such an anchor provides comfort in the face of adversity or sorrow. Resuming gardening duties put that belief to the test.<br /><br />My garden was much as I expected after being abandoned high in the harvest season. All dead. Skeletons of sunflowers loomed over giant squash lying in pools of decaying foliage, tomatoes were reduced to water balloons. Standing alone in a deserted community garden I was tempted to dwell on this death and decay. But that soon passed. If I wanted to finally taste ‘Red Toch’ garlic next summer I needed to plant it <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">now</span></span>. And so I planted. The familiar exercise of planting, at once mindful and mindless, began to work its magic, recalling the fragility of life and its underlying optimism.<br /><br />My father often told me about his grandmother’s garden. Though not a gardener himself, he seemed to take particular pleasure in knowing that I was following her path. Whenever we spoke he would never fail to ask how my garden grew. I sat beside his bed only a few weeks ago and we spoke of Gram’s beautiful chamomile, his part in the harvest, and the fragrant tea she would brew from the flowers. His shared memory reaches across time, across death, and gives me comfort. In some way, then, I honor his memory with my garden.a gardenerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12587961382079717532noreply@blogger.com5