Once the holidays are near, I have the entryway and windows lit up with lights. But what about that dreadful month of November?
Our light sculpture started with two rusted steel bands from an old whiskey barrel planter.
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By late-October it's usually dark before I get home from work in the evening. I don't know about you, but I find this depressing. Once the holidays are near, I have the entryway and windows lit up with lights. But what about that dreadful month of November?
I have a pair of solar path lights near the house and they work great. Improvements in solar technology mean these new lights are considerably brighter than the ones in years past. They have a brushed metal housing and real glass enclosure for the light. That said, they're path lights; great when you're walking up the walk, but coming in the driveway they don't shout, "welcome home!"
Last fall we came up with a combination art project/all-season, outdoor lighting solution. We made an orb with two rusted steel bands from an old whiskey barrel planter. They're held together at the top with a rusted iron hose guide, which fits into a metal pipe that anchors the whole thing to a cedar post. Around the center of the pipe I wove a loose ball of wild grape vines. Then I stuffed the ball with a 24-foot string of small LED lights (these are the warm white ones — I don't like the cool blue lights).
We ran an extension cord from the front porch through the garden and up the pole, and put it all on a timer so it comes on at dusk to welcome me home. You could perk things up at your house by decorating a trellis or obelisk with the same lights, or if you don't have a power source nearby, try the solar-powered string lights.
Heirloom apples are hot! Look to local markets for cider, sauce and pie apples and long winter keepers.
Heirloom apples are hot! Look to local markets for cider, sauce and pie apples and long winter keepers. |
In a previous career, I helped people identify the old apple varieties they found growing on their properties and in abandoned orchards. Apples arrived in the mail from late August through November accompanied by hand-written notes describing the trees' location and condition, the special flavor of the fruit, and sometimes, a bit of history or a family story. Twenty-five years ago, the best reference was, and still is, the two-volume Apples of New York, by S.A. Beach, written in 1905 for the State of New York Department of Agriculture. In painstaking detail and with many color illustrations, Beach and his associates described more than 1,000 apple varieties that were in cultivation at the time.
For centuries, farmers and landholders lovingly nurtured regional apple varieties and carried them across oceans and continents as they moved to new lands. The oldest known variety, the lady apple, dates back to the Roman empire. The names reflected the apples' origins: Esopus Spitzenburg, Calville Blanc d'Hiver, Bramley's Seedling, Arkansas Black, and Westfield Seek-No-Further. Homesteaders grew different apples for cider, cooking, jellies and preserves, drying, and winter storage. Families especially valued the varieties they could store in root cellars until spring, depending on the nutritious fruit through the long winters.
One hundred years after the publication of Beach's book, some of the old apples varieties are gone. During the past century, fewer people grew their own food and, as agriculture got more centralized, a handful of popular apple varieties filled the commercial orchards. Seeking crop uniformity, easier culture and "shipability", growers planted millions of McIntosh and Red Delicious, Cortland and Rome, Granny Smith and Gala. Worldwide transportation, modern refrigeration, and storage techniques improved upon the humble root cellar, too, making high-quality apples readily available all year. Consumers demanded perfect, smooth, blemish-free fruit. Varieties with lumpy, russeted skin, and odd sizes, shapes and colors were no longer tolerated, no matter how delicious their flesh. We wanted picture-perfect lunchbox apples and forgot about varieties that made great cider, dried well or kept in the cellar until April.
So why care about old-time apples now? Well, for one thing, lots of us are growing our own fruit again. We're looking back at the apples that our grandparents and great-grandparents grew and discovering lost treasure. We're finding regional varieties, originally selected to grow in our particular climate and soil. Cider is back in vogue, too, and locavores are seeking fruits for drying, freezing, and canning.
Heirloom apples are hot. Supermarkets haven't quite caught on yet, but natural food stores, co-ops, and local markets can't get enough of them. My grocery shopping trips this week reminded me of this disparity between markets. The regional chain offered about 10 different apple varieties, four of them from a nearby orchard and the others from thousands of miles away. My local food co-op, on the other hand, had nearly 40 varieties on display, and almost all of them grown within 100 miles of the store. Fortunately apple trees are long-lived and some orchardists have kept the old varieties growing. Our co-op buys fruit from several of them, including Scott Farm, which produces 70 different heirloom apples under the care and direction of orchardist Zeke Goodband.
I brought a dozen different apple varieties home from the market yesterday and plan to use them according to their original purpose. I chose Maiden's Blush for the dehydrator, Northern Spy, Rhode Island Greening and Bramley's Seedling for pies, McIntosh, Jonathan and Winesap for sauce, and Keepsake, Pinova, Empire and Crispin for fresh snacking. We had a taste testing at dinner and my daughter announced that Keepsake was her favorite because "it tastes like cider." For the tall, oblong Sheep's Nose apple, she said, "I could fool myself that it's a pear." Try a tasting at your table and share your favorite heirloom apples, too.
Bon appetit!
You can find antique fruit orchards and suppliers in your area at farmers' markets, by asking at natural food stores and Extension Service offices, or searching online for "heirloom apples."
Always on the lookout for cold-hardy, richly-flavored greens, and a sucker for anything billed as "popular in southern Italy", I tried a new one this year.
Spigariello liscia in early October. The plants have set a few buds that quickly opened to flowers, but it's the leaves I'm after! |
The dusky blue leaves are soft like a puppy's ear. Ready for steaming, braising, soups or stir fries. |
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Remove the leaf's center rib — it's as easy as removing the string from a sugar snap pea. The rib's toughness detracts from the delicate texture of the leaves. |
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I'm a big kale fan. Though I'll eat almost any kind, cooked almost any way, I grow only one variety, the beautiful (and delicious) lacinato which is also called black kale, toscano and cavolo nero.
Always on the lookout for cold-hardy, richly-flavored greens, and a sucker for anything billed as "popular in southern Italy", I tried a new one this year: spigariello liscia. Johnny's Seeds described it as a leaf broccoli, similar to broccoli raab.
I spent most of the summer waiting for it to make little heads like broccoli raab. All the while it was growing and growing and growing. By mid-August most of the plants were well over 4 feet tall and still hadn't thought about putting out any buds.
It was on Bronwyn Weaver and Bob Archibald's amazing farm, Heritage Prairie that I finally learned what this plant is all about. The farm is located about 40 miles west of Chicago in Elburn, IL. Its market garden provides vegetables for many Chicago-area restaurants and several farmers markets, including Chicago's Green City Market and the Geneva Green Market. For 2010 they're also adding a CSA. There's a market on-site where you can buy the farm's in-season vegetables, as well as pre-made dinners and all sorts of locally-produced foods including cheeses and eggs, beef, chicken, pork, and honey from Bronwyn's bees. The farm hosts weddings and other special events, too.
While on a tour of the greenhouses and fields with farm manager Ted Richter, we passed a of row greens that I immediately recognized as spigariello liscia. Ted said that like me, he'd tried it on a lark and it had proven to be extremely popular with some of Chicago's best chefs. He said it's all about the leaves, not the buds (ah!) and showed me how they harvest it by stripping the leaves off the stalks. Though the leaves have a flavor similar to kale, they are much more tender than kale, with a felt-like texture.
So I came home and began using my own spigariello liscia. Move over, kale.
After harvesting potatoes from my new bin, I started to think that setup — made from a three-bay compost bin — looked a lot like a coldframe. And the soil inside is better than any of the soil in my regular garden. So once the potatoes had been harvested, I seeded the area with a bunch of different cold-weather crops.
Front to back:
Bed 1. Spinach, romaine lettuce, cilantro, kale and radicchio
Bed 2. An Italian green called Spigariello Liscia (which I'll write about soon) and more spinach
Bed 3. All spinach |
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I put some of the seedlings from the coldframe into the bed inside my greenhouse. In early December, this bed will get covered with Garden Quilt, too. |
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Last spring I wrote about repurposing a three-bay compost bin into a potato bin. A couple months ago I wrote about the 83 lb. potato harvest.
Once those potatoes came out, I started to think that bin looked a lot like a coldframe. And the soil inside is better than any of the soil in my regular garden. So once the potatoes had been harvested, I seeded the area with a bunch of different cold-weather crops. The seeds went in in August while it was still quite warm, so I was diligent about watering every day and also kept the entire area covered with shade netting (which we will be selling in spring — yeah!).
The lift-up cold frame covers have been framed in, but the panels themselves are still "on the drawing board". There's some poly in front of the frame, which was an initial attempt to arrive at a "fast and cheap" solution. We have decided that snow load and wind is going to make that problematic. I think we will wind up with some sort of semi-rigid hinged panels.
For now, and through most of November, I'll simply have a single length of Garden Quilt right on top of the foliage. (That photo with the Garden Quilt is of a much younger me!) If you garden where it gets cold and you haven't used Garden Quilt, you're missing out on at least two more months of growing season.
At the end of November, we'll add the panels, leaving the Garden Quilt in place. I've learned from Eliot Coleman's book The Winter Harvest Handbook, that with two layers of insulation, one very close to the foliage and one overhead, plants grow as if they're in a climate that's two zones warmer.
Looking at the photo of this compost bin/potato bin/cold frame, you may be wondering…
1. How does she get to the back of it? Well that is a bit of a problem. If you're making a cold frame from scratch, don't make it this deep. You can see a couple bare areas where I've stepped. Now I have some flat rocks in there to stand on, and with one foot outside and one foot inside I can reach everything just fine.
2. Why did she plant everything so close together? It's always hard to know whether you'll get good germination or not — especially in the summer. This year, every one of these seeds germinated. So I have dug out lots and moved them into my greenhouse beds. My neighbor has also taken lots for transplanting into her own greenhouse and garden. So right now it's not as crowded as it is in the photo.
3. Doesn't she realize the north wind will come whistling right in between those wooden slats? Well, yes. So this year we'll wrap the back and sides with some of that poly. I want to be able to remove it in the spring and preserve the air circulation for potatoes next summer (and in case this ever goes back to a compost bin at some point).
If all this looks intriguing, but a little more involved than you're up for, we do offer a ready-made cold frame that's very popular and we have some other pretty interesting cold frame ideas in the works for 2010.
Do you use a cold frame? We'd love to hear how you're using it. And if you wouldn't mind taking a photo of it, we'd love to see it, too!
I was 50 before I discovered dahlias. Part of it was about being a flower snob. Dahlias (like glads) were "out" for many years. But I'm sorry to say that it's also about climate change.
This variety is called Who Dun It. I was 50 before I discovered dahlias. Part of it was about being a flower snob. Dahlias (like glads) were "out" for many years.
But I'm sorry to say that it's also about climate change. Though my garden hasn't moved, our hard frosts now come about four weeks later than they did 20 years ago. For dahlias this makes all the difference, because they really hit their stride in late August and continue right through into early October.
A week or two ago, with a hard frost in the forecast, I asked my nephew to come over and help me dig out the dahlia tubers and get them into the basement. You can get by doing this after a frost or two, but I dislike handling that mushy, post-frost foliage.
Storing the tubers in a cool basement is easy. Here's how you dig them out:
Here in Vermont it's easy to tell when the garlic should be planted. Look up at the hillsides. If they're a blaze of red, orange and yellow, it's time.
In most parts of the country, late fall is the best time of year to plant garlic. The cloves establish roots before the ground freezes and when spring comes the plants are ready to charge out of the ground. Bulbs usually mature by late July.
This year, garlic sold so fast on our website that we ran out in early October, but we've ordered more of the Garlic Collection. You might be lucky enough to find it locally — but hurry!
Here in Vermont it's easy to tell when the garlic should be planted. Look up at the hillsides. If they're a blaze of red, orange and yellow, it's time. I'm always saying how easy it is to plant garlic. Now I have some photos to prove it (see slideshow, below). Planting enough garlic to last 12 months took me an hour. I might put in a few minutes weeding in early June, and I usually spend about 10 minutes cutting off the flower heads when they appear in early July. But, other than that, there's nothing to do until the heads are ready to harvest.
I found one of my favorite potatoes while on a garden tour in England about 10 years ago. On our way through the Yorkshire countryside on a soggy spring day, our small group stopped at a pub for dinner.
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Potatoes produce lots of food in a small space, with little effort. |
My grandmother, a Maine native, grew Kennebecs and Katahdins. My stepdad, a Vermonter from the cold Northeast Kingdom, swears by Green Mountain, Red Norland, and "whatever is sprouting under the sink."
There's much to be said for growing locally developed vegetable varieties, and I've grown those potatoes, too. But, I'm adventurous by nature, especially in the realm of plants. When I travel I'm always on the lookout for something new to try in my garden back home. Discovering a new ornamental plant while visiting a garden or shop is relatively easy, but finding new vegetable varieties often takes a bit more risk.
I found one of my favorite potatoes while on a garden tour in England about 10 years ago. On our way through the Yorkshire countryside on a soggy spring day, our small group stopped at a pub for dinner. As usual, my meal was outstanding and I inquired about the source of the delicious baked potatoes. They smelled earthy and tasted sweet and buttery, even without condiments. The server didn't know what kind of potatoes they were, but thought they came from Germany. He mentioned that the shipping carton was probably out behind the pub.
After dinner, much to the nervous amusement of my less-inclined traveling companions, I engaged in a bit of dumpster diving. From the bottom of the pile of flattened boxes in the rubbish bin, I uncovered a waxed potato carton with the name 'Desiree' checked on its side. Bingo!
When I got home to Vermont, I did a little research and discovered that it's the most popular red-skinned potato in Europe. It wasn't hard to find a supplier in Maine and order my own Desiree seed potatoes to grow that summer. My family has enjoyed this lovely yellow-fleshed potato ever since. It's perfect for roasting, boiling, mashing, and rich winter stews.
Potatoes are among the most rewarding crops because they produce so much food in a small space with little effort. In years past, I grew them in long rows in our big vegetable garden. But as I age and the number of people at our dinner table shrinks, so has our garden. Growing food in a smaller, more efficient garden is a new priority for us. Last year I grew enough potatoes in a 3' x 3' Grow Bed to last our family of three until the new year. I've heard good reports about growing potatoes in fabric Potato Bins this summer, too. The bags allowed my condo and apartment-dwelling friends to grow food on balconies and patios without any yard at all. Who knows? I may be growing my gourmet Desiree potatoes in a bag on the porch next summer.
How did you discover your favorite vegetables? Are they family heirlooms and hand-me-downs or selections you found by chance? Drop us a line and share your story.
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