Finally, some rain!

A select few of you may have heard me, once, mention my spring allergies. I don't like to make a big deal out of them, but I guess if I had to create a comparison the experience would be similar to the most horrible anyone could ever suffer, far worse than childbirth, terminal disease, starvation or watching American Idol. Which is probably an understatement, but, as I said, I prefer not to whine.

Obviously, I don't need any assistance bearing this weighty physical burden, but sometimes Mother Nature lends a hand anyway in the form of rain. Rain knocks the pollen out of the air, which helps assuming you can avoid line-snorting the earth. Rain is also good for fledgling gardens like mine, because I know it's only a matter of time until I lose interest with watering. And at this stage of the game, it takes about one day of that for your seedlings to be goners. So thanks nature.

When we last spoke, I was threatening to move my second garden. I did, a week ago today (see above). I also planted more stuff. Wanna know what? I knew it. Remember, we have 16 squares:

• Beets (five plants, one square)
• Carrots (32 plants total, two squares)
• Onions (16 plants, one square)
• Bush beans (four plants total, two squares)
• Peas (16 plants total, two squares)
• Cantaloupe (one plant, one square)
• Potatoes (four plants, one square; planted those today - just got around to buying the seed tater. I love the word tater. "Go get me that there tater, boy!" I can't imagine why anyone would ever say that, but if somebody does I want to be there).
  

As some more advanced readers have noticed, that only adds up to 10. The other six squares bear special mention because they were or will be filled with MY SEEDLINGS!!!!! Three broccoli have so far made the transition from seed pack to seed cup to garden, as have four collards and, as of this weekend, two watermelons. That's right, in your face Lowe's and your 75-cent plants. These were like a quarter of a penny. Suck it. Of course, my taunting has now assured punishment from the vegetable gods in the form of the death of these plants and a trip to the store to replace them with seeds somebody else grew, but you know what? It won't be Lowe's. Just out of principal. And you're probably wondering why the vegetable gods would punish my taunting by killing their own. Uhhh, because I'm the center of the universe and no being or entity does anything without me in mind. Duh.

On the growth front, while I planted three of the broccoli I have three left. That's OK. Only two of my cauliflowers (one of which can be seen at right) have come up in the first square-foot garden, so I'll need something to put in there. And just when I was considering that my other seeds were duds, as of yesterday celery, bell peppers and hot peppers were spotted peaking out of the dirt as well. Do I have anywhere to plant them just yet? Not exactly. We'll figure that out in due time.

By the way, the plural of broccoli is broccoli. It's like bread. But if it helps you can pronounce more than one broccoli "brock-o-LAY" for no reason other than I like to think of Derek Stevens. That's what I'd tell a Japanese exchange student to do, just to keep him good and confused about English and to learn a little about humor.

Here's a picture rundown of the breathtaking garden progress after two weeks:

These are the transplanted broccoli seedlings. Yes, there are two plants in each of the left two squares. That's because I plant two seeds in each hole, convinced that one will not germinate (I have no reason to believe that, by the way - just superstition). Then, I have to decide which one to pull up because you don't want them competing with each other. Which is actually pretty agonizing for me, because they're both working so hard. Why should one be murdered? I really hate it. I've got some problems. Oh, and I don't know why the one on the right is lying down. Maybe it's taking a nap. Or it misses the brother I already pulled up. Sniff.

Here we have the transplanted collard seedlings. They should get bigger. Except for the one that died.

These would be the green onions I planted in the first garden two weeks ago. I like how they look like grass coming up.

Radishes. You know, the crop for children and the mentally challenged. I was wrong about the 100 percent survival rate, by the way. Looks like I have at least three duds in there.

I can't think of many things easier than planting potatoes. I went to Hendersonville Nursery and bought what is known as a seed potato. It's just a potato. Potatoes have eyes, or places where it will sprout, and you'll get as many new plants as there are eyes. Just cut said said potato accordingly and plant each piece four or five inches deep (I know this works because we did it last year. And forgot to harvest the potatoes. Go to hell.)

Ignore the sign telling you this is cabbage. These are the two-week old broccoli, who are definitely outgrowing their home. Two of the plants are supposed to be cabbage, which explains the marker, but I can see no difference between the seedlings and am starting to think I screwed up. Then again, they are in the same family, so we'll see.

This is an iris. No, I don't think we can eat it, smart-ass. I just think they're pretty blooming off of the back deck, and I still can't believe they growing in the bog. When I stuck the bulbs in the mud I was like, what can grow in this shit? Check it out. Yellow irises can.

They're doing their job ....

So I've been called out twice in the last week. First, Kristy said my last post "wasn't as funny as usual." There's a compliment in there, I know, but like most writers I choose to ignore it. Then, my friend Mike promoted his new blog "Turn Your Head and Chof" by calling me a "noted hippie" before accusing me of siding with pollen in his case that pollen should be inducted into the "Douchebag Hall of Fame."

First of all, my last post wasn't supposed to be funny. It was deadly serious, because the food I grow over the next two years will be used to sustain my ragtag band of survivors when the impending doom of 2012 becomes a reality (Hint: Blog followers get first dibs on the potatoes). Plus, there's nothing funny about canning except for the fact it's woman's work. Secondly, I defend pollen only in the sense that is sustains all life as we know it. Otherwise, I hate that shit. It makes my life living hell every spring, and, as I pointed out to Mike, there's something bitterly ironic that I am made so miserable by two things I love so much: Nature and rampant, shameless fornication. Really, as far as I'm concerned things like this are the strongest evidence I see for a God. A sarcastic, bored God who sometimes fucks with us to give itself a brief moment of levity before he or she goes back to making quantum particles simultaneously exist in multiple places (seriously, that shit happens). It also makes me question evolution, because how are our immune systems so freaking stupid after all of this time supposedly adapting perfectly to our planet that they still think plant sperm is the ebola virus? Wait, that doesn't work, because our immune system doesn't do anything to the ebola virus.

Stupid immune system.

So with that out of the way, let's get to the progress of my little seeds. In a word, it has been astounding. Sure, they have tiny reserves of carbohydrates that couple with a genetic miracle to create life, but I still take most of the credit. I've watered them daily, and put them in the sun. The broccoli and cabbage are the most advanced, more than an inch tall, though the radishes and collards aren't far behind. Oh, and the lettuce seeds I sprinkled in a planter on the back deck rail are also coming along swimmingly. All of this took less than a week. Amazing.

In the the last few days, the tomatoes and artichokes have also sprouted, as have the kale, swiss chard, cauliflower, spinach, green onions and basil outside (along with some other random seedlings that I have not identified as of yet. All I know is that I didn't plant them and they will have to be terminated in the near future). The only things that haven't done anything are the watermelon, cherry tomatoes, peppers and okra. I fear for the okra, because, as mentioned earlier, Bonnie the cat has taken a particular liking to that pee spot. Oh, don't worry, I took her to the animal shelter for it, but it could still be too late.

Sadly, watering dormant seeds was probably easier than keeping actual plants alive. In fact, I think I've already lost a couple of collard greens that, in literally only five hours of sun yesterday, wilted from lack of water and broke. Still, despite their disappointing lack of survival instinct, I am quite pleased thus far.

My project this weekend is to get the second garden moved and prepared. There will be no more chance of frost in a couple of weeks, so we are about to be inundated with various herbs, veggies and flowers looking for a home. Coupled with the fact that I'm sure Juliet the cat would like a new place to defecate as well, and I have what you could call motivation.

Like all yard destruction that comes from our dear animals, I find that funny. I hope some of you found this post equally amusing. Laugh it up now. 2012 won't be so cute.

Here are a few photos I can't figure out despite my advanced html knowledge how to weave seamlessly into the text up there:

What you're looking at are collard greens, though I thought they were pansies with how poorly they handled a little sun. Get it? It's funny because pansies are real flowers. The fellow on the top right I don't think is going to make it. His stem appears to be broken.

Maters! I put a pair of seeds in each square, and both seem to have survived in two and neither in the other two. Almost as ironic as our immune systems.

These are the radishes. There appears to be a 100 percent survival rate thus far, which would make me feel better if radishes weren't often described as "one of the easiest vegetables to grow - great for children!"

That guy there in the middle? That's cauliflower. It's supposed to be there. That guy above him, with the two robust leaves, looks like he's flipping me off? Not supposed to be there.

Here we have the lettuce seedlings. The big lettuce came up unexpectedly once the weather got warm, though despite their tasty good looks they're for some reason so bitter as to be just this side of inedible. Nothing a bottle of Annie's Naturals Green Goddess Dressing can't sort of fix ...

The new digs

So after I helpfully pointed out to my friend Matt that by picking Georgetown to win the national title he had extended his remarkable streak of finishing first in quickest bracket pool elimination, he responded that I should "go grow some bok choy." As impressed as I was by the reference, I don't know. I think that was more of a crack than a real suggestion. But his bitterness at his pathetic prognostication ability reminded me that I was supposed to be trying to feed myself in ways that involved more than peeling the tiny wrappers off of those infernal Hershey's kisses Kristy bought. Thus, with a determined wipe of chocolate on my work pants, last weekend I went to work.

For months I'd waited for snow to melt, me to feel like it, the soil to move itself or the desire to have my own garden to pass. Outside of the snow succumbing to our temperate climate, none of those other things happened. I was forced to bite the bullet and do stuff.

First, two azaleas and a dozen crocuses (croci?) had to be transplanted. Then, five wheelbarrow loads of growing mixture were trekked from one end of the yard to the other - a physically difficult job made even more harrowing by a crooked wheel and a 45-degree hill that had to be crossed parallel to the top and bottom (long story). The final step was to haul the wooden garden frame and fill it with the aforementioned growing mixture, or, as it's known in some areas of the country, dirt. Not especially fun, but by the time the sun went down on Sunday I had a place to plant seeds that might actually get sun and Bonnie the cat had a new place to take a whiz (that would be her pee mark on the left, above). Win, win.

After a night spent tossing restlessly on sore muscles (it was hard, I say; I'm not a pansy), I got immediately to work on Monday planting seeds before my momentum had a chance to fade. The beginning of April is a little tardy, especially for vegetables that should be started inside, but some should be sown outside right about now. There are 16 "squares" in the garden, and more plants can fit into individual squares than others. Here's the rundown:

• Swiss chard (one square, five plants)
• Radishes (two squares, 32 total plants)
• Green onions (one square, 16 plants)
• Spinach (two squares, 12 total plants)
• Kale (two squares, four total plants)
• Basil (one square, four plants)
• Cauliflower (four squares, four total plants)
• Okra (two squares, two total plants)
• Cherry tomatoes (one square, one plant; yes, I called it a "cherry mater" in hopes it'll be fooled into thinking I'm a grizzled, old-school farmer who won't take any of its shit)

I came up with this combination very scientifically: These were the seeds I had that should be started outside. While I was rolling, I also decided to get some inside stuff going despite, as I said, the late start. The list:

• Bell peppers (six plants)
• Hot peppers (six plants)
• Broccoli (five plants)
• Watermelon (two plants)
• Celery (five plants, maybe. Those seeds are freaking microscopic)
• Cabbage (four plants)
• Artichokes (four plants)
• Collard greens (five plants)
• Tomatoes (four plants)

Do I know why cherry tomatoes are supposed to be started outside but regular tomatoes inside? No, I do not. Do I know why I planted celery when the celery I've grown in the past tasted like persimmons dipped in lemon juice? No, I do not. Do I know why I'm growing artichokes when I'm not even sure what the hell an artichoke is or which part you eat? No, I do not. What I do know is that the broccoli apparently couldn't wait to get started, as you can see to the right, germinating only three days after leaving the packet. The artichokes have also already pushed to the surface, as have a few collard greens. That's the good news.

The bad news is that the same thing happened last year, and everything died as a result of the wrong soil, not enough water and/or a light deficiency (I know, who knew, right?). I have vowed to not make those mistakes again. The seedlings (can you spot the collard pushing out over there?) and potential seedlings are already in the sun. They have been watered every day day. And I used actual, you know, potting soil instead of some stuff in a bag I was trying to get rid of.

The outside plants have not come to life yet. One of the reasons could be that they did not get their first water until Thursday's rain, and the nighttime temperatures have been much cooler. I won't get worried for another two weeks.

There you have it. This weekend, I will move the second garden and get a whole new batch of stuff started (which reminds me - I need carrots. I like carrots. I actually want to eat carrots, as opposed to half the other shit I planted). Of course, I'll keep you informed.

Square foot gardening - why for, how come?

I'd never heard of square-foot gardening (what it's supposed to look like, above) until my wife, Kristy, announced that it was what we should do. We wanted to take our home food production to the next level, which in this case meant, you know, a level. Any level. Trudging to the grocery store every couple of weeks to replace the broccoli we had to throw out because we never got around to eating it didn't count. But how?

Our house is in the city, and while we have a decent-sized yard it's not conducive to long rows of corn and beans. Almost all of our limited flat, open space is used by the dogs for their dirty, sinful outside business, and I'd already served notice that Chloe (right, protecting our friend Ben at the Green River) digging up my tender young vegetable seedlings on top of her proclivity for murdering possums and peeing in the floor every couple of weeks for no reason whatsoever could mean new living arrangements for one of us. So Kristy found square-foot gardening. Apparently, it's all the rage, man.

The idea is sensible: You theoretically can grow a lot in a small amount of space. Maintenance is minimal. Your biggest problem will be what to do with all the damn food. We could have built our own square-foot garden, it has been suggested, but if I'd "built" it it would have been a square-anywhere-from-8-to-14-inch abomination against geometry requiring wood that could be bent into a half-circle. I'm not a carpenter.

So we bought two, coming in pre-cut cedar. They were much too expensive, but all of the angles are 90 degrees. Can you really put a price on that? We also purchased All New Square Foot Gardening. It has charts and graphs and tips out the wazoo, which is to be expected, I guess, from "The Book That Changed The Gardening World!"

But why the whole square-foot thing? Well, author Mel Bartholomew tells you. And tells you. It gets rather tiresome, actually, but to him it's a critical part of maintaining the organization that makes square-foot gardening, well, square-foot gardening. For instance, one tomato plants fits on one square foot. Four bell peppers should fit in one square foot. Twelve radishes. Etc. Etc. If I can ever get anything to grow, I'll let you know if he's right.

Bartholomew also argues that traditional gardening, with its rows and tilling and weeding, is actually a really inefficient use of time and space. I helped my grandfather with his quarter-acre plot from the time to time, and while I loved it I have to agree. Your life is dedicated to fighting weeds, and even then you will likely lose. Those bastards just don't give up. It's like they want to live or something. You will also lose a lot of dirt when it rains because without said weeds the topsoil runs free like a 5-year-old in Chuck E. Cheese. Most of the garden space goes not to vegetable-producing plants but area for you to walk around muttering to yourself.

In a square-foot garden, everything's right there. You monitor your soil completely, and a barrier underneath prevents any other plants from trying to horn in on the action. Most importantly to me and my dreams of an organic garden, there's also an opportunity to control insect pests with plants that naturally repel said insect pests. At least, that's supposed to happen. I'm not sure what my marigolds would have repelled last year because the slugs, all hopped up on goofballs because of the thousand inches of rain we got, devoured them nearly as fast as I could plant them. Christ. I thought slugs were supposed to be slow. (Note to self: This year, look for a plant that repels slugs. I'm sure that plant, whatever it is, will attract killer bees or something, but I'll cross that bridge if I survive long enough to get to it).

Anyway. That's a brief history of why we are aspiring to be square-foot gardeners. I say aspiring because right now I'm more of a square-foot dirt gazer. Chin up, Ron, chin up ...

Next week: Preparing for the move.

A confession

I have several reputations among those who know me, and while there's no point detailing the full list of awesomeness among other things I am known as a grower of plants. My yard blooms from March until October. I know the names of things. In the winter, our house is packed so full palms. succulents, cacti, African violets, orchids and impatience that keep coming up from seed accidentally that our living space is cut by about 40 percent.

Yep, I am the envy of those who inexplicably can't keep a peace lily alive (uhhh, have you tried watering the damn thing and taking it out of the closet?). But I have a confession to make, one that shames and humbles me and has made me determined to turn over a new leaf this year (get it? Turn over a new leaf in a blog about plants? Shut up.): See that up there? That's the pathetic excuse of a square-foot garden I've tried to grow for the past two years. It has been. An. Unmitigated. Disaster. If this were 1850 Kansas, the Indians (sorry, Native Americans) wouldn't have bothered tomahawking me to death in some dramatic, unnecessarily yelly fashion. They just would have lazily chewed bison jerky and laughed and laughed from a nearby ridge as my family and I starved to death. If their culture understood the concept of money, I'm sure somebody could have made a pretty penny charging admission (and, yeah, that's a dig back at you asshole, fictitious Indians reveling in my imaginary plight. USA! USA!)

(see that down there? It's kale that has managed to survive our brutal winter, a nasty case of cabbage worms and my general ineptitude. I don't have the heart to eat it)



Anyway, the point is, I've grown enough food to create perhaps three meals. Three awful, awful meals. Tomatoes have done OK. Like, five stubby carrots that took two years to grow instead of the, you know, one summer (on the plus side, somehow they survived the winter. In your face, warning on seed packet). A pretty decent batch of cucumbers this past summer thanks 100 percent to my wife, who by her own admission wouldn't know an azalea from a crape myrtle. I know, right? About four potatoes. Three face-shrivelingly bitter stalks of celery. All wrapped around a trail of plant death and destruction that, if nothing else, has prepared me for the impending doom of 2012.

Why? Why has it been so difficult? I have several theories.

1. Vegetable plants are pussies. They can't take anything. Too dry? Dead. Too much water? too hot? Dead. Too cold? Dead. Too little sun? Dead. My usual plan - buy something native, plant it at the right time in the right spot, water it that first year if it needs it and sit back and enjoy - is woefully inadequate for the delicate needs of these candy-asses. There's a reason most gardens are full of corn and squash - they're relatively low maintenance. I hate corn and squash, however.
2. People aren't the only things that like vegetable plants. Bugs do, too, and they'll make damn quick work of your dreams. I'm talking, like, a day if cabbage worms show up and less than a week for cucumber beetles. Dude, I'd never even HEARD of a cabbage worm until I planted some kale on a Tuesday, and on Thursday the only kale left were some green stalks. "That doesn't seem right," I thought, and careful examination revealed these innocent-looking, caterpillars colored exactly like the plant they were devouring. Several questions came to mind, like how the fuck cabbage worms found my cabbage since, as near as I can tell, there isn't any other growing cabbage within five miles of my house, but that's another post. The point is, these kinds of things are lurking everywhere. Who knew? I mean, besides every generation before this one? Hey, hey ... don't get too cocky, grandpa - I'm not afraid to use self-checkout at the grocery store.
3. Like real estate, a garden site is all about location, location, location. And my decision to put ours right next to our house on the shady side of a silver maple (left) on steroids makes me very glad I never decided to invest our life savings into developing property I picked out myself. As noted earlier, food-producing plants just don't do well with competition for sunlight. A solid structure blocking said sun after 2 p.m. and a giant tree blocking it before is pretty much the antithesis of that. Sigh. Cute little garden off the back deck is another dead dream.
4. Don't get cocky. In the pictures the diagrams, you can grow, like, ANYTHING in square-foot gardens! Radishes and artichokes and bell peppers and potatoes and onions and carrots and lettuce and broccoli - you're only limited by your imagination! Just stick the seedling in a hole and prepare for the harvest! Yeah, right. The realty is all of these plants require different things. And if you don't know what the hell you're doing to begin with, you will never be able to understand the nuances of what it takes to make all of them grow and produce individually.
5. Seedlings need light, like, immediately, so that sort-of bright spot in the corner of the laundry room isn't going to cut it. Oh, and you shouldn't scrimp on a decent planting mix in favor of that random dirt you haven't used yet in the corner of the garage. The former leads to desperate, pale shoots that invest all of their limited carbohydrates into a frantic, leggy push for the window that ends in death. The latter leads to Sahara-like conditions after a day of not watering which leads to, you guessed it, death.

So. What have we learned? Well, I've been planting the wrong things in the wrong spots and then not taking care of them correctly. So except for utter ineptitude, I think I'm in good shape. But it's a new year, a new decade - and a new farmer on the block. My pickled okra will be the envy of all. You just wait and see.

Coming next week: What's a square-foot garden anyway?