The Garden Buzz

Nothing Happening in the Garden Right Now? Think Again.

If you're like me, you are always alert for something nature-wise going on outside the window in winter. Anything. The snow just sits there, not melting, not moving. The occasional chickadee flits by the feeder, a squirrel scampers up the cottonwood. But besides this, it appears that the world is standing still. And it would seem that a watched landscape never thaws.

Yet there are all manner of biological processes occurring right under our noses. Not the fancy stuff of summer; not the bright flowers and brilliant feathers among lush green growth that flaunts itself on sunnier days. This sort of activity is slower, you might say slow-motion, than we are accustomed to observing. It is subtle, almost silent, and elegant.

'In the bleak midwinter, water like a stone', is unrecognizable. Under the snow, decomposition is turning leaf debris and worm droppings into soil. In whatever leaves are left, cell walls are bursting as ice crystallizes. Beneath frozen ponds fish float like ghosts in suspended animation. In small snug dens, tiny hearts are barely beating as torpor marks time. In some hibernation is happening. Birds shiver to hold fast to a body heat with zero tolerance for error. Glycol, yes, anti-freeze forms in the bloodstreams of others, allowing life to continue in frigid cold.

And you would say nothing's blooming, but look at the lichens.

 
Lichens on snowy tree    The Garden Buzz

The shadows will start to shorten soon. Only 79 days until spring.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!  

  

"It's Complicated": A Movie Garden Review

The six of us sat around the table eating post-Christmas pasta discussing the movie we had just seen; who we wanted to end up with Meryl's character, what we thought she should do with her life, and then my husband reminded us back to reality, "it's a movie". Yeah, it was a movie, but when you plop down in that plush seat, there's an agreement; you will suspend disbelief for two hours or so, long enough at least to be told a story. And if it's good, the disbelief doesn't end at the door.

But nobody's fooling me with that kitchen garden where Meryl bantered with Alec Baldwin while picking uniformly round, red, robust tomatoes. I'm a kitchen gardener from way back when and mine never looked that good on its best day. You see, everything was at its peak, standing at attention in perfect rows; chard, delphinium, cabbage and corn. A working kitchen garden is in continual progress, a hole in the line where a lettuce was harvested, a pepper plant just emerging as the season warms, the pea vines falling over themselves, wilted from their own weight; all at different stages of growth. And still I sighed aloud and let out an audible whimper of envy.

Having once helped to design and assemble a home and garden show display, I found it hard to do the disbelief thing. I knew each pretty vegetable had been grown in a greenhouse, coaxed in containers to impeccability, then transplanted, transported and tucked into a deep, dark crumbly mulch. Voila, instant garden.

When I started my kitchen garden, the neighbors thought it was a pet cemetery perhaps, a formal rose garden at most. When they saw it was a garden that produced food in the front yard, the opinions were mixed, fifty/fifty at best. Unlike the movie version, where everyone admires Meryl; so earthy, so romantic, I was just "the nutty woman on the corner".

My Kansas Kitchen Garden    The Garden Buzz

Cabbages and garlic    The Garden Buzz

Kitchen garden spring time The Garden Buzz  

I guess I was just ahead of my time.

Merry Christmas!

 

 The trees are all frosted inside and out.

Happy holidays from The Garden Buzz. 

The Gift of Gardening

Desperate for gift suggestions? I've got one that might work. You don't have to go out in the cold. There are no malls involved. You don't have to get dressed up. It appeals to procrastinators, (they are the ones reading these gift suggestion articles on December 21) because it can be put off for at least several months.

Instead of a shiny trowel, thorn-proof gloves or a fetching straw hat. Give the actual gift of gardening.

You can decide how. Kind of like those "giving levels" you see on those corporate donor lists or the annual fund, you know, like Mavericks and Rangers, or Ladybugs and Grasshoppers, all euphemisms for Big Spender and Cheapskate. You choose the level of involvement.  You can hand your giftee a package of seeds and your best wishes or you can get down in the dirt. It's up to you, but do you really want to be known as a "pea pod"?

Most gardeners will tell you that they learned, and learned to love gardening from a grandparent. But nowadays grandparents are glitzier; more likely to take Disney cruises than dig potatoes.  Parents are held hostage to hockey/soccer/baseball practice and Chinese/Spanish/French camp. Time outside is organized, heck, those third graders need to polish their resumes, and the front yard is something that must be maintained and managed. With terms like nature-deficit disorder in our language, it's no secret we need a little Mother Nurture.

You can see I was gardening from an early age. "Working in the yard" was what we did. But it was the farthest thing from work. I wasn't made to pull weeds, just allowed to wander and wonder. So make a promise to a child, or a larger person in your life to show them what it is that pulls you to your aching knees and draws you out sometimes before you're dressed. They don't even have to know it's gardening. Just go out and sniff flowers, watch bugs and make mud pies. The seed will be planted.

I've Been Mulched!

But in the best of ways. I was recently asked to be one of the featured experts on The Mulch (www.themulch.com ), a new gardening website with lots of good gardening information and advice. Plant recommendations from experts in the field guide gardeners, experienced and new, to choosing the "right plant for the right place".

Although the site leans heavily toward West Coast gardening, they are expanding their boundaries eastward and beyond, including this Minnesota gardener. I will be their expert for Minnesota and the Midwest, as the bulk of my gardening has been done in that region.

The title of expert is a little intimidating. I am an Extension Master Gardener, however I don't write as a Master Gardener per se. In the spirit of Master Gardeners everywhere I will admit when I don't know the answer, and then go on to find the answer. I learn when you learn.

Finally if you go to my page at The Mulch, you might ask, "What's with the red hair?" For now, to fit the format of the other expert's photos, that one was the best choice. But, yikes, who let me walk around with that flaming shade of auburn? Cooler heads and hair colors have prevailed since! I will try to supply them with a more timely one soon.

In the meantime check out the gorgeous rose in the background. That's my luscious-smelling, exuberant Zepherine Drouhin. An almost thornless climbing Bourbon rose, appropriate for entryways and gates; it will perfume your garden while even tolerating some shade. It adorned the arbor entry to my Kansas kitchen garden, stopping traffic on a regular basis. It's only imperfection; hardy to zone 6, this rose will  have to remain just a fragrant memory for me now.

Zepherine Drouhin rose with Henry clematis in blogger's garden  The Garden Buzz

A Few Good Things About Cold Weather...

Don't worry, my list is not long. Coming originally from California, I never learned about many midwestern winter skills and traditions; like driving in snow, removing your shoes when visiting, and that hot dish is a dinner entree, not a plate straight from the sani-temp cycle of the dishwasher.

I remember being mildly astonished on one of those first Thanksgivings in Illinois when my in-laws put the drinks outside when the fridge got full. It simply never occurred to me that the great outdoors was a default Fridgidaire. As long as it was above freezing and not above 40, you were good to go. Hmmm.

"Illinois Wine Cellar"
 

My first winter here in Minnesota I saw signs advertising spruce tips; green bundles of what look liked tiny Christmas trees. It wasn't like I hadn't seen holiday greenery ever before. Down south, and that means anywhere south of here, tree lots sold fresh garlands and wreaths. They were usually half-dead before they hit your doorstep and crispy by Christmas. So between the shock of the latest move and the memory of dying greens I didn't bite.

My other thought was where did all the spruce bottoms go? After some research I was relieved to find out that these spruce tips are harvested in a sustainable manner in boggy areas of northern Minnesota and Wisconsin; the image of all those topless trees now banished from my mind.

I even found that there is such a thing as spruce beer. Kind of like birch beer?

Then it finally dawned on me what all the fuss was about. All over town one sees artistic arrangements of spruce tips with red dogwood, winterberry, juniper, pine boughs and my favorite, birch branches. Well, what do you know, when it's cold enough, the greenery stays green.

So I decided to try my talent for this wintry version of container gardening. It didn't hurt that our seasons were confused and the last days of November were not freezing and finger-numbing. It's important to use a pot that doesn't crack in cold; metal, resin, plastic or wood works best. Then you water the greens until the soil freezes. You can use one of those sprays that stops winter wilt if your container is in a windy location. Then you just sit back and enjoy. And it felt so good to play outside in the dirt, I didn't mind the pine sap stuck in my hair.

"My first spruce tip creations"   The Garden Buzz
 

Oh, and another good thing about living in the frigid north. You don't have to use that fake snow or flock your decorations. Mother Nature provides it free of charge.

  

Pumpkin Panic Soup

Duh, I know Halloween is past and it's almost Christmas, but we're talking about a crisis. In case you haven't heard, there's a pumpkin shortage. And if everyone keeps buying 2 cans of Libby's every time they go grocery shopping, like me, it's only bound to get worse. Is this how hoarding starts?

Perfectly good pumpkins are rotting on the vine, due to heavy rains that kept the farmers from their muddy fields. If we didn't appreciate this humble, husky-shouldered vegetable before, we will soon. Gone are the days when pumpkins were just for pie; nowadays they feature in risotto and salads, curry and souffles. As for me, I have to confess I haven't done anything so creative. Inheriting my mother's southern sweet tooth, if a vegetable can be made into pie, I'll opt for it every time.

But this scarcity has me thinking twice. I brought in the cute little pie pumpkin that has been sitting obediently decorative at my back door. I got out my little hack saw and had at it. First, I am probably the only person on the planet who hadn't toasted pumpkin seeds. Now I can tick that off my list.

Roasted pumpkin seeds   The Garden Buzz 

Taking a pumpkin soup recipe from www.epicurious.com, one of my favorite cooking sites, I did something a bit unusual for me; I eliminated the recommended bacon, butter and sour cream and tweeked it. What happened is more a medley of pure veggie essence featuring the pumpkin. And in spite of the absence of cream, it was so creamy. As usual, this is more suggestion than recipe. I take no responsibility. However I have to say that soup is very forgiving, if we could all aspire to the same, the world would be a better place. But I digress.

Roasted Pumpkin    The Garden Buzz

Before the soup, roast the pie pumpkin. Easy, two halves face down on an oiled baking sheet, covered with foil and baked at 350-400, your choice, for around 20 minutes. Poke with a fork occasionally, when very soft, it's done. Let cool and then scoop the flesh out. You can do this the day before and rest up, if that was too arduous.

In a big, heavyish pot, saute in light olive oil, a cup of chopped leek (it's a lengthy, much milder version of an onion), a minced garlic clove and a bay leaf. When softened, add about 3 cups of the roasted pumpkin, 2 peeled, chopped apples and 2 cups of chicken broth and 1/2 to 11/2 cups water, depending on the thickness preferred. Simmer until all is soft. Remove the bay leaf. Whiz it in batches in the blender (watch out, it's hot) and return to the pot. Sprinkle with a bit of allspice, yes, allspice, trust me. Salt and pepper to taste. Or do like my husband and douse it with Tapatio sauce. Heat gently and serve with some earthy type of bread. Bon appetit!

Pumpkin Soup The Garden Buzz

If you enjoyed this post, you might like, National Pie Day for a great recipe for Pear Tree Pie!