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Fall in the Country - Diary of a Gardener |
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November 2004
Daylight saving time is the final nail in the coffin of summer. Winter is now officially on its way, which is not all bad. There is much to look forward to in the months ahead.
However, the morning frost is telling me in no uncertain terms that it is time to winterize the garden. In the city this amounts to not much more than taking down the hanging baskets and rolling up the garden hose. In the country there is a little more to it.
The vegetable garden, for one thing. Time to dig up, pull out or turn over what remains - and time to take stock. The digging out is a simple process as there was not much there to begin with. The taking stock is a more complicated part of the program.
I came home from the garden shop with packages of seeds and my young helper volunteered to plant them. I was happy to accept the help, so I left her to it.
In hindsight I suspect that she felt the instructions on the seed packages were misprinted, or perhaps not intended for Canadian gardens. She may have felt that covering fragile little seeds with only 1/4" of soil was obviously a mistake - meant for gardens in California or Florida, but not here!
Whatever the reasoning it gradually became clear to me that those poor fragile seeds were spending so much energy fighting their way to the distant surface that they had no strength left to grow into anything. I didn't know carrots could actually be so small and still resemble carrots. They were quite fascinating really. There were lots of them, mind you. It seems the package instructions on how thickly to sow the seeds weren't taken as gospel either. Never mind, there is always next year.
The onions, planted next to the microscopic but plentiful carrots, fared even less well. Those seeds either weren't as tough, or just less determined. Next year we'll have to ask about really 'good' seeds, not just regular ones.
The tomatoes were a happier story. Those that were intended to be tiny were tiny. Never grew larger than a marble, but had a wonderful flavour and were a bit hit in the summer salads. Those that were intended to grow large seemed to lose heart. I suspect they needed more sunshine. Even the best gardeners, I told myself, can't be held responsible for the weather.
The sullen tomatoes puzzled me because I watered them faithfully. In fact, I watered the tomatoes so well that I drowned the neighboring zucchini. I know what you are thinking - anyone, absolutely anyone at all, can grow zucchini. We all know friends and family who come, laden with bags of extra zucchini, claiming that this vegetable is growing them out of garden space. Gardeners put signs up on their fences "Free Zucchini - take as much as you want! Please!" Well, I stand witness to the fact that it is possible to have major zucchini failure.
The plants did grow, mind you. The leaves looked especially lush and healthy. The actual veg, on the other hand, went one of two ways. Some started out well, then began to turn black at one end, finally ending up resembling squishy burnt sausages. The others continued to grow and grow into enormous, shiny green prize-winning examples of zucchini - until they were harvested, at which point they proved to be completely hollow inside. Who knew plants could be so unpredictable? I have often heard it said that all farmers are gamblers, but now I finally understand. You plant the crop and then wait to see what is going to happen - at least that's what happens in my garden.
Moving down the garden plot we reach the rhubarb, the one plant that I was really cheering for. I had imagines in my mind of rhubarb pie, rhubarb crumble-wonderful flavour. When I bought the plant I was assured that it is a perennial, and time would only make it bigger and stronger. Well, it doesn't appear to be a perennial in my garden. It didn't really survive long enough to be called an annual. My geraniums are still flowering beautifully but the perennial rhubarb is nothing but a sad collection of mushy leaves. I might be tempted to return it to the store and complain that they sold me dud rhubarb, but there is so little of the plant left that it would take DNA analysis to establish what this green and black mush really was.
Never mind - next year things will go better. Now those are the words of a true farmer/gardener.
- Pat Archibald, Editor - |
