ABOUT THAT STRETCH OF A MONTH AND A HALF WITHOUT POSTING...I'll keep it simple. My mental health took a nose dive.
My chronic skin condition flared up and paired with an eyelid infection, and took a very long time to "heal". Autoimmune disease was explored as a diagnoses for long term issues. Trying to get "back to normal" was slow and painful. My "normal" isn't really the baseline for most folks anyhow. All of this really got to me. For a brief moment, I even lost interest in my garden. The motivation to water and tend to it dropped off a cliff. Trying to just take care of myself while still keeping the household running was the time filler. Don't worry, the garden was still taken care of. But I lost sight of my faith in the care of it for a brief time. There was discouragement on other fronts too. And writing dropped off too. So that brings me to mid August, hoping perhaps there is still an audience for this blog. If you wandered away I do not blame you. The good news is, health struggles have plateaued, even though they still linger. The overwhelm has subsided for now and the garden looks great. We had to move a few things and I lost a handful of plants to miner bugs who just couldn't be contained with judicious leaf pruning. No black eyed susans, the nasturtiums retired early, and the tomatoes weakly "pooped out" three tiny tomatoes, only one of them with marginal blossom rot, two pristine. It really just seemed like minimal effort from the tomatoes, who also were complete divas when it came to watering. Lesson learned: hanging basket tomatoes NEED A LOT OF SOIL. Not these little weak sauce baskets from the dollar store. It's very cute, Nina, but every Italian Nonna in the world shakes her head (thankfully, not really.. how shameful and embarrassing would that be...) Good things happening in the garden: two handsome brussels sprouts that look like they will produce! Purple prince turnips showing signs of thriving, cold weather broccoli sown and transplanted in staggered intervals for maximum broccoli in the winter, and Bok Choy and Gai lan sown. Tahtsoi was sown, but was overheated with the weather we just experienced. It's ok, Tahtsoi. I feel the same. Oh! And Dinosaur Kale (also called Lacinato by those who don't have a four year old going through a serious dino phase). The summer is winding down. The other things I have sown may or may not grow. This garden has been like a laboratory for six months. There are things that will need some care before they overwinter, and the things taken from the garden to eat will eventually wane completely. I don't think I'll plant again after October. Maybe sooner than than. This winter will require some rest, for the soil and for me. We are facing some big life changes (aside from those 2020 has already provided) and my focus will go to those things. I am unsure if I will keep posting to this blog. I felt I should at least follow up. In the grand scheme of things my struggles do feel insignificant. Yes, they still matter. But 2020 has drawn all of the air out of the "self pity chamber". I can still struggle. We all do. But that is a place I am actively resisting. This is no time for selfishness. And yes, I've even learned that in the garden this year. This year is raw. It has left me this way too. But for the better.
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OR RATHER...WHAT TURNING 33 AND GARDENING HAVE IN COMMONWARNING: this post contains metaphors.
Yes, it's my birthday on Saturday. And my husband's tomorrow and our daughter and niece next week. Upon realizing my niece would be seven this year I also had the realization that, come August, my husband and I would mark seven years of our relationship (six of marriage come November). Back then, I was a well rested, time on her hands baby! But even after the passing of seven years I am amazed by how far we and individually we've come. This garden as it stands is approaching seven months old. My heart for gardening was truly rekindled last year and is now swelling into complete and deep love. Much like those early years of our relationship I'm sorting out how to "be" with the garden. Let it be the garden and let me be the gardener. Surprise surprise, I have no control over how plants grow ("behave" rather, they are alive after all). But at nearly 33, I'm so happy to be learning. This garden has made me fall in love with Earth learning. It has taught me more curiosity and surprise and wonderment and peace, along with moments of really deep satisfaction and healthy pride. I won't blab on tonight. This is already coming in at the tail end of my weekly deadline. Tomorrow we celebrate my husband and on Saturday I know there are sweet surprises coming and next week too for our little one. If you've been reading for a while, thank you. I began this blog when Covid-19 erupted as the displacer of our lives, but the seeds of this garden began in my heart before 2020 even began. But I didn't think I'd be writing about it, just up to my elbows in dirt. Happy Canada Day (tomorrow!) and Happy Fourth of July (Saturday!) and even and of course Happy Nunavut Day (July 9th, and our lil' gal's birthday). Happy everything. AT LAST... A PRACTICAL POSTThe broccoli crop didn't disappoint altogether, but I learned some irrefutable truths about growing them along the way. The crop itself was far shorter than expected.The heads began to bolt (also known as flowering) and I was hastened to harvest. They tasted marvellous. I just wish the heads had produced more. A few lessons on broccoli, from a mix of success and shortcoming:
plant early- February is not too early. I'd even dare to say end of January is not too early. Those transplants will be ready late March/early April. transplant at the right time- in retrospect, I put them out a wee bit early, but making sure they're out before it's too warm is essential spacing- hard lesson here: broccoli don't play well with each other. They will hog water and nutrients from each other resulting in no one having a nice big crown. In my case, the broccoli still grew decent crowns, but I wonder if their growth was shortened by the mutual struggle of all the plants to get what they needed. light- they're happy in shade, which is great for a balcony with limited sun exposure. Too much heat will result in bolting soil- in containers, it's easier to get a good grip on what is in the soil you're using. The thing I'm working to understand is when to apply more nutrients after growing and how much. I became bold and used coffee grounds to try to support the broccoli with extra nitrogen, however the reading I have done on this presents mixed information. Too much nitrogen, in some cases, has been said to grow hollow stems. Another source said "you can't overdo nitrogen". I'm still puzzled but the good news is I'm still working with such a small patch of growing area it's not going to be a huge mystery if things stop growing well. The large raised beds are not nearly entirely bare. I have a few very small dill plants and a bunch of onions in far corners, and recently planted kale still preparing to fully emerge. It's a rest period. As tempted as I am to resow more things immediately, I made up an illustrated plan of the garden for spring and fall sowings for that very reason: knowing I'd be hard pressed to be still while there was bare dirt. The brussels sprouts carefully planted out in May have begun to mature beautifully, and I will plant them in early August (ok, let's be honest, August 1st) and there will be other plantings that month as well. New scallion bunches have been sown indoors for transplanting later in the summer and though it will be tempting to sow very early, I have to wait until as late as October to sow some things which I plan to overwinter (broccoli, fennel, yarrow, carrots, to be harvested between November 2020 and March of next year). The summer plantings have been slow and a little mischievous. The tomato plants have been dropping their blossoms before they fully open and thus before I can hand pollinate them. Research pointed to two possibilities: too much Nitrogen (big gorgeous branches, sad flowers and thus no fruit) or too little water (the more likely, I think, because they are in smaller containers and need more frequent watering to keep the soil moistened through) .he cucumbers have yet to sprout, but even being indoors, under a lamp for a time and now in a sunny window where the soil can heat up, they insist on being tortoise like in their potential progress. I planted two less common varieties: lemon cucumber and crystal apple. I have grown and eaten lemon cucumbers before and they are my favourite cucumber in the world. Crisp, lightly sweet (in a cucumber way) and, in fact, lemon shaped and sized. Incredible for snacking or salads, as they have one of the prettiest interiors of a cut cucumber I've ever seen. There are small grooves along the outside of the fruit that make the cut cucumber look like a very softened clover shape, and the pale yellow interior and seeds look like a beautifully crafted brooch or pendant. But you can eat it. Crystal Apple is unfamiliar to me, but when I read "Granny Smith like in flavour" I was beyond curious and ready to plant. I hope to deliver good news about cucumbers this summer. Last summer my plants all became subject to too much rain and formed powdery mildew. I had to pull the plants not too long after. I am keeping them sheltered this year, and with hope and some gardening skills, maybe I will have cucumber treasure to share in August and early September... the Nasturtiums are beginning to bloom, which can be checked off as a success for soil preparation and giving them soil that was not too nutritious so they could put their efforts into blooms, not just leaves. The chamomile is beginning to develop blossoms, and the black eyed susans aren't far behind... The sunflowers, though seemingly suffering from some necrosis in their leaves, are coming along. I did some research and it is likely a fungus in the soil that is creeping into the plant through the roots and stem. The internet advises me to pull these plants and toss or super heat the soil to rid it of the fungus, but I am curious and have that benefit of contained soil.. I kinda want to see what happens. I discovered this potential problem after planting more sunflowers in the same spot (more is more it comes to sunflowers I say) so I feel attached to these seedlings... Five happy apple tree seedlings still thrive. Another win. A hummingbird has been feeding on the snapdragons and chamomile. Win win win. The garden feels and looks a little more lived in. There are tiny little unidentified bugs making trails in the leaves of many of my plants. My feelings aren't hurt. Insect activity, even if it's undesired, feels like a badge of honour and a proof of life in my garden in the sky. Wind continues to be something I watch with caution. Winter will prove to be interesting, and I am still devising a plan to cover the beds. Felicity is now a sweet bubblegum pink and the blooms are fully blossomed in their frilly elegance. Lupin petals and the recently excavated broccoli plants litter the patio. For now I like the way it looks. The process, the progress... TAKING HOLD OF TREASURE IN EARLY SUMMERA wave of "June-uary" weather has been persisting the past week, maybe a bit longer. The somber tones of grey blue matched the grief widespread and deeply felt grief . It's been collective grief for three months, hasn't it? Speaking with a friend a while back we both agreed it felt like everyone is ebbing in and out of fight or flight. I can certainly attest to this for myself. This isn't all bad. We're collectively shaken out of apathy in this season of turmoil, though I know for myself there is the continuous temptation to numb. But this past Saturday my daughter and I went on an adventure and found ourselves living in the vibrant present. South of Vancouver in an area called Ladner, more specifically Port Guichon, within the George C. Riefel Migratory Bird Conservatory, there is a special farm called Emma Lea Farms where we Vancouverites go to get our fill of u-pick strawberries. This is a tradition for our own family my husband and I began when we were dating. The following years found us out in the field each June, even when I was in the last month of pregnancy before our daughter was born, and once more when she was nearly one, strapped to my back in the baby carrier. We have missed the past two years for various reasons, but have still managed to purchase local strawberries to make jam, another tradition that began that same fist year my husband and I picked berries. In all the years of picking berries we have never arrived at the field on the opening day of the season. We got out of the car to a quickly crowding parking lot under a mercifully overcast sky. The most uncomfortable circumstances of strawberry picking can be the overhead heat. Hats are a wise choice. We encountered berries of a size unseen before now. While the small and tender berries, our usual fare, are wonderful, these palm-filling "rubies" were breath taking. "Oh my, look at this one" were the repeated words out of our daughter's mouth. I echoed them each time we turned around to encounter an unending offering of them in view. We filled two 5 litre buckets and called it good. And it was actually even better. Back home the aroma of drying strawberries in the kitchen permeated and filled each room of the house with sweetness and joy. I don't exaggerate. Whenever we entered the kitchen my husband and I visibly lifted our noses to capture the smell, and I paused more than once to just gaze at them placed on towels to air dry in the afternoon light. Back when we first went on the strawberry picking date as a new couple, my grandpa picked up a good housekeeping canning magazine for me. He knew I'd discovered the canning supplies left in the garage by my grandma, who had passed on a few years prior. He saw a passion beginning and encouraged me with this little gift, which he insisted upon at the checkout with my mom. I still use the same recipe I found in that magazine. I only failed at making it the first time... but since then my jam has turned out exquisitely year after year. I don't say this to be an outright brag. The truth is of the dozen or so jars I put up each year, most of them go to others. I like jam, but an occasional dressing up of the toast slices or even a spoonful just for the bursting taste of summer satisfies. I will also say it makes an excellent companion alongside peanut butter, just on the spoon. No bread necessary. These jars of jam, this cherished recipe, they are all part of the treasure gathered each early summer when we do this. The labour involved makes the jam sweeter, I think. I had that familiar high after hard physical activity when we left the farm, the car's caked mud flaps making noise as we drove down the country rode. My body didn't ache yet, but I knew it would and I was glad. Strawberry picking is a testament to quadriceps strength. I savoured even this part of the day. Our relaxation in the afternoon felt earned. We live aware of turmoil on a daily basis. These small victories matter, and I name them as treasure and take hold of them. Putting them into jars, giving them away, eating them by the spoonful when the skies are filled with winter again. I'll do the same with peaches in a month or so, and with seeds from the garden as flowers wither. Summer isn't my favourite season, but I see how it's full of gathering unlike other seasons. Yes, practically speaking this is the time when food is the most plentiful, and we would, in another time, be gathering what we grow to truly survive. But in the world we occupy now, where food may not be, for most, the enduring challenge, I am seeing how we gather more than just physical things in the summertime. It's the light, the stillness and near slow motion of dusk. The birdsong that begins before the sun arrives at its place in the first light blue moments of the dawn. These things don't take away the pain of where we are in our world. But I lay claim to them, gather them and hold them in my heart as precious. And for a moment, as I look over them, I am at peace. YEARNING FOR CHANGEI struggled to come up with anything to say this week. Heaviness is all around us. I sit in our home in Canada on the other side of the border, and though there have been protests here it's nothing like what's happening in my home country. The borders are closed, my family and friends on the other side. A white stay at home mom sitting at her desk observing through the news and seeking to understand what it means to take cation in her own heart and home.
There is so much waiting too. Listening in my heart. Trying to be quiet enough and calm enough to do so. This is for informed action to be ready to take place. I can't say I have a lot to say at this point beyond that all of the crisis in the world is shaking things up and it's a chance to grow through so much discomfort. I'm grateful to be made so uncomfortable. This is the ground where change can occur. This week, these are image updates from the garden. I am sitting with the discomfort and pain in the world, praying for clarity on how best to help where I am, and of course, finding healing in the garden. May you have the courage to sit in the discomfort too, and rest in the Mercy that has been bestowed to us in Christ. Whatever your beliefs, this is a place of rest in this weary world, and I hope you may find your way to it. CLOSER THAN YOU THINK...For weeks and weeks I've felt powerful longing to retreat to the mountains and soak in the soothing immensity of the forest. But most of the Provincial Parks have, wisely, remained closed. They recently opened and my favourite Park (of those I've thus far explored) had a line up of 700 to get inside. I believe that was a number expressed in vehicles. Yikes. Where to go to find the deeply needed solace of nature? The answer came after several friends noted they'd visited VanDusen Gardens with their young children (both in the same age category as our child) and had immense success. Ready for something different and armed with the imagination lent to us by Beatrix Potter, we set out to search for Jeremy Fisher's house, and maybe spot Nutkin the impertinent squirrel. And what we found was heavenly. A really deep sense of peace restored, and endless curiosity for our surroundings... have a look! Apple Seed and Sweet Potato Propagation I know what you're thinking... what happened to those apple seeds she put in the refrigerator? Glad you asked, my friend, glad you asked. Well, I opened the bag yesterday and it smelled very much like a fine, but certainly aged, French cheese. Hm, that's unexpected. Upon investigation, most of them have grown some lil' nubs, and four were mired in mold. Hence, the Frenchtastic smell. Oh la vache! Well, at least six out of ten didn't take a trip to Europe, and I planted them straight away in some fresh potting soil and watered generously. They sit basking in sun for as much of the day as they can. Thus far, there are three working their way up to the surface, like real seedlings do. Will I be able to say that I had the beginnings of an orchard on the tenth story of a building? I would certainly like to phrase it that way. But, in truth, eventually they will need to be in the Earth to really become trees. I know Louis XIV had his Orangerie with the trees potted in massive, moveable planters, but I don't live that Versailles life, as much as these apples were trying desperately to be francophiles. Their nascent time will be spent on the tenth floor, and I'll do my best to help them become the orchard I know is waiting inside their seed coats. As for the sweet potatoes, the results of those slips has been long awaited by my good friend Merry. As the last week became exceptionally busy, I failed to reply to her comment containing a question about those slips and apply my knowledge to her own little slips awaiting their turn to be planted. Sorry, Merry! Sorry, slips! Here is what I have seen mine do: I have one that has "matured", that is it has broader leaves, a very long, nicely curved root that just keeps getting longer and is certainly ready to be planted. The other still has it's leaves shut, but there appears to be a root on that one too. Here's what I'd do to plant them: pluck them off their potato hunk mom and put them into well spaced beds. These puppies need lots and lots of leg room. One itty bitty slip vine will turn into a Little Shop of Taters creature by the end of the season. Keep them happy with even watering, and if the leaves start to show any deficiencies (although yellowing at the end of the season in fall means they're ready to be dug up) feed with compost or your preferred organic soil food. I can't in good conscience say that you out to put something icky on your soil. I won't name names... And that's it. The sweetest thing about sweet potatoes is how easy, and entertaining, they are! They will astound you with their ability to cover large portions of ground, making more leaves than ever thought possible. When harvesting, which will be in a while yet, you can cut off the vines first to make room for digging. A good tip given to me by another gardener is to make sure you are careful with sharp tools while harvesting to ensure the skins of the potatoes aren't cut into. This is to prevent bacteria from entering the potato. Now, if you've going to cure them, this may be less of a problem. And of course we all cook our sweet potatoes before we cook them. But it was a wise tip, and I found that getting in there like a crazed dog digging wildly in the sand at the beach is a really good method of getting the taters out of the ground. You're in you're garden, you grew it, might as well have a good time. I have research to do yet on curing, and truthfully, my slips may never make it into the ground because I am running out of... wait... nope. OUT OF ROOM! My husband, my sweetheart and generous man, went to the flowershop, at my behest, and I asked for something for the table. I said chamomile or hydrangea would make a nice bouquet- simple, mono-floral arrangement, and I meant cut flowers. Well, he came home with a potted, green cusping into ballerina pink hydrangea and I was having a "squee" session for about 20 minutes. I named it "Felicity", because it is a wish fulfilled to have thus perennial, and it brought and will continue to bring so much happiness. Felicity will move in as soon as I can get some more soil. And that emptied out Nellie's Natural detergent bucket I just downsized into smaller containers a few weeks back is looking like the right home. The corporate orange bucket (bonus points if you can guess where it's from) will have the cukes. Almost time to plant those too. And with that I AM truly our of room. But, it's 100% occupied with green, pink, soon to be more pink and, when the corn and sunflowers come of age... golden yellows... It's going to be a dreamy summer on the tenth floor.... "Hackle" Recipe- for that Good Earth'esque flavour without realizing you forgot to buy it at the grocery store
3 bags peppermint tea one whole orange, sliced 3-5 cinnamon sticks maple syrup or honey to taste ( this really gets that sweetness that's part of the Good Earth flavour in there) Mix all in hot water, stir and let sit. Chill and enjoy. Good Earth was a tea that seemed to endlessly be in our refrigerator as iced tea in the summertime, and having discovered this recipe on a whim to do some tea mixology one afternoon, I am delighted to say it will be in our fridge all summer too. TINY STEPS... TINY MILESTONES... AND A TINY GARDENERTime seems to be moving slower, but then again, there are days when I wake up and it's suddenly four o'clock in the afternoon five minutes later. It varies. I look out on the garden and forget how small things were two months ago, which really feels more like four months ago. I was browsing through photos of the patio back in January and was astounded to recall when it was dusted with a powdery coat of new snow, or when the raised beds were under constant insulation under row cover fabric. The days of waiting for spring were filled with practicing planting with our daughter using her kinetic sand and some silk flower foliage from the dollar store, intermingled with making marmalade and combatting illness in the deep winter. Searching for crocuses, bundling up and braving the rain, petting dogs and going to the farmers market (for which we are so thankful! A year round market is hard to find). And, of course, the garden in sleepy infancy, with very frequent visits from the overwintering hummingbirds, ravenous in the cold, but still feisty and clever despite their challenge to stay aloft in the winter.
This all feels ancient, replaced with many days since also spent indoors, with the ever adjusting schedule and trying to make the days run as smoothly as possible. But it's my hope that I'll look back with the same nostalgia and gratitude on these days, which have seemed harder to comprehend, and feel that lifting joy in them, in the same way that I can look back on the deep winter days and smile, even though at the time there was a fairly excruciating feeling to many of them, particularly when we were all sick at once, the parents more ill than the child. Now we're approaching summer, a fact which makes me feel somewhat flabbergasted. It's all too tempting to ask how I might have spent the last two months differently. Some of it would be answered practically, for instance if preschool were still in session two days a week would be occupied by that routine. Weekly respite and spiritual connection found at church. Weekly library visits. I miss those. But all this time at home, without any choice but to be here and really truly fully BE here... I see how it's making new things spring up. All that prep to get our three year old interested and prepared to help in the garden have seen success. Some of our garden plants haven't made it, or done what we hoped (no snow peas... no blossoms, no peas. Apparently they have too much nitrogen when that happens... a lesson in mismatched companion planting). But we harvested that gai lan and enjoyed it at dinner yesterday, and that is simply an irreplaceable feeling. So we won't have peas. We can;t get everything we want AND there will be a chance to plant again when the weather cools down. And now, a recipe for those with a childlike heart: FAIRY SOUP: ingredients: flower petals- I recommend peonies, roses, daisies, buttercups, dandelions, lilies, hydrangea... anything colourful water a large bowl optional: dirt (if you want the "borscht" version of fairy soup add some literal earthiness moss pebbles pine needles pine cones It's not rocket science- this is a sensory play activity and it's meant to be messy and wild. I let our daughter mix up the flowers and spoon them into little containers to feed all the fairies. It is a lasting and fun water play activity. Be aware- the petals and other contents will begin to mold if left in a closed container. Have fun. Get messy. Feed some hungry fairies. And just enjoy watching either your child, or perhaps yourself, get lost in the process of mixing these beautiful elements.... One of the best things about the garden has been involving my child. Yes, it's messy and sometimes plants are roughed up. But cherishing something you work at together with your child is worth the occasional face palm. There has been lots of independence and self direction fostered from something as simple as watering and showing how to plant seeds. I'm shaky and need breakfast. This is one of the things about home isolation that has been weird- finding the daily routine and rhythm when time seems to stretch out. It's raining and looks like late Spring but the temperature is a little deceiving. I covered the corn planted yesterday in a large plastic cover, waiting for those warmer temperatures to kick in later this week. We are waiting on a lot. All of us. Once again to my left my little one sits on my husbands lap. Their easy conversation and adorable dynamic makes me smile. They're looking at toys in a catalogue online and she's making a birthday wish list. Our daughter turns four in a little over a month, a fact I also find to be nearly impossible. I'm taking in this day, like all of them, with mental and actual phone snapshots. Perhaps in a few months I'll share these contained moments as cherished time too. I think I will. My perspective continues to be honed and refined to take notice of the things that matter to my heart. #NOTMYSALADGardening never really stops being an experiment, and I am learning that we must not limit our imaginations as to how gardens can surprise us. With roughly a quarter of my garden in a greenhouse like setting, there are plenty of learning experiences happening there too... like the sudden and irreversible appearance of mushrooms in my pot of loose leaf lettuce. From a brief search, they appear to be "mowers mushrooms", one of the most common usually appearing on lawns. I suspect the spores lived in the compost and my generous watering of the lettuce caused them to awaken. The end of the story is predictable: I tossed the salad. Into the compost. Farewell.
It didn't really feel safe to eat it after finding the mushrooms and there was no way to remove the mushrooms completely. The spores are in the soil. This type of mushroom isn't dangerously toxic, but it can cause gastric upset and, supposedly, some mild hallucinations. Frankly, I'm not adventurous enough. It's also just not recommended. Call me a square. I spent the time transplanting some of the smaller broccoli to their own more spacious spots not that the mustard greens are harvested. The Gai Lan is getting close- just waiting of the appearance of their little florets and then it will be time. The stalks are looking thicker and the leaves are big and broad. I have set aside two broccoli to give away, and the rest are enjoying their own spaces and water. Recently gathered broccoli tip: they do not like to share water, and plants too close together will compete for it. This will likely result in weak plants all around because no on is getting what they need. Broccoli social distancing and self care metaphor combo- surprise no. 2 from the garden this week. Surprise no. 3 I went looking for- I carefully, gently peered into the innermost leaves of the three nearly matured broccoli plants to find their teeny tiny, lime green florets beginning to form at the very centre in a tight bundle. This broccoli was planted in March, so it will likely be ready to harvest in late July to August. The second batch of plants is several weeks behind the first, so late August. They haven't hit that huge growth spurt I saw in the first three, but broccoli, I have learned, will grow in immense spurts seemingly overnight, even though you're looking at them every day to see how they progress.. Finally, that cabbage, the Napa Cabbage that "overly matured", is no more. The little crinkly leaves in the centre browned at the edges and curled more tightly. Next year. I'll be a cabbage patch kid next year, perhaps. I am understanding how much space each of these plants really need to grow *well*. In a 2 by 2 metre (6 by 6 ft for my Yankee readers) space, ten stories up, it's limited. I found myself gazing longingly and lovingly at the community garden plots around our neighbourhood on an evening walk the other night. There was a flash of envy too. There were plants spilling into the spaces between the raised beds from years of seeds finding their way into the nearby soil. It's also like looking at the collective hope of so many people side by side, growing many of the same things. No garden is perfect. I like that about them. Things don't grow the way we want them too all the time. I like that less, but I accept it. This time of isolation from the activities and people we're accustomed to has allowed the focus on observation. I hone in on my plants, and moreso on my family and inner life. Shops and hair salons are opening up today, but I don't feel immediate temptation to go out and devour these things we've been barred from for nearly ten weeks. There was a flashing pang of guilt this weekend in the wake of realizing that this quarantine has created a deeper sense of serenity. Guilt because this is not the case for most, as the news would have us understand. Even in this serenity, I would not hasten to say that it's like some pearly veneer smothered over the whole of our life as a family, covering and erasing any of the discomforts. Tantrums first thing in the morning before your eyes have opened completely and not a drop of coffee made is brutal, deepened by the understanding that no other caregivers can relieve your efforts. Even now my daughter, spinning in her late three year old emotions as she creeps towards her fourth birthday in July, places plate after plate of pretend food cooked in her playkitcshen on my desk in an effort to draw me into playtime with her. She shuffles through the drawers just to the left of my desk. I briefly assist her in retrieving stickers from the secretary desk across the room. Methodically, she places them on an ikea lamp and turns the light on and off to test the placing with a backlit glow. This slowed down life is a bundle of things: annoying, fascinating, painful, tiresome, entertaining, exhausting... She presents the lamp to me, jumps around excitedly with little pants as I deliver my praise the newly renovated lamp. As I write these things, there are many places I wish I could be. But as I write this, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. OR IN MY CASE, CABBAGESI've made the commitment to myself to be honest in this blog about the things I have success with in the garden... and the stuff that just fails. My garden has a few of those.
I planted Napa Cabbage this spring because it's delicious and I love making gluten free dumplings and stuffing them with lots of this tasty crunchy green. Why not try it? So, two months ago we planted one. Just one. An experiment. So many things that are the first time plantings for me often involve initial research, getting them started, but then so much of the rest of the growing time is spent just watching, observing what happens and finding out, sometimes the hard way, if it worked.. My little cabbage just had a laugh at me. Do you recall when I posted my photos and how much progress the cabbage was making? Well that was actually "over maturing" due to excessive nutrients and watering, most likely. Here's the quote from West Coast Seeds website about Napa Cabbage that made me laugh and face palm. "Heads will split when they’re allowed to overly mature. Rapid growth due to excess watering and fertility will also cause splitting of the head...." Just like mine did. Whoops. West Coast Seeds also has this ranked as a "Moderately Difficult" plant to grow. Well, if you never challenge yourself you never know right? Truthfully, I plan to try again in the Fall. I love a challenge. I don't quite feel ready to give up on the little guy yet. I took off the outer leaves (and cautiously nibbled one... oh, nope...) The weekend was very warm, like a small taste of summer, but we have returned to the soft but steady storms of spring (which really love to knock my broccoli plants over, thankfully harming none so far). Working with nature, particularly wind, at ten stories up is a lesson in progress. Chopsticks tucked deeply into the soil and good ole' garden twine is keeping those growing greenies upright and steadfast. But I check on them, like little infants, nonetheless. There were successes this week too. I was able to harvest and devour the tahtsoi and bok choy before it bolted, or in other terms, flowered and went to seed. We had a burst of sun and warmth here on the BC coast, so those cold weather crops got maybe a little too much heat. In any case, they were delicious. The bok choy was "ultra baby" bok choy, meaning it didn't really fully mature. The same with the mustard greens (tatsoi). Very small and underdeveloped. All of it still tasted phenomenal. There really is no other pleasure, though simple and understated, like harvesting, preparing and eating food you've grown. I will be able to plant more of these types of veggies in August and then let them mature into the cool season. And oh I am so excited for that cool season. I ordered the seeds I will plant for the fall this week. More experiments with things I've never grown: kale, fennel and turnips are all first time crops for me. There's also a very cold hardy broccoli I'll be trying called "red spear"- it looks more like broccolini and it is indeed a purplish red. After this week I found myself wishing (more like longing) for at least a half acre of land for just spread this tuff out in long stretching rows so I could just fill my kitchen and the kitchens of others with produce. The more I grow food in my garden, the more fulfilled I feel. The purposefulness of it is a physical feeling in my core when I reflect on it. A kind of goodness that is nearly fully tangible. These things, mysterious as they are, to me are true glimpses of Heaven. The fullness of the Garden of Eden before the fall, but scaled down to a tender human level, just a little out of full reach. Even so, these moments of transcendence make this feel like a calling. What this may become, who is to say. I have my dreams. Perhaps I will share them here as time goes on. The future remains fuzzy even as Covid-19 reopening measures roll out slowly. We still look into an unfamiliar and uncertain kind of summer. But at last, it feels like there is enough time and sense of peace, at least in the evenings when it's once again silent in our home, to dream and look out at the horizon without fear. MY GARDENIt is May. Having begun gardening in February with seedlings indoors, prepping of the soil and the long early Spring ahead, arriving here in the first week of May feels like completing the first leg of a marathon. Arriving here in late Spring is where it really starts to get good. I have seen the plants in my garden thrive instantly with the touch of the lengthened sunlight, the warmth in the air. I confess that looking at empty planters, stalled seedlings, failed plantings and slow growers can be the most challenging parts of gardening. But I remember that I do have some benefits I take for granted. The limitations of the apartment balcony garden have one clear benefit- pests just don't get up here. Having gone head to antennae with snails in my last in ground garden (and losing), it's good to remember to count my blessings. Nothing so voracious has embedded itself amongst my plants. My hope for the future is to once again have an in ground garden, and so I will contend with pests once again at that time it may come to fruition. The anticipation I feel in watching these plants emerge and arrive at maturity closely mirrors my interior reflections during the lockdown. I am anticipating so much, and also stumbling blind into the future not knowing what will greet us. Am I arriving at a more complete maturity? This is the hope, but I find I'm falling short of my hopes and expectations for myself. Like the rest of the world around me, we are collectively finding the truth that we lack control. And thus the challenge begins- how to accept this, how to live with it and still fulfill our purposes and seek to move forward. Stranded in this place of unknowing I don't have answers beyond those that may perhaps feel cliché, but for me hold the strength of truth. Faith, by its definition, is belief and hope in the unseen. In some ways I feel my heart was given some preparation for this time we're in now. At the time when I felt myself passionately drawn to preparation of the garden in January, in my mind it reflected the desire to continue on with a hobby that was quickly becoming a passion. However, I can now see the metaphor for this current time laid out in the empty beds, planted with seeds that came slowly, surrounded by grey, wind and unpleasantness for months. The future invisible to the eye but waiting for its timing beneath the soil, the process not completely free of failures and misgivings. And even now, the fulfillment and potential not yet fully realized. When this all began, I spent time thinking about the things that would matter in a year from now, as the only real short term goal, however abstract, I could really visualize. In my heart of hearts the fullest measure of Hope lies in the far future, at the end of my life, as reflected in my personal faith. But a year from now feels like the attainable step I can take now, actionable and driven by determination. After seven weeks in lockdown, that goal is still somewhat abstract. But you can be sure there's gardening in it, and it will involve more planting, of the soul and soil sort, and yes, likely more waiting. But what this lockdown is teaching me is that endurance can be cultivated, continuous and even if there is no clear end in sight, strength is renewed along the way. I hope you find yourself firmly planted today, taking steps, however small. Hope is near. TAKE A TOUR...Here is a look at the whole space where I grow my garden. Not all plants are pictured, but the two connected spaces where things are grown is fully shown. Enjoy, have a look around and let me know if you have questions about anything I've been growing!
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NinaNoot- Christina (Nina) Wonglong time illustrator of whimsical things and a woman with a green thumb. Compassion and a desire to do something helpful compels me to write and share about gardening in hopes it may bring healing and delight to the souls of others as it has to mine. Check in every week on Tuesday for the unfolding story of my own garden alongside small growing project ideas, my successes and failures, and a sincere dose of hope in this moment of covid-19. Archives
August 2020
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