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.
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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. |
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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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