#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.
1 Comment
5/22/2020 03:38:51 pm
Peace be with you! What wonderful photos. I'm really enjoying these blog entries. Gardening is full of surprises. Plants can return years later where we once thought they were gone, they can disappear overnight, they can offer up one last flower... And the little knobbbly things on the sweet potatoes have turned into the tiniest leaves! How long should they get before planting?
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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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