Extending the Harvest

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This piece was originally published in The Globe & Mail over the weekend as a part of my series on kitchen gardening.

Regarding using burlap and burlap sacks: Just to be clear, do keep them away from the crowns of your plants since they can get awfully heavy when wet. In fact, they are best used over the winter to prevent the erosion of large, open patches of soil from which annuals have been removed. Even better still, place the dead plant matter (browns) and some kitchen scraps (greens) underneath the burlap and you’ll have fresh compost on the spot come spring.

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I love a fresh, crisp fall day. Many of us would agree that it would be the best season of the year if not for the fact that it is a stepping-stone to the inevitable: winter.

Who knows what this fall will bring given the wacky weather hijinx we’ve experienced this year. But let’s pretend for a moment that everything will go as planned and there won’t be snow sprinkled on the peppers tomorrow morning (please gods). We can’t control the weather or stave off the inevitable, but as gardeners there are a few methods we can employ to hold back the effects of seasonal change and keep the party going just a wee while longer.

You’re already one step ahead if your garden is a raised bed. They warm up slightly early in the spring and tend to stay warmer as the fall cools down. A thick layer of mulch such as straw, buckwheat hulls, or shredded newspaper keeps the soil and surface roots warm through nippy nights and breezy fall days. An actual blanket made of burlap gets the job done too, but can get awfully heavy when wet so be sure to cut big holes to keep it off the crowns of plants. An even better blanket still is black plastic. The dark colour attracts the sun’s rays and the plastic holds moisture through fluke fall droughts.

In lieu of cumbersome blankets, which can be difficult to maneuver in small spaces, or used alongside them, are an assortment of store-bought and homespun contraptions that can be fitted over individual plants or entire beds to trap warm air and create the effect of a miniature greenhouse. Hoop houses are toasty-warm tunnels made of metal or plastic hoops draped with a clear plastic tarp that let’s light in and keeps warm air from escaping. You can buy them ready made from garden suppliers such as Lee Valley or make your own inexpensively using bendable metal shaped into arcs or dollar-store hula-hoops cut in half. Push the arcs into the soil intermittently to support the length of the tunnel and cover with a big sheet of plastic. Secure the plastic in place by stapling to the sides of raised beds or with clips purchased at the hardware store.

Greenhouses made to cover individual plants are called cloches. Fancy glass cloches are nice to look at but expensive at about $30-40 a pop! Never mind, you can make as many as you like in a variety of sizes for free from plastic water bottles rescued from the recycling bin. Simply cut off the bottom and set the cloche over tender greens or frost-sensitive plants you’d like to keep in the garden just a little bit longer. Keeping the cap in place locks warmth inside, or you can remove it to water your plants and let heat escape on particularly sunny days.

Cold frames are the way to go if you’d like to get a shot at keeping particularly cold hardy greens such as mâche, kale, spinach, and arugula producing food straight through into the winter (and beyond). It’s really nothing more than a low-tech box with a hinged glass or plastic lid. The trick is to dig the box at least a few inches into well-draining soil and give it a south-facing position. Open the lid when it gets too hot, and insulate both the sides and top with newspapers, straw, and old burlap sacks when night temperatures drop below freezing. They’re not exactly practical when growing up on a roof or in pots but compact versions set on top of a planter box will ensure at least a few extra homegrown salads this fall.

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Japanese Anemone

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Iridescent Corn

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

Isn’t this the most beautiful corn you have ever seen? I mean, I’ve seen some beautiful corn before, but the cob in the foreground appears to have been encrusted with precious gems.

Shane, a farmer at my local weekly farmers’ market brought these cobs with him last Thursday for show. He didn’t know the variety names since one of his neighbours grew it. We all stood around oohing and awing and snapping pictures like we had never seen anything like it in our lives.

Because we hadn’t!

As one onlooker remarked, “How does nature make colours like that?

Happy Thanksgiving Weekend Canada! Or as I am now calling it, Great Excuse to Stuff Your Face Weekend.

And if you happen to know the variety name, inquiring minds would love to know!

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Mid and Late-Season Planting

My latest Globe and Mail Microfarming article came out on Saturday. I’ve included the text below.

My editor sent a photographer out this time so there are some pictures in the printed version not taken by me, and one of me planting arugula online. I didn’t lay chickenwire over the flat as protection after planting, and that night the raccoons dug it up. They’ve been busy diggers this summer! What are they looking for?

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The time is ripe for mid-season planting

A gardener friend recently gave me a few pinches of wild Italian arugula seed, Rucola selvatica, the most fantastic arugula I have ever seen or tasted. The leaves are peppery and pungent yet delicate, unlike the hairy self-seeder I inherited at my community garden plot from its former resident. I can’t wait to grow those seeds into salads; fortunately, I don’t have to wait until next year to get started.

Contrary to popular belief, spring is not the only season for planting. In fact, arugula is one of several crops that actually prefer conditions at the end of the growing season, when the climate shifts to progressively cooler temperatures.

By contrast, trying to grow arugula and other tender, leafy greens as the summer heat rises is an exercise in futility. The leaves grow bitter and tough (if they grow much at all) and the plants rush to produce seeds like their life depends on it.

And that’s because it does. Just like us, plants get rather antsy about procreating before their time comes. Living with the stress of heat and drought signals cool-loving plants to get on with the business of reproduction sooner rather than later. Root veggies suffer a similar fate. They go straight to the flower-making stage, completely skipping the part you want most, the bulbous root.

The good news is that the end of summer isn’t the end of the gardening season but the beginning of another chance to reap further rewards from your garden before the year is out.

When to sow a late-season crop depends on how long that plant takes to reach maturity. To begin, check the number of “Days to Harvest” listed on the back of the seed packet. For example, arugula takes about 40 days. Tack on a week or two to the total time to account for the slower growth rate of plants as the days and nights get progressively cooler. Next, calculate the sow date by subtracting the total number of days from the “First Frost Date” for your region (www.almanac.com provides listings).

Fast-growing lettuce, spinach, chard, radicchio, endive, mâche and mustard greens can be sown into September or later if you’re on the West Coast. Broccoli, kale, cauliflower, cabbage, turnips, kohlrabi, Brussels sprouts, collards, peas, beets, carrots, parsnips and radishes love the last half of the growing season. When to sow varies wildly among veggies, so calculate individually.

Sow annual herbs including basil, cilantro, pansy and viola seeds right now. Better yet, speed the process up and double your bounty by taking cuttings from basil, mint, oregano, rosemary and other herbs that sprout roots easily in a glass of water.

Early fall is also one of the best times to make a permanent home in the edible garden for hardy perennial herbs, fruit bushes and trees. The cooler season is much more forgiving on new transplants and gives the roots a chance to get established before the winter forces the plant into dormancy. It just so happens that most garden stores are eager to get rid of their stock in the fall. Take advantage of end-of-the-season sales to get big discounts on oregano, marjoram, thyme, sage, sorrel, mint, blueberries, strawberries, currant bushes, grapes and apple, plum, peach and pear trees. While the bounty will be meager to nothing this year, you’ll get a bumper crop of fresh herbs in the earliest spring straight through to the following winter and beyond.

- Originally printed in The Globe & Mail (July 25, 2009)

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Local Food Trees

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Butternuts

I’d like to think I’ve accumulated a lot of plant knowledge over the years, but my tree knowledge is embarrassingly thin. It’s all down to the fact that I don’t have anywhere to plant and grow one. I’ve grown small fruit-producing trees from pits, limes and kumquats, and the odd houseplant tree in pots but what I know about real, outdoor trees could fit in the palm of my hand.

However, if I did have a backyard or a piece of land I would be all over looking for food-producing trees to grow. In my land-owning fantasies I imagine growing my own apples, pears, plumes, peaches, apricots and most especially cherries. And until recently I hadn’t thought too much past these obvious options because I assumed they were pretty much the standard food trees suited to this region. But this year my fantasies have been expanded by the wild foods supplier at my local farmers market. They’ve been selling fruit and nuts from locally grown trees this past autumn and it has been a real shock to discover what will grow here. For example, just this past week alone I bought persimmons, butternuts (Juglans cinerea), sweet chestnuts, and my new favorite, hickory nuts (Carya). They were selling paw paws but I didn’t get to the market in time. I knew paw paws grew in parts of the southern US but had no idea there were trees growing around Toronto! I bought hazelnuts a few weeks back and walnuts at a local corner shop about a month back.

The hazelnuts were amazing — I did not buy enough. I love that I can make tasty, roasted chestnuts that aren’t imported all the way from China. And the hickory nuts have a fresh pecan-like flavor that finally makes me less jealous of southerners who can just pick up and eat pecans straight off the ground. It doesn’t matter that the walnuts were terrible, the persimmons coated my mouth with a strange film, or that the butternuts are delicious but physically impossible to open — I’m just excited to know they will grow here and that when and if my fantasies become reality, I’ll have far more choices then I ever imagined possible.

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