A vegetable garden, dug the old-fashioned way

After reading about all of the inspired methods for carving a garden bed out of your lawnscape, I sure regretted digging my garden the old-fashioned way. Here it is at left several weeks ago: just some herbs that basically wouldn't die. In the photo are chives, garlic chives, marjoram, tarragon, oregano, lemon balm, thyme, catnip, mint, chamomile, a rosemary that survived the mid-Atlantic winter, and a sage that didn't. I was sad about this until I realized the plant had left us a parting gift in the form of a volunteer descendant, growing right in the middle of the chamomile.

To dig the rest of the garden, I first stripped off the top three or four inches of grass. I stacked this sod along the edge of our yard, where it slopes down a little too much for our comfort - it might be ugly this year, but it will grow in eventually and we'll have a flatter edge.

Then I double-dug into the Maryland clay, breaking up the "soil" and adding organic matter (grass clippings, composted leaves,) fertilizer, and topsoil. It was hard, ugly work. If I had to do it all over again, I might just plant some of those radishes, sit back and wait for next summer. I'm sure that method is more sustainable and better for the soil, in addition to a lot less work! But now I have a plot that's roughly tripled in size, from 50 square feet to 144, and I have it right this very minute, along with a sore back and a sunburn.

I had laid out a rough plan of where everything would go, but alas, my seedlings are not doing so well. I think my well-meaning husband may have over-watered them in the basement, and one of the days when I left them outside ("hardening them off") we had a surprise downpour, which saturated them further.

The herbs were the best-faring of the bunch, so I put the basil, parsley and nasturtium seedlings into the ground as soon as it was ready. The complete failures were, surprise, the ones everyone tells you not to start indoors: beans and squash. A few of them were still alive, in a spindly and sad sort of way, so I put those in hoping for a miracle, and planted seeds nearby just in case the miracle didn't come through. The lettuce and onions sprouted briefly and then died (again, I suspect overwatering). And I'm still holding out hope for the tomatoes and peppers, which are still alive and green, but small.

Below, the (edible) garden in a recent photo. As you can see, the other members of my family were exceedingly helpful. Yes, that is the last sip of a Belgian beer in Rob's hand.

"Who will help me eat the stringbeans?" said the little red hen...

Fits and starts of a Montana spring

I can see snow at the tops of the ridges that surround my house, but I got a pretty bad sunburn last week while downtown for a microbrewery festival. The signs of spring are strong - the farmer's market is running, we have outdoor festivals downtown again, there is sunshine, which comes with more exposed skin, and then in the last few days this has happened:

Adequate chicken protection ain't pretty(before)

The big payoff! (after)

The good part of spring has legitimately arrived here. Now, that isn't to say it is warm out, or that frost danger is over, or that I can safely plant broccoli starts. It is more like a frame of mind. Instead of debating leather clogs or lightweight hiking boots, I'm debating sandals or Crocs. I shouldn't get ahead of myself, however. In 1996 Missoula had a freak weather event that dropped six inches of thick snow on June 1st. You gotta stay on your toes in a climate like this.

Happiness is tulips under the office window

We've been busy with planting prep lately. I bought some locally grown organic potatoes that I intend to chop in half and then plant. This method is cheap, easy, and effective. The locally grown part ensures that the potatoes are adapted to our soil and climate. The organic part guarantees that they haven't been sprayed with anti-sprouting chemicals (most store-bought potatoes are, because people don't like it when they sprout). And cutting the potato in half doubles your potato investment without, as far as I can tell, affecting your final harvest. Then you drop your potato half into a 6" deep hole surrounded by well turned soil. Done! Harvest those spuds in September! I'll do this tomorrow because today it is blustery and chilly, which is bad weather for gardening with a eight-week-old baby strapped to your back.

I broke down and bought lettuce starts. My lettuce from seed is 1/4" tall right now. Pitiful. And I hate buying lettuce at the farmer's market for some reason. It angers me that I am so bad at growing it that I need to buy it. So instead I'm cheating and I bought six starts. That ought to ease my lettuce pain until the lettuce from seed gets moving on up.

On the other hand, I always buy tomatoes as starts, and I always buy from the same little farm because they harden off their tomatoes very nicely before they sell them. This year I got excited and bought six instead of four. I'm not sure why. I buy the same cherry tomato varieties every year - Sweet 100s and Sun Golds. Why mess with a good thing? On the other hand, I vary my Roma and Slicer purchases. One year I had Cosmonauts and Early Girls, another year Juliet and Oregon Spring. I have yet to say to myself, "YES! This is the correct breed of Roma for my garden!" so I just keep trying. One year it will happen, I am sure.

My tomatoes are currently in a foster home of sorts - they are still at the farm, yet they have been earmarked for me. At their greenhouse on their farm they are kept in much better shape then I'm capable of, so I just order them through my co-op and hope that they don't get delivered until at least May 15th. I can't plant them until June 1st in good conscience, and even that is risky business. I've checked the NOAA website during the first week of June before and found myself grabbing big plastic tarps at 9 p.m. to protect my tomatoes and basil from imminent frosty destruction. My neighbor, who is 90 and has lived with her 91-year-old husband on their tiny city lot for 73 years, is almost always out there with me. We both curse the weather from our respective sides of the tidy fence that separates our lots as she covers her ten Early Girl tomato starts with tattered flowery bedsheets and a very, very practiced hand.