STAYING THANKFUL

Little Golden Books' "God is great..."

  Learned in Sunday School:

“God is great, God is good.

Let us thank him for out food.

By his hand we all are fed,

Give us, Lord, our daily bread.”

A round sung at Girl Scout camp:

“For health and friends and daily bread

We praise thy name, oh Lord.”

The blessing I grew up with:

“For what we are about to receive, make us truly thankful.”

For the irreverent:

“Good bread, good meat,

Let’s eat!”

Aunt Bethany in “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation”:

“I pledge allegiance to the flag

Of the United States of America;

And to the Republic for which it stands,

One nation, under God, indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all.

Play ball!”

*****

Let the battle begin!

            I don’t get it.

The hype for the annual Black Friday consumer orgy started early in the week here, whipping bargain-hunters into a salivating, rabid frenzy before the advent of wee-hours door-busting trophies, sleep deprivation, and atrocious behavior. Today, on Black-and-Blue Sunday, they retire to lick their wounds and behold with glittering, avaricious eyes the loot wrested from the fray before dressing for church.

            It’s like a session of Congress played out on a national scale, a grab-fest with every Beanie Baby and i-Phone for himself.

            And would somebody please enlighten me as to what treasure there could possibly be at Wal-Mart to provoke gunplay?

           

            In my mind’s eye, I picture the woman on the afternoon before she pepper-sprayed rivals for first whack at the super-cheap towels, sitting at her laden dining-room table, surrounded by family and friends, piously giving thanks and counting her blessings. Do you think she didn’t really mean it? Or was she just not paying attention?

Not a pretty picture of America, Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. More like the Land of the Me and Home of the Depraved. What’s the matter with us?

Days like this, it’s comforting to go outside and tend the garden, where I’m the only fool and reasons for gratitude abound.

 Nursery, holding area, infirmary, 
laboratory, spirit restorer

Last weekend, for example, I spent a few hours rearranging, culling and neatening on the south side of our house, which serves as nursery, holding area, infirmary and laboratory. When Hurricane Irene threatened in September, Tim relegated the baskets of cucumber plants hanging on our front porch there: we never got around to putting them back up. As I picked up one basket to dump it, I stepped on what I thought was a pine cone. When I stooped to toss the ankle-turner into the woods, however, I discovered a pine-cone-sized cucumber, unmarred by pickleworms, nestled in the ivy. Too bad I’d flattened it. Looking closer at the basket, I uncovered another fruit, and then another. What a nice November surprise! Added to my dinner salad, they tasted a little bitter. After weeks of unaccompanied lettuces, though, I enjoyed the change.

Four varieties of lettuce

(Why only lettuce? Because I try really hard to eat only what’s in season. Despite temptations at the supermarket, cukes, tomatoes and green peppers shall remain terra incognita until next summer. Fortunately the lettuce plants given me by my friend, Christine, are doing very well.)

Again, last Monday, while mucking around in the raised beds, pulling out past plants and fluffing up the soil for the clover cover-crop, I found… wait for it… potatoes, including the largest individual dug this year. The seed eyes went in the ground back in February; the main harvest took place in early May. Here we are in November—a mere nine months after planting—with another five ounces of spuds. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.

2011's last potatoes?

Apparently, in addition to my talent for growing miniature veggies, I also have a gift for very late maturing ones.

 Gardens provide inspiration for gratitude wherever you look. Out in our yard, the aromatic ‘Copper Canyon’ marigolds (Tagetes lemmonii) that quickly dominated any space given them are blooming their cheery golden hearts out as we round the corner into December. Seventeen or so of the 80 ‘Granax Hybrid’ onions sown on the sixth of November have pushed up hair-like sprouts. I figure if I leave them alone until next fall, I might get a few bulbs bigger around than my thumb. The ‘Fragola d’Bos’ and ‘Mignonette’ alpine strawberries transplanted around Halloween shrugged off the two light frosts we’ve had so far: ‘Fragola’ is even flowering, silly thing.

'Copper Canyon' marigolds 

(Tagetes lemmonii)

brighten late November

Besides flowers and fruit, the fall garden offers sweet-smelling, slightly damp soil; a quiet place to hear birds’ comings and goings, and breezes lifting leaves; surprising tiny intricacies and beautiful color schemes sported by insects encountered there; sun warming bent backs, the ground cooling hands and knees; and—perhaps most important of all—the peaceful, literal grounding that comes with a sense of oneness with the earth, and the sure knowledge that some things are bigger and more permanent than petty human madnesses.

"For what we are about to receive,
make us truly thankful."

I’m going outside to soak up some of that inspiration now, and suggest, if you’re able, you do the same. We’ll come back into our houses and lives more thankful than when we ventured out to play in the garden.

Thanks for dropping by.

                                                                                Kathy

NOVEMBER WRAP-UP

            I imagine that most blogs, like a large percentage of small business start-ups, fail early on. While not qualifying for any world readership records, Gardening from the Ground Up has racked up a respectable number of pageviews since its launch, and induced two people other than Tim to become followers. Thanks to everyone who checked out the site, and my deepest appreciation to recidivists.

            Thought I’d use this final post of November 2010 to recap the month’s posts, add in stuff I forgot, clear up ambiguities, update on-going projects, and such like.

NO-DIG BULB PLANTING

            I’ve gotten a few questions about the no-dig bulb planting method outlined on the 16^th. Tim and I had occasion to plant 400 of the 2200 daffodils Brent and Becky sent us after the post ran. Since pictures are worth thousands of words, I whipped out the trusty digital and documented the process. (Remember, you can click on the pictures to make them bigger, then hit the “back” arrow to return to the text.)

Photo # 1

       

   Photo #1: Pull back the mulch, and run a hard-rake over the cleared area to ruffle the surface. Toss the bulbs into the cleared space. Notice that there are several different cultivars here, a good way to extend bloom season. If you like the naturalized look, move ahead to Photo #3. (You don’t have to worry about the bulbs lying on their sides. One of nature’s many wonders is that they’ll pull themselves upright by the roots. This is particularly soothing knowledge if you’re planting corms: it’s hard to tell if those wrinkly little buttons are right-side-up or not.) If you have anal tendencies, as I do, check out Photo #2.

           




Photo # 2

        

 Photo #2: Arrange the bulbs so they’re not so messy and random-looking, and are, in fact, upright. For the best flowering display, keep them close together. I usually try for no more than three to four inches. In this picture you can see the raked-back pine straw, helping you gauge the size of this bed, which holds about 175 bulbs.



            Photo #3: Mix three-and-a half to four pounds of bulb food (NOT bonemeal) to a 50-pound bag of Black Kow (or whatever) and distribute over the bulbs, following up with soil conditioner (a finely ground pine-bark product). On average, it takes two 50-pound bags of Kow and four or five bags of conditioner to cover about 200 bulbs. (That’ll set you back $18 to $20, but what’s your time worth?) Replace the mulch and, Bob’s your uncle, you’re done without ever touching a trowel.

CONTAINER FERTILIZER RECIPE  

      

Make your own no-burn container fertilizer by combining six 16-ounce cupfuls of Espoma Holly-Tone or Plant-Tone with one 16-ounce cupful of kelp meal. Apply generous amounts at planting and again in January or February. (What’s “generous”?  I generally use one batch per each 32-quart bag of potting soil. How much you use to topdress in late winter depends on the size of the container.) Remember—the nutrients in the Osmocote beads can’t be released unless the soil temperature is 70°F or higher. Save the time-release stuff for summer.

I’ll add a link to Espoma’s website on the right. If you live in my area, their mostly natural products are available at Farmers Supply near the bottom of Oleander Drive in Wilmington. 



VEGETABLE SURPRISE

Late harvest

            The day before Thanksgiving, I moseyed out to my disappointing vegetable garden with the aim of yanking everything out of it, when what to my wondering eyes did appear but the first red tomato to come out of the miserable patch since early July. There were also a pair of bell peppers and a trio of ‘Cosmic Purple’ carrots from the crop I’d sown back in August.



            Gardening is like that. Just when you think you know everything, you learn you’re not even in the ball park. The tired, tattered vines held another 20 or so green tomatoes, so I left them alone. If frost continues holding off, we may actually get one or two more vine-ripened fruit. How about that?

Late lettuces

            The most recent lettuce transplants are hanging in as well in their EarthBoxes on the deck. Lettuce stands up to light frost, so I should be harvesting for a while yet—through most of the winter if I remember to cover it on the nippier nights.

            Anybody know a good way to ripen green tomatoes? My kitchen’s windowsill space is severely limited. I tried the cardboard-box-in-a-cool-dark-place last winter: didn’t work that well. I still had little green tomatoes in March. Maybe under the clothesbasket under the bed wasn’t dark or cool enough.

HOUSEPLANT UPDATE

            Well, nothing’s died yet. The papayas immediately dropped all their mature leaves, but the new ones keep coming. We’re sweeping up a dustpan-full of variegated Solanum foliage every day too, but as is usual with many- and small-leaved specimens, the loss isn’t too noticeable. Yet.

            The cats chewed the Ledebouria and the Hemigraphis, so I swathed them in bird-netting. The Cordyline, a veteran of the kitchen, soldiers stoically on, as does the dracaena. The mango is sulking, but what else would you expect from a mango? The mystery plant seems unfazed, if thirsty… so far.

            The original nine have been joined by the dahlia off the front porch, and a gift from my friend, Christine (the source of the papayas)—the majorly cool-looking tapeworm fern. Its formal, patented name is ribbon plant, but how boring is that for a plant whose flattened stems actually resemble green tapeworms? The cats have expressed interest in chewing on the tapeworm, too, but I’m trying tough love, rustling the dreaded plastic bag whenever necessary.

            My friend Ted gave me a bottle of SuperThrive. I’ve seen its comic-book-like adverts in American Nurseryman for years, but was skeptical. It claims to be—and I quote—“#1 ACTIVATOR, #1 REVIVER, #1 TRANSPLANTER, #1 EXTRA GROWER, #1 PERFECTER.” Ted says it’s worth a try, so I shall. Hey, plants in my house need all the help they can get.

            Thanks for dropping by. Can you believe it’s almost December already?

                                                                       

                                                                                        Kathy