Rain, Slugs, and Darkness

While winter in a garden in a mild maritime climate poses its own challenges, it's still true -- the worst day in the garden is better than the best day in the office. Even when its too dark to mow the lawn the instant I get home, I can still pull a few weeds from the raised beds, tossing them onto the compost pile. And there's always the traditional winter work: caring for tools, mulching tender things that need a winter blanket, and planning the next year.

Planning the next year this year should mean moving some of my half-barrels to make room for more of them. (Or, if I could find one the right size, for a greenhouse.) The barrels I moved on a Saturday a few months ago were quite heavy (full of well-watered soil and plants!) so I only got the four of them shifted on the same day that I installed and planted the brick-lined flowerbed. While I don't relish doing more of that same work in less clement weather, the end result should be more productive.



I plan on following a 4-season crop rotation this year -- spring crops make room for winter crops, which stay in the ground until those barrels are planted with summer crops, which get pulled with just enough time left to start on some green manure. Then those barrels are planted for spring again. Grouping my barrels into three chains, each with its own watering zone, should be just the right foundation for keeping the plan in place. For Christmas a few years back my parents got us a "words in stone" kit -- basically some quick-setting concrete, rectangular molds, and big typeset letters to press into soft concrete. I'm thinking of making signs for "Spring", "Summer",  and "Winter", and then moving those signs around the garden.

Winter time is also when I spend more time nurturing my other (indoor) hobbies, so I might not get around to posting here for a while. So in the mean time, check out what's blooming in November:

 And what there is to eat:

lovely November

Every year I have big plans for how I'll put my little garden to bed, and what I need to seed in for winter crops, and every year the weather surprises me: it stays warm late, or it rains for a month, and my plans don't quite work out. This year I still have peppers up, and I did manage to seed in some bok choi on time, so I think I won't miss having fresh collards in January. (who am I fooling -- yes, I will.)

Spicy Thai pepper, plant bought at Clackamas Community College's Hort Dept. Mother's Day sale

Bok Choi, this winter's fresh vegetable of choice. (he, he -  plus a small fennel volunteer.)

I honored Veterans Day by raking the leaves from the tree that grows on the property that I get to own. Take that, King George!

The right to have a back yard and grow my own veggies and flowers is one of those rights that is basic: so simple and so very necessary for an American degree of familial independence. Well, and for having a pile of leaves you can jump in.

Size of the compost pile on 11/11/10

The leaves do their part, of course. These were incorporated into a compost pile with all the branches and lawn clippings I had been storing up this summer, and 20 pounds of ammonium sulfate to supplement the nitrogen content. As a hobbyist, if my body can hold up to raking my entire back yard and re-building the compost pile, that's a victory. Having sunlight and patience to do that while mowing the lawn with the gas mower (to pick up the clippings) so there's enough fresh N in the compost pile - - - that's professional degree dedication right there. So I'll buy my locally produced bag of 21-0-0 and see if it works. I'm hoping it'll cook down to about half its size by January so I can turn it again on MLK day.

So, how do I contain my compost? There are 5 pallets in there, wired together to form an E (if you were looking from the top.) Each side of the E can hold more than 3'x3'x3', which I've read is the minimum size for a compost pile to build decent heat. I built up each side by alternating a layer of leaves with a layer of my reserve stuff (much of which was already dark and slimy),  and sprinkling a scant shovel full of 21-0-0 between each layer. While I didn't measure the depth of the layers, the leaf layers were always one 30 gal. garbage bin each, and the reserve materials would cover the entire square evenly, such that I couldn't see any leaves from my eye level. Then, once both sides were built up to the top of the bin (thankfully I had no more reserve left), each side got a double scoop of 21-0-0 and I covered everything over with more leaves. The idea is, this will keep things cooking and at the current water level for several weeks. If I were a pro, I'd get a big thermometer and take the temperature of the core in another couple days, and decide whether to cover the whole thing with a black tarp.

But you know, compost happens.

late, cold summer

The joy of finding all those lovely seedlings at the plant sale was almost completely mitigated by the cold of June ("June-uary" was on the lips of every gardener). The summer seemed 2 months late. While the warmpth did persist into October, the hours of sunlight still diminished right on time. I got about 4 tomatoes this year from my purchased plants (and about that many from the yellow pear volunteers that poked through the soil the week after I planted foot-tall purchased plants.) I've resigned myself to the fact that reliable tomatoes in this valley come from cold frames and greenhouses, and so far I have neither. So that's my winter project this year. In addition to figuring out how to actually blog on occasion.)

Yesterday I planted a few tiny bulbs ("Mountain Lillies", the box said) into a flower bed I built this summer. I'm hoping the more blatant bribe will bring pollinators over to my veggies. This spring I'm planning on doing something horrible to my tulip bulbs -- this yard's fanciest tulips were planted around a small bay laurel stripling several years ago. Full bloom is the only time I'll be able to find and dig them, to transplant them to a more suitable showcase location. But in the end, I believe they'll be grateful. Much like the two bigger dahlias I intend to move this Thursday (after setting up a crock pot of hot cocoa, if it's raining and miserable.) And, a bit at a time, I'll bring that mini orchard into fruitful order. I've already warned my office mates that when the high pressure system comes through in January I'm taking a day off for fruit tree pruning.

Fall is best enjoyed in the context of the fruits of the previous summer, so this one's not going to be the best fall I've ever had. Perhaps I should think of it as a pre-spring.