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The Stylish Gardener

Peony Party

6/8/2015

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I really should have thrown a party.  I have the best intentions every Spring of doing just that, and then all the busyness of the season gets the best of me and I forget all about it. 

But I wanted to throw a Peony Party like Martha Stewart does.  Every Spring she celebrates the beautiful blooms bursting forth in her peony patch (which is massive, by the way) by inviting her friends over to enjoy the show--and the aroma.  The party is an annual event, as is the peony blossoming.  And if you've ever seen a peony blossom, you (and I and Martha) know that it definitely merits a celebration. 

Martha knows what she's doing.  That's why she's Martha Stewart.  And I'm obviously not...but that's okay.  So since you didn't get to attend the Peony Party that I didn't throw, I'd like to show you what you missed...

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Like this incredible bubblegum pink mop of petals.  It's amazing to me how many actual petals form this bloom--thousands, I think.  But then again, math is not my strength (chocolate is, by the way.  But I'm not sure that makes sense, so pretty please just backtrack to the beginning of this paragraph and skip over anything in parenthesis.  I said please.  I'm waiting.).

Thanks.  Now we can continue...

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Ooh.  Here's one that's special.  It came from my grandmother's peony patch, and it starts out blooming a very pale pink and then fades into a pure white cluster in the center.  Neat...and delicious looking, too.  But peonies aren't for snacking--they're for sniffing.  So don't be tempted to take a bite.  This one just makes me think of French pastries for some reason...

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I like this magenta one a lot too, because the color is so breathtaking.  I have this growing right in front of where I park my car, so I see it every time I leave or come home.  That wasn't done on purpose, but I tell everybody it was.  It makes me seem more purposeful...but now you know the truth.  You do still love me, don't you?  Well, I'll live. 

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I have plenty more peonies sprinkled around my gardens (this one's an anemone variety), and boy, when they go to blooming, it's really something to see.  And then the rainstorms come and knock them all down. 

Peony blossoms are heavy, by the way.  The stems aren't quite strong enough to hold the fully open bloom up, so the slightest weight on them--like raindrops or even a light breeze--will cause them to bend toward the earth.  But mine stayed upright pretty well this year because I managed to stake most of them before they bloomed.  Plant hoops are great for that.  You just wait for the peony shoots to start peeking out of the earth in early Spring, and then stick the hoop legs into the ground surrounding the plant.  As the peony grows, it fills in the circular grid on the hoop, and leans against it when the weather gets rough. 

Hmm.  We all could use something like that, couldn't we?  I think there's a metaphor there somewhere just waiting to be discovered.

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Of course, there's always a few blooms that escape the hoop and topple to the ground, so I make good use of these rebels--I cut them and bring them inside.  And, oh my, once they are surrounded by four walls, they seem to grow even bigger.   I placed this bouquet on my dresser, and I fell asleep each night with the tantalizing aroma of peony blossoms swirling around me.  Jealous?

Well, had you shown up at my party that I didn't have, you could have sniffed them yourself.  So the blame's on you.  Ha.

It's OK, I forgive you.  How about I show you a few more sights you missed?  Here goes...

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The Irises were also showing off, and this blue one just happens to be one of my favorites.  I have it growing in almost every flower patch in my yard--and I still can't get enough of it!


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And here's another favorite, this deep, dark purple beauty.  It's very regal-looking, don't you think?  I've always wanted to have a royal connection, and I think this will do nicely.


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And there's this marvelous maroon and gold stunner...go Mustangs, by the way.  (I bet all you Eldon natives recognize these colors.)


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As long as we're talking about team colors, take a look at this snazzy specimen that my Minnesota Vikings-obsessed brother-in-law adores.  I gave him a start of this for Christmas last year...so he could think of me each time it blooms. 

What?  That's not what Christmas is about?!  Oh boy.  No wonder it hasn't bloomed for him yet.

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But let's get back to the photos, because we can't forget this soft amber-hued little treat.  It's so delicate and subtle...just like me. 

A-hem. Excuse me, I needed to clear my throat.
So there you have it.  The highlight reel of the party of the year that didn't happen.  Sorry you couldn't make it, but I hope you've enjoyed the snapshots.

And next year you'd better be sure to show up.  But first, could somebody please remind me to actually throw the party to begin with?  It'll be fun once it finally happens, I just know it!


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Forsythia Symphony

3/28/2015

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A funny thing happens in my garden every March...

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Everything turns yellow. 

Especially the Yellow Bush, but what else could it do with a name like that?!  I guess we could call it by its formal name, Forsythia, but that wouldn't make it turn purple or blue or pink.  It turns the color it's supposed to, which is why the nickname is so fitting.  Don't you just love things you can count on?

Me too.  And let me show you the other dependable yellow blooms in my yard:


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The daffodils are everywhere, and they've all decided to bloom at once.  I thought about taking a photo of every single one, but then I opted not to.  Every once in a while I make a practical decision.

But I did snap a few shots of some especially pretty blooms...


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Like this nicely bi-colored little beauty, with its yellow petals and deeper, golden trumpet.


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And this sunny one with its ruffly trumpet.  For some reason it makes me think of a hoop skirt with a frilly hem.  (Use your imagination--I obviously do.)


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And then we're back to the Yellow Bushes again, and there are so many that it's like Forsythia Symphony playing throughout the garden.  Aaahh...music to my ears.  And it's all due to the work of my hands...

Forsythia roots itself so easily that I have to divide and transplant it every year.  I could just toss the new shoots in the compost pile, but I think the shrub is so pretty that I just can't bring myself to destroy the little starts.  They grow so fast and they're very hardy, so I tuck them in spots where other plants have previously struggled.  They're a great "filler" shrub for my garden, and it's always fun to see the sunny clusters dotting my garden every Spring.

But honestly the best performance takes place beneath the Forsythia...


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Where my heirloom Van Sions take center stage, and they really are the star of the show. 

Van Sions are an ancient double daffodil, having first been documented in the year 1620.  These particular bulbs bloomed for close to a hundred years on my great-granny's homestead before coming to grace my garden.  I dug them from beneath the old walnut tree before her property sold a few years back. 


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Van Sions like shade so I planted them beneath my young Walnut grove, tucked around the ankles of the Forsythias I'd stuck there the year before.  The area is still shaping up, but by next year it all should harmonize beautifully.


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In early Spring the treasures burst up out of the earth, their thin green leafs reaching for the sky.  After the buds appear they slow down a bit and take their time blooming--sometimes up to two weeks!  While I wait, my anticipation builds like a crescendo.   When these old narcissus finally unfurl their green-tinged petals into a shaggy mop of a bloom, it's a spectacular finale.   And after this oddly charming performance draws to a close, I'm prone to giving them a standing ovation--complete with whistles, cheers, and an occasional "Bravo!"

Now you know why the neighbors think I'm nuts.

But there really is something to all that "enjoying the work of your hands" business.  I just happen to take it to the next level every now and then!!
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Daffodil Dreams

1/30/2015

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It's about this time of year that I get a little desperate to see something blooming.  The other day we had some Spring-like weather pass through, and despite my busy schedule, I managed to find time to do a little snooping around in the garden.   That led to a little digging around in the garden, which of course led to actually doing some planting.  In January.  Yes, I've lost my mind.  And no, I'm not a bit concerned about it. 

Here's the thing:  The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the outdoor temperature gauge was shouting "68! 68! 68!".  All night long I'd had visions of bright yellow daffodils dancing in my head, and I had to get out there and see if my dreams had come true.   

They hadn't.  The daffodils, usually the very first plant to pop up from the thawing earth in the late winter landscape, were still sleeping.  Obviously, they'd heard the long-range forecast and, unlike me, weren't fooled by the Spring-like afternoon.  With a possible snowstorm coming this weekend and several weeks of Winter left on the calender, I don't blame them for staying snug in their earthy bed.  

So after checking every single flower bed for signs of life and finding none, I turned to my next task--which also involved daffodils
.  Daffodil bulbs, that is.
Last weekend while at the store I stumbled across some leftover bags of  bulbs in the clearance aisle.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed the bulbs were firm with nice green shoots peeking out of them despite being trapped inside a plastic bag on a metal shelf at the grocery store. With the odds stacked against them, they hadn't given up.  Clearly those bulbs had a stronger than average desire to survive.  That's right up my alley, of course, so you can see where this is going...

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Straight to my garden.  Under the pear tree, to be more specific.  Daffodils are a good companion plant for fruit trees, so I dug about fifty small holes around the base of the trunk and placed a daffodil bulb in each one.  I covered the bulbs with soil and stood back to survey my work. 

I was satisfied, even though I'm well aware that mid-January is not the ideal time to plant Spring-flowering bulbs.  That's a task for Autumn because the bulbs require a period of chilling before they bloom, and the long winter ahead provides just that. 

Having said that, you and I both know that things don't always go according to plan.  Since I just recently came across these bulbs, this was a case of better late than never.  I knew that daffodils had a better chance of survival than most bulbs, since they're known to be tough and long-suffering.  You can often spot them springing up around abandoned farmhouses and among the ruins of neglected outbuildings, flourishing despite the lack of nurturing.  I figured if anything could adjust to an ill-timed planting, it was these dainty yellow flowers.     

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I don't know what fate awaits these bulbs, but still, I can now rest easy knowing that I did my best to give them the chance they were yearning for.  And if I get to see even one season of those sunny yellow trumpet-shaped flowers brightening up the ground beneath the old pear tree, I'll be happy.  And I think they will be too.  After all, compared to the bleak, cold, industrial shelf I rescued them from, they're in a much better place now. 

All I have left to do is sit back and wait...and snoop around under the pear tree every now and then.  You never know when something might pop up.  I'll keep you posted--I know you can't hardly handle the suspense.  Oh wait, it's me who has that issue.  It's a classic symptom of  "Garden Fever", and despite my healthy immune system, I seem to succumb to this sickness every winter.  If I'm gonna get a fever, though, this is the one I prefer.   Good thing, too, because it's extremely contagious!
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Comforting Comfrey

1/4/2015

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I first learned about the herb comfrey from The Crown Prince of England.  Bet you didn't see that coming.  And I bet it requires an explanation, so here goes:

His Royal Highness Prince Charles is an avid organic gardener and has written much on the subject.  I, being the garden-obsessed/bookworm/royal watcher that I am, have devoured his writings.  Amongst all the fabulous garden insight His Highness shares, the use of comfrey as a natural fertilizer on his estates intrigued me the most.  I began to research comfrey and it's uses, and t
o my surprise, I unearthed a wealth of knowledge about it's impressive medicinal and organic abilities.  I quickly decided to add some comfrey to my garden. 

Here's why:
  • It is a natural fertilizer and compost accelerator, and is a great companion plant
  • It is an excellent animal fodder
  • It enhances overall bodily health
  • It promotes healing in joint and bone issues
  • It is a remedy for bruising, sprains and muscle tears
  • It helps to heal skin irritations like scratches, insect bites, burns, and even psoriasis

You can imagine my excitement upon discovering the impressive resume on this herb.  Obtaining a plant, however, was not to be as easy as I had expected.  Since it's not a well known herb, it's not readily available at most plant centers.  After a year-long quest, I finally chanced upon a specimen at a garden booth at the Baker's Creek Spring Garden Festival in Mansfield, Mo.  With thoughts of Prince Charles' elegant royal English estate swirling in my head, I promptly purchased a comfrey start for my fixer-upper Ozarkian homestead.  Yes, I realize The Prince and I live very different lives, but just let me dream.   Shoot for the stars, I say!



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Since comfrey likes partial shade and damp conditions, I planted my comfrey beneath the pear tree.  It makes a great companion plant for the tree because the deep comfrey roots "mine" minerals from the subsoil, funnel them up through the plant into the leaves, and deposit them at the base of the tree when the leaves die back in the fall.  This process is called "dynamic accumulation", and it's a natural and easy way to fertilize my tree.  Plus, my ducks, geese, and chickens love to nibble on the leaves as they forage around the tree for fallen fruit.  Since comfrey has been fed to livestock for centuries to boost overall animal health, I don't mind a bit when they browse the "buffet". 

But the garden and the livestock aren't the only ones who can benefit from comfrey.  I've been known to indulge in it myself!

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Throughout the growing season I like to harvest and dry the leaves, and occasionally I will crumble a bit of leaf in my morning smoothie.   Comfrey has long been used to treat a variety of health issues and boost immunity to disease.  In fact, old-timers used to nibble on a leaf a day to relieve the effects of asthma!* The high levels of chlorophyll and allantion are the main reason for it's overall effectiveness. 

Let me explain:  The chlorophyll in comfrey has a cell structure that mimics that of human blood cells, which means it is readily absorbed to assist in cell regeneration.  Allantion promotes rapid cell growth, and is more commonly found in umbilical cords, where it performs the same function for fetuses.  These properties mean that comfrey has the ability to enhance recovery from, and even arm our bodies against outside attack!  Plus, it's rumored to promote a more youthful appearance--and at the risk of sounding desperate, I'm all for that.  Can I get an amen?  Thank you.

*Although comfrey has been used internally for centuries without evidence of human bodily damage, there are advisories against consuming large quantities.  I always like to advocate caution when consuming any herb for medicinal purposes, so be sure to do your research!


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The main use for comfrey on my homestead is as an ingredient in my healing Comfrey Balm.  The balm is applied to the surface of the skin to treat skin irritations, but it doesn't stop there.  Comfrey is considered "transdermal" which means that it is able to soak deep within the skin into the tissue, and even reaching bone depth!  This ability allows the healing properties of comfrey to treat all those bruises, muscle issues, sprains, and fractures that we, as humans, manage to end up afflicted with. 

The balm is a soothing, non-invasive way to treat our aches and pains.  It's certainly not intended to substitute for major medical care, but I love having it on hand for those "non-emergency" situations.  It's a nice, natural addition to my medicine cabinet, and knowing it's there brings me such comfort.  

In fact, I call comfrey the "comforting herb" because...well, it is!  And it's just another example of how my garden makes my life so satisfying. 

So, if you're in search of some satisfaction, get out there and start growing!  On second thought--wait until Spring, otherwise you'll freeze your tail off.  And I don't think even comfrey can help you there!


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Longing for Leeks

12/2/2014

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I'm always up for trying new things in the garden, and this past Spring I did just that.  While browsing through the baskets full of garden bulbs at my local seed store, Morgan County Seeds, I came across something I had never planted before: Leeks.  I stood over the basket of bulbs, staring off into space while a vague memory of a biblical reference to leeks drifted through my mind.  But despite my attempts to grasp it, the thought escaped me.  The existence of it, though, was enough to prod me into scooping out a handful of bulbs and adding them to my purchase.  

I can't resist a vegetable with a possible story behind it, especially an ancient one.  You know this already.


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I brought my goodies home and promptly planted the leeks alongside my onions, peas, and potatoes.  I wasn't sure what to do after that, so I left them alone for the majority of the season.  In fact, I pretty much forgot about them until early Autumn, when, as the rest of my garden died down, the leeks with their gorgeous blue-green leaves and tall white stalks became much more noticeable.   It was then that I realized I needed to figure out what to do with them. 

So, I did what any modern-day gardener would do.  I googled them.  That there internet is a wealth of information, I say.  I don't know why it hasn't caught on yet.  My tongue is in my cheek, by the way.

I zoned in on the search results, and what I found out fascinated me.  Leeks are a three thousand year-old vegetable hailing from the ancient Mesopotamian area, and were widely grown in Egypt.  Ah-ha!  That's where I'd heard about them.  Leeks were what the occasionally fickle Israelites were yearning for as they wandered around in the desert after miraculously escaping slavery in Egypt. 
Those must have been some good tasting leeks they had back there by those pyramids, considering the miraculous provision of manna they were overlooking!   I was suddenly glad I was going to get to taste some.  (Leeks, not manna.  Although I'm keeping my eye out for manna seeds--you never know what you'll run across around here.)

I read on, intrigued by this ancient plant.  Some of the info I already knew, like the fact that
leeks are a root vegetable similar to a green onion, although they are much milder in flavor.  They're more subtle, you could say.  As with all root vegetables, the edible portion of a leek is grown below ground.  Bulbs are planted in the same manner as an onion, yet instead of forming a round bulb at the roots, they grow more as a stalk. 

Yep.  That's what mine were doing.  So far so good.  Now what I needed to know was when to pull them up...and then I saw it.  The phrase every gardener who's in the midst of the whirlwind of harvest-time loves to hear:  This plant will overwinter in place.  Aaahh.  Music to my ears...or eyes, since I happened to be reading.

In explanation, leeks are cold tolerant plants.  They don't mind staying in the ground as the weather turns frigid, and for the better part of the winter, you can just store them right there where they grew.  Wow!  I think I fell in love right then and there.  Here was an old-world vegetable grown since ancient times that required absolutely no summer maintenance, and could be stored right in the garden all winter long without spoiling. 

That's my kind of plant!  Okay, Israelites, I get it.   You did have it good...except for the slavery part.  Hmm.  Maybe God knew what He was doing.

And now I knew what I was doing...absolutely nothing!  I went about my garden cleanup, and instead of digging the leeks and storing them with the rest of my harvest, I left them alone.  Well, I did mound up some straw around them, just to add a bit of extra insulation. 

I'm cautious by nature.  Some might say paranoid, but I just ignore it.

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And guess what!  The leeks are doing fine.  We've already had several weeks of below freezing temperatures, plus a handful of severely cold nights, and it hasn't fazed the leeks one bit.  I've been pulling them up as needed when I cook something for supper that I think they'll be tasty in, and they are always in perfect condition.

My leeks are simple to use, too.  All I do is slice off the roots and top leaves, peel back a layer or two to get to the creamy white core, then chop it up and use it like an onion.  And boy are they delicious!  The flavor is very upscale, mellow and sweet, and it blends well with most savory dishes.  Leeks also add an extra oomph to my soups, sauces, and broths that I didn't even realize they needed.  I use them all the time now, and I can't imagine not having them!

And just like the ancient Israelites on their journey to the Promised Land, when I run out of leeks, I'll be longing for more.  Thankfully, the seed store is not far away--I can get there in under forty years.
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Brilliant Basil

11/10/2014

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I grow many herbs in my garden, but one of favorites has to be basil.  One reason is that my grandpa's name was Basil, so to put it simply:  I will never, ever not love this herb. 

Don't even try to convince me otherwise.

But setting my emotional plant/human association/attachment syndromes aside, basil really is a remarkable plant. And it's one that every gardener should have growing in the garden.

Here's why:

  • It's a natural pest deterrent in the garden.
  • It's rumored to enhance production and flavor of tomatoes if grown together.
  • It makes a nice addition to many recipes.
  • It's an anti-stress agent.
  • It has strong antibacterial and anti-inflammatory properties.
  • It is high in antioxidants.



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Here's one of my basil plants growing next to my cherry tomatoes. This was at the end of the growing season, and the tomato vine was still producing steadily and deliciously.  And I will say that I've had less problems with pests on my tomatoes since I started growing these plants together.  I can't prove that the basil is the reason for this, but it's enough to convince me to keep planting this way.

Of course, I don't just grow basil by my tomatoes.  I have this heat-loving plant planted everywhere in my yard, garden, and greenhouse, and even around my animal pens!  I love to brush up against it as I pass by, because the invigorating aroma that's released lingers on my clothes for quite a while. 
It's that sweet, pungent aroma exuding from the plant that provides the clues to it's usefulness.  The aroma comes from the essential oils present in every part of this plant, and those oils are what protect the plant itself from pests and bacteria that might otherwise take a hankering to attack. 

Those very oils are what makes the plant so precious to us, too.

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Researchers say the aroma of basil can decrease stress by calming the mind and stimulating alertness.  I like to take advantage of this feature by clipping a few sprigs of basil, boiling them down in water, and adding the resulting hydrasol-mix to a spray bottle.  Then I have a refreshing facial mist that I keep stored in the refrigerator for emergencies...

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Like when the pig gets loose.  And believe me, I use it.  On me, not the pig.

I also use basil leaves, flowers, seeds, and stems in any recipe that involves herbs, which is just about everything I cook--with the exception of dessert. 
I like to toss a few leaves in my garden smoothie in the mornings, too.  But if smoothies aren't your thing, you can always tap into your inner-Italian and mix up a batch of pesto, or a pot of spaghetti, or a pan of lasagne...

Basil will jazz up any old recipe, and the health benefits are pretty snazzy, too. 

The antibacterial properties are said to inhibit bacteria (even bacterias that are resistant to some drugs), and the anti-inflammatory component has the same effect as the one found in ibuprofen.  Plus, the antioxidants present in the plant help protect our cell walls from attack--even fighting off radiation damage.

That's enough to convince me that this is one super-food that I definitely want coursing through my body...and growing in my garden!

So from my inner-Italian to yours...
Buon appetito!

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Zinnia Zen

10/23/2014

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There's something about the brightness of zinnias in Autumn that makes me pause for a moment.  This happens a lot, since I pass by the patch everyday on my morning rounds.  Lately they seem to be popping out at me more than usual, like mini fireworks of color trying to launch in vain from their anchored stems.  I've decided it's the way the light has shifted with sun's position that makes them appear so vibrant.  But I'm no scientist.  And I'm usually half awake when I make my morning rounds, so don't trust anything I come up with during these treks.  All I know is their burst of color stops me in my tracks on these crisp Fall mornings, and my mind is jolted from it's grogginess as I hone in on their zesty beauty.  And the beauty of creation.  It's good for my soul.  And even though I don't think they hear me when I tell them this, I'm grateful to them for making that happen.  Maybe I'll just tell their creator...He's always listening.
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Winter Onions

9/24/2014

3 Comments

 
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I like to grow interesting vegetables, and when I stumbled across these Winter Onions at a swap meet, I knew I had to add them to my garden.  Little did I know how interesting they really were.

Winter Onions go by several different names:  Egyptian Walking Onions, Tree Onions, and Top Onions.  Each of these names describes a different characteristic of the plant.

Homesteaders of days gone by kept a patch of these onions in their garden year round.  Even Thomas Jefferson had them growing in his garden at Monticello!  They are a perennial plant that can take extremely cold temperatures, so our ancestors grew these onions along with their other permanent vegetables like rhubarb and asparagus.  They always survived the winter,
that's why they're called "Winter Onions".

The other names refer to how the onions actually grow.  The plant forms a small bulb below ground and a cluster of baby bulbs on top of their tall, hollow stalks.  Hence the name "Top Onion".  The tiny bulbs begin to sprout, and the resulting mass resembles miniature tree branches--that's where the "Tree Onion" name comes in.  Eventually these clusters become too heavy for the stalk to bear, so the stalk tips over, the bulbs touch the ground, and they begin to take root.  This helps the plant spread, or "walk".  The "Egyptian" part of the name most likely refers to the fascination the Egyptians had with onions, but no one knows for sure.  It certainly makes the plant sound more exotic!

Every part of this onion plant is edible.  That feature made it incredibly valuable to the old-timers, who couldn't run to Wal-Mart every time their cupboard got a bit low.  The root bulb, though smaller than the onions we buy at the supermarket, can be used just like any other onion.  The stalks can be chopped and used like chives, and they're milder than the onion bulb itself.  The baby bulbs are very flavorful and are great in soups and stews, and some folks even pickle them!

A few years back I mentioned finding these onions to my granny and I asked her if she knew about them.  She said, "Why, yes.  I've been growing those onions since I was a kid.  Go on out back and dig you up a few of mine and add them to your patch.  I hate to see them die off when I'm gone."  So I did.  And now those very onions that have been in my family for a hundred years have started to walk right out of their spot in my garden.  I can take the hint, so this spring I'll be out there digging my onions and passing them around to anybody in my family who wants to grow a little part of Granny's garden.  Sadly, we don't have her with us anymore, but by golly, we can sure honor her wishes by keeping her onion patch alive!

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Sweet Autumn Clematis

9/8/2014

1 Comment

 
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If you've ever taken a drive through the countryside in late summer, you've probably seen this vine growing along the roadside.  Covered in tiny white blossoms, it twines around any sturdy object it can find.  I've spotted it creeping over abandoned homesteads, scrambling along rickety fence rows, and even climbing vintage trellis' in backyards of stately old townhomes. 
I never knew what it was.  But that didn't stop me from wanting it.  Even so, I had never managed to score a cutting. 
      
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Then last Spring I noticed a plant starting to vine up one of my old cement hitching posts.  I vaguely recalled sticking a small start of clematis there that I picked up at a local plant sale. All summer long I watched my mystery clematis scamper up the post and amble along the chain toward the other side.  I thought it would be one of the purple-flowered varieties popular in countless gardens, and I waited in anticipation for the blossoms to appear.  Though when the buds finally burst open, they revealed not the glorious royal hue I was expecting, but a mass of frothy white incredibly fragrant blossoms.  It suddenly dawned on me that what I had was not the well-behaved clematis I expected, but the very vine that had perplexed and eluded me for years.

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After a bit of research and the help of Pinterest, I discovered it's name:  Sweet Autumn Clematis.   Originating in Japan and immigrating to this country by-way-of Texas, this clematis can reach lengths of 30ft in just one growing season.  It certainly lives up to its name by bursting into bloom in late summer like a trumpeter heralding the arrival of Fall.  Then the dainty, star-like blossoms emit such a sweet aroma that the butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds simply can't resist it.  
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After the show-stopping rush of blooms, it performs an stunning encore in the form of wispy silver fronds swirling around coffee-hued seedpods.  Whew!  I'm exhausted just thinking about it.  And in awe of the performance.  To put it simply, I'm thrilled to finally have my very own  "garden star".  Not to mention, relieved to shed light on its identity and finally solve the mystery.  Even if it was by accident!
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Sunflower Seeds

8/18/2014

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Sunflowers are a must in my summer garden.  This spring I planted the seeds around the inside of my garden fence, and they sprouted up in no time. 
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The first and fastest grower was the Mammoth Sunflower, which grew to a whopping ten feet tall!  The bloom itself was a good 15 inches from petal to petal.  It was so heavy that even the 6" inch diameter stalk it grew on couldn't quite support it, so it just hung it's head and slowly went to seed.
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But that was fine with me because the seeds are really what I'm after.  Sure, I love a beautiful 15" bloom as much as anybody, but the seeds are such a tasty and nutritious treat for my chickens that I don't mind it when the flower fades.  I watch for this to happen, then I cut the sunflower head off and let it dry in the greenhouse for a few days.  Once I'm convinced that all the moisture has evaporated out of the seeds, I rake them into a mason jar and store them in the cabinet.  There they sit until in winter is in full swing, the snow is flying, and the garden is frozen solid.  That's when I reach in the cabinet, grab a jar of seeds, and head out to the coop. 
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I think the flock can smell them coming, because they're always gathered at the door, quivering with anticipation as they watch me approach.  I usually just end up emptying out the jar right there at the door because they won't even let me through to the feeder!  They squawk and scratch like crazy, furiously pecking at the seeds.  If you'd like to see a happy chicken, just come over next time I do this.  They are thrilled, to put it simply, and so am I--everybody needs a little winter pick-me-up!
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    The Gardens...

    I'm drawn to plants with a purpose.  I like to grow things that have some sort of uniqueness to them: a great story, an unusual feature, a creative use.  So, heirloom vegetables, edible flowers, and herbs make up the bulk of my cottage style garden.  I also have a vegetable plot, berry patches, fruit trees, and herb and cutting flower beds.  In maintaining all this, I strive to be as organic as possible by using techniques like companion planting, rotating my crops, and composting kitchen scraps and yard clippings.  All this comes together to create a cleaner environment for my family, my livestock, and my gardens. 

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