Sprung Spring

My green friends greeted this year's Spring with mixed emotions. They liked the head start, but they weren't sure they could trust me to protect them if the mercury sank precipitously. Of course, I didn't put them at severe risk. Even now, only hardy guys and gals grace my garden. Strawberries, of course:

Beets:

Onions, a gift from Kirsten:

Brassicas (cabbages, broccolis, cauliflowers, and Brussels sprouts):

"Nice spider web," says Virginia.

"I had to look at this picture to learn that my pomegranates are budding. I thought they might be taking too long." (You may have to double-click on the photo to see the buds.)

And look, the grapes are showing signs of life:

Is it Spring, or is it Summer? Believe it or not, this harlequin beetle joined a hundred others in the first squish session of the year. Its last meal was Chinese cabbage.

I've imprisoned some of my peas. If you look closely at the back two-thirds of this bed, you may be able to see rows of the legumes.

"LET ME OUT!"

Fava Me, Will Ya?

For some reason, I think we may be having cabbage and fava beans for dinner.

Here's Karen, the decapitator, and...

the anatomy of the interior, a/k/a the cabbage tree of life.

Here's the decorative supplement...

shelled, but still in its "pajamas."

"Aren't you going to provide a recipe?" says Virginia.

Maybe some other day.  To be honest, we're virgins so far as fava beans go.

Of course our garden doesn't make promises, but it looks promising.

The chickens think the wheat is ready to harvest.  See the brown chick on the left?  He's hard to see even if you click on the photo.

These are Cylindra beets -- long and cylindrical.

I think I'll pick this guy tomorrow.

As you can tell, I took one of these off the shelf.

"Tell me another one," says Virginia.

Okay, okay.  I ate the other two, too.

I hope the squirrels don't get this acorn squash before it's ready this fall.

 Any time we want, we have potatoes, onions...

and fried green tomatoes.

I'm about ready to pull these blooming peas out and replace them with corn and sweet potatoes.

Actually it's a purple larkspur among Wando peas. Now I've got to figure out how to pull up the peas and leave the larkspurs.

Spring Things

Things spring.  Our garden beds are taking off, head-started by plans laid in late Fall for once, instead of delayed by unrelated time-eaters and wet weather.  Rain, rain, come again today, this year we're ready for you. Whenever you aren't visiting, more seeds are likely to be planted.  This is when I'm especially grateful to be self-employed.  I don't have to go to an office and watch fine weather pass by.

Each year I surround one bed with garlic, planted in November.  The cloves develop underground, sight unseen, until they begin to poke out in January or February.  Now they're 3 inches tall, as they should be.

It's the onions' turn.  Their bulbs wait under a few inches of mounded soil.  Actually, I doubt they're waiting.  Planted three weeks ago, their hairy roots probably are reaching down and around, while green shoots aim sunward. If I were a scientist, I might dig here or there to see what's happening.  Instead, I'm reluctant to sacrifice a single sprout.

Lettuce in the coldframe races to catch up with greenhouse greens almost ready to grace our table, while tiny lettuce and spinach seeds in the garden should be sprouting tiny thin first leaves any day.  Every few weeks I'll be planting a new generation and as the heat of summer approaches I'll gamble on greens thriving in the shade of an ash tree.  If we're lucky, we'll have home-grown salads year-round.

A year ago I planted fava beans too late, thinking they grow like green beans and limas.  They burned black in the summer sun.  This year, their wide fat seeds have already been sown.  Maybe they'll grow, this fava bean virgin wishes.

"Peas, peas, peas, peas, eating goober peas," sings Virginia.  "Goodness how delicious, eating goober peas."

Well, it's too early to plant goober peas, but Wando and Laxton's Progress peas are doing something underground.  I hope to be shelling several bushels in 3 or 4 months.  I know, sugar snap peas and snowpeas are cool.  I plan to stick some of those in the soil later, far enough away and late enough not to cross with the shelling peas.

All of this reminds me of the one class I took from my father, Genetics.