Hazelnuts

Just harvested hazelnuts (Oct. 2011)

Richard’s dad, Roy, was reminiscing yesterday about eating nuts on Christmas Day when he was growing up. So after some searching, we found the nutcracker that I was sure I had and dug into our first crop of filberts (or hazelnuts) after dinner last night.

The nuts were small, as we planted the species, rather than an “improved” variety, but delicious.

Other benefits: Filberts are easy to grow, requiring no maintenance other than occasionally cutting back some of the suckers from the base. The nuts mature in September, and by Oct., the leaves glow with striking shades of maroon, red and orange, making them high on my list of edible landscape crops. Some grow them as a small tree. We allow them to sucker – less work! – and grow as a large shrub.

Hazelnut leaves in October

We’ve been clearing out some of the pines behind the house this winter, opening up the woods edge, and plan to fill in with small nut trees and berry shrubs. More filberts will definitely be among them. But I’m counting on the squirrels and chipmunks to help repopulate this native plant throughout the area with the portion of their cache they neglect to dig up. All we’ll need to do is find them and share in the harvest.

Greening December

One half of the mid-December hoop house

Now that I'm getting the hang of winter gardening, we have more greens than we need -- so I have my first customer, my next door neighbor Marlaine. She emailed recently: "You grow the best greens in Tompkins County. I am totally addicted. One bite and I'm in heaven."

Packaged to share

I'm still amazed at how few farmers and homeowners are producing winter greens, but I expect a completely different scenario within the decade. As the myth that we can't produce food in the Northeast during the coldest, darkest months is eroded by the evidence that we can, I know we'll see more of this.

Solstice Spinach (Dec. 21)

In fact, I initially wondered if the high tunnel was a novel luxury (the low-tunnels we used at first cost almost nothing to erect), but as we continue to harvest more than 3 pounds of greens each week for salads and braising, it's clear that it will more than pay for itself. And that doesn't account for the incomparable sweetness of winter-grown greens, picked moments before cooking them.

Spicy mustard greens (Dec. 16)

Lunch (Dec. 13)

Blue Hubbard

Butternut, Blue Hubbard, pumpkin harvest (Oct. 2011)

I grew Blue Hubbard squash this year for the first time. My only previous encounter with this large winter squash was about 30 years ago, when a housemate in a vegetarian co-op I was living in at the time stuffed a Blue Hubbard squash instead of a turkey for Thanksgiving. My memory was of a huge, unattractive gourd that filled the center of the table and required a dozen people to consume.

Growing, growing, growing .... the blue-grey color comes only as the squash matures and the exterior hardens (Aug. 2011)

But I read in the Fedco seed catalog last winter that Blue Hubbards, grown around the perimeter of a squash bed, serves as a trap crop for squash beetles, protecting the plants on the interior. The beetles did seem to prefer the large Blue Hubbard blossoms, making it easier to hand-pick them. And huge they are. – both the vigorous plant which snaked it’s way across the yard, and its massive fruit. But I would continue to grow it regardless. The ugly exterior hides gorgeous orange flesh as sweet and tasty as Butternut.

And in terms of quantity of food for the winter, Blue Hubbard is a boon. I forgot to weigh the largest of the squashes before we cut it up and baked it, but we had 7 pounds of edible flesh when we were done. As for the dozen people I thought we’d need to eat it – we simply mashed and froze it in reasonable sized containers.

Arriving home

Arriving home

Richard finished mulching in the hole he has been digging in the former driveway. After months of teasing him about trying to dig up the old driveway by hand, I have to admit, the new entrance to house is beautiful. The back part of the bed, formerly lawn and planted 2 years ago has a peach tree and quince, as well as mums, day lilies, and an evergreen juniper. The front part of the bed will be ready to plan in the spring. And the large stone at right: a piece of shale too large to move, levered onto its end. It serves as both a natural sculpture and a heat sink.

Digging holes and laying paths (June 2011)

Meanwhile, it's fun to compare the new entrance with a photo from 7 years ago. The former driveway is just visible in the lower right corner.

On lawns

Our former front lawn

I like this dialogue (author anonymous) sent to me by a gardener I met when she came on a tour of our gardens last summer.

God said: "Frank, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there on the planet? What happened to the dandelions, violets, milkweeds and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But, all I see are these green rectangles."

ST. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But, it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It's sensitive to temperatures. Do these humans really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make them happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week.

GOD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

GOD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS: No, Sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And, when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes, Sir.

GOD: These humans must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it, so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.

GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn, they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. It's a natural cycle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You better sit down, Lord. The humans have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.

GOD: No!? What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.

GOD: And where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: 'Dumb and Dumber', Lord. It's a story about....

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

Friends

Bok choi and Tuscan ("dinosaur") kale in the hoop house

A rainy Sunday -- a good day for soaking the garden, working in the hoop house, and catching up on my blog.

The past two weeks have yielded large quantities of March-planted bok choi (a Chinese cabbage) and kale -- some crowed in the hoop house and some transplanted to more roomy quarters outside. I have 2 quarts of kim chee (Korean pickled cabbage) almost done fermenting and another two quarts started. We've acquired quite a taste for it, typically having a small serving along with our meals; we've missed it the past 2 months since finishing the last stored jar from the fall. Dinner typically also includes sizable servings of braised greens (a quick stir fry in some sesame oil, with some tamari added at the end), with left-overs for lunch the next day.

Harvested red kale from the hoop house

If I could only grow one kind of vegetable, it would be these members of the leafy green brassica family. They are reliable and prolific, require minimal fuss, can be harvested year-round, are easy to prepare, and delicious.

The other yields from the past two weeks are a collection of photos of garden friends. The diversity of life in our gardens continues to amaze us. The more "wild" -- that is, the more like a biologically diverse meadow or native woods -- our plantings become, the more life they support. It makes clear how much of a "desert" the typical lawn is. Here's some of what we've seen within 15 feet of our house in the past two weeks:

These gentle garden snakes are probably feasting on the numerous garden snails and slugs. Warm rock piles, like our small stone wall, make attractive nesting places

.

Harvester butterfly

According to my Pocket Naturalist Guide to New York State Butterflies and Moths, the Harvester is the only carnivorous North American butterfly, feeding primarily on aphids. We've been finding many in the hoop house, as well as the gardens. This one came to visit during my breakfast on the porch, landed on my finger, and then returned after I came back with the camera. It stayed for about 10 minutes. My friend Petula says that in her native Guyana they have a saying that butterfly visitors like this herald the arrival of money. Stay posted ...

A Monarch butterfly sipping nectar from (and pollinating)

the chive flowers.

Helpful pollinator: either a honey bee or a solitary bee;

I'm not sure which.

One of our infrequent sightings of one of pileated woodpeckers, on one of the pine trees at the edge of the woods, viewed from the living room window (early morning, early May).

Sleeping baby robin, under the eaves of the shed.

We've seen three robin's nests near the house -- one under the shed, one in the plum tree, and one in a dead pine tree at the edge of the woods. Apparently when the larger flock arrived early in March, they were so many remaining berries that a number of breeding pairs stayed. They are also voracious insect eaters, so we're happy to have them.

Of course, there are "pests" as well as friends. One of our apricot trees appears to have succumbed to a virus. I periodically pick asparagus beetles and their larvae off the leafy fronds. And the squash borer beetles and striped cucumber beetles arrived this week. I've procrastinated about putting floating row covers over the many squash, and now it's probably too late. I'll have to hope for the best -- along with a combination of hand-picking those beetles I see, a little help from my varied "friends" to keep pest populations in control, and (hopefully) healthy plants that can withstand some stress. When I find myself worrying, I try to remember that although yields may be reduced, we always harvest plenty of food.

While I don't consider deer to be garden friends, this fawn was outside the deer fencing. Richard came upon it while wandering in the woods at the end of May.

Fawn, snake, and Monarch butterfly photos by Richard Lansdowne.

Anticipation

Our strawberries, planted in unimproved, thin soil at the edge of our beds or competing with larger perennials, have never done well. Still, we get a handful each day for some weeks -- enough to add to my morning smootie. Later this summer, I plan to build a proper strawberry bed elsewhere in the yard. Meanwhile, we'll supplement by visiting the U-pick Brookside Berry Farm in Dryden.

Baby peaches

Our first-ever pears

Weekend's harvest

French Breakfast radishes

The French Breakfast radishes and Ruby Streaks mustard are at their peak this week. I planted them outside in late March, under plastic. Grown this densely, the mustard stay small; a pretty -- and tasty -- addition to salads.

Ruby Streaks frilly mustard

An unexpected find

A few years ago, I put four native filberts (American hazelnuts) at the edge of the woods. They have grown into 6' tall shrubs, producing long male catkins for the past two years, but I've been waiting for them to fruit. Turns out they did, and we missed it! Richard found one nut on the ground a few days ago. Weeding under the shrubs, I found a few more today. One of my catalogs notes that the tiny red flowers open in mid-winter. We missed those as well.

We'll keep closer watch this fall. However, a chipmunk is apparently keeping watch as well, having built its burrow less than 2 feet from the trees. Perhaps there will be enough for all to share.

In the meantime, these made a lovely afternoon snack.

Chipmunk's view of the filbert grove (rear) from its burrow entrance.

Foreground: zucchini and bush beans. (Added 6/11/11)

Parade of Color

Apricots are the first of the fruit trees to bloom

An edible landscape provides food not just for the body, but for the soul. The past two weeks have been a non-stop parade of color as the fruit trees and shrubs blossom. First the apricot and service berry bloom first, at the beginning of May, then the quince, clove current, plum, peach, pear and apples follow in quick succession bursting into flower with the exuberance that is spring. After the dormancy of winter, great joy.

The native Amalanchier can be pruned to shrub height

to keep the berries within reach

Amalanchier (serviceberry, Juneberry) is less well known than the other fruit trees. But they're easy to find this time of year, majestic trees in full bloom in woods that are still otherwise bare at the treetops. As a native tree, it requires almost no care. They can be pruned into sizeable shrubs, like this one in our yard, to keep the blueberry-size fruit within reach (assuming one can beat he birds to them!).

One of several quince shrubs in the yard.

Clove currant, like it's name suggests, emits a clove-like fragrance.

Later this summer, it will bear blue-black fruit.

Peach - gorgeous to look at; heavenly to eat.

Need anything more be said?

This is only the second year the pear trees have bloomed;

perhaps this year there will be fruit.

Free Food

"Fiddleheads": Ostrich ferns, often grown in shade gardens as an ornamental, have edible young shoots that are an early spring delicacy.

Early spring offers an abundance of what I like to call "free food." Perennial vegetables, many of them native species of forest and field, are often the first plants to emerge in spring, coming back year after year with little work on our part other than to tend to ensuring a healthy ecosystem around them.

In general, perennials require much less work than the annual food plants American and European agriculture has focused on developing. With their well-established root systems, they don't need to be carefully watered, weeded, and protected from insects, unlike small annual seedlings just trying to get themselves established on open, bare ground. Many are woodland or meadow species, growing early, before other plants leaf out. They do, however, require that we nurture an ecosystem that fosters what appears to be a natural tendency toward abundance.

Wild onions are ready to harvest in early April

Unfortunately, the clear-cutting of native forests through the early 19th century means many of these perennial edibles are less widespread than they used to be. So we've been reintroducing them into our gardens and woods. The wild onions came from Richard's parents' land, the Solomon Seal from his mother's gardens, and the Ostrich fern from last year's Cooperative Extension plant sale (gardener unknown). I think I acquired the first of the Good King Henry (perennial spinach) plants from one of the vendors at the Ithaca's farmers market.

I am delighted that both the wild onions and Ostrich ferns -- both planted in the moist soil near the stream -- have begun to naturalize and spread. We've been digging small quantities of the former for the past two years, while waiting for the latter -- the source of delectable (and expensive) "fiddlehead" ferns found in gourmet groceries and upscale restaurants -- to create a more sizable colony. In the meantime, we tasted a few fiddleheads from my friend Alicia's gardens. Sauteed in some sesame oil, they were wonderful.

The Good King Henry, which like other wild spring edibles tolerates shade, is planted in the front gardens. I rarely get around to cutting off seed heads, so our crop has grown as it has seeded itself. Unlike domesticated spinach, Good King Henry requires little tending and continues to produce sizable leaves throughout the summer heat. While older leaves need to be briefly cooked (to remove the oxalic acid common to this family of plants), it freezes well and serves as a wonderful spinach substitute for winter soups and stews.

Good King Henry, a perennial spinach,

produces edible leaves through the summer heat

Solomon Seal, a common "ornamental" in many shade gardens, can be harvested as young shoots (before the leaves open) and cooked and eaten like asparagus. While it will never replace the tender, delicate taste of asparagus, it also doesn't need the fertilizing, mulching, watering, and general tending that asparagus requires. So we have and tend our asparagus patch, but we also appreciate the early Solomon Seal shoots.

Solomon Seal shoots can be cooked like asparagus

Asparagus shoots: one of the few "fussy" perennials

Of course, there are also the perennial salad and cooking "greens" that I have already been writing about: sorrel, Sweet Cicely, and the mints.

The ramps (wild leeks) are a new addition this year. Richard's dad dug them for us from his brother Dick's land, and Richard planted them in various locations throughout the woods. An early spring delicacy, the slow-to-mature wild leeks are also an indicator species, signaling the health of the surrounding forest. So we'll watch and hope they establish themselves, and do our part to dig them judiciously and help them spread.

Ramps (wild leeks) are a wonderful addition to early spring omelets.

Firsts and lasts

This is the season of "firsts" and "lasts." Nearly every day, we have our first of something. Saturday, it was the first bitter dandelion greens and licorice-like sweet cicely in our 14-ingredient salad (along with the mustard, mache, claytonia, minutina, lettuce, spinach, arugula, radish, and beet leaves from the hoop house that we've been eating for months, and the primrose, viola flowers and chives from the garden that we began eating last week). We also shared the last jar of frozen peaches, which still tasted just like summer.

Sweet cicely: The edible leaves and seed pods of this

shade-happy perennial taste like licorice

Edible primrose flowers also love shade

The chives are coming up so fast we can almost see them grow

Tonight, dinner was a pureed potato-leek-chard-sorrel soup, a recipe I found in my "Healthy Slow Cooker" cookbook, and one worth making again. I had dug the last overwintered leeks from the garden (protected by straw) a few weeks ago. The chard was the last of leafy greens from the freezer. The vegetable stock was also the last jar. The sorrel, on the other hand, is just coming into its own in the herb bed outside the south-facing kitchen door. Each year, we have talked about using more of it; I was glad to find a simple recipe perfect for these still-chilly spring evenings that used fresh food at its peak. For dessert, we ate the last container of rhubarb-strawberry compote. I also finished the last handful of blueberries at breakfast.

Young lemony sorrel

The large chest freezer in our "mud room" is now almost empty; the last two bags of pole beans, packages of meat, and a few odds and ends all fit in the small kitchen freezer above the frig. There's something satisfying about finishing off the treats of last season, just as this year's crops are ready to pick. It signals a clear cycle that is often lost in what Barbara Kingsolver (Animal, Vegetable, Miracle) called the U.S.'s "promiscuous, anything anytime" food culture. There will be more blueberries, strawberries, and peaches all in their time, and not too far off either. But first, we have the sorrel, and dandelion greens and sweet cicely to savor.