Wonder

"As civilization advances, the sense of wonder declines. Such decline is an alarming symptom of our state of mind. Mankind will not perish for want of information; but only for want of appreciation." -- Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

Ice patterns, Dec. 11 (photo: Richard Lansdowne)

Richard found these ice patterns on one of our cold frames when he went out to get wood early one morning. No matter how much science has explicated their formation, finding the image of a branching tree suddenly appearing on an ordinary piece of glass is wondrous. We spent a fair amount of time admiring it.


Equally amazing is the survival -- and even growth -- of green plants, protected only by a slim sheet of plastic, while temperatures have regularly gone into the teens and even single digits at night. A single day of sun two weeks ago, and they perked right up.


The view inside the hoop house, Dec. 11.

Close up of the arugula, one of the most cold hardy salad greens. Excellent in stir fries, too.

The new gardening season

Unchronicled, the world has gone on just fine -- spring turned to summer, then to fall. The fruits and vegetables grew and ripened in their time, and were eaten and enjoyed, or pickled or frozen. Some flourished -- this was the year of the poles beans. Others, like the winter squash, didn't do as well. Still others, particularly the perennials like Jerusalem artichokes, horseradish, lingonberries, and fall-bearing raspberries -- produce with almost no attention at all. Five months of photos sit on my computer; I'll share some of my favorites soon. But consumed by other matters or not, we are always thankful for the abundance that surrounds us.

Lingonberries, native to Scandinavia, make a beautiful (and edible) ground cover under the taller blueberry bushes. A late fall treat.

Even as our part of the world transitions to late fall, our transition to year-round growing means that we witness new beginnings and new harvests. The salad greens planted from August through late September are our contribution to this year's Thanksgiving dinner: mesclun lettuce mix from the cold frames; arugula, spicy mustard greens, minutina, mache, claytonia, and beet leaves protected under plastic hoops. Beet, carrot, turnip and radish -- stored in the ground where they grew -- were shredded and tossed. Licorice flavored sweet cicely leaves, which I was surprised to find still surviving nestled under nearby branches, went in the salad as well.

Fresh-picked Thanksgiving salad.

After last year's encouraging experiment growing winter greens under low hoops (rickety ones at that, thrown together at the last moment), we put together a walk-in "high tunnel." Or as some local farmers more attractively (and perhaps more accurately) advertised, a "passive solar greenhouse." It will serve to grow a variety of semi-hardy greens (plus some transplanted dill and scallions) from now until spring, protecting them from snow and frost with a cover of plastic and warming them by trapping heat on sunny days.

The seeds went in a bit late (September, rather than August) so the semi-hardy, but day-light sensitive cooking greens are still small, but they should begin to grow rapidly in February, when the days noticeably lengthen. Here are some photos of the building process:

The hoop house starts to go up in the old driveway.

Framing the doors.

We found an old storm door at the local "reuse" center.

Richard investigates.

Margo and Kat taking a break. In the background, a "low hoop" covers mustard greens, cabbage, and beets.

The view from the front porch.

Cherries, berries and more

Wild cherry, or Prunis avium ("bird cherry")

An avian frenzy earlier this week alerted me that the wild cherries growing not far from our deck were ripening. Since then, there has been a continuous parade of birds from early morning through dusk, and, seemingly, an equally continuous conversation as word spreads through the tree tops. Not surprising then, that the latin name for the tree, Prunis avium, translates as "bird cherry." However, the birds are not alone in their feasting. Grey and red squirrels scamper through the branches seeking their share, in their haste, knocking to the ground almost as many cherries as they eat. Last night, around 9:30 pm, an unusual rustling in the garden drew me out to investigate. About two-thirds of the way up one of the 50 foot cherry trees was a dark, furry shape, slightly bigger than a large cat. It was difficult to be sure in the fading light, but it appeared to be a possum getting in on the feast. Or perhaps a raccoon.

The Goumi berries are more within our reach

We hate to miss out, but have had to be satisfied with the handful of burgendy jewels Richard has pulled down with last summer’s invention – a very long pole to which he has taped a large fork. (No tree-climbing exploits for him this year.) On the other hand, we do have the strawberries, which are planted as a border along many of the perennial flower beds, and the goumi berries, which in their first full year are yielding a handful a day of scarlet-red, tart fruit.

A handful of goumi berries

Native to the Russian Far East, China and Japan, the tart but tasty goumis are a bit like pie cherries. Given the rapid growth of these shrubs, we will likely have 3-4 times that amount next year. So far, the birds have left them alone – because they are occupied by the cherries, or haven’t yet discovered this non-native fruit, or the still-small shrubs are too close to the ground (and our cats), I can’t say.

Woodland strawberries

This has also been a bumper year for the tiny woodland strawberry. Some opportune combination of rain, warm weather and, perhaps, Richard’s efforts to thin out the woods where they grow as groundcover. While it would take a lot of work to find and pick enough to fill a bowl, they are wonderful to nibble, with a flavor that is more “strawberry” than any of the domestic varieties bred for their larger fruit. Tidbit from Wikipedia: "Evidence from archaeological excavations suggests that Fragaria vesca has been consumed by humans since the Stone Age. The woodland strawberry was first cultivated in ancient Persia where farmers knew the fruit as Toot Farangi. Its seeds were later taken along the silk road towards the far East and to Europe it was widely cultivated until the 18th century, when it began to be replaced by the garden strawberry."

Snow peas are at their peak.

As for vegetables: mid-June, we are finally nearing the end of our overwintered and early-start greens; the last of that kale, mustard greens, and Asian stir-fry greens will probably be eaten by next weekend. But the snow peas – planted in mid-March, the day after I impatiently cleared the deep, insulating snow from one of the beds – are at their peak, and the sugar snap peas are not far behind. We’re harvesting the early carrots, beets and turnips as well.

Beets and turnips

The chard awaits. The cabbages are filling out...


.. the squash, beans and corn are up...

... and while weeding among mint, I startled a leopard frog, perhaps the same one I wrote about last summer. I was happy to find it, in part for its help on pest-patrol and in part, because it is an “indicator species” whose presence speaks to the health of its habitat. Once common, leopard frogs began declining in the 1970s and have not yet recovered.

Finally, out by the garlic and potato beds, the species roses are blooming. Simpler in form than the hybrid tea roses, they are far more fragrant and far, far less fussy, not prone to pest or disease and requiring little tending. They yield very large rose hips, which we'll harvest later in the summer for winter teas. They also remind me to stop weeding and smell the roses.

Beauty and Abundance

Painted Lady butterfly on valerian flowers

Sometimes life takes over, and you just have to live it, attending to what must be attended to, and leaving the documentation of life for some other time. Such has been the case for the past several months. But the wonder of the world is that its wonders continue nonetheless. So even in difficult times (and perhaps even more so in difficult times), I'm taken by the beauty and abundance surrounding us.

Just last weekend, we saw half a dozen different butterflies and managed to photograph several. With the help of our small "Guide to New York State Butterflies," we were able to identify them.

White Admiral butterfly

Yellow Swallowtail butterfly on Dames Rocket (photo R. Lansdowne)

But for me, there's also wonder in abundance. Whether sitting on the porch or walking through the yard, one can't help but notice food everywhere. In the past month, the garden has produced more than we could eat, and already 5 pounds of chard and several pounds of spinach have been blanched and frozen, awaiting next winter's soups. 7 pounds of pac choi has been turned intokim chee (Korean pickled cabbage), with another several pounds to process next week. And we've eaten, and given away, uncounted pounds of salad.

Overwintered Tuscan ("dinosaur") kake

At this point, most of the overwintered greens, along with those planted in early March in the "warm frame" are done (or almost done) now, having bolted during the unusually warm temperatures we had in May. So stir-fried greens are on the menu every night that we're home for dinner.

Overwintered Siberian kale

The first of the earliest snow peas, sugar snap peas, turnips, and beets -- planted in mid-March -- are ready to eat, as are the carrot thinnings.

The first of the sugar snap peas, planted on March 17, the week the snow melted.

Harvest of mid-March-planted beets, peas, and carrot thinnings.

The potatoes, flanked by bush beans in front and garlic behind, have now been "hilled up" several times. There's some evidence that beans interplanted with potatoes inhibits damage to the potatoes. No one is certain why, but "companion" planting does seem to work. One of my favorite companions is mint, which I allow to freely grow throughout the garden, tearing it out only when it takes up too much space. I haven't seen it documented anywhere, but it does seem to offer protection from leaf-eating insects to other crops, perhaps because of its scented oils.

Hilled up potatoes, with just emerging bush beans in front and tall garlic greens in back.

The most well known companion planting is the Native American tradition of interplanting the Three Sisters: squash, beans and corn. In that combination, it appears that the beans, with their nitrogen-fixing rhizomes support the heavy feeding squash, while the sugars from the corn roots stimulate the nitrogen-fixing bacteria on the bean roots. The squash, with their large leaves, shade the ground, preserving moisture and inhibiting weeds.

Three Sisters (corn, bean & squash) bed, with a March planting of carrots in the middle. These will be harvested soon and another squash hill planted.

We planted those heat-loving crops last weekend, the traditional last frost date for this area, along with the tomato and basil seedings, and repeat plantings of beets, radishes, carrots, and turnips. They have germinated quickly with the much needed heavy rain several nights this week, interspersed with warm sunny days.

Pole beans a week after planting.

This year, we're also experimenting with straw-bale planting to increase the space available for winter squash and tomatoes without having to prepare new garden beds. We began lining our old driveway with the bales about 6 weeks ago, sprinkled them a bit of fertilizer, and watered them periodically to encourage the straw to begin to break down a little. Then we simply poked small holes for squash seeds and larger ones for the tomato seedlings, and added a bit of soil.

Our straw bale experiment

None of this speaks to the abundance of the perennial crops: fruit trees and shrubs, nuts, and perennial vegetables. But those will have to wait for another day, as its time to stop writing about life and get back to living it.

Today, and a year ago

Part of the front yard, April 23, 2010

The combination of a season ahead of itself (by about 3 weeks) and the bounty from the overwintered greens has my sense of timing all mixed up. It's still April, but the garden looks like a combination of May and June. The perennial plants (center and top) are well beyond a typical April. At the same time, the overwintered greens (rectangle beds on right) are ready for harvest a month before I would normally would have begun planting, filling in what would have been barren earth with mature plants. These semi-hardy greens can withstand the frosts that are expected for another month. New seedlings (Asian greens, mustards, hardier lettuces, beets, and turnips) were planted early under the white floating row covers. With the warmth of the "blanket," they too will tolerate repeated frosts.

For comparison, here's April 23, 2009:

Interrupted slumbers

I don't know who was more surprised -- the hibernating toad whose slumbers I interrupted yesterday afternoon, or me. I was digging a hole in the garden late in the day to move some of the overwintered kale plants from their low tunnel to this year's Brassica bed. I put in the shovel, lifted out the soil, and there, at the bottom of the hole was this groggy creature. It was starting to rouse by the time I returned with the camera, but I reburied it anyway, hoping the early wake-up wouldn't harm it.

I went to Wikipedia this morning to check whether this was toad or frog. The brown coloration (effective camouflage), wart-like glands on its back (also providing camouflage), and burrowing in winter (to protect their delicate skin) point to the former.

I hope it stays around. Like the leopard frog I wrote about here last July, toads help control unwanted pests in the garden.

The business of spring

We took advantage of yesterday's unseasonably warm (80 degree) weather to sit out on the porch after dinner, listening to the incessant chorus of spring peepers looking to attract others of their kind. It always amazes me that such small creatures make such a loud sound.

This morning, I woke to the cooing of the mourning dove, the distant hammering of a woodpecker, some bird songs I can't yet identify, and a tapping at the living room window. Tap, tap, tap ... silence. Tap, tap, tap ... silence. Tap, tap, tap ... silence.

It wasn't Edgar Allen Poe's raven, but rather a territorial robin who spends his mornings warding off perceived intruders. Some days he's pecking at his reflection in the western windows. Others, he's attacking the side mirrors on one of the cars.

Richard managed to catch a shot of the robin tapping at the window.

After a short time, I took decided to interrupt his futile effort so he could spend his energy in more fruitful ways. I opened the window, and he flew away.

The territorial robin who comes a tap-tap-tapping at our windows.

Woodland wanderings

Richard and I have spent the last several weekends wandering through the woods. Each year, we have been drawn into the forested areas (the majority of this land) more and more, learning how to become increasingly active caretakers. For me, that required abandoning my simplistic “it's best leave nature alone” mentality. Instead, I’ve come to realize that with caretaking, we can help nurture a healthier, more diverse forest providing greater sustenance for plants, wildlife, and ourselves. Edible landscapes do not end at the garden’s edge.

A large part of caretaking is seeing, understanding and appreciating what’s already there. As we note the changes from season to season, we can begin to think about what changes we will make. In that spirit, here’s some of what caught my attention during our walks.

Pileated woodpeckers dig these large oval holes in their search for insects.

Dead trees, or “snags” provide a buffet of insects and nesting sites for a variety of birds. So even as we cut down some dead trees for firewood, we leave others to become snags. These large oblong holes were likely created by the elusive pileated woodpeckers that I have seen only a few times over the past 20 years. The most recent was two years ago, when a young pileated woodpecker showed up at the massive week-long gathering of birds feasting on the ripe wild black cherries in our backyard. The largest of the northern woodpeckers, this spectacular bird is the size of a crow, with a flaming red crest on its head. Perhaps I’ll manage to see one this spring.

Not much further along, I found this hole high up in another dead tree. A bird’s nest? A hole now occupied by some other animal? Clearly, something has been pecking at the tree recently. For food? Shelter? I asked my friend Beth who knows a lot about birds. Her recommendation: sit and watch early one morning or late in the afternoon to see what enters or leaves. I'm not sure I have the patience to be a birder. But I will keep watching as we walk by.

On a subsequent walk, I noticed part of a honey comb caught in the crook of a branch, directly below the hole. Several other honey comb pieces lay on the ground at the base of the tree. Had some animal had pulled the comb from the tree? Was it connected to recently pecked holes, or had it come from the older knothole nearby?

Carpenter ant trails in a dead tree trunk

These holes I recognize. They were made by carpenter ants, eating out the center of a dead tree until Richard cut it down and blocked it up.

Anyone know who's home this is?

Nearby, five large entrances, about eight to ten inches in diameter, lead to a large, underground burrow. Beth said maybe a groundhog (which wouldn't thrill me; the deer fencing won't keep them out of the garden and I don't want to share my food) or a fox home. She recommended a good book on animal tracking; I’m waiting for it to arrive. I’m just beginning to learn to read the woods.

Shagbark hickory tree

A number of large shagbark hickory trees grow along the rock wall that marks the property line between what was originally two farm families’ fields. Richard’s dad first pointed the trees out to us several years ago. Given the height of the hickories, it’s questionable whether we will be able to harvest any of the nuts before the squirrels do. Perhaps in a “mast year,” when trees periodically produce a massive surplus to increase the odds that some will survive and grow into new trees. In the meantime, Richard found a nut still in good shape. We took it home to plant in a pot. We'll grow it into a seedling, then replant it in the woods.

Hickory nuts shells: squirrels probably dropped them at the base of the tree as they feasted on the nuts last fall.

Wild rose thickets are everywhere on the back part of the property. Beautiful for about two weeks in June when they flower, they are an invasive plant unfortunately distributed to homeowners decades ago. We have begun walking with pruning shears and a saw to clear paths to make walking here easier.

After cutting our way through one of the rose thickets, we came upon another nest, this one high up in a large white pine. Even with binoculars, it was hard to get a good luck at it. But it appeared to be a large, flat next of leaves and twigs. An owl? A hawk? There is much yet to learn.

Guesses on whose home this is?

As we walk, we talk about future plans – eyeing the dead, or almost dead trees that Richard will take down for firewood (while being sure to leave enough snags for the birds); noting the largest, healthiest and/or less common trees, and selecting the others nearby to cull. There is a rise in the woods at this point, making it relatively drier, and thus more habitable, to a variety of hardwood trees. There are the widespread elm, ash and cherry, but also beech, birch, maple, ironwood, hickory, the occasional oak, and even, we think two cucumber magnolias. We will eventually add Chinese chestnuts and butternuts as we open up space, along with some more understory trees with edible fruits, like hazelnuts, serviceberry and Juneberry to grow alongside the ubiquitous rose, honeysuckle and dogwood.

One of the few deciduous trees that holds its leaves all winer, beech is easy to find in the woods.

Oak leaves on the ground alerted us to look around for the tree that produced them.

The land drops again at this point, becoming dominated by vernal (spring) pools, natural depressions that fill with water this time of year. By summer, these pools will be dry, but before then, they will serve as vital breeding sites for salamanders, frogs, and other small amphibians

Vernal (spring) pools serve as important breeding grounds for small amphibians before they dry up in spring.