A Walk in Woods

Richard and I took a walk this afternoon to see what was happening in the forest. Over the years, we have sought to reintroduce a number of native species, some of them gifts from the land of family and friends where they were growing in abundance. 

Bloodroot

Bloodroot, with its bright, daisy-like flowers, is one of my favorite early signs of spring. A low-growing, native woodland flower, it takes advantage of the sunlight reaching the forest floor before the trees leaf out. This patch began with transplants from an extensive swath growing along our neighbors' stream, and I'm happy to see it beginning to spread. It's not edible, but it certainly feeds the spirit.

Wild onion

Richard transplanted these wild onions from a patch growing near the stream at his parents former home (now his sister's home), placing them on the banks of our stream.  One of many members of that allium family that naturalize, they are small, but tasty. They can be dug for use like a scallions (below), but more frequently, we simply nibble on the greens as we pass by.

Wild onions (2010 photo)

Wild leeks, or ramps, are another naturalizing member of the allium family native to eastern North America. A slow-growing, "gourmet" treat, formerly abundant colonies have been over-harvested in many places. But Richard's uncle still has a hillside full, where these came from. In Perennial Vegetables, Eric Toensmeier describes ramps as one of the few shade-loving vegetables "really worth growing." It will be still be another few years before we can begin to harvest more than a leaf or two, but we were glad to see that some of the bulbs had doubled in the last year. 

Wild Leeks (Ramps)

More Survivors

"North Pole" Lettuce

This "North Pole" lettuce (from Fedco Seeds) certainly lived up to its name. I planted this batch last fall, and they overwintered in the hoophouse (with its below zero temperatures),  protected only by an additional cloth row cover. We lost the oldest frozen leaves, but the roots remained strong, and the new growth has accelerated with the longer spring days.

Bitter herbs

Here it is early April, and we still have widespread snow cover. So I went digging for the horseradish. What I found was a determination for spring as fierce and fiery as my own.

Survivors!

Hoophouse (Feb. 16)

The tenacity of life is astounding.

While the rest of the planet was experiencing warmer than average temperatures, the northeast U.S. had one of its coldest winters ever. Outside Ithaca, NY, where we live, we had multiple nights with temperatures falling below 0 degrees F, even multiple nights with temperatures falling into the negative teens. We recorded a low of -2.7 degrees in the high tunnel (unheated hoophouse).


Fortunately, the deep snow cover and consistently below freezing temperatures helped prevent repeated freezing and thawing. But it was still a "zone 4" winter in a place that is typically "zone 5." And we didn't get around to providing extra mulch, doubling the row covers, or doing anything except waiting to see what survived. And while our March crops were nothing like the previous years, here is some of what we found:

High Tunnel Spinach (March 9)

Carrots and radishes dug from the hoophouse (March 9)

Low tunnels protected only by a single row cover (March 29)

Low Tunnel Tatsoi (March 29)

Low Tunnel Mache  (March 29)

Low Tunnel Spinach (March 29)

The challenge will be how to farm in face of climate chaos. For years, the conventional wisdom has been to look to and learn from those farming one zone warmer. But our frigid winter resulted from the changes in the shape of the arctic air front -- a wave pattern with now greater amplitude (the high and low points of the wave) as a result of global warming. As warmer air pushes into the arctic, some of the colder air mass is pushed further south. But where it descends will vary unpredictably from year to year. So while we will have many zone 6 winters (and summers), requiring crops that withstand warmer temperatures, we will also apparently have zone 4 winters (and summers) with colder temperatures and shorter growing seasons as well. And so the experimentation with sustaining life continues. 

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.