Somethings Old, Somethings New, Nothing Blue

Rare and/or Perennial

I usually draw a blank when someone asks me “So what’s new in your garden for this year?” Now, with the pressure off and nobody asking, I’m able to tell.

Of course, I often try new varieties of run of the mill vegetables and fruits. More interesting perhaps, would be something like the Noir de Pardailhan turnip. Turnip Noir de PardailhanThis ancient variety, elongated and with a black skin, has been grown almost exclusively near the Pardailhan region of France. Why am I growing it? The flavor is allegedly sweeter than most turnips, reminiscent of hazelnut or chestnut.

I planted Noir de Pardailhan this spring but was unimpressed with the flavor. Those mountains near Pardailhan are said to provide the terroir needed to bring out the best in this variety. (Eye roll by me. Why? See last chapter in my book The Ever Curious Gardener for the skinny on terroir.) I’ll give Noir de Pardailhan another chance with a late summer planting.

Also interesting is Nebur Der sorghum. This seeds of this variety, from South Sudan, are for popping, for boiling, and for roasting. What sorghum has going for it is that it’s a tough plant, very drought resistant and cosmopolitan about its soil. With my previous attempt with sorghum, with a different variety, the seed didn’t have time to ripen. Nate Kleinman, of the Experimental Farm Network, where I got Nebur Der seed, believes this variety may ripen this far north.

Nate also suggested some perennial vegetables to try — that’s right, vegetables you plant just once and then harvest year after year. I planted Caucasian mountain spinach (Hablitzia tamnoides), a relative of true spinach, and, as predicted, growth is slow this, its first, year. Hablitzia, Caucasian mountain spinachNext year I can expect a vine growing 6 to 9 feet high and which is both decorative and tolerates some shade. What’s not to like? (I’ll report back with the flavor.)

Andy’s Green Multiplier Onion (Allium cepa var. aggregatum), also from the Experimental Farm Network, will, I hope, fill that early spring gap here when some onion flavor can liven salads. Multiplier onionLater in the season, cluster of bulbs form, similar to shallots, although forming larger bulbs. They can overwinter and make new onion greens and bulbs the following years.

And finally, again from Nate, the New Zealand strain of perennial multiplying leek (Allium ampeloprasum). This seems to be a variable species, with some members yielding large bulbs know as elephant garlic. The flavor might vary from that of leek to that of garlic.

One more perennial plant (this one for the greenhouse so not really perennial here), is jicama (Pachyrhizus erosus), a climbing vine in the pea family. The flavor and texture of the large, turnip-shaped root is something like water chestnut. The flavor of the other parts of the plant are . . .  not to be tried. All other parts are poisonous! The greenhouse is so hot in summer that I figured this is one of the few plants, besides figs and ginger, that would thrive there.

Probably not. I should have researched before planting: Jicama roots are poor quality unless the plant experiences a long period of warmth with short days. But when short days come around, my greenhouse is starting to fill with lettuce, mâche, spinach, and other fresh greenery for winter salads.

Could Be Frightening, But Not

At least one more newish crop made it into my garden this year, one that I hope is not perennial. The plant is sometimes called yellow nutsedge, sometimes chufa, and sometimes tiger nut or earth almond. When I lived in southern Delaware, “yellow nutsedge “would strike terror in the hearts of local farmers; it’s been billed as “one of the world’s worst weeds.”

But there are two botanical varieties of yellow nutsedge. That weedy one is Cyperus esculentus var. esculentus. The one that I am growing is C. esculentus var. sativus. The latter is not weedy; it rarely flowers or sets seed, and doesn’t live through the winter. Both varieties, being sedges, enjoy soils that are wet but also enjoy those that are well-drained.Chufa plants growing

The edible part of chufa are the dime-sized tubers, which are sweet and have flavor likened to almonds. I did grow the plant once and thought the tubers tasted more like coconut. Chufa tubersThe problem was separating the small tubers from soil and small stones. I have a plan this time around — more about this at harvest time.

I’ll be in good company growing chufa. We humans munched on them in the Paleolithic period and they were good food to the ancient Egyptians. Hieroglyphic instructions detail the preparation of chufa for eating, as a sweet, for instance, ground and mixed with honey.

Even today, chufa is enjoyed in various parts of the world. The chufa harvest is anxiously awaited each year in Spain, when the dried tubers are washed and pulverized, then made into a sugar-sweetened “milk” know as “Horchata De Chufas.”

My Compost for a Bin

Compost, All Good, In Time

One problem with gardening, as I see it, is that much of it is about delayed gratification. Even a radish makes you wait 3 weeks after sowing the seed before you get to chomp on it. With a pear tree, that wait is a few years.

Which brings me to compost. Now that the flurry of spring pruning and planting have subsided, I’m starting this year’s compost cycle again — that’s compost for use next year. Delayed gratification again.Smelling compost
Food waste, yard waste, and compostable paper make up 31% of an average household’s waste which, if landfilled, ties up land and contributes to global warming. Composted, it feeds the soil life and, in turn, plants, and maintains soil tilth, that crumbly feel of a soil that holds on to moisture yet has plenty of space for air. You don’t get all this from a bag of 10-10-10 fertilizer or even a bag of any concentrated organic fertilizer.

The key to good composting is to have a good bin. Any pile of old vegetables, leaves, grass clippings, old cotton clothes, straw, or wood chips will turn to compost eventually. A bin keeps everything neat, fends off scavengers, and maintains heat and moisture within.Compost bins

Buying a compost bin is one option. Consider whether you’re making compost for your garden or just as an environmentally sound way to recycle what used to be called “trash.” You need a larger bin for the former use because you’ll be importing materials, such as leaves, wood chips, and manure, to bulk up the compost.

The Perfect Compost Bin?

Over the years, my home made compost bins have gone through several incarnations. Four wooden panels filled in with chickenwire made my first bin. Once a pile was made and settled a little, I removed the panels, pinned black plastic onto the compost cubes to keep in moisture, and set up the panel in the next location for a new “compost cube.” Aerating my compost pile of yoreThe next bins weren’t bins but just carefully stacked layers of ingredients, mostly horse manure, hay, and garden and kitchen gleanings. And then there was my three-sided bin made of slabwood.Compost, me turning, slab bin

A dramatic jump in functionality came with my bin made from 1 x 12 hemlock boards from a sawmill, notched to stack together on edge like Lincoln logs. The only problem with this system was that I had to periodically purchase and notch new boards as older ones rotted away.Wooden compost binsWhich brings me to my current bin which, now, after many years of use, I consider nearly perfect. Instead of hemlock boards, these bins are made from “composite lumber.” Manufactured mostly from recycled materials, such as scrap wood, sawdust, and old plastic bags, composite lumber is used for decking so should last a long, long time.

The boards I used were 5-1/2 inches wide and 1 inch thick. A couple of inches from either end of each 5-foot-long board, I cut a notch on each side to a depth one-quarter the width of the board and about 1/8” wider than the their thickness. Compost bin boardWhen finished, I ripped one board of the bin full length down its center to provide two bottom boards so that the bottom edges of all 4 sides of the bin would sit right against on the ground. Compost bin, bottom boardsBefore setting up a bin, I lay 1/2” hardware cloth on the ground to help keep at bay rodents that might try to crawl in from below.Compost bin, hardware clothWith the Lincoln-log style design, the bin need be only as high as the material within while the pile is being built, and then “unbuilt” gradually as I removed the finished compost.

Feed the Beast(s)

Okay, time to feed my compost “pets.” Nothing fancy, just any spent plant from the garden, kitchen trimmings, old clothes made from natural materials, hay scythed from my meadow, horse manure from a local stable, and occasional sprinklings of soil and powdered limestone.

Composted clothing

Leather shoes, underwear (not mine), jeans

For interest, I’ll sometimes throw old shoes or gloves into a pile to see what’s left once the organic portion of the shoe or glove has been stripped off.By paying attention to the textures of the materials as I add them to the pile, it generally stays well aerated. If I have a load of manure and will be building up many layers of the pile at once, I water the layers as I go; it takes too long to get sufficient water down into the pile after it has been built. Once a pile is completed, I cover it with a layer of EPDM rubber roofing material, cut to fit, to seal in moisture and keep out rain.Compost bins, being filled & filledFeeding compost

Piles built this summer get turned once next spring so I can monitor progress and make sure they’re moist — but not too wet — throughout. The compost is used throughout next year’s growing season.

So yes, there is delayed gratification before I get to use the “black gold.” Then again, making compost is enjoyable; I get some exercise and enjoy feeding the various fungi, bacteria, and other microorganisms at work in the compost pile.My compost piles

The End of Chestnuts? No!

Blight Strikes

I looked up into the tree that I had planted 20 years ago and saw what I had long feared: two major limbs with sparse, undersized leaves. Blight had finally got a toehold on the Colossal chestnut tree, which, for the past 15 years, has supplied us with all the chestnuts we could eat. (“Colossal” is the variety name, apt for the size of the chestnuts it produces.)Chestnuts falling free from burrMy first inclination, before even identifying chestnut blight as the culprit, was to lop off the two limbs. Once I got up close and personal with the tree, the tell-tale orange areas within cracks in the bark stared me in the face.Blight on chestnut barkThere is no cure for chestnut blight. Removing infected wood does remove a source of inoculum to limit its spread. In Europe, the disease has been limited by hypovirulence, a virus (CHV1) that attacks the blight fungus. Some success has been achieved using a naturally occurring virus found on blighted trees in Michigan.

There is some evidence, although not confirmed with rigorous scientific testing, that mud packs made from soil taken from the base of a tree, can slow or halt spread of the disease. The mud packs need to be applied to each disease canker and then held in place with shrink wrap, or painted or sprayed on, followed by a layer of latex paint. Not an easy job as you move higher and higher up into the tree.

Pruned Colossal tree

Colossal, post surgery

Resistance

Chestnut species vary in their response to the blight fungus. American chestnut (Castanea dentata) is very susceptible; the fungus arrived here from Asia in the early 1900s, and within a half a century had killed billions of trees. European chestnut (C. sativa) was also susceptible, but was protected by the naturally spreading fungal virus.

Chinese chestnut (C.mollisima) and Japanese chestnut (C. crenata) both have some resistance — but not immunity — to the disease, and have contributed their genes to resistant varieties. Collosal, in fact, is a hybrid of European and Japanese chestnuts, and it has some resistance to blight. But, evidently, not enough. I am hoping that the previously extremely wet season contributed to the evidence of symptoms, and that some drier seasons will keep the tree alive longer.

I’m not planning to sit back and let my chestnut-eating days shrink away to nothing. For starters, keeping my tree vigorous with pruning and good fertility might keep small cracks, into which new infections could enter, from developing. Also, chestnut trees need cross-pollination, so I do have other varieties planted. Also planted 20 years ago was Marigoule, also yielding fairly large nuts. Some sources say “blight susceptible,” others saw “blight resistant;” my large tree shows no signs or symptoms of blight. Yet.

This spring I planted two more European x Japanese chestnut hybrids. I shouldn’t have felt so confident that MY trees wouldn’t get blighted. Precoce Migoule and Marsol, the two varieties I planted, are, like Marigoule, allegedly “blight resistant,” or not.

Generally, the Chinese varieties and their hybrids are the most blight resistance. And I have two of those, actually one tree on which I grafted two different varieties. Qing is pure Chinese with easy-to-peel nuts having excellent flavor. Peach, the other variety, is also pure Chinese, though the nuts are ho-hum in flavor. Both varieties have borne for me for a number of years, yet the nuts never seem ripe once they drop.

One More Thing . . .

Is your head spinning yet? One more wrinkle in this chestnut saga. It turns out that if a pure or hybrid Chinese variety pollinates a pure or hybrid Japanese variety, the latter gets dark staining of the nuts, with a loss in quality. So I was phasing out (with a chainsaw) some other Chinese varieties I had planted. Now, with blight lurking in the wings, I’m having second thoughts.

Enough negativity about chestnuts. On the positive side, Chestnut trees’ shiny, green leaves are attractive and turn a rich golden yellow color in fall. The nuts are tasty and nutritious. With their high starch and low fat content, they’ve been called “the bread tree.” Gluten-free bread tree, for those who care about gluten. 

So, do plant chestnuts. Two different varieties for cross-pollination. If I was planting again — and I might — I’d seek out trees from among Qing, Benton Harbor, Everfresh, Gideon, and Mossberger. Or, for Japanese varieties and their hybrids: Maraval, Marigoule, Labor Day, Precoce Migoule, and Marsol.

Colossal, at 10 years old

Colossal, at 10 years old

Colossal, in autumn, 12years old

Colossal, in autumn, 12 years old

AH-CHOO!

A Dark Cloud Hovers

The end of May and early June is such a glorious time of year in the garden, with plants thoroughly leafed out yet still showing the exuberance of spring growth. (Those of you to the north of me, Zone 5 in New York’s Hudson Valley: your time will come. Y’all to the south: enjoy your camellias, southern magnolias, muscadine grapes, figs, and . . . all the plants I wish I could grow this far north.)Meadow with grassesYet even on the clearest, sunny day — and especially on that kind of day — a dark cloud hangs overhead. Hay fever, literally from hay that is, grasses; and nonliterally, from tree pollen.

Every year the small white blossoms opening on multiflora roses signal that a sneeze season is on. That’s why this late spring allergy season is sometimes called “rose fever.” Rose is not the culprit; is just an easy to note phenological indicator of the progress of the season. Each plant awakens and starts its growth cycle in spring in response to a set accumulation of warm weather. Multiflora rose sends out a signal that the culprits are at work.Multiflora roseMultiflora rose puts on its show to attract pollinators, such as bees, which transfer pollen from one plant to the next. Hay fever is from airborne pollen blown about by wind, so the flowers of these allergen plants have no need to attract insect pollinators. The non-showy culprits this time of year are grasses and oaks.

As with many other plant-related events, climate change is also leaving its mark on allergy seasons. Here in the northeast, the effect has been for the season to start earlier with a more intense peak. You would think that my multiflora rose indicator plants would keep apace with climate changes but my records, dating back for decades, indicates otherwise. (Daylength, which doesn’t change from year to year, is also sometimes a driver of plant or animal development through the season, and it can interact with temperature.)

No matter: I didn’t have to see a blooming multiflora rose the other day to know that my hay fever season was in full swing.

And the Culprits Are . . .

To at least make this allergy season more interesting, I thought I would look more closely at nearby flora and try to identify the specific culprit or culprits.

I can start by looking no further than the grassy meadow which comes to an abrupt stop at the close shorn lawn only about fifty feet to the south of my home.

With their small, nonshowy flowers, grass species are generally not easily identified. But I can narrow the field, figuratively, by species that are common in the Northeast and that I see now blooming in the meadow. The lineup, then, includes Kentucky bluegrass (Poa pratensis), sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum), and orchard grass (Dactylis glomerata).

Kentucky bluegrass

Kentucky bluegrass

Sweet vernal grass

Sweet vernal grass

Orchard grass

Orchard grass

According to the 1937 USDA Yearbook of Agriculture, most grasses bloom “most abundantly in early morning,” with a secondary flowering period for many of them in the afternoon. The bloom period might be delayed and prolonged in cloudy weather.

Although rain washes pollen out of the air, thunderstorms are another story. Thunderstorms are usually accompanied by winds, which lifts and blows pollen about, and the electrical charges induced by lightning throw add yet another layer of discomfort to the mix.

I just went out to the meadow to jiggle some seedheads of the culpable grasses. The pollen is heavy enough to travel only a few feet, even in a breeze.

Tree pollen is lighter  than grass pollen and launches from greater heights. So I’m adding oak to the lineup. The two oaks most common around here are red oak (Quercus rubra) and pin oak (Q. palustris), with red oak, because of its bloom time being most culpable.

So there you have it: 3 grasses and an oak. They’re all nice plants, attractive and decorative. And, in the case of sweet vernal grass, also fragrant. If only they . . .  or if only I . . . 

I have my eye out for the flowering of catalpa trees and mountain laurel shrubs this time of year. Flowering of either of these plants are a signal that that relief is in sight that my hay fever season is over for the year. Again, these plants aren’t spilling any magical anti-hay fever concoctions into the air; they are merely phenological indicators of what’s happening with other, less conspicuous, flora and fauna.

Plaintain, not a sneeze-inducer

Plaintain, not a sneeze-inducer

DRIP WORKSHOP
See www.leereich.com/workshops for information about the upcoming drip irrigation workshop on June 30th.

Upcoming Drip Irrigation Workshop

Drip workshop announcemenrt 2109