Beans, Redux

On the advice of my attorney, I direct-sowed my peas this year. I should point out that my attorney is also a gardening expert, a brilliant landscape artist and a good friend. However, since his graduation from law school, he will be henceforth referred to as my attorney. According to him, peas don't like to be uprooted in any way.

So I followed his advice regarding my peas, but should have realized that this advice would transfer well to beans, also. Last year, I used all of the seeds I had for purple bush beans. They taste pretty much the same as green beans, but they look gorgeous dangling off the vines. For some reason I couldn't find any more seeds at the beginning of the season, so I pounced on the seedlings I came across. Not literally though, as I don't think they'd respond well to a pouncing. I made sure they grew nice and strong in their trays, but as soon as I transplanted them, they dropped faster than a Brazilian soccer player. Luckily by this point, I had found some seeds of the 'Royal Burgundy' variety, as well as some soya bean seeds. Now that they're direct-sown, we'll be eating a rainbow of beans in no time.

Peas and beans really do grow exceptionally well from seed, they just don't like to be jostled around in a transplant. However, if next spring is as chilly as this last one, I may try out a brilliant suggestion got from my attorney. Sometimes, you can get away with planting your seeds in a small trough, like an old rain gutter. When the time comes to transplant, just dig a trench, place your peas or beans in there and gently slide the trough out from under them. They'll hardly even notice they were moved, if you do it right.

Blood, Sweat & Beers

Above is a picture of the lower garden bed towards the end of last season. You can see the logs falling apart, but also note the ferns and scrub in the background. That's now potatoes & artichokes. It's not like I didn't realize that the retaining wall was disintegrating last year (or the year before that). And it's not like I didn't know about the May long weekend deadline. Anyone who's had a garden for more than one season has learned that if you don't get your plants out by the May long weekend, you're a bad gardener. Or at least a procrastinator. Which, of course, I am.

The tear down phase was the easy part. My 3 year-old basically shredded the logs of the lower bed with his bare hands. There was a minor debate about new materials; a concrete wall would have been nice, but too expensive. Treated lumber would have been cheaper and a hell of a lot lighter to lug around, but I'm wary about what chemicals would be leaching into my tomatoes with that stuff. Granted, it's not our fathers' treated lumber; they've removed the more toxic elements and I wouldn't hesitate to use it around non-edible plants. When it comes to stuff I put in my mouth, I'm a little more careful. Luckily, Mother Nature and her storms of past years provided a safe, free alternative: cedar logs. We've had a few trees fall each year, as has our generous neighbour. Thus we were able to rebuild and expand the retaining wall for the cost of a plate of brownies (the neighbour won't take cash), about $50 in rebar and a new hammer drill (but new power tools are always a justifiable expense, right?).

And so we come to the rebuilding, or what I like to call the blood, sweat & beers phase. The sweat came from hauling 15 foot cedar logs out of the brush and up the hill to the garden bed. The blood was mine, but that's nothing new, as I've never really been described as graceful. The beers were for my husband, as he did most of the really physical work. The feminist in me feels the need to point out that I could have done it myself, but the realist will add that it probably would have taken me until August. As it is, I managed to get plants in the ground by the first week of June. Happily, the existing chives & raspberry bush survived the renovation, but some of the new seedlings were a bit worse for wear from the wait. The beans didn't survive the transplant, and the jury's still out on the corn. All in all, this year's garden is shaping up nicely, though. Perfect time for a nap.

Slug Porn

Those bastards. I only have two radicchio plants, and one is practically in need of life support. Last year, they decimated my dill overnight and reduced my long English cucumbers to short stumps. I caught them in the act one morning, their slimy bodies writhing in ecstasy over my cukes. I showed them the door and told them to get a room.

I put a call out to my friends for suggestions. One thought was to simply pick the slugs off, which works well for the little ones that are no bigger than your fingernail. My real nemeses are the banana slugs that are as big as bananas, and the licorice slugs that are as big as, well, bananas. They rarely stick around for you to nab them; they're more of a dine and dash variety. Other suggestions included Fruit Loops (reluctant to introduce those into the world of my already-Cheerio-addicted son) and salt (which also requires that you catch them in the act). The method I went with last year was beer. Slugs are apparently irresistibly drawn to beer, even though they can drown themselves in it. I will resist making comparisons to other species here.

Last year's slug trap was quickly put together without much planning or forethought. I had most of the basic elements there: a container filled with beer, strategically placed in the garden to entice the slugs to their demise (and away from my herbs). However, I forgot one important element: I neglected to dig a recess in which to rest my little swimming hole of doom. Slugs are inherently lazy, path-of-least-resistance kind of creatures. They ambled right past my above-ground beer pool thinking it was way too much effort to climb in, and headed straight for my cukes.

This year, a little more research turned up a website with some simple, natural solutions. The perfect solution for me, and anyone else living on the coast: seaweed. Abundant, free, and actually beneficial to your garden! The salt in the seaweed acts as a deterrent, and as the seaweed dries it becomes rough terrain that the slugs won't cross. I still may install a beer pool, to see if it works and to class up the joint a bit. It's a win-win situation, for everyone but the slugs.

This is a chard-free zone

My husband is a great guy. He has many wonderful qualities, and I'm lucky to have him. At least this is what he tells me on a semi-regular basis. Most of the time, I'd have to agree with him. However, he's more of a big picture guy and not so good with the attention to details. This is why, last year when I asked him to pick up the romaine seedlings I really should have double-checked. And when we got home and unpacked what turned out to be Swiss chard, I really should have tried to take it back. But I wasn't really interested in a 40 minute drive back into town, and decided I could learn to like Swiss chard. This was perhaps my biggest mistake of all.

Now, please don't regale me with the benefits of chard. The bottom line is that I don't much care for it, and therefore it took up vaulable space in my garden. If you love it, by all means plant it. It grows really well. Too well, actually. I had to rip it out of the garden at the end of the season, because neglect alone wouldn't kill it. The lesson learned here? Only plant what you'll actually eat. This may be what happened to the eggplant, too. Aesthetically, I love eggplant. The glossy dark aubergine with it's little green hat. Taste-wise? I could take it or leave it. My new rule: if I haven't bought it at the market in the past year, I'm probably not going to know what to do with it when it when it crops up in abundance in the garden.

This year I was in charge of picking up the romaine, and I triple-checked it before I got to the checkout counter. I'm already looking forward to the multiple Caesar salads we'll be eating throughout the summer. And I'm able to focus on my husband's finer qualities. All is well with the world.

Irrigation Irritation

I honestly wanted to tell you about the cedar-log retaining wall today, but out of necessity, the last few days have been all about irrigation. The outer leaves of the romaine started to droop two days ago, and as soon as I noticed that I kicked it into high gear (which involved making a cup of tea).

Last year's sprinkler wouldn't work, as we've changed the garden layout from a long rectangle to more of an L-shape. More to the point, last year's sprinkler just wouldn't work. I grow increasingly weary of tools with plastic parts. The sprinkler my parents had when I was a kid was all metal. Sure it rusted a bit, but as far as I can remember I was jumping through the same sprinkler at 2 that I was at 12. They certainly didn't have to replace it every year.

Anyhoo, all this adds up to a trip to the hardware store, which of course makes me happy. On the way in, I grab a tomato seedling of the 'Golden Girl' variety A) because gold-flesh tomatoes are delicious, and B) because I want to name it Betty. I pause briefly at the seed displays and find some soya beans (yay, edamame!) before finally making it to the sprinkler aisle. As I am not interested in watering the weeds behind my garden, I can thankfully eliminate anything that's not directionally adjustable and quickly zero in on the pulsating lawn sprinklers, adjustable anywhere from 30 to 360 degrees. I need about 270. Perfect. I chose the Melnor Deluxe Metal Pulsating Sprinkler, because of the options in front of me it seemed to have the most metal parts and the strongest adjustable collars. If it doesn't last the season, or if I have to replace it next year, I will certainly let you know.



At home, I quickly pre-drill a hole in a conveniently located stump and gently cram the thing in there. A bit of fine-tuning the directional spray, and minutes later I am giddily watching my plants get watered. All that's left to do now is dig out the programmable timer, replace the batteries and figure out how that thing works again. But surely that can wait for another day.

Allow me to introduce myself...

Let's just start by saying that I am not an expert gardener. Enthusiastic, yes. Avid, maybe. But not an expert. I don't know which plants to group together to attract or repel bugs, I don't know the Latin names for anything and I don't own one of those big floppy hats. My expertise lies more in the area of procrastination. Actually, I like to say that I'm an amateur-crastinator. I was going to turn pro, but I never got around to it (ba-dump bump). The world is a fascinating place, and I am easily distracted by both legitimate commitments (son, husband, dog, house, husband in the doghouse) and daydreams (is 40 too old to become a rock star?, I wonder if I could get 80 million litres of crude oil into a bp executive's backyard pool?)

Each year I try growing a few new veggies. Last year, corn (success!) and eggplant (abysmal failure), this year artichoke & lemongrass. Each day I try to convince my 3 year-old to eat vegetables, with varying degrees of success. So, if you check in with me twice a week (does Tuesdays & Fridays work for you?) you'll learn about the successes and failures of my little veggie patch, the ever-hilarious antics of my 3 year-old son, my attempt to build the ultimate playlist for everything and really whatever else captures my attention on that particular day.

My over-burdened computer and insufficient dial-up connection are not letting me post pictures yet. As soon as I figure it out, I'll post I've included a pic of the newly refurbished and expanded retaining wall around the garden which I'll discuss in more detail next time. Unless, of course, something else comes up.