I hate cutting the faded flower heads off my favorite echinacea purpurea. But it’s some consolation knowing that each spiny head will yield dozens of seeds to plant and share.
This dried coneflower was drawn in watercolor and colored pencil.
On the last day of the Raku Retreat, we fired the students’ tiles. Here are a few:
I love hosting Raku Retreats. They take place three times a year, in the little cottage that houses my clay studio. Students spend two consecutive Saturdays here, eating meals from our rambling organic garden and learning to make carved raku tiles. They go home with several finished pieces, lots of fresh ideas, and an assortment of herbs and seedlings from the garden.
So, yesterday was a day of glazing in the cottage, firing on the raku patio and mold-making under the trees. We took a midday break for a scrumptious lunch prepared and served by the Perfect Man (black bean soup with fresh green tomato salsa … just-harvested garden potatoes in dill … grilled chicken wraps … and then … bananas foster… mmm). A flaming dessert seemed like the perfect accompaniment to an afternoon of raku.
I can hardly wait until next time.
…I worked on a relief carving of a purple coneflower instead.
It was hard, but we refrained from eating this one
Last year, compelled by his rich Italian heritage, The Perfect Man planted artichokes. Tender gray-green leaves sprouted, stalled and then took off in a lavish display of foliage that radiated three feet from the central stalk. This spring, a promising vertical shoot rose from the plant’s base, and then another. And another. Soon, there were tasty green artichokes aplenty. We ate them, shared them, and in an almost superhuman effort (for two artichoke lovers, anyway) left one on the plant to bloom. The huge, surreal artichoke flower is a study in contrasts: thorny and tender, aromatic and yet faintly stinky. Bees love them.
I’m proud of The Perfect Man’s artichoke crop. I’ve never seen them grow in this region… in fact, I had never heard of them being cultivated in the United States outside California. Native to the Mediterranean, they were adored by the Romans — not only as a culinary delight, but also as a popular pre-Viagra remedy for men who lacked a certain lustiness. From its earliest cultivation, deep in the recesses of history, the artichoke has been a world leader in the “sexiest vegetable” category.
With the collapse of the Roman Empire, the artichoke dropped off the cultural radar for awhile. But by the Middle Ages it reappeared, and was quickly forbidden to young maidens, lest they become overwhelmed by its reputedly potent aphrodisiacal powers. Luckily for artichoke fans (as well as young maidens) the unconventional Catherine de Medici ate them constantly, and even included them in her trousseau when she arrived in France for her wedding with King Henry II. Soon French cooks discovered what the Italians had known all along: artichokes are scrumptious.
But don’t take my word for it… check out the recipe section here. Happy eating, maidens! Try not to be overwhelmed.
- Harvesting rainwater
I’m not an expert on irrigation, but the cool new rainwater collection system at our local Master Gardeners demonstration plot seems like a no-brainer to me. Worldwide consumption of water is rising fast — twice the rate of the population — but fresh water makes up less than 3 percent of all the planet’s water resources. When a scarce resource falls right out of the sky, it makes sense to harvest it. That’s exactly what the folks at the county demonstration garden are doing.
Fruit trees... demonstrating!
Rainwater can be collected from any relatively clean surface (rooftops and pool covers, for example) and then used for irrigation, flushing the toilet, washing the car, rinsing garden tools — just don’t drink it.
The system at the demonstration garden uses rain gutters on a small outbuilding to capture water:
These gutters capture 160 - 240 gallons per 1" rainfall
Even a tiny toolshed can yield a surprisingly large volume of fresh water. According to a formula from the Alabama Cooperative Extension System, a 10 x 10 foot surface collects approximately 50 gallons for every inch of rainfall. The main tank for the demonstration garden holds 1800 gallons, and it was full:
Next stop after the rooftop: the storage tank
The thick, vertical pipe visible at the corner of the red building is the first flush diverter. It’s a simple device that catches the first flush of water during each rain — the rain that rinses off any dirt, bird droppings, acorns or leaves that might have landed on the roof recently. Once the diverter is full, the remaining water passes over it and runs into the storage tank. See the plug at the bottom of the pipe? That’s where the first flush water can be drained, between rains.
Storage tanks can be made from all kinds of clean containers. .. however, the Cooperative Extension folks warn that you need to be very careful about what has been previously stored in them. New or never-previously-used fuel tanks, fiberglass containers or septic tanks are what they recommend for larger capacity. There are also polyethylene tanks manufactured for use in the sugar industry, which are cheap to buy and easy to rinse for repurposing as water storage.
Light colored tanks should be painted dark green or black to prevent light penetration. If you bury your storage tank, color doesn’t matter.
Distribution is by gravity or a small pump
(We’re down here in a subtropical climate zone, so temperature extremes are never a problem. But in colder climates, exposed storage tanks would need to be durable enough to tolerate water freezing and thawing during the winter. The recommendation is high-density polyethylene, and a domed top or overflow pipe to allow expansion.)
The demonstration garden slopes gently away from the water containment tank, so gravity alone was enough to provide pressure for drip irrigation. But it’s a big garden, so last week a small electric pump was installed at the base of the storage tank. Now the Master Gardener volunteers can sprinkle, mist and hose to their hearts’ content. If you don’t have electricity in the vicinity of your water storage, a gasoline pump will work.
I’m intrigued. I think a set of rain barrels and some spiffy new catchment gutters on the art studio might be a good fall project. After patiently answering my many questions, the County Extension agent gave me some sources of additional, more detailed information. I’ve listed them below. Happy harvesting!
Virginia Rainwater Harvesting Manual
Happy drawing!
When it comes to scary subject matter — the stuff you try not to think about when you wake unexpectedly at 2 a.m. — Stephen King can’t hold a candle to Poisonous Plants of the Southern United States. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen to you within 48 hours of, say, nibbling a little lantana from your curbside landscaping, this handy guide from West Virginia University will tell you in excrutiating detail. (Don’t read the lantana section if you are about to have lunch. You’ve been warned.)
Eeeeeeeeek!
As the grandmother of two toddler girls who love to pick flowers, I’m all for nontoxic landscaping. Better yet, edible landscaping. So this year, while our regular backyard garden is doing its usual exuberant summer thing…
… some food crops have replaced traditional landscape plants on the “public” side of the fence. Five itty-bitty Bush Pickle cucumber plants, tucked next to a privacy fence and around the foot of an antique urn, have produced several dozen fat seven-inch cukes and show no signs of slowing. No sign of wilt or insect infestation, either — which, here in the coastal subtropics, is cause for rejoicing.
We tried a ten-foot row of Greasyback Cornstalk beans, a wonderful heirloom that was my great-grandmother’s garden favorite, against a section of privacy fence. A strip of plastic bird netting is tacked to the fence posts to give the beanstalks something to grab. I’m watering them with a dipper from our algae-rich fish pond, and they’re producing lots of characteristically knobby, slightly shiny green beans. Some catnip and St. Francis finish off the little bed.
There’s something very satisfying about landscaping with table fare. Our lawn crops over the past two years have expanded to include citrus, blueberries and culinary ginger, and we want to keep moving in that direction. Eating the yard isn’t for everyone — there are a lot of folks living in suburban housing developments with restrictive covenants, for example, and inner-city gardeners whose street gardens are fraught with unforeseen hazards.
But, personally, I love the idea of yanking out a poisonous invasive and replacing it with something the grandbabies can happily harvest. Hey, lantana! Let’s see you do this:
… in the garden shed is Beatrix, named for a certain beloved author/illustrator whose stories were often set in gardens. Thank you to everyone who suggested names for her!
