Collards

Today I took baby Sprout out in the yard and lo! Our collards, which all spent months entirely under snow cover and then were frozen in ice that formed after the snow melt, somehow survived.

So they're alive but not quite thriving. I wonder whether they'll perk up now that it's March?

Spring Thaw

Well, this site has lain dormant for far too long. No bike picture happened. No updates on the indoor tomatoes or the outdoor collards or basil or anything else have sprung forth fully pixelated from their electronic beds. No overstated, under-qualified, and highly-idealized ruminations on the joys of growing our own food -- paltry yield that it was -- have emerged to sate the curiosity of our massive readership. But spring is almost here, and sprouts are sprouting. Our minds have begun to turn to container kitchen gardens once again. So, let's give it another go.

First, an update. Indoor tomato survived the winter, not producing much but never quite ceasing production either. Most of its fruits haven't really appeared edible, though I did munch a particularly good-looking one yesterday and found it tasty. Now that the days are lengthening, the plant is putting out many more flowers than it did in January (pictured above). These flowers seem to imply that it will also be providing more fruit. So, we may well try to keep it going -- the new question will be whether to sow something new around its base.

Second, something a bit more on the "review" side of things: Summer and I have been reading up for the upcoming growing season. Specifically, we've turned to Novella Carpenter's Farm City for inspiration, and McGee and Stuckey's Bountiful Container for information. Some words on each.

Farm City is a lighthearted account of the author's garden and animal menagerie in a somewhat blemished section of Oakland. Though the hipsterdom is a bit much at times (see, e.g., Carpenter's neighbor's underground speakeasy), overall the book is well-written and engaging -- a quick, fun read. On a personal level, I wound up jealous of Carpenter for the vacant lot she was able to squat on in order to put up her raised garden beds (and the ensuing bounty), and impressed in a more arm's-length way at her animal-raising, -slaughtering, and -eating (including learning to butcher the pigs she raised in urban Oakland). Also, I realized how little I know about not only particular foods but also gardens, botany, the whole shebang. Further reading is required.

Bountiful Container I'm only halfway through, though I've been over all the general gardening info and am now well into the compendium of information on growing particular edible plants. The general info seems like it will be very helpful (see below), and the compendium doubly so: for now, it's serving as inspiration for what we ought to grow this year (I had to put the book down and pick up another last night because it was making me hungry), and once our container gardens are actually in the works I'm sure its specific information will prove invaluable. The book's subtitle, Create Container Gardens of Vegetables, Herbs, Fruits, and Edible Flowers, appears apt. Perhaps most importantly, though, the authors strike the perfect tone: conversational but extremely knowledgeable, not just in a how-to sense, but also in a historical sense. Bountiful Container is really a surprisingly fun read.

Moving on.

Third, here's some of what we've learned, largely from McGee and Stuckey:

1. We needn't plant so scantly; maximum use of limited space appears best accomplished by using varied root lengths and plant heights in one container.
2. We ought to water daily. Perhaps I failed to mention last year that our cucumbers were on the bitter side? Well, apparently low water levels not only slow plant growth, but also lead to a bitter flavor. So: more water.
3. We ought to harvest the vegetables more quickly. Perhaps I also failed to mention last year that we only ended up with, I think, two cucumbers? It turns out that when you leave some vegetables on the vine long enough to go to seed, they'll stop producing. Seems that's what happened here. This year, when in doubt, we'll harvest.
4. We ought to provide some plant food. Last year, our potting soil was likely insufficient. We did get plant food, but weren't sure how or why to apply it after the initial planting. Given that we have yet to implement a composting regime (and starting one seems over-ambitious given the other sprout we're tending to), some supplement is probably necessary this year. So we'll try a basic rule: regular phosphorus-rich food (liquid seaweed comes recommended) for vegetables, and regular nitrogen-rich food (fish-based, like what we already have) for leafy greens.
5. Disaster: it might already be too late to start snap peas!

So, that ought to provide plenty to chew on for now. We'll try to keep you posted.

Vegetables and Bicycles, Part 2

This installment continues my two-pronged urban enviro-hipster attack. First on the agenda: vegetables.

We returned from Minnesota to find plenty of heat and humidity, but nothing close to the lobster-in-a-pot sensation July had so amply supplied. The relatively cooperative weather has resulted in a significant resurgence of our plants. The collards, both indoor and out, are getting broad-leafed; the tomatoes, again both indoor and out, have sprouted flowers and fruits; and the basil has reverted from bolting to leaf production in earnest. In fact, the latter adorned last night's tasty caprese salad.

Given my earlier fawning, it will surprise no one that the plants' resurgence has accompanied a very robust feeling of happiness and fullness, but their role in producing this feeling is difficult to extricate from certain other potential factors--

--of which the other one relevant here is my beloved bicycle, the second item on the agenda.

Wednesday morning, I took a three mile ride past parks and a community garden. Today I reprised my route with slight modifications. In addition to providing the thrill that inheres in exercising a newly-learned skill (such as it is), particularly one that involves some degree of speed and a resulting onrush of breeze, biking also allows an opportunity for impressionistic observation. Walking still seems best for picking up details, like gargoyles and busts of George Washington; driving is efficient but leaves little lasting impression; but biking's medium pace suggests a very significant amount of green on Providence's east side, the trees and gardens prevailing even over the bumps and divets in the road as the neighborhood's standout element. Without the distraction of details, a broad appreciation for the neighborhood's beauty is easier to cultivate.

That's it for now; today you get only gushing. Next time I hope to dig up some new food for thought and riff again on something beyond Summer's and my continued encroachment on urban crunchiness. Also, hopefully there'll be a picture involving the bike!

Vegetables and Bicycles

I wrote the following a week ago and never edited or posted it:

We have been eating our vegetables. Tomatoes in salads. Cucumber spears with hummus. Basil on caprese salads with farmers' market (big) tomatoes and Narragansett Creamery mozzarella. The eggplant is still growing--

--but seems to have stalled. As has everything else now. I blame the string of hot, humid days interspersed with sudden, fierce rainstorms whose rainfall evaporates seemingly instantaneously. Of course the relative fallowness of our container gardens has nothing to do with my failure to provide water adequate to keep up with the heat.

Nevertheless, in the battle of the tomatoes, the outdoor plant is proving victorious on the all-important flavor front. It seems the weather does not detract from flavor, whereas the indoor environment does somehow. Again the fault might lie with an over-zealous harvester (me) anticipating ripeness before it arrives. We'll see when the next few indoor tomatoes are ready.

As for the greens, so far it's a wash. But the indoor collards are finally beginning to show some spirit! They might yet pull ahead. Stay tuned...

Since then, the main update we have to report is the unfortunate demise of the eggplant. We never harvested it in part because of its spikes and in part because of its size. First its sides began to split, then something other than us started eating it. We’ve been seeing a suspicious bunny who is now the prime suspect.

But there’s another cuke in the fridge and a bunch of tomatoes in the works. These days they’re coming at a rate that’s good for snacking rather than dining. Hopefully the collards will be waiting for us on our return from Minnesota.

As things slow down on the garden front, I will begin phasing in reports on a new project: learning to ride a bike. Since we moved in January, everything is still close but a little less walkable. We do plenty of walking, but grocery stores and coffee shops are far enough away that the mental block is harder to overcome. On the other hand, we now live on a wide street opposite a cul-de-sac. An obvious solution clicked into place: bike.

Except for one thing.

Despite my family’s efforts, I never properly learned the whole “riding a bike” thing when I was a kid. I used to find bikes terrifying. And they still are, but in a more thrilling, fun, and oddly utilitarian way. Given this evolution in my mindset, I hypothesized and Summer agreed that now was the time to strike.

So we did our research. We read the internets and went to a couple of bike shops. I obsessively trolled craigslist, even heading out one Saturday to pick up a free, too-small, broken beater. I jealously watched neighborhood folks coast past our windows and took mental notes on biking technique. Summer teased me whenever a bike happened by wherever we happened to be.

Finally, yesterday we walked down to Legend Bicycle, about two miles away. The sun was out, the weather was warm but not oppressive for the first time in weeks, and I wore my bald guy hat. I had deposited my free bicycle at Legend a week before and got good vibes. The gentleman in the shop had suggested a particular no-frills single speed as a good bike to learn on, and my research had confirmed that it would be relatively easy to ride, indestructible, and not too difficult to convert into a commuter with the addition of a rack and fenders. (I am hoping to become competent some day.) Perfect!

Not long afterward, I was the proud owner of a blue and orange bicycle, a lock, and a helmet. And a two-mile walk, a lunch, and an intervening drive after that, Summer was helping to convince me I could stay upright as I attempted with varying degrees of success to do circles and figure-8s in our driveway.

Today I graduated to the cul-de-sac, and managed not to fall over at all! Tomorrow, before we go to Minnesota, I plan on going around the block. Deep breath. I’ll be a proper stereotypical urban green before long now. And soon I’ll be able to think and post reflections again; for now, I’m still just too excited by this new development to do much more than report. Fun!

Fruits and Vegetables!

"Nice fresh fruits and vegetables / make you feel so free."
Shonen Knife, Fruits and Vegetables

The plants have begun to bear fruits (and vegetables)!

These fruits and vegetables are both nice and fresh, though none is yet edible.

It will shock no one that the outdoor vegetables are thriving most; every plant has at least one product on display. The tomatoes lead the way with lots of both varieties (pear tomatoes and cherry tomatoes) in various stages of ripeness:

The cucumber, however, takes the prize for sheer vegetable mass (not surprising given its propensity for taking over its pot). In addition to one behemoth, there are many mini-cukes in the works. Here's the behemoth, with burgeoning eggplant and an eggplant blossom for scale:

And speaking of mini, the cucumber's pot-mates, the jalapeño and the eggplant, each have little more than a shiny little ball ballooning where a flower used to be. The jalapeño is an appropriately edgy dark green, the eggplant a creamy white (the norm for its variety).

Inside, the tomatoes have grown taller than me, and only the cherry has blossomed. But it is blossoming quite enthusiastically, and my cotton-swab pollination seems to have worked in at least one instance. Yes, we have our first indoor tomato!

The mint and basil continue to remain wildly productive as well, and the basil lent itself to a delicious caprese dinner the other night. Here's the mint forest:

We are thrilled with all this success. And yet... The leafy greens remain, surprisingly, something of an enigma. Yes, I harvested some collards (raw, they taste like brussels sprouts!) and spinach to accompany a dinner last week, and yes they were delicious sautéed with mustard and a little (Niman Ranch) bacon, but then again, what wouldn't be delicious sautéed with mustard and bacon? More importantly, though, why do they seem to be the least happy of our botanical charges? The outdoor arugula and spinach bolted very quickly despite my (admittedly inconsistent) attempts to keep their tops clipped and send their energy into delicious leaf production. The collards seem to have stopped growing altogether. The surviving indoor greens have fully recovered from their cat attack and are currently resting in sequestration, healthy but also not perceptibly growing. I'll have to do some reading to find out how to coax more leaves from these willful little creatures.

In any event, just having nice fresh fruits (tomatoes!) and vegetables (jalapeño! eggplant!) in the works, even if they're not yet ready for consumption, does make me feel so free. Hopefully within the next couple of weeks, we will be free from the necessity of eating primarily the sorts of fruits and vegetables that we saw growing in the fields of California earlier this month. In particular, that one little indoor tomato growing next to our dining room table reminds me, to quote the great chaotician Ian Malcolm, that (even in a city apartment) "life finds a way." (I just re-watched childhood favorite Jurassic Park; forgive the reference.)

Mint Ice Cream

Mint Chocolate Chip is an ice cream flavor composed of mint ice cream and small chocolate chips. In some cases the liqueur crème de menthe is used to provide the mint flavor, but in most cases peppermint or spearmint flavoring is used. Food coloring is usually added to make it green, but it may be white in "all natural" or "organic" varieties.

Wikipedia: "Mint Chocolate Chip"

Summer's transcendent mint chocolate chip ice cream was not made from crème de menthe or mint flavoring, but rather from mint leaves that she grew in a container outside our apartment. The leaves provided the slight coloration and potent mint flavor. The ice cream is perfect. Absolutely perfect:

Additionally, the dairy came from the local Rhody Fresh co-op (whose cows graze and are happy--I've seen them!) and the sugar is organic. Cows and cane probably aren't in our garden's future, so we are lucky our grocery store carries ingredients that no doubt contributed to the ice cream's indescribable (unless you consider "transcendent" and "perfect" descriptive, which, sadly, I do not) deliciousness.

Finding Inspiration in Odd Places

Herbicides can be used to combat the growth of weeds in alfalfa fields. The herbicides typically used are quite toxic, and federally mandated directions for their use require such measures as 24 hours’ notice, onsite inspections to prevent “water contamination or drift into residential areas,” and the use of “special equipment (respirators, protective clothing and the like).” Many farmers would prefer to use Roundup agricultural herbicides, which control nearly every weed species in alfalfa crops, “dissipate[] rapidly in the soil” without residue, can be bought at any local hardware store, and can be used without any specialized safety equipment. The Environmental Protection Agency (“EPA”) has found the active ingredient in Roundup—glyphosate—to be one of the most environmentally responsible herbicides available commercially. But applying Roundup to kill the weeds in conventional alfalfa fields would also destroy the alfalfa.

Gregory Garre, Attorney for Monsanto, Petitioner's Brief in Monsanto v. Geertson

Although Monsanto v. Geertson is about alfalfa--not something that makes up a large part of my diet, except very indirectly (principally as dairy products)--its focus on pesticides got me thinking about the food value of the plants we're growing. I recently read that among the grocery store foods to approach with the most caution are generic potatoes, which leach pesticides from the surrounding soil and transport these chemicals directly to their consumers. Yum!

Sadly, we did not elect to grow any potatoes this year--we'll have to rely on organics from the grocery store and farmers' market to avoid concentrated chemical pesticides. (Side note: Summer did keep an indoor potato plant alive for quite some time once before, but it never seemed to grow particularly tuberous.) But it is nice to know that the vegetables we are producing will not have been drenched in anything but sunshine and, for the outdoor plants, the occasional downpour.

And, speaking of the outdoor plants, they are continuing to thrive and are beginning to pay dividends as food (despite my propensity for parenthetical phrases today, I will eventually address the promised point of our plants' food value). As for the thriving, there is no longer much (if any) visible bedding in the leafy greens, the vegetables are growing like crazy (including the once-overcrowded pepper), and the tomatoes are blooming in earnest now. The only concern with the vegetables is the aggressive cucumber plant, which is shooting out tendrils in an attempt to take over the whole cage and planter from the eggplant and pepper. Those two scrappy vegetables, however, seem to be holding their own. Meanwhile the basil has leaves to rival (or best) the spinach and arugula in size, and Summer has managed to multiply the already impressive mint by replanting cuttings.

Back to food(!), though, the leafy greens are probably overready for their first harvest. I tasted an arugula leaf the other day and was blown away by the peppery flavor, whose intensity bests even leaves from the farmers' market. I guess nothing beats straight-from-the-garden for flavor. The mint is also more intense than any I can remember having tasted. Summer intends to make fresh mint ice cream TONIGHT, an idea which has me giddy with excitement (and which had me slavering at my desk this afternoon). We are trying to figure out what to do with the basil; many of these greens and herbs have become so large so quickly that our meal plans failed to account for their viability as ingredients. All vegetables are still in the floral stage, so we've had to resort to the farmers' market for fresh (and delicious) tomatoes which we consumed tonight.

Turning our attention inside, the leafy greens have not really recovered from their attack by a hungry and ornery (and obese) housecat. In fact, both indoor arugula plants and a spinach seem to have fully kicked the bucket; the two collards and the remaining indoor spinach soldier on but remain small. If they don't demonstrate a little more interest in getting big, they might have to lose their experimental status and go outside. The indoor tomatoes, however, continue to explode ever upward (forming an interesting contrast with the bushy tomatoes outside), shooting out branches at odd intervals. They do not seem to be flowering as quickly as the outdoor tomatoes, but they are unquestionably healthy and happy.

Summer has a menagerie just beginning to crop up inside as well. She is raising two varieties of tomatoes and green peppers from seed. In weeks past, they were barely visible; now, they are several inches tall. With any luck, the six varieties of tomatoes planted on two different time frames will provide us with a steady supply of late-summer fruits. And I realized that I've been neglecting the culinary potential of another indoor denizen under Summer's care: lavender. Sure enough, I just plucked and tasted a leaf from the plucky herb, and it is delicious.

So, with the exception of those few that succumbed to feline hunger and orneriness, our plants are healthy and are in the process of becoming edible. We haven't even had the tiniest thought about resorting to chemicals that are quite toxic, that might contaminate residential areas, or that require respirators or special clothing (nor to their counterparts that dissipate in soil and leave no residue). To put things into a bit of perspective, it's true that our garden is nowhere near subsistence-level, but it's equally true that hazardous chemicals have no business being anywhere near our food. And to make sure that your food is chemical-free, the only thing better than knowing your farmer is growing food yourself.

More from Mr. Leopold

It is also evident that our plant biases reflect not only vocations but avocations with a delicate allocation of priority between industry and indolence. ... Our biases are indeed a sensitive index to our affections, our tastes, our loyalties, our generosities, and our manner of wasting weekends.

Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

It has become quite clear to me that, although I have fond memories of popping impatiens pods, admiring brightly colored day lilies, and sketching the roses that bloomed outside the window of my boyhood bedroom, my plant biases indicate tastes more than anything else. My family's long-standing food-centricity is likely the reason that vegetables have fully captured my attention. If you consider only the easy availability of grocery store produce then I suppose my weekends and Summer's are to some extent wasted on the production of vegetables; however, many factors counsel otherwise.

In addition to the inherent value in connecting with plants and nurturing green life, there is further value in exerting personal sovereignty over even a small sector of one's food supply, in avoiding BPA-lined tomato cans or tomatoes picked by slaves or tomatoes coated in harmful chemical sprays, in developing responsibility, and in trading in one's white collar for a pair of dirty hands. And there is joy in green-tinged light and leaf-shaped shadows playing on the apartment floor.

However, there is also sadness when one's cat misbehaves (just as one had previously worried) and eats one's indoor arugula and spinach. These refugees are recuperating behind closed doors (the cage is a relic of a botched effort to repel the cat):

Their outdoor counterparts are thriving:

The indoor tomatoes have proven unappetizing to the cat and have accordingly grown and begun to bloom:

When more blossoms appear, we will attempt to pollinate by cotton swab.

Outside, the tomatoes are flourishing even more:

We are trying not to count our tomatoes before they hatch, but we are optimistic enough to have begun thinking about how to preserve some of our putative summer harvest.

Meanwhile, the vegetables are looking well, although the jalapeño might be a bit crowded:

Summer has been tending to basil and mint, as well as raising a variety of vegetables from seed. The mint in particular has already paid dividends, finding its way into glasses of ice water and proving delicious. Here it is:

Best of all, we camped out in the yard on beach chairs yesterday afternoon after walking to a coffee shop and visiting a park, and altogether thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful afternoon. One can easily index our affections and our tastes from the plants we're growing, but one can hardly count the weekend wasted.

Reflection Courtesy of Aldo Leopold

There are two spiritual dangers in not owning a farm. One is the danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery, and the other that heat comes from the furnace.

To avoid the first danger, one should plant a garden, preferably where there is no grocer to confuse the issue.

Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

I'm not certain that our initial attempt at a garden will much assuage the spiritual danger of supposing that breakfast comes from the grocery. Breakfast, as things currently stand, comes from a number of places: organic yogurt which (according to Wikipedia) is "sourced from New England and Midwest dairy farmers through the CROPP cooperative," organic oats from Maine, organic bananas from Central America, and other fruits of various provenance. All of which is an indirect way of saying that it comes from the grocery. Hopefully our garden, once it gets going, will do better for our suppositions regarding lunch and dinner. Regardless, it is already and unquestionably a spiritual salve.

Over the course of these first few days, a simple peek out the window at our outdoor group of vegetables has been a reliable source of feelings whose descriptions would either be saccharine or clichéd if I were to attempt them. The vegetables' appearance of contentment is undoubtedly a reflection of their viewer and not themselves. The indoor group has produced a surprising sense of responsibility, in that I worry about the recent cloud cover allowing only insufficient sunlight through our south-facing windows, and even more about our willful cat chomping on the indoor leafy greens. He's taken a few bites, but seems to have backed off.

The sense of stewardship that comes with even such a minor and wholly insufficient garden is startling. I was expecting to feel the reserve that tends to accompany one who is trying to maintain a feeling of individuality even while jumping on a bandwagon. This expectation was only furthered by the small size and great uncertainty of the garden itself, which can do little more than supplement our diet if it begins producing. So my strong reaction seems indicative that Mr. Leopold was correct--there is a certain irreplaceable quality, whether spiritual or psychological, that cannot be realized except through cultivation. And because I am certain not to own a farm any time soon (indeed, I quite enjoy living in an urban setting where I can both walk to work and see plenty of green outside my windows), I will have to rely on these plants to provide that quality.

An Experiment

Yesterday Summer and I purchased several plants at Southside Community Land Trust's annual plant sale. This was not our first time making such a purchase, though we've never had much luck before. This year, however, will be different. This time, we have a plan.

These plants are vegetables, specifically collard greens, spinach, arugula, eggplant, cucumber, jalapeño, and three varieties of tomatoes. Here they are:

The nature of the experiment is as follows. All of the plants will reside in containers, specifically sub-irrigated planters. To be even more specific, these ones:

Some plants will remain indoors, namely sungold cherry tomatoes, roma tomatoes, collards, spinach, and arugula. Some will remain outdoors, namely sungold cherry tomatoes, pear tomatoes, collards, spinach, arugula, eggplant, cucumber, and jalapeño. All have been planted in the same organic potting mix, hopefully to be supplemented by home-made compost but otherwise to be supplemented by a fish-based plant food.

We have three goals: first, to gain some idea what we're doing eventually; second, to compare the indoor versus outdoor growing condition; and third, to produce some tasty food. I'm particularly keen on item three.

Why are we doing this? I for one have always been a sucker for trends. Especially when those trends involve supporting an organization worth supporting, increasing urban plant life, improving my understanding of where food comes from, and giving myself access to the freshest ingredients possible. Hopefully this experiment will spawn more thoughts on these and other as-yet-unforeseen topics. And delicious meals.

So, the plants have been planted and taken their appointed places. Here they are. Updates to follow.

The outdoor group:

The indoor group: