Rosslyn Redux

Tag: Vegetable Garden

  • Veggie Patch Lullaby

    It’s that time of year again when we put the vegetable garden to sleep.

    I’ve been asked if it isn’t bittersweet ripping out limp, frosted tomato plants and tilling under the rotting stems of zucchini and cantaloupe.

    Leaves are gone and frost is frequent, but Rosslyn's veggie patch is no crying matter.
    The leaves are gone and frost is frequent, but Rosslyn’s veggie patch is no crying matter. Far from it!

    And you know, it really isn’t bittersweet. It’s a celebration of another bountiful summer, eating delicious, fresh produce harvested from a small plot of dirt a short walk from my kitchen. And it’s a celebration of the bounty yet to come. I know that sounds sort of “woo-woo” Pollyanna-ish, but I genuinely mean it. Putting this summer’s garden to bed is actually a way of starting on next summer’s vegetable garden.

    I love composting almost as much as gardening!

    Besides, there’s still so much happening in the garden. Shortly we’ll begin harvesting leeks and that’ll continue through Thanksgiving, maybe even Christmas if the ground doesn’t freeze.

    I've stripped the Brussels sprouts in the hopes of fattening their frost-sweetened treats.
    I’ve stripped the Brussels sprouts in the hopes of fattening their frost-sweetened treats.

    And I’ve just finished knocking most of the foliage off of our Brussels sprouts so they can continue to fill out. I’m about a month late, so it may not have as much effect as it would’ve otherwise. Under the best of circumstances this practice helps fatten up the sprouts.

    The artichokes provide the only bittersweet harmony in my veggie patch lullaby. Out of a dozen plants, only six survived the swampy May and June early season. Plants that thrive in the sandy, dry, relatively temperate Monterey Peninsula struggle in clay soil flooded by rain after rain after rain. And of the six plants that survived, they developed slowly and bore no chokes. Three of the plants are at prime July first condition today! I’ve accepted that we won’t be eating any homegrown artichokes this year, but I’m not giving up hope for next year.

    The Imperial Star artichokes remain healthy, but they failed to produce even a single choke this summer.
    The Imperial Star artichokes remain healthy, but they failed to produce even a single choke this summer.

    Given the decent artichoke crop me managed two summers ago and the outstanding bumper crop last year, I’m going to continue growing artichokes at Rosslyn. In fact, I’m going to undertake a bold experiment.

    Ever since discovering that Imperial Star Artichokes can be grown successfully in our abbreviated norther season, I’ve been tempted to defy conventional wisdom.

    Although artichokes in more forgiving climes can be grown as perennials, severe North Country winters and a short season require transplanting healthy, established juvenile artichokes and accepting that the crop will not endure from season to season.

    It's time to start harvesting the leeks, perfect timing for outside grilling and soup.
    It’s time to start harvesting the leeks, perfect timing for outside grilling and soup.

    Annual artichokes are certainly better than no artichokes, but given our fruitless season I’ve decided to see if I can’t successfully overwinter our plants.

    I plan to cut them back almost to their base once they’ve actually stopped growing and become dormant. And then, before we get any deep frosts or snow, I’ll bury the plants in straw, leaves and organic mulch to try and insulate them over the winter.

    Nothing lost in trying!

    November greens (and purples) that continue to nourish us.
    November greens (and purples) that continue to nourish us.

    And I’ve overlooked the still productive raised bed, still flush with greens. Although some of the spinach has browned off, and most of the kale is gone (some pest really did a number on it late this fall), the beets, beet “purples”, Swiss chard and lettuce continue to feed us.

    So you see, the veggie patch lullaby is a happy, hopeful tune!

    How do you feel when it’s time to put your veggie patch to bed for the winter?

  • The Farm

    Rock Harbor Rhubarb (and memories of The Farm!)
    Rock Harbor Rhubarb (and memories of The Farm!)

    We walked down the road from the tennis court and stopped off at my parents’ house, still closed up for the winter. It would be several weeks before my parents arrived in Rock Harbor for the summer, and by then the asparagus would have gone to seed, so we picked enough for dinner and enough extra to bring back to the city for another meal.

    I also picked a fistful of rhubarb to sauté with maple syrup for dessert. Susan disliked rhubarb, but I loved the lip puckering tartness. The taste transports me instantly to The Farm.

    My parents, living and working in New York City, had purchased an 1840s farmhouse on 85 acres near Greenwich, New York five months after getting married. I was born less than two years later.

    Although The Farm served primarily as a weekend getaway for the next five years, it dominates the geography of my earliest childhood. A stream of nostalgia gilded memories flow from this pastoral source: exploring the time-worn barns, absent livestock except for those conjured up by my energetic imagination and the swallows which darted in and out, building nests in the rafters, gliding like darts through dusty sunbeams; vegetable gardening with my mother; tending apple, pear and quince trees with my father; eating fresh rhubarb, strawberries and blackberries; discovering deer and raccoons and snakes and even a snapping turtle.

  • Autumn Vegetable Garden Update

    Autumn Vegetable Garden Update

    It’s been getting considerably cooler at night lately, and feeling fall-like much earlier than the last few years. We’ve already had two nights that broke forty degrees! But still no killing frost.

    The vegetable garden is still thick with produce. We’ve been eating cantaloupes and musk melons just as quickly as we can. The same goes for eggplant and tomatoes. We’ve lost the battle with cucumbers which are getting so big they’re almost obscene. I have to apologize before giving them away as a gifts lest I offend someone with tender sensibilities. Fortunately they still taste good. The key is to slice them the long way and scoop out all of the seeds the same way you do with melons.

    Several varieties of tomatoes have succumbed to blights. Fortunately the affliction hasn’t really damaged many tomatoes themselves, just the plants. It seems to primarily be an issue with the determinate varieties. 75% of the indeterminate plants are still growing like gangbusters, pumping out large, delicious heirloom tomatoes.

    The zucchini seem to have gone dormant, although they’re still producing lots of blossoms. I would love to cook up some squash blossoms before the season ends, but haven’t managed to do it yet.

    Lots and lots of sweet peppers too. And a full crop of green beans, spinach, lettuce, Swiss chard, and baby kale coming online soon. I grew a small quantity of beets with the intention of harvesting their “greens” (actually, their deep purple/red). We ate about half of the crop in our salads this summer, but at this point many of them have grown into full grown beets. So we’ll end up harvesting those as well this fall.

    What else? The Brussels sprouts are just beginning to set, so I need to snap off most of the foliage to concentrate their energy into sprouts. We pulled up all the corn stocks and composted them. The leaks will be ready to start harvesting in about a month, and only the artichokes have failed to produce. After last summer’s bumper crop, it’s a mystery. Half of the plants succumbed to root rot during the rainy month of June. And the half dozen plants that lived are runty and unproductive. To date none have set even the smallest of chokes. Not giving up yet though…

  • Autumn Vibes

    Autumn Vibes

    Autumn Vibes ⁣(Photo: R.P. Murphy)
    Autumn Vibes ⁣(Photo: R.P. Murphy)

    Sugar maples ablaze between the orchard, gardens, and barns. What a season! ⁣Thanks, Pam, for capturing the autumn vibes from this fun vantage point in the nearest of Rosslyn’s meadows.

    Although leaf peeping fiery fall foliage is inevitably and justifiably the cynosure this time of year, autumn vibes are aroused insubtler ways as well.

    Ripe apples and pears in the orchard. Grapes trellised along the fence line. Blueberry bushes blushing crimson. Squirrels hustling acorns into their winter larders. Deer, emboldened, arcing easily over the fence to forage the gardens and orchard. Canada geese chattering south in protean Vs, settling onto the lake or into the fields for the night…

    There are so many transitions to mark this mature season.

    And this year we have a new ritual this year: re-covering the high tunnel after months of open air gardening. New scissor doors will make air circulation and cooling convenient in the coming weeks when daytime solar gain can still be significant. And with a hint of good fortune we may even extend our growing season later than in the past. New experiment. New territory. New optimism. And the always new but familiar autumn vibes of light frost followed by heavy frost — gentle warning followed by mortal barrage — whittle dramatically away at the vegetable garden’s viability. But with the high tunnel it just might look a bit different this year. We hope so.

    Autumn Vibes Haiku

    Early the ash turns,
    now maples and blueberries,
    succession of leaves.
                    — Geo Davis

    So recently I shared a still-ripening vision of autumn, similarly infused with lyric longing and luminescence, but less resigned, less resolved, perhaps less poignant. In “September Twangs” the micro poem wasn’t puerile, but it did sing with the intoxicating twang of exuberance and curiosity. The poem above, though a mere sliver of a season, nods to the inevitability of fall’s flourish fading. If the earlier haiku was a ginger, matinal perspective, a youthful perspective when autumn was just arriving, this October haiku is less twang and more the sound of fireworks fading. Perhaps a sonic boom echo-doppling into the forests and hills, perhaps a casdade of delicate cracklings decaying downward, twinkling sparks like celestial petals falling free of their blooms, bending toward gravity’s seductive beckon, then fluttering toward the placid lake’s watery mirror.

  • Almost Logical

    What if? Wondering what life would be like living full-time in the Champlain Valley...
    What if? Wondering what life would be like living full-time in the Champlain Valley…

    Within minutes we were tripping over each other, drunk with excitement, imagining one whimsical “What if…” scenario after another. No filter, no caution. Our reveries flitted from one idyllic snapshot to another.

    “What if I finally sat down and finished my novel?” After dawdling self indulgently for a dozen years – writing, rewriting, discarding, rewriting, shuffling, reinventing – my novel had evolved from failed poetry collection to short story collection to novel to a tangle of interconnecting narratives that loosely paralleled my life since graduating from college. Too much evolution. Too little focus. But what if I made time to sit down and knock it out? Reboot. Start over. Find the story. Write it down. Move on.

    “What if you weren’t sitting in front of your computer all day? Every day?” Susan asked, returning to a common theme. “What if you went outside and played with Tasha? Took her swimming or hiking or skiing every day?”

    “What if all three of us went swimming or hiking or skiing every day? What if Tasha and I went jogging along Lakeshore Road instead of the East River?”

    We could waterski and windsurf for half the year instead of just two or three months, starting in May with drysuits and finishing in the end of October. We could sail the Hobie Cat more instead of letting it collect spider webs on the Rock Harbor beach. I could fly fish the Boquet and Ausable Rivers in the afternoon while Tasha snoozed on the bank. We could join Essex Farm, the local CSA, supporting a local startup while eating healthy, locally grown and raised food. I could grow a vegetable garden, an herb garden, an orchard. Susan could work for an architecture firm in Burlington and volunteer at the animal shelter. We could buy season passes to Whiteface and downhill ski several days a week. We could cross country ski and snowshoe and bike and rollerblade and kayak and canoe and hike, and maybe I would start rock climbing again. And how much more smoothly the Lapine House renovation would be if we were on-site every day answering questions, catching mistakes before it was too late.

    “I could interview candidates for Hamilton!” Susan said. She had recently become an alumni trustee for her alma mater, and her already high enthusiasm had skyrocketed. She had become a walking-talking billboard for the college. “You know how much more valuable it would be to interview candidates up here? There are tons of alumni interviewers in Manhattan, but in Westport? In Essex? In Elizabethtown?”

    Suspended in lukewarm bathwater, our collective brainstorm leap frogging forward, it all started to make a strange sort of sense, to seem almost logical.

  • Rosslyn Gardens: Heirloom Tomatoes and More

    Rosslyn Gardens: Heirloom Tomatoes and More

    Rain, rain, rain. That was the main melody this spring, and all of that rain delayed planting vegetables. But as Lake Champlain‘s devastating flood of 2011 begins to subside, I shift my attention to the garden. The latest video update takes a look at what’s been planted in the garden including lots of tomatoes: Beaverlodge 6808, Cherry Buzz, Cuore Di Bue, Green Zebra, Kellogg’s Breakfast, Sweet Seedless Hybrid, Fourth Of July, Tye-Dye Hybrid, Brandy Boy, Orange Wellington and Steak Sandwich.

    In addition to the organic and heirloom tomatoes, Rosslyn’s 2011 vegetable garden includes Casper Eggplant, Prosperosa Eggplant, Millionaire Hybrid Eggplant and Fairy Tale Organic Eggplant.

    On to the peppers: Felicity Pepper, Pizza Pepper, Créme Brulée Pepper; Ancho Magnifico Pepper, Ascent Pepper and California Wonder 300 Pepper.

    Then there are the melons: Fastbreak Cantaloupe, Petite Treat Watermelon and Ruby Watermelon.

    Last but not least there are Franklin Brussels Sprouts and Dimitri Hybrid Brussels Sprouts.

    But that’s just the new transplants. Onions, radishes, peas and Swiss chard are already underway! And many more seeds will be planted over the next couple of weeks including zucchini, summer squash, cucumbers, pumpkins, lettuce and beans…

    What are you planting in your garden this summer?

  • Soggy Soil Delays Planting

    Doug Decker tilling the vegetable garden
    Doug Decker tilling the vegetable garden

    With some Champlain Valley residents being evacuated by boat and the Wesport Marina totally flooded, we’re feeling fortunate that a submerged boathouse and waterfront is the extent of our flooding problems.

    Although we have our work cut our for us when Lake Champlain water levels drop, another short-term challenge is the super saturated soil. Tilling the vegetable garden has been out of the question, planting more grape vines, fruit trees and shrubs likewise has been suspended lest we drown the roots. Last year, I planted spinach and French Breakfast Radishes in the garden in mid-March, and my bride and I had been gorging on succulent baby spinach for weeks by this point. Not so this year. Some onions and leeks wintered over, but nothing new has been planted in the vegetable garden yet.

    The 7.88 inches of rain that fell in April in Burlington is of course a record, and is a full five inches more that what normally falls in the month… The soil is saturated and completely unworkable for farmers, gardeners, vegetable growers and others… To let farmers catch up, we really need at least a couple weeks of warm, dry, sunny weather… (Burlington Free Press)

    I received a call from Mr. Murphy, the gentleman who — with his son and sometimes his grandson — has done an unbelievable job of maintaining our lawns for the last two years. He wanted to know when to start mowing lawns for the season. He agreed that the ground was far too saturated and suggested we wait a couple of weeks. I agreed.

    Frankly, I’ve agreed with almost every decision Mr. Murphy has made over the last two years. He’s a lawn master. And a weather master. He keeps track of the forecast and works around it, advancing or pushing back our lawn mowing each week per the rain forecast. And so far we’ve never once had an unmowed lawn for the weekend! And he’s nice as can be, always smiling, always ready to let me in on an amusing story or anecdote. He’s famous in these parts for his tomato plants. He raises many hundreds of plants and then sells them to friends and neighbors, donating the profits to the local animal shelter.

    In short, I’m a big fan of Mr. Murphy, and when he told me that his greenhouse was flooded, I was sympathetic as only a sunken boathouse owner could be.

    Water, water everywhere! We’re all ready for a drought…

    Blooming hyacinth perfume the air
    Hyacinth perfume the air outside our breakfast room

    Actually, today I took matters into my own hands. Despite the notion that a couple of dry weeks would be needed to till and plant, I jumped the gun. Rising lake water had gotten its talons into my spirit, so I decided to ignore the flood and enjoy the first balmy spring day in a while gardening, pruning, landscaping. And you know what? It worked! I only wish I’d tried this approach a few days ago. Maybe Lake Champlain wouldn’t have risen so high.

    Doug and I spent part of the morning changing over the tractor from snow plow to backhoe, and then proceeded to rip out a lumber retaining wall at the southeast corner of the old clay tennis court. I suspected that the area contained objectionable refuse (a battery and part of a garden hose had floated to the surface) and the wall had been built altogether too close to the carriage barn resulting in sill and framing rot. I’ll tell the story of what we discovered in another post.

    Then we tilled the garden under for the second time, adding plenty of sphagnum moss to help lighten the soil. We were premature. The tines clogged repeatedly, but we made it through which will help the soil dry out. Tomorrow I’m hoping to make another pass and possibly — I dare not pronounce my wish lest I tempt the rain fates — just possibly I’ll be able to plant some spinach and kale. I’d hoped to have the vegetable garden so much further along by now because of some ambitious plans. We’re relocating the asparagus patch from south of the carriage barn to back by the vegetable garden. The strawberry beds will also be moved. And the rhubarb. And blueberries, raspberries and blackberries are arriving in a couple of weeks to be planted. None of these beds have been prepared yet.

    But today marked the first major step forward in preparing the vegetable and fruit gardens. And tomorrow, weather permitting, I intend to continue full steam ahead! Fingers crossed…

  • Orange Cucumbers

    Orange Cucumbers

    Orange-Yellow Cucumbers Watercolor Riff
    Orange Cucumbers Watercolor Riff

    Ever since I asked (and answered) the question “Why are my cukes turning yellow/orange?” I’ve been inundated with inquiries about orange cucumbers. Are yellow-oranging cucumbers safe to eat? Do they taste bitter? How can I use orangey-yellow cukes?

    While I’m flattered with your confidence that I can demystify your quandaries related to orange cucumbers, it’s time to go full disclosure. My gardening experience and perspective are super subjective. My actual *scientific* expertise is negligible. And my vegetable garden triumphs and fiascos are best regarded as anecdotal.

    Orange Cucumbers Riff

    Caveat emptor aside, I hope you’ll join me for a rambunctious riff on discolored cukes with no meaningful advice and no implied guarantees. After all, when knowledge is slim, lean into poetry! (Of course, your mileage may vary.)

    As green thumb inquiries 
    for vine ripe tomatoes 
    and full headed lettuce 
    ease then ebb, 
    fall fervor flows 
    to colorful corn kernels 
    and pompadoured pumpkins 
    with snaggletooth grins. 
    I’m tempted to revisit 
    the midsummer enigma 
    of cucumber cukes, 
    trellised or sprawling, 
    lush canopied and micro-spiked, 
    round and chubby-stubby 
    or curly-attenuated, 
    and ripe-ripening into pickles 
    or gazpacho or sandwich. 
    Knifing the crisp, crunchy 
    flesh on the bias, 
    or end-to-end slivered, 
    speared, crescent mooned, 
    this orange cucumber is 
    bellicose and celestial, 
    a bursting chrysanthemum, 
    a blazing headdress, 
    a sun dried citrus slice, 
    a September sunrise smeared 
    across a mountain 
    muddled horizon. 
    The oranging skin 
    is a warning:
    I’m overripe, 
    too mature, 
    untasty, even bitter,
    and I’m 100% unfit 
    for human consumption.

    Troubleshooting Cuke Coloration

    If freestyle riffing sans constructive takeaways isn’t what you need at the moment (i.e. a garden-full of cukes ready for mini jack-o’-lanterns), then you might prefer my earlier post:

    Recently the enormous fruit are discoloring from green to yellow to orange before we can eat them. Here’s the reason why.

  • Tie Dye Dome

    Tie Dye Dome

    Tie dye dome behind carriage barn (Source: Geo Davis)
    Tie dye dome behind carriage barn (Source: Geo Davis)

    Last night — while walking out to the vegetable garden for a last minute harvest — the sunset tried to outcompete the colorful veggies. And the tie dye dome mounted a heroic campaign!

    Even after all of the veggies were gathered for for our impromptu salad (a rainbow haul of red and green romaines, tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, banana peppers, tomatillos, and a single looong radish) the hands-down winner was clear. Winners, actually. Sky for color, veggies for flavor. 

    Tie dye dome behind carriage barn and ice house (Source: Geo Davis)
    Tie dye dome behind carriage barn and ice house (Source: Geo Davis)

    Not sure I’d earned this reward, but I certainly did appreciate it.

    A productive morning at my desk followed by an equally productive afternoon on the tractor brush hogging some of the back meadows with the new offset flail mower. If you think that’s the foundation for a perfect day, you’re right. But there was even more goodness in store. An end-of-day wake surf with Susan, Amy Guglielmo, and Brian Giebel was followed by a “Surprise, I brought sushi!” dinner made possible by Amy and Brian. The perfect accompaniment? A jumbo salad harvested at sundown!

    Tie dye dome reflects on carriage barn’s West façade (Source: Geo Davis)
    Tie dye dome reflects on carriage barn’s West façade (Source: Geo Davis)

    It was already well into nightfall when we walked from the house toward the barns, but the day wasn’t yielding without playing out a sky-wide drama. It was spectacular! We stopped and gawked. We acknowledged our good fortune. And then we gawked some more.

    With last remnants of fading light, we made our way past the carriage barn and ice house toward the garden.

    Tie dye dome beyond vegetable garden (Source: Geo Davis)
    Tie dye dome beyond vegetable garden (Source: Geo Davis)

    Once we removed the silhouetted buildings from view the tie dye dome appeared even more vast, more vibrant, more spectacular. Fortunately the still empty garden hod reminded us why we’d come. 

    Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)
    Tie dye dome above the [uncovered] high tunnel (Source: Geo Davis)

    For a moment I imagined the high tunnel sans cover as a vast ribcage, as if some prehistoric whale had emerged from the garden. Our very own Burning Man?!?!

    With the final fiery light guiding us, we filled the hod with harvest and headed back to the house for a laughter filled dinner… 

  • Friday the 13th: Garden Update

    Garden Update: Soggy Friday the 13th
    Garden Update: Soggy Friday the 13th

    Rain rain go away,
    Come again another day.

    It’s been a soggy two days with nonstop rain falling from the fog-blocked dome above and spongy lawns that remember footfalls long after treads have passed.

    The meteorological gurus promise a sunny weekend. If they’re correct, and sometimes they actually are, then our vegetable garden will begin to transform from bog to fresh produce market… If not, I plan to plant watercress!

    Excuse my recent hiatus. Life continues afoot at Rosslyn, but I’ve been pouring time into manuscript revisions for an illustrated (think doodles) architectural handbook for our fair village on the still-flooded shores of Lake Champlain. Fun. Almost done.

    In the next couple of weeks I’ll try to catch you up on recent developments chez nous. Not just another garden update. There’s actually plenty of news in the tree-smashing-fence-but-not-smashing-house drama category, and also some news of spring/summer progress in the orchard and vegetable garden. For example, for the first time I’m experimenting with natural pesticide solutions for the fruit trees and vegetable plants. I’ll try to tackle this topic soon.

    For now, a couple of quick garden update snapshots of Rosslyn’s still partially unplanted and super-duper soggy vegetable patch. Can you identify what we’ve planted so far?

  • Artichokes

    William Morris & Co., Wallpaper Sample Book 1, Artichoke, pattern #359, ca. 1915 (Source: theparisreview.org)
    William Morris & Co., Wallpaper Sample Book 1, Artichoke, pattern #359, ca. 1915 (Source: The Paris Review)

    I love artichokes. Growing artichokes, eating artichokes, enjoying the magnificent bloom (like a purple sea anemone) when I fail to harvest artichokes in time,… I hold artichokes in extremely high regard. But I must admit that I’ve never, ever conceived of artichokes as sexy.

    And then I read Nin Andrews’ poem, “The Artichoke“.

    She starts in familiar if cleverly conveyed territory.

    The first time I saw it, I thought what an ugly specimen. It looked like Grandma’s bathing cap, grown green and small after all these years. (Source: “The Artichoke” by Nin Andrews, The Paris Review)

    But then she chronicles a veritable love (lust?) affair with the spiny vegetable.

    I sliced it open and tasted the pale flesh. And gradually she offered herself up leaf by leaf… and she was irresistible… dipped in lemony butter, scraped carefully with teeth and sucked, the pale cream of flesh, the tender flower, her skirt held up like a cup, each sip bringing me closer to the moon, the vegetable pearl of her insides where the heart fans out fibrous hairs and waits a last mouthful on her green world. (Source: “The Artichoke” by Nin Andrews, The Paris Review)

    Wow! It’s fair to say that my perception of artichokes has evolved. Dramatically. And though we’re only halfway through November, my mind is already dreaming of planting more Imperial Start Artichokes next spring…

    [FYI, I excerpted some of the more salacious poetry from Nin Andrews’ poem, “The Artichoke”, but I’d strongly, strongly encourage you to read the whole poem. It’s short. And it’s thoroughly enjoyable. An artichoke will never be the same for you!]