Garden Compost

The wire compost bins I purchased two years ago from Gardener's Supply Company have worked out really well. They have held up to the elements and have done a good job of cooking up my organic leftovers. What's neat about these bins is that they lift up easily around a block of compost so you can plop them down right next to where they used to be and toss the compost back into it the bin as you aearate. I bought two bins, and I have made three spaces--so I always have a place to put the newly aerated pile. I made a compost sifter last spring that fits over my wheelbarrow. My daughter and I love to sift compost in the spring. The white grubs at the bottom of the pile make for a veritable feast for the ducks. They hang out right next to the compost pile waiting for treats. It's so funny!

Tomato Plants and The Wicked Wilt

[Pictured above: Celebrity tomato babies in the non-cursed bed]

I selected 6 tomato varieties to grow from seed this year: Celebrity, Jetsetter Hybrid, Goliath Hybrid, Pineapple, White Queen, and Marianna's Peace. (Only 6, you might ask? Oh, believe me, I would have grown 60 if I could have accomodated them all.) In years past, I'd only grown unusual tomato varieties from seed (e.g., Green Zebra and Great White); I'd purchase North Carolina Cooperative Extension recommended tomato varieties like Park's Whopper, Celebrity, and Better Boy transplants from a garden center nursery. I always wondered, though, if I could grow even the old stand-by's from seed to ensure that I had the healthiest, stockiest transplants possible for the tomato patch. If my plants were attacked by diseases (and now I know it's not if, but when), at least I'd know that they were from my own practices--not riding into the garden on a nursery-bought seedling. So here I am. The growing process up until transplanting went very well this year: the plants were deep green, stocky, and repotted twice into tall styrofoam cups (I absolutely love these for transplants) so that the stems had ample opportunity to fashion one heck of a root system. And then...well, and then they were planted. In wicked, wicked dirt. They grew and grew. And then one day-- a day that did not seem to be going badly--4 of my tomatoes wilted. Oh, I was so mad! There was absolutely no yellowing of the foliage, no spotting, no browning. Just seemingly healthy tomato plants--full of blooms and babies--dying of thirst in my garden! How could this be? The soil had been fed thoroughly--greensand, rock phosphate, my very best homemade compost. The plants had been carefully mulched with wheat straw. I'd painstakingly provided water to the soil only (water on leaves=bad thing) at a rate of about an inch per week. I'd grown the transplants myself. So what now? I could only guess bacterial wilt. I performed a test by placing a portion of the wilted plant's lower stem in a glass of clear water and watching for milky streams of bacteria oozing from the cut. I got milky water without streams--what's that all about? Additionally, the stem was not brown as is supposedly the case with bacterial wilt when the vascular system begins to become badly infected. I sent an email to the good folks at NCSU about my problem...and am still waiting to hear their take. As it stands now, four plants in one bed are gone; 2 in that same bed remain wilt-free for now. In my second tomato bed, all 6 of my plants (1 of each variety) are growing strong. I'm almost afraid to even write about them for fear tomorrow they'll all be languid and draping over their cages. In my quest for perfection in the tomato patch, I had completely overlooked the fact that tomatoes had been grown in that same now-cursed 4x8 bed for the past 3 years. How could I have violated one of the most important tenets of organic gardening by continuing to grow the same crop in the same bed for that long? Oh, I did it... I killed them! Tomatoes, you're movin' next year! And Wicked Soil, get ready to be solarized!

Southernwood: A New Garden Companion

The camphor-scented southernwood (Artemesia abrotanum) is one of my newest companion plants for the garden. I purchased it in the spring from the Tryon Palace Heritage Plant Sale in New Bern, NC (USDA Zone 8). I left it in its pot for a few weeks before I finally found a place for it in the garden, so needless to say, it was struggling when I planted it. It's responded well to its current location.

Beauty and the Bolt

Who says bolting lettuce can't be beautiful? My Red Sails lettuces from the spring garden have convinced me to let them stay a little longer than I'd originally planned. That's okay. They're about 5 feet tall now and are as alive as ever with spots of purple on the bloom stalks and blotches of burgandies on their leaves. I'll pull a plant for the compost pile once every couple of days and shred the leaves for the ducks to enjoy. They like their lettuce fresh and served in a bucket of clear, cold water. Think they're spoiled?

The Darling Thymes

I have a fondness for the personality of the thymes; I am in the process of collecting them and adding them to the garden here and there. Lemon thyme (Thymus citriodorus 'Silver Queen') in bloom (top) is a always abuzz with beneficial insects. The wooly thyme (Thymus pseudolanuginosus) in the foreground has tripled its size in the past 2 years. Wooly is our driveway herb garden mascot; no one can resist petting him when they walk by. The small herb garden was designed to fit within a circle of antique bricks from a tobacco warehouse in Wilson, NC. It is situated next to the concrete driveway where the herbs stay warm and dry. In the dappled shade of a Japanese maple, the thymes share the bed space here with lemon balm, Italian oregano, cilantro, and several daylilies.

Summer's Southern Perfume

Summer's calling card in the South beckons ever so softly. She's particularly persuasive on early summer evenings. Little Gem's spring blossoms, fuzzy and brown, swell into ivory elegance this time of year and burst into full flower. The unmistakable scent of the magnolia comes on strong by coming on gently; a sweet, delicate perfume tinged with lemon.

Red Rubin Basil

I interplanted my tomato bed with Red Rubin basil plants (Ocimum basilicum"Purpurascens'). The deep red-purple of the leaves is often edged in neon green, and this dark color provides quite a colorful contrast to the tomato plants. Basil and tomato friends are always faithful to one another in the garden.

Red Rubin Basil is an improved Dark Opal Basil, a 1992 All America Selections winner. Red Rubin is much more uniform in color than other purple basils. The leaves have a clove-like flavor which is a little too strong for pesto but great for almost any basil dish.

Companion Planting in Raised Cedar Beds

In early spring, one of the first garden chores is evaluating the condition of the raised wooden beds. Because I opted to use untreated pine when the garden boxes were being constructed 4 years ago, I knew that replacing 2x12's on a fairly regular basis would be necessary if I didn't make a decision about some quality outdoor lumber. In February of this year, I ordered 2 cedar raised beds from NaturalYards in Washington State. I splurged--yes. And so far, my splurge hasn't disappointed. However, I couldn't afford to continue using cedar--at least this season--and repairs were piling up. Feeling ashamed to call myself "organic," I replaced four more beds with pressure-treated pine. Although leaching does concern me, going bankrupt from purchasing too much cedar at one time concerns me a little more. Perhaps one day, all of the beds will be cedar. This island bed in the center of my garden is one from NaturalYards--a 2x8 Port Orford cedar box 12 inches high. The box is intensively planted with Greek oregano (out of picture to the left), Disco marigolds, Butterstick Hybrid summer squash, nasturtiums, and a new addition--Copper Canyon Daisy (Tagetes lemmonii). I purchased this plant in the spring in New Bern, NC (USDA Zone 8) at the Tryon Palace Heritage Plant Sale. It is technically not hardy in my zone, but perhaps with some special care, I can extend its life here. The bees, beneficial wasps, and butterflies love the flowers from this Asteraceae family plant. I must mention that the fragrance of this plant, a sort of lemony-marigold scent, is refreshing to the nose on a hot afternoon. I am especially pleased with the way the golds, yellows, reds, and oranges work together in this bed. The finely textured, serrated leaves of the Copper Canyon Daisy next to the round, shield-like leaves of the nasturtiums and the huge, tropical fronds of the squash provide a real visual treat. The only little problem: squash vine borer moths are attracted to the color yellow, so I guess I should enjoy the squash while they last. In my quest for kitchen garden beauty, I've made a veritable landing strip for those evil creatures...complete with yellow runway lights.

A Quacker Meeting

With an insatiable appetite for grubs and other garden thugs, Cutie, Big Mama, and Max congregate regularly around the compost bins. Snarfeling (as Eliot Coleman affectionately refers to it) for tasty morsels, they provide a respite from the drudgery of those mundane garden chores. Cutie is a crested fawn-and-white Indian Runner, and Max is a non-crested one. Big Mama is a Pekin. They turned 2 in March and, thankfully, have survived snow, foxes, neighborhood cats, and the most wicked creature of them all: our yellow lab pup, Miss Scarlett, who plays a little rough, but is playing nonetheless. Raising them has been quite an adventure, let me tell you. I'm still surprised at how territorial they are about their "turf" in the backyard. I've actually seen them gang up on a 12 pound cat and chase him over the picket fence. They're very dear to me, despite the amount of poop they produce, and I treasure their companionship in the garden.

The Hollyhock and the Bumblebee

Bumblebees have been feasting on the hollyhocks' pollen for about 3 weeks. They arrive very early in the morning and are often still inside the flowers at dusk. While they're in the garden, they visit my summer squash and cucumber blossoms. I am always appreciative of the beneficial work that they do.

The Eggplant Experiment

My Ghostbuster eggplant (with oval, white fruit) is sporting the most precious lavender blooms. I have two of these plants snuggled up next to a large group of 6 tomatoes. They're a first in the kitchen garden for me; I'm looking forward to seeing what they'll do.