Harvesting Life's Castings

Since Big Mama duck left us in July of 2013, we haven’t tended to the worm bin in the garage.  We had maintained the bin primarily for her snacks; she loved them so much that when she saw Elizabeth coming across the yard with a dish of wigglers, she’d fly up and over her 3 foot enclosure to celebrate.  And she was not a flyer (as Pekins are not), so this was more of a wing-enhanced power jump. 
 
I’m still grieving, though time has helped ease the pain.  Having her in our lives for seven years was truly a gift.  This spring when the season begins, she won’t be here with me to root through the compost as I turn it over in the beds.  I won’t hear her happy duck gurgles as she would waddle in search of crickets under the shrubs.  I won’t get to watch her splashing in her pool as the days begin to warm.   All I can do is glance over at the gray concrete casting of a duck that marks her grave in the corner of the garden, and smile as I think of all the beautiful little moments she gave to me and the girls.

I originally purchased the bin off of Craigslist if you can believe that—I was lucky to cross paths with a local organic home vegetable gardener who wasn’t able to maintain her worm factory any longer.  I bought the 18-gallon bin for $20, and it was full of amazing things--worm castings, worm adults, worm cocoons, worm babies.  The whole shebang.  We maintained it easily for about a year until this past summer.  Then, we just stopped.

So today, we decided to open it up for the first time
in almost seven months and see what had happened.

hundreds of tiny red wigglers remained in the castings
 

The adult worms were gone, reincorporated into the soil that had once fed them.

However, hundreds of baby worms were dispersed throughout what must have been 8 quarts of castings. Cocoons were visible by the hundreds, too.

Only tiny bits of egg shells were obvious--every other type of organic matter that had been added to the bin was perfectly composted. No odor. No insects. Damp, but not soggy.

Gold for the garden. Food for my soul.

 

I had feared that life inside the forgotten bin had all but ceased--but this was not the case. I could start over, I thought to myself. The worms had tended to themselves perfectly--just as nature had intended--while I had tended to myself. It was time to pick up where we'd left off, and get back to our business once again.

 

I cut a black contractor bag down the side and across the bottom to use as a tarp for working with my castings. Since my goal today was a maintenance check & content transfer and NOT harvesting the castings, this was a simple process. More on harvesting castings this spring. Stay tuned.

 

Since the rim of inner bin had been bent from being stuck inside the green one, the lid no longer sealed; hence my need to transfer the operation to the green one. Notice the chocolate cake-like texture of the compost. Ooh, la, la. That stuff is just awesome. And I would take the credit for it had I at least opened the lid once in seven months. But I didn't. And it happened anyway.

You are correct. That is a spatula. And no, I don't flip eggs with it in the off-season in the kitchen. It stays with the worms. Why a spatula, you ask? Well, get ready. This is highly technical and very complex answer: I had an extra one in the kitchen drawer when I was setting up the bin, and I decided it would do the trick for loosening up the layers in the bin when I wanted to check on the worms, harvest them, or spread layers of vegetable scraps.

Keeping worms is really so simple--please trust me on this.

The blue bin is the original bin I bought--it had drainage holes already drilled in the bottom of it, so I nestled it inside the new 18-gallon green bin on top of two bricks. The concentrated worm tea drips through the holes of the blue bin and collects in the bottom of the green one.

 

I drilled small holes around the top of the green bin to increase air circulation. I did this all the way around the top of the bin in a couple of alternating rows. I also drilled three larger drainage holes in a cluster in the bottom of the bin, made a base of bricks with an open center for the bin to rest on, and slid a dishpan underneath the holes to catch the liquid by-products for making healthy plant smoothies. Don't throw this out--it's spectacular sludge!

So once I had prepared the new bin for the worms, I began to add them back into their new new home. Shredded newspaper is their preferred bedding. I stay away from glossy paper and colored inks if I can and keep it basic.

They also love plain, brown corrugated cardboard. They congregate underneath it, it helps absorb excess moisture in the bin, and they eat it. I tear off hand-sized pieces and scatter them in the newspaper layer.

Worms move upward in the bin leaving castings behind as they eat. I didn't want to put all of the worms & castings back into the bottom of the bin, so I created organic layers with several different types of materials that would serve as both food and bedding. The worms can move up as they please.

 

The layering process went something like this:

dried leaves + small twigs + pine straw

shredded newspaper + small corrugated cardboard pieces

worms & castings

shredded newspaper

vegetable trimmings + apple bits

dried leaves + chopped corn stalks

shredded newspaper

worms & castings

small corrugated cardboard pieces

dried leaves + pine straw

shredded newspaper

worms & castings

vegetable scraps

thick dried leaf layer + corrugated cardboard layer

I snapped the lid shut and placed the bin on a platform near the door to the house inside garage. 

Be sure to keep contents moist like a damp sponge--spray with a mister bottle if needed. Add a layer of bedding on top as things begin to break down followed by a sprinkling of food--about once or twice a week.


Elizabeth will be 12 in March.  I'm thinking of starting over with a new set of ducklings. 

In loving memory of
Big Mama Duck
March 12, 2006--July 7, 2013

 

 

Bittersweet Autumn Blooms: The Loquat Tree

Honeybees from our neighbors' farm stop by to pollinate the sweetly-scented white blooms of the loquat.  They're busy on this calm, mild fall afternoon. 

 

 

When the temperature here in southwestern Wake County dips below 28 degrees, the flowers and fruit are killed. 

 

Upwards of 100 flowers can bloom on the panicles. Imagine the yield of these gorgeous clusters.

 

 

 

 

An Aging Process

Be sure to use a matte poly clear coat once the painting is done.

I don't know what it is about patina that speaks to me.  Maybe it's the implication of age and wear.  Maybe it's the admiration I have for the way nature works whether we want it to or not.  Maybe it's that patina keeps it real.

I came across a tutorial at Imparting Grace for using a paint technique to instantly patina terra cotta garden pots.  Of course, I don't tend to enjoy following directions to the letter, so I ended up playing around with the process a bit.

Once the faux stone paint was applied and sanded, I went back in with watered down acrylics and a small paint brush to mimic the natural exposure of the pot to dirt and mossy growth from the garden.  I kept the colors soft and neutral--earthy browns, dark greens, charcoals.  In the end, each pot was a little different.   

The process was pure soul therapy.

The Deck Garden Experiment

This summer was a soggy one in our part of Wake County.  The mosquitoes were particularly vicious.  At one point near the middle of July, I more or less retreated indoors and cursed the weather pattern, the humidity, the heat, and my lack of physical endurance.  Bleck. 

 

My corn plants out in the potager loved the extra rain, but my container gardens on the deck?  Not so much.  Poor things.  As the summer wore on, they began to sulk--which limited production. 

 

The deck garden in early June.
 

Ocimum basilicum

'Boxwood'

boxwood basil

 

I'm obsessed with boxwood--so naturally, I had to adopt several of these for the deck garden.  The basil was glorious this year. It was one of the success stories for sure.  The tender stems of the bowood basil plants can be used along with the leaves.  To me, they taste very much like classic sweet basil.  I adore their mounding habit.

  

Lobularia maritima

'Carpet of Snow'

sweet alyssum

 



 

You know from earlier posts that sweet alyssum is one of my favorite companion plants. Here, it is spilling over the front edge of my City Pickers Earthbox that I purchased at Home Depot, sharing space with tomatoes and basil.  I like the casters on the earthbox--they make it easy to move around on the deck.  I painted it gray to blend in with the color scheme I had going on this year, and added a top coat of faux stone speck for texture.   

 

Lycopersicon lycopersicum

'Tami G' hybrid

grape tomatoes

 

The plants are trellised with a bamboo tripod I secured at the top with jute twine. 

 

Cucumis sativus

'Picklebush'

a bush variety that does well in containers

 

 

Hello, baby cuke. 

The helical coiling of the little tendrils always makes me smile.  I used another bamboo tripod in this pot. 

 

 

The Eastern Tent Caterpillar

The eastern tent caterpillar, Malacosoma americanum, is a pest native to North America.

Populations fluctuate from year to year, with outbreaks occurring every several years. Defoliation of trees, building of unsightly silken nests in trees, and wandering caterpillars crawling over plants, walkways, and roads cause this insect to be a pest in the late spring and early summer.

Eastern tent caterpillar nests are commonly found on wild cherry, apple, and crabapple, but may be found on hawthorn, maple, cherry, peach, pear and plum as well.

And they're back this spring--this time in a crotch on the Yoshino cherry tree. The eastern tent caterpillar overwinters as an egg within an egg mass of 150 to 400 eggs. These masses are covered with a shiny, black varnish-like material and encircle branches that are about pencil-size or smaller in diameter.

The caterpillars hatch about the time the buds begin to open, usually in early March. These insects are social; caterpillars from one egg mass stay together and spin a silken tent in a crotch of a tree. Caterpillars from two or more egg masses may unite to form one large colony. During the heat of the day or rainy weather, the caterpillars remain within the tent. They emerge to feed on leaves in the early morning, evening, or at night when it is not too cold.

The larvae are hairy caterpillars, black with a white stripe down the back, brown and yellow lines along the sides, and a row of oval blue spots on the sides. As the larvae feed on the foliage, they increase the size of the web until it is a foot or more in length. In 4 to 6 weeks, the caterpillars are full grown and 2 to 2-1/2 inches long. At this time, they begin to wander away individually from the nest in search of protected areas in which to spin a cocoon. The cocoon is about 1 inch long and made of closely woven white or yellowish silk and is attached to other objects by a few coarser threads. The adult moth emerges from the cocoon about 3 weeks later.

My ususal organic strategy for dealing with these pesky pests is to apply Bt (Bacillus thuringiensis) after I've disturbed the nest with a long bamboo cane. The Bt spray must come into direct contact with the larvae in order to work. Unlike typical nerve-poison insecticides, Bt acts by producing proteins (delta-endotoxin, the "toxic crystal") that reacts with the cells of the gut lining of susceptible insects. These Bt proteins paralyze the digestive system, and the infected insect stops feeding within hours. Bt-affected insects generally die from starvation, which can take several days. I've never had an in-season return of the caterpillars after applying Bt. A couple of suggestions: (1) if you spray up into the tree, watch out for residual mist coming back down onto your face, and (2) beware of falling caterpillars! I'd recommend a hat, goggles, and a face mask. Gross!

Good Afternoon, Lady Banks!

The Lady Banks Yellow Rose (Rosa banksiae 'Lutea') will be blooming soon, and I am so excited! It was a new addition to the garden last spring; I bought it at the Tryon Palace Heritage Plant Sale just after it had finished blooming.

The Lady Banks Rose is a species rose--generally defined as those roses found in nature. Most species roses tend to be very vigorous and are extremely disease resistant. They are a good choice for naturalizing and will often grow well without attention if planted properly and given minimal care during the first year or so of their establishment.

Although many are climbers, with a minimum of pruning and training they can be grown as hefty shrubs. This old garden rose was introduced into European commerce prior to 1796, but was grown for centuries in China.

I am growing my Lady Banks Rose along our picket fence that faces the street. I have had to prune it three times since it was planted because it grows so quickly.

The Loquat Tree

Loquats (Erobotyra japonica) are documented to have been grown in Japan around 1100. Some botanists have suggested that the first plantings of the loquat trees may have originally come from China and were later introduced into Japan. The loquat tree was widely distributed in Europe after 1712, but early records show that it came to the United States in the mid-1800's. This prolific plant is now established firmly as a seed-borne naturalized fruit tree in hundreds of countries, even in the Southern United States where it readily grows after the seeds sprout from bird-planted visitations after eating the loquat fruit directly from the trees. The art underneath the image of my loquat tree is entitled Loquats and a Mountain Bird, and was painted by an anonymous Chinese artist of the Southern Ming Dynasty (1127-1279).

My loquat tree, pictured above with new spring growth, is about to enter its third growing season here in USDA Zone 7b. It's technically not hardy here, but I haven't told it that yet. It's more than tripled its planting size, and its leaves remain evergreen year-round. It typically doesn't flower or set fruit in North Carolina, but that's fine; it's a beautiful ornamental.

The loquat was at home in the gardens of Colonial Williamsburg, appearing on the list of historic plants grown there. Loquats are also popular in the historic gardens of Charleston; I saw several specimens last summer that were as large as magnolias! Wow!

The leaves of a mature loquat tree vary considerably in size, usually ranging from six to twelve inches in length and the dark-green waxy leaves are prominently bisected with recessed leaf veins. In the fall around Thanksgiving, the loquat tree loads itself with clusters of one inch white flowers, which are extremely fragrant and especially pleasing when trees are planted near patio entertainment centers. The loquat fruit can begin to ripen in South Georgia as early as February and March and in an extended ripening period, depending on the weather, the loquat may continue to ripen into June. The loquat has been designated on some websites as only capable of producing fruit in areas south of Jacksonville, Florida, but this is incorrect. Loquats produce fruit reliably every year throughout Southern Georgia and coastal areas up to North Carolina. The loquat trees have survived low temperatures of zero degrees Fahrenheit in Georgia, and have returned to fruit later. The roots of a loquat tree are shallow and the soft tissue grows rapidly to establish a vigorous system.

The Yoshino Cherry Tree

Our Yoshino cherry tree, Prunus yedoensis 'Somei yoshino', has awakened from its winter slumber. In Japan, there is a believable legend that each spring a fairy maiden hovers low in the warm sky, waking the sleeping cherry trees to life with her delicate breath. This tree's cousin is the Kwanzan cherry tree.

To see the tree--now about 30 feet wide and about as tall--burst into full bloom is like nothing else! Standing under it, you feel as if you have been transported to a fantasy land...the delicately sweet fragrance of the five-petaled cherry blossoms wafts through the air, and the buzzing of hundreds of pollinating honey bees overhead is frighteningly pleasant. I just adore the round shape of this tree, which we've pruned carefully so that is has an open center.
The Yoshino cherry is a very widely used ornamental tree. Highly revered in Japan, it is the cherry tree responsible for the stunning display on the grounds of the U.S. Capitol and the surrounding Washington tidal basin each spring. The National Park Service has created a top-noch site dedicated to the story of Japan's gift of cherry trees to the United States. It is a fascinating timeline account of the introduction of these gorgeous trees to America.

The Yoshino cherry, known as Somei-yoshino in Japan, is a hybrid of unknown origin that was first introduced in Tokyo in 1872 and is now one of the most popular cultivated flowering cherries.

The Japanese flowering cherry is an important source of food for many small birds and mammals including robins, cardinals, and waxwings.

One Little Big Pollinator

Our Yoshino cherry tree, approaching full bloom in this photo, is providing a feast for the honeybees. I captured this busy lady last Thursday in the late afternoon. I'm grateful for all of the beneficial work she does. We're fortunate to have a neighbor who has set up several bee boxes on his property; I suspect this pollinator is one of his.

Worker bees do all the different tasks needed to maintain and operate the hive. They make up the vast majority of the hive's occupants and they are all sterile females. When young, they are called house bees, and they work in the hive doing comb construction, brood rearing, tending the queen and drones, cleaning, regulating temperature, and defending the hive. Older workers are called field bees. They forage outside the hive to gather nectar, pollen, water and certain sticky plant resins used in hive construction. Workers born early in the season will live about 6 weeks while those born in the fall will live until the following spring. Workers are about 12 mm long and highly specialized for what they do, having a structure called a pollen basket (or corbiculum) on each hind leg, an extra stomach for storing and transporting nectar or honey and four pairs of special glands that secrete beeswax on the underside of their abdomen. They have a straight, barbed stinger which can only be used once. It rips out of their abdomen after use, killing the bee.

As the field bees forage for nectar, pollen sticks to the fuzzy hairs which cover their bodies. Some of this pollen rubs off on the next flower they visit, fertilizing the flower and resulting in better fruit production. Some plants will not produce fruit at all without the help of honeybees. In the United States alone, it is estimated that honeybees accomplish 1/4 of the pollination needed for all fruit produced for human consumption - an estimated $10 billion worth of work each year!

The field bees stop periodically to groom themselves and collect the pollen onto their pollen baskets. They remove this load from their legs when they return to the hive and the house bees store it in a special part of the comb. The pollen provides protein and other essential nutrients for the bees.

Pheasant's Eye Daffodil or Poet's Narcissus

Pictured in English herbals of the early 1600s, this wild daffodil grows in endless variety in alpine meadows from Spain into the Balkans. The oldest available form, Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus, dates to 1831 but is indistinguishable from those in colonial gardens, including those of Colonial Williamsburg (Narcissus poeticus). Famously fragrant and intriguingly dainty, it’s often spring’s last daffodil, with loose, recurving white petals that arch back from a “green eye and crimson-fringed crown."

This variety has been known to naturalize easily and has been found to live in gardens for hundred of years. I purchased this batch from Johnny's Selected Seeds four years ago, and they are just beautiful here in the late spring. Their new growth emerged the first week of March. This variety of daffodil has not been hybridized.

From A Modern Herbal, Mrs. M. Grieve writes, "The bulbs of N. poeticus (Linn.), the POET'S NARCISSUS, are more dangerous than those of the Daffodil, being powerfully emetic and irritant. The scent of the flowers is deleterious, if they are present in any quantity in a closed room, producing in some persons headache and even vomiting."

The Simple Beauty of Grape Hyacinths

Cultivated for more than 400 years, Muscari botryoides originated in France and Italy. The flowers are phenomenal, especially when planted in large groups or drifts; the small bulb delivers a bright, clear, sky-blue flower, a hue that is rare in the spring garden. These bulbs are included in the list of historic plants found in the gardens of Williamsburg.

These hyacinth cousins naturalize easily. The leaves last a long time after the flowers are gone, so carefully choose their position in the garden. Once the bulbs are established, it is hard to completely eradicate them from the garden, but not impossible.

The name Muscari comes from the Latin muscus, so named for the scent of some of the species, and botryoides because the inflorescence resembles a miniature cluster of grapes.

I planted about 3 bags of these little guys around my mailbox several years ago. As you may be able to see in this photo, I really need to dig and divide them because they have become so dense that it is difficult to interplant pansies or summer annuals within the foliage. The blue flowers from my bulbs are two-toned. The foliage lasts all season here in zone 7B.

Peachy Pinks

The peach, Prunus persica (L.) Batsch, is native to China. From China, peaches were introduced to Persia, Greece, and temperate European countries including Italy, Spain, and France. Peaches were introduced to the southeastern United States more than 300 years ago when the Spanish visited the Florida region in the 1500s. It is believed that in the northeastern United States the early English and French settlers brought peach seeds with them.

Our peach tree was already planted when we bought the house, so I have no idea what variety it is. We don't maintain the tree for its fruit, but we do appreciate its ornamental value.

The Promise of Spring

The spring kitchen garden is about to become a reality. I have interplanted sweet buttercrunch lettuces with Vidalia onions and violas. I am planning to add sweet allysum seeds and "Little Finger" carrots to the planting. I love being able to plant intensively in my raised beds!

Sweet Alyssum

Another of my very favorite companion plants is sweet alyssum (Lobularia maritima). Plants are so easy to grow from seed, and the tiny flowers are a magnet for beneficials. I sprinkle seeds around my vegetables and find that they are a great friend to all of them. I prefer the white varieties like Snow Crystals or Carpet of Snow for the vegetable garden. Oh, yes...and they smell delicately sweet. They cannot survive a hard frost. My garden alyssum does best in mild weather--that is, the warm days of spring and fall. I have noticed that the plants tend sulk in the hot, humid days of our North Carolina summers. They're drought-tolerant, very quick to blooms, and are just an absolute joy to have growing among the veggies in the kitchen garden.

Tomatoes in the Sunshine

Well, these Jetsetter tomatoes are just begging to be sliced into a BLT, don't you think? I'm happy to report that although I did end up losing an entire bed of tomatoes earlier this summer, the back bed of tomatoes have managed to pull through. Yes, they are a little battered from blight, but I haven't sprayed them with anything...and they're still producing. It's not the most abundant tomato crop I've grown, but at least I'm able to eat some and give a few away to friends, too.

Baby Fall Cucumbers

I planted the few Picklebush cucumber seeds I had left over from spring in the "bed of tomato despair." It was too painful looking at all of the bare spots beneath the tomato trellises, so I just stuck the seeds in the dirt. Of course, when I don't expect anything from the garden, the strangest things happen. Three cucumber plants are sprawling all over the place and have latched on to the tomato cages I left in the bed. I'm hopeful that a second "fall" crop of cukes will be arriving soon.

Perennial Chamomile

Chamomile is one of the most cheerful companion plants I've found. Not only are the delicate blossoms a nice contrast to larger-leafed veggetables in the garden, but they also emit a honey-apple fragrance that is terrific! I bought two of these plants last month and put them in the bed on each side of my bamboo trellis (originally for green beans...but now maybe for cucumbers). I hope these guys will come back next spring. The beneficial insects love them.

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.