It's November-ish here at last this weekend in the mid-Atlantic. Yesterday I made a trip to garden center and came home with not only the two bags of organic manure I needed (bio accumulation, folks!), but also a bunch of free burlap bags and about 60 crocus bulbs.
Without really meaning to, I've gone bulb crazy in the last week. First, I went next door to where My now-departed elderly neighbor had a bed of fantastic, deep velvety purple bearded iris, just down slope from the dogwood. The new owner wants only the ideal suburban grass lawn, and has sadly pulled out the beautiful rose bushes, mowing over the iris patch all season long. It was hard to watch, but I held My tongue and arranged to "help" achieve his lawn goals by pulling the bulbs in the fall. On hands and knees, I combed through the grass and assorted weeds and found eight spears that are clearly iris. The bulbs were right at the surface where I didn't expect them. Aren't they supposed to be about 6" under? Oh, well, it's a well established and successful patch. Now they have a new home in a large galvanized tub, and I hope that in spring they will bloom again gloriously for Me, in memory of the elder gentleman I barely met. For this act of purely selfish transplantation alone, the new owner now introduces Me as an environmentalist.
Then I broke up two bulbs of hardneck garlic and planted the cloves, in hope of spring garlic scapes and expanding over several years to achieve total garlic self-sufficiency, on par with Italian grandmothers of the Old Country. Once I discovered the hardnecks last year, I immediately spurned their fractious soft-necked relatives. The garlic are sort of scattered around wherever I could find room in the existing containers, and I have no idea how this experiment might work out. But this is the fun of gardening, sometimes you just try and see what Life wants to do with your efforts.
As I planted the garlic, I came across three different places in which a brown, softly bark-y little bulb had already put up a 6" green shoot. Absolutely no idea what these are. I suspect squirrels have buried them for safe keeping. It's not impossible the squirrels are redistributing a pile of small tulip bulbs from 18 months ago, but the foliage seems too reedy for a tulip. I know of no tree that drops a nut like this. So it's take-a-photo and show it to the next master gardener I see at the market. Whatever they are, they are sturdy little buggers, putting out no roots yet. I have dug them up and re-positioned several times, with zero ill effects.
Finally, the crocus. I got a bag of 25 mixed white, yellow, purple, and purple striped. Then another 35 of two kinds with purple stripes. I wanted more yellow for contrast, but sold out. There are now two large enamel pans planted, each with holes punched in the bottom. One is a lovely white oval with black handles, the other was once the drawer of iris-neighbor's old fridge, and I pulled it from the trash for its obvious utility as a container. They are now in the yard, with hole-punched ends aimed down grade, and folds of netting over top to stop squirrel raids until I can get some proper bulb-protecting wire grid. The bulbs had all sprouted in the bin at the store so I may very well have 60 crocus with My Christmas amaryllis.
Despite all this planting effort, I have very much put the garden to bed for the winter. Nearly everything that won't winter over - or has proven itself unworthy of the valuable limited real estate (I'm looking at you, ever expanding strawberries!) - is gone. Many containers have been emptied, the soil broken up, root detrius combed out, organic matter will be stirred in soon so it can rest all winter. The chard has been positioned under a line tied off to the fence corners, allowing Me to tarp the containers during an overnight cold snap. My main concern at this point is that the burlap lining the metal wire containers is failing suddenly, all at once, so that the plants cannot get a good drink of water and the soil is running off. I need to pull two rosemary, re-line with fresh burlap, and re-plant quickly. Transplant shock plus a cold snap might do them in, and I was very fortunate all three wintered over last year. The three lavender were not so lucky. The big chard needs it too, but I think his days are numbered anyway, so I'm not going to bother.
Hopefully, come spring, the yard will be leveled and it will be possible to install permanent raised beds, putting the container approach into My urban brownfield of a backyard. I suspect the neighbors do not love this front yard vegetable container garden but, hey, that's where the sun is. Sharing herbs and tomatoes has thus far staved off a revolt, and it does give everyone in the neighborhood something to jaw about over the fences.
No comments:
Post a Comment