Sorting seeds

I thought I'd organize my seeds a bit to get ready for planting the first sowing of lettuce. I usually try to keep them in a (vaguely) organized way in containers, according to planting season. But my flurry of seed ordering activity in early summer had overwhelmed that 'system.' So I thought I'd spread them out on the breakfast table.


This is a pretty amazing array of seeds, even for me. (Notice that the seed packets are stacked, and the full containers of flower and spring vegetable seeds....). Uh-oh. I think my idea had been to give seeds away at upcoming vegetable gardening programs? Plant things in the Food for Thought Garden?

Since I'm really not a file-sort of person (I have started shoving my seed order packing slips in a folder, however), and like my (somewhat) orderly stack method of working, I normally just enjoy discovering seeds that I'd forgotten I'd ordered -- and hadn't yet planted.

But this does seem a bit of an overabundance of seeds. I don't have enough room to plant half of these things....

I knew I had ordered some unusual sort of winter radishes, and hmm, I still have some scorzonera and salisfy seeds (both root crops that I saw growing in a restored colonial garden in Old Salem, NC). I think I germinated some, and didn't manage to get farther than that. Canola and sesame seeds were a momentary enthusiasm -- they're good cover crops to reduce nematodes, I think. Growing spring wheat is always fun, of course -- need to remember to do that again.

I have LOTS of different sorts of lettuces, asian greens, chicories, kales, mustards, turnips, sprouting broccoli, spinach, beets, chard, arugula, radishes, lettuce mixes, edible flowers, etc. etc. An embarrassment of riches to be sure. I'd better get going and plant some of them!

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We're switching gears here. Since our new home is completed, I'm going to start chronicling my gardening adventures. Here you might spy photos of bountiful harvests, or puny crops that failed. Life is an experiment and I like to play in the dirt. If I'm not at home, check the back yard I may be working in the garden.


Photo: two rosemary plants purchased in 4 inch pots, basil started from seeds

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A nocturnal symphony

I never tire of listening to the songs of crickets, cicadas, and katydids. In the southern U.S., summer evenings are alive with sound, changing as evening progresses. I don't have any great depth of knowledge about the biology of these insects, only what I've had fun learning by studying up for night hikes.

But distinguishing between the distinctive calls of different species is fascinating, and the ability of audio files and internet access to easily bring these songs to my study (and transfer CD files to my iPod) are such a wonderful way to appreciate the evening chorus.

The pleasant times of the day now are before 10 am and after 7:30 pm in our heat; fortitude and acclimation is required for working outdoors in between those times.


But, the humidity brings exceptional color to our sunsets, and it was lovely being outdoors at 8:30 this evening.

And, I'm looking forward to receiving the book and digital files that go with the Songs of Insects website that I found looking for night sounds again. I'm sure it will be great.

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So when should I actually plant fall vegetables?

There's no dearth of advice about growing fall vegetables, but it's definitely a matter of figuring out your particular weather patterns, growing benefits and challenges, and thinking creatively about what to try (and sorting out what you read, and the location of the person who wrote it).

Our Southeastern U.S. Zone 7 (determined solely by frost dates) is quite different than Zone 7 in coastal Oregon, for example. And, different species need different lengths of time to mature before frost, and are affected by shortening days and cooler weather depending on the species (and cultivars), too.

a red-stemmed chicory looking unfazed by heat and drought

And, the recommendations of 'plant in mid-summer' or 'plant in late summer' are not terribly helpful when it's still 95° in the late afternoon. As a beginning vegetable gardener some years ago, I had the (very mistaken) notion that fall vegetables were planted in the fall.

In hot summer soils, trying to germinate seeds of cool-season vegetables such as carrots and lettuce often requires supplemental help in late summer (shading, damp straw, burlap, covering with boards). I've sprinkled ice cubes on the lettuce flats to help cool down the potting mix, following advice from an experienced local gardener. Carrot seeds are notoriously slow to germinate, in any case, as are some of the other species in the carrot family (parsnips and parsley come to mind). Wild species quite often have these stretched-out germination behaviors, and/or complex dormancy, partially as a response to optimize survival of seedlings.

An old way to germinate seeds that need cooler temperatures or that require perfect moisture balance is simply to start them indoors. Layering seeds in wet paper towels enclosed in a covered container provides a head start to triggering germination; the trick is to monitor them closely so at the first sign of young roots, you can transfer the sprouted seeds to prepared beds (before the root hairs attach to the paper towels). I suppose you could use a shallow layer of damp vermiculite or potting mix, too, but I haven't tried that.

What I've found most helpful are market-gardening publications (extension offices generally have good ones; I just printed out a succession planting chart that conveniently included space for your own notations about what you planted and when) and books (like Four-season Harvest by Elliot Coleman) that provide detailed information on different crops connected with frost dates, days to maturity, and recommendations for specific crops.

But there's always quite a bit of leeway, depending on how changeable one's fall weather patterns are, how late the first frost is in a given year, and climate change is now in the mix.

But, that's what makes it so fun to be a gardener.

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Wild Weather

The worst is almost over ... or at least, it should be. July is usually the hottest and stickiest month here in Milan, with combined temperatures and humidity regularly giving a perceived temperature of over 38°C (100°F) - sometimes well over. All day you're clammy and dehydrated, and at night it becomes impossible to sleep. Despite three or four tepid showers a day, you feel devoid of energy and irritable, can't work, can't think and want do do nothing but lie in front of a fan on full blast.

Well, that's me anyway - and most of the plants on the balcony. Some people, like my husband, revel in it. I flake, my plants droop pathetically, and he decides to spring clean the house. No accounting for tastes. Perhaps I should suggest he takes on the dead-heading and the staking and the 101 other jobs that I can't find the energy for.

In comparison with other years though, this July was better than usual. Air temperatures didn't ever go above about 36°(97°F), and the humidity was only a real problem for about ten days. In between hot spells, temperatures dropped to an almost pleasant 30°C (86°C) and the hottest, most humid days usually finished with a storm which brought the nighttime temperatures down.

But what storms. The north of Italy made the national news constantly during July as hailstorms, wind and torrential rain brought down trees and scaffolding, and flooded roads, houses and railway lines. The hail was sometimes as big as small icecubes. It hit the balcony plants hard , particularly those trailing over the balcony rails like the ivy-leaved pelargoniums and surfinia, whose flowers were ripped to pieces. And several times a crash in the night announced that yet another large pot had been blown over by a wind that here is called a tromba d'aria. The literal translation is blast of air, but it's usually translated as a tornado. However, I think a more accurate term is a downburst. It's a wind which arrives suddenly with no warning, and lasts for no more than about ten minutes, but in that time reaches gale-force strengths. We have them regularly and they can do a lot of damage. One arrived last night as we were sitting watching TV (OK, OK I admit it - Brothers and Sisters. In this heat that's about the maximum my intellect can manage) and within thirty seconds half the balcony had blown into the living room through the french doors. Ten minutes later there wasn't a whiff of breeze, but for the next half hour there was a thunderstorm and torrential rain. We found out this morning that the storm had brought down six large trees around the city, injuring two people, and again causing widespread flooding..

Ready to cook!

My small group of vegetable gardening friends know I'm enthusiastic about yard-long beans. I can't help it. I find them so tasty, productive, and attractive that I don't understand why everyone doesn't want to grow them here. My early crop this year was a red variety, which didn't do very well, but was attractive while it held up. The usual green-podded varieties are sturdier, perhaps; more recently planted vines are looking very vigorous, and one healthy plant can be quite productive, reflected in today's harvest.

There are so many interesting aspects to yard-long beans, too, and they THRIVE in hot weather and happily are even drought-tolerant! They even seem resistant to the usual bean-chomping insects.

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Ayacucho Churches

Karina from El beso sent me a photo she took of this amazing home in Lima, Peru. Isn't the patio something else with all of those Peruvian churches?! Wow. Karina has many more pictures on her blog, including some great interior shots. Check them out here! Thanks Karina! Your photographs are beautiful!

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