Category: How Things Grow

  • Outdoor Cathedral

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    Through a cloudless October sky, the sunshine pours down, highliting the brilliant fall leaves. The cold nights are intensifying the fall colors. Maybe the fall colors are what guide the geese and the swans south. All they have to do is follow the yellow brick road of turning maples and poplars.

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    On the way to the post office is a row of towering poplars as grand as any stone cathedral. Today, they were tinged with gold. I had to stop to admire them. Watches are out for storms blowing through starting tomorrow night through the weekend. By the time the storms pass and cloudless skies return, many of these golden leaves may have flown away.

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  • A Graveyard of Corn

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    This is what a graveyard of corn looks like. While putting the corn down, I found a curious stubby ear of corn. When you grow your own food, you often find curious items like this stubby corn. I could see a bowl of these roundish corn ears on a dinner table. Half the corn is going to the chickens, the other half indoors for us to enjoy.

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  • Who Will Harvest?

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    Who will harvest the apples? Us or the pileated woodpeckers? Pileated woodpeckers have spotted our apple trees. With the chickens pecking at the low hanging apples, and the pileated woodpeckers attacking the apples from the tops of the trees, we got busy and harvested the bulk of the apples.

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    The notion of what is food has changed for me now that I’ve been growing vegetables for a handful of years. An ear of corn is much more than the kernels on the cob. It is the whole plant and the months and months of growing it took for the corn to form its ears. I can’t slice into a tomato without seeing the vine.

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    The personalities of these two little chicks couldn’t be more different. The gray one is shy. The dark one is outgoing and gorges itself on worms. But they are inseparable and constantly talking to each other.

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    Left, right, left, right, it’s how the zucchini vine grows. During the spring and summer when its huge leaves hide the vine, the lovely pattern the vine makes is not apparent. But as it dies back, the zigzag of the vine is something to smile about.

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    It’s also bean harvest time. Bean pods have this handy feature that makers of electronic and office goods need to mimic. Dry the bean pods, and when they are ready to open, they pop open with ease. There is no effort, and the snap the dry pods make as you open them is almost meditative. It’s something I could do for hours.

    I’ve nearly stabbed myself to death trying to open some of the hard plastic wrappings around a pair of scissors or package of batteries. If you don’t have a scissors, knife, or chainsaw, how are you supposed to open these? How many people bleed to death after cutting themselves trying to open a package of batteries? Wouldn’t it be great if these wrappings would “dry out” once you brought them home, and pop open as easy as dried bean pods? Often nature has thought of a better way to do things. When it comes to packaging things, nature leads the way. And all of nature’s wrappings biodegrade. Many are even edible.

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  • Missing Nuts Found

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    The brilliant blue hydrangea blossoms have all faded to dull purple, except for one late head which just opened. It’s a breath of spring in fall.

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    I’ve passed this tree more than two thousand times over the years, but I never realized it was there until today when I discovered the ground underneath it was covered with chestnuts. I had to stop and pick some chestnuts. Amazing how I can go by something day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year and never see it. It makes me wonder how many wonderful things I’ve missed because I never saw them.

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  • Planting Time Again

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    To be honest, there is rarely a time when planting ceases. There are just heavy planting times and light planting times. Upcoming October and November are heavy planting times so I might as well get a start on it. Which is why having blossoms in the garden is indispensable. If I’m on my knees planting, I want to be able to look up and see something beautiful, like these lovely artichoke blossoms.

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    Today, it’s a basket of elephant garlic that is going into the ground. This spring I saved plenty of elephant garlic so that I wouldn’t need to buy any to plant this fall. Self-replication is a feat of nature that is woefully under appreciated. What if you could buy shoes that were self-replicating? You’d only have to buy one or two pair, ever. When one got old, you’d set it aside and wait for it to grow two or three new pairs of shoes. Such shoes would be called magical. Why don’t we call our crops magical? They self-replicate year after year after year.

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    Deep in the garden, a Costata romanesco zucchini has grown to the size of a beached whale. Come next spring, the seeds of this fruit will self-replicate and take over the world if I let it. The gigantic leaves of the zucchini are on their way to becoming soil. Tired from soaking in sunlight all summer long, they are turning white with powdery mildew. Milk is effective at treating powdery mildew. Diluted ten to one with water, milk is as good as conventional fungicides and better than benomyl and fenarimol at treating powdery mildew. But, as it is time for these leaves to return to the earth, there is no point in prolonging their lifespan.

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    The rewards of planting are finding things to eat. Today there is corn, shoots of napa cabbage, tomato and basil to take into the kitchen for an early autumn feast. I’m sitting in the garden, soaking in the autumn sun, and listening to the buzzing of bees as I write. The tragedy of industrial food is how it has divorced us from nature. When you wander the vast aisles in the box stores picking out your food products, you hear no buzzing of bees, the whisper of the wind in the trees doesn’t tickle your years, the autumn sun doesn’t warm your cheeks, nor can you feel the verdant earth between your toes.