I started both broccoli and cauliflower in the house this year. I'm not sure why, since both are fairly easy to start from seed in the garden. I guess I was just anxious to get started back in February or March.
After almost killing the cauliflower by putting them in direct sunlight before they'd been sufficiently prepared, I nurtured them back to health, hardened them off and planted both over the weekend.
Then I got curious about what both would look like as adults, since I'd chosen to plant a Romanesco Broccoli and Veronica Cauliflower. After doing a bit of research, I came to the conclusion that it's the same plant. Or almost the same plant. I got one seed from Baker Creek Heirloom seeds and the other from Park Seeds. The broccoli is supposed to be this old, Italian heirloom type of broccoli. The cauliflower is a new hybrid - of the old, heirloom Romanesco broccoli.
Both are supposed to form these curious heads with little pointy knobs that look like an alien life form. They're also supposed to be delicious - sweet, mild and nutty. Hmmm... now that sounds like someone's dear old granny.
I saw several recipes for preparing both and can hardly wait for them to grow.
So once again, I'm conducting my own gardening experiment to see whether the hybrid or the heirloom grow or taste better. The only problem is that they look identical and I didn't clearly mark ("oh, I'm sure I'll remember" I said to myself as I planted) which was which. And I've already forgotten, except that I know I planted broccoli in amongst the walking onion patch and cauliflower in this bed where spinach and love-in-a-mist is growing.
I'm not a big fan of rotilling my garden because I try and grow a year-round garden. I've always got something planted, seeds that may germinate and plants that may not look like much in the winter but are alive and well below the surface, like the rhubarb and garlic in this photo. Since I usually can't remember where I've planted anything or where, exactly garden perennials are growing, I don't want to rototill and disturb anything.
I took my camera when I went for a garden stroll to record what's happening in the garden in mid-April. It's further proof that I'm a gardener, not a farmer.
A gardener doesn't want a crop to come in all at the same time for harvest; she'd rather pick one or two things every day, starting as early in the season as possible. When you grow a garden, it's kind of cool to see spinach, columbine and bellflower all growing together in the same area.
Probably not a good idea if you're a farmer.
A gardener doesn't care if the seeds she planted in July (like these parsnips) for a fall crop don't germinate until March because her income doesn't depend on successful seed germination.
A gardener doesn't mind finding spinach scattered in four or five different areas because she's the only one who will be picking it.
A gardener can allow plants to reseed themselves and grow wherever they want to, like this fennel.
She can also plant an entire packet of seeds she's never tried before, hoping to see them grow and over winter (like the seed packet promised they would) and not mind that only two plants actually survived, like the tiny Nero di Toscano cabbage growing in the upper right hand corner.
When you're a gardener, it doesn't matter that you forgot you'd already planted parsnips in the area or that garlic chives are also growing. The more the merrier.
And this gardener likes to throw flowers in the middle of the garden, just to make it pretty.
People who grew up around here talk about picking wild asparagus on the ditch banks in the springtime when they were kids. I assumed that meant that asparagus was relatively easy to grow, so I bought some rootstock several years ago.
When I bought it, the prevailing wisdom said not to cut it the first year, so I let it grow wild and free. By the second year, the prevailing wisdom said it's best to cut it, beginning the first year, so some of my asparagus must have gotten wind that I'd mistreated it and it refused to come up. In fact, every year, I have fewer and fewer stalks of asparagus coming up.
Oh well, perhaps it's because I forget to pick them when they're perfect and let them get stringy and woody, like the one that doesn't fit in the frame of this picture.
I don't remember what kind of asparagus I bought, but it's a pretty purple color, which makes it hard to see against the early spring dirt. It turns green when cooked.
Although the really tall one wasn't worth eating, the other two were tender and delicious. Not exactly enough to make a meal, however.
So what am I doing wrong? I've got no idea, so if you grow fabulous asparagus by the boatload, please enlighten me.
We got a call at the Master Garden desk last week from someone who wanted to plant tomatoes outside already. We tried to discourage it, since there's a good chance we could get a killing frost in the next two or three weeks, but I don't know if the caller took our advice or not.
Although it is too early to plant tomatoes, melons, green beans or any other warm weather-loving fruit or veggie, it's a fine time to continue getting your garden ready. I've already spread compost, so decided to break up my bag of biochar and spread it in a few beds. I figured I had the right tool for the job.
After laying the bag out flat on the driveway, I took a swing with my sledgehammer. I was hoping to be able to break the char up into little bitty bits in the bag. Instead, the bag burst open on the first swing. Oops.
OK, not a problem. I poured it into my wheelbarrow, where it looked like a pitiful amount of soil amendment for $15. Then I tried whacking it into small pieces with my sledgehammer. I'm not sure how small the pieces should have been. During the master gardening class, the instructor who taught about biochar said not to pulverize it.
The amount in the wheelbarrow looked pretty miniscule, so I decided to spread it in only two areas. This bed is in the middle of my lawn (where it shouldn't be, but I couldn't resist, because it's so sunny and I wanted just a little more room to grow things). I added biochar to this bed because biochar is supposed to improve the soil's water handling capacity and this bed doesn't always get as much water as it should because of my irrigation system. I'm going to plant cowpeas, cucumbers and maybe a Kazakh melon in this bed, all of which are supposed to be climbers, so I'll put one of my trellises here, too.
I also added it to this bed because I decided to put my tomato trellis here, and I want big, honking tomatoes. Although I broke the biochar into smaller pieces in the wheelbarrow, once it was in the bed, I continued breaking it into smaller pieces with the shovel when I worked it into the soil.
With my husband's help, I put my trellises set up, even though I'll use them for warm-weather plants and won't be planting anything to climb on them for another three or four weeks. I'm rearranging things in the garden this season and wanted to see how much room I had with them in place. My husband thinks this looks kinda Beverly Hillbilly-ish there in the front yard, but I assured him that once green growing things covered the trellises, it would be the envy of the neighborhood. And if tomatoes climbed to the top of the tomato trellis he would be in hog heaven, and tacky would no longer be an issue.