Let's Get Dirty
A gardening blog for adults who still love to play in the dirt.
Send stories and pictures of your horticultural adventures to email@example.com.
By Penny Stine
Friday, February 11, 2011
For all gardenophiles out there (did I just coin a word or is there some other word out there that means lover of all things dirty, green and growing?), this is a tough stretch. Just when we hoped we were headed for an early spring, we got snow and freezing temps. Our gardens are buried under snow (again!) and we all breathe weary, heavy sighs.
Yes, yes, I know... things are a lot worse elsewhere and here in western Colorado, we have no reason to whine and complain when Chicago's been buried multiple times this winter, but dang it, my garden had sprouts two weeks ago! I haven’t checked them since this latest bout of winter. Perhaps on Sunday, I’ll have enough nerve to see if they’ve survived.
In the meantime, I was craving soup the other day, but had only a few minutes when I was home at lunch to put something together in my crock-pot. I consulted a crock-pot cookbook and found a recipe for winter tomato soup – and it recommended using home-canned tomatoes. It was simple, had few ingredients and quick to throw together so I could get back to work.
I left the cookbook at home, but as near as I can remember it:
½ C butter
1 jar home canned tomatoes
1 tbsp sugar (I used less than half that amount)
½ C dry vermouth or dry white wine (I didn’t have either, so I substituted cooking sherry)
1 tsp dried tarragon
Chop the onions and sauté them in the butter for 10 – 15 minutes. Toss everything else in the crock-pot on low. Add onions when they’re soft and cook 6 ½ hours on low. Puree in a food processor or use a hand-held blender. Serve hot with a dollop of sour cream.
Six and a half hours later… My crock-pot got overzealous and half the volume had evaporated, so I added milk and a couple tbsp of flax meal to thicken it (and to give it a boost of Omega-3). I used a hand-held blender to turn it into a cream soup. It was delicious, even though I forgot to serve it with sour cream. It was a great way to enjoy those delicious garden tomatoes in February without needing to turn them into a complete sauce, add some meat, cook some pasta... etc, etc.
Next time, I’m going to make sure I have dry vermouth rather than cooking wine, I think it will be truly fab. I may also ditch the tarragon and go for thyme or rosemary instead. Since I’m assuming that anyone reading this blog also has a ready supply of home-canned tomatoes, I wanted to pass it on.
By Laurena Mayne Davis
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The gloriously reclusive poet rarely ventured from her family’s Amherst, Mass., home, but when Emily Dickinson wasn’t peering out her bedroom window, she was reveling in the garden.
"I was always attached to mud," she wrote.
The New York Botanical Garden re-created a 19th century New England garden in honor of Dickinson: Emily Dickinson’s Garden: The Poetry of Flowers.
National Public Radio reported on it last spring. Go here for the story in audio and print and for a photo gallery from the garden.
Think statuesque dianthus, speckled foxglove and spicy dianthus. And just as Dickinson tucked poems into nosegays as gifts, some 30 of her poems are sprinkled on plaques among the garden's trees and flowers.
To discern Dickinson’s preferred plantings, representatives with the botanical garden pored over her letters and poems for botanical mentions. Dandelions were included, too, because Dickinson said she thought of herself more as a dandelion.
Maybe so, but with her pen, even the humblest subjects bloom.
NATURE rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,—
Prodigal of blue,
Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover’s words.
— Emily Dickinson
By Penny Stine
Monday, January 31, 2011
I did yard work on Saturday. Yard work… in January! In Colorado. It was awesome.
While I was cleaning all the leaves and cutting back the dead stuff in my front flowerbed, I discovered that my parsley hasn’t died.
Then I checked out my west garden, which has been covered in snow until the end of last week, and discovered that my snapdragons are still hanging in there, too. I’m sure when I bought the snapdragon seeds last spring, the description on the package said they were annuals. So I googled it to find out.
Turns out, snapdragons might be a perennial in the right zone, under the right conditions. The funny thing is that I was expecting them to die when it froze hard last November. And it didn’t bother me at all. I lost no sleep over my struggling snaps.
But now that I know they’ve survived through the last day of January, I really want them to make it all the way through February.
I’m thinking I ought to go spread some composting leaves around these valiant snapdragons tonight when I get home from work. I checked the weather forecast and it's supposed to be below zero tomorrow and Wednesday night. Those poor little snapdragons... they've done such a great job without any help from me, but now I know I won't sleep tonight if I let them freeze tomorrow.
So dinner will just have to wait tonight while I wheelbarrow around a load of dead leaves and try to cover up the snapdragons. And even though I said if the spinach was foolish enough to sprout, it would have to survive on its own, I’ll probably toss a little mulch on top of the that, too.
But the parsley’s gonna have to fend for itself.
By Penny Stine
Friday, January 28, 2011
I know I already blogged about it, but I took a close-up of a couple of the spinach sprouts and wanted to post it. I like it because it shows the frost all around the seedlings. I guess those little buggers are determined to grow, regardless of the cold and inhospitable surroundings around them.
I sense a life lesson in here somewhere... Perhaps we should all strive to be more like spinach seedlings. I'm sure Popeye would agree.
By Carol Clark
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I may have a difficult time growing seeds indoors in the winter but I can grow dandelions outside in January!!
This one showed up next to my front door this weekend. I have others in the driveway.
Dandelions, like rats and tamarisk, were brought to America by immigrants who were as tough as dandelions. Many pioneers who came west in covered wagons owed their survival to dandelions growing in the winter. They provided loads of vitamins and minerals to weary travelers.
As every lawn care worker can testify, one plant can make as many as 200 new plants.
You fight dandelions all weekend,
and late Monday afternoon there they are,
pert as all get out,
in full and gorgeous bloom,
pretty as can be,
thriving as only dandelions can in the face of adversity.
- Hal Borland
As a child I thought they were beautiful and would pick a bouquet often for my mom. I still think they are kinda cute, but I don't want them by my front door....
and I don't care to eat them either.
“The miracles of nature do not seem miracles because they are so common. If no one had ever seen a flower, even a dandelion would be the most startling event in the world." - author unknown