Garden Volunteers

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Volunteers. Given time and space, they move in and take over. Weeded out too vigorously, and the garden is barren, orderly, and empty of surprises.  In an established patch, they are in balance. In June, the choices we have made all spring become clear.

There are a wide variety of volunteers… first, the free seeders. I bought one packet of borage 18 years ago and we have never lacked for the herb since, which is fine because we love the flowers and the chickens love the leaves and seeds. Love in a Mist has taken over the dry shade under the apple tree and creates a bank of blooms and funky seedheads in May and June. One lemon balm plant has become hundreds. Lovage, while less prolific, is huge when it does appear. Feverfew creates a nice filler in a bouquet, as does the Lady’s Mantle that has moved into the paths between garden beds. Wild seeded cosmos and nasturtiums bloom before the May planted every year.

Once you have  potato crop, you always have a potato crop, a friend observed one spring. It’s true. Every one of my beds has at least one potato, every year, despite constant rotations and careful harvest. They appear in early March, telling me that the soil is warm enough to plant the crop. I can pull a few plants for the Fourth of July and have new potato salad for dinner. There is usually at least one very vigorous plant  sprawling out of the compost bins until the chickens eat the leaves. When I weigh the harvest, I calculate in the volunteers.

Three years ago, I tossed the insides of our carving pumpkins into the garden. The next spring, before I realized it, a vine was sprawling across the beans, so I rigged up a trellis and rope and lifted it above my head. Four huge, round pumpkins grew off of the vines, slowing turning orange in late August. They became the Halloween pumpkins. Last October, when I tossed those seeds, I was thoughtful about their placement and settled them at the base of my new cattle panel hoop. In April, they seeds sprouted and the vines are well on their way up and out. There is another vine crawling out of the potato bed…

The structure of the vegetable garden is orderly and linear—all of the beds are ten feet long, four feet across, raised boxes, with three foot paths between. They are sized to hold the chicken coop—four feet by five—during the winter months.  The main paths end in blue gates that lead to the chicken run and the compost bins. Each bed has its own soaker hose, which can be turned on and off at will. This imposed order is essential. However, the cheerful chaos of a volunteer pumpkin vine making a run for freedom and flowers blooming where they were not planted break the patterns every day.

 

Compost Piles

One of the benefits of the Stay Home, Save Lives spring has been the ability to wander out into the back yard and see how things are growing.  When my eyes are tired of looking at the screen, they are happy to rest on the hunt for the cabbage worm eating in the center of the broccoli plant. And, because it has been warm, wet season, everything is growing madly.

We  are also working on the compost mounds. The pruning and trimming of shrubs and trees is finally done—the Camilla has to wait until after the bloom—and everything has been hauled back and piled up next to the fence. Over the next few weeks, we will cut it all up, using everything from the Big Loppers to hand trimmers—and the occasional stomp—and fill the wire bins. We should work from one bin to the next, so that there is an order to the decomposition, but, occasionally we give into convenience and toss branches into the nearest bin. Mark has used a chipper in the past and it produced some really nice compost in a much shorter period of time, but it was loud and not conducive to Deep Thought, so he has returned to the hand cutting method. These days, as he is also working from home, he will wander out to the pile and trim while considering a sticky problem. Cutting compost is an ongoing meditative process.

Occasionally, we grow an extra potato.

There are three wire bins. We prefer bins because of their flexibility; when one is full and ready to be sifted, Mark pulls the wire away, sets it up into its new spot, and begins (with the help of the chickens) to sift out the finished compost and to toss the pieces that need some more time into the new circle. We add the kitchen and garden scraps to that bin while the others work in peace. There is room for five full bins in the work area, but we only have three, so we can move things around. By late July, there will be one hoop of fresh chopped material, one sprawled on the ground being sifted, and one working on decomposition.  There will also be an old garbage bin full of sifted compost for me to distribute to the raspberry and gooseberry beds out front.

Working on the compost mounds is a steady process and cycle in our lives. Tucked into the back corner, it s never tidy, never done, and a constant work in progress.