April

 

 

               The world has been warm and sunny for the past two weeks—lovely, but it just does not feel right, in Oregon, in April. This weekend, the clouds returned, rain softened the clods of dirt in my summer greens garden bed just before I needed to prep it for planting, and the sky is full of layers and layers of cloud with sun shining through the gaps. Despite the swelling slugs in the grass, it is beautiful.

                The greenhouse is full. There are some extra early cabbage starts in four inch pots from my first round of planting. The tomatoes have all been bumped up. Eighty six are waiting to go to new homes this coming weekend; 18 sit in gallon pots underneath the shelf, ready to be planted out in about three weeks, when the coop moves to the back run. The third round of plantings, known as the summer greens, is in six packs and four inch pots, resting over the tub. And today, I planted the vines, flowers, and herbs that will go out when it is truly warm in late May. After I start the corn tomorrow, every spot will be filled. The cat wanders in as I work, waiting to be boosted up to her shelf over the door, where she hangs a paw down while she naps.

  

              Outside, lilac and wisteria waft a deep purple fragrance over the back yard. Wild hyacinth and white alliums sprawl out of the beds onto the sidewalk. The early greens are ready for small soft salads. I mulched the potato bed this afternoon and Mr. Beezhold hopped right over to nibble on the dry grass, which is better than the rhubarb or the asparagus. The chickens are laying an egg most days and they have given in and are using the official nest box, rather than scrambling to get out or laying in the furthest corner of the run.  The fig tree has thumb sized figs forming at the base of the new leaves. Mark has to mow every five or six days to keep up; the push mower does not work well when the grass is too high.

                Late April is full of hope in the garden. Everything is started and growing. Nothing has been attacked by slugs, or flea beetles, or a chicken on a rampage…there are no failures or mistakes yet, no lessons learned the hard way. Soft rains help the cabbages grow and the warm sun pulls us all outside.

March-- the month, not the action

 

              March—the month when storms blow in, dump hail, sleet, rain, snow on our heads, and then blow out within the hour, leaving behind green grass and rainbows. The month when the light finally tips towards the sun again, so that, even on a cold and drizzly day, you can feel spring in the air. The month when that scruffy shrub by the back door blooms and sends out the sweetest perfume ever. Daphne.  March.

                In my classroom, the seeds I planted on Candlemas are sturdy little kales and mustards, lettuces and cabbages. So cute. In the greenhouse, the same starts are leggy and just putting out their first true leaves, victims of the cold, cloudy spring.  I rigged up the second grow light over them and set the timer, so that they will have a few extra hours of light in the morning.  That should help. The peas, planted on the same day, are thriving. This morning, between gusts of storms, I covered the first garden bed with plastic, so that it can dry out and warm for a few weeks before I plant out the starts. The cover will stay on for several weeks after the planting out, until the peas need a trellis to climb.  When the weather was bad, I went into the greenhouse and planted all of the tomato seeds, ready to come to school on Monday morning. 

               In the garden, the perennials are just coming up. The first crumpled leaves of rhubarb appeared this week, along with the small daffodils. Other herbs and bulbs are slowly emerging. The plum tree is thinking about blooming, but it has not committed to the process yet. Neither has the Camellia. The slow start is all right with me—I have only just begun the pruning because of a sore shoulder. We were going to prune the laurel hedge, but dark clouds came in and the rains began again.

It is time to move inside, start a fire, dry out the clothes, and attack some reading.  Maybe knit a bit. March.

And, the next day, they cancelled school because of snow. March.

Early Spring Moments

Seeds have arrived!

First round of early spring crops planted in the greenhouse.

Getting some warm spring rainwater.

A little too much rain....

New stove installation. Warm dining room!

Drying rack

Bulbs planted on the Solstice bloom at Candlemas.

Spring Break began on Friday when I fled the building by 2:45, convinced that all of the work that was going to come in was in. The sun was out for the first time all week and the air was warm, When I came home, the Sprung Garden bed, which had been covered in plastic for the last two weeks, called. The soil was dry and friable, so I moved all of the spring starts outside ; peas, cabbage, kale, mustard, broccoli, and cauliflower. Then I buttoned the hoop house back up to keep out digging chickens and napping cats, picked some sprouting broccoli from the one plant that survived, and went inside for dinner.

Saturday  was tomato transplant day. The plants had started out life in my classroom, but needed to move up to the four inch pots. Mark did the labels while I transplanted. When we were done, the greenhouse smelled of damp earth and tomatoes.

Sunday was the day to start the next round of veggies for the summer garden: chard, collards, more broccoli and cauliflower, parsley and basil. While I planted seeds, Mark sat in his greenhouse chair and read.

Blooming wildflowers at  Finley Refuge-- fawn lily, toothwort, bitter cress, fairy bells and fairy slippers, Oregon grape, yellow violets, both types of Trillium.

On Monday, the pink tulips began to bloom. Then the rains settled in. Downpours with sun breaks for days.

Spring greens from Sunbow Farm-- salad, mustard, and raab.

A completed garden bed-- it curves around the window well and will allow us to grow more food in the hot, southern corner of the house. The plan is to run vines up the wall, creating shade on the couch inside.





Easter Evening, after the party is over we eat dinner in the falling sun.