Season's coda

The crickets are deafening. The seed heads of the blackberry lilies (Bellamcanda) --solidly one-third of their charm—are waving above the garden chairs, and the pineapple sage is in bloom. It’s a sad time of year but a gorgeous one in its own way.

One of the things I most appreciate at summer’s end are the moonflowers (Ipomoea alba), which are doing their darndest to make up for the declining garden. Those magnificent crepe-de-chine blooms that swirl open like dancers’ skirts waft perfume all over the place as they open at the cusp of the evening, attracting daytime pollinator and moth alike, a bridge bloom between day and night. I’ve strategically spaced them around the property – crawling over the rusted garden sink, semi-blanketing the pergola and taking the long-limbed volunteer lemon tomatoes with them, at the south entry to the garden where they struggle manfully to latch the fence closed (I keep unwinding them and repositioning but they are of a stubborn bent.). But the two moonflowers I most appreciate are the knot of heart-shaped leaves and blooms that have twined up a telephone pole that used to hold a purple martin condo in the driveway garden, and the ones in the raspberries I have finally figured out how to protect from both weeding husband and weed-whacking lawn guy.

The driveway moonflowers make the place look welcoming and add another dimension to the Anemone and blowsy-looking perennial Ageratum that are the end-of-season staples there. But the ones in the raspberry patch are my favorites because I can stand very close and watch the different bees clamber into the blooms’ centers. I can observe the way two bees of the same species will share a bloom while the arrival of a new species creates a new dynamic. There are decisions to be made: shall I defend my blooms against the alien newcomer? Allow him to crawl over my back to share the pollen? Turn and face him off? It’s tribal, atavistic, and seems almost political. Watching without having to make a judgment is luxurious.

The vines too have their own agendas and personalities. Some wrap sleek stems over and around and through, picking up a cane to carry it straight into the air while they reach for the rustic overhead trapezoid. Others clutch a berry-laden cane or two to the waist-high clothesline that attempts to keep the canes in bounds. But when I go out with the dogs, wandering and inspecting, it get to visit the little dramas that nature creates.
I’ve all but given up picking –too many fungus-plagued berries thanks to this year’s weather, too little time and energy. And I’ve finished canning and freezing (mostly).
It’s a bittersweet time. The crickets, punctuated by the last few cicadas, are outside my office door singing an end-of-summer song, a coda to the growing season.

Got Tomato Blight?

Got Blight? You betcha. I’ve been not so much fighting blight since it began partway though the summer as watching it slowly eat my tomato plants.

Several things in addition to the weird cool and alternately soggy and dry weather have helped promote blight this year. The upsurge in interest in heirloom tomatoes, which, as superb as many are, are also mostly not as resistant to a lot of the things, particularly fungi, that hybrids were bred to resist. Researchers surmise that a few big commercial nurseries that produce great quantities of non-resistant heirlooms this year shipped quantities of possibly-infected plants to big box stores, which in turn supplied them to a lot of economy—conscious new home gardeners eager for that old-fashioned taste.

I have not, as has been suggested by Cornel and a number of other research universities, applied ‘cooper products’ to my blighted tomatoes. As experts admit, these products are of limited protection against both infection and further damage. Champ WG and NuCop 50 are ‘organic’ products registered in Massachusetts, which has, along with other soggy northeastern states, had a devilish time this year with blight. (In fact everyone I spoke with on a quick trip up through New York and the Adirondacks howled about their lost tomato crops.). Both products are OMRI-listed. (OMRI is the Organic Materials Review Institute.).

Advice from Cornel sources is as follows:
Removal of a few infected plants may slow the disease, but has not been successful in doing so thus far. If removed, bury the infected plants completely, or bag and put in the trash. Don’t compost them.
Home gardeners need to act quickly to make sure that your plants don’t become a source of spores that could infect commercial farms, as late blight spores are easily dispersed by wind….This organism is not seedborne (however, it is tuberborne in potato), so that tomato plants started from seed locally would be free of the disease, at least for now. Some regional farm and garden centers did distribute infected plants from the same supplier. It is likely that many infected tomato plants have been planted across the entire [northeast] region if they originated from larger wholesale stores.
2. If you want to try to control late blight with fungicides, you need to begin spraying fungicide before you see symptoms – and you need to continue spraying regularly. Use a product that contains chlorothalonil. Even here, these products are only effective if used before the disease appears and should be reapplied every 7-10 days, or 5-7 days in wet weather. Chlorothalonil is a protectant fungicide, with no systemic movement in the plant, so thorough coverage is necessary. For organic farmers and gardeners, the options are very limited, since only copper fungicides can be used, and copper is not very effective on late blight. It is easily washed off by rainfall.

Instead of doing anything chemical to combat blight, I’ve been picking assiduously and canning like mad – quart after quart of gorgeous Super San Marzano plum tomatoes that fill a jar with about seven fruits. I’ve enjoyed the fresh tomatoes I have. But I’ve been careful not to spread the spores. I pick tomatoes and then go inside, shuck clothes and wash before doing anything else either in the garden or elsewhere. For good or ill, that’s been my modus operandi. Save and use what you can, don’t spread it around, and hope that next year, which is bound to be different – the hope and the plague of gardening -- will be blight-free.

A large number of anything concentrated in one place and then shipped all over the place is a recipe for exponentially spreading a problem. (We can apply this to all kinds of things: fast food joints, ennui, fear). I’ve yanked out half of the plants, and dumped them in plastic in the garbage, which was hauled off this morning. The rest are slated for disposal this weekend.

I will continue to plant heirlooms, started from seed in my little greenhouse. I will also continue to mix in some hybrids as I do every year. Diversity is the best protection.

HARLEQUIN BUGS

I was reading an Op-ed piece in the New York Times this morning,
You Say Tomato, I Say Agricultural Disaster,(click on article for the link) which made me realize that as Master Gardeners we are in the front lines of the war on such catastrophes. This article was talking about the devastation being caused by the late tomato blight in the Northeast. But, it pointed out that there are pathways to educating the home gardener, who is part of a larger farming system, that could help stem the spread of diseases such as this.

The article is worth reading and thinking about, as you wonder what your role might be in prevention. We are a part of the Smith-Lever Act that created the cooperative extensions. As a land-grant university the University of Maryland is an active participant. I guess it did bring a certain gravitas to my role in the community.

It brought to mind a very neglected portion of my garden and my own inaction. Maybe not as devastating as the blight, but an unchecked plant problem that I let fester in my vegetable garden. It was an infestation of Harlequin Bugs, Murgantia histrionica. I knew that the Brussels Sprouts were doomed, but I just thought I would get to it later. Meanwhile, the bugs were making haste in copulating on this unfettered piece of real estate, laying eggs and reproducing like mad men.

I am happy to report that I have belatedly solved the problem, and have even begun to reconstruct a scenario that I saved the rest of my garden by creating a trap crop, because I planted my brussel sprouts way to early and therefore created an attractant for the little rascals. I just can not quite reconcile the part where I failed to destroy the plants and the invaders before the rampant procreation, I'm working on that part of the story. So, now the plants and the offending bug, nymphs and eggs have been removed and destroyed, I hope the memory of my need for intervention early in my own garden will not similarly be removed and destroyed.

LOST OR SAVED?

I never am quite sure what to do with wildlife that I think may be in danger.  Are they all right? Should I intervene?  Will I make things worse or better?  

I encountered the question again this week, and decided I should give a helping hand.   A baby Ruby-throated Hummingbird was sitting completely lax on the hot blue stones of my patio in the late afternoon sun . Not even lift a wing to try to escape as I came up the walk. Perhaps a maiden flight from the nest gone wrong.  I lifted it up, and decided it was in need of serious and quick intervention.  I took it in and out of the mister a few times to get him cooled off, until I could see a bit of response, with a full body shake.  I then sat him in a small maple tree just out of the range of the mist, but in the shade for a little rest.    There were drops of water on the leaves close by so perhaps there could be a sip of water.  15 minutes or so later, I returned, lifted him up in my hand. There was an attempt at flight, that landed him on the ground, I lifted him again, and this time the flight was strong and high, up over the pear trees that line the pool and out of sight.  I can not know definitively the outcome for this little creature, but I have chosen to think that this time thing turned out well.

After a rainy spring, we’ve had no rain for something like five weeks. Garden’s really dry. I’ve nearly run out all my rain barrels and had to resort to the hose. This year I’ve attached a chlorine filter, though it slows the stream considerably. And I'm mostly watering what we eat rather than what looks beautiful, despite the predatory bindweed that threatens to smother it all. Yet the hyacinth beans (Dolichos lablab), which I’ve been struggling for years to grow, are blooming manfully. I had admired a neighbor’s many moons ago, and had religiously planted seed in my beds each year hoping they’d grow up the fences. No dice. This year, I started some in the green house, and lo and behold, plants! They’ve even survived the rabbits, which are overrunning us this year. So much so that I’ve found fox spore practically next to the house. (It’s an amazing fox year, too). But back to the beans. They’ve been such a help to my outlook. I walk up to the garden, knowing that there are wads and wads of things inside that need tending desperately, a discouragement before I’ve even begun. But when I see those bean blooms, spikes of them standing like decorated soldiers with the glossy burgundy pods hanging beneath, I get inspired. At least, they encourage me to try.

Botanical blessings

The pole beans are up and I’m as pleased with them as though I’d given birth personally. Pole beans are such a pleasure, like a grown child who remembers your birthday. I put them in probably two and a half weeks ago and they’re up six inches, with big bold leaves. The rabbits are already taking notice, the voracious little rodents, and have nipped off the first four Lazy Housewife tops. But others, ying/yang, tiger’s eye and cranberry, are all so far doing well. One of the great pleasures of pole beans is their versatility in both garden and kitchen. They clamber, so you can grow them up whatever trellis or ladder takes your fancy for vertical interest and ease of picking, their blooms are beautiful -- varied in color and size with their variety -- and they can be picked every day for a bountiful crop both fresh and frozen or canned, or left to dry when they’ll be shelled out on a lovely December day. And they fix nitrogen to their roots, so they add good things to the soil. What more could you want? Except fewer rabbits.

The weeds in these pics are evidence of my own lazy housewife tendencies in the garden. It’s all I can do to grow the food, gather the food, cook the food (clean up after cooking the food) and preserve the food. (I know I’m complaining, but I feel the need to excuse my horticultural shortcomings.). I leave perfection, much as I admire and envy it, to others, like my fellow blogger, Janet, and her garden elf. I get to enjoy and rave over other more perfect gardens, a pleasure in itself. The Viceroy butterfly hung out almost the entire time I hauled buckets of water to the beans from the dwindling contents of the rain barrels. There are plenty of garden blessings even for lazy housewives.

JUNE BLOOMS

The humid days of summer have arrived so sitting out in the thick air of evening pleasurable scent is abundant. The closeness of the air holds the smell of the phlox, sweet bay magnolias, and whatever redolent bloom wafts into and lingers in the ether.


The real reason to have a garden is the fresh cut flowers you can bring in almost every day. "If I was a rich man" I would have fresh flowers all over the house, and clean, pressed sheets every night. I will have to settle for fresh cut flowers in the months of bloom. Today it was a big bunch of white phlox, I also could not resist mixing some of the blue and white mop head Hydrangias together. So now as I sit in front of the window wall looking over the garden watching an array of birds coming and going from the feeder and the birdbath, I am surrounded by the sweet scent and beautiful display of these vases.
There is an abundance of blooms open in the garden now.

Janet’s Garden

Ab Fab. That’s what my fellow blogger Janet’s garden is: absolutely fabulous. There is a stone meditation pool that looks like something out of Chanticleer (A Pleasure Garden as it’s billed) in Wayne PA, a stream bed that deals with runoff in a productive, water-wise, and beautiful way, fruit trees and veg patch and xeriscape section with strategically-dripped drip irrigation. And much much more. I had joined Master Gardener, Vida Morley, and a clutch of other curious (no, no, interested, supportive) MG’s to inspect the place while Vida vetted the garden for the Bay Wise program. But as soon as we got there, it was obvious that the careful use of water, bio controls, native interplantings, beneficial bugs, birds, incredibly healthy peas and herbs, water features with natural filters and water re-use, and virtually no lawn let alone chemically-fortified (lawn fertilize? HA!) yadda , yadda, yadda, made the vetting part superfluous. She passed. She got her much-deserved sign.



What put me to shame was the fact that Janet’s garden looks like she has a troop of energetic elves perpetually running around, it’s so beautifully kept. (Well yes, I’m envious.).Vida ran down the long points-based list of Bay Wise specifics as per the vetting process, but mainly we wandered around, snatched snow peas off Janet’s prolific vines, and gawped. I tried to solace myself with the thought that she had nearly killed herself prepping the place for inspection, but the truth is it probably always looks like that. No wonder she gets such great bird and nature pictures from her living room!

Grow it, pick it, eat it

The raspberries are here! And, in part thanks to the advice I got in MG class to add some iron via blood meal before they started, and in part due to the rainy weather, they're gorgeous. I have both summer-bearing, which started about a week ago, and fall-bearing aka primocanes, which are actually twice-bearing if left to their own devices. If you don't mow them down at that end of the season, as some recommend, the fall-bearers offer an early-summer crop on last year's canes. It's not as bountiful as the fall one, which starts in mid-late August and goes til frost. But it's perhaps more welcome being that it's first. The thoroughly rambunctious black raspberries are coming, too. The are incredibly prickered, and almost invasive they're so determined to spread and root -- through both root shoots and tip rooting -- but they add lovely depth of flavor to summer red jam and make great mousse. I've picked about a quart of berries every other day, and made the first raspberry tart (what my daughter calls 'Nature's nearly perfect food) so we ate it for dinner (without anything else) and then again for breakfast. (Ditto). Next is raspberry ice cream.

FOR THE BIRDS

Taking up residence in the garden, because of all the work that needs to be done, has many rewards, not the least of them being bird watching. Many of the young have hatched. All these immature but almost adult sized birds running around the yard begging for the food their parents are still providing. They flap their wings and make cute little calls to the parent, and if the other young spot a parent headed for one of their siblings, they run as fast as they can to see if they can snatch the snack away. I know I saw a Mockingbird parent providing lessons to an adolescent on how to catch his own prey, and that the pupil was sure that if mom or dad would just catch one more worm for him now, he would be able to learn for the next time.
The hummingbirds have arrive. I turned on a mister that I have in the garden, to watch a lovely little Ruby Throat fly in to get sprayed, and to dip his beak into a pool of water being held in a leaf. He would leave the mist, sit on a branch, flap his wings, and then dart back into the shower.
The bug population is under immense pressure right now, as all of these young are being fed the high protein diet that their parents give them at this stage in life. That is the best part of attracting so many birds to the garden, the help they give to keeping bugs under control.