Jenmenke

Road Warrior

Garden

My Favorite Way to Plant Potatoes

…With a bulb planter

While I like to pretend to know what I’m talking about, in this case, you must take my preachings with a grain of salt.

Or maybe even less.

As I’ve said before, I tend to cut corners on tasks that I don’t care for.

And one of those tasks is planting potatoes.

Truth be told, now that I’m writing about the third consecutive task that I don’t care for in the garden, I am starting to wonder if I really like gardening at all? Could it be possible that I’m only out there to escape questions like “Mom? Mom?… Mom?… ”   To which I yell, WHAT? Only to hear: “Where is Morgan?”

How the Hell would I know where Morgan is?

Yes, the garden beckons…

I love the garden…

And when people say “But it’s so much work. Where do you find the time?”

I just laugh.

[But I still hate planting potatoes.]

So this is the epiphany I had a couple years ago.

Use a bulb planter! Seems to work great. Why dig a whole row when you only need to get the one spud down deep?

Oh, and also? Buy enough potatoes so that you don’t have to cut them up. It’s a pain. And I’ve heard that cut potatoes are more susceptible to rot. So why bother? Seed potatoes (from the grocery store) cost practically nothing. Just buy enough whole ones and pick out the smallest ones you can find.

Soooooo. Much. Easier.

Have I written about my red potatoes? The ones I planted from last year? Good grief. I can’t remember… OK, I just checked. And I didn’t. I think I’m losing it….

Anyway, remember the crazy red potatoes I joked about using for Meatless Monday Eight? No, I didn’t actually cook them, but I did plant them! In Mid-March, no less, due to our ridiculously early Spring here in Minnesota.

Never before have I been able to keep potatoes full circle–from planting to storage to planting again– so I am very excited. I’m a bit worried about how soft they were and how long the sprouts were, but I figure if they don’t produce, I will still have time to replace them.

And, once again, I will be able to proclaim that I made something out of garbage from the garden! You see, I rescued these withered beauties from the compost bucket, where Dave unceremoniously dumped them a few weeks ago.

I will keep you updated on their progress.

Provided I remember to do so…

My Favorite Way to Plant Onions

…is not to start them from seed.

Let’s just say I’ve been at this vegetable garden thing for quite some time now. Characteristically, when I started out, I wanted to everything to be over-the-top-perfect-best-way-to-do-things-ever. And I researched and planned. Started everything from seed. Obsessed. Etc. Etc.

Which is odd.

Because reading that, you’d think I’m a perfectionist.

But I’m not.

Not even close. Suggest to Dave that I’m a perfectionist and he is likely to snort beer out his nose. I am not a perfectionist.

I can’t really explain it, except to maybe speculate that it’s because I’m competitive. As in: if I was going to garden, then dammit, I was going to have the best and be the best gardener ever. And in my neophyte gardening mind, that meant exotic varieties, all started from seed…

So what changed my mind?

What made me the quazi-lazy gardener I am today?

It was a lot of things, but if I were forced to pick just one thing. I would say it was the onions.

Yes. The onions.

Everyone has tasks in their life that they hate. Dread. Loathe. Drag their feet to complete.

For me, it was the onions. [That was before my asparagus had taken on such massive proportions.] Starting onions from seed is… INSANE. But start them from seed I did. Every damn year. Because you can only get gourmet onion varieties in seed form. Onions like Red Torpedo, Ailsa Craig and Borrettana Cipollini. Now those are compelling reasons to start onions from seed!

Or, one would think they were…

But here’s the thing. Just like you weigh the benefits of making traditional ciabatta bread versus my quick recipe, you weigh the benefits of Ailsa Craig against “Yellow Onion” sets available in my local grocery store. And, truth be told, to me it is pretty safe to say a yellow onion is a yellow onion.

Maybe it’s the soil. Or maybe I just hate planting onion seedlings to such a point that I can’t see beyond the agony and I’m rationalizing…

Very possible.

But until you, too, have transplanted itsy, bitsy, hair-like onion seedlings with ridiculously long root systems, spread out nicely on a shallow mound, ever-so-delicately handling the babes so as not to damage their fragile preciousness, then I don’t think you get to vote as to whether I’m rationalizing or not. [oh, how I wish I had pictures of this process from years ago]

It is the most abhorrent task imaginable. And in the end?

You get a yellow onion. No one but me ever knew the sublime, supposedly sweeter difference.

So, much as it pains me to admit it, I rolled over to buying onion sets from the grocery store in the following exotic varieties: Yellow Onion. White Onion. Red Onion. Thrilling, no?

I don’t know if my technique is anything ground breaking, but I buy a whole bunch and plant them only about an inch apart. That way, I get to eat my thinnings. First as green onions or scallions, then as ‘spring onions’ like you see at the farmer’s markets, and finally as my storage and freezing onions.

I like to think it’s brilliant. Or more to the point: I’m brilliant.

How Not to Plant Shallots

Ignore that picture, as there is nothing wrong with it.

What I should have done is take a picture of the date next to the cute little rows off pointy-headed bulbs. Because that would be more appropriate with the title of this post.

You see, I am approximately 4.5 months late planting my shallots. I know that I have mentioned my ‘to-do list’ strategy, right? The one where I keep a running list of what I need to do in the next day or two? I’ll go a step further. This is the actual list:

Followed by excerpts from the next two months of lists:

…where you will note that an empty circle is an unfinished task. As we progress from October to December — when the ground is frozen solid — I finally gave up and scratched “Plant Shallots” out and off the list forever. Until I rediscovered the bag of bulbs in the garage yesterday…

Funny, though, as I look back on these lists, the other things I have forgotten to do… A client’s thing… My Mom’s photo mug… Another client thing… And that damn Greenhouse Motor. Which you will be happy to know that I finally figured out how to detach, pack up and send off for repair. I finally crossed it off my list.

Yesterday.

On 3/17/2010.

A full five months and ten days after it was first written down on 10/7/2009 (see above).

So anyway, the shallots. The truth is, I simply didn’t get them in the ground before it froze last fall. Then I rationalized that, since the directions that came on the package said, “Plant shallots in the ground immediately upon delivery in all but the coldest northern regions.”

That’s not that far of a stretch, is it? We’re pretty damn cold and pretty far north. Still, I think given that we plant garlic in the fall, the shallots should have gone into the ground with them.

So I planted them yesterday. Which is not the correct way, but I’m crossing my fingers that 1) the bulbs are still viable, and 2) the bulbs will grow. We shall wait and we shall see. They will be in for plenty of wild weather, but they would have gotten that if they went in the ground last fall, too.

Now: do you think I should gamble and plant these, since I decided not to cook them and serve them to Dave?

I think I should. Please chime in.

How Not to Prune an Apple Tree

See those forks? That’s how NOT to prune your apple tree.

All these tweets and blogs saying stuff like “10 best ways to…”, “How to make the perfect….”, etc. etc. Well, if you’ve come here for clear instructions on how to do anything perfectly, I can tell you now: you are in the wrong place.

I am an expert at nothing. And while I may write about things and post pictures, I am in no way suggesting you do the same, lest you poison your family (see cutting boards), start a wild fire (see burning asparagus tops) or today, potentially kill your apple trees. (As I am sure I will hear from a botanist that I have completely botched the job…)

In my never-ending quest to improve upon my ugly apples, but also in my never-quite-making-it quest to prune my apple trees in a timely fashion, I have approached things in differing manners over the years.

Last year, I attempted to prune the blossoms. You see, I missed the window of pruning the branches. And, because there were thousands of branches per tree, I had literally thousands upon thousands of blossoms. I knew the apples would be pitiful if I let them all fruit, so I dragged the ladder out and tediously pinched off appoximately 50% of the blossoms in the hope the remaining blossoms would develop bigger and better quality apples.

Aside from being the biggest pain in the ass imaginable, who knows if it worked or not. My apples were ugly, but fine. They were not as large as they had been in previous years, but I am no apple expert, so, like I said: who knows.

I mean, I don’t even remember which kind of apple trees I planted! I remember the first one was a Honeycrisp. I’m guessing one is a Macintosh. The other three? No clue. I even called in a good friend and apple expert, who grew up on an apple orchard for his advise. He told me he could tell me. He tasted each one… paused… and said “hmmmm. could be….” and went on to list every variety grown in Minnesota. He did have some applicable advise though. Which was: “You need to prune.”

Duh.

Frankly, living in Minnesota, that is easier said than done. Opinions differ widely as to when the right time to prune actually is. Most agree that for us, it is in early Spring. Which actually means: late Winter. Which usually results in: never.

Who wants to troop out in 3 feet snow and gale-force winds to prune apple trees in February? Seriously. Who does this?

Not me.

I pruned them yesterday. And, I probably killed them.

I hope I am kidding. But we’ll see. And you’ll get to be my witnesses.

Actually, I did it this late because the StarTribune ran an article about a week ago that said, “Now is the time to prune those apple trees!” Full of happy exclamation points and optimism. So if my trees die, I’ll know where to point my law suit.

And if YOU decide to go out and prune your own trees based on the fact that I just did mine, let me know and I’ll get you the StarTribunes contact information for your files.

I forgot to take a picture of the full Honeycrisp canopy, but it was dense. It was the tree I pruned the most heavily. It is also my favorite apple. I’m crossing my fingers, is all I got to say.

Here are the before and afters:

This is the Honeycrisp. You can’t tell, but I sawed off a 4″ branch that grew to the middle and created a second smaller fork in the tree. All branches that crossed or grew toward a major branch were trimmed. All branches growing straight up were trimmed.

This is the Macintosh (I think). Note how dense the first picture is. I opted not to saw off the smaller side of the fork. The pruning books say to never take off more than one quarter of the tree. I’ll see how it does this year and if the pruning I did is deemed a success, I will toy with the idea of removing the fork next year. I decided the Honeycrisp fork will have to stay, as it comprises at least half of the tree.

This is one of the mystery apples. It is also the only healthy tree I have not to exhibit a major fork. It does, however, exhibit the effect of the prevailing wind.

So there you have it. How not to prune your apple trees. I hope it has been informative.

Next up: How not to plant Shallots. (aren’t you excited?!)

Tis the Season

…For Poop

Sorry for that sick photo, but you either a) get it, or b) don’t. If you don’t, then you obviously do not own a dog in a northern state that receives any appreciable snowfall.

I do.

And I am making my annual rounds on poop duty. It is a thankless job. If you miss the precious window of time where the poop is exposed from under the snow, yet still mostly frozen, all is lost. You will find yourself smearing and fighting waterlogged masses that you would far prefer not to ever have to even look at, much less try and pick up and dispose of.

So that’s what I did yesterday. That and pretty much take all my clothes off and run around in the Mid March Minnesota HEATWAVE! It was sunny, after five straight days of rain and dense fog, only to have the clouds vanish, the sun appear and the mercury soar to SIXTY! In the cities, I heard it got to 64 which was warmer than PHOENIX! Crazy talk.

I worked outside all day and felt my winter fat melt away.

I wish.

The fat. I wish the fat had melted away in one day. Wouldn’t that be awesome? I can’t be the only one who thinks things like that.

I cleaned the chicken coop out and let them outside for the first time since last December

I used the manure-laden shavings to fertilize the raspberries

And to feed the small rodent-chasing dog, known as Poopy. For not only does she like to poop in my house, but she clearly likes to eat it as well!

I spread the rest in the garden which is starting to emerge from under the snow and found these amazing living things!

Thyme and strawberry plants? Do strawberry plants typically look like this after a winter of subzero days and nights? I wouldn’t know because I just planted them last year…

And I found this mess staring at me. I know what I have to do soon and I don’t want to do it…. one of my most hated jobs of spring is cutting the old asparagus plants. In fact, it reminds me that this blog is a year old, because it was one of the first things I ever wrote about!

I raked driveway rock off the grass and nearly died from exhaustion. No photos.

I went in to the greenhouse, found the fat cat lolling in the sun (it was about 80 degrees in there)

Then noticed that my previously mentioned crispy rosemary plants had some glimmers of life (see the brighter green in the second pic)

So happy! Plus, the healthy ones are starting to bloom!

Note cat hair above and to the left of bloom and what looks like a human jennie hair directly behind bloom.

Never mind.

I’m sure we’ll get walloped with more snow and sub-zero temps, but this one day was pure heaven.

Spring?

Yes: when the mud starts flowing, it’s Spring.

It’s about time for a gardening post, don’cha think? Even though I’m getting my annual end-of-the-winter cold and feel pretty crappy, I was still chomping at the bit to go up to the barn and clean out the greenhouse yesterday. For crying out loud, the thermomulator said 40 degrees!

I didn’t get to it until early evening, right after I walked The Sociopath and before I started dinner. Given that my greenhouse is single-paned glass, I finally gave up heating it in the winter. Oh, I tried everything: bubble wrap insulation, Refletex (or whatever that silver bubble stuff is called), shrink wrapped film, plastic, passive heat (water filled 40 gallon drums painted black). You know I gave it my obsessive all.

And I also gave it most of my money.

Even with all my tricks, it still cost a lot to heat it, so I gave up.

Now, my program is to keep whatever I am trying to overwinter in the greenhouse until the sub-zero temps hit. Then I move everything into the garage, where it sits until the sub-zero temps are over —  without light or water, at about 33-45 degrees.

I always screw it up.

This year, I failed to get the plants out of the greenhouse when the temps dipped into the -20 range. Amazingly, I only lost two plants, albeit two of my favorites — the two 5-foot tall upright rosemary plants. Boo. There is still a chance that they will come back, but as of yesterday, they were looking pretty crispy.

I’m sure I will continue to battle low temps as we wade our way through March. Why, just this morning it was only 7 degrees! I do have a small heater in there, but the energy miser is resistant to turning it up much above freezing.

[The energy miser is me. Just ask anyone who comes to my house during daylight hours during the winter.]

Anyway, I swept the greenhouse out, being that it is pretty much a giant home for the fat cats all winter long. They while the days away in the sun with my giant garden toad,

making a mess, whittling away the legs of the benches.

…Eventually these redwood posts will simply collapse. But that is probably better than scratching the other stuff in the barn, right?

It was fun to drag all the plants back into the sunshine and water them. Just look at the rosemary plants — all ready to bloom!

It amazes me that they make it through the dark winter in the barn. No light, no water. Even the transplants from last fall look pretty good. Nice and green.

Soon I’ll be filling the spaces with little pots of seedlings.

So that I can forget to water them and throw them away.

Nice to know that there is someone out there more disorganized than you, isn’t it?