Challenges of Bonsai: Tree loss

 

 

  Bonsai loss:  Cause unknown

   As a very long-term DIY'er,  I have always thought it supremely  annoying to see projects fail, whether they are stalled, delayed fall apart, or go backwards faster than I  can build or repair them.  Broken walls, cracked mortar. loose bricks, fading paint, rusting metal.   Ordinary stuff to be expected. In real life it is annoying to say the least.
      A failed hobby is the same, it irritates to discover a new idea doesn't work,  a high-potential  creation cracks in the kiln,  or an exciting new  technique results in an object of unbelievable uselessness.  A pragmatic approach has to be taken at times with 'works of the mind, and even more so with works of the  hands'.  Sometimes failure is funny. Sometimes not.

As a gardener, it bothers me to see persistent weeds, poor plant specimens,  soil turning rock hard, bone dry,  and unproductive except for stones of all descriptions.
 New vegetables being ransacked by animal invaders is irritating at best.  It happens. Animals do animal stuff.  We get it.
Tilly the Tall and Ebony the Short (T.T.T & E.T.S.) used to run about in the garden at times, the paths are dog-tag-you're-it-catch-me-now  race tracks,after all,  isn't it? ...... Okay, they're good pups, they easily learned how not to play pup-tag on newly-transplanted tomato plants or delicate, picture-perfect, new flower-beds.
Bad weather--we have lots of that too,  and we cross our fingers and hope. It rained nicely this afternoon, got soaked,  sun's out now. Fine.   

 None of the above, however,  has been as confusing and disheartening as seeing bonsai, years of work --disappear in front of our eyes, some dying quickly, some struggling valiantly,  dropping needles and leaves--and others gone totally dead within 3 or 4 days. Bonsai is a wonderful hobby that takes time, dedication and eventually, learned skills. Failure taxes the mind when the cost is paid in living things. Trees. Miniature, beautiful trees.

An "event" of some kind caused major needle drop, drying, and in some cases, seemingly instant death for many trees --and widely--in our geographical location. Conifer trees were primarily affected;  White Spruce, Black Spruce, Juniper, and some Cedars. Few deciduous trees were affected.  Needle drop in some instances was almost immediate; in other cases the needles browned and gradually dropped off.  Some trees showed only partial damage almost immediately .

Some bonsai showed only partial damage immediately

Trees adjacent to one another were often not affected. Very strange, to say the least. Inexplicable patterns of damage. 
After the initial needle drop, a few trees spouted orphan, small clumps of green needles out at the tips of the branches.  A sign of hope. Some of the natural trees in our wood lot grew quite a few new bunches of needles. The trees look strange with green needles growing out at the very tips.Some of the tip growth was accelerated at an unbelievable rate.

Not so with the  bonsai. The majority of the new green  needle tips showed up quickly, but wilted and dried up even faster. The trees gave up the ghost. We waited.

Strangely,   -adjacent trees-- even  in the same pot-- were not affected 

 We  avoided  facing the issue, disturbing them or 'donating' them to the compost pile for a few weeks, probably more out of wishful thinking rather than logic. Some of the "less affected"   trees almost looked like they would survive, but no. Lush green turned to dull green. Dull green turned to faded, pale gray- green or brown. Like the natural trees, on some trees the needles turned bone dry and dropped off,-- in some cases only three or four days.

Natural White Spruce : Now deceased   More than 60 years old verified  by trunk ring count

 A couple of days ago we bit the bullet and faced reality, tore them out of their pots and wheeled them away. It was not, so say the least,  a happy day at Whitewood Forge.

Down for the Count ?

In total, more than 60 individual trees were removed, including a couple of venerable specimens that were an estimated 70-80 years old--perhaps older,  --beautiful, natural bonsai that were collected 20 years ago and carefully nurtured.
Among the notable casualties was Grumpy, a long-term special pseudo-trunk grafting project, the subject of one of my previous posts. It took 5 years alone for the trunks to unify. So what-- Grumpy's  needles turned brown and fell off right along with the others. I sadly removed his failed prosthesis for a future grafting project.  

The future

A number of our cherished trees are still valiantly struggling and also may or may not survive. We are hopeful and persistent and damned stubborn too, --like they are, those tough little spirits from the forest.

Completely Natural White Spruce estimated 80 years old : Severely stressed. Under watch

Total losses?  The ultimate toll is unknown do date. With over 60 scrapped at this date, an estimated 85 trees or more, fully one-half of our collection--may eventually succumb.  Individual trees, members of group plantings, mini-forests. --We'll see. 

So, what happened?

The fact is, the cause of this unfortunate event is unknown.
 Conifers in northern Canada do not suffer from severe cold. Minus 40F  (-40C)   is routine. 
Hot, dry summers are routine.  Using 'unusual weather' as a 'cause',  the  'generally accepted explanation is illogical and sublime.
 White,  Red and Jackpines seem to be unscathed.  In the natural population of  White Spruce, black spruce, cedar and others, some individual trees were unaffected while adjacent trees died within a few days. Why? 
Other possibilities include  recent and timely solar flares, discharged air contaminants from industry,  or the most unthinkable,  elective destruction by spraying. The hole in the ozone layer shifted over our geological location.  What?  The pattern of damage can not be explained.
 Interestingly, the tree species typically planted by forestry companies do not appear to have been affected. Why?  Readers at Incoming Bytes are encouraged to think for themselves.

Bottom Line:  So what?

Fortunately, we still have a number of trees, and we shall  continue to develop new healthy ones. That's how Mother Nature works. Meantime,  Grumpy will get a replacement graft, perhaps even one of a different species-- and shall thrive. Our collection will do the same.

Grumpy the White Spruce peacefully snoozing in happier days; just prior to Repotting

 
Our dedication to and our  love of the hobby of bonsai  is not diminished; in fact it has grown ever more important. We intend to persist, to learn, to get smarter, and continue doing what we enjoy. Alternative strategies may be involved; for example, we will likely diversify our collection to prevent such  massive losses involving one species.

Meantime,  R.I.P.  Grumpy. You were a White Spruce bonsai with heart.

Is that incoming I hear?

Garlic Galore !

           " Think this is enough garlic? "

 Garlic's up!  Yeah, I know, I had a picture of  this garlic posted on Saturday, but it's just too good not to talk about.

Garlic's up.  Organized too!  Now 12" high

 
It's even taller now, and wow, it is growing fast. This larger species of  garlic will grow about 4' tall. Maybe higher!

I  didn't want anyone to think this little bed was ALL the garlic we had planted last September before the ground froze solid. This small bed is mulched with old hay and lawn clippings. 




The following picture is  the OTHER garlic bed.  It has tiny, medium and mature garlic plants growing happily almost in a row.  Well, okay, it's not really a row,  more like a collection of plants growing every which way in a raised bed and quite happily, too, I insist.  There are a few freestyle opportunists sprouting .  A bit disorganized,  dropped or missed bulbils or seed, I concede. So what?  It's garlic.

 This garlic was planted in mid-September about an inch deep or so,  and covered and mulched heavily with peat moss.  About two weeks later a couple of  volunteer test cloves were dug up for inspection. No top growth was visible, but the roots on the cloves were already a couple of inches long.  The ground froze solid a couple weeks later and they spent all winter under about 2 feet of snow. No matter, apparently  they continue to grow more roots anyway. Storing up energy for spring.  Good thing. With our weird weather, we never know!

 

Now THAT is Garlic--Big and Small

 
  Some might assume the fall planting  method is a bit of a stretch, a gardener's imagination at work. Perhaps it's just satisfaction at seeing a great, long raised bed of garlic springing up early in May,  thick as lawn grass on steroids.






Think this is enough garlic? There's at least a half dozen blades of grass in the bed too.  Any good gardener knows 'ya gotta have at least a half dozen weeds, or it wouldn't be gardening!

How to grow Garlic, or  'big and small, we like it all ' 
  
If you want to start small and inexpensive, but grow a lot of garlic,  take a longer term viewpoint. 

• Get a garlic bulb. One will do for a small start, but get three or four, and divide the bulbs into cloves--or just pick up some garlic cloves from your closest garden center. Eat the small ones, and whether you intend to plant in the early spring or late fall, -- plant only the big ones.
• Watch them grow.
•  Let the stalks   (called 'scapes')  curl and grow full height, and when ripe, pick off  the florets which  consist of dozens of seeds called bulbils, and allow them to dry.  
• The seeds , or bulbils  (they look like tiny bulbs) are your key to garlic galore. Let them dry; you'll have handfuls of them. Save them.  
• Harvest the full sized garlic bulbs,  braid, hang and dry the big bulbs.  If you eat any, save the biggest cloves for planting again in the fall.   Why big and small?  Garlic grows bigger if big cloves are planted.  Best genetics and all, we must assume.
• In the fall, a couple of weeks after the first frost-- plant  those big cloves you saved 
• Plant the tiny garlic bulbils from the 'florets' while you're at it.  You can sprinkle  those in a wide, shallow trench and cover them with an inch of soil. Sprinkle mulch on top to keep the moisture in.  

• The following season, you'll be harvesting mature garlic bulbs from the big cloves, and  small round bulbs from the gazillion  'seeds', --some may have even formed bulbs of tiny 'cloves'. 
•  In the fall, you'll plant those small bulbs in nice straight rows, not like mine!  Plant them about 3 to 6 inches apart, they're only little anyway.  They will produce bigger bulbs.
• Of course you'll also have big, mature garlic growing from the big cloves you planted!   Harvest, dry and divide the bulbs.  Again, always save the biggest cloves for planting.  Eat the rest, roast a few with butter, and scare off  vampires and old lovers.
• Repeat the process every year, planting 'seed-bulbils', small bulbs, and the largest cloves.
• Mature garlic bulbs and big cloves are now plentiful,-- and you have three generations of garlic.  

Now you can  make 3 generations of Caesar salad, and don't forget, once you get 3 generations of excellent garlic, you won't have to buy more seed unless you want more varieties. There are about 20 or so to choose from.  You'll want to expand your garlic beds or give away a lot of garlic seed to your gardening neighbours instead!

If you like eating salad greenery, don't forget to pick the scapes (the center stalk that produces the florets) after the scape curls and the bud forms, but before it opens. Scapes are wonderful sauteed or raw in salads.
You'll have a bushel of them in no time too.  You will also have garlic galore.

 Does garlic, allium sativum of  the Liliaceae family, have exotic medical uses, or scare away slugs and bugs and vampires? History suggests it does. Garlic, although the bane of fresh breath, acts a natural antiseptic, helps you get healthy, and lowers blood pressure and cholesterol levels.
 Admittedly  it does give the garlic-lover  'garlic breath' .  Now what?  Chew a sprig of parsley.
 You have garlic galore. 
  I say, share it... , and enjoy garlic together.

Is that incoming I hear?

Gardening: Unexpected Treasures

 

MJ's potato plant

Do you have to go to sleep to dream?
I think not.  
I close my eyes and dream of gardening, 
vegetables....and green stuff.....That is if I don't go to sleep first. 
It is winter, an unusually mild one at that. The snow was melting yesterday,-- on  January 11th, almost unheard of,  --but it insists on snowing  again today to make up for it.   Go figure.             

 Up in N.W. Ontario, winter is  definitely "Welcome to  Canada".
 That's always  justification for snow,  isn't it?  A necessary and attractive diversion  when it's dull and  overcast.   Kids love it, you can shovel it, slide on it, build a snowman, go skiing, or get stuck in it. 
At times I say, "Who needs it? " 

 The fact is, here in the environs of Incoming Bytes -- either you get along with snow --or you move to Arizona.   Arizona, is really a desert state, so let us dream...nice and warm,  the sun is shining --and it's the place where M.J.  Joachim might be at any time, lolling in the back yard writing--or gardening. 

 M.J. is my guest blogger today.  These are her photographs too! 
M.J. has been our guest previously, (Gum Pets on the Hill)  --which has been one of our most popular posts, --- so I am proud to have her back  with us once again!
 Please welcome M.J. Joachim --as she  shares some  Unexpected Treasures.

                     Finding Unexpected Treasures       

                                          by  M.J. Joachim

 One of the most amazing things about a compost pile is that you never quite know what new life might sprout from it, as things decay and break down, nourishing the soon-to-be soil.

While doing my dishes one day and looking out my kitchen window,I was intrigued to notice a very full, vibrantly green plant.  Having neglected my compost for quite some time, curiosity couldn’t be kept at bay as I turned off the water and rather hurriedly headed out into the yard . 
 Sure enough, there amidst piles of old leaves,  ancient coffee grounds and a rather large surplus of spoiled fruits and vegetables from the last time I cleaned out my fridge, --was a flourishing emerald bush, the likes of which I had never seen before.

Needless to say, I took care to pay more attention to my compost pile from that day forth, finding all sorts of new things to add to it, hoping to provide extra nutrients for the newest addition to my landscape. 

I also made a point to continue watering the area, once the jet stream moved farther north, leaving us with little or no rain to speak of. As you can see from the pictures, my little plant appears to be holding its own fairly well.

Admittedly, I was wondering what type of plant was actually growing. Wanting to test my garden knowledge, I chose to wait it out for a while, hoping it's growth might give it away at some point, a light bulb would go off, and I’d say to myself, 

“Why of course, it’s a *potato. I should have realized that so much earlier than this.” 

It was not to be, and Google became ever more intensely tempting, until finally I ran across a blog  about growing potatoes, complete with pictures of plants in various stages of development.

Truth be told, I wasn’t looking for information on potatoes at the time at all; it was the picture that caught my eye and led me to  Google  for more pictures of potato plants.  

I’m  now convinced the foliage is that of a potato plant, though you cannot hold me to it, --on account I won’t be certain until the full cycle of the plant has taken place. However, I do believe I’m growing potatoes in my compost pile, and am patiently waiting to harvest them when the time is right.

Life is a lot like our compost piles, isn’t it?

We dump all sorts of stuff in our hearts and heads, piling garbage and debris ever higher, avoiding the heap, even while it breaks down --and challenges us to recognize its changes. 

Trash becomes necessary nutrients and even the foundation for new growth.

 How easy it is to dismiss growth by searching in other directions; hoping for something different --and trying to control the natural course of events. 

 Every once in a while, however, life catches us by surprise, and what it shows us is something so beautiful that even though it seems completely out of place, we embrace what we see,  and smile. 

 Before long, the good that has been there all along can be revealed, encouraging and allowing us to discover ourselves a little bit more --perhaps more than we thought we wanted to, offering us an opportunity to reach out to those who might benefit from our experiences and challenging us to be more effectively human toward the rest of all mankind. 

 

                                                         ###

                                                
                                          
                                                              About our Guest Author

M.J. Joachim is a freelance writer and self-described die-hard 
American who believes in common sense, hard work, and the
American dream.  Freelance writing in a number of genres enables her to share knowledge and opinions on a large variety of subjects --in varying styles and venues.  M.J is a strong believer in freedom of speech and human values.


    In a dedicated effort to emphasize the often neglected value of humanity and self-worth of all human beings,  M.J. recently created  a new website   http://www.effectivelyhuman.com .

 M.J.  also recently  published several E-books including  'The Merciful Victory of the Cross' ,  'Beyond our Words Prayers and Reflections' ,  and  a FlashTyme series of stories that may be found at:    http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/mjjoachim




We  at Incoming Bytes believe M.J.  has discovered  the fine hobby of growing potato plants.  Isn't she lucky?   Will the treasures be red or white?   
Meantime....zzzzzz....it's still snowing here....

* Note: potatoes are not commonly grown  in hot desert climates.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it

Sometimes Life becomes a Legend of Glory

Coming Soon: Martin the Snow Dragon  (c)2011 wlk photography

 Mother Nature's wildlife, wherever it may be in the world, can be  incredibly  huge and magnificent.  Some animals are imaginary,  the inspiration of legend and lore.

 I write fiction, but today--I also yield to the lure of  high adventure.Why? Dragons.
From what I understand of dragons, they are diverse, amazing, and  fierce.  They have big teeth. Storytellers admire them, big and small, flying or not, and they are usually hungry. The question arises, how does one avoid becoming part of the dragon food chain?  With much research, we found out!
 
It turns out that  Glory Lennon yes,  that Glory, our  dedicated gardener, she  of maple tree fame, also loves critters of all kinds.  While on vacation in the Everglades in Florida,  she took some beautiful pictures of turtles, cranes, and even a picture of a --well...for now,  we'll call it a dragon. 
A  real 'we-wanna-gobble - Sir Tommy & Princess Glory-if-we-get-a-chance Dragon.  A big one. A legend in the making.....
Once upon a Time,  as the ultimate legend reveals, it seems that lucky Sir Tommy-the Dragon-killer  was traveling  down a dangerous, enchanted path to Everglade Castle in the warm noonday sun. As misfortune would have it, a gigantic dragon blocked the way as it had for centuries, eating small animals and threatening knights, weary travelers, fair maidens and little children alike that wished to travel the enchanted path.
"Foresoothe, be aware of the great dragon!" the  wise villagers along the flowered path warned.  
As good fortune would also  have it, the sun shines equally upon the handsome, the wise and the brave.
Sir Tommy, never one to be dismayed or discouraged by warnings of wise villagers or  dragon breath, --and highly experienced in such erstwhile adventures, -- cleverly avoided being eaten by cleverly promising the Dragon a much better snack followed close behind him. 

  "Foresoothe!"  Prince Tommy sayeth  to the dragon, " Thou wouldst  spoil thy afternoon repast by partaking of  a mere Prince?    Princes are tough as monkey-muscles  and wear shining armour of the toughest steel!   Wouldst thou wish such indigestion upon thy greenish belly  whilst a much safer, tastier snack followeth close behind,  oh feared and noble Dragon"?

The Dragon roared at Sir Tommy, shaking the very earth.

"Attemptest thou to fool me, the keeper of this enchanted path, with that old rag of a tale of mortals and those  simple-minded  Trolls lurking under bridges ?" he demanded.
He roared again.  When the echos from the distant mountains ceased, Sir Tommy spoke.

"Not I,  Fearless Dragon"  Sir Tommy offered boldly.  "Avert thy squinty reptilian eye to that tasty high-noon repast fast approaching!"

The dragon squinted down the enchanted roadway with one jaded reptilian eye.
Spying a fair Princess in the distance, the Dragon was persuaded to agree wholeheartedly.

"'Tis not indigestion I would have willingly this day, --- so pass then safely,  knave,  for yon I spy a far better lunch than thy gristled  bones this noon!"  the great beast roared.

"Oh help, me, oh help me kind Sir!  O' do tell, a dragon, foresoothe, a veritable dragon!  Help!"

That opportune and frantic commotion was heard in the distance along the enchanted path,  and the fairest of maidens was easily observed, waving her delicate silk handkerchief in the warm summer breeze.

"'Tis nought but lunch!" sayeth the dragon,  smiling  and showing many huge, sharp teeth.

Prince Tommy  laughed boldly and quickly stepped past the great beast guarding the narrow roadway, for the Dragon was enchanted completely  into distraction, as he admired the approaching maiden.

  "Beware, Dragon, yon Princess is tougher than thou mayest guess!"

"Come closer, fair maiden, that I may dine today on the fine repast offered by yon worthy knight!" the dragon said to the Princess, drooling mightily. 

"Feared Dragon,  'tis I, Princess Glory Zeitgeist  of Gardens that  shall pass hither this day in spite of yon pool of  drool!" the Princess boldly stated, drawing her jeweled sword of the purest silver.

The fairest of maidens, yes,  none other than our  gardening Princess Glory herself, (whilst dreading the possibility of becoming  part of a main course or midday snack  for such a villainous beast), bravely strode onward  to challenge the great dragon.

 "Fear not, but step wisely, Fair Princess!" the Prince shouted bravely from the other side, " tarry not long this day, for thy flameless, woeful dragon can run seven  furlongs in the wink of a newt's eye!"

 The reader at Incoming Bytes  can only imagine the glint in the great Dragon's eye and the drool pouring from the slavering jaw.  The tiny, hapless maiden approached the point of no return  on the enchanted path to doom, her sword of purest silver drawn at the ready.

With willful pause, we must wonder, for how shall our fair maiden flee, on such tender, fleeting feet  past a dreaded 20- foot-long dragon -- on a mere 15 foot wide enchanted pathway? --Fair reader, understandest thou the gravity of such challenge?

Now, being wise in the ways of fairy tales,  one  might  be persuaded to allow the reader to suffer no trepidation for Princess Glory's life, for the optimistic inner mind has already undoubtedly predetermined that her  very own   " Sir Thomas the Dragon-Killer "  should be standing guard, ready to rescue her with his gallant steed and jeweled sword of razor-sharp surgical stainless steel.
   
Foresoothe!  It seems not.  Instead he calleth  out to yon dragon  "Smile!"  distracting the great beast seven times,  coming to the rescue of the fair maiden  with nought but camera and zoom lens,  and  happily  recording seven pictures  of    " Princess Glory and the Dragon !" for posterity.

Clearly, our fair maiden had little other choice than to tap the very nose of the great Dragon seven times with her sword of purest silver, putting him into the deepest slumber for seven years.
  
It seems if legends of  life are to continue to contain drama  and promote independence of Princesses collectively,  Princess Glory was indeed  rescued from that very big dragon  by her own bold demeanor and magic.  Prince Tommy and Princess Glory lived happily ever after,  soon returning to cold, snowy, but much safer Poconos Castle.

                                                         The End.

By the way, it wasn't a fierce  hedgehog that had the big, big teeth.  You can see a picture of a real dragon wanna-be alligator right here on Glory's  post --and as you know, pictures don't lie. It seems that even today, legends and lore may be generated as the product of arcane poetic license.

So you see, our Glory  is far more than just your ordinary garden Princess. She knows how to tame fierce beasts, is equally handy with jeweled swords of the purest silver or garden loppers--and she can run fast too.
What a brave girl!   No wonder she likes gardening and maple trees,  rooting p.c.c. (Poconos Castle Coleus), --and.... even snow--better.
 We  have to wonder if our Princess has spotted Martin the Snow Dragon yet....



That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Bonsai are Real trees: Grow one, Ready or Not

A lonely  12 y.o.  White Spruce Bonsai waiting to be put to bed for the winter

 
For some unknown reason, it is often thought that Bonsai are exotic, difficult, and beyond the skill set of the average gardener.

Upon close observation, nothing could be further from the truth --excellent gardeners already know what plants and trees need to survive; soil containing nutrients and moisture.  The only thing missing is the patience required,  the  will to do so --and some basic techniques that make the process not more difficult, but faster, and  more likely to succeed. The white spruce above is about 12 years old and "designed" to some degree.
If you can successfully keep a potted plant alive from year to year, you can grow a bonsai.

10 yr. old Trident Maple Bonsai  (c) r.a.kukkee

The truth is that bonsai can be exotic species, or  made exotic. With formal rules of design, the art can be both difficult and exacting at times, if one insists on starting out with all  formal bonsai rules to the letter--not a smart place to begin, since we do not become NASCAR champions, Olympians, or NHL stars instantly either.

The average gardener CAN, with reasonable effort, grow and maintain a 'bonsai' -- for a bonsai is, with all of the mystery stripped away, "a tree in a pot".  

Ready or not, (and green thumb or not)  the ancient art of Bonsai--can be dabbled in, experimented with, and enjoyed, inexpensively and successfully, --by growing your own using several  methods of propagation.
Don't be fooled by "bonsai kits" offering expensive "bonsai seeds"--for they are little but overpriced, quite ordinary seeds from mature trees.

How about just planting an ordinary tree seed yourself--or   grow a new tree from a twig.   Find a baby sapling and work with it. Use indigenous species to start, --if only because you have lots of material to work with that will  survive in the climate  in your area.

That sounds easier already, doesn't it?  Why "grow" a bonsai?  The preferable question might  be "why NOT  grow a bonsai?"    Mostly because they're beautiful and fascinating.  They also teach one patience and offer an affinity with nature. 

The red leaves displayed above are flaunted by one of my favourite trees,  a trident maple  in full  autumn colour,-- and the leaves are even a bit faded.   It is in an ordinary clay training pot.  Beautiful, isn't it?  I started this one from a mere slip of a twig with a couple of tiny leaves on it--  you got it--about 10 years ago. 

You can grow one too.   Stay tuned, we'll get to that later. This week we're putting our bonsai to 'bed' for the winter using our own method.  Over about 15 years, we've  lost fewer than  a half dozen trees and a couple of soft clay pots from freezing--an excellent record for a climate with severe weather. 

Trident maple,  White Spuce, et al,  good night--for the winter. Sweet dreams.



That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 

Jeepers Heapers

When you think of a "heap"  the mind does a curious thing,  it can create a heap that contains almost anything.   A heap of grass seed. A heap of dirt.  A heap of toys or a heap of trouble.  Let's not forget that even politics can be a heap while we're at it.  A heap of bovine bull manure at times; for short,  B.B.M.  -- but does that lead to our usual difficult question, " how did that ever transmogrify and evolve into a heap of  B.S."? That's a freebie, no answer required.  
     Let us  attempt to avoid  digression  any more than usual;  the  awakened reader can figure that one out at their leisure.   Here at Incoming Bytes  we make  it a practice not to place four-letter designer invectibles in literary saucy  where avoidable.   --Since  there are always finer ways to express  one's inner and outer progressive and transgressive thoughts, that is.  After all, the English language is perhaps also one of the finest gardening tools in the world.

     Back to heaps,  out in the garden we've just had a heap of cold weather following the unbelievable scourge of dry heat this summer.  In NW Ontario, killing frost two nights in a row usually does it.  Out comes the garden, since the tomato plants want to turn black, and the cucumber,  squash and pumpkin vines all sag in protest after being insulted by Jack Frost himself.  What about the heap?  Oh, right, back to heaps.

     We grew stuff on a "heap" this year, the second annual experiment in advanced heap technology.  It's not complicated, a heap of organic matter and dirt flattened out on top,  voila', an  instant raised planting bed a.k.a.  "a high-tech  heap".  Raised gardening beds heat up earlier, grow faster, and  "provide topographic variety for amusement  where none existed previously".  (That description was carefully pre-planned ). 
 
     It (THE heap)  can contain old hay,  sawdust,  old composted manure (not the political stuff) and all kinds of alternative organic stuff like green grass clippings, wood chips, kitchen compost, some sand, last years garden refuse,  collectible  horse puckies from the riding stable,  you name it, add it, and there it is, --your own personal heap.  Personalized and custom-made.

     Great system, you'll see,   here's  # 2,  the "Heap 2011 " in full growth a couple of weeks ago, that was before Jack decided to visit.   Notice it has sunflowers on top  for dreamy  sunflower lovers and for Glory Lennon, our official green-thumbed garden zeitgeist,  --and even for south-migrating birds who get to eat the seeds.

'The Heap'   2011  a.k.a.  "Heap 2"

HIt

     Not bad-looking for an ordinary heap eh? The vines covered a circular area approximately 35 feet across.  
      "What vines"? you ask. Those vines.  Vines  a la  Hubbard squash, cantaloupe, pumpkins,  acorn squash, spaghetti squash, and a couple of  oddball heirlooms.   They all produce quaint offerings on vines.  Fine vines they were, too!  There were 10 spaghetti squash on one  healthy vine from one plant alone,  --but why describe them when we can just show a picture of those treasures salvaged en masse  instead?  A whole quad-buggy-full.  That was what was left over after we picked a few.  A prolific heap it was.

A Heap of Produce from 'The Heap'  2011

The bottom line?  A heap can be a wonderfully productive thing.

     Sadly, all growing seasons come to an end.  Jack said so.  Jack Frost, that is.  Here's all that's left of Heap 2011, -- but  with hope eternal, notice the huge heap of vines getting ready to contribute to Heap 2012.

     We will "turn over" heap 2011 and compost the vine collection complete with old weeds, extra-rotten old hay, and any fine BBM we can glean from politicos and other sources --to turn it into something  organic and  useful.   Let's grow some organic squash  and such with that kind of stuff  instead of just shoveling it about, flinging it here, tossing it there. 

     I have a good idea. Plan ahead.  Build a heap yourself. You, too, can be a Successful Heaper.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The Last Raspberry

The Last Raspberry. The BEST One?

With the end of summer rapidly approaching it does not take much imagination to recognize that if you don't have some garden harvesting in motion and berries picked by now, it may soon be too late. Every fruit has it's season and all that....

Raspberries are a good case in point,  and although one may still find some late, tiny wild raspberries  in secluded areas  shaded from the intense summer sun in the bush,  the neat, orderly rows of raspberries in the garden are pretty much finished producing for the year, like it or not.

After harvesting 8 or 10 gallons of raspberries, maybe more,  it seems to me  the "pick " was  clearly finished. For the last couple of weeks there have been a  miscellaneous  "few here and there types " , not really  enough to bother with a container or do an official "pick", but certainly enough for the casual garden-visitor to pause happily  and  enjoy the sweet fruit---Until today, that is.  
Today there was only one raspberry in sight.  The last one.   I poked around looking under leaves, tenderly moving aside those drying, scratchy old plants that have given their all to produce that final flurry of fruit.  I gently push aside the new, green, very tall, stately plants that will produce the fruit next season, making sure they are not damaged.   Raspberries DO that.   Grow the first year and produce the second year.  AT least some types do.  The June-bearing "Red ones"  like mine do--I can explain that sometime, but I digress;  it's hard not to be distracted  in the bright August sunshine.  See how tall the new plants are?  Oh, right, let's not digress.

Much taller  new growth raspberry plants will be next year's producers

Back to business,  at Incoming Bytes  we like to ask the most difficult of questions and from time to time must necessarily wander into alternative fields of  interest like  insurrection, how to do stuff, and  timeless, strange but true  philosophical quandarys.
Such is this question:    Why does the last raspberry of the year always taste so much better than the first gazillion?  Is the last raspberry the Best one?   I vote yes.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

There's More to this Gardening Stuff than Meets the Eye

       Okay, I have to admit that I'm not  just a  thinker or an observer, critic or news-follower, and I'm not a socio-political junkie hell-raiser except at election time. I am not totally engrossed in  prospecting, watching the stock market or delving into the world of finance either. 
    I don't have much to complain about even if the price of gasoline is killing our economy and our pocketbooks both as we speak. Just forget all that stuff for now.  
 I actually have a soft spot, a hobby.
    I actually like gardening .  I like growing stuff.  It's in my blood. I have apple trees, pear trees, cherry trees,  and  bonsai trees, you know those cute little ones in pots, I graft stuff, and we even have some grapevines. It's in the blood.    I have a whole lot of natural  bush to look after too. I rescue and replant trees every year from locations they would otherwise  soon suffer death in, like under power lines, in ditches, and those in dire need of being moved because they have innocently chosen to sprout  adjacent to buildings. 
   I move those babies to a place where they're safe-- to my forest, the castle, you know, the place where you can't see the forest for the trees?  


      I like organic vegetables too. It's food.  We  like growing peas, cabbage, corn and carrots. I like seeing garlic sprout as soon as the snow is gone,  almost as fast as the crocuses.  The chives come up all by themselves, no problem there.  I even try to grow potatoes without a whole lot of luck. Don't forget tomatoes. The big Beefsteak type.  They're getting legs  under grow lights now and will be planted outside in the garden. Sooner or later.
As long as the weather cooperates, that is.  


     Summer is getting closer as we speak, but somehow  it sure doesn't feel like gardening weather.   I won't offer any excuses for complaining. Farmers always complain about the weather down at Timmie's  even if it's only tongue-in-cheek,  pragmatically or just a point of pride. A Farmer's right.    The truth is,  I  don't like cold weather much,  I  like being warm much  better than being chilled to the bone.   Okay, let's be TOTALLY honest. Seriously.  Cold is bad. There, the truth comes out. 


     Why?  Look at the calendar. it's May 19th.   There was heavy frost on the windshield a couple of days ago--and how can that possibly help grow  tomatoes and potatoes ?   The soil in the garden still  feels icy  cold. Only a few days away from planting, because  May 24th is our "usual" get-out-in-the-garden-and-plant-it-come-hell-or-high-water  planting date in our area.    
We're concerned. We'll need ear-muffs instead of a sun hat.  

      Is there a heat wave on the way?   We keep looking for one, but no,  it's still relatively cold.   Mother Nature, we need a weather miracle. Maybe we need one, but the world is supposed to end  on Saturday the 21st.  Did you hear about that?   No matter, the garden has to be planted anyway.
 
     As serious gardeners we always need to know stuff like the world is ending and   the temperature  of the soil and what kind of floods and  tornadoes are working themselves into a frenzy out Manitoba way.  We need to read the Farmer's Almanac and get gloves with green thumbs too.   Why?  We have enough agricultural  experiments on the loose out in the 100' long garden to satisfy any mad biologist. We have rototillers, big and small.  A Troybilt "Horse"  and a Mantis, the tiny kind.  Big and small, we grow it all. 
     We grow stuff.  We grew tomatilloes that are only supposed to grow in warm places. They seeded themselves down and grew like weeds here in NW Ontario. We made salsa. And more salsa.  We're trying for ground cherries next. I like pie, that's what ground cherries are for.  
     We mulched everything on raised beds, all 14 of them.  We don't have straw, so we use hay. We use leaves.  We use sawdust.  The earthworms love it.  The big 8" kind.  We noticed mulch kills off most of the weeds--not all of them by any means, but lots  of them. Mulch is good stuff for gardeners.  
     Our thumbs are turning greener by the minute, soon we won't even need gloves with green thumbs ---if the frost melts off of the rototiller, that is.  It looks like we'll have to wait for the pie. Go figure. 


     A few days ago we waited with abated breath for a parcel too.  It finally arrived.  We ordered  a special soil thermometer from those nice helpful  Lee Valley folks just  to test the temperature difference between mulched garden beds and garden soil that is not mulched;  a.k.a. real garden dirt exposed to what little sun and frost and other assorted variations of weather  we have had in the last few days. As an aside, we got an apple peeler too, for apple pie. You should see how fast that gadget peels  apples, cores and slices them in a flash.  Fast pie, no waiting for the weather there.  

"Wouldn't that let the frost in?? "

The difference in measured soil temperatures  was astounding.  Several readings were taken of each soil condition in comparable, close locations, and they were taken at the same depth,  just to observe sound scientific principles:   

• Ordinary, bare but  undisturbed,  clay loam uncultivated soil  averaged: 14C
•  Soil newly uncovered and cultivated 3 days previous, -- with no mulch averaged :   15 to 16C.
•  Undisturbed garden  Soil with 4" of hay mulch left on it  was 10C to  11 C.

For the Celsius-challenged,at  zero in Celsius  water is ice--frozen solid.


      Clearly if we wanted the soil to warm up earlier, the mulch should have been pulled aside earlier.  Wouldn't that let the frost in?  Yup. Only a rocket scientist could figure that one out. 

      Regardless,  five degrees  (Celsius)   is  a LOT of  heat and makes a big difference to seeds. If they're not planted in soil that is adequately warm, they sit and do not germinate.  If the crows don't get them first.  Seeds can even rot and disappear before your very eyes, making you think you missed those few rows.      Corn  is best at doing that trick because it's tricky stuff. 
It's a conspiracy-weeds are best at growing at ANY temperature. 
     For added entertainment, and the advancement  of our agricultural know-how,  Lee Valley also sent an eye-opener along with that special Soil and Compost thermometer.  I suspected that right away. Something to read while we await the melting of frost.  It was a list.  A bucket list, maybe.  A list of  ideal soil temperatures  satisfactory for the planting of different types of vegetables,  transplanted or seeded directly. A list for waiting and dreaming.  
     Imagine that, a bucket list that runs from Asparagus to Turnips.  Twenty-seven kinds.  So far, according to the temperatures I have recorded above, I can grow cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, garlic, peas, and leaf lettuce.   
I can grow those-- if it warms up enough to go outside and actually plant the stuff. 
Meantime, about the price of gas....and that election...where's that Farmer's Almanac anyway? 


That's my story and I'm sticking to it.