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cropped-dsc_0032.jpg  The depths of winter is a gardener’s favorite time, where we curl up under a lap throw and delve into seed catalogs. Each new variety or old friend is weighed and considered for inclusion in the upcoming garden; the shopping list grows along with the gardener’s contentment.

Perusing my stack of brightly colored, glossy catalogs helped nurse me through a bout of flu, distracting me from feeling sorry for myself and ensuring I didn’t drive my spouse crazy with pathetic cries for aspirin, juice, or more tissue. I thumbed the pages with vegetables to try, such as Mexican sour gherkins (tiny, one-inch fruits with sweet cucumber flavor and an almost-pickled sour tang), Lows Champion dry bean for making a sweet pot of baked beans in winter, and the stunning, conical, deep mauve-colored Kalibos cabbage.

Deep into my shopping, a new lettuce variety stopped me short. The chartreuse and maroon romaine Ruby Glow looked gorgeous and sounded delicious, yet I stopped, not because I would move mountains to have it, but because the price was astounding: $6.95 for one packet of seed. I thought it was a flu-induced hallucination.

Shock turned to anger as I turned the pages, finding more and more examples of pricey seed packets. When did the basics of gardening get so expensive? It’s not like we’re ordering a half-caff, skinny dipped, two pumps of classic, soy-based mocha latte. These are seeds, the building basics of every garden.

And when gardeners buy seeds, we buy them like it’s an addiction.  We become hunter-gatherers, ordering varieties from different companies, consulting with friends, cobbling together the perfect, unique combination of crops that fit us like a glove. I used to think we really can’t help ourselves, until this catalog arrived.

The price halted me. It got me thinking, which is never a good thing. We aren’t known for calculating the cost of seed to table, but if we did, we’d find truth in William Alexander’s the $64 Tomato book (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, $10.93). Yet I started calculating.

For that price, I could order two packets from other sources and have two different types of crops. Variety is the spice of gardening. I also know that, caught up in the frenzy of shopping at somewhat low prices, I don’t pay much attention to how many packets I’m purchasing, which is a very good marketing strategy for companies to have. Adding in shipping costs magnified the grumbling in my mind.

I continued to flip pages, not-so-silently judging the company’s pricing. In other catalogs there are pricey packets, but in general, the companies keep prices reasonable. Local companies also have sales in garden centers; we can pick up our packets from them and avoid shipping costs.

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In an annual ritual of spring, gardeners emerge from their houses in mid-March, blinking in the thin sunlight as they peer around the landscape, assessing what needs pruning, cleaning, or mending.  All it takes to get our sap rising is for the month to turn to March, and we shrug off our winter lethargy in favor of planting the garden.

 That harbinger of spring acts like a jolt of electricity on our minds, sending a surge of energy urging us to get our hands in the soil and sow seeds.  But if you’re too quick to cave in to eagerness, you might find that your good intentions are not appreciated by the seeds you lovingly pop into the ground.  They’re not impressed by the calendar; they could care less about leprechaun and daylight savings.

 What the seeds want is warmth.  To ensure seeds sprout instead of sulk, gardeners need to plan on two things: frost date and soil temperatures.  Average date of last frost is what most rely upon to plan their plantings; it’s calculated from 30 to 40 years of data.  In Boulder the probability of frost is 50-50 on May 3, in Loveland May 4, and Longmont May 5. 

 Because it’s still possible to get frost after these dates, many gardeners prefer to use the 10-percent probability of frost date as their benchmark, which in Boulder is May 13, Loveland May 16, and Longmont May 17.  You still need to plan for protection from the odd cold snap, but the likelihood of frost is much less when waiting until mid-month.

 Yet there is a second temperature factor that Colorado gardeners shouldn’t ignore: soil.  Chilly soils will limit germination of seeds, and if the ground is both wet and cold, seeds will rot instead of sprouting. 

 Early spring vegetables vary in required soil temperatures.  Spinach and lettuce are the most tolerant, needing soil to be 35-degrees to germinate and 45-degrees or warmer to grow well.  Peas, chard, onions, mache, and parsley can grow in soils at 40-degrees, but do best in soils of 50-degrees or warmer.  Soil temperatures of 60 degrees or warmer are perfect for fava beans, beets, carrots, and leeks, while scallions, Asian greens, kale and kohlrabi like is slightly warmer, at 65-degrees.

  Can these plants germinate in slightly cooler soils?  Yes, but for them to grow rapidly and thrive – key to sweet flavor and tenderness – gardeners should pay close attention to bringing soil temperatures up.

 To do this, plastic mulches or water-filled walls are helpful.  If you’re choosing to go with warming by plastic, clear plastic works better than black at warming soil, bringing the temperature up 10 to 15 degrees in a few days. Make sure you weight down all edges of the plastic to keep it from blowing in the wind, and lay it out so that it touches the soil a week ahead of planting to give your seeds a warm start. 

 Punch holes into the plastic to sow seed if you plan on leaving the plastic in place over the season.  If you are removing the plastic once temperatures are stable, laying the sheets down in strips that can be folded back for planting space is a good way to leave the plastic between rows for a few weeks.  If using water-filled walls, place them out one week before planting to help warm the soil.

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Around 200 varieties of Peruvian potatoes were...

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Reader Leslie asked a great question, hoping for tips on how to grow potatoes in straw.  Digging into the subject has gotten me fired up to try it, because I’m such a brute with the shovel I always end up nicking the spuds.

But growing potatoes in straw is an easy way to get perfect spuds without the hassle of shoveling.  Known as ‘Straw Potatoes,’ you’ll have better size, shape, and color of the tubers than those grown in soil.  Straw has the added benefit of reducing weeds, keeping roots cool, and conserving water. 

Choose an early to mid-season variety, purchasing certified disease-free seed potatoes at garden centers or on-line – DON’T use potatoes from the grocers. That’s not safe gardening ; those potatoes might carry disease into your garden.

Plant seed potatoes (small, whole potatoes) or potatoes cut into 2 ounce pieces. If cutting up potatoes for seed pieces, be sure to leave at least one good eye per piece and let them wait a few days to allow the cut side heal over before planting. 

Plant potatoes soon;  four-to-six weeks before the last frost.  Choose a flat, sunny location out of the wind for your straw patch.  If there is no place in your yard without wind (please stop laughing), encircle the area for planting with a chicken wire cage that can be easily opened for harvesting.  This will keep your straw from flying to Kansas.

Place seed pieces on the soil with the cut side down and eyes up, spacing the spuds 12 inches apart.

Cover the potatoes with six inches of clean, weed-free straw.  The potato will send up a stem, and as it pokes up out of the straw, add another six inch layer.  Repeat a third time. This ensures that you’ll have a long, underground stem from which the tubers will grow. 

During the summer, if the straw compacts down or starts to decompose, add more, tucking it in around the plant.  Check the straw frequently to make sure it’s covering the tubers – if hit with sunlight they turn green and become bitter.

Pay close attention to watering the potatoes over the summer; they should not be allowed to dry out, nor should they become soggy. A soaker hose laid across the surface of the soil will help you irrigate the potatoes evenly.  Pull any weed that makes itself at home in the straw.

Go lightly with fertilizer – you want the potatoes to form tubers, not a lot of foliage.  Give them a shot of balanced liquid fertilizer about six weeks after the first sprout has topped the straw (even if you continue to add layers of straw, mark the date the vine first poked up).

In August, harvest new potatoes – young tubers not fully sized – by carefully pulling back the straw to reveal them.  Pluck out a few new potatoes, then tuck the straw back around the plant, and it will continue to produce for you.  Or wait until the plant dies back to harvest the fully-sized crop.

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Peas in pods.

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The answer is no.

This pains me, because that answer flies in the face of years of tradition.  But despite the calendar and my family’s full-throated observance of St. Patrick’s Day, I did not plant peas in the garden.

The reason for this is simple:  I’ve become suspicious that the cold shoulder the soil gives those seeds slows their germination.  This delays the peas’ entrance into the world, dashing my hopes to get the season rolling.

Though they’re a cool season crop, perfect for spring and fall gardens, peas are a bit of an anomaly.  The plant likes it chilly, but the seed prefers it warm, with best germination at 50 to 75 degree soil temperatures.  True, they’ll sprout if the soil is as cool as 40-degrees, but at those temperatures, peas take their time.

My soil is registering a flat 50-degrees on the thermometer I shoved into the raised bed, which is why I vowed to wait an extra seven to ten days; to give the soil time to warm before sowing

What it boils down to is an experiment between my desire to plant and my resolve to wait.  At this point, it’s a toss-up as to whether I can fight the urge; like a dieter determined to keep their mind off of food, I’m distracting myself with odd jobs, writing, and reruns of Glee.

If you held onto tradition and planted peas, give them some water and patience.  If they seem a bit slow to start, don’t give up on them.  We’ll compare notes in a month or so, to see whose plants are further along.

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It is with pleasure that Gardening After Five announces the emergence of our first seedlings of the year

New seedling

 

Caraflex Cabbage

 nosed their way into the world sometime during the night of March 9, 2011.

 

 

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A growing onion Allium cepa in a neutral backg...

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Today’s post can be heard on the public radio show Crop to Cuisine, hosted by Dov Hirsch.

Crop To Cuisine

As you’re planting your spring kitchen garden, leave room for one of cooking’s basics that’s delicious enough to bring tears to your eyes.  Growing onions in Colorado is easy, and if you want to add this allium to your vegetable plot, the time to get planting is now.

Seeds, seedlings and sets are available to the home gardener, so here’s a quick primer on the difference: seeds are directly sown into the garden from mid-March through the end of April and are very successful in Colorado.  Sow them shallowly, about three-eighths of an inch deep. 

Seedlings are started plants, grown this season and not yet mature enough to begin forming bulbs.  Locally, onion seedlings are readily available in small clumps that you tease apart upon planting.  Plant them one inch deep and slightly later than seeds, so any time in April will do.   

Sets are onion bulbs that are about one inch in diameter and planted as you would a tulip or daffodil.  Both seeds and seedlings can be used for green onions, often called scallion-stage, or for sizing up into storage bulbs.  But if you use sets, keep in mind that they’re best if you want bulb onions

 Look for long-day varieties that form bulbs once we have 14 or more hours of sunlight daily; in our area, onions will begin producing pungent, sweet bulbs beginning in July.  

 Onions prefer fertile, well-draining soil liberally amended with organic material.  Spread compost one to one-and-a-half inches deep across the bed, then till it in, working it eight inches into the soil. 

 If you’ve sown seeds, thin them once the seedlings have five leaves.  For best bulb production, thin to three inches apart.  Pulled seedlings are delicious as fresh or grilled; eat them as you would a scallion.  As your onions grow, each leaf they put on represents a ring in the bulb itself, and size matters: larger leaves mean bigger rings.

Water them frequently, never allowing their shallow roots to dry, which can cause bulbs to be stunted and tough.  Onions are nitrogen-greedy during the first part of the season, so fertilize until mid-July, then put them on a diet – onions don’t need much nitrogen past that point. 

As onions bulb, they often push themselves out of the soil; this is normal and your plant will be fine.  Avoid giving in to the urge to “hill-up” your onions; hiding the beautiful bulb will work against the plant’s desire to plump it and you won’t get good production.  As the plant prepares to bulb (the neck will feel a little soft), if your soil is hard from the summer sun, gently loosen it to let the plant expand.

Keep weeds to a minimum, since they rapidly crowd out the less-vigorous onion.  Careful, shallow hoeing around the plants is a must to avoid damaging the developing bulb, so if you’re a bit of a brute with the hoe, mulch is a good option for your onions.

Thrips are common insects in our area, rasping off the surface of the onion leaf, leaving a tell-tale trail of silver.  They hide out on weeds, so weed suppression is key to control.

You can tell if your onion is mature by its floppy tops, which start laying over in mid-August.  Hold off on watering at this point and when most of the tops have fallen, gently lift the onions from the ground. Let them rest on top of the ground for up to two days, trying to keep them oriented the same way they grew in the ground to prevent sunburn.

After two or three days, take the onions into a warm, dry location to cure for several weeks until the necks are completely dry.  Trim the tops, then store the bulbs in a mesh bag out of sunlight in a cool location.

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When you’re a gardener, there’s a rhythm to the seasons.  A time for sowing and for harvest, months of plenty and those of quiet; days spent laboring and weekends preserving – all these make up the year for us.  As February dawns, the season stretches before us, one heralded by two things: seed catalogs arriving in the mail, and my husband taking my credit cards from me.

Late winter is the time for dreaming and setting our sights on the summer ahead. Seed companies know this, and feed our obsession with publications filled with seductive descriptions of leaves or fruit, and photographs so luscious and enticing, gardeners refer to it as “plant porn.”   We might not wrap catalogs in plain brown paper, but we’re careful about where we whip them out:  opening the pages is enough to set a room full of gardeners into frenzy, crowding in to get a glimpse of the promising plants.

If you’ve never ventured out of the stores and into the world of catalogs, let me lead you into temptation.  In those pages are a bevy of choices, from flowers to vegetables, trees and shrubs.  You’ll find choices that take a ho-hum kitchen garden and transform it into a gourmand’s delight. 

There’s no need to stay with the standard “Better Boy” tomato, when Pruden’s purple, or zapotec will win your heart.  Potatoes transcend russet or Yukon gold into Colorado rose, purple majesty, or German butterballs.  You can grow a different bean for every type of cuisine on your table, and you’ll never look iceberg lettuce in the eye again after you’ve tastes the crisp, sweet flavor of freckles or grandpa admires lettuce.

This is why my spouse has to hide the credit cards and checkbook.  I’m easily swayed into placing so many orders I outstrip the size of my garden, and so far the neighbors seem oddly reluctant to let me plow into their yards for expansion. 

In the midst of catalog frenzy, keep several things in mind, the foremost of which is that the seed companies pay good writers to come up with descriptions that convince you that each and every plant in the catalog is a must have in your garden.  Other factors to consider are the size of your garden, the cost of the seeds, and whether you want to start seedlings indoors, under lights. 

If you’re not into seed starting, peruse those catalogs anyway; many of our local garden centers grow these varieties for you, and you’ll know what to look for when you shop.  Stay in or get out, either way, get shopping.  You’ll find a new world opens to your kitchen.

This post was previously published in the Longmont Ledger.

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