Growing Autumn Bouquets.

Once upon a time, when I nervously signed the mortgage for my first house, I didn't rush to Pottery Barn or Crate and Barrel. Drapes that puddled perfectly on the floor or bird cages filled with plastic plants or funky plates with funky linens weren't on my wish list to make my new house homey.

Instead, I spent every bit of disposable income supporting local nurseries.

For me, the happiness of becoming a homeowner meant that I'd finally, finally have a garden. Of course, I wanted a lovely, lushly landscaped garden--but its primary purpose was to fill my new home with fresh flowers. Never again would I wait for someone to bring me a sad, tired vase of ugly red roses. (Please note: this was pre-Peter. He possesses great taste in flowers.)

Honestly, is there anything nicer than a just-picked, fresh-from-the-garden, cheerful bouquet of flowers to make a home feel warm and vibrant? 

No. No, there's not. Well, OK, kids and significant others and furry babies are also high up on the list, too. The smell of apple pie baking also helps. Still, flowers will always be right up there in their ability to make a blah Wednesday feel like a celebration. Plus, as much as I love fresh flowers in our home, I love sharing them even more. It's pure happiness to watch a friend receive a bouquet, because flowers make every day a little brighter.  

Lately, though, I've spent more time obsessing about growing edibles to feed my family than remembering why I originally loved gardening. Plus, it's November. The garden looks...uninspiring. It's easy to snip some tulips in spring or arrange tea roses in summer. In fact, I planned a cutting garden for spring and fall blooms, which you can read about here. In fall, though, my attention turns to seed catalogs and bulb orders. I know it's trendy to proclaim fall as everyone's favorite season, but for me? Nope. No, thank you. Bring back my sunshine and pretty spring blooms, pronto.

So, when the fearless leader of You Can Grow That!, C.L. Fornari, challenged our group of garden bloggers to write about giveaway bouquets, I pushed aside my seasonal affective disorder and took a stroll around the garden to see if I could find anything--anything remotely attractive or alive--that would contribute to a bouquet.

Surprisingly, I returned with arms full of material. 

Our camellias, hidden on the south side of the house, are heavy with blooms right now. Sadly, I tend to forget about them, because they aren't along the path I normally take to the kitchen garden. I plan to propagate some of these beauties and plant them in a more visible section of the garden, because they are the perfect fall flower.

The viburnum, however, continues to produce a spectacular, eye-catching show all fall. During spring, these two bushes brighten the back garden with their enormous blooms. While fall blooms aren't nearly as prolific, I still found plenty of flowers, although they were beginning to look a bit tired.

Because blooms are scarce during November, foliage needed to play an important part of the bouquet design. Fortunately, we have lots of variegated vines, hostas, and ferns. Even 'Gold Dust' aucuba participated in the November bouquet project.

Herbs and berries also made an appearance in the bouquets. While I intended to use bronze fennel, some little creature had eaten most of it. Instead, the airy branches of Florence fennel added a frothy texture, as well as height, to an arrangement. Encore azaleas, a bloom that I never considered for bouquets prior to our assignment, was also added to the mix.

After I cleaned the foliage from the bottom portion of the stems and sorted the cuttings, I realized that I'd gathered enough materials to make not one but three bouquets.
 

Pale pink camellias, viburnum, autumn ferns and variegated ivy.

 

Seed heads from Japanese anemone, camellias, Hearts-A-Bustin' berries, 

and variegated potato vine.

 

Encore azalea blooms, 'Gold Dust' aucuba, and Florence fennel.

My bouquet making skills need more practice, but it inspired me to remember my first garden and the passion I had--for flowers. Of course, I'll continue obsessing about our edible gardens and native plants, but I'll also keep searching throughout all seasons to bring the garden inside and share it with friends.

What flowers do you enjoy receiving in your favorite bouquets?

XOXO ~

Julie

Seductive Strawberries.

Strawberries and champagne—the ultimate romantic hors d'oeuvre. Honestly, who doesn't remember Pretty Woman, when Julia Roberts coyly excuses herself to floss after eating strawberries?

It's one of my favorite scenes.

(Well, that...and every image of Richard Gere.)

Strawberries and romance share a long history. With its heart shape, the strawberry symbolized Venus, the Goddess of Love. In France, newlyweds received a soup made from strawberries, sour cream, borage, and powdered sugar to serve as an aphrodisiac. And if you're looking to fall in love, just break a double strawberry in half and share it with your crush. According to legend, you'll soon be inseparable.

With its rich mythology and delicious history, is it any wonder that strawberries are a main ingredient in Valentine's Day? Chocolate covered, tarted up, or baked into a pie, strawberries are the fruit of love.

Actually, it's perplexing. Strawberries aren't in season on Valentine's Day--unless you live in Florida or California. And honestly—nothing compares to the deep, rich, sun-warmed sweetness of just-picked strawberries. So, although they're the fruit of choice for Valentine's Day, strawberries eaten on February 14 hardly compare to the backyard berries of spring.

Growing strawberries is simple. Often, gardeners become intimidated when researching how to grow strawberries. Rows or mounds? Plastic or straw? June-bearing or everbearing? While there are many options for varieties and growing methods, the process doesn't need to be complicated for a home grower.

In our garden, for instance, strawberry plants serve as a border in our potager. As the strawberry plants in the potager grew new runners, I harvested the babies and began a new bed by the greenhouse. And when we harvested more runners, the kids planted them in their raised bed garden. We didn't mound, we don't use plastic—and we definitely don't use any spray. Our result? Hundreds of perfect, achingly sweet organic strawberries—in three small beds.

Large commercial growers, of course, treat their strawberry crops differently. Because strawberry plants decline in production after two years, commercial growers treat the plants as annuals. In our zone 7b garden, however, our strawberry plants are perennials, performing year after year, until we notice a decline. (We haven't yet.) Then, as our plants slow in production, we'll replace old plants with runners we've harvested from other beds, ensuring an endless supply of fresh starts as we need them.

Strawberries may be my favorite perennial plant.

Types

June bearing (spring bearing) strawberries produce a crop during a three-to-four week period in the spring, with the duration based on the climate. June bearers produce flowers, fruits, and runners and are classified into early, mid-season, and later varieties. June bearing plants are ideal if you want a large harvest at once to make jams, for instance.

Everbearing strawberries produce three periods of flowers and fruit: spring, summer, and fall.

Day neutral strawberries produce fruit throughout the growing season, producing only a few runners. These plants work well for gardeners with limited space or who want to incorporate strawberries into borders or containers.

Isn't this a great idea? Strawberry baskets for space-challenged gardeners!

When to Plant

In cold climates, plant strawberries as soon as the ground can be worked in the spring. In warmer climates, fall planting is ideal. 

How to Plant

Strawberries prefer well drained soil, rich in organic matter. Plant in an area that receives at least 6 hours of sun for best fruit production, and ensure the plants receive at least an inch of water per week during the growing season. Don't plant strawberries in a bed where peppers, tomatoes, eggplant or potatoes resided. Strawberry plants are susceptible to verticillium wilt, which can be spread by nightshade plants.

Like all transplants, strawberries should be planted on a cloudy day or during late afternoon, rather than in full sun. Set the strawberry plant in the soil so that the soil is just covering the tops of the roots. Do not cover the crown. After four to six weeks, the plants will produce runners and new plants.

When you research planting strawberries, all of the experts will tell you to remove the flowers of the newly planted strawberries during the first season to develop strong roots and runners. The goal is to ensure a large crop the following year.

I can't do it.

In fact, I've never pinched back the flowers. And guess what? We had a nice little, delicious harvest the first year...and the second year, we could barely keep up with harvesting the berries.

Maintenance

Spring frosts and freezes can wreck havoc on your strawberry patch. Mulch or row covers can protect the blossoms. In colder zones, a thick layer of straw provides good insulation for strawberries. Remove the top layers in the spring, but keep it close by in case of a late frost. Additionally, mulching with straw around the base of the plants helps retain moisture and keeps the fruit off the soil, which can promote disease and pest damage.

Always remove any damaged fruit or dead leaves to avoid pests or disease.

Harvest

Wait to harvest until the berry is fully ripe. Unlike some fruits, strawberries do not continue to ripen after harvest. Leave an inch of stem attached, and refrigerate to preserve freshness. Wash immediately before use.

Eat

In honor of Valentine's Day, I baked a classic romantic dessert: Strawberry Tart. It's February, so I admit--I used store bought Florida berries. Still, it was pretty delicious. Now, imagine it with fresh, just-picked strawberries...oh my. This is definitely a recipe to make again in May.

Strawberry Tart

Adapted from Southern Living

Ingredients

1-1/2 cup all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon salt

1/3 cup sugar

1/3 cup butter, cut up

2 tablespoons cold shortening

3 tablespoons cold water

½ cup sugar

¼ cup cornstarch

2 cups half-and-half

5 egg yolks

3 tablespoons butter

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 quart fresh strawberries, sliced

Instructions:

1. Mix first three ingredients together, then add 1/3 cup butter and 2 tablespoons shortening. Mix until crumbly.
2. With mixer running, slowly add 3 tablespoons water. Mix until dough forms a ball, adding more water as needed. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and chill for 1 hour.
3. Roll dough to 1/8-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface. Press into bottom and sides of a 9-inch tart pan. Line dough with parchment paper; fill with pie weights (which I don't own) or dried beans (chickpeas worked for me!)
4. Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Remove the weights/beans and parchment paper. Bake an additional 3-5 minutes.
5. Combine ½ cup sugar and cornstarch in a medium saucepan.
6. Whisk together half-and-half and egg yolks. Gradually whisk half-and-half mixture into sugar mixture in saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil and cook, whisking constantly, 1 minute. Remove mixture from heat.
7. Stir in 3 tablespoons butter and vanilla; cover and chill at least 4 hours. Spoon into prepared pastry shell. Top with sliced strawberries and serve immediately.

So, are you ready to plant your strawberry patch? I promise—You Can Grow That!

XO~

Julie

Join us on the 4^th day of each month to find out how You Can Grow That! 

Shared on Wildcrafting Wednesdays, Home and Garden Thursdays, Farm Girl Friday Blog Fest, and Little House in the Suburbs.

Psst! Have You Seen My Chicken?

Ten years ago, if someone told me I would one day own chickens, I would have questioned that person's sanity.

Five years ago, if a friend called me “earthy,” I would have been seriously offended.

Six months ago, if I knew how much pleasure chickens could bring a family, we would have gotten them sooner.

One month ago, if I knew how many egg cartons would be lining the shelves of the refrigerator, I would have begun stockpiling egg recipes.

One week ago, if I had known how loud a hen could be when she is laying an egg, I could have avoided a potential heart-attacking inducing sprint to the coop to rescue the girl from a predator (I thought.)

Yesterday, if I had known I would spend two panicked hours searching the forest and neighbors' yards for a missing hen, I would have stayed in bed.

Who knows what adventures life will provide?

And who knew that adding chickens to our menagerie would be such a rush (in mostly a good way)?

Our chicken adventure began clandestinely. We live in a subdivision. With a homeowners' association, albeit a fairly lax one. 

 

Our property is just under an acre, includes an extensive forest and backs up to a river. Our HOA doesn't have rules against chickens—it just doesn't mention chickens. Still, we feared that by asking permission, there might soon be rules incorporated into the bylaws. Plus, we have no intention of adding a rooster to the flock, processing chickens (the horror—they have names!), nor allowing them unlimited free ranging throughout the neighborhood. They free range, but within a fenced-in area on our property.

(Well, at least, most of the time. Naughty Roxanne.)

Honestly, these girls are pets. Pets with benefits. Pets who make breakfast. Pets who teach.

Kiki, our chicken mama, is learning amazing lessons. From the research she did to decide which breeds would be best for egg production to the first home she created for them—with rules decorating their box (“No pecking each other! No pooping outside the box! Bedtime is 8 p.m.”), she is an incredibly responsible chicken owner. As with any new pet, it's natural to worry that the excitement will wear off, and Mom and Dad will be relegated to chicken detail. After two dogs, two cats, two guinea pigs, a multitude of fish, a snake hidden in her tree house, as well as injured wild animals she helped nurse back to health, I didn't think we had much to fear about her losing interest. Still, at 6:15 a.m., I always feel a little sorry for Kiki, especially now that it's still dark outside when she wakes up.

Me: “Time to feed the chickens!”

Kiki: “Mmmpph...”

Honestly, I wouldn't have been a good chicken mama when I was Kristen's age. Then again, I was never chicken-obsessed like our girlie is. I often wonder what her teachers think about her chicken-brain...because she constantly thinks and talks about chickens. Her new endeavor? A chicken-based science fair project.

Oh my.

We've had a few scary moments. On the first day of school, Kiki ran to the backyard—only to have Clue, one of the Americauna hens, fly over the fence to see her chicken-mama. The problem is—our backyard is divided into “dog/kid-side” and “pool/chicken” side. We have a privacy fence surrounding the entire backyard and an iron fence that surrounds the pool within the back yard. (Crazy, I know...)

As horrific as it was for Clue to become a dog toy for a moment, we were so thankful Kristen was there—because she saved Clue. After losing many feathers and having to spend some time in a hastily erected “chicken hospital” downstairs so that she could heal, Clue is fine.

Kristen and I were traumatized, however.

By the way, do you have any idea how smelly a chicken kept in a dog kennel in a basement can be?

You don't want to experience it. I promise.

Then yesterday, when I couldn't find Roxanne...I felt ill. I know Kristen, and I knew how she would react. These girls are her babies. She's raised them from tiny fluff balls...

...through their awkward teenager phase...

...to lovely laying hens.

A missing hen would be traumatic.

Luckily, I didn't see feathers on the ground—neither in the forest (which might have indicated a hawk attack) nor in our dogs' area. The race was on to find Roxanne before Kristen got off the school bus.

For two hours, I searched the forest. The river. Looked up in trees, searched neighbors' yards. I walked up and down the forest, opened the greenhouses (because, you know, I'm sure the chicken could just open the door and lock herself in), drove through the neighborhood, calling “Roxanne! Here, chickie chickie!”

I walked down our street, shaking a bag of scratch.

Nothing.

So, I did what any mom would do: I e-mailed Michael's piano teacher, explaining that we needed to cancel his lesson because we were searching for a missing chicken.

I wonder if she's ever heard that excuse before?

Time was running out—Mikey's bus arrives 30 minutes before Kristen gets home. I grabbed his hand, told him we weren't going to piano (“YEEES!”), and took him into the forest with me to continue our search.

“I hear flapping!” Oops, sorry Mikey, that was me, shaking the feed bag.

Up and down the forest, through the neighbor's yards, and then we tried the novel idea of being still and quiet.

And then:

“BAWCK, bawck, bawck, bawck...”

Did you know how incredibly loud and distressed a chicken can become when she wants to lay an egg?

Mikey and I took off to our front yard, and there, in the woods between our yard and the neighbor's, paced Roxanne.

I was unbelievably happy to see that naughty girl.

Fortunately, our hens are extremely tame and used to cuddles and hugs. Mikey scooped her up, I gave her a handful of scratch, and he carried her back to her sisters.

With 10 minutes to spare before chicken-mama came home.

Then I collapsed.

Several things became clear to me yesterday. First, it's impossible to keep secret chickens in your backyard. I'm pretty sure our neighbors have heard our girls before, but this was the first time I was really worried about inconveniencing them. I mean, truly—what if they found a chicken in their pool or in their dog's mouth? Not a pleasant thought.

While we want to have our chickens free ranging in the area behind the pool—and we have installed a maze of string above the area to keep them contained—we obviously need to find a different solution. This isn't the first time a hen escaped, but they typically stay along the exterior of the fence, desperate to get back to their flock. Roxanne, apparently, is more adventurous.

But my clearest realization yesterday was this: I am not a farmer. I think I want a farm, but the reality of farming is far different that my idealized view. Our chickens are pets. They have names. And I was literally ill, thinking about how I would tell Kristen that one of her girls was gone.

My dad's family were real farmers. Real farmers, struggling to feed a family post-depression. My dad used to tell me that he would cheer when a chicken got loose and killed by a car, because then they could have fried chicken for dinner.

Have I mentioned that we've been unable to eat roasted chicken—or any chicken with bones—since we acquired the girls?

I'm a farmer impostor.

Still, the benefits of our girls outweigh the stress of yesterday. The first time Kristen found eggs in the nesting box was like Christmas and her birthday wrapped into one. She came running up the stairs, yelling for me, trembling. I thought something terrible happened to the girls.

But no. The first two eggs! Such a proud chicken mama!

Kristen shared her first eggs with Peter...

...cracked and cooked into scrambled eggs all by herself. She was a very proud girl. (And I was a very proud mom.)

Today, our girls are feasting on pumpkins. I'm hoping the post-Halloween treats make them all stay close to home. I'm incredibly paranoid about escaping chickens. I don't think my heart can handle the trauma.

The girls are all laying now, with the exception of Risa. Kristen is organizing her egg business, lining up customers, with the hope of raising money for a horse. With six chickens, I'm happy to report that it will take her a very long time to raise money for a horse.

Because, somehow, I don't think we can keep a secret horse in the backyard.

XOXO ~

Julie, the chicken-chaser

Berry-licious.

 

It's official. Spring swooped in and landed with full force. Yes, Poor Richard and his Almanac would disagree and remind me that March 20 was the official first day of spring.

He's wrong.

As any gardener knows, spring arrives with a ritual.

The Tasting of the Strawberries.

Honestly, what heralds spring more than the first scent of newly picked, perfectly ripened strawberries? It's edible aromatherapy.

I treat the first berries of the season as if I'm a pretentious vintner. Immediately after plucking the first, perfect fruit from its stem, I hold it close and inhale...banishing winter memories and infusing the stale, recycled air with sweetness.

(I do draw the line at swirling and spitting.)

From the time our children were young, spring meant anxiously awaiting the first days of strawberry picking. (To find your nearest strawberry patch, check out pickyourown.org.) Last year, however, we planted strawberries throughout our gardens—outlining the quadrants of the potager, as well as the kids' raised bed garden. This year, the plants are full and lush with blooms...and now, fruit.

My family can't get enough strawberries. So, in addition to the gardens, we have fraise des bois—tiny alpine strawberries—in pots by the driveway. 
 

The kids pick them and eat them when they are playing outside. 

Then, instead of filling a plastic bag with plastic toys for Kristen's birthday party favor, she and her girlfriends decorated terra cotta pots—and planted strawberries in them. 

And remember a few weeks ago, when Mikey and I created strawberry balls? Well, guess what is producing gorgeous, uber-sweet fruit—right outside our front door?

It's seriously addictive. Strawberry plants are taking over the landscape.

Honestly, though—why not? The foliage is lovely—and evergreen. The tiny flowers are adorable. Plus fresh, organic snacks just waiting to be plucked are the perfect enticement for kids to eat something healthy—without needing to stop their outside play. And they're perennial.

Plus, of course, by planting your own strawberries, you can control what goes on them. Don't even get me started on the methyl iodide used on commercial strawberry farms. I truly understand the challenges faced by commercial growers. I do. I just don't want to serve my family strawberries with a chemical dressing. (To read more about methyl iodide, click here.)

But—and here's where I get hypocritical—I still get berries from our local strawberry farm. And I haven't asked what they use on their crops. What I do know is—they grew organic sweet corn last year that they couldn't sell to anyone but me, because corn is darn tough to grow organically. Without spraying, you'll find caterpillars along with your kernels—a little protein bonus. I'm just nutty enough that I'm thrilled with organic, super-sweet, delicious, fresh-from-the-field corn...and can deal with cutting off the tip of the previously caterpillar-nibbled ear. In fact, after they warned me that the corn wasn't sprayed, and I'd probably find some caterpillars, they were shocked when I snagged five dozen ears. They told me that every customer interested in corn walked away when told it had not been sprayed for caterpillars. Grown men ran for their cars, disgusted by the corn worms.

(I shared a little marketing-girl advice with my farmer friends: make a big sign promoting organic sweet corn, and refer to the corn worms as caterpillars. I'm not sure if it helped the corn sales or not, but it certainly couldn't hurt.)

But I digress...it's not corn season. We're talking strawberries. And commercial strawberries. And I think the point I was trying to make is—if you know your local grower, you can also know about his or her growing philosophy...and you can make informed decisions about whether organically raised strawberries are important to you, or whether conventional practices are good enough so that you can enjoy a beautiful day of strawberry picking with your family.

A friend sent me an e-mail. She had a refrigerator full of strawberries, ready for eating and freezing...and then read about California's allowance of methyl iodide for use on strawberries. She did some research and discovered it's also approved for use in South Carolina. She asked at the farm if the strawberries were organic, got some vague response (which neither of us could decipher), and then worried that she shouldn't feed the berries to her kids.

My response? My kids and I have been eating just-picked strawberries in fields probably full of pesticides and herbicides for years. YEARS. And everyone is alive and well. To me, the real risk involves the field workers who are inhaling/absorbing the chemicals through their skin. That's what we need to be taking a stand against. And yes, I love that we have our own organic strawberries in our gardens. But—I also love those memories of picking strawberries at farms with my children. I'm sure someone will take me to task for endangering my children's lives through non-organic strawberry picking. If that's the worst thing I do as a mother, well then—I'm clearing space on the mantle for my “Mother of the Year” trophy.

Back to strawberry picking fun:

Strawberry picking is a very exacting art, particularly if it involves small children.

First, make certain each child has his or her own basket. Trust me. Avoid combining the contents of the baskets, because this will cause much anxiety over whose berries belong to whom. Somehow—they know. And they only want to eat the ones that they picked themselves.

Next, teach the kids to step over the rows, not on the rows...and remind them that they do not get bonus points for berry-smushing.

After the rules of “only pick red berries” and “do not play in the fire ant hill” are firmly reviewed, it's time for the ritual tasting.

Each picker plucks a large, perfectly ripened, sun-warmed strawberry. On the count of three, bite it.

Not a wimpy bite.

This bite must encompass at least half of the berry, so that sticky-sweet juice runs down the biter's chin and dribbles over the front of her shirt. (Of course, this shirt will be white, because some mother forgot the rule banishing white clothing from strawberry patches.)

Remember to pick up Zout on the way home.

Ah...now spring is here.

As you weave your way through the rows, searching for the perfect berry, remember that for every berry that makes it into the basket, two berries are eaten in the field. This is important to remember, because tummy aches do not make for a fun outing.

At some point, particularly if you have younger children, they will foist their baskets upon you. You will find yourself with three gallon-containers that are only partially filled. You will feel an overwhelming compulsion to fill each container to overflowing while you try to keep the kids from berry-squishing.

Soon, your sticky, muddy, sweaty cherubs' excited voices will turn to whines, while you tell them, “One second...just one more.” Finally, hateful looks from other berry-picking mommies will let you know that it's time to pay up and head out before your babes succumb to heat exhaustion.

Once home, it's time for another tradition: the first strawberry milkshake of the season. Honestly, this isn't truthful. I'm amending it to say the first fresh strawberry milkshake of the season. We freeze a lot of strawberries to get us through the winter, so the kids have a pretty regular indulgence in strawberry milkshakes. (Have you ever made a blackberry milkshake? It's a strangely Barney-ish purple color. It tastes good, but drinking something the color of Barney is a little disconcerting...)

So here, to help you toast spring in all of its glory, is the non-official, thoroughly improvised recipe for strawberry milkshakes:

2 cups fresh or frozen strawberries
2 cups milk (adjust amount based on how thick you like your milkshakes)
¼ gallon vanilla ice cream (Yes, we use a lot of ice cream. You could, I suppose, use healthy alternatives, like frozen yogurt...but we stick to ice cream.)

Blend strawberries and milk together until smooth. Remind children that the lid of the blender must be firmly secured before hitting the “blend” button. Add ice cream and blend again until smooth. Makes 4 8-ounce milkshakes.

What is your favorite strawberry recipe? Please share...(the milkshakes are making swimsuit season problematic.)

Cheers to spring, to strawberries, and to the beginning of a lovely growing season!

XOXO ~

Julie