Edible Dreams.

 For the past week, I've dreamt of gardens.

 

Elaborate gardens, formal gardens, lush mountain paradises, quirky artists' gardens, community gardens. A few of those dreams left me in a cold sweat, panicked about our own gardens—and the impending Carolina Farm Stewardship Association's Upstate Farm Tour that will feature our edible gardens this weekend.

After spending four days touring magnificent gardens during the Garden Bloggers' Fling in Asheville, I'm feeling a bit anxious about our gardens. First of all—we're not a farm. We live in a subdivision with a Homeowners' Association, on less than an acre. One of the reasons, though, that we're included on the farm tour is to show how a typical family living in suburbia can grow healthy, organic food in the backyard—or front yard. Or balcony. Or in containers. My goal is that everyone who visits us during the farm tour will be inspired to grow something edible this summer. (Or, perhaps Chicken Mama will convince them to add pet chickens to their lives.)

Still, while I know that the farm tour doesn't focus on pristine flower beds (ignore the weeds, please) or perfectly mulched paths (they aren't), I can't help but judge our gardens based on the four days of gorgeous landscapes I experienced in Asheville.

We don't have the staff of Biltmore to tame unruly perennials or to design perfect kitchen gardens. But then again, neither does Sunny Point Café.

One of my favorite stops on our tour, Sunny Point Café is the epitome of the farm-to-table movement—or, in its case, back lot garden-to-table.

As our group traipsed across the street from our bus to the Café, I barely contained my excitement. I knew of Sunny Point Café from reading reviews of area local food establishments, and a restaurant that fed guests from its own kitchen garden was high on my list of places to visit. Kindred spirits awaited, and I readied my Nikon to capture the café's organic spirit.

What the--? Full. My DS card was full.

Panic! What could I delete? How long did we have at this garden? Would I miss the experience by spending valuable minutes sorting through hundreds of images, deciding what to save and what to trash?

Then, a miracle—Family Dollar beckoned across the street, a glimmering ray of hope.

I sprinted away from the Bloggers, dodged traffic, and burst into the store like the madwoman I am. The lovely cashier led me to the aisle, where ONE DS card hung, as if fate decided to kindly throw me a bone for my poor planning.

Eight dollars later—and swearing that I will always carry a backup card everywhere I go—I rejoined the group.

And found an edible paradise.

OK, so maybe I'm overly excited about peas and kale.

Honestly, though, I was as delighted to talk with Melissa Metz, the garden manager, about the varieties of potatoes and peas she grows as many gardeners are to discuss the latest introductions of hybrid roses. We spent time chatting about the irrigation system, the compost, and a variety of purple peas she grew. 

(Purple peas? I've grown purple beans, but never purple peas. Must. Add.)

One of my challenges with our edible gardens is to make them not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing. Sunny Point Café's whimsical garden art added an attractive, warm, inviting atmosphere to the kitchen garden. Bright signage...

...cozy seating areas...

...and a friendly scarecrow-like mascot greeted garden guests.

Not only does Sunny Point Café provide homegrown produce for its guests, it also adopts environmentally friendly principles as part of its business model.

While we sampled biscotti and lemonade from the Café, I wished Sunny Point was our lunch destination. Although we didn't eat a meal at the Café, the snacks certainly enticed for a return visit. These are folks I'd love to break bread with while talking about heirloom tomatoes, fraise des bois, and crop rotation. 

Sexy stuff.

Still, Sunny Point Café served as an ideal, attainable garden. 

It's large--but not unmanageable. It's attractive without excessive fluff. It's inviting, warm, and the kind of place you'd like to settle in for a bit with a glass of lemonade to talk with other geeky edible gardeners who understand why it's so important to grow 80 varieties of heirloom tomatoes.

After all, not all gardeners want to debate the merits of the Florida Weave versus tomato cages.

Thinking about Sunny Point Café's garden, I checked on our own larger veggie garden tonight.

I have two more days to prepare for the Farm Tour.

I think we'll be ready.

(Just please, ignore the weeds.)

XO ~

Julie

Stop and Smell the December Flowers.

Oh, the weather outside is...65 and sunny?

It's not beginning to feel much like Christmas.

Don't get me wrong. I'm enjoying this respite from the gray, South Carolina drearies immensely. After all, this former northern girl remembers many brutal days, driving to work at the publishing company in the Chicago 'burbs, with the wind chill registering -30 degrees. Or wading through the lake effect snow. Or shoveling the driveway, only to have it covered fifteen minutes later by the snow plow.

No, I will never complain about southern winters.

I will, however, admit that I was less than optimistic about my ability to participate in December's Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, hosted by May Dreams Gardens. I'm terribly tardy in starting my paperwhites, which I thought would be a featured photo during bloomless December. I also haven't planted the amaryllis, which is a Christmas staple. In fact, my Christmas bulbs are lingering in the garage, along with an additional 1,200 bulbs that called my name as soon as I heard “40% off sale.”

Thank goodness for warm weather. While other folks are decking the halls this weekend, I'll be digging new beds for my tulips, peonies, iris, and fritillaria.

Although I'm an epic fail with Christmas blooms this year, I did take a break from the baking fury that's consumed me today to take a stroll outside.

And—shocking! I found blooms!

The first hellebore bloom of the season...

Our daughter's schizophrenic cherry tree. While I love this tree, because we planted it for Kristen when she was born, it is, honestly, a stupid tree. Who needs cherry blossoms in December?

I do, however, love, love, love the blooms of the fraise des bois. Somehow, the blooms of these little gems remind me that spring--and fresh strawberries--and not too far away.

Thank you, camellias, for hanging in there through December. The blooms are starting to look tired, but I found a few that were photo worthy.

A rogue calendula bloom! What in the world are you doing, little flower? Don't you know you should be dormant? Oh...maybe it's that thick layer of leaves that I never cleared out of the herb beds...it's giving you some nice insulation, huh?

A very confused viburnum. 

OK, so I'm cheating a bit. No, these aren't technically blooms...but I'm just thrilled that our potager continues to produce throughout the winter. I'm especially excited because I planted the fall garden late. To protect the produce, I've been covering the garden anytime the temperature dips into the mid-30s. So far, so good. Crossing fingers that I don't get lazy one night and forget!

And, of course, there are pansies...

...ridiculously adorable little flowers, aren't they? Honestly, look at its little face--it looks like a supermodel with false eyelashes and collagen enhanced, pouty lips.

The beauty of South Carolina--we plant our pansies in the fall to enjoy all winter and into early spring. Thank goodness for their splash of cheerfulness.

We gardeners who live in SC are pretty darn lucky. We can usually grow something year round.

Still—I have to admit, last Christmas was amazing. It snowed. On Christmas. It was a South Carolina miracle.

I'm hoping for a repeat.

Even if it means I won't have any blooms to share for January.

Happy Bloom Day, everyone!

XO ~

Julie

Spring Sprouts.

Ah, blissful sun, how I've missed you. If I stay at my desk, with the sun blinding me and causing funky reflections on my iMac monitor, it feels almost like summer. In fact, my favorite chunky sweater from Gap men's department (circa 1995) is uncomfortably warm. Sadly, though, my little bit of pretend summer will end in a few minutes—it's time to head outside to water the plants in the greenhouse. It's windy. It's 37 degrees. Sorry, northern friends, I know I shouldn't complain.

Only 41 days until spring. Whew.

Thankfully, seeds save my sanity during frustrating February weather.

February kicks off the seed starting frenzy at our home. While it may seem a little early to start warm weather plants, it's my business. My fabulous, I'm-the-luckiest-girl-in-the-world-business. And because I'm growing 160 varieties of heirloom tomatoes, 40 varieties of heirloom peppers, and 60+ varieties of herbs and heirloom flowers...it's time.

While you probably don't need (or want) to become an extreme seed starter, growing a few plants from seed is a lovely way to combat seasonal affective disorder, get kids excited about growing healthy food, or try some new, unusual varieties of vegetables or flowers that you can't find at the big box stores. Why settle for a round, red tomato when there are more than 7,500 varieties?

Plus, how can you possibly resist all of those beautiful seed catalogs crammed in the mailbox, promising lush gardens if only you can survive these bleak winter days?

So, while it may seem a little like bad business sense to share seed starting tips, since I own an organic plant business—I just can't help myself. You need to grow something.

Now.

It will make you feel so much better. I promise.

First, you'll need a few supplies:

Seeds. (And a few words about seeds...)
Everything I grow is organic, heirloom, and non-GMO. What exactly does that mean? I buy seeds from companies that are committed to using pure seed—seed that has not been genetically modified nor chemically treated. Heirloom plants are open-pollinated, non-hybrid varieties with history. While there are varying definitions of heirloom, many gardeners apply the term to plant varieties more than 50 years old.

Heirloom plants tell stories. Many seeds traveled with immigrants to America, who brought along the seeds of their favorite foods. Many heirlooms are native to the U.S., with seeds saved from family favorites and passed down through generations. Some have traveled the Trail of Tears, providing an edible history lesson. Heirlooms don't originate in a lab.

Hybrids are grown for marketability. The blemish-free, symmetrical, red tomatoes you find in the grocery store year round are typically hybrids: thick-skinned to endure the rigors of shipping, bred to enhance shelf life—and perfect, round globes to add visual appeal to consumers. Heirlooms are grown for flavor. Heirlooms tomatoes are red...and yellow...and purple, pink, orange, striped, odd-shaped, large, minuscule, sweet, tart, fruity...and even white.

Have you ever seen a white tomato in Publix?

Sadly, many heirloom vegetables and fruits have vanished—bred into extinction through  hybridization. Part of my mission—and the goal of many seed-saving organizations—is to ensure the continuity of heirloom species.

Two of my favorite sources of organic, heirloom seed are Baker's Creek Heirloom Seeds  (http://rareseed.com) and Seed Savers Exchange (http://seedsavers.org). Both organizations feature an outstanding selection of heirloom, open pollinated, organic seed. They're also just really nice people. Please check out their seed selections.

You also need...

Seed starting mix.
I know, I know...we all started seeds in Dixie Cups filled with dirt, placed on our kindergarten classroom's windowsill, and miraculously—they grew. Soilless seed starting mix, though, is a more dependable medium for starting seeds—particularly some of those seeds that are a little finicky. Comprised of peat moss, vermiculite, and perlite, seed starting mix provides a good, clean, safe first home for your babies. The mix is light, allowing your seeds to easily sprout. It's also sterile and disease free—as long as you use a new or well-cleaned container for your seeds.

Water. (Plus watering can and spray bottle.)
The soilless seed mix is very dry, and it's best to mix it with water prior to filling your container due to the high surface tension. Once you've moistened the mix well, you'll have an easier time watering your seeds—the water will absorb more rapidly. Because I start a lot of seeds, I use a plastic storage container to mix seed starting mix and water. It also makes it very easy to fill trays and store the mix.

Containers and covers.
The number of seeds you want to grow depends on the type of container to use. I grow a lot of plants—thousands of plants—so I use trays with 128 cells. You might not need as many cells. Or you might want to embrace recycling and try planting your seeds in newspaper pots  (www.organicgardening.com/paperpots). Whatever your need, make certain that your container has drainage holes—and that you have a second tray or container underneath to catch excess water.

You can purchase seed starting trays at any big box store. The kits include a cell tray for the seeds, a bottom tray, and a cover to retain the moisture. Another option is to use what you have available at home. Disinfect used containers thoroughly to ensure no pathogens remain, which can cause damping off of your seedlings. Many people wash used pots or trays and place them in a 10% bleach solution (1 cup bleach, 9 cups water.) I don't use bleach, but I use extremely hot water. Really hot. Hurt-your-hand hot. It does the trick.

After you've cleaned your container and moistened the seed starting mix, fill your container (or cells) approximately three-fourths full of seed starting medium and firm the mix into the cells or container. Now, you're ready to sow your seeds.

Not all seeds grow equally. Some need light for germination. Some require dark. Some seeds want a period of cold stratification, while others might like an overnight soak. For instance, lettuce needs light for germination, so sow the seeds on top of the medium—but don't cover with a layer of soil. Other seeds require deeper planting. Read you seed package carefully to determine the best planting method for your seeds.

An incredible resource is the book, Seed to Seed by Suzanne Ashworth. While not a beautiful, sexy gardening book filled with lush photos, it's an amazing reference for the specifics of starting a wide variety of seeds. It's been a permanent fixture on my desk for the past three years.

Once you determine how your seeds need to be sown, it's time to get busy. The size of the seed determines how many seeds to plant in each cell. For tomatoes, I'll typically sow three seeds per cell. Many gardeners pinch out all but one seedling, but I separate them later when I transplant into pots. (We'll talk about transplanting next time.)

I've been planting lots of tomato seeds. After I finish one variety, I cover the seeds with a pinch of mix...

...and label the row to make certain I keep the varieties separated. 

When the tray is filled, I mist the tray with water to help the mix and seeds settle. 

Place the cover over the tray, or secure plastic wrap on top of the container to retain moisture. 

You'll notice condensation on the plastic, which is good—your seeds are moist. Do not allow your seeds to dry out. Mist with a spray bottle to keep moist as needed.

Light. (Lots of.)
While some seed varieties like dark for germination, as soon as seedlings emerge, they need a light source. A good light source. You don't need to spend hundreds of dollars on an official  grow light kit. But you do need a source that will provide ample light—and that can adjust to meet the needs of your growing plants.

My grow lights are basic shop lights from Lowe's, fitted with full spectrum daylight fluorescent bulbs.  I think the fixture and lights totaled about $15. The lights attach under the shelf that hangs above a former workbench in the basement, and the adjustable chains allow me to provide close light when the seedlings are small—and raise the light as they grow. 

The most important thing to note about light is this: you want to avoid leggy seedlings. If your light source is too far away, your little seedlings will stretch to find the light, resulting in weak, leggy stems. Instead, you want healthy, sturdy, stocky plants. With good light position and enough exposure per day--most seedlings like 16-18 hours of light—your seedlings will have a strong start.

Heat.
Bottom heat can speed along germination—but again, check your seeds to determine the temperature at which they germinate. Peppers and tomatoes, in particular, benefit from the added warmth of bottom heat. While I purchased two large, seed starting heat mats from a growers' supply company, you can also provide bottom heat by placing your seeds on top of a refrigerator or other appliance that generates a bit of warmth. Avoid using heating pads. They are not waterproof and could be hazardous.

Patience.
Seed packages provide great information about germination time—but be patient. And be vigilant. Keep your seed tray moist and don't allow it to dry out. Also, be careful not to overwater. Once your seedlings have emerged, remove the cover from the tray and continue to water. The first leaves on the seedling are the cotyledon—the “seed leaves.” When the first set of true leaves appear, it's time to transplant your babies into nutrient-rich soil. Stay tuned for the next post about transplanting your babies...

Is It Time Yet?
For the ideal time to start seedlings indoors, you need to know the approximate date of the last spring frost in your area. Below, you'll find the number of weeks needed to start various crops. To determine when to start your seeds, count backwards from your last frost date, depending on what crops you want to grow.  (An asterisk* indicates a cold-hardy plant that can be set out 4 to 6 weeks before the last frost.) You'll also find a great tool here to help you determine when to start your crops:
http://www.almanac.com/gardening/planting-dates. Just plug in your zip code, and the tool calculates your crop planting schedule based on your zone.

Here's a general guideline for seed starting, based on last frost date:

• 12 to 14 weeks: onions*, leeks*, chives*, pansies*, impatiens, and coleus
• 8 to 12 weeks: peppers, lettuce*, cabbage-family crops*, petunias, snapdragons*, alyssum*, and other hardy annual flowers
• 6 to 8 weeks: eggplants, tomatoes
• 5 to 6 weeks: zinnias, cockscombs (Celosia spp.), marigolds, other tender annuals
• 2 to 4 weeks: cucumbers, melons, okra, pumpkins, squash

So, think about your favorite produce that you're missing during these cold, dreary months. Pull out your seed catalogs and daydream about the delicious meals you'll prepare this summer with fresh-from-your-garden veggies. Then, order some seeds, and let spring into your house.

It's very therapeutic.

Trust me.

Happy growing!

Julie

I'm back...

Hi.

Remember me?

I feel a little like a teenager, who blew off her date--and then wanted him back.

(Not that I ever did that.)

This is awkward.

I'm sorry I abandoned you. You know it wasn't intentional, right?

See, this little thing called Life got in the way of my writing. I know you've probably imagined the worst. But no, we didn't buy an SUV, I didn't take a job at Monsanto, and we haven't lost our Greenpeace membership.

Did I mention that I'm sorry?

If I tell you a story, will you forgive me? It might help you understand why I've been absent lately.

~~~~~

Once upon a time, there was a girl/woman/mom who loved to garden. She loved to garden so much that she would dream of flowers. She would garden all day. She would garden at night—in the dark. On Mother's Day, while her friends visited spas, her wish was to plant the vegetable garden. In the rain.

Eventually, she realized her gardening habit had become an obsession. At about this same time, she also realized that soon her youngest child would be firmly ensconced in that lovely institution called kindergarten. Because she had no desire to return to her former life as a PR exec, she knew it was time to turn the obsession into something more. A business. A green business. A green gardening business.
 

Garden Delights.

The end.

~~~~~

Actually, there's a little more to it. Like:

• 130 varieties of heirloom tomato plants
• 35 varieties of heirloom pepper plants
• Dozens of herbs and assorted heirloom veggies
• 5,000 seedlings growing in the downstairs of our house
• A commitment to use only organic methods and sustainable resources, including all shipping supplies and potting materials
• Even the plant labels biodegrade in a home compost system

Oh. Did I mention that many of the plants I'm growing are in danger of extinction? And that through my business, I'm hoping to encourage a new generation of organic kitchen gardeners?

Then, of course, there's the marketing, selling, writing, tending, babying, nurturing, and general coddling that both the plants and the business required.

Oh. And the family. Yep, they had needs, too.

So, there it is. I abandoned my writing for a bit, but not my greenish ways. If anything, starting Garden Delights has been an enormous learning experience in finding fabulous renewable resources—and not settling for less. It's been crazy, hairy, frustrating, and delightful...and time-consuming.

I love it.

So, I hope you'll check in now and then, because I'd love to renew our green conversations. While I've been seeding and weeding, with my nose in fish emulsion fertilizer (nasty, good stuff)--what have you been up to? Learned any good environmental lessons lately? Have some tips to share? I'd love to hear!

Happy growing and greening!
XO

Julie