Last year, I planted 20 zucchini seeds hoping for a bountiful squash blossom harvest. Any less would not yield enough blossoms for more than just a taste. Part of me was scared with this strategy because of the plants bountiful nature. I envisioned myself peddling zucchini up and down my street. It turns out, I had nothing to worry about.
I did not harvest a single zucchini.
And in case you’re wondering, it’s not because I harvested all the blossoms before they had a chance to metamorphose into zucchini. Early in the squash blossoms life, it reveals its destiny.
As the blossom grows, look at the stem. If the stem remains a stem: no zucchini. Might as well harvest the blossom and enjoy them in one of these recipes: Summer Vegetable Quiche Fried Stuffed Squash Blossoms
For tips on when to pick squash blossom, read this post.
If the stem thickens to resemble a petite courgette, then you have the option to enjoy the blossom or leave it be to let the squash mature. This year, I planted only 3 zucchini. I had my fill of blossoms last year, and now I just want squash. As these photos were taken today, I’m hopeful.
I’m curious to know what’s different this year. Already, the plants show signs of squash. Last year, there were none. I have a few theories:
1. The soil seems to be in better condition as witnessed by all the earth worms squirming around. 2. Last year, I planted a single seed every few inches, unlike the recommend 3 seeds per mound. I wonder if the seeds “mate” to produce the vegetables.
When I began planning my garden for the season, I envisioned spring peas climbing up a little garden fence I posted in the back of the plot. I would start the cucumbers in early May, 6 inches away from the pea vines, and by the time the cucumber plants reached a substantial size, the peas would be over, and the cucumbers would begin to train up the same fence. See how the cucumber tendrils wrap around the fencing? The pea tendrils do the same thing. The challenge, of course, is to constantly adjust the plants so that the tendrils clench on to what you want, and not onto other plants, strangling the leaves and potentially killing other plants.
In my case, the tendrils of the cucumbers and peas got into a wrangle. I don't know how else to describe it, but co-strangulation.
The peas came out of the garden today. Honestly, I think this is the last year I'll grow peas. When I decided to plant them, I thought the young leaves would be a lovely addition to my spring mesclun mix. As the vines matured, I would have the snap peas. The leaves (tendrils) were too tough and the most peas I was able to harvest in a 3 day period fit into the palm of my hand.
If you entered the “Random Apps of Kindness” giveaway, then you won! Lucky for you, only a few readers responded, so all will receive a random kindness. Just send me your mailing address to julia [at] growcookeat [dot] com. Don’t forget to pass it on.
For those of you keeping track, Boston broke all sorts of records this June, weather-wise. Many questioned if perhaps we had entered an alternate universe that combined the worst features of Seattle and London – only 5 days in the entire month were rain-free. Despite the dreary skies and cool temperatures, the garden is fairing pretty well.
I’m benefiting from a few changes, mainly that I planted more variety of spring crops. That meant that when the salad greens bolted from the heat (yes, there were a few hot sunny days back in May), I have other crops to sustain me until the summer vegetables ripen.
This week, I’ve harvested kohlrabi, kale and beets. All simply roasted with olive oil and garlic. I no longer expect ripe tomatoes by July 4th as I had hoped before this strange weather pattern locked in over New England. Nonetheless, tomatoes continue to poke through the flowers, weighting the plants down. And though I’ve typically had little success growing heirloom varieties, the black krim shows fruit. The cucumber plants flowered this morning announcing the location of the baby cukes – 7 – 10 days away from maturity.
I can't take it anymore! I'm tired of looking at the sage plant… tired of trying to give away gallons of leaves…. tired of trying to justify its existence in my yard. Yes, it makes a nice border for the patio… and yes, I like to use it in marinades a pastas. But enough's enough!
So, this afternoon, I whacked it. And lo and behold, I have more room for tomatoes, cucumbers or any other summer vegetable my heart desires.
As I pulled out my tape measure the other morning to thin some plants to
precisely 5 inches apart, an onlooker might think I’m quite anal about tending
to my vegetable garden. Perhaps.
But in some ways I am also quite lazy. One
thing I don’t do is label the plantings. I figure the vegetables will present
themselves when they’re ready.
While the initial sprouts of cucumber and
zucchini look similar, the flowers and vegetables dispel any similarities. And
since I have not reached the level of sophistication of watering or fertilizing
plants on different schedules to suit the individual needs, I really see no
point in taking the extra step to label the garden.
This year, I planted several
new crops, including what I thought was going to be radishes. As the shoulders
of the root began to push out above the surface of the dirt, I thought,
“Perfect, ready to harvest.” So I began pulling up the first few, only to
discover I had in fact planted turnips. Whoops! And being turnips, they still
needed to grow a bit larger.
The turnip greens, however, can be cooked now. A
search of the web yields recipes mostly for a southern style preparation with
some form of pork product. As much as I love pork, I’m realizing that many of my
favorite people don’t eat it, so I’m making a concerted effort to post more
recipes without it. Jody
Adams suggests a simple preparation: sautéing the greens in extra virgin
olive oil with lots of garlic and chili flakes.
For a more substantial meal, I
offer this recipe:
White Bean and Turnip Green
Soup with Chicken Sausage (a variation of Tuscan Kale Soup)
2 tbs. olive oil
1 onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
4 garlic cloves, peeled
and coarsely chopped
½ celery stalk, coarsely chopped
1 carrot, peeled and
coarsely chopped
2 cups cooked white beans
5 cups chicken broth, water or
combination of the two
1 piece of parmigiano reggiano rind
1 sprig fresh thyme,
chopped
½ tsp. Black pepper
1/2 pound smoked chicken sausage, sliced
1 carrot
1
pound turnip greens (or kale), coarsely chopped
2 tsp. salt
1. Heat oil in a large pot
over medium heat. Add onions, garlic, celery and carrots, and cook until soft,
about 4 or 5 minutes. Add beans, liquid, cheese rind, and thyme. Season to taste
with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Cook uncovered for
about 20 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, brown sausage in batches over medium heat.
3.
Stir in turnip greens and sausage. Cook for 10 minutes or until greens are
wilted and tender.
4. Add water, if necessary to thin soup. Adjust seasoning
with salt and pepper to taste.
My spring garden is just coming into full swing: I'm harvesting salad on a regular basis and cutting mint for drinks and dinner seasonings. The tarragon and scallions make regular appearances in my cooking. The radishes will be ready in less than a week. I planted cucumber seeds and jalapenos in the last few square feet of garden space.
Meanwhile, the tomato plants grow patiently on the deck, waiting to be transplanted into the yard for their final growing phase. The first flower bloomed yesterday: a predecessor to the summer fruit.
For the last few mornings, I've studied the garden trying to figure out where I can plant all the tomatoes, as well as the basil and eggplant I have waiting in pots on the deck and in windowsills. I don't want to disturb what's already in the ground. So much to grow, and so little space. The brussels sprouts are tucked away in the back corner –and will take a full six months to mature. Kohlrabi, the nemesis of many home cooks, is a personal favorite, and occupies a few feet in the front of the yard. The kale, which I have not grown successfully before, seems to be growing nicely in a cooler patch of the garden.
I planted beets for the first time this year. Unfortunately they are not doing very well. It's all my fault, really. I know exactly what happened. When I was planting the lettuces a few months ago, I spilled a handful of seeds right over the beets. The two have been battling for space ever since, and the arugula was winning. Until I stepped in and pulled up the arugula. Hopefully the beets will recover and grow, despite the stunted start. And then it hit me! I know where I can plant the rest of my vegetables! As I was trying to capture harvesting lettuce in pictures (but failed), I noticed a row of arugula is starting to bolt. That is, the temperatures have gotten so warm that the arugula wants to go to seed and its growth will slow down. I will pull up that row of plants and replace it with eggplant. Because this patch bolted sooner than the others, I know it’s warmer than the rest of the garden and will be a great spot for the heat-loving summer crops.
I planted lettuce seeds on March 5th (or so) and harvested my first salad less than 60 days later. The lettuce patch is now in full production, and I’m cutting about a gallon of lettuce every other day – a mix of arugula, mizuna, tatsoi and green leaf.
I grow lettuces for many reasons, but the big one is the yield I get for the square footage. Lettuce falls into the category of “cut and come again.” Meaning, after I harvest a salad, the lettuce will sprout new leaves. By contrast, plants like broccoli yield one head per plant. Better still, I can plant 6 – 12 “heads” of lettuce in the same area that a single head of broccoli would require. To harvest: cut about 1 ½ inches above the root base, leaving the smallest leaves intact. Immediately put the lettuce in water to keep it from wilting irreparably. I usually take a large bowl with some water out to the garden — as I cut the lettuce, I toss it with the water.
A friend made an interesting commentary about growing lettuce – it’s one of the few crops that can’t be preserved for the colder months. With so much lettuce, I’ve been able to share with my neighbors – for Tommy and Paul, and for the neighbors that snow-blow my driveway in the winter.
Despite the profusion of lettuce, I’m not ready to drown out the flavors with an intense dressing. I simply season with olive oil and lemon juice, and perhaps freshly shaved Parmigiano-reggiano and prosciutto.
I moved into my house in the dead of winter 2002. I didn’t meet my new neighbors until the spring thaw when everyone ventured out to start cleaning up their yards.
One spring afternoon as I approached my house after running errands, I noticed three grey haired men, probably in their 70’s, hunched over a shovel in my front yard. Not yet familiar with the neighbors, I was quite suspicious. What could they be digging up?
As it turns out, they weren’t digging up; they were digging “down”. As in, they were transplanting lilac bushes into my yard. Louie, who lived in the house behind me, wanted to trim back his lilacs which had spread too much along his yard. Rather than throw away perfectly good plants, he decided to give them to me – the new kid on the block. He enlisted Tommy and Paul, who live next door, to help. They planted one tree in the front and one in the back. By the time I discovered them, Tommy was replacing the last shovelful of dirt over the exposed roots and Paul had pulled out my garden hose to give them a good soaking.
I adore fragrant spring flowers. Before I lived in a house, and could grow my own, I would buy hyacinth bulbs for my apartment. In the spring, I breathe extra-deep just to inhale as much wonderful scents as possible. I had never owned a lilac before, so I didn’t know what olfactory treat was in store.
I didn’t learn until later that lilacs require a 6 year recovery period from the transplant. Every spring, I would inspect the new growth for buds hoping that it would sprout flowers.
Finally, this year – my seventh spring in this house, the long wait is over. The lilacs bloomed.
Thank you Tommy, Paul and Louie for such a wonderful gift!
