DH found a post on Lifehacker about creating a poison-free ant trap.
I’m up to three fire ant piles in and around the beds in the community garden. I’ve taken to wearing my wellies in the 100 degree heat just to keep from being bit.
Here’s my attempt, I’ll let you know how it goes…
Imagine a squash bug. Or a giant stink bug. Or a huge box elder.
Paint it mostly brown.
Give its rear legs some leaf-shaped bits.
Stretch its antennae really long and make them light yellowish for the ends, with two thin dark bands further back along the brown lengths.
And a light stripe short-ways across its shoulders.
Any ideas?
(I wish I’d had my camera!)
A leaf-footed bug (leave it to me to complicate things by thinking it would have a less-obvious name!) I really don’t have the stomach for crunching bugs still. I wonder if I should just start carrying soapy water in a jar every time I visit the garden? Like Bob’s goldfish Gill, in a jar around my neck? But then I’d end up with dead bugs in a jar around my neck…and that’s a little weirder than even I need to get.
I’ve lately found the perfect time of day to go snail-hunting in the garden. It’s about two hours after that side of the house goes into the shade that the snails move out for their dinner, but it’s not yet too dark to see them. I have a giant old honey jar full of soapy water and pick them up and drop them in. They particularly like the section of garden with my beets and carrots. This last trip out snail-hunting, I noticed something new – on the far side of the bed the snails had forgone a tasty meal of carrot tops and beet bottoms in favor of an old dried up squash vine. Those snails, I left alone. Sure, they may move over to my carrots and beets tomorrow, and if they do, into the soap they’ll go, but until then I’m happy to let them turn dried up vine into snail poop.
What else I learned? Be sure to empty the snail soapy water when you’re done. Rotting snails smell something awful after boiling in the afternoon heat the next day!
Another battle I’ve decided not to wage? The caterpillars on the broccoli.
I sowed some Early Purple Sprouting Broccoli late last September. It’s been about four feet tall since January. It didn’t beat the cauliflower in the race to make heads to eat. Even though it was called “Early” I gave it the benefit of the doubt and waited. And waited. And here we are nearly in July and still – no broccoli. (I did notice the seed catalog I purchased it from has since renamed it “Purple Sprouting Broccoli.”) So I figured that if I wasn’t going to get to eat any broccoli, the least I could do was let the moths have at it.
There are probably a hundred caterpillars on it at the moment, and while it may make more sense to pull the whole thing and throw it in the compost bin that’s baking away, it’s made a miraculous improvement in my chard leaving it there as fodder for their hungry little mouths. So I thought I planted broccoli. Early broccoli at that. What I actually planted was some architecturally interesting, purple stemmed caterpillar food. I’m at peace with that.
Just like I’m at peace with the fact that each year a monarch caterpillar (or three) feast upon my potted parsley. It grows back, and I’m not eating it right now, so why shouldn’t they? And isn’t it just amazing how of all the plants in the yard, in the neighborhood, in the world, that there are some insects that only eat one plant – and that they find enough of that one plant to survive? It’s impressive and fascinating.
On a magical afternoon a few weeks ago, there were an untold number of butterflies fluttering by the front flower bed. How many butterflies can you spy?
And then there are these guys. There were at least five wandering around on our Mexican White Oak with their warrior paint marked boldly down their backs. Any ideas?
I apologize for the quiet as of late. I am currently out of town, travelling for seven days on business. I took pictures in preparation for the trip, thinking I would have time in the evenings to draft posts.
Silly me.
I forgot the camera at home, with the photos still on it. I have not had evening time like I expected, but for good enough reason. I was able to spend a precious three hours with a dear cousin catching up. I was able to catch up on sleep and beat off a bug of my own before it took hold. I was able to get lost in Houston traffic for an hour trying to find socks, only to find instead a travelling carnival, a helipad, a parking lot full of grass-filled cracks in the middle of pristine shiny glass and steel, and then finally – when I’d given up on the search and resigned myself to gladly wander: socks.
Tonight was a run. A glorious, much needed, too-long-put-off-for-no-good-enough-reason, run. Little did I realize I had picked just the park that housed the Houston Garden Center. Even littler did I realize I did such a thing until driving out of the park in need of a shower. Perhaps tomorrow when the work is finished but the Rockets game has yet to begin, I’ll have time to go for another glad wandering.
While I’m gone, DH is caring for the gardens for me. They’re almost to the Water and Wait Til Harvest Stage, but not quite yet. On Tuesday, he planted the last of the tomatoes and peppers. I lost two Cherry Chadwicks in the final transplanting process, and so picked up two transplants from Johnson’s Backyard at the Farmer’s Market last Saturday. A Green Zebra and a Cherokee Purple. I needed three peppers as well – having mis-planned my space for two, and lost just one in the transplanting process (it was a itty bitty wee one I would have been shocked to see survive.) Green and Growing set me up with two Purple Beauties and one Orange Bell (all bell peppers.)
And! He took pictures! Don’t those beans look promising?
I am blown away at how happy the squash look (and how big the leaves are already!)
I’ve been carefully checking the undersides of the leaves on each visit in an effort to find any Squash Bug eggs before they hatch. Last year I lost every squash plant to Squash Bugs (not knowing yet what they were.) This year I hope to lose less. I’ve also been warned by my neighboring gardener that the plots are susceptible to Squash Vine Borers, which are new to me. I’m keeping an eye out for any vine anomalies, but am not sure exactly what I’m looking for. I’ll have to read up a bit. I did find one squash leaf coated on the underside with aphids, and it was quickly pinched off and ushered to the trash bin.
Here are the peppers and tomatoes. The tomatoes are already needing more pruning than I’ve had time to keep up with. Next week when I’m home, I really need to get them staked before they completely go wild on me. There was a flower bud on one Sunday before I left, so perhaps when I make it home this Sunday I’ll have some flowers to tickle until the bees find their new buffet.
I planted some strawberries and sweet potatoes last weekend as well, but that will have to wait for me to be reunited with my camera.
As I’m sure many of you do, I have a particular way I like to do things. Oddly enough, I think that defaults into a particular way things should be done.
Years ago, I encountered someone who had decided in their marriage, that “should” was a dirty word. I rolled this thought around in my brainpan for awhile, and over the years, have done my best to remove “should” from as many aspects of my life as possible.
Enter gardening. Gardening, in our household, is my realm. It’s what I love. It’s what I read about. It’s what I decide. It’s what I do. But the more gardening has grown for me, the more space, and the more work, the more I’ve needed to ask for help. DH is happy to help. DH is not happy to necessarily do things “my way.” Oh, right. Sharing.
I remember just over nine years ago, talking with DH, and worried that with how much we talked about every little thing, that someday we would run out of things to talk about. DH assured me that day wouldn’t come.
So here we are, still finding new conversations to navigate. We made it through, like we always do, by donning our work boots, and wading through the muck together. Amusingly, with gardening, that’s as literal as it is metaphorical.
And look what we accomplished!
All of the henbit, all of the dandelions, all of the thistle, and all of the creeping, crawling, t-bar-rooting grass dug, discovered, and carried to the rubbish bin.
A quick dusting of sulfur, and we called it a day.
Then, on Sunday, I headed out late in the afternoon to finally let my tomatoes loose from their Sonic cups, and into the soil.
And then two days later, we had the biggest thunderstorm I’ve ever witnessed. The sky glowed lavender in the middle of the night. Thunder that lasted for nearly a minute at a time. Water literally pouring from the sky in solid sheets. The flash flood warnings had been up all day. The next day, the creeks raced one another to the sea. It’s amazing what a terrible drought will do to your perspective. I don’t mind the rainy days this spring. I revel in them. I still don’t do well with two cloudy days in a row, and miss my sunshine when it happens, but will take every drop of water the sky wishes to give us, but look how happy the pond is these days…
So what happens when it dumps buckets on the freshly turned soil?
Beaten down baby tom-toms, and a cracked surface.
Thankfully, the community garden gods that be, delivered a new truckload of mulch sometime in the past three days!
That catches us up to…Wednesday.
Saturday, it was time to prep more of the bed to get ready for peppers. DH was responsibly studying at home, so it was up to me to get as much done as I could. In the three or so hours I was there, I managed to not get sunburned, water the squash, the melons, the beans, and the tomatoes again – and dig another 60 sq ft or so. My hamstrings (go figure) are still sore. But! The weeds are out, the earth is crumbly, and the worms were found. (Not that they were lost.)
That was it for Saturday, so when my borrowed shovel returned to me, I packed up the dog, my dusty self, and headed home.
Sunday was much less labor intensive, but I must say the heat is already pushing me to restructure my day to avoid the late afternoon. Sunday was transplanting my pepper starts from their Sonic cups (happy hour at Sonic, if you don’t have a Sonic near you, is dangerous) into most of the rest of the Right Bed.
DH and I had stopped by Green and Growing for some diatomaceous earth and mycorrhiza. The mycorrhiza made an appearance in each hole before laying the pepper roots in the ground. I just learned about mycorrhiza on an episode of Central Texas Gardener – apparently it is a beneficial fungus that creates a happy relationship with the roots of most plants. It enjoys the carbs the plant roots offer, and in exchange delivers minerals and other nutrients to the roots of the plant. It also is purported to help with water absorption which is always appreciated in this area.
The diatomaceous earth was purchased for a few reasons:
And so, the bugs were battled and the peppers were planted.
In planting the peppers and accounting for how many of each variety had survived my neglectful sowing process this year, I realized that in twelve pepper plants, I had zero bell peppers. Did I mention that I don’t eat tomatoes? Or hot peppers? So so far, the Right Bed is all for DH. I’m ok with that. It’s just kind of funny that I didn’t realize it until now.
Pepper Plants Planted
With twelve in the ground, I have room for at least three more in that area, and have yet to decide what’s going in to the bean spots when they’re finished, so perhaps that means I do get to go plant shopping after all!
And while I’m on the topic of seedlings I’ve killed so far this year, I’m fairly certain all of my ground cherry sprouts kicked the bucket in their secondary pots. If the tomatoes were happy, and the peppers were mostly happy, I’m not sure what went wrong, but shall try and try again.
Our lawn has a few grass types co-existing. (Happily or not, I could’t say.)
As a result, the grasses that sprout up as weeds in my beds have different rooting habits and thus require different types of removal.
This kind of grass, is easy to remove. It grows low along the ground in a spoke pattern, and by wrapping all blades together into one strong rope and gently pulling, it comes out by the roots. Rarely will it return in the same spot.
The other main grass culprit around here is a real tough one. It looks nice enough.
The spoke grass is in front of the little white bowl. The mean one is along the concrete wall. I call it Lizard Nut Grass. Why such a silly name? Well, when you pull it up, all of the grass blades release from the root system, not unlike a lizard’s tail pops off when pulled. By digging down for the roots, you discover it really is only one long, thin, dainty root, which will happily also snap under pressure.
No problem, right? You got the root, it should be done?
I wish. At that point, we get to the “nut” part of the name. If you keep digging down, following that single root string, you’ll find a little “nut.” This nut will gladly send up another root string, with more grass, and another root string, with even more grass. Until I can find that nut and throw it away, the grass will continue to grow back. Over and over and over. Really great persistence if you want grass in one spot for a really long time.
Oh, did I say one spot?
Yeah, so that nut that’s under ground? It’s about six inches down, usually. Not only will it send up the root string to make grass, it will send out sideways strings to make other nuts! And what’s worse? It will send a root string DOWN and make another nut anywhere from 12″ to 18″ below surface. In the middle of a bed, I can usually eradicate this grass with some serious spade fork, shovel, and hand-sifting-through-the-earth action. So long as I’m thorough, work slowly, and do it two or three times per bed, I find all of the nuts and throw them away. Wherever the bed meets with concrete, however…I am not so successful. The nuts find their way UNDER the sidewalks and THROUGH concrete cracks. No matter how much I may be determined to dig them all out, unless I invest in a jack hammer (and am willing to part with my sidewalk, or garage foundation) I am not going to get a grass-free bed – and that’s ok. I’ll just continue to pull the little grass tails off at the surface and toss them on the lawn.
This isn’t including the actual St. Augustine grass that sends out runners, that send down roots, or the wiley-yet-to-be-named-by-me grass that is soft and feathery in growth pattern, but also invasive.
Can you spot the weed in this picture?
I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the clover. The clover, as a weed, looks like this:
This type of clover will send up quite lovely little yellow blossoms later in the spring. Unfortunately, it will take over if given the chance and therefore must be pulled. It doesn’t like being pulled up, and will usually snap off at the surface. Depending upon your level of tenacity, you may let it go until it sprouts again, or may go digging for the roots – it’s up to you.
The weed in the first photo is actually a native called Horse Herb. People apparently buy this plant on purpose. Nevermind that the first result when searching for “Horse Herb” is for a post entitled “I Hate Horse Herb” by Zanthan Gardens. I sympathize with their sentiment. Please don’t buy this plant on purpose. You’ll regret it unless you don’t want any other plants on your entire property. Really.
Here it is attempting to take over the gate’s space in the fence. I’ve ripped this bunch out twice already.
Things I learned from this:
The other weed I commonly battle in this yard? I think it’s wild carrot. I could be wrong.
Nevermind the dandelion. I find those fun to dig up. These weeds grow like a blanket and will send up a shoot for a bunch of teeny tiny little white flowers to bloom upon. Those flowers will turn into cockle burs. They behave not unlike Queen Anne’s Lace, but are not nearly as majestic as that childhood favorite of mine.
Some days, it would seem that my brain takes the day off. I’m sure most folks have these days. Days where you almost lock your keys in the car after almost forgetting to lock the front door. Days where you walk into a screen door? Days where you just aren’t functioning at your usual level. Maybe you had a sleepless child keep you up the night before. Maybe you have the flu. For whatever reason, on days like these, I do my best to limit my exposure to mistake-making situations.
Today was one of those days for me, so instead of planning how to rearrange my planting plans to accommodate the extra 400 sq ft of garden space I recently acquired (community garden plots are a FANTASTIC use of under-power-line space!) I did simple maintenance tasks outdoors.
I watered our newly planted Mexican White Oak, and my potted things including this fern that volunteered itself in the pot of a rosemary that didn’t survive the summer.
These have been volunteering for months now along the sidewalk as well. I sowed them late last spring, a few tried their might against the heat, but it came on too soon and too strong and they were no match for the sweltering Texas sun. Apparently the more cautious among them remained dormant through the summer and our unexpected November showers brought them out of hiding.
I hear they’re edible – is that true? If they are from my seeds, they’re Fiddleneck ferns. I only hesitate to say they are, because so far they have not behaved like any Fiddleneck I saw in the forests of my childhood. And if it is true, do you saute them? Steam them? Put them in salads? All of the above?
I gazed about the space to find something simple to do. The dandelions smiled up at me. My eyes moved from the unmade bed where the chainlink had come down, the vines had come out, but the short wall had yet to be built. There was no way I was up for building a wall today. I let my gaze wander to the patio. DH has been wanting to build troughs along the perimeter for more herbs and peppers to have nearby while he grills. I measured the patio edges. That was easy. It was also too quick.
Oh, right! Dandelions!
I retrieved my Hori Hori and quickly had it strangled in clay.
It proved to be the simplest of tools for removing dandelions. Easier than a trowel, spade, or hoe (all previously used dandelion-removal-tools by yours truly.) Simply slide into the earth, tilt, hear the root pop, and lift. Dandelions (and thistles) will let loose at ground level if you try to pull them up by their greens. They send down a deep tap root that, if left untouched, will simply sprout another fan of leaves in a matter of days. It’s messier and takes a bit more effort (and tool clean-up) but in the end is less work to get them from underneath.
After filling the bucket twice and emptying it into the trash bin for the weekly collection, I had made a dent in the dandelion population as well as my outdoor time.
I have never been one to mind not having a perfect lawn. Perfect lawns are how some people find their peace. I find my peace in other gardening endeavors. I do, however, notice the weed population in my lawn, and will diligently remove weeds from my lawn before they go to seed. Keeping the lawn at least tidy helps prevent weed seeds from drifting into my vegetable bed. Anything I can do to keep my weeding time down is something that can bump my other gardening time higher, and that makes more time for peace.
Not by any means out of dandelions (I may very well have four more buckets left to remove), my back was done with that business for the day and I set about for something else to do.
That’s when I saw them. Perfect, cheerful, and for no known reason – seeming childlike – my first peas!
I hadn’t grown peas before this winter, and grew them more for the fact that I had received some seeds as a gift than because I was particularly interested in growing peas. Let’s just say my feelings on the matter have changed.
And of course, some things make perfect sense after you see them, but you never thought about them before that moment. I had wondered if peas grew from inside the flower cap, from behind it (holding the flower on the end of the pea), or some other way. I learned today just exactly how the pod emerges from the blossom.
As you may be able to tell from these last two shots, the light was fading fast. It was time to duck inside for dinner. DH had prepared two of my earlier Farmer’s Market finds for a feast of Wild Hog patties from Countryside Farms‘ ground feral hog and baby Brussels Sprouts from Engel Farms sauteed in butter and sea salt, with a crack of pepper and hint of garlic. (Engel Farms is also where I purchased the “Rainbow” tomato basket that I saved seeds from.)
After speaking with my dad today, I’m tempted to find some of the younger dandelions, wash them off, and saute them in much the same manner. Apparently you can also make thistle tea? I am still searching for a tea I enjoy…
I got off to a delayed start today. The animals conspired to awaken us earlier than we’d appreciated. We cooked our breakfasts side by side, and it was nearly time for some forced errands (work) followed by some elective ones (Pho Hoang and Home Depot.) By the time we’d returned and walked the dog, it was past two o’clock.
As much as the weather begged for an attempted hammock hanging and a good book, I’d told myself last night I would finish the front anchor plants today. So I donned my leather gloves, snatched up my shovel, and attempted to make quick yet thorough work of it.
I’m not positive the mulch gathering folk in our neighborhood will want sod, clover, and other assorted greenery mixed with earth, but perhaps they do?
In the fading light, I thought to check in on my front flower bed. A year ago, there was a grass patch between our walkway and the garage wall. In a January drizzle, my mother and I ripped up a patch of sod from its roots and planted some nasturtiums. They bloomed awhile later and were joined by some borage, bachelor’s buttons, blanketflower, and others. The bed has had a few zealous varieties reseed many times already, others reseeded once and those seeds have been dormant, until now.
The monster in the middle is a re-seeded Borage. It will be awhile yet, but someday it will send up a stalk that will put out little bluish purple star-shaped blossoms. Borage has been used medicinally for a good long while, and the flowers can be added to salads or eaten straight from the stalk. I think they kind of taste like cucumbers.
There’s a nasturtium glowing in the sun’s rays, and a whole lot of other bits of life vying for space. I say bits of life, because I don’t always (or even often, as the case may be) know what it is that has sprouted in my garden. As a fortune cookie once told me (and now the slip of paper magneted to my fridge reminds me) “Much more grows in a garden than that which is planted there.” So how to tell friend from foe? Beneficial from invasive?
Once again, for me, was a good bit of Trial and Error, this time combined with some observation and some online image searching. For instance, in the image above, I can see a weed. You may be able to spot many weeds, since there are also at least two plants I don’t recognize. The one I see? I still don’t know the name of. If you look at where the concrete makes a line with the Borage leaf, and let your eye travel straight down, there’s a little thing that doesn’t belong there.
That little thing will grow into this:
Anyone know what it’s called?
I actually find these “weeds” kind of pretty. Delicate purple and white blossoms on long stems with tiered leaves…but it must go. If it stays, my flower bed will look more like this:
And that’s not what I’m shooting for. It would make a lovely ground cover for more wild landscape. Someplace where a meadow could turn dark green with purple flecks for the bees to feast upon. Until I have such a meadow, it must come up at the roots and go into the garbage bin.
The slugs (or snails as I more often see in my garden) like my Violetta Pac Choi as much as I do, it seems.
My solution?
An old spaghetti sauce lid full of an IPA some one left at our house. Stouts, wheats, and other Other Half Approved Brews don’t make it to the garden. Thankfully our friends are a diverse crowd and I usually have a misfit beer on hand.
If you’re without unwanted beer, I’ve also had luck with rings of rock salt (sold less expensively at our grocery store when labeled “ice cream salt.”)
Of course, if you’re less squeamish than I, there’s always the seek and squish method.
plumdirt 