This morning I ripped up my garden plot and called it a day. That’s most of my final harvest above. Literally the last gasp of everything she had to give. There’s word of a frost tomorrow and the garden as a whole closes up on the 6th but I’ve been holding out as long as I can. All summer I’ve been fumbling along, a gardening rookie with a 26sf plot in the Peterson Garden Project. If you’ve been following along with my trials and tribulations, you’ll know it hasn’t been easy. There are 1,000 things I’ll do differently next year and I suppose, that’s the point. I’m still learning.
One of the things I agreed to when I started was to abide by organic gardening principles. Yeah, I meant to look this up. So if “organic gardening principles” means doing absolutely nothing then yes indeed, I am an organic gardener. I watered. I yanked my diseased plants. I didn’t mulch beyond a bunch of straw around my tomatoes. I didn’t really prune though I now realize I should have. I didn’t get around to researching the powdery mildew on my squashes so those were eventually yanked but only when they were dry and crusty and I was convinced they wouldn’t by some miracle come back. Some sort of “organic gardening practice” might have helped with that. I didn’t really weed either. In fact, at one point I was cutting lettuces frequently for salads and around the 6th or 7th time, realized one of the greens I’d been cutting was a big fat weed. Oh how wonderful. Apparently my definition of “organic” includes eating some superfluous stuff once in a while.
NOW it decides to bust a move?
Basically, I just let it grow and I’m not sure this was the best tact. During the summer months, every plot around me looked full, lush and vibrant while my little garden plodded along looking a little sad and neglected. It didn’t matter how much I pruned or fertilized or fussed, it just looked sad and empty. Then, toward the end of August something extraordinary happened and the gardening gods smiled upon me. The damn thing took off. Except I wasn’t really there to enjoy it. Of course it was very late in the season and OF COURSE I was just about to leave the country for a month. Doesn’t it just figure?
a handful of radishes
When I returned in early October, I was hesitant as I rounded the corner of Peterson Avenue. A good friend had adopted my garden while I was gone and took good care of it. Knowing what I left, I wasn’t expecting much. As I picked my way through the plots to good old #C20, way over in the corner, I was stunned. The damn thing had thrived. All the lettuce seeds I has thickly strewn about in frustration in the empty spaces a few weeks back were sprouting. I had a lot of fat green tomatoes weighing down the plants, the radishes looked good and by god, were those sprouts swiss chard popping through? Why yes, yes they were.
big fat green tomatoes
Looking at my tomatoes, I was a bit alarmed. The plants were taller than me and heavy with enormous green tomatoes. Holy crap. These plants had been busy in my absence. Would these things even ripen before the first frost? I wasn’t sure. I trimmed back a bunch of stems and offshoots, opening up the plant and ensuring that the tomatoes got as much light as possible in these waning daylight hours. It sounded logical.
Zelda, the big one on the end
One tomato plant in particular, that I affectionately called “Zelda”, was a beast. As much as I pruned her back, she shot out in new directions, fatter than ever. One day, I came to the garden and Zelda had broken free of her flimsy tomato cage and flopped over to the side, heavy softball size green tomatoes weighing her down. No matter what I did, how much I shored the ‘ol girl up, Zelda could not be contained. It was a weekly struggle to keep her fat trunk and multiple branches contained in my little plot. It wasn’t until a week or two ago, when I went all Edward Scissorhands, did I feel she’d stay put. It was with a touch of sad regret this morning that I grabbed her fat trunk and pulled up her deep roots. She was a good ‘ol girl.
Overall, this gardening thing was a hoot. Along the way I learned a few things that hopefully, I’ll remember next year. Probably not but what the hell.
waiting…waiting…waiting
– Watering once a week doesn’t cut it. Many of my fancy pants heirloom tomatoes were huge but cracked. Two seconds of research revealed that inconsistent watering causes this. Well damn. Look what you can learn on that internet thing. Given my schedule I absolutely need to work in more watering or maybe I should look into planting arid desert varieties that can survive with infrequent watering. Because that makes total sense in the Midwest.
– Seed bomb the damn plot. I was very meticulous at the start, marking off precise squares with string and abiding by the 1-2 plants per square foot rule, carefully marking each planting with a cute metal marker. Oh baloney. By October, everything was all over the place and the markers no longer applied. Looking around, the best garden plots were packed with stuff coming up every which way – orderly and yet not too fussy. I realized that this is not only productive it helps hide your failures. When I had a failed planting it was very obvious because that precisely marked square was dead empty. I could have at least hidden or faked it better.
the aftermath of Zelda the cage destroyer
– Ditch the cheapo tomato cages. Zelda took one of those things out in no time, bending its flimsy supports easily. I need to find something better and stronger. These heirloom tomato are beasts.
– Plant earlier! The project started late – we weren’t able to get in the ground until mid-June – so I was behind the eight ball from the beginning. Next year I’ll get an earlier jump on it all.
– There’s no shame in plant starts. Early on, a well-meaning fellow gardener said to me “Oh. You bought plants. I thought that was cheating. I started everything from seed.” Well, you know what? Good for you now go away. Some of us aren’t that organized and if we wanted to harvest anything this year, a trip to the nursery was necessary. That said, I think I will try seeds next year, started indoors early on and see how it goes. If that doesn’t work out I’ll just run up to Gethsemane, drop a bundle and get some plants. It’s always good to have a back up plan. Or three.
– Do more research. My cucumber, squash and melon plants were a big fat bust. Onions were a no-show too. Not sure they were the best choices or if I handled them correctly. My ignorance and lack of interest probably had a lot to do with this though I won’t be surprised to see those seeds sprouting when I show up in the spring.
greens! greens! greens!
– Go with what you know. Man, can I grow some greens! They apparently thrive with my lackadaisical gardening practices. Though full of holes and not winning any beauty contests, they seemed to do well and tasted just fine. My pak choi was out of control – the more I clipped off leaves, the more it grew. I had lettuces and arugula coming out my eyeballs. The chard, if it had more time, would have done well too.
baby baby carrots
– Go with what you like: my Sungold tomatoes were amazing. Small, sweet, bursting with flavor. Incredible. I often ate my whole harvest on the way home. Definitely more of those on round 2. Same with the breakfast radishes and the sweet wonderful carrots. Make that carrot, singular. I harvested one stinkin’ mature carrot and pulled up a bunch of teeny tiny ones this morning. Those would have been great given another month. (Note to self: start those way earlier.)
This morning I was the only one at the garden, which happened a lot. As I typically work nights and weekends, a time when most people are free, I rarely saw anyone and was frequently alone, especially late in the season. It’s very peaceful though I suspect there was a social aspect to the community garden that I missed each weekend.
As I was cleaning up, a man walked by on the street and asked if we were going to leave everything and do it again next year. I told him I wasn’t sure as the project administrators are waiting to see if the landowners will allow us to do this again next year. He said he owned a business on a nearby corner and was very happy the garden was there. The lot had been vacant for many years, full of trash and ne’er-do-wells. He said he had a picture from the 1940’s when the corner was also a Victory Garden, very similar to ours and he was thrilled with what we had created. The garden made him smile every day as he walked to work. That made me smile.
I hope we are able to do this again next year. I’m sure I’ll do 500 things wrong again but I had a ball. I’m just getting started.
and that’s that
STRESSCAKE 
Kudo’s for giving this a shot. Growing up Grandpa always had a huge garden every summer. What did that mean to me in my misguided youth…weeds, weeds and more weeds. But also loads of sweet, tangy tomatoes and always some strange veggie he just had to try. Who else in the neighborhood was eating kohlrabi?
By the way, he never had any luck with carrots either.
what the hell is kohlrabi anyway and why was grandpa growing it in the 50’s?? You know, I’ve never had it. See it at the farmers market all the time but never know what to do with it. I should figure that out.
Loved reading about your garden escapades. Chard grows like a champ no matter what we do to our garden. I suggest growing it around the edges of your plot to cover any mistakes/no shows… colorful, tasty AND camoflauge-y!