The Asparagus Lesson

Most of what one needs to know to grow the luscious, luxurious spears of Asparagus in Texas can be found here. I agree with nearly everything except the use of chemical fertilizers and the advice to contact your county agent about insects and diseases since that person will probably recommend some chemical pesticide. We organic hippie-types believe that healthy vegetables are resistant to insects and diseases.

Growing Asparagus in West Texas (or anywhere else, really) is not easy (especially initially) for several reasons.

First, as you will notice from the site I gave you and the pictures that I graciously provided that one has to do a lot of digging. Do it now, because the older one gets, the more challenging it is to dig the trenches and descend into their depths to plant the crowns. It is, however, excellent exercise.

Second, one needs to properly amend the soil. I used my trusty cement mixer to add compost, Texas Greensand, a few handfuls of bone meal, and some blood meal (some sweat got in there as well). Expend the time and trouble because those plants will be around for the next fifteen to twenty years (unless you fail them in some way…more about that later).

Third, it apparently likes soil that is a little more acid than my alkaline soil and water. I deduced that from the chlorosis (yellowing of the fern-like leaves) that characterized my first planting. So, I work pretty hard (you’ll just have to trust me here) to increase acidity using cottonseed meal and adding Texas Greensand every other year or so. I also inoculate the roots with mychorrizae. We’ve had pretty good results at Charamon Garden but we have also learned some hard lessons.

Fourth: Asparagus likes frequent, deep watering. Our area is semi-arid so having a reliable source of water is crucial because, friends, it don’t rain much here. And here is where I failed last year. Part of the bed didn’t get enough water and the Asparagus, predictably, bit the dust…literally. I had to dig a new trench (short furrow in the picture) and replant.

Fifth: Asparagus requires an investment in time. If you are planning on moving frequently, don’t bother because it takes three years before the first harvest. So, for my new plantings, another three years to full harvesting capacity. I guess I deserve it.

Sixth: Our winters here tend to be on the mild side, but Asparagus likes them cold. My plants don’t die back naturally until winter is nearly over. So, they must be snipped off at ground level by the end of November. This allows one to begin adding compost and other amendments to insure health by March when new sprouts make their appearance.

Seventh: Bermuda grass is the enemy. Don’t let it get into your Asparagus! After it does, it is nearly impossible to control. It stealthily weaves its despicable and evil rhizomes and tendrils through the Asparagus and slooowly begins to CHOKE it! Aauugh! I know because it has tried to infest and possess my Asparagus bed. But I shall PREVAIL by dutifully pulling and digging out all of this foul demon contagion I can during the winter. Be vigilant my friends…be vigilant.

We savor tender, flavorful, fresh Asparagus sufficiently to suffer. The long trench in the picture is to fill the bed which the first planting didn’t quite accomplish. We may be gluttons for punishment, but we are also gluttons for Asparagus.

In the meantime, eat your veggies…Nonnie and Pop said so!

(top photo: Asparagus in the garden at Dirtpatch)

Carrots in Love

One of the cool things about growing your own garden is finding things you will never see in the produce section of your local supermarket. I speak of double tomatoes, potatoes resembling certain profiles of religious icons, okra growing in spirals, Jerusalem Artichokes reminiscent of ancient aerial views of that city and, among many other oddities, these entwined carrots dug up this evening right in time for Valentine’s Day.

Now what would cause such physical intimacy among vegetables except love? I know for a fact that, even though they grow in the dirt, lust (as opposed to “dust”) is unknown among vegetables. Furthermore, since they must stay together until harvest, “one-night-stands” are impossible to arrange (even if the place they grow is referred to as a “bed”).  Talk about Botany of Desire! (apologies to Michael Pollan.)

No, this is love “rooted” in its purest form. And, since I garden organically, this is ardor “unsoiled” by artificial additives (Don’t you love alliteration?).

Anyway, I think this picture is hard to beet. So how far can we carrot? Lettuce see.

In the meantime, eat your veggies…Nonnie and Pop said so!

Berry, Berry Good!

For those of you who hang on every word I write and can’t wait for the next installment, let me relieve the anticipation.  I’m announcing that the berries have arrived and found their place in the soil of Charamon garden.  I would insert a picture but there’s nothing to see.  The Raspberries consist of six sticks protruding from the ground.  The blackberries are six tiny plants lost in the background and the strawberries are basically invisible.

I will say that in each planting I coated the roots with mychorrizae and amended the soil with Texas Greensand, Bonemeal, Bloodmeal (in some cases) and Cottonseed meal (in some cases) and used my hard-won charcoal (biochar) until it ran out.  Now we wait to see what happens.

What I am expecting is lots and lots of berries.  Some we will eat, some I will sell.  In the meantime, eat your veggies…Nonnie and Pop said so!  The reality, however, is that my granddaughter refuses to eat peas no matter what Nonnie and Pop say.

The Berries are Coming!

Digging the Holes

Charamon Garden constantly evolves.  I give natural selection an assist by saving the seeds of several vegetables from plants which seem to do well (productive, tasty, nutritious) and, I am assured, become better adapted to our West Texas conditions with each generation.

The Amendments

Take my tomatoes (a neighbor actually took that too seriously while we were absent).  I have lost track of the original strain now and I try to add more genetic diversity each year.  To my mixed-up heirlooms, I am adding genetic material from a Russian variety called Black Krim this summer.  We will enjoy those delicious Russians and save the seed from those and the original strain which “do well.”  By the time I pass on, I hope to pass on a delectable tomato that grows especially well in our little corner of the world.

Mixing the Soil

Charamon garden also changes in composition.  This year I am adding berries.  Any day now I am expecting a shipment of Blackberries (especially suited for the South), Raspberries and Strawberries.  In regard to the former, once planted they are supposed to last for fifteen years or more.

My response to that longevity is to make sure their soil is the best it can be.  Given my native soil, that’s quite a challenge!  That means I have to make certain amendments.  So, in preparation for the new arrivals I have dug seven holes spaced about three feet (0.91 meters) apart.  The dirt from each hole goes into the cement mixer.  To that I add Texas Greensand, bone meal, blood meal, charcoal and composted manure.  As it mixes, I try to break up all the clods before dumping the improved earth beside the hole.

When the plants arrive, I will sprinkle mychorrizae around the roots and fill in the holes.  I hope it makes them very happy and productive.

I told my wife I thought this post needed a little sex-appeal and asked her to take a picture of me to add to this blog.  When she finally quit laughing she obliged me while gently advising me not to expect too much.  So, please feel free to comment, but hold the offers of marriage…I’m very happily wedded to my high school sweetheart.

In the meantime, eat your veggies (and berries).  Nonnie and Pop said so.

Doctoring the Orchard

Holes ready for charcoal and mychorrizae

Auger and cordless drill

Mychorrizae tablet

Well-seasoned charcoal

Loading the hole

Some orchard!  Only three fruit trees: one Peach and two Plums!  I also have two fig trees but they are not in the “orchard.”

The peach has done all right but the two plums have produced only a few fruit and all of them fell off before ripening.  I think the trouble lies in the soil.  Both plums and nearby roses have exhibited signs of severe chlorosis (yellow leaves).

From all indications, the soil around these suffering trees must be highly alkaline and have difficulty absorbing iron.

Adding Texas Greensand helped a bit but more obviously needs to be done.  So I have inoculated the soil around the drip lines with mychorrizae and included a dose of charcoal in each hole.

Then I gave the whole area a dusting of sulfur to acidize the soil.

Now we wait.  It would be helpful if we could have a few inches of a slow rain.  We haven’t had any precip since October!  I am thankful for my faithful water well which keeps everything alive.

Yes…now we wait!

In the meantime, eat your veggies…Nonnie and Pop said so.

An Admirable Enemy

Weeds are a part of gardening that cannot be avoided (unless you garden hydroponically).  In the Charamon Garden we deal with several tenacious weeds.  Some have extremely deep roots and are very drought resistant…and…if you don’t pull out the majority of the root when weeding…it just comes back again.  A good example of this one is the Bindweed.  Get it all and get it before it seeds or it will be your constant companion.

Today I have been dealing with two very successful interlopers: Spurge and Nutgrass (aka Nutsedge).  Spurge is successful because it grows thickly and quickly, produces thousands of seeds (terrible little stickers) and has a long taproot.  Nutgrass is successful because of the way it reproduces.  At the base of the plant a “nut” or tuber develops.  That tuber immediately sends out side rhizomes to form another plant several inches away.  It develops a nut and continues the process (see photos).  The rhizomes become so thin that when you pull the plant out, it easily breaks leaving its “children” to develop independently.  And so the circle of life continues.  If you leave it alone you will soon have a “lawn” of nutgrass in your garden.  You have to admire this particular enemy…a worthy adversary.

Is the Tomato a Fruit?

One of my sons (Number 2) was touring the Charamon Garden yesterday and I asked him what his favorite vegetable was.  Among those he mentioned was the tomato.  “But,” he added, “I guess tomatoes are technically a fruit.”  So what is a fruit and what is a vegetable?  Well, if you’ve played “20 Questions” on long trips you know that the first question is “Animal, vegetable or mineral?”  So a vegetable really is anything that uses photosynthesis to grow…plants.

When we say, at the end of most posts, “Eat your veggies…Nonnie and Pop say so!” we are talking about plants and fruits that you can eat.  Wickipedia agrees:

Normally, any herbaceous plant or plant part which is regularly eaten as food by humans would be considered to be a vegetable. Mushrooms, though belonging to the biological kingdom Fungi, are also generally considered vegetables in the retail industry.

Using that definition, all fruits are vegetables, but all vegetables are not necessarily fruits.

The term fruit has many different meanings depending on context. In botany, a fruit is the ripened ovary—together with seeds—of a flowering plant. In many species, the fruit incorporates the ripened ovary and the surrounding tissues. Fruits are the means by which flowering plants disseminate seeds (Wickipedia).

So, botanically speaking, the tomato is a fruit.  But, continuing to speak botanically, so are peppers, eggplants, okra pods, peas, beans, squash, cucumbers…to name a few we don’t generally consider fruit.  When we eat broccoli, cauliflower, and figs, we are eating the buds of blossoms.  Lettuce, collards, cabbage, spinach and chard are leaves.  Potatoes, carrots, parsnips, sun chokes and sweet potatoes are roots.  Garlic and onions are bulbs.  Asparagus, rhubarb and celery are stems.

So, eat your fruits, leaves, stems, bulbs and roots…Nonnie and Pop said so!