Early spring brings so many delights, doesn’t it? Today is a more seasonable day than we’ve experienced for awhile – cloudy skies and a wind chill in the high thirties (and going down into the teens tonight) – but still, there is a quickening of energy, an anticipation as we go outdoors to see everything greening up. And every day there is something to notice: crocuses in bloom, daffodils on the verge, trees budding out, late-fall transplants showing evidence of surviving the winter (phew!), and, of course, the daylilies growing apace after those balmy days last week.

One of the most pleasing aspects of this time of year, I think, is being able to start harvesting for the salad bowl again after a long winter of store-bought greens. Young sorrel leaves add a lemony bite …

Chives go into scrambled eggs as well as salads …

And there are early dandelion greens, last year’s overwintered scallions in full growth, and the beginnings of herbs to add flavor as well.

Lettuce, kale, and cabbage seedlings are coming up under lights, but given the forecast for a week of below-freezing nights on the way, they won’t be going outdoors any time soon. But here’s what I’ve saved for last: a bountiful crop of spinach from the unheated greenhouse …

We're putting it in everything: salads, egg dishes, smoothies, sandwiches, soups. Planted in the fall, the spinach sprouted before the coldest days and nights of winter, then laid dormant under row cover until reawakened by the late-winter sun and warmer daytime temperatures. This was a first-year experiment; and despite a midwinter shearing by whatever little critters find shelter in the greenhouse (chipmunks, most likely), growing this winter crop of spinach has proved to be a great success.

For several years we’ve intended to get serious about growing winter greens. As is typical, though, our To-Do list is always longer than our available time and energy. Maybe this lovely early spinach will give us more incentive. The combination of perennial greens, requiring very little attention, and some covered raised beds planted to a variety of cold-hardy greens might just supply us well enough that we won’t have to buy any more commercial salad mixes. Organic they may be, but packed in plastic and shipped all the way from the west coast, hardly a sound environmental choice; and what’s easier than harvesting the freshest greens possible, a few feet away from your door?

There’s a great little article in Mother Earth News this month about perennial edibles; sorrel is amongst them, and others that come later. Check it out online ... I can't seem to get the link posted here! ... just go to motherearth.com and search for perennial edibles. Good stuff!

Mega Pumpkinsquash!

Maybe you remember this gigunda-sized volunteer squash photo I posted last fall … pumpkin-big, and looking like a cross between that and a delicata or sweet dumpling, by the coloring. I have to confess that I fell for this big old gourd; it was just stunning, perfect in its voluptuousness (okay, now I am revealing how weird I am), beautiful to look at. I couldn’t stop admiring it

There it sat on the kitchen island, waiting to be carved up and eaten ... but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was an emblem of the richness of the garden, a beacon of nature’s fecundity, an amazing surprise that had emerged from a shaded compost pile under the trees in a far corner of the yard. Never watered, only getting a few hours of sun each day, this squash grew in spite of those less-than-ideal conditions. It was the most perfect squash I had ever seen.

And so it remained on the counter through Thanksgiving, through Christmas, through the long month of January and halfway through February, subject to the warmth and on-and-off humidity of the kitchen. Lesser squashes, tucked away in the pantry, began to show their age; this one merely turned its greens into oranges, its skin still firm, a rap still producing a satisfying thump. Could it be too good to be true?

Finally, fearing that if I waited much longer it could go all squishy, it seemed like time. This gift should not go to waste. As I plunged our largest knife into the flesh, it felt like carving a fresh pumpkin – it was work, the meat was firm, it took some effort to cut it open. And … amazing! Still moist inside, seeds plump, a lovely squashy aroma.

It was cleaned, cut into large pieces, one sent upstairs for my extended family, two roasted as they were, the last cut into cubes and roasted with carrots and ginger for soup.

Squashes vary in their tastes, depending on the type; some are bland, some dry, some tasty. This pumpkin-squash, aged to perfection, is delicious. Butter and salt were added to the roasted squash, and mashed together; chicken stock, curry, turmeric, cinnamon, and coriander were added to the roasted soup mixture, and pureed with a stick blender. After sampling the mashed squash -- delicious! -- the rest was put into the freezer.

(These silicone muffin pans, by the way, are terrific for freezing portion-sized servings … once they’re frozen, the contents can be popped out quite easily and placed in freezer bags.)

The seeds were saved, of course, and if anyone would like some to plant this year, let me know. Because this one plant grew so, so far away from any other squashes – probably 100 yards away – I expect they should come true. But you never know … and that’s part of the fun of growing.

Winterspring?

Another warmish, sunny day in a strange winter with many such days. More and more people comment on the season by saying, I’m not complaining, but … It’s an odd thing, having such a mild winter, and while we certainly do enjoy being largely free from shoveling and slippery driving, and marvel at the bulbs and perennials already sending up shoots, we also know it’s freakish. And we know that we could still get slammed with winter weather at any time (as we did in October), although the forecast isn’t predicting any of that for us any time soon.

And those of us who are perhaps more tuned in to environmental issues know that a warm winter means less winter kill-off of bugs and pests and perhaps, even, plant diseases. We wonder what the summer will bring; hordes of black flies, mosquitoes, and ticks? – and correspondingly higher rates of Lyme disease? Squash bugs and potato beetles? (maybe even a biblical plague of locusts? ;-) I figure there’s lots more I don’t realize, about what will be different without the usual cold winter temperatures and the usual deep snow cover.

But for the meantime, what can one do except enjoy this Virginia-like winter? We sat out on the deck at midday to eat our lunch in the sun; it was still chilly enough to require sweater and sweatshirt, but we have a protected spot out of too much wind and it was delightful. The lawn is bare and the grass is pretty green, considering. I mean, it’s February. We shouldn’t be seeing the lawn at all. Sorrel and chives are beginning to poke up in the herb garden, and the leaves of burnet, primroses, and clary sage are green.

The chickens are happy beneficiaries of all this warmth as well. Usually they are cooped up throughout the usual frequent cold snaps and blizzards, not liking to step out into snow; this winter they are able to gad about freely in their pen most days, scratching through the used rabbit bedding and kitchen scraps that are thrown in. Something has been coming through the yard in the wee hours, waking our dogs, and we suspect that our local black bear might not be hibernating in the usual way. Can't look for tracks, though, when there's no snow.

I feel for the ski areas, and the guys who bought new plows this winter, and the kids who got sleds and snowshoes for Christmas. And, I suppose, for those people who actually love the snow and revel in seeing the landscape covered in a thick white blanket. I just wish that I could enjoy this unusual weather without that nagging worry in the back of my mind, wondering about the causes, the implications, and what might lie ahead for those of us who work the land.

Not Your Grandmother's Library

In the work that I actually get paid for – as in a regular paycheck – I work in two different libraries, one fairly large and one fairly small. If you’re of a certain age, maybe your idea of a library is like mine used to be: a quiet, comfortable place filled with wonderful books and periodicals that lead to knowledge, enjoyment, entertainment, enlightenment; a few tables and chairs, some upholstered, placed here and there so that one can sit and read; perhaps a lively book discussion group. And maybe your idea of a librarian was a genteel, or at least gentle, older (usually) woman (typically) ready to assist you in finding a particular book, or magazine, or to retrieve some bit of information at your request. Maybe you knew it wasn’t a hush-up sort of place any more, but still, a place of modulated voices and intellectual curiosity, of abundant information and good literature (including children’s books, of course).

Ah, the good old days. Not that this has all gone by the wayside, but changes are underway, and like everything else in modern life, those changes are coming faster all the time. And the major agent of change is, of course, technology. Patron computers, wi-fi, DVDs, Playaways, e-book readers, downloadable audiobooks; interactive websites where patrons can reserve, renew, and make requests; video game rooms, networked library systems and interlibrary loans; computerized circulation systems and information databases; it seems that every few weeks there’s something new to learn. Expanded offerings expand the patron base, bringing in folks who have no interest in books but take out tall stacks of movies, or just come in to use the computers, or want someone to teach them how to use their new Kindle. And then there are the patrons who rarely enter the building at all, but avidly borrow the ebooks and downloadables through their home computers.

For a number of years, I had toyed with the idea of returning to school to get my masters degree and become a librarian. This was, of course, based on that old idea of what the job was like. Now that I’ve actually been working as a library assistant for several years, my eyes have been opened to some new realities, and frankly, I don’t think I’m really cut out for the job of a “real” librarian. This has, at least, relieved me of the occasional pangs of guilt I used to feel whenever I berated myself for not getting that degree.

“Real” librarians, nowadays, might be more properly called something like Information Technology Specialists. In order to be a proper one these days, you have to embrace your Inner Geek … and I don’t have much of one. Marilyn Johnson, in her book This Book is Overdue: How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All, divides librarians thusly: if you were to describe people in terms of technology, only those born after 1980 could be called Technology Natives; the rest of us, born before that date, would be Technology Immigrants. We may have learned to speak the language to varying degrees, but we’re talking with thick accents, and we’re walking around wearing babushkas.

I don’t mean to disparage the many real pre-1980 librarians I work with, many of whom are brilliant and technologically savvy and keep the library as current as possible. But I belong to that other group of Immigrants who are always one (or more) steps behind, who can search the database for a title, teach a patron how to sign up for an email account or download an audiobook, but who haven’t been particularly thrilled at the idea of e-readers replacing real books, need detailed written instructions to reboot the server, and marvel at the people who've been using computers since they were babies and are able to use new technologies intuitively. My group is not the future; that is quite clear. We are struggling to keep up and are still often towards the back of the pack, sometimes marveling at the new gadgets but often muttering under our breath and wondering why the buttons are so damned tiny and everything changes so often.

So I’m okay with being a library assistant, not a “real” librarian. I still get to enjoy getting to know the patrons I serve, chatting with some of them about books, doing the occasional Story Time and setting up displays; I marvel at the advanced knowledge and skills of my better-educated colleagues. And I’m proud to be part of an institution devoted to information, egalitarianism, non-censorship, and privacy.

But my heart is still in the garden, where it’s always been. I like the tangible, hands-on, physical work, the very primal connection to the earth and what it provides us. It’s always miraculous to me, the way that nature wants to grow, how we just help to facilitate that manifestation by planting seeds, clearing weeds, providing water, and standing back to watch. It feels like sharing in a legacy, a continuation of what endless generations before us have done. There’s a high-tech struggle going on, sure, with organics and heirlooms on one side, and industrial ag and Monsanto’s GMO Frankenfoods on the other (no, I’m not biased ;-). And it’s great to have access to the latest ag studies, extension reports, seed companies, to networks of gardeners and farmers online; there’s always so much more to learn. But really, a gardenfarmer lives in the very real world of soil, air, sun, seasons, weather. As a species, we are wired to be attuned to these elements, and our very lives depend on them. It’s a strange experience, having one foot firmly planted in the soil and the other stumbling along, trying to keep up with the swiftly-evolving outside world; a disjointed experience, often. Maybe the geeks have inherited the libraries (and lots of other things), but the survival of the species depends on our stewardship of the earth. And maybe it's not your grandmother's farm any more, but she'd feel right at home here.

Winter Sun

You know those ads and photos of athletic young tanned skiers and snowboarders, enjoying the winter sun? Yeah … they’ve got it right. That Vitamin D thing is what we all need at this time of year.

Sure, I take the little capsules every morning, like pretty much everyone at this latitude should be doing. Even the Canadian government has officially recommended that everyone in that country do the same; the research is pretty clear on the subject, and in a marvelous piece of luck, it’s a wonderfully inexpensive supplement. As long as the label says D3, you’re good.

The sun is reflecting brightly today off the newly-fallen snow, and at midday the south side of the house felt, if not warm, at least not-cold enough to soak up some sunshine. I set a chair out in a protected corner and turned my face up for awhile – aaah, so warm. And suddenly, my memories came flooding in … being a kid and playing outdoors all year long: snow forts and snowmen in the winter, mazes shoveled through the deep snow, tunnels, snowball fights, skating on the pond; skiing in my teens and twenties, long days on the slopes alternately freezing on the lift and sweating on the downhill runs, blinded by the bright sun and dazzled by the mountain views. Snowshoeing through hushed, forested, frosted hills.

And more importantly, how it felt. How much I felt a part of the outdoor world in winter, how my memories are not of discomfort (although there were plenty of nearly-frostbitten fingers, wet boots, and that one time I thought I’d freeze to death from the wind chill on the stuck chair lift) but of enjoyment. Flying down the hill on the sled, pretty much out of control and deliriously happy. The look and feel of winter, the sounds of ice cracking and snow crunching, the sudden little snow squalls as the wind nudges the branches above your head, the cottony silence of the deep woods smothered in snow. The stark contrasts of red berries and evergreens against the white. The sharp wet-cold of fat flakes landing on your upturned face. Marveling at the many hues of blue in the white landscape. Standing at the top of the expert trail in terror, wondering if I’d survive the descent, exhilarated by the time I got to the bottom.

There was no cursing winter in those years, no dreading its arrival and lamenting its length. Winter meant a different kind of fun, a change in activity, and was something we all looked forward to. How that has changed! – and like so many things in life, it’s easy to marvel how I got from there to here incrementally, without realizing the implications. It’s devolved into that conundrum shared by so many, of loving New England but hating the winter. Sure, I know it’s a necessary part of the cycle, of tremendous importance to our environment and all that … but, still. I feel more like a burrowing creature now, wanting to curl up near the fire, concerned with the cost of heating the house and worried about slipping on the ice and falling again. Winter is work now, shoveling the snow and hauling in wood and feeding the furnace. It’s a workplace kept uncomfortably cool, where I leave at the end of my shift feeling chilled to the bone despite wearing layers of clothing. I count the days until the average last frost date, calculating when to start seeds indoors, looking forward to the next growing season. And I take my Vitamin D and cod liver oil to keep SAD at bay.

Of course there are ways to combat the dark and the cold, and yes, I should find a way to incorporate some new thinking into my winter plans. Realistically, though, life changes. I’m not going to spend a small fortune to get myself onto the ski slopes again, and nobody will have the fire burning, dinner on the table, and a mug of hot chocolate waiting if I spend the day adventuring in the snow. But I do know a nearly-six-year-old with a pair of snowshoes; I think I’ll start saving up for a pair for myself. Maybe she’ll be my occasional snow buddy, and there’ll be more to enjoy about winter again.

What's winter like for you? What do you do to enjoy it?

Brrrrr .....

It’s zero degrees this morning here in the shire, and even the houseplants are shivering. This is the darkest part of the year, both literally and figuratively, for those of us whose passion is gardening. How do you get through the winter months? I try some of this and some of that, but it's a long, cold slog until spring, for sure.

There’s the seed catalogs, of course, and the dreaming and planning for this year’s garden. I make lists from the different seed companies, but usually the bulk of my order ends up being from Fedco, with Johnny’s in second place. Last year I was terribly disappointed in some Burpee cosmos seeds, but I still like to try something new from them and several other seed companies.

Late in the fall, I planted some spinach in the unheated greenhouse. It sprouted and grew to the one-true-pair stage before the very cold winter temperatures sent it into a dormant state; it should resume growing in a month or so, I’m hoping, and we’ll have fresh spinach not long after that. It cheers me whenever I go into the greenhouse and look at those green leaves, but the resident chipmunks seem to be nibbling away at the edges too. Chicken wire over the top keeps the cat out, but not the little critters.

Two weeks ago, after making my seed inventory, I made a mixture of lettuce seeds and sowed them into a tray of potting mix, setting that under a plain 24” fluorescent shop light in our furnace room, where the temperature stays at a pretty reliable 60-70 degrees. They’ve sprouted nicely, are getting misted with a weak solution of fish fertilizer, and we might just get a few salads out of it in several weeks. If I can get myself organized enough, I should seed another tray this week. Baby lettuces only take a month or so before they can be harvested.

And then there’s the houseplants. Last fall I came across a wonderfully informative book, How to Grow Fresh Air: 50 Plants that Purify Your Home or Office, by Dr. B.C. Wolverton. I’ve always had a few houseplants around, but this book was inspiring – to the point that we now have a great many, of different types, all proven to improve the indoor air that we breathe. There’s a learning curve, as with anything, and as we creep through these dark winter months I am consulting houseplant books, learning which need that south window and which can sit back in the shade, why the leaves on that one have turned blah (it needed to be moved to a warmer room), how to propagate from larger plants. It helps to satisfy that urge to work with things that grow. And look at that Gerbera daisy at the top of the post! – who would have thought it was an air purifier as well?

Last February, we took our favorite granddaughter to Magic Wings Butterfly Conservatory, a wonderfully warm, humid, sunny large greenhouse-type building full of tropical blossoms and bright-winged butterflies … a lovely break from the chill of winter. Now, if we could build a smaller version of that right onto the side of our house ….