Starting green onions in a 72-cell plug sheet. I tried it last year and it seemed to work out. Instead of directly seeding green onions, then watering them for a few days on their way to germination, start them in plug sheets, where it’s easy to control conditions for good, quick germination, then transplant them. The tradeoff is in the extra time it takes to transplant, offset by the guaranteed good germination. The gamble is, as usual, on the weather. A day or two of gentle rain after direct seeding could be all they need for fast, even germination. A super-hot, dry stretch after transplanting could mean daily watering in for a bit. And so on, one little thing against another!
Veggies
Cloning potatoes
What a difference a word makes. Planting potatoes sounds so normal, wholesome, so farm and garden. Call it cloning potatoes, and now it sounds…weird. Really, it’s nothing special, just another word for the same old thing. Of the common garden veggies around here, potatoes and garlic are cloned: no seeds, no bees and flowers and pollination, instead, plant a piece of the original. Put a potato in the ground and it’s off to the races: vegetative propagation, direct multiplication—so simple!
In the photo: Yukon Gold seed potatoes. They’re regular potatoes, just smaller, and they haven’t been sprayed with sprout inhibitors (unlike many/most/all supermarket potatoes sold through the winter and till the next potato harvests).
Tiny jungle
Hardening off seedlings on a mainly sunshiny day. I can see tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, Brussels sprouts, and bok choi. Some are for now, some a little down the line. I’ve been transplanting steadily bit by bit, rather than all out at one time, as a hedge against erratic weather changes. Same with direct seeding. It’s another experiment, and given our short season and the generally unpredictable weather, it’s risky. Then again, depending on the crop, I’ve seen plantings a week or two apart more or less even out. It’s always a gamble!
Transplants love drab weather
Transplants, like these tomatoes, do well in mostly overcast, even rainy weather for the first two or three days. Funny the way things in life can turn in an instant. One minute it’s put them in the sun, the next, welcome some cloud cover. My transplants start out under fluorescent light, a weak imitation of the sun: putting them out for a few hours, for at least two or three days, and back in to weaker light of the grow rack every night, gets them used to the sunlight. Once transplanted, though, they’ve got more to adjust to than sun. Their roots have been exposed and jostled. The nights usually get pretty cool in May, 20°F below what they’ve been used to. Maybe they sense the general vastness they’ve suddenly found themselves in, with a plant version of, “Oh my.” Whatever all is going on, it’s an adaptation. Full days of hot sun add the stress of having to pump more water into their leaves to keep from wilting. Although they’ll generally survive that sort of thing—as I’ve observed firsthand…—it’s easy to see the difference when the first few days have a good amount of cloud cover, and they really get rolling, stems thickening, the leaves turning a deep green. There are all sorts of ways, often way closer to ideal, to start seedlings indoors. For my simple, low-tech, rough-and-ready approach, this is how it seems to work!
In the photo: The little golden brown blobs scattered around are alfalfa pellets, used as fertilizer. They start of as hard pill-like cylinders, and expand to crumbly little blobs after being wet, then continue to break down as they join the soil food web.
Cloudy day greens
Zucchini seedlings, nearing the end of another whole day outdoors, mostly sunshine, but it’s clouded over now (looks and feels like rain!) They’ve been outside enough that they’re used to the sun, and they’re big enough to go into the ground. For some unexplored reason, I think about veggie colors whenever the light is flat and grey. Leaf greens are dulled, lose their vibrancy, while bright colors like the oranges of carrots and radish reds become intense, almost luminescent. Transplant leaves are paler green, after an infancy spent mainly under the grow lights. After they’re set out to fend for themselves, it’s fun to watch for them to turn a whole range of deep, rich greens, a sure sign that they’ve settled in to the great outdoors—maybe like returning an animal to the wild, and seeing it later on, alive and kicking!
Sweet tooth
A baby cantaloupe, nestled in a tangle of vines under a canopy of leaves. Mmmm, will be…delicious. It’s well on its way to fully-matured, ready-to-eat goodness, a few weeks to go, but anything can happen. Last year, a freak localized hailstorm hit my tiny melon patch, marble-sized hail shredding the leaves and fatally damaging just about every fruit, while missing where I was at the time, just a mile down the road. Especially with our crazy erratic weather, you can’t 100% count on it until your teeth are sunk in, juice dribbling down your chin.
Winter squash spreading
Even with little sun, the winter squash won’t be kept down. What it likes to do is spread far and wide: huge leaves and vigorous vines snaking out all over the place. The big sprawl is just kicking in, flowering is underway, and tiny green baby (butternut) squash can already be found tucked away in there.