Sunday sillies: The garden in June
Taking attendance and prepping report cards
Let me tell you about the garden in my backyard.
I bought this house several years ago when I wasn’t planning on staying for long. Freshly presented with an opportunity to explore an overseas job, I intended it to be a resting place between all the travel I would do. What ended up happening is a story for another time, or book.
Initially, the backyard was a useless space. A wooden deck occupied most of the negligibly small area, and turf grass covered the rest. It stayed that way for several years. Then one unremarkable May morning, I took a shovel to the grass and broke it into pieces. I found horrid plastic netting underneath, and got progressively madder with each shovelful flung away. How dare they lay plastic atop farmland soil! What if a little critter got ensnared? What sort of backyard oasis would this be if it became a graveyard of wayward animals?!
I channelled my contempt for manicured landscapes and poor land use into a do-it-yourself backyard renovation, or more accurately, I hauled and dumped bags of topsoil, black earth, and mushroom compost from the local nursery, then scattered a mishmash of seeds.
That’s how #MakeVegetablesNotLawn started. I flooded my social media channels with photos of seedling sprouts, blossoming plants, and the little daily harvests reaped. If a tiny space managed by an accidental gardener could yield this much, imagine how well these spaces could be used.
Let’s get back to this year’s outlook.
I use the no-till gardening method; it’s a bit of a gamble knowing what to expect each growing season. I have, therefore, surveyed the beds and taken attendance of what’s present.
The largest bed has a scattering of excited parsleys that have taken up residence by a very welcoming dill patch. Cilantro keeps the two company and runs in the same royal circle: the three are this house's most loved and used herbs. The sage bushes need an attitude check, as they’ve unceremoniously expanded this week, casting a shadow over the shortish rosemary.
A loyal gooseberry sits in the corner bed, with little berries adorning the very thorny branches that will scrape me in a month or so. It is accompanied this year by a rather vocal raspberry that took off in a new spot while nobody watched. The yield better justify the means.
Sorrel has entered a height and might competition with its neighbour, the rose bush, and is presently winning. If you’re asking why a sorrel is planted next to a rose, the answer is: have you ever tried telling a sorrel what to do? Good luck with that. I don’t mind its brazen manner anyway, it makes a fine soup with eggs and nettle.
A certain French tarragon has left me speechless in the aromatics bed. I’ve planted this finicky herb before to varying degrees of success. Some years, it bloomed. In other years, it shrivelled away quickly and died miserably while proclaiming me the worst gardener that ever lived. Not this one, though. It once again lives up to its zone 4 potential despite residing in 5b, daring me to use it in cooking, baking, and beverage making.
Two lavenders have acquired tickets to travel on the struggle bus in that same bed. They’re not dead, but they’re not precisely green, either. Joining them on that journey are the thyme shrubs. This is problematic, as I need both for a number of recipes and projects.
The oreganos are doing the Lord’s work out here, surviving and thriving every year despite the walloping in wintertime. The chive does not require a status update, it is a giver and keeps the beasties away while serving as an excellent last-minute garnish.
The kale is in a league of its own, having figuratively moved from the couch into the guest bedroom. It, or rather they, are taking up more space with every passing month, though I shan’t complain about paying less at the grocery store during the season. Besides, roasted kale chips drizzled with olive oil are a recommended snack when consuming one’s feelings.
This year, the habaneros are joined by two ghost peppers that are, much like me, counting on long and hot sunny days. A year ago, the habanero yield was significant and coincided with a generous offering of scotch bonnets. The resulting tomato, mango, and (extremely) hot pepper sauce is a gift to some, and a threat to others.
The tomatoes I’ve grown from seed this year were leggy enough to get a modelling contract, but I fear I might need a backup plan if they don’t bulk up and take off. Lettuce and Swiss chards look promising if the thieving rabbit stays away long enough for them to grow. It just so happens that I’ve recently come across a nice-sounding rabbit stew recipe, requiring mushrooms, thyme, and parsley.
In the grow pots, hope lives along with a variety of basils. This herb is the drama queen of my garden. Too sunny? Dead. Rain? Dead. Glanced upon in a disrespectful manner? Dead. Conversely, arugula (rocket or roquette to some of you) is the happiest, most grateful little cruciferous pal. It’s just so pleased to be invited to the party, you need only throw a few seeds into wherever and out it pops within a few days.
A begrudging mention goes out to the variety of mints that live, laugh, love all over my backyard. They’re the passive-aggressive wizards of small patch gardens. You plant them in a pot, meters away from everything else. Somehow, they find a way into each backyard pocket, rhizomically spreading between stairs, under the deck, and out from beneath the gravel, aromatically filling the air and suffocating everything in their path. While I appreciate the loveliness mint brings to different drinks and dishes, a small part of me exacts revenge when I rip them out by the root to give them to interested parties.
Finally, I’m sending thoughts and prayers for the strawberry, cucumbers, and eggplants, which may be a few days away from having their last rites read.