Living in the Present

Anyone who says that living in the present is easy is likely lying, unless, of course, that person has spent a great deal of time in meditation. I find keeping my eyes on the present a task of gargantuan proportions, and I actually do meditate every day. I suspect that I am predisposed to worrying about the future. After all, in the last 17 years, I have had to move my home no less than 6 times. I am beginning to realize that I never feel quite comfortable in a place. Now that I've assumed the nomadic life, I always expect that my sense of home is no longer safe, persistently on shifting sand.

Many things caused me to step back from The Green B in the last month, not the least of which was feeling the sands shift beneath me. I think it's terribly difficult to conduct my life with no thought for the future, to focus merely on what I'd like to accomplish each day on its own. When it comes to gardening, it's even more difficult. I planted onion seeds last year around this time, and it wasn't until July of this year that I began to harvest the wonderfully pungent red orbs. When the future is uncertain, few things in the garden feel more safe than radishes and lettuce. After all, they can be harvested in less than two months. But really, it's time to start trying to enjoy today.

As the temperatures have finally cooled to a reasonable level here, I've been working in the garden, converting the overhead spray irrigation to drip, thanks to an incredible prize I won from DIG Corporation, a company that has perfected the art of drip irrigation. I'm in love with the new setup. My poor plants are no longer beaten down by the spray heads. Instead, their roots are lovingly watered by a gentle drip. And I really don't have to worry anymore about fungus attacking my plants since they're now watered at ground level.

What have I planted, you ask? Well, remember, here in Florida, now is one of our prime planting seasons. So here's what's growing in the garden these days: 3 varieties of tomatoes, cucumbers, beets, rainbow carrots, radishes, corn, green beans, sugar snap peas, snow peas, zucchini, and, largely because I still don't understand when to plant things, I have watermelon growing, too.

The beets, radishes, and carrots jostle for position.

Here's one of the personal watermelons that we hope to
harvest soon.

The sugar snaps are starting their climb.

The lettuce has begun to grow beneath the tomatoes.

The cucumbers are climbing up a cage
I built for them.

And our next pineapple, ready for picking in
another month or two.

So here's to the seeds we plant today, not for the fruits they will eventually yield, but for the miracle they are in the present. A tiny speck of dirt dropped in the soil can become a sprout in just a few days. With each passing day, it becomes something more impressive. May we all marvel in the growth of each day, rather than impatiently waiting for the end result.

The Green B 2014 Garden Calendar Is Now Available!

Stay tuned for a new garden update, too!

Hanging Up the Border Fork

I've decided that it's time to give The Green B a rest for a while or longer. It's been a pleasure sharing my gardening with all of you who have read the blog. I wish you all the most productive gardening possible.

Miracles Are Afoot

This is the season I love the most. I always have. It's not quite as wonderful as fall in Ohio or Michigan, when the leaves are set aflame in those vibrant autumnal hues. And though there really is no chill in the air here, no anticipation of days wrapped in lovely sweaters ahead, we have begun the gradual slide into tolerable temperatures. And unlike in the North, now is the time that we gardeners can really get outside and start our fall vegetable gardens. It has put me in a rather poetic mood. I find myself quoting Keats out in the garden as I dismantle the bean supports and reconfigure them into structures for cucumbers. Of course, it's "To Autumn" that springs most to mind:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

I'm preparing to be loaded and blessed, so I'm hard at work, just as our now beloved bees are. 

A dream realized. Bees have called my garden their home.

The fig tree is allowing me to imagine the possibility of one pot of homemade fig jam.

Figs all around

Another beautiful, miraculous pineapple has started its journey toward my dessert plate.

Our third pineapple is on its way

I've grown three varieties of tomatoes from seed, nursed them along in the house, hardened them off outside, and now planted them in their own outdoor bed. 

I've built a new contraption for the tomatoes.
Another experiment in growing.

I've filled a bed with beet, rainbow carrot, and radish seeds. The radishes have already started to appear, just two days later.

Radish rows popping up

And the watermelon and cantaloupe plants seem to be coming along nicely.

My first attempt at baby watermelons

I have so much more work to do. There's still lettuce and peas and broccoli and other things to get in, but the vegetable garden is beginning to take on new life, which always feels a little backward to me. Autumn in Florida feels very much like spring, a time of rebirth. Hopefully for those of you who are beginning to put your gardens to bed, the coming months in my garden will provide some welcome green.

The beginning...again

A Retrospective

I've just returned from a mini vacation, and unfortunately, during that visit, my DSLR suffered a rather tragic accident. The bag it was in fell from a hook. Though the camera was in a cushioned wrap, it seems the mirrors have been knocked loose. (I pause for the gasps of horror now.) I have to admit that I'm in mourning over the camera. I tried to shake it off, but it has troubled me since Saturday and continues through today. Since I won't likely be able to fix it for quite a while, I will have to resort to my old camera.

So I've decided to post a few photos of the garden that I haven't used before, taken by my beloved Nikon D3100. I promise to pull myself together for next week's post. And fear not, I'm not depressed or anything. I'm just not ready to pick up the old camera yet.

Lonicera (Honeysuckle) at night

The New Dawn rose in bloom

The brightest jewel in the garden, Miss Tippy

My old Olympus will provide photos next week, and I'm certain it will be up to the challenge.

Regeneration and Other Miracles

To begin, I must admit that I have swiped the first part of this week's title from a brilliant novel by Pat Barker. For penance, I simply urge you to read it.

For the last two years, both my plumeria and my fig tree have been plagued by rust fungus. They get those orange powdery mounds on the undersides of their leaves, and though I spray Neem oil faithfully, they eventually defoliate. This year, thanks to the persistent rain, the fig tree had two types of fungus, and most of the developing fruit fell off the tree before it could fully ripen. I was a little heart sick from it, particularly since I had spent last winter trying to protect the fig tree from another year of attack. As the leaves began to wither on both specimens, I decided there was nothing to do but accept defeat.

And then, both plants seemed to say that they were not going down without a fight, that they would fight back. While leaves fell off, more fresh ones began to break through. As of today, there is virtually no sign of illness on the fig tree. Several new figs are already growing. It's as if the horrible summer of fungus never happened.

The fig's new lease on life

The plumeria still has a fight on its hands, but it looks so much healthier than it did last year. And considering that it has moved all over the country with me, beginning as a wax-covered cutting I purchased in Hawaii in 2002, living in several pots, over-wintering in basements, and now ending up here in massive form, I'm pretty pleased with it.

Doing its best to hide the ugly pool pump

As for miracles, well, I never win anything. Ever. Imagine my sheer delight when I miraculously won a $50 gift certificate while participating in a Twitter garden chat (Monday nights, 9pm ET, #gardenchat). Weeks Roses sponsored the giveaway and made my year when they sent me a gift certificate to a local independent nursery that I love, Apenberry's. I tried very desperately to hide my glee while picking out plants (and fish fertilizer) that would be free to me. Here's just a sampling of what that money did for my garden (but there really is tons more).

A little infusion of raspberry to the garden

What of the bees from last week, you may ask? Well, honestly, Turfman and I are like little kids when it comes to the bees. We're constantly going out to check on them. We report their comings and goings to one another throughout the day. We are a bit like Tippy at Christmas, who loves presents so much that we often find her under the tree, lying on top of them. No matter how many times we tell her that Santa won't come if she acts so greedy, she simply crawls further under the tree.

Santa's #1 fan

And so it is with us and the bees. They are fewer in number, it seems, but we still hope that they will build a home. My hope is especially fervent because I'd love to have their pollination skills in the fall vegetable garden. Perhaps I may be due another miracle?

Our beloved bees

A Swarm of Amazing Sights

Plenty of times throughout the year, someone could argue that I'm taking this whole Florida gardening thing a little too far. After all, it sort of consumes me. I have an addiction to seed and plant catalogs, something the companies themselves clearly know, since they seem to send an endless stream of their publications to me. I have subscriptions to The English Garden and Gardens Illustrated, and I demand a reverent silence when I first gently open the cover of an issue when it arrives, handling it like I would a precious first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice.

When Jeff Lowenfels' Teaming with Nutrients arrived on my doorstep (thanks to my friendly UPS delivery man), I skipped to the door, exclaiming happily to my sister-in-law, "Oh, I know what this is!" When I opened the box and she saw the what it was, she just rolled her eyes and said, "Sheesh. You really do like this stuff."

I have gardening books all over the house. I replay gardening shows on my computer, often merely for soothing background noise. Parts of the house smell a little tangy at times when I'm bringing up seedlings and feeding them my homemade compost tea.

I am a woman obsessed.

One might ask why I can't get gardening out of my mind. Well, I think my garden has offered up quite a lot of convincing evidence this week in my defense.

Turfman caught sight of this on Thursday

And it became this by today.

It almost looks like Woody Woodpecker now

I happened to look out of the kitchen window this morning just when a flurry of flying activity began around the lime tree. Turns out I was witnessing a honey bee swarm. 

Here they are, and now they seem to be building a hive!

And the miniature Toad Lilies are in full bloom now. 

The Matsukaze Toad Lily

Now, really, why wouldn't I be obsessed?