Robin Hill Gardens

We’re back from a week at the Cape. We stayed in a little salt box cottage among the stunted pines, under the constant screep of the mating (and molting) cicadas. We saw the Perseids, built castles in the sand, went looking for beaches with waves not too intimidating for a four-year-old and a six-year-old. It was fun, especially since we had lots of friends unexpectedly staying for much longer than we had thought, and we even got to bring them home with us! It will make for an interesting Riot calculation.

My highlight was that DH and I got to kayak from the far end of Swan Pond all the way to the ocean, and back again. It was my first “serious” kayak ride and I was fascinated with the ways of water. I had no idea a moving body of water could be so complex, so beautiful, and surprising… I had always wondered about those river passages in Jim Harrison’s books. Now I know the attraction.

But the garden suffered. My neighbor watered it and he went beyond the call of duty, but weeding and harvesting and the extremely hot and dry weather that week were not his responsibility, and I came home to a garden that is half dead. We should find some other time to go on a trip, next year. I remember experienced gardeners warning me, in books, in person, that a garden can be a heartbreak, and again I believe it.

But there are some bright spots. I harvested a zucchini as soon as I got home, at 1 lb. 7 oz., and we put it on the grill that evening. It was so creamy and flavorful, a real cheerer-upper. The zucchinis,  cucumbers and squashes are finally coming in, and that bed will be a good producer.

The critters seem to have retreated from the hoop house somewhat, perhaps due to the cayenne pepper I strewed all around. I have three brandywines still on the vine, very near completion, and I hope they’ll be allowed to ripen, just one or two more days.

While I wait my friend gave me some of his own homegrown tomatoes (above).  He has some critters, but not nearly the plague I am dealing with. I hope he realizes how special his gift was, since, as he himself remarked, it shows that I could still have such an abundance, even if it’s not coming from my own garden.  How good it is to know this! It was a barter for my help with his growing dome experiment, and as such twice the treasure. Underneath the tomatoes there are quinces form his grandmother’s garden, and I hope to get two pints of jam out of them, and to give him half.

I hope to get some garden work done this week: pull all the finished dry bean plants (2 beds), all the dead lettuce (1 bed), and the bolted brassicas (1 1/2 beds). I’m putting in fast growing Fall crops, such as lettuce, spinach, and the slower growing hardy ones, like broccoli and kale. I also want to start canning, so I hope to score big at this Wednesday’s Farmers Market. It will pull me out of these garden blues. The blueberry jam I made last year was a big hit with friends, so I need to make twice as much this time. There will also be plums. And more tomatoes, of course.

Magnificent espaliered pear tree at the Cloisters

I investigated my tomato plants more closely today and to my consternation all the green tomatoes – at least 50 of them – have disappeared. The stems have been chewed through. I also found 6 chewed off stems on the eggplants. There are a lot of husks in the husk cherry bed, but no cherries.

It is unbelievably frustrating. I am quite used to being down about the fact that my garden cannot feed my family even during the growing season. I had long ago accepted that,  unless I take down each and every tree on my property, and some of the  neighbor’s trees as well, I will never be able to grow grains. But last year’s blight debacle made me cross off potatoes too, at least for this and perhaps even next year, and I can’t find room even for corn or soy beans.

But fine, sunny spots are at a high premium, so I grow high value crops in them. So I had thought we’d have at least lots of tomatoes, eggplants and peppers, at least, enough for daily eating and for putting up for winter. Instead I see  almost my entire crop go to unknown, wasteful critters.

Some days – like this one – are just palled by this feeling of failure, impatience, and a low dread. I am bewildered by the maps and projected yields of backyard homesteads in books like The Backyard Homestead: Produce all the food you need on just a quarter acre! (click on Look Inside in Amazon, go to page 13 for an example). All these ideal situations have no resemblance to my garden. My pure joy a couple of days ago when discovering the herb garden and orchard at The Cloisters in NYC too quickly dissipated when the inevitable comparisons to my own perennial garden and berry bushes.

To try to cheer myself up I tell myself that this is only my second summer gardening. I am learning daily and next year will be better again. Look around at all we’ve accomplished! It doesn’t help. It seems so insignificant. Then I tell myself that we will instead support my local foodshed by buying more at the Farmer’s Market. I do this already for fruits and corn. In case of doom descending, that local foodshed is just as important as the garden, if not more, but it is of course also more vulnerable too.

We all have days like these, no? Does it help to make a list of what is still to be done? Here goes, the most important projects:

1. build solar dehydrator
2. plant more seeds in empty beds, buy and barter perennials and transplant
3. build tool shed so big shed can becomes woodworking shop
4. build second beehive and extra boxes
5. look into possibility of a dwarf orchard
6. weed and prepare front garden after water leak has been fixed
7. start planning  for chickens, if not this Fall, then next Spring.