spring gardening

I love this time in the garden. Everything is in the ground, I haven't forgotten to water yet, nothing has nibbled away at the tops of the plants. It's pure promise out there in the soil.

the fantasy of the seed catalog

There were a couple lovely, dreamy comments the other week about hope living in the pages of the seed catalogs this time of year. It made me remember when I was a teenager in Virginia. Our dad always ordered his vegetable seeds from the Burpee cataglog and he let me tack on a small order of flower seeds for a corner of the garden. I would diligently study all the heights of the flowers and draw up a little sketch for my small plot of Virginia dirt, from the tall, rangy cosmos in back to the squat zinnias in front.

I still pore over seed catalogs for the endless varities and poetic descriptions. Who know what will happen later in the season, but when I push a small seed into the dirt, the wonder and potential stored in that little seed is still so pristine. 

a creative and tasty competition

Things have been a little nutso lately, and I completely blanked on telling you where I got the recipe for homemade crackers. Sunset, naturally. It's from their new book called The One-Block Feast.

A couple years ago, Sunset's food editor Margo True was kind enough to invite me down to the Sunset ranch for an al fresco lunch that inspired the original One-Block feast article. Let me tell you, eating cucumber deviled eggs as the chickens that laid the eggs softly clucked nearby was quite the treat. And that was only the first course. It was a warm, slow, languid afternoon of inspiring food and conversation as we moved from the garden to the wine cellar to the outdoor patio.

Now the Sunset team has turned the article into a book. And the particular greatness of this book is that it’s divided into seasons, and alongside each season’s recipes are garden plans for the season, as well as plant varieties and tips for planting, watering and harvesting – drawing from the long knowledge and experience of the their garden team.

They sent me a copy and I've already made a couple things: the crackers, and kale colcannon for St Paddy's Day. And it turns out you can get in on the action. The book just went on sale and to celebrate, Sunset is holding a DIY competition for gardener-entertainers. That’s you, right? You can get the details here but hurry, you only have a couple days to dream up your creative and tasty entry. 

a precious haul

I had almost thrown in the towel on growing tomatoes.

It’s always dicey to try them in San Francisco. We just don’t get the summer heat or sun. But our little back garden is south-facing and sheltered, so I gave it a go. And the first year, I had such a glut of Sungolds that I gave away baskets willy-nilly, secure in the knowledge that the universe would continue to provide basketfuls of those sweet flavor bombs.

Then, the tomatoes came to a screeching halt these last two years. I tried more water, less water, pruning them, coddling then. And then finally ignoring them. Last year was a wipeout. This year was headed in the same direction, with the tomatoe vines turning brown and dry and shriveled by the day.

Then the other day, I noticed a little flame-colored orb out there, in amongst the tangle of dying vines. And another. And another.

Finally, a precious little haul. And hope that there will be more before we sink completely into winter. 

garden planning and know-how

My Dad could tell you about all the times my sisters and I moped and moaned about weeding and picking the vegetable garden when we were growing up. It’s shameful to think of it now – rows of fresh beans, corn, potatoes and strawberries ripening in the Virginia sun, and how the three of us resented the garden for tearing us away from our beloved Whitney Houston albums.

Luckily for me, I eventually wised up. When I moved into a city apartment, I bought a galvanized metal tub and hauled bags of potting soil up to our third floor balcony to try and grow flowers. Then I moved across the country to a house with a yard, and discovered the rapture of growing vegetables. And when I moved back to San Francisco, I signed up for a plot in a community garden, and now grow veggies in our small but sunny backyard.

I think I’ve progressed a little, from the newbie gardener who scattered seeds willy-nilly and waited to see what happened. Now I’m learning more about soil, what to grow near each other (or not), and fertilizing. But at my core, I remain a pretty laissez-faire gardener.

However, there are a couple books that I read cover to cover this year as I planned the spring veggie patch. Chronicle Books sent me a book I had been stalking for a year called Garden Anywhere by Alys Fowler. And Potter Craft sent me Gayla Trail’s new book, Grow Great Grub. These are terrific books to arm yourself with, no matter where you fall on the gardening spectrum – if you want to grow lettuce in a crate on your stoop or harvest year-round.

Alys Fowler cheers you on with sentiment like: “Life has enough pressures without bringing them into the garden.” Amen, sister. Her book takes you through container gardening, kitchen gardening, growing flowers and herbs and vegetables. The photography and art direction are stunning, in a relaxed, stumbled-upon sort of way.

Gayla Trail's book focuses totally on edibles, and also encourages you to grow grub no matter what your space constraints are. Her chapters walk you through planting, growing, and collecting your bounty, with inspiring projects and recipes along the way.

When I was in a bookstore recently, one entire floor-to-ceiling shelf was devoted to books on growing vegetables and urban homesteading, so there's no shortage of information out there. But these are two books that resonated with me. I feel like both authors are truly cheering me on instead of just intimidating me with their (albeit very impressive) knowledge. 

I admit that sometimes it feels like the more I read, the more dumb I feel. But if I get overwhelmed, I head out to the veggie patch. Just being in the presence of things growing is a comfort.

new potatoes

I dug up the season’s first new potatoes yesterday. When we cooked them later, Mike performed the ritual of taking one out of the pot, slicing it open, buttering and salting each half, and then determining if they were ready.

They were. And when I saw his eyes light up, I knew they were winners. I have come to learn a lot about potatoes since marrying into an Irish family and visiting Ireland, where I kid you not, at one dinner there were no less than three varieties of potatoes on the table: mashed, roasted and French fries.

So I have come to know a great “floury” potato when I taste one – dry and fluffy on the inside instead of waxy or soapy. That’s what we grow in the backyard, in fingerling varieties. And they were gorgeous.

Even better because I had dug them up only moments before. And digging up potatoes – if you've never had the pleasure – is one of life’s great small pleasures.