Campanula (Serbian bellflower) and hydrangea hugging the fountain
It feels good to be back in the garden. I did something to my back a few weeks ago and for a few days the pain was unbearable. It subsided and then my neck went out. Good grief, I am so over it! It’s spring for gosh sakes. This is no time to be sidelined from the garden.
I pulled a few weeds sitting in a folding chair, making it official: I’m an “old woman gardener.”
Last weekend, in between back pain and neck pain, we got things done. Mike hung the shade sails on both patios which we leave up for six months of the year. Shade sails make the San Jose sun bearable, while at the same time creating “rooms” in the garden. Once our shade sails are up we spend more time outdoors.
I repurposed a decorative shower curtain once again to cover the swing cushions. After sewing two or three replacement covers over the years, only to see them in ruin, I no longer dedicate any sewing time to a swing cover that is generally faded by the sun and gnawed on by squirrels at season’s end. It’s a decent compromise.
A mix of geraniums and sage
Plum tree
A mixture of colors and textures in the garden
Pink geranium about to bud
Bougainvillea bracts
Last summer’s sage going to flower
I hung a few mirrors from a local shop called Not Too Shabby along the back fence. I’ve always wanted to do something like this. It creates a focal point while covering up the boring fence. The mirrors are in the shade of the fruit tree and reflect different plants in the garden, depending on where you sit.
Patio and garden with mirrors on the back fence. (Pictured: Mouse and Lindy) Your’s truly holding the camera for a closeup view of the garden mirrors
I planted tomatoes in my EarthBoxes® this year. Last summer’s crop was a bust, so I’ve moved the boxes into a more open space. Wind is more important for pollination than bees, so I’m hoping the new location on the gravel path pays off in delicious summer tomatoes.
Pair of Earthboxes with tomatoes and red mulch
Astoundingly, this is the first time in ages that I don’t have any self-seeded pumpkins. That said, as the garden fills in, there is less and less room for the seedlings to take hold. I’m going to plant pumpkin seeds in the front garden this year, so as the sweet peas die back in June, the pumpkins can fill in the space. It just doesn’t feel like a garden without pumpkins.
We had above-average rain this year, so everything looks healthy and refreshed.
My favorite, self-seeding flowers are back this year including Nigella (love-in-a-mist),
Nigella closeup
Nigella just about to break bud
sweet peas,
Sweet peas with poppies in the background
A variegated pink sweet pea
Pastel pink sweet pea
Soft white sweet pea
A sea of white sweet peas
Assorted sweet peas
Sweet peas in the front garden
nasturtiums,
Nasturtium
Nasturtium growing near the New Zealand flax
A rich orange nasturtium
Soft yellow nasturtium
Almost red nasturtium
and our state flower, the California poppy. I liberally scattered poppy seeds at the end of last summer and it paid off.
California golden poppy
California golden poppies spread throughout the garden
Poppies closed for the night
Mixture of poppies and sweet peas at the curb
Front garden natives mix with annual self-seeded cornflower, California golden poppies, & sweet peas
For any of you royal watchers, here’s a bit of California poppy trivia:
To commemorate Meghan Markle’s Californian origins, Clare Waight Keller included the golden poppy in the coat of arms.
Source: Wikipedia
Perhaps the most important plant in the garden each spring is the Nepeta. Nepeta, also known as cat nip or cat mint is briefly intoxicating to cats. Lindy likes to eat it, Tessa dives in head first and all three cats take turns using the plant as a lounge.
Lindy snoozing between the Nepeta and the violets Back garden and patio. Lindy standing near the Nepeta Tessa dips her nose in the Nepeta Tessa enjoying the garden
Hot August days invite a certain melancholy. As July comes to a close, an ancient grief rises to the surface and the more I swat it away, the more it demands my time. My nine-year-old self rises to the surface and reminds me of my terrible loss: the death of my father on an oppressively hot, early August day.
Dad was a horticulturist by trade, but his love of gardening came home with him as well. He built our Ontario garden from scratch, changing a mound of dirt into what felt like paradise.
Daddy’s easel, hung on the wall of my crafting area. Photos of his model of the Golden Hind, Dad with a dog on someone’s porch, the flower shop he once owned with my Mum in Seaforth, Canada
If he were with me today, I would place my hand in his and we would walk through my garden together.
A bee gathers pollen from the chocolate mint in bloom
I once captured bees in a jar to show my dad I was brave. He explained in his kind way why I should set them free. They’re good for the garden he said. I was six at the time but for some reason that memory remains sharp and clear. Perhaps when memories are scarce, we hang on to what we can.
A bee travels the garden
We had a shorter growing season in Canada, but Dad was able grow tomatoes each summer. What fun we had harvesting the fruit and bringing it through the back door for our lunch.
Three green tomatoes, coming along nicely in the curb garden
Tomato plant in bloom
Dad didn’t grow pumpkins in our Ontario garden. It would be especially fun to show off my beautiful specimen and to smile about the squirrels that most likely planted them.
A tree rat helps himself to some bird food late one night
Dad loved all animals, once rescuing a mouse from a group of boys on the street in his home town of Oldham, England. I too rescue rats and mice and though most people cringe, I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Mouse surveying the curb garden
Daddy would surely get a kick out of a different kind of mouse: Mouse the Cat. Mouse is a rescue too, in his own way.
I descended from a long line of people who rescue strays. It’s a wonderful lineage.
These hot days will pass and my mood will lift, but for now I’m making room for that ancient loss and grief.
I’m not sure what to think about this season’s garden tomatoes. The expression “failure to thrive” comes to mind. Sadly, the basil and the corn in this box aren’t doing so hot either.
VegTrug planted with basil, tomatoes and corn. They’ve all remained small
Generally speaking, tomatoes are fairly easy to grow. The plant is part of the nightshade family, so their poisonous leaves remain untouched. The small yellow flowers attract the bees and before you know it (usually!) you have a vine of ripening tomatoes. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the production as they fruit all at once. That has not been a problem this year.
I planted half a dozen bedding plants in the spring. Some years I start from seed, but I didn’t save any last year so I went the lazy route. I put several small tomato plants in my raised VegTrug and three more in my vegetable box.
May, 2017. Everything looked healthy in May. The nasturtiums surrounded the tomatoes, until the heat set in
I had one more plant in need of a home, so I popped it into the curb garden where it would get plenty of sun in the company of the perennials.
It’s taken nearly four months for three of the plants to produce.
The first of the tomatoes
The first of the tomatoes in the planting box. They’re small but delicious
The plant in the curb garden never grew more than a few inches tall and the same goes for the plants in the VegTrug.
Tomatoes growing on the left side of curb garden box…all five of them!
I amended the soil, and watered faithfully once the rain stopped. The plants aren’t drooping or diseased and there is no sign of garden pests. They’re just small and sad and completely unremarkable.
Poor soil could be the culprit though I amended the soil with coffee grounds which I got for free at our local Starbucks. I kept an eye on the water and I know they’re getting full sun.
Since I really wanted at least one healthy tomato plant, I bought a larger bedding plant in a different variety and planted it in the curb garden. It’s too late in the season to start over with a small plant or from seed. All the perennials are thriving in the box so I know the soil is robust. The new plant looks healthy so far, no thanks to my mad gardening skills.
Newly planted curb garden tomato plant
Flowers on the newly planted tomato
Time will tell.
Meanwhile, fire season is upon us. Locally, we’ve seen three small fires, two in San Jose and one in nearby Saratoga. They were all extinguished within 24 hours. A fire in nearby Saratoga burned on the other side of the ridge from the camp where my son volunteers. That definitely gave me pause. The emergency alert system sent out a text saying to shelter in place, but when I checked on my son he said all was fine. We learned the following day that the alert went out to everyone in the county! I’m glad the system works, but the error unnecessarily alarmed a lot of people, including this worrywart of a mom. The largest active fire is in Mariposa/Detwiler. It’s burned 76,000 acres so far, but crews have it 40% contained. My hat is off to these firefighters that work tirelessly under unimaginable conditions throughout the fire season.
The heirloom tomato plants pumped out fruit all summer long. We ate them raw and in salads, sliced between sandwiches and Mike made the surplus into salsa. Oh yum.
Alas, tomatoes are a summer annual and they’ve come to an end. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, fall is just a couple of weeks away. It’s time for the tomato swan song.
The plant is still pumping out fruit, but the lower leaves are browning and the fruit isn’t nearly as sweet.
Ripening vignette
Tomato plant in decline
I collected a huge bowl earlier this week, washed them and popped them in the freezer. We’ll be able to enjoy them in another salsa or sauce. I harvested some green tomatoes as well, and put them in a paper bag. If green tomatoes have released a gas called ethylene then they’ll continue to turn red. Otherwise they’ll remain green. The bag simply traps the gas and allows nature to follow its course.
The main determiner in how fast a tomato turns red is the variety. It will determine how long it takes for a tomato to reach the mature green stage. Tomatoes cannot turn red, even forced by modern technology, unless it has reached the mature green stage.
Another factor is the outside temperature. Tomatoes will only produce lycopene and carotene, two substances that help a tomato turn red, between the temperatures of 50 and 85 F. (10-29 C.) If it is any cooler that 50 F./10 C., those tomatoes will stay a stubborn green. Any warmer than 85 F./29 C., and the process that produces lycopene and carotene comes to a screeching halt.
Tomatoes are triggered to turn red by a chemical called ethylene. Ethylene is odorless, tasteless and invisible to the naked eye. When the tomato reaches the proper green mature stage, it starts to produce ethylene. The ethylene then interacts with the tomato fruit to start the ripening process. Consistent winds can carry the ethylene gas away from the fruit and slow the ripening process.
If you find that your tomatoes fall off the vine, either knocked off or due to frost, before they turn red, you can place the unripe tomatoes in a paper bag. Provided that the green tomatoes have reached the mature green stage, the paper bag will trap the ethylene and will help to ripen the tomatoes.
This year’s crop planted themselves. I call them ‘volunteers’, seeds unintentionally planted thanks to the wind or a bird dropping seed. They’re often the healthiest plants in the garden. So while I’ve saved some seeds, I’m also lobbing the occasional tomato back into the veggie box, hoping they’ll plant themselves again next year. Sometimes, a gardener just needs to get out-of-the-way.
Tomato Plants: the long view Dear Reader, I wish you were here! This is a recent shot of my tomato plants. I’ve been harvesting tomatoes all summer long and putting them to good use. If you were here we could make a salad together while we caught up on our news. Until recently, that ugly pipe was hidden with cherry tomatoes. Just behind the tomato plants are the recently pruned raspberry vines. Let’s catch up soon. Cheers, Alys
In case you missed it, my first attempt at growing basil this season failed miserable. The basil grew fine, but then the snails ate it to the quick. Turns out basil is one of their favorites.
Two tiny ‘sticks’, formerly known as basil, right
Today I planted more basil, but with additional precautions. I bought a packet of copper tape and wrapped it around the planter bed. A small electrical charge will keep them from crossing the copper tape. One package was just enough. The new basil is now planted next to the tomatoes. The plants do well together, so they already have synergy going for them. Last year’s basil grew close to the tomatoes and remained healthy all season.
Since snails are resourceful, I needed to take additional steps to keep them out of the bed. Clippers in hand, I removed all the lower, over-hanging tomato leaves. There is no sense wrapping the box in copper, only to provide a nice bridge into the box for tasty dining.
Snail bridge? All Clear.
With my gloves firmly in place, I ran my hand along the under side of the upper box, making sure any hiding places were clear. You don’t want to box the snails *inside* the planting bed. I’m going outside one more time around dusk to be sure I haven’t missed any interlopers.
Meanwhile the tomatoes, no doubt confused by our warm winter, are growing like weeds. They volunteered in the planter box…
Self-sown (volunteer) tomatoes
in the gravel walkway…
I’ll just set seed here if you don’t mind
and they volunteered in the compost bin.
Tomatoes growing through the cracks of the composting barrel
No shortage of tomatoes this year.
On the subject of compost, I’ve stopped turning the bin for now. I want those adventurous tomatoes to have a fighting chance. I scooped out handfuls of compost and used it to dress the tomatoes and basil. I’m still amazed when I see the rich, black compost, knowing it came from dried leaves, twigs and kitchen scraps. It feels like my own little magic show in the garden.
Newly planted basil, dressed in organic compost, surrounded by copper barrier tape
Now that basil, round two is safely tucked in and the tomatoes are sporting a few flowers, I’ll soon have the makings of a delicious caprese salad.
We focus on reliable information and natural, tested solutions that really work. We never recommend anything that isn’t safe for children, pets, wildlife and the environment. You can control these pesky pests and still enjoy a beautiful, safe and natural yard and garden.
The site provides a list of slug and snail resistant plants, many of which already grow in my garden. Of course I’m trying to grow three of their favorites too: basil, lettuce and strawberries (the fruit, not the leaves).
For a chuckle or at least a guffaw, take a look at Slugapalooza. You’ll find clever poems, drawings and photos and (I kid you not) an ‘interview’ with a snail. Enjoy!
Great cooks make it look easy. They pull together a variety of dishes and manage to have everything on the table at the same time. It’s all in the timing.
For three years now, I’ve tried to plant the tomatoes and basil so that they’re ready to go at the same time as well. I love caprese salad, and the novelty of growing two of the three main ingredients is fun.
Here’s one of our salads from last summer.
Caprese Salad
In prior years, the basil took off, and the tomatoes took a long time to catch up. This year all the tomatoes self seeded in late winter, sending me scrambling for basil. I purchased a small plant from the nursery, and planted it near the volunteer potato. It was about the same size as the tomatoes when it went into the ground, so I patted myself on the back and figured a job well done.
Ha!
Scene of the crime
Something devoured my plant! I’m not naming names or anything, but their initials are ‘S’ and ‘S’. Those slippery, slimy garden pests noshed my lovely plant down to the nubs. Boo!
Now here we are three weeks into spring, the tomatoes are taking off and the basil is…well…gone.
Once upon a time I was a Basil plant
I was chatting with my friend Kirra today and she mentioned planting her basil by mistake too close to the tomatoes. Then it hit me. Last year I planted the basil and the tomato side by side without any problems. Since tomato leaves are poisonous, I wonder if the proximity kept the S’s away? It’s worth a try.
Just before hitting the publish key, I searched the term ‘tomato companion planting’ and you’ll never guess what came up: basil! Last summer was a happy accident. So I’ll be headed to the nursery for another small plant, and now I know exactly where it should go.
Last year I planted Baker heirloom tomatoes from seed, a gift from my nurseryman friend, Doug. They produced beautifully through the early fall.
Tomatoes on the vine, 2013
Tomato seeds are small, so I left a glob of wet seeds together to dry on a piece of cardboard. I usually dry seeds on wax paper, but I was fresh out, so I used the back of a tea box instead. Once dried, all the seeds stuck to the paper. No worries. I just stored them in a glassine bag, cardboard and all. Earlier this week I planted the seeds along with the cardboard in my mini green house. We’ll see how it goes.
Tomatoes, squared:
In order to hedge my bets, I bought a packet of seeds from fellow blogger Stacey Weichert at Down To Earth Digs. The seeds from Stacey’s garden are also heirloom. She calls them Natures Riddle. They came packaged in a cute paper envelope. You can check them out at her Etsy shop.
Tomatoes to the third power:
While busy saving and buying seeds, my garden bed had a good chuckle and then planted a few of its own. They’re spaced nicely, too so minimal thinning required. Prior experience tells me that these volunteers will be a hardy bunch. Since I planted five or six varieties last year, I don’t know which ones will come up.
Volunteer tomatoes
Tomatoes cubed:
The mathematical goddess of tomatoes is really having a good time with me. One small tomato plant seeded and grew out of the bottom of my cylinder composting bin. I don’t know what it’s chances of survival are, but I’m inclined to let it grow and see what comes of it. Plenty of people grow tomatoes upside down in Topsy Turvy containers. Why not a compost bin?
Compost tomato
Composting bin, the long view
In the world of gardening, anything can happen between now and tomato time. Blight, tobacco horn worms, the Cosmos. Preferring the optimists path however, if things work out I’ll be giving away little tomato plants all over town.
I’ll leave you with this funny quote:
“Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing that a tomato doesn’t belong in a fruit salad.”
Whether it's one simple yet somehow perfect day or a dreamed about journey finally realized, I never want to forget the joy of the moment or how fortunate I am!
Campanula (Serbian bellflower) and hydrangea hugging the fountain
Patio and garden with mirrors on the back fence. (Pictured: Mouse and Lindy)
Your’s truly holding the camera for a closeup view of the garden mirrors
Pair of Earthboxes with tomatoes and red mulch
Front garden natives mix with annual self-seeded cornflower, California golden poppies, & sweet peas
Lindy snoozing between the Nepeta and the violets
Back garden and patio. Lindy standing near the Nepeta
Tessa dips her nose in the Nepeta
Tessa enjoying the garden
