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Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Leap Day -- A Gardener's Wish Come True

Gardeners are active people. Our gardening tasks are part of our daily chores throughout the year. We're most visible in the summer sun toiling in the warm soil and squatting among brilliant flowers. At the end of the growing season as the last blooms fade and the unpicked fruit freezes on the vine, there is always work left undone. Weeds, tools, hoses, and withered plants all need to be dealt with. Like many others I murmur to myself, I wish I had one more day.

Today is that day.

Leap years give us a leap day and it makes our gardening year just a little bit longer. For all gardeners who have wished for one more day to finish gardening chores, relish the gift on the calendar.

Gardeners in the southern hemisphere receive the day at an optimum time, as the prime gardening season draws to a close. Autumn is still about three weeks away but leap day extends its arrival by a precious 24 hours.

In the northern hemisphere spring arrives on March 20. That holds true this year and next, and the next, and so on, regardless of leap year status. It's a nice quirk of our Gregorian calendar. While leap day adds one day to winter, a thought that some may find a bit depressing, it also gives us extra time for gardening planning and preparation.

I'm a firm believer in proper garden planning and preparation. One day spent wisely can save many days of wasted labor and effort. Leap day is a free day and if used well it can avoid squandered time.

Almost everyone will look at today as Wednesday, just another day of the week. We'll go about our day doing what we normally do on Wednesday. Leap Year Babies, those who are born on February 29, will celebrate being one-quarter the age of the rest of us, but leap day is little more than a nice conversation starter for the majority.

I propose that gardeners use leap day as the extra gardening day we wish we had every year.

Use leap day for gardening. It may be a cold day with snow on the ground, but think gardening. The ground may be frozen and you're weeks away from planting, but think gardening. You may be mired in mud, but think gardening.

If you haven't ordered seeds for spring sowing, do it today. If you haven't started plants inside and you're about six weeks from the last frost, start seeds in pots today. If you plan to enlarge your garden but haven't put your ideas on paper, draw a rough plan today. If your tools are still in a pile from the end of last year, organize and clean them today. If you have a major garden project in mind, start it today.

Focus on improving your gardening life. It's easy to become a slave to daily winter habit patterns which ignore gardening thoughts and actions too often. Change that and take action today.

Many home gardeners don't have the privilege of enjoying a free day in the middle of the week, but thinking about gardening isn't limited by the calendar. You may not have the free time to spend hours on gardening chores today but you can plan your gardening activities and anticipate them soon. Look at this leap day gift as a part of a special week, a leap week if you will, and when your day off arrives treat it as leap day, your extra gardening day.

During leap years we may complain about the extra day of winter and the delay of spring's arrival. When we're sweating in the garden in the summer and early fall we will forget these thoughts and still pine for extra time to enjoy the season. Rather than complain twice about lost opportunity, take advantage of leap day. Take a task that a prime spring day might normally consume and do it on your leap day.

It's cold and windy here but warm weather is on the way and I want to be outside when it arrives. Rather than waste a sunny day doing inside gardening tasks I'll do some of those inside chores today. I'll get a head start on spring gardening.

Today I'll make more seed bombs. I'll order from favorite catalogs. I'll organize my workbench to prepare for making birdhouses. I'll begin writing down my plan for which plants will go where in my vegetable garden.

It's not a lot, only a few hours of activity, but it's free time on a free day. It's a day I didn't have last year and a day I won't have next year. I'm a gardener and I'm taking advantage of extra gardening time. It's an opportunity too dear to pass up.

It's leap day. How will you use it?
Gardeners are active people. Our gardening tasks are part of our daily chores throughout the year. We're most visible in the summer sun toiling in the warm soil and squatting among brilliant flowers. At the end of the growing season as the last blooms fade and the unpicked fruit freezes on the vine, there is always work left undone. Weeds, tools, hoses, and withered plants all need to be dealt with. Like many others I murmur to myself, I wish I had one more day.

Today is that day.

Leap years give us a leap day and it makes our gardening year just a little bit longer. For all gardeners who have wished for one more day to finish gardening chores, relish the gift on the calendar.

Gardeners in the southern hemisphere receive the day at an optimum time, as the prime gardening season draws to a close. Autumn is still about three weeks away but leap day extends its arrival by a precious 24 hours.

In the northern hemisphere spring arrives on March 20. That holds true this year and next, and the next, and so on, regardless of leap year status. It's a nice quirk of our Gregorian calendar. While leap day adds one day to winter, a thought that some may find a bit depressing, it also gives us extra time for gardening planning and preparation.

I'm a firm believer in proper garden planning and preparation. One day spent wisely can save many days of wasted labor and effort. Leap day is a free day and if used well it can avoid squandered time.

Almost everyone will look at today as Wednesday, just another day of the week. We'll go about our day doing what we normally do on Wednesday. Leap Year Babies, those who are born on February 29, will celebrate being one-quarter the age of the rest of us, but leap day is little more than a nice conversation starter for the majority.

I propose that gardeners use leap day as the extra gardening day we wish we had every year.

Use leap day for gardening. It may be a cold day with snow on the ground, but think gardening. The ground may be frozen and you're weeks away from planting, but think gardening. You may be mired in mud, but think gardening.

If you haven't ordered seeds for spring sowing, do it today. If you haven't started plants inside and you're about six weeks from the last frost, start seeds in pots today. If you plan to enlarge your garden but haven't put your ideas on paper, draw a rough plan today. If your tools are still in a pile from the end of last year, organize and clean them today. If you have a major garden project in mind, start it today.

Focus on improving your gardening life. It's easy to become a slave to daily winter habit patterns which ignore gardening thoughts and actions too often. Change that and take action today.

Many home gardeners don't have the privilege of enjoying a free day in the middle of the week, but thinking about gardening isn't limited by the calendar. You may not have the free time to spend hours on gardening chores today but you can plan your gardening activities and anticipate them soon. Look at this leap day gift as a part of a special week, a leap week if you will, and when your day off arrives treat it as leap day, your extra gardening day.

During leap years we may complain about the extra day of winter and the delay of spring's arrival. When we're sweating in the garden in the summer and early fall we will forget these thoughts and still pine for extra time to enjoy the season. Rather than complain twice about lost opportunity, take advantage of leap day. Take a task that a prime spring day might normally consume and do it on your leap day.

It's cold and windy here but warm weather is on the way and I want to be outside when it arrives. Rather than waste a sunny day doing inside gardening tasks I'll do some of those inside chores today. I'll get a head start on spring gardening.

Today I'll make more seed bombs. I'll order from favorite catalogs. I'll organize my workbench to prepare for making birdhouses. I'll begin writing down my plan for which plants will go where in my vegetable garden.

It's not a lot, only a few hours of activity, but it's free time on a free day. It's a day I didn't have last year and a day I won't have next year. I'm a gardener and I'm taking advantage of extra gardening time. It's an opportunity too dear to pass up.

It's leap day. How will you use it?

Sunday, February 26, 2012

How to Make Seed Bombs

As landscape armaments go, seed bombs are my weapon of choice. A popular tool in guerrilla gardening, they allow seeds to be sown in difficult-to-reach locations like vacant city lots and other barren, urban locations. While popularized on the internet as a method of adding life to blighted areas, seed bombs can also be a fun and interesting way to add plants to home gardens.

My homemade seed bombs

Seed bombs are nothing more than clay and another growing medium like compost or worm castings mixed together with seeds and water. Formed into a ball and dried, they can be tossed anywhere the thrower's arm can reach. Rain or irrigation cause the clay-based ball to dissolve into a blob where the seeds can germinate amid the compost and grow into vibrant plants.

Recipes vary but the most common one found on the web is:

Five parts clay
Three parts compost
One part seed
One to two parts water

My garden already has too much clay and my region is quite arid so I prefer a recipe that has more compost and less clay, closer to a 50-50 mix. Dry clay powder is combined with the compost and seed and water is added. Clay is the binder and as long as you use enough of it to hold the ball together just about any combination will work.

The choice of seed is completely personal. Wildflower mixes are popular but check the specific seed mix to make sure you're not introducing noxious weeds or invasive plants. Lettuce and salad seed mixes are a nice option, as are bombs concentrating on sunflowers or peas and beans.

The biggest problem I encountered in making seed bombs was finding the clay. Dry, powder, ceramic clay is preferred. You'll see "dry, red clay" mentioned often in recipes, but the color really doesn't matter. The problem comes in that few hobby stores and retail stores sell dry clay. Surprisingly, few ceramic supply stores sell it as well. My city of half a million people only has one ceramic outlet that offers it and a 50-pound bag is the smallest size available. For about twenty dollars I thought it was worth the price.

Moist clay can be purchased from nearly all hobby and ceramic stores. You can use this pre-mixed wet clay to make seed bombs but incorporating the compost and seeds thoroughly is more difficult. You also have to be careful because some of the hobby blends are designed to harden permanently when dry and they may not dissolve in the rain as desired. Use the powder if you can find it.

If you're making seed bombs for your own garden and your soil has a propensity for clay, you can use your own soil in the mix. No need to buy clay if you have your own already. I wouldn't recommend using your soil if you plan to share your seed bombs because you may inadvertently transfer your soil problems to another gardener.


Begin by measuring out the ingredients per your recipe. For these photos I used the 5-3-1 ratio mentioned above:  1 1/4 cups clay, 3/4 cup sifted compost, and 1/4 cup wildflower seeds.

The dry ingredients

Mix the dry ingredients completely to get the best and most even distribution of seed. Then add the water. I used two parts or 1/2 cup. Combine well with a spoon or your fingers.

The moist mixture

The easiest thing to do at this point is to roll the mixture into small balls between your hands. This can get messy. The size doesn't matter, though bigger balls will concentrate more seeds in a small area and the plants will have to compete with each other upon germination. This recipe made a baker's dozen of 1 1/2-inch wildflower seed bombs.

Making the balls

I like to flatten the balls to make little disks. The flatter shape helps keep the seed bombs from rolling away down my hilly landscape and  I think a flat piece will dissolve easier and more evenly than a ball when placed on open soil; with our limited rain every drop needs to count and a disk will catch more drops than a sphere. You can press the mixture into a mold if you want a certain shape.

Pressing to make a disk

Place the newly-formed, wet seed bombs in a safe place to dry. You can put them on a sheet of newspaper and it will absorb some of the moisture but I don't find that this accelerates drying much. After two days the seed bombs will be dry and ready to use. There's no need to use an oven. Just let them air dry.

Dry in two days

If you want to practice a little guerrilla gardening, take the seed bombs and toss them where you want new plants. Be aware that trespassing or littering laws may apply if you throw them on public land or property that isn't yours.

I suggest you take the seed bombs and toss them in areas of your own landscape where you want a random growth of new plants. For children, it's a fun game to toss the little marbles around. Left where they land they'll sprout when the water falls, either rain or from your sprinkler.

For a more controlled process the seed bombs become seed balls that can be placed in pots or specific garden rows. Planted just below the soil surface they'll germinate with normal garden watering. Like seed tape the seed balls help you control where your seeds go.

The entire process of making seed bombs is a good one for schools and gardening clubs. Make it a group activity. If you use a light-colored clay, add food coloring to color the balls. Package them and give as gifts. Have a bomb party and let your friends and family help plant a new garden bed.

Have fun with the whole thing. In gardening, bomb doesn't have to mean a dangerous weapon.
As landscape armaments go, seed bombs are my weapon of choice. A popular tool in guerrilla gardening, they allow seeds to be sown in difficult-to-reach locations like vacant city lots and other barren, urban locations. While popularized on the internet as a method of adding life to blighted areas, seed bombs can also be a fun and interesting way to add plants to home gardens.

My homemade seed bombs

Seed bombs are nothing more than clay and another growing medium like compost or worm castings mixed together with seeds and water. Formed into a ball and dried, they can be tossed anywhere the thrower's arm can reach. Rain or irrigation cause the clay-based ball to dissolve into a blob where the seeds can germinate amid the compost and grow into vibrant plants.

Recipes vary but the most common one found on the web is:

Five parts clay
Three parts compost
One part seed
One to two parts water

My garden already has too much clay and my region is quite arid so I prefer a recipe that has more compost and less clay, closer to a 50-50 mix. Dry clay powder is combined with the compost and seed and water is added. Clay is the binder and as long as you use enough of it to hold the ball together just about any combination will work.

The choice of seed is completely personal. Wildflower mixes are popular but check the specific seed mix to make sure you're not introducing noxious weeds or invasive plants. Lettuce and salad seed mixes are a nice option, as are bombs concentrating on sunflowers or peas and beans.

The biggest problem I encountered in making seed bombs was finding the clay. Dry, powder, ceramic clay is preferred. You'll see "dry, red clay" mentioned often in recipes, but the color really doesn't matter. The problem comes in that few hobby stores and retail stores sell dry clay. Surprisingly, few ceramic supply stores sell it as well. My city of half a million people only has one ceramic outlet that offers it and a 50-pound bag is the smallest size available. For about twenty dollars I thought it was worth the price.

Moist clay can be purchased from nearly all hobby and ceramic stores. You can use this pre-mixed wet clay to make seed bombs but incorporating the compost and seeds thoroughly is more difficult. You also have to be careful because some of the hobby blends are designed to harden permanently when dry and they may not dissolve in the rain as desired. Use the powder if you can find it.

If you're making seed bombs for your own garden and your soil has a propensity for clay, you can use your own soil in the mix. No need to buy clay if you have your own already. I wouldn't recommend using your soil if you plan to share your seed bombs because you may inadvertently transfer your soil problems to another gardener.


Begin by measuring out the ingredients per your recipe. For these photos I used the 5-3-1 ratio mentioned above:  1 1/4 cups clay, 3/4 cup sifted compost, and 1/4 cup wildflower seeds.

The dry ingredients

Mix the dry ingredients completely to get the best and most even distribution of seed. Then add the water. I used two parts or 1/2 cup. Combine well with a spoon or your fingers.

The moist mixture

The easiest thing to do at this point is to roll the mixture into small balls between your hands. This can get messy. The size doesn't matter, though bigger balls will concentrate more seeds in a small area and the plants will have to compete with each other upon germination. This recipe made a baker's dozen of 1 1/2-inch wildflower seed bombs.

Making the balls

I like to flatten the balls to make little disks. The flatter shape helps keep the seed bombs from rolling away down my hilly landscape and  I think a flat piece will dissolve easier and more evenly than a ball when placed on open soil; with our limited rain every drop needs to count and a disk will catch more drops than a sphere. You can press the mixture into a mold if you want a certain shape.

Pressing to make a disk

Place the newly-formed, wet seed bombs in a safe place to dry. You can put them on a sheet of newspaper and it will absorb some of the moisture but I don't find that this accelerates drying much. After two days the seed bombs will be dry and ready to use. There's no need to use an oven. Just let them air dry.

Dry in two days

If you want to practice a little guerrilla gardening, take the seed bombs and toss them where you want new plants. Be aware that trespassing or littering laws may apply if you throw them on public land or property that isn't yours.

I suggest you take the seed bombs and toss them in areas of your own landscape where you want a random growth of new plants. For children, it's a fun game to toss the little marbles around. Left where they land they'll sprout when the water falls, either rain or from your sprinkler.

For a more controlled process the seed bombs become seed balls that can be placed in pots or specific garden rows. Planted just below the soil surface they'll germinate with normal garden watering. Like seed tape the seed balls help you control where your seeds go.

The entire process of making seed bombs is a good one for schools and gardening clubs. Make it a group activity. If you use a light-colored clay, add food coloring to color the balls. Package them and give as gifts. Have a bomb party and let your friends and family help plant a new garden bed.

Have fun with the whole thing. In gardening, bomb doesn't have to mean a dangerous weapon.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

The Birds Are Talking

Spring is in the air. Literally. The crisp, cold silence of frigid winter mornings has been replaced by the murmurs of awakening wildlife. The sounds of spring mornings are slipping into the winter landscape. Snow crunches underfoot and visible, chilled breath still leads the way as I venture out for the daily newspaper, but the environment has changed.

A few days ago a woodpecker tapped insistently in the elderly pine tree above my head. The beetle larvae must be stirring and he was seeking a tasty, nutritious breakfast. My presence didn't deter his staccato beat. I paused in an effort to see where he was and tried unsuccessfully to recall hearing a woodpecker so active so early in the year.

Yesterday a chirping conversation floated through the crisp breeze. Two, maybe three, birds were sharing their locations or diets or political views with their friends and relatives in the neighborhood. The chilly start to the day didn't seem to affect their enthusiasm.

This morning muffled avian conversations drifted through the closed windows. The same birds, different birds, I don't know; I'm still working on improving my visual identification and verbal cues aren't in my repertoire yet. But it's been months since I heard birds singing while I was still in bed.

The wild world is waking up and the vibrant sounds and sights are heralding spring. Forget the groundhog's shadow, this is credible evidence that winter is waning. It may be a few weeks or more until I see my first Robin, a sure sign of spring, but I'm encouraged by the sounds around me.

As partial preparation for the explosion of life to come, I'm focusing on the birds. My wife and I checked out a few books on birdhouses from the library. We've dabbled in birdhouses before and she painted a few to brighten the yard last year, never expecting that any bird would ever move in.

My wife's project last year

Both of us were quite surprised when a late-season storm blew the house out of the tree it rested in. We weren't surprised by the storm, but rather by the contents of the house after it broke open upon impact with the ground. Hair, twigs, and yarn filled the space. It had been occupied.

The birdhouse stuffed with a nest

This year we'll welcome the birds with new homes all around our property. There's a lot more to birdhouses than buying a basic model at the craft store. Size of the structure, size of the hole, and location of house vary by species. I'll write more about that soon. We thought we had a little time to prepare, but based on the awakening morning cacophony the birds will be looking for new homes soon.

This is exciting. Many gardeners strive for expressive sights in their gardens. The textures and colors and shapes of plants. Shifting some of the focus to sound opens up a whole new way of enjoying a garden space. Learning to bring the voices of animals into the landscape allows another of our remarkable senses to enjoy our world.

We're lucky that we have a neighborhood that encourages the natural expression of birds. Through our efforts we hope to bring some of them a little closer to us so we can share in their communication. It begins with an awareness that they are there and that they have a voice.

It's sunny and warm today with snow and cold forecast for tomorrow. It will be some time before all of the current snow drifts have melted, especially with more flakes to come. The birds don't seem to be concerned by that so I won't be either. They've told me that spring is on the way.

They have more experience than me when it comes to seasonal preparation and expectation. The word is out in bird society that it's time to wake up and welcome spring. I'm listening.
Spring is in the air. Literally. The crisp, cold silence of frigid winter mornings has been replaced by the murmurs of awakening wildlife. The sounds of spring mornings are slipping into the winter landscape. Snow crunches underfoot and visible, chilled breath still leads the way as I venture out for the daily newspaper, but the environment has changed.

A few days ago a woodpecker tapped insistently in the elderly pine tree above my head. The beetle larvae must be stirring and he was seeking a tasty, nutritious breakfast. My presence didn't deter his staccato beat. I paused in an effort to see where he was and tried unsuccessfully to recall hearing a woodpecker so active so early in the year.

Yesterday a chirping conversation floated through the crisp breeze. Two, maybe three, birds were sharing their locations or diets or political views with their friends and relatives in the neighborhood. The chilly start to the day didn't seem to affect their enthusiasm.

This morning muffled avian conversations drifted through the closed windows. The same birds, different birds, I don't know; I'm still working on improving my visual identification and verbal cues aren't in my repertoire yet. But it's been months since I heard birds singing while I was still in bed.

The wild world is waking up and the vibrant sounds and sights are heralding spring. Forget the groundhog's shadow, this is credible evidence that winter is waning. It may be a few weeks or more until I see my first Robin, a sure sign of spring, but I'm encouraged by the sounds around me.

As partial preparation for the explosion of life to come, I'm focusing on the birds. My wife and I checked out a few books on birdhouses from the library. We've dabbled in birdhouses before and she painted a few to brighten the yard last year, never expecting that any bird would ever move in.

My wife's project last year

Both of us were quite surprised when a late-season storm blew the house out of the tree it rested in. We weren't surprised by the storm, but rather by the contents of the house after it broke open upon impact with the ground. Hair, twigs, and yarn filled the space. It had been occupied.

The birdhouse stuffed with a nest

This year we'll welcome the birds with new homes all around our property. There's a lot more to birdhouses than buying a basic model at the craft store. Size of the structure, size of the hole, and location of house vary by species. I'll write more about that soon. We thought we had a little time to prepare, but based on the awakening morning cacophony the birds will be looking for new homes soon.

This is exciting. Many gardeners strive for expressive sights in their gardens. The textures and colors and shapes of plants. Shifting some of the focus to sound opens up a whole new way of enjoying a garden space. Learning to bring the voices of animals into the landscape allows another of our remarkable senses to enjoy our world.

We're lucky that we have a neighborhood that encourages the natural expression of birds. Through our efforts we hope to bring some of them a little closer to us so we can share in their communication. It begins with an awareness that they are there and that they have a voice.

It's sunny and warm today with snow and cold forecast for tomorrow. It will be some time before all of the current snow drifts have melted, especially with more flakes to come. The birds don't seem to be concerned by that so I won't be either. They've told me that spring is on the way.

They have more experience than me when it comes to seasonal preparation and expectation. The word is out in bird society that it's time to wake up and welcome spring. I'm listening.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Wasting a Harvest

For avid vegetable gardeners, bringing in the harvest is the highlight of the season. It's the culmination of effective planning, hard work, and a series of inevitable, unexpected setbacks that must be overcome. The colors, tastes, and textures of fresh fruit and vegetables are unrivaled by pale and pasty retail offerings and a successful harvest helps to accent those differences.

I am certainly a gardener who strives toward a good harvest and revels in botanical successes, even the small ones. You see my photos and read my stories as I share the accomplishments. Regretfully, painfully, I also share the failures.

Gardening failures encompass many subject areas and are often quite personal. One gardener's brilliant, blooming rose is another's failed experimental hybrid. A perceived poor harvest in one garden may far exceed the results in a neighbor's plot. It's all relative. For me, today, the failure comes not in the actual harvest but in how it was used, or rather how it wasn't.

Beets were the most successful crop in my garden last summer. They exceeded all my expectations and I harvested many, many pounds. I documented some of that success in my article "How to Pickle Beets" (Aug. 27, 2011). I'm a food preserver and pickling is one of many ways I save the harvest for later use.

This year, the first I grew beets, I saved many of them after the harvest with the intent of eating beets through the winter. Roasted beets, boiled beets, baked beets, and fried beets. I've never really eaten beets before, but now I had the opportunity to try them in every incarnation.

I painstakingly layered the purple bulbs in alternating rows on straw and stored them in a cool, dark spot in my garage. And forgot about them.

Saving the beets

Sure, every now and then, late at night, I'd have a passing thought about the beets and how I needed to add a few to our diet. Those thoughts would be resurrected occasionally in similar circumstances, always at a time or place when actually retrieving a few beets was impractical. Beets never seemed to enter my thought process when I was standing in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator trying to conjure up ideas for dinner.

Last week as I was carrying in logs for the woodstove, stumbling around the cardboard box for the umpteenth time, it was finally time to deal with the beets.

Beets should be stored in cool, humid conditions. My garage supplied the cool part easily, but there are few locations in Colorado that remotely venture into a humid environment. I knew that when I laid the beets on the moist straw back in September, but proceeded nonetheless. Even in ideal conditions beets are only expected to store well for two to five months and I was certainly at the back end of that range when I finally took action.

As you've probably guessed, they were no longer usable. I peered into the box to see the little cadavers appearing to be laid out for a mass burial. They gave their lives for a cause that in the end was wasted. An unceremonial dumping on the compost pile punctuated the failed experiment.

I was only marginally more successful, or less of a failure, in my use of parsnips. Parsnips can overwinter fairly well in many gardens and I left many in the bed to see how they'll do in my location; we'll know when the ground thaws. I harvested a good sampling of big healthy roots, washed them, and stored them in a plastic bag in the produce drawer of the refrigerator.

Parsnips at harvest

Stored like that they should last about two weeks. Within a couple days I used one nice firm parsnip in a blend with potatoes for dinner. Three months later the rest were still resting at the bottom of the drawer staring up at me every time I stood with the refrigerator door open contemplating the evening's menu. They ended up in the compost pile too.

I always feel a pang of guilt when the compost pile grows at the expense of potentially beneficial produce that I failed to use appropriately. There are people who could have benefited from a donation or contribution of my harvest. I had sincere intentions when planning storage for my own use, but realistically, and in hindsight, giving away my gardening success would have been a better solution.

Growing a garden is only part of the journey. Harvesting should be part of the plan too. If you do as good a job with your garden as you hope, what will you do when you succeed? Many gardeners plant and grow much more than they can possible use for themselves. I strongly advocate food preservation for much of the excess. Pickling, freezing, drying, and canning can all provide food for months after the harvest. But if you don't plan on preserving or if you have leftovers after preserving, try to avoid waste.

Let someone else enjoy fresh produce. A neighbor, a friend, a stranger, a food bank. Every community has people who need healthy additions to their diets. You can make a difference.

Those of us who act selfishly often err in those actions. We want the best for ourselves. By saving the good stuff for our personal use, some times no one enjoys anything. I like to think that I learned a valuable lesson with the loss of my beets and parsnips.

This year donating a portion of my harvest is part of my garden planning. I suggest other gardeners who aren't already sharing their bounty consider the same. Let's hope that next year we have fewer stories of failure to share.

Read "How to Pickle Beets."
For avid vegetable gardeners, bringing in the harvest is the highlight of the season. It's the culmination of effective planning, hard work, and a series of inevitable, unexpected setbacks that must be overcome. The colors, tastes, and textures of fresh fruit and vegetables are unrivaled by pale and pasty retail offerings and a successful harvest helps to accent those differences.

I am certainly a gardener who strives toward a good harvest and revels in botanical successes, even the small ones. You see my photos and read my stories as I share the accomplishments. Regretfully, painfully, I also share the failures.

Gardening failures encompass many subject areas and are often quite personal. One gardener's brilliant, blooming rose is another's failed experimental hybrid. A perceived poor harvest in one garden may far exceed the results in a neighbor's plot. It's all relative. For me, today, the failure comes not in the actual harvest but in how it was used, or rather how it wasn't.

Beets were the most successful crop in my garden last summer. They exceeded all my expectations and I harvested many, many pounds. I documented some of that success in my article "How to Pickle Beets" (Aug. 27, 2011). I'm a food preserver and pickling is one of many ways I save the harvest for later use.

This year, the first I grew beets, I saved many of them after the harvest with the intent of eating beets through the winter. Roasted beets, boiled beets, baked beets, and fried beets. I've never really eaten beets before, but now I had the opportunity to try them in every incarnation.

I painstakingly layered the purple bulbs in alternating rows on straw and stored them in a cool, dark spot in my garage. And forgot about them.

Saving the beets

Sure, every now and then, late at night, I'd have a passing thought about the beets and how I needed to add a few to our diet. Those thoughts would be resurrected occasionally in similar circumstances, always at a time or place when actually retrieving a few beets was impractical. Beets never seemed to enter my thought process when I was standing in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator trying to conjure up ideas for dinner.

Last week as I was carrying in logs for the woodstove, stumbling around the cardboard box for the umpteenth time, it was finally time to deal with the beets.

Beets should be stored in cool, humid conditions. My garage supplied the cool part easily, but there are few locations in Colorado that remotely venture into a humid environment. I knew that when I laid the beets on the moist straw back in September, but proceeded nonetheless. Even in ideal conditions beets are only expected to store well for two to five months and I was certainly at the back end of that range when I finally took action.

As you've probably guessed, they were no longer usable. I peered into the box to see the little cadavers appearing to be laid out for a mass burial. They gave their lives for a cause that in the end was wasted. An unceremonial dumping on the compost pile punctuated the failed experiment.

I was only marginally more successful, or less of a failure, in my use of parsnips. Parsnips can overwinter fairly well in many gardens and I left many in the bed to see how they'll do in my location; we'll know when the ground thaws. I harvested a good sampling of big healthy roots, washed them, and stored them in a plastic bag in the produce drawer of the refrigerator.

Parsnips at harvest

Stored like that they should last about two weeks. Within a couple days I used one nice firm parsnip in a blend with potatoes for dinner. Three months later the rest were still resting at the bottom of the drawer staring up at me every time I stood with the refrigerator door open contemplating the evening's menu. They ended up in the compost pile too.

I always feel a pang of guilt when the compost pile grows at the expense of potentially beneficial produce that I failed to use appropriately. There are people who could have benefited from a donation or contribution of my harvest. I had sincere intentions when planning storage for my own use, but realistically, and in hindsight, giving away my gardening success would have been a better solution.

Growing a garden is only part of the journey. Harvesting should be part of the plan too. If you do as good a job with your garden as you hope, what will you do when you succeed? Many gardeners plant and grow much more than they can possible use for themselves. I strongly advocate food preservation for much of the excess. Pickling, freezing, drying, and canning can all provide food for months after the harvest. But if you don't plan on preserving or if you have leftovers after preserving, try to avoid waste.

Let someone else enjoy fresh produce. A neighbor, a friend, a stranger, a food bank. Every community has people who need healthy additions to their diets. You can make a difference.

Those of us who act selfishly often err in those actions. We want the best for ourselves. By saving the good stuff for our personal use, some times no one enjoys anything. I like to think that I learned a valuable lesson with the loss of my beets and parsnips.

This year donating a portion of my harvest is part of my garden planning. I suggest other gardeners who aren't already sharing their bounty consider the same. Let's hope that next year we have fewer stories of failure to share.

Read "
How to Pickle Beets."