A Fine Spring Day

Hello sour grass, my old friend! Welcome back again. Here you are with one, lone, bright-faced bloom lighting up a neglected corner of the yard. Can spring be far behind?

It was such a splendid, dirt-under the fingernails day I ended up spending the whole morning in the garden. The usual inspection tour -- lately just a quick look around our damp, cold, scraggly, uninviting backyard patch -- turned into a flower photo op.

The first oxalis blossom opened nearly a month earlier than last year -- mid-January as opposed to the week of February 10. (One of the great features of a garden blog is the gradual accumulation of exact data from year to year.) Spring does seem to be running early. There are golden fields of wild mustard blooming already out by the coast and our neighborhood is sporting the first gorgeous tulip magnolias.






The volunteer arugula has put forth its trademark four-petaled blossom, delicately veined like the wings of some kind of exotic helicopter insect. I've seen the hummingbirds buzzing these blooms.






Here is borage -- not a very good photo. I'm sure it looks at lot better than this to the bees who gather here.






The pea plants are blooming again, unfurling like the Japanese folded paper flowers that "bloom" when you put them in water.






More flower origami: elegant black-trimmed fava bean blossoms are opening on three-foot tall stalks.






These hot pink rosettes aren't flowers at all, just some garden art that resulted from the thinning out of an overgrown clump of volunteer chard. Lots of the leaves had been so thoroughly mined by leaf miners that they had rotted into slime during the rainy spells. Yuk!

Undaunted, and energized by the unexpected spring day (I know, I know, it won't last), I weeded and trimmed until the plants could breath and soak up the sun. The lipstick chard pictured above is growing back from a venerable gnarled stump, all that's left of a plant that grew six or seven feet tall last season.






There are several varieties of chard in the patch, some growing from over-wintered stumps, some springing up for the first time.






Here's a shot of the north half of the winter garden. The oxalis and the borage are in the back corner where the fences meet; the arugula is to their right, the peas are in the foreground twining up the wooden stakes, the favas and the patch of chard are out of view to the right. In the foreground you can also see spinach, lacinato kale, and a bed of sponsored arugula. In the background are a couple of beds of lettuce. Out of view are broccoli and leeks. The paths are covered mostly with miner's lettuce. And that's about it.

We are harvesting lettuce, miner's lettuce, spinach, arugula, kale, and chard. We are waiting for broccoli, leeks, another round of peas, and favas.

Ready to pick or not, edible or not, everything looks beautiful on this fine spring day.

Weeds Gone Wild

Late rains have added a burst of energy to the already luxuriant weed growth. This photo shows the main garden path in mid-April: a jungle of arugula, mallow, henbit, burr clover, miner's lettuce, grasses, sow thistle, sticky willy, bindweed and other upstarts I haven't learned to identify yet.

I left it to grow unchecked because of the preponderance of arugula -- the tall plants with white flowers. We eat the flavorful leaves in salad almost every night so it seems a small sacrifice to have the main path, which is usually wide enough and more for a garden cart to pass, reduced to a barely visible trail through the undergrowth.




In this close-up I can see fennel, forget-me-not, gopher weed, burr clover, and what I think is Queen Ann's lace. Since reading Michael Pollen's chapter on weeds in his early book, Second Nature, I've come to have a grudging admiration for these entrepreneurial pioneers that move in wherever we gardeners disturb the soil, unwittingly creating the conditions these plants are looking for. Our common garden weeds are not representatives of wild nature into which our cultivated patches are inserted. They appear as a result of our efforts to clear and dig. It seems their job is to cover up bare ground, which Mother Nature avoids as strongly as she abhors a vacuum.

So I take a fairly laissez faire approach to the garden paths -- letting the "good" weeds grow (forget-me-nots, poppies, arugula, miner's lettuce, Queen Ann's lace) and letting the "bad" weeds grow along with them until it gets to be time to get serious about the summer garden.




In a few areas where it was mostly "bad" weeds starting to come up thickly back in February, I covered the ground with lots of folded newspaper before they got tall. Unsightly but useful, the newspaper made a good base for collecting the mounds of weeds that I did manage to pull up. (You have to keep your wits about you walking around this garden in the spring: threading through jungles, avoiding piles of decaying greenery.)

Last week, when I thought the rains might be done for the season, I pulled up the newspapers to clear the paths. Above is a scenic view of a cleared path. During the long dry season it will be a hard-packed track where only bindweed and some hardy grasses like to grow.




And here is a not-so-scenic view in the back corner: the half-composted newspapers make a good layering material for starting a new brush pile. Over several years, the pile will decompose and transform the heavy black clay beneath it into fluffy soil.