Ch-ch-ch-ch-CHIA!

So now as one season has ended, another begins. This being northern California, and our weather being bizarre, many plants seem unaware it is only November, and are making out like it is at least January.

A January's worth of narsissus, up in November.
That is good news in some spots. There are loads of what I, hopefully, innocently believe to be baby chia plants. They're growing in one of my barrels.

Ooo maybe 99/44 100% sure these are chia seedlings
There are other signs of life in the garden that I'm sure of as far as ID, but unsure of as far as if they're growing out too soon. There are newly sprouted Daffodils, Frissias and the like. Not fussing mind, just wondering if those plants are A types and a bit over ambitious. Oh well! Time will tell.

One Day, Three Miracles

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!, I chortled in my joy, just a few minutes ago. There I stood, in the Gulag G., pulling out the powdery mildew sprinkled veggies and flowers of the past season. Out came the lovely but old sunflower and part of the lemon cucumbers. Out came Moon & Stars heritage watermelon... Then I saw it! Almost the loveliest of fruit I have ever seen! I thought it a very unripe lemon cucumber, until my noggin zoned in on the yellow spots - it was a mini-Moon & Stars melon!

The Littlest Moon and Stars - love its anemic yellow spots n' dots

Yes, if you wish to be picky it is only 2.5 inches, and should be closer to two feet, but it's just a bay-bay after all. I quickly replanted the frazzled mama plant and though I know there is slim hope for the melon to develope in to a ripe fruit so late in the season, who know? And anyway, seeing that tiny fruit means if I get the damned thing into the ground next season, I may yet grow my own heritage watermelons. *GRIN*

When done replanting the mini-melon and slinging it over a trellis of sorts, I noticed miracle number two. You might recall a number of ages and eons ago, I spoke of flower bulbs left in their packaging until they rotted or shriveled up. At that time I noted a few of the bulbs - fancy, expensive arse daffodils were not quite squeezed of every last atom of freshness yet. Instead of tossing them, I lazily put them under a pile of dry potting soil that is in a outdoor log burner on my patio - I use the burner for potting actually, not fires. I read that bulbs, dahlia tubers and such, can be stored at the end of a season in peat moss, saw dust or other dry warm, comfy bedding. As I patted the soil over the blubs, I lovingly though, 'Yeah, fat chance these suckers are ever going to see the light of day again. And I was wrong!

You're not out of the woods yet bulbettes
I still have to plant you somewhere
I am truly floored. The stubborn little imps survive a long summer buried under discarded & spent potting soil. And no ordinary stubborn little imps are these bulbs, they are v. expensive, v. royal, and damned sure beautiful fancy bulbs called Galactic Star Daffodil. Maybe that is how they survived? They thought they thought the metal burner was a little flying saucer, that while they lay in suspended animation ala 2001:Space Odyssey, they were being carried off to a beautiful garden in a strange land, far, far away. Oy, they are going to be so surprised when they open their blooms.

GAK! I might just get to have Galactic Star Daffodils of the Martian Realm in the G.G. after all!
And last, but sure as hell the best of the bunch yet, anoother little flower has entered the grand garden (far nicer than the Gulag) this morning. Little McKayla Ann Bertsch (my dear, oldest friend Joann's granddaughter) came into the world. I'll have you know, McKayla came in to the world the old fashioned way - sex unknown until the doctor slapped the little tushe and yelled, 'It's a beautiful baby girl!'

Hi little McKayla! Auntie Claire hopes some day to walk you around the Gulag to play with the chickens.

Gardening Guru Dispensation

As I've noted in the past few months, the Gulag Garden was just that, a semi-green non-haven of unfruitful veggies. My heritage watermelons and tomatoes did next to nothing and my lemon cucumbers, cantelopes and sugar pumpkin have produced loads of lovely yellow blooms but no fruit. I was feeling a bit dour about it, but this morning I read something in the local Sacramento Bee newspaper that gave me heart.

The following cut & past came out small, but lean in squint and have look.



Gulag Garden:

Lack of tomatoes: CHECK
Presence of Powdery Mildew: CHECK
Frustrated Gardener: CHECK

Gives me heart for next season.

End of the Season

Not much to say today, but that never stops me, does it? It's Furlough Friday and I've decided I must make some effort to make amends to the Gulag G. It was cool last week, and my response to the bout of pleasant weather was cease watering. Can't puzzle out the logic? Truthfully, neither can I. Doesn't matter - it's time the non-fruiting cucurbits is stripped from the planters to make way either for winter veggies or spring flowers. Not sure which way to go yet.

On a happier note, My chive plant - which filled a large hanging pot. T'was a nice addition to numerous omlettes and such during the summer.

Garlic Clove bolted, bearing white balls of blooms
Now the chive flowers stopped looking pretty, and began to resemble sick bridesmaids, I popped them off the plant, and collected fresh Garlic Chive seeds for future herb gardens and perhaps to share.

The flowers yield loads of Garlic Clove seed
I feel like the Gulag Garden is falling asleep around me, gearing up for a cold, wet, possibly miserable winter. Well, this garden isn't called the gulag for nothing.

It's almost as if...

Today at work, I heard a couple of my co-workers discussing their plans for their winter garden. I was stunned. It was almost like people lay out plans for a garden. You know, like they don't wander into a plant nursery half way through a given season and then decide to purchase various and sundry plants, 3/4 grown & ailing flowers and vegetables that have one root in the soil and the other in a compost bin.

Don't these people know about the lovely whimsy of purchasing living compost?

If I Lived Off My Garden Produce I'd Be Skeletal &/or Dead

*sigh* the Cucurbits are all leaves and no veggies
So... my entire crop of veggies for this year amounted to two sickly heritage tomatoes, seven serviceberries, chives, basil, and six sweet banana peppers. Ok, not the most impressive of results, but it was only my first year as a gardener of more than just kitchen herbs, which I've actually had great success with over the years. Still, this was the first year I managed to get some veggies out of the Gulag Garden and frankly, I'm feeling rather encouraged for next year. I shall plant seed in February & March!

The last 3 peppers
Although my Moon n' Stars watermelon, Lemon Cucumber, and cantaloupe did 'nada' that was likely the luck of the annual whims of Mom Nature and the result of planting far too late for results. Over the weekend I was stunned to have a friend (that's you Robbie) speak of her Cinderella Pumpkins. Apparently she cheated, planting the things last Spring instead of waiting for the last possible minute in August, like a good - хороший - Gulag gardener.

If only I had known one can start fall veggies that early... well - maybe it's not too late for my Sugar Pumpkin plant to do something, anything. Or... maybe it's not too late to figure on only growing a cut flower garden for next year. What to do, what to do...

Cinderella Pumpkins

A Final Tally

Entire Yield of this Year's Heritage 'Black Krim' Tomatoes
For the sake of silliness, let's use the old 'Mastercard Tally' on my 'home grown tomato' project.

Gardener's Revolutionary Planter - $19.95
Organic Self-Watering Container Mix - $12.95
Black Krim Tomato plant - $3.00
Four-Arm Plant Hanger - $100/4= $25.00 (as only used one arm)

Rounding it all off & ignoring tax & shipping, dividing it by the number of Black Krim tomatoes in my crop that comes to: $30.00 per tomato.

Now, half of each tomato was not edible due what I believe is blossom-end rot but might just be Mother Nature's way of smacking my bum. So that's $30 each half of a tomato, which comes to about $30 worth of tomato on my salad tonight.

So, the price of one sun ripened, Heritage 'Black Krim' tomato, produced by the sweat of my own brow and straight off the vine?

Priceless!