Beach Farm Morning



I am now beginning to curse the peas for continuing to produce. Tomatoes. Tomatoes. Tomatoes.

We get a handful or two each time we visit. Chard is pumping out the leaves now. And, I've decided to wrap up the broccoli for the season.

Despite the side shoots, and this lone central head yet to fully emerge.

I've released the broccoli from its tent, baring all to the sun and passers-by who wondered what ugly offspring could have needed to be covered so. Lay all the eggs you want, cabbage moths! By this weekend, or maybe Monday, Poblano seedlings I started two weeks ago will be in this bed, and an eggplant or two, and a hot pepper of some kind or another. And the other beds retro-fitted for green bean seeds.

The tomatoes are putting on some growth now, beginning to rise to the first run of netting. When we get back, I expect, the tomatoes will be at least twice as tall. 


I left for the farm around 6:45 am so that I could test the system, particularly the overheads, while no one was at the farm. Sour luck, the before work crowd was there. I waited till they were off, and tested, tested, tested.

Outside of imperfect coverage, it generally works. The overheads are needed for broadly seeded beds where dribbling emitters would be tedious. Herbs like parsley, the greens, the seeded carrots, and leeks are all good examples. Each tomato has its own in-line emitter -that works well, and was easy.

Refreshing on a hot day.


Mostly Blue




The borage is back, self-seeded from last years crop.

And blue-tinged is the pincushion.

Behind the rather late primrose, Johnson's Blue geranium.

But back to the borage -it is something else when you get beneath it.


I'm On To You, June



People are still talking about the rains of May, but I'm on to June, and wondering if it will be much like last year's -hot and dry. All the plants suffered last June, until the moderation that came in July and the cooling of August (which is unusual). The soil is quite dry in the upper layer, and some plants wilt under the sun, only springing back after it wraps the corner. I hesitate to water, this garden not designed around it, but if rain doesn't come sometime soon, I'll be out there a waterin.


Beach Farm Sunday



The parsley is simply perfect, and I harvested a good amount of it to make a pesto with the garlic scapes from last week's harvest. Notice that some flat-leaf parsley seeds grew as curly-leaf.

The chard has finally taken off. We're now harvesting lightly.

I've been quiet on the leek front, but it's time to say something. They're getting bigger, not getting cut down by grubs any longer. Whew. I'm slowly mounding compost around them to "blanch" the stems, but I am inexperienced in the timing for this. Always an experiment.

Sundays haul. Damn, the snops (what I'm calling the group now, since 1/3rd grew as snow peas) keep on producing. I want to put in my tomatoes and will have to cut these down in the next week so I can plant the paste tomatoes before we head out to Minnesota. Same for the broccoli. It's mainly side shoots now and I really want to get in the beans, peppers and eggplant before our two week trip.

They're awfully tasty.

Last week I saw that these broccoli heads were ready for harvest in the tri-color mulch plot. I was so tempted to pick them, but didn't because we all know that as soon as you do, the gardener will arrive to pick them. Isn't it just the way, then, that these broccoli were not picked before going to flower! 

On this trip, we met the gardener, hand on hip, holding an arching hose, lazily dropping a cylindrical deluge over each plant. She said she was here and saw ready broccoli, yet did not pick! Oh, her surprise, a week later in this June warmth, that they have moved on. I told her to pick and eat anyway. She's lucky -no worms.

Then she mentioned her yard. What? Yard you say? She's not the first we've met here at the garden with a real yard at home, usually not too far away -the Rockaways, Canarsie, Bensonhurst. I guess folks don't want to mess up their yard with vegetables. Or maybe they just like the atmosphere -who wouldn't. Yet, I can't help but to think that there are those without their own soil who would make good use of a plot.


The Art Of Patience



Paintings may take years.

Much work, but little progress.

But then, this is there, complete, essentially realized.

The muddy spot, long dry, demanded a plank bridge.

I started it, someone else finished it. Patient, then impatient. I am detail oriented, straight lines should be straight, take the time to get them that way -even on dumb, back trail planks. Not everyone thinks this way, most think in terms of getting it done. Then, shamefully, I become aware -volunteering is not about me. I got paintings, gardens, even blogs for that.


A Word About Spring Broccoli


Yum.

But it's not as good as fall broccoli. Or, at least, my spring broccoli is not as good as my fall broccoli. But for warm weather broccoli, this is good broccoli, so don't go getting on my case, cause this is good broccoli is all I'm sayin, just not as good as in the fall, in which I hope it does well, and becomes really good fall broccoli.

This is my first successful seeding and growing of Brassica oleracea 'piracicaba,' a purportedly warm-weather loving broccoli with small heads and multiple side shoots. Its head character is loose with large green buds, and the taste surprisingly sweet although its appearance and the warm weather tell you it should be otherwise.

The head, above, after being cut from the stalk. It takes a minute before you excuse the broccoli for not having tight, firm broccoli-type heads.

Developing side shoots a week after the initial cut.

The cabbage moth caterpillars like broccoli too, which is why most of my broccoli is under tent. This particular plant never budded last fall, survived under snow cover, and continued growing this spring. So far, no bud development, but it had caught the attention of an egg-laying cabbage mother. I watched her flutter to this plant, bend her abdomen under just so lightly and lift off -it's a split second of activity. She then flutters directly to the other tented broccoli, flapping around it awhile -trying to figure it out? Then moves on to the other tent.

And works her way around the tent to the weakness in its defense. The moths know that the broccoli is under these tents -they must be able to smell it! She lights upon the leaf for just an instant, then flutters away as I pretend to give chase.

There were more moths at the beach farm in April than are there now, and, in fact, this is the first cabbage moth I have seen in quite a while. I well assume they are on the rise now, one of a few generations in each growing season. The key, if not tenting (which has its drawbacks), is to time the broccoli head development for the time between moths and hungry caterpillars. If you can figure that out, you'll get my full respect. Or, maybe you will just deal with the dark green poop, white cocoons, and little green worms hidden in the buds. I, for one, cannot.




Beach Farm Haul



Broccoli, bitter hot greens, snaps and snows, parsley (which is the best).

And the garlic scapes (say that 10 times fast). They were added to stir fry, bread, still some left over -maybe pesto with the parsley, but do they compete or complement?

The irrigation has me pre-occupied. It's been 15 years since I fiddled with this stuff. It's fussy, detailed, not at all like the dumb, bluntness of last year's flood irrigation system.

These made a garden neighbor issue, "ooh, fountains." Fussy thanks to wind, changing water pressure, and spray patterns. Will get it right before we head off to Minnesota.

And all the paste tomatoes waiting for the peas to give it up. So far, peas ain't callin' it quits.


Urban Farmers Beware The Undead



Pigeons, cats, rats, mice, squirrels, raccoons, possum -you've thought you enough trouble. Grab your shotgun, Annie, 'cause now we're dealin' with the undead.

The more we make it like the farm, the more they live. 

Rising from the graves of NYC -pissed, hungry groundhogs.


Expedition Pit



In the cultivated garden, now, the 'New Dawn' rose is beginning to bloom. Next to it, the young flowering tip of Allium sphaerocephalon. Yet, my excitement has not been focused on the garden lately, so much as it has been on the tree pits, planted in spring, 2010, with Zelkova serrata, or the Japanese Zelkova tree. Oh, yes, we had big intentions: to plant those extra large pits with flowers of one kind or another, build tree pit guards, protect and maintain them. But that hasn't panned out, for a variety of reasons, and now I find myself welcoming almost every aspect of tree pit neglect. In each pit an expedition into the world of plants.

 One of the three new tree pits, one year after creation, filling in nicely with an assortment of plants.

Of course, we have the usual suspects, like mugwort, Artemisia vulgaris.

And smartweed, Polygonum caespitosum.

The lamb's quarters, Chenopodium album.


And common mallow, Malva neglecta.

But then there is this toothier, lamb's quarter look-a-like that I suspect is an amaranthus spp.


This basal growth seems to have form, some cultivated history perhaps?

And this? Clearly the same as the above, but older. Silvery green, lanceolate foliage, upright habit, flower buds forming. It looks special -to me, and worth protecting to see what shall come of it.

But should I be surprised at all that one of my most prolifically self-seeding asters has shown up in droves just across three feet of sidewalk? Hardly. But exciting, nonetheless, because I am witness to a logic in its regeneration -it sprouts primarily at the interface between the concrete and the soil. Had the seeds washed or blown across the sidewalk, or both?

Nor should I be surprised that another prolifically spreading garden plant (an accepted weed), Persian Speedwell, Veronica persica, should have made it across the hot, concrete sidewalk plains of New York City.

So why is that I was utterly shocked to see my garden phlox growing in the tree pit? And why does it feel that if I was to pull all the unaccepted weeds, yet leave the accepted, only then would they get stepped on? It seems that if I leave all the weeds, all will survive and flourish. Does the plant community defend itself simply by appearances? Maybe people only see jumble and avoid it, naturally, as city folks are wont to do?

Yet, in avoiding, they miss out on little gems like this.

A snapdragon?

And this.

Possibly Viola arvensis, European Field Pansy.

What I enjoy in the pits is the sense of surprise, which isn't inherent to my cultivated garden, except where I forget what I planted or when something grows off plan. I think it is important to see what takes naturally to bare soil, to help understand soil, and the movement of offspring, and fecundity, to find flowers where there appears to be none, and to appreciate what follows us from there to here. 

But please, don't let it get out of hand, as is this curbside stand of curly dock, Rumex crispus, across the street. Eventually, one or two of those species will overtake the rest, allowing only a simple succession of one or two cool and warm weather weeds to flourish. 

Incidentally, said curly dock seems to house many aphids amongst its untouched branches. Here's the question, then -does it attract aphids, pulling them away from your precious, succulent plants? Or, does it create a perfect habitat for a super-society of thousands upon thousands of aphids that will then migrate to your precious, succulent plants after they use up the curly dock? Feast on that.


If You Love Lower Manhattan So Much That You Cannot Leave It...


... And, you insist on eating the latest in foraging, those last chance foods... consider the West Side Highway. In early morning, preferably before the traffic, and eyewitnesses.

Do not look at the roses. They are a distraction, a colorful blur, as you accelerate under yellow, then red, signals. Look amongst the weeds, the disheveled, distasteful zip of floral disfunction that can be the barrier between those that travel north and those who prefer south.

All the best things are over-looked because they lack such formal amplitude, yet they buzz with oscillations, first this, then that, layer upon layer of dissonant fecundity. Step outside, move toward the river, cross three lanes, real casual, enter the barrier and pull exquisite earthiness from the soil. Do not cross against the signal. Clean. Eat.

There are thousands of Wild Garlic, Allium vineale, bulbs from roughly W12th Street up towards the 40s. Two hot spots: W13th-ish and W22nd-ish and West Side Highway. Be safe, thank me later.


Bearing Fruit



Around five o'clock this afternoon we were racing to get barbecuing items together for an evening at the beach farm with my father-in-law. He wasn't much aware of the garden on the beach and we thought we should show him before he leaves tomorrow. While there, why not cook some food after snacking on snap peas and broccoli florets, which, by the way, were a complete surprise. But my point is that we were not listening to the radio, and weren't aware that the interview would be broadcast this evening, having first heard of it via Marie, on FB, several hours later!

The snap peas have been bearing fruit, not the least of which is the interview with WNYC. You can read the blog post at Last Chance Foods. Happily I see that they included a link to both this here blog and my art work. Below is the audio of the interview with Amy Eddings.




I discovered a few things about pea pods this season. One is, the 'Sugar Ann' snaps do not always grow true -a few have been fruiting as snow peas. Another is that you must wait for the snaps to truly plump up if you want them sweet as can be. Also, I have one purple-flowered snap out of 25 white-flowered plants, and I see that I can foretell this by observing the purplish leaf axils that only the purple-flowered peas seem to have. If you're eating the greens in a salad, the purple flower sure dresses it up.


Beach Farm Bugs, Plantings



We've had a excess of grubs, and then a flurry of these wasps buzzing around, low to the ground, never quite landing. On my return the next day, it was cool and cloudy, and the wasps were gone. Until I started digging. Then I would find them on the surface of the soil, seemingly stunned, often wanting to dig themselves back in. My instinct is that these wasps are here for the grubs. I thought maybe that they were the adult of the grub, but nixed that idea in favor of feeding or laying eggs on the grubs. And since they appeared to have little interest in us, I was pleased they were around should they take out some grubs.

The camera picked up the hairiness, that I was not able to make see.

Of course, click on the image for much larger hairy wasp.

The grubs that I believe are responsible for some lost plants.



These images are from last Sunday, what seems to have been the last of the cool days of spring if weather forecasts are accurate for the coming days. I hearing 90; I'm sure you've heard it too. Ninety has me concerned for the irrigation is yet to be installed, the peas are in their prime, the tomatoes have just been planted, and the broccoli under the heat-increasing tent. Ninety is too much, too fast, and it well seems that the weather has turned on the heat with a switch. Remember last June, it was well in the 90s and little rain for nearly a month. At least we've had rain.

The arugula and asian greens performed poorly this year. I got them in early, yet they didn't move, then it was coolish and rainy and yet they bolted. The red mesclun has not bolted, but hasn't taken off either. All have tasted good, if now a little bitter or spicy. They will be pulled if the weather heats up as they're saying.

The tomato support system has attracted some beach farm attention, no one being quite sure what I was doing, although one farmer did admire that I was using a tape measure. His garden is also quite orderly. I had one broccoli doing quite well from last year's winter crop. Even though I had to plant the tomatoes, I just pushed one snug up against the broccoli.


A view of the garlic from our neighbor's plot. I will not be able to get this shot this summer as he has planted corn. We're sure he didn't give much thought to planting tall-growing corn on the northern edge of his plot, which will shade part of ours. We decided to place a path on our southern border to mitigate any shade gardening. Otherwise, it shouldn't matter all that much -broccoli will be planted where the garlic is now.

I started some seeds on Wednesday! Foolish as it is, I've planted peppers and eggplant. These plants like warm soil temps for germination, and we'll have that. The question is whether or not they will grow rapidly enough to be planted at the beach farm successfully. I've planted some new seeds -poblano peppers and various basils, but I've also planted some very old seeds, maybe 14 years old. I had some New Mexico Chile, Italian Sweet Peppers (Corno di Toro) and two varieties of heirloom eggplant -all old Shepherd's Seeds. Will they sprout, survive, take off? I love a good experiment. If they don't, I'll find some starts which I intend to plant where the tented broccoli is, sometime before we depart for Minnesota this June.

We have a visitor in town, keeping me from the work. But on the other hand, we attended Carnegie Hall last night to see friend Marouan Benabdallah give his debut recital. But today, I must farm, must roll out the irrigation pipe. I believe in irrigation. And sunscreen.



A Sea Of Linaria




This caught my eye, as it would yours, no?

Linaria, or sometimes Nuttallanthus, canadensis.

Gracing our sandy expanses down near the beach farm.

Beautiful.

Coreopsis Lanceolata -sand coreopsis growing on the path to the Linaria. Yes, that is poison ivy growing in there. Nowhere has more PI than Fort Tilden, so be careful when you decide to go off trail.


Trash Mob

I've just returned from the woods in Prospect Park where we, the assembled, disposed of 22 bags of trash comprised mostly of hundreds of condoms, wrappers, wipes, and lubricants. What else can you say about that? The woods was otherwise lovely on this first humid and warm day of the year; the scents of various flowering shrubs aloft in the moist woodland air. Saw some columbine, woodland geranium, coral mushrooms, and another very large mushroom which was all about, but must go unnamed. UPDATEDryad's Saddle or Pheasant's Back, Polyporus squamosus (thank's Marie)Next time we will get to plant, which I am excited about.

Now, after some well-earned lunch, I am off to Red Hook to check out the new Gowanus Nursery and see if they have a palatable variety of vegetables and herbs that I have not been able to start myself. Particularly looking for eggplant, poblano peppers, and a variety of basil beyond the sweet or genovese. I did a wonderful job of raising tomatoes, broccoli, and leeks from seed this season, but somehow missed all the others. If I cannot find what I am looking for at Gowanus, I'll drive on down to Chelsea.

I grew enough tomatoes (black russian, brandywine, bella rosa, orange pixie, sungold cherry, reisenstraube grape, milano plum, and san marzano plum) this year to offer my well-grown extras to several people. After the nursery visit, I'll drop off most of my remaining extras to friends up in Williamsburg, then heading to BAM for my first three D movie -Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams.

On The Work Trail



We went to learn how to move thousand pound quarry stone.

But I am one of those guys, distracted by the greenery all around the trail, who can't put away his camera. Here the garlic mustard, which was profuse and even beautiful at times over that first week of May.

Stone moving a little bit much for this volunteer, she decided to clear the woods of all the garlic mustard.

Poison ivy was everywhere. Its typical red-tinged shiny young leaves in threes.

But then also this specimen, with deeply cut, dull green leaves having confused more than one volunteer.

The trail section as we left it in April.

This in May. The NYNJ Trail Conference trail builders do fine stone work.

There was much new growth near the staircase, including the leafing out of a group of lovely young tulip trees.

And the oaks nearby, likely a red or black oak (pointy leaf serrations).

Celandine -major.

Chelidonium majus, a poppy from Europe that likes roadsides and wastes, much like our road embankment staircase.


My guess is Rubus phoenicolasius, or Wineberry. I remember these from the Muttontown Preserve. Also growing alongside the embankment staircase. Pretty dull in April, now it's full of interesting plants.

This seems to be a trail where animals go to die. Must have something to do with the highway.


This is another segment of the John Muir Trail. A previously boulder strewn incline, now being improved with quarried steps to minimize mountain biking on the trail (yet probably won't stop it).

The water bar we had practiced moving after it was placed and dug in. Water bars move water off the trail so that fast moving water doesn't erode the trail into a deep gully. And finally...

Part of that day's work was "de-berming" a paved hillside path to allow water to move off the path and into the woods. In the course of this work, volunteers scraped and shoveled many plants out of being. Trail builders do not have the resources to take great care with the trail-side plants while doing renovations. Much like any infrastructure work, the heavy lifting gets done without the light touch of plant protection or relocation. Saving plants is an entirely different frame of mind, and would require the knowledge of which plants are worth saving, how to dig them up, and how to place and care for them until they re-establish. It also requires trail work information before it begins. 

I noticed the may apples, a rather obvious species, and decided to spare some. I picked a few out, some missing leaves, and bagged them, poured Poland Spring into the bag, and left them with my things. Of course, it couldn't have been 2 minutes before I was ragged on for stealing park plants by one of the officials. But we're killing them anyway, I argued. The whole affair left us feeling awkward. Of course, we're both right, but...it seems to me that even if I had planted them deeper in the woods, without watering them (who knew if we would get much rain, it being the beginning of a dry week, now we are in a wet one), I suspected they had little chance of surviving. In fact, on our last outing volunteers planted a number of plants in a bad spot (under a maturing pine and in the path of moving quarry stone) and most were dead by the time I returned to the site. Anyhow, I must keep reminding myself not to be a gardener when I am helping with trails.

Many of the may apples were in flower. I transported my three stolen (or saved) may apples to my yard, planting them under the yew tree (my best approximation of woodsy shade) and watered them. Three weeks later I am almost surprised to say that they are still alive. If they like it there, they will spread, and then I will need to share them with Prospect Park. I'll call this take and give.

Remember this tree I posted about two weeks ago? Working on an ID. I still think its a weed tree.

It's now leafing out, much later than many of the other species, like tulip tree and oak, around it. I think I know what it is and I simply have been too busy to dig it out of the books. Update: I think it's a mulberry tree, maybe Morus alba.




Monday Morning Forecasting



I said it to Betsy almost two months ago -we're gonna have a rough weather spring/summer. So far, for the U.S., it's been tough. Bad tornados and flooding rains have been in the news, including last night's devastating Joplin, MO tornado, much like the one in Tuscaloosa a month ago. There was also a deadly tornado a few blocks from my brother in law in North Minneapolis yesterday, but that has not been much in the news.


We have some thunderstorms in our area tonight, and they won't be as bad as those in the midwest, but as the image below shows, mesocyclonic development is already underway. Where the bright blue meets the darker yellows and browns we are visualizing winds moving in opposite directions quite near each other. Whether or not this develops into a ground-touching tornado remains to be seen. This radar image is just west of NYC in central NJ, 8:58 pm.

courtesy of wunderground.com


Update: They're now listing it as a tornado. Newer image below where it is quite obvious.

courtesy of wunderground.com


UPDATE UPDATE: Storm has turned a little southeasterly and is forecast at this moment to hit Brooklyn and or Staten Island in what appears to be 1 hour and 40 minutes. Each white segment is worth 20 minutes, and the arrow points its general direction. It has also been downgraded from a tornadic storm to just a mesocyclone. If it survives the next hour, we should get some good thunder and rain, and some wind too.


courtesy of wunderground.com



Beach Farm Bugs, Rapture



Today we ate our first snap peas, not our last.

The broccoli tent is exploding with growth and I steel myself against taking off the cover.

Inside it's snail heaven, and being heaven, I suppose they need not eat, because they're not.

I reduced the leek rows from four to three, transplanting into the places where we lost leeks.  

When I dug out this leek, out came the grub in the same shovelful. The leek's leaves just fell away. I do not know what these larvae become, other than some form of bug or beetle, but they seem to be wreaking the most damage at the farm. I now blame them for the cut down broccoli and the wilting, cut down young chard. We find these wherever we dig, and I presume the snow cover helped more survive than usual.

I went over to the untended plot and thought about grabbing some asparagus tips, but I noticed these eggs. Click on these photos for much bigger images.

Then I realized there's a lot of reproduction going on.

Name that beetle. Please say asparagus beetle, because it was only on that, in numbers, and the name rings a bell.

We headed to the beach after 5 hours pulling weeds, building tomato trellis, repairing Federal fences, thinking of the rapture. It was all the talk, while everyone worked hard on their plots, sure in their actions, if not in their words.

And a wedding was held on the beach today, happy and hopeful.

And Betsy and I felt thankful that we could spend another day on this earth, rapt as we are with it. And since there will be a tomorrow, I'll plant all these tomatoes at the beach farm.