A bit late in the spring, but better to get going than not. Taking advantage of the offer of a load of soil from John, friend of neighbor, Nancy, I restored the raised bed a previous tenant had built. It's big, around 10 feet by 16 feet. They had built it well; layer of gravel, lined with heavy plastic, then soil on top. This way the plant roots are discouraged from tapping down into the ground below where the dreaded Black Walnut roots lurk, drooling their toxins into the glebe. A sure killer to many plants, it is essential to prevent contact. The new soil added to the weeded-and-turned original came from Ann Arbor's city-owned composting depot out on Platte Road.
It is very rich.
I planted four cherry tomato, one heirloom, one mongrel, two thick rows of carrots, some green cabbage, some purple cabbage, some other thing and five plantings of cucumber. I also planted some rosemary (did not do well), some chamomile (struggling) Thyme, Basil, Silver Thyme, and Oregano as well as transplanted a bunch of mint. All that took a sweaty while. Some I did from seed, most from small potteds.
It is difficult to adequately express the thrill/joy/pleasure/deep satisfaction of digging around in wormy dirt with bare hands and a trowel. It goes right into you.
Pleased with the orderly rows and overjoyed to see tiny sprouts emerge after a few week, I fussed and tended the plot, inspecting it closely for weeds and being careful to discern carrot from clover sprout. Other than following directions on the back of seed packets and running to the internet for every question that came to mind I just poked around and peered at the plants a lot.
Nancy thought I might need more robust stakes. But the tomato plants looked so demure, so tame,- like those gremlins long before they find the swimming pool - so I didn't worry too much. Sure enough, as they grew I found myself racing against their imminent droop, driving everything I could find; sweeping-brush poles, tent poles, sharpened branches and even an old tripod into the ground to catch their swoon.
Cucumbers began to drill out of the ground and go walkabout. Those things can really travel! I had laid out strings in order to remember where I had put things down and these were soon overwhelmed.
The string was soon repurposed in the tying of vines to poles and stakes. Finally I nailed together a 10 x 4 x 2 foot frame which I lowered over the whole mess and to it tied long bamboo poles, both laterally and vertically, to support what has now become an inseparable union between the cucumber vine and the tomato plants.
Here are the cucumber sprouts; two round leaves followed by a serrated leaf. It is when this third leaf appears that it is good to thin the herd.
Dapple
The cucumber grows a spiral tendril out of its blossom part, and this waves about till it finds something to cling onto. It is fascinating to see how it winds itself and to what it attaches. Thin threads find tomato leaves and slowly take hold of them, gripping them but not tight enough to damage the leaf causing it to die. It is unnerving to see and realize this is somewhere in the 'decision-making" process of the plant. The cucumber vine is by now a bit weighty. It has loads of blossoms and a couple of emergent cukes!
The tendril will find without any trouble a post or leaf or branch (although it may already be in possession of this piece of intelligence before it goes wandering) and will snake around it for one or more windings. Then, surprisingly, it doubles back on itself, following the opposite direction, at times backing up on the first wind a bit for extra grip. It is evident when one proceeds to undo the tendril, as I had to do repeatedly in order to save the poor strangled mint and the chamomile which were gasping and under the pressure.
When one vine has found a secure grip on a pole, a second vine comes up and tendrils move out from each to find one another, winding about one another so that the second one is secured, too. Holding hands. Such cooperation!
Preoccupied with this cucumber marvel, it took me a while to notice the tomatoes were doing the same thing. The tomato vines, now a number of feet in length would sail out from the center stem and turn this way and that, entangling their leaves in those of nearby vines, thus supporting themselves as they expanded their horizons.
One day a thick vine kinked, succumbing to it's weight, and the leaves drooped. I was disappointed as there were clusters of small tomatoes on it. In a day or two, though, the leaves perked up again.
Later when I was out along the road I passed someones big bushy Heirloom tomato plant and noticed one of it's stems, thick as a dog leg, had keeled over, too. It also did not die, I saw, just adapted. It's amazing to comprehend this self-sufficiency and interdependence among the plants.
Bees and butterflies are regular suppers now that the blossoms are open and so numerous.
Here is one forager upended into a blossom.
Green...........
.............to orange........................
............to red.
I barely had time to take a picture with the one hand before the other grabbed the pair and catapulted them into my mouth. No control.
A lunch salad made with garden Chard, Cherry toms, Basil, coop cheddar on bread, drizzled with balsamic and olive oil.
