Aww, you’re so cute, little baby avocado trees in our window. Your tropical-ness is really refreshing in the middle of winter. Thanks for putting up with the measly amount of daylight we get here in the northland.
Now hurry up and grow big, so I can put you next to the claw-foot tub and pretend to be in Costa Rica every time I bathe.
I am sorry, Rachel, that it took me so long to research and respond!! I think this problem is caused by a mixture of your hot and humid climate and the fact that you’re using a biodegradable material {egg carton} for your containers. The containers are actually beginning to rot slowly, which we all know does NOT smell nice {and why we all keep our compost piles outside!}
Do you have a sunny spot outside that you could move these little stinky guys? Get them out of the house if you can, so they get fresh air and you get relief from their smell. They should outgrow the egg containers pretty quickly, and at that point should be transplanted into larger plastic planter cups {gasp! Yes, plastic!}
Plastic planters is the way to go for several reasons: They don’t decompose, which means no foul smell and less chance that bacteria and disease can fester and possibly infect your seedlings. Also, you can buy them once and then re-use them year after year. The ones with little holes in the bottom will allow enough drainage to minimize the chance of over-watering.
I hope we’re not too late on getting this advice to you. Good for you for planting fall crops! Hope it works out and you get to enjoy the fruits of your labors this winter in the form of delicious potato and leek soup, kale and apple salad, and gnocchi with spinach and pancetta. Mmmmm! Good luck!
-T&M
If you would like to air your dirty secret or ask a question, email us with “Dear T&M” in the subject line. Please indicate if you wish to remain anonymous.
toniasimeone {at} gmail {dot} com
Every gardener in Washburn is scrambling right now to cover their beloved crops with sheets and blankets. The first frost of the year has been determined for tonight and tomorrow night.
It’s rainy and misty- the warm ground exhaling against the cold air- and I would’ve much rather been inside reading a book under a quilt. But that was not an option. Sarah and Bob {the folks renting our cottage} and I pulled on our muck boots and raincoats and headed out to the garden to harvest everything and anything that might be killed tonight.
We were greeted by the towering sunflower that Sarah planted next to the squash bed months ago. It’s just now flowering- just as the days get shorter and colder, this magnificently cheerful flower opens its fiery petals in a heartwarming and nostalgic salute to the real sun. It’s almost as if it knows we need some cheering up right about now.
I know some sunflowery-folks. They lay low and don’t ask for much, and then BAM! They’re right there when you need them, with their contagious optimism.
Our cold, pink fingers worked quickly, and our boxes and baskets filled with a rainbow of goodies.
It was sad to do the last tomato harvest without Mike, who is away on a business trip. He tenderly nurtured these tomatoes from seedling-hood. He remembered to water them. He rotated their flats next to the window regularly so there was equal-opportunity sunshine exposure.
All summer long we ate from these tomato vines. They pumped out tomato after tomato after tomato- we could barely keep up.
And now, the vines are mostly all brown, withering and shrinking back in the cool air, lifting up their neon colored fruit with the last of their energy. Each juicy orb filled with all of the life the plant has left; It gives it all to the fruit and keeps nothing for itself.
I know a few tomato-plant-characters in the human world.
And the squash. Hard and knobby on the outside. Flesh-like and quietly sweet on the inside. A nice surprise for those with a strong enough arm to cut through the shell. I wonder what intrigued the very first squash-eater to find out what was inside this bumpy ogre-of-a-veggie.
I know a few squashy-people.
I’m overwhelmed by what the earth has given us this year. Us! Total beginners in the world of growing food. It’s like the ground saw us trying really hard, took pity on us, and decided to give us its very best- despite all our mistakes, not keeping up with weeding nearly enough, and our general lack of know-how.
How can you hold one of these beautiful gifts in your hands and not be pierced with the meaning of it? Our bodies receive nutrients and energy from these vegetables, and our hearts swell with a new understanding of the words sacrificial love.
Summer hung on this week and gave us seven whole days of beautiful blue skies, sunshine, low humidity, and perfect temperatures. Mike and I spent a GORGEOUS morning at the beach on Sunday. Iced coffee, Charlie chasing sticks into the water, Mike reading to me, dried tomatoes and olive oil on French bread. I kept thinking, “This might be the last time we do this this year.”
But, in addition to providing us with one last beach day, this week was also the final kick in the pants for any crops in the garden that need a slightly longer growing season…namely, the melons and the Brandywine tomatoes.
Melons are tricky to grow up here, simply because they take so long to ripen. But yesterday we cracked two of them open and let the sugary, warm flesh melt on our tongues. This puppy has been baking in its little oven of vines and leaves since early June. Delicious.
If any of you are eating your melons right now, too, may I recommend them sliced into little boats with the husk removed and wrapped with prosciutto? A salty-sweet dream-come-true.
The Brandywines on the other hand are largely still green or a sickly shade of orange-green. We’re rooting for them to turn the corner to fully ripe before the weather turns the corner to fully autumn, but it’s a very close race.
Thankfully, most of the other tomato varieties {including the gorgeous little rubies pictured} have long since ripened, been picked, and dried or frozen or consumed fresh. Ohhhh fresh tomatoes, I will miss thee. Thanks for being so awesome this year.
Our friends are going to show us how to save seeds from our tomato plants so we can plant our favorites again next spring {some of the varieties were brought home from Italy with my dad, so they’re special and can’t be found in a regular U.S. seed catalog.} I’m going to try to document the lesson, because I’m sure I’m not the only one who has been wanting to know how to save seeds. Granted, the process is different depending on the type of plant you’re saving from, but we’ll get you started at least.
What end-of-summer gems are coming out of your garden right now?
My name is Tonia. I live on a rural homestead in Northern Wisconsin with my husband and dog and write about living life with my hands in the dirt.
