Nature vs. Nurture, or "Back off, bunny. Get your own garden."

When I first moved out to the 'burbs, I was so excited to finally have some green space! I was even more excited to discover a little baby bunny living underneath our deck – I fed it carrots and lettuce. And then there were these adorable squirrels and chipmunks! Such delightful creatures – I fed them cashews and sunflower seeds. One night, I looked out my dining room window to see a fat raccoon sauntering down the sidewalk without a care in the world. “Keep on keeping on, little scrounger,” I thought with a smile.

How naive I was.

I see these woodland creatures differently now. They are mini mongrels, set to eat my Orach and steal my squashes while I sleep.

At first, I noticed dig marks in my freshly seeded beds. Then I noticed that my turnip greens looked nibbled on. But the final straw came when I noticed deep gashes in the skin of my baby Delicata squash. That's too far. You do not get in the way of a woman and her winter squashes.

The first thing I tried was to put up barriers. I collected sticks and branches and laid them over top of my containers to try to deter the dirty little culprits. Surprisingly, this was somewhat successful. It kept the raccoons at bay long enough for the little seeds to germinate and stand on their own. For the starter plants I had (pepper and ground cherry), I put tomato cages over the small plants.

But the dig marks in the raised beds were more tricky. I had heard that bone meal was a good deterrent, because it made the ground smell like death to the animal nose and, naturally, that's not very appetizing. I generously tossed the bone meal into my gardens. I was happy to discover that it did not smell like death to the human nose. It seemed effective for about a week. But once my squashes in particular started to bear fruit, it was too tempting to the raccoons and bunnies and other little nibblers. They braved the stench of death and carried forth to scratch up my squashes.

Finally, I acquired some row cover – a thin, breathable, opaque covering that basically acts is a blanket for my gardens. Bonus points: it raises the temperature of my raised beds by a couple of degree, says Dad, so my late season plantings have a bit more time to cook.

So far, using the row cover has been the most effective way for dealing with my hungry late-night visitors. It's my own fault, to a degree. I encouraged these little beasts, with my sweet voice and delicious vegetable choices (because as we all know, heirlooms taste a gazillion times better than any of the hybrid, grocery-store veggie fare).

Hopefully the woodland creatures and I can share this green space peacefully... as long as they leave my squashes alone.

The Best Laid Plans... Require My Mother (Reflections from a First Time Gardener)

 

Growing up, I would sometimes join my parents at their seed shows to help out. I figured I’d do some cash sales, hang out with the folks, maybe they’ll buy me a hamburger later - you know, easy peasy!  After my first jam-packed Guelph Organic Conference, I knew this wasn’t gonna be easy. I was being asked questions, like “What was this?” and “How do I grow this?” and “Why don’t you know what zone this is appropriate for?” I would stare back at the inquisitive soul, smiling, completely at a loss for words. Sure, if asked, I could sing the entire score of The Phantom of the Opera on the spot to this gardening aficionado , but tell them which tomato is good for making sauce? Oh heavens no. You need to ask my mom. So to assist our customers best, I made myself a name tag that said, “I’m friendly but useless. Ask my mother.”

Fast forward to this year, and I’ve officially joined my parents at The Cottage Gardener handling a lot of administration and customer relations. Slowly but surely, I am learning about dirt and all the wonderful things you can do with it. And with the new house I had just purchased with my new husband, I knew what I had to do: build my first garden .I surveyed my yard. Typical, suburban greenery. Easy, right?

I made my garden plan and proudly showed it to  my mother. She looked at my plan: squash, herbs, tomatoes, ground cherries, and peppers. She paused. "Can I dig now?" I asked her, impatiently. She smiled - uh oh - and began to explain the litany of things I needed to consider. What is my soil quality? (Cement-like) How much sun do I get? (6 hours - a good thing) How far apart was I going to plant things? (I needed more room) What tools do I already have? (Tools, you say?). 

I redid my garden plan. Four raised-bed 4x6 gardens, plus some containers for last minute things I just couldn’t resist growing. To fix my soil, I carted home bins full of compost dirt from my parent’s house every night after work. I made a detailed shopping list for these "tools" she spoke of and on a Friday in May, my husband and I trekked off to Canadian Tire - plan in hand. There we stood in the Gardening section, amidst all the tools and gnomes and decorative pots. The pressure was on. I had to make some snap decisions in Aisle 12. After living in a box in the sky in downtown Toronto for many years, I was ill-equipped to navigate this enticing but confusing section of the store.


For example:

1) Question: Do we get a wheelbarrow?  

Considerations: My husband wanted it.
The Final Decision: I said no. “Our yard is so small, and the wheelbarrow is so expensive!”    

The Repercussions: The grueling task of carrying load after load of discarded weeds across our yard in a old laundry hamper.

2) Question: Which of these pole-like tools should we get?  
Considerations: I’m very short.
The Final Decision: Purchase the tiniest shovel in the world. “I’m tiny and this shovel is tiny and it’s so cute!” I say.
The Repercussions: After several hours of digging up the raised beds, I look to the sky and cry, “Why why why did I pick the tiniest freakin’ shovel in the world?! This is so hard!” Painful regret. Even a tiny person needs a big shovel in this world.

3) Question: We need to till the garden. Should we get the The Garden Claw?
Considerations:  “I’ve seen this on TV!”, I say with excitement. “It looks amazing!”
The Final Decision: Made for TV means made for me!
The Repercussions: It was too tall for me to use. In fact, I would shove it in the ground and then could do acrobatic balancing work on it because that thing was NOT gonna move. Oh yes, it’s all fun and acrobatics until someone breaks The Garden Claw.  Which I did, trying to be funny.  

And outside we went, our loot in tow. After three hours of exhausting work just harrowing the garden, we took an omelette break. Back to it. Three more hours. It was getting late and the sun was waning. I stood up to assess our work and a furrow came across my brow. With a whimper, I dropped to my knees and dug my hands into the dirt and looked up at my husband with glassy eyes, “Isn’t this supposed to look like dirt? How the hell are we supposed to turn this grassy mess into nice brown dirt? This should look like dirt. This isn’t dirt.”

After a moment, I knew what to do. I took a picture of our gardens so far and sent it to Mom.  “Is this right?” I texted her. “Yes! Everything looks good! You did it!” she texted back. I smiled, relaxed, and looked upon our gardens with satisfaction. See? I just had to ask my Mom.