Old House, Old Garden

Hamamelis 'Arnold Promise' in bloom in my garden.

A chill wind blows through the cold and barren garden as I make my way back to the house amid small mounds of left-over ice and snow.  Here and there the tip of an occasional snowdrop can be seen trying to force its way upwards through the frozen earth; other than the evergreens, all seems dead and dreary. I’m about to turn back to the warmth and comfort of the welcoming hearth, when on the chill breeze I catch a whiff of a wonderfully sweet scent, redolent with the promise of the spring, emanating from the cloud of yellow that’s suddenly appeared only hours before. The source is a shrub, almost a small tree, covered in the most unusual pompom-like flowers, as if some crazed caterer had appeared magically overnight and attached thousands of little party favors to the branches. On the ragged tail of winter, here stands the promise of spring – the witch-hazel.

The witch-hazels are not a large family, and perhaps this is one of the reasons for the clan’s low profile in our landscapes. Native to North America and parts of Asia, the first member to come to prominence in the garden was the American variety, discovered growing wild in the eastern woodlands early in the 1700’s. Brought to England in 1736, it was immediately prized, not for its flowers, which are rather small, but for its unique season of bloom — it is the very last plant to flower in the garden, often opening into December. (Hence the Colonial nickname Epiphany Tree) Native Americans however had long valued the shrub for other reasons: they were the first to understand that the inner bark had astringent qualities, and used witch-hazel as an effective cure for various inflammations of the skin and eyes. It is still an ingredient in many commercial cosmetic preparations today.

How the witch-hazel received its name, both the botanical and vernacular, is something of a mystery. The former, Hamamelis, comes from the Greek meaning “together with the apple”, and was the classical name for an entirely different shrub or tree that has never been identified with any certainty. It is thought to have become associated with H. virginiana, the American or Common witch-hazel, because the plant carries its small seed-like fruit for twelve months, so that last year’s crop appears together with the current year’s flowers. As for the common name, some have suggested that “witch-hazel” derives from its supposed use by early American settlers in the practice of divining water, as had done with the English hazel. Another possibility is that “witch” is actually a corruption of the Anglo-Saxon wice, which means plaint or supple. Personally, none of these derivations seem to me to hold much water, if you’ll pardon the pun, and its quite likely that truth behind the name, like that of so many other plants, will remain buried in time.

Whatever the origin of the name, H. virginiana was the only witch-hazel in cultivation until the 1860’s, when several new species were discovered in Asia. Of all these Oriental cousins, H. mollis, the Chinese witch-hazel, proved to be the most valuable. The first specimen was actually collected in 1879 near Kiukiang, China and sent to a nursery in England, where it languished misidentified for over 20 years. It wasn’t 1900 that the director of the Royal Gardens at Kew, making a tour of the place, recognized the shrub as a new and potentially useful landscape species: the flowers of H. mollis are larger and far more fragrant that those its American cousin, and bloom later – in the very dead of winter. In fact, the blossoms have an effect that is quite unique in the horticultural world. The small flowers, which really do look like those streamers on a party horn, unroll themselves and expand on sunny winter days when the temperature rises above freezing. Come night and cold, the flowers quickly curl up again, only to reopen when conditions are once more sympathetic. This dramatic show can go on for weeks or months – depending on the variable nature of winter weather – and I find this to be one of the most extraordinary and entertaining dramas of the early gardening year.

Given the witch-hazels exceptional qualities, there has been considerable interest, especially abroad, in breeding new hybrids, and recently a number of these have come to the market, some with reddish flowers, others closer to white, and still others with more extended periods of bloom. Interestingly many of these new introductions are crosses between the Chinese and Japanese witch-hazels, which are then grafted onto the rootstock of the American variety, making for a truly international plant! Whatever the source, all witch-hazels prefer well drained, fertile soil, slightly on the acid side, and are hardy from Zones 5-8. Some, especially the American variety, can tolerate light shade, and make good under-story plantings. Left to themselves, most varieties will form a large mounded shrub, growing ultimately to 15-30 feet high. Pruned to a single stem however, they make delightful small trees, and to me at least, are more effective this way in the landscape. Whichever way you choose to shape your specimen, try to locate it against a dark background: The blossoms take on an almost theatrical effect when seen silhouetted against the uniform darkness of a massing of yews, a fence or barn wall. And be sure to place the plant where you will be certain to pass close-by. Very few gardening experiences are as sublime, or as sublimely easy to achieve, as the celestial scent of witch-hazel on a cold winter’s day.

Note: most nurseries stock several basic witch-hazels, but the connoisseur will want to check out a specialty nursery. One of my favorites is Forest Farm.

For all of you attendees just waiting to get your hands on the new Black and Decker mower I”ll be giving away at the Dallas Home and Garden Show this weekend, here’s what you need to do. Attend one of my talks, then sign up for automatic email alerts in the right hand corner of this post under “email notification”, then click “COMMENT” below and type  in “Dallas Show” in the comment box.  That’s it! All replies will be collected, printed out, removed every few hours and put in a bowl; and I’ll draw a lucky winner at the end of the show

Brought to you by Black and Decker.

Thanks for coming to see me at the Dallas Home and Garden Show, and Happy Gardening!

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During my last lecture stop in Denver, I received many questions from the audience about how long seeds could be stored, so I thought I would post a small chart listing the number of years seed can be reasonably kept, if properly held, i.e. if kept in airtight bags in the refrigerator, not left out in some drawer or cupboard to desiccate. This can be quite a money saving tip, because for varieties that store well, you can easily order a larger (and less expensive) packet one year, and have several seasons worth of seeds ready to go. A mini packet of Pandora leeks, for example, from one of my favorite suppliers, Johnnies, costs $3.50 plus shipping for 350 seeds, but $4.95 for a packet containing 1400 seeds. Similar economies are available for most other plants, and such savvy shopping can really add up quickly to substantial savings, easily halving your seed bill each year.  Now the caveat here is that there’s no point ordering a large quantity of seeds, even if cheaper on a per seed basis, if you only intend to plant a small row, or if the seeds’ viability from year to year is poor. Also keep in mind that in general, you can expect a 10% drop in germination rates each year for even well stored seeds, so you’ll need to adjust the amount sown as seeds age.

A young clivia. As plants age, they develop multiple offsets with thick leaves; 3-5 bloom spikes are not uncommon on mature specimens.

My love affair with clivias started long before I ever owned one, a case of transference from my childhood gardening hero, Thalassa Cruso. I’ve written about Thalassa before (and in fact, I’m working with WGBH to get her programs back on the air, more on that later – stay tuned!) but for the moment all you need to know is that in her first book, Making Things Grow, Thalassa describes an almost epic battle to get a rare yellow blooming clivia through US customs from England, and then a whole subsequent series of misadventures to get the bloody thing to bloom. The story was so charming, and her desire to obtain this particular plant so strong, that I was hooked at once from afar, without ever having seen one. For years (well, let’s make that decades) I kept my eyes open for this mysterious yellow clivia – to no avail – then finally one day, again chuckling at the memory of the story, I decided to look on the Internet. Of course, there I found it immediately, and immediately I ordered it, wondering why I hadn’t thought of looking for it online sooner. (As a child of the pre-Internet age, I sometimes forget you can whistle up almost anything these days.) At any rate, that was four years ago, and I’ve since been rewarded with a spectacular month-long bloom each winter, beginning right about now.

One of the many variegated clivias; in the Far East, clivias are valued mostly for their foliage. This is a "Fukurin" or Track Stripe variety.

Species of clivia (pronounced CLIVE ee a) are native to the Horn of Africa, and were first brought to Europe in the 1820 by the British explorers William Burchell and John Bowie. (Kew Botanist John Lindley named the flower after Lady Charlotte Florentia Clive, Duchess of Northumberland.) The species most often grown today, Clivia miniata, arrived in England in the early 1850’s and quickly became de rigeur in Victorian conservatories. Clivias have remained popular house plants ever since, prized as much for their handsome green foliage, as for their orange to yellow to red lily-like flowers. (Wikipedia, in one of its odder moments states: “Often people enjoy their leaves more than their bloom. This is especially common with Chinese people, who prefer broad, hard, erect leaves. The width to length ratio of the leaf should be around 2:3. The leaves should be hard and erect. The leaves should be yellow-green with dark green veins.” Indeed!  While I can’t attest to the erect nature of my clivia leaves, I can agree they are quite lovely (especially the variegated varieties), and I can also vouchsafe that clivias make excellent indoor plants for lower light conditions. (Note I say “lower light” as opposed to “full sun”, not, “no light.”) The main problem most people seem to have with clivias is getting them to bloom. The answer to that is really quite simple: they need a period of cool each fall to set buds; if you have a partially heated sunroom or cool window where the night time temperatures routinely fall into the 40-50s, that’s ideal. Other than this hereditary quirk, clivias are trouble-free, unbothered by most household pests.

In fact, the only problem with clivias is their cost: as the plants are quite slow growing,  often taking up to 4 years to come to bloom, rare varieties can get expensive. Fortunately, there are many vendors online (I bought mine at Grassy Knoll Exotic Plants) who sell bloom-age plants at a reasonable price, allowing you, like me, to become an instant admirer of the regal clivia.

Most people don’t associate Denver with gardening (I know I certainly didn’t) but just having come back from the Mile-High City, I want to tell you that there’s a lot of great horticulture going on in Colorado.

As usual, I was there on business, giving a series of three new lectures at the Denver Flower and Garden Show on environmentally friendly ways to green your garden.

Here I am pointing out that a single gas mower produces more pollution in one year than 45 brand new cars driving 12K miles a year. Time to go electric with one of the new battery powered mowers! They start with the flick of a switch & mow up to 1/3 acre on a single charge. From Black and Decker, of course!

What’s interesting about the Denver Flower and Garden Show is that unlike most other home and garden shows, Denver’s is a non-profit organization that devotes itself to providing scholarships for students in the horticultural and building trades. This ethos seems to pay off, as the show was packed all three days I was there, and averages between 60 and 100 thousand visitors each year.

"OK, I heard that Weishan was a honey of a speaker, but how do I get in to see him?" Outside the Colorado Convention Center where I spoke

Denver City Park

It wasn’t all work though, and between talks and doing TV interviews I had a bit of time to sally forth and see the city, and I must admit to being quite impressed both by the beauty of the Denver itself and the warmth of the people I met. I wandered all over the city on foot (the Downtown area is easily walkable)  admiring the many historical districts and parks that make Denver such a pleasant place to visit. Unlike many cities that have entirely sacrificed their past for their future, Denver has managed to combine the best of the old and the new into a quirky mix that really works.

Being a gardener I of course had to see as many horticultural attractions as I could. First off, I toured the Welby greenhouses, home to Hardy Boy plants and one of the largest growers of annuals in the West with over a million square feet under glass. I went there to learn a little more about how bedding plants are raised, and I will admit to being quite amazed by the level of technology and specialization required: from the latest tissue culture techniques, to robotized watering arms, to an automatic machine that pinches seedlings, this ain’t your grandmother’s greenhouse operation.

The production greenhouses at Hardy Boy Plants

Next stop, the famous Denver Botanic Garden, which was just emerging from a long winter’s rest when I arrived, as well as from a considerable amount of new construction.

The conservatory at the Denver Botanic

Over 100 acres in size and consistently rated one of the best public gardens in the country, the Denver Botanic is a real asset for gardener’s in the West, as the climate of Denver and the mountain regions presents considerable challenges to gardeners in the form of wide, almost instantaneous temperature swings combined with strong, desiccating winds. And interestingly, for a major botanical garden, it’s located well within the city limits, making it an easy destination for pedestrian travelers like me.

Finally, a word or two on places to stay. I’ve never been a fan of chain hotels, so wherever I travel, I try to find interesting, reasonably priced boutique hotels, and Denver has a real gem: the Hotel Teatro. Downtown right next to Denver’s theater complex (hence the name) The Teatro is located in the 1910 Tramways building. Restored from top to bottom in the late 90’s, the rooms are lovely, and the staff superb. (Rarely have I seen more “Yes, we can” attitude.)  Possessing many amenities of establishments twice the price, the Hotel Teatro manages to be upscale without being snotty, and luxurious without breaking the bank, at least if you take advantage, as I did, of one of their many Internet specials. (And a culinary tip: try their fresh, handmade macaroni. It is to DIE for!)

So as you can see, there’s a lot to see in Denver, and I heartily recommend the friendly and welcoming Mile-High City as a worthwhile stop on your next garden travels.

So a number of you emailed me about my recent chili recipe post, wanting details on the stock I used. Fair enough, because frankly few of the dishes I make regularly – from spaghetti to meatloaf to chicken soup tastes like much without the addition of a good home-made stock.

My own version of chicken stock is really a form of demi-glace, which is a fancy term for a highly reduced stock-like sauce. The name, which comes from the French for “half frozen” gives you some idea its consistency when it’s made properly: the final product is almost a gel, which completely solidifies when I pour it into ice cube trays and pop them into the freezer. These little ice cubes of concentrated stock are mini-miracles, giving  a boost to almost any dish that requires stock for flavor. Best of all, my recipe makes good use of that all too common item, the left-over roast chicken carcass, providing yet another level of frugality in the kitchen.

So here are the basics:

Take one chicken carcass, split into pieces, and place into heavy roasting pan. Add one onion, one leek, one carrot, one glove of garlic, all roughly chopped. Place pan under the broiler for about 15-20 minutes, or until the chicken carcass begins to brown and blacken. (Don’t burn it to a crisp; you just want the edges of the chicken to brown in order to add flavor and color to the sauce.) Carefully remove the blackened chicken and vegetables from the roaster into in a large, heavy bottom stock pot. Add twelve cups of water, and place on the stove on high.  Once the the mix comes to roiling boil, reduce heat to a slow boil, keep uncovered, and continue to cook several hours or until the mixture reduces by 3/4. Remove from stove, and strain mix through a fine sieve into another pan. Then place several ice cube trays on a baking sheet, pour the demi-glace into the trays, and freeze. (There’s no need to degrease the mixture, as the fat will rise to the top as the cubes freeze and can be easily sliced off when you’re ready to use.) Once frozen, place cubes into a zip lock bag for storage.

One cube is the flavor equivalent of approximately 1 cup of regular chicken broth. Simply adjust other liquids in your recipe accordingly.

For beef stock, instead of chicken use left over bits of roasts, steaks, etc., being sure to include bones for flavor. I make this demi-glace about once a month, so that I have an ample supply for daily meals. I guarantee you that if you follow this recipe once, you’ll never be satisfied with commercial stock again.

A number of years back, I was asked to bring something for one of our end-season crew parties, so I decided to make a chili recipe that I had inherited from my mother, though with a few twists. For years, mom made us what she called “thin chili”, which received this moniker because  the dish wasn’t made from a heavy red tomato sauce like most other chilis, but rather from the juice of canned tomatoes. The effect, much lighter than many southwestern versions of chili con carne, is very pleasing, and tastes less like ketchup. Over the years however, I’ve altered this basic recipe, changing the meat from beef to turkey, then to turkey with a bit of pork, and finally adding a variety of vegetables to the mix. There are a few essentials to this chili: the meat blend is key, as the pork adds critical flavor; the homemade stock is equally important, as are the leeks, which lend a distinct flavor and texture to the sauce. Also the tomatoes: you easily can taste the difference between homegrown and store-bought, and the Clamato, rather than just regular tomato juice, adds a pleasant zing.  In short, don’t divert, if you wish the desired result: a fantastic, low-cost, highly nutritious meal.

Victory Garden Chili

1 pound ground turkey
1/2 pound ground pork
1 onion chopped
2 sticks celery chopped
1 carrot finely chopped
1 leek chopped
1/4 cup dried porcini mushrooms, rinsed, and reconstituted in 1/4 warm water, then chopped
2/3 cloves garlic chopped
1 cup hardy homemade chicken stock (or one cube of frozen demiglace)
1 can black beans
1 can red beans
1 bottle homemade canned tomatoes, or one 16 ounce can of store-bought
1/2 bottle Clamato tomato juice
1 tablespoon paprika
1-2 tablespoon chili power
1 dash hot red pepper sauce (to taste)

Brown the meat and pork, separating into small chunks. Add the vegetables to the meat and cook over medium until soft; drain the beans, rinse and add. Add the tomatoes with juice, breaking up with a fork if required; then the rest of the ingredients, and let simmer over a low heat, covered, for 2-3 hours. (This is a perfect dish for a slow cooker, by the way, just be sure to brown the meat first.) Serve with noodles, rice or crackers. Makes 4 Servings (Double or triple for larger groups.)

OK, so we’ve all been there: enticed by those luscious catalogs glowing with glossies of ripe and redolent vegetables, we’ve rushed out, bought large quantities of seeds, and then stuck the packets in a drawer, only to remember them again in June, far too late in the game. Well, thanks to our friends at John Scheepers seeds, here’s a guide to keep you on track:

General Seed Starting Timetable: Eight weeks prior to last frost date

Horticultural Zones 9 & 10:  Start seeds indoors now.

Horticultural Zones 8:  Start seeds indoors in early February.

Horticultural Zones 7:  Start seeds indoors in mid February.

Horticultural Zone 6: Start seeds indoors in late February.

Horticultural Zone 5: Start seeds indoors in early March.

Horticultural Zone 1-4: Start seeds indoors in mid to late March.

Vegetable/Herb Seed Starting Timetable (Listed in weeks before the last frost)

Four Weeks: Melons, Bitter Melon and Cucuzzi Edible Gourds.
Six Weeks: Asparagus, Fennel, Onions, Rhubarb, Shallots, Tomatillos and Basil
Eight Weeks: Eggplant, Tomatoes, Chiles, Sweet Peppers, Chives, Sage, Stevia and Thyme
Nine Weeks: Broccoli, Cabbage and Kohlrabi (transplant out four weeks before the last frost date)
Ten Weeks: Celery, Celeriac, Jicama and Lemongrass
Eleven Weeks: Leeks, Artichokes and Cauliflower (transplant out four weeks before the last frost date)
Twelve Weeks: Cardoons and Brussels Sprouts
Sixteen Weeks: Strawberries (for first year crop) and Rosemary.

Flower Seed Starting Timetable (Listed in weeks before the last frost)

Six Weeks: Cutting Ageratum, China Asters, Celosia, Cleome, Coleus, Nepeta Catmint, Euphorbia, Forget-Me-Nots, Dahlia, Nicotiana, Scabiosa, Snapdragons and Thunbergia
Eight Weeks: Milkweed, Coreopsis, Gaillardia, Globe Amaranth, Helichrysum, Hibiscus, Hollyhock, Heuchera, Nigella, Platycodon and Statice
Ten Weeks: Dianthus, Digitalis, Lobelia and Heliotrope
Twelve Weeks: Datura, Salvia and Viola.

Of course, simply having the list doesn’t necessarily mean remembering to get the seeds in the ground, so I find that having a seed organizer like this one really does the trick:

When you receive your seeds, simply read the back of the packet to learn the planting time, pop the seed in the right slot, and put the box where you can’t overlook it. I guarantee you you’ll never miss a planting date again. I wish I could take credit for this invention, but this particular box had quite a long history even before I came on the scene: it’s the official Victory Garden seed box, and belonged to my distinguished predecessor (and very first VG host) James Underwood Crockett. When I left the show, the box was given to me as a present, and I think that Jim would be tickled to know that almost 40 years later his particular brand of Yankee frugality and common sense still works gardening magic each spring.

One of the nicest things about gardening is that it’s a hobby easy to share, and around the world there are folks with fabulous landscapes just waiting for someone to ask: may I see your lovely garden? That request, golden to any proud gardener’s ear, will open almost every door, if asked politely, and can spark a whole series of horticultural adventures.

Yours truly collecting fresh chanterelles in the forests around Big Sur! Ah, pleasure!

My own latest round of garden travels began in Los Angeles, where I went to film a short spot for Black and Decker’s fantastic zero emission battery mowers and weed wackers. I had a fun morning with the film crew at a large empty estate in the Valley, whipping, whacking and edging grass and weeds for the camera. I must say that I continue to be hugely impressed by these tools. I’ve used them for years personally, but their latest iterations are truly something: fast, powerful and effective.   I’m truly proud to be B & D’s media ambassador for 2010.

After filming, I began to get ready for the next leg of my journey: off to San Jose for the South Bay Home and Garden Show. Rather than flying to Northern California, I  decided to rent a car and drive up the coast: certainly cheaper, presumably just as easy, and far more interesting.

Ha! Well, I got the last part right, anyway.

A suite at the Ventana Inn

As I had a bit of time before arriving in the San Jose area, I decided to break my journey 3/4 of the way (the drive from LA to San Jose is 300 miles up an often tortuous, cliff-hanging two-lane Highway 1) at the Ventana Inn. Located in Big Sur, one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful region of the US, the 5-star resort – nestled within a eucalyptus-scented forest perched on a cliff over looking crashing breakers 1000 feet below – is truly breathtaking.  (The price can be truly breathtaking too, especially in high season; fortunately January is not, and deals abound. And, unlike many hotels that look down on bargain-basement priced guests like me, everyone at Ventana is king or queen for the day.)

This wasn’t my first trip: I had been to the Inn a number of times before on media tours, including one for Ventana’s now gone and much lamented “Mushroom Hunting Weekends” where fungi aficionados would come from all over the country to attend supervised collecting trips, then sit down to a 7 course dinner with mushrooms in every course, including dessert. (It sounds bizarre, but the meal was truly spectacular.)

At any rate: those of you who have been watching the national news these last few days probably have noted the incredibly ferocious storms battering the West Coast. Now, I must be honest: I’ve never had much sympathy for Westerners complaining about the weather. After all, for 11/12 of the year, they live in Eden. It’s just RAIN, guys, get over it! Come try our Nor’easters and two feet of snow!

Highway 1 in Big Sur... Need I say more?

Let me assure you, dear readers, that these are no mere rainstorms. My own aquatic adventure started in Los Angeles, watching from my hotel room while streets flooded in seconds and seeing coconuts (!!) floating down the gutters. Then, there was the two hour drive to Santa Barbara in rain so heavy I couldn’t actually see the road,   praying all the way that the large semi in front of me, whose lights I was using as a guide, had a better view than I. After this bit of meteorological delight, there were the tornado funnel clouds (I kid you not) in Orange County, followed by the strangest thing: 4 hours of suddenly clear skies and complete calm as I arrived to drive the  hairpin turns dangling above crashing breakers on Route 1. And thank god for the dry spell, because it turned out that the road was blocked at numerous points by rock slides (!!!), which were in the process of being cleared by the indefatigable Cal Trans, the California Department of Transportation. (At one point though, I did have to edge around a car-sized chunk straddling the middle of the road: fortunately, the side nearest the cliff gave the most ample access. There was no way I was edging around that thing ocean side!)

In any event, I arrived at Ventana almost 7 hours later thoroughly tested and almost bested. (Let’s just say that that complimentary glass of wine the staff so kindly offers guests as they settle into a plush chair by a roaring fire didn’t go at all to waste.) Since then, it’s been almost hurricane like conditions here, alternating with brief periods of deceptively clear sky. You need to move fast though: these breaks only last a half hour or so, and are then followed by what can only be described as a rain blizzard, with howling winds, lightening, and hail measured in half-inches. Somehow, ensconced in my cozy room by the fire with a good book, it doesn’t seem to matter.

Winter lavender and Pacific Ocean blue at Ventana

Fortunately, for most of the year, the weather in Big Sur is completely  pacific, and there are some spectacular gardens to be seen in the region, especially when the area hosts the Hidden Gardens of Big Sur Garden Tour each June – a perfect opportunity to sharpen your garden invitation skills. Also, there is the not-to-be-missed Carmel Tomatofest each September, where literally hundreds of delicious varieties are gathered for tempting, testing and tasting, paired with some of the best food and wine in the region.(Don’t let the somewhat carnivalesque website fool you. This is REALLY good!)

So I’m off to San Jose tomorrow. Would I do it all again?

In a California minute.

As promised, the best of the best, and worst of the worst seed-grown vegetable list from 2009. Now remember, to some extent these ratings are subjective, and dependent on climate; when choosing varieties, you must always select cultivars that are adapted to your site and growing conditions. Take for instance, that all time American favorite tomatoes. I was just speaking today with Laurel, of Laurel’s Heirloom Tomato Plants, (a great source for live plants, by the way) asking her if she would provide me with some recommendations for San Jose, California, where I’ll be speaking next week at the South Bay Home & Garden Show.

Here’s the list she kindly put together, based on both personal input and purchaser comments:

Paul Robeson
Sunset’s Red Horizon
Clint Eastwood’s Rowdy Red
Blood Gulch
Summer Cider
Kellogg’s Breakfast
Goose Creek
Japanese Black Trifele
Mortgage Lifter
Grandpa Ashlock
Marianna’s Peace
Cherokee Green
Any Brandywine but especially Brandywine Yellow which loves San Jose’s long temperate growing season
Black Zebra and Yellow Zebra
German Giant
Marvel Striped
Isis Candy
Yellow Gooseberry
Omar’s Lebanese

Now many of these varieties are very long season, perfect for San Jose, but somewhat problematic here in Boston. Most other crops show similar differences between one variety and another. Unfortunately, the only way to find out what’s what is to experiment, or, ask a knowledgeable gardener in your area (the second option being the far more economical. Most good nurseries as well as the invaluable Cooperative Extension Services can provide sound advice.)

One other tip garnered from last year: don’t select crops for appearance alone. I know this sounds basic, but as gardeners, we (I) fall for it all the time. If produce is cute and/or unusually colored, people flock to it in droves, never-mind how it tastes. That’s a mistake: witness my trial of the white raddish ‘White Icicle’. I’m sure 2 x 4’s have more flavor…

Also keep in mind that smaller sized varieties are great for compact gardens where fresh eating is the aim, but often smaller sized produce doesn’t have sufficient biomass for long term storage. Big fat round beets, and full sized butternut squash last far better than their more petit cousins.

Finally, I’ve already lamented enough about last year’s tomato season, and am anxious to put in, along with most of 2009, into the bin of bad memories. But, despite the late blight, two varieties actually managed to produce a decent crop last season, before dying totally away in August: ‘Red Rose’, a cross between ‘Brandywine’ and ‘Rutgers’ with the best qualities of each; and ‘Sungold’, still the best cherry in the business. Both are available from Tomato Growers Supply.

And, I almost forgot: a fantastic green to red pepper: Ace, from Johnny’s. This was the best and most abundant pepper yield I’ve ever had, and this variety is particularly adapted to northern gardeners. The flavor is average, but the yields! Rating: 5