Things Deer Eat Less of

By Julia Frisbie

posted April 1, 2021

Just because your yard isn’t fenced doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give up on growing things other than grass. There are lots of things you can plant that our local deer will (mostly) leave alone. 

We’ve been plotting against grass since the day we bought our first home. We mulched the backyard in early spring (see previous blog post). The following fall, while spreading arborist chips in the backyard, we did this in the front yard: 

Then we had another 17 cubic yards of compost delivered. Somehow there are no pictures, but it was epic. 

After spreading the compost, I planted a few rhubarb and artichoke plants through the paper layer, and then threw wildflower seeds everywhere else. Fall and winter are the best times to scatter wildflower seeds. The scientific reason is that many of them need the winter cycles of wet/dry and freeze/thaw to break down their tough seed coats and really get their groove on. It’s called scarification. The cultural reason is that this type of parenting makes them feel right at home. Think of wildflower seed heads getting blown around in fall and winter wind storms (and then getting opened by hungry birds at the tail end of winter, who eat the seeds for fast energy right before egg-laying time, and then poop out whichever ones they don’t digest in new places). Whichever line of reasoning you’re more compelled by, sowing wildflowers in the fall and winter makes for a glorious spring and summer: 

We try to grow as much of our food as we can. Here are some edible things I’ve planted in the front yard that deer haven’t bothered: 

  • Artichokes
  • Rhubarb
  • Asparagus
  • Alliums (onions, garlic, shallots, and leeks)
  • Mediterranean herbs (lavender, oregano, thyme, marjoram, sage, rosemary)
  • Mint (beware, it wanders)
  • Calendula (it’s like confetti, but for salads)
  • Tomatoes (deer nibble the edges, and would probably eat more of them if tomatoes were available in the hungry season, but in the heat of summer there are many things they’d rather munch on, like my arborvitae hedge. Caveat: I plant cherry or grape tomatoes in the front yard by the dozen, so a nibble here or there doesn’t bother me as much as it would if I only had three prize brandywines). 

I like to make bouquets, and my front yard pulls its weight in that department as well. Here are some favorite flowers from my cutting garden that I grow in the front yard because the deer don’t bother them:

  • Snapdragons
  • Zinnias
  • Cosmos
  • Poppies
  • Rudbeckia
  • Lupine
  • Peonies
  • Echinacea
  • Yarrow
  • Narcissus (if you’re not into bright yellow and trumpet-shaped, check out my favorite fancy double-petaled cream-and-apricot variety called “Replete”) 

Believe it or not, the SLUGS AND SNAILS were the ones who ate my narcissus in the front yard last year! I tried beer traps, sluggo, egg shells… forget it. If you mulch as much as I do, slow motion predation by mollusks seems inevitable. This year I’ve called in the special forces. So far they’ve captured our hearts and turned everything to mud. I’ll keep you posted as things develop. 

Julia Frisbie has been gardening in Coast Salish territory for six growing seasons, and is thankful to learn from plants, animals, and people who have been here much longer. She’s grateful to her mom, Anne Kayser, for cultivating her curiosity, and also to Robin Wall Kimmerer for writing the book Braiding Sweetgrass, which transformed her relationship with the more-than-human world. Follow Julia’s micro-farm on Facebook, Instagram, and/or TikTok.

Onions, and spring greens Pesto

By Peter Heffelfinger

posted March 29, 2021

 

Onions

With the calendar arrival of spring, the official opening of the garden season has begun. Of course there are early cool-weather plants that benefit from getting into the ground before March 21st, especially peas, lettuce, and radishes. But the really important ones to set out early are onions, whose bulb formation is triggered early by the extended day-length of late spring and early summer. It is vital to get onion sets, young plants, or even seed in as early as possible in order for the initial onion plant to size up adequately before the bulb starts to form below ground. We live in the very northern part of the continent, close to Canada, essentially halfway to the pole. Days get longer quickly up here, even now at the end of March. Once April and May roll in, the day-length really starts to stretch out.

growing onions

Image courtesy of This is My Garden

Late-planted onions tend to form thick stalks and thin bulbs, with premature seed-heads appearing on the central, slightly stiffer stalk.

As a rule, any seed-buds should be snipped off as soon as they appear in order to keep the plant’s energy going to the bulb. It’s essentially a race against the expanding hours of light, especially with the ever-earlier sunrises. Photosynthesis starts at the crack of dawn, which means the plants will have been active hours before the gardener usually arrives in the morning. So, get your onions in early, to beat the sun-clock.

My yellow and red storage onion sets were planted in their raised bed several weeks ago, while the Walla Walla plants were set out a few days ago. The Wallas, large and sweet, are for immediate summertime eating, as they go soft quickly when stored. There is still a seedling flat of large-size storage onions to transplant, though it may already be a bit late. They may not get as big as advertised, but hopefully the bulbs will be worth storing.

In the spring garden, however, the leeks planted last year in mid-summer are just now sizing up for harvest, just as the last of any stored onions in the pantry have been used up. Leeks are dependable, hardy, and stay fresh in the ground all winter. The leek cycle begins again soon with the initial set of transplants put out in middle or late spring for a late summer or early fall harvest. Be sure to water leeks regularly during the summer drought to keep them from bolting due to stress. But, like garlic scapes, the firm leek seed stalks can be sliced thin for soups or stir-fries. Never let a good stalk go to waste.

 

Spring Greens Pesto

(Recipe adapted from Megan Barone, of Mixtape Pasta)

In the garden the over-wintered bitter greens, including the arugula, Mizuna mustard, broccoli Raab, and the hardy bok toy, are madly forming buds. As the plants go to seed the leaves develop a much sharper bite, which I, as a medium-level chili aficionado, appreciate for an early foretaste of the hot peppers to come in summer. To use at least a small portion of the burgeoning crop of hardy greens, make a tangy pesto. No need to wait for warm weather basil.

Combine until smooth in a food processor: two handfuls of mixed bitter greens, 4-6 (or more) garlic cloves, a few walnuts, salt, black pepper, cumin, and the juice of a lemon. For a true Mediterranean kick, include half a tin of anchovies, or substitute a few dashes of Thai fish sauce.

(A non-fishy alternative is soy sauce.) Scrape down the sides. With machine running slowly add olive oil, plus freshly ground Parmesan to reduce the bite and give it that creamy pesto mouth feel. But l also like it straight, without Parmesan, on a cracker or a toasted baguette slice. Top with a few capers, a fresh leaf of hardy Greek oregano from the herb garden, and maybe some goat cheese or feta. A leafy spring tonic with a Hellenic snap to it.

Note: Stored in a jar with a surface layer of olive oil, pesto will keep for several weeks in the fridge, or frozen for up to 2 months.

 

Giving Chicks to a Brooding Hen

by Julia Frisbie

posted March 25, 2021

Here’s how it happens to most chicken people: you go to the feed store for a 40lb bag of layer pellets. You forget that it’s March. You walk in the door and hear CHEEPING. Oh. My. God. You decide to peek at the day-old-chicks just for fun. An hour later you find yourself back home hauling the brooder out of the garage, rigging it up in your guest room, and wondering how to tell your spouse that you bought more chicks. Within two days, the guest room smells like a barn. Back out to the garage you go with the brooder. Within a week you are sick of fiddling with that ridiculous tiny waterer and scooping up that nasty bedding, but now you’re committed. You have one to two more months of twice-daily care to perform for an increasingly disgruntled and cramped group of teenage mutant ninja chickens.

There is an easier way: giving day-old chicks to a broody hen. All you provide is water, a little food, and a safe outdoor foraging area. The hen provides warmth, comfort, protection, sanitation, and an education. The chicks develop healthier immune systems and communication, and have lots of fun bouncing through the garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you want to try this, do not go into the feed store this month or next. DON’T DO IT. Get curbside pickup. It’s still too cold outside for babies, and your hens know it: they’re not broody yet. Bide your time. Wait for a hen to go broody.

You’ll know she’s serious when:

  1. She sits on the nest instead of roosting at night.
  2. She doubles in volume and makes scary dinosaur noises every time you look at her.
  3. She poops only once a day, and it’s ENORMOUS and EXTRA STINKY.

Broodiness can be encouraged by lackadaisical egg collection on your part. There’s nothing more tempting than a nice pile of eggs. However, if you keep only the modern egg-laying breeds, the mothering instinct may have been selected against for so many generations that it doesn’t happen anymore. Never fear. If nobody in your coop has gone broody by late June, check Craigslist. Ask around. Some people get fed up with their broody hens and practically give them away. Other people– like me!– see a broody hen as a gift not to be wasted, and will gladly loan one out and help you through the process.

If you’ve got a choice between several broody hens, put chicks under the friendliest one who’s closest to the top of the pecking order. A friendly mother hen will teach her chicks to literally eat out of your hand, and they’ll grow into friendly adults. A dominant mother hen will beat up any flock mate who looks at her babies the wrong way, so the chicks will feel safe and grow up to be confident. On the other hand, chicks raised by a hen at the bottom of the pecking order will get picked on more, so they’re more likely to grow up flighty and nervous.

Once you have a broody hen, count forward twenty-one days, and then start calling feed stores. Ask them when they’ll get their next batch of day-old chicks. If breed matters to you, ask about that, too. What you’re looking for is a delivery of day-old chicks that’s due somewhere around your hen’s twenty-first day of sitting (she can’t count, so you can fudge up to a week in either direction).

In the meantime, set up your nursery. I use a big dog crate filled with straw and nestled under the thornless blackberry vines. This area is adjacent to, but outside of, my normal chicken run. You can use anything that might feel cozy to a chicken. Put the chick waterer and feeder nearby. Then one night after dark, traipse outside and carry your broody hen from the coop to the nursery. Put as many eggs back under her as you plan to purchase chicks. (I’ve never done more than five, but I’ve heard that a standard size hen can take up to twelve.) She may protest, but chickens are out-of-it at night, so she won’t be able to put up much of a fight. If in the morning she’s still sitting on the new nest, you’re in the clear.

Around day 21, you can finally go buy chicks. You want them as young as possible– that’s why you call ahead and plan to arrive right after they’re delivered to the store by the post office. You want them 24-36 hours old. I’ve been known to drive as far south as Seattle to get chicks the right age for a broody hen! If you have a long drive home, you’ll need to either crank up the heat in the car, or stick them under your shirt to keep them warm. There’s no cozier way to travel.

Once you’re home, make sure every chick eats and drinks, and then enjoy them! They’re so soft at first, aren’t they? Let them climb all over you, watch them sleep, keep them in a cardboard box in the kitchen, et cetera. You only get them until nightfall.

After dark, you’ll give them to your hen while she is drowsy and only partially aware, creating a new family via minor deception. You’ll fill your coat pockets with those sweet little baby chicks and traipse back out to the nursery. Put the palm of your hand against one chick’s back and gently close your fingers so it can’t squirm away. Slide that closed hand under your broody hen among the eggs. Open your fingers. The chick will scramble out. Now close your fingers around an egg, slide it out from under the hen, and put it in your pocket.

Wait and listen. Fierce dinosaur noises are a bad sign. Silence or very soft clucking is a good sign. In the worst case scenario, if a hen attacks the chicks, you may have to raise them inside after all… but this has never happened to me. By doing the switch at night, and using very young chicks, you’re stacking the odds in favor of a successful adoption. If after a few minutes there are no signs of violence, repeat the process with the other chicks, until your pockets are full of eggs and all the chicks are under the broody hen. The chicks and the hen will talk softly with each other in their sleep, and begin to learn each other’s voices, before they’re even fully aware that they’ve become a family.

In the morning, your hen will be holding quite still. If you sit quietly and watch, tiny faces will begin to appear and disappear from between her feathers. Chicks will emerge, eat and drink, explore, climb all over the hen, and burrow back under her when they get chilly. They’re ready for action! But her hormones are telling her to sit tight, because not all eggs hatch at the same time. She’ll wait about 24 more hours before leaving the nest. And it’s a good thing, because those 24 hours come right at the end of the chicks’ brief window for imprinting. While she’s sitting, they’re learning: “this creature is big and warm and doesn’t hurt me. She must be my mom.”

On the second day, she’ll be ready to stretch her legs, and she’ll start parading the chicks around the yard. If they’ve imprinted successfully, they’ll follow. She’ll show them how to scratch up bugs, pointing them out with her beak and saying, “took took took!” That’s chicken lingo for “good stuff over here!” Every few minutes she’ll squat down and warm them up. She won’t let you near the chicks, but she will appreciate it if you remark on their health and vigor, and on the impressive number of them she has managed to hatch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A hen’s mothering ability depends both on her breed and her individual personality. I’ve had Welsummers and Dominiques play at broodiness, but the only ones in my flock who’ve been serious enough about it to raise chicks have been Speckled Sussex. Of those, the worst mother lost half her chicks in the backyard just from not keeping them close enough. The best one was so protective that she fought off an owl who tried to raid the nest one night! By the time I got out there in my bathrobe, she literally had it cornered and was making every attempt to kill it, despite being unable to see in the dark. She didn’t lose a single chick.

The more a hen proves herself as a reliable mother, the more you can bend the rules by giving her older chicks, daytime switcheroos, or even different species. Once my hen Blue got so broody that she stole her sister’s three-week-old chicks out from under her and raised them as her own! I now switch Blue’s eggs for chicks in broad daylight; deceiving her seems unnecessary and disrespectful, since I trust that she’ll accept them. As soon as I bring chicks home from the feed store, I say, “Look, Blue, it’s your babies!” and stick them under her, and she’s satisfied. Maybe she thinks this is how all babies are born… or maybe she understands that, in the absence of a rooster, this is the best either of us can do.

Another time, I brought home three adolescent ducklings and told Blue, “listen, I know it’s not what you’ve been hoping for, but these little things need a mom. Can you help?” She gave me a serious side-eye, but rose to the occasion. That brood always had communication issues. The ducklings never figured out what “took took took” meant, and Blue was alarmed every time they went into the water. They were too old to totally imprint on her, but they still learned to rely on her for warmth and protection.


Once the new family is established, there’s little to do but sit back and appreciate the miracle. Think about it: your mama hen was probably hatched in an incubator, shipped in a box, unpacked under fluorescent lights in a feed store, and then raised under a heat lamp. She didn’t have a mother. She didn’t hear “took took took.” But she still knows how to say it. She knows how to squat down and fluff her feathers to make it easier for babies to warm themselves under her. She knows how to get into that bizarre protective posture with her wings hovering over the chicks, her tail fanned, and her neck feathers puffed out. She carries the intergenerational trauma of an extractive system that treated her ancestors like commodities; but she also carries the genetic memory for how to build a family. Next time she poops on the porch or scratches up a freshly-sown raised bed, remember all that.

Julia Frisbie has been gardening in Coast Salish territory for six growing seasons, and is thankful to learn from plants, animals, and people who have been here much longer. She’s grateful to her mom, Anne Kayser, for cultivating her curiosity, and also to Robin Wall Kimmerer for writing the book Braiding Sweetgrass, which transformed her relationship with the more-than-human world. Follow Julia’s micro-farm on Facebook, Instagram, and/or TikTok.

Spring Weather

By Peter Heffelfinger

posted March 22, 2021

With the recent clear, cool nights and sunny days, spring has arrived several weeks early. The key difference is the relative absence of sustained rainfall. We’ve had a few sudden downpours, and even a bit of sleety hail, but not the sodden, extended weather that is expected around the spring equinox in the Pacific Maritime Northwest. The usual signs of spring are here: the red flowering currant bush is blooming and the Lenten hellebores are in full display, with the overwintering hummingbirds buzzing around both sets of blossoms. And, atop the highest fir tree the local pair of bald eagles have been making incessant calls to each other, as if to get the nesting season started early.

Last year at this time the ground was too soggy to plant potatoes, which didn’t go into the garden until April 17th. This year, the ground at my South Fidalgo garden is fluffy and workable, and the winter rye cover crop is being tilled in; the potatoes will be planted in a week or so, as soon as the rye roots and leaves decompose a bit. With the start of daylight saving, the garden weather clock seems to have moved ahead as well. The jump start may seem a boon to gardeners, hoping to get things in the ground soon, but the real message is the early drop off of the winter rains. The summer drought seems to be creeping in ahead of time.

Out on the Flats, where I have a large plot of garlic, the dry weather has caused the clay soil of the Valley to harden into a solid cake. Last year I applied a layer of woody compost to both deter the weeds and lighten up the ground, but the garlic crop suffered with a high percentage of moldy bulbs, approaching 30% in some beds. So, this winter I kept the beds bare, applying the usual mid-February fertilizer to jump start the garlic growth in the cool winter soil. (Note: I just use my standard, all-round organic fertilizer mix, not the blood meal or high nitrogen application often recommended.)

Of course, the ever present weed seeds also appreciated the sudden nutritional boost, forming a thick carpet of shot weed and other common occupiers of open soil. I’ve had to spend long hours using my stainless steel Japanese hand weeder, with a very sharp cutting edge and an offset blade, to cut through both the hard surface of clay as well as the already tough weed roots. Unfortunately, unless I am very careful, the sharp blade occasionally nicks off a soft garlic shoot. Hopefully the few plants sacrificed now will be less in number than the many that had to be thrown away last summer. Thankfully the mold last year was just common botrytis, not the feared white root rot that permanently affects garlic plots. Ultimately the cleaned garlic from last summer stored well, with the cloves just now starting to sprout or turn soft.

To preserve the remaining surplus of stored garlic I peel the good cloves, process them with a bit of olive oil and canning salt, and pack the rough mixture into pint jars for freezing. The mix can also be safely stored for a few months in the fridge, with the garlic bite turning very sweet. Be sure to keep a thin layer of oil on the surface to keep the garlic ‘refrigerator jam’ from drying out. You can also do a quick pickle of garlic. Whatever method you chose will serve to bridge the fresh garlic gap between now and the appearance of the first scapes in June.

I’ve also been making a traditional Spanish garlic soup: lots of sliced garlic sautéed with olive oil, paprika, cayenne and cumin, then mixed with chopped ham and chunks of day-old baguettes. Heat with stock or water, add whatever chopped spring green available and garnish with some newly-sprouted garlic chives. A proper spring tonic at the end of the garlic cycle.

Peas, Spring & Fall

For me, spring means fresh peas. It’s been many years since I grew traditional shelling or English peas. I now prefer Snap peas for quick eating or cooking in the shell, while my overall favorite is the Oriental Snow pea, particularly the variety Mammoth Melting Sugar. I find other varieties of snow peas to be not as large, sweet or tender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In order to avoid spotty germination in the cool soil of early March, I bought starts of Super Snap peas and transplanted them in a raised bed lined with cedar boards. I kept the plants covered with large pots for a few days to shield them from the sun and wind while they develop their root systems. After I removed the pots, and the peas were standing 4 inches tall, I unfortunately forgot to cover them with my usual low arch of chicken wire to fend off any rabbits that might make it through the outer fencing. When a large gate was left open one night, the pesky critters trooped in and neatly trimmed off the tops and most leaves of the peas. There’s always a chink in the armor. So, once again giving thanks to local nursery suppliers, I replanted with fresh starts, which should still provide a slightly delayed, mid-spring taste of fresh peas.

The Mammoth Melting snow peas, which I dote on for stir-fries, have not been available locally as starts for several years. So this spring I soaked the seed overnight and planted it in the relatively dry soil of the same raised bed as the Sugar Snaps. To support the 6-8 foot tall pea plants of both varieties I’ll be using 4×8-foot cattle panels instead of makeshift arrangements of tall poles and twine. Not quite as homespun, but effective. I also bought extra snow pea seed for a late summer planting, which will supply a second crop, given the increasingly warm and dry autumn growing season. As the climate changes, fill the gaps.

Peter Heffelfinger

Starting Seeds in Soil Blocks

By Julia Frisbie

Posted March 18, 2021

In an effort to reduce my garden’s reliance on single-use plastics, I use a soil blocker instead of plastic 72-cell trays to start my seeds. This method was popularized by Eliot Coleman, and you can find lots of good information about it online. But the actual tool that you use to make the blocks ishttps://www.theseasonalhomestead.com/homemade-soil-blocking-mix/prohibitively expensive upfront if you just want to start a few trays of tender annuals. I have a stand-up 35-blocker because I’m a garden tool junkie, and it seems silly to keep it all to myself. You’re welcome to come use it on my front porch. Text me at 503-975-3778 and we’ll work it out. Bring your own trays and soil.

The benefits of soil blocks are:

  • Seedling roots run into air at the edges of the block rather than plastic, so they don’t wind around and around. They just stop growing (this is called “air pruning”) and wait to be plopped in the ground, which means they do better after transplanting.
  • You can fit more seedlings on a tray. For people with indoor setups, space on the heating mat and under the grow lights is often at a premium.
  • I can fill trays faster with my soil blocker than I could if I were hand-packing damp substrate into plastic 72-cell trays.
  • No more throwing away cracked and nasty 72-cell trays at the end of the season!

Here’s how it works:

  1. Dump substrate in a flat-bottomed bin. Some people use complicated recipes, but I just use the Black Gold potting mix with the orange label. Unfortunately, it comes encased in single-use plastic. Even the complicated recipes involve bagged ingredients like peat moss. A locally-sourced recipe that uses zero bagged ingredients would take a lot of experimentation. Sounds like a fun project for a retired master gardener, but I have a full time job and a four-year-old and escaped ducks running all over the neighborhood and a sink full of dirty dishes, so I’m not investing in research and development at this point.
  2. Add water, mixing as you go, until it’s slightly less wet than brownie batter, but wet enough that when you pick up a handful and squeeze, a little water runs out between your fingers.
  3. Push the soil blocker down into the substrate while doing a little twist-and-shimmy until you can hear and feel it scraping against the bottom of the bin.
  4. Lift it up and set it down into the tray where you want the blocks, and squeeze the two handles while gently lifting to release them.
  5. Repeat two more times, and you’ve got a full tray! My blocker makes blocks that measure 1.125” square, and 105 of them fit in a standard 1020 tray.

Newly planted seeds should never be allowed to dry out before they germinate. Soil blocks are best watered from below, since there’s no plastic holding them together. I pack my blocks into mesh-bottomed trays, and then I set them into a solid-bottomed tray with water in it for a few seconds, letting moisture wick up from below. I’ve also put soil blocks on aluminum pans and plastic lunch trays and poured water in from the sides, tilting the lunch tray so that every block has a chance to wick it up.

You don’t need soil blocks for everything. Many vegetables do just fine direct-seeded into your garden. Some even prefer it! Others– especially the ones with big starchy seeds– I like to pre-soak indoors and then plop directly into the ground. The ones I raise in the soil blocks are the real divas, the long-season veggies that can’t handle a frost. Here’s a simplified, non-exhaustive list of who gets what treatment in my garden:

TRANSPLANTS (VIA SOIL BLOCKS)

  • Nightshades (tomatoes, peppers, eggplants)
  • Cucumber family (cucumbers and melons)
  • Squash family (including zucchini and summer squash)
  • Sunflowers
  • Zinnias
  • Cosmos

PRE-SOAK

  • Peas
  • Beans
  • Corn
  • Nasturtiums

DIRECT SOW

  • Root veggies
  • Leafy greens
  • Herbs
  • Wildflowers

Another thing I think about when I start my seeds is whether or not each type of seed has a belly-button. The belly button is the point or the little mark where it was once attached to its mother plant. Think about the little mark on the middle of a bean, or the pointy end of a squash seed. If I can see a belly button, I plant it facing down or sideways, never facing up. That’s the place where the seed’s first rootlet will emerge from, and the rootlet has to find its way downward before it can push its cotyledons out of the soil. I learned this from the book Better Vegetable Gardens the Chinese Way by Chan and Gill, and from my seed-saving mentor Rowen White.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you’ve never started veggies inside before, it bears mentioning that setting them next to a window really doesn’t provide enough light. You need a fluorescent shop light, and you need to hang it so it’s inches (not feet) above the top of the plants, adjusting it upwards as they grow. And most of the veggie divas who need to start life indoors germinate fastest when the soil is around 77 degrees, so stick them and their light in a warm place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It also bears mentioning that indoor- or greenhouse-grown seedlings need to be “hardened off” before planting them out into the garden. Basically you carry them to and fro for a while. It’s a hassle. Actually, this whole seed-starting process is a huge hassle. But can I stop myself? No! Because springtime is too exciting!!! While unearthing supplies in the shed this afternoon, I caught myself humming, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…”

Julia Frisbie has been gardening in Coast Salish territory for six growing seasons, and is thankful to learn from plants, animals, and people who have been here much longer. She’s grateful to her mom, Anne Kayser, for cultivating her curiosity, and also to Robin Wall Kimmerer for writing the book Braiding Sweetgrass, which transformed her relationship with the more-than-human world. Follow Julia’s micro-farm on Facebook, Instagram, and/or TikTok

This Week in Gardening (TWIG) — First One of 2021!

By Peter Heffelfinger

Posted March 15, 2021

After a winter of being cooped up during the pandemic, I’m sure gardeners are anxious to get started growing things once again. Before jumping into spring planting, I thought I’d start this year’s edition of weekly updates with a look back over what survived this past winter. Spring will arrive soon enough, if not already here.

The heavy foot of snow that fell on South Fidalgo in February served as a layer of insulation, protected the ground from freezing very deeply and kept the hardy over-wintering plants from exposure to wind. With the rapid melt of the snowfall, and the change to warm and dry weather in early March, we’re experiencing a much earlier spring, as has been happening more and more the past few years.

Perennial Vegetables

Basic to any system of year-round gardening are vegetables that reappear on their own each spring. Although they may initially take up to several years to reach full production, they’re certainly worth the time and effort. The main concern is finding a permanent place in the garden, safely removed from any ongoing system of crop rotation. Once established, perennials take a minimum of care, mostly a little regular weeding, some watering in summer, and regular pruning or cleanup as needed. A layer of well-cured manure or other form of fertilizer applied in the fall serves a source of slow-release nutrition. The appearance each year of a reliable crop is a welcome relief from the usual spring rush to get seeds or transplants in the ground.


Rhubarb

Rhubarb will supply a few leaves the first year, depending on the size of the start, particularly if you are able to find a mature root ball divided from a well-established bed. I found a large rhubarb root at the very first Transition Seed Swap years ago. It is still producing and has filled out a small bed of its own in a corner of the garden, right next to a permanent stand of thornless blackberries. Note: rhubarb leaves get gradually smaller and thinner after 4-5 years and the root needs to be sub-divided to maintain vigorous growth. Rhubarb is one of the earliest crops to be harvested, with the appearance of the bright red stalks serving as a spring tonic visually, as well as for their tart taste, which mixes well with the standard local perennial, strawberries. I am always amazed at the elephantine leaves bursting out of the ground. If large skunk cabbage leaves are a first sign of spring in the woodlands, then rhubarb is the starting flag for the garden.

Artichokes

Artichoke plants will offer an edible head or two the first year, but will start to take off the following season, once the roots are well-established. The key is to harvest the buds when they are tender, before the outer leaves get stiff, since these plants are an edible form of thistles. If you do allow a bud to open up, the flower is a deep blue, and a boon to bees. The fully mature blossom, cut with a long stem and hung upside down to dry, also becomes a distinctive dried flower. I always think of artichokes as welcome visitors to our cool coastal clime from the sunny and warm Mediterranean.

During that week of 20F-degree weather in February of this year, I took the added precaution of putting a temporary covering of floating row cover over the still-standing stalks of artichokes, mostly as a barrier against the wind. They seem to have survived so far, particularly the purple variety Violetta de Provence, which is more susceptible to cold than the standard Green Globe, the variety commonly available locally. The Violetta has smaller, more conical heads, but a much finer taste and more tender leaves.

Asparagus

Of all the typical perennial vegetables, asparagus takes the longest to develop a good harvest, usually reaching that stage in the third year as the roots mature. But, to compensate for the long wait, the taste of the fresh-cut spears is extraordinarily sweet in comparison to the commercial bunches that have been shipped in from elsewhere. Resist the temptation to cut more than a few stalks the first two years and make sure the plot has a good supply of manure and compost, especially over the winter. I grow mostly a standard green variety; the purple type has not done as well so far.

Like artichokes, fresh asparagus is one of those vegetables that is a particular luxury. Maybe it is because they both are enjoyed with lots of melted butter. My asparagus bed is entering its fourth year and I am anticipating a steady supply. Finally, do let a good number of late-appearing stalks leaf to bushy maturity during the summer. The vegetation is needed to continue the cycle, allowing the roots to develop next year’s crop.

Cooking Note: if a few stalks do get too large and the bottom parts get a bit woody, use a vegetable peeler to remove the thick lower skin. The white inner pith will still be soft and edible, but just not that distinctive bright green of the more delicate upper spears.

A roundup of Over-wintering Hardy Vegetables

The January King cabbages offered small but tasty heads all winter, and are now sending up fresh side-sprouts from the cut stalks left in the ground. Two large collard plants did well all winter, sporting large healthy leaves seemingly impervious to frost. A sure sign of spring, the lacinato kale plants, like most hardy brassicas, are putting out multiple florets, an early version of broccoli. Keep the top-most buds trimmed off; they’ll be a steady supply of greens for fresh stir-fries. Other plants that did well included Mizuna and Purple mustard, Tat Tsoi bok choy, broccoli Raab, as well as Miner’s lettuce and a bushy form of arugula. Hiding under the leaves for a spring treat were Purple Top turnips, the roots unaffected by frost.

The brussels sprouts, however, suffered from the lack of winter cold, developing brown mold on the lower buds early on, and colonies of aphids on the topmost growing tips during any warm spell. What used to be a reliable crop now seems to be an extended challenge. I can understand a quote from a local farmer saying they are difficult to grow. Makes one appreciate the vast acres of purple and green brussels sprouts that are harvested in the valley just before Thanksgiving. Commercial sprouts would likely be non-organically grown, and unsweetened as yet by any touch of serious frost. I may stick to hardy cabbages as a more reliable winter brassica.

Leeks are the standard fresh allium in the winter garden. The main plot of leeks was harvested regularly, while two small beds of late-summer planted leeks are just now coming to maturity in March. The last of the leeks will develop a hard pith in the center as the temperature warms up, but the outer sheaths are still edible. As the green sprouts of the regular chives and garlic chives emerge in their pots in the kitchen garden, the fresh onion cycle begins again.

Peter Heffelfinger

Turning a Lawn into More Planting Space

By Julia Frisbie

Posted Wednesday, March 10, 2021

In January 2016, we became homeowners rather than renters for the first time, so naturally, we set out to destroy our newly-purchased lawn.

 

So boring. So unproductive. It had to go. Here’s what we did, and how it turned out!

 

 

 

We decided to use sheet mulch. First, we flattened and peeled the tape off all our moving boxes and laid them out on the lawn as a weed barrier, and watered them so they wouldn’t blow away.

 

 

(We used straw bales for raised beds during our first growing season, because we knew there wouldn’t be time for all this cardboard to break down and let plant roots through before summer. It’s better to start the sheet mulch process in the fall if you have time.)

Then we brought in 17 cubic yards of compost. The ground was wet, and the truck sank into the backyard and almost got stuck. Total disaster. We like to live life on the edge.

17 cubic yards is a lot of mulch. But for the record, you can use this same technique on a smaller scale: you could build the frame of a raised bed directly on top of your grass, line the bottom with cardboard, and then fill it with bagged compost. We used a dump truck load because we essentially wanted to turn the ENTIRE YARD into a raised bed.

Anyway, we spread that stuff all over, laying down more cardboard mulch underneath as we went. Extended family members who had come to see the new house were quickly drafted.

After we ran out of moving boxes, we used wide rolls of extra-thick kraft paper. Sometimes we had to lie down on the paper to keep it from blowing away before the next wheelbarrow load was in place. Large-scale mulching is a team sport.

 

We planted perennials like herbs and blueberry bushes by cutting through the mulch and paper layers and putting their roots directly into what used to be the sod. Because it was the beginning of the growing season, we also transplanted some shallow-rooted annuals like onions and lettuces right on top of the compost. We planted our deep-rooted annuals (like nightshades, squashes, and brassicas) on the straw bales that year, because we knew their roots wouldn’t be able to break through the cardboard and paper layer until after at least one rainy season’s worth of decomposition.

Then, because we didn’t have mulch to spread over the fresh compost, we broadcasted wildflower and clover seed all over the place as a cover crop.

Our cover crop helped build more soil while (mostly) crowding out weeds. The wild birds loved it, and they came and pooped new weed seeds everywhere. Oh well! Still, we had a glorious first summer in the new place, with a few veggies, a lot of flowers, and very little mowing.

 

Our big break came months later when I heard a chainsaw and a chipper in the neighborhood. I literally chased the truck down the street barefoot, begging the arborist to drop his load of chips for us to use. He did– JACKPOT!!!– and our neighbor yelled at us about it, so the first thing we had to do was shovel the entire load (about 10 cubic yards) out of the easement and into the backyard in one evening. We didn’t have time to mow the cover crop first– we didn’t even have any houseguests to recruit. We just laid down a deep layer of arborist chips over everything. There are no pictures, because it was pitch dark by the time we finished. But it was time and energy well-spent. In the short run, it smothered the cover crop, suppressed weeds, and looked nice. In the long run, it composted in place and fed the soil, because arborist chips contain both green material (shredded leaves) and brown material (chipped wood). Five years and three additional truckloads of arborist chips later, this space is still feeding us and the wildlife with glorious abandon!

Why should you mulch your lawn into oblivion, rather than sod cutting, rolling it up, and hauling it away? Because of geology. Our island is what’s left after the rest got scraped away by a giant glacier. We’re pretty short on topsoil. Losing even two inches of organic matter was a price I wasn’t willing to pay– and besides, it composted in place in less than a year. Soil organic matter feeds microbes and absorbs water, cutting down on long-term water needs. And it’s like compounding interest; the longer you do it, the better it gets.

Fall is the ideal time to make new garden beds, but in a pinch, you can pull it off in early spring. As with other gardening topics, there are many good ways to do something, but no single “right way.” That said, here’s what I can recommend because it’s worked for us:

  1. Lay down a compostable cardboard or paper barrier on top of your grass.
  2. Get the barrier all wet.
  3. Dump a bunch of compost on it, and spread it at least 4 inches thick.
  4. Broadcast seeds for a cover crop. American Meadows is a decent source if you want to buy wildflower and clover seeds by the pound rather than the packet.
  5. Make holes in the barrier and plant perennials straight through. Plant shallow-rooted annuals right on top during the first season. Remember to water well, because plant roots probably won’t make it through the cardboard and paper layer until next season.
  6. Cover with at least a four-inch layer of arborist chips no later than the following fall. You can request arborist chips from local companies on getchipdrop.com and they’re FREE!
  7. The next spring, gently rake the arborist chips out of the way and plant your annuals directly into the compost below.
  8. Follow up with additional applications of arborist mulch on an ongoing basis every fall, or whenever things get weedy, or when you need a good workout, or whenever you feel like things are getting too peaceful with the neighbors.

Now, for a few warnings:

DON’T STOMP AROUND IN YOUR NEWLY PURCHASED PILE OF COMPOST BAREFOOT because it might contain silverware. Somehow this happens to us every time, no matter which of the two local suppliers we order compost from. I have a slight preference for Skagit Soils, but no compost you purchase by the dump truck load is going to be perfect.

DON’T PAY FOR FANCY WOOD CHIPS. They’re all brown material, rather than a mix of green and brown, so they won’t compost in place and they won’t be as good for your soil. Just get the free stuff from your local arborists.

DON’T MIX THE ARBORIST CHIPS INTO THE SOIL. That will tie up all the nitrogen, which will starve the plants. Just lay the chips on top like a blanket.

DON’T FREAK OUT WHEN WILD MUSHROOMS POP UP. They mean your soil is happy. They don’t compete with your plants, and they can’t poison you if you don’t eat them. Treat them as honored guests who bring good news and let them live their lives.

THERE WILL BE WEEDS. Why? Because the polyculture you’re creating is more attractive to wild birds than your boring old lawn used to be, and bird poop is full of weed seeds. The time you used to spend mowing, you will now spend weeding. But the more years you spread arborist chips, the easier it gets to pull the weeds, because the soil gets so spongy-soft. I’d rather be down on my hands in the duff than pushing some stinky old mower any day.

 

Julia Frisbie has been gardening in Coast Salish territory for six growing seasons, and is thankful to learn from plants, animals, and people who have been here much longer. She’s grateful to her mom, Anne Kayser, for cultivating her curiosity, and also to Robin Wall Kimmerer for writing the book Braiding Sweetgrass, which transformed her relationship with the more-than-human world. Follow Julia’s micro-farm on Facebook, Instagram, and/or TikTok

 

Garlic … and goodbye until spring

by Peter Heffelfinger

posted October 12, 2020

Garlicand goodbye until spring

Unlike the tulip and daffodils that do so well in the cool maritime climate of the Skagit Valley, garlic is an overwintering bulb that prefers drier winters without the threat of ongoing rains, annual floods, and the host of fungal diseases that lurk in our soil. When I first started growing garlic on Fidalgo Island in the late ‘70’s I had luxuriant stands of silverskin garlic for braiding. The winter rains were more constant, but much lighter, with more drizzle and mist instead of the heavy downpours that we get now. As long as one had raised beds for good drainage, garlic could do well. But since I was growing in a vale of rich stream bed soil next to a lake, the moisture levels ultimately led to a case of the dreaded “white root-rot disease” that affects garlic. Once the fungus is present the soil, there’s no cure other than not growing this particular allium for 12 years, or finding a new site.

So, I moved my garlic crop to a sandy plot on the Skagit Flats. With the beds built up at least 6 inches and drainage ditches all around, the garlic did well in spite of occasional seasonal floods in the area from the Samish River. I also switched to hard neck garlic, whose stiff upright stems did better in the increasingly wet winter climate. Although silverskin varieties last longer in storage, I found that I could keep the hard neck bulbs all winter long by leaving a short 2-inch long stem on each head, perhaps to serve as a wick to draw out any moisture. I store the garlic in closed brown paper bags on shelves in an unheated appliance room, making sure the bulbs have been well cleaned, with the roots cut off, and only a minimum of sheath skins left on the head to avoid inner moisture accumulation and spoilage.

At my valley site I’ve had reliable crops for almost a decade. This past year, however, when I harvested the crop there was mold on almost a third of the heads (not on the roots, thankfully). It may have been due to the layer of commercial mulch that I put on the beds the past two seasons to keep down weeds, or maybe due to the wet winter. Plus, I harvested late in the season after an unexpected, heavy rain. One never really knows. Thankfully I grew a large enough crop to save the best for seed and still have enough to use all winter.

In any case, it’s garlic planting time again, and hopefully there will be less damage showing up next spring. I try to get the garlic in by Halloween at the latest, using the largest cloves, planting the cloves 2 inches deep, 4 inches apart, in rows at least 6 inches apart. I make 6 inch high raised beds with a 1-3 inch deep drainage ditch around the edge to keep moisture away from the bulbs as much as possible. I rotate the beds each year around a larger plot to minimize disease.

If you have well-rotted manure available it can worked into the beds beforehand. Otherwise wait until late February or early March to apply a fertilizer to overcome the unavailability of nitrogen in our still-cold spring soils. Some growers suggest using high nitrogen blood meal applied once, while others say a standard 5-5-5 formula can be applied at monthly intervals in the spring. It likely depends on the fertility of your particular site. Remember though to go easy on the fertilizer. You’re growing underground bulbs, not large cabbages or tall tomato vines.

Left: Red Russian garlic

I grow hard neck varieties: Music, Deja Vue, Red Russian, and Korean Red, acclimated to our Northwest conditions, and bought originally from local seed companies. You can also find local garlic at area farmers markets. The larger, more open cloves of the hard neck varieties are easier to peel than the smaller, tighter skinned silver skins. The hard necks also develop curly tops known as “scapes” a month or so before harvest. Remove the scapes as soon as they start to appear, to concentrate all the growth in the bulbs. Scapes can be stir-fried, grilled, steamed with salmon, or used to make soup stock. An early taste of garlic greens before the lifting of the bulbs later on. The stems can also be chopped, blanched, chilled, and then frozen for later use in winter soups.

Fall Garden

The second planting of cauliflower matured in September, a bit smaller than the large mid-summer heads, but still appreciated. The fall cabbages and collards are taking off in the fall rains, and the first of the winter-hardy leeks are ready to be pulled. The Brussels sprouts are suffering from aphids again, but with frequent sprays of soapy water I trust there will be a few buds unaffected later on. The Mizuna and Purple mustards, the turnip greens, along with the broccoli Raab, are now ready for the first picking. Hopefully the greens will keep going most of the winter. With the cover crop of annual rye planted in the outdoor beds, the major part of the garden cycle is drawing to a close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Above: Peter Heffelfinger in hoop house (photo courtesy of Skagit Valley Herald)

Inside the hoop house the cucumber vines are still producing a few last cukes, high up by the center ridge pole, where a little heat still accumulates. Once the tomato and cuke vines and the pepper plants are removed from the hoop house, those beds will also be sown with rye. After the rye is sprouted, the plastic roof will be taken down to save it from winter winds. The “greenhouse” beds then get refreshed by a six-month exposure to the elements, to prevent disease build up.

Indoors, the last of the tomatoes are ripening on trays in a warm room, and the final gallon of sauerkraut is ready to be put in small jars and stored in a fridge, along with the jars of brined pickles. The pumpkins and winter squash are still curing in the shed and the potatoes are safely stored in their dark boxes. Ready for winter.

The 2020 season has been a challenge, with rains in June, heat in August, and forest fire smoke in September. But with a few over-wintering crops, and much produce in various forms of storage, we should be able to carry on to the next growing year.

Note: I will be taking a break from doing the ‘Fidalgo Grows’ blog. I’ve enjoyed all the responses and questions and hope my information has been of use. I also hope to start up again next spring. Thanks to Evelyn Adams and Jack Hartt for their support.

On behalf of Transition Fidalgo & Friends, and all of those who benefited from this blog, deepest thanks to Peter for sharing so generously of his time and wisdom. See you in the spring!

Potato Storage

by Peter Heffelfinger

posted September 28, 2020

 

I often think of potatoes as pioneer food, since the tubers would last for months while being transported long distances and then could be planted in the first available spot at a new homestead. No special soil or cultivation needed, at least for the initial crop, and no extra fertilizer required the first year since the potato itself was a self-contained nutrient supply for the young seedling. I imagine the early settlers in the Pacific Northwest sticking a few precious potatoes in the open ground between the newly fallen old-growth trees. Potatoes were the easily grown carbohydrate that was not only a complete food nutritionally, but could be also be stored easily all winter. No wonder potatoes, first domesticated in the New World, rapidly spread to the other continents.

These days, before digging up the potatoes, I let the vines completely die down and then sit undisturbed for two weeks in order for the soft potato skins to harden up. In past years I washed down the freshly dug tubers with a hose and then let them air dry in the sun for no more than half a day, being careful to avoid any green skin spots developing from over-exposure to light. [Note: the green skin layer on a potato should be removed and not eaten, since it develops a harmful substance.] My thought was that washing would help prevent any soil-borne diseases from being carried into the storage containers. It has worked fine to date, but it was a full day of work to prepare the spuds for storage.

Recently a Master Gardener column stated that it was safe to store potatoes unwashed, I assume to limit any exposure to water or to avoid the spread of disease. So, this year I merely rubbed any dry soil off, and got rid of any rotten or obviously diseased tubers. I always have a few with brown rot in a hollowed-out core, but it hasn’t been a major blight for me to date. (I have heard this year, however, from another local gardener with that disease in his red potatoes.) A small amount of scab on the surface seems to be ok since it doesn’t penetrate the skin enough to cause spoilage later on. Any potatoes damaged from digging I put aside for immediate use since freshly broken skin areas would soon decay.

All in all, potatoes are susceptible to a variety of diseases, but it is possible to have a good crop as long as you practice good garden hygiene, rotate your growing site, and make sure to plant in our native acid soil (no lime application the winter before or just prior to planting). And use certified, disease-free seed potatoes. I rely on varieties that do well locally, such as Yukon Gold, California Whites, a standard Russet, and whichever Red is available each year. I’ve found that East Coast varieties such as Kennebec don’t seem to do well out here, perhaps due to different soil and milder weather. I’ve grown the purple potatoes originally from Peru, which did very well, but they’re a visual challenge on the plate.

For storage containers I use cardboard boxes filled just halfway with potatoes, with a layer of newspaper inserted against the side-walls to block the light from any handle or ventilation openings. I also add several layers of newsprint on top of the potatoes before folding over the top flaps of the box. The aim is to seal out any possible exposure to light. I find that the half-filled box allows the tubers to breathe a bit, since they give off a lot of moisture in storage. The newspaper acts as a sponge to soak up any extra humidity that might cause rot.

Fresh-dug potatoes are essentially seed plants over-wintering in the dark, waiting for spring. Actually, they don’t wait very long before the ‘eyes’ start sprouting, usually by mid-winter. I check the boxes regularly, rubbing off any new sprouts as they appear. If left to grow out, the sprouts will turn into active roots, and the entire box will soon turn into a nest of interlaced white roots. The potatoes themselves will have started to turn soft, since they are feeding the roots. If carefully de-sprouted at least once a month, I find that boxed potatoes will last most of the winter.

Note: To avoid confusion later on, limit each box to one variety and label it on the outside. Varieties of potatoes may have shorter or longer storage lives, not to mention differing densities that will affect cooking times.

I keep the boxes on a cool concrete floor of an unheated laundry room, next to a freezer and a storage fridge for fermented kraut and pickles.

The appliance motors supply just enough indoor warmth to protect any stored produce from freezing, but not too much heat to cause spoilage.

If any of the potatoes do eventually become too sprouted and soft, process them en masse by removing the sprouts, paring off the softened skins and boiling them all up. I let them cool and then store in freezer bags as a last supply of potatoes for the tail end of winter. Not the highest quality fresh produce, but they are homegrown, organic, and good for soup or hash browns. Plus, I always feel committed to using up what I have raised myself. Any potatoes that are too far gone, however, end up in the worm bins.

In order to avoid disease, I don’t use any homegrown potatoes as seed the following year. I always buy fresh seed potatoes each spring, since they’re checked to be disease-free, having been grown in drier areas that are less prone to the many diseases that potatoes are prone to. Of course, if you’re attempting to maintain an heirloom variety, you’ll have to use the healthy-looking potatoes left in storage, sprouts and all. That is what the pioneers did, and certainly what the Incas still do in the Andes, where potatoes were first domesticated.

The End of Summer

by Peter Heffelfinger

posted September 21, 2020

The End of Summer

After the many days of forest fire smoke, with a lack of wind due to the inversion effect of the heavy haze, it was a relief this past weekend to finally see the sun and feel a small breeze. The extreme fire danger is still present, so one hopes we can get through the fall without any local blazes.

While the weather was on hold, the garden duties kept perking along. The last of the tomatoes needed to be processed or given away, the final cucumbers had to be pickled or made into appetizers, and the cabbage heads, both green and red, made their way into the sauerkraut jars. In June a third of my seed potatoes failed to sprout due to the wet weather, but, to my great relief, the rest of the seed ultimately produced a healthy harvest of Yukon Golds, La Soda Reds, and California Whites. To quickly cover the failed potato ground I planted a few hills of winter squash and pumpkins. By September that bare corner of the garden was filled with the bright oranges of Cinderella’s Coach squash and Sugar Pie pumpkins.

At the other end of the garden, a planting of standard pumpkins is offering similar pre-Halloween bounty, along with a great number of Vegetable Spaghetti squash. As the vines die back, all the members of the extended gourd family need to be moved to a dry, airy space to properly cure prior to storage indoors. It’s going to be a cucurbit winter.

Fall Greens

The early September plantings of Oriental greens, Miner’s lettuce, mustards, turnips and kohlrabi all came through the smoky stasis. As often happens, I seeded the bed a bit too thickly, so the first duty was to carefully thin the seedlings to give them proper spacing. For fall and winter vegetables it is important to leave extra room between the plants; they need to spread out a bit wider to gather the decreased light from the low-angled winter sun. At 45 degrees latitude north, our corner of the Pacific Northwest is halfway to the North Pole, and in winter is far removed from the more sunny south.

I also made a second planting of fall greens two weeks later, just in case there was any problem due to the continually grey days. If we get an extended stretch of warm autumn weather, both patches should do well. If cold weather threatens later on, I can set up small hoop houses of floating row cover to keep off the frost. I prefer row cover to plastic for winter protection, since it provides just enough added heat to protect hardy greens, allows the rain to water the beds, and also softens the harsh winds. Given our recent trend toward warmer but wetter winters, I’m betting that we won’t see any really hard freezes. But just in case, it pays to keep a supply of Agribon or Reemay row cover handy.

Fall Cover Crop

The fall equinox is also a good time to plant a fall cover crop. I prefer annual rye since it’s simple to plant. I find that most cover crop mixes include seeds of widely varying size, from large Alaskan peas to tiny crimson clover, with annual rye in the middle. It’s difficult to plant each seed at its proper depth, often resulting in spotty germination. I cover freshly seeded rye, lightly raked in, with floating row cover for a few weeks, as protection against hungry birds. If you wait to plant rye later in the fall, when the soil is much cooler, the row cover also provides just enough warmth to sprout the seed.

Row cover material is actually plain white interfacing, commonly used in lining down jackets and other clothes. Who knew it could also be used to protect gardens against the cold? A tool of the garment industry has crossed over into horticulture.