Seed Saving Made Simple

If you don't already know me, then here's a newsflash: my middle name is "Do It the Hard Way." That said, the following methods for saving seeds cannot possibly be simple. But that's the way I roll.
You will need:

• dried seeds/pods
• a colander
• a bowl that the colander can rest in
• a hat or bandanna
• paper bags or envelopes (junk mail envelopes best if you want to feel resourceful)
• a magic marker
• a flexible mat, such as a kids' plastic placemat
• garden gloves
• a smooth, round stone or similar object

Radishes are among the easiest for seed-saving. First, plant non-hybrid radishes. I personally like German Giant, but I am not a radish fan. They are quick-growing and the seeds are good to have on hand for food security. When radishes are ready to harvest, select 2-3 of the best radishes (you can tell by brushing dirt from the top). Leave these in the ground and they'll bolt into a radish bush. You will soon see flowers, which will form seed pods as they're pollinated. Earwigs munch on the blossoms and pods for a midnight snack, so you may want to hand-pick, use beer/yeast traps and/or form a "doggie cone of shame" on the main stalk of the radish. In the meantime, well-meaning helpers will want to pull out your dreadful "weed." If they do, smile and say "Oh no biggie!" and buy the seeds--that helper just saved you from an hour of easy misery. Reduce watering to encourage seed formation. After 6-8 weeks the pods will dry. They will feel hard and rough like a generic animal cracker. If they are green and squishy, they aren't ready. Harvest whole plant when most pods are dry.
Seed saving is best outdoors in the shade in a place where you don't mind random veggies popping out of the ground en masse. You may want to wear gloves, especially for mustards, arugula, and other brassicas as the pods can be sharp. Place pods in colander on top of bowl (or mash entire bush in) and smash pods. Fully dried seeds will not mush while you pummel the pods. Once all pods are crushed, swirl the contents around with your hand to encourage reluctant seeds into the bowl below. Next is separating the chaff from the seeds. You may want to wear a hat. A very slight breeze can also help. Tip the bowl and gently blow the chaff (fibrous material you don't want). The hat is to keep you from looking like you've developed a clinical case of dandruff when a neighbor drops by unexpectedly. Oh yeah, you'd better close your eyes. Another option is to drop the mixture from about ten inches into the bowl and let the slight breeze help separate. Gently shimmying the bowl also forces the lighter chaff to the top, so you can skim it off. I've wondered if a blender or food processor could do some of this work for me, but I worry the seeds would get thwacked.

In the end, three radishes give me about 100 seeds. Label a paper bag (not plastic unless you're certain the seeds are dry; otherwise, you'll be sad when all your work goes moldy) with date and seed type. Carefully pour seeds into bag. Store in a cool, dry place. In a few months you'll probably be gripped by garden fever and go buy the same seeds. Oh well.


Other non-hybrid plant seeds that can be saved in similarly simple steps: beans, lettuce, broccoli, mustard, bok choy, kale, carrots, parsnips, parsley, cilantro, dill, celery, chard, and beets. Seeds from arugula, bok choy, mustard, lettuce, bok choy, broccoli and dill can be collected in the same season as they're planted. Carrots, beets, parsnips, onions and celery need to winter-over under a layer of leaves. They will form enormous bushes, so just choose one that looks the healthiest that's in a place you don't mind disappearing under 64 cubic feet (4'x4'x4') of biomass. Don't collect from one of these plants if it goes to seed in the first summer-this is an undesirable trait that you don't want to propagate. From the one kale I've collected seeds, I learned that they take two winters, but perhaps it was just an issue of the variety. For parsley, dill and cilantro, I allow a couple plants to drop their seeds and regrow.

Not sure why this fella won't turn landscape...

Parsnip seeds (ready when stems are dry)

Plants that are harder for seed-saving include melons, cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, peppers, eggplants and peas. The problem with peas is weevils. Even if you let 500 pods grow until they're yellow, hard and bloated, in a few weeks, you'll have 400 pea clubhouses with a circular door and  a bagful of zombie weevils. Beans don't have that issue, so let them blimp on the vine, then dry in a paper back or spread in a cardboard produce box. Follow above steps.


Onion flower from last year's onion

The difficulty in melons, squash, cucumbers, peppers, tomatoes and eggplants is cross-pollination. Some folks say there isn't cross-pollination, but most of us don't have 30'x30' garden plots devoted to a single variety of a single kind of vegetable, where plants at the center are more isolated. Of the plants in the difficult category, squash and pumpkins are the most manageable. Some day I'll add a post for that.

My Garden Crush

Do you remember your first crush? Mine was in Kindergarten and his name was Mark. My twin sister and I cornered him in the library and kissed him. Nowadays we'd be hauled off to the Principal's Office (or worse) for bullying or sexual harassment. Ah the good old days, when a crush was entirely uncomplicated by technology, social media or politics. I did become slightly more socially savvy and much less demonstrative after the Librarian gave me a little lecture. Then in 1st grade there was Sam, my first and last love interest whose shortness endeared me to him. Next was a boy named Shannon with a cleft palate (I didn't notice--his brown eyes held me transfixed during "heads down" time in 2nd grade). In 3rd grade, a boy named David took it upon himself to quiz all my male classmates on whether they would 'go out' with me (a term I definitely didn't get), and it was a classroom scandal when Kyle revealed that I'd already turned him down. In 4th grade I adored Colin and Jason, and in 5th grade, Bryan. By 6th Grade crushes were more sophisticated with drama, heartbreak and note-passing (for others--I was too shy). They also lasted longer and had more deeply felt consequences. This skimming of my childhood reminiscences brings me to the main features of a crush:

1. It's a secret (a best friend might know--but this is dangerous in case of blackmail), so if anyone guessed, you'd be deeply embarrassed.
2. You practically stalk the person, knowing their habits, schedule, likes, dislikes, etc. The hunt is far more interesting than being hunted. The challenge is half the fun.
3. It's unrequited love: for all the mental and emotional energy you pour in, you get very little in return.
4. It's not a crush anymore if you graduate from Features 1-3 and either have a real friendship or a real relationship with the person.

So how on earth do I have a Garden Crush? When I'm there I feel nervous excitement, confusion, elation and frustration. When I'm away, the garden filters into my thoughts, even in sleep. I know what the garden is like every season of the year and every part of the day. I find any and all excuses to spend time there. For all this toil and all these emotions, there are benefits (exercise, fresh food, friends). But what brings me supernal joy is when the garden smiles--that moment when the sunshine  makes the flowers glow, a hummingbird hovers in zigzags, and the fragranced air rustles the corn stalks. When you come down to it, the aim of a crush is to be noticed, appreciated. Everything I put in seems to be acknowledged in these moments when the garden comes fully alive.

Now that the secret is out I guess my crush may ripen into a solid, wholesome friendship. Until of course winter hits and we begin the rollercoaster ride all over again. But wait, I forgot the most important feature, the one that involves spectators: there is something hopelessly pitiful about someone else's crush...

Pioneer Proud

Whether or not you have "Pioneer Heritage," and whether or not you know much about your ancestors, you can still connect to the past at our annual Pioneer Party. This "Friends of the Garden" event featured homemade pies, pioneering pullets, hand-cranked ice cream, hand-churned butter, hand-crafted spin tops, hand-made clothespin dolls, homemade sourdough bread, fiddle tunes from an 11-year old gardener, Pioneer games, Dutch oven stew with garden fresh veggies and herbs, true Pioneer stories, and planting a patch of Pioneer corn (to mark the first crop planted by Mormon Pioneers in late July of 1847). Are you noticing a theme? Pioneers (among many other groups past and present) had to live by the mantra "will work to eat." Not only that, they worked tirelessly by their own physical efforts to provide for hearth and home. My hard work is a hobby; their hard work was life. In small ways, though, I try to show my Pioneer spirit through this pastime of mine.

 We appreciate our local Smiths grocery store for supplying watermelons and for all of our friends and garden members who supported this event. Although a cameraman from the local news was not on the menu, I am very pleased to see that this event is steadily growing into an annual tradition for our community.

Patriotic as Potato Salad

What is a Fourth of July barbecue without potato salad? I've had a goal of making red, white and blue potato salad. This year is the beginning of that attempt. Dill, onions, garlic and new potatoes ripened together so I'll give it a try. Even the dill looks like a firework;)

Mud, Sweat and Tears: The Dirty Truth of Collective Gardens

After three years of collective community gardening, I ran across a bit of history. Apparently the early Pilgrim settlers in North America attempted a collective approach to raising food. What they found was that a few workers did all the work, yet everyone expected a full share of the harvest. Kind of like the Little Red Hen story. I haven't documented this factoid, though I was surprised that I found it in a children's book by, of all people, Rush Limbaugh (Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims). Whether it's true is beside the point because it certainly resonates with my experience. If I explained our garden to 100 people who are able-bodied and have enough spare time to watch 2+ hours of Netflix every day, about 75 would like the idea. Of those, 25 would say they want to check it out. Seven actually would. And 1-2 of those people would help at the garden more than once. This is not me venting. I am pointing out the reality of collective community gardening, based on my experience. A few theories have evolved for me: 1) Gardening sounds relaxing, but it's actually gritty, sweaty, physical labor; 2) produce from the store is cheap (and organic produce is more convenient even if more costly); 3) a lot of people don't cook or are intimidated by unfamiliar vegetables; 4) exercise is easier in a controlled, predictable environment like the gym. Theories aside, I've noticed that those 1-2 people who stick around tend to be tenacious (aka bull-headed, stubborn) food connoisseurs, who push themselves to succeed in other aspects of their lives. None of these observations are to give myself credit or to judge the 99%. I realize that better garden models and leadership styles exist. But when sheer determination, some stamina and a few good friends is what I've got to work with, I'll put up with the mud, sweat and tears so that I can take home my two hundred pounds of free time in a bag.

Fried Green Tomatoes

Inspired by the rave reviews of black plastic mulch, we tried it out this year for the tomatoes, peppers, melons, squash and beans. We were under the impression that weeds, bugs and overuse of water would become almost nonexistent problems. Sounds too good to be true. Which means...well, maybe it's true if you do it the right way. So far I'm wishing I hadn't put all my eggs in one basket. First, we began to lose peppers. I chalked those up to drip irrigation snafus. But then a few days ago I noticed a couple of very sad tomato plants. For example, this Cassidy's Folly was thriving a week ago and just putting on fruit. Then wham! It looked more than just a little wilty. I gave it extra water and checked that the drip was reaching it. Finally, I sought the ever-useful Google and found out that you have to mulch your plastic mulch. Besides having the middle name "Embracing Futility," you could say that "Missing the Obvious" is my middle name. The last 2 weeks have been 100 degrees and the tomatoes are in full sun 12 hours per day. So, obviously they are too hot. Tomorrow I will sample the soil temperatures and add leaf mulch. If Cassidy's Folly was to try growing with plastic mulch, mine will be serving vine-fried green tomatoes.