Gang aft a-gley

A few weeks ago, I planted broccoli and cabbage plants with the intention of planting more successively over four weeks. It immediately turned cold, snowed, rained, and stayed chilly since then. I was complaining to the boy about my bad timing: "the best laid plans of mice and men." He reminded me that "this isn't the Burns unit." (If you haven't heard that joke, then I guess it's not as funny.) 

As if the weather weren't enough, rabbits ate half of the broccoli. My dad pointed out the rabbit-friendly brush pile near the garden and I couldn't even think of an excuse. They're cute when they aren't munching my plants. We covered the beds with Agribon row covers. It seems to have helped.

I tried to catch up this weekend. After my favorite dad ran the tiller through the big garden for me--half of the adults in the house have injured backs--we planted 16 pounds of Red La Soda potatoes and the first 6 pounds of Yukon Golds. I planted more lettuce and filled in the spinach-free spots in the open-for-now cold frame. Thirty-six more broccoli plants went in, and the other bundle of cabbage--now missing a few plants healthy enough to plant--was planted next to them.

Our Texas Super Sweet onions from Burpee arrived last week, so I prepped the beds for those and stuck them in. I planted three pounds or so of onion sets, too, and more will follow, Weather willing. The 25 strawberry plants (Honeoye--how do you pronounce that?) that went in this week will, I hope, yield some nice berries in few years and make a nice addition to the rhubarb unfurling now.

That's about it. I'm tired and sore, but it's a good kind of labor.

Ma Petite Chou

I'm waiting for rain. The forecast promised rain and possibly thunderstorms today, and because I planted my little cabbages yesterday, I am especially eager for a ground-soaker. It's been overcast and windy all afternoon, but so far we've had only a few scattered sprinkles that can't even be called "mistin'," as people here might say.

Those little cabbages are quite cute. I bought two bundles of what I thought were "bare-root" plants--$3.49 for 30 cabbages--to see if they worked out for me. I was surprised when I took the rubber band from around the brown paper; I expected to see straggly little bare roots thirsty for water. (I don't know why I expected this. The plants were very green and healthy looking or I wouldn't have bought them.) Instead, each baby cabbage's roots were enclosed in their own little cube of gel and seed-starting mix. If I could find the camera I would include a photo--this is cool stuff.

I planted them deep in well-composted trenches so that their leaves are just about the surface of the soil. More roots will emerge along the stem if it comes into contact with soil, so this will keep them snugly in the ground.

I planted the first round (18 plants) of broccoli yesterday, too. I'll plant them in four stages, about a week apart so that I have some nice heads when the market opens the first weekend of June. The first year I sold at the market I had about 40 heads of broccoli the first day and I couldn't pay people to take the last 20. People started to stare. What could I do with 20 heads of broccoli? And the more you shake heads of broccoli at people, the less likely they are to accept it. Sir, just take the broccoli and no one will get hurt. I'll throw in a bunch of radishes. 

I was headed out of town to work for a week that afternoon. I gave it away to incredulous spectators at a baseball game. 

The next week at the market, I had 20 people asking for broccoli, and I had cut all the broccoli heads the week before. But I'm doing better now. And I plant a lot more than 40 heads now.

I bought the broccoli plants in 9-cell packs. They were perky until about two hours after I planted them. Then they started to wilt. It was over 70 degrees yesterday, and the soil was really warm. I didn't water them, though; we were promised rain today. So the more expensive broccoli didn't look nearly as healthy as the cheaper cabbages. I know I should have watered them, but I like living dangerously.

We'll see. (And you will, too, if I ever find the camera.)

For less than $7, I'll (possibly) have 60 cabbages to sell for $1/head. Not a bad profit, even if only half of them live.