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Color my world

4/25/2014

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“Stand right here,” I instruct my husband, Kevin, who has joined me at the front door. “Look at the almond tree!” 

A pale green halo envelops each branch — visible even in the weak early morning light. 

Green! Visible from tens of yards away.

My heart leaps with joy as this first of our food-bearing trees joins the currants and gooseberries and aronia berries in bravely unfurling infantile leaves. It won’t be long before the rest of the garden explodes in vivid reds and yellows and pinks and purples against a backdrop of glossy, ferny, feathery, fuzzy, even variegated greenery.

“You’re good with color,” my husband, Kevin often reminds me. Usually after I’ve finished painting a room and he can finally see how the hues I had selected compliment each other.

You’d think, as the professional artist, that he’d be the one blessed with internal vision. And he is — but he sees beyond what’s directly in front of him: A rich, timeless world colored by warm memories of holiday car rides to his beloved grandmother’s home nestled between Cayuga and Owasco lakes. Almost always in late fall, winter and early spring, when sepia tones dominate a rural landscape of dried grasses, leafless trees and lifeless fields.

Our own holiday journeys over the same roads and through the woods to his now 98-year-old grandmother’s house have opened my eyes to the underlying emotions that color his artistic creations. What’s depressing to the rest of us who yearn for summer’s vibrancy is to Kevin a comforting embrace of unconditional love and support. 

But all those grays and browns remain utterly at odds with my own sensibilities, which are awakened by the subtle outline of green evident along long dormant branches. That quiet kiss of color will soon give way to life-generating foliage and all the dizzying array of sights and sounds and smells and textures and tastes that mean we’ve finally bid adieu to winter.

And, I’m good with that!

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A roll of the pea seeds

4/18/2014

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I took a gamble last weekend.

Despite the forecast of a brief cold spell this week, I planted three varieties of peas on Sunday evening.

I’d spent most of the gorgeous day stuck inside, working on the Times’ summer guide. So perhaps my out-of-character risk-taking behavior was fueled by rebellion.

Since I’d “wasted” such a beautiful, sunny, warm day hunched over a computer screen designing pages about things to do when it’s beautiful, sunny and warm in the Finger Lakes, I felt the need to embrace some of that joie de vivre for myself.

So after Kevin treated me to a compensatory ice cream cone from Mac’s Drive-In, I grabbed a hoe, prepped a small patch and planted three small beds of peas. Afterall, the soil was far warmer than the required 40 degrees. And it felt so good to handle the rich, crumbly earth and watch so many fat earthworms wriggling in the sun.

I selected three of the short varieties that don’t require supports. That way, I didn’t have to enlist Kevin’s help to haul them out of the shed. (We’ll save that chore for a second planting.)

The rain Monday was perfectly timed to settle the seeds and prime them for germination. As long as the flurries and accompanying cold Tuesday and Wednesday don’t hamper the process, they should sprout within a week.

But if they don’t, I have plenty more seeds remaining.

As a final measure to shake off this past winter’s malaise, it was a chance worth taking!

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Evidently not built to last

4/11/2014

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Our seed germination heat mats and thermostats have seen better days, and will likely see the inside of the trash bin come June.

The seedlings we have — brassicas, eggplants, peppers and just two marigolds — have sprouted through sheer force of will, not because I provided proper conditions. 

Only one of the two mats warms to a measurable degree. The other is about as useless as a blanket.

Of the thermostats, the digital one will only register the current temperature; it will no longer “set” to anything other than 74 degrees. The older, dial thermostat has only ever been capable of “setting” a temperature, albeit less accurately. So I’ve improvised, using them in tandem to get the desired result.

It worked last spring.

But this year, on cold nights, I’m having a hard time warming the soil to more than 66 degrees. Even during the day, the thermostat rarely registers higher than 73.

Each of these items is no more than 5 or 6 years old. And, since they’re used for a mere three months a year, I’m not that keen to shell out the funds to replace them — doing so doesn’t exactly make growing our own food economical.

By next year, though, I’ll have to succumb to the inevitable.

I much prefer things that are built to last — in contrast with the prevailing “use it today; toss it tomorrow” consumer philosophy.

Perhaps it’s because I was raised by children of the Depression. Or, perhaps it’s because my parents’ household income was limited first by civil service and later by agriculture.

“Things” aren’t disposable in my world; they’re cherished tools designed to make life easier.

To that end, I would rather save for a quality tool that will make my life easier for a long time than waste less money on something that breaks after a handful of uses. Unfortunately, the marketplace offers fewer choices for the former, and it seems more and more items fit the latter.

A quick online search yields at least three brands of heat mats, but reviews are mostly from new buyers. The only age-related comment I could find was from a satisfied customer who had used the particular mat for just three springs.

Not exactly the longevity I seek.

But my plants aren’t the only ones who can find a way...

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No reason to be sad

4/4/2014

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Three out of five ain’t bad.

That’s how many of our grapevines made it through the winter unscathed.

I was finally able to assess them Tuesday evening with the aid of my Cornell mentor. (Our weekend pruning date was delayed because of Saturday night’s snow.) 

The two seeded varieties, Alden and Steuben, fared just fine. By nature hardier than their seedless brethren, I wasn’t as worried about them and they lived up to my expectations.

The Steuben, especially, has been a joy to grow. According to a Cornell bulletin about seeded dessert grapes, “Steuben is a bluish-black grape that ... [is] among the most attractive of all dessert cultivars. The vines are hardy, vigorous, productive, and easily grown by home gardeners.”

They certainly are! 

(And the juice these grapes produce is closest to Concord’s purple grapiness without being cloyingly sweet.)

Our seedless varieties should’ve been equally up to this winter’s challenge; after all, they are each rated to -15F, but evidently two of them couldn’t withstand numerous stretches of prolonged cold.

Of the three, only Reliance, which happens to be Kevin’s favorite, was unfazed. It is actually the happiest looking of all our vines, with a rather straight trunk and balanced cordons covered in buds ready to produce heaven-scented, honey-sweet red fruit.

According to a similar Cornell bulletin on seedless grapes, Reliance, which was developed by the University of Arkansas, has cold hardiness that’s “among the highest of the seedless varieties.” Thank goodness! 

The other two, Himrod and Interlaken, both took a beating, with Himrod hit hardest. According to my friend, that vine is probably “toast.” Although both vigorously produced canes last summer, all that lovely growth died over the winter. We cut and cut and cut before finding live flesh, trimming each down mostly to the trunk. 

We left a few buds on very shortened canes on the Interlaken. There’s a slim chance it may recover.

The Himrod, however, is a much longer shot. Odds are, we’ll be replacing it come fall.

After studying other varieties listed on that Cornell bulletin, I’d be willing to give Mars or Vanessa a try. Although each has its pluses, I especially like these phrases: “Hardiness has been good at Geneva, New York, and the vines are resistant to several major diseases,” (Mars) and “The vine is moderately vigorous and among the hardiest of seedless grapes.” (Vanessa)

All in all, it could’ve been worse.

The prospect of replacing just two out of five ain’t bad.

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    Kevin & Mary Schoonover

    In addition to art, Mary and Kevin are turning their front lawn into an edible landscape garden.

    Mary's "Front & Center" thoughts appear in purple; Kevin's are in blue.

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