July is the garden’s moment of truth.
It’s Make-It-Or-Break-It month. It’s hot, humid, and things are growing, but not the things I planted in March when I set about growing 100% of my own food (again!)
July’s when I lower the bar.
Instead of 100% of my food, “I’m thinking 10%” I projected last week, and now… it could get as low as 5% if I let my kid talk me into a pizza tonight.
“No,” I say. “No pizza. We have things in the garden we need to eat. Come pick beans.”
He says “No, that’s stupid,” and gets his sixtieth bowl of cereal for the week. And, I had some popcorn because I forgot I was supposed to be eating three beds of Swiss chard.
The months in gardening:
March: It’s the month I have to get outside.
April: I’m outside. And it’s mud. It kinda sucks.
May: It’s nice for twenty minutes. Then, global warming strikes. It goes from 50 degrees to 80. But I’m planting and the peas are growing, at least. I’m encouraged.
June: Everything’s growing. By “everything,” I mean weeds. “This year, I’m going to win,” I say. I come up with a thousand different systems so the weeds don’t swallow me whole… everything from “an hour a day of weeding” to “a section a day.” I fight hard. Then it drops to “every other day.”
July’s the moment of truth. I have to decide: air conditioning or garden? Every other year “staying inside” wins. This year, I’m keeping up with the garden pretty well.
What’s different this year?
I have structures
Garden structures help organize the garden. Walls, trellises, and raised beds give that feeling of hope I can end the season with a good harvest.
An organized garden is a friendly one, and Instagram garden—the kind Martha Stewart posts about when she tells me it’s time to pick the heirloom kolrabi she started from seed sent to her from the Queen’s master gardener.
Last year, we finished building raised beds, filled them with loam and chicken manure... and watched the weeds grow even faster because they appreciated the great soil. So, this year, I took it one step further—I drilled PVC pipe to the sides, and grew vertical.
I tied up tomatoes and cucumbers (more on this coming soon!) so they wouldn’t spread out and trip me. They’re growing artfully up my twine. I can weed around them. But thanks to garden fabric, I don’t have to.
I have garden fabric
Jesus himself invented garden fabric. It’s black fabric garden stapled to the ground. I put it in the raised beds and on the paths between the raised beds.
If I were rich, I’d have flagstone or brick on the paths. Or, I’d skip the garden and hire Oprah’s chef.
Garden Fabric is the ground covering of the People. It’s not as attractive as mulch, but it lasts a few years and doesn’t crinkle when I walk on it like that plastic.
This year, I put it in the garden beds and cut out holes for the plants. This prevented me from overdoing it and installing plants every square inch where I could see soil. And, it kept out the weeds.
Get garden fabric. You’ll send me fan mail if you do.
I have chickens
Chickens eat garden weeds if you let them in your garden. They also eat the garden. I’m already fighting Hop the Rabbit (or the 20 rabbits) for supremacy and I don’t need chickens destroying the rest.
They peek their little necks through the fence and stare at the garden, so I promised them I would pick them a bucket of weeds every day. They’re happy when they see me coming, which makes me happy. I can’t bring happy birds an empty bucket.
So I pick them a bucket of weeds.
I am winning.
I am winning so much I need to start doubling my Swiss Chard and bean eating—because cucumbers and tomatoes are about to bless me with their overdose soon.
Hope you’re growing or eating some good stuff!
And, I hope you like the new format of the newsletter on Substack.
—Dawn