Did you know there is no such thing as a "green thumb"?

A couple of days ago, while hunting for information about something else I stumbled upon an online article that has had me thinking ever since. The particular quote that I continue to contemplate says:

"Think about it, nobody digs and sows, plants and weeds, or sprays bugs in a forest. Still, all those chores are taken care of somehow. The forest grows and feeds its inhabitants, doesn't it? 

"If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it. Learn from nature. Nature has already developed a solution to every problem that you could possibly encounter in your garden." (from What is permaculture?)

The sentence I underlined hit a chord with me and has resonated long after I finished reading.





This resonation has caused me to reflect on one of the first unpleasant chores I eliminated when we moved here over 12 years ago--keeping a lawn. Although mowing the lawn was never a distasteful chore that I did growing up (I learned to enjoy it), the thought of pampering the lawn and coaxing it to be lush and green during our hot, dry summers was not a pleasant prospect.

An interesting chain of events followed that pivotal decision to eliminate any thought of a lawn. And the events came from seemingly unrelated sources:

• Just prior to moving here, I had read (and re-read) Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes and fallen under the spell of her descriptions of all the herbs and plants she and her husband put into their gardens as they restored the Tuscan villa the gardens surrounded.
• In trying to educate myself on growing herbs and edibles (particularly the ones Frances Mayes wrote about), I discovered the age-old practice of companion planting.
• My mom stumbled upon the website for the National Wildlife Federation where they gave instructions of creating a backyard wildlife habitat.
• I discovered drip irrigation systems at our local hardware store and realized I could hook up all the tubing myself to a timer at the tap so everything got watered at once and regularly. I only had to handwater if I wanted to as a relaxation activity.
• Hubby really wanted me to grow fresh tomatoes for him. I really wanted to grow roses and citrus for me.
• I discovered a collection of gorgeous rocks left by the previous owners under a pile of decomposing leaves and rediscovered how beautiful hardscape can be in the garden. Paths of pea gravel and flagstone looked "Tuscan" to me and, in my estimation, were far prettier than any old lawn.

I took things slowly as far as the design of the garden was concerned. I needed to get to know the seasons in my new climate. I needed to familiarize myself with how the light hit different parts of our lot and how water drained (or didn't). One can only do that by taking things slowly as the seasons roll in and out for at least a year or two. I somehow knew that.

I discovered that one of the most important garden chores I would engage in was sitting parked in a patio chair for long stints of time and simply observing. No earbuds with music from an iPod... no book to read... no one there to chat with... just me sitting alone with the garden. And the garden "told" me an awful lot about itself that I never would have "heard" otherwise.






What ended up happening was that I stumbled upon the very truth that I just read a couple of days ago. I had no idea I had lit upon a key aspect of permaculture. In fact, I'd never read about permaculture until I read the article I quote above.

But somehow my own garden taught me something that nature is always willing to teach anyone who will listen. "If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it."

I now enjoy a somewhat symbiotic relationship with my garden. It provides me with so much--particularly serenity. And it doesn't demand much of me in return because I've allowed nature to create a balance. I feel that I was guided through the process of discovering this truth by a much wiser power than my own intellect, so that I could enjoy what the article finally says:

"If you think ahead and design your permaculture garden right, it won't take much effort, it will mostly look after itself, and it will also be incredibly productive and beautiful and attractive to wildlife."

I wish I could somehow infuse that vision into others that they could see what lies ahead if they step back and let nature do it's thing. Oh how I wish I could. And that the result doesn't have to look like a tumble-down mess. It can have wonderful structure and still have nature taking care of most of the chores. Your garden can be inspired and designed after ones in Tuscany or cottage gardens in England or the great plains of the North American continent. The possibilities for inspiration are endless.

In the past 12 years, I've learned one more very important truth... there is no such thing as a "green thumb". Those individuals who appear to have a "green thumb" are actually seeking out and absorbing gardening information through every source possible and particularly through observation. That's the only difference between a "green thumb" and a "brown thumb".

My tomato experiment: Yesterday's harvest of our weird and whacky tomatoes

I don't do well growing tomatoes from seed so when it comes time to put some in I go to our local nursery and buy a couple of cell packs of tomato seedlings with 6 plants in each. This year I bought a cell pack of roma tomatoes and a cell pack of cherry tomatoes.

I then conducted my own not-so-scientific experiment.

I planted one each of the plants in clay pots on our deck with morning shade and full afternoon sun in super-fancy-schmancy Miracle-Gro soil that's supposed to produce outstanding veggies. Flanked by separate pots of chives, Italian parsley and basil I expected these plants to do very well with the full sun all afternoon to sunset and the influence of the herbs around them.

I planted a couple more plants down in the ground off the edge of our deck with the same exposure as the pots. I built up a funky little planter around them from scrap concrete blocks (a former mow strip) and put some of the Miracle-Gro soil on top. A week or so later I mulched with some donated rabbit droppings and alfalfa as well as chipped branches from our own yard. I anticipated the green growth might bolt because of the added nitrogen from the mulch but figured it would be a good part of the experiment anyway.

I planted two of the plants in the front garden where mostly roses grow. I have a 4x8 foot planter box in front of our living room window that gets full morning sun from dawn until around 1 or 2 pm then there's shade for the rest of the day from the house. The soil in the planter box is just cheapy top soil from WalMart that we had leftover from another project and had dumped in there and let sit for a season until we planted something in it. I also planted a couple of parsley plants in between the two tomato plants that were at opposite ends of the large planter. I anticipated these plants would do poorly but I wanted them to go into the ground anyway.

Each of the plants, regardless of location, got their own dripper on the drip mist system for watering 15 minutes every morning at a slow drip.

None of my plants were treated with pesticide or herbicide. There isn't any need with companion planting because the good bugs and birds eat the bad bugs, and the proximity to tomato-friendly companion plants takes care of the rest.

Results of my not-so-scientific experiment

The two plants in pots haven't grown larger than about 10 inches high. Their leaves are sickly looking like both plants are on the verge of kicking the bucket. Both produced fruit true to their labeling. The romas (pictured above and below) were the expected size for that variety while the cherry tomatoes were a little on the small side. I was just happy the plants produced anything considering what they've looked like.

The two plants in the ground below the edge of the deck are pretty spindly with tiny leaves but lots of blooms and are about 2 feet high. The fruit is neither a cherry tomato nor a roma. Instead the fruit is shaped like a roma but is smaller than even the smallest grape. Some fruit is smaller than my pinky fingernail with most fruit being the size of my thumbnail.

The two plants in the front planter box were the biggest shocker. The plants are 3 feet high and cover the entire 4x8 foot box. I've had to cut trunks back that were invading the front porch and beginning to block the front door. The size of the trunks are larger in circumference than my pinky finger! The leaves are big and lush as well. I would expect plants with so much energy going to greenery to not produce blooms or fruit. But these plants have been prolific bloomers and were the first ones to produce ripe fruit over a month earlier than the others in back. Like the plants in the ground in back, the fruit is oddly neither roma or cherry but a weird hybrid of the two.

I've spoken to other gardeners in our area that have said they've had some weird behavior with their tomatoes this year because of our wet spring, unseasonable June rain and cooler than normal temps. I feel better knowing I'm not alone. It was just nice to finally go out and get a harvest yesterday that consisted of more than just a handful of tiny tomato baubles. It's such a weird year for growing tomatoes.

Brussels Sprouts: My Perennial Decoy

A couple of years ago I planted brussels sprout seeds in the front garden where I don't usually plant anything edible except herbs and horseradish (the produce gardens are in the back). I figured I'd give the brussels sprouts a go and if they didn't work out then it was no big deal.

I didn't have great luck with the brussels sprouts as produce. The buds didn't stay tight enough to be appetizing for my husband (who is the only brussels sprout lover in this household). But the blue-green broad shiny leaves were pretty in the winter garden so I left them there. When they withered and died, I cut them off at the base and threw the withered remains into the green can. So much for brussel sprouts... so I thought.

It was only a couple of months and the brussels sprouts were coming back! Silly me! I thought brussels sprouts were annuals. Apparently, they are perennials. They grew back from the roots just like any good little perennial should. I thought maybe we'd have better success with the buds being tighter and more appetizing. Wait, wait, wait... no such luck.

But I noticed something else going on. The roses in my front garden no longer had very many aphids on them--even on the new growth that aphids love to attack. Some roses had NO APHIDS! But the brussels sprouts were covered with them!

Then I noticed something else. Often as I looked out the front window I would see little flocks of bushtits come down and land on the brussel sprouts to dine on the aphid-feast. The over 3 foot tall brussel sprouts have very sturdy stems, so many little birds could land and dine without any trouble at all.

I left the brussels sprouts in, thinking I had a great companion planting situation going on. I was right. This year I haven't had aphids on my roses. They all went to the brussels sprouts. I've also had the wonderful little bushtits as regular visitors dining on the aphids on the brussels sprouts.

And my ladybug count is higher this year than in any of the previous years so far without me injecting the population with store-bought ladybugs EVER.

The brussels sprouts are apparently here to stay. They aren't doing what I originally intended for them to do, but they're far more valuable as an aphid decoy than as produce plants anyway (in my non-brussels-sprout-loving opinion).