2011 Chicago Flower & Garden Show

I always look forward to attending flower and garden shows in March.  They offer a much needed recess from the lingering winter chill.  (Or in the case of opening day at the Chicago Flower & Garden Show, it offered shelter from the snow pouring sideways at 70 mph from both directions off Lake Michigan.)  The smell of fresh mulch and hyacinths is like coffee for my soul—perking me up in anticipation of another garden season.

I sincerely admire the planning and creativity that goes into the artful garden displays at many of these shows. I also acknowledge the effort required to force the likes of petunias and snapdragons to bloom in early March. But sometimes I find myself snickering cynically at the implausibility of some display gardens ever sustaining themselves under natural conditions.  I worry that we’re giving novice gardeners unrealistic expectations, or in some cases, just really bad ideas.

A treat for the eyes?  Absolutely!  Is it realistic to expect a real annual bed to bloom with such uniformity and density?  Never.

I think that if a garden designer is going to take extensive artistic liberties on the show floor, sacrificing the science of gardening for pizzazz, it needs to done wholeheartedly.  I’d rather see plastic flamingoes accenting a petunia bed than Juncus, an obligate wetland plant, which is perhaps the worst companion for a wet-feet weary annual.

I love this window box composition and I think even a novice gardener would understand that this floral art isn’t going to flourish on the streets of the windy city.

Smith & Hawken are design geniuses (even if they are sacrificing the soul of the company little by little—but that’s another rant altogether).   The vegetable art is fabulous, and I’m relatively confident most people won’t think cauliflower grows on walls. Let’s hope, anyways.

But does the average gardener know that cyclamen (those pretty pink flowers accenting this edible herb spiral) have tubers that contain triterpinoid saponins, a compound reported to cause nausea, vomiting, convulsions, and paralysis?  Toxic or not, encouraging the use of non-edible companion plants in an otherwise edible garden is a pretty bad idea.

It’s really too bad the designer choose to add some colorfully bad ideas to this display, because otherwise the design intent of this feature garden and their efforts to promote vertical vegetable gardening is highly commendable.

I have nothing to commend about this garden show foul.  Someone took “The Sport of Gardening” theme a little too seriously.  There is nothing appetizing—artistically or palatably—about blood red carnations in a hot dog bun.

When a designer succeeds in melding the science and art of gardening in an inspirational way, they deserve my praise.

Hands down, my favorite garden display at the Chicago Flower & Garden Show was Openlands designed by the Culliton Quinn Landscape Architecture Workshop. The goal of the Openland’s design was “to use a variety of creative and interactive means to hold rainwater in an artful and enjoyable landscape of native plants, art, and a space to relax and gather your harvest”—and they nailed it.

It was refreshing to see a show garden that incorporated multiple elements of sustainable landscape design (green roof, rain water harvesting, rain garden, local materials, etc.) with style, displayed artful craftsmanship in their hard elements, and an appreciation for native plants of the Chicago region.

The use of natural stone in the Openlands garden was fantastic, which was nice to see amid the Unilock/Paveloc empire.

I’m so over concrete pavers.  Just because you can build anything with interlocking concrete blocks, doesn’t mean you should.

I’ve decided that being at a garden show is like seeing these two ladies.  No really.

They look  so real, tangible and personable.

The work of Australian hyperrealist sculptor, Ron Mueck

But it’s rendering; not reality.  Most garden displays are inorganic snapshots of a living scene, which are rooted more deeply in artistic interpretation than science.

Nevertheless, protected by a little light-hearted cynicism, garden shows will always complete their mission to inspire and motivate me for another season in the dirt.  Let’s begin!

Cabin Fever Illustrated

This is an old picture, but I feel like it captures my cabin fever perfectly.  Its subtitle is, “cooped up gardener, deficient in turgor, dreaming she could color render the outdoor world.”

The subfreezing temperatures and lingering snow banks are telling me to stay under the snuggie, but the deluge of seed catalogs in my mailbox and the garden show dates filling my calendar are hinting that it may be time to coax my blog out of its dormant season.

2011 is going to be an exciting year for me.  I have some big changes brewing and I’m not sure how my gardens are going to fare this metamorphosis, but I’m confident my blogging will tag along for this crazy ride called life.

So while November continues to be beige and indecisive, I figured there’s no better time than now to reflect on my gardens and honor the most reliable, colorful and flavorsome of my 2010 garden companions.

Best Edible Ornamental
Scarlet Runner Bean

The Scarlet Runner Bean is the epitome of an edible ornamental and it might just be my new all-around favorite plant.

These beautiful and bountiful runner beans can climb up to 10 feet in a growing season and produce a profusion of deep orange flowers amidst dense green foliage.  The young bean pods can be eaten cooked and are similar in appearance to a standard bush bean.  I found the flavor of the young beans to be excellent, standing out from all five other varieties I grew.  The bean pods have a tendency to become tough and stringy if grown too large, but if left to fully mature; the beans themselves can be harvested and eaten.  The purple and black mottled beans are strikingly beautiful, dry very nicely, and I’m looking forward to cooking with them this winter.

Seed Source:  Livingston Seed Co.  I started them from seed in my greenhouse on April 10th and during their one month residency indoors, they grew into a 2-ft. tall knotted mess.  In the future, I think I’ll direct sow.

Best Leafy Green
Rainbow Chard—Bright Lights

This chard takes the crown, not just for tastily delivering a plethora of phytonutrients, but also for its striking aesthetics.  This is my second year growing Bright Lights Rainbow Chard, which is a selection of multicolored New Zealand heirloom chard from Renee’s Garden Seeds.  I was so impressed with it last year that it’s now an edible landscaping staple, and has expanded from my vegetable garden into my flower gardens, containers and planters.   Chard is amazingly frost hardy and can be grown year round in milder climates.

Seed Source:  Renee’s Garden Seeds.  I directed sowed in the garden on April 5th and started additional seed in the greenhouse on April 10th to accelerate them for container planting.

Best Culinary Heirloom Tomato(s)
Green Zebra and Black Krim

This year I grew six varieties of heirloom tomatoes:  Black Krim, Brandywine, Crimson Cushion, Green Zebra, Purple Russian, and Striped German.  I gushed about the Green Zebra in the August 2010 issue of Fine Gardening magazine and I’ll do the same here.  Green Zebras mature to a beautiful green and gold striped medium-sized tomato.  They have a full-bodied tomato flavor, but with a notable zing that adds wonderful pizzazz to summer salsas and burgers.  (Though typically marketed as heirlooms, Green Zebras are actually a hybridization of four heirloom parents.)

My favorite tomato pairing of the summer was Green Zebra and Black Krim (a richly flavored, dark maroon colored heirloom), diced into a bruchetta topping.  This combo was as beautiful as it was tasty.

Plant Source:  Though I started most of my heirlooms from seed, I purchased both the Green Zebra and Black Krim as plants from a lovely farmer at the Dane County Farmer’s Market in Madison, Wisconsin.

Best Performing Heirloom Tomato
Brandywine

I know that Brandywines are becoming totally cliché in the realm of heirloom tomatoes and many believe that they are overrated.  I wish that I could say that some obscure heirloom from my great grandmother’s Ukrainian garden blew me away this year, but alas, it didn’t (nor do I have a Ukrainian granny.)  Instead, the ever-popular Brandywine, a large beefsteak-style slicing tomato, proved to be the most disease resistant and the most resilient throughout our wet spring and desert-like summer.  The Brandywines were the first to bear fruit in late July, the last to be picked in early November, and the star of many tomato sandwiches in between.  They also made high marks in my Fresh Bloody Mary Trial.

Seed Source:  Abundant Life Seeds. Seed started in the greenhouse on April 5th.

Best Non-Perishable Garden-Fresh Snack food (no, it’s not an oxymoron!)
Robust 997 F1 Popcorn

Small plot of popcorn interplanted with pole beans and squash

In a 10’x10’ square at the back of my vegetable garden, I interplanted the three sisters—corn, beans, and squash, which according to Iroquois legend are inseparable sisters that should always be grown together to ensure good harvests and long-term soil fertility.  Planted in mounds, the runner beans will climb the corn stalks, and the squash will grow in the under story, creating a living mulch.  Since my husband was already growing masses of sweet corn in his garden, I wanted to try growing popcorn.  Oddly enough, in Indiana—the home of Orville Redenbacher—popcorn seed is nowhere to be found on retail seed racks.  Conspiracy?  I think maybe.  Johnny, over in Maine, had to hook me up.  Go figure.  I was skeptical whether seven measly mounds of corn in a small 10’x10’ plot (see template) would sufficiently pollinate, but much to my delight, the popcorn matured awesomely into big, beautiful golden ears of goodness.  These popcorn cobs would have made great Christmas gifts, but unfortunately they stand no chance against my husband’s late-night munchies.

Homegrown snackfood!

Seed Source:  Johnny’s Selected Seeds.   Direct sowed.

Flower of the year
Angelonia Serena

Angelonia Serena growing in my patio area early in the season

Searching for a care-free continuous-blooming white annual for my new patio garden, I picked up a flat of Angelonia Serena.  I had previously enjoyed its Lavender hued equivalent in a mixed container and thought I’d give it a try as a bedding plant.  As promised, they adapted well to the indecisive weather patterns we experienced this summer.  While the New Guinea impatiens looked pissed most of the hot summer, Angelonia’s small upright spikes of delicate white flowers bloomed from the time I brought them home in late May right through September. They proved to be a great option for short masses and borders and I will definitely make Angelonia Serena a seasonal regular in my gardens and containers.

Plant Source:  Purchased in four-packs at… umm… okay fine I’ll admit it… Meijer.  (I love local garden centers, but sometimes my wallet speaks a little louder than my eco/social conscious, especially when it comes to flats of annual bedding plants.)

Best New Idea of 2010
Freeze Those Bushels of Whole Raw Tomatoes

I’m (just barely) old enough to admit that the biggest Oh-My-God-That’s-a-Brilliant-Idea moment of 2010 came from, gulp, my Mom.  I was having a tomato breakdown of sorts.  Unlike last year when they were inappropriately seized, I actually had more tomatoes than I could handle and was in overload crisis.  I wanted so desperately to make vats of sauce, salsa and soup, but my tomato torrent was ill-timed.  Paralleling a busy spurt at work, I just didn’t have enough hours in my day to handle my harvest.  I sulked to my mom over the phone, and she calming replied, “You know you can freeze whole fresh tomatoes and then do your cooking and canning later when you have more time.”  Seriously?  Why had I never heard of this?  I immediately googled “can you freeze whole tomatoes” just to make sure this wasn’t another Mama’s wise tale.  Sure enough, this appeared to be sound motherly advice.   (I wish I’d had the truth checking capabilities of an iphone when I was a kid.  Oh, the satisfaction of being able to answer such persistent questions as “Will this gum stay in my stomach for seven years?”  “Will I catch a cold if I don’t wear a hat?”  “Will coffee stunt my growth?” “Will I get warts from playing with a toad?”)

Anyhow, fresh whole tomatoes can go straight to your freezer (raw and skins on) and later in the fall or winter, when it actually sounds appealing to spend all day cooped up in a steamy kitchen, pull them out and makes those soups and sauces.  Brilliant!

Source:  Mom

Worst Idea of 2010
2 mil plastic sheeting DOES NOT EQUAL greenhouse plastic

Need I say more?

Source:  Lowes

It’s now the end of the October and most of my garden has long surrendered to the short days and chilly nights.  Much to my husband’s displeasure, the Swiss Chard continues to thrive and I continue to google obscure recipes for this resilient green.  Swiss Chard Spanakopita Casserole anyone? 

The companion flowers I intermixed with my vegetables this year really kept the garden looking fresh and brilliant right into October.  A few hard freezes finally defeated the marigolds and salvia, but I still find something delicate and lovely about the images from this final photoshoot.

Santolina Rosemary, Madeline Hill Rosemary and Common Sage

My favorite herbs, rosemary and sage, will find their way into many of my fall culinary endeavors, and when the temperatures really begin to plummet, I’ll pot them up and move them to  the protection of our cool dark basement. 

Brandywine tomatoes, black beauty eggplants and small sugar pumpkins

I filled my harvest basket one last time, thanked my earth for a productive year, and began to disassemble my living artwork, plant by plant, stake by stake.  

I don’t know what my 2011 garden plan will look like, but just in case it involves sticks and brightly painted bamboo, they’ll be neatly stacked in the garden shed.

By the end of the day I was back to a gloomy blank slate.  Again, I reminded myself that this is not the end; it’s the beginning.  And what better beginning than a healthy layering of leaves, compost and horse manure. 

With my October chores (mostly) complete, I’m going to get a head start on November’s–eating my wine rack to make room for the holiday libations!

Fresh heirloom tomato Bloody Mary garnished with a crown of herbs and edible flowers

Have you ever bitten into one of those pale and pasty tomato slices on your side salad and said, “Wow, that’s rich?”

Me neither.

Have you ever been relishing in the wonderfulness of Sunday morning brunch (my favorite time of the week), taken a big expectant swig of a pricey Bloody Mary and said “Wow, that tastes like ragu with a splash of picante?” 

Me too.

Of all the vegetables I grow, I wholeheartedly believe that homegrown tomatoes offer the biggest flavor improvement over their store-bought equivalents. I also wholeheartedly believe that there’s no better way to appreciate your homegrown harvest than over ice and through a straw.

After some lengthy kitchen trials and one hell of a mess, I hereby present you with my working recipe for the freshest and tastiest Bloody Mary to ever bless my Sunday morning—and yours too.

Testing the Bloody Mary worthiness of Brandywine, Black Krim and Striped German heirloom tomatoes

Going a step beyond the novelty of using fresh, ripe tomatoes as a Bloody Mary base,  I also tested the flavor and appeal of three different heirloom tomato varieties that I’m growing in my garden—Brandywine, Black Krim, and Striped German. 

Heirloom Striped German Tomatoes looking so beautiful alongside the fresh herbs. That didn't last long.

Brandywine offered the freshest taste and a classic color.  Black Krim was my favorite with a rich tomato flavor and a sharp burgundy color.  The yellow/orange Striped German was perfectly palatable with my eyes closed.  Eyes open, it looked more like something you’d expect to see on the sidewalk on Saturday night rather than something to admire in your cocktail glass on Sunday morning.  Enough said.

Striped German (eww), Black Krim, and Brandywine Bloody Mary taste test

THE RECIPE

Makes two servings (ice-filled 12 oz glasses) of Bloody Mary goodness

3 large, ripe tomatoes

1 clove garlic, minced

2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

1 teaspoon hot sauce, Tabasco or similar

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 tablespoon fresh lime juice

1/2 teaspoon minced fresh horseradish

3-4 fresh basil leaves (optional)

1 teaspoon fresh chopped parsley (optional)

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1/2 teaspoon celery salt

1/4 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

Peel, deseed and dice the tomatoes, reserving the juices.

In a food processor, blend, umm… everything.  Cover and chill for at least an hour, but no more than one week.  When ready to enjoy the holy awesomeness of a fresh Bloody Mary, fill two mason jars with ice (salting the rims, if desired), add per glass:

1-2 oz. high-quality vodka

1 oz. red wine (this is my super secret special ingredient for giving a fresh Bloody Mary a little earthy zing and a little sophistication.)

Top off with your homemade Bloody Mary mix. If you prefer a smooth texture, you may opt to strain the mix through a cheesecloth or other fine sieve.

Stir well.  Garnish—and please think beyond the celery stick and the stuffed olive.  Think Lobster claws! Nasturtium flowers! Bouquets of fresh herbs!

Brandywine Bloody Mary on my brunch table

Sip and rejoice.

I found myself self-consciously wondering if some less internet-savvy attendees would misconstrue me for a large humanoid monster rather than an online writer.  I mean, my spell check doesn’t even recognize blogger as a legitimate word, let alone a profession.  Ogre, however, is totally cool.

Oh well.  If assuming the label “Blogger” gets me passes to more conferences, I’m committed to being the best bloggess I can be.  Besides, attending my first trade show as a blogger felt more legit than when I attended the entire ANLA Management Clinic as “Diane.”  (The real Diane still has no idea how much fun she had that week.)

Despite my new age title, I’m no newbie to big horticultural trade-shows. As a member of the White family, pack trials and trade shows are in my blood.   I know the show floors of Mid-Am, OFA Short Course, and Ohio CENTS. Perhaps more impressive, I even know what all those acronyms mean. 

This was, however, my first visit to the Independent Garden Center (IGC) show at Navy Pier in Chicago.  The first lesson I learned is that one day isn’t nearly enough time to attend two educational seminars and still make it through 5 acres of exhibits. On the other hand, one day does allow ample opportunity to miss two trains, be proposed to by your cab driver, trip on a corndog, grow three blisters and help start a blueberry farm.

But, I digress. 

Tidbits from the educational seminars I attended will likely appear in future blog posts, but I can’t delay confirming that as expected, the ladies of Garden Rant rock!  They are bona fide bloggers, who much to my pleasure, are just as witty in person as they are in prose.  Free from the squelching dollars of advertisers who support (or more notably, threaten not to support) printed horticultural news, these well-versed gardeners unabashedly rant about the industry when and where it’s deserved.  Any lady who can make a cerebral case against the marketing ploys of Hort Couture—while sipping a mimosa—deserves my utmost admiration.

At first glance, the IGC Expo looked like any other big horticultural trade show, but upon cruising the floor, it was apparent that this event showcased just as much—if not more—shelf material than plant material.  There was A LOT of “stuff.”  In general, gardening “stuff” is not really my thing.  See what I mean?

Of all the “stuff” I whizzed past, I was most drawn to the worn and weathered iron trellises and the gnarled mammoth-sized pots.  Wait, what?  You mean I have hangnails older than this rusty iron arbor? 

Trend alert.  Nothing is more American than refusing the natural processes of aging.  While the starlets of Hollywood are infatuated with making themselves look younger, the makers of garden products are obsessed with making new things look old—chemically and mechanically fading, rusting, and distressing “character” into their goods.

Why can’t we just be happy with new and old being exactly what they are and accept that everything in nature is fluid?

Okay fine, so maybe the demand for an antiqued look (which I do like) is greater than the antique supply.  But what’s really goofy is that then they shellac and/or polyurethane (a la botox) the hell out of everything so that there’s absolutely no chance, heaven forbid, that these faux antiques will undergo even a millisecond of additional natural aging.  Guaranteed, or your money back.

As a gardener, I’d like to be given a little credit for my understanding that nothing left to the mercy of Mother Nature is static, or even predictable.  Gardening is an investment that requires visualization, patience, and adaptability so why can’t you sell me a shiny copper trellis and let me watch it tarnish naturally under the elements of my own garden?

End of rant.

The most amusing part of my IGC show experience was sticking around to witness the chaos that ensued at 3:00 pm on Thursday when the expo ended.  

Imagine 1000 worn-out vendors, wanting nothing more than to drown themselves in a cold beer, simultaneously deconstructing in minutes what took them hours to build. I’ve seen mass x-c ski starts look more graceful. 

Then imagine that you have a friend with you—a passionate horticulturalist—who despite having a train ticket home, is using his charm to inherit as much loot from these tired vendors as possible. 

Then imagine hauling said loot the length of Navy Pier on a hot Chicago summer afternoon, dodging strollers and corn dogs and gum wads.  And I’m not just talking 1000 seed packets (though we had those too); I’m talking a couple dozen live and fruiting Oregonian blueberry plants.  I really wish I’d thought to pull out my camera to capture this scene.  Maybe someday my willingness to conspire will be rewarded with a blueberry pie (hint, hint.)

I wrapped up my IGC show day with a happy hour (or three) with a few of Chicago’s finest (and funniest) horticulturalists, followed by a dreamy dining experience amid the tropical foliage and glowing lanterns on the Conrad Hotel’s roof terrace.

I definitely hope to be back at the IGC show next year, and in the meantime, if I become homeless, I’m going to take up residence in the canopy of one these planters on Michigan Avenue.  I’m pretty sure I could live happily ever after in there.

This is the average between the peaks of two curves:  the peak of beauty and the peak of bounty.

With a vegetable garden that is more of an edible landscape than a food plot—this is my grand finale. 

Late summer isn’t always pretty.  The weather is heavy on both me and my plants. Before long, we’ll both wilt into our post-production exhaustion, but in these middlemost days of August, shopping for my dinner has never been prettier. 

After a long day at work, nothing feels more nourishing than walking the isles of my garden barefoot, filling my dinner basket with fresh herbs, vine-ripened heirloom tomatoes and an assortment of colorful edibles.

The artwork I create on my dinner plate each night is simple, healthy and handsome enough to let me pretend I’m dining at a five-star slow-food restaurant.

 These are the days that make every bug bite, nettle-sting, sod-filled fingernail, sunburned shoulder, and squished cabbage worm—seem so worth it!

a) The contoured crevices of my index fingers stained with the ink of crab grass and dandelions. 

b)  The large smile tattooed with sunshine on my lower back—the awkward result of hours spent in the weed-pulling position, wearing a top clearly ill-suited for gardeners (and plumbers).

c)  The bright and cheery photos I snapped this morning before dashing off to work.

I will leave exhibits a) and b) to your imagination and share with you only photos of my prettier work.

Welcome to my vegetable garden, where the frontier between edibles and ornamentals is blurred into a striking composition of beauty and nourishment; where edibles are ornamental and ornamentals are edible; and all coexist organically in one woman’s quest for a balanced ecosystem.  Welcome to my Utopia!

Off in the distance, on the far fringes of our property, my husband tends to his vegetable garden.   Out of sight (and hence, out of the scrutiny of his wife), he farms his vegetables in straight rows, rototills to his heart’s content, and presumably uses modern agricultural cocktails (for which we have a don’t ask/don’t tell policy) to make his produce bigger and more abundant.

But this post isn’t about his garden or this new division of our dirt– it’s just about my gardens.

I didn’t just want to plant another vegetable garden this spring–I wanted to create a colorful and natural outdoor space, where devoting my highly coveted free time to gardening duties would feel more like therapy than chores.  I designed my vegetable garden utilizing both basic garden design principles and a bit of whimsy. I wanted to utilize and experiment with the purported benefits of companion planting as an organic strategy for discouraging harmful pests while still accommodating for beneficial allies.    While paying more attention to the aesthetics of my vegetable garden design, my highest priority remained putting fresh wholesome food on my dinner table, bringing refreshing flavors to my cocktail glass, and perking up my summer kitchen one ball jar of cut flowers at a time.

The Zinnias in the foreground serve as a sacrificial trap-crop, enticing Japanese beetles away from the adjacent Chinese Long Beans.  Behind that is a 10’x10’ plot of the three sisters—corn, beans, and squash, which according to Iriquois legend are inseparable sisters that shall always be grown together to ensure good harvests and long-term soil fertility.  Planted in mounds, the runner beans will climb the corn stalks, and the squash will grow in the understory, creating a living mulch.  In the meantime, I added straw mulch because there are simply not enough hours of daylight for a working women to weed 2800 sf of garden by herself—I can use all the help I can get.

Here I’m experimenting with caging versus staking indeterminate heirloom tomatoes. A touch of blue paint adds a little pizzazz to the garden.  Basil purportedly enhances the growth and flavor of tomatoes and marigolds are widely accepted as a natural nematode deterrent in the garden.

I intentionally situated this small raised bed of herbs and edible flowers closest to the kitchen door, and likewise, closest to my cocktail glass!  Garden mixology is becoming trendy and I’m a pioneer on this bandwagon.  Rhubarb Martini?  Blueberry Ginger Mojito? 

Hidden amid the protection of this cosmos are some happy kale plants.  The cosmos is both an insect repellent and provides some shade for this cool-temp crop.  (There are also some grumpy eggplants tucked in there, which couldn’t keep up with the comos’ early growth spurt.  Sorry eggplants–I’ll make sure you get more sun next time.)

Rainbow Swiss Chard makes a beautiful and edible addition to the planter along my garden shed.

One of the most important things I think you can add to your garden is a place to sit your bottom (see background).  It is here that I shell peas, snap beans, shuck corn, and most importantly, relax and admire my efforts!

Here are just a couple of fine examples I’ve stumbled upon recently during my Midwestern wanderings.

Once reserved for the likes of hot pink petunias and sunshiny marigolds, this urban vegetable plot sits in the shadow of Wisconsin’s state capital—right in the heart of Madison’s vibrant downtown.

The garden was designed and installed this spring by Madison FarmWorks, a local business that “combines the professional skills of farming with the small scale beauty of the home garden to help you produce local food right where you are.”

Encouraging cheeseheads to think beyond the brat (I can say that because I used to live there), it’s a great demonstration of the variety of vegetables that can be grown in a small scale garden.

Back in Indiana, the Minnetrista Cultural Center in Muncie recently opened a new exhibit to celebrate the role of woman in preserving history. 

Last fall I made great strides in my battle against pressurecookerphobia and successfully canned a healthy supply of sauces, salsas and vegetables for the winter.  (And by successful I mean I successfully avoided death.)  In the process, I became fascinated with the history of the Victory Garden, the propaganda campaign, and the women who took on this “war job.”  Needless to say, I was excited to discover this living museum.

She Can Make A Difference! is described as:

“an interactive exploration of the power of the woman to make a difference in her family, community, and the nation through the lens of the Ball jar, gardening, and canning.”

“The garden here serves as a tangible reminder of the countless women who planted, tended, harvested, and preserved produce to preserve their family and community.”

A worthy little side note is that Minnetrista is part of the family legacy of Ball Brothers Glass Company—you may have heard of their canning jars.

Naturally, the indoor museum exhibit is accompanied by a live outdoor Victory Garden.  Edibles spill from large containers and narrow beds of vegetables line the border of a brick courtyard.   

As someone who vividly remembers the long linear rows of my grandmother’s garden, I’d consider this to be a modern interpretation of the Victory Garden, demonstrating to us 21st ladies (who may have not have a “back forty”) that we too can grow a variety of vegetables in our small or confined spaces.

So if you’re still not convinced that you can start a vegetable garden just about anywhere, READ THIS.  A manufacturer in Michigan is capturing heat from his forging operation to grow produce year-round in a greenhouse on the company’s roof.  Awesome!

This time of year, I’m challenged to squeeze in a full day at the office, sandwiched between two 17-mile bike rides, followed by two to three hours of weeding and watering. 

Only when the sun is so far set that I’m apt to mistake an heirloom tomato for a ragweed, do I retire my weary legs for the evening. 

To celebrate the longest day of the year, I rejoiced in every minute between sunrise and sunset yesterday.

5:45 am.  Said good morning to my vegetable garden and farewell to some cabbage worms.

6:00 am.  Watched the sunrise from my (new!) patio.  Under clear skies, the actual sunrise was underwhelming, but my patio sure looks sharp in the early morning light.

6:15 am.  Began my pleasant commute to work.  In addition to my normal day pack, I also lugged a Belgium Waffle Iron and enough flour, eggs, homegrown strawberries, whipped cream, and maple syrup (pure Vermont, of course) to make breakfast for my coworkers. 

7:00 am.  On days like this I can honestly say that I love my commute.

9:00 am.  Waffles have never tasted so darn good (and well-deserved). 

6:45 pm.  Back home.  Afternoon thunderstorms successfully dodged.

7:30 pm.  Rage against the Cabbage Worms, round #2.

9:45 pm.  The sun has set and the mosquitoes are ravenous.  I turn in for the night feeling satisfied that I have successfully milked every last minute out of the longest day of the year. 

Happy Summer!