I Plant Potatoes

A Yacavone in Georgia milestone has been reached. I planted the first vegetable in my garden—potatoes.

 

I was not planning on planting potatoes. It was an impulse planting. That’s the gardening equivalent of an impulse purchase. 

 

It was prompted by two events. First, the UGA professor who taught the segment on vegetable gardening at the Master Gardener class mentioned that now is the time to plant potatoes. Second, I was at a local nursery when this old boy walked in, said it was time to plant his potatoes, and walked out with a 50 pound burlap sack of seed potatoes over his shoulder. You may think this is really strange, but I get a kick out of living in a place where people buy seed potatoes by the sack, and a burlap sack at that!

 

I don’t want to say I panicked, but I was overcome by this feeling that if I did not plant potatoes now, I was going to be left out of something. The next thing you know, I was walking out with 10 pounds of seed potatoes.

 

Now a seed potato, for those of you who don’t know, is simply a potato that has been allowed to grow eyes (little sprouts). I cut the potatoes into sections being careful to make sure that each section had an eye, and then I planted them. Thank goodness my youngest son was home from college on spring break. He helped me make the potato beds and plant the potatoes. 

 

We planted two 40 foot rows. By my calculation I planted at least 60 potato seed pieces. Assuming optimum growing conditions my two rows of seed potatoes should yield about 100 to 150 pounds of potatoes in about three and a half months. 

 

I have no idea of how many potatoes or potato meal servings that is, but I’ve been told I will have a “shit ton” of potatoes if all goes right. So if you happen to visit me in July, be prepared to eat potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Maybe I can learn how to make vodka.

 

I've decided that I'm not going to grow vegetables on my entire garden plot this year. It’s about 800 square feet, and I am beginning to understand that 800 square feet is an extremely large vegetable garden even by Fannin County standards. I’m not prepared to take on such a task just yet.

 

I’m going to plant a cover crop on the part of the garden that I don’t grow vegetables on. A cover crop is a crop that you grow to till under in order to enhance the soil. On the advice of local gardeners, I will be “intercropping” soybeans and buckwheat as my cover crop. 

 

I bought the soybeans and buckwheat at the Fannin County Farmer’s Coop. Once again, you may think this is strange of me, but I felt pretty cool walking out of the coop with ten pounds of soybean seeds and ten pounds of buckwheat seeds. Just the idea of growing a crop like buckwheat is almost enough to give me a Mr. Greenjeans’ woody.

 

I asked the folks at the coop when I should plant the soybeans and buckwheat, and I was told they should be planted when the dogwoods bloom. So now I’m on the lookout for a blooming dogwood as I drive around. They’re the ones with the white flowers, right?

 

Some people around here still plant by the signs and swear by the practice. I have a calendar from a local nursery that tells me what the signs are. It has general instructions like this: 

All plants, trees and vegetables planted in the new of the moon will grow vigorously. All crops that produce their yield above the ground should be planted in the new of the moon. Those that produce their yield in the ground should be planted in the old of the moon.

I hate to admit this but I’m unsure of when it’s the new of the moon or the old of the moon. That’s one of those questions that I want to research myself rather than ask a local person for fear of being pegged as a complete rube.

 

Each day of the calendar has a little notation about a zodiac sign. Some of them are:

 

           Pisces, Feet

           Gemini, Arms

           Capricorn, Knees

           Libra, Reins

           Sagittarius, Thighs

           Virgo, Bowels

           Aquarius, Legs

 

I think these notations are connected in some way with planting by the signs, but I am clueless how it is supposed to work.

 

I’m glad I’m not a Libra because I have no idea where the reins are. Maybe that’s a polite way of referring to los huevos, otherwise known as the family jewels or the twins. I can see a man in mixed company complaining that a woman has him by the reins.

 

I’m a Virgo, and I’m not sure what to make of the fact that Virgo is associated with bowels. Does it mean that I have my head up my ass on those days? Does it mean that I’m going to be an asshole on those days? Maybe this just confirms my theory that I was really born under the sign of Feces.

 

I’m a little bothered by the fact that I can’t find a day when Virgo is not in the bowels. You’d think that every now and then the powers of the Zodiac would cut Virgos a break and associate them with a more pleasant part of the body. Personally, I’m holding out for boobs, but I’ll take shoulders, elbows or even the middle finger.

 

I am very skeptical that planting by the signs really works. I could believe that planting by the phases of the moon might make a difference. The moon exercises gravitational influence on earth, and I know that fish bite better on a full moon, so it’s not too much of stretch to believe that the moon can influence plant germination and growth. But I find it very hard to believe that the position of twelve constellations in the night sky means anything.

 

Am I surprised that people believe in that sort of stuff? Not really. I heard recently that over sixty percent of the people in the U.S. believe that astrology is a science. When you see advertisements for Madam Cleo, the power of crystals, and the healing power of copper bracelets this should come as no surprise.

 

I suspect that you’ll hear a lot about gardening and planting from me in the next several months. It’s getting to be that time of year here.

 

And that’s it from Old MacYacavone for this post. Ee-aye-ee-aye-oh.

 

Spring and the Master Gardeners’ Course

It seems that Spring will soon be here in the southern Appalachians. Daffodils have poked up all over the place, or at least I think they are Daffodils. That’s what Meredith calls them. Redbud and Forsythia bushes are blooming. Again, that’s according to Meredith. I guess I’m a pretty poor Master Gardener candidate if I can’t identify the first flowering life we’ve seen in months.

Another sign that Spring will soon be upon us is that the local farmers and gardeners are starting to till their soil. As you drive around Fannin County you see dark, freshly turned fields and garden plots.

 

It was warm enough the other day that I was able to sit on the kitchen stoop clad only in my boxer shorts. The sun was shining brightly. There are major parts of my body that have not seen the sun since I left Florida. I’m sure I looked like a beached Beluga Whale sitting there. It was not a pretty sight. If I lived in a more populated area, I could have been arrested for cruelty to humanity. I’m glad we have no close neighbors.

 

I, for one, am a happy camper at the prospect that the worst of the Winter may be behind us. There were large parts of the last four months that I did not enjoy. It was the forced inactivity more than the cold.

 

I have been hard at work studying for my Master Gardener midterm exam. The good news is that I passed the test with a grade of 96. The bad news is that I completely overlooked and therefore did not answer three of the questions. There were fifty multiple choice questions on the test, and there was one bonus question. I completed the test in 16 minutes and then handed it in. That means I averaged about 20 seconds on each question. I guess I was so worked up over the test that I raced through it frenetically.

 

When I got the test back I saw the three questions that I overlooked, and I knew the answer to each one. What bothers me is that only one person answered every question correctly. If I had taken my time I could have had a perfect score on the test. I have been kicking myself ever since.

 

I know what you are thinking: why does it matter? It was only a test to become a Master Gardener; not a law school final exam. 

 

I don’t have a good answer for why I was so worked up over the test and why I am so disappointed that I didn’t get a perfect score. I suppose some of it is ego and some of it is sheer competitiveness. Or maybe it’s the small triumphs that matter when you’re retired. I don’t know. What I do know is that I truly am an idiot and my own worst enemy at times.

 

That being said, I’m now comfortable that I can pass the course. But that does not make me a Master Gardener. I still have to do a project and 50 hours of volunteer service in the first year.

 

For my project I am going to propose to create a website for the Fannin County Master Gardeners. The purpose of the website would be to provide gardening advice and information to the public. 

 

Most gardening websites I’ve seen are about as interesting as a curling competition. I was thinking of doing something different to attract public interest. I think I could have some fun with it. 

 

For instance, in the old days, Reader’s Digest used to run a series of articles with titles like “I am Joe’s Kidney.” I could do something similar, only about weeds. I think “I am Your Crabgrass” or “I am Your Purple Nutsedge” are catchy titles. Who wouldn’t want to read informative articles about Pigweed, Common Cocklebur, and Prickly Sida? Okay, all of you can put your hands down now.

 

Another idea is to model the website after those lurid and sensational magazines you see in the checkout line at the supermarket. The website could have articles with screaming headlines like: 

Jack’s Beanstalk – How Long Was It?
Little Miss Muffit’s Tuffit – Plastic Surgery or Not?
Who Has the Biggest Melons in the Garden?
Phallic Symbolism among Vegetables
Is Kohlrabi From Another Planet?
Who’s Been Spreading under the Chestnut Tree?
Sex and the Single Orchid
Whose Cucumbers are Really Pickles?

I’ve also been thinking of what type of continuing features I could have on the website to keep readers coming back for more.

 

Maybe the website could have a Dear Abbey-type column where people could write in about their gardening problems. I’d call it “Dear Uncle Wilty”. It could go something like this:

Dear Uncle Wilty,

My Big Boy Tomato is cross-pollinating with my cherry tomatoes. What should I do?

                                                    Signed: Forlorn Gardener

Dear Forlorn Gardener:

You better tell that Big Boy to keep his stamen out of the other tomatoes’ pistils or your cherry tomatoes may not be.

                                                      Signed: Uncle Wilty

How about a continuing feature called “My Favorite Vegetable” where website viewers are invited to write in about vegetables they have known and loved? I imagine that readers could get pretty racy when they start to describe their zucchini and eggplants. I would have to edit closely to remove any suggestive double entendres.

 

I think a monthly feature called “Plant Disease of the Month”, complete with graphic photographs, could provide valuable information to gardeners. The public seems to be attracted to gruesome things, and a close up of cabbage crown rot or turf grass slime mold fits the bill.

 

Another idea would be to serialize a story so that website viewers would come back to the website to see how it ends. I’d certainly follow a serialization of “Fifty Shades of Rose” or “Lady Chatterley’s Aster.” I can see it now:

He stood shirtless in the afternoon heat. His strong, supple body glistened as the sun caught the beads of sweat on his torso. His cucumbers, unfettered by the fence separating them, caressed the soft, velvety petals of her asters. She wondered what she would do if he reached over the fence to pluck her ripe pears.

Come back next week for another chapter of “Lady Chatterley’s Aster.”

Yeah, I could have a lot of fun with a gardening website. The only problem is that the Master Gardener program is associated with the University of Georgia which is a state supported school. That means that I will have to deal with bureaucracy to get approval for the website and its contents. When’s the last time you knew bureaucracy to get a joke or sanction anything remotely creative?

 

Even though I’m pretty sure I’ll be swimming upstream on this one, I’m going to propose the website as my Master Gardener project. I’d much rather do something like that than have to plant begonias around the town square.

Patience and a Box of Cereal

I have been trying to cultivate patience and deliberation now that I’m retired. I want to achieve a Zen-like state where I move through the vicissitudes of life with peace, tranquility and inner calmness. I want to be like Yoda or Mr. Miyagi (“The Karate Kid”).

And then I tried to open a box of Grape-Nuts.

The box said it was easy opening. Yeah, and I’m the Duke of Earl. Whoever wrote that probably penned the memorable line, “You can keep your plan.”

The top of the box had two flaps. In concept, all you have to do is separate the flaps to open the box. One of the flaps even had a little tab so you can close the box after use. What could be easier?

I tried to separate the flaps with my thumb. No dice. So I tried to slide a knife blade between the flaps. Couldn’t do it. My knife is sharp enough to cut paper and stout enough to butcher a hog, but apparently it’s not good enough to open a cardboard box of breakfast cereal. That’s pretty pathetic for a survival knife. I’d starve to death if the world went to hell when I was trapped in a Frosted Flakes warehouse.

The reason I couldn’t slide the blade between the two flaps is because the glue used to close the box had fused the flaps together. I have a suggestion for the company’s Vice President for Packaging Design. How about using something other than super glue to hold the top flaps of the “easy opening” box together?

Frustrated, I did what men typically do when they encounter resistance. I used brute force to tear the top of the box off.

Then I encountered the inner package. It was made of some type of plastic that resists tearing. My guess is that it is recycled Kevlar from old bullet-proof vests. I tried to pull the top of the package apart. I might as well have tried to peel a bowling ball. I understand the importance of food safety, but is it really necessary to put Grape-Nuts in a hermetically sealed package like that? It’s breakfast cereal, not the Ebola virus.

If I had the inner peace and tranquility of Yoda or Mr. Miyagi, I would exercised patience and deliberation. But by then the dark force had come over me, and my inner animal (a rhinoceros, I think) had emerged. I ripped the inner package apart. It was a Conan the Barbarian moment for sure.

The result was inevitable. There were hundreds of little Grape-Nuts scattered all over the kitchen floor. (Why are they called Grape-Nuts anyway? They are not little dried crunchy grapes. The package says they are made of wheat and barley. Calling them Grape-Nuts makes about as much sense as calling them Squid-Nips.)

As I walked across the kitchen floor to get the broom, the sound of my footsteps—crunch, crunch, crunch—was like the sound of one hand clapping or a tree falling in the forest. I was reminded of the words of Yoda: “Patience you must have my young padawan.”

I have a long way to go to reach the desired Zen state. I will work on it. As Mr. Miyagi said, “Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything.”

What?

News Update. A couple of posts ago, I poked fun at the local paper, The News Observer, over the scarcity of newsworthy events in Fannin County. A front page story in the paper concerned a fight at a middle school basketball game between a Fannin County player and a Pickins County player. I questioned whether this is front page news.

It was alleged by some Pickens County parents that a racial slur by a Fannin County provoked the incident. I thought the paper’s coverage was less than complete because it did not report the race of players or the content of the alleged slur.

I certainly did not expect read any more about a spat at a middle school basketball game. But, sure enough, The News Observer, apparently desperate for any news to report in boring Fannin County, had a front page follow-up to the story in a recent edition.

It seems the Pickens player was charged with assault, battery and obstruction of an officer and has been under house arrest since the incident. Mind you, this is a kid who is probably 12 or 13 years old.

A second hearing on the charges was scheduled in the local criminal court but was postponed so that school resource officers and Fannin County Sheriff’s deputies could interview additional witnesses about the incident.

It strikes me that this is one hell of an investigation for a fight between two middle school basketball players. Then it occurred to me that maybe the criminal scene in Fannin County is just as dull and boring as the news scene. Other than the occasional DUI case and meth lab bust, there’s probably not a lot of interesting crime happening around here. That may account for the lengthy investigation. The investigating officers are probably glad to have something to do.

The paper reported an additional detail about the incident. It said that the incident caused players, coaches and fans “to fill the gym floor before order was restored.” So it was not only a fight between two players, but a near riot, at least by Fannin County standards. I speculate that if school officials had not been able to quell the disturbance they would have been compelled to call out what passes for the National Guard in Fannin County – a handful of middle-aged civil war reenactors. Now that would have been newsworthy.

If, indeed, the incident caused the stands to empty, it is curious or, perhaps, bad reporting that the original story did not include that fact. But I’m skeptical of the accuracy of the reporting. Did the players, coaches and fans truly “fill the gym floor”?

I’ve been to a middle school basketball game. You're lucky if all the players’ parents show up. I doubt there were enough people at the game to fill a large bedroom, much less a gymnasium floor.

I suppose it is understandable if the incident was magnified in the eyes of the officials and the reporter. After all, any sort of event that disturbs the boring tranquility of Fannin County is unusual and likely to be sensationalized.

I will probably be reading more about the Great Fannin County Middle School Riot. I hope so, because now I’m interested in how it turns out. I may even go to the hearing and do a little investigative reporting of my own.

Busy Retirement

I did not anticipate being this busy this quickly in retirement. It’s gotten so bad that I bought a scheduling calendar to keep track of things. It’s almost stressful. I may have to retire from my retirement.

The Master Gardner class is taking up a lot of time. I spend one day a week in class and many hours outside class studying. The midterm is in two weeks. There is no question that I’m over-obsessing on the class and the test. The midterm is 50 questions, multiple choice, open book. It can’t be that tough, but for all I know, the entire class may be the legendary “sharpest tacks in the box” and, therefore, tough competition.

I’m not sure why, but it’s important to me to do well on the tests and stand out in the class. It’s not like I get a diploma that says I graduated summa cum laude or anything like that. All I get is a little plastic badge that says, “Jim Yacavone, Georgia Master Gardener.” I’d like one that says, “Jim Yacavone, Plant Stud,” but that suggestion did not go over well.

Meredith and I have been going to every gardening class we can find. Last Friday we attended a seminar on pruning apple trees and blueberry bushes at the Georgia Mountain Research and Education Center in Blairsville. The turnout for the seminar was impressive. There was only room for 100 attendees in the lecture hall, and the place was packed.

Besides the Master Gardener classes and the gardening seminars, I’ve been busy around the property. I recently learned that I will be receiving some chestnut seeds from The American Chestnut Foundation (TACF). They will not be disease-resistant hybrid seeds, but rather native American Chestnut seeds. From what I gather, TACF lets interested people start with regular chestnut seeds to see if their property is suitable for growing chestnuts and they are really willing to do what is necessary to grow and protect them. Additionally, having people grow American Chestnuts in many different areas helps preserve the genetic diversity of the tree. The seeds I receive will undoubtedly get the blight, but they should grow to at least 20 or 30 feet, produce chestnuts, and send up sprouts. That’s good enough for me for now.

I’ve been preparing the plot where I will plant the seeds. I subsoiled the ground and am in the process of removing the larger rocks. I have to make rings out of aluminum flashing to protect the seeds from little critters. Apparently every wild creature that walks, crawls, flies, and burrows loves to eat chestnuts. I also have to construct deer cages for the plants.

I’ve also been working hard on the stone wall. Just about every day I spend a couple of hours scouring the fields and woods for rocks. There’s certainly no shortage of those. I routinely come back with a front loader full.

I’ve am preparing for planting season by making raised beds and buying seeds. I built a grow light box, and this week I will start some of my seeds in that. I also need to build a fence around the garden to keep out wildlife. I figure my garden plot is close to 800 square feet, so that’s a lot of fence building to be done before planting time in April.

As a side note, I’ve learned that I can grow winter wheat in addition to other grains like buckwheat, rye, millet, and barley. In fact, the local nursery suggested I grow buckwheat as a spring cover crop for part of the garden. I’m excited about the wheat. I’d like to be able to say one day that I made bread out of wheat that I grew. Growing grains will give me an excuse to own a scythe. I've always wanted to own one. Don’t ask me why.

Meredith and I have started going to the Episcopal (Anglican) Church here. It’s what one does in a small town. I’ve joined the men’s club, and she’s joined the women’s club. The first thing both of us were told when we went to our separate meetings was that what was said there stays there. Some of the women in the women’s club do needlework to beautify the church. I was told in the men’s club that the needlework women are called the stitch bitches. They probably call us the old fud duds. That should give you some idea that the church members are not a staid and boring group.

There’s one thing I like about Episcopals. They have no aversion to alcohol. We’ve gone to several dinners at member’s houses, and the wine and beer were plentiful. We attended a get together at the minister’s house, and he shared a fine bottle of single malt scotch with us. There is nothing more enlightening than discussing the fine points of religion (that you know nothing about) with a good buzz on. Try saying Deuteronomy three times fast after a few brewskies. Of course, I am compelled to ask these bizarre but genuine questions like whether the Ten Commandments are listed in order of importance. If so, that means that coveting your neighbor’s wife is a lesser offence than stealing.

Meredith and I are discovering that this area attracts a lot of high energy retirees who get involved in the community. Meredith is getting involved in an organization run by a woman by the name of Judy Seeger, who is one of those energetic retirees. The organization is called Feed Fannin. It raises money to feed and clothe the less fortunate in the county. Among other things, it operates a seven acre farm where it grows vegetables for distribution to the needy. I just know that the more Meredith gets involved in Feed Fannin, the more I’m going to be involved.

Finally, Meredith and I have been going to local events. There seem to be a lot of them for such a small town. The most recent was a beer tasting at a local craft brewery called Grumpy Old Men. It was started by a couple of retirees two years ago. (There are three craft breweries in Blue Ridge. Not bad for a town of 1,500 that did not allow alcohol sales until three years ago).

The tasting was outrageous. The brewery is in an old building at the edge of town. When we arrived there were dozens of people standing outside drinking and dozens more inside drinking and listening to the two musicians who were providing entertainment. For ten bucks each Meredith and I got a Grumpy Old Men beer glass and all the beer we could drink. Their Hell’s Holler Porter was exceptional. I’m glad Meredith was driving.

We ran into Judy, the Feed Fannin lady, at the testing and through her we met a number of interesting people. We had a great time…as best I remember.

I spoke with the musicians, who are a couple of older guys. It turns out that they are lawyers who do worker’s compensation defense. One of them is retired. They play music on the side just for kicks. They were interested when I told them that I play the bass. Sounds like I could be in a band again if I want to.

I’m truly surprised at all the things to do here. I did not anticipate it would be like this. I guess that proves the old adage the sometimes you step in shit and come up smelling like a rose.