Hoop houses are burgeoning across Nevada as local farmers continue to benefit from increased vegetable production and sales. Hoop houses are the newest trend in local agriculture. The simple greenhouse structures provide shelter from the wind and cold temperatures, resulting in a longer growing season, increased harvests and increased profits for commercial producers.

To meet demand for training in this innovative technique, the WNC Specialty Crop Institute offers a Low-cost Hoop House Construction Workshop on Friday, May 4, 9 a.m.-4 p.m., at Smith Valley High School, 20 Day Lane, in Smith. Cost is $35 for those registering by April 25, $45 after April 25. Lunch is included. Seating is limited, and registration is required.

Featured speaker Ray Johnson of Custom Gardens Organic Farm will lead a hands-on demonstration of how to build a low-cost hoop house, constructed primarily of PVC tubing, precut rebar, greenhouse plastic and 2×4 boards. Developed by Utah State University, the design is popular among growers who are interested in hoop house production without a large financial investment. Johnson will also discuss growing techniques and planting schedules for hoop houses.

Information/registration: Ann Louhela -775-351-2551 or louhelaa@wnc.edu.

ARBONNE INTERNATIONAL- ALL NATURAL SKINCARE, HEALTH AND WELLNESS PRODUCTS. What makes Arbonne different from the other brands out on the market? It’s designed in Switzerland, and made in the United States. Scientists and Doctors have been developing botanical and all natural ingredients to make the best quality products since 1975. I am an independent consultant in Sparks NV. I offer consultations for anyone wanting to improve their skin or prevent the signs of aging for men and women. Also anyone wanting to lose weight with our get fit program using gluten free, vegan products. Angela Lively at 775-351-5191 or livelyskin@yahoo.com

NEVADA’S OUTDOOR LIFE COMES INDOORS. Nevada’s tradition of outdoor adventure is available all year long in Under the Stars. When guests enter this gallery they feel like they’ve stepped outdoors. They’re greeted by the sounds of nature and changing light treatment that takes them from day to night and back again. A tent and a vast cave set the stage for exploration of the natural history of the state and how to enjoy it. There’s also fishing for Cui-Ui and Lahontan Cut Throat Trout. To learn more go to: Terry Lee Wells Nevada Discovery Museum, 490 S. Center Street · Reno, NV, 775-786-1000

“A Rough Patch”

Written By Teresa Howell |
My sister Beth is spending some time in Montana with her grandchildren. She called me to wish me a happy first day of spring. “I took the grandkids to the park yesterday,” she told me. “It was seventy-seven degrees out.”
I looked out my window at the snow on the ground. Beth is lucky that you really can’t reach out and touch someone through the phone, because if you could, mine would not have been a gentle touch.

The late spring is throwing off my gardening schedule. It’s two long months until the last frost date, but I have a lot of work to do before then.

I need to put manure on all my garden beds. Ideally, I’d have done that last fall, but I couldn’t put the manure on until I’d cleaned off the debris from last summer, and as I explained in a previous column, garden debris was my fall décor.

I don’t want to plant seeds directly in manure that has not had time to meld itself in to the soil. If time and weather won’t work it in, I’ll have to trowel it in myself. I’m too lazy for that kind of work, for one thing; for another, many garden experts recommend that once a garden bed has been established, it’s best not to disturb the layers of the soil. They believe that water and worms should move the nutrients to the roots, and the less mechanical interference with the soil, the better the texture will be.

I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’m all for any method that gets me out of work.

I’ve other tasks to do before I plant my June seeds. Some crops, like lettuces, radishes, and most members of the cole family, should be planted “as soon as the ground can be worked in the spring,” most experts say.

When is that, exactly? Was it the time the ground could be worked in January? Or, the time in February? Or the one in March? Personally, I’m setting my sights on early April, although I have friends in town who have greens and onions up already.

I’m still waiting for the Sunset Western Garden Guide to publish a zone map that differentiates between the sheltered and heat-trapping city and the windy and frozen environs of sagebrush suburbia.

While I wait, I’ll use some plastic sheeting to hurry the season along for those seeds which can stand chilly–but not freezing–conditions, and then move the sheeting over to those plants which prefer hot to warm–like the melons and the sweet potatoes I’ll plant this year.

The other task that remains is starting seeds indoors. I’ll wait until mid-April to start tomatoes, peppers, and celeriac. The one-pound salad mix containers make admirable mini-greenhouses. I’ll pot up the tomatoes, peppers and larger plants. The celeriac I’ll just let grow in the mini-greenhouse. It grows slowly at first, and I’ve found that if I’m gentle in untangling the roots, it transplants easily and doesn’t shock.

I haven’t decided yet if I’ll start the squash and melons indoors. Last year, I did, but by the time I set them out in June, they were looking pretty sad. I hedged my bets by planting the more seeds directly in the garden. Both produced like mad, although the sad stuff I transplanted produced first.

I checked one task off my list; I’ve planted artichoke seeds in a salad container. Most of them are up, and in a few days I’ll pot them up. In mid-May, I’ll transplant them in the garden, in Wall-o-Waters, which I’ll remove in June. Artichokes are bi-annuals, but they’ll have their first “year” indoors now, and when I transplant them out, they’ll think it’s winter, and they’ll produce in the fall.

The forecast calls for warmer weather, so maybe I can get started on my to-do list this weekend. And if there’s any justice in the world, it’ll blizzard in Montana.

When Teresa Howell isn’t planning revenge on her sisters, she teaches English at Great Basin College.

Written By Teresa Howell |

Rawhide Ranch is one hundred sections of BLM lease and deeded land stretched between the towns of Gabbs, Hawthorne and Mina, in Nye County, Nevada. Years ago, my dad managed that ranch, and I spent many horseback days with him in a veritable kingdom of desert canyons and hidden waterholes. Once, as we rode through a particularly spectacular canyon, Dad looked up to the canyon rim and said, “People think they can own this, but they can’t. It was here long before we came, and it’ll be here long after we’re gone. How can people own this?”

Dad’s politics were a mix of Rush Limbaugh and Karl Marx, and I never knew which one of them would be topmost at any given time. But that existential question made sense–how can we think we own this land?

These days, I live on a few acres in a place much less wild than the Rawhide Ranch, but still beautiful. I own it in the traditional sense, meaning there’s a deed on file at the courthouse with my name on it that gives me dominion, and a tax bill that comes to me once a year.

I built a house on those acres. I planned it, and did much of the work of constructing it myself. Among the many moments of pure despair and pure elation, the greatest elation came the day we punched the four-hundred foot road to the spot where my house would stand. Sometimes, even now I say to myself, “I have my own road,” although I know it’s childish to gloat over a road so short.

I’ve thought about why that road means so much to me. As roads go, it’s not unpleasing: gravel, with just the slightest bit of a lilting sway, and a few little ruts where accumulated water raises the clay and changes the texture of the surface. But any narrow gravel lane acquires much the same character.

My instinct is to say I love it because it’s mine, but why does the “mine” of the road somehow trump the “mine” of the surrounding dirt?

In part it’s because a road is physical means of access, a way in to the land, the stick of the Popsicle. The property is mine because I made a way to get to it. My mother used to paint Nevada landscapes, and once she told me that when she painted mountains, she wanted a way into the picture; canyons or ridges that led the viewer’s eye to the horizon. My road does that.

A road is also a claiming, a way of physically imposing my will on the world, a way of proving I exist. I wrote “Kilroy was here” with a bulldozer. It’s human to want to leave a mark, to scratch initials on the desk, enlarge the map of our country.

Such claiming is destructive; the road erodes; with enough initials, the desk becomes too rough to write on; the map is redrawn with ink of blood. Nevertheless, we can’t–and shouldn’t–stop claiming, because as much as the byproduct of claiming is destruction, it is also construction. Without it, human life as we know it isn’t possible. The purest among us depend upon those roads, those desks, those maps for our physical, mental and social well-being.

Such claiming is also futile. As the History Channel series Life after People points out, once humans are gone, our artifacts crumble pretty quickly. In the battle–if such it is–between man and nature, man inevitably loses; we just won’t be around to see the loss. We cannot, after all, own those canyon rims.

This doesn’t give us a pass to do what we will to the environment, because although the changes we make are not permanent, they do alter the world in which we live and upon which we depend. We live with the garbage we create. It doesn’t matter if the stream will be clear in fifty years, if there’s arsenic in it now, that’s what we have to drink.

The question, then, isn’t about saving some bountiful Mother Nature by abrogating the human desire to claim and shape, it’s about how best to channel those desires in a way that nurtures human life and culture in a sustainable way.

That is what I try to do in my garden. I’m imposing my will on nature; I grow some plants that aren’t particularly adapted to Nevada, pump up water that nature doesn’t see fit to give me, adding manure from animals that fed elsewhere. I can say, this morning glory or this tomato wouldn’t be here without me. But I work in partnership with nature; what I grow I must grow within the confines of nature, so that the peas I grow today don’t preclude the possibility of peas tomorrow. That’s sustainability.

I can’t own the canyons, but I can ride among them.

When Teresa Howell isn’t testing Mother Nature, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca.

Do you remember the old saying, “YOU OUR WHAT YOU EAT”? It’s true. So, it’s time to consider all the things you put into your body. If you’re looking to get healthier, or to stay that way, then you need to consume good, healthy produce. There are so many reasons to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables every day; in fact, most people don’t eat enough each day. A growing body of research proves that fruits and vegetables are critical to promoting good health. Fruits and vegetables should be the foundation of a healthy diet, and most people need to double the amount of fruits and vegetables they eat every day.

Fruits and vegetables are packed with essential vitamins, minerals, fiber, and disease-fighting phytochemicals. Because of this, eating plenty of fruits and vegetables everyday can help reduce your risk of: Heart disease, high blood pressure, type two diabetes, certain cancers, and much more.

They’re low in calories and high in fiber, so fruits and vegetables can help you control your weight. By eating more fruits and vegetables, and fewer high-calorie foods, you’ll find it much easier to control your weight. We need to be taking in at least five servings of fruits and vegetables a day or more for proper nutrition. So how much is a portion?

• One piece of medium-sized fruit, such as an apple, peach, banana or orange.
• One slice of fruit, such as melon, mango or pineapple.
• One handful of grapes or two handfuls of cherries or berry fruits.
• One heaping tablespoon of dried fruit.
• One small glass (150ml) of unsweetened 100 percent fruit or vegetable juice. Juice counts as a maximum of one portion, regardless of how much you drink.
• A side salad.

Do remember that some fruits contain many of their nutrients just under the skin, so eating them with the skin on can provide greater nutritional benefits and the maximum amount of fiber, compared with just drinking the juice of the same fruit.

How can you get fresh fruits and veggies all year long, without the expense of a green house? There is one way to Go Green and get healthy. The Tower Garden works through the bases of hydroponics and aeroponics, which is a method of cultivating plants using min­eral nutrient solutions, in water, with­out soil.

The bottom of the tower holds a water reserve tank with nutrients. A small, low-wattage electric water pump transports the wa­ter to the top of the tower and descends by gravity, irrigating the plants and re­turning to the bottom tank. The plants grow out of small holes in the tower. A person can plant lettuce, herbs, leeks, broccoli, cauliflower, Swiss chard, cucumbers, strawberries, tomatoes, and herbs–just about anything they desire.

The Tower Garden can save you hundreds of dollars a year in healthy food that is also clean, safe, pesticide-free, and highly nutritious. Vegetables will grow in about half the time they would normally take in the soil!

There is no weeding, tilling, kneeling, or getting dirty! There is no need to have a “green thumb.”

It’s about planting seeds that empower others to grow healthy individuals and strong, healthy families. Then together we can feed and nurture healthier, sus­tainable communities.

References: 

1. http://life.familyeducation.com/foods/nutrition/36595.html#ixzz1lEmEb0zV

2. bbc.co.uk/health/treatments/healthy-living/nutrition

3. www.Towergarden.com/media/lakefamilymagazinearticle.pdf

Written By Teresa Howell |

My sis-in-law Becky came slogging up to the house after that little bit of moisture we had last week. “You know,” she said, “you’re wasting a lot of water.”

“How can that be? I’m just making coffee. You want coffee, don’t you?”

“Sure, I’ll take a cup. You know, that’s about two hundred gallons you wasted.”

“Becky, I don’t know what you’re talking about. This pot only holds two quarts, and I know we’ll drink all of it.”

“I’m not talking about the coffee, although you do drink enough of it to water a good-sized flower bed. I’m talking about the run-off from your roof. You could be using that water in your landscape.”

Becky is right. I am wasting water, and those little gullies streaming away from my house are taking topsoil along with them. But what to do about it?

A little research showed some possible fixes for that rivulet coursing through my driveway. One is a system of gutters with some kind of collection system, which would catch any moisture coming off my roof.

There are a couple of difficulties with the plan, the chief of them being financial. Installing the gutters isn’t all that difficult, or all that expensive. The storage of that harvested rainwater gets problematic, though. Around here, most water comes in the winter, and to store all that moisture until summer when it’ll do some good will take more than just a rain barrel or two. I’d need a good-sized cistern, and that would probably require a large buried tank of some sort–and a few grand to pay for it and installation, plus the paraphernalia I’d need to pump the water out once the tank is filled.

Fortunately, I can still take advantage of that water without putting in a cistern. All I need to do is to plan my landscape in such a way that it captures the water that pummels my plants and leaves a deep groove around the perimeter of my house before washing out the driveway.

A gutter system is the first element in the plan. Then I can choose where water exits my roof. From there, a dry streambed would allow the water to soak gently into the ground. Becky recommended Owen E. Dell’s Sustainable Landscaping for Dummies, which tells how to create a dry stream bed. She told me not to take the title personally.

Dell recommends making sure that the dry stream bed slopes downhill. He recommends designing the dry streambed on the pattern of a natural creek bed, which would gently follow the contours of the land. He recommends that the bed be at least a foot wide and ten inches deep, and lining it with a “filter fabric,” which would allow the water to sink in while keeping the rocks and gravel in place. There are several varieties of landscape fabric that would do the job, and perhaps prevent a bit of weeding as well.

Dell recommends the use of “percolation chambers,” which are just big holes filled with rocks and gravel, which allow quite a bit of water to soak into the ground harmlessly, but I have a big depression where I want to water end up; I’ll probably just deepen and widen the channel there.

I’m hoping that my dry creek can become a focal point in my landscape. A few gentle curves, some nice rocks, and that wasted water will do me some good, especially if I’m wise in the selection of plants.

I can take best advantage of the extra water by choosing drought-tolerant plants with deep roots, so that they can take better advantage of the water as it goes down.

There. All planned out. Now all I have to do is dig that ditch. I’ve got two shovels. I wonder what Becky is doing this spring?

When Teresa Howell isn’t wasting water, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca.

Written By Teresa Howell |

Beth came out for coffee early one frosty morning, back in December.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t have even a slice of fruit cake to go with it. I’m feeling a bit like Scrooge this year, and I haven’t gotten the Christmas baking spirit yet.”

“Well, get ready for it,” she said. “I think I saw the Ghost of Christmas Past out in your yard. But in this frosty fog, it might have been my headlights on that crabapple tree you planted last summer. I’m surprised at how big it is.”

“Crabapples grow pretty fast,” I reminded her.

“For most people they do,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to ask; have you been keeping up with your winter watering schedule?”

“Have some more coffee,” I said.

Beth was talking about one of the trees I’d gotten from the plant sale one of the 4-H clubs holds in conjunction with the county extension office here. The plants they sell are designed to withstand conditions in the West.

Caragana (also called Siberian pea shrub), Austrian pine, Russian olive, and some species of juniper, elm, cottonwood and crabapple take heat, cold, drought and often even poor soil. These are good trees for those of us who practice laissez faire gardening.

Some species of cottonwood and juniper are native to the Western United States, and do well here because they’ve evolved here. But many of the species of trees and shrubs that thrive in our area come from northeastern Asia, which is why they have “Russian” or “Siberian” somewhere on the plant tag.

I’ve noticed that some of the catalogs geared to the West offer an increasing number of plants from that part of the world. Next year, I’ll be planting some of them, including goumi. Its scientific name, elaeagnus multiflora, indicates that it’s related to Russian olive (elaeagnus angustifolia), and our native buffalo berry is a more distant relative. The catalog says that the fruit tastes like pie cherries. I’ll let you know how they turn out.

I’ve had good luck with the Russian trees I planted last spring. One of them was the Siberian crabapple which scared Beth. I also planted some Russian olives farther out, in the hopes that they’d grow into a windbreak. When I planted them, I watered them well. A week or two later, I put in a drip system, and I watered them once a week or so, but I didn’t pay them much attention other than that.

A month and a half later, I noticed that one of the Russian olives was yellowing. Investigating further, I noticed that I hadn’t hooked the drip system to that tree. It’s stunted, but it’s still alive.

Despite their tough nature, even these trees will appreciate a bit of winter moisture, and that could be the factor that allows more civilized trees to survive in this country. Especially in dry winters, trees need to be watered at least once a month if there’s no moisture.

Water early in the day, particularly if it’s going to be cold, since if the water freezes, it can damage the roots. Trees should be watered so that the soil is moist to a depth of about twelve inches. If it’s really a dry year, it wouldn’t hurt to water more deeply once in a while.

Which reminds me, I’d better hydrate my trees right now. Otherwise, that cute little Siberian crabapple might be a real ghost next Christmas.

When Teresa Howell is not neglecting her trees, she teaches English at Great Basin College.

Written By Teresa Howell |

The year: 1908, or thereabouts. The place: Watauga, a soon-to-be born town at the end of the railroad line in South Dakota. The actors: Fred, John and Art Nehl, my great grandfather and his brothers. The task before them: sow the garden they’d tilled out of virgin sod before their wives arrived on the train from Iowa.

Unfortunately, the Nehl boys got into a jug of whiskey. They didn’t want to let work interfere with the fun, so they put all the seeds their wives had sent them in a broadcast seeder, seeded the patch, raked it a bit, and then broke out the second jug.

That garden was the best they ever grew.

Fast forward sixty years. Not far from that original patch, my parents were working in their own garden. My father, whose true passion was his team of Shetland ponies, had spent the past winter fabricating a cultivator he could use with his team. He’d instructed my mother as to the precise width of the rows, and thought he could cut a day’s worth of weeding down to an hour.

My parents still haven’t determined whether my mother’s crooked rows or my father’s crooked charioteering caused the resulting mayhem, but when he finished cultivating, only half the plants were standing.

The moral of these two stories, taken together:  tidy rows are out, mixed beds are in.

Tidy rows have only been “in” for a short while, historically speaking. When people started farming with machines, they soon learned machines worked best with rows of a single type of crop. The new method of farming was so efficient the model was soon applied in the vegetable patch.

Gardening in rows does have its advantages. Harvesting is easier. You want peas? Go to the pea patch. No need to stumble over the whole garden looking for supper.

My great grandfather’s scatter-shot approach has its benefits as well. It makes more efficient use of space. By the time early crops like lettuce and radishes are done, slower maturing beets and tomatoes need the room. Because plants are closer together, weeds don’t have as much room to grow.  Plants also shade the soil, so less water evaporates.

Some experts claim mixed bed plantings can even confuse pests, so that the potato bugs can’t find the potatoes. Add a few marigolds, and some host plants for beneficial insects, and the bugs are further confused.

However, you’ll probably want a better approach to your mixed beds than “drink a quart of whiskey.” You’ll have to plan the layout of the beds, and–here’s the hard part–construct them. Experts say you should make your beds no wider than four feet, so that you can easily reach the middle of the bed. You’ll need clearly defined paths so people don’t compact the soil by walking where they shouldn’t. The soil itself will need the same amendments that any garden needs.

You’ll also need to decide which crops you’ll plant together. One source claims that you should divide crops up by family. Related plants often have the same diseases, and grouping them allows you to rotate crops more efficiently. Once you have your plant “clans” established in their own bit of turf, you can add “friends” of the family. These are plants that deter pests or help the family out in some way. If you are interested, there are books available about companion planting.

Another method of planning is to let tradition be your guide. Southwestern Indians typically planted corn, squash and beans, together. The “three sisters,” as they were called, helped each other out. Beans provided nitrogen for the heavy-feeding corn, and the corn supported the climbing beans. Squash formed a living mulch, preserving water and shading the soil.

The whiskey you’ll have to get on your own, but, you’ll find valuable information at winngarden.org.

When Teresa Howell isn’t finding new methods of planting, she teaches English at Great Basin College.

Written By Teresa Howell |

My daughter Lindsey and I were taking a walk with Beth the other day, looking at the way people had decorated for Halloween. Some of the comments Lindsey made seemed to be drawing an unfavorable comparison between my décor and that of the neighbors.

“Hey,” I said. “I’ve nearly every element in my yard that we’ve seen so far, except the scarecrow.”

“Your yard is pretty scary,” Beth said. “And you do so have scarecrow. I’m sure I saw one the other day in your yard, wearing a shabby straw hat, tattered jeans, and an old shirt that flapped in the wind. It had a bit more straw than usual, though.”

“I think that was Mom,” Lindsey said.

Martha Stewart probably wouldn’t approve of my garden attire, and she definitely wouldn’t approve of my current garden décor, although it is true that I’ve all of those characteristic fall elements. The difference is in the arrangement.

In the typical yard, you’ll see bales of hay, with elaborately carved pumpkins arranged on and around them, perhaps nestled into piles of colorful autumn leaves. You’ll find cornstalks tied in neat shocks, and fake cobwebs arranged artistically on porch railings.

My pumpkins, and the rest of my winter squash, are mostly stashed in a cool closet, but I had a bumper crop this year. As the leaves died back, I discovered delicatas and kabotas and even pumpkins that I overlooked when I gathered them just ahead of the first big frost. The damaged ones I’ve left in the garden. If you squint, some of those cracks do look like carvings.

I’ve got plenty of fall leaves, too, although most of mine are more crunchy brown instead of orange, yellow, and red. The squash and beans are pretty desiccated by now, and the rest of the garden is only waiting for a really hard freeze to add to the general shabby air.

I’m thinking I can keep my “décor” in place until after Thanksgiving. Then I’ll have to clean up. The squash I’ll dole out to the chickens, and I’ll compost the leaves. Garden litter can harbor disease, and squash bugs overwinter as adults in debris. I’ve already killed a few of them when I moved some plywood.

The cornstalks I’ll pile in a corner somewhere. I don’t have a chipper, and cornstalks take a long time to deteriorate in compost. However, I plan to use them as mulch under my tomatoes and beans next year. I fought fungus with my beans this summer, and those stalks might keep the beans up off the dirt, and away from fungal spores. It’s worth a try.

My straw isn’t neatly baled; most of it is still on the potatoes. I use my potato patch as a lazy woman’s way to expand the garden. I just rough up the soil a bit if it’s compacted, and spread manure on it, and then a thick layer of straw, and I plant the potatoes under the straw, directly on the manure. I make sure that I put in a few earthworms, and they, and the straw mulch, do the work of tilling the soil.

I’ll either turn the straw under, or just move it aside and plant squash or corn. Much of it is already rotten, and the top layer that isn’t will mulch next year’s crop, even as it continues to rot and enrich the soil.

My favorite part of gardening is when the easy thing to do is also the right thing to do.

The fake cobwebs in my yard are actually strips of floating row cover I tied on PVC hoops which spanned my tomatoes. Although they may have looked a little tacky, at least until the Halloween season legitimized them, they shaded the tomatoes. Now that the weather is frosty, I’ll throw blankets and more row cover over those hoops. As long as the weather holds, I can still harvest tomatoes. Meanwhile, I can’t take off the strips I attached earlier, because the blankets cover them.

I’m covered on garden clean-up until after Thanksgiving. If I can think of a way to use the debris as Christmas decoration, I can put it off until after the first of the year.

Hey–they have straw in mangers, don’t they? I think I’m on to something.

A gardener in Nevada faces many challenges. Beautiful spring days coax fruit trees into bloom, just in time for a hard freeze to cancel the crop. In July and August, the sun sucks the juice out of the hardiest plants. Wind-borne sand strips paint off houses and leaves off plants. Drought and Mormon crickets get anything left.

But Nevada gardeners can count on one thing–the purity of the soil. It’s either pure sand or pure clay, unless you’re lucky enough to be in one of the low-lying basins where salt and alkali collect.

Oddly enough, the cure for either sand or clay is the same: organic matter. Clay soil will hold water and nutrients much better than sandy soil, but it often lacks drainage, and dry clay compacts into brick. Organic material helps aerate the soil and adds “tilth,” that springiness in good soil. Sandy soil drains a little too well, and soil nutrients tend to leach away with the water. Organic material helps hold water and nutrients near the roots of the plant.

There are several ways to add organic material to the soil. You can add composted kitchen and yard waste. You can grow a “green manure” crop of clover, buckwheat, or something else, and till it under. I’ve heard that if you spend a season repeatedly tilling in green manure, the next year you’ll have wonderful soil.

We didn’t have enough time to use either of the above methods on this year’s garden. That left us two options, peat moss or manure. Nevada is low on peat bogs, but we have lots of manure.

Early this spring, I took possession of several pick-up loads of goat manure. Manure is like wine; it improves with age, and this stuff was vintage; at least two years old. It was wonderful stuff, dark and crumbly.

We spread it on the beds shortly after we got it. Since the garden is new, we spaded on about four inches and worked it in well. Next year, we probably won’t need to use quite as much.

I need to interject a warning about handling manure in a garden:  it’s a job that’s best done alone. Working with manure lends itself to all sorts of unsuitable jokes, which I can not repeat here. It’s very hard to shovel manure when you’re doubled over, laughing.

Wise gardeners know their manure, or at least where it comes from. Some manure, especially fresh manure, can be high in salts, particularly if the animals had extra salt in their diet. Organic gardeners may not want to put manure from animals which were given antibiotics or hormones.

The bedding material may affect the manure, especially fresh. Straw and sawdust eventually add nitrogen, but while they are decomposing, they will actually use it. However, any urine in the manure will provide a boost of immediately available nitrogen, although at the risk of burning crops.

Not all manure is alike. Bat guano is one of the best. In England, where gardening and literature both thrive, bat dropping or guano, imported from British colonies in the Pacific, was a big industry in the earliest days of the twentieth century. It was so important that a guano mine has a place in the British literary classic, Lord Jim.

Those of us not blessed with colonies in the Pacific need to find other options. Chicken manure has a very high nitrogen content, so it will burn crops if it’s added fresh, but aged, that same high nitrogen content is a boon.

Small round droppings, like those from rabbits or goats, make excellent fertilizer. They are high in nitrogen and don’t usually contain weed seeds. It should be aged, though.

Llama manure, my friend Becca attests, doesn’t need to be aged at all, and can go on the garden still steaming. Llamas also oblige by making their all their deposits in one place, so the stuff is easy to find.

Horse and steer manure are roughly equivalent in nutrients, but steer manure must be aged, while horse droppings can be added fresh, according to some sources. However, with their four stomachs, no weed seed can survive a trip through a cow. On the other hand, a horse’s digestive system treats those same seeds so well that they’re not only still viable, they’re surrounded by fertilizer to help them get a good start.

Proper composting will cook those weed seeds, so although you could put fresh road apples on your crops, you might not want to. In any case, the county extension publication, “Basic Composting,” available at www.winnegarden.org, recommends that all manure be composted well before it is used on food crops.

A bit of scouting should lead to several good supplies of manure–feed lots, fairgrounds, or neighbors with animals. I’d love to help you shovel it, but manure brings out my barnyard sense of humor. I’d hate to interfere with your work.

When Teresa Howell isn’t enjoying the comical side of gardening, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca.

Travel in the summer is dangerous for me. This year, as I drove through Fallon in the middle of July, my car developed a mysterious pull to the left, and came to a complete stop in front of Workman’s Nursery, where plants were on sale at half price.

Three flats later, I managed to get the car back on the road, only to need another emergency stop at Flower Tree Nursery, where six gallon-sized pots finally stabilized the car enough to make it home.

Like sufferers of any other addiction, those of us who buy plants face the consequences the next day, when we sober up. In this case, the consequences were pretty dire. Temperatures were slated to be in the hundreds for the foreseeable future. I also wanted to set some of the plants on the west side of the house, on bare, compacted dirt where I’d mixed lime plaster the summer before. Until I saw some weeds coming in, I’d assumed the soil was sterile.

Fortunately, I have enough self-control to buy tough plants. I’ve convinced a few friends that I’m a good gardener simply by choosing plants that are impossible to kill. But even my tough plants were going to need a little tender care to survive these conditions.

As soon as I got them home, I watered my new acquisitions well and put them in a shady place. Even the toughest plants in pots appreciate a little shade in hot weather, especially if they are root-bound, as many of these were.

I planted in the evening. I know conventional wisdom says to plant in the morning, but I wanted to give the plants as much time to adapt as possible before the extreme heat hit. I dug the holes wider than the plants, and just a bit deeper, so that I could leave a little well around the plants.

This next step is extreme, and it makes my gardening mother wince when she sees me do it, but it usually works for me. I untangle the roots, gently if possible, and roughly if necessary–and it’s usually necessary. If the roots spiral around, the plant may live for a while, but it will usually die. I’ve occasionally taken half the roots, and had the plant do just fine.

I’m a cheapskate, so I often buy perennials like columbines in six-packs. They’ll sometimes be so root-bound that the small root-hairs form a cloth around the root-ball. When that happens, I scratch the roots with the little plastic tag that comes with the plants, working from the bottom of the root up toward the plant, until I’ve gotten most of the cloth off.  Otherwise, those roots will actually resist water.

Then I spray as much of the potting soil off the roots as I can, even when the plant isn’t root-bound at all. Although it’s fine to amend the soil for annuals and garden vegetables, I never do for perennials or trees. Unless the plant is unusually vigorous, the roots will have a tendency to stay in that nice pocket where living is easy, because of the difference in soil structure between the planting hole and the surrounding soil. This is particularly true if you’ve been parking your truck on that surrounding soil, as I’d been doing.

After I dig the hole, I put a little water in it. When that’s drained out, I spread my roots out in the hole, making sure to keep those roots moist at all times.  I fill the hole halfway with the dirt from the hole, and water thoroughly. I fill the rest of the hole with the native soil. Then I top dress with manure or compost, and water once again.  Food for the plant will leach down with the water.

For the first days after I set out new plants, I always water morning and night, and if it’s really hot, I’ll water during the day as well. Despite conventional wisdom, it’s fine to water plants during the heat of the day. Especially on new plants, I’ll often give them a little bit of a bath to give them a break from the heat. I do want to make sure that the plant itself is dry when the sun goes down, to prevent fungus.

The plants I’d chosen were double-tough; agastache, catmint, lavender, sedums, gaura, and groundcover veronicas and snow-in-summer, and some snapdragons. But most of these plants had major surgery on their roots–and the thermometer was hitting the hundreds.

Fortunately, I’d been to Poke-and-Peek the week before, and I’d cleaned them out of flat sheets. So I gathered up lawn chairs, buckets, sawhorses, and whatever else I could find to hold the sheets up off the plants. I draped sheets over the supports. The sheets allowed some filtered light in, and when it got hot, I sprayed them down with water.

The air under the wet sheets was twenty or thirty degrees cooler than the outside air. I know–I checked. I checked for at least thirty minutes.

I kept waiting for someone to ask why I had sheets in the yard. I planned to lift one eyebrow, cool-like, and say drily, “Well, it is a flowerbed.” But nobody asked. I hate when I waste a good joke.

All the plants survived, except one snapdragon that my nephew Bobby backed over. But then, you have to expect a little death loss when you set out plants in the middle of July.  Especially if you set them out in what used to be the driveway.

When Teresa Howell isn’t hitting the sheets, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca.

My friend Dixie made me a gift of two grape vines, and a few days later, she stopped by to check up on them. Dixie is a teacher, and realizes the importance of monitoring a wayward pupil. She approved my efforts, and we moved to the shade for a chat.

“You know,” she said, “you could use some support. I recommend panty hose. They’ll keep things up where they belong.”

“Nobody wears pantyhose these days,” I countered.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have some I can give you that would be perfect for your needs. They’d allow for growth, and wouldn’t pinch tender limbs. Plus, they’re nearly invisible.”

“I don’t care how they look,” I mumbled, “and you’ll never convince me they don’t pinch. Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

I didn’t say it, but I knew I’d never fit into anything Dixie wore. I’m not sure what size she wears, but I think it’s not much more than the square root of mine.

A day later she stopped by with a batch of old knee-highs. I’d cobbled together a trellis with steel t-posts and willow branches for the vines, and Dixie showed me how to tie the vines to the trellis using the pantyhose. Sure enough, they didn’t pinch, the way the garden twine I used before did. I had to prune off a bit of vine that broke where the wind abraded it against the support.

Dixie has seen me searching for my reading glasses often enough to know my organizational skills, or lack thereof, so she told me I should remember where I put my pruners because I’d need them this winter to prune the grapes.

Many grape varieties are vigorous growers, and some very old vines can cover the better part of an acre. It takes lots of room and careful management to keep a vine of that size in order. Grapes produce on wood from the previous year, and if too much of the previous year’s wood is left, the crop will be heavier than the vine can feed, resulting in small, sour grapes. Some experts recommend pruning off up to ninety percent of the year’s growth.

There are lots of different ways to train grapes. Growers will need to take into account their own skill level, growing conditions, and their own preferences in determining how to prune. Not surprisingly, the easiest methods don’t result in the highest yield. The Internet or the local county extension office can give you information on methods of pruning.

Unlike fruit trees, grapes won’t heal after you prune them, so care has to be taken not to leave a wound that might allow pathogens in. Partially because of this, grapes are subject to a variety of fungal diseases. Many of these diseases can be prevented by properly disposing of pruned branches and general cleanliness.

Pests include several varieties of caterpillars, leaf-hoppers, and mites. Organic controls are available for many of these pests, and lady-bugs, dragonflies, and wasps can help with control.

Dixie is a wise friend, so she chose for me two varieties that will do well here in the high desert. We need grapes that can stand short seasons, cold winters, hot summers, alkali, and drought. Most reputable nurseries know and carry well-adapted species and can help you select a grape that will suit your needs, whether you’re after wine or fruit.

Although some sources I consulted suggest grapes are “heavy feeders,” in trials, UNR included a small amount of fertilizer at planting, and none thereafter, with excellent results. After all, grapes grow in Greece, which is scarcely known for its fertile soil. Just to be on the safe side, I mulched mine with manure, as I did the four vines I planted previously.

Which brings me to the one thing I know about grapes for sure–they are tough. I planted those four grapevines three springs ago. I gave them a little supplemental water, but they didn’t seem to be doing much.

The next spring, when nothing came up, I ignored them, except for trying to pull out one of the protruding stalks. It didn’t give, so I added “dig up grape plants” to my steadily growing to-do list. Then in mid-June, three of the vines popped up out of bone-dry ground: a Candice, a Himrod, and another variety. Only the fourth, a type that’s marginal in our area, died.

This year, their third summer in the ground, the Candice, which is the least vigorous, is growing nicely, and the other two will give me a few little bunches of grapes. Despite its unfortunate name, Himrod will be my best producer. It is an excellent grape for our area.

So are the two that Dixie brought me. If the Thompson Seedless she gave me performs up to expectations, I may have to take up wearing pantyhose.

When Teresa Howell isn’t playing dress-up with her plants, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca, Nevada.

References:
1. www.bunchgrapes.com

2. http://www.omafra.gov.on.ca/english/crops/facts/03-039.htm

Written By Teresa Howell |

When my friend Pam Leach was halfway through the garden tour I require of all my guests, she asked if I’d seen the wasp.

I was in the midst of a monologue on the distinction between determinate and indeterminate tomatoes, and I thought Pam might want to change the subject. My daughters have explained to me that I can become tiresome on certain topics.

I’m not a fan of science fiction, but I played along.

“Isn’t that the sequel to The Fly? I haven’t seen it, but the first one was one of my daughter’s favorite movies.”

“Movie? What movie? I’m talking about the thread-waisted wasp. It’s a type of solitary hunting wasp,” she said, pointing.

She was indicating a slender black wasp astride what appeared to be a dead cutworm. The worm was several times the weight of the wasp, but the wasp dragged it along at a pretty good clip, holding the prey with its front legs and propelling itself with its back legs.

I hate cutworms, and wasn’t about to feel sorry for it, not even when Pam explained that the cutworm wasn’t dead. The wasp had paralyzed it with a few well-placed stings, and she (it’s always a she doing this work) would drag it to a hole she’d prepared, lay a single egg on it, and seal the cradle–or the tomb, depending on where your sympathies lie.

But wait–there’s more. Pam says her research suggests the hard-working wasp is often followed by midges. The wasp tries to fight them off, but while she’s busy spiffing up the hole she’s provided for her egg, the quick midges often sneak in and lay their own eggs on the cut worm. The midge eggs hatch first, and consume so much of the cutworm that the wasp larva, which must have living food, starves to death.

After mating, my wasp will spend her entire life this way, providing each egg with its own little hole and its own cutworm, which she often drags several yards. I wondered if I might need to do a little more for my own children when they go out into the world, my current plan being to give each of them a ham sandwich wrapped in a road map.

Thread-waisted wasps differ from more commonly known wasp species like yellow-jackets. Most of them live solitary lives, and they’re food purists. Most species predate one species of insect; some choose grasshoppers, some caterpillars, and so on. The social wasps get sloppy in their eating habits; although they do eat some of the pests we’d like to get rid of, they also go for carrion and garbage.

Perhaps it makes sense to get rid of the nests of the social wasps. They’re much more aggressive and pack a painful sting. The solitary hunting wasps don’t sting, at least not unless they’re handled, but I’d put up with a sting or two to have a few of them on pest patrol in my backyard.

I’m doing what I can to keep these busy little gals around. They’re just one more reason I avoid pesticides–especially broad-spectrum pesticides–in my garden.

Like bees, to which they’re related, wasps appreciate a little drink now and then, so it’s good to have some water available for them. They’re small, so they don’t need much; mine have thrived on irrigation water, plus a drip or two from leaky hoses and faucets.

I can also provide food for them. Thread-waisted wasp moms, like many other beneficial insects and even human mothers, cook one meal for their children and a different one for themselves. Adult thread waisted wasps are vegetarians, subsisting on a sip of dill nectar there, a bite of a yarrow pollen salad there. Maybe that’s how they keep those tiny waists.

Many of the flowers they feed on are easy to grow. They like dill, cilantro, alyssum, sedum, marigolds, and dandelions. They’re particularly attracted to plants with clusters of small flowers.

Really, keeping these solitary wasps around is more a matter of not doing than doing. I’ll not apply pesticides. I’ll not fix leaky hoses. I’ll not try to grub out every dandelion; I’ll plant lots of easy care flowers, and let the dill and cilantro take over the herb bed.

I can use the time I save to watch these fascinating little critters. It’ll be as good as that sequel to The Fly.

References:

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sphecidae

2. http://www.insectidentification.org/insect-description.asp?identification=Common-Thread-Waisted-Wasp

3. http://www.ext.colostate.edu/pubs/insect/05525.html

4. http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2009/apr/19/use-predator-insects-to-help-control-pests/

When Teresa Howell isn’t discussing movies, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca.

Special thanks to Pam Leach, who knows her bugs!

Written By Teresa Howell |

These late spring days, my sister Beth and I often have coffee on the side porch by my flower garden. It usually smells fresh this time of year.

“It’s always windy around your place,” Beth commented. “You should do something about it. It’s not good for the plants.”

“I don’t like to take antacids. Besides, it’s a natural process, and it’s simply hyperbole that it can kill plants or strip paint or any of that other stuff.”

Beth looked puzzled. “It must be blowing twenty miles an hour. See those branches whipping? You know that’s not good for your garden.”

Oh.

She’s right about the wind at my house. She lives in town, where buildings and fences shield plants from the brunt of the wind. But I live out in sagebrush suburbia, where houses are separated by several hundred feet, and the neighbors’ fences and trees aren’t close enough to do much but funnel the wind my direction.

That wind can do considerable damage. A study at the Panhandle Agricultural Experiment Station in Oklahoma found average decrease in yield of grain crops exposed to strong winds to be almost fifteen percent. The study noted that the damage wasn’t caused by a lack of water (although wind does cause considerable moisture loss), but probably from leaf destruction and energy going to tissue repair rather than production.

The same study suggests that wind can cause deformed plants, and can delay crop maturity. This last is no small factor in the short growing season here in the high desert.

In our dry conditions, the wind-whipped sand that strips paint off your house won’t do your cucumbers any favors either. It abrades the skin of plants, allowing even more moisture to evaporate. If the wind does stop blowing, dust on the plants interferes with respiration and photosynthesis.

Beth is right. My plants need protection.

A first line of defense is proper choice of garden location. My worst winds come from the south, so the north sides of buildings get some protection. Unfortunately, most of my sensitive plants are on the south side of the house.

As a more permanent solution, I’ve planted some shrubs and trees on the south and west sides of my garden. I like a more natural look, so I staggered them in a seemingly random pattern, being careful to locate trees with thirsty roots further back. They won’t be large enough to be of much use for a few years, and in the interim, other options are available, depending upon budget and aesthetics.

The cheapest solution is to use one plant to shelter another. Last year, I planted corn in a wide arc around the garden. Once it was high enough, it was a creditable windbreak. The year before, I used sunflowers. However, the need to rotate crops limits those options. Garden design is a bit like the logic puzzle where you have a fox, a chicken, and a bag of grain to row across a river, and you can only take one at a time.

The budget vs. aesthetics battle heats up when it comes to a fence. I’d love a dry-stacked stone wall around my garden. There are more than plenty of rocks in the country, but my back won’t take the DIY route, and my budget won’t take the contractor route.

A screen made of bamboo or willow would be quite a bit less expensive, and still attractive. Or I could build a rail fence, and cover it with grapevines.

Out here in sagebrush suburbia, I can get away with going very low budget, with a resulting dip in snob appeal. I can use snow fence, or even anchor a few wooden pallets with steel posts.

Tacky? Maybe. But in any case, it will protect my garden. And if I’m lucky, it will leave just enough of a breeze to waft away any unintentional odors.

References:

1. http://digital.library.okstate.edu/oas/oas_pdf/v09/p24_27.pdf

2. http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/vegetable/vpm/vpmjan97.pdf

3. http://www.wfpn.net/leaflet_02_planning.html

When Teresa Howell isn’t being windy, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca, NV.

The mint family is varied and versatile, with a volume of hardy perennial plants. Whether used as a culinary delight, or a simple home remedy, members of the mint family are sure to be refreshing, giving you an enhanced feeling of vim and vigor. Most of us are familiar with the widely popular peppermint, and its cousin spearmint; but there are many other interesting members of the mint family.

Peppermint not only makes for a delicious addition to sweet treats, but is also a gentle, yet effective medicinal tea used for a host of common ailments. It aids in digestion, relieves upset stomachs and prevents flatulence. No wonder after dinner mints are served. Peppermint tea is helpful in relieving menstrual cramping, discomforts of cold and flu, and insomnia. Peppermint oil may be applied to the temples for a headache, or added to bath water for sore muscles. The oil can also be applied to an aching tooth, or used to prevent bad breath. Crushed mint leaves will also soothe an insect bite, or bee sting.

Spearmint and Curly mint are the most commonly used culinary mints. The flavor is milder than that of peppermint, enhancing meat and vegetable dishes alike. These  two mints compliment eggplant, white beans, black beans, lentils, cracked wheat salads, fruit salads and beverages, creamy vegetable soups, peas, carrots, cabbage, potatoes, lamb, jellies, sauces, candies, and of course, chocolates.

Chocolate mint does not actually taste or smell like chocolate, but the flavor reminds one of an after-dinner chocolate mint, and perhaps its dark, purple tinged leaves, aide in the suggestion. Not only does this mint especially pair well with chocolate, it is a nice addition to black teas and sweet breakfast pastries, such as banana bread.

Apple mint and the white-egged lacy leaves of pineapple mint have subtle fruity notes. They are especially good choices for fruit beverages, salads, cream cheese and yoghurt. Corsican mint is often reputed to have the truest “mint” flavor, and is traditionally used to make crème-de-menthe.

Bergamot mint has a sharp citrus flavor, famous for its contribution to Earl Grey tea. Its essential oil has a bright, uplifting aroma; a popular ingredient in soaps and perfumes, earning it the nickname, “eau de cologne mint.” Pennyroyal is the black sheep of the mint family. Its uses are mostly designated for medicinal purposes. Because of certain contraindications of Pennyroyal, especially those that recommend against its ingestion by pregnant women, it is the only member of the mint family that should not be taken without consulting a professional who is qualified to dispense herbs.

Members of the mint family are easy to grow, so easy in fact that they will take over the whole yard before you know it. They are best suited for container gardening, and will do well both indoors and out. They are a cold, hardy zone five plant, and can only be propagated by cutting or division of roots.

Below are a few recipes to refresh and revitalize you in the coming hot months. Experiment with the different varieties of mint and discover this family’s surprising diversity. These beverage recipes can be adapted to include alcohol if desired.

Medicinal Mint Mock-tails

Coco-Mojito:

20 Fresh Mint Leaves

1 lime cut into 8 wedges

2 Tbs. sugar or sweetener of choice (Coconut sugar recommended. For some, the coconut water may be plenty sweet on its own, in which case the sugar can be left out entirely)

4 cups Young Coconut Water (best from a fresh coconut, but bottled is fine)

2 cups ice

This recipe serves two. Mojitos are best made by preparing them in the glass they will be served in, so remember that the amount of mint, lime and sugar will be divided between the two glasses.

Place the mint and half of the lime wedges in a small but sturdy glass. Use a muddler to crush them and release the oils and juices. Add the remaining lime wedges and sugar, muddling once more. Do not strain. Fill the glass almost to the top with ice, and fill the glass with coconut water. Garnish with lime and mint if desired.

Macintosh Mint Julep

4 cups apple juice (Fresh is best)

2 bunches fresh spearmint (or try apple or pineapple mint, for fun)

2 cups ice, shaved or crushed if possible

*This recipe substitutes apple juice for bourbon.

Begin by making a mint extract by placing about 40 small mint leaves in a cheese cloth, with 1/2 cup of apple juice, allowing the mixture to soak for 15 minutes. Then, wring out the mint leaves over the juice, repeating this process several times. Pour the remaining 3 1/2 cups of apple juice into a pitcher. Strain the leaves from the mint extract and slowly add the extract to the apple juice, one tablespoon at a time, tasting until a desired flavor is reached. Allow the pitcher to sit in the refrigerator 24 hours if possible, in order to let the mint flavor permeate the beverage.

To serve the Julep, fill each glass half full with shaved ice, add a spring of mint, and cover with more ice. Freeze glass until frosted and then pour the refrigerated apple juice on top of the ice. Serve immediately.

References:

1. Kowalchik, Claire and William H. Hylton, editors. Rodale’s Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs. Rodale Press. Emmaus, 1987.

2. Hartung, Tammi. Growing 101 Herbs that Heal. Storey Books. North Adams, 2000.

3. http://www.mountainvalleygrowers.com/menpiperitachocolate.htm

“A Rough Patch”

Written By Teresa Howell |

My sister Beth and I were discussing how much more difficult some gardening chores seemed to be on our backs these last few years, when she offered what I thought was a non-sequitur.

“Maybe you should try a raised bed,” she suggested.

“I got over that mattress-on-the-floor thing years ago,” I said. “Besides, sleeping doesn’t bother me. Weeding does.”

“Raised beds are for plants,” she explained. “They make gardening easier, and direct water and nutrients to the plant roots. Soil warms up faster in the spring, and stays looser, since children and animals stay out of the beds.”

“And sisters,” I mentioned, remembering a size eight print in the sun-chokes I planted last fall. Fortunately she never heard that last remark, because I needed her help with the construction.

Raised beds can be made out of nearly anything: tires, rocks, concrete blocks, recycled plastic lumber, or whatever else might be available. I chose two-by-twelve inch Douglas fir. Cedar or redwood would have doubled the life of the beds–and the cost.

On the appointed day, the lumber yard delivered the wood, with the dimensional pieces cut to specs. I planned for four-foot-wide beds, a width which allows me to reach weeds in the middle of the beds. A person with a shorter reach might have made them narrower. The lengths varied to fit my garden design.

I had the wood stacked in what I thought was a convenient place; close to the spot I wanted the beds. However, I didn’t choose the location of the lumber pile as well as I had thought: carpenter rule number one–do not stack the lumber on an ant pile.

Construction of the beds was surprisingly easy. First, we cut two-by-fours in 11-inch pieces to brace the corners. We cut them just a bit shorter than the width of the lumber.

We used deck screws to assemble the beds. Screws last longer than nails, and besides, I’ve never heard of anybody pounding her thumb with an electric screwdriver.

First we prepared the long sides of the beds. We attached a brace to each end of the long sides. We made sure that they were flush with the end of the board, and did not protrude, since any protrusion could throw the bed off square.

Then we prepared the end pieces by drilling four pilot holes on both edges, spaced so that two of them would go into the end of the side piece, and two would go into the braces. Because the holes were already drilled, assembly of the beds went quickly. We only had to carry the four pieces to the proper site, square up the corners, and screw the pieces together.

Next, I filled the boxes. Beth was unavailable for that chore–she said something about already having too many slivers.

Because plants in a raised bed can be planted closer together than in a traditional garden, the soil needed to be rich. I started with a thick layer of old rotting straw, and I was happy to see earthworms in the mushy rotted parts. The straw will help keep the dirt from leaking out the bottom of the beds, and will release nutrients as it continues to decompose. Next I added a layer of dirt, then a layer of composted manure. Another layer each of straw, dirt and manure filled each box.

The whole point of a raised bed is to make gardening easier, so I’ll put in drip line. Drip line is available in rolls, and the purchaser has options of emitter spacing from six inches up to four feet. If I were willing to change the hose in each bed every season as I rotated crops, I could match the emitter spacing with the spacing of the plants, which would save some water. I want the drip line to be permanent, so I’ll compromise on one-foot spacing.

To turn these raised beds into temporary greenhouses, I can arch PVC pipe across the width of the bed. Ten foot pieces will give about four feet of clearance, and if I space them at two feet and run a piece of PVC along the top of the arch as a ridgepole, it will be fairly sturdy. Covered with clear plastic, I can extend my growing season. Covered with floating row cover, I can keep out pests.

I like to do as much of my work as possible sitting down, so when time permits, I’ll attach a seating rail using two-by fours laid flat. Beth says two-by-twelve’s would be a more comfortable match for my dimensions. But that’s another fight.

When Teresa Howell is not digging out slivers, she teaches English at Great Basin College in Winnemucca, Nevada.