Tuesday, January 19, 2010

If you pickle it, they will grow?

In 2009, I helped weed in 2 gardens. Neither of which were my own. Produce enabling, produce harvesting, produce purchasing - I'm all over it. But despite numerous best intentions, and honestly coming by green thumb genetics on both sides, I haven't grown anything outside of a few potted plants since I had my own kiddie sized garden tools.

Hence: My only resolution this year is to plant cucumbers and dill for pickling! I figure I'll take it one crop at a time, and the prospect of canning is very motivating. So far this has at least been a great excuse to peruse mail order seed porn like real gardeners do this time of year. Actually, Katie has already generously donated some saved seeds from her own cucumber crop, but... seed porn! And I figure since Inder hasn't had luck with cucumbers here before, I ought to try to diversify my investments, right? Well, for better or worse, I will soon be the owner of these heirloom varieties:
Ace Pickling
Parisian Pickling (above)
True Lemon
With a side of Grandma Einck's dill.

Now, who will weed MY garden?


  1. The chickens? Little Joe?

    And, in a kinder and gentler day, we called them "wish books".

  2. Well, clearly I'm all about a kinder and gentler day, filled with pickling and heirloom veggies. Back to my "wish books" I go!

  3. You people are stuck in the past... these days, you have to insert "porn" into anything you say that you want people to pay attention to. Perhaps I'll start putting it into the title of all my future blog posts...

  4. As a gardening philosophy, I rarely weed anything. Survival of the fittest, I say! (This could be why I haven't had much luck with cucumbers, but always do well with chard and tomatoes and zucchini, which basically are weeds themselves. Hm.)

  5. wuh?? Somehow my dad's original comment has disappeared and the remaining comments make no sense. For the sake of posterity...

    Dad has left a new comment on your post "If you pickle it, they will grow?":

    The chickens? Little Joe?

    And, in a kinder and gentler day, we called them "wish books".