Spring in no time

It's brown and gray out there. Way past time to start gazing at photos of spring and counting the days. As of this writing there are 100 days until spring, which will begin on March 20, 2022. There is so much to do to prepare for spring that I'm glad of every day. One hundred days seems like nowhere near enough to complete the tasks that await me.

Beautiful weather (sunny and 50ish degrees F) has made working outdoors very comfortable, and with hunters in the woods this week, I've been staying close to the house. With a delivery of fresh wood chips imminent, I've been working on moving as much of the old pile as possible into the vegetable garden. It's dark and soft and holds a lot of moisture, well on it's way to decay, and is great for both beds and paths. Judging from social media, reluctance to use wood chips for gardens is very common. After over 15 years of slathering them on the potager, I've concluded that, at least at this site, they are a fantastic way to add organic matter and suppress weeds.

The wood mulch very quickly breaks down into a fine dark substance, unrecognizable as chips, that I mine from paths to add to beds, before applying a fresh layer to walkways. This is a never ending process carried out year round. I hypothesize that the decay process is so fast because of the existence of the just the right fungi and microbes. They lurk invisibly in the garden, waiting for their next meal, which they voraciously colonize and consume. There is no apparent problem with nitrogen deficiency, as I hope my photos will attest.

Fall is my favorite time to divide and propagate plants. If all goes as planned, four additional banana plants will grace the property next year, made possible by hacking off pieces of well established corms, burying them, and topping off with manure piles and leaves. It's almost too easy. In the summer chicken yard I hope to establish a small grove of the 12 foot tall plants, which will provide shade and a good hiding place from hawks. I've also added 3 types of berry canes to this area in the hope that they will produce some good snacks for the hens.

I'll be doing some pruning in the orchard this winter, whether it's recommended or not. I've abandoned the "right" way to prune, of necessity, and now prune throughout the year, anytime I have a little extra time. Trying to prune my young orchard during the tiny window in late winter--as advised by most orcharding books--meant that many years the trees got no attention at all because I was swamped with other commitments. When I finally got around to it the chore had grown to a herculean task. When I was able to prune, removing lots of limbs at once just before the trees broke dormancy encouraged an explosion of water sprouts, and I was right back where I started. My new method works very well for me and the proof is in the pudding--apple crisp in this case. The trees appear to be thriving and this season we had more apples than ever before.

Observing and interacting are two of my favorite activities, and coincidentally this is what permaculture principle #1 directs us to do. Those of us who grew up playing in woods and fields are probably already pretty good at this. I was lucky enough to spend lots of childhood hours poking at things with sticks, peering into holes, catching crawdads, and making stick dams. This was good training and I plan to do lots of this in the next 100 days. My sticks dams are a little more elaborate now, and have the purpose of slowing and spreading water, and I can identify many more plants, but the practice is essentially the same as it was 40 years ago.

After the frantic round of planting, thinning, weeding, and harvesting that is spring and summer, the slow seasons are a welcome respite. I love the way the growing season offers an ever changing landscape as plants leaf out, bloom, and fruit, but I also crave the slow and quiet dormant season. Aside from temperature fluctuations, each day is much like the last, and though there are many jobs to do, timing is no longer crucial and the work can be spread out over months. Spring will be here soon enough, meanwhile I look forward to resting my brain.