Two Happy Hoes of Painted Nickel Farm

The fragility of life - on display at the ROM

2009-05-13T13:25:00.000-07:00

This post isn’t so much about gardening, but it is about green things. I’ll also admit it’s a shameless plug for a project M has been working on now for just over a year. The Schad Gallery of Biodiversity at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) opens this Saturday (May 16). For those within reach of Toronto, or thinking of visiting our fair city, it is a MUST SEE. M and I saw it last night. It’s absolutely spectacular.

The Schad Gallery of Biodiversity explores the diversity of life on earth and how species and habitats are threatened by human activity and interference. There are over 2,500 specimens on display representing various ecosystems, from rain and boreal forests to grasslands and the Arctic.

As you climb the stairs from the Rotunda and enter the Centre Block gallery you are greeted by Bull, the Southern white rhino. Bull spent the past 40 years or so calling the Toronto Zoo home. He now stands at the fore of the centre spine case, which displays a number of endangered or extinct species. A Giant Chinese salamander - Sam (named by M who built him) - anchors the rear portion of the case. Unlike Bull, who is taxidermied, Sam is a model. Using a three foot baby specimen on loan to the ROM by the Smithsonian Institution, M built Sam using plywood, styrofoam, paper mache and paper clay. She used acrylic paint and then a super high gloss acrylic top coat to shine him up because in real life he is one of the slimiest creatures on earth.

The gallery is filled with a combination of real specimens that have been painted to restore their life-like vibrancy, and models created from silicone moulds or from scratch. As one visitor to the gallery admitted last night, in many cases it is impossible to distinguish the real artifacts from the replicas – a testament to the efforts of the hard-working ROM artists and myriad other staff who toiled behind the scenes to bring the Schad Gallery to life.

While you’re there, be sure to visit the Earth Rangers Studio. Its programming is designed for kids but is just as fun and thought-provoking for adults. A visit from Cosmo, the ring-tailed lemur, was a special treat.

A Mother’s Day weekend – part 3: the raspberry caper

2009-05-12T12:48:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. As M pointed out to me last night, grand theft magnolia only describes one facet of our walk on the dark side. In fact, it was a multi-target affair. As M and her brother were mapping out the rescue of the yellow magnolia, M’s mom (M the Elder) embarked on a separate, rearguard effort to retrieve the Jack-in-the-Pulpit and three wayward raspberry bushes hidden among the hip high weeds.

Since the magnolia plan could not be put into action until dusk, M went back to direct seeding her garden with garlic, onions, peas, lettuces, spinach, etc. Every ten minutes or so, M the Elder would appear at the fence with a transplant for M to retrieve. First the Jack-in-the-Pulpit, then the raspberry bushes. In between M the Elder brought a plant or two that turned out to be an undesirable rescue (i.e., a weed masquerading as a raspberry bush) and so it was returned to its original location.

With the raspberry caper complete, there was the question of where to put them. We had already rearranged the front rear garden (see A Mother’s Day Weekend – Part 1) and it was full to capacity. The tamarack at the back did not cede enough sunlight. M the Elder vetoed the area near the pink magnolia. That left M’s newly dug vegetable garden. And so that’s where they sit...for now. M’s on a mission to move them to a more desirable location when M’s mom isn’t looking. Garlic raspberries? I don’t think so!

A Mother’s Day weekend – part 2: grand theft magnolia

2009-05-11T14:00:00.001-07:00

The hunt for the killer bamboo did not mark the end of our gardening adventure on Mother’s Day weekend. In fact, it was only the beginning. The digging up of one plant led to another and another until we had a full blown gardening blitzkrieg on our hands.

The transplanting of our fruit foliage from our house garden to M’s mother’s last October was a hurried and haphazard affair. There was no thought to placement as both M and I expected to have a lovely little piece of farm acreage by spring to move them to. Alas, the best laid plans are subject to change and our plants seem to be staying put for the foreseeable future. As a result, once we had dug up the blueberry bush M decided now would be the time for more thoughtful placement. Two blueberry bushes, two grape vines, two lavender plants, a thyme plant and a bleeding heart were slated for relocation. Everything but our cherry tree was on the move.

M’s mother, like M, is an avid gardener. She was overjoyed to be mucking about in her garden with her daughter on Mother’s Day. To her, it was a near perfect gift — near perfect. To achieve full perfection, she had one more task in mind. It involved fence hopping, a shovel and a modicum of illegal activity. She wanted us to go next door and commit grand theft magnolia.

In reality, it was more of a rescue mission. And I’m not just saying that to assuage my guilty conscience.

Two years ago, as the neighbours next door — friends of M’s mom — were preparing their house for sale, they offered M’s mom the yellow magnolia that sat in their front yard. M’s mom already had a pink magnolia in her backyard. The thought of having a pair was a true delight. At the last minute, for reasons unknown, the husband of the couple reneged on the offer and the yellow magnolia remained where it was.

Since that time, the subsequent owners have allowed the property next door to fall into complete disrepair. It would now appear to be in foreclosure, complete with a bank issued lockbox on the front door knob. The house and its gardens are in such a state of dilapidation that the only clear option for any new owner would be to bulldoze the entire property and begin again.

The thought of that beautiful little beacon of beauty, lost amid the overgrowth, succumbing to the blade of a Caterpillar bucket was too much for M’s mom to bear. And so, as dusk began to fall, M’s mom dug a hole in her backyard, while M and her brother surreptitiously tiptoed next door and absconded with the coveted tree.

Lest you think ill of M or her family for this wily adventure, I can assure you that they are three of the most honest, by-the-book, do-the-right-thing people you have ever met. But sometimes, in fits of desperation, we all push the boundaries when we feel them pushing against us.

Scant days after the rescue, the cherished yellow magnolia seems to be thriving in its new environs. And M’s mother can say that she experienced a perfect Mother’s Day.

A Mother's Day weekend - part 1: revenge of the killer bamboo

2009-05-11T08:36:00.000-07:00

M and I had an interesting romp in the garden this weekend -- M’s mother’s garden to be exact.

After selling our house in the fall, we were left without a plot to seed in. And that meant homelessness for some of our more precious flora. M’s mom kindly offered us space in her garden...temporarily (or so she thought). As we are still without a plot of land to call our own, our temporary solution is looking more permanent by the day, especially after this past weekend.

It was Mother's Day. Instead of the traditional Sunday brunch (which I was doing with my mother the following day), M and her brother opted for a Saturday evening barbecue. M and I arrived about mid-day, intending to do a little light planting and a whole lot of eating.

We were still unpacking the jeep when I walked by the garden filled with our transplants. As I surveyed the ground I made an unexpected discovery that sent me into an absolute panic. There, nestled within one of our blueberry bushes, was the sprout of a plant that had plagued us at our former home – the Japanese knotweed.

Also known as killer bamboo, this invasive weed comprised about a third of my backyard when I moved in. It stayed there until M moved in three years later, at which time we dug it all up (along with the grass) and planted an idyllic, organic fruit and vegetable garden. Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, that Japanese knotweed returned with a vengeance that no amount of vigilant weeding would abate.

Imagine then, my heart-wrenching distress at seeing that we had moved it with us and that it was poised to invade yet another garden.

In a pitch that bordered on hysteria I called M over. Not one who likes to get my hands dirty (I’m a garden glove girl), I already had both of my bare hands wrist deep in the dirt when M arrived by my side.

“Look!” I exclaimed, pointing to the leaves of the killer bamboo. “What are we going to do?”

“Pull it out,” she responded.

“No! That’s not enough! We have to get it all. I’ll sacrifice the blueberry bush if I have to!”

“We’re not going to sacrifice the blueberry bush.”

How she could be so calm about it all I do not understand. But sensing my escalating alarm, she wisely retrieved shovel and trowel and helped me unearth the blueberry bush.

The killer bamboo was a stubborn one. Careful not to damage the tap root of the blueberry bush, we had to break its roots apart to trace the root of the weed. And a good thing we did it too! For we had brought with that blueberry bush a killer bamboo root more than half an inch in diameter – a root large enough to produce enough shoots to overtake M’s mom’s entire half acre backyard. In fact, it was already sending out soldiers beyond the one that was visible within the blueberry bush.

Once we had diligently disentangled the two plants, I set out to build a pyre upon which to burn the killer bamboo. However, M thought that might be overkill, so I had to settle for tossing it into the garbage. I pity the landfill to which that bag of garbage is destined. Much like a cockroach, I expect it will thrive amidst the refuse.

Note: If you have Japanese knotweed in your yard, here's a link with step by step instructions on how to get rid of it. I do not advocate the use of an herbicide, as suggested. However, the rest seems like good advice.

Sowing the seeds

2009-04-27T14:38:00.000-07:00

First things first. If you googled “ho” and this is where you landed, this blog is about seeding the earth, not each other. We’d hate for there to be a misunderstanding about the wild oats we’re sowing or the fertile ground we’re hoeing.

Now that we’re clear on that, we feel we must be honest about the Painted Nickel Farm part. We don’t have one yet — a farm that is. But we’re working on it! What we do have is 2600 sq. ft. of community and other garden space, 5,000 seeds (M went hog wild this year) and a whole lot of enthusiasm.

Our long-term goal is to own our own little, or not so little, plot of loamy acreage for certified organic farming. In the short-term, we're exploring the nature of market gardening, using our current gardens to launch a mini CSA for family and friends. At the moment, we have transformed our loft into a makeshift greenhouse.

We have seed trays everywhere in various states of growth. M read somewhere that seeding indoors was a pretty much a fool's errand. Well, I'm here to tell you that whoever wrote that is the fool! I don't know whether it's the southern exposure or M's green thumb but our seeds are growing gangbusters...without the aid of a single chemical. Just good old fashioned potting soil and a generous sprinkling of city tap water. If only we could keep our shoot-loving cats out of them we'd be all set!

To date we have planted (and by we that means M with S looking on supportively) more than a dozen variations of tomato, leeks, music garlic, chives, bunny tail grass, echinacea, pansies, thumbersia and sunflowers with several more seed trays to fill.

The thumbersia and sunflowers are part of a rogue city “seed bombing” operation to green the field adjacent to our building. We're not activits per se, but we do have something of a do-gooder streak in us. Obviously, since we’re seeding indoors first and then transplanting the thumbersia, we’ll be doing some secret digging as well as some secret bombing. So, if you see two women lurking about Toronto at dusk armed with trowels, a watering can and a bucket full of seeds, just smile and carry on, knowing we are on a mission to green one of the desolate, empty spaces that dot our city's landscape.