Wile E. was here. (Photo: author)
I was so excited to get my fall garden going that I didn’t give much thought to those little cottontail rabbits I’d seen along the creek behind my fence last spring. Well, I’m thinking of them now, one in particular.

It seems cottontails savor the taste of newly emerged bean leaves, or so I assume after finding four dozen of my bean seedlings chewed down to the stems and a cottontail rabbit lazily lounging — before I startled it — next to my garden shed.

Twenty yards of chicken wire later, I’d enclosed the bean beds and replanted. Apparently, this meant war. The blossoms on my pentas were the next to go — but only the pink ones, not the white. When there were no more pink penta flowers to chomp, Wile E. Rabbit started in on the petunias.

That day, I put bricks, rocks and anything I could find along the fence to keep rabbits from sneaking under and into the garden. That evening, I realized the problem is worse than I thought: The rabbit has established a base camp inside the perimeter and is living under my garden shed. I tried the tools on hand at the time to run it out — my son’s plastic lightsaber and a garden hose — but the rabbit remained in its bunker.

The Hav-a-Heart trap I bought hasn’t solved my problem yet, either. My nine-year old baited it with bermuda hay and carrots, but apparently that’s not what the bun is after. We did see it sniffing around the trap but not bothering to check out the goodies. So tonight we set it up with romaine lettuce, hoping some leafy greens will lure it out for relocation. I’m hoping it’ll work, but I don’t want to underestimate this bunny; I’ll look for trip wires and falling anvils when I check the trap tomorrow morning.

How do you keep wild critters out of your garden?

I’ve been calling my vegetable plots my victory garden for a few years now, ever since I wised up to the amount of fuel spent trucking produce to market –fuel that helps maintain our nation’s dependence on foreign sources of oil. Say what you will about the footprint of industrial-ag lettuce at the megamart versus local greens picked up by suburban commuters at the farmstand, but walking across my backyard to harvest salad fixings burns exactly no gasoline.

My fall victory garden is officially underway this week. I love fall gardening in Central Texas because I can direct-seed the plots instead of having to start things indoors and fuss with lights and heat. This season I’m growing ‘Early Green’ broccoli, ‘Clairmore’ zucchini, ‘Early Dawn’ cauliflower, ‘Jade Green’ bush beans, ‘Bennings green-tint’ pattypan squash and ‘Baby Gonzales’ cabbage. There’ll be plenty of time for carrots, greens, lettuces, garlic and root vegetables in October and November. This is the sort of gardening schedule that makes up for weeks on end of 100-degree-plus days in mid-summer.

Anyone interested in the victory garden concept should check out Pamela Price’s Red, White and Grew blog and website, where she’s compiling an impressive collection of interviews, features, activism, calendars, history and WWII-vintage Victory Garden poster art. Whether you grow enough to feed your family or just a few herbs on the windowsill, you’ll be inspired by Price’s work. And you might feel a bit more patriotic the next time you work in your garden.

I decided to kill my vegetable garden in early July. I was going on vacation and I’m tired of the hot, sweaty uphill push to keep plants alive for dwindling yields in the 100-plus-degree days of July and August. This year, I chose to treat these two months as if they were January and February up north. I would give in to Mother Nature. I would hibernate and plan for fall planting in September.

Decision made, I harvested the last of the tomatoes and got on a plane. I knew a week without water would finish everything off. Imagine my surprise when I came home to find a few red grape tomatoes hanging off dead-looking vines. It was nothing compared to seeing my chard going strong. The last plant really standing in my summer garden is ‘Orange Chiffon’ Swiss chard. Still green and orange. Still perky. Still leafing out after being cut back multiple times for baby greens.

I’d never grown chard before this year, and I ordered the seeds from Kitchen Garden based on their description of it as heat-tolerant. They weren’t kidding. I’ll be curious to see just how long I can keep this stuff going — if it can handle frost, I might be able to grow it year-round. I might even go out and water it this evening, just for fun. Then I swear I’ll go right back to hibernating.

Cross-posted at Redneck Mother.

Last week, my family and I left Austin to play and visit family in Boston. My hub’s cousin has three pots on her deck full of basil, mint and arugula. To prepare for our picnic dinner, she invited my boys to go out and bring in the mini-harvest. They were quite enthusiastic. They even stopped talking about Pokemon.

In the kitchen, the boys helped clean and chop the arugula and herbs to add to a chicken salad and a watermelon salad. Hurricanehead washed mint leaves while Rocketboy and his cousin had a grand time imagining a man named Basil eating basil in Basel. Their great-great-aunt worked alongside them on a tomato-and-cheese dish. The dinner was delicious and truly homemade.

We don’t get to see our Boston relations very often, and the memories my sons made with them last week centered around those three pots of herbs, kitchen conversation and the picnic that followed. We could have opened a plastic bag, I guess, but it wouldn’t have been the same. That little container garden is worth the effort.

This surprised me, as I’ve been gardening for a decade or so and trying veggies seriously for the past three years. I have lots of “book learning” when it comes to vegetables, but that’s not the same as seeing what the local pros grow and when. Each bushel box is an edible gardening tutorial: basil is just about finished in the heat, but eggplant and tomatoes are still going strong and the squash appears to be unstoppable.

For anyone, gardener or not, trying to learn what’s in season in their area, a CSA membership is an easy way to pick up that knowledge. You’ll certainly learn more from your farm-share box than you will from a trip to most supermarkets, where items like fresh strawberries and peaches are on offer most of the year, trucked or flown in from wherever they’re growing at the moment. I love a fresh strawberry in the summer, but I can’t miss them in the winter if they never leave.

The other nice thing about eating what’s in season is it forces you to add variety to your cooking repertoire. Get enough eggplant and you’re bound to figure out how to make mirza ghassemi. Given enough zephyr squash, tomatoes and basil, you’ll discover that simply combining them, lightly cooked, with a little butter is bliss on a hot weekday evening.

Sure, you may reach a point where you’re ready to scream if you see another zucchini, but then zucchini finishes for the year and goes away. You can actually come to miss it and await its return. Even better, you’ll know when that return will be.

If you garden, you no doubt know the wonders of mulch: it moderates soil temperature, conserves water and helps to build the soil. But silver reflective mulch, as opposed to plain old bark or other organic matter, can also repel pests, including thrips and aphids, on tomato and other vegetable plants. Silver mulch has also been shown to increase tomato-crop yields – by 24% in one study.

You can buy plastic silver-mulch cloth online or you can do what I did and make your own. I started this experiment in early spring when I transplanted my tomato seedlings. Once they were in the ground, I cut large pieces of cardboard and wrapped them in heavy-gauge aluminum foil. (You can get enormous rolls at warehouse stores like Costco). I taped down the loose edges with packing tape, poked a few holes in the center with a pencil for drainage, set them on the bare soil between seedlings and held them in place with rocks. (Eco-bonus: At the end of the season, I can peel off the foil and recycle it along with the cardboard.)

To be honest, I was worried that my super-cheap DIY might backfire. I didn’t know if the cardboard might foster plant diseases once it got wet and I worried that pill bugs might hide under the mulch and eat every plant in the bed. Neither of those things has happened yet. I’m already harvesting a few San Marzano Roma tomatoes and the Big Boys aren’t far behind. So far, so good. And so easy and inexpensive.

People have started confessing their compost failures to me. Not sure why. I’m no genius of rot and I like to think I don’t proselytize. Maybe my grubby garden jeans confer the appearance of moral authority.

I’m surprised by how many people quit composting after one bad experience. That’s no way to get anything done. If you don’t want to compost I won’t judge, but if you want to start or try again, here’s my unsolicited composting advice based on ten years’ experience. All you need is some dead stuff and a willingness to forgive yourself as you learn.

What to Expect When You’re Composting

Begin with realistic expectations. A compost pile is a bunch of rotting dead things: grass clippings, salad greens, whatever. It’s going to look funky sometimes and if things go badly it may stink for a while, but the same can be said of any of us. Be at least as forgiving of your compost pile as you are of your loved ones.

The second inescapable issue is that animals seek food and shelter, and your compost pile will offer both. Don’t expect a pest-free experience. Remind yourself, as garden blogger George Weigel observes, that the critters are out there anyway. The difference with a compost pile is that you’re more likely to see them because you’ll be out there every day dumping in scraps. Over the years I’ve found everything in my bins from spiders and pill bugs to the occasional rat, snake and squirrel. So far they haven’t injured or killed me.

The third issue is that compost rots down pretty small and can take a while to do so. It’s unlikely that you’ll make enough homegrown compost to take care of your whole garden or lawn. But it’s a start.

The Perfect Spot to Rot

What you need varies depending on your climate, available space and pest issues, but the basics are a pile of dead stuff, fresh air, and enough water to keep the pile damp. If you live in a rainy area, keep the pile from getting soaked. In dry country, water it. As for a bin, start with something inexpensive and readily available. If it doesn’t work you can move on to more expensive containers. You can even skip the container and pile stuff on the ground or bury it. You’ll have to experiment. I did.

True Confessions: Stench and Critters

My first bin was a plastic trash can with holes drilled in the sides and lid. At the time I lived by a hayfield and didn’t want field rats in the pile. There everything sat, cooped up in a hot, dark container until one summer day when Hombre and I decided to spread it on our sorry backyard soil.

The first sign of error was the coffee-brown liquid that poured from the can when we tipped it over. Suddenly our little plot smelled like the worst zoo in the world on the hottest day of the year. The solid matter that slid out next wasn’t crumbly but slimy, and it smelled worse than the foul water. I spent about an hour hosing everything down, hoping to dissipate the stench, but the yard stank like a dirty barn well into the next day. We kept the windows closed and stayed indoors to avoid any richly deserved stinkeye from our neighbors.

Lesson learned: Inadequate ventilation makes nasty compost. Even though we weren’t watering the pile, the residual water in fruits and veggies pooled in the can and couldn’t evaporate because of the lid and because I hadn’t made enough air holes. Eventually I gave up on the trash-can method.

When I moved to half an acre near a creek, I went uptown and bought a plastic bin with lots of vents and a hinged lid. This would be ideal: no oozing zoo smell and no rats. I was right except for the rats. My plumber once told me that rats can chew through hard plastic, and after a few weeks I saw exactly what he meant. Rats, presumably from the creek, tore their way in by enlarging the vents with their teeth. Sheltered from the elements by the lid, one mama rat birthed a litter inside.

Lesson learned: An enclosed bin makes a nice den for nesting animals. I still have that bin, although it’s not my favorite, and the rats (and flies) have moved on since I started keeping the lid and sliding vents open. I have to water the pile more often, but I can live with that.

If you live in a place with lots of rats (the middle of a city, say) or keep your bin very near your house, you might try a metal bin with lots of small vents and a good lid. Rats, it seems, can chew through metal, but a heavy-gauge bin might slow them down.

My best compost holder is a rusty old wire rabbit crate. Junk goes in the little door, and I flip the bin from one side to the other every few days to ensure even air circulation and expose the bugs under the bin to the scavenging beaks of my two chickens. Finished compost falls out through the mesh and I shovel it onto my garden beds. Easy. Yes, I water the bin every day or two and yes, squirrels steal the odd apple core. Better that than stealing my ripe strawberries.

Compost Care and Feeding

Here’s what I put in my bins: rabbit, chicken and parakeet droppings; feathers; shredded newspaper; coffee grounds and filters; leftover coffee, tea and fruit juice; nutshells; cut hair and molted fur; crud vacuumed from our natural-fiber rugs; cotton dryer lint; banana peels and any food without meat, dairy or grease in it.

Some people toss in fish heads and other animal parts. It seems to work well, but I won’t do it here because of our large and aggressive turkey-vulture population. I also leave out eggshells because my hens get in the bins and I don’t them want eating their own moldy shells. I avoid white paper, dog waste, and anything synthetic.

I don’t turn the pile in my plastic bin because it’s too much work, but you’ll have fewer spiders and snakes if you stir things up from time to time. I do let my chickens pick through and eat little critters. Some people never turn their compost and get perfectly good results. Do what works for you.

That’s it. Stuff, air, water and whatever pest protection you need, along with the willingness to keep trying. If you have any compost tips or advice, please share. And if you get the urge to confess something, please make it racier than slimy compost.

Cross-posted at Redneck Mother.