The Jumping Seeds in Asparagus Beds

Sunny Monday, in the 60s, was the most perfect day to be outside digging. My back was sore and sunburned after a few hours of forming new beds in my moon garden, and weeding the next moon garden space, and planting a 6'x6' bed of the 36 little osage oranges that were grown up enough in their peat pots that I needed to either pot on or transplant, and transplanting seemed the easier. Though the 36 sprouts aren't apparent in their little mulched square, I hope that in the year to come, they will grow robust and well.

Then Phil noticed that, indeed, we had asparagus in the asparagus patch.

And, a few seconds later, he noticed that we had massive weed takeover in the asparagus patch, many weeds now setting seeds. The most disconcerting was an unknown weed that, when touched, shot its seeds into the air. I started to close my eyes when picking that one, and felt the tiny seeds bounce off my eyelids.

For once, I was the optimist. I figured it was better to get 90% of the weed seeds into garbage bags for them to bake before going to the compost pile or dump, rather than simply hoeing the plants and returning 100% of the weed seeds to the ground. Phil wasn't sure the extra effort was worth it, but he complied. I did the hand weeding, and he did the hoeing.

It was a massive project. I fell asleep last night, sore in body and tired in mind. This morning we just about finished both beds, and were pleased to see how many stalks were up. But we need to figure out a better way to manage the asparagus. How much more efficient to have the hoeing done before the weeds are ready to set seed. Next year, perhaps we'll mark the rows somehow, so we know where to hoe and where to avoid.

And after all the flurry of planting and pulling, I sank into my chair and saw that we had a freeze advisory. A good reminder to continue to check forecasts: last I had checked, there was no cold weather predicted for the foreseeable future. And I had just planted some small peppers and tomatoes. Not many, only perhaps fifteen; fifteen that I just didn't want to pot on, that I figured would be okay in the warm soil after weeks of days at 85. Abraham prayed that the little plants would be okay, and I went out this morning to find them unharmed (especially the little pepper).

In other news, Phil propped the borrowed broken bush hog on its side, and, after a liberal application of Liquid Wrench, WD-40, and elbow grease, he managed to remove a bolt that had given him fits for the last half year. (Great rejoicing!) Then he was not able to get off the next piece, because he lacked the proper "gear-puller" or something like that. (His has three prongs, and it needs a two-prong, or something like that.) Perhaps, in the end, he will have to take the massive thing to a repair shop after all.

My garlic has shot up significantly after the weekend rain. I watered it with kelp water today, and I hope for a healthy crop.

And as for puppies, if we don't want to play, we have to sprint everywhere around the farm, lest our legs and ankles be ambushed. It's interesting to watch the different levels of playfulness, domination, subordination, curliness, and overall spunk. The boys play with them for hours, and still the puppies come back for more.