In the Wishetwurra Farm Garden. Early May

Spring is still being weird. We just had a five minute downpour, after weeks of dry NE to SE winds. Oh, well, weird is the new normal. We’ll just do what we can.

Clouds layered over us today. Sometimes the clouds were high, with distinct form, sometimes low, and diffuse. Once in a while they came to ground, and we were befogged.

One benefit of a cloudy day is that you don’t have to deal with quite so much contrast when photographing. It was a good day to poke about, to photograph, and to see how spring is progressing in the Wishetwurra Farm gardens.

Sprigs are progressing.

As temperatures warm, volunteer seedlings start showing up. Volunteers can be a good indicator of when it’s safe to plant various crops. If nasturtiums are popping up in the garden, then it’s safe to move those seedling nasturtiums from the greenhouse out into the garden.


Volunteer poppy. Once you let poppies go to seed, they seem to pop up every spring afterwards. The plant’s a bit leggy and they take up a fair amount of room, but bees go nuts for the copious amounts of pollen in the flowers, and the seed pods are pretty. If you remember to, you can save the seeds for baking, to put into cakes or to sprinkle on rolls and breads.

Future zucchini are still in the greenhouse. Waiting and growing.


In 2005, a poll of 2,000 people revealed the zucchini to be Britain’s 10th favorite culinary vegetable.

The forget-me-not by the garden gate is abloom.


The latin name, “myosotis”, means “mouse’s ear”, as the leaves are so shaped.

One of the peas has thrown a precocious flower. A portent of peas to come.


The old-style plural for pea is “pease”. Here on the Vineyard, an honored old family name is Pease. An ancient Edgartown road, still in use, is Pease Point Way. There is a fine old English dance name “Gathering Peasecods”. Gather ye peasecods while ye may.

Last year’s new planting of strawberries is now full abloom.


In another month or so, strawberry juice will drool down the small chins of grandsons.
And will also drool down the chins of their elders. Us “olds” don’t mind a little drooling, not when it comes to those incredibly tasty June strawberries.

Spring-planted spinach will do OK, but the best, biggest, most robust spinach you will ever grow will be the spinach you planted last fall. After the weather gets cold, the plants just seem to sit there, but underground, their roots grow whenever the temperature allows. So when spring does arrive, the plants get huge.


Fall-planted spinach. See left foot for scale.
If those leaves were made of leather, they’d be big enough to make moccasins from.

Here’s another enthusiastic plant. The cardoon.


Hard frost can kill this relative of the artichoke, so they got a foot of seaweed mulch late last fall. I’m soon going to wrap these plants with opaque paper, to blanch the leaves. Then we’ll see if they are actually edible, or are one of those things that you grow only once in your gardening lifetime.

I did manage to climb the ladder today, for the high-altitude overview. Those photos, and comments about the State of the Garden, will come along soon.

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