The community of the experimental garden
The experimental garden at my house is a complex and collaborative place. We try something new each year — sometimes many things — bounded only by the commitment to try not to pay for anything other than plants, seeds and water.
Our success rate varies. Last year, a keyhole garden fashioned from a castoff kids’ sandbox produced high yields of South American string beans, zinnias and kale. But green peas from Israel, probably planted too late, didn’t do so well in a strip of garden where chicken bedding was buried a foot deep to compost. Better luck in that spot this season?
This year, we’ve been bending rebar around a big cottonwood tree to make supports for tomatoes grown in straw bales. (My garden partner is a blacksmith. Who am I to argue?)
I also am anxious to plant seeds from a single, elegant okra pod sent to a gardenless colleague from somewhere in the Deep South. I know nothing about cultivating this Southern staple.
Okra likes hot, so I reckoned the cold frame was a reasonable, if ironic, spot to plant. Last weekend I cleared out the dried kale stocks and amended the soil with compost, and then got tired of the drizzle and went indoors.
I thought all systems were a go Thursday morning. But movement caught my eye as I prepared to poke in those few precious seeds: six tiny cottontail rabbits snuggling in the corner of the box. Why the doe deposited her kits there, I do not know. But I imagine she is appreciative of the poor construction techniques that left an opening for her to sneak through and whelp out of predators’ way.
Our garden is a community of diverse contributors, so as a matter of principle, we’ll find a different spot for the okra and leave the bunnies to grow in the cold frame until they’re big enough to hop away.