Each garden year has its quirks.  2012 was marked by an early Spring that included an apple-blossom-zapping frost, some extreme heat that stopped tomatoes from progressing and a dry, dry August and fall. 

When the weather forecaster says “snow in Minnesota” it’s time to hang up the garden trowel.  This is the last GreenGirls posting for this season. 

Enjoy reading through older posts and stay optimistic for a garden-wonderful 2013.  Hope for much snow this Winter!  Our trees, yards and farm fields need it. 

So until next Spring, we’re covered up with mulch!
 

This year, I've learned: That fancy-pants small animal barrier I bought isn't rabbit-proof. It did last until late August before the baby bunny chewed an entrance and exit hole on opposite sides of the netting surrounding the raised bed. The upshot: Better barriers are on the drawing board for next year, the trick being to devise something strong enough to ward off sharp rabbit teeth but attractive enough to not detract from the looks of the back yard.

This year, I've relearned: You only need one kale plant to feed two people, even if you freeze lots of it. Actually you only need half a kale plant to feed two people it it's the four-foot monster out back, but they don't come in halves. The upshot: I'll make sure to pass along three of the four-pack at next year's plant sale.

This year, I've learned: Watering systems aren't forever. Rascally rodents have done a number on parts of our labyrinth of soaker hoses. The upshot: A trip to the garden supply store is in order for replacement parts. No idea how to deter the pests from trying again, but  I'll ponder that in the off season while I'm devising ways to keep them out of my raised beds.

This year I've relearned: The names of some of my plants. I've had a bad habit of planting something obscure and then obscuring (or losing) the ID tag. This year I went back through my receipts and mapped out where the unknown plants were, consolidating my records so I can refer to them again. The upshot: A little bit of inside organization can help you outside.

This year I've relearned: Standard tomato cages just don't bear up under the weight. At some point, I inevitably come home to find an avalanche has occurred and prop up the works with something less than esthetically pleasing. The upshot: I've been googling rebar tomato cages. It's time for industrial strength reinforcement.

Sometimes I do internalize the garden lessons from the previous season. This year I managed to follow through on a lesson from last year: Just because a tomato volunteers some place doesn't mean you have to let it grow there.

What has your garden taught you?

Now that it’s October and everyone senses winter lurking around the corner, my neighborhood is buzzing with people who are painting their houses, cleaning windows and generally hustling around their house and yard.
All summer long, I had walked by a tall, tipping trellis that sagged under the weight of an overgrown rose. Over the weekend, I finally grabbed my little chain saw and pruners and tackled the unwelcome job of reining in “William Baffin.”
The trellis had stood tall for over 20 years, until high winds ripped the overburdened frame off the side of the house last summer.

“William Baffin,” which bears masses of bright pink flowers in June, was a novelty when it was released in 1983. It was a hardy Canadian Explorer rose, meaning Minnesota finally had a climbing rose that didn’t need to be babied to survive. I drove a long way to buy my rose when it was still new to the market. After it was lovingly planted, “William Baffin” grew a little bit the first year, a bit more in the second year, and then took off.
And the battle began.
There was good reason the rose was so hardy. “William Baffin” grows like a maniac, in frantic surges that send canes shooting 15 feet high. Each March, I’d arm myself with leather gloves and a pruning saw and try to contain the rose, cutting out old canes and bending and tieing the young, limber canes to the trellis. When I was done my forearms looked like I’d been attacked by a cat.
The rose liked to drape a cane strategically over the water tap. By August, each time I bent to turn on the water, giant thorns would pierce my back, neck or arm.
So I have sort of had it with “William Baffin.” When I went out on Sunday I intended to saw him to the ground.
I had second thoughts when I considered the base of the plant, which was a good foot in diameter. Removing those roots was a bigger job than I wanted on this day. So instead of chopping the rose to the ground I sawed off the canes that reached into the yard, cut the trellis into pieces and wrestled it off the rose. I left the canes that were growing against the side of house.
When I finished, my arms were scratched but “William Baffin” looked more like the sedate climbing rose of year two than a wild thing about to take over the yard.

I know the rose’s enthusiasm will be unleashed next year, assuming it bounces back from such late-season butchery. I violated all the rules about pruning climbing roses so late in the season. But these days, what I do in the garden fits my schedule.
I may add a trellis next spring. Or maybe, if the rose starts to flop all over the place and grab me when I walk by, I will tackle those roots and finally get rid of “William Baffin.”
Ah well. That’s a decision for next year!
Do you have a job you have to get done before winter? Or something in the garden that’s been bugging you, but never seems to get done?
 

Everything is winding down in the garden. The bee balm is spent, the cardinal flowers are drooping, the tomato plants have withered to spindly stalks.

But I just got an October surprise: morning glories -- beautiful, blue blooms bursting forth on the vine I planted from seed back in late May.

The vine had grown big and vigorous, engulfing my trellis and twining upward to the house. But I hadn't gotten a single flower. I asked some master gardeners about my less-than-glorious morning glories, and they agreed in their assessment that I probably didn't have enough sunlight. 

So I checked my vines at mid-day. They seemed to be in full, bright sun, but maybe there weren't enough hours of it to coax the plant into flowering.

I had given up on seeing flowers, at least this growing season. But, lo and behold, they finally made their appearance. Morning glories are supposed to produce flowers about 60 days after planting from seed, but they have been known to take up to 120, according to several gardening websites I checked this morning. 

Mine are definitely in the late-bloomer category, but they were worth the wait -- even if I can enjoy them for only a week or two.

What's going on in your garden? Any late-summer -- or fall -- surprises? 

I have the answer to the age old question

, and it’s the chicken. 

Through a Master Gardening project, I met a friend who started raising chickens this Spring.  The project was working with Cargill employees to raise food to donate to non-profit agencies.  Yes, it’s super cool that the two gardens and over a hundred volunteers grew and donated over 825 pounds of food for those in need, but let’s talk chickens.

Someday I want to have a few egg chickens roaming my yard.  However

, it can’t happen now in my tiny lot in the suburb which I live.  But my friend, she lives in the country.  She’s raising 23 chickens and has a 100 square foot coop that’s set up as a moveable tractor.  The chickens are free range, but are gathered up at night to safeguard them from fox, eagles and coyotes.

She says they all have personalities and has named several.  I’m amazed at how the cute little fluffy chicks turn into fun looking egg layers.  The two pictured here are called The Chipmunk and Bu (Bu is the first one). 

It looks like her flock is a mixed group so there should be several different kind colors of eggs.  Right now, they are a little over three-months-old, and they should start laying eggs in 2-3 weeks.  I can’t wait.  I’m going to be one of her new customers.

So for now it’s the

chickens.  Then it’s the eggs.

Do you have a flock or a special friend with eggs in hand? 

Share your story.