Dandelion+Burdock

Realizing dreams and accepting failures while building a food forest

Summertime, and the living is indeed easy—especially this year, after our horrendous winter. Beginning in March, the sun’s position realigns with my solar panels, and my generator use plummets. By May, I can turn off the propane heater and use the wood stove for those still-chilly nights.

From May through the summer, as in the past three years, the weather turns very warm—often humid—with heavy rain and thunderstorms every 3–4 days. I rarely need to water the garden. This year, our area has already experienced violent storms, including two tornadoes and local flooding. As trees fall onto homes and power is knocked out for days, I hear locals saying the same thing: This is new. It never used to be like this.

Climate change was never going to show up loudly, pounding on our door, asking to be invited in. No—climate change slips in through the basement, seemingly innocent, and then unleashes its hidden fury. Completely justified in its anger. This is our new normal. Now we adapt.

Dreams

As gardeners do, spring’s adrenaline powers us to concoct the most lavish dreams for the season. I, for one, start too many projects that by this time are still “in progress.” However, I’ve learned that for me, an unfinished project is still one step closer. As long as I don’t abandon it completely, it will eventually get done. Now in July, when the weeds grow three times faster than anything planted on purpose, I am already reassigning some of those projects to next year—with regret.

This summer is not without successes. I planted three dwarf Apple trees in late spring; they seem to love their spots and are thriving. I have an ongoing supply of lovely Lettuce, and the Raspberries and Blackberries—both cultivated and wild—are coming in fast. Large Tomatoes are ripening, and the Garlic has been harvested. My perennials should have been divided this year; they caught me off guard with how big they’ve become. New project for next spring, although I hope to transplant some things in the fall.

Hostas grew huge here, and even though my blooms are small due to limited sun, Hydrangea does well too. Astilbe, Phlox, Daisies, Foxglove, Black-Eyed Susans, Allium, Sedum, and Columbine all tolerate limited sunlight and suit my soil type. I’m growing Sunflowers and Zinnias again this year. For supposedly easy-to-grow flowers, I struggle every year to get a big harvest. I just keep planting more seeds, hoping for my desired yield eventually.

I’ve let Dahlias go—even though they did wonderfully here—because I can’t justify the heated storage space to keep the bulbs from freezing all winter. Tiny-living compromises.

Changes

The vegetable garden was expanded. Growing now: Zucchini, Yellow Squash, Tomatoes, Brussels Sprouts, Cabbage, Cantaloupe, Watermelon, Bell Peppers, Garlic, Potatoes, and Beans. The Peas, Strawberries, Asparagus, and Broccoli are finished, but yields were disappointing—more on that later. I planted Rhubarb in early spring, so I didn’t harvest any to let it get established.

The herb and apothecary garden includes Oregano, Peppermint, Apple Mint, Sage, Thyme, Rosemary, Chives, Mugwort, Comfrey, Mullein, Plantain, Dandelion, Burdock, Yarrow, Basil, Catnip, Nettles, Bee Balm, and Lemon Balm.

Natives

The native species that have appeared since having trees felled are a mixed blessing. Blackberry brambles are a constant battle—you can practically watch them grow a foot in days. Managing the bigger bushes that produce berries while keeping runners from spreading is my biggest challenge, along with prolific wild Strawberry brambles (at least those aren’t prickly).

On the plus side, quite a few Pin Cherry trees have popped up and, in just four years, are bearing fruit and filling out. The birds love them, which keeps them around. I try to feed birds only in winter and spring—except for Hummingbirds, of course. Another native species—easily mistaken for Poison Ivy—is Wild Sarsaparilla, which is spreading quickly. I’m waiting to see if birds like its berries.

Within the one acre I cultivate—surrounded by woods—the landscape continues to change, and I’m learning to go along. It’s impossible to fight nature’s will. Except for the brambles, I now try to landscape with nature: letting grass take over some areas, allowing new trees to grow, and identifying new plants before deciding whether to keep or remove them. However, I do fight to stop grass and weeds from creeping into my rock landscaping.

Vinegar

My gardener sister told me to use straight household White Vinegar as a weed killer. I was skeptical but tried it—one gallon doesn’t go far, but wow, it works! At roughly $4 a gallon, it’s economical and safe for the planet. Forget the online DIY recipes with dish soap—vinegar is the easiest way to kill grass and weeds.

Nightmares

As mentioned earlier, I’ve met some dead ends and had truly sad results. I know it takes time to master growing food, but honestly, I’d starve if I had to survive on it—even in my fifth summer. That’s my motivation: I’d like to grow all my food, supplemented with foraging and animal husbandry.

Surrounded by tall Hemlocks and Maples, my garden gets only about six hours of direct sun. My soil will always be a mix of sand and clay. Certain crops will never thrive here, and I need to learn which. Climate change will keep shifting weather patterns, so the learning curve is ongoing.

The Strawberry patch, three years old, produces slowly and with few flowers, despite careful care—organic fertilizer, straw, netting to deter birds, and pest checks. This year’s harvest? Maybe half a dozen mediocre berries. Strawberries can decline from soil-borne diseases or nutrient depletion over time, and overcrowding or poor drainage can also reduce flowering and fruiting. I will keep working on them.

My Peas started strong in the greenhouse, but once transplanted into a sunny spot, they reached only a foot tall and bore just a handful of pods. Perplexing. Poor pod production in peas can result from heat stress, inconsistent watering, or a lack of pollination during flowering. I will have to keep a better eye on them next time.

The Broccoli I purchased from a local nursery also started strong but never produced heads—zero harvest. Broccoli is sensitive to temperature swings; if exposed to extended heat or cold snaps, it may “button,” producing tiny or no heads at all. We did have a couple of cold snaps so maybe that is what happened.

My three-year-old Asparagus should have boomed, but I planted Garlic nearby—a bad combination. I thought I removed all Garlic bulbs last fall, but I missed several, and the Asparagus produced only a few stalks. So sad. Maybe next year. Companion planting guides note that garlic can inhibit asparagus growth, and competition for nutrients may have compounded the problem.

Some perennials—Salvia, Hollyhocks, Lavender—failed to return this spring after growing well for two years. Lavender has always been tricky, but losing my most promising bush was crushing. Echinacea grows well here, yet I’ve killed it twice; I’ll try again with better stock. Harsh winters, poor drainage, or fungal root rot can wipe out these perennials even after they seem well established.

Lastly, the Blueberries. For three summers, they thrived. Last year, leaves browned early and berries dwindled. This year, the same. Huckleberries fared better, but my fear is that the warmer, wetter conditions of the past three years have stressed them. Blueberries prefer cooler, drier climates and well-drained soil; prolonged warmth and excess moisture can increase root and leaf diseases, reducing yield.

Gifts

I’m lucky to know a tree guy—literally, The Tree Guys. They gave me a whole dump truck load of wood chips for free. Wood chips are great for moisture retention, weed control, pathways, and sustainable landscaping. I’m hoping for another load this summer.

Another stroke of luck: a farmer friend gave me three six-week-old chicks to join my flock of three. I needed them for flock warmth and protection in winter, though extra eggs will be a bonus. Chickens take “egg vacations” during molting, winter, and stress—which one of mine has done since the chicks arrived.

Introducing new birds is never quick. The chicks stayed in a separate pen for a week, then were allowed supervised outdoor time. Two weeks in, everyone’s more relaxed. The older hens aren’t hostile anymore, and the chicks forage happily. In a couple months, they’ll start laying—presuming they’re all hens. I suspect the striped one might be a rooster: larger size, bigger comb, and a taste for perching high. Time will tell. One rooster is fine—more than one is a nightmare.

Perseverance

I hope my homesteading successes and struggles resonate. I’d love to hear what works for you, or any advice you have for this eager learner. That’s what matters—showing up and staying open to learning. I’ll keep at it, friends. Thanks for reading, and happy summertime! ❤️