Problems with Squash

"End Rot"

"Black Fuzz"

Truthfully, I have very few problems with most of the garden vegetables.  They grow peacefully and prolifically, and need very little in the way of pest or disease control.  Then there’s the squash.  I find that Summer Squash especially requires daily diligence, and even then I am lucky if the plants last to mid-summer before they die in their prime with plenty of babies on the way.  Last year I didn’t even plant the Summer Squash, wary of having to battle its many plagues.

The primary culprit is the Cucumber Beetle, whose larvae feed on the roots of the plants and transmit bacterial wilt, first appearing on the leaves as a powdery, white substance followed by wilting and dying of the plant.  This summer I gained some ground in my battle with the beetles.  Following a generous tip by a fellow reader of a garden magazine, I sprayed the young plants with onion/garlic spray in the spring.  It worked, deterring the beetles until the plants matured and sported their large, yellow blooms.  But then the beetles arrived with a vengeance and attacked the blossoms, which I have not sprayed for fear of disturbing the bees.

Another problem that plagued the Summer Squash this year was “End Rot”.  I don’t know if that’s the formal name, but as my photo shows, it is a rotting of the ends of very young squash, which causes them to shrivel and die very quickly.  What causes this?  And what can be done about it?

Yet another problem with the Summer Squash is “Black Fuzz”, again a name I created to describe what I see occur on all sizes of squash.  It smothers the entire squash like a sultry mink coat and the squash quickly rots.

Does anyone know the names, causes, and organic solutions of these problems?    I’m NOT interested in commercial solutions, the contents of which are “proprietary” and therefore unknown to me.  I’m also NOT interested in “organic” remedies containing “natural plant hormones” that are toxic to bees or birds.  Any contribution would be greatly appreciated.

Tall Garden People

My garden is strewn with Tall Garden People whom I absolutely love.  They arrive with  youthful energy early in the spring, and there they remain, gazing from their ruddy faces, guarding and shading the plants, and later feeding all visitors with tasty, high protein morsels they’ve made from the sun they’ve harvested all summer with their broad, out-stretched arms.  They are the Mammoth Sunflowers that climb easily to 15 foot, and open their eyes to conversation in early July.  “Oh - just sunflowers,” you say!  But each one of them is so unique, with such character in their faces and in the way they stand and bend with the sun and rain. You can be in the presence of a Garden People, gaze into her golden, craggy countenance, and carry on quite a conversation!  The personality of each shines through with just a little time, and you can learn their history, and their likes and dislikes.  

Ol’ Charlie grew to 12 foot tall in my very first garden.  He was a stalwart kind of fellow, steady, though leaning badly with age.  The squirrels climbed his long, thick back to get into the bird feeder, so I took to wrapping the first 2 or 3 feet of him with duck-tape, sticky-side out.  It worked, actually, and he bore my odd approach to the problem rather patiently.  He passed his future on to progeny by winter, and I still have some of the seeds, faithfully planting them each year in the early spring.  And I have his long, firm stalk in the garage, using it on occasion as a lengthy and strong support for the bean trellis, or for gourds.  I don’t want to wear it out, though.  No, I want a little remembrance of some kind to keep around.

Yesterday I got to talking with another of the People.  I’d seen her rising early in the year by the Brandywine and snow peas, but hadn’t taken much time to get to know her because she’s always facing eastward so that engaging her in conversation requires climbing through the Delicata Squash at an awkward angle.  Anyway, I became so intrigued by her wizened, languished fronds that I finally made the effort to pay a visit.  I thought at first that she was male, with her rugged build and the fuzz around her nose, but no, female she is, and strongly so.  I looked up into her large and sculpted face, which was surprisingly earnest with a rich intensity, and I made a halting effort to commune.  She didn’t NEED my time, I could tell, but was a little curious, and WONDERED at me like “WHERE have YOU been all this time?” 

“Well, I made the mistake of planting you on the EAST side of the garden so your BACK is TO me all the time,”  I answered.  “I planted myself,” she reminded.  And I concurred, remembering how the Garden People HATE for me to transplant them from one spot to another to such an extent that I’ve finally decided to let them choose for themselves where to grow!  They spring wherever they will from seeds cast about by critters the prior year.  Nonetheless, I stubbornly insist on moving a few of them around early each spring, when all they own are tiny green palms to raise in protest, amid a futile attempt to bring some order of color and arrangement to the garden.  But I’m always rewarded with moaning and wilt, and then they demand I water them incessantly.  I have to haul the heavy bucket a full 50 yards from the house DAILY until they finally perk up again.  Even then, some of Ol’ Charlie’s progeny that I rearranged this spring have only grown to 5 feet tall.  I was careful, too, moving them when they were only inches high, and taking lots of soil.  But, no, they don’t want to be moved.  Have a certain idea as to where they want to stand, and aim to hang onto the view.

ANYWAY, back to Almirah (pronounced “Al-MIRE-uh”).  Yeah, I asked her name, rattling off several possibilities in succession, and craning to hear her reply.  Almirah is intelligent, deep, and funny as hell.  Ornery, too, which takes some getting used to.  But getting to know her is VERY well worth the effort because EVERYTHING she has to say is extremely important.  I look forward to speaking further with Almirah.  And Ramsey, and Doane, and...

Nesting Doves and a Totem

The baby doves in the nest outside my window are growing fast, and they are SO cute, absolutely adorable, their fluffy heads bobbing up and down as they cuddle against the soft, smooth breast of their mother.  The parents are extremely attentive, never leaving the nest alone, even for a moment, and constantly nuzzle and nourish the little cutie-pies.

I believe that animals occupy spiritual realms that are as equally valid and vibrant as those in which human beings participate.  In fact, I often think their spiritual lives are superior to ours as their minds are un-burdened with the overgrown analytical faculties that often cloud our own abilities to dwell in spiritual connection with ourselves.  And I believe a rich potential exists for spiritual communication among species and am intrigued by spiritual totems and the messaging of animals around us.  And so, as I sit in the presence of this family of doves outside my window, who’ve chosen to place their nest within perfect bird’s-eye-view of ME as I sit typing away at my computer, I tune myself to their joys, needs, and concerns, and I observe.

There is no doubt that I am equally engaged in a time of birthing, tending, and growing nestlings of my own.  My personal life has sprung anew with rich relationships and a new home, and I am in the midst of re-working my professional paths.  Plus - the obvious - I’ve begun a Garden Blog!  Large swaths of my re-creation have been muddled with poor visibility into the road ahead, and crippling anxiety ensues when unforeseen twists and turns in the pathway arise.  The doves sing aloud at these times, louder than usual, when dawning and dusk occur and newness is eminent.  She uses her voice to celebrate the coming change and guide others to sustaining waters.

As the mother dove sits facing my window from her perch in the nest, watching me throughout the day as carefully and constantly as she watches her young,  I tend the newness of my own life as steadily and tenderly as she tends her own, and we eye each other thoughtfully.  I’ll keep the feeder full of her favorite seeds, and she’ll sing in the evening, and we’ll celebrate the newness of life.  We’ll celebrate it together.

(See The Message of the Dove from “Animal Speak” by Ted Andrews for some of the ideas I mentioned here.  Thank you very much, Lee, for the link.)

Nesting Doves

It’s early morning and the trees, the garden, the fencing and lawn are cradled in a moist and downy fog, and a dove coos softly. I have a nest of Mourning Doves only ten feet from my window, and it seems the eggs have hatched by now, though I’m not sure. She, and he - as the parents trade places - still sits atop the nest, but seems to do a little feeding now and then, and spends more time softly tending the contents of the nest with her beak. Ooooohhh, yes!!! I see a tiny, tiny head atop a long, slender neck, and she’s feeding the little charge beak to beak with something she’s saved inside her throat, I suppose, and is nuzzling and maintaining constant attention on her little one.

Oh, those darned House Sparrows! Here another comes to irritate her! Do you know what they do??? The sparrow, much smaller and faster than the dove, flies up behind the nest where the dove is sitting placidly, darts in all-a-sudden and plucks out a beak-full of white fluff from UNDER HER TAIL FEATHERS!!! I couldn’t believe my EYES when I first saw it! I said “No, that did NOT just happen....Let me look more closely.” So, I did, and yes - that IS what happened, and several times again. And sometimes two sparrows gang up on her, and the poor dove, having to move gingerly about the nest because of the eggs, has a hard time twirling around quickly enough to avoid the indignancy of having tuffs of fluff yanked from her bottom end! Her soft downy parts, I imagine, are highly prized for the lining of the sparrow’s nests.

A couple weeks ago I had the privilege of watching HOW the doves make their nests. What happens is they assemble a patch of twigs and grasses on a sturdy branch, and then the female sits on the little patch while the male retrieves another piece for the nest. Upon returning, he STANDS UPON THE BACK of the female and inserts the new twig into the patch below, repeating the process to BUILD THE NEST UP AROUND HER, fitting her perfectly. Isn’t that amazing??!!! Each time he flies away, she continues to sit on the growing nest and weaves into place the twig or straw that he’s inserted. After a couple days their nest is done. During the last twelve hours or so of nest building she begins to coo very softly, a much softer and shorter cooing than you usually hear, as if to say “the eggs are coming...the eggs are coming...we must finish soon, for the eggs are coming...”. Indeed, as SOON as the nest is done, the eggs are laid. Not a moment of time is wasted! Then it takes about two weeks for the eggs to hatch, judging by my observations.

Hardiness Zones and Native Plants

We had a wondrous, cooling storm of rain last evening. And it was unexpected, which made it all the better, even a little thunder and wind. Whew! It’s been HOT! Our resolve to avoid the AC has withered away with the wilting heat. When the temperature inside crawls past 85 degrees my brain begins to boil and I cannot concentrate on anything but sprawling in front of the fan!

I was doing some googling on Garden Hardiness Zones recently and was intrigued to find that the Zones have changed due to the trend in global warming. The Hardiness Zone in which I reside has changed from Zone 5 to Zone 6, and a similarly upward trend has occurred all across the country. Based on my limited reading, the Zone 5 designation was most recently based on the 1990 USDA Hardiness Zone Map, and a 2006 Arbor Day Map delineated the changes, including to Zone 6 in my area. To view the changes, see Hardiness Zone Changes.

What does this mean for gardeners? We had record-breaking snowfall here in Ohio this past winter, and now we have record-breaking heat! As for me, I’m busily beautifying my yard with native species like Queen of the Prairie, Spiked Blazing Star, Echinacea, Cardinal Flower, Common Milkweed and Butterfly Weed. I even transplanted some Queen Anne’s Lace from the woods the other day. I can’t say enough for the ease of care of native species. These perennial plants tolerate extremes of hot and cold as well as moist and dry. They require no watering (that’s right - NO watering) except when you’re first establishing the little seedlings, and the only care they require is occasional thinning back unless you really DO want them to take over your yard, which I am contemplating. Why not replace the bare and gas guzzling lawn with cooling thickets of gorgeous prairie flowers that fend for themselves and provide habitat for the pollenating bees and other critters? It’s a thought I’m thinking!!!

The maturing garden and a recipe

I love this time of year, the mid-summer season, with the baby crickets skittering about my feet, and the bunnies, now, can enjoy the garden, too, as all the plants are large enough to sustain their little nibblings. The garden is strong and mature, sustaining itself with long roots into the ground so I don't have to water at all despite the soaring temperatures, and it pretty much takes care of itself. The plants are large enough to discourage weeds, so there's little to do except enjoy the daily bounty. There's always the daily watch for the cucumber and Japanese beetles, but that's no big deal - just another excuse to take another walk along the beautiful garden paths. Italian long beans and summer squash are coming in strongly now. Another squash casserole today. Yumm!!!

RECIPE:

PAMELA'S SUMMER SQUASH CASSEROLE

Slice potatoes approx. 1/8" thick into a deep casserole dish.
Add sliced onions, thyme, rosemary, salt, and pepper.
Add a layer of summer squash sliced approx. 1/4" thick.
Add a layer of grated cheese (a mix of colby and sharp cheddar is good).
Repeat all of the above.
Dot with butter or margarine, if desired.
Dissolve some cornstarch (approx. 1 tablespoon per cup of liquid) in milk.
Pour liquid over casserole.
Bake at 350 degrees 'til done (60 to 90 minutes).

SCRUMPTIOUS!!!

Welcome to my Garden Patch at Thistle 'n Thatch!