Those Far Greener Pastures - theHumm August 2021

By Glenda Jones

My garden is no stranger to weeds. You might recall that a few years ago I suggested we hold Weedfest here. Alas, no one showed up, and our celebration fell flat. Weeding my own garden is a complete drag, but someone else’s always looks like it would be more fun to do.

Imagine, then, my delight in being able to work at a friend’s market garden, digging out weeds and planting stuff to my heart’s content. The earthy scent in the greenhouse is intoxicating as we watch seedlings maturing into prolific plants in no time flat. And yes, the weeds come up as well, but for some reason, it’s a joy to pull those weeds while my own garden is inundated with junk I didn’t want there.

My first day on the end of the shovel was really satisfying: a 6’ by 50’ bed knee-high in flowering purple somethings. Dig, pull, dig, pull, and three hours later the bed was pristine and waiting for seed. I was in heaven! However, four days later, some sort of grass was making its presence known. And that’s when I got a look at true weed annihilation: a propane weed killer just the width of the bed that could be fired up and pulled across the soil slowly enough to destroy the intruders without disrupting the soil. Aha! The right tool in the right place. The bed was covered in landscape cloth with holes the right size for planting, and Bob’s your Uncle, we were away to the races with seedlings popped into the holes.

It’s good to do a task the hard way first. While I planted spinach a seed at a time, my farmer was using a mini-plough affair that automatically planted lettuce babies one at a time in a neat row in half the time it took me to do it by hand. While I hand planted one 12-foot row of specialty beans, she loaded up the seeder and planted four 50-foot rows of green and yellow beans. While I measured exact distance for planting the potatoes, she had cucumber seeds nestled in their little planting holes, and was on to the tomatoes and celery. Oh yes, I soon learned tools are important.

Now I’m using two tools I love. One is a furrow digger that is pulled over the bed in neat rows, the seed gets dropped in by hand — sometimes you have to get your knees dirty — and the reverse side of the furrow tool closes the row. The other is a roller with ridges that sets out perfect four-inch squares across the entire four-foot bed. It even has an offset handle so you don’t step on your newly raked soil. How easy is that? No more squiggly lines of stuff planted too close together or far apart.

While my own garden gets neglected, I’m learning every morsel we enjoy is the result of a great deal of work. Never was this more evident than when we harvested the garlic. A few thousand cloves were wisely planted in landscape cloth last fall, and by the time the scapes were ready, the plants were more than two feet tall with nary a weed in sight. This is one job that takes a heavy foot on the fork and a strong back. Dig, pull, clean; dig, pull, clean, about 150 bulbs per row, and more rows than we could tackle in a day. The bulbs were gathered and laid out in fragrant bouquets that left us dreaming of pizza and Italy. Not done yet, it was a family affair to string them in clusters and hang them to dry, after which they still need to be peeled and trimmed. So by the time that bulb is ready to be roasted, it has been handled at least seven times. It’s why I don’t even try to grow garlic. My miniscule offerings pale in comparison to these fist-sized juicy heads.

Twice a week, I escape to the farm to see what’s developed in only a few days. We planted three kinds of peppers that’ll be at the market very soon, along with those beans that look like they’re never going to stop, and onions, and radishes, and tomatoes, and no end of gorgeous produce. I’m thrilled that I’ve been given the opportunity to play in the dirt, and truly admire the tenacity and optimism of farmers who put in so much labour to feed the rest of us. Every waking hour is devoted to their gardens, while I walk around my own, deciding that any weed that develops a flower will be allowed to stay. I just have to readjust my mindset to appreciate their beauty.

In the meantime, I will revel in the gorgeous market garden I’m allowed to play in twice a week. On Saturdays, when people are buying fresh everything, I’ll allow myself a twinge of pride in having had a hand in producing it.

Ah yes, Let There Be Farms! That’s actually the name of Angie’s farm, and you can find her at the Almonte Farmers’ Market on Saturdays or reach her at lettherebefarms@gmail.com . Don’t pass up those fresh vegetables, and the Queen should have some honey for the parlour too. Ask Angie: her honey is fit for any Queen.

Chris Lemaire — Powerful Art - theHumm August 2021

By Sally Hansen

Art… and Soul

It’s both refreshing and disconcerting when you encounter evidence that causes you to question your preconceptions (i.e., biases). So I was a bit surprised that a guy who describes himself as a redneck, worked as a heavy equipment operator, builds muscle cars and worked as a logger, creates artworks with the emotional clout and beauty that Chris Lemaire does.

Skies rule in his paintings. Lemaire credits the five years he spent in Newfoundland with his emergence as an accomplish......

Those Far Greener Pastures - theHumm August 2021