By JOHN H. HOUGH
Summer always seems to grow old. Winter and spring mature into warmer weather, occasionally having adolescent fits in the forms of wind and snow. Fall is all its own, too busy with the transition from vibrant color to dull gray winter to acknowledge its role in the year’s cycle of life. Summer, though begins with expectation on the Cape, beach weather and the warm southeast winds of afternoon, but as August wanes, so, too, does our outlook on the season. A reminder is in the air that the July days of halcyon brightness, the vivid blue greens of the ocean and stark white fluff of clouds lazily tracing their way across the sky are soon to end. Perhaps as summer sets into September, it reawakes the old memories of those early days of the new school year where warm weather taunted us just beyond open windows.
As a parent these days are re-lived through our children. We see the same anticipation mingled with apprehension of new experiences and think back through the years to our own experience; the sights and sounds and of late August bring forth these memories.
Our garden, a little plot of rich black soil, recently freed from the tyranny of local woodchuck, begins to peter out after an explosive July. Still producing are the later season cucumbers and beans planted during the hopeful days of late June. The eggplants are ready, and the pepper plants stand healthy but devoid of fruit, obstinate despite my pleading. I don’t pretend to be an horticultural expert, but even I know that plants are not to argued with.
After the last of the vegetables are plucked, it is time to think of next summer. The soil has worked hard this year and needs to be replenished. I don’t grow many cold weather crops, but will this year attempt to get in a final round of lettuce. Most lettuce appreciate the milder days of spring and fall. I start bibb and romaine from seed in August with hope that they will be ready as the weather cools. The spring batch bolted on me, a victim of my schedule and time management. I haven’t attempted kale, which grows even past the first frosts of winter. After September I shift the garden’s focus to the following year.
Fall seems a good time to apply lime to the soil. New England earth tends to be on the acidic side. To please next year’s crop, we’ll attempt to bring the soil pH to about 6.5. Fertilizer and compost too go on the garden in the fall to begin restoring the tired dirt. I’m a big fan of legumes, which have the added advantage of fixing nitrogen into the soil. Other plants are simply heavy eaters and bearing, leaving your garden fallow as of old. The lands need some rejuvenation in the form of nitrogen, phosphate, and soluble potash. Fertilizers represent this mix on their packaging as 5-10-5 denoting 5 percent nitrogen, 10 percent phosphate and 5 percent potash. The household compost goes on, too. I don’t pasteurize this glorious free and fetid household gloop. The mix of organic scraps includes seeds, some of which can, and do take hold the following year as evidenced by the tomato plant which unexpectedly sprouted out of the herb garden. Pasteurizing compost simply means heating it to a high enough temperature for long enough to destroy anything that may sprout or, most importantly, sicken other plants next year. This can be achieved with a grill and a cooking pot, but desiring to spare my neighbors that particular aroma I skip this step.
The blustery winds of fall provide us with a great, free garden product in the form of seaweed. Loaded with nutrients and devoid of hidden weeds, seaweed offers an excellent mulch. The salty sharp-edged eelgrass repels slugs among other garden pests. A strong onshore wind in fall brings literal truckloads of the green marine bounty up on shore, where you can pick it up with a spading fork.
Before August leaps into September and the start of astronomical fall, the garden merits an application of nematodes. These exceedingly small worm creatures are parasitic, feasting on all sorts of garden pest while leaving humans and pets alone. They hang around in the top 6 inches of garden soil, waiting for a meal to come by.
The last crop that I should, but don’t, plant is winter rye. This cover crop holds the soil together through the winds and rain of winter and adds organic material when it is turned over in the spring. I don’t do it because I’m usually expanding the garden during the winter, trampling over the beds as I work.
My garden remains a never-ending project, constantly expanding and improving, albeit at a glacial pace. It’s peaceful in there, tucked away on the lower corner of my property not far from an abandoned rail line and hundreds of acres of conservation land. I prefer to be out of doors, and when the growing season is over, it’s time for the building season, expanding garden beds, removing stumps and fixing fencing. The work is never over, though; that is the point.