Chokes
There were two big success stories in the garden
this year, one planned and the other one unplanned. The planned one
was the half-dozen tomato seedlings I put into two blocks just around the
time the lettuce plants were maturing, ringed around with cages, which
kept the two of us in an overabundance of beefsteak tomatoes and cherry
tomatoes for months.
The unplanned success story took place in the
corner of the yard given over to my two compost heaps, shielded from view
by our stockade fence on the outside and some big evergreen shrubs on
the inside. These heaps receive our kitchen garbage, the slops from cleaning
up after the birds, and assorted yard trash, and get stirred up a couple
times a season or (as was the case this summer) less often and take about
a year to mellow to flaky black gold soil amendment. In years past I've
had huge squash plants sprout from seeds tossed into the compost, but
this year the Jerusalem artichokes have taken over with vigor. For a
number of years, I've kept a bed on the side of the front yard for these
vegetables and have usually come up with a colander-full of crispy roots
by November once the foliage has started to die back. Because the spot
is shady and not terribly fertile (even despite applications of the
black gold), the plants have had a challenging time there, having to fight
off sooty mildew of their scratchy leaves, and eventually putting
forth just a few flowers in the Fall. When digging up the tubers, there
are always enough which miss my fingers to re-establish the bed the
next year. Evidently either the seeds from these flower heads or, more
likely, a lively bit of root found its way behind the compost heaps last
year, because I started to see the familiar leaves and shoots push
up in spring as volunteers. What with the busyness of life and all, I
just let them alone, only pushing aside the stems when I had to go back
to dump another load from our kitchen bin, and using some twine to tether
up one particularly fine plant which actually took root outside the
fence close to the street.
Now in October, the plants that I was accustomed to
seeing top out at about four or five feet have rocketed up to something
like twice that, and are now capped by orange and brown flowers which
out Black-Eyed Susan the Black-Eyed Susans we have. The hairy stems on
these plants look like fresh bamboo as thick as my finger, and I can now
only guess at what kind of growth there is beneath the ground.
Before the flowers came along, I was considering whether the neighbors
in our suburb might not have liked the weedy look of the foliage, but
now I'm thinking they might be imagining that we'd planned the orange
display to coincide with the festive season, and I'm not going to tell
anyone otherwise.
Clearly here are some plants which just adore
having garbage ladled at them, aren't picky about whether the
stuff has broken down at all first, and also like standing up where
the sun can shine down on them. Plus, when they're all done, there
is something tasty to harvest (though considering their venue, I
don't think I'll want to be eating them raw in salads).