Extension News: October 2007 Archives

As a homeowner, I had no love for squirrels or chipmunks when it meant the cardinals, robins, titmice and other birds had no seed to eat when they made it to the feeders. In mid August, I downsized into an apartment. An old evergreen tree gives my top floor unit privacy. The tree is as tall as the three story building and has branches touching the deck. Moving in, I noticed a large nest in the tree at eye level and within arms’ reach and was curious to learn what type of bird lived there.

In late August I noticed a squirrel on the deck. He splayed himself out all four paws at right angles to his body and lay there for hours. Quite the social fellow after that, with daily appearances, he wasn’t all that entertaining to watch. It was funny to see him walk from the branch to the deck and splay out, but only funny for so long.  Perhaps the previous owner fed him and he was actually dying of starvation because I wasn’t picking up the slack. Maybe he was sick and was spending his last days in view of someone who would notice his passing. While pondering different scenarios I decided to name him “Stanley.”

After a few days I began amusing myself with one sided conversation.

“Hi, Stanley, another rough day at the office, huh? Climbing that tree has to be grueling.”

I couldn’t tell if his deadpan stare was an indication he didn’t like his name, or if he was less than amused with my wit.

After a couple of chilly early September evenings, I noticed Stanley was actually working on the nest! It hadn’t occurred to me until I actually saw him packing pine needles and evergreen scraps, that it was actually HIS nest. I never knew squirrels lived in tree nests. Chipmunks don’t.

“Stanley, that’s a cool condo you have there!” I loved realizing it was his home.

After a few days of watching him work for hours, I thought maybe he knew something I didn’t about impending cold weather. Doing a little research on the Internet I learned gray squirrels live alone. They only co habit if it’s especially cold and they want to. So why was he insulating his condo now?

After not seeing Stanley for at least three days I wondered if he had run away, had gotten hit by a car, or if he was just sleeping away the much needed rainy weather.

Then there was the day that I walked to the deck in the early morning, as was my routine.  “Are you back yet, Stanley?” Not expecting a response, I was shocked to see a head pop up.

“Stanley! How are you?” It felt like Christmas. I was so excited to see him again. Then a second head popped up.

“Oh! Stanley! Found yourself a girlfriend, huh?” I gave him a side wink.

Then a third head popped up. “Stanley, I’m not even going there with you.” I was turning for my computer to research squirrels having multiple partners, when all three squirrels came running across the tree and onto my deck. My mouth fell open. I watched the activity. Then I started to laugh. One squirrel was larger than the other two.

“No wonder you were so annoyed with your name, Stanley. You’re a girl!”

Stanley was really “Juanita,” a mother in fact. Two days later Juanita and her four babies came onto the deck. The youngsters investigated what they could. A couple tried getting milk from her, but she would grab them and preen them and not let them nurse. Weaning happens between seven and 10 weeks, so they were born in late July, I guessed.

I photographed and watched them for a few hours. The babies were awkward and curious, each with a different personality. I only saw them as a family unit that one particular day.

Since then I’ve seen only one baby return to the deck. He's always amusing himself with his tail, gnawing at the plastic arms of a chair, and placing his paws against the screen to peer into my living room. I’ve named him “Nuthaniel.” I figure Juanita and the other three kids have relocated to different condos. Juanita probably prefers a human who knows male from female.

Regardless, I now have affection for squirrels that I never imagined possible. I can watch Nuthaniel and photograph him without getting bored. Perhaps Nuthaniel is a female. I’ll find out in the spring.

By Lisa J. Jackson, Tree Steward

I felt my nose twitch and an “oink” coming as soon as I glanced at the “truffles” listing in the field guide on North American mushrooms. Truffles are those ugly, knobby, strongly scented French and Italian delicacies often sniffed out by hogs and cherished by gourmands who will pay up to $2,000 per pound.

The closest I've ever come to eating truffles was a few thin slivers shaved on pasta, the cost of which thinned my wallet. Jeepers, I thought, if we have them here in the U.S. maybe I can scout some out for free.

My enthusiasm dispersed like a puffball fungus discharging its spores. Such tasty tidbits, I read a bit further on, are found only in Oregon. The two types found there are Fuzzy False (now there’s a clue) and Oregon White. The first resembles the costly champignon, but it grows above ground and not below a tree under the soil. Oregon Whites are thought to be as delectable as their European cousins to connoisseurs, but 3,000 miles is quite a trek for a truffle.

I don’t know when I first became interested in fungi. It might have been living two decades near Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, which proudly bills itself as the “mushroom capital of the world.” Or it might have been those times I was golfing, and mistakenly took a swing at one of those small, white spheres that pop up on grass after rain. In any case, they have always fascinated me, so when I read about mushroom seminar offered recently I immediately sent my check.

The class was given by a woman with 15 years of experience tramping over terrain hunting fungi. She goes to mushroom camp each year, she told us, mushroom earrings swinging to and fro as she talked. Our mycologist learned serious mushrooming by first identifying edible mushrooms, then the deadly ones, and then, she said, mock serious, those that make you wish you were dead.

Amanitas, are the nastiest mushrooms on earth and most will kill you dead, she said, glibly adding that the Destroying Angel will taste good only once.

We weren’t deterred by the glum toadstool talk and, when instructed to go out and bring back whatever we found, we eagerly set off with baskets in hand. Some of us chose to explore a nearby riverbank. It was hot and humid for September as we slipped down brush-laden hills and through thick fern fields, swatting mosquitoes and clouds of bugs.

During the period of our fungi foray, this part of New Hampshire was in a dry spell. Mushrooms thrive in moist conditions, so our findings were few. But we did come across one perfect specimen - a large cement toadstool decorating a homeowner’s lawn. We laughed at the irony when we walked by.

Among our finds: a blue-staining bolete that turned blue when scraped by our mushroom guru’s thumbnail. Boletes, she told us, will give you diarrhea and make you throw up.

Some findings had scary or descriptive names. Dead Man’s Fingers are black, finger-sized growths. The Pigskin Poison Puffball, sporting a rind-like surface, has a name that speaks for its toxicity. One participant thought the Straight-branched Coral was edible, but our expert squashed that notion. There’s only one coral you can eat, she said, and I’ve never found it.

She became excited when she saw the tiny, flat, button-sized Scarlet and Eyelash Cup fungi. They looked similar until a magnifying lens revealed that one had small hairs lining its edge. This caused a group member to quip that it had to be a boy fungus, because they always have the nicest lashes.

We found an Artist’s Conk, so called because drawings on its underside turn brown and can be preserved. We also found the Birch Polypore, which native Americans and ancient peoples used as tinder for campfires. The Alpine Iceman, Oetzi, had two polypores in his belongings when he was discovered in the Alps.

We found some edibles. Well, almost. Our expert said she loves puffballs, which she slices thinly, oven-dries and salts to eat as a snack. As she cut through the ones we found, she informed us that puffs are edible only if they are pure white inside. As they age they go from white to cream to brown. Our findings provided examples of the later stages.

Our mushroom master had brought along a Hemlock Varnish Shelf, a shiny, maroon-colored, kidney shaped mushroom she said was rumored to have magical properties such that if you drink a tea made from it you will live forever.

Now there’s a mushroom worth $2,000 a pound, I thought. I’m ready to hunt that baby down.

By Pauline Bogaert, Master Gardener

Fall garden clean up is a time to sort, sift and store. A time to cut back perennials, yank annuals, harvest herbs, veggies and seeds.

There are several schools of thought on the “fall cleanup.” Some folks like to leave the sunflower, peony and Echinacea seed heads for the birds, chipmunks and squirrels to harvest. Some like the look of swaying, decaying vegetation. Some even let the purplish haze of pigweed and native grasses remain to ripen and release their seeds.

I’m more of a control freak. In my autumn garden, I cut back most perennials to about two inches high and add the spent foliage to the three part compost bin. I do make an exception for ornamental grasses, which give shape and interest to the garden during late fall and winter.

Seeds I’ll harvest include prickly echinacea, fine digitalis, larva like hollyhocks, and clingy forget me nots. Cilantro and arugula seeds also store well for use in next year’s garden. The dry seed pods go into marked paper bags, where the seeds continue to dry. I glean the seeds by rubbing the dry capsules between my hands and against the sides of the bag. A satisfying pile of seeds ends up in the bottom of the bag.

As for letting weeds remain to spread their seeds for spring germination, I’m not of that school. After the initial annual plant removal, I go after those hidden weeds. I yank ‘em all and till the rows with my miniature rototiller. Then I edge the beds. I mulch where I can, using a variety of materials.

Seaweed is my favorite, because it breaks down easily and harbors no noxious weed seeds. I get my seaweed on the New Hampshire coast, collecting what washes up on the shore. No one minds my cleaning up the beach after a storm.

From our house we look right out onto the garden all year long, and its visual order soothes my soul. Although the active growing season has passed, we still enjoy the bones of the garden a cement rooster, a wooden trellis supporting Sweet Autumn clematis vines. After all, the garden may be bare of snow until late December.

After pulling squash and tomato vines, basil and zinnia plants and other tender annuals, I pot up the rosemary, which will spend the winter on the kitchen windowsill. The fall garden remains bountiful until Thanksgiving and beyond. Carrots, leeks and parsley are still tasty after even a heavy frost.

After a good frost (is that an oxymoron?), I dig, dry, and label the dahlia roots and gladioli corms to await spring inside. After the fall tubers are harvested, I plant seed garlic and spring flowering bulbs (daffodils and tulips, for example) in compost enriched beds.

Garlic is a most satisfactory crop. I plant individual cloves about three inches deep in late September and mulch them with straw, seaweed, pine needles or whatever other organic materials I have on hand. Garlic sprouts in the spring. By midsummer, “scapes” the flower stalks of the garlic plants, which grow in fascinating curly pigtails arch up from the centers of the plants. Removing the scapes maximizes garlic head size, so I clip them off, using some in floral arrangements (stunning!) and cutting others up into stir fries (tasty!).

Garden cleanup is ongoing. Gardening is a process, after all. Now is the time to harvest the compost from the oldest bin. Kitchen refuse (egg shells, coffee grounds, carrot tops and apple cores, for example), along with spring garden litter, has decayed into rich, friable compost. Worms, microbes, and rain transform organic matter into black gold. Some of the finished compost goes directly into the garden, some is sifted and stored for spring seedling propagation, and some gets used to re pot houseplants.

The final stage of fall cleanup happens in the cellar. I clean, sharpen and oil the tools, then store them in an unheated shed. That makes room to stack the dry cordwood near the wood burning furnace in the cellar.

This fall I have another motive for a thorough garden cleanup: a family wedding will take place here about this time next year. That event has inspired me to make the garden lovely, and the process begins with the fall cleanup, soil enrichment and weed eradication. I’m never really ready for winter, but I do my best.

By Nancy Schlosser, Master Gardener

Digging carrots from the garden in 80 degree weather just doesn't seem natural for the end of September. There were a surprising lot of carrots, considering I never got out there to thin them for salad as I’d promised myself I’d do.

So I suffer now. I spent the afternoon in the kitchen processing the carrots for freezing. Now, the non gardeners among you will be thinking “How nice! People out there are still preserving food.” But the real gardeners will think, “Why doesn't she just put them in the root cellar”?

Well, these carrots needed to be processed because chipmunks or some other critter started eating the carrots at the top and went as far into the ground as possible, leaving a concave depression with all these little tooth marks and making those carrots no good for root cellar storage.

On the other hand, I'm not overly fond of cooked carrots. Thank goodness for my mother's old Farm Journal Cookbooks, which contain recipes from generations of farm wives. They knew how to preserve food: Take 12 pounds of carrots, etc. I wound up with candied ginger carrots and orange glazed carrots. I’ll be very happy this winter to take them out of the freezer.

The beets also needed gathering. Something bigger than a chipmunk had enjoyed the beet greens, and the roots themselves weren't as time consuming to process. I just picked out the ones that were split or nibbled on and cooked them. I stashed the rest away in a cool place to be brought out much later.

As the sun was sinking, I went out to get a few (I thought) beans for dinner. Lugging the full basket back into the house, I set about preparing them. These aren’t just any bean, but scarlet runners. My friend from England introduced me to this heirloom variety. They not only produce the most beautiful red flowers all summer and fall, but the beans themselves taste better than ordinary green beans. They are so beautiful many people grow them just for the flowers and don't even know how good they taste. You have to pick the pods before the beans inside start to swell. If you have to “string” them, they’re too old, fit only for the compost.

I got them all cut up and didn't have the heart to do any more freezing that day. As my husband walked through the kitchen he casually asked if I was freezing them. I told him, “No, we’re having some hot for dinner and I’ll make the rest into a bean salad that should last the rest of the month.”

While I’m on the subject of heirloom varieties, the Brandywine tomatoes are hitting their full stride. We got them into the ground very late. Most years at this time the plants would be hanging down in the cellar slowly ripening their fruit away from the frosty outside air.

Brandywines are so good! No other tomato beats their taste. And big! A couple of years ago I remember picking with pride the first ripe Brandywine. I washed it and sliced three half inch slabs that completely covered the bread for that first tomato/mayo sandwich. This particular tomato was so large I put the rest of it in the fridge and we had it for a salad that evening. I haven't had one that big in awhile, but I did bring one to share with my hiking group today. Everyone tucked slices into their sandwiches except for the one with the peanut butter sandwich. She ate her share separately.

The winter squash are still out there. If nothing has been nibbling on them, they go right into the cold room. No hassle. Thumbing through my gardening magazine, I found a lovely article on horseradish. Something else I’ll need to harvest before too long.

Have you ever tried to process horseradish? Oh, the tears you shed! After my first experience, my mother told me she used to hold the root outside a mostly closed window and grate it out there. Good idea. I'll put my food processor on an extension cord and see how that works.

My mother gave up canning and freezing well before she was my age. She lived though the time when you had to do it to survive the winter. She stopped when they moved off the farm and thought supermarkets were just great. Well, they are, but home grown food tastes better, at least to me. Knowing what went into growing the produce, harvesting it and preserving it for the long winter gives a feeling of security not just because I can have something to eat, but because I still know how to do it. Will the next generation have these skills?

By Carolyn Enz Page, Community Tree Steward