D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
September 2009
First Gardens
Judah Williams, co-owner, MudslingersHow soiled innocents found a lifelong passion. Plus: The Locavore Sorcerer
My grandmother, Florida Williams, owned a boardinghouse in Brooklyn — a large brownstone with a small garden typical of the borough. I remember playing there when I was only three years old.
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Judah Williams remembers his grandmother's
herb garden at his own garden in Hurley. |
My most vivid memory was that Grandmother grew and dried herbs, which she kept in a large cupboard off the kitchen. It also housed a wide selection of teas that she ordered from other places.
Florida was a poor lady who worked as a cook at the racetrack and also for a family in Brooklyn. She made her own soap and was a clever carpenter.
I had the run of the small backyard, where things always seemed to be growing, and some plants did look strange to me.
In those days, the entire neighborhood watched over the children. But whenever I didn't feel good, Grandmother would give me stuff from that cupboard. Healing was her thing and those old concoctions worked.
When Florida died, she left the boardinghouse to my mother, who grew vegetables "to order" for the neighbors.
Barb Fila, Jill-of-all-trades and former owner, Bad-Ass Bakery
The first garden that I put my heart, and then some, into was in Winchester, New Hampshire. That was in l997, and it was the garden that I thought I'd have forever. Now, of course, I'm much more jaded.
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Phlox, hydrangeas and daisies primp
for Barb Fila as she views them from her front-porch perch. |
The land, located in the southwesternmost part of the state near the Connecticut River, belonged to my now ex-husband. It was a wooded, green trash heap.
The riverbed soil was very sandy — the beans that I grew the first year were only four inches high and barely yielded two-inch long pods! The second year, I amended the soil with 40 yards of turkey compost. Change commenced.
A trailer sat on the plot that I wanted for my mixed vegetable and flower garden. Once it was removed, I used the gravel from underneath it to create walkways, and bought indigenous Goshen stone to make terraces and bedding walls. By the end of the two-year project, an acre was under cultivation; I also planted fruit trees and envisioned having a cut-flower business called "Pick Me, Pick Me."
Even now, I still read up on companion plant combinations and try not to mix related vegetables together — like the cole crops, cabbage and broccoli. I never plant nightshade in the same spot — moving those vegetables around from year to year. To help prevent pests, I stay away from rows and monoculture. My aesthetic is to mix form and function: vegetables and ornamentals. I'm a Gemini!
In my New England garden, I transformed a junkyard into something gorgeous. It was my beautiful, green quiet place where I went to relax after a 65-mile commute to Springfield, Mass., and a full-time job as a computer systems analyst. You could say that I drove from cubicle hell to paradise.
My maternal grandparents were from the Old Country. They did conventional farming in North Hampton, Mass.. and also had a huge, organic house garden. Cow, pig and chicken manure was the basis for their compost. I come from hardy stock who pressed flaxseed to make flaxseed oil and used sugar beets to make sugar. Pesticides were antithetical to my grandparents, because they understood the way of the land and how to make natural things work.
In May, I remember picking asparagus with them at sunrise. During peak season we would crate 200 pounds of asparagus every day. We only ate the rejects — the spears that were too short, thin, fat or else going to seed.
I am a lot more like my Polish grandmother than I care to admit — especially when I was a teenager and didn't even like her. As hard as she worked all day, she still made time for her flower garden.
Bill Nolde, Silver Leaf florist and Gila lavender grower
I come from a long line of western Nebraska gardeners. At age five, I planted a corner of a huge vegetable garden with corn, string bean and pumpkin seeds. The string beans germinated in a week. The only flowers my mother planted were cosmos and nasturtiums. I, on the other hand, was fascinated with flowers.
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Bill Nolde, formerly of Flowerings, now juxtaposes blooms and greenery with his usual flair at Silver Leaf Florist. |
When I was 12, my family moved from the farm to a house on a double lot in town. By then, I was a full-fledged gardener; Mother relinquished her dominion on the condition that I'd still grow sweet corn and cucumbers for her.
I had discovered the Parks Seed catalog and meticulously perused each flower packet listing line-by-line.
Dahlias became my specialty — any variety that I could get my hands on! I probably had 50 to 75 of them; the ones that were dinner plate-size, my mother called "pillows."
Then there were zinnias, bachelor buttons, gladiolas and anything in between! My favorite variety of zinnia, "Envy," gave rise to a question that I constantly had to answer: "Why do you grow green flowers?" For there were also Bells of Ireland, green gladiolas and many others.
County fairs were big events in that part of the country. Floral entries only required five flowers per bunch. Naturally, I caused quite a stir walking in with a bunch of 30 blooms. By the third fair, everyone knew that I existed. I won grand championships two years in a row.
I also wiped out the Garden Club competitions, where every entry was categorized. I enjoyed arranging the flowers into classic Hogarth curves and crescents. I remember the glares from the club members, even though the event occurred in a church social hall. They would comment: "Oh, you're the one with that big garden."
A benefit of my new status was getting my brother and sister to help out. One year we planted every kind of gourd that Park Seeds offered. I also had the first blue rose in town. It was called "Amy Vanderbilt," but bloomed lavender.
Gardening was my life during the summer. In winter, I grew African violets — denying my mother every window sill in the house. By working as a nursing-home aide at a job conveniently located one block away, I was able to finance my passion. Money orders to Parks Seeds flowed like eiderdown through the mail.
After my second year in college, Mother went back to growing vegetables. I moved to Denver and lived in an apartment. I did landscaping and gardening for other people who usually gave me free rein. So my first business called "Flowerings" was in Denver.
This column was inspired by Lori Mitchell in Pleasanton, NM — the extraordinary plantswoman and jewelery designer. She told me about the Englishman Richard St. Barbe Baker's first garden. A renowned forester, writer and environmental activist, Baker recalled his garden at age two: mustard seeds sowed under a nanny's supervision. The mustard plants matured quickly — flowering in bright yellow to spell, "Richard."
"First Gardens" will continue in the October column.
Locavore Sorcerer
Rob Connoley of Silver City's Curious Kumquat will combine his penchant for both locally grown ingredients and culinary special effects at an autumnal tasting dinner this month planned at a private residence.
Held seasonally at different locations, and limited to 18 ticketholders, "each tasting attracts a diverse group of non-picky eaters without food allergies," Rob explains, "who trust me — since there is no ordering."
Rob continues, "The tastings allow me to explore my interest in a movement called Techno-emotional Gastronomy, a term coined by a famous Spanish chef."
At the summer tasting with its theme, "Things That Are Round," Rob's interest in blown-glass technology was the basis for one course: individual round molds of beet juice coated in a cocoa-butter shell. According to Rob, the coup de grce was "the way in which the small ball shattered in your mouth. The beets, of course, were locally grown — as are 65% of the ingredients that I use."
That same evening a beef dish was heated underwater, a technique called sous vide. Rob says that on the plate, "the meat appeared blood red even though it was fully cooked. Some diners reacted strongly to the color, with emotions ranging from fear to excitement."
What's exciting for Rob is finding unusual local edibles. Often he relies on "human resources" — experts like Nava Koeningsberg at Bear Creek Herbs, who introduced him to chuchupache. The indigenous herb, with a slightly bitter taste, is known to stimulate the appetite. Combined with ingredients like white chocolate and prickly pear, it becomes the perfect amuse-bouche.
Rob's inclination is to use ingredients that "are all around us — if we just look." They include wild mint from the Gila, yucca blossoms and the fruit of prickly pear cactus — often called "tuna."
In fact, at the Fall Tasting, Rob plans to "push the envelope" with tuna combinations. Until then, he continues to explore hardware stores, new technology web sites and the surrounding hills and dales for fresh — and arresting — ideas.
Columnist Vivian Savitt gardens at Ditch Cottage in Silver City.