July arrives in the garden with all the subtlety of a marching band. One day, everything seems reasonably under control, and the next, the tomatoes are plotting a takeover, the zucchini are producing at an alarming rate, and the weeds have apparently formed a neighborhood association. Every morning, I head outside with a cup of coffee and the best intentions, only to discover that the garden has been busy while I was sleeping.   READ MORE 

I can now confirm, dear readers, that time travel is not only possible—it is apparently best undertaken during peak growing season. I arrived just outside Plymouth on a warm July morning, greeted not by fireworks or parades, but by the steady rhythm of hoes in soil and the unmistakable scent of… well… let’s call it “enthusiastically applied fertilizer.”  READ MORE 

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I stepped out into my garden, coffee mug in hand. The crisp morning air filled my lungs as I surveyed the tidy rows of vegetable plants, still heavy with morning dew.  READ MORE 

Gardeners like green. Green is the signature color of nature, which is why our local health-food store has a green door and why anything organic, biodegradable, or otherwise earth-friendly is likely to come in a green wrapper. If environmental biologists had a national flag, it would be green.  READ MORE 

It is Winter as I pound out this proofreader's nightmare on my poor defenseless keyboard, and my garden (also poor and defenseless—AND pounded, but not by me for a change) is slowly recovering from the truly bizarre, 'Global Warming meets El Niño meets The Poseidon Adventure' storm we had a few days ago; a sudden lurch up from 35° to 65° in less than an hour  READ MORE 

When we think about melons, our minds often drift to the refreshing sweetness of Summer picnics and backyard barbecues. While watermelons usually steal the spotlight, there’s a whole world of other melon varieties that offer unique flavors, textures, and health benefits.  READ MORE 

We do not read of flowers in the Garden of Eden, but of trees—trees that (except for one) were given to us as food. Nevertheless, those of us who plant flowers have, perhaps, a sneaky longing for Eden, made for our delight, a garden in which Adam was allowed to give names to everything. To name is to possess, as conquerors know. Or so we might wish.  READ MORE 

What is the number one conversation topic of all gardeners? You know it: weather. We all know what Mark twain said: “Everyone talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”  READ MORE 

In May, the garden is civilized. Neat little rows. Tiny seedlings. Carefully labeled plant markers. Everything is orderly and full of promise. Then July arrives. Sometime during the first week of the month while I'm sleeping, the garden apparently holds a secret meeting and decides it no longer requires my input.  READ MORE 

If you had joined me on my recent time-traveling ramble back to Plymouth in July of 1776, you might have expected to find tankards brimming with beer or perhaps a celebratory dram of rum marking the birth of a nation. But no—what filled the cups, mugs, and barrels of early America was something far more homegrown, far more practical, and, dare I say, far more delicious: apple cider.  READ MORE 

Colonial kitchens transformed flour into daily sustenance using: Beehive ovens built into hearths. Cast iron pots for baking breads and puddings. Wood-fired heat, carefully managed for even baking.  READ MORE 

I didn’t expect to meet them. There I was—still brushing a bit of 1776 Plymouth dust off my boots after chatting with a cabbage farmer who swore his compost pile had more personality than his brother-in-law—when I noticed a small planting mound just beyond the edge of a modest homestead garden.  READ MORE 

It all started, as most of my regrettable-but-ultimately-wonderful decisions, over dinner. Kim had cooked up something so good it made silence fall across the table—rosemary chicken with roasted vegetables. My friend Greg, always quick with a joke, had just reminded me that my golf swing resembled someone swatting mosquitoes with a broom.  READ MORE 

Barney nods his head and lets out a low, friendly neigh as I walk past his stall just yards from a busy highway in Goodville, Pennsylvania. I’m afraid of horses, so I don’t approach to pet him—but we share a moment, locking eyes before I knock on the front door of the farmhouse where his owners live.  READ MORE 

The first letter was hidden in a packet of marigold seeds. Nestled between the folds, lay a small slip of paper stained yellow with age. “Plant these near the tomatoes. They keep the pests away. They care for each other as friends are expected to do.”  READ MORE 

The soil quivered beneath her fingertips as the old woman knelt in the garden, pulling weeds. Just as she wiped her brow and bent her ear to the ground, a small voice murmured from beneath the soil.  READ MORE 

It all started with one tomato—a perfectly plump, crimson jewel hanging low on the vine in Claire’s garden. She’d poured her heart into it: carefully balancing the soil, watering at dawn, and whispering little hopes to the plants as she worked. Gardening wasn’t just a hobby for Claire; it was her sanctuary.  READ MORE 

It is compost season. Last year's leaves have evolved into rich, black soil, while this year's are just beginning to cook. The old are ready to return to the earth, while the new begins a process of rebirth—a conscious and complete cycle of life happening in my own backyard.  READ MORE 

Gardeners of the future will rely less and less on water. With drought-denying plants and intricate irrigation systems, prudent growers of tomorrow will look back with disdain on the wasteful watering practices of today. And I, for one, am ready to join their ranks right now—but for the wrong reason.  READ MORE 

It’s been 40 years since I first loaded a horse into a rickety borrowed stock trailer and headed to Hamilton, Ohio for the Butler County Fair.  READ MORE 

I am late to gardening. When we first left the city, our front yard was lawn, lawn, lawn. At some point, I decided to redo the yard in a different image. The grass went, and I added Plants. Shrubs. Perennials.  READ MORE 

My dad loved to garden. He tried to grow everything that he could find in a seed packet. He planted the usual green beans, peas, corn, radishes, carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce.  READ MORE 

There’s something almost magical about growing fruit. Perhaps it’s the excitement of spotting the season’s first ripe strawberry tucked beneath green leaves, still warm from the morning sun.  READ MORE 

When my dad—chef, storyteller, and picnic enthusiast extraordinaire—declared, “A meal always tastes better outside,” he wasn’t just talking about the food. He was talking about the experience. The laughter. The way a breeze carries the scent of fried chicken and cinnamon-spiced peaches through the air.   READ MORE 

Summer in California meant more than just long days, golden sunsets, and backyard feasts—it meant picnic season. And no picnic was complete without a proper spread of cold fried chicken, three bean salad, fresh cucumber and tomato salad, and a cinnamon peach pie that disappeared before I could even get a second slice.  READ MORE 

Summers in California meant one thing—picnics. Not just any picnics, but grand, sprawling, shade-under-the-oak-tree affairs. And at the heart of these Summer feasts, nestled between baskets of homemade cornbread, bright bowls of garden-fresh salads, and jugs of ice-cold sweet tea, was the crown jewel: my dad’s Southern fried chicken.  READ MORE 

If you ever found yourself at one of our family’s Summer picnics, you’d quickly realize that my dad, a professional chef and an avid gardener, had a deep and abiding love for beans. It wasn’t just about the taste—though he certainly appreciated their versatility—it was about their power.  READ MORE 

When faced with a Summer meal featuring crispy, golden-brown southern fried chicken—seasoned to perfection with a chorus of spices—one might wonder, “What salad could possibly hold its own next to this showstopper?”  READ MORE 

It’s funny—growing up in the Sacramento Valley, I thought peaches came from there. At the simplest level, I wasn’t wrong. Sacramento peaches were, and still are, some of the best in the world. Juicy, golden, and sun-ripened to perfection, they were a Summer staple.   READ MORE