It is a surprisingly beautiful weekend here in the great land of Cleveland. While I had thought sure that winter was going to be moving in any moment, instead we have had a glorious and prolonged Indian summer. Which is nice because it gives me the chance to clean out my garden beds. You would think that mean pulling weeds, but in reality, this means pulling strawberries.

I don’t know how the strawberries ever got into my front flower beds. I certainly did not plant them, though now I suspect that it is a nefarious revenge planned on me by some evil individual. Oh sure. Strawberries look innocent, but in good, friable soil they turn into a force to be reckoned with.

I routinely pull up dozens of strawberry plants from my flower beds. And what is worse, they have that same magical ability as deers to charm even as they are causing you to curse. Every time I am weeding the damn things, I find myself dutifully placing them in another pile so that I can find another person to pass the pain onto.

I think the problem is that strawberries are useful and delicious plants. Dandelions and purslane may be edible, but they fall into the “your mother told you to eat your greens” category so the 8 year old in your head reassures you that thowing them in the compost is not a bad thing. Strawberries are like candy. I feel as though I am throwing away a potential bon-bon. Only crazy people throw away candy, at least that is what my inner child tells me.

Even more evidence that strawberry plants can addle the brains is the fact that I also intentionally leave a few plants in the bed because I romantically think that I will be able to pick a few berries next year to nibble on. I think this despite the fact that I know that the damndable slugs will get to the berries before I do because there is no barrier between the berries and the ground.

The one thing I can walk away from this is that if I ever wanted to grow a strawberry patch, I will know exactly what I need:

how to grow a strawberry patch

1. Start with good soil. Soil that is full of organic material and is loose seems to be something they like.
2. Have good drainage. My front yard is actually elevated over my neighbors so my whole front yard is like a raised bed and has good drainage. I have read that professional strawberry farmers often have raised mounds or beds for their strawberries.
3. Direct the runners. The runners are designed to be rappelling land seekers, able to jump over and down barriers. Placing runners where you want the to grow will prevent problems like strawberries growing in your lawn (which I now have).
4. Protect the berries. Legend has it that the name strawberry comes from the fact that people like to protect the berries from slugs and pests by surrounding the plants with straw. This actually does work and will protect your own berries.

And now I am going to return to the great outdoors and finish removing my own accidental strawberry patch. Anybody need to get back at a gardening nemesis? I have need of a couple dozen strawberry plants I could send you.

I think one of the most frustrating herbs that a gardener can grow is cilantro. Despite the fact that huge bundles of it are sold in grocery stores for $.99, as if massive fields of it are grown as easily as throwing seeds at a patch of soil, here in Ohio, cilantro grows and bolts like it has the biological need to reproduce that rivals rabbits and fruit flies.  I can only grow it for entertainment value because I certainly have never been able to eat it.

So when I found an interesting little herb called Vietnamese cilantro, I was intrigued. It didn’t look like cilantro, but it smelled like it and it tasted like it. The description said it spread vigorously and could be treated like a houseplant in the winter. Damn, so what did I have to lose? Home came the little Vietnamese cilantro.

And here we are 3 months later and I have to say, I am impressed. It quickly grew to fill the planter I put it in. It is somewhat drought tolerant (for when I forget to water my containers). I have used it interchangeably with regular cilantro. I think about the only thing that bothers me is that it has an evil doppelganger growing in my garden. I will be weeding and I see it and that darn weeds looks so much like the Vietnamese cilantro that I will smell it to double check that my Vietnamese cilantro did jump the roost. But that lovely cilantro smell is not there for the weed.  Apparently this weed is Pennsylvania smartweed.    It must be on vacation because this is OHIO.  Sheesh.  It isn’t very smart, is it?

But, wiki-supposedly, Vietnamese believe that Vietnamese cilantro kills the male sexual appetite. I personally have not noticed that side effect in my husband, but when it comes to wiki facts, one has to take it with a large ocean of salt.

I have to say that I am quite pleased with this herb. It is a winner I plan on keeping growing for many years to come.

You know, the first time I remember seeing a nasturtium, I thought that there was something awfully shady about that character. Maybe it was the flashy orange blossom (though I hear she will dress in yellow or red too) or those platter shaped leaves (I mean honestly, what flower looks like that) or maybe it was her all to cozy and none to healthy relationship with aphids, but I knew that little old Nasturtium was hiding something.

And now I am vindicated. Ladies and Gentlemen of the gardening jury, I present you with the defendant - Nasturtium. OR, Miss so-called-Nasturtium should we call you Tropaeolum majus from the notorious Tropaeolaceae family. *dondondone*

*gasp*

*shock*

*amazement*

*gratuitous closeup of distraught flower*

What we commonly call Nasturtium is in fact not a nasturtium at all. If you want to get technical about it (and why not since we are in a totally fake court of garden law) a Nasturtium is what we commonly call watercress a.k.a. Nasturtium officinale.

So why would the false Nasturtium lie about it’s name? Most likely because the two plants taste alot alike. They look somewhat similar too. Considering that it grows wild in South and Central America, there is a good chance that the members of the European empires that moved into those places called it by the name of a plant that tasted like it back home, which would be Watercress, er, Nasturtium officinale .

So maybe this isn’t so much a case of false pretenses as it is a case of mistaken identity. That’s it, court adjourned. Nasturtium never meant to cause any harm, but let this be a lesson that this is just yet one more reason why common names for plants just make everything confusing.

One of the prettier weeds that grow in my yard is purslane. Chances are, no matter where you live in the world, you probably have some form of purslane growing in your yard. The stuff will grow in just about any condition on the planet. Actually, I think there was rumours that Neil Armstrong found some on the moon as well.

All in all, purslane is not an unattractive plant. It makes a very nice ground cover if you are feeling particularly lazy. As a matter of fact, its matting nature will actually block many other weeds from growing, if you allow it to spread out and unbutton its pants.

On top of that, it is an uber nutritious plant. It is better for you than most of the plants you grow in your garden and it is a tasty plant besides that.

As a general rule, it doesn’t matter how pretty, helpful or nutritious a plant is. Being the masochistic bunch that we are, if a plant does not make us suffer in some way, than it is just not worthy of being included in our garden. And so, purslane is considered to be a weed.

I have to admit, that up until this past year, I did not know much about the lowly purslane. It was a weed. An easy to eradicate weed, with rather shallow roots and a spreading structure that meant one pulled up cleared good foot, but a simple weed nonetheless.

Then I started to hear people extol on the nutritional and culinary uses for purslane. This stuff is a super plant. If there was a nuclear catastrophe, all you would have left would be cockroaches and purslane. Cut off he stem, the stem will still produce seeds. The seeds can remain viable for 30 years.

Purslane is super healthy, too. It is packed with omega-3 fatty acids. A whole cup of it contains a mere 7 calories. One cup will also you provide you with 11% of your daily requirement of vitamin A and 15% of vitamin C. It has lots of other healthy nutrients as well. Low carb, no fat or cholesterol. It is healthier than spinach and is a dieter’s dream.

If you are eating purslane, you are in good company. Gandhi considered it one of his most favorite foods. It is also purported to help arthritis and circulatory problems.

How could you go wrong?

While this is not a cooking blog, I have a great recipe to get you started eating and most people will have almost everything they need for this recipe from their garden by mid August.

Zucchini, Purslane And Tomato Salad

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 crushed garlic cloves
1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil plus additional for brushing zucchini
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons chopped fresh oregano
4 zucchini halved lengthwise
3 cups chopped purslane, thick stems removed
1 ½ cups diced tomato (or halved cherry tomatoes)

Make dressing: Whisk together zest, lemon juice, shallot, mustard, and salt in a small bowl. Add oil in a slow stream, whisking until dressing is emulsified. Whisk in pepper and parsley.

Mix Salad: Lightly brush zucchini all over with oil. Grill or cook zucchini, cut sides down first, uncovered, turning once, until zucchini are just tender, 8 to 12 minutes total. Remove from heat, cool slightly, then cut into chunks.

Toss zucchini with purslane, tomatoes, and dressing in a large bowl. Serve immediately.

So give it a try. I mean after all, if you just spent a good part of your time pulling the damn things out of your garden, you might as well make use of them.

That will be the one ball in the side bed pocket and the eight ball in the corner pocket for the game. Rack ‘em up, and let’s play again.

I can not resist a novelty plant. I really, really can’t. You give me a bizarre story or just a bizarre looking plant and my wallet is in my hand before you can say “Master Card or Visa”. To be perfectly honest, most of the time, novelty plants don’t live up to the promise. They are the plant industry’s equivalent to those little ads you see in the back of magazines that promise to teach you to hypnotize women for your own entirely unethical reasons or send you directions for your very own hovercraft (batteries and materials and physics not included).

But, despite this firm knowledge, when I saw the “One Ball Squash” and the “Eight Ball Squash” in the Park Seed catalog, I was sold. Maybe this time it would work. Maybe this time, they would be really cool.

Now, I have preface this story with the fact that I seem to have a vine borer resort in my backyard. I swear, it is the equivalent of a vine borer Disneyland. I plant a squash type plant, vine borers buy plane tickets to visit the magical land of Hanna’s Garden. I guess what I am trying to say is that historically, squash plants don’t last too long in my garden.

But I am a big fan of zucchinis. I grew up feasting on a great many baseball bat size zucchinis. (Then I started watching the Food Channel and I learned that zucchinis aren’t really suppose to get that big. *shrug* Live and learn.) I still love zucchini

Anyhoo, I ALWAYS try to grow zucchini but the whole vine borer situation interferes and I end up trading tomatoes for other gardeners zucchini. This is a badge of shame for a gardener, seeing how everyone else is bitching about what to do with too many zucchinis.

So, back to the main point. I bought them and figured that they would follow all the rest and die a slow, brown, painful (for me) death. And I must say, I have been pleasantly surprised. I don’t know if they opened the vine borer equivalent to Epcot or if I just got lucky, but my pool ball squash have done amazingly well.

All plants are healthy and lush and producing like champs. I think I will soon have so many growing that I may even have the ability to trade my novelty squash on the gardener black vegetable market.

Don’t know if they are a better variety or what, but for right now, the One Ball and Eight Ball Squash are going on my growing next year list.

When I was offered this pretty little plant, I thought, “Aw, it is so cute.” Little white flags waving over a sea of green. Little did I realize that those flags were actually white flags of surrender from the other plants in the garden. “Help, us. Help, Us. It is taking over.”

There is no denying that Gooseneck Loosestrife is a stunning plant. When grown in drifts, it can bring life to a mid and late summer garden. The trade-off is that it will strangle the life from a year round garden, if not kept in check.

And keeping this plant in check is no small task. It spreads by bright red underground runners. The runners will run where ever the soil will let them. I have seen this plant double its footprint in a year, every year.

I now rip it out of the ground when it steps out of line. You have to be strict with these kinds of plants. Give them an inch and they will take the whole yard, and I mean that quite literally.

The nice thing about Gooseneck Loosestrife is that it will grow where ever you need it to. Sun, shade, wet, dry. It is a happy little bully plant no matter where you put it.

The only downside to this plant (besides the whole invasive species thing) is that it may need a little support. I find that without some kind of support system (like you would use with dahlias and peonies) you end up with a whole bunch of pretty flowers eating dirt.

When someone says “drought tolerant”, they are talk about a plant that can grow with very little water. But when you are talking about Blanket Flowers, what you should say is “desert tolerant”. I honestly am not sure these plants need water.

The flower pictured to the right is the descendant of a North Carolina Souvenir. I make it a point to bring back a plant from every pace that I visit. On a trip to North Carolina with family several years ago, we stayed in a beach house in Nag’s Head, North Carolina. The beach outside the house had only one kind of plant growing in it, and that was hundreds of Blanket Flowers or Gaillardia. The sand was of the fine, fine kind. Lovely for beaches, not so great for plants and yet these tenacious plants survived.

I scooped up one, plopped it in a used plastic beer cup (I have that kind of family) and held it in my lap all the way home. I gingerly planted it in the driest bed I have and it rewarded me by abandoning the bed a year after I planted it. Apparently, it preferred to grow in the cracks in the sidewalk next to the bed, because that is now the ONLY place in my garden I can get it to grow.

Massive, 2 - 3 foot tall plants grow from 1/4 cracks. TLC is apparently the last thing this plant needs. It just wants to be kicked to the curb and abused. I think that there is a psychological condition that addresses this mindset, but I am not a plant shrink, so I don’t know what to call it.

Blanket Flowers were named for an amateur botanist who happened to have alot of money to give to professional botanists (note to Bill Gates, Paris Hilton or any of the Princes of Saudi Arabia, if you give me money, I promise to find you a plant to name after you). As a result of financial contributions, Frederick Pursh named this plant after M.Gaillard de Charentonneau in the botanical book, Flora Americae Septentrionalis. Many of the plants that were in this book were discovered during the explorations of Lewis & Clark, which is the case with the Blanket Flower. Found in Montana by that famous party, it now grows wild in many part of the US and beyond.

The common name of Blanket Flower comes from the fact that they were colored much like the brightly woven blankets of the Native Americans who lived in the area where the plant was first found.

Pretty flower, doesn’t need my help to grow and yet does not feel the need to bully my other plants. While this may be a loner plant and it may grow in inconvenient locations (good thing the kids have learned that plants come before convenience), it is one plant I am glad has decided to join my garden party in a rebel, you suck but I’ll hang sort of way.

If there is one thing I have learned over the years is that gardeners in general really need to take a few Public Relations classes before they go giving plants common names. Toad Lily? Lungwort? Butterfly Weed? Who thinks these names would encourage people to put these plants in their garden?

I think at the very least the the nursery industry should get involved and petition or something. These sorts of naming conventions are hurting their business.

Anyhoo, I think creeping phlox is one of these poorly named plants. Creeping? Scary monsters creep. Bad guys creep. Pretty flowering groundcovers do not creep. OK, it does creep but not in creepy, out to kill you sort of way.

Creeping phlox is actually a native Eastern US plant but it will grow just about anywhere in the United States. It will grow happily from zone 3-9 and is recommended for all kinds of gardening types from shade gardening to xeriscaping. Needless to say, creeping phlox is one hardy plant.

One of the best loved features about creeping phlox is that it will spread, but is not so brutish as to be invasive about it. It will cover an area quite nicely and will politely step around anything already growing there.

One bonus I have found with creeping phlox is that it makes an ideal groundcover to mix with bulb plantings. The cheeping phlox creates a cover that is solid to the eye but not matted to the ground. Because of this, bulbs can come up very nicely through the phlox, look magnificent and then, just about the time their blooms fade, the phlox comes to its full glory, which helps detract from the bulb’s greenery sticking out above. Then for the rest of the year the creeping phlox serves as a nice backdrop to the rest of the garden.

Apparently, I am not the only one who thinks that creeping phlox is a poor name for such a lovely plant. In some areas, creeping phlox is referred to as “moss pink”, though I would like to point out that it is neither moss nor always pink.

We are coming to the end of the tulip season. Late blooming tulips seem to be the only thing that saves the garden, which is stuck between spring and summer flowers, from being nothing but a sea of lush greens.

Previously, I was not a big fan of tulips but, as I get older and I pay more attention to what my garden looks like as a whole rather than the parts and pieces I fall in love with in the nursery and shove into open spots when I get home, I have found they serve an important purpose in the garden. Tulips were just so… well… every garden. Everyone grows them and they are a pain since they tend to die off after a few years. But right now, they are all that is giving color to my garden until the early summer riot starts.

Legend has it that tulips are the cradles of fairy babies. At night, fairy grandmothers steal into gardens that are filled with tulips and rock their little grandbabes to sleep. And I can believe this because if you have ever looked into a tulip, the pollen does look suspiciously like baby poop.

Supposedly, if you never pick your tulips, the fairies will bless you with a beautiful garden. I am personally screwed in this area. While I never pick my tulips, the deer do seem to think that they are a tasty snack. Only about 50% of the tulip blossoms in my yard make it past two days of being open. I just hope that the fairies have the good sense to keep their babies out of my tulips. I would hate for my tulips to be contributing to any fairy baby deaths. Though if they are, this gives me just one more reason to get my deer hunting license this fall.

The name tulip is actually a bastardization of the word “Turban”. Tulips originate from Asia and made their way to Europe through trading routes in Turkey. While most people associate tulips with Holland and the Dutch, the fact is that they were VERY late in coming into the tulip obsession game. Turkish nobility valued tulip bulbs over the lives of the Turkish people. One could be exiled, even put to death for taking a tulip bulb out of the capital.

Even with these strict laws, tulips eventually made it to Holland. Because the flower looks much like that headgear worn by Turkish men, European people started to call these very expensive flowers “turbans”. Eventually, through telephone game semantics, this became “tulipans” which was then shortened to “tulip”.

My, my, my… how far the mighty tulip has fallen. Where once they were treasured above human life and could make or break a vast fortune, they are now sold at your local big box store for $9.95 for a dozen.

I suppose it doesn’t matter if they are cradles for fairytale creatures or worth their weight in gold, I just need to plant more so that next year, I have a bit more color in my garden at this time of year.

L’Chayim! (Sorry, didn’t mean to spit in the screen.) It is time to harvest the horseradish. Do you know how I know that? Because it is almost Passover.

Horseradish is one of the things that is traditionally served in the Passover Seder. It serves the purpose of Maror or the bitter herb which represents the bitterness of the Jews slavery in Egypt.

But I am not Jewish, so why do I care that it is almost Passover. Well, first because I like to be a culturally aware and sensitive gal, at least as much as one can be when one has been brought up in the Midwest.

Second, because the date of Passover (where they eat horseradish) normally falls around the time that is good to harvest horseradish. It’s that whole circle of life… or something. Anyway, horseradish should be harvested in early Spring and the date of Passover reminds me that it is time to harvest.

I headed out to the horseradish tub to harvest this year’s crop. Yes, I said tub. I buried a big plastic tub in the ground before I planted my horseradish. Horseradish is invasive and near impossible to kill once it is established. So unless you want to have a horseradish garden, you have to treat the stuff like mint. Tasty but dangerous.

I dug up a few roots and left others to grow for next year. To tell the truth, I could have dug up all the roots and it still would have come back for next year, but I don’t need that much horseradish.

I then used a blender to process my horseradish. Just a note, fresh horseradish needs to be processed with the windows open. Holy goodness and mercy on us all, this stuff is potent. The zing of horseradish comes from a chemical called allyl isothiocyanate which is produced when the chemicals sinigrin & myrosin combine in water. Horseradish has sinigrin and horseradish has myrosin, but it doesn’t keep them in the same place so the heat and hop does not exist until you chop the root up.

To any Jews who may be passing through, happy Passover. May the reflection on your history show you the blessings of your life.