Covering the Pergola- Transplanting Hops

I love vertical gardens. I like vines, rambling rose bushes, and pillars of flowers. Unfortunately in Alberta there aren't many vines you can depend on to cover a yaght-sized pergola. We have some incredible climbing roses (which I'll feature in a couple weeks when they really get their bloom on!) on two of the pergola's posts, but I can't depend on these to provide shade. The last three years I've experimented with kiwi (too shady) and clematis (aesthetically too like Medusa's hair). Neither successfully grew to cover the top for mid-day shade in the heat of summer.

This year I have, against Mat's better judgement, transplanted hops. Its probably the one plant that Mat remembers from his mom's beautiful, lush, colour filled garden. Even in the zone 2, windy Crowsnest Pass, hops grew to cover a trellis at the entry of their home.  Mat doesn't remember its resiliency or shade or beauty, he remembers it clawing at him as he attempted to enter his home after school. He remembers it scraping up his arms and face as he fought it off the trellis every fall. 

Not the best picture- but the only one I can access from my laptop!

So the plant has some pretty spiny fruit and has the added annoyance of needing to be cut down every fall. It's a damn good climber and pergola cover. Rumours swirl that, in the heat of summer, you can sit back and literally watch it grow, growing two feet in a single day in optimal conditions. Plus, it's the beginnings of really good beer. I also had the additional incentive that my friend had dozens of new seedlings growing as weeds in her back yard. 

The information I read about planting hops was fussy; I ended up being not. I used a spade and hacked at the seedlings, then dropped each one with some knots of roots into a bucket. I then proceeded to forget them in the sun for most of the day. That evening, I hastily dug holes about the yard and planted the roots with some compost and water. Two weeks later, there are signs of life at 4 of the 6 planting sites: two along the pergola, three against the fence, and one in the alley. In fact, one root's already grown two feet of new life. Looking on it in delight, I again reassured Mat that I will "help to" take it down. And in the end, if his memory is right, I'm committed to ripping the darlings out (easier said than done?!)

PS. I will also add, that I love Virginia Creeper. It too would grow like a child on steroids with the added benefit of not needing to be cut down in the fall- and hence having much less 'vertical ground' to cover to reach the top netting every season. I may try this next year if my hops fails to work. My main hesitation is the baffling leaf hoppers: little, literally 'hopping' white insects that lay their eggs on the bottom of the leaf which turn the whole plant prematurely red. My main beef with them is not the early onset of autumn, it is their mob-like quality at your faintest move. You flourish an arm and they all get hopping at once. It's unnerving! On my other creeper, I have found no organic solution. If you have an antidote- please let me know as this plant would be an ideal friend to our pergola... and may save me some big marital tension in the fall. 

Forget Peat Pots: Making Them Old School

My house in 2010. It became rather unmanageable- and dinner was eaten in the living room.

This is the time when our house decor models that of a jungle. It's a disorganized, poorly lit greenhouse, without enough surface space to manage all the growing (soon to be leggy!) seedlings. This year I have stayed true to my goal of control in the planting stage: I planted 2 butternut squash, not a flat, just 8 tomatoes, not 3 flats. My problem is that in my anticipation for all things warm, green and delicious, I forget that seeds will grow into seedlings which will require transplanting which will require FOUR times the space of the initial planting cells.

If you are wondering about my pots in the above picture- they are newspaper pots. I first got the idea of make my own transplant pots (instead of buying peat or coir) while browsing the Lee Valley Catalogue. For about $30 you could buy a wooden mold "for newspaper pots"! Thankfully I resisted buying the mold and rummaged for a plastic cup in my kitchen. It proved to work fantastically.

Rolling each pot adds about 8 seconds to my transplanting time per seedling. In return, I save about 10-15 cents a plant and reuse materials that are renewable (peat is a non-renewable resource so why use it when not necessary?). I also find that the newspaper pots decompose way faster than coir or peat pots when transplanted out in the garden...

For me, it's been worth the extra time. Here's how I do it:

Cut a 4-6" section of newsprint or a large newsletter (like below). 

With two layers, roll the strips around a plastic cup or mold that's 3- 5" tall

Place top-end down and fold the bottom like the ends of a present- I usually begin folding the loose edge.

Squash the boom flat with the mold or cup.

Add soil immediately (which helps to weight down the folded bottom).

Then add your seedling.

I place mine on cookie trays, with slightly raised edges, so that the seedlings have a firm AND waterproof base. This means no cookies in our home for the month of April (a month when I don't particularly need cookies on my lips or hips!)

Water the tops gently and I add water to the bottom so the pots soak water from the base. Snuggled together like this, the pots hold their shape well.

In past years, I've usually placed tomatoes in the bottom half of pop bottles. This year, I simply transplanted them into a roasting pan (no turkeys will be cooked this month either!). I ran out of dirt but will fill this pan to 1" from the top.

I always plant my tomatoes as deep as I can. New roots will grow from whatever part of the stem is under soil. You can even plant leggy tomatoes sideways in the garden, leaving only the top couple leaves showing. New plants will grow up from the roots where leaves once grew.
 

If you have yet to start basil and parsley, these can be yours to baby. I have no room for these little gaffers. Email me if you want them.