The temps are forecasted in the teens, next town over to the west and north. I went out to see what I could get before it was frozen and came back with a couple of handfuls of good stuff. Small but brightly colored Swiss chard, Piracicaba and Parsley.
garden harvest 12’10’11
Here is where it came from.
Sad Piracicaba plants
But still producing edible Piracicaba blossomsSwiss chard
And here is the self seeded mache (corn salad). I left a few of the plants go this spring, hoping to get a fall crop. These will probably not grow very much until next spring.
self seeded mache
I picked this one, less than 2″ accross but I’ll add it to the salad bowl.
mache (corn salad)
And here is a shot of my indoor lettuce. Kicking myself, as I watered them today and then found the test kit in a soggy plastic bag on my door. I’d intended to give them a shot of fertilizer, 24 hours before sending off the sample as a worst case for high nitrogen but I don’t think I can wait much longer to start harvesting the bigger leaves.
Traditions are important in France and change is slow in coming. I was made sad this year to find out that the very hotel that I was recommending when I surprised myself by saying the words, “whenever I’m in Paris”, has changed. It still lives on a tiny street near the Latin quarter and the Seine, but when I returned to it, trip after trip, it was a modestly priced hotel with tiny, indifferently decorated (but clean) rooms; plumbing that grumbled loudly to get me out of bed in the mornings; weak English-syle coffee with a roll, a croissant, butter and jam, for breakfast; and a friendly manager who spoke English and remembered her customers; even when it was years between visits. I usually booked with an e-mail saying, “can I still get the same rate?” and the answer was almost always yes. Sadly, a friend came back to me for another recommendation this year because the rates have more than doubled. It appears to have changed ownership and become part of a small luxury chain.
The Left Bank, while a good place for inexpensive hotels and restaurants by Paris standards, has never been the place where people would look first for true luxury accommodations. The historic old streets are small and noisy, full of the smells of diesel fuel and garlic. At night, the hawkers in the small streets will stand in the doors of the various ethnic restaurants, music blaring, to try to pull you in for dinner. The crowds are full of students, emigrants and budget tourists. But the location has its charms, especially for me. A short walk to the East, just past the Arab World Institute, and the small Park zoo, is the entrance to one of the most wonderful places in the world, Jardin des Plantes, Paris.
The people of Paris use this place (no entrance fee, except for the zoo and museums) as their front porch, their work-out studio, their alternate living room. Summer, winter, rain or shine, there are always people in this park. Jogging, walking, sitting, snacking in the cafes. Rows of benches under the Plane trees create a cool haven in the summer and a comfortable place to sit year-round, to soak in the beauty and the history. Kings and queens have walked here; in fact it was established as a medicinal garden for a king, hundreds of years ago. Sitting as close as it does to the historical center of Paris, it’s challenges, reversals and perseverance to become a world-class botanical and scientific resource could fill a book. But you can see it; soak up its essence, for free.
I highly recommend it as a cure for jet lag. The overnight flights often drop you off in Paris in the morning, with little or no sleep and an afternoon to fill. Take a book to the park, wander around and when you get tired, find a comfortable bench. The light of day will start to reset your clock and the beauties will sooth the soul.
There are a number of gardens, including one that organizes plants by their botanical characteristics; so read up on your interests before you visit or ask for a map at the small gate house. The rose garden is best in late May or very early June as it contains a number of once blooming varieties, but the main parterres have many roses that last most of the summer. Most of the pictures in the gallery were taken in the main parterres.
Notice the smoke over Buffon’s right shoulder in the long shot toward the front gate (fourth in the gallery). There were some particularly vehement protests that day; I saw worried police everywhere on my way to the gardens but I was oblivious to the cause until I heard the noise, and saw that night’s news. Explosions, smoke, screaming loudspeakers and sirens as the protests passed the park, but inside it was an island of tranquility.[oqeygallery id=20]
The lettuces continue to put on mass. The red colors in Yogoslavian Red (heading lettuce) are showing up nicely but it’s also the slowest growing. And I cannot see a visible difference between Australian Yellow and Simpson Elite (with toothpicks).
I split the soil cubes between two flats to give them more room and now I do a littly dosie doe with the flats every day to move the outside lettuces closer to the light. Fertilized again; I will drop back to once a month now, I think.
Just to recap, for people who stumble accross this post first: Lettuces planted 10/23; sprouts show by 10/27; lights out and no heat 10/29-11/3; put under LED array on 11/8. See Week One and It Begins for more history.
I ordered some “Red Sails” from Pinetree Seeds, an easier red leaf lettuce and I’ll start my next batch as soon as they arrive. Hopefully, this weekend.
The lettuces are definately adding mass, one week after the LED array was set up. They didn’t get their first feed until yesterday: Miracle Grow at the package strength. (Sorry OGL folks, I promise, the next batch will be in a mix that includes compost.) I forgot how little water seedlings grown in relatively cool conditions need; they should have been feed a week ago.
I’ve worried over the height of the lights and can’t find relevant information.
Yugoslavian Red
The 90 watt light is supposed to cover a surface of four square feet. At 12-18″ away, the Yogoslavian Red lettuces at the end of the flat seem to be straining for the light. But they are showing some color. Too much of this light, I read, can hurt small seedlings. But I haven’t found a description of what that harm looks like, either. There is a good reason that I call this an experiment.
At least for the next week, I’ll leave the light centered about 12′ above the flat, moving the flat daily so that each end is closer on alternate days.
I started lettuces on 10/23 and they were just showing green, under my usual florescent bulb starting mechanisms, when the power went out for five days. I was worried that the sprouts would be too leggy and get my trials with an LED array off to a bad start, but after watching for a few days, these look fine. I guess that the cooler house temperatures also slowed development.
The light is an Illuminator UFO 5-Band Tri-Spectrum LED grow light. I vaguely thought that I would start with simple lettuces but the leftovers from last spring didn’t really offer that choice, except for Simpson Elite, a popular leaf lettuce, so I started two rows of it. And a row each (four 2″ soil cubes) of Australian Yellow (leaf) and Yugoslavian Red, my favorite heading lettuce. A row of Red Velvet didn’t germinate for some reason, I have had that problem before with that seed; this was a replacement pack. Thus, the empty cubes in the last picture.
In spite of plans to take advantage of extra basement space with a well-designed setup, in my usual haphazard way, I stuck the light in the guest/junk room. It uses the very sophisticated setup that I use in spring, two cross country skis over the tops of chairs and chains to hang the lights. I left one florescent fixture in place for times when I want to work with the lettuces. In just the time it takes me to get from the door to the outlet to unplug the LED array, my eyes are already complaining about the lurid pink glow. And everything is green while your eyes recover.
the setup
If anyone has advice about how long these lights should be on for lettuce, please speak up. I keep the seed starting lights on for 16 hours a day but I think that may be too long for these. Also, I suspect that day length has something to do with lettuce “heading up” so I’m thinking I should plan for some room to increase hours for that heading lettuce when it gets bigger. I have been warned that lettuces grown under low lights could have dangerous levels of nitrates, and did some reading on that. I do not know if “low light” applies to LED arrays. And about the only plans I have to deal with this is to use a low nitrogen fertilizer and get one of my lettuces tested at harvest time. I’ve also read that foods that have this problem taste bad so, guess what! I won’t eat them if they taste bad!
On hearing about my last week, a few people have said they couldn’t imagine being five days without power. For me, this was just one day more than our power outage in the ice storm of 2008, but yeah, before that, I couldn’t have imagined it either. A freind said I should share. I was a bit reluctant and tried to figure out why. During 2008 outage, I had just read Solviva, and in my head, developed so many ideas about how I could improve on this old, drafty house. A passive hot water system on the sunny side of the house; augmented by a redesigned fireplace that heats water as it’s used; a more elaborate, covered, outdoor cooking area. Dream on! The truth is that after that storm, I spent thousands of dollars remodling a bathroom in the back of the house where a pipe may have burst in the cold, and life went on. That was a once in a lifetime, right?
So my house is still drafty and energy inefficient, I never use the fireplace so I don’t dare try it in an emergency, even just to get some radiant heat. I don’t have double paned windows or even curtains on some of them. So I guess I should write about this like I write about my garden. How the rest of us do it, those who dream big but never get around to implementing the plan; who manage anyway.
First, I was gifted in 2008 with some of my most important tools: a propane burner and tank and two boxes of votive candles, one with votive holders. (Sister had loaned me her burner in the 2008 storm and I’d used every old candle in my collection.) The ability to make your own coffee or heat up some soup, or just a kettle of water to wash, is key to feeling as if you can cope. The other two important tools were my i-Phone and a battery run indoor/outdoor thermometer. Any PDA that lets you check weather and news and text or call family will do.
The lights went out on Saturday night and on Monday morning, the towns nearby were still closed down tightly. Rumor (text messages) had it that places: groceries, gas stations, had tried to open on battery/generator on Sunday; the fact that they’d given up told me we were in for a long outage. And rumor had it that trees were blocking roads everywhere and had to be removed. So priorities change; give up on getting into work and focus on staying warm and protecting the house. At first the differential between indoor and outdoor heat was enough that I just kept things closed up, and started burning those votives. When I moved to the bedroom for the night, all of the burning candles came with me. As the indoor temps became closer to outdoor temps, afternoons were spent heating water in all my biggest cooking pots to bring inside. I’d fire up the grill and boil water, cooking dinner before the charcoal burned out.
Food was no problem; I ate well. I keep what I call “winter meats” on hand, things like a can of corned beef hash, which includes beans and other protiens but the first days were spent using stuff from the freezer and eggs. It’s a small freezer, fortunately, as everything left in there has to go. And I gave up on the eggs about Tuesday. A yam, baked in foil on the grill, tucked in around the boiling water, was the sweetest I’ve had in ages and I wonder if the higher heat carmelized sugars in a way that the oven would not have done. And I was not cold. Whenever I wasn’t working, I was under a pile of blankets and three cats. The cats came to appreciate me as a source of heat, as well as food and affection. Living bodies generate a lot of heat on their own so preserving it and sharing it goes a long way. The nightime temps got lower every night, but 46 degrees F was the lowest; not that bad. Outside, we had a 26 deg F night that got me worrying about the darn pipes, so running water through that back bathroom periodically became a serious task. Ironically, the plumber did such a good job on the faucets that I couldn’t get them to drip.
But it was not a walk in the park. Between the things I need to do to keep my job and the things I like to do, there never seems to be enough time. So watching the week slip by when I couldn’t make progress on either front was frustrating. And yet there was plenty of time four coulda, shouldas and wouldas. Pergatory for a procrastinator like me. I hadn’t even thought to get cash like my father taught me, although the gas tank was pretty full.
But that’s probably not the way to think about it. Here’s what I want to share with you:
Make some simple preparations, canned food, a propane burner and a box or two of votive candles are cheap.
Use what you have; I hadn’t thought about charcoal and ligher fluid as survival tools but that’s what I had in 2008 and now I know.
Keep your gas tank full and cash on hand, especially when the weatherman says a storm is coming.
Recognize that priorities change and we have to embrace the moment: hug a cat (or other warm body); read that book on the coffee table: drink that third cup of coffee just because it’s warm.
Why the power went out
Deck side of houseNieghbor's House, notice the tree on the stoop.Wasp's nest still there!
I’ve been wanting a hard frost to kill off the tops of the dahlias; I want to do some expansion of the bed and add a lot of compost to see if that will help with the poor (purchased) soil that I used to build the beds. However, mother nature over-acheived. As I was driving home from work last night what was rain in eastern MA started turning into sleet and then fluffy white stuff as I climbed in elevation near home. As the temps dropped, it continued and we have a measurable accumulation from overnight. Weather people are also talking about more of the white stuff this weekend so I will need to dig dahlia tubers quickly.
Things are actually not looking too bad this morning but when the frozen tissues thaw, that expansion will destroy the plants. Shots of a deck box and the garden follow. The Swiss Chard and parsley will probably recover. Not the nasturtiums.
I purchased a small Toro electric mower this spring and wondered if my lawn was too much for it. I love its quiet ways, no worries about waking up the neighbors if I want to do an early morning mow. But, let’s face it, my lawn is not a genteel expanse of grasses. “Hey lady, is that Bugleweed (Ajuga) in your lawn?” Why yes, how perceptive of you to have noticed! I have both purple-leaved and green and n the spring it makes a lovely carpet of blue flowers that the pollinators love. I mow around the thickest spots until the bees abandon them.
My initial impression of the mower was that it did’t have enough power to pull the grass upright before cutting it but that has not proved to be a problem. Somehow it gets cut. It’s been doing it’s job all summer and there are no gouged and empty spots like the mowing company left from turning their big equipment in small places.
autumn nasturtium
But this article is about another experiment. I’m not going to rake the lawn this year. I am going to try to mow the leaves in. Although I’d heard it suggested before, a friend sent me this link to a Fine Gardening article that talks about Michigan State researchers who mowed an 18 inch! layer of leaves into test plots.
As you can see above, I don’t have much to lose. So, this is the year I try it with my much lighter layers of leaves. The season is slow in coming with many trees still green, but you can see my tiny eggbeater of a mower does make a dent in what’s there now.
Rose Teasing Georgia
Some bonus shots. The nasturtium are still going strong in the food beds; they keep me company as I clean, fork, and add compost. They will melt after our first bad frost.
And this only blossom on rose “Teasing Georgia” was hanging about at eye level to cheer on my efforts.
This has probably been hanging over my head as I walked for most of the summer. One of the other walking ladies in the neighborhood told me where to look for it, high over the street. What a work of architecture! And from what I read, a very temporary home. All of the workers will soon come to an end and the pregnant females will find a more sheltered place to over winter. The type of wasp that makes these large nests is not agressive like yellow jackets or hornets.
And wasps are good for gardens. A large part of their diet is caterpillars, also flies and beetle larve.
This second, somewhat ordinary shot says “home” to me. Ahhhh; home.
Some things that catch my eye as I drive to and from work. I would like to know more about this statue; I’ve named him Adonis Rising but may be offending some artist. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with his place in the garden for some reason.
The homeowner in the next shot always uses the picket fence to set off nice plantings. Those may be some of the tallest grasses I’ve seen.
Sister, neice and I visited Overlook Farm on Saturday, an educational endeavor in eastern-central Massachusetts, owned and run by Heifer International. Visitors are welcome to look around the grounds and the demonstration gardens include small sites representing how people live around the world. The garden representing Peru had the broadest display of amaranth varieties that I’ve seen recently, where it’s used as a food crop.
Amaranth
My sister and I both live in heavily wooded areas with small spaces for gardens and my niece lives in a condo where she gardens on her deck. We were green with envy on seeing the two acre food garden on a sunny slope, not a wisp of shade in sight.
[oqeygallery id=19]To someone starved to see dahlias growing as I was this summer, Hamilton Dahlia Farm in Hamilton, MI, is a Las Vegas sized, all you can eat buffet. Lots of variety, for every taste, and it goes on for acres. The difficult part of this post was selecting which of the many beautiful dahlias to feature in the gallery. The Farm is not a public garden where you might go to see how dahlias work in mixed borders, like the Peace Garden in Caen, France. You may see the occasional weed or stem from quick and efficient dead-heading. Don’t worry, the sheer vibrance of these beautiful flowers captures the eye and sends their charms straight to the heart. And, in terms of dahlias by the square foot, the Farm is actually several times the size of those gardens and other French dahlia demostration gardens like Orleans La Source, Coutances, and Parc Floral Vincennes. The Farm sells its dahlias wholesale; there were a couple of wedding parties there the same day that I was, picking them by the dozen, and also sells retail at two different farm markets in Michigan. On Saturdays they sell at Fulton Street Market in Grand Rapids, which is where the last shot was taken.
Most of my success has been with small varieties, starting with some I bought for my deck boxes a couple of years ago. So I made a beeline for the largest, bowling-ball-wanabees with beauty treatments. Most of the pictures I selected feature them. Where I could find the name tags, I’ve labeled them. The Farm’s web site also has many beautiful pictures, all labeled.
[oqeygallery id=18]Here are some of my nicest photos of this year’s dahlias and the dahlia bed.
Small, compact dahlias dominated this year, starting with Art Deco, (saved from 2010) which graces the deck boxes in back. The different colors that you see in the pictures are real; there’s even more variation of golds and rusts along with purplish pink tones than my camera can catch. Dahlia Esther was also a surprise. The online catalogue showed a rather flat orange and this is much nicer. It started early; it’s had the most blossoms of any variety and it’s still going strong. You will see it dominating the dahlia bed in most of the bed pictures. Ellen Houston is a small, solid, deep red dahlia, (deeper red than the camera can handle) with dark stems and shiney dark leaves. It should have been in front of the bed and next year it will go there. It may need some staking, or just more sun.
Two small ball dahlias come next in the sequence. Kasasagi echos the colors of Esther but with a different shape. Little Scotty completes the color transition to a pure yellow. I love their perfectly shaped, minature petals but both of these have minimal impact from a distance. Littly Scotty is a tall plant that needs staking. I think he will go on the back row between some larger-blossomed dahlias next year.
The smaller varieties are also earlier than the large ones, which just started showing off. I’ll be adding to this part of the collection next year for sure. This part of the gallery starts with Croyden Masterpiece. These are not as large as some that I grew a few years ago; those got me hooked and then, tragically, died. These start much pinker than I remember. Then they go lovely shades of peachy orange. Huge, yellow Bilbao was saved from one that I grew last year and planted directly into the ground as a trial. Worked pretty well! I like Ryn Fou best when it develops that deep purple stripe.
Also called: Pride of Gibraltar and Cathedral Bells.
I bought the seed from Renee’s Garden Seeds, who says “They make a show-stopping centerpice in the garden…” Somewhere else, I’d read that they are nondescript until the bracts show and then they are incredible, or words to that effect. In my garden, this is as good as it gets. If somewhere I needed a rangy, succulent looking, grey leaved plant, it might be a good choice but in my garden the single bracts are so subtle that you have to look closely to see them.
Doing further research, I read that they are a mediterranean plant. Maybe more heat and sun than I get would help?
Although the water spray that’s triggered by a motion detector seems to have stopped the deer damage in the garden, the chipmunks have eaten more of my tomatoes than I have. I was feeling a bit deprived as I looked at the chewed tomatos hanging sadly here and there in my late summer garden. But then I looked at my large kitchen island and saw it covered with enough food for a family of six, large and small tomatoes, two kinds of cucumbers, summer squash and baggies of beans and Piracicaba in the refridgerator. (onions and garlic curing in the garage…) Yes, most of the tomatoes on that counter were picked green, that pale light green that they get just before they turn color, but there are more than I need and they will still taste better than anything I can buy at the grocery store. Even local farmers pick them early and let them “counter ripen” for sale. So is that counter half empty or half full?
Just as I was pondering that, sister stopped by with a gift. A beautiful, vine-ripened tomato of the variety called Pineapple, from the plants that I had given her this spring. And that decided it. The counter is definately half full. Overflowing, even.
It’s still too early for my full season dahlia gallery. The dinnerplate dahlias are tight buds, but starting to show color. I’m enjoying the flowers too much though, not to share. Croyden Masterpiece is not as large as it should be and not really orange, but I love it’s complex coloring. And it shows well with amaranths Love Lies Bleeding and Cinco de Mayo.
I have a nice design element happening (I never actually saw any of these before, just picked them out of a catalogue) which is the color and shape transitions from “Esther” the flat collerette to “Kasasagi”, to “Little Scotty”, the shy yellow ball (He still has a lot of leaf to flower ratio but it’s still early). Next year I will know that Ellen Houston stays shorter and goes in front. It picks up the red in the yellow/red blends.
About dahlias. After so many failures, with only a few successes, I often think that I should just give up on dahlias. Excuses abound. Our climate just isn’t right, it’s too hard to pull and store the tubers. But then, every day I drive by the Weston Racquet Club with a really exceptional display of dahlias. I stopped in to ask permission to photograph last year and I was told that one of the landscapers just likes dahlias. I’ll say. And, to put this in context, I look and look for public gardens with displays of dahlias this time of year and they are almost impossible to find in New England.
I just don’t know how any gardener worth her stuff can look at these flamboyent displays of color and light energy and not lust to grow them.[oqeygallery id=17]
Well, not much and not on this issue. The first year I got this rose, it bloomed about this time of year for the first time. I was really disappointed and called J & P to tell them they had sold me the wrong rose. No scent; and the number of petals didn’t match the description. It’s not supposed to be a flat, single rose. J & P told me that they would refund or send me another the next year. I procrastinated until the next spring and guess what! It was a full and pretty rose with a wonderful scent.
Evidently, there is a difference between what it produces at different times of the year because I’ve seen the same issue with summer reblooms later in the year. It would be interesting to know if this is a characteristic of the rose itself or if it’s something about the root stock or this particular bush.
To see the spring version, see my spring rose gallery. It’s labeled and about five shots in.
My summer food garden is moving quickly into full production. I’m picking a handful of green beans every morning (which really adds up), the cherry tomatoes have been giving me sugar for weeks and I picked the first of my large tomatoes today: a small Brandywine, a damaged Virginia Sweets and a good looking Black Krim. Although all have turned color, they will benefit from a day or two on the counter. The chipmunk(s) got the first of my crop. They seem to have a sixth sense for when a tomato is going to turn color and eat it before I can.
I was feeling a little sorry for myself until I stopped at a nearby farm stand and saw the Heirlooms priced at almost $5 a pound. I’m rich! Also asking the age-old question, how do you know when a green tomato is ripe?? (A: When the chipmunks eat it.)
One small head of Piracicaba, can more be far behind? I’ve eaten a couple of Zephyr summer squash; this variety keesps me from having to choose betwen growing yellow ones or green ones, and both the small yellow cukes and Sweet Success main crop cucumbers will be ready to pick within days. Everything has grown into a solid mass of green and I have to tiptoe between the beds to pick. My meal plans focus on, how can I use…?[oqeygallery id=16]
July is when I realized that I was insane. Or at least that my decision to keep up with the weeds in the rose bed without mulching must have been made in a moment of insanity. My father told me that roses did better with bare soil but now I remember that he said that when he was fully retired and could tend to his roses (and the weeds) every day.
To mulch or not to mulch is a serious question. Here in the North, mulch has a number of negatives, especially the typical bark or wood chips that are so widely used. These mulches can:
Raise the acidity levels, and most New England soils tend to be a bit too acidic already.
Tie up nutrients as they decompose, at least right where they touch the soil.
Keep soil cool, and I’m always running around in the spring with a soil thermometer, willing the soil to heat up! Heat up!
Prevent repeated applications of composts, manure and other soil amendments, throughout the season.
Bring their own fungal diseases or weed seeds.
Create considerable expense.
So why mulch, I asked? And with that long list, you might also. Well, here’s my story from this summer, with the plants I raise.
Tomatoes: I don’t have enough space to rotate, and that’s fallen out of favor as people learn more about micro-organisms that live in the soil and have a symbiotic relationshp with specific plants. However, other diseases overwinter in the soil and get transferred to the plants when water splashes them onto the leaves, so mulch can minimize that. See my post on Mainely Mulch. I was very disappointed that it wasn’t free of crop seeds as advertised, but the truth is that even the heirloom varieties that are vulnerable to soil borne diseases are looking good for late July.
Dahlias: I’m a novice with these. Told not to put them into the ground until the soil warmed, I planted them out in a new bed with soil purchased from a local farmer and thought that the sun warming bare soil would be a good thing. But when I asked some questions about plants that were wilting and failing to thrive, See pictures in Dahlia Problems. I was told that it was probably verticillium or fusarium wilt, the same soil borne problems that tomatos have! Further, because of questions from a gardening freind in Arizona, I learned that dahlias have shallow root systems that don’t like too much heat. Southerners who want to try to grow them should apply a thick layer of mulch to keep the soil cool. It’s all relative, I guess. But I can report that after a thick layer of mulch in July, all of the plants in the dahlia bed, even the healthy ones, perked up and started growing faster. (No, it didn’t save the plants that were already sick.)
Hydrangeas: This spring, I planted a couple of small “Let’s Dance Moonlight” hydrangeas (picture above) that I’ve been growing in pots into a bed that’s not realy finished. I wanted to continue to reshape the area and add amendments and other plantings before I mulched. The hydrangeas were doing very well except that they would wilt badly in the heat of mid-summer sun. I was wondering if I had to sacrifice their lovely blossoms for this season, to let them develop deeper root systems. But first I thought I’d try mulching them. Since this section of my post is talking about why I do mulch, you know what happened; they thrived.
Roses: Yes, personally, I’m sad to say that I can’t keep up with the weeds without mulch. Even with mulch, I have to weed. Lots of vining or plants with runners (strawberries, e.g.) don’t need bare soil to settle in. And mulch should never be applied right against the stem of a plant, which creates opportunities for weeds. Especially with roses; they do much better if there is plenty of air circulation around the bud union. That means no mulch but also, no weeds.
So I hope this has offered some advice that you can adapt to your own plantings. I do have a regular feeding schedule of balanced, slow release fertilizers for roses and other mulched plants to compensate for the little bit of nutrients that may be tied up in the decomposition process of the mulch. And I amend the soil in flower beds to lower their acidity every spring and fall. I’m trying to get competent with a soil test kit to make that more accurate. If you understand the needs of your plants and compensate for the down side, mulch can:
Help with weed control
Keep soil borne diseases from spreading to new plants
