Giving the Garlic a Nice, Warm Blanket

Frost covered everything on my second Saturday morning at the Eco-Institute at Pickards Mountain (https://eco-institute.org/). At the 8 o’clock meeting, the farmer told us that it was “Sleepy time for the garden.” I could work with that.
Our first task was to harvest the tomatoes. The farmer said they would be able to use all of them, whether ripe or not. The little fruits were as hard as rocks in the cold, and my fingers were quickly following suit, despite gloves. After harvesting two rows, all the tomato vines were clipped at the root instead of pulled out completely, in order to keep organic matter in the soil as well as to provide natural aeration as an alternative to tilling. Aggressive-but-beautiful morning glories had grown alongside the tomatoes, so although we put tomato plants in the compost, the morning glory vines were put in a separate pile to help stave off the problem next year.


As we harvested, the farmer told us that if we found tomatoes that were split or otherwise ruined, we should just drop them onto the ground. He called it “composting in place.”
We left many rows of other vegetables untouched. I couldn’t identify them, other than the one that looked a bit like broccoli. I was vaguely aware that there are such things as “winter crops,” but it was still surprising to see them trooping on through this weather.


After we finished clipping down the tomatoes and taking out trellises, we raked back the mulch to prepare for planting. This mulch was cardboard underneath and straw on top — an herbicide-free weed management system.
We then layered on an inch of rich, dark compost to push garlic into. We took bulbs that looked exactly like the kind you’d buy in the store, broke them into cloves, and simply shoved each clove into the ground. His instructions were a bit more complicated than “shove,” but after hearing how he described to pattern the plants and level the tips with the surrounding dirt, I quickly volunteered for the clove-breaking.



Then came the most fascinating part of the day: the comfrey mulch. At the end of every row of plants in the garden sits a squat leafy plant that I’d previously assumed was somehow used for food. The farmer explained that the comfrey plant has strong roots that grow deeper than crop plants’ roots do. It pulls up nutrients and minerals out of the deeper soil and puts that nutrition into its leaves. We sheared the plants down to a couple inches from the ground, but the plant will grow right back next year. We then had ready-made, all-natural mulch that would decompose on the surface, utilizing the deep soil nutrients that would’ve otherwise remained untouched. Since the plants were growing on the end of every row, we didn’t even have to walk far to get it. It was a perfect agroecology moment.


The farmer’s precise and scientific directives were often supplemented by such expressions as “Sleepy time for the garden,” “Giving the garlic a nice, warm blanket,” and “Hashtag permaculture!” (All direct quotes.) We definitely gave that garlic a serious blanket. We put so much organic material on top of the cloves that part of me doubts the little plants will be able to push through, but I’m no expert. Heck, I can barely identify a broccoli plant.
Only two Saturdays into this project, I’m seeing lots of patterns. Mulching instead of herbicide. Compost and comfrey instead of synthetic fertilizers. Taproots instead of tilling. And of course, recycle organic matter as much as possible. This method of farming is more teamwork with nature than war against it.

