In the Pacific Northwest, May is one of the most amazing months in the garden. So many things are blooming, and what’s not yet blooming is stretching out, reaching to the sky, preparing itself for the summer heat to come. While others – the cool month lovers – bolt to the skies with their yellow flowers and seed pods ready for the next generation.
Even this year, a year where we had no winter, the month of May has just been lovely: rain in good measure, gentle days and even gentler nights. The fragrance of flowers never leaves the air, no matter the hour. The owls grace the night hours with their calls and our creek is still flowing strong.
It’s difficult to stay inside, even when there’s so much writing, reading, and editing to do. Farm life is a lot of work – both in my garden and on the overall farm in general. Luckily by now, all of the cold season plants have come to fruition and there is more than enough salad and cooking greens to be had.
Here you can see one of my many cooler green beds. I do companion planting whenever possible.
There is a sweetness of May verging on June that no other time in the whole year can equal. And by sweetness is meant more than flower fragrance or honey taste; this is the greater sweetness of understanding and emotion, the glow of pleasure in being. ~Hal Borland
The month of May is when I come back to myself after winter journeys. Throughout March, I’m essentially still where I returned from, my soul lingering there more than a little. In April, I’m transitioning. May is when I’m back to being being myself. (Possibly because I spend so much time in the garden.)
In truth, Autumn is generally my favorite season, yet May is a a strong second. Perhaps if there wasn’t so much work that needed to be done, it would raise even higher in my esteem. But honestly, the amount of work is daunting at times and is always an itch in the mind.
Still, this is one of the few season where we can sit comfortably outside at almost any hour. No mosquitos or yellow jackets that plague the later months. It’s rarely too hot (though I’m aware that much of the rest of the world is burning).
My meals are full of greens, greens greens. For those of you who’ve never eaten a garden salad, it is nothing like those pale ghosts of salads you get in most restaurants, mere carriers for dressing. My salads are so bursting with flavor, there is no need for dressing (though occasionally I’ll grace mine with a bit of home-made miso-tahini dressing). In one bed alone, you can find red and green orach, arugula, spinach, four different types of lettuce, and parsley. Add a bit of sorrel, dandelion, mint, and chives…or even some mustard greens…and your taste buds will be in bliss. If I have company coming over, I’ll add edible flowers – chives, nasturtiums, dandelions, mustard. All are quite beautiful.
“Be like a flower and turn your face to the sun.”
– Kahlil Gibran
In the Pacific northwest, before global heating, this is a mantra well-followed. There are usually only a few months where one avoids the sun. The rest of the time, like flowers, we’re sun-seekers.
As many of you know, I’m away in the winters, yet the marks of the lack of winter are all over my garden. So many plants made it through that generally die back. Calendula is one of them. Still, of all the “volunteers” in my garden, calendula is certainly welcome. It lends an intense summer-long beauty to the garden that last all the way into the first frost.
Another welcome volunteer is borage. (You can see some of its leaves in the bottom of the picture above.) The leaves are quite tasty lightly steamed. Its tiny blue flowers, which come forth in the summer, are beloved by bees. And it makes for a nutritious mulch, much like comfrey.
“Spring – an experience in immortality.”
– Henry D. Thoreau
For me, this spring is more a reprieve from climate change. This month is much like other Mays: mild weather, beautiful days and nights, plants growing growing growing and us needing to be mowing mowing mowing mowing. Europe is burning. The middle East is way too hot this time of year for me even during normal years. But here, the weather is downright glorious. I don’t feel “immortal” though. Rather, like savor it while we can; there may never again be a “normal” May, nor one so beautiful and mild.
Soon there will be broccoli to eat. Lots of broccoli. We’re a bit colder here than either Eugene, Salem, or Portland, cities that retain heat much more than the north-facing hill our farm is perched on, so some of my friends are already getting strawberries and peas. But that’s ok. I’m happy to indulge myself on the many other delights of the May garden, which serve to feed the patience as well as the belly. (Though to be honest, we just started getting strawberries.)
Last year, my peas did not do too well; they disliked either the weather or their location. Before that, I had amazing vines that were just about to produce when some random rodents ate them all off at the stalk. I was crushed. They were literally head high and happy and soooo close to yielding. This year – knock on wood – everything is going well. They like their location. They’re managing the mole damage ok. And so far nothing has attacked them. (To be honest, I get less rodent damage when the winters are warm – they’re not so desperate for greens.)
I’ve learned that, like tomatoes, nasturtiums are actually perennials. I have one potted nasturtium plant that I put in the greenhouse every winter and it’s now in its fourth spring. The hummingbirds are loving it. And, of course, the flowers are quite tasty.
“Now the bright morning-star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing;
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.”
– John Milton, Song on a May Morning, 1660
And that is my ode to May.
It’s good to take time to write this up and see what others have written about this most sensuous month. It reminds me to more time to just love the tastes and touch and smells and sights of this amazing month, and to not let myself get too overwhelmed by the amount of work.
That’s not to say that I’m not direly aware that I need to get the rest of my tomatoes and squash in the ground and lay the rest of my water line and weed the tree nursery beds and continue cutting blackberries, and, and and…