A Spring Long Weekend at Maison Blum

It’s been a while, and I’ve decided to change the title of this section from “Daily Musings” to the simpler and less binding “Musings.” Truth is, I’ll still attempt to post every weekday, but on the somewhat frequent occasions such as this past long weekend when we make the trip to Maison Blum from Toronto, I’m so taken up with preparations the day before we leave and then the landing back in the city and all the unpacking and reorienting that entails that it’s simply not feasible to hold myself to writing. So: we’re back, and over the next few days I’ll mostly be sharing and processing the loveliness and the lessons of an Easter weekend that was jam-packed with goodness and gardening.

The first order of business this past weekend was to take care of the “shire.” No mowing, of course - we wait until after May for that in order to allow whatever beasties need the cover to wake up slowly and survive and because such things as violets which bloom now are important early sustenance for pollinators - but we did pick up many a stick, any debris from the winter winds that would cause uneven grass growth. I avoid raking unnecessarily, but we did do some tidying work in some high-traffic areas and along the forest path to the river, and I made leaf piles here and there with the intent to later add them to an updated composting system come the summer.

Once the shire felt happy and light, free of its impediments, we turned our attention to the garden. This time of year is prime time for removing unwanted suckers and weeds such as Poison Parsnip, along with any weeds in designated garden patches, but I’m always careful to leave a few desirable “weeds” such as Lamb’s Ear (because it’s soft and cute and makes children happy) and Mullein (for natural remedies) and Nettle (soup and tisane!) and of course lots of Milkweed (for the Monarch butterflies).

We also cut down some carefully selected, small trees at the edge of the forest in order to make room for a mini orchard that I have been dreaming of starting since we first came to Maison Blum, five years ago. Even though, as they say, “the best time to plant a tree was five years ago,” I’m glad I waited because the original site I had imagined for the orchard was far less practical and less beautiful than the one we finally settled on. It has taken five years of developing the garden to understand where exactly the most sensible place for fruit trees is, and now that I’ve staked out their spots, I have no doubt that they’ll be the happiest they can be. What’s going in? Peach, plum, pear. Two of each. Like this song by Joanna Newsom: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcHjAUhtSrk

Certainly the most exciting part of all of this prep work was the sowing. Let’s start with the flowers. At the front of the house, I put in the Gladioli corms that had been dug up and stored inside over the winter, hoping they will be happier with full morning sun and with the porch to lean against. Several varieties of poppy - Mother-of-pearl and the classic Flanders - were sown in the gardens bordering the drive, with the Jelly Beans and Iceland varieties down by the chicken coop. Framing the blueberry patch will be all kinds of sunflowers - the giant Peredovnik with its tasty fat seeds, sweet fuzzy Teddy Bear, high-falutin’ Velvet Queen - plus the pest-repellent and edible necessities of Marigold and Calendula, and some beautiful blue Borage. In the white and blue “Sissinghurst” garden, I added Lewis Flax in the hopes it is as good for xeriscaping as the package advertises, plus some California Bluebells and German Chamomile. The original garden where I used to grow vegetables is now turning over to bright flowers (with some edibles) like Cornflower and Snapdragon, with a central focal point of Red Hopi Dye Amaranth that I think will look dashing (and rather French) against the white and blue of the house and the Sissinghurst garden, and that I can’t wait to use for salads, as grains, as flour, and for the brilliant red dye that is alluded to in its name (more on this incredible plant and its history later).

In terms of root vegetables, we sowed two types of carrots - Bolero and the promisingly named Cosmic Purple Carrot - plus Detroit Dark Red Beets and Red Rat’s Tail Radish. Liliaceaes: leeks and onions. For brassicas, some Sorrento Raab and Green Magic Broccoli to add to those we’ve gotten started in the city under lights, and then all the rest are greens: spinaches, Swiss chard, Mizuna, cilantro (for the first time, somehow… what was I waiting for!?)

I’ve declared 2025 the Year of the Bean and, as they like cooler temperatures to get started in, we did a comprehensive planting of ten varieties of beans and peas and put in the stakes upon which they’ll be strung up later. I purchased most of these seeds last year from a rare seed company based in Missouri called Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds, and although some part of me wonders if they’ll appreciate our chillier zone, and all of me wants to make sure I only buy from Canadian companies going forward (for political reasons that didn’t exactly exist last year), I have to say that the names of some of these babies are highly evocative… we’re talking “Dragon Tongue,” “Urizun Japanese Winged Bean,” “Slippery Silks,” “Fort Portal Jade, “Chinese Red Noodle.” I mean, come on! And of course I put some Sweet Peas in - this time, under the rose arch, hoping they’ll have enough sun and the right amount of support as they vine up, and smell like Heaven!

I’m getting very excited for what’s to come, as we have a mere month until I go back with the seedlings I’m nurturing here in Toronto and set up for the long summer. As of May 21st or so, I’ll be based at Maison Blum (about an hour southwest of Montréal) and coming back and forth a few times for special events through June - a wedding, two bar mitzvahs, a grade six graduation, summer camp prep. This will be my third solo June, and in previous years I have waited until landing in my garden to do any direct sowing, fearful that any babies I might plant earlier wouldn’t get enough care to make it without me. This year, though, given the experience of great harvests at Thanksgiving despite the garden being left alone from the start of the school year in September, I’ve decided to hail Mary it. Let Mother Nature provide for them, and if that doesn’t cut it, no big deal. I’ll plant successions as soon as I hit the ground again in one short month.

And now, to end today’s musings: a poem by Mary Oliver. This won’t be the last poem about beans I’ll be posting, I’m sure, given that it is, after all, The Year of the Bean, but it also won’t be the first, because, you know… Beans, beans, the magical fruit… (I digress!)

BEANS

They’re not like peaches or squash.

Plumpness isn’t for them. They like

being lean, as if for the narrow

path. The beans themselves sit qui-

etly inside their green pods. In-

stinctively one picks with care, 

never tearing down the fine vine,

never noticing their crisp bod-

ies, or feeling their willingness for

the pot, for the fire.

I have thought sometimes that

something—I can’t name it—

watches as I walk the rows, accept-

ing the gift of their lives to assist

mine.

I know what you think: this is fool-

ishness. They’re only vegetables.

Even the blossoms with which they

begin are small and pale, hardly sig-

nificant Our hands, or minds, our

feet hold more intelligence. With

this I have no quarrel. 

But, what about virtue?