As a California baby, I grew up with citrus. Literally; my grandparent’s garden, where I spent much of my time for many years, had a few trees in the ground. It was much later that I discovered the joy and ease of growing citrus in containers, even outside of California.

California certainly has the best climate for growing citrus, producing over 70 percent of the commercial U.S. crop, and hosts landscapes and gardens where citrus are regular features. Florida comes in second in production and gardeners there also enjoy the fruits of the labor involved in growing these shrubs and trees. In the southern parts of Texas and much of Arizona, combining for third place with just under 5 percent of the U.S. crop, citrus is fairly common in yards and landscapes. In Phoenix and a few other Arizona cities, citrus — specifically Seville orange (Citrus × aurantium; also called bitter orange, sour orange, and even marmalade orange) — are used as street trees.

A slight aside: During my first trip to Phoenix (1977?), while scouting for “garden stories” for a well-known magazine, the hosts treated me to a soda with a slice of Seville orange. The orange was used to cut the sweetness of the soda. And it did, fortunately — it was one of those soda brands that make the headlines in health reports, with 10 teaspoons of sugar per 12-ounce can. The sour orange didn’t make the sugar go away, but it did make the soda drinkable.

Even if you don’t have such idyllic climate conditions or if you have limited space (e.g., an apartment balcony), you can grow citrus. Just not outside in the ground. With a few exceptions (some oddball citrus types), citrus can survive only where temperatures never drop below 20°F and most are terribly unhappy even when temps drop below 40°F. The alternative is to grow citrus as semi-dwarf trees (on trifoliate orange or citrange rootstock) or as dwarf trees (on ‘Flying Dragon’ rootstock) planted in large pots on wheeled platforms. The semi-dwarf trees, which are more commonly available, require somewhat larger pots, of course, and a bit more care.

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THE CONTAINER

Plant new, small trees in a minimum of 12- to 14-inch wide containers. Starting with anything larger will make it more difficult to manage water levels and will waste water. Make sure the container has adequate drainage holes. The 12- to 14-inch container will hold your citrus for at least a year and probably two years. As the tree grows, increase the container size to 16 to 20 inches for the next 2 or 3 years of growth. Although ceramic, clay, and wooden containers are attractive, they are less mobile and more expensive than durable plastic; a consideration should either of those two factors be relevant.

There should be adequate drainage holes. Smaller containers are fine with one large hole (½-inch to 1-inch). Place a square of fine-mesh screening over the hole before you fill it; it will help keep out the larger insects, pillbugs, sowbugs, and slugs, who like to take shelter in the wet cavities. A large container should have 2 or 3 holes and up to 4 or 5 holes, with each hole ½ to 1 inch in diameter. I wouldn’t try to drill a hole or extra holes in a clay pot and drilling holes in a ceramic pot is a whole lot tricky. But if you have a plastic or wood container, and it needs a hole or extra holes, have at it. As the plant grows, increase the container size to 16 or 24 inches in diameter. That’s usually “the next size up,” but vigorously-growing citrus can safely go up two sizes.

You will need a saucer (preferably a deep one), of course, or, if and when outside, pot feet. Pot feet are shaped to fit under the bottom edge of the pot to hold the pot ½ to 1 inch above the floor. They provide air circulation below, minimize entry by tiny critters, and prevent staining of patios and decks.

Place gravel or decorative pebbles in the saucer to elevate pots above standing drainage water. The gravel/pebble layer can be kept nearly full with water to help raise humidity levels during winter when the plant is grown indoors.

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POTTING SOIL

Use a commercial OUTDOOR potting soil, which is heavier than indoor potting soil. Avoid potting mixes with fertilizers, peat, and wetting agents. I often add 1 part “calcined clay” to 4 or 5 parts potting soil to increase water-holding and nutrient-holding capacity. Calcined clay is the same as old-fashioned, unadulterated kitty litter or garage floor oil absorbing compound sold in hardware stores. It’s also available through specialty plant growers, especially bonsai specialists.

Do NOT use garden soil.

Do not put gravel or any other material (e.g., Styrofoam, plastic bottles, sticks and stones) at the bottom of the pot. It will negatively impact drainage in the long run. Fill the container from bottom to top with just potting soil.

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LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION

Because citrus are grown in greenhouses before retail sales, it almost always shocks the tree if it’s put into direct sunlight — whether indoors or outdoors — for too long the first week of planting or potting. The ideal location for the first week outside, with the plant still in its original container, is a spot by the house that has either indirect or dappled sunlight during the day or a spot by the house that gets no more than 2 or 3 hours of morning sun. After the first week, it can be moved to its final location, which ideally gets a minimum of 8 hours of full sun daily (almost sun-up to sundown), and then planted (in the ground or in the pot). You can expect new trees to drop some of their leaves during this transition period.

In marginally warm climates, select a site that gets reflected heat from sidewalks, houses, or walls on other structures. Also make sure the site is fairly wind free. In extremely warm zones, you will have to provide more consistent watering (citrus can handle temperatures over 100°F).

Potting up and placing a new plant indoors is even more unkind to the plant. Find a window with morning to midday sun; no more. Move it to a brighter spot in a week or two. Starting a plant in winter is especially difficult when it comes to adjustment. There will be leaf and flower drop. After a couple of weeks, you should be able to tell whether or not it is thriving or at least “settling in.”

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BASIC CARE

Citrus trees like moist soil overall with intermittent periods of dryness to help them stay at warmer temperatures. Water when the soil surface dries to about 1 to 2 inches down, depending on size of the container; deeper in really large containers. Actual watering frequency will vary with soil type, tree size, pot size, environmental factors, and phase of growth.

Always check the moisture level in the soil before watering. Use your finger to find where that moisture level is. Don’t let the pot go so dry that leaves wilt. Wilting indicates the root hairs have been lost and although the tree may perk up within 24 hours after a good watering, new root hairs must grow and that takes considerable energy on the plant’s part. On the other hand, a tree with yellowish or cupped leaves, or leaves that don’t look perky after watering can indicate too frequent watering that’s led to lost root hairs or even rotted roots.

When you do water, apply enough water so that excess runs out the bottom of the container (and, if indoors, into that saucer with gravel or decorative pebbles).

For outdoor containers, it’s best to water in the morning. But if plants are dry or, worse, wilted, water them right away, no matter the time.

Citrus should be out on the sunny patio or balcony all summer long (from late spring into earliest fall) in full, hot sun (sun-up to sundown). The less sun, the more the plant will develop a lankiness, the more it will struggle with excessive water, the less it will attract pollinators, and the more it will attract the very tiny insects that thrive where air circulation is poor: thrips, mites, whitefly, mealybug, and scale. If you plan on bringing such citrus into the house for winter, these pests, if you already have them, will then quickly go ballistic.

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AS INDOOR PLANTS

Citrus aren’t the easiest of indoor plants. But they are doable with a focus on these key care components:

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This is the final article on the plants that fed the Indigenous peoples of North America before the Europeans. In most cases, they still feed the Indigenous peoples. One, corn in all its new variations, feeds just about all of us today.

I’ve certainly indulged myself with this series of four articles in a trio of fields that I dabble in: ethnobotany, food history, and plant breeding. Along the way, I’ve tried to keep the focus on plants that one can (should?) grow in their home gardens, the home horticulture of it. As I said last week, “it’s good to know where your food [ultimately] comes from.” With the home garden in mind, these four articles are my way of saying that there are literally hundreds of plants, all of which are native to some part of the U.S., that can make up a grand “food forest,” the basis of a vegetable garden, or even an entire landscape (many of them are quite beautiful as landscape plants). Beyond that, they are heirlooms and part of our food history in America.

When I started this series — four now and three more to go — I had thought about the many maps I had seen, the ones that show where in the world our plant foods originate. And I remember how minimal they were when it came to the U.S.. I’ve just revisited what I thought was a really thorough one. But it shows only seven fruits and vegetables from the U.S. and six from Mexico (oddly, it includes cotton[seed oil] from Mexico). To be fair, it does show a whole bunch of edibles from Asia.

Again, a big thank you to Gretchen (at Backyard Farming) for the kick in the pants to get this started and done.

And so, the rest of the alphabet…

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Viburnum

Viburnum edule (MOOSEBERRY, SQUASHBERRY) — Distributed across Canada, all

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[Up front (Again!): So I started writing this Part 3 (that was supposed to be Part 2) and I just kept writing. I kept thinking “At what point do I cut this off so that it doesn’t become a TL:DR article? Or at what point do I cut material at the risk of being too incomplete? Will it make for two worth-reading articles?” The last option won. I had a rough draft for wild rice and maize/corn (Zea and Zizania, the end of the alphabet) already worked out. Then I added a few bits of the “Part 2-now-Parts 2-and-this-one,-3” to the upcoming Part 4. Altogether this rice-corn-plus-bits of Part 3-etc. made a long article unto itself. The supplemental notes on “The Eastern Agricultural Complex,” “Cahokia,” “The Three Sisters,” and “Traditional Knowledge” will be a supplement. Are you still with me? Oh, and then there’s still the Central and South American stuff, which looks like, at this point, will become Parts 5 and 6! To be honest, I may put these last two parts on the back burner for a while; I suspect my audience may want to see articles on other gardening subjects for a while and these big ones take a great deal of my time. So, without further apologies…]

The Indigenous peoples of North America had been in place 20,000 years or so. They had found just about every plant that was edible and even found things that weren’t initially edible but discovered ways to make them edible. My listings — this article, the two before it, and two more to go — cover the key plant foods but not all the plant foods from Mexico into Canada. Nor do my articles cover other edible “plant” matter such as fungi, kelp/seaweed, ferns, lichens, cycads, pines, junipers, cattails, miscellaneous grasses, palms, and hundreds of other plants that were barely survival food and never became part of “native field management” or “forest farming” status and certainly didn’t become an “agricultural crop.” I’ve especially avoided plants that pose a poisoning risk and plants that are endangered or “of concern.”

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On to the plants…

Rubus many species (BLACKBERRIES, RASPBERRIES, AND THE LIKE)

Rubus allegheniensis (ALLEGHENY BLACKBERRY) — Eastern and central North America. Several Indigenous peoples ate the ripe berries fresh, ground with wild game meat to make pemmican cakes, or dried and stored for later consumption. The young, thornless leaves were used in “salads.” Thornier leaves were boiled before use to remove the thorns. The notable harvesters were the Anishinaabe, Haudenosaunee*, Cherokee, Ojibwe (Nakawē[-k], Chippewa), Menominee, and Meskwaki. The Haudenosaunee made a juice mixed with water and maple sugar. Seeds of possibly this Rubus species have been found at a 2,000-year-old archaeological dig in Cherokee, North Carolina.

Rubus argutus (SAWTOOTH BLACKBERRY, TALL BLACKBERRY) — Throughout most of the eastern part of the U.S.. Many Native American groups ate this blackberry’s fruits but the Cherokee took it another step and boiled the leaves and roots of R. argutus to create a treatment for hemorrhoids or piles (ostensibly because they ate too much fat and not enough berries).

Rubus chamaemorus (CLOUDBERRY) — Across Canada to Alaska and touching the very tippy-tops of a handful of continental states. The “Alaska Natives” (composed of eight groups who inhabit the southern-central coast of Alaska) had several ways to enjoy cloudberries. The Alutiiq (Sugpiaq, Pacific Eskimo) stored these berries in containers of seal oil for the winter. The related Yup'ik would mix them with whipped fat to make a dessert called akutaq (“Eskimo ice cream”). Iñupiat (Alaskan Inuit) mixed the berries with seal oil or sweetened milk; they also preserved them in seal pokes (a watertight container made from an entire seal skin) or barrels for winter consumption.

The Koyukon, those along the Koyukuk and Yukon Rivers in central Alaska, ate the berries fresh. In Labrador and Quebec, the Innu ate these berries fresh or dried, sometimes with meat or fish. The Inuit of Canada ate these berries (arpiqutik, in their language) fresh or stored them in the snow. Also in Canada, the Cree, the Naskapi (who called them sikutaw), and the Métis were fond of cloudberries.

Rubus leucodermis (WHITEBARK RASPBERRY, BLACKCAP RASPBERRY) — Western North America, Alaska to Mexico. Eaten fresh, dried into cakes, made into preserves, and/or soaked to make a beverage by many tribes: Bella Coola, Cahuilla, Coast Salish, Coeur d'Alene, Comox (who also ate the young shoots in the spring), Kashaya Pomo, Klamath, Nlakaʼpamux (also known as the Thompson), Okanagon, Puyallup, and Yurok (who called them “chkohpeen”).

Rubus nivalis (SNOW RASPBERRY) — Western North America, from British Columbia to very northern California. The Hoh and Quileute peoples of the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state ate the berries fresh, stewed, or preserved for later use.

Rubus occidentalis (BLACK RASPBERRY, BLACK CAP RASPBERRY) — Eastern North America. Archaeological evidence suggests that these berries (or similar?) were gathered for food and medicine in the North America as far back as 8,000 BCE. The berries were and are eaten fresh, dried, or preserved by such tribes as the Anishinaabe (including the Algonquin Mississaugas, Nipissing, Odawa, Ojibwe, and Potawatomi peoples), Cherokee, Dakota, Omaha, and Pawnee.

Rubus parviflorus (THIMBLEBERRY) — Western North America from Alaska to Mexico. In the Pacific Northwest, thimbleberry was eaten by the Cowlitz, Hesquiat, Hoh, Klallam, Kwakwaka'wakw, Makah, Nlakaʼpamux (also known as the Thompson), Nuu-chah-nulth, and Salish. They ate the berries raw, dried them (albeit not easily), made them into jams and preserves, and utilized the young shoots as a spring vegetable. The large, broad leaves were also used for tea, steaming, and flavoring. The Kwakwaka’wakw used the large leaves to line steaming pits. The Nlakaʼpamux used the roots to make a sweetener.

Rubus spectabilis (SALMONBERRY) — West coast of North America from west-central Alaska to California. In addition to eating the berries, Indigenous peoples harvested the shoots early in the year, before they turned woody or tough, and then peeled, steamed, boiled, or pit-cooked them. The berries and cooked sprouts were eaten with salmon or mixed with rendered fat of the eulachon fish with or salmon roe. The Nuu-chah-nulth people of the Pacific Northwest boiled the leaves to flavor fish. The Kaigani Haida people (on some of the westernmost islands of British Columbia) used the leaves to cover cooking pits.

Salmonberry had as many names as there were different peoples: the Lower Chinook call it yunts; to the Cowlitz, it was e'twanac and the berry e'twan; to the Makah the plant was ka'k'we'abupt and the berry ka'k'we; to the Saanich, it is elile; the Squamish call the plant yetwánáy, the berries yetwán, and the shoots are stsá7tskaý (no, that’s not a misspelling).

The Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest had their own phenology, of course. In this case, they watched for the salmonberry bug (Elasmostethus cruciatus), who appear just as the salmonberry shoots were ready to harvest. It was the song of the Swainson's thrush that told them when the berries were ready to pick. This phenology helped almost all of the PNW peoples, including the ones just mentioned as well as the X̱aayda (Haida), Haisla, Kwakwaka'wakw, Nuu-Chah-Nulth, Ditidaht Oweekeno, Sḵwx̱wú7mesh, Straits Salish, and the Tlingit. I had a huge salmonberry colony in my yard in Washington; I never got any ripe berries because the Swainson’s thrush (and who knows what all else) got them well before me.

Rubus strigosus (formerly R. idaeus ssp. strigosus) (AMERICAN RED RASPBERRY) — Widespread throughout North America. Numerous tribes in the Pacific Northwest and Great Lakes region used these raspberries and parts of the plants for food. They were eaten fresh and they were dried and pressed into cakes to be stored for the winter, to be broken apart and added to meals later. Some mashed fresh berries to drink the juice and then dry what was left of the pulp or mix the pulp into pemmican. Fresh berries were put into soups. The leaves were dried and made into a tea. The tender new shoots were peeled and eaten raw or cooked. The Bella Coola cooked the berries to make jam and the Haudenosaunee* drank the berries that they mixed with water and maple sugar.

Rubus ursinus (CALIFORNIA DEWBERRY, PACIFIC BLACKBERRY, PACIFIC DEWBERRY, TRAILING BLACKBERRY) — Native to western North America, from British Columbia to Baja. It was eaten fresh, dried, and in pemmican by the Kumeyaay, Maidu, Pomo Salish, and certainly many other Indigenous peoples within its range. The Konkow call this plant “gol-lē'.”

This bristly, ground-flopping, ankle-grabbing plant would be used in the breeding of the ‘Logan’ blackberry (loganberry), the ‘Boysen’ blackberry (boysenberry), and the 'Marion' blackberry (marionberry). It adds the special flavor to these popular modern berries.

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Rudbeckia laciniata (SOCHAN, CUTLEAF CONEFLOWER) — widespread in wet sites

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[Up front: I estimated poorly. Very poorly. I last said this series (which I intended as two parts) would be three or four parts. Now, it’s going to be five. Turns out, there was a whole lot of important words to be said for beans and corn and even acorns. Then there’s the South American category, still to come, that includes some of my favorite edibles, especially that delicious tropical stuff and those “Lost Crops of the Andes…” I also figured this was going to be a long read for you at even this shortened length as much as it was a long write for me.]

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As with the first part of this series, in this second part I will cover the plants of North America that were eaten by the Indigenous peoples. I am providing their geographic range (at least in general) to give an indication of what gardening climate zone they would prefer, should anyone wish to grow these. I offer their histories, more importantly, their stories before Europeans came to the Western Hemisphere (although I do, every now and then, include notes on modern changes). I am specific about the peoples who ate or used such foods, where I found information, and I also provide some cultural references about these peoples (e.g., “THE GOSSIP STONE” and “THE OAK CULTURE OF CALIFORNIA”). As I usually do, these plants are listed in alphabetical order by their botanical names.

I very much like the idea of knowing where your food comes from. And that goes, in this instance, far beyond your local farmer.

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Phaseolus acutifolius (TEPARY BEAN) — This native of a bit of our southwestern states as well as Mexico (Jalisco and Sinaloa) has been grown by Indigenous peoples since before 500 BCE; cultivated beans have been found dating back to that time, in the Tehuacán Valley in Mexico. Wild forms are still found in the Sonoran Desert. They were probably domesticated in a single event in northern Mexico. In addition to being grown by itself in floodplains, it was often grown alongside squash and corn (yep, “the three sisters”). The Tohono O'odham (central area of southern Arizona and just into Mexico) the Hia C-eḍ O'odham (or “Sand Papago” or “Sand Dune People”) -- of the lands around the Gila River, the Colorado River, and the Gulf of California – although primarily hunter-gatherers, cultivated tepary beans and other crops when rains made it possible for them to do so.

The name “tepary” could be from the Tohono O'odham phrase “tʼpawi” (“it's a bean”). It might also derive from “tépar,” the accusative case being “tépari,” a word meaning “small bean” from the now extinct Eudeve (Uto-Aztecan) language of northern Mexico. Other names for this native bean include escomite, pawi (or pavi), yori mui (or yorimuni or yori muni).

[Side Note: this bean was the inspiration for a restaurant that I created at a resort in a desert community of California: the “Tepary Southwest Grill.” It featured dishes inspired by the foods of American Indigenous peoples, including a “Three Sisters Chili” of corn, squash, and tepary beans. The resort and the restaurant are gone now.]

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[Part 1 of three (maybe 4?) parts.]

I started writing about the gardens of the Spanish Missions. Growing up in Southern California, I was familiar with the Mission (horti)culture. The Spanish certainly brought a lot of fruits and vegetables to what would become the United States via the West Coast and the Southwest. Plus Mexico.

Even before they came to the Western Hemisphere, Spain had their own wonderfully mixed culture of foods, starting with their own pre-“Spain” indigenous finds: various nuts, acorns, and wild plants. The Phoenicians and Greeks then brought olives and grapes to what is now Spain. The Romans established the cultivation of wheat there, introduced pistachios, and brought more olives and more grapes. During 800-years of the Medieval period, the Moors introduced rice, oranges and various other citrus fruits, nuts (particularly almonds), and spices such as saffron, cumin, and ginger, as well as sugarcane. Through the many years of the “Colombian Exchange” (from the late 15^th century onwards), they would bring back tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, chocolate, and corn. They would take these back to Spain — eventually — but on the route back, they also happened to stop along the way, dropping off some seeds or plants to their other “colonies.”

Again, I started writing about the Spanish Missions and their gardens and their food introductions. I started. And I stopped. I was reminded (yeah, I already knew), with too many truths, that the Spanish colonization of the West was not a good thing for the American Indigenous Peoples. Pretty much everyone now knows that and I won’t somehow glamorize-romanticize it with tales of horticulture.

Instead, I will talk about the plant foods given to the rest of the world by all the peoples, the civilizations, of what is now “North America” and “South America.” The people who “gave” the tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, chocolate, and corn to the Spanish (and Portuguese) interlopers. In this article, Part 1, and in Part 2, I will cover the edible plants of what is now North America including northern Mexico. In Parts 3 and 4, I will tackle the plant foods of South America including Central America.

I originally intended this to be just one article on North America’s indigenous plant foods. But it got away from me. Or maybe I enjoyed it too much. Also, what was intended as part 2 (South America) became Part 3 and will now be Parts 3 and 4.

I am listing these plants in alphabetical order by botanical name. Others have done their classifying by agricultural categories, for example “grains,” “roots,” “solanums,” “greens,” and such. But there was too much overlap (some vegetables are eaten both as grain and leaf) and when it came to fruits (not tomatoes and tomatillos, of course), there is no good common-simple system of classification.

I suppose many of these plants, some obvious, would make articles exclusively to themselves. Maybe? Certainly corn, potatoes, sunflowers, avocados, …

I am making no suggestion to forage for these plants in their wild habitats.

NORTH AMERICA INCLUDING MEXICO

Acer saccharum (SUGAR MAPLE) — The primary species for maple syrup.

Acer nigrum (BLACK MAPLE) — Another maple syrup.

Acer rubrum (RED MAPLE) — A third maple syrup.

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I get it. It’s been a long summer of “enjoying” the garden and you’re exhausted. Or you live in the far north and it’s too much work to get a garden going beyond September. Or, for whatever other reason, you’d rather just let the garden sit, covered in a mounding mulch of dead tomato plants (or sheets of cardboard?!). Yes, there are plenty of good reasons to not encourage your vegetable garden to go further into fall or, heaven forbid, into winter. [An acknowledgement, of course, to gardeners in the deep south, the Southwest, most of California, and the west side of the PNW — gardening in the fall and winter there is just a thing you do because summer is for vacation.]

For the rest of us, fall and winter are prime seasons for keeping the edibles action going and, in many cases, a time to cover or otherwise protect veggies from the cold, hail, sleet, heavy rain, snow, and other weather sh*t that can be expected to beat up a garden, sometimes catastrophically.

Last week, I wrote about some basics — planning, timing, microclimates, succession sowing, filling in the gaps — along with various other principles, techniques, and tips of how to keep the planting, growing, and harvesting going. For many of us, all of that is a good start and a way of getting the garden going for at least a productive short time. But for almost all of us, there comes a time to protect the garden goodies from the serious bits of weather. Hence this part about season-extending structures.

There are several of these structures that can protect plants from cold weather and extend their growing season beyond that cold. Certain structures and materials allow gardeners to continue growing vegetables well past (or before) the frost/freeze dates. Maybe up to 6 weeks more. Examples of season extenders include:

• Cloches: A small cover, of mesh, solid cloth, or transparent material, to cover individual plants or just a few plants.

• Cold frames: Enclosed structures with a transparent top that trap solar energy and create a warmer microclimate.

• Hot beds: Take a cold frame and add bottom heat, either “naturally” (in the old days, it was a bottom layer of fresh manure) or with an electric bottom heat system.

• Row covers: Lightweight fabric that allows light and water to pass through, protecting plants from wind and lightest frosts.

• Low tunnels: A temporary, hoop-supported structure, often covered with spun-bond fabric or polyethylene film, usually in the 2- to 4-foot high range.

• Hoop houses: A fairly simple, unheated covered structure made with flexible hoops of pipe, usually PVC but can be steel ($$) and covered with a polyethylene plastic; built at a height to walk through. Essentially a greenhouse with no heating equipment. Sometimes called a “high tunnel.”

• Greenhouses: A permanent building (or at least until it falls down) with a rigid framing, covered in glass or, just as commonly, polyethylene (PE) and/or polycarbonate. It’s heated by passive solar heating, at the least, or, better, an active heating system, and, in an old-technology way, composting.

They all work in similar ways by maintaining a higher temperature during the day and protecting plants from wind and moderately low to very low temperatures at night. Your choice will depend on quantity of plants, size/height of plants, expected winter temperatures, other environmental stresses, and the amount of money in your bank account.

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Going into fall, with the warmth of summer beginning to wane and fall’s cooler weather approaching, it’s time to think about ways to get more and longer yields of what you’ve planted (or plan to plant). There are, thankfully, many ways to extend the growing season for selected garden edibles.

Considering that most gardeners stop gardening at the end of summer, the simple act of planting, again, in late-summer or early fall can be deemed “extending the season.”

A fall (and winter) vegetable garden offers several advantages over the summer garden. There are fewer pests and diseases, for one. There are many more vegetables than the summer assortment and those vegetables thrive on the cool weather (while also being less prone to bolting, which is an advantage unto itself). Plus, many vegetables develop sweeter, more complex flavors after a touch of frost; that includes beets, bok choy, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, collard greens, kale, leeks, parsnips, radicchio (and the other chicories), radishes, rutabagas, spinach, and turnips.

The following is not about growing plants that are not adapted to one’s gardening zone; this is not “pushing the climate envelope.” This is for people who have actual “cold” weather coming. Potentially damaging cold. Mayber ice or freezing hail or even frozen ground. Those with gardens where winters are mild, you probably don’t have to face this but I’ll assume you’ll be putting out cool-season vegetables, also, and not pushing it with warm-season stuff. Most of these practices, et al, may help you as well.

PLANNING

Most planning is about getting you into the most efficient and effective schedule in an effort to help you extend your season or at least get you ahead of the game a bit.

THE COOL-SEASON VEGETABLES

To reiterate, fall is all about cool-season vegetables. The leafy things, the flower-bud stuff, the roots, and a couple of legumes. These are the vegetables that are at their best when cooler temperatures prevail, especially if such temperatures hang around for a while (as in, at least two, three, or even four months). That’s why fall is probably the best time to sow, plant, and grow some of the most common vegetables. Although fall can certainly have its share of warm days, even Indian Summer days, it’s nothing compared to Spring’s guaranteed rise in temps as summer approaches.

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I think more gardeners should grow more kinds of edibles and I think they should cook those edibles. I also think those who cook — whether they garden or not — should try more edibles (of the “plant” kind). I’m certainly a big proponent of delving into ethnic cuisines beyond one’s own heritage, whatever that is.

I grew up in a Sicilian family and that’s my food heritage. Sometime in high school, I fell in love with Mexican food and I found myself cooking that, albeit very amateurishly (yes, it was during high school), more often than any Sicilian/Italian dish. When I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, I discovered Chinese food and that became my home kitchen immersion. Then there was several other Asian cuisines along with French, Spanish, Indian (yum), and on and on.

That’s why last April of this year, I posted “CULINARY HERB GARDENS,” a listing of the herbs and spices that should be included in various herb gardens, including seven gardens based on specialized use (e.g., for salads, for baking, and so on) and nine gardens based on ethnic cuisines (e.g., Italian, Mexican, and so on).

But I knew I had left out several cuisines. Intentionally or out of expediency or maybe I was just forgetful. So here’s twelve more. Also in that April article, I listed herbs for an “Asian Herb Garden” and I suppose that was just an introduction; but of course there are dozens of “Asian” cuisines so I’ve broken a few out here to refine the garden palette.

I’ve also included “flavorings,” the food enhancers that are neither herb nor spice. This includes banana leaves, dried mandarin orange peel, and a few others. Some of these are called “aromatics.”

This time, too, I’ve included several plants pretty much unknown to American gardeners and chefs/cooks. They are distinctive, almost unique, to each of their cuisines.

As always, these are the plants gardeners in the U.S. can grow in their gardens. All of the herbs, spices, etc. included here are hardy to at least USDA Zone 10. Hence why I’ve left off the most tropical of plants. Those left off include nutmeg, cloves, true cinnamon, vanilla, and black peppercorns.

Adding to all this, I’ve thrown in many more annotations and notes. Not fully detailed, mind you, but just enough to clarify a few things. The biggest add is an indication of hardiness zones (beginning with a “Z”).

Here they are, the new “herb and flavor gardens,” in alphabetical order by cuisine…

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CAMBODIAN

Cambodian cuisine deserves more attention. It’s like Thai food but a bit more exotic and a bit more reliant on “wild” flavors.

• Basil, Sweet (Ocimum basilicum). Warm-season annual.

• Basil, Holy (Ocimum tenuiflorum [O. sanctum]). Warm-season annual.

• Basil, Thai (Ocimum basilicum var. thyrsiflora). Warm-season annual.

• Cardamom, “Wild” (sometimes Elettaria cardamomum but mostly Wurfbainia vera and/or Wurfbainia villosa; the latter now restricted due to overharvesting). Z 10 to 12.

• Chilies (Capsicum annuum)

  — Bird's Eye Chili (Thai Chili)

  — Lady's Finger (a Cayenne Pepper)

• Garlic Chives, Chinese Chives (Allium tuberosum). Z 3 to 9.

• Coriander leaves and seeds aka cilantro in U.S. (Coriandrum sativum). Cool-season annual.

• Culantro (Eryngium foetidum) aka long coriander, Mexican coriander, saw-leaf herb. Biennial Z 8 to 11.

• Curry leaf (Bergera [Murraya] koenigii). Zones 9 to 12.

• Fingerroot (Boesenbergia rotunda) aka Chinese keys, Chinese galangal. Z 9 to 11, preferring humid summers. Can grow in a container.

  

• Garlic (Allium sativum). Hardneck type garlic is better suited for colder climates (Z 3 to 7) while softneck type garlic is more adaptable to warmer regions (Z 6 to 9).

• Ginger (Zingiber officinale). Z 9 (maybe 8) to 12.

• Lemongrass (Cymbopogon citratus). Z 9 to 12 but can be grown in containers or as an annual in colder zones.

• Mint, Cambodian (Persicaria odorata) aka Vietnamese coriander/mint and hot mint. Z 9 to 11, but can be grown as a warm-season annual elsewhere.

• Moringa/Neem Leaves (Moringa oleifera). Z 9 (maybe 8) to 11.

• Noni leaves (Morinda citrifolia). Z 10 to 12.

• Pandan leaves (Pandanus amaryllifolius). Z 9 to 11, preferring humid summers.

• Peppermint (Mentha x piperita). Z 3 to 9 (maybe 10).

• Rice Paddy Herb (Limnophila aromatica). Z 10 (maybe 9) to 11. Also grows in aquariums.

• Sour-soup Creeper (Urceola polymorpha) aka “la giang” or River Leaf Creeper. Z 10 and 11, but can be grown as a warm-season annual.

• Scallions (Allium cepa var. cepa and hybrids) aka “negi.” Not to be confused with what Americans call “scallions” (which seems to be synonymous with green onions) nor confused with “spring onion,” which is a term for a regular onion that’s been harvested in spring before it develops a “bulb” (even though many Asian countries call these – in their languages – “spring onions”). Z 6 (some varieties 4 and even 3) to 9.

• Shallots (Allium cepa Aggregatum Group). Z 3 to 10.

• Spearmint (Mentha spicata). Z 5 (maybe to 3) to 10 (maybe 11).

• Star Anise (Illicium verum). Z 8 to 10. CAUTION: there are several species of Illicium, including the two or three U.S. natives, that are used as ornamental garden plants. They all produce something looking like the pods of star anise but all are toxic.

• Tamarind (Tamarindus indica). Z 10 to 11.

• Thai/Makrut Lime leaves (Citrus x hystrix). Z 10 (and probably 9) to 12.

• Turmeric (Curcuma longa). Z 8 to 11.

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Europeans have been mixing fresh garden greens in salads for decades, maybe centuries. The ingredients and the process didn’t “officially” gain a name – and a formula – until 1976 when a top dictionary recognized the word mesclun (from mesclar, which, simply put, means “to mix” or probably better, “to merge;” of Provençal dialect).

In Italy, the comparable concept would be misticanza (meaning “a mixture of things,” usually garden-grown and foraged).

The classic Provençal formula is made up of four parts leafy lettuces, two parts chervil, one part arugula, and one part curly endive (4:2:1:1). The lettuce makes up the bulk of the salad mix and provides the sweetness. The chervil is the fresh herbal touch, of course, and it, too, adds a touch of sweetness with its subtle anise/licorice undertones and base parsley flavor. Arugula is in there to tingle your tastebuds with its peppery, oh-so-slightly bitter taste, and to provide a nutty background (all appropriate flavors in a well-rounded salad). Finally, the curly endive is the quintessential European touch of bitterness, although the inner leaves are usually milder, almost sweet. The base, then, is the lettuce, while the rest provides the complexity that a well-rounded salad needs.

Then there’s the “finish:” chopped walnuts or pecans, feta cheese, small-dice tomato, thinly-sliced red onion, plus a LIGHT dressing: a vinaigrette, of good olive oil, a vinegar (I like white wine vinegar but there’s always champagne vinegar), garlic or micro-diced shallot, salt, and pepper (freshly-ground, c'est sûr). And you can go crazy with avocado, chopped orange segments, thinly-sliced radishes, green onions, snow pea shoots (sweet, slightly grassy with a mild pea taste), roasted chickpeas, blanched haricot vert, cubed roasted beets, dried cranberries, chopped figs, sprouts (so many different kinds), edible flowers, foraged greens, and, and, and.

Obviously, the salad is versatile and indubitably* encourages adjustments and add-ons. Changes may be based on your personal preferences (most Americans shy from the bitter bits) or on the main dish to which the mesclun sits at the side (a delicate main calls for a delicate mesclun; a robust main screams for a robust mesclun). [* I’ve always wanted to use this word in an article. But yet it reminds me of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.]

It should be noted that beyond the flavors and textures of the various greens, there is color and just enough color to excite the palate. Our visual view of food does, indeed, influence the overall perception of our food and its ultimate enjoyment.

The US has had its own share of mixed salads for many years but in the early 80s, commercial vegetable companies, inspired by the rise of the mesclun concept, introduced “spring greens,” packages of mixed greens containing anywhere from a dozen to three dozen different varieties of, usually, baby greens, depending on the season.

My old friend Rosalind Creasy (author of “Edible Landscaping,” “The Kitchen Herb Garden,” and at least a dozen other books), summed it up by saying original mesclun used all parts of the tongue, with a range of textures from crispy to velvety and of tastes from tangy to bitter. With that in mind, I’ve organized my own formulas, below, based on these essential flavors.

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FORMULA OPTIONS

The original Provençal formula had four pieces: something sweet (the lettuce[s]), something herby (the chervil), the spicy (the arugula), and the bitter (the curly endive).

I’ve broken it down and, maybe, enhanced it with some refined division. Instead of the four pieces, I offer five. The fifth category includes the greens that aren’t lettuces yet are almost as mild as lettuce (no pepperiness, no heat, no tang, no overtly robust earthiness, and no bitterness).

Almost everything here is sown for and grown during the cool seasons (spring and fall). In mildest zones, these are also perfect for winter growing. There are a handful of greens here that are summertime growers, which is noted in their entry.

LETTUCES — 4 parts

• Batavian lettuces — somewhat more open than icebergs, but still form a distinct head; more flavorful than iceberg.

• Bibb — low-growing, tender, and sweet. They form small, loose heads as they approach maturity.

• Celtuce and “A choy” — although this is technically a lettuce, it doesn’t grow like a lettuce nor look much like a lettuce when it matures. It’s a lettuce that’s been selected for it’s tall central stem. With celtuce, it’s the tender stem that’s sliced and eaten; with a choy, it’s the small lettuce-looking head at the top of the stem that is eaten.

• Crinkle-leaf sorts — like smooth-leaf lettuces except that their leaves are frillier and their flavor is often slightly more pronounced.

• Oak leaf lettuce — probably the most traditional of all mesclun ingredients. It's not only delicious, but also pretty (comes in red or green).

• Red-leaf lettuces — they add the color with varieties such as ‘Ruby’, ‘Merveille des Quatre Saisons’, ‘Lollo Rossa’.

• Romaine types — upright and deep-colored, with a robust flavor and somewhat crunchy texture. This is my go-to lettuce for salads.

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SWEET(ISH) NON-LETTUCES

Can be subbed for all of or any part of the lettuce portion.

• Bok choy (pak choy) — mild, slightly sweet flavor, with the slightest hint of pepperiness, somewhere between cabbage and spinach

• Cabbages (including Chinese cabbages) — slice thinly a la chiffonade. Some types are less “cabbage” than others.

• Mâche (lamb's lettuce, corn salad) — mild, slightly nutty, and subtly sweet flavor with delicate, buttery undertones

• Miner’s lettuce — mild, slightly sweet, and grassy-earthy.

• Minutina (“herba stella,” buck’s horn) — succulent with a nutty, sweet, and sometimes pleasantly salty flavor.

• Orach — mild, slightly salty, and spinach-like flavor. Summer grower.

• Perpetual Spinach, Spinach beet — like beet greens but larger and a bit milder. Don’t use the leaf stems in salads.

• Spinach — the “baby” stage is prime for salads (and quicker, easier, from the garden) but not much wrong with regular size spinach.

• Swiss chard — youngest leaves for salads, otherwise slightly bitter. Remove stems and shred the leaves.

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MILD HERBS — 2 parts (or less)

• Anise — subtly licoricey. (Not the same as fennel, which is often sold as “anise” in supermarkets; they look very different.)

• Basil — comes in many “flavors” but overall sweet, with an oh-so-subtle peppery edge but sometimes lemony, minty, cinnamony. Summer grower.

• Chervil — piquant, subtly-parsley-like taste and grows well in the shade of the other greens.

• Fennel — another licoricey leaf (use the leafy fronds, not the “bulb” (although that wouldn’t be too bad, either.

• Leaf celery (smallage) — young leaves (not stems) are mild (celery-flavored, of course) with the slightest hint, to some people, of bitterness.

• Mint(?!) — not on my radar but I’m sure someone puts it in their salads. Perennial.

• Parsley — choose curled for mild or flat-leafed for robust (the robust Italian forms would maybe fit in the next category).

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SMALL, PEPPERY/TART GREENS -- 1 part

• Arugula/Rocket — the initial flavor is somewhat peanutty, followed by spicy-hot.

• Aztec spinach (Huauzontle, Quelites) — earthier, more robust than the familiar spinach, with a hint of pepperiness. Very easy to grow.

• Cress, Garden (common cress, curly cress, pepper grass, or simply cress) — tangy, peppery. Super-fast to harvest, with cuttable greens in two weeks. Hence, best to make successive sowings (short rows) every one to two weeks.

• Cress, Upland — peppery-tangy with a hint of watercress. This is a biennial that is sown in late summer or early fall to produce a good clump of foliage before winter; harvest any time before winter.

• Komatsuna (Japanese mustard spinach) — mild, slightly sweet, and peppery flavor.

• Malabar spinach, Ceylon spinach — mild, slightly peppery flavor with hints of citrus. Summer grower.

• Sorrel (French/“soup” type) — lemony tart with just a hint of pepperiness.

• Tatsoi — mild, slightly sweet flavor, maybe spinach-y, with just a hint of mustard-like spiciness.

• Tokyo Bekana — mild, slightly sweet flavor with just a hint of peppery zest. Use young leaves.

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BITTER GREENS — 1 part

• The Chicory group of leaf vegetables all have a bitter, tangy flavor along with their crunchy texture.

  -- Belgian Endive (witloof [“white leaf”]) — small head of cream-colored, bitter leaves; almost always “field blanched” to reduce its natural bitterness.

  -- Escarole (Batavian chicory generally refers to the broad-leafed forms) — the least bitter of the chicories; maybe the “training wheels” for those who don’t like the bitterness of chicories.

  -- Frisée (Riccia, Curly Endive) — the frilly stuff that became part of salads in fancy, continental-style restaurants for several years for its delicate looks and its crispy texture. In most cases, it has been replaced with any of several varieties of equally frilly lettuce.

  -- Leaf Chicory (Cutting Chicory) — the most primitive forms of the leafy type, all of which maintain the bitterness of the ancestor.

  -- Radicchio — bitter, slightly spicy, crispy, and colorful.

• Collards — only when very young; as they get older (up to a point), they can be “massaged” before eating raw. Forget eating the large leaves except when completely cooked (which takes about four days of continuous hard boiling with salt pork and/or smoked ham hocks).

• Chrysanthemum greens — grassy, slightly bitter, “herbaceous”, with a hint of sweetness. Used when very young; older leaves are cooked.

• Dandelion greens (cultivated types) — sharp, bitter, and a bit peppery with maybe the subtlest undertones of celery and lemon. Savory if picked when young, and they contain a bonus of vitamin A.

• Kales — varying in their degree of bitterness, kales are used for salads in their “baby” stage and/or “massaged” (rubbed/crumpled with oil) before adding.

• Mizuna (a Japanese mustard green) — mildly peppery and slightly bitter.

• Mustard greens — a large group with varying degrees of earthiness, piquancy, and bitterness.

• Watercress — peppery and slightly bitter flavor, similar to mustard greens or, eek, horseradish.

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GROWING MESCLUN GREENS

If you’re new at growing greens to be mixed for salads, especially if you’re trying types and varieties you’ve never eaten before, it might be best to sow individual types in individual — and labeled — rows. This way, you can taste each one at harvest to determine if that’s what you want in your salads, either by itself or mixed as a balance to other greens. By the way, you can do the same “mixing” with cooking greens, which would include a few of the above but it’s mostly a different palette.

You can buy already mixed “Mesclun Mixes” (it makes it easier for the gardener) but you will never know which of the greens you find most delicious. Plus, with some mixes, the different species may grow at different rates so you’ll never taste the whole mix all at once. It’s also difficult to know when to harvest.

Once you get the hang of it and know which flavors you like and, more importantly, which MIX of flavors you like, you can move on to the next level. And that is to mix the seed of those types/varieties you like and sow the mix as one.

Almost all of these greens and accents are fast growing and almost all are dependable germinators. Because of that, they are ideally suited to being sown in succession. It’s about sowing new veggies as older ones are harvested, usually at a young age. This insures a continuous, or almost so, supply. Added to this, the rows should be short in length rather than long, as is more commonly done. A common row length is about 8 to 20 feet. Depending on your salad cravings, you can do half or quarter that for each successive sowing and schedule each succession at two to three weeks apart. You’ll find your perfect length and schedule in time.

If you can manage, seeds are sown, and/or thinned to, 4 to 6 inches apart.

Salad greens are almost always (maybe best?) harvested/cut when young — anywhere from microgreens (once quite popular) to baby greens (3 to 4 weeks) to the prime (not mature) stage at 5 to 6 weeks. Use sharp scissors and snip each one at about ½-inch above ground or use a very sharp knife and run across their bottoms, again at ½-inch, for a length of them. I recommend never “pulling them out by their roots,” as is the most common harvest technique. With this old way you eliminate their ability to regrow and, more importantly, you’ve removed their roots from the ground and roots, dead or alive, in the ground are a key way of developing healthy soil. For crispiest greens, harvest in the earliest morning hours.

When cut early on (anywhere between baby and prime), many of these greens will regrow and can be cut again in 1 to 2 weeks. This can be repeated up to 3 times.

All greens need sunshine and plenty of water from germination through harvest. More constant moisture to help them germinate and then backing off on the frequency to maturity. As said, almost all of these are cool-weather lovers. They will struggle and in fact, most will bolt (flower before their time), which increases their bitterness (even in those not naturally bitter) and their chewability. If you spring sow these, make sure you give them several weeks of cool, not super cold, weather before any heat comes on. If hot weather begins unseasonably, stay on the watering and provide makeshift shade. I’m a big proponent of late-summer and fall sowing for these types of vegetables because of the lesser risk of heat. It also just so happens that almost all of the cool-season growers here are tolerant of cold weather, so there’s little chance of them succumbing to any late fall frosties.

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The growing process and the kitchen process in putting out a great salade mesclun is so easy, so quick, so healthy, and so gratifying, I’m pretty sure it will become a regular part of your life leanings. And your dining guests will be impressed.

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© Copyright Joe Seals, 2025

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Tomatoes have only started to ripen in many gardens and here I am talking about moving on to a fall (+ winter?) vegetable garden. But this is, of course, the time to at least start thinking about the scheduling of a fall garden and some seeds will have to be sown indoors very soon.

To i…

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The longevity times given in last week’s article on seed saving (“SOME SEED SAVING GUIDELINES”) are based on common basic measures taken by home gardeners who save seed: they clean, they thoroughly [?] dry, and they store seeds in a cool, dry, dark area. With a little finesse and a bit more care, those times will be increased. These storage practices apply to both self-harvested seeds as well as to leftover seed from purchased packets.

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CLEANING SEEDS

If you’re saving bulk quantities of seed, the technique called winnowing separates dried-on-the-plant seeds from the chaff and other debris left during harvesting. Basically, it’s tossing the seed and rubbish into the air and letting the wind blow away the rubbish, which is lighter, leaving the heavier seeds behind. Another way to winnow: Outside on a breezy day, drop seed from one container into another and let the wind blow away the unwanted chaff. Don’t use a fan for this; it can be risky.

You can also use a framed screen with holes just large enough for seeds to pass through, with the larger crud left behind. A second screen, one with holes just smaller than the seeds, can sift out the remaining small debris. The issue with this should be obvious: if you’re cleaning more than one kind of seed, you most probably have more than one size od seed.

If you’re cleaning small quantities of seed, you can certainly do it by hand but make sure your hands are clean and dry.

Seeds that are “wet” (surrounded by juicy pulp of some kind) should be cleaned of the glop. After somehow scraping out as much glop as easily possible, place the seeds in a large bowl or bucket and cover them by twice their volume in water. Stir vigorously. The viable seeds (weightier) will sink to the bottom of the container while the less hefty seeds will float. Then scoop them off (I like using a “spider” — a sieve-like kitchen cooking tool); you’ll get a bit of other floating debris. Repeat, with more water, until only clean, viable seeds remain. Strain the seeds, rinse them, and dry them.

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Whatever factors influence, inspire, or encourage gardeners to become seed savers, I’m all for it. It’s been going on since the beginning of gardening; in fact, it wasn’t until modern times that most gardeners had access to new seeds in packets. If you’ve been thinking about doing your own seed saving, now’s the time and here’s a starting point.

WHY SAVE SEEDS?

In no particular order (because everyone has their own priorities), from the indulgent to the political:

• To learn about nature, botany, biology, science, etc.

• To save time and money.

• To preserve biodiversity. There is a serious genetic erosion in commercial seeds and you can make a difference.

• To increase your (and our) available options.

• To help preserve your (and our) right to save seeds.

• To retain control of your food supply. It’s about food security and true self-sufficiency .

• To preserve, promote, and even develop local varieties adapted to your garden’s and your community’s growing conditions.

• To build community by sharing and cooperating.

• Climate change demands it. You might as well select the most adaptable each year to keep up.

• To renew your thousands-of-years-old partnership with plants. It’s a connection to humans’ ancient gardening heritage.

• To preserve your family heritage; whatever your ethnic background.

• To preserve the varietal characteristics you want. Select for flavor, size, disease resistance, or whatever YOU want.

• To improve the results with each harvest. To adapt the seeds to your own garden. To create new varieties. There are hundreds (thousands?) of vegetables that were created by an amateur gardener just like you.

Suggestion: If you’ve never saved seeds and are interested it doing it for the first time, start with the easiest: beans and peas. And start with “open-pollinated” seed varieties.

What about saving seeds from “hybrid” (F₁) vegetables? Go ahead. But keep in mind that what you get in the following years’ plants will be different, often very different, from what you planted. Subtle differences may be acceptable while major differences may make you feel like you’ve wasted time. But even amongst the majorly different offspring, there just might be something — maybe just one plant — that is worth saving again. That’s where you should jump in; it’s one of the most exciting parts of seed saving.

The basics of seed saving are pretty easy. There are some important details, however, that you need to understand first. I’ve arranged these points to coincide with the accompanying list of the most common vegetable types.

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Why? Because…

• They are a regular and dependable source of seasoning, year after year,

• They are easier than annual herbs to maintain,

• They are generally more culinarily versatile than annual herbs,

• Most look pretty darn good in the general landscape,

• They can save you money (yes, cheaper than store-bought).

So, I present my usual annotated and condensed botanical, horticultural, and culinary look at the subject in the title. The following is a listing of perennial herb species, including a few that are technically known as “subshrubs” (kind of like perennials that develop some woodiness). Some are evergreen, others are not. This listing does NOT include, although perennial,:

• Garlic (yes, a perennial-ish bulb)

• Crocus (a spice, really, but a story to come)

• Mints (a big story here: “THE MANY MINTS”)

• Trees and shrubs (hence no rosemary, bay laurel, etc.).

Many of the plants in this list are good-looking enough to be included in the general landscape along with all the other ornamental plants you might have in place. Makes it easy to get herbs in the garden without having to find space among the limited and precious vegetable/edible garden. There’s a more thorough article on this subject in “HERBS IN THE LANDSCAPE.” By the way, I strongly suggest NOT planting perennial herbs in your edibles garden(s), including raised beds, alongside annual herbs and vegetables. They can carry over shared disease through winter, they make it difficult if not impossible to implement rotation programs, and most of these perennials are light water users, making them incompatible with the heavy-water-using annual herbs and vegetables.

“Perennial” means that each of these is a plant that comes back year after year. Of course that’s dependent on where the garden is located. Hence why I’ve put the USDA Zone range for each of these immediately after the name(s) for the plant.

Almost all of the species mentioned here have been described in a different way in other articles I have posted. These other articles include photos of the plants, hence why I have not buried this article in photos of every plant listed.

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Why hasn’t any garden or food writer in the U.S. done a deep horticultural AND culinary dive into eggplants? I know why — because while potatoes came in with a whopping 430 million tons in their last worldwide crop count and tomatoes hit nearly 210 million tons, eggplants came in with a mere 66 million tons. Plenty of deep dive stories on tomatoes and potatoes. The U.S.’s production of eggplant, by the way, comes to just under 110,000 tons. Adding to that, China is the top producer and eater of eggplants. Following China, in order: India, Egypt, Turkey, Indonesia, Bangladesh, Iran, and, of course, Italy; then there’s thirteen other countries before the United States shows up at number 22 on the list. Eggplant is, simply, not an American food; we don’t grow it much, we don’t eat it much.

I, on the other hand, love eggplant. It’s easy to grow in the garden and it’s found in a myriad of dishes in all of my favorite cuisines: Asian, Indian, Middle Eastern, and Mediterranean. Growing up Italian included my introduction to this luscious fruit (yes, botanically that’s what it is). The Asian, Indian, etc. stuff all came into my life much later. So yes, I acquired the taste early on and now it’s full blown.

We Sicilians call them milinciana, pronouncing it milinˈt͡ʃana (maybe sounding like mil-lin-johnny). In Italian it’s melanzana. That comes from the Greek melintzana, which the Greeks borrowed from the Arabic bāḏinjān but the Greeks put an “m” at the beginning because they lacked that “b” sound in their language. Solanum melongena, as botanists have named it, is commonly called “eggplant” in the U.S., as well as in Australia, Canada, and New Zealand, but it goes by many names elsewhere: it’s “aubergine” in France, Ireland, and the U.K.; in China, it’s qiézi (which sounds an awful lot like kuàizi, which is chopsticks), and “brinjal” (from the Portuguese “beringela!”) in India (although “baigan” is the word used for it culinarily), Singapore, Malaysia, South Africa, and Sri Lanka.

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Tomatoes (and their very close cousins, the potatoes) are subject to several diseases, with the top three being Early Blight, Late Blight, and Septoria Leaf Spot. These three are fungal diseases, attacking primarily tomatoes and potatoes but they will sometimes go after other members of the Solanaceae family such as eggpl…

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Just in case -- and I repeat, just in case – you have time for putting in more vegetables now AND you’re interested in trying something special AND you have space for trialing a few extraordinary things AND your sowing/planting schedule allows …

Have I got something for you! A whole bunch of yummy (subjective, of course) edible (truly) things that you probably don’t know but should give a try. A few of these have been around for a long time but just never gathered traction. I’m sure you’ve seen them, in passing. Others have been picking up steam over the last handful of years. I also suspect there’s a good baker’s dozen of vegetables here that have come into our horti-veggie world totally under the radar.

So, who are the adventurous?

CAPE GOOSEBERRY

(Physalis peruviana)

Also called Inca berry, golden berry, and in Hawaii, a selected form is called “poha.” The fruit is a round, smooth berry, resembling a miniature yellow tomato. Removed from its calyx, it is bright yellow to orange in color, and sweet when ripe, with a characteristic, mildly tart tomato flavor with hints of apricot, coconut, and mango. Cape gooseberry is made into fruit-based sauces, pies, puddings, chutneys, jams, and ice cream, or eaten fresh in salads and fruit salads. It’s become a favorite among some top world chefs. This is the one found in grocery stores.

There easy to grow in the same manner as other, common summer vegetables, but they do need to be started early indoors to get ahead of the long season they need for worthwhile yields.

SMALL CAPE GOOSEBERRY aka GROUND CHERRY

(Physalis pruinosa)

The plants are a bit smaller than P. peruviana and are somewhat spreading (almost prostrate). This is the one sometimes found in farmers’ markets. It’s also earlier than the more common Cape gooseberry. Must be yellow-ripe to be edible. Has a hint of pineapple. ‘Aunt Molly’s’ is a named selection from unnamed heirloom seeds.

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CHAYOTE aka MIRLITON

(Sicyos edulis, formerly Sechium edule)

If a pear and an avocado had a baby…

Chayote vines are vigorous climbers that require husky support such as an arbor; makes for pleasant harvesting. Growing a plant starts with planting an entire fruit. Dig a hole as deep as the fruit is wide. Lay the fruit in the hole, on its side, with the narrower end sloping upward. In mildest zones (USDA 10 into 12), chayote will come back every year.

Chayote has a texture similar to a firm, mature zucchini and can be used in similar ways although when raw it’s more edible than a zucchini. If you harvest chayote fruits young, you can eat it rind, seed, and all. Older fruits can be cooked as you would winter squash (roasted, creamed, buttered, fried, baked, frittered, boiled, or mashed). The seed has a nutty flavor; it can be salted and roasted like a giant pumpkin seed.

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CUCAMELON aka PEPINOS DEL MONTE

(Melothria scabra)

Also called mouse melon, Mexican sour gherkin, Mexican miniature watermelon, Mexican sour cucumber, and “sandita” (little watermelon). Small vine with fruit about the size of grapes and taste like cucumbers with a tinge of sourness. These plants are slow-growing when they are establishing themselves but can eventually grow up to ten feet under proper conditions. Drought-resistant and pest-resistant relative to other cucumbers. They make the miniest of pickles.

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The next three veggies are technically melons but they have the texture and flavor akin more to a cucumber (albeit maybe a bit sweeter) than to a melon. They are called “cucumbers,” though. Add to this, the “PEPINO” (below), a cousin to the tomato that is usually called a “melon” but in the kitchen, it’s treated as a cucumber (“pepino” is Spanish for cucumber). All of these three are grown as one would grow a melon.

ARMENIAN CUCUMBER aka JAPANESE CUCUMBER, SNAKE MELON, SNAKE CUCUMBER, SERPENT CUCUMBER

(Cucumis melo var. flexuosus)

A group of long, snaky “cucumbers.” Actually a form of melon, albeit without sweetness. Armenian cucumbers have very long, ribbed fruit with a thin skin that does not require peeling.

CAROSELLO CUCUMBER aka ROUND CUCUMBER, MANDURIAN CUCUMBER

(Cucumis melo)

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Just about everyone likes beans. The kitchen folk like the tastes, the nutrition, the multitude of uses, and the overall ease of cooking. The garden folk like the many types and varieties, the generally easy care, the nitrogen-fixing ability, and their efficient use of space (for almost all). L…

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Sowing a seed is one of the earliest and most exciting acts of “gardening” a child often experiences. In many cases, that first seed happens to be something plucked from a fruit in the kitchen. To a child, the whole idea of a small lump of dark matter — sometimes almost dust-like, sometimes as big as a golf ball yet still without life — turning into living green simply by sticking it in “dirt” and adding water is no less than pure magic. I’ve always been stirred by this kind of “magic” — the biology, chemistry, physiology, and mechanics behind the process is nothing less than astounding. Yes, still today — despite my now knowing much more of what were once mysteries to all.

It’s not just an “experiment” for children, though. Children of all ages find a need to see this miracle of life through. It’s why so many are potting up their avocado pits, lemon seeds, peach pits, and apple pips. I think everyone, not just gardeners, should watch a tiny speck of nothingness turn into a tree (yes, over the years); just the fundamental thought of that is transformative.

Children’s experiments and life changes aside and down to the dirt gardener’s level, is it all worth the time and effort to grow an avocado pit (or other fruit’s seed) from the trash can to a fruiting tree? The answer is not a black-and-white “no.” It’s more a “probably not;” with an emphasis on the concept of probability.

First off, the mixture of genetic material from the fruit’s parents — of whom you don’t fully know aside from, maybe*, who the mother (the fruit) was — expresses itself in a way almost always different from the fruit you ate. The mixture also expresses the dominant genes of the parents; these are the genes that were sidestepped by the breeder to allow the more desirable recessive genes to show themselves. In almost all cases, the crossing regresses to the more primitive, undesirable genes, the kind of manifestation found in species in the wild.

[* If the tree was a named cultivar (variety) in your backyard, then you do know the mom. If you bought the fruit at the grocery store, then you might know the mom, provided it was labeled but even then, you may pick up a ‘Haas’ avocado (THE guacamole avocado) but may actually be getting a ‘Gwen’, ‘Lamb Hass’, ‘Pinkerton’, or ‘Sir Prize’, all sub-varieties of ‘Haas’ that all are labeled as ‘Haas’ at the market.]

Even if your tree was “selfed” (the process of making sure one tree’s pollen is put onto the stigma -- the topmost portion of the female reproductive organ -- of the same tree), it’s still not guaranteed that you’ll get the same fruit. Many fruit trees are simple to complex interspecific hybrids, which means what pops up could be one species or the other or a stirred-up mix of the two species. The apple tree (Malus domestica), for instance, are back-and-forth crosses of at least two species: Malus sieversii (the “wild apple”) and Malus sylvestris (European crab). [It’s also highly probable that a DNA deep dive will also find the genes of M. baccata and M. orientalis in a bite of apple]. I can remember several seedling apples that had popped up in my grandfather’s garden (probably before I was born) and had produced fruit; we kids ate the fruits. Once. Smallish and somewhat tart, not as small or tart as crabapples I know today, but farther away than from being an actual supermarket apple.

Kind of an aside, early interspecific apple hybrids were originally called Malus pumila or “Paradise Apple.” M. pumila is still used by some botanists as the proper name for the common domesticated apple, versus M. domestica, although most taxonomists consider it simply a synonym. Both M. pumila and Paradise apple are more commonly used nowadays for regular apple volunteers, the ones with smaller and somewhat tart (albeit not overly tart) fruits.

In the fruit tree breeding world, hybridizers cross two different selected known cultivars or strains and sow hundreds (more?) of seeds that come from that cross. Of those hundreds, they can expect no more than one or two worthy of further propagating and, eventually, marketing; in some cases, they get none.** You won’t get what you ate and your chances of getting something good or better are less than that of the professional breeder who knew what the parents were and what characteristics would likely express themselves.

Another part of this is the reality that almost all fruit trees take 5 to 20 years to produce a fruit on a tree grown from a sown seed. I suppose if one has some acreage to spare, time to wait, and a strong touch of the gambler, this might be considered a worthwhile endeavor, at least in the experience of growing “your own tree.” Also remember that at the other end — the time when the tree does bear fruit — the odds are very much against eating a really good product (although the probability of getting a totally nasty, inedible fruit are really slim).

Add to this the often offered yet confused proposal that “grafting” the seedling will somehow turn it into a respectable fruit and will force it to bloom and fruit sooner. That’s not how grafting works. Grafting (“budding” in the commercial fruit tree production world) is a matter of having a “rootstock” growing in the ground and onto that rootstock is placed a piece of “scion” (the branchlet of the desirable cultivar) or, more commonly, a “bud” (again, a piece of the desirable cultivar). The seedling that you’ve grown, as is, is probably not a viable rootstock for anything and, more importantly, the practice of grafting/budding works only if you are working with a known valued cultivar. It’ll be another 7 to 20 years or so before you know that.

So, let’s say that after 10+ years, you win the seed-to-GREAT-fruit lottery and you end up deciding to “graft” your now very desirable plant. What’s kind of an academic point, but certainly for future reference here, is that grafting/budding does shorten the time from planting to fruiting versus non-grafted/budded plants. More importantly is a reminder: “grafting” is putting the desired variety (that would be your seedling) on top of a rootstock (a specially selected seedling, one chosen for any number of purposes besides fruit). That rootstock could be a rootstock you already have, such as a named variety of avocado (for your avocado seedling) or apple tree (for your apple seedling), both of which are on their own existing rootstock. In fact, grafting has become quite the sub-hobby for gardeners who indulge in orcharding; furthermore, many have taken to the extended art of multiple grafting, whereby more than one desired cultivar is put on a single rootstock (actual good-sized tree) and upwards of 50 or more grafts. To be clear, grafting is not something you do to the seedling to make the seedling produce better fruit.

This is not to discourage anyone from sowing hundreds of such seeds and making the effort to select a new and special cultivar. Or sowing but one seed and waiting for something special to come out of that “probability” machine. If you have the space, the time, and the money, as well as the interest and long-term focus, it could be fun if nothing else. Some fruit trees, even without fruit, are beautiful. Or leave it all as a good science lesson for your children (and maybe a not-so-long-term lesson for you). By the way, if you live outside of the avocado-growing regions, do you have a ceiling high enough in your house to grow an avocado tree to fruiting size?

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Almost all store-bought “fruit” vegetables (e.g., tomatoes, peppers, melons, squash) also fall into this category (sans the grafting technology). Unless you are confident they are “open-pollinated,” the same genetic issues apply.

** Beginning in the early years of the new millennium, the sciences of gene mapping and “genetic markers” (“genomic biomarkers”) have created a huge and important jump in the fruit breeding industry. A genetic marker is a gene or DNA sequence with a known location on a chromosome. It can be described as a variation that can be observed. Up until this time, fruit tree hybridization was typically a matter of taking pollen from one plant with desirable characteristics and putting that pollen onto another plant with other desirable characteristics. The resultant babies were certainly going to be “acceptable” but there was no knowing what special characteristic was going to show itself; it would take years of growing young plants to fruiting stage before it was observable. With identifiable genetic markers, that “special characteristic” or desirable trait is now detectable at the very youngest seedling age. This is not GMO/GE, but it is also not a technology available to home gardeners.

© Copyright, Joe Seals, 2025

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Herbs don’t have to be limited to a small patch called “The Herb Garden.” Nor even creatively mixed in with the vegetables. Too many herbs are beautiful plants, so beautiful, in fact, that they make outstanding components of a general …

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The trend in baby vegetables has cycled; it’s come and gone, come and gone, etc. and (I think) it’s back again. Growing and eating tiny veggies were popular in the fifties, the sixties, and the eighty-nineties while a parallel universe of HUGE versions of those same vegetable types has always been there, in the background (every year, there’s news items for the 1000-pound pumpkin, the biggest cabbage, the ungodly-large onion, and the 5-pound-plus tomato). Most of that is contest or fairground level but inspired breeders are continually hybridizing and selecting for things like the next hefty (but tasty?) tomato. But the tiny guys have held strong and maybe it’s time to celebrate them again.

With so many more people taking to gardening and probably just as many taking to cooking, both in an effort to survive depressing economic figures, I’m confident the tiny stuff will find a new audience.

WHAT’S A REAL BABY VEGETABLE?

Pretty much everybody by now knows that so-called “baby carrots” sold in supermarkets aren’t “babies” at all. In fact, they’re broken carrots, misshapen carrots, or old big carrots (or is it “big ol’ carrots?”) that have been cut into two-inch pieces by one machine and then “polished” (they’re peeled and their edges are rounded off) by another machine. They’re certainly crunchier then real baby carrots but I’m not sure about the taste of most being any better (some new “baby” varieties have been bred for more sugar).

Natural baby vegetables, those straight from the ground and otherwise unadulterated, are the ones grown in some “tight” way, or harvested in an immature state, or they are genetic dwarf (“baby”) varieties of the plant type.

Not all vegetables can be grown as babies; but there are plenty that can be. Most annual root crops can be grown as baby veggies, including carrots, turnips, radishes, beets, potatoes, kohlrabi, onions, and more. Almost every kind of green will be more tender and more delicate in taste when harvested young. Even plants that are usually grown for their large heads — cabbage, radicchio, and heading lettuces — make great baby vegetables if grown in special ways.

WHY?

So what’s the “point” of growing and eating baby vegetables?

They make the most of a small space. That’s important to urban gardeners, to those who otherwise have a limited space, and even to those who have a large space but want to trial many types of vegetables.

Shorter root systems on many make them easier to grow in containers than full-sized vegetables and easier to grow more closely together. The shallow roots have taken their nutrients from maybe just the top four inches of soil. That means that even shallow soil systems – those that don’t have the deep, 12- to 18-inch or more layer of soil necessary for best yields, such as raised beds that are less than 12 inches deep or most container plantings or even in window boxes -- can still produce a proportionately good amount of nutritious food. Almost any vegetable will grow in a really large container; only special kinds will develop well in the smaller containers and, in fact, some become their “baby selves’ only when grown in small containers.

They’re cute and fun. Kids love ‘em and cooks can impress their guests with a modern plating.

Less volume of harvest per planting/sowing and that’s great for gardeners who don’t need a lot to eat at any one time and aren’t involved in or have limited resources to can, freeze, or dehydrate.

Most spend less time in the garden, which can maximize any space, hence larger yields in the long run. With greens and small roots, the returns are much quicker. You can have large amounts of baby greens for salads or roots stir-fries in just a couple of weeks. With some baby greens, you can leave a little leaf growth above ground and the plant will regrow quickly for repeat harvests.

Many are easier to grow than traditional varieties of a type. That’s certainly good for beginners.

Some are part of succession planting and that extends the season beyond conventional timing. Whereas a full-sized beet can take 60 to 90 days to mature, the same variety can be harvested as baby beets in about 40-50 days. Add to that and especially with genetically baby, early-maturing beets and a 120-day growing season, you could get three or four successions of baby crops instead of just two harvests of full-sized beets.

Growing smaller plants allows for trying more varieties; more flavors, more colors, more interest through the season.

Root vegetables, when harvested as adolescents, have tastier tops than the mature stuff has. These young greens aren’t tainted with the bitterness of being beaten down by hard days and nights, too many rains, etc.. You can use the tops of early harvests as greens, essentially doubling useable yields. (Why don’t more gardeners eat the greens of root veggies anyway?!)

Most taste pretty darn good, often sweeter and/or less bitter and certainly more tender, especially with those grown during the cool season(s).

Kitchen-wise, such small vegetables require little to no chopping, which makes for quicker cooking, quick snacking, and a higher caramelization-to-density ration when roasted (for those who like that kind of sweet-crispiness). Overall, they add gourmet appeal when plated up. Oh yeah, they definitely are super kid-friendly at the table (or before they even reach the kitchen).

What about nutritional content? Some are less nutritious than their larger counterparts, some more nutritious, and some equal. But considering some of the advantages regarding harvests, I propose that gardeners who grow baby vegetables in such a multitude of ways, will end up maximizing yields and eating the produce more and more efficiently.

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