When I bought my house in late 2004, I immediately started thinking of things I could plant that I didn't have at the community garden, things I could commit to long term. (Admittedly, this will be my 13th year at the community garden, which should count as long term, but still. The minute you give up your plot, it becomes a blank slate for the next person who takes it. I’ve seen hundreds of dollars worth of perennials tossed by new gardeners who didn’t know what they were tossing. I wasn’t prepared to do that to asparagus.) I put in some raspberries, and the blueberry bushes are ready and waiting. Last summer, I planted my first potatoes, which I enjoyed. (I can't grow those at the community garden because of the potato bug, which, at least so far, hasn't discovered the potatoes at my house.)
But asparagus was what I wanted most. That first spring, I kept poking around the garden and the various beds around the yard, hoping that I would see some asparagus emerging. And there were some nice discoveries--in addition to the various bulbs and perennials, there were several rhubarb plants and a productive strawberry patch. But alas, no asparagus.
So, two springs ago, my second spring at the house, I decided to create my own asparagus bed. There wasn't really room in the main part of the garden, though--between the herbs, the perennials, and the strawberries and raspberries, there's not actually that much room for vegetables, and I wanted to use that space for other things. So, I picked a spot at the edge of the yard, next to the woods, and decided to put the asparagus there. It was out of the way but still got sun (at least in the spring), and other things (like rhubarb) were growing in that area.
Digging an asparagus bed is labor intensive, to say the least, and even more so when it's on the side of a small rocky mountain. I had to recruit Alex to help get some of the seemingly immovable rocks out, and it was the work of several weekends. After consulting diagrams in multiple garden books, I dug out my trough, created mounds for the plants, draped the asparagus crowns over the mounds, covered them up, and set out to patiently wait the two years it would take for them to grow enough so I could have asparagus from my own garden.
And I’ve been patient. When the first thin stalks appeared last summer, I cheered them on, gave them organic fertilizer, built up the soil around them, cleared the leaves and weeds away. One more year, I told myself.
But I was already starting to doubt.
What I didn't really realize when I chose the spot for the asparagus bed is that it’s in the path of a stream. Not a fully flowing stream—that, I would have noticed. But when it rains and the water flows down the mountain, it all seems to land in the asparagus bed. (The cottage in my backyard is also apparently built on this stream bed, which was a bit alarming, when we discovered it.) And when it rains a lot, as it tends to in spring, the asparagus bed is basically a big puddle.
So, it's not that the asparagus isn't growing--it's just not growing very vigorously. It's rather spindly, and I can't help but think that if it were in a sunnier and drier spot, it might be happier. You're supposed to only pick the stalks that are as thick as your finger. A few of the stalks are so thin that they look like fairy asparagus, or perhaps asparagus for the Borrowers. (You can see them on the left in the photo below.)
In this photo, you can really see the mud puddle effect:
So, I'm trying to get myself used to the idea of digging another asparagus bed, one in a sunnier spot. I have no idea where that might be, though. It might mean having to use part of the main garden or it might mean digging another bed somewhere. (Who needs all that lawn, anyway?)
Below is my long-time favorite asparagus recipe. This is one of the first things I make every spring, even before the local asparagus comes in. It tastes like the essence of spring. I still think it will taste better, though, when the asparagus comes from my own yard. Oh well.
Asparagus Soup, from the Greens cookbook
1 cup leek greens, roughly chopped
1 bay leaf
1 carrot, peeled and chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
4 parsley branches
½ tsp. salt
8 cups cold water
3 tbs. butter
2-3 leeks, white parts only (about 8 oz.), sliced
½ tsp. salt
1 large potato, peeled and cubed (optional)
1 tbs. parsley, chopped
5-7 cups stock
¼-1/2 cup light or heavy cream (optional)
Freshly ground pepper
½ to 1 tsp. grated lemon peel
Parmesan, grated, for garnish
A few notes:
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