As you can see in the picture above, my family is tiny. In the center of every picture you can see in the light blue is my Pop Pop Carl, born and raised in Montego Bay, Jamaica. Every summer I made my way to Jamaica and there has always been a passion for nature in our culture mainly because of the life style we were brought up in. When it was time to prepare breakfast, lunch or dinner we and my grandfather and his tenant Sunshine would go out back, into his giant garden which is about 1 ½ acres. Full of Mangoes, Potatoes, Sugar Cane, Carrots, Greens, etc. I always loved picking mangoes with Pop, he’d pick me up and let me decide which ones were ripe and which should stay on the vine.
Now mangoes are very difficult, it is hard to tell when they are ripe. Many try and tell by the color of the fruit yet, my Pop’s always taught me off of the smell. Mainly because there are three different types of mangoes grown throughout the south and all over Jamaica. All judged different in ripe season, the Ataulfo Mango Jamaica’s finest can be judged by its smell but more its color. A very tart aroma is produced by the mango when ripe, also it is very soft on the ends (that being the top and bottom on the mango), and lastly the mango is plump and juicy like a water balloon. After going through our daily evaluation on which mangoes we should pick, we pluck them and cut them up and would make so many different things. Smoothies, passion and mango fruit juice (which happens to still be my favorite drink).
What does this have to do with Gardening?
Throughout my life, I have never been one to cherish gardens but after writing this blog and looking back on the great memories I have made with my family through nature. I can proudly say, gardening is an activity I would like to take up and make an important part of my life. From our readings I have grown fond of how life with nature produce happiness and love. I believe there should be more of that in everyone’s life.
From a very young age I remember driving roughly an hour from Pembroke MA to Yarmouth MA where my grandparents lived. I would go almost every weekend until high school and help out around the property. My aunt and grandmother would tend to the flowers near the front of the house while my grandfather and I dug for quahogs in the river behind the house. In the backyard next to the house my grandparents cultivated a glorious garden. It was full of tomatoes, cucumbers, abnormally large squash, zucchini, lettuce, the whole 9 yards. I was tasked with picking the fully grown produce and washing it off from the rain collector barrel attached to the garden. It was a large blue barrel that all the gutters from the roof led to so the produce could grow while also being cost efficient.
Times not spent in the garden were spent downriver in knee deep water and mud hunting for quahogs. My dad, grandfather and I would hop in the metal boat and race downriver to our spot for catching quahogs. We would rake through the mud looking for the most XL quahogs the river had to offer. If any seemed too small we had a tool to measure the size of the shell to see if it was the legal size to take. My grandfather, Dad and I would see who could scoop up the biggest quahogs as well as the most. The cooking of the quohogs was left to my mother and grandmother who had genuine experience with the shellfish. My time spent down the cape was always surrounded by nature whether it was on the beach or in the river which I will always remember.
(Not my picture but it’s a picture of the hotel down
the rover from my grandparent’s house)
This subject may not at first seem like it connects to gardens, or farming, but give me five minutes and I’ll be able to connect it to both, I promise.
Birch Trees in North Andover, MA 3/31/19 (photo Danny Lovell)
Growing up, I was a Boy Scout. I even made it to the rank of Eagle. Along the way, I was able to pick up some information firsthand about the outdoors. What kind of water is safe to drink, how to filet a fish with a sharpened stick, and how to start a fire in pouring rain with nothing but the damp woods around you. The key to that last thing is birch wood, in particular, the bark.
My roommate Shamus holding up a piece of birch bark. 3/31/19 (Danny Lovell)
Birch bark contains oils that make fire starting easy, and since oils and water don’t mix, it won’t matter if the birch log is wet. I remember one time I was at the base of Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire at a scouting jamboree. I was in a tent by myself, and the early June rain made sleeping that night miserable. I had a cold can of soup my mother stuck in the bottom of my backpack, you know, just in case. (Side note, my mother will provide me with a can of soup, no matter what. I could be heading to my friends house for the night, going on a week long boating expedition, hell, even take the dog for a long walk and she say,”Here, take this in case you get hungry.” Anyway, I find a few pieces of birch wood, and after finding a piece of flint near the bed of a river, started a small fire that, as it grew, the group of adolescent boys also did. We shared stories, dried our socks, and heated our collective cans of over-protective-mother soup and had a pretty nice evening.
A semi-rotten birch log, still flammable though 3/31/19 (Danny Lovell)
How does this relate to gardening? Or farming?
We were trying to clear our garden plot and our backyard of old growth from last year. We decided that a controlled burn was necessary. Only problem was, it was the last day our town allowed for burning, and it was a downpour. Luckily, by using some birch logs in the woods behind my house, I was able to get a blaze going, heightened by a couple old Christmas trees we had in the backyard. Thanks to the birch bark, we got what we need to get done, and we ended up with the best garden we’d had in years.
Recently I started working for a medical cannabis dispensary in my hometown, I assist in the growing and production of the plant for medicinal use. Now that Cannabis is legal in Massachusetts I have had the opportunity to work in this industry professionally, and am excited to be sharing the knowledge I’ve gained so far on the growth cycle of a cannabis plant. Cannabis, also known as marijuana, is a psychoactive drug used for medical or recreational purposes. The main psychoactive part of cannabis is tetrahydrocannabinol (THC). Cannabidiol (CBD) is a non-psychoactive compound. THC and CBD are both cannabinoids derived from the cannabis plant. Cannabinoids are chemical compounds found in the cannabis plant that interact with receptors in the brain and body to create various effects. There exist hundreds of cannabinoids in the cannabis plant, but THC is most widely known among these due to its abundance and euphoric attributes. While THC is the principal psychoactive component of cannabis and has certain medical uses, CBD stands out because it is both non-intoxicating and displays a broad range of potential medical relief including help with anxiety, inflammation, pain, and seizures. These make CBD an attractive therapeutic compound.
Desert Diesel //HealthyPharms.org
Cannabis plants, like all living things, go through a series of stages as they grow and mature. It’s important for me as a grower to understand the changes a plant undergoes during its life cycle, as each stage of growth requires different care. Different stages call for different amounts of light, nutrients and water. The stages also help us decide when to prune and trim the plants, and overall health as well. The life cycle of cannabis can be broken down into four primary stages from seed to harvest:
Germination
Seedling
Vegetative
Flowering
The first stage of life for a cannabis plant begins with the seeds. At this point, our cannabis plant is dormant, patiently waiting for water to bring it to life. Between 5-10 days the seed should pop. Once the seed has popped, it’s ready to be placed in its growing medium. The tap root will drive down while the stem of the seedling will grow upward. Two rounded cotyledon leaves will grow out from the stem as the plant unfolds from the protective casing of the seed. These initial leaves are responsible for taking in sunlight needed for the plant to become healthy and stable. As the roots develop, you will begin to see the first iconic fan leaves grow, at which point the cannabis plant can be considered a seedling. When the plant becomes a seedling, you’ll notice it developing more of the traditional cannabis leaves. As a sprout, the seed will initially produce leaves with only one ridged blade. Once new growth develops, the leaves will develop more blades.
Life cycle of a Cannabis plant// Leafly.com
A mature cannabis plant will have between 5-7 blades per leaf, but some plants may have more. A healthy seedling should be a vibrant green color. We have to be very careful to not overwater the plant in its seedling stage, its roots are so small, it doesn’t need much water to thrive (reminds me of cacti and other succulents). Its extremely important for us to keep the environment clean and to monitor excess moisture. At this stage, the plant is vulnerable to disease and mold.
The vegetative stage of cannabis is where the plant’s growth truly takes off. At this point, we’ve transplanted the plant into a larger pot, and the roots and foliage are developing rapidly. This is also the time to begin topping or training the plants (we generally use bamboo). Spacing between the nodes should represent the type of cannabis you are growing. Indica plants tend to be short and dense, while sativa plants grow lanky and more open in foliage.
As the plant develops we also have to change our watering style. When it’s young, the plant will need water close to the stalk, but as it grows the roots will also grow outward, so we start watering further away from the stalk so the roots can stretch out and absorb water more efficiently (also helps things stay sturdy).
The flowering stage is the final stage of growth for a cannabis plant. Flowering occurs naturally when the plant receives less than 12 hours of light a day, in our case we grow inside so we just adjust the indoor light cycle. It is in this stage that resinous buds develop (the flower).
Once the buds have reached full maturity, it’s time to harvest.
Harvesting at healthypharms// Bostonglobe.com
My plans for the future are to someday own my own cannabis grow operation, and maybe even open up a lounge. I hope with the experience I am having at my work will pay off in the future.
Growing up, my parents worked a lot and when I wasn’t in school, they would send me to my grandparent’s house in Weymouth. My Nana and Papa always loved having me come over to hang out with them. We would play board games or look at old pictures of my dad as a child, but on sunny days my Nana would take me out to garden with her in the side- yard. Along the side of their home, she had a beautiful garden filled with many vegetables, fruits, and flowers. It smelled so beautiful and sometimes I would even be able to eat some ripe strawberries or tomatoes with her.
Some of Nana’s beautiful flowers.
One year, on a beautiful Saturday in the Spring, my Nana and I went out to plant some daffodils. What we hadn’t realized was that above the garden under the gutter of the house, their was a bee’s nest and the pesky insects were swarming around that day. My Nana decided to let me water the plants that day too, and I was so excited because she had never trusted me with the hose before. I was holding the hose waiting for the water to come spouting out of the end and then, things went wrong.
My Nana had good reasoning behind not allowing me to water the plants before this day, and after this day, I wasn’t ever allowed to do it again. With the combination of the powerful hose and my noodle arms, I had lost control of it and water was flying everywhere. Normally, this wouldn’t have been such a problem with it happening outside and the weather being so warm. But, while my Nana was laughing at me trying to gain control back, she had not realized the water was spraying straight into the bee’s nest.
The bee’s became infuriated that someone was disturbing their lives and ruining their home, and they wanted revenge. Once my Nana had realized what was happening, she called out my name and told me to run as if my life depended on it, which it really did because I’m allergic to bee’s. The angry insects came flying at my Nana and I and we were running all around the yard to avoid getting stung. All I knew was that I would be okay because my Nana couldn’t run fast, but I could. Safe to say I haven’t gardened with Nana since that day.
My family has had a garden for as long as I can remember. It has been a big part of my childhood, and something that I can look look back on that always brings a smile to my face. My dad, Tom is always in charge of our garden, he puts in the most hours weeding, watering, and harvesting all the vegetables that we grow. He would always walk back to the house with his hands full of peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, and his hat full of cherry tomatoes because he’d always forget to bring a bowl out. The ongoing joke between my neighbors and my family is calling my dad “Farmer Tom” because he loves the garden so much, always holding a full garden tour whenever a new vegetable begins to sprout.
One of my fondest memories of the garden is the year the we decided to grow pumpkins. We didn’t have high expectations of the pumpkins because it is tough for a first time crop to take off right away. Regardless of any expectations, our goal was to be able to make at least one jack-o-lantern out of our home grown pumpkins. For awhile we had nothing, and we all grew skeptical whether we would get any pumpkins at all, let alone one big enough to carve. One day after school, my siblings and I come home to find my dad back in the garden, this wasn’t uncommon at all. After we set our bags down, there was a note on the counter from my dad saying to come back to the garden. We put our mud shoes on and head back. When we get back there, my dad eagerly shows us the pumpkins. There were 3 pumpkins, still very small, but it was the first life of pumpkins we’ve seen since we planted them. We are all excited to see them, but more excited to see the reaction of my dad because we knew how much he wanted a homemade jack-o-lantern. As time passed the pumpkins continued to grow, there was no sign of any rotting and the pumpkins looked very healthy.
The pumpkins finally were big enough for us to harvest them. Not only did we get one but we got three, one for my brother, my sister, and myself. To say my dad was happy was an understatement. I still vividly remember covering the table with newspapers, scooping out the insides of the pumpkins, separating the seeds from the orange goo so that we could make pumpkin seeds. Then having my dad help us all carve our pumpkins because it was just as much fun for us as it was for him. It was a day full of smiles and trying to sneak up on my mom to rub our gooey, pumpkin covered hands on her to get a laugh out of everyone. It is a day that I will never forget, and one that I hope to recreate when I have a family and I’m in my dads shoes.
For as long as I can remember, my Nanu (grandfather in Sicilian) has always been obsessed with his garden; from his eggplants and sunflowers, to his mint and cabbage. He would spend countless hours digging and weeding, making sure that every inch of his garden was alive and thriving. At the start of every spring my father and I would go help my Nanu in his garden, just about every other week or so. This was a tradition we held up for 17 years, until my grandfather was unable to care for his garden anymore.
One of my fondest memories from that time was when my Nanu introduced me to cherry tomatoes. It was my first time working in his garden, and me being the curious creature I was I just had to ask what every single plant was. Most of the plants already bloomed, and were showing off their bounty; the one that caught my eye was the cherry tomatoes. I asked my Nanu what these red and yellow balls were, and he laughed at me and asked me if I was born under a rock. We walked over to the plant and told me that they were cherry tomatoes. He plucked one off its vine and placed it in my hand. “Try it” he said, my four year old self was a bit apprehensive about this foreign object I was about to ingest, So I made my Nanu eat one first just to make sure it wasn’t poison. Once I concluded that I wasn’t about to die from food poisoning, I popped the tomato in my mouth. Believe me when I tell you it was love at first bite. It wasn’t my first tomato product, but it was my first whole tomato, my first plain and simple tomato. When my my Nanu wasn’t looking I snuck a couple more tomatoes in my mouth, and then maybe a few more a minute later. I had become obsessed. From then on every time I helped my Nanu in the garden he would always ask me to do a product test on the tomatoes, to make sure they weren’t poison. Which I can confirm they were not poison.
Throughout my childhood, I was often at my grandparents house in Carver, Massachusetts. At their house, they had many acres of land that my sisters and I would always love to explore. We would ride the golf cart my grandfather owned around all day to find something new to discover. On top of all the land they had, there was also about seven cranberry bogs. Every year, up until I was around fourteen or fifteen, my entire family would help harvest the cranberries.
My dog, Gronk, at my grandparents’ cranberry bogs. Credit: Pamela Snow.
Cranberries are harvested through a process called flooding. Each of the bogs is entirely flooded with around 15-18 inches of water the night before they are set to be harvested. Once the day came, my family would use these devices called water reels to help separate the cranberry from their vines. Then, my grandfather would climb aboard this giant harvesting machine and drive around the bogs scooping up all the cranberries. I can remember being amazed at the entire process and not truly realizing how much work went into it until I saw it with my own eyes. I usually only watched my dad, grandfather, and uncle really do all the work to gather the cranberries, but it was something I definitely looked forward to every single year. After all the cranberries are collected, they are loaded into crates, then shipped to Ocean Spray, the company my grandfather sold his crops too.
Workers harvesting cranberries at a bog. Credit: PublicDomainImages
This tradition was something that was always a long but fun day with my family. We would always end the day with a big dinner, and it was usually had a lot to do with cranberry flavored items. This is really the first memory I had to anything garden related really, but it was something that was kind of unique to me. Not a lot of people get to experience and see the actual process of this harvest, and it was always a great time.
Forest Fruit Harvest Cranberries. Credit: MaxPixel
I come from Lynn, a “small” bustling city with little to no area where a person can grow something. I say “small” because it is a mere 10.8 square miles wide, yet it has a population of 94,000 people. This causes there to be absolutely no room for a traditional farm. In fact, most people live in very cramped apartments or multi families that have no backyard. No one in the city has taken to farming because of this, so I grew up knowing nothing about agriculture. In fact, I didn’t even know pickles were cucumbers until this class enlightened me. If you asked my friends to name any type of crop besides the most common ones the answer will be I don’t know dude.
The city of lynn (credit city of lynn)
My father attempted to start a garden for a very long time, but the quite literal fruits of his labor were never too grand. The only fruits and vegetables he was able to successfully grow in my rocky, full of dead grass backyard were very small, often not quite ripe tomatoes and these strange tiny cucumbers. The only reason he was able to successfully garden was because he placed good soil he purchased into a crevice of a rock in our backyard that was a few feet deep. This was our garden, about maybe ten inches of prime gardening turf. Anything grown anywhere else in my house would immediately wilt and die like even the plants didn’t like the natural lynn soil.
At the edge of my property is the power lines, a long, not too wide strip of basically bare wilderness with trees that all look like they are close to death. In the back left of my house is a massive grey rock covered with moss, that has a flat top where one can sit. Behind this hiding spot, is a hidden gem. There are about three different wild blueberry shrubs where we can pick blueberries when they bloom in the summer. They explode with flavor into your mouth, and are extremely juicy. It’s strange in such a barren land these grow with such excellence. They are by far the highlight of the summertime, and they let us know summer is in full swing.
The power lines (credit Jack Carrol)
I’m lucky to have a small area where I can grow-most of the members of my community do not have this blessing. They would have to follow in Novella’s footsteps and become urban farmers, but in Massachusetts the growing season is drastically reduced due to the weather. Only hardy plants can survive here, unless they are summer harvesting plants. It makes it harder here, but people should still enjoy the simple, rewarding joys of gardening.
“Bon Bini!” A Papiamento phrase which is typically said when greeted by an Aruban. The story I would like to share with you is that of what I like to call, an endless adventure. Last year, I was given the privilege to venture to the Island of Aruba. Amongst what seemed like an endless time it took to exit the plane after arriving to Aruba, I was greeted by an arid climate, something that I was curiously surprised about. Provided that all the images that I gathered while searching Aruba, suggested that the island conveys a tropical climate.
Photo taken by: VisitAruba.com
Pondering the adventure that awaited me, I scurried to the service desk. While attentively glancing at the wall of brochures, a tour guide approached me and was happy to answer any pressing questions I had. Unquestionably, I blurted out questions I had ranging from the culture to the geography and finally the cuisine of the island. The guide attentively answered my questions and highlighted that the island is a melting pot of cultures which offers a wide variety of cultural delights. Enthused, my next thought was that I had to make a trip to the local grocery store to witness how the agricultural scene differed from our, unsustainable selection of produce. Surprised, I entered the grocery store and was greeted with the pungent smell of cheese. After talking to a few local Arubans, I learned that there is a heavy cheese and dairy demand for the Dutch-owned island of Aruba. Eagerly, I wandered over the produce section and got a fresh sample of cheese made that morning, delicious, I thought to myself. Next, I knew it was time to see what kind of fruits and vegetables that awaited in the following aisles. Cabbage, carrots, bean sprouts, tomatoes along with an endless selection of produce met my eyes as I turned the corner. I thought to myself, how do they have so much selection. I curiously identified from my background in taking Spanish that many of the items were outsourced from other countries. To think that a semi-tropical climate such as Aruba participates in the same corruption that The United States has been branded for, I was again surprised.
Photo taken by: Ling & Sons Super Center
Throughout the next week, I was able to observe and learn about the vegetation of the island given its diverse landscape. While on an eco-tour, I noticed that the island was populated with a unique, almost forced horizontal slanted tree. I later learned that this tree was called, the Divi tree, which acts as Aruba’s natural compass, always pointing in a southwesterly direction due to the trade winds that gust across the island from the north-east.
Photo taken by: Camilo, Juan. “Flora and Fauna.” Visit Aruba, www.visitaruba.com/about-aruba/general-aruba-facts/flora-and-fauna/.Divi Tree
