One Little, Two Little, Three Little...Leeks

The Leeks today.

It happens to the best of us... when we don't do the proper research.

Leeks are biennial.   Oh the harbinger of lost opportunities:  the Leek.

Sadly, I have no pictures of the leeks.  Guess why?

The story is one of persistence, hard work and sacrifice.  The leeks' persistence, hard work and sacrifice.

Since it is the very hottest part of the summer and the tv networks air their old Christmas specials, I'll do the same.  (Am I the only one who gets a mild panic attack when John Lennon sings, "Another year over.  What have you done?"  For crying out loud man, get off my case!) 

To celebrate a couple cool mornings (64 this morning) let's discuss leeks.  Leeks are a winter crop.  So call this planning and pretend it proves that we have it all together.  The seeds also might be on clearance since leeks are completely out of season.

The leeks we tried...
to sprout at the garden center never grew.  When you are growing plants on a large scale and one seed packet doesn't show - you move on.  When folks would ask me about leeks, I'd answer, "They are hard.  Never got them to grow."  I killed a lot of ivy too and it's practically plastic.

Just another thing I was wrong about.  Throw it on the pile.

Next leeky experience: the kids and I planted radishes one January a few years back.  I sprinkled a packet of leek seeds down the side of one row.  The next Spring some grassy stuff along the edge of the bed caught my attention only because:  weeds don't grow in a row.  So I left them.  After a few months I figured out what they were, but they were small, like tiny, stringy, green onions.  They following year they split and I used a few.  The year after that some didn't survive - expected - and a few thrived.  Just when I was about to harvest them, they disappeared.  Sneaky leeks.

After a tough interrogation my son admitted he might have pulled them up and used them to whip his brother.  This is a great lesson in how confessions can be squeezed out of criminals just to make the questioning end.  I later recanted his confession for him.  Evidence proved he did not cause the leeks' demise.  In an interesting experiment on suggested memories, he still thinks he did it.

Our time line has brought us to last fall.  An article in an English periodical said to plant leeks.  I even corresponded to be sure.  "Doesn't it snow in England?  Leeks can take that?"  Yes.

Wrong again.  Some leeks can take that, but not mine.  Maybe they just can't take it if they are still in the bedding plant trays, like mine were.

Here's the good news:  The leeks were completely grown and ready to harvest in one fall season, still in the bedding plant containers!  Then it snowed.  Killed a couple.  The next snow did in the rest.

Another (half) a year over. And what have you done?