At the end of the fall, I planted a bunch of garlic. Through the winter and early spring I watched them grow. It was awesome — three feet tall and I thought we’d have garlic for the next year. About six weeks ago, I harvested the scapes, carefully trimming off the ends, trying to leave enough green for the plants to keep growing. <\/p>\n
They’re all dead. Wooden husks. No garlic for me. <\/p>\n
I’m still not quite sure what happened. Did the various heat waves wipe them out? Did I cut off too much? I know I didn’t over-water but did they not have enough water? Did I not give enough compost to that particular bed? Did the weeds on the other side of fence siphon all the energy from the soil? I’ll pull them out to assess the bulbs tomorrow. <\/p>\n
In the end, though, I’m just a gardener. I love my garden but the failure means I spent a shade more at the co-op or TJs or Acme; no one is going to starve. What must it feel like to watch a field and see your food supply disappear or your ability to purchase what you need through the winter wither away. And what does it mean that someone else takes on all of this risk? <\/p>\n