Author: Will Balk, Jr.

Trekking through the Georgia wilderness in October of 1765, the father and son team of naturalists, John and William Bartram, came across a small, sandy plot of a couple of acres along the Altamaha River, not far from where Jesup and Darien are now located.

It’s time we had a little talk – that talk. You’ve reached that stage in life when you notice things are changing; there are times when you feel an overwhelming urge; I want you to go out there feeling confident, aware, and prepared, and I want you to understand just what is going on, so that you can be a responsible and caring person. Reproduction is a very complex process, and it is important to realize it is not all about sex. There is so much more.

Narcissi erupting everywhere. Dogwoods and azaleas starting their eye-popping show. The first iris appearing, roses glowing already, every single tree now bursting with new leaves in a thousand shades of green – if these didn’t tell you it’s spring, then surely a quick glance at any magazine will toot the vernal horn for you. Yep, it’s spring, all right, and a season more loaded with clichés is hard to imagine.

It’s been a few seasons now since we’ve grown a garden for our own produce at the farm. There was a time when we grew sweet corn, butter beans, purple hull peas, lettuce, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, okra, collards, kale, strawberries, native grapes, herbs. We’d often experiment with trying new varieties or new crops altogether, sometimes adding them to the regular list of crops planted.

I have considered my duty solemnly, weighed all the pros and cons, evaluated the terrible ramifications. I must insist with all my strength that you do NOT start growing orchids.

So you think you’ve got a black thumb – that you kill any plant you try to grow. We get lots of really desperate questions from gardeners at the Master Gardener booth during the warm months at the Farmers Market in Port Royal, but those questioners aren’t the real Black Thumb brigade.

‘Tis the season, everyone! Boiled peanuts! That glory of southern snackdom. There are unpleasant rumors circulating which suggest some people don’t care for the unique mucilaginous, somewhat saline, taste of this rare seasonal delicacy; I’m rather doubtful that these rumors are true, although I do understand that some unfortunate individuals are allergically responsive to nuts and must avoid peanuts.

It all began when I started seeing them along the roadsides, great noisy machines and giant trucks, their handlers high above in buckets or down below feeding limbs into the growling maw of a huge grinding machine.    

(pace, Miles Davis) In most temperate and tropical climates, green – rich, dark, delicate, dappled green – is the default color. It is the color which signifies a plant’s healthy relationship to the sun, the soil, and the water. Other colors are introduced most often as the garden plants go about trying to reproduce. Whites, reds, yellows, pinks, and purples are gloriously placed against that textured backdrop of green.

  Anyone who gardens in the Lowcountry knows how ready our gardens are to abandon all reserve and turn themselves into rampant, tangled jungle.