Tuesday, June 1, 2010

The control plot

Every experiment needs controls. A cherry tomato plant that I started at the same time as the two in the cubicle farm currently is basking in the sun outside my apartment, in an Earthbox it shares with a regular tomato. How's it compare to the cubicle-farm tomatoes, you ask? I'd say growth in the cubicle farm is somewhat less vigorous.
The cherry tomato is on the right. Trust me.

Yes. A bit less vigorous, the cubicle farm is.

Food security solidarity

Another experiment from outside the cubicle farm: my food security crop, potatoes. International-development types promote potatoes for farmers in developing countries because you get a lot of calories and a fair amount of nutrition without needing much of land, water, or fertilizer. So, in the spirit of solidarity, I'm going to see how food-secure I can make myself growing potatoes in a couple 20-gallon trash cans.
The idea is, you drill some holes in the bottom of the trash can, put some dirt in there, and bury your starter potatoes. As the plants grow taller you bury them up to the top leaves with soil. Potatoes are tubers -- horizontal stems -- that branch off the vertical stem. So the more vertical stem you give them to grow tubers, the more potatoes you'll get. Or so I'm told. We'll see what I get come harvest time, whenever that is.

Postscript to a mission aborted

Loyal readers will recall that last December I aborted the first cubicle farm due to a gnat infestation. I took the Earthbox home and dumped the soil on the then-bare ground next to the front steps of my apartment. Well, there must have been some seeds left in that soil because this spring, among my landlord's lilies and whatnot, some red lettuce and mustard have popped up and thrived.
I'm not planning to eat them, though. It's an old building, and god knows what lurks in the ground there. Possibly lead.

2 comments:

  1. I know! It's amazing. The home garden is doing great. I'm hoping some environmental catastrophe doesn't force humanity to live underground and live under the purple glow of LED lights. Because our tomatoes just won't be the same.

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