By LYNNE IRONS

By LYNNE IRONS

By LYNNE IRONS

For years I have grown celery — both the golden self-blanching and the Utah green varieties. It has been, for lack of a better expression, a crap shoot. I start it in the mid spring in flats on a 60-degree propagation mat in an unheated greenhouse. It resembles parsley as a baby and needs to be painstakingly divided into individual plants. It is not an unpleasant task on a chilly day as the greenhouse heats up nicely when the sun in shining.

By LYNN IRONS

Recently, my six-year-old granddaughter, Violet, took her turn saying grace. She said, “Dear God, thank you for a yummy supper. I love my life and I like myself. Amen.” Guess it could never get any better than that. I started thinking about loving my life. What could be better than living on the Vineyard in the late summer and early fall? The light on the water is magnificent, the days are warm and relaxing, the nights are crisp, the gardens are producing like crazy and there are abundant parking spaces.

By LYNN IRONS

I attended a potluck supper recently where brussels sprouts were served. I have to admit, they are one of my favorites. I have grown them for years and thought my children enjoyed them as much as I did.

Years later, I took apart my dining room table to discover a little shelf under the top that had rows of dried-up sprouts on the children’s sides of the table. We now have the family joke of using the brussels sprout ledge for unwanted food.

By LYNNE IRONS

If I could rename my perennial bed a meadow, I would feel smug in the knowledge that I was a raging success as a gardener. There must be something about this karma thing; how could a person get so far behind in one lifetime? I have learned to live with many of my weeds. In the early summer I had a huge amount of daisy fleabane which has reseeded everywhere. This aster relative (Erigeron annuus) received its common name from a belief that the dried flower heads of the plant could rid a dwelling of fleas. As if!