Nourish Your Roots

I never tire of the garden metaphors. Asparagus season has me thinking. Watching the spears bust through the compost, growing inches by the day, they say so much in their actions. There’s no hiding the health and vigor of their roots as they begin their incessant emerging from now until first hard frost. They wear their hearts on their sleeves.

The fatter the stem, the stronger the root. That’s the way with asparagus. Within that is the caveat that female plants tend to produce slimmer stalks than male plants (I know, gender binary stereotypes maybe even the asparagus doesn’t want.) But ours is about 99% male plants by design — because they won’t drop fertile seeds and compete with the vigor of the initial planting — so we really are talking about a wide range of root health.

They shoot up and plead with me daily: Meg, are you feeding your own roots? Do I want to grow a spindly spear, or do I want to be sure to take the time and energy to restore myself so I can show up in my life and for my friends and colleagues with my tank full?

It’s pretty clear with asparagus who’s done the best job of tending to their roots, who has taken enough of their energy and invested it in themselves. It’s not quite as easy to tell with humans, generally, but what’s the point in pretending you’ve got more reserves than you actually do?

With spending more than half its life in a state of rest, asparagus really makes the most of the life it’s given. It reminds me of how easy it is to be completely explosive with our own state of being in spring and summer, bending our lives to the extended sunshine and aliveness all around us. But we don’t rest in winter like the plants. I mean, not as much as we would like. (Or wait, is that just me?)

So rest needs to be included in every growing season, too. It’s something I’m slowly learning, and maybe it’s because all my chronic pain and fatigue is building a taller wall that’s not as easy to just hop over. I am trying to accept it as a gift of hard won balance instead of a sign of weakness or failure. It’s a daily battle, but I may be coming to acceptance.

My Plea for More Asparagus Grown from Seed

As many of you know, I am a huge fan of growing asparagus from seed. I believe, and maybe I’m the only one, that asparagus is one of those things that most people can grow from seed easily, but there’s this massive misconception that you will get a faster harvest from crowns. Not true!

If done correctly, you can harvest your first yields off asparagus seedlings at about 18 months after germination. This equates to the exact same time you’d be planting one year old crowns, the ubiquitous pathway to homegrown asparagus. Saute that in some olive oil and sea salt, and make a plan for January 2023.

Our asparagus bed is largely five years old; there are a few plants that we started from saved seed in 2017 or ‘18 and planted again to replace some female plants. We are growing a male dominant hybrid, Jersey Knight. We have probably 1/3 too many plants, but an easy, early season food is nothing to underestimate and we are eating it nearly daily now and will through the end of June.

If asparagus is something you’d like to add to your garden, take the time to locate a permanent home for it and I highly recommend sowing it from seed. It takes a few weeks to break dormancy like celery, cape gooseberry, and the like, but by potting it up and then planting it really deep, you’ll have a head start on any crowns you waltz past in home improvement or garden centers.

And remember to watch your garden carefully for lessons about self care. Because these plants are most often our most fervent and open teachers in our lives. Maybe we’d even call them our best friends. Do you need permission to nourish your roots? I am here to give that to you. Go ahead, take the very best care of yourself today, and always.