Every spring, I curse my back yard neighbor’s scrubby trees for their unwelcome shade and shower of seeds. But Saturday night, I was grateful for their protection. After the high winds and hail, I thought I’d have a garden full of goners. Instead, I had a garden full of leaves and a yard full of hail. The offending Chinese Elm trees were a ratty mess, but my seedlings were mostly intact.

Weird.

Weeding around the garden, I started to see red. My French Breakfast radishes leafed about two weeks ago, but according to the seed packet, I still had another two weeks to wait for actual radishes.

This little beauty (right) obviously didn’t read the seed packet. Between the dirt and leaves, it was hard to miss the telltale scarlet shoulders.

On Sunday night, I was lucky enough to eat the very first radish grown in my garden (Ha ha! I beat you to the punch squirrels!). Sliced and served on a bed of mixed greens, it was deeee-licious.

Have you eaten anything out of your garden yet? If not, what are you dying to see on your dinner plate?

Meet my only beet.

In early May, after I planted my snap peas and carrots, I decided to sow alternating rows of argula and beets in the back of the Bummer Bed.

The arugula sprouted first. It thrived in the spring sunshine. Soon the boyfriend and I were eating the peppery leaves in a simple basalmic viniagrette.

I searched the bed daily for the teeny red and green beet seedlings promised by my Seed Savers packet, but all I found was a black ant or two.

After three weeks, I noticed a few brave beet pioneers poking out of the soil. Though the rows were sparse, I now knew the seed was good.

However, when I checked on the bed a day later, only the arugula remained.

No tiny beet stems, no tiny beet leaves, no half open tiny beet seeds — The rows were empty as if each seedling had been expertly and systematically plucked from the ground.

Weird.

More black ants scurried between the rows carrying bits of compost and mulch. I stood up frustrated, then I noticed the gigantic new ant hill at the foot of the Bummer Bed.

Could these ants be smart enough to unplant my beet seeds? Maybe… But who or what was eating the seedlings? Rabbits? Squirrels? Birds?

Only one beet survived and it wasn’t spilling any secrets.

After the arugula bolted, I dug up the bed and planted three more rows of beets. Since the end of May, seedlings appear then quickly disappear. A few survivors hide in the straw, but I have a feeling their days are also numbered.

Anyone have a clue to solving this mystery?

Right now, this whole Bummer Bed “beets” the heck outta me.

Meet my only beet.

In early May, after I planted my snap peas and carrots, I decided to sow alternating rows of argula and beets in the back of the Bummer Bed.

The arugula sprouted first. It thrived in the spring sunshine. Soon the boyfriend and I were eating the peppery leaves in a simple basalmic viniagrette.

I searched the bed daily for the teeny red and green beet seedlings promised by my Seed Savers packet, but all I found was a black ant or two.

After three weeks, I noticed a few brave beet pioneers poking out of the soil. Though the rows were sparse, I now knew the seed was good.

However, when I checked on the bed a day later, only the arugula remained.

No tiny beet stems, no tiny beet leaves, no half open tiny beet seeds — The rows were empty as if each seedling had been expertly and systematically plucked from the ground.

Weird.

More black ants scurried between the rows carrying bits of compost and mulch. I stood up frustrated, then I noticed the gigantic new ant hill at the foot of the Bummer Bed.

Could these ants be smart enough to unplant my beet seeds? Maybe… But who or what was eating the seedlings? Rabbits? Squirrels? Birds?

Only one beet survived and it wasn’t spilling any secrets.

After the arugula bolted, I dug up the bed and planted three more rows of beets. Since the end of May, seedlings appear then quickly disappear. A few survivors hide in the straw, but I have a feeling their days are also numbered.

Anyone have a clue to solving this mystery?

Right now, this whole Bummer Bed “beets” the heck outta me.

I love carrots. Crunchy, sweet and vitamin-packed, the carrot is the perfect veggie. Cooked or raw, I could eat carrots until I turned orange with beta-carotene.

(Note: Keep your nasty bag of baby carrots away from me – I’m an old school carrot sticks kinda girl. Didja know store-bought baby carrots are actually eight-inch carrots in disguise? After these giants are harvested from the field, they are chopped into small pieces, peeled, and “polished.”)

As my garden grew, I was filled with carrot concerns. Are they planted too close together? Are they getting too much sun? Too much water?

When I dug up the carrot bed for cool season crops, I was surprised by my bounty of bite-sized veggies. I removed their green tops, gave them a quick scrub, then shared my harvest with friends and family.

A month later, I’m still munching and crunching my homegrown baby carrots.

This late in the growing season, people start to think about putting their gardens to bed. Corn is turning brown. Cukes are tired. Tomatoes make a mad dash to the finish line with new green fruit.

Who could’ve guessed that my cool season crops would outgrow my carrot harvest? Arugula, kale, mustard, and broccoli rapini made the most of the rain - and my salad plate. I thin the bed before dinner and find twice as many greens the next morning for my bag lunch.

Sometimes I even find a rogue carrot or two.

Cool season crops can also be grown indoors! If you have a spare salad bowl, a sunny window and lazy cats, you can have fresh greens all winter long.

I love Thursdays in downtown Minneapolis.

All growing season long, the farmers’ market transforms six blocks of Nicollet Avenue from a hampster habitrail into a thriving metropolis. Freshly-dug red onions, bright bouquets of sunflowers, tone-deaf street musicians - Minnesotans stumble out of their skyways for a breath of fresh air and a taste of community. Step onto the crowded sidewalk, inhale, close your eyes and you can be anywhere in the world.

Well, maybe downtown Toronto.

Besides peoplewatching, the farmers’ market is an excellent opportunity for an impromtu Q & A with local growers. Curious about kohlrabi? Befuddled by beets? An intelligent gardening question can illicit a scowl or a 30-minute conversation about cold pickling cucumbers.

Lately, I’ve been asking a lot of questions about carrots. Strolling by bushel after bushel of orange beauties, you can’t help but pity the pipsqueaks struggling in your own back yard.

Farmer 1: Carrots do not like to be crowded. You should really thin them more. Better luck next year.

Farmer 2: Carrots, eh? It took me a couple years to get ‘em right. I’d yank ‘em out. Yes, indeed - YANK ‘EM!

Farmer 3: BWAHAHAHA! You still have carrots in the ground? Get your black thumb away from my stand!

Before ripping up my raised bed or ripping off my alleged black thumb, I decided to thin the carrots again and wait a week or two. Am I on the right track? What do your carrots look like?

In the same carrot bed, my cilantro and spinach have bolted long ago. Though I’m charmed by their little white flowers, these old greens have got to go. I’d like to yank them out and give cool season crops a try, but I don’t know that much about them. Do you? Have you tried planting kale or snap peas as summer wanes? Do you know anything about potato garlic?

If I’m too optimistic about our Minnesota growing season, please - stop me now.