The Great Microgreens Mystery and a Seed Saving Waiting Game
Robert Ayson
When gardening I often listen to podcasts – on gardening-related topics (in case you were wondering). One of my favourites is The Urban Farm Podcast which runs to over 800 permaculture-themed episodes. The host, Greg Peterson, will often structure conversations around a set of standard questions. One of these questions goes like this:
“I’m going to shift on you and I’d like for you to talk about a time you failed, how you overcame that failure and what you might have learned from it.”
I’ve been reminded of this set of words while adjusting to an unexpected roadblock with my pea microgreens. In a post I published back in the middle of May, I was full of optimism about continuing what had been a very positive growing – and eating - experience. But just a month later, the bottom had fallen out.
I had been prepared for the fact that the intervals from sowing to germination, and from germination to maturity, would both increase as the weather grew cooler and the days shorter. But I was not ready for pea microgreen germination rates on two successive sowings to be somewhere between zero and five percent, as the following photo (taken after the leanest of harvests) demonstrates:
Given that we had moved properly into winter my first thought was that it had somehow become too cold for germination to take place. But these are peas, one of those crops which is meant to enjoy cooler temperatures. My thoughts next turned to all the rain we had been getting. June was a very wet month, and so I thought that the seeds, which are grown outside, might simply have rotted away soon after sowing.
That second hypothesis seemed a possibility, but I still wasn’t convinced. And then something else in the garden caught my attention. In autumn, I had placed some old sunflower heads on a trellis for the birds to eat. For some reason the seeds had remained undisturbed (and uneaten). That had been quite a surprise as this garden does not want for the presence of feathered friends. But I then noticed that suddenly the sunflower heads had been raided, as you’ll see from this image:
That got me thinking that perhaps the birds were finding June to be a hungry month, which might also explain what had happened to my pea microgreen seeds. And, like a gardening version of Cluedo, (I suspect Mr. Blackbird with the lead piping in the library) three other pieces of evidence pointed in the direction of my ornithological suspicions.
First, there was something left over from the microgreens which had failed to launch: casings of the seeds had been left sitting on the soil in the container. It was as if only their juicier innards had been removed. Second, the soil in the two litre containers I had sowed the microgreens into had been disturbed a fair bit – just the sort of creative rearrangement that a blackbird would leave behind. Third, I recalled that with the sun now much less harsh than it had been in warmer months, I had removed some shade-cloth which I used to protect seedlings of various types. This meant that, all-of-a-sudden, birds had unfettered access to the pea microgreens should they desire it.
Beaten down but not defeated (I am trying to make this sound a bit more dramatic than it really has been), I looked for a way to adapt. My response was based on an item salvaged from an old kitchen appliance. When we’d replaced our old fridge last year, (it had survived an international move some years ago but finally was making noises that spelled its impending doom), I retained the clear plastic vegetable bin. Putting a container of freshly sown set of pea microgreen seeds on top of an outside table, I placed the (upside down) vegetable bin over the top as their protective cover. Here is a picture of that simplest of mini-greenhouses (which needs a clean) with the edible contents growing happily inside:
The result? What do you know, the microgreens (and their successors a few days later) germinated as normal, with some yummy eating to follow. To be sure, these seeds have been taking their time. My records suggest that, in the warmth of March, pea microgreens were germinating in as little as 3 days from sowing and would be ready to harvest 7 days later. At this mid-winter time of the year, you can double both of those numbers, and maybe then some. But the taste is extra special – lovely and very sweet.
My initial optimism about the ease of growing and harvesting pea microgreens has been tested, and has come through this temporary crisis, adjusted but largely intact. But I’ve also been wondering about the confidence levels of my forecasts in another post: the one I wrote on seed saving. You might have seen that vitalis bean pod that I had photographed at the time. I was expecting that pod to ripen, at which time it would be removed from the vine. But did the cool and wet weather I’ve been talking about mean that I was pushing some of my seed saving too late into the year? And this might also apply to the scarlet runner bean pod that was giving this rather green appearance just a few weeks’ ago:
Well, the other day I remembered the first of these pods. On inspection it had gone a pale colour and seemed ready to pick. Doing so revealed firm, albeit small, vitalis bean seeds, good for saving for the next growing season. And the scarlet runner pod was also ready, revealing when I opened it the light purple signs of mature bean seeds.
As much as I am delighted not to have to reverse my earlier seed saving intentions, my main reaction is simply to be impressed with the plants involved. Those bean pods have both done a remarkable job of protecting the maturing bean seeds within them from all of that rain, wind, and cold. Here are those pods, with the white vitalis beans visible, sitting in the she
What have I learned from these two examples of my ongoing gardening adventures? With the pea microgreen episode I am reminded that “failure” in the garden is more likely to rest with our technique than with the plants themselves. It has also confirmed that what works very well for a plant in one season of the year might not be suitable in another. As for the bean pods, I am reminded that plants are tougher and more resilient than our forebodings often suggest. Sometimes all they need is a bit of time to show us the fuller extent of what they are made of.
In some instances gardening is about responding to something that hasn’t quite worked, adjusting our method, and trying again. In others it is simply a matter of waiting, and in the meantime resisting the urge to pull up plants even when they are looking a bit tired. Figuring out what to stop and change, and what to leave undisturbed, is part of strategy in the garden.
Postscript: An extra bonus was there when I cut back those bean vines from the trellis - as well as another pod of runner bean seeds for next season, I noticed a much smaller pod. It turned out to be from a pea I had planted earlier than the beans which replaced it. And so an extra reason was there for me to confirm the wisdom of waiting. The seeds close up are quite remarkably shaped:
