Our holiday tree, 2011, aka the top of the former arborvitae. There’s a bucket of water inside the pedestal.

Putting it up was extremely easy; taking it down wasn’t much  harder and now we have the same pile of long branches anyone with a regular tree will have as soon as they saw them from the trunk, first step in successful home recycling.

Some will argue deconstruction is unnecessary; you can simply recycle the tree by setting it up outdoors, replacing the human-centric ornaments with items of interest to birds: cut oranges, a feeder or two, that cute bell made from suet and encrusted with seeds you got from the office gift-swap.

Well, yes, but myself I’d rather use cut boughs to mulch the perennial beds, evergreen boughs being just about ideal for this purpose: They hold in the cold without matting down and they’re quick and easy to remove in spring without harming tender emerging shoots.

That’s right, hold in the cold. There are some instances where the object is to hold in warmth – such as when you’re trying to protect the fig tree.

Wrapped fig tree surrounded by bagged leaves, further insulated by a large pile of hemlock boughs

But most of the time what the mulch is doing is keeping the surface frozen, so you don’t get repeated thaws and freezes between January and April. “Frost heave” doesn’t just happen to roadbeds. Even when plants stay put, delicate feeder roots right near the surface are often damaged by soil that expands and contracts like an accordion.

The beds in Maine take a lot of boughs, so each year Kristi goes scavenging right about now, looking for raw material. Being well out in the country, she has to work at it. But in towns that offer municipal pick up there’s a bounty of useful material conveniently located right next to the curb.

Alternate use for evergreen branches: back door decor. Former “tree” makes a good anchor; saved up shrub and hedge prunings add variety.

Beds already all cozy – or non-existent? Consider the outdoor arrangement. In cold climates cut evergreens will stay fresh looking right through the entire Carnival season (Epiphany to Mardi Gras).

Added benefit of tree-in-tall pot: this is actually the first tree we’ve had in several years, feline depredations having finally discouraged me from even trying. But it looks like a combination of cat maturity and – comparative – tree inaccessibility is a winning one.

It's not that he COULDN'T jump; even fat as he is that's an easy distance. But as long as nothing moves he's not that interested.

Allium christophii, aka A. albopilosum, aka Star of Persia. A prolific self-sower, among its other virtues, though succeeding generations are smaller than the originals. Also a bit less intensely purple than my camera wants you to believe.

Pop Quiz

1) How many spring-blooming bulbs is too many?

2) How many spring-blooming bulbs is there room for?

3) How many spring-blooming bulbs must be planted before there are enough to cut for the house without diminishing the outdoor show?

Around here, the answer to all three questions is “Who knows?” Several hundred into it I’m not there yet, and that’s not counting the little guys (crocus, muscarii, scilla and the like don’t even show up until there are thousands – unless you force them, which I heartily recommend).

Reason for mentioning it now, when even procrastinators – no names please – have usually gotten all of them in: CLEARANCE SALES!!

Two of my favorite Mail-order Sources are in final get rid of ‘em mode:

Brent and Becky’s, home of gazilllions of nifty narcissi as well as a wide selection of less-usual crocus and other things. Half-price while they last or until 12/05, whichever comes first.

Van Engelen, wholesale quantities and no slouch in the choice department either. Minimum order $50.00, a distressingly easy target. Forty percent off until they run out. Quantity bulbs can be “estate size,” which is to say on the small side; don’t forget to check sizes when ordering.

It being after Thanksgiving, most garden centers have already gone All Christmas All the Time, but every once in a while there’s a bin or two of orphans. And every once in a while they’re worth buying.  But not alas all that often. I’m disappointed almost every time I start inspecting them carefully for shrinkage, mold, etc.

Storage in the warm drought of sales rooms is just about the opposite of ideal, and of course anything in open bins could indeed be anything. (People who just toss their rejects into any old bin are not rare, unfortunately.)

This lily flowered mystery been coming back for years, as sturdy as the astilbe I probably planted later.

In our gardens, lily flowered tulips are among the more reliable returners. Catalogs don’t seem to list this among their virtues, so our situation may be unique. But it’s something to think about. A few other Tulip Tips are here.

late autumn color, late autumn flavor: winter squash, chestnuts and wild mushrooms

Must say I do love a soup that tastes rich and creamy without being heavy – or containing cream. Also nice if it doesn’t require an arsenal of seasonings and is easy and quick to make.

The quick part does assume the squash is already baked, and that you know speedy ways to peel chestnuts, but why not? *

As usual, the ingredient list is pretty much the whole recipe, but given that the beauty shot of the main ingredients promised something a bit more extensive, here’s a rough outline, based on the most recent iteration.

“Rough” and “most recent” are definitely the words for it; this is one of those home style soups that’s infinitely variable.

In other words, almost impossible to screw up.

If we’ve eaten most of  the squash, I just use more mushroom and chestnut. When I have the help of chestnut peelers, I shamelessly take advantage. Don’t have these particular mushrooms ? No problem, there are plenty of alternatives.

That’s “alternative,” as in “it’ll be good, but in a different way.” Recipes that call simply  for wild mushrooms or mixed wild mushrooms drive me nuts.

As though there were no differences! Granted, all of them taste like mushrooms, but anyone who thinks Boletus edulis and Cantharellus cibarius can be interchanged willy-nilly should have their head examined simply isn’t paying attention.

I am tempted to rant at length. Instead will just mildly point out that this soup can be made with almost any pair of mushrooms, wild or domestic, but one of them should be an intensely flavored low moisture variety like hen of the woods or shiitake and the other should be a firm, meaty but tender variety like lactarius or cremini.

AUTUMN SOUP

as measured out in midcoast Maine in Late October 2011

3 tbl. butter

3.5 oz. Lactarius thyinos, cut into half-inch chunks

A large onion in roughly 1/3 inch dice

5 oz Grifola frondosa coarsely chopped

12 chestnuts, roasted, peeled, and coarsely chopped

5 c. light chicken stock

6 oz. baked winter squash, roughly cut into walnut sized chunks

4 good sized springs of fresh thyme – enough to add a hint but not a shout

3 scrapings of nutmeg

1. Melt the butter in a soup pot over medium heat. Add the lactarius chunks and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are lightly browned and completely cooked through. Remove and set aside.

2. Add the onion, cook until golden, then add the frondosus. Keep cooking and stirring until the vegetables are brown and there is no free liquid in the pan. Stir in the chestnuts, add the broth, cover, and simmer over very low heat until everything is falling-apart soft, about an hour, maybe more.

3. Stir in the squash and seasonings, cover and cook until the squash is more or less dissolved, about 20 minutes.

4. Fish out the thyme and puree the soup. Depending on the toughness of the mushrooms, it will come out somewhere between fine applesauce and French Restaurant. This batch was the former and perfectly tasty, but I did put it thorough a strainer to achieve F.R. for its portrait.

5. Reheat, salt to taste and portion out, topping each bowl with a sprinkle of the reserved lactarius. An herb garnish doesn’t help, tastewise, so I resisted the temptation to pretty it up with something green. If you feel you must, a sprig of chervil wouldn’t do much harm.

BAKED WINTER SQUASH

Is more flavorful and less watery than squash that has been boiled, steamed or microwaved. All the same like baked potatoes, including stabbing here and there to prevent explosions. Unlike potatoes, squash leaks sweet juice, so you do have to put it on a pan. At 375 degrees, it’ll take anywhere from one hour to two, depending on the squash variety, size and age. (They cook more quickly after they’ve been stored for a while.)

That’s my preferred method, but when I’m in a hurry I halve the squash, remove the seeds, rub the cut surfaces with olive oil and roast the halves face down. Seed removal is a bit more of a chore, but you do get those delicious caramelized cut surfaces.

* Frozen partially cooked peeled chestnuts are quite tasty and an enormous time-saver, as I learned some years ago when a chef friend sent me some. Being as they’re not a money saver (unless you’re a chef with labor costs) and are not sold at any stores nearby, I have never bought any. But they are available retail, from Chestnut Growers Inc., a Michigan farmer’s co-op, among others. If you decide to go for it, please come back and let us all know how it worked out.

Ingredients for autumn soup: chestnuts from a farmers market, Lactarius thyinos (no common name), hen of the woods, Queen of Smyrna squash

I took this picture to run with the recipe – not yet written – because I was about to roast the squash and chestnuts, making them less photogenic.

But then I realized the picture itself is a massive seasonal alert. So:

Bill’s detailed hen of the woods hunting advice is here.

The post where I roll all over in delight about the squash, after a timely reminder that the window of specialty squashes is both small and right now, is here.

And really a lot about roasting and peeling chestnuts is here.

Further refinements:

THE SQUASH

This is the first Queen of Smyrna I’ve had this year, and I tasted it with considerable apprehension. Last year’s song of praise was so effusive the possibility of embarrassing disappointment seemed larger than the possibility of confirmatory delight. No worries! It was amazing.

Right now, Queen of Smyrna is being grown only on the farm in Northern Maine where it originated. I got it at Fresh off the Farm, in midcoast Rockport. But that just makes it the poster squash for “eat local.” Wherever you live it’s likely there’s something equally rare and fabulous at a farm stand or farmers market near you.

THE CHESTNUTS

I bought them a couple of weeks ago at the Poughkeepsie, NY farmers market, from a vendor who warmed my heart by clearly being not a professional farmer but just some guy who happened to have a (Chinese, not American) chestnut tree in his yard. Also a couple of apple and pear trees, from the looks of his stand. There was not a lot of anything – a few small boxes of apples and pears, I think maybe three pints of chestnuts.

It was the end of the day, but he couldn’t have started out with a whole lot more.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m profoundly grateful to and admiring of the professional farmers who day in, day out make local food a reality. But I’m also glad this kind of neighborly exchange is not yet dead (and not yet priced out of a place in the marketplace).

The chestnuts themselves, I regret to say, were only so-so compared to those grown by the pros. But being very fresh they were quite wonderfully easy to peel.

THE MUSHROOMS

The hen of the woods is amply covered in the article linked up top.

The L. thyinos isn’t exactly uncommon but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it offered for sale. Some experts rate them uninteresting or even unpleasant. A mystery, that, except for being another reminder that taste is in the mouth of the taster and that mushrooms can vary a lot depending on where they grow.

We have a few reliable spots and the thyinos we harvest there rate quite highly with us. Although the taste is on the delicate side, sort of mushroomy and sort of floral; the texture is outstanding: delightfully firm, not tough but crisp, and it remains so even after thorough cooking.

Thyinos is hard to miss because when cut it exudes quantities of orange milk. The closely related L. deliciosus group has the same milk but turns green when handled. It too is edible, although “deliciosus” is pushing it.

THE APPLES

Not in the picture and not in the soup, but this very Sunday is Great Maine Apple Day and I wanted to give all within driving distance a heads up.

I probably should have titled this “Harvesting Wild Mushrooms;” there are all kinds of them just about everywhere (or at least everywhere in the Northeast). Our vegetable gardens may be soggy – even without Irene this has been a mighty rainy summer – but in the silver lining department there’s a bumper crop in the woods and fields.

Oddly, we haven’t found too many Cantharellus cibarius, the chanterelles usually sold under that name. Instead, we’re getting boatloads of the smaller sorts, including the Craterellus tubaeformis, aka Cantharellus infundibuliformis in Bill’s picture and the ever-popular black trumpet (Craterellus fallax).

Also lobster mushrooms (scroll down for collecting and cleaning tips) and a great many boletes.

This includes Boletus edulus, or king bolete , the species called Porcino in Italy. Friends familiar with both insist our kings are not as royal as true Italian porcini. In my opinion, they’re plenty delicious enough – far better than other common boletes – and absent the genuine article it’s difficult to compare.

Being married to an expert mycologist puts me next to a grand assortment of less-well-known edibles, about which I will not speak just now since you really need to know what you’re doing before it’s safe to eat them.

Actually, you should know what you’re doing before you eat any wild mushroom. After all this cheerleading I’m sorry to be the ghost at the banquet, but I keep reading about wild mushroom feasts where a grand variety is served to people who have not tried them all before and it’s making me nervous.

Most of the time, no problem; the combination of good will and a healthy fear of legal retribution seems to be working pretty well. The scary part is the chance of trouble; sooner or later, it’s pretty much inevitable. The more different mushrooms consumed, the more likely it is that one of them will provoke discomfort – or worse – in at least one of the consumers, and if you’ve served a whole bunch of different species it’s going to be near-impossible to figure out which one’s to blame.

Even mushrooms long classified as the safest of the safe can cause bad stomach upsets. Sulfur shelf, for instance, has long been classed as one of the “foolproof four” because it’s so easy to recognize, yet there are many (myself among them) who cannot eat any of what has turned out to be a whole class of related mushrooms.

Short version: persnickety as they may appear, Bill’s Long Lived Mushroom Eaters Golden Rules are worth following.

This festival of links is just a taste of our blog entries over the years. There are many more of Bill’s expert collecting tips and a few of my favorite recipes in the mushroom section. It’s not logically organized( time for an upgrade!), so scrolling can take a while. If you know what you’re looking for, try the index first.

* Michael Kuo, in themushroomexpert.com.

Photo by Bill Bakaitis

Where there are shoots, there will soon be flowers. Also bees.

I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling overwhelmed with imminent spring. It’s just so inspiring to see those fleets of tender crocus shoots pushing up; so inspiring ( in a slightly different way) to see those fleets of last autumn’s canned goods still lining the shelves.

Haven’t started raking yet, but I have been making Honey Bars, playing around with assorted vintages, pairing the perfumes of the honeys with different nuts: floral with hazelnuts, herbal with pecans, smoky with black walnuts.

That’s the thing about keeping bees:  if you get any honey at all, you generally get a lot, so even though last year was a total bust we’re in no danger of running out.

The thing that’s in danger is the bees. And as Bill points out in this guest post, the first wave of threats is already pawing away at the doorstep.

Sweetness in the Snow (Nope, It’s not Maple Syrup)

By Bill Bakaitis

In deep winter, our bees stay put, venturing out only on the rare warm days when they can clean up the hive (and themselves) without fear of freezing.

Then, long before the snow is gone come the first warm rains of the season. They fell here a little over a week ago, following which we immediately began to see dead raccoons on the side of the road and raccoon tracks in fresh snow around the neighborhood.

Then, a few nights ago I heard one scrabbling around in the side yard.  Oh, No, I thought. One way or another, Ugly is about to be the word in the bee yard.

Both raccoons and their distant cousins, the Black Bears, emerge from their winter denning slumber in mid-March, hungry and ready to roam. They are on the look-out for fast food. Around here, that usually means bird seed, household garbage, molasses spiked ‘sweet feed’ and bee hives.

Almost all of our neighbors set out garbage nightly, many feed the birds, and at least two provide sweet feed to their stock. Amongst this suburban smorgasbord, bee hives can beckon as the sweetest of finds. In such a setting, things can get real ugly real quick.

When the ‘coons come, the bears are usually not far behind, and they seem to have a singular fondness for the contents of bee hives. It’s not so much for the honey, but for the developing larvae packed into the innermost combs of the hive. But whereas the ‘coons opposable thumbs can open latches and investigate nooks and crannies with the skill of an ornery six year old, the bears use all of the grace and cunning of a smack down wrestler to demolish the hive in their effort to get to the larvae.

One move, Ka Blam! And the three hundred dollar investment of a single hive is splintered in an instant. Ugly!

To ward off this threat, those of us who keep bees have learned to surround the hives with an electric fence.  The problem facing us in an early spring with a deep snow pack (and so far this year over seven feet has fallen) is that the fence is buried under snow and any electrical current shorts out immediately.

So for us, the first sign of the sweetness of this spring was not the boiling off of maple syrup but the digging out and reconstruction of the electric fence.

When most of us think of honey we think of warm days, blossom filled vistas, fragrant evenings and jugs of amber sweetness. Yet the tasks of late winter, although not so bucolic, are also part of the picture. Remember this the next time you purchase a pint of home grown honey at your local farmers market.

(Note: This seems like a good place to add that large mammalian threats are the least of the bee’s worries and that’s pretty much all bees, not only domestic honey bees like ours but also the native pollinators lately much in the news as possible replacements. Decline of Honey Bees Now A Global Phenomenon Says the United Nations. LL)

Although snow was still falling and blowing all morning on the 27th, the blowing showed a great deal more enthusiasm. No way to start shoveling much before noon, by which time the snow was what one might call “formerly fluffy.” It wasn’t heavy, exactly, compared to some snows I’ve hefted in my time, but it was already closer to igloo material than the original thistledown.

And there was a lot of it, so both of us were out there for hours. Bill started by clearing a path around the greenhouse and down to the bird feeder

The greenhouse from inside (those shelves are 4 feet off the floor)

First chunk of first south window cleared

Birds, feeding

And that was the easy part. Next came

The head of the driveway where as usual there was an enormous wall of salt hardened sludge shoved at us by the town plows

The path to the shed where we keep the bird seed

The path from the street to the front door

And of course the parking area, 40 x 100 feet, roughly 16 inches deep. Except for the wind-driven 5 foot dune banked up against the barn.

The view from our back door

So it looked to me like taking an angled path through the shallower stuff would get us to the barn door more quickly and that’s where I started while Bill finished the driveway to the car.

I became absorbed in the task

and didn’t notice Bill had come back around the corner and decided to take the short, deep route

Even when he’s exhausted, he’s fast, so I guess I shouldn’t complain, and I did hear him shout “I’ll finish that for you.”

Moral of the story: look up from time to time. It’s beautiful and you might learn something.

These aren’t they, but next year...

I’m not sure I’m really all that worried about it. Between the bacon and the barbeque we’re no doubt consuming enough carcinogenic material to make it a bit bogus to get all het up about the lids on the catsup – especially since after the jars are opened I  switch to one of my favorite products: plastic reusable caps like the one on the strawberry jam (reasonably easy to find although not, for reasons that elude me, available wherever canning supplies are sold).

Where was I?

About to say something about “better safe,” no doubt. BPA – free canning supplies do exist.

And now that I know about them, our next batch of lids and rings will come from Tattler company. Lids and rings are all we need, alas, thanks to the lifetime supply of perfectly good jars we bought for use as wine glasses at a garden party.

I say “alas” because otherwise I’d probably go for the far handsomer models from Weck, even though their plastic snap-on lids fit fewer other jars; the rings are the old-fashioned, single use sort, and the whole assemblage is a bit pricier than standard jars.

So what? It’s not a lot more if you’re starting from scratch and have to buy jars anyway. Given the time and love invested (to say nothing of having to look at the damn things sitting expectantly on the shelf), home-canned pickles and preserves deserve the prettiest presentation consistent with food safety.

(Home canned string beans not so much; but I don’t know anyone who is still putting up major amounts of unseasoned produce to use a full jar at a time in everyday meals.)

Photo note: The canned goods lined up at the last and very dark it’s raining minute so this would have an illustration are all pretty readable except maybe the little jar of Brandywine Tomato paste.

BPA avoidance notes:

1. We don’t have any children in the house. Keeping the stuff away from them seems well worth any hassle and expense.

2. I realize the reusable screw-on lids may themselves be loaded with BPA and have a call in to the manufacturer about it. Update when the call is returned.

Update, 10/28/10: no BPA in the lids, which are available online from Ball if you strike out locally.

Goodbye to all that.

Either way, this year “first frost”  is now in the record books.

Previous title holder for the light version was October 6^th; this year it was the 9^th or 10^th (I was out of town). The complete squash-killer, never later than the 14^th, didn’t arrive until two days ago and even now the upper garden still has untouched dahlias and cannas, among other improbables.

On the good side, ripe peppers galore, for two solid months.

Roasting peppers to peel and freeze

On the bad side, no green tomatoes. The plants gave out before they gave up. To say this too is a first is the understatement of the Western World, and while it’s pretty low on the catastrophe scale it does mean we’ll be hoarding the last of the last batch of Green Tomato and Lime Chutney.

Have to be sure there’s enough for Thanksgiving, so although it’s usually standard with everything autumn from smothered pork chops to roast winter squash, it’s going to be on the rare side this year until the harvest festival is safely behind us.

GREEN TOMATO AND LIME CHUTNEY

Green Tomato and Lime Chutney, a nearly all purpose condiment

A look at the ingredient list suggests this should be “Green Tomato and Apple Chutney with raisins and candied ginger,” but lime is such a powerful flavor it earns its star billing.

For about 3 pints – and a taste*:

2 ½ c. white vinegar

2c. sugar

1 large, smooth skinned lime, plus 1 lime for final adjustments

3 ½  lbs. green tomatoes, coarsely chopped if large, cut into wedges if small

1 ¾ lbs. apples, peeled, cored, and coarsely chopped

½ lb shallots, minced

10 oz. white raisins

¼ lb. candied ginger, cut in small dice

3 tbl. yellow mustard seeds

2 tsp. salt

1. Put the vinegar and sugar in a large non-reactive kettle; halve the lime and squeeze in the juice.

2. Remove the stringiest central membrane from the lime shell, then cut the rest – pulp, pith and all – into matchsticks. Dump them in a large pot of boiling water, turn off the heat and let them sit 2 minutes. Drain.

3. Put the lime sticks in a very small deep pan, cover with an inch or so of water and simmer over low heat until they’re soft enough to be cut with the edge of a fork – this may take 15 or 20 minutes; lime rind is tough. Drain and rinse.

4. Add the lime to the kettle along with everything else and cook over low heat, stirring frequently, until tomatoes and apples fall apart and the chutney is thick.

5. Cool a spoonful, taste and add sugar or lime juice as necessary to make a nice balance of sweet and sour.

6. Store in the refrigerator pretty much indefinitely or can in a boiling water bath.

* This is a minimum, the amount I’ve gotten with large tomatoes that although green are mature enough to give off some liquid and an assortment of apples from the sweet end of the spectrum. Quantity will vary with the juiciness of the fruit and the pectin in the apples, so if your produce is low in juice and high in jelling material you could get well over 4 pints – or more.

Photo note: The batch in the picture was an experiment that omitted the mustard seeds. Bad idea. It’s much tastier with and it looks very nearly the same, just with more yellow dots. I should also note that the canning jar was strictly for presentation and was not used for canning. Old fashioned bail-topped jars sealed with rubber rings are less reliable than modern jars (although now that modern metal lids have been found to contain traces of BPA I suppose the bail-tops may be in for a revival).

While this is going on above ground, extension is transpiring underneath.

In the space of a single summer, one wizened little dahlia tuber can become a clutch of potatolike lumps the size of a basketball and the cannas are even worse – or better, if you’ve got a spot that could use a mass of something. Just because they got overused in the days of carpet bedding shouldn’t consign using cannas as hedging to the dustbin of horticultural history.

A section of the side yard hedge (as seen from the driveway) at the Hudson Valley house. The canna is 'Tropicana;' the neat black grass is millet 'Purple Majesty.'

This is by way of saying that – assuming you’ve got room in the cellar or garage –  too much of a good thing may be just enough. And of course a bit more of an expensive thing is its own kind of gratification.

To Save Cannas and Dahlias Over Winter In Cold Climates.

Cannas

1. Wait for the frost to kill down the tops. Expert opinion is divided on the necessity for this, but in my experience the unpleasant shock does seem to encourage the rhizome to think good thoughts about dormancy.

2. Choose a dry day to dig them up. Do so. Allow the dirt to fall off, and let the surface dry if it’s wet. (Some people wash and dry them, then dust with fungicide. I don’t.)

3. Clip off the dead stems, leaving a stub about  2 inches tall; there can be incipient buds underneath. Cut off any chunks of rhizome that are obviously diseased, but other than that leave them alone.

Again, the experts are divided. Some say this is the time to cut off dead sections and divide the good parts, but by me the fewer wounds there are, the fewer chances there are for needed moisture to leave or unneeded rot to enter.

4. Line a thick black plastic garbage bag or plastic storage box with a layer of light, air-holding insulation – peat moss, coir, pine needles, or packing peanuts – just deep enough to cradle the rhizomes and cover them thinly. Nestle the rhizomes into it, right side up and not touching.

5. Store in a cool but not cold place, 45 -50 degrees is ideal, five more degrees either way won’t make much difference. Leave the top partially open or partially cover, as the case may be, so moisture is held in but not trapped.

Check every month or so, opening the bag/cover a bit more if the rhizomes look sweaty, sprinkling very lightly with water if they appear to be drying out. Some of the buds may show signs of growth. No worries; they usually proceed very slowly; just try to avoid breaking them off.

Dahlias

Same routine as the cannas, except:

1. Cut the dead stems off short, about ½ inch long. The incipient buds are nestled at the neck of each tuber where it meets the stem and any extra stem will simply rot if it doesn’t dry out.

2.  If the clump is at all sizable, there will be dirt trapped between the tubers. I ( or as often as not Kristi) turn the clumps upside down and let them dry off  before removing any rotten tubers and proceeding toward storage.

Sometimes the clumps fall apart into smaller clumps or an individual tuber may separate from its fellows. No problem. Unless you count

Labeling, the curse of dahlia storers everywhere.

Over the years I have tried:

1. Putting each variety in a labeled brown paper bag before nestling in the insulation. Works pretty well if the bags don’t disintegrate.

2. Writing with sharpie right on one or more of the tubers in each clump. Works fine if the writing doesn’t fade and the tubers stay clumped.

3. Writing on a plant label and pushing the point between a couple of close tubers or stabbing it into a stem. Again, works fine “if “– in this case if the label doesn’t fall out into the general mass.

4. Writing on a strip of flat plastic plant tape and tying it to one of the stems. This is Kristi’s preferred method and therefore the one in current use. Works pretty well, in part because at this point we have so many tubers each variety can have a private section of the storage box.

The good thing about planting something pink close by is that it brings out the pink leaf edge as well as the pink stem. This is canna x 'Pretoria,' aka 'Bengal Tiger.'