Six a.m., morning after my opening, I headed upstate for the planting of the final rows of cloves that missed their planting date due to a freak October snow storm. Traveling up the Taconic, most leaves fallen, except the russet and burgundy of oaks, there were road crews, and piles of woodchips, and snowy hummocks.
On site, I made my way around the house. The first thing to catch my eye was a deer hoof print next to a small hole.
Thanks to Daylight Savings Time, and Congress, I hadn't adjusted to the new darkness at 5:30 pm. I went in for dinner, only to come out again around 9 pm to plant the remaining four rows by moonlight, cloves' dim glow against the black soil.
Walking the rows I spotted more holes, although no more hoof prints. I found the garlic cloves sitting beside the holes, unscathed. I wondered whether the animal responsible for digging with uncanny accuracy knew that this was garlic but thought it worth trying for anyway. I wondered how the animals could even know that something was there to be inspected. And if they can know that much, can't they know that it is stinky garlic -something they don't like and shouldn't waste the effort digging up just to toss aside?
Yet, there was a part of me pleased that they had done so because it satisfied an urge I always have to dig up what I have already planted to see what's happening. Maybe other animals have the same urge? Check out the root growth on that clove -a purple stripe variety, cultivar "Chesnok Red." The leaf sprout is about one half inch long, but the roots have grown down more than double the length of the clove in three weeks. It has been replanted.
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