• Hell on Two Wheels: An Astonishing Story of Suffering, Triumph, and the Most Extreme Endurance Race in the World by Amy Snyder
• Adventure Without End by Richard Bangs
• Travels with Willie, Adventure Cyclist by Willie Weir
• The Road to San Donato: Fathers, Sons and Cycling Across Italy by Robert Cocuzzo
• Mud Sweat & Gears: A Rowdy Family Bike Adventure Across Canada on Seven Wheels by Joe Kurmaskie
• Catfish and Mandala: A Two-Wheeled Voyage Through the Landscape and Memory of Vietnam by Andrew X. Pham
• Miles from Nowhere: A Round-the-World Bicycle Adventure by Barbara Savage
• The Comeback: Greg LeMond, the True King of American Cycling, and a Legendary Tour de France by Daniel De Vise

Do you have a favorite cycling read? Let me know and I’ll add to the list!

As a gardener, I hope for any day with weather fair enough. Sunday was one, with clear, still air and patches of blue sky. So I walked the yard looking for a good project, and found one.

The garden path felt like a tightrope, balancing me between fall and winter. On one side, slender raspberry canes nodded, leafless, as many months as possible from offering ripe fruit. Below them spread a carpet of hardy cyclamen, its leaves looking like concentric stacks of the ace of spades, colored two shades of green. On the path’s other side, the bed appeared as uneven, moss-covered soil, although I knew beneath the lumpy green surface lay an exuberance of spring, when the curled leaves of hosta would unfurl and lay over each other in a display that would be packed so tightly you wouldn’t see the stems of the plants.

There was my project. This time of year, on a day like that, spreading perennials beg to be divided. Lifting the plants, splitting their dense roots and replanting sections of them with spacing between can be both an act of renewal and of gifting.

A few weeks ago, knowing that my hosta task was upcoming, I offered to share some of those plants—three varieties of the genus that particularly please my eye—with a neighbor who will soon have need for plants. Her old plum tree, which has fed her family for many years and sent a delicate flowering branch over my side-yard path, will soon be removed.

Last year it lost a major limb, nearly a third of the tree, which split off when a “widowmaker” bough dropped from the nearby towering Douglas-fir. This year, the fruit tree produced more heavily than ever, and her early ripening Stanley plums were enjoyed up and down the street. But it might have been the tree’s last-ditch attempt at offspring, as another major split occurred in the old trunk shortly after harvest.

Plums will do that in old age, hollowing from within. Still, it was with tree-hugging sadness that the decision was made to take out the tree. It will happen soon. And when it does, my hosta divisions will be ready. The newly opened space that used to be shaded by a fruit tree canopy will become a bed of uplifting leaves, from which will spring reedy flower stalks with gentle buds at their tips.

Hostas favor a loamy soil, and when renovating an overgrown bed, you have to be suspicious about the tilth of the ground below. The matted roots could be preventing air and water infiltration, and if both are deficient, the soil biota could be low. In other words, the earth could use a little nudge to bring it back to life. So I turned to my compost bin.

My two-bin system squats conveniently next to the hosta bed. As I plunged my fork into one bin, I came back with only matted leaves. Tossed in during fall cleanup, they filled the bin more than three feet deep. In the other bin, tangled clippings from fall yardwork comprised the top foot or so, but below that, my fork hit density and came back black. A half-bin of finished compost waited beneath. So I began “turning” the compost, pulling out the leaves and mixing them back into one bin with the clippings, which would kickstart the decomposition process and contain the compostable material in just one side. That left the pile of finished compost in the other bin exposed and available for use. Ten buckets of rich, dark goodness came out of that side as I scraped until hitting dirt.

Homemade compost, consisting of cuttings and gatherings from throughout the yard, recycles much back into the soil. Those leaves, roots and twigs get chewed into a nutrient-rich humus, home to a universe of tiny creatures that some call the “soil foodweb.” They decompose organic material but then go on to live in the soil, or to die there and give up their bodies as further plant food. Fungi spread a web to interconnect soil particles. Earthworms aerate. Beneficial bacteria break down minerals and deliver them to plant roots. A multitude of creatures performs essential, intertwined roles. The soil breathes with life.

I laid the compost over the top of the bare hosta bed and then forked it in lightly, like tossing toppings into a salad. With the bed renewed, I began to split the hosta root clumps with two spades set back-to-back. Some of the smaller divisions got returned to the soil, carefully arranged with space for all to grow. Others were stockpiled in pots and covered with a protective layer of soil, to be used in my neighbor’s bed or another location.

Smaller plants like the disc-shaped tubers of cyclamen and the rooted rhizome lily-of-the-valley “pips” were tucked in around the edges of the bed, like slipping a sheet back under the mattress. Loosened chunks of moss were laid atop the bed in hopes they will re-establish themselves. A layer of woody chip mulch around them should help.

In the end, the bed looks much like it did before the work. But that is one of the lessons of the garden that is dug up when plunging a tool into the earth. The soil holds the roots of life, guarded beneath a dark veil.

By Bill Thorness

Palm trees and rice paddies floated into my mind when a cycling friend invited me to join a small group trip to the Mekong Delta in Vietnam. It would be a warm, sun-drenched, flat and easy pedal to the country’s southernmost point during the doldrums of early winter in Seattle.

But my images of that tropical land were sepia toned with war and the brutal heart of darkness captured in Coppola’s film “Apocalypse Now,” along with reluctantly told stories from an older brother who served in the U.S. Navy in southeast Asia back then. Still, the war ended 45 years ago and Vietnam has been open to Western tourists since 1990. I signed on, hoping that the current generation had moved past the horrors. With 17 hours of plane time and a rented bike, I would find out for myself.

Our exploration began in Ho Chi Minh City, which locals still call Saigon, buzzing with millions of people who perhaps were all on their motorbikes at once. It is a frenetic yet gentle city. We joined throngs in the steamy shopping streets at night, then groups exercising in a park near our hotel at dawn as workers swept leaves and trash into tidy piles. But the million-motorbike challenge was too much for a cycling group, so we bused to nearby Ben Tre to get our bikes.

This custom tour, conceived by European cycling guide friends, would venture far beyond the standard package that typically takes you for a day or two into the country here or around nearby Vinh Long.

Over two weeks we would visit six provinces and pedal into eight regional cities. We would cross all nine branches of the mother river, the Mekong, and explore the sprawling delta that supplies nearly a quarter of the country’s food, manna for my gardener’s soul.

Sidewalk Roads

On a shakedown cruise, we pedaled a narrow road into the countryside. Banana trees leaned in, flush with fruit, and palm trees umbrellaed shade over the pavement. The lane turned out to be typical of many roads crossing this watery landscape: cracking cement panels comfortable for a motorbike and a cyclist to meet but just wide enough to avoid a scrape from any larger vehicle. Fortunately, these roads host few cars or trucks. Off the main Mekong highway, goods move mostly by boat and people by motorbike. The elders and the children—and the few tourists—pedal.

Ferries get you further, frequently needed as the many-tentacled river fans out to empty into the East Vietnam Sea. They ranged from a platform for six bikes to ones fitting dozens of motorbikes and even a few cars or trucks. The most entertaining held a double-decker farm truck crammed with friendly pink pigs.

We climbed above the flat land only to cross bridges. Up the stream or canal lay a typical view: dense lines of palm trees tufting into a pale blue sky. The greenery would be interrupted by thatch- or tin-roofed shacks levered to the water’s edge, sheltering a narrow, shallow boat. A steady line of homes, many of which were also small businesses, backed up to these waterways. Commerce floated by on cargo boats in fading primary colors, many with circular dragon eyes painted on the prow.

With life so moored to the waterline, such scenes unfortunately also conjured images of disaster from rising water levels due to climate change. Our guide noted a grim sign: coconut production is dropping here, as salt water washing further up the river stunts the palm’s productivity.

Hello!

Riding the narrow road, we quickly encountered a joyful common experience: a lilting greeting from the locals to our passing group. “Hello!” was the constant refrain, sung most tunefully by children but no less heartfelt from adults in this friendly nation.

We enthusiastically responded, with the greeting and a V-fingered wave, hundreds of times a day. Often, I couldn’t see the greeter, maybe on the deep porch of their narrow home or under a conical hat out in a field. Sometimes children spied us and ran out to the road. I felt at times on parade, but rarely in a tedious way. Our local guide said Vietnam is seeking to be the happiest country on Earth, and this continuous welcome echoed the effort. May they prevail.

Eating through the region

The star of the region’s meals is aquatic, but the fish and seafood farmed or caught in the delta are nearly always topping the staple starch: rice or rice noodles. The swampy fields and rich mud from the silty rivers feed vast acres of rice paddies, its grasslike fronds topped with nodding seed heads that turn tawny when ripe.

We would eat rice for three meals a day, in a steaming bowl of pho for breakfast, in a lunch dish with eggs and as a base for a dinner stir-fry, spiced with local peppers. That is, unless we enjoyed a breakfast banh mi, assorted meats, paté and a smattering of veggies stuffed in a baguette.

But along with rice and fish, the area’s produce is cornucopic. I will never eat fresher coconut, dragonfruit, pineapple, mango, guava, jackfruit—some of us even braved the stinky durian fruit. The warty green ovals of bitter melon added a citrusy tang in a savory lunch soup.

On frequent cycling breaks we’d sip fresh coconut water straight from the husk. This is best enjoyed reclining in a hammock, plentiful at the covered, open-air cafes along our route. A sweeter alternative was sugar cane juice, freshly squeezed from the canes in a manual press while you wait.

The truly unique drink of Vietnam, though, is the coffee. Vietnam is the world’s second largest producer of coffee and their expertise shines even at the most basic roadside stand. A tin sieve is balanced over a short glass or small cup. Coffee is spooned in and a cover lightly set on it. Hot water is splashed in to open the grounds, then the vessel is filled for steeping. What filters through is a nutty, slightly sweet brew, delightful on my tongue.

But locals are not content with the smidge of natural sweetness. Beneath the dripping coffee generally sits a generous layer of sweetened condensed milk, which gets stirred into the brew. On our trip, this was most often served refreshingly over ice. You’d better be pedaling many kilometers a day to afford those rich calories.

From Markets to Pagodas

Our 300-mile, caffeine-fueled loop took us through towns in the heart of the sprawling delta, to Tra Vinh, Tra Cu, Soc Trang, Nga Nam, Can Tho and Sa Dec before reaching Vinh Long, where we again saw Western tourists, on our route back to Ben Tre.

Each city held unique charms, such as the amazing corner at Nga Nam where five waterways converge and boats filled with produce bob next to slender water taxis, operated by a single person standing in the stern plying the water with tall oars.

In many towns we would visit a Buddhist pagoda and respectfully gawk at the grand statues and brightly colored displays.

The floating market at Can Tho abundantly displays the region’s resources. Rotund boats pack the broad width of the river near the city’s soaring bridge and stretch a mile downstream to ply their wares daily to merchants visiting in their own boats.

Nearly every delta town we pedaled through had a market lining its central street. Growers sat behind flat reed baskets offering produce. In shallow steel tubs splashed live fish. Ducks, chickens and frogs brooded in cages, legs banded to prevent escape.

Crowded with shoppers, the markets provided an intense burst of life—and a challenge for navigating cyclists. The popular local shopping method involves idling your motorbike through the throngs and weaving right up to a chosen vendor, then placing your order without ever dismounting. Motorbikes sped away laden with plastic bags full of goods hanging off all sides.

Sandal Time

I washed my feet before tumbling into bed at our serviceable small hotels, where we saw no mosquitoes, probably due to ever-present geckos or lizards that lurked behind the air conditioner. On two homestays where we were hosted by rural families, mosquito netting tucked under the mattress edge kept bugs at bay, but the pest count was light in warm November. Between the hot and the rainy seasons, that’s a good time to visit. The uber-summer did enable a full trip wearing only sandals, hence the regular foot washing. As it cooled to the 70s at night, sleep came easily.

At our final homestay, on a canal-cut island, romantic music wafted through the palm frond walls of my bungalow. A wedding was happening nearby. It was invisible beyond the koi pond and jungle, but the whole neighborhood was aurally involved. Echoing beats and a mournful flute were just background, of course, to the karaoke.

As the singer warbled into another ballad, I postponed sleep. Images of pleasant pedaling through this happy country floated with the notes. There was no apocalypse, and the darkness was full of heart.

If You Go:

Commercial Tours: Typically 1-4 days with light bicycling and buses, departing from Ho Chi Minh City to Ben Tre and Vinh Long. Seek one with a homestay.

Custom: To design your own trip, inquire with tour operators, or at a hotel in Ben Tre or Vinh Long for a local guide and bicycle rental.

Cost: Vietnam is inexpensive for tourists. In late 2019, 100,000 Vietnamese dong was worth $5. A decent hotel is about $20 a night, meals range from $2 for breakfast to $6 for dinner, and a can of beer or coffee was often just 50 cents.

About the Author:

Bill Thorness is the author of two cycling guidebooks: “Biking Puget Sound” and “Cycling the Pacific Coast,” both from Mountaineers Books.

And of course, since it came from her and it is food I loved as a child, it always takes me back to my North Dakota farm roots.

I don’t know what variety beets she grew, but for pickles I like to grow Detroit Dark Red or Early Wonder Tall Top for the rich burgundy color.

Ingredients

• 5-1/3 cups cooked beets (about 6 large)
• 1 cup water
• 1-1/2 cups vinegar
• 1 cup sugar
• ½ teaspoon whole cloves
• 1 stick cinnamon, broken
• ½ teaspoon whole allspice

Directions

Remove beet tops, leaving 1 inch of top. Boil the beets in lightly salted water. When tender enough for a knife to pass through them, drain. Cool the beets in icy water, slipping the skin off them while they’re still hot. When cool, cut into 1-inch chunks.

Simmer the water, vinegar, sugar and spices for 15 minutes.

Pack the beets into jars and cover with liquid to within 1/2 inch of the jar top. Process for 30 minutes in a hot water bath.

Makes 3 pints.

p.s. For details on growing successive plantings of root crops, including beets, for fall and winter, see my column in the July-August, 2016 issue of Edible Seattle.

Grab that sliver of sunlight between showers and get out into the garden. Fleece up and tidy the shed on a rainy day. Scratch out some thoughts on next year, with notes on this year’s successes and duds.

There are some November tasks for us Maritime Northwest gardeners. But this season is also a time to take it easy and practice “slow gardening.” Moving at slug speed on these chilly wet days seems most appropriate.

Granted a glorious Sunday afternoon last weekend, I rallied to rake out the last open space in my vegetable beds and plant garlic. Three varieties, six rows, 48 cloves. That should keep us in spicy sautés for most of next year.

The rest of the open space got filled up with favas. I had a box full of the thumbnail-sized beans saved from last spring’s harvest. They sat for six months waiting for this occasion, so I could no longer deny them their special purpose: Get under the soil and send up next year’s crop!

Favas are one of the few vegetables whose seed will sprout in our chilly November soil. Garlic, of course, needs a little chilling to trigger its emergence. I’ll see the fava shoots in a few weeks, but the garlic won’t poke through the straw mulch until January. It always warms my heart to see it during that coldest month, just as I am starting to notice the days lengthening beyond the solstice. Another season beginning.

A few more tasks that are getting some slow action on these short November days:

Sorting the bees. Yes, you read that right. I’ve had a box of Orchard Mason bees wrapped loosely in a mesh bag on my basement shelf since I brought them in in early fall. Now it is time for them to be transferred to the refrigerator for the winter.

The task is simple and rewarding. First, I open the stacked grid that holds the bee nesting tubes, paper sleeves in which they laid their eggs and mudded up the holes. I pull out the paper tubes and carefully peel them open to reveal the bees in their cocoons. (Since the eggs were laid in the spring, the eggs have hatched, the bee larvae have eaten the pollen deposits left with their eggs, and the larvae spun their little cocoons.)

Along with the bees in those tubes are a couple of interlopers that need to be removed. Spiders have laid their eggs in some of the tubes. No big deal, except I don’t really want those hatching on my basement shelves.

More concerning are the mites: hundreds of mites have glommed on to the bee cocoons. If left with the cocoons, they would attack the bees when they emerged, and decimate the population.

Fortunately, right now the mites and the bees are pretty dormant, so as I pull the cocoons away from the paper tubes, I brush off all the mites.

The clean cocoons are then counted and stored in a plastic bottle inside a plastic bag in my refrigerator. The bottle has some vents cut in the lid, and the plastic bag contains a damp paper towel that I’ll refresh from time to time. Refrigerators are low-humidity places, and my bee cocoons need a bit of moisture to survive.

Weeding the beds. Winter weeds grow more slowly, but so do your vegetable plants. And with less nutrition available in the soil, your winter vegetables don’t want the competition from weed roots. I clear a space at least a few inches around the base of each winter veggie. I also run the fork along the edges of the raised beds and pull out any grass that is encroaching. It seems to really spread if left to take hold over the winter.

Some of the less harmful, more beautiful weeds like viola tricolor (Johnny Jump-up) get left in the beds between the plants. They can be good filler to shield the bed from winter rains, and I can use the flowers to brighten up my winter salads.

Mulching the fall and overwintering veggies. After I weed, I try to tuck in some straw or other light mulch around the base of the plants.

This provides a number of benefits:

• keeps heavy rains from compacting the soil
• prevents wind from drying out any partially exposed roots
• prevents the soil from becoming too dry if we don’t get rain
• prevents weeds from sprouting.

And it looks nice!

Servicing the watering devices. I garden in a mostly mild winter climate, but sometimes we’ll get a hard freeze or a week of snow, so I need to protect against freeze damage.

First, I make sure my drip irrigation system is drained to avoid having the pipes burst. (Water is one of the few things that expands when it freezes.) I also check the downspouts and gutters to make sure there’s nothing clogging up the system that fills my water catchment. I clean and store my ceramic bird bath so it doesn’t crack. Finally, draining the hoses and storing them in the garage each winter will help them last many more years.

I appreciate the slower gardening days of winter. I can review some of these tasks as I peer through a rain-streaked window, looking to the western sky for that actionable opening of blue.

Do friends rave about your vegetables? I don’t have to ask if you rave about them to your friends, because I know you do. Most committed edible gardeners are more than just a little crazy about their produce. It’s closer to a love affair. I can still hear myself waxing poetic about the amazing Jimmy Nardello sweet pepper.

Inevitably, if your friends agree with you, they want to know the variety. They want some of the crazy too.

That’s why you should be saving seeds. The earliest tomato. Most productive broccoli. Sweetest chard. The least-stringy bean. And then, confer the simplest, most welcome gift on your gardening friends: share your seeds with them.

Why Save Seeds

Along with delighting your friends with seeds of your favorite veggies, I want to add three more reasons to save seeds:

1. Preserve a beloved variety that may disappear. We have lost so much of our “vegetable heritage,” and we can’t rely on organizations like Seed Savers Exchange, as great as they are, to keep the rest from disappearing. Varieties get lost when seed companies merge, or when they don’t sell enough to make it financially worthwhile to keep it up. We gardeners must take on the challenge so we can keep our favorites alive.
2. Create a truly local version. Many plants will adapt to your bioregion or microclimate, so if you save the one that grew the best – ripened earliest or was the most productive – the resulting seed may be even more reliable than from the catalog.
3. Be more self-sufficient. Saving seeds also saves a bit of money and closes the loop a bit more on your gardening practices.

You can also be part of the movement to save and share seeds locally. In the Seattle area, participate in the King County Seed Lending Library. This grassroots (veggieroots?) organization has branches around the city where you can “withdraw” seeds just as you would check out a book at the public library, and then “deposit” fresh seeds from plants you’ve grown. With annual seed swaps, educational events, and links to other seed libraries around the world, it’s a great resource.

Here are two methods for saving seeds of different types of plants. Your challenge is to pick one vegetable currently growing in your yard and simply capture its seed for use next season. Go check out the great prizes for the challenge listed on Sustainable Eats, and join the fun!

Dry Method

For peas, beans, and crops that form seed heads, such as salad greens, saving seeds is mostly a matter of gathering them up. Big seeds are easy, little seeds need a lot of separating and cleaning.

Let the seeds fully dry in their pods or seed heads. I pull them out of the garden, trim off the roots, and hang them upside down to dry on a simple rack attached to my garage ceiling. When dry, shell them and sort the seed from the chaff.

Some vegetables, such as lettuce, are biennial, going to seed only in their second season, so you have to pay attention to timing. You might dig up and move a desired seed plant to a corner of your garden and keep it alive for another season.

Wet Method

For tomatoes, peppers, and squashes, you must remove the seeds from the pulp, which is a bit more messy and involves a different drying regimen.

Tomato seeds can be stripped of most of their pulp and put in a jar with water for a few days, agitating it to get the rest of the gel-like covering to release from the seeds. Drain, rinse, and dry on paper plates. Other fruit with internal seeds may require only a good rinse before the seeds can be laid out to dry.

Labeling and Storage

Label the seeds by variety and harvest date, and store in paper sleeves or enclosed jars in a dark, dry, cool environment. Monitor regularly and remove any mildewed seed.

Seed life for some vegetables is as short as one year, but some can last many years if stored properly. The average life of seeds is three years.

Seed saving for some vegetables is more challenging, and there are many tricks and techniques to learn. For the best advice, consult The Seed Garden by writers from Seed Savers Exchange and Organic Seed Alliance. I also go into detail on saving vegetables in the Maritime Northwest climate in my book Edible Heirlooms.

Load the Right Bike

Long-haul cyclists use a touring bike, a style sturdier than a road bike but more comfortable than a mountain bike. Often the bike is steel or aluminum alloy, rather than carbon fiber. (See this REI explainer on frames.) This style comes with welded “braze ons” to which you can attach racks for panniers and other accessories. The heavier frame is more stable when loaded and absorbs road shocks better. Wider tires complete the package.

Ride with Saddlebags

The typical rack arrangement includes a back rack with a flat shelf that allows for panniers (aka saddlebags) to clip onto each side and a tent to be strapped to the shelf.

Often a smaller rack will be mounted over the front tire, allowing for two more panniers. A fifth handlebar bag can be attached to hold snacks, camera, phone, maps, etc.

Into the panniers go clothes and camping supplies and – if rain is a possibility – your sleeping bag. Nobody likes curling up in a wet bag.

You can substitute a hammock for a tent if you’re camping in a warm, dry environment and are sure there will be trees. An ultralight foldable camp chair is a luxury.

Count Your Clothes

Take an extra pair of padded bike shorts. That gives you one to wear and one to wash out and strap onto the panniers to dry during the next day’s ride. Pack an extra bike jersey or shirt too, as well as a lightweight change of clothes for the camp, including long pants and sandals or river shoes to give your feet a break from constricting bike shoes. For camp comfort, take a visor hat and bug repellant.

Sure, you can pull a trailer with tons of stuff in it, including dogs! But consider traveling light.

Plan for Cleaning and Cooking

Take a small bottle of camp soap (all purpose for washing clothes, body and cooking gear), a thin cord or expandable clothesline to stretch between trees, and a microfiber camp towel. Downsize toiletries as though carrying on an airplane, and even take them in a gallon-size Ziploc bag. Take sunscreen.

The “jet boil” stove is the choice of bike campers. One fuel canister will last for at least four meals, or longer if you just boil water for handy meals like dehydrated dinners, which have gotten tastier and more diverse in recent years. Supplement them with a farmers market or deli stop on your ride. At the last town before camp, you might even pick up cold beverages or wine.

Plan on an easy-cook breakfast of instant oatmeal, coffee and fruit. Individual yogurts will keep overnight without spoiling. Take plastic utensils and a plate or bowl, and a single cooking pot with a lid.

A jet boil stove (left) is compact, but the gas canisters might be hard to find on the road. I carry some freeze-dried dinners, and supplement them with fresh produce.

Choose the Best Campsite

Look for “hiker-biker” campsites that are in some state and national park campgrounds. These do not require (or allow) pre-reservations. Cyclists simply roll up and register on site, often for a much-reduced camping fee like $5. These are corrals where you pitch your tent next to other cyclists and share picnic tables and fire rings.  Most campgrounds also have showers—good to prevent accumulated sweat from causing chafing on the next day’s ride.

Typical hiker-biker sites offer a large field that will hold many tents. Bike campers share fire rings and picnic tables.

Sleep Soundly

Take a sturdy cable lock and be sure to secure your transportation while you sleep.

Some sites have convenient ways to lock your bike. Carry a good lock.

If an easy locking post isn’t available, it helps to have a cable to extend your lock’s reach.

And use your clothesline to hoist a pannier with food up into a tree or leave it strapped to your bike if you must. Don’t take food into your tent with you, or you may be visited in the night by critters wanting to wreak havoc in your tent.

Last but not least: have fun!

Hi Bill,

Someone from my local gardening group keeps her garden tools in a bucket of sand and swears by it. Then I posed the question if it has to be beach sand with salt and then refreshed once in a while and kept out of the rain or garden sand with no salt. She didn’t know either. And of course my google detective work isn’t panning out.

I look forward to your suggestions,

Heather

Hi Heather,

Cleaning garden tools in a bucket of sand is a great maintenance technique. I often just plunge them into the sand 4 or 5 times, then brush them off with a rag and store them in a rack or on a shelf. But you can keep them in the sand too.

I would not use sand that has salt in it – salt is corrosive to metals. Get a bag of play sand or construction sand (used to set patio pavers) from Home Depot or Lowe’s. Try to store the bucket of sand under cover, so it’s not too wet.

If you’re gardening near the beach in soil that has salty sand in it, I’d clean the tools promptly after gardening to get that salt off.

Some people mix a bit of oil into the sand (motor oil or vegetable oil) because oil on metal tools inhibits rust. But the oil is not strictly necessary.

If the tools already have rust or caked on stuff you can scrub that off with a wire brush or steel wool. A bit of oil while doing that helps too. You might want to wear gloves for that job.

Another great thing to do for your tools with wooden handles is to clean and smooth the wood with sandpaper once a year and rub in some linseed oil. That keeps the wood from cracking.

Final tip: sharpen digging tools like spades, shovels and trowels with a file (a “mill bastard” type, available at most hardware stores) in the winter. Then they’ll be all ready to use next season.

There, now you know more than you ever wanted to about garden tool maintenance.

Happy growing,
Bill