Learning from Lewis Miller in New York

I love telling people I'm traveling for work now that my work is flower farming. It's like saying, "Not only do I have a job I love -- I get to travel too!" I'm not getting rich, but I am happy, and sometimes it's nice to flaunt it.

I resolved to do more continuing education this year, and that means traveling to flower classes. I have plans to learn more about farming and floral design. Every field has its celebrities, and the flower industry is no different. There are well known farmers and floral designers. I don't know if farmers will ever become household names, but I imagine there will be some famous floral designers, sort of like celebrity chefs.

Lewis Miller, whose class I took in New York, is well on his way to becoming a name. I woke up this morning to an article in the New Yorker titled "The Banksy of Floral Design." I laughed because I used those same words to describe him to someone last week. (Banksy is a street artist whose true identity has never been revealed. If you don't already know this, you are probably unaware of the most renowned artist of our time.)

 Lewis told us about kangaroo paw (an ornamental plant) in the eventspace at the beautiful  Whitby Hotel . No kangaroos were harmed in the making of this flower arrangement.

Lewis told us about kangaroo paw (an ornamental plant) in the eventspace at the beautiful Whitby Hotel. No kangaroos were harmed in the making of this flower arrangement.

So how is Lewis Miller like Banksy? He drops flower art on the streets of New York without permission or pay. He does sign his work -- somewhat unlike Banksy. But they're similar because they're both motivated by the idea that art belongs to everyone, not just those who can afford it.

Miller's installations are called Flower Flashes, and they're most commonly found in trash cans (not so different from giant vases, after all). Here's a link to a gallery of all the Flower Flashes, and below is an image of my favorite one, a giant flower boa on the sculpture of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Central Park.

Florist

I was excited when another flower farmer alerted our Facebook group about a small class with Lewis Miller happening in New York. (Thanks, Mara from The Farm at Oxford.) At less than $200 for a few hours, it was a very good deal. (Design classes tend to be expensive.) Thanks to our local budget airline, Allegiant, I was able to hop on a $39 flight to New York. 

But how much is it really possible to learn in two or three hours? For a couple hundred dollars, a few excellent pointers cover the price of admission. Over the course of my career, they'll more than pay for themselves in time and materials savings. Plus it's cool and fun to meet admirable people face to face. Here are a couple of things Lewis said that I will always keep in mind while I'm working:

  • When you're creating a floral design in a vessel, it's customary to begin with a grid of woody stems. The woody stems help hold the flowers in place and prevent heavy heads from nodding. I knew that. Most designers know that. But here's what I didn't think about: Not all the woody stems need to be part of the design. Lewis cuts them short, so just the ends poke up above the edge of the vessel. The raw ends won't show in the final design, but the stems are exactly where they need to be to support the flowers.
  • Add flop first. By flop, I mean vines like jasmine. I usually add flop at the end, but I think it's better integrated at the beginning.
  • Roses can be filler. Since roses can be expensive, and many people like roses, I tend to make them focal flowers. I don't grow roses (yet), so I don't get that excited about them. It's nice to think about blending them in and using their girth to create fullness while drawing the eye to some more interesting flower.
  • It's OK to leave guard petals on roses. What a relief! I think I actually let out a sigh when Lewis told us he leaves the outer petals on. Many florists remove the outside ring of petals from roses because they tend to be thick with brown or green edges, and sometimes they're bruised. But I've always thought they make roses look more natural, especially hybrid tea roses, which tend to look a bit more commercial. I'm sensitive about looking like an amateur, so I dutifully remove the guard petals, but I'm not going to do that anymore! Thanks for freeing me, Lewis!
  • Pick up the arrangement and drop it settle flowers into their natural places. If the grid of woody stems is doing its job, the arrangement will hold together, but it will look more relaxed. Holly Chapple, another celebrity florist, if such a thing exists, has manufactured a tool to replace the woody grid. There are some pretty amazing videos of her tossing flower arrangements. It works! Check her Instagram for the videos.
  • Don't be too precious -- or precise -- when adding flowers.
  • Blow on flowers to help them open. I'm going to use this trick on every arrangement forever!
  • Lastly, Lewis Miller loves carnations. He's among a growing group of designers who grow this classic flower. They will always be dear to me because my great grandparents (and grandparents and cousins) owned a carnation farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. This once beloved flower was all they grew. So I am happy to incorporate them into my designs. Their big fluffy heads add color and texture in thick swathes. And Lewis embraces their knobbly stems too!

In so many pursuits, it's overthinking that holds people back. A lot of Lewis' tips liberated me from ideas about how things had to be done.

Lewis brought all the flowers, and it was lovely to work with high quality blooms, albeit imported ones. (There's not really any other way to get flowers in New York in February yet. Hopefully that will change in my lifetime.)

I loved designing just for fun. I rarely give myself a chance to relax and learn. I'm always thinking about the business side. Here's what I made (Lewis was a good sport and took a picture with me):

Asheville Florist

When the class was over, Lewis let me pick his brain about Flower Flashes. Here are a couple of things I learned about his process:

  • Ask for forgiveness, not permission. He doesn't get permits or anything like that, and the city has never cared. Who could complain about flowers, anyway?
  • Give each installation a sense of place. Lewis picks locations that scream New York -- street corners, abandon storefronts, construction barriers. And the flowers are bold, in keeping with the streetscape. Conveying a sense of place is always one of the goals of my work, so this idea really resonated with me. But instead of trash cans, I'm working with rhododendron branches and river rocks. We live in very different places!
  • It's not about the money. Flower Flashes are free to see and touch -- that's the point. Lewis doesn't really know or care if they bring him extra business. I have a feeling he's doing just fine, regardless of additional exposure.

It was nice to get out of the mountains and see the big city. It's been a year since I was there, and I was happier and more confident in the business than I was a year ago. Funny how much attitudes change in such a short period of time!

When I would go to New York in college, I was always trying not to do anything weird or Southern. I've definitely dropped that guard. I missed all kinds of trains and walked the wrong way on the wrong street and tried to hug people who didn't want to be hugged. Trying to get a waiter's attention, I yelled "Sir!" in a restaurant, and everyone laughed. I couldn't figure out why that was funny. When I got home, my cousin Grace, who is from Philadelphia, told me people don't say, "Sir," in the North. Funny! It's nice to be settled enough to be myself in New York. Letting go of trying to impress people tends to be a good thing, whether that means leaving the guard petals on roses or hollering Southernisms at poor unsuspecting waiters.

My next learning experience is coming up quick! I'm going to a business of farming conference in Asheville. Appalachian Sustainable Agriculture Project, which runs the market where I sell flowers, sponsors the event every year. 

My People Love Paperwhites -- Here's Why

It's February now, thank goodness! That means spring flowers are right around the corner! I love the changing of the seasons, especially when the weather is improving, but it's also a challenge to switch gears. And like anyone, I forget some of what happened just a few months ago.

But here's something I won't forget: PAPERWHITES. Before I move on to spring flowers, I wanted to reflect on the sweet smelling winter phenom that transformed my farmers market stand this winter.

 Paperwhites are easy to force indoors, but they'll only bloom for one year. You can also grow paperwhites outside, and the odds of multiple years of bloom are much better since the bulbs can draw nutrients from the soil. However, they are not cold hardy.

Paperwhites are easy to force indoors, but they'll only bloom for one year. You can also grow paperwhites outside, and the odds of multiple years of bloom are much better since the bulbs can draw nutrients from the soil. However, they are not cold hardy.

Audience is important on a blog, and since this one is only a month old, I'm not totally sure who's reading yet. So holler at me in the comments section and let me know who you are. In the meantime, here's why I think this blog will be interesting to you.

If you're a client, flower lover, gardener or other non-farmer, then here's some information about how you can grow flowers indoors when nothing is growing outside. If your a flower farmer, then consider adding paperwhites to your operation if you don't already work with them.

So what are paperwhites? They're in the narcissus family (think daffodils), and they're unique because they don't require chilling. Most bulbs, including hyacinths, spring daffodils and tulips, need extended cold temperatures to produce a bloom. Not paperwhites. Stick them in a bright, draughty window, and they'll bloom as the temperature drops outdoors and the days shorten.

Paperwhites thrive on water alone. They don't need soil. I like to watch the roots grow, so I set them in a clear glass vase atop marbles, glass beads, rocks or even gravel. It's so easy. I tell my farmers market customers: Wash a handful of gravel from the driveway and stick it in a drinking glass. Not the prettiest way to pot a paperwhite, necessarily, but the point is you don't need to go out and buy anything to get them to grow. 

  How I Start Paperwhites : First, I root the bulbs. I place them in a small baking dish and add about half an inch of water. Rooting is the only time during the growing process that I let water touch the bulbs.   When I have about half an inch of roots, I transfer the bulbs to a clear glass container full of glass or clay beads. (You can use clean rocks or gravel from your driveway. Just give it a good scrub and a rinse in bleach or vinegar.) I add water to the container until the roots are touching it. I refill to that level every few days. I do not let the water touch the bulbs.  I keep the bulbs in a bright, cool place. We have a sunroom with three glass walls. It's pretty draughty, so it's good for paperwhites. Buds form within two weeks, and flowers bloom within 6 weeks, generally speaking.

How I Start Paperwhites: First, I root the bulbs. I place them in a small baking dish and add about half an inch of water. Rooting is the only time during the growing process that I let water touch the bulbs. 

When I have about half an inch of roots, I transfer the bulbs to a clear glass container full of glass or clay beads. (You can use clean rocks or gravel from your driveway. Just give it a good scrub and a rinse in bleach or vinegar.) I add water to the container until the roots are touching it. I refill to that level every few days. I do not let the water touch the bulbs.

I keep the bulbs in a bright, cool place. We have a sunroom with three glass walls. It's pretty draughty, so it's good for paperwhites. Buds form within two weeks, and flowers bloom within 6 weeks, generally speaking.

The most annoying thing about paperwhites is their floppiness. The stems tumble outward when they get too tall. I actually don't mind this wild look, but it's not for everyone. There are a couple of ways to keep your paperwhites in line. You can pot them several inches below the rim of the container, or you can tie the stems together with a ribbon

Dave Dowling, East Coast Godfather of the bulb industry, tells me to keep them in the coolest place in my house, near a poorly insulated window or door. My house is 110 years old, so we have plenty of spots like this!

I order paperwhites from Ednie (aka Dave), but if you don't have a wholesale id, they're not hard to find. (I've got 'em!). Ziva is one of the most popular varieties, but it seems like there are shortages in Israel (where they're propagated) every year. This year, I wound up with Nazareth, which was lovely. I'll probably go for Ziva again next year (if I can get it), but there are lots of intriguing shapes about. I'd like to try some of the double varieties.

So farmers: Why should you try paperwhites? Because people buy them. Here are the quick takeaways from my experience:

  • Sell bulbs, and display them well. Paperwhite bulbs are eyecandy. The best way to merchandise them is by creating a cascading display. Make it look like they're spilling out of something -- an urn or a box, whatever. Don't merely put them in a bowl. It's like an on/off switch. Spilling out, people buy; neatly sitting in a bowl, people ignore them. Magic!
  • Signage is key. Here's another tip from Dave. Your sign should say: "Indoor bulbs! Watch them grow!" You need the word indoor because most people don't get the idea that they go inside. They will ask you, "Really, indoor?" if they're not familiar with paperwhites, even with the sign. And watch them grow promises entertainment, which is cool. Sometimes I say, "Better than TV." Cute, right?
  • Use clear containers and grow in water. Watching the white roots weave among rocks is half the fun. I sold potted paperwhites through multiple outlets this year, and the ones with exposed roots flew off the shelves. Paperwhites in soil -- not so much.
  • Offer free smells. People like to see and smell the final result. (But beware: some people think they stink.)
  • Figure out your containers. You must buy your containers wholesale (or used) if you want to make money on potted plants, and you must figure out your margins. Otherwise you'll lose your shirt. I cracked the code on paperwhites, but amaryllis are much harder. Still working on a vessel that meets my quality standards without ratcheting up the price.
  • Price competitively. I could have sold paperwhites for more. But even with shipping factored in, my markup was about 100 percent. And my price was way lower than retailers. So I could have priced them higher, but why?
  • Sell cuts, but not that many. I sold some nice cut paperwhites to my restaurant clients, but the production cost per square foot isn't great on these delicate flowers. It's worth trying -- and I'll probably try again next year since my bulbs arrived late this year, and I got off to an awkward start -- but it's not scalable unless you have a lot of greenhouse space that would otherwise go unused. I don't have that.

Have you ever had an aha! moment with a product? I definitely had that feeling with paperwhites. I'd love to hear about your discoveries.

Also, I love amaryllis, and I sold and grew more than 100 this year, but I don't feel quite as proficient in that market yet. Are you a badass amaryllis slinger? Have you figured out the pots and the higher price point? What's your secret? I'd love to learn more!

 One of my markets stands from this holiday season. Note my prominent sign: "Indoor Bulbs! Watch them Grow!" And my cascading display that makes people want to touch bulbs.

One of my markets stands from this holiday season. Note my prominent sign: "Indoor Bulbs! Watch them Grow!" And my cascading display that makes people want to touch bulbs.

Snow on the Mountain: Winter Flower Farming, Part 2

Mud sledding is a phenomenon of Southern childhoods. Growing up in Georgia, we rarely got snow, and when we did it was less than an inch, barely enough to coat the grass. Looking ahead of me at the white powder, I remember imagining deep snow, but looking behind me, blades of discolored grass poked through my footprints, ruining the illusion.

No one owned a sled, so we found laundry baskets and cardboard boxes and went in search of hillsides. The melting snow would quickly pack into an icy muddy mess, and we would go home wet and streaked with red clay.

 Little Emily exploring what is a very sorry excuse for a winter wonderland. Note the giant patches of mud and lack of a sled. Also, who cut my hair like this?

Little Emily exploring what is a very sorry excuse for a winter wonderland. Note the giant patches of mud and lack of a sled. Also, who cut my hair like this?

I've lived in North Carolina for six years, and we get plenty of snow here. Plenty by my estimation, anyway. Eight or 10 inches once a winter and a couple of 3- or 4-inch snows. Still, my experiential knowledge of snow doesn't feel like my experiential knowledge of other weather events. I'm still catching up.

 Same lady. Better hair. We built this snowman to watch over the farm. It worked!

Same lady. Better hair. We built this snowman to watch over the farm. It worked!

Snow on the farm makes my head spin, and I wind up repeating theoretical ideas to myself: fresh snow, warm; old snow, cold. It's been hard to find answers about what to do with snow. I think many people don't have these questions. They either know snow or they don't. Why would anyone write at length about snow farming? The information is either obvious or irrelevant, right?

So for the Southern mud sledders among us, here's what I know so far about farming in the snow.

  1. I am always wrong about snow. Mostly, I tend to believe it won't happen, even if it's forecast. That attitude gets me into trouble because I don't prepare properly.
  2. Snow crushes low tunnels. They're not made to carry any snow load. For snows greater than an inch, pull the covers off, in my opinion.
  3. Snow hurts plants in two ways: crushing and freezing. You can avoid the crushing if you pull the covers off the tunnels so they don't collapse all at once. The freezing happens after the snow melts and refreezes. I'm still coming up with solutions for this problem, but it seems like taking the Agribon out of the equation helps the snow dissipate more quickly so it doesn't have the chance to turn into ice.
  4. Sometimes you have to go to the field at 3 a.m. and blow all the snow off the low tunnels with a leaf blower.

Our first snow rolled in during the early morning hours of December 8. Mountain weather is reliable only in that it is changeable and unpredictable. Some years our first snow comes on Halloween. Other years it doesn't come at all. December 8 felt early for 10 inches of snow, but when I think back on past winters, it wasn't really.

However, it was 60 degrees just a week earlier on December 1. I told you the weather was changeable.

 This picture is of fields of flowers. Covered in snow.

This picture is of fields of flowers. Covered in snow.

The 10 inches that fell during the night and in the morning were totally unexpected. We were supposed to get a dusting. My newly constructed low tunnels didn't stand a chance, and they flattened under snow for days. Fortunately the snow acted as an insulator for most of that time, holding the warmth of the ground under itself. And the thaw happened relatively quickly without too much awkward refreezing.

Our second real snow came January 17, and although it was only about 3 inches deep, it really bummed me out. After a week of below freezing temperatures at the beginning of the month, my patience for extreme weather events was limited.

Again, I didn't expect the snow to happen. It crept up on us in the wee hours of the morning, flattening the tunnels. It hung around for a day of low temperatures, and then sloppily melted and refroze the next night. If I could do it all over again, I would have been more fastidious about clearly the partially melted snow off the plants on the second day. I think the refreeze caused a bit of damage here and there.

 Low tunnels are at their worst in snow, but they still do their job of keeping flowers warm. And they don't rip under the weight like plastic, so that's very nice! I gripe about them, but they're a good tool for a quickly growing farm.

Low tunnels are at their worst in snow, but they still do their job of keeping flowers warm. And they don't rip under the weight like plastic, so that's very nice! I gripe about them, but they're a good tool for a quickly growing farm.

I took solace in Lisa Mason Ziegler's Instagram posts. Her low tunnels in Virginia looked just like mine in North Carolina. Most flower farmers already know this, but Lisa is the author of Cool Flowers, a pretty little book that explains what you can grow throughout the winter. It's particularly useful for Southern growers like me with warm winters (usually). I feel like material on Southern flower farming is hard to find via mass market publishers, so it's a nice book to have. LMZ also has an amazing blog and website that has all sorts of technical information for growers and pictures and stories. Click here to look at that fine thing.

Anyway, I sought her advice on the internet since we had twin tunnel collapse, and Lisa said she thinks the refrozen snow is what causes the most damage, but there's not much you can do about it! Thanks for weighing in, Lisa! The good news is, a healthy plant rebounds easily from a bit of frost nip.

I don't really care for snow all that much, as you might be able to tell, but one thing I really like about it is how it reveals microclimates. The day snow melts is a great time to find warm, sunny pockets and plan for the future. It's like the warmest land is reaching out to you from beneath the snow.

 See how the snow melts inconsistently? The first places to thaw are the wet paths and the southern slopes of the furrows, which receive the most solar radiation.

See how the snow melts inconsistently? The first places to thaw are the wet paths and the southern slopes of the furrows, which receive the most solar radiation.

During the last snow, I took out the leaf blower and assailed my tunnels with pressurized air. It felt powerful. It was nice to fight back against the elements, even though I don't know how much difference it made. I was a bit late, so in the future, I think I'll employ the leaf blower sooner. It helps break up snow pack at the base of the low tunnels, which is really important if the tunnels need to be vented.

So what would I do if I were going to do it all over again?

  1. Take the fabric off the low tunnels before they collapse.
  2. Otherwise, clear snow off tunnels with a leaf blower as soon as possible to prevent collapse.
  3. Precut extra lengths of Agribon and keep them in a warm, dry place. Have them at the ready if any row covers rip or freeze to themselves and need to be replaced.
  4. Buy a real sled. Finally.
 A broom and a leaf blower help clear away melting snow. But a light hand and a careful operator are also important!

A broom and a leaf blower help clear away melting snow. But a light hand and a careful operator are also important!

 

 

Flowers on Ice: Winter Flower Farming, Part 1

On New Year's Eve, the roads froze, and as the clock struck midnight, it seemed no one was where they expected to be. The next day we heard from friends who unexpectedly camped on couches and rented hotel rooms in far away cities. When the South gets icy, no one is ever prepared, even in the mountains of North Carolina.

Maybe I should have understood this message from 2018. Winter would be very unexpected.

 This hillside in Marshall, North Carolina, freezes because it's in a dark spot. It wasn't even that cold when I took this picture. I remember I was wearing a light jacket. It goes to show you: sunlight matters.

This hillside in Marshall, North Carolina, freezes because it's in a dark spot. It wasn't even that cold when I took this picture. I remember I was wearing a light jacket. It goes to show you: sunlight matters.

I was worried that January was a bad time to start a blog for the flower farm. How much could I really write about in January? And where would I get pretty pictures? Still, the blog had become my begrudging, defacto New Years resolution. Perhaps I should thank the weather for creating something interesting to write about.

New Years Day in Asheville (about 20 miles south of the farm) was the coldest ever recorded by the National Weather Service, a chilly 21 degrees. The previous record cold was set on the first day of 1922, and records go back to 1870. And it just got worse from there with days on end below freezing. The French Broad River froze, which hasn't happened in decades.

This winter has put all my cold weather preparations to the test. Time will tell how well they're working, but I'm learning some interesting things you might like to read about, whether you're a farmer or a gardener or simply someone who wants to be amazed by the strength and resiliency of plants.

Let me set the scene, and in the next couple of entries, I'll tell you what I know. And more importantly, I'll tell you what I don't know, what I'm learning and how I can do better.

I am a young flower farmer, being a young person in general. Maybe that means I'm inexperienced, but I would no more call a young person inexperienced than I would call an older person physically deteriorating. Flower farming is in my family, and I grew up with plants. I'll tell you about it sometime.

My farm is about 2 acres. It's wedged into a narrow valley that runs along a creek bed. We don't plant it all for winter, but we do have thousands of feet of crops going right now. Maybe you are thinking it was a bad idea to plant flowers in the winter, particularly given what I've just said about our historically low temperatures. Not so!

 The French Broad River, which runs about two miles from the farm, froze during a long stretch of below-freezing days. The flowers, protected by low tunnels, soldiered on.

The French Broad River, which runs about two miles from the farm, froze during a long stretch of below-freezing days. The flowers, protected by low tunnels, soldiered on.

In the South, many flowers can only thrive if planted during cold temperatures. Tulips, daffodils and other bulbs are well-known examples. Poppies, ranunculus, anemones, larkspur, Bells of Ireland and campanula need a cold start to thrive, and they can freeze and unfreeze without trouble. Scabiosa, foxgloves, snapdragons, yarrow and many others have more flexible planting dates in our region, but why not get ahead if you can?

There's a little basic science behind why some plants can freeze and others can't. Here's the Cliff Notes version. We all know what happens to a glass jar of liquid when you put it in the freezer. It explodes. The same thing happens in the cells of many annual plants. Growing sunflowers in October? A cold night will render them limp and black. The cells froze over night, as if millions of tiny jars of water exploded in the freezer.

 Our poppies didn't mind this extremely cold day. They were cozy in a low tunnel in the field.

Our poppies didn't mind this extremely cold day. They were cozy in a low tunnel in the field.

But some plants fill their cells with antifreeze. It's not so different from what you put in your car. It's an electrolyte solution that lowers the freezing point of water.

Other plants have better adapted cells. So you know how you can freeze a plastic jar but not a glass one? The winter hardy plants are more like the plastic jars.

At certain low temperatures, these adaptations won't be sufficient. This month, we are flirting with those low temperatures, but I've done a couple of things to help our plants. Here's a quick list:

  • Use the sun. Our mountains cast long shadows over the land, and southern exposure is hard to find. The upside is I have learned to focus on topography. If you live in a flatter place, you might not notice the lay of your land as much, but it is equally important. When growing winter crops, it's important to get as much southern exposure as possible. I grow in raise beds (mounds of earth the tractor makes -- like furrows, no constructed sides). The winter rows run east-west to maximize solar radiation. I try to rake the soil at a 5 degree angle toward the sun. Eliot Coleman's "Four-Season Harvest" will convince you the extra effort is worth it. Such a wonderful book! I got a bit sloppy on some of the rows, and I can see a difference in plant health depending on how well I raked!
  • Black cloth. Sometimes a friend. Sometimes a foe. Many cut flower growers use black landscape fabric to warm the soil and control weeds. Most of my flowers are in fabric, with the exception of stock, some of my anemones, and some of my ranunculus. I might change my mind when the weeds start to grow, but in the future, I probably won't use landscape fabric on my winter crops. I'm not noticing a huge advantage in the warming effect, and it tends to get icy around the edges, constrict some plant growth and generally annoy me. Plus it's labor intensive to put down and take up. But the real reason I won't use it next winter has to do with water. It doesn't let the soil breath. Which brings me to my next point.
  • Drainage. You need it. We're breaking in a new field this year, and water is moving in unexpected ways. Thank goodness for our raised beds, which eliminate much of the mischief. However, I'm still digging plenty of ditches to reroute runoff. In the winter, too much water is really dangerous because plants can rot and fungus can thrive. And it takes a very long time for soil to dry in cold conditions.
  • Agribon. I don't have a high tunnel or a greenhouse at the farm. I have some access to indoor growing areas, but the majority of my winter operation is outside. I rely on a very odd polyester substance for protection. I use Agribon brand for no particular reason, and I much prefer the 35 weight, which doesn't rip as easily as 19. The story goes that tobacco farmers helped invent frost cloth or floating row cover or Agribon or whatever you want to call it. They asked Dupont if they had anything, and Dupont gave them disposable diaper fabric. I'm still trying to confirm this story, but it makes sense. The fabric has strange properties. It freezes to itself super easily, sheds dirt, holds water and insulates incredibly well. This winter, my paths have been frozen solid while the ground under the low tunnels is still soft.
  • Low Tunnels. Agribon does not a low tunnel make. You have to prevent the fabric from touching the plants. Otherwise, when the cloth freezes, it will hold ice crystals against the foliage, which is the opposite of what you want. You want the frozen cloth to hold a layer of warm air between itself and the ground and create a humid zone. So what holds up the cloth? For me, its 12.5-gauge wire that I cut from a big roll.
  • Wire. Finding the right wire at the right price is important. I started with plastic conduit, which was way too much expense and work to cut and bend. Then I switched to 9-gauge wire. Still too expensive. Finally, I settled on 12.5-gauge wire that I hunted and hunted for. At first glance, it appears too thin, but it is really the greatest. The 9-gauge is too rigid. It topples over too quickly and gets misshapen when you jam it in the ground. The greater elasticity of 12.5 gauge wire is useful, and the price is unbeatable. The 4,000-foot roll I bought for $80 will get me through the year no problem, and I'll have lots left over. It's such a pain to find. I tried to find the website link for you but couldn't. It's outside, and you'll have to ask the staff to hunt for it, and when they come back with the 9-gauge, be prepared to send them back to look again. They'll find it. I measure and cut in the field using my arm span. I'm nearly 6 feet tall, so when I hold the wire from palm to palm, it's the right length.
  • Bricks. Agribon needs to be weight down. I use bricks because we have access to free, abundant bricks, and they're easy to move. Some people use sand bags filled with dirt. Some people shovel dirt directly onto the fabric. I tried that. I don't like it. Makes a mess.

That's my setup, more or less. It's very simple. Is it enough, you're asking. Yes and no. In our climate, this level of protection is sufficient for what I'm growing. It's inexpensive, and it's temporary. Those are the advantages.

 I open tunnels on warm days and let the plants get fresh air. Moisture near the plants creates a more favorable environment on very cold days, but on normal ones, it encourages fungus to grow in our muggy climate. Also, you can see all the fabric, wire and bricks that go into making this thing happen.

I open tunnels on warm days and let the plants get fresh air. Moisture near the plants creates a more favorable environment on very cold days, but on normal ones, it encourages fungus to grow in our muggy climate. Also, you can see all the fabric, wire and bricks that go into making this thing happen.

We will build a permanent high tunnel with tall metal supports and plastic walls. That might happen as early as this summer. But as a Georgia native, I'm more fearful of heat than cold. It's really easy to fry a plant in a poorly vented high tunnel in the summer in North Carolina. So I'm not in a hurry.

I got all my fabric low tunnels in place just in time for our first snow, a very unexpected 8 inches in December. More on that next time!