Cultivating Asparagus
In A.D. 77, Pliny the Elder, a prolific Roman naturalist, penned his disapproval of cultivating asparagus. “Asparagus,” he wrote, “should grow wild so that everyone may pick it.” Today, finding asparagus growing in the wild is as rare an occurrence as locating a circle of morel mushrooms in the middle of your own front yard. And yet, miracles do happen.
When Kit and I moved from Washington, D.C. to Southern Boone County, MO in 1988, we suddenly had a country house that we named Breakfast Creek, a barn, two out-buildings, a Toulouse Goose named Francis that conveyed with the property, an ancient German Shepherd named Bumby that greeted us on the front porch when we arrived. and seven acres to grow into and explore out from. Explorations of the existing gardens and borders of the property happened not at once but in seasonal spurts.
Over sixteen winters at Breakfast Creek, I pored over gardening magazines and books in search of ideas for our ever-expanding gardens. Our potager (kitchen garden) required demanding physical labor—one of the many benefits of gardening. Tutored by Martha Stewart in her book “Gardening: Month by Month,” I invested in a rototiller, tilled an enormous open plot, fenced it in, and gave order to the space I had cultivated.
Gradually, pea rows were constructed, straw pathways laid down, rose and perennial her beds established, and pear trees planted just outside the fence line. Each May, tomatoes and peppers were planted along with perennial flowers that attracted butterflies to the garden. Eventually, an umbrella table and chairs along with several wooden benches were added to the enclosed garden, making it an outdoor extension of the house. And when a litter of kittens was born in our chicken house, I brought them with their mom cat to the garden every day so she could tutor them one kitten at a time and let them play while I tended our garden.
Ironically, what I never did in all those years of garden expansion was plant an asparagus bed. And yet, I adore asparagus. It epitomizes spring both in its bold arrival like a tiny forest of trees sprouting from the bare earth and in the stunning emerald green of perfectly steamed asparagus spears emulating newly emergent spring foliage that is almost too beautiful for words.
Our third spring at Breakfast Creek, I decided to rescue an old split rail fence that ran along the top of a slope at the edge of our front yard. It was badly in need of repair after years of being weighed down by seasonal invasions of vetch and weeds. As layers of the tenacious weeds were peeled off the fencerow, I discovered an old asparagus bed that I recognized from spindly spears that had come up earlier and morphed into feathery asparagus ferns.
Years ago, my parents added a filler plant that my mother called “asparagus fern” to their summer planters filled with geraniums. The ones I discovered at the Creek were not ornamental asparagus ferns but in fact the real thing—a relic asparagus bed gone wild, planted along a sunny border of the yard by the prior owner. For the remained of our years at Breakfast Creek, I harvested asparagus spears from May to June from that reclaimed bed.
After moving to Boomerang Creek in 2005, I decided it was time to create an asparagus bed—a serious undertaking requiring planning, labor, and two years of patience. If done right, an established asparagus bed can produce for decades. Our friends Barbara and Orion Beckmeyer gave us a step-by-step plan of action. I also read up on asparagus cultivation in my father’s dog-eared copy of Rodale’s “Encyclopedia of Organic Gardening,” as well as my well-worn copies of Bob Thomson’s “The New Victory Garden” and Martha Stewart’s “Gardening: Month by Month.”
When we were ready, Kit hauled in a truckload of well-aged manure, along with bags of rich garden soil (superphosphate 0-18-0) and bone meal. A sunny site was selected where we spent an afternoon digging a 12’x15”x12” trench and adding the topsoil/manure mix. The asparagus crowns of Jersey asparagus that I’d ordered were nested with their octopus tendril-like roots spread outward, then covered with another 3 inches of the topsoil/manure mix. As the plants began to produce growth, we continued to push more soil in until the trench was fully filled.
That first fall, the bed was enriched and allowed to mature a second season. Finally, the following spring, we at last harvested our first crop of Jersey asparagus. That May, we enjoyed our first meal of fresh asparagus with a lovely glass of chilled Vouvray white wine served al fresco on the porch of the house. It was simply a plate of much anticipated, perfectly steamed, emerald-green asparagus spears, seasoned with butter, a squeeze of lemon, and finished with a touch of Maldon sea salt flakes.
Needless to say, the meal and the moment were heavenly and worth the wait.