Farm City
Novella Carpenter took over an empty lot next to her apartment in Oakland's gritty Ghost Town neighborhood, and over the years turned it into a lush garden and farm complete with bees, chickens, rabbits and even pigs. Urban farms are popping up in even the most cramped corners of densely populated cities, fueled by a desire for good food and a closer relationship with what we eat. Carpenter joins Forum to talk about her new book, "Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer."

Host: Dave Iverson

Guest: Novella Carpenter, journalist, urban farmer and author of "Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer"

Explore and buy the book "Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer" at Amazon.com

Farm City News: Novella Carpenter's blog

Listen to story and view a slideshow of Oakland's Ghost Town Farm on The California Report: Urban Farming in Oakland

How are we celebrating the Fourth of July up in Bernal? We're harvesting the tater bucket! You might recall, back in the early, chilly days of spring, right around St Patrick's Day, a handful of ugly sprouting potatoes were thrown face-down in a bucket of dirt, given their chance for producing the next generation. And now, the resulting crop of new potatoes has been dug up, rinsed, steamed, browned in butter and chives, and eaten.

To be true red-white-and-blue homesteaders, we could have whisked up some homemade mayonnaise and made all-American potato salad. But the patio potatoes were too few, and too precious, for that. They needed to be appreciated just for their dainty little selves.

You might be saying to yourself, wow, those sure are some small potatoes. And it's true. The original potatoes planted were fingerlings, which are naturally small, but these are rather petite even for those.

What happened was, alas, a fungal infection of some kind. Might have been early blight, might have been a wilt like fusarium. All of a sudden, about a month ago, the lovely healthy leaves got brown-spotted one by one. The brown turned to yellow, and eventually the whole stem got limp and died. The brown turned to yellow, and eventually each cluster of leaves faded and died while the stem below the soil line rotted. And once the leaves were gone, the pizza delivery to the potatoes stopped, so to speak, and so did their growth.

These, then, were my teenage potatoes, kicked out of the nest a little young. I think it was partly my fault, due to some overwatering that probably spurred the blight's progression, since fungal diseases are spread and exacerbated by moisture.

Luckily, though, this happened pretty far along in the tater-growing process, meaning we still got a few good handfuls. And there is something pretty wonderful about harvesting your own dinner--not just picking a few tomatoes or plucking a little basil but plunging your whole arm past the elbow into a bucket of warm dirt, fishing around for what slender gold treasures might be hiding in there. These were true new potatoes, fresh and moist, their skins tattered off merely by washing. Not to mention really, really delicious, if I say so myself.

And just in case you were wondering what a potato looks like when it's still growing, well, it looks like this, only deep in the dirt. You can see that the potato itself isn't a root, like carrots or beets, but rather a stolen, or swollen stem, branching off from the main stem above the roots.

Since most potatoes take about 100 days from sprouting to harvest, there's still time for another crop before the winter wet weather comes on. Will tater bucket #2 be more successful? Stay tuned!

Photos by Sally Carter

It's true: these are some ugly-looking potatoes. Back in December, though, they were sleek, alluring even, a pound or two of organic fingerlings that came as part of a mystery box of roots, tubers, and greens from Mariquita Farms. Somehow, though, they got muscled to the back of the pantry by the 20 pounds of russets bought for holiday latke-making at the same time. By the time I could even think about eating potatoes again, my taters had only baby-making in mind.

These were potatoes hellbent on reproduction. Snaky white shoots were twining out of the eyes, and the shriveled potato meat was just a backpack of snacks for the next generation of tubers-to-be.

Now, I love my city-mandated green-waste bin. But could I really let such determination end up in a compost pile in Vacaville?

During my six months as an apprentice at the Farm & Garden Program at UC Santa Cruz, I had planted dozens of fancy seed potatoes that looked a lot like these. They had produced prodigiously, feeding 50 hungry farmers nearly every day, along with the customers at a 120-member CSA and a twice-weekly farmstand.

Would a handful of sprouters grow just as well in a bucket in Bernal Heights? After all, if Love Apple Farm's potato buckets were good enough for David Kinch, wouldn't a plastic pot do just fine for me? (Cynthia Sandberg must know her stuff; her tiny Love Apple Farm is a kitchen garden whose kitchen just happens to be Kinch's restaurant Manresa.) The process is simple: in a large, deep bucket, lay the sprouting potatoes (each piece, or potatoes, containing at least a couple of eyes) on a layer of soil about four to six inches deep. Cover with another couple of inches of soil. Water in until soil is moist but not soggy. Sit back and wait. When the potatoes have pushed a leafy stem up about 4 inches above the soil, fill in with more soil, covering the stem to just below the top leaves. Continue the grow-and-cover process until you reach the top of the bucket.

And what better time to plant than right around St. Patrick's Day? It's easy to remember, after all, and the closeness to the spring equinox in our climate pretty much ensures frost-free nights from now on. A beautifully informative essay on the role of potatoes in rural Irish life can be found in John Thorne's Pot on the Fire; at the end of the chapter he has recipes for both champ and colcannon, two easy dishes of greens (which could be foraged) and potatoes (homegrown), both of which make delicious vegetarian alternatives to the typical corned beef & cabbage.

For champ, peeled potatoes are boiled, drained, and pummeled to smoothness. While the potatoes are boiling, tender spring greens--nettles, spinach, turnip or radish tops--are gently simmered in milk. The greens (and the milk) are tipped into the potatoes and vigorously stirred together. A bowlful with a pat of butter makes a meal.

Colcannon uses slightly tougher greens, like kale and cabbage, and the mixture is stiffer, made firm enough to pat into a flat, thick pancake in a skillet and fry in butter until both sides are crisped up and lightly browned. (You can find boxty, an equally filling Irish potato cake, on the menu at The Liberties at 22nd and Guerrero Sts in the Mission, even if they do California it up with roasted red peppers and feta cheese.)

No plans for a champ-cam trained on the potato bucket yet; after all, most of the action during the next few months will be happening underground. But until then, you can browse the greens reappearing from the earth and dream of harvesting your very own patio potatoes.

I'm going to make just one prediction for 2009:

Urban gardens will become as de rigueur as weekly trips to the farmer's market.

Of course, I'm not the first to notice the idea of urban food production coming into the forefront. Last year saw the launch of San Francisco's Victory Garden pilot project and Wired magazine had an article on Urban Farming as well. Most likely you saw Slow Food Nation's Victory Garden at City Hall or you may have even heard about Graze the Roof, a Summer rooftop edible garden at Glide Memorial. While those projects are over, the idea of producing food in an urban setting has only just begun.

If you want to become an urban farmer, consider enrolling in Alemany Farm's Apprenticeship in Ecological Horticulture. It's a year long hands-on program that will teach core principals of food production such as soil fertility and composting, propagation and planting, seasonal tree care, water-wise irrigation, plant identification, integrated pest management, and crop planning.

If becoming a farmer is not quite your thing, but you still want in on the conversation, check out OPENrestaurant at Yerba Buena. Join members of Slow Food Nation and the urban farming community for OPENrestaurant, a socially engineered informal dinner created by a collective of restaurant professionals. Share a simple meal while chewing on the question: How can the urban landscape be productive? Buy a meal ticket and enjoy dinner and a glass of wine while learning more about urban farming, foraging and gleaning from people directly involved in these practices or simply show up for the discussion.

What: OPENrestaurant with Slow Food Nation, a discussion and dinner prepared by Jerome Waag and Stacie Pierce of Chez Panisse and Chris Kronner formerly of Serpentine and Slow Club.

Where: Grand Lobby, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission St, San Francisco

When: January 6th, 2008, 7 pm

How: Buy a meal ticket, $20 or $15 for Yerba Buena members. Or call the box office at 415.978.2787. The discussion is free for those who do not choose to dine with the group.

Why: Get a head start on planting for Spring, receive seed packets and enjoy local beer and wine, white beans and greens from city farms, pork rillettes, bread from Tartine and dessert.

Every summer I spend way too much money on cranberry beans. If you know me, you might also know that they are my hands-down, number one, absolute favorite bean. I would even go a step further and extend that statement to the entire legume family.

What are cranberry beans you ask? Well, they are not cranberries, nor beans crossed with cranberries, or even sweet or tart, or really very red. The pods are kind of mottled with a cranberry color, which is I suppose where the name comes from? Beats me. Anyway, they are shell beans, just like cannelloni, flageolet, or pintos. They grow in a pod, and you can buy them fresh or dried, but like most things, you can't beat the fresh version (however, if you do buy dried I highly recommend the excellent Rancho Gordo beans).

They taste incredible: smooth, velvety, creamy, and plump. And they are perfect in nearly any brothy soup. I often use them to make pasta e fagioli or a simple vegetable, farro, and cranberry bean soup. You can cook them with some pancetta and onion and toss them with pasta to make a simple and delicious sauce.

The freshies have a fleeting season--in the Bay Area you can find them in late summer at the farmers' market. And one thing that I've discovered about cranberry beans, is that they freeze remarkably well. So I've been known to buy very large bags of beans, and spend a pretty penny on them too, which brings me full circle.

When my mother announced recently that she was growing cranberry beans in her garden, not only was I jealous but also determined to find a way to grow them myself. Which actually turned out to be incredibly easy. All you need to grow beans are some dried beans, soil and a few little pots. I felt like I was back in elementary school, poking seeds into soil-packed egg cartons, watering them religiously, keeping them warm. Anyway, last weekend I planted them, and they are already 6 inches tall!

Here's how you do it...

Grow Some Beans

Ingredients:
1 small pot for every coupla beans you want to plant (little seedling pots or even an egg carton works fine, but if you use the carton only use one bean per cup)
Some good potting soil
2 dried beans (of your choice, but I recommend the cranberry!) per pot
Water
Plastic wrap
A cake pan or small rimmed tray that will hold all your pots
A warm sunny spot

Preparation:
1. Fill each pot with potting soil.

2. Press a couple of beans just under the surface of the soil, about 1/2-inch down. Water the soil well, and let drain.

3. Set the pots in the pan or tray and cover loosely with plastic wrap. Set the pots in a warm sunny spot.

4. Water the beans every day and keep checking them. When they start to pop up you can remove the plastic wrap and let them go! Let them grow to about 6–8 inches and then re-pot them into a bigger pot, such as a soil-filled half wine barrel (I haven't gotten to that part yet).

Good luck and happy gardening!

An update on my tomatoes: They are growing like mad! The Early Girls are taking the lead, but I have to say the Sweet 100s aren't far behind. They are all doing relatively well, but I seem to have a little tiny itsy-bitsy white bug problem. Not aphids, cause I've been flicking those off my beans. Any suggestions?

I grew up in the 1970s in Dallas, Texas, at a time when processed food was the hot new thing (think Funyuns, Cap'n Crunch and Velveeta, and the list goes on...). So you can imagine what I must have been surrounded by foodwise.

Fortunately, my mom was a foodie at heart—she baked loaves of bread, cultured her own tangy yogurt, and not only grew a good-sized vegetable garden, but maintained a healthy compost pile. She was no doubt considered "weird" for the time and the place, and I for one have never stopped appreciating her weirdness.

My mom's garden was really sweet, and gave me a whole new appreciation of fresh vegetables as a kid. I remember once she grew a cucumber that was nearly as tall as my younger brother. We were in awe. I also remember stealing plenty of tomatoes, fresh off the vine and warm from the sun. And I still think that there is probably no better thing in the world that you can eat than a freshly-plucked tomato at the peak of ripeness.

Up until now, I haven't really been in a place where I could easily grow my own vegetables. So, a few weeks ago, on a whim, I decided to buy a few half wine barrels and start my own urban garden. I managed to find 4 barrels for only $20 each with free delivery on craigslist . What a steal! Finding the soil and then lugging it up our steep flight of stairs to the front of our house wasn't quite as easy, but somehow we managed.

I have to admit I went a little overboard and bought 9, yes NINE, tomato plants and planted 3 in each barrel (I'm saving one barrel because my mom is bringing me cranberry beans to plant this weekend). If they actually work out, I'll be swimming in tomatoes, but that's ok. I love them. Especially plucked right off the vine.

How to Make An Urban Tomato Garden

Ingredients
1 half wine barrel (make sure it has a few holes drilled into the bottom)
A warm, very sunny spot
3 bricks
About 6 large handfuls of large pebbles or rocks or broken terra cotta pots
2.5 cubic feet of good-quality, preferably organic, soil
.5 cubic feet of compost
1/4 to 1/3 cup organic vegetable plant food
2 or 3 tomato plants (I chose brandywine, early girl, beefsteak, roma, and sweet 100s)
A tomato cage
A hose for watering
Gardening gloves

Preparation
1. Put the wine barrel in your sunny spot. Perch the wine barrel atop your 3 bricks so it's stable and not wobbly.

2. Get all your ingredients gathered round and put on your gardening gloves.

3. Cover the bottom of the wine barrel evenly with the pebbles.

4. Add enough soil to fill the barrel about 2/3 full. Water the soil and mix it around with your hands.

5. Add the compost and more soil, and mix them all together with your hands to make a nice, rich base for your tomatoes.

6. Water the soil again, and mix together.

7. Sprinkle the plant food over the soil and mix it in.

8. Place the tomatoes on the soil in the spot you want to plant them. Try to position them so they are evenly spaced from one another, not too close to the outer edge or the center.

9. Dig a little hole for each tomato under the spot you placed them. Remove the tomato plant from it's container (gently!) and (gently!) loosen it's roots.

10. Place the tomato plant lovingly into its hole and pat the soil around it so it feels all snug and tucked in. Water the plants again.

10. Position the tomato cage so the tomato plants can grow up and around it. You might have to tie them as they start. Make sure to water them, not too much and not too little. And give them lots of love and care, and hopefully you will get loads of flavorful, succulent, juicy tomatoes.