Over the years, I have tried to learn as much as I can about perennial food sources and have planted a variety of them on our property. One of my favorite discoveries is sunchokes, also known as Jerusalem artichokes. These beautiful, sunflower-like plants produce a large number of medium-sized, golden-yellow flowers that brighten up my perennial beds between August to October. They yield an abundant harvest of tubers that can be harvested in the fall or the spring. They seem very popular in Québec, and seeing people share pictures on Facebook of their late fall or early spring harvests of "topinambours" - as they are known in French - is what piqued my interest.

I originally planted sunchokes as a small nursery plant, but we later established additional patches simply by transplanting tubers. Sunchokes are extremely hardy and have a reputation for being invasive, so I wouldn’t recommend planting them in the middle of your main garden bed. Instead, I’ve given them their own designated perennial bed, separate from my annual vegetable garden. I was excited to learn that they are native to much of North America, including Eastern Ontario, making them an even more valuable addition to my garden.

I typically do my main harvest in the fall, sometime in later October or early November, once the flowers and stems have dried up and other, more time-sensitive harvests have been completed. It’s perfectly fine to harvest sunchokes after frost, as long as the ground is still workable. To gather them, I sometimes pull up entire stems (some tubers remain attached), but more often, I simply dig through the soil. This process becomes easier over time as the soil loosens. I collect as many as I can reasonably process, knowing that any tubers left behind will regrow the following year. 

Over the last few years, I have become increasingly interested in seed saving. With growing uncertainty in global trade, that interest has only deepened. I ordered The Seed Farmer by Dan Brisebois after hearing him on the Market Gardener podcast. I appreciated his down-to-earth, practical approach on the podcast, and I was pleased to find the same tone reflected in his book.

I really like how The Seed Farmer is organized. It’s highly readable and will be easy to refer back to. The first section covers the basics of seed saving, explaining key concepts such as open pollination, cross-pollination, and self-pollination. It then provides guidance on selecting which seeds to save first, considering factors like likelihood of success, difficulty level, and economic reasoning. Brisebois emphasizes starting small, which I found to be a thoughtful and manageable approach. He introduces these foundational concepts as the “first seed mindset.” Later in the book, he delves into more advanced seed-saving techniques and finally addresses the needs of commercial seed savers. Each section builds onto the previous, and it’s easy to go only as deep as you want to for now.
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The book also includes two “encyclopedia-like” sections that detail how to grow and save seeds for a variety of common crops—both vegetables and flowers. The vegetable section is well-suited to my climate, as Brisebois’s farm is located less than 50 kilometers from where I live. This makes the information highly relevant to my own gardening experience. For those in very different climates, it may be worth checking how well the crops covered in the book align with their own gardens. However, the selection represents the “greatest hits” of many North American gardens.

Some of the most interesting insights I gained from the book connect to the following concepts:

• There is a lot of contradictory information online about which crops cross-pollinate and at what distances. Since this book is based on firsthand experience and trial and error, I trust its information more than generalized advice I’ve read online. For example, I now feel more confident about saving tomato seeds.
• The book challenged my previous assumption that all squash varieties cross with each other. I learned that cultivated squash falls into several species, and species do not cross-pollinate. For example, butternut squash (Cucurbita moschata) is the only squash I grow from that species, so I can safely save its seeds. However, I commonly grow five different varieties of Cucurbita pepo (delicata squash, spaghetti squash, acorn squash, zucchini, and pie pumpkin), which will cross-pollinate, making seed saving more difficult.
• I was fascinated to learn that certain seeds, like tomatoes and cucumbers, benefit from fermentation during the saving process.

Several immediate takeaways from the book that I plan to implement this season include:

• Saving butternut squash seeds, now that I know they won’t cross-pollinate with my other squash varieties.
• Saving my tomato seeds, as they are less susceptible to cross-pollination than I previously thought, and fermenting them for better results.
• Paying closer attention to whether the seeds I purchase next fall are open-pollinated or F1 hybrids, since only open-pollinated seeds can be reliably saved.
• Reconsidering my planting plans. For example, I will need to think about whether I want to switch back to growing only one type of cucumber to ensure reliable seed saving, given its tendency to cross-pollinate.
• Gradually transitioning to saved seeds rather than making an abrupt switch. I appreciated the book’s advice to start with a mix of 10% saved seeds and 90% purchased seeds to test viability.
• Acquiring a box fan or two for winnowing seeds—using airflow to separate chaff from seeds.

In addition, in the longer term, I might create a small seed-saving plot somewhere on my property for crops that require isolation. However, I recognize that if something is out of sight, it’s unlikely to become part of my routine, and weeds may take over. For now, I’ll stick to integrating seed saving into my existing gardening practices.

One limitation of the book is that it does not discuss techniques for managing cross-pollination beyond isolating crops through distance. Methods such as hand-pollination or taping flowers shut are not covered. I understand why—these techniques may be too labor-intensive for market gardeners—but they are viable options for homesteaders and home gardeners. It also doesn’t go too deeply into breeding your own varieties. To learn more about these concepts, I plan to revisit Breed Your Own Vegetable Varieties by Carole Deppe, which I found promising but initially a bit dense.

Which brings me to say - I also enjoyed the book’s engaging tone. It’s filled with anecdotes and practical advice, making it a light and enjoyable read. I finished it in just two afternoons. I highly recommend The Seed Farmer to anyone with some basic seed-saving experience, as prior knowledge provides useful context.

In conclusion, this book has given me the confidence to increase my seed self-sufficiency in the short and medium term. It also provided a reality check about the complexities of achieving total seed independence. While full self-sufficiency presents challenges, I now feel I can build the skills necessary to maintain a well-rounded garden based on saved seeds if needed. I will enjoy practicing my seed saving skills and saving some money in the process. However, if I don’t need to rely solely on saved seeds, I’ll continue to enjoy the convenience of supplementing with purchased seeds.

​Last year, I harvested garlic for the first time at the end of July. Now, as March comes to a close, I’ve noticed some of my cloves starting to sprout. That means they’ve lasted about eight months stored in a wire basket inside a cupboard—not bad! But with 25 bulbs left and four more months until my next harvest, I need to find a way to extend their shelf life.
After researching and gathering advice online, I discovered several promising garlic preservation techniques. My main goal is to maintain the fresh garlic flavor. Texture isn’t a priority since I’ll be using it primarily in cooking. However, it’s difficult to determine the best method just by reading about others’ experiences, because it’s such a subjective topic and most people are focused on one specific method, not offering a lot by way of comparison. So, I decided to put multiple techniques to the test myself.
Over the next few months, I’ll be using garlic preserved in different ways, ensuring I save some from each method for at least four months before conducting a final taste test. Here are the preservation methods I’m testing:
Freezing Whole Cloves

• Peeled and frozen loosely in a Ziploc bag with as much air removed as possible.
• Some cloves are also vacuum-sealed in a Foodsaver bag for longer storage. I’ll use these last.

Freezing Minced Garlic in Olive Oil

• Minced and mixed with olive oil, then frozen in a jar.
• Important note: Storing garlic in oil in the refrigerator is unsafe due to the risk of botulism—freezing is essential for safety.

Lacto-Fermentation (recipe from Révolution Fermentation)

• Garlic chunks placed in a salty brine and stored in airlocked jars in a dark cupboard.
• After a few weeks of fermentation, they’ll be moved to the fridge.

Dehydration (Possibly Testing Soon)

• Many people dehydrate garlic, but I haven’t included it in my experiment yet.
• I may try it in the next few days if time permits.

Honey Garlic Fermentation (recipe from Révolution Fermentation)

• Garlic chunks submerged in honey and stored in an airlocked jar in a dark cupboard.
• This method won’t replace fresh garlic but should yield a delicious, unique product.

Methods I’m Not Testing (for now!)

• Black Garlic: This involves a long, slow process that requires a specialized appliance or dedicating a slow cooker or similar appliance for several weeks—something I’m not ready to commit to yet. Maybe another time! Edit: this is sometimes referred to as black garlic fermenting but strictly speaking, it is not a fermentation process - rather, the garlic undergoes a chemical reaction called the Maillard process. Fermentation, on the other hand, depends on micro-organisms to do the work.

Stay tuned for the results of my taste test in a few months! If you’d like to hear my final verdict, subscribe to my news alert.

Today, I want to share an unusual delicacy that we’ve been lucky enough to enjoy almost every year: huitlacoche (corn smut). Huitlacoche is the result of a fungus that infects corn plants, causing the kernels to puff up and turn a greyish blue.
The first time I noticed corn smut on my plants, I told Ray I had found “alien corn” — and we tossed it aside. Even after learning it was a prized delicacy, it took me a couple of years to work up the courage to taste it. But now that I have, I look forward to harvesting it every year. It’s a delicious and unique treat.
To me, huitlacoche tastes earthy with a hint of sweetness and a slightly metallic edge — but in a good way! It’s hard to describe, but I definitely recommend trying it. It’s also best eaten fresh from the garden since it deteriorates quickly once picked. Huitlacoche is used in many cuisines, but it’s most closely associated with Mexican cooking.
Until now, we’ve relied on luck for our annual huitlacoche harvest. Last year, we had about three or four infected ears from two different spots on our property. We love it so much that we saved some in the freezer, and this year I’m hoping to try inoculating some of our corn on purpose. It'll be an experiment.
Whenever we’re lucky enough to get huitlacoche, I usually prepare it as a quesadilla — some variation of the recipe from Forager Chef. It’s a simple and satisfying way to enjoy this rare treat.
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Potatoes are a staple crop that I grow every year. However, I don’t think they should be a priority for a small garden—potatoes are relatively inexpensive at the grocery store, and I haven’t noticed a dramatic difference in flavor between store-bought and homegrown ones, unlike, say, tomatoes. That said, if you’re aiming for self-sufficiency, potatoes are an essential crop to master.
They’re also easy to grow, but for a long time, I didn’t enjoy harvesting them. With heavy clay soil, the novelty of digging for potatoes quickly wore off. It was also inevitable that some would get damaged by my shovel as I worked. On top of that, my yields weren’t great—I suspect the clay soil restricted their growth. All of this changed last summer.

While researching “no-till” potato-growing methods (since the traditional digging process seemed incompatible to no-till gardening), I came across an intriguing technique. Instead of burying the potatoes in the ground, this method involves placing them on a layer of loose soil or compost and covering them with a thick layer of mulch. As they grow, the potatoes develop between the soil and the mulch, or just below the surface.

​Once harvested, I store my potatoes in a bin of moist sand in the cellar. I don’t clean or cure them—I simply layer them in the sand with space between each one. I also separate large and small potatoes into different bins. When spring comes, I use some of the leftovers to plant the next year’s crop.

​Occasionally, I can potatoes for convenience or to use throughout the next summer. My favorite mix includes potatoes and carrot cubes, which I use in soups, samosas, and veggie potpies—many recipes call for both, and having them prepped in advance is a great timesaver. In the picture below, the contents are tinted purplish because my carrots were a purple variety.

​For crispy dishes, I stick with my cellared potatoes, as canned ones tend to be softer. A simple side of potatoes roasted with Herbes de Provence and olive oil—whether in the oven or air fryer—is always a hit. Once in a while, we indulge in homemade poutine, especially if I have time to make cheese curds from scratch. While we usually bake the fries instead of frying them, this traditional, local dish is still wonderfully indulgent!