I read that garlic should be planted under the light of the last full moon in the month of October. And the planter should be naked.
Two years and 2500 bulbs of garlic later I think this theory holds water like the old tarp stretched over our woodpile - not very well. We haven't planted under moon light and definitely not while naked (though perhaps this might scare away the rabbbits?) but the locals acknowledge this is good stuff. Take the following story, for example.
A knock at the door. I go to answer. An older man in jeans and plaid flannel stands before me, hat tilted back on his head and a stand of white hair shooting out from under the brim. I look twice to confirm that a piece of straw isn't dangling from his lower lip. He's stepped straight from the set of Green Acres.
He shuffles from one foot to the other, a slow barn dance of a move to some unheard music.
"Yes?" I ask.
Shuffle, slide, shuffle. "Bought some garlic last week," says Plaid.
"Oh," I say, waiting.
"I said, I bought some garlic," he says again, this time shouting.
Ah, this gentleman is hard of hearing. I nod my head vigorously to show my understanding. "Yes," I say loudly. "That's good."
Plaid snorts like a horse on a cold morning. "It was," he says, grudgingly, nodding slowly. "Damn rights." He eyes me, the pen I hold in my uncallused hands, the yoga pants and hoodie that I'm wearing. "Know how to tell it's any good?" he asks.
I shake my head. Plaid leans in. Winks. He's in his element; he's going to tell this obvious non-farmer standing in front of him something about farming. Some bit of knowledge that he's winnowed from the fields over the years. Something more valuable than you can learn from books and paper and pens.
"People take a step back when I talk to them. Then I know it's the good stuff." He nods once, firmly. Stands up to his full height again and hitches up his jeans, thumbs through his belt loops. "Thought I'd get some more."
Turns out Plaid eats a head of garlic each week. Prefers it raw, cloves snapped from the bulb and popped straight into his mouth, skins and all. No time wasted with mincing or pressing, sauteing or roasting. Nope. A minimum of one raw clove per day straight into his mouth. Keeps back the riffraff. And hasn't had garlic like ours in years.
I'm not sure how old he is but with his garlic consumption I'm sure he'll still be around next year. Note to self: next harvest, set aside five pounds of garlic for Plaid.
