This is Sorghum. I didn’t plant it, and I have no idea how it ended up in our front yard, but I’m so glad it’s there!
It’s ready to harvest when the little berries can’t be dented with your fingernail.
The Sorghum in our pasture hasn’t produced anything yet. We’re still watering that patch and hoping for a harvest. I like that the one Sorghum plant (or multiple stuck together) in the front yard never had to be watered. I’ve heard sorghum is drought tolerant, and this proves it.
An idea just occurred to me this week. Actually it is more than an idea. It’s a dream! A destiny! An obsession.
We must grow grain in 2021.
I don’t mean an acre of rye–I mean a modest 10×10 patch of sorghum, a couple rows of corn and a corner of quinoa. I want to harvest enough sorghum to fill a quart Mason jar. I want to have enough dried corn to make a sweaty, dirty stack of red corn tortillas. I want enough quinoa to help me figure out if it was worth it for just one meal to say “We actually grew this, harvested it, did the chaff + winnow thing, then ate it next to a pile of sauteed kale and braised rabbit.” (P.S. I don’t know what braised means. I just said it to sound fancy.)
