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collars for brassicas

-- [ From: nonayobusiness * EMC.Ver #2.3 ] --

My first gardening experience was as a kid at the nYBG.  For $3.00 you got
all the seeds and theuse of a plot in back of their main building, and the
secretaries would teach us how to grow stuff.  They were extremely strict.
we were not allowed to kneel on the ground while we were doing any work, or
else they took of points. (There was a contest for who could earn the most
points over the couurse of the growing season).  Anyway, we would start
going to the classes way before the growing season started, and we would
sit in the basement of the administration building and package all of the
seeds in little glascene envelopes,and label them, and cut a billion
squares of really horribly thick tar paper, with a slit that went to a
small circle that we had to cut out at the center. We would go home that
day with big blisters on our hands from stuggling with little scissors.  
We had been told that these were supposed to prevent the  brassica plants
from geting attacked by cutworms when they were transplanted.  Maybe it was
also to prevent these maggots that you are all talking about?  To this day,
when planting brassicas, I put a collar around it, but I still have an
aversion to tarpaper,and prefer to use a big paper cup, or some years,
aluminum foil.  (Much easier to cut)   Most of what I learned in that
program I am still using today.  It was a pretty  much organic program, and
we learned all about compost &  other stuff that was not in style yet.  I
remember them pouring what I think was rotenone  on the brassicas right
after they were planted, and I think that the reason for this was  to
prevent clubroot?  I think rotenone was the stongest spray they used.  We
used to bring home shoping bags of produce from a 4x8 foot plot tthat you
had to share with another kid.  I still don't let my knees touch the
ground.   Maybe it will  keep me from getting arthritis.  My  husband
laughs when he sees me squatting back on my heels while working, and says I
look like a third world peasant from the 15th century.  Hey, my knees are
clean!
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