Post #1943: Microplastic, doing a burn test for carpet fiber

Most internet sources assure me that only four fibers are likely to be found in the pile of modern wall-to-wall carpet. A handful of sources add a fifth (acrylic).  Perusal of current offerings at Home Depot adds a sixth (triexta).

  • Wool
  • Nylon
  • Polyester
  • Polyolefin (including polypropylene and polyethylene)
  • Triexta
  • Acrylic

I think I can plausibly narrow it down to three, in my case, by eliminating these:

Triexta appears to be new enough that it’s not going to be the fiber in my 20-year-old wall-to-wall carpet.

Acrylic appears rare enough, in wall-to-wall carpeting, that I can’t actually find any roll-type carpet made with acrylic fiber currently offered for sale.

Polyolefin fibers appear to be used only in the cheapest carpet materials.  At Home Depot, that’s what their self-stick carpet tiles are made of.  That’s not going to be the basis for my well-wearing 20-year-old wall-to-wall.

N.B. 1:  SD means solution dyed, that is, that is, the plastic itself is dyed before the fibers are spun from it.  As opposed to dying the fibers after-the-fact.  This apparently is by far the preferred method for durability in modern carpeting.

N.B. 2:  Olefin (a.k.a. polyolefin) is a polymer (long molecule made from simple building blocks) where the basic building blocks are straight-chain alkanes (carbon and hydrogen and nothing else).  If you make it out of propane feedstock, you get polypropylene.  If you make it out of ethane feedstock, you get polyethylene.  I assume they use polyolefin when they make the fiber out of whatever’s handy, or from a mix of feedstocks.


Burn test

The most commonly-suggested way to tell what a carpet is made of is to burn (a bit of) it.  Condensing the guidance from this site:

Wool barely burns, extinguishes itself, leaves ash, and smells like burning hair.

Nylon burns well, with a smokeless blue flame, leaves a gray/black blob of melted plastic.  And stinks.  (I’ve sealed the ends of enough nylon rope to know that.  It’s your classic burning plastic smell, but does not stink quite so badly as the smell of burning electronics, which is typically the smell of burning PVC (plastic wire insulation).

Polyester burns well, with a smoky orange flame, sputters and drips as it burns, leaves a shiny plastic bead, and smells “sweet” as it burns.  (Really?)

Pretty sure this carpet isn’t wool.  So it boils down to burning a bit of it, and seeing if it stinks.  If so, it’s nylon.  If not, polyester.

What I didn’t realize is that you need a pretty good chunk of fibers to be able to do this test.  First time I tried it, I had a fluffy bit of fibers, and they simply shrank away from the flame.  Second time I got an entire piece of yarn, twisted it tightly, and got it to burn.

Results:  Sputtering flame, no ash, and no stink.  I’m pretty sure my carpet is polyester.  I could refresh my memory with a bit of nylon cord, or burn a bit of known polyester fabric, but I think this all makes sense.  Plus, burning nylon really stinks.  Like “don’t do that inside” stinks.  And while this did not smell “sweet”, this basically didn’t smell like much at all.  Which pretty much rules out nylon.

I may try some different test, if I can find one.

But odds are, given that this is 20-year-old decent-grade grade wall-to-wall carpet, with some worn spots, clearly made of synthetic, and the fiber burns without a stink, this is polyester.


Conclusion

The entire floor of my house is covered with the cut ends of polyester yarn.  And has been for the past 16 years or so.

All this time, not only did this not bother me, heck, it was downright comfy to walk on.

But now that my eyes have been opened, I see this as a comfy source of microplastic polyester fibers.

Should I care about that, or not?  Or do anything differently, now that I know?

Time to let this percolate a bit more.

Post #1942: Microplastic, some more targeted questions.

 

In my last post, I pinned down what I did and didn’t know about microplastic.  And, while I don’t (yet) think this spells the end of civilization, what I learned has given me pause.

With the just-prior post as background, I spend this post homing in on the questions that I should be asking.

They are:

1)  What are my likely sources of greatest exposure?

2)  How does this stuff break down?  What is the half-life of microplastic, particularly fibers, in various environments (including human tissue).

2B)  Are we seeing this topic frequently in the popular press because microplastic has been building up in the environment (that is, it’s now a much greater hazard than in the immediate past), or because we’re looking for it and/or we now have the means to find it?

3)  Are nano-scale (really tiny) fibers a particular concern?

I’m only going to address the first question, in this post.

Understand my background as a health economist.  Surgeons have been implanting chunks of plastic and metal into people for more than 70 years.  (The first pacemaker implant took place in the late 1950s.  Modern metal-and-plastic hip replacements go back somewhat further.)  So the right materials, properly chosen, won’t interact with the body at all.  OTOH, there’s a long list of materials that were tried and rejected, because they were not so inert.

So my prejudice is that incorporating random bits of plastic into your body is probably a bad idea.  The only question is, how bad is it?  And can you avoid it?


Wall-to-wall paranoia

The first question to ask for any environmental health hazard is, 1)  What are my likely sources of greatest exposure?

For airborne fibers, if I walk through it logically, my greatest source of exposure almost certainly has to be the wall-to-wall carpeting in my home.  It’s indoors, it contains a huge amount of fiber, it’s clearly synthetic fiber, and it is constantly being abraded by walking on it.  And it’s “clipped”, that is, every strand of carpet yarn has been sheared off, so that it’s an entire floor surface consisting of the cut ends of synthetic yarn.  In my house, every floor surface save bathroom, kitchen, and foyer is covered in the stuff.

For me, it’s a big, fiber-generating surface that I shuffle my feet across, every time I change locations within my house.

Reading up on it, I’m guessing it has maybe 60 ounces of carpet pile per square yard, a.k.a., “face weight” 60 carpeting.  Doing the math, that means my house contains somewhere around 700 pounds of carpet fibers.  In the form of short pieces of yarn, with their cut ends exposed, for me to walk on.  I’m pretty sure that outweighs all other cloth in this household, by a wide margin.  True, on any given day, most of it just sits there.  But so does most of the clothing in my closet.

I can only think of two things arguing against this being my greatest source of airborne synthetic fiber exposure.

The first is that, whatever it’s made of (I have no clue), it’s made to resist abrasion.  It was here when we moved into this house in 2007, and it looks about the same now as it did then.  (To within my ability to tell.  What I mean is, no obvious new wear spots have developed in the past 15 years.)

The second is a potential “inverse-square-law” for inhaled fiber concentrations.  That is, for a given rate of fiber shedding, the closer you are to the source of the airborne fibers, the more of them you may be likely to inhale.  If that’s true, then the fibers shed from stuff that’s right under your nose — shirts, sweaters, scarves, coats — might matter more than the fibers shed at your feet.

And if I put all that together, I come up with the obvious conclusion that crawling around on wall-to-wall carpet may not be smart.  Not that I’m planning to do that any time soon, if I have any say in it.  But the point being that having infants crawl around on your wall-to-wall carpeting might require a rethink.  Putting that differently, if you’re not worried about your kids crawling around on wall-to-wall carpet, I don’t see much point in being worried about this topic at all.  Because, outside of a factory, it’s hard for me to imagine where you could get a higher concentration of inhaled artificial fibers than in crawling across modern wall-to-wall carpeting.

We have met the enemy, and he is us.

In my case, I’m going to start by trying to figure out what my carpet is made of.  It was here when we moved in, and I have no clue what the fiber is.  Nylon is a good guess, and everything I read says that nylon, in particular, is a fiber that you’d like to avoid breathing in, owing to what it produces as it slowly breaks down.

And I may be a little more diligent in vacuuming.  Given that the vacuum (in theory) has a HEPA-level filter on it, that (in theory) couldn’t hurt.


Conclusion:  What to do when you’re flying blind

From the prior post, it was absolutely clear that routinely inhaling a lot of nylon fiber is bad for you.  There’s even a name for the resulting condition — flock worker’s lung.

But so what?  Inhaling high levels of almost any fiber or powder is bad for you, be it coal dust, silicon dust, cotton dust, copier toner, wood dust, or what have you.

It’s still an open question as to whether or not there are identifiable health effects from absorption of microplastic at levels commonly found in the environment.

But, from my own perspective, given how picky medical device manufacturers are about the materials they will use for implantable medical devices, it’s a pretty good bet that inhaling and ingesting random plastic bits and fibers is probably not good for you.  How bad, exactly, we can argue about.  But almost surely not a good thing.

My first thought, in a situation like this, is to test for it.  Measure it.  See what my exposure is.

But I don’t think that’s possible, practically speaking.  I already have a “PM 2.5” meter, bought in response to the Canadian forest fires of 2023.  That almost uniformly shows lower airborne particulate levels inside my house than outside.  And that responds to all kinds of particulates, of which the tiny minority is likely to be microplastic fibers.

So this is a case of flying blind.  I can’t tell how much I’m exposed to and I have no clear idea what harm that exposure might do, anyway.

In that case, I can at least try to identify the easily-avoidable sources of microplastic, and so reduce my exposure until better information develops.  I might even go so far as to change what I buy, to avoid funding the production of even more items that shed microplastic.  (E.g., avoid synthetics in my next batch of shirts).  But I’d want to look at the full implications of that first.

So I’m stuck at the “identify my exposures” stage.  My water filter appears to take care of most of the microplastic that might make it into my tap water.  (Though I have no idea what it does with the very smallest particles).  And for airborne fiber, my biggest exposure has to be wall-to-wall carpet.  But this house was built for it, and replacing the existing wall-to-wall with hard-surface flooring would be ludicrously expensive.

Time to step back and let this percolate a bit.

Post #1941: Microplastic, some initial questions.

 

Intro:  Not a lot of answers in this post

Seems like every week I read another story about microplastics. 

At some point in all that reading, it dawned on me that I didn’t actually know what microplastic is.  Sure, micro meaning small, and plastic, meaning plastic.  But that’s as deep as my understanding went.

Turns out, there are good reasons for my confusion.  The term “microplastic” is used for everything from shreds of plastic you can see, down to nano-scale bits that you’d need an electron microscope to see.  From the plastic chips left over from recycling, down to aerosol-sized microscopic fibers.  The microplastic in your tap water (fibers, mostly polyester) really isn’t the same stuff as the microplastic in your bottled water (particles, mostly bits of PETE or HDPE plastic).

Let me narrow down my interest to microplastic in my tap water.  Or maybe, microplastic in the air I breathe.

What’s that all about?  What is it, exactly?  How much is there?  Will my water filter remove it?  How about an air filter?  Is it harmful in the concentrations I’m routinely exposed to?

Weirdly, for something that seems to be in the news a lot, I could not find out much in the way of hard facts.  In this post, I at least begin to pin down why I’m not finding answers to those basic questions.

Other than the fact that my Brita water filter promises to remove most of it.  Whatever it is.  I think.

Source:  Brita.com, data for the “elite” filter, not their standard filter.


First stop:  A mother lode of click-bait

The popular press on this issue yields a coherent if superficial story about the environmental danger of microplastic.

It’s invisible.  Municipal tap water, for example, typically contains bits of plastic that are too small to be seen with the naked eye. It is not present in enough density to give the water a cloudy or turbid appearance.  Nor does it affect the smell or taste of the water.

It’s everywhere.  These bits are too small to be filtered out completely by typical municipal water plants.  And once you start looking for it, you can find some amount of microplastic almost everywhere.  Not just tap water, but: Bottled water.  Bottled soda.  Even in things that are bottled in glass bottles.  Animal tissue.  Breast milk.  Rivers.  The oceans.  Fish.  The soil.  The air.  The clouds.

(Ah, yeah, in addition to eating and drinking it, you breathe it in the form of floating dust particles.)

It might be bad for you.  I haven’t yet come across hard evidence one way or the other, at levels seen by the average U.S. resident, but the most common analogy is with asbestos.  Exposure to asbestos fibers is associated with cancer presumably because the fibers were small enough to enter cells and perturb DNA replication.  A lot of microplastic is in the form of fibers, some of which are likely small enough to enter cells.  So this is a plausible if unproven concern.

And that combination makes it hard to sort fact from fiction.  Look at the phrases in red above.  In the internet-driven world, you know what means.  It means that “microplastic” is an ideal and practically inexhaustible source of  click-bait.  Between the people who make their living out of scaring you, and the people make their living out of mindlessly repeating stuff they gathered off the internet, let’s just say that the facts appear thin on the ground.

On top of which, everybody hates on plastic.  Even as we, collectively, use vast amounts of it.  So you’ve got some degree of  axe-grinding dressed as fact-finding, thrown into the mix.

To be clear, I’m not dismissing this as a threat.  This, even though our public health authorities don’t seem to have any handle on it.  But that has happened before (think, leaded gasoline).  Sometimes widespread harm is only understood well after-the-fact.


Three things

Three things make me hesitate before I freak out over microplastic.

Thing 1:  It’s not as if plastic is a new thing.  We’ve been using lots of plastic, for a long time, here in the U.S., and world-wide.  Whatever-it-is that microplastic does to you, chances are that it’s been doing that to you, to a greater or lesser degree, all your life.

Up until COVID, U.S. life expectancy had been increasing consistent with its historical trend.  So whatever it is that plastic in the environment is doing to us, it’s small enough not to perturb that trend.  It doesn’t mean it has no effect, it just strongly suggests that the population-level health effects, at typical exposure rates, are likely small.

There needs to be one major caveat there:  Assuming it isn’t just slowly accumulating.  And we’re only now beginning to reap what we’ve been sowing for the past N decades.  Haven’t stumbled across any evidence suggesting that, so far.

Thing 2:  It’s not as if having harmful material in your air or drinking water is new, either.  For example, Virginia requires that all public water supplies are tested, and that those test results be made public.  So I know there’s lead in my drinking water, but the 90th percentile of water samples in my town showed 1.5 parts per billion, lead.  That’s low enough that I cross it off my list of things to worry about.  (Source: 2022 water quality report testing 2021 water, Town of Vienna).

Thing 3:  This is a newly-recognized potential health hazard, and that means that there are no answers to even the most basic questions.  This really wasn’t on the public-health radar screen a decade ago, near as I can tell.

Suppose, for example, you wanted to see the equivalent of the report shown above, but for the microplastic content of your local tap water.  How much is there, in parts-per-million or parts-per-billion, and does that exceed some safety threshold?   You would discover that:

  • No, they don’t measure it that way (PPM or PPB).
  • No, nobody routinely monitors for it.
  • No, it’s not reported in the State-mandated drinking water reports that my Town must publish.
  • No, there is no accepted safety threshold.
  • No, there’s no hard evidence one way or the other for impact on human health.
    • Yet.

 


Boiling down the basic background.

Believe it or not, I don’t get paid by the word.  So let me just state some key facts that I think I’ve learned, without citation as to sources, then cut to the chase regarding health effects.

  1.  There is no standard definition of microplastic.  You’ll see that used for pieces of plastic that are anything from dime-sized to nano-scale bits (fractions of a micron).  But most research focuses on stuff that’s around the same size as aerosol air pollution, PM 10 (particles 10 microns or smaller) or PM 2.5 (particles 2.5 microns or smaller).   (Recall that a human hair is about 70 microns thick, and that aerosol particles — those that can remain suspended in the air for long times — are conventionally taken as those that are 5 microns and smaller).  The most common cutoffs I’ve seen for “microplastic” are 10 microns or smaller, or 1 micron or smaller.
  2. There are no quantitative measures of it similar to “parts per million” for drinking water.  Instead, for liquids, they run the liquid through a fine filter and count whatever gets caught.  So the most common measure of quantity is “counts per liter”, as in, the count of microplastic bits found, per liter of water poured through the filter.  Big bits, small bits, chunks, fibers — it’s all the same in that measure.
  3. It takes sophisticated equipment to determine how much plastic and what type of plastic is there.  Infrared spectroscopy, for most studies that I’ve seen.  Different types of plastic have unique infrared “signatures”.  Typically, certain distinct strong peaks in IR reflection or absorption are associated with specific common plastics.  At root, it’s the same process that your plastics recycler uses to sort plastic.  And the amounts in question are small enough that careful studies need to net out the residual or background amount of microplastic that’s found on everything, including everything in the labs that test for this stuff.
  4. In water, it’s mostly fibers.  And those fibers are mostly polyester.  But that’s not because polyester is uniquely bad among synthetic fibers.  In fact, acrylic cloth and yarn shed microplastic fibers at a much higher rate than polyester.  But polyester shows up as the main contributor because we use so much of it.
  5. The presumption is that this mostly enters the waterways from laundry effluent, but it may enter via deposition from the air as well.  Clothing sheds fiber as it is washed and dried, and it sheds as you wear it.  Plausibly, wearing it generates a much larger volume of shed fiber than washing it.  Some of that fiber remains suspended as dust in the air, which eventually settles and is then deposited in waterways via runoff.
  6. Typical municipal water processing removes most but not all of it.  Of what I recall, raw water might typically have on order of 200 CPL (counts per liter) of microplastic, and the finished water might have on order of 5 CPL.
  7. You also get little chunks of plastic that are not fibers.  Those also count, and my reading is that when you hear about microplastic in bottled water, for example, that’s what you’re hearing about. It’s not even clear that anybody knows where that comes from, but the presumption is that these are residues of some factory production process.
  8. There’s enough of this in the environment that labs have to net out their background level of microplastic when they test for it.   Just as they would have to do if (e.g.) measuring radiation, because every place on earth is slightly radioactive.  The readings you see in most studies are not the “raw” counts, they are the counts from the samples tested, less the counts found on control samples, presumably reflecting the background level in the lab doing the counting. Any human-occupied environment — laboratory, factory, office, whatnot — is going to have some ambient level of microplastic fibers, as long as the people in it are wearing clothes, and those clothes contain synthetic fibers.
  9. Most of it passes right through you.  At least, the larger fibers do.  That’s my takeaway from studies of fish that are fed materials containing microplastic fiber.  Mostly it just passes right through them.
  10. But some does not.  The concern centers around the tiniest fibers (fractions-of-a-micron), that are presumably small enough to pass through the gut, into the blood stream, and then into your tissues.
  11. I did not find research on what mechanisms the body has for breaking down or otherwise removing microplastic that make it past the gut/lungs.  So once you’ve absorbed some of this stuff, I have no clue how (or even, whether) you get rid of it.  That said, research seems to indicate that nylon fibers, in particular, produce some toxic byproducts when they break down in the body.
  12. Jury remains out on whether or not microplastic cause significant harm to humans.  At typical environmental concentrations.  In a dust-filled factory, you bet that synthetic fiber dust causes lung injury.  My take on it is that there’s almost literally no credible research on the likely level of harm at typical environmental concentrations of microplastic, because this has only recently (past decade or so) come to the attention of public health authorities.

A few observations.

First, taken as a whole, this likely explains why nobody routinely tests tap water for it. There’s no standard definition of it.  There’s no hard evidence of human harm, let alone some agreed-upon maximum threshold for safety.  It takes specialized equipment and techniques to measure.  And there’s a good chance of contamination from the testing lab.

Second, there’s some obvious potential for mischief in reporting the presence of microplastic in (fill-in-the-blank), in that this stuff is everywhere.  That is, there’s going to be a background level of microplastic in any testing lab.  If you don’t net that out, you’ve got the potential to report finding microplastic in pretty much anything you care to test.


Where to start:  Is there a synthetic-fiber analog of brown lung?  Answer:  Yes.

That is, do factory workers get sick from breathing in high levels of synthetic fibers?

Historically, workers in cotton mills suffered from a high incidence of brown lung.  This was the result of chronic exposure to high levels cotton dust, or to the dust of other organic fibers (jute, hemp, and so on.)

Is there anything to suggest that the same thing happens with chronic exposure to high levels of fragments of synthetic fibers?

Short answer: Yes, starting with Flock Workers Lung (.pdf)This was recognized around the year 2000, in workers in Massachusetts plants that produced nylon flocking for use in producing velour-type fabrics.  In those plants, long nylon fibers were chopped into short lengths.  Inhaling airborne nylon fiber fragments led to inflammation, reduced lung function, and asthsma-like symptoms.

Whether polyester fiber fragments increase risk of lung cancer in factory workers is still an open question.  One study of a quarter-million female textile workers in Shanhai, China found no association between synthetic fiber exposure and cancer (reference).  By contrast, a study of one large industrial plant in France found that greater exposure to fiber dust was associated with increased risk of developing lung cancer (reference), but the dust was from a mix of fibers, including asbestos.

The upshot of this is that heavy exposure to large amounts of airborne synthetic fibers can mess up your lungs fairly badly.  This is definitely true for nylon, and may be true for other synthetic fibers.  (Several studies suggest to me that nylon fibers are particularly noxious, for reasons that appear related to what they release as they break down.)

This should come as no surprise, as chronic exposure to large amounts of almost any type of dust causes lung problems.  Sometimes the diseases have names, such as black lung for coal dust, mesothelioma for asbestos, siliconiosis (sp?) for silicon dust, and so on.  Sometimes, fiber will damage the lungs, but there is no specific name, for example, damage caused by breathing wood dust in a woodworking environment.  Name a dust, and an excess probably causes problems.  Toner?  Yep.  Fiberglass?  Yep.  And so on.


Is there any epidemiological evidence for the effect of lower levels of exposure?

No.   Not that I found. 

First, it’s a good bet that most people will have some microplastic in their lungs.  One small study in London (reference), using lung tissue samples that had been removed from people for various reasons.  It looks like they found a small number of microplastic particles in every sample they tested, although the number was not hugely higher than the background rate in the test lab.  By contrast, another study (reference) found 24 microplastic fibers total, in a sample of about 100 bits of lung tissue, but those fibers were more likely to be found in tumors than in normal lung tissue.

But in terms of linking population-level exposure to disease rate, I haven’t seen much.  And the studies of factory workers suggest why.  Where there appears to be an association between synthetic fiber exposure and cancer, say, we’re talking about modest increases (50% higher risk) for relatively rare cancers.  If the massive exposure you’d get from working in a textile mill has only a modest impact, you may not be able to see much impact from the vastly lower exposure of the general population.

That said, there are some hints.  There was a nice in-vitro study where polyester fibers inhibited the healing of lung “organoids”.  And one of the studies of lung tissue found that plastic fibers were more likely to be found in lung tumors than in healthy lung tissue.


Addendum:  Water filtration versus air filtration.

This is just a note-to-self that I now need to look up how water filtration works.

With COVID, I got up to speed on how air filters and N95 masks filter out aerosols. It’s not at all obvious, and it’s nothing like passing material through a fine-mesh filter.

For example, the hardest particle to capture is about 0.3 microns.  That’s why N95 masks are rated as producing a 95% reduction in 0.3 micron particles.  They actually produce a greater reduction in particles both larger and smaller than 0.3 microns.

I’m pretty sure that water filtration cannot possibly work the same way.  For example, 3M Filtrete material takes advantage of Brownian motion of particles in the air, in order to bring the most difficult-to-capture particles (0.3 micron) into contact with the electrostatically-charged filter material.  Well, that’s not going to work in a dense fluid like water.  Brownian motion won’t move particles far enough.

But I just plain don’t know.  For example, the Brita filter at the start of this posting is rated for capturing particles in the 0.5 to 1.0 micron (micrometer) range.  Is this like an air filter, so I can be assured that it captures even higher percentages of particles larger and smaller than that?  Or does that mean it simply doesn’t capture particles below 0.5 microns?

I just have a hunch that if you poured water through an N95 mask, it wouldn’t filter the water.  But I need to get up to speed on the basic science.

 

Post G24-002, Addendum: Chitstistix, a power test.

 

Do I have sufficient statistical power to test the effect of potato chitting, in my back-yard garden?  Or is it laughable to think I might be able to learn anything whatsoever about the effect of chitting, from a single small-scale potato planting?

The upshot is in red below.  Chitting has to make quite a bit of difference, in order for it to show up in this small sample. Continue reading Post G24-002, Addendum: Chitstistix, a power test.

Post G24-003: Ginger and turmeric, edible house plants.

 

Above you see the start of some ginger and turmeric plants.  These are just a few ounces of off-the-shelf organic ginger and turmeric roots, from the grocery store, cut/broken into pieces, soaked for a bit, pressed into some damp potting mix, covered with more potting mix, then left on a 20-watt seed starting heat mat to sprout.

I ought to start seeing green sprouts emerge in a week or two.

I admit, these were an impulse item.  I was at the grocery store, getting some potatoes (for chitting) and sweet potatoes (to get going, for slips for planting), and I noticed the ginger root.  I’ve heard that it can be grown in my area (hardiness zone 7).  So I picked some up.  And if I’m doing ginger, I might as well do turmeric, as they are close relatives and have similar growing requirements.

My advice:  Before you start these plants, start with a little math.  My growing season is maybe 6 months long.  (The Old Farmer’s Almanac lists my growing season as 186 days (reference).  Most sources say that ginger requires a 10-month growing season.  So, one way or the other, absent a greenhouse, these are going to be houseplants for about four months. One way or the other. Before I can plant them out in the garden.

I haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to manage that.  But rumor has it that these will sprout in their own good time, so it’ll be a matter of some weeks before I’ll need to start dealing with that.  If they sprout at all.

I mean, how hard can it be, right? Plus, all that delicious turmeric ale.


Addendum:  Sweet potatoes

Finishing off my root/tuber/rhizome starts are my sweet potatoes.

I have sung the praises of the lowly sweet potato elsewhere (Post G23-065).  It’s food that can look after itself.  Once you get them started, you prune them to keep them from taking over. And dig up some food at the end of the season.

The only hard part is coaxing a handful of sweet potatoes to sprout, so that you can plant the sprouts.  And even that isn’t hard, it just seems to take forever.  Plop a few sweet potatoes into a box full of potting soil, keep it warm and moist, and wait.  And wait.  And wait.

So I start my sweet potatoes now — around Groundhog Day.  Which seems ridiculous, given that they really don’t want to go out into the garden before May 1 or so, at the earliest.  But it really does seem to take them months, every year, to begin producing slips.  So in they go.

Aside from remembering to water them every once in a while, this is zero effort.  You just have to remember to do it early enough, every year.

 

Post G24-002: The straight chit on growing potatoes.

 

This post is a classic example of why nobody consults this blog for gardening advice.

If you are a back-yard gardener, and are considering whether or not to grow potatoes, you want advice.   Directions.  You want somebody to say do this, do that.  Follow this approach and success is guaranteed.

But much internet-based advice for the home gardener is folklore.  Frequently repeated, never tested.  Certainly not tested by the folks who repeat it.  Such folklore is sometimes helpful, sometimes merely harmless, and sometimes dead wrong.

What I’m supposed to say in this post is something like “it’s time to chit potatoes now, before you plant them”.  That is, get them to break dormancy and sprout first, then plant the sprouted potatoes.  And then I’m supposed to explain how I go about doing that.

As if I were somehow privy to the innermost secrets of potato-chitting.

What I’m actually going to tell you is this:

  1. The evidence in favor of chitting potatoes is ambiguous.
  2. The recommended procedure for chitting potatoes is all over the map.
  3. Professional potato farms don’t chit their potatoes.

This year, I’m going to set up a little experiment to test the impact that chitting has, for my potatoes, here in Northern Virginia Zone 7.

But in this post, I’ll first explain how I go about growing potatoes in my back-yard garden.  I ignore almost all the rules on proper potato etiquette.  So it’s not clear what my advice is worth, anyway.  But unlike your average garden blogger, I’m up-front about that.

Free advice is worth what you pay for it.


Here’s what I do

Even though potatoes are cheap, I grow them for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it’s easy and effective.

Deer won’t eat them.  Neither, so far, will the bugs.  In a good year, they produce a lot of calories per square foot.  Within reason, you can harvest them whenever you’re ready.  They keep well.  They taste better than grocery-store potatoes.  And around here, they’re done by mid-summer, and you can double-crop with beans or some other short-season crop.  Last year, I planted late-season corn after my potatoes were done.

I start by buying organic potatoes from the grocery store.  Organic, to avoid buying potatoes sprayed with a potent sprouting inhibitor (Post G22-004).   From the grocery store, because I’m cheap, and it’s convenient, and so far, it works just fine.

There are some downsides to this.  You have no clue what your varieties are.  This year, mine are “red” and “gold”, per the picture above.  If you live in the South, don’t bother with russets, as they take too long to mature for this climate (Post #G23-035).  Other than knowing to avoid those, you have no idea if your grocery-store potatoes are early-season, mid-season, or main-season potatoes.  (In the South, you would like to avoid long-season (main-season) potatoes, because potatoes don’t like Southern summer heat.)  If you get a particularly good or bad crop, you can’t replicate the variety.  And so on.  Not to mention, no guarantee they are virus-free. 

OTOH, given that I can typically get potatoes at the grocery store for around 80 cents a pound, as the price of seed potatoes, with shipping, approaches $10/pound, if you do this “right”, you have to have a pretty good yield, just to get your money back.  It’s just a lot less stress to pick up a bag or two at the grocery store, than to obsess over which variety of ludicrously expensive seed potatoes to order.

 I chit them near a window, at room temperature, starting on or about Groundhog Day.   Just set them out, on a tray, and watch for sprouts to start. It’s less than totally decorative, but it’s close to no effort.  This in USDA Zone 7, so adjust accordingly for your climate.  This is roughly 10 weeks before the expected spring last frost date in this area.

See last section for discussion of chitting.

I plant on St. Patrick’s day, after cutting them into chunks the day before.  St. Patrick’s, because I can remember the date.  And because that’s about four weeks before our expected last frost date in the spring.  Planted in the cold of March 17, it takes about a month for the shoots to emerge from the ground, so that, ideally, you’ll see those potato shoots just after danger of frost has passed.

Dig a little trench 4″ or so deep, chuck in the potatoes, cover them up, toss a little mulch on top.  I aim for about a 1′ to 1.5′ spacing in all directions.  Conventional wisdom says that if you plant them further apart, you’ll get fewer, larger potatoes.  Makes sense, but I can’t say that I’ve tested that.  You’re also supposed to “hill” them after they have grown a bit — just mound up a little more dirt onto the potato stems.  Apparently the entire point of hilling is merely to keep the sun off the potatotes, so they do not form poisonous solanine (see Post G23-065, on why green potatoes can kill you, but green tomatoes won’t).  Anything sufficiently opaque — dirt or mulch — will do.

That long time lag between planting and sprouting is a good reason to chit.  If, somehow, your seed potatoes aren’t going to sprout, if you don’t chit, you’ll only find out about it a month or so after you planted them.  Eventually — call it six weeks later — it will dawn on you that you aren’t seeing any potato sprouts, and you need to re-plant.  Which, in the South, means you’ll end up trying to finish off your potatoes in the heat of summer, which is a bad idea.

I plant them in dirt.  I’ve tried no-dig potatoes using straw (worked great, but straw bales are too expensive in my area, Post #1073), and no-dig potatoes using leaf mulch (dismal failure, but hey, the leaf mulch is free in my area, Post G23-041).   Separately, for a variety of reasons, I’m not going to grow potatoes in containers.  So dirt it is.

Why mess around with no-dig potatoes?  Clay soil.  Potatoes don’t like the heavy clay soils in my area, so it takes a huge amount of soil amendments (or bringing in topsoil, which I did for my raised beds) to get dirt that potatoes will grow well in.  If you have clay soil, and want to try potatoes, do-dig is a lot less effort.  In addition, you can use a year of no-dig to convert some lawn to garden bed, if you bury it deeply enough in mulch.  Either way, in the right circumstances, no-dig is a way to reduce the total effort involved.  (Also, the potatoes come out nice and clean.) 

Why did no-dig potatoes in leaf mulch fail miserably, but no-dig potatoes in clean straw were a success?  In hindsight, I think that it allowed the potato tubers to get too hot.  I have since seen one excellent gardener (Self-Sufficient Me, on YouTube have a near-identical potato failure using no-dig in leaf mulch.  Upon reflection, I think that the dark, compacted leaf mulch, in full sun, allows the potato tubers to get too hot, leading to few potatoes set, small potatoes, and knobby potatoes.  Potatoes really do not like heat.  If I do no-digs again, I’ll keep the soil temperature in mind, and either use deep, light-colored mulch, or set up a shade cloth over them.

Separately, regarding fertilizing potatoes, I dump enough leaves on the garden each year that I don’t have to worry about adequate soil nutrients such as nitrogen.  But potatoes, in particular, are supposed to benefit from adequate potassium in the soil.  It’s good for their skins.  (And, correspondingly, potatoes in the skin are a high-potassium food.)  It’s easy enough to test your soil for potassium with one of those $10 soil test kits from the hardware store, and if lacking, to spread minute amounts of potassium chemical fertilizers before you plant a potato bed.

Weed and water them, just like any other plant in the garden.

I pull off the flowers as they form.  This, because the internet tells me to do so.  This process aligns the potato plant’s chakras or something.  I have no clue whether it makes any difference or not.  Just FYI, potatoes have pretty white flowers.

I harvest them when the tops die back.  Or I want the garden space for something else.  Once they start laying lying down and looking straggly, that’s a good sign that they are done for the year, and can be dug up at my convenience.

Note, however, that potatoes do not like heat.  In a warm-summer climate like Virginia, those tops are going to die back sometime around mid-July, no matter whether the tubers underground are finished or not.  If I could pick my varieties, I’d grow early-season (short-season) potatoes.  But given that I grow mine from grocery-store potatoes, … whatever happens, happens.

If I’m lucky, I’ll come in at the low end of the yields posted above.  Not sure if it’s the climate, the soil, the gardener, or the lack of care.  Just be aware that a lot of the miracle yield claims you’ll see on the internet are complete, total, and intentionally misleading bullshit.  When in doubt, check with your local extension service to see what you can reasonably expect in your area.


Addendum:  This year, a small controlled trial of chitting.

Why chit?  Conventional wisdom says this will lengthen your growing season by perhaps a week or two (reference, University of Utah).  I.e., put you a week or two head of the game, compared to planting without chitting.  In the South, that’s a good thing, as potatoes don’t like heat, and they are going to die off in the heat of mid-summer, ready or not.  Plausibly, you’ll get an extra week of growth before the heat kills off your potatoes, and that should translate into higher yield.

But, as with so much advice for the home gardener, everybody repeats this, and seemingly nobody tests it.  There’s surprisingly little hard evidence on the benefits of chitting potatoes, and what evidence there is is mixed (per the Guardian newspaper).

If you search the internet, you’ll see disagreement on almost every aspect of chitting.  The only thing I’m sure of is that it’s optional, because commercial growers don’t chit them.  But seemingly experienced gardeners disagree on:

  • Whether chitting makes any difference in yield, and if so, how much.
  • Whether it makes more difference to early-season (short-time-to-harvest) or main-season (long-time-to-harvest) potatoes.
  • Whether the potatoes should be kept cold or allowed to warm when being chitted.
  • Whether chitting should be done in the light, or in the dark.
  • Whether bags of commercial seed potatoes will “chit themselves”, that is, grow long fragile sprouts regardless (so that bringing them into the light, to produce short green sprouts, is preferred).

As a one-time professional user of vague, observational data, to me, this signals that the benefits of chitting, if any, are probably modest.  If chitting had some huge benefit, people would have noticed.

In fact, I’d say there’s a case to be made that “chitting” was invented as a way to control the inevitable sprouting of potatoes in some climates, absent climate-controlled spaces.  You’d bring your potatoes out of the root cellar, into the light, to green up the sprouts and control the rate of sprouting, so that they’d still be viable when planting time finally came around.

So this year, I’m going do to a little experiment. I’m taking half of each bag of potatoes, pictured above, and chitting them.  And leaving the other half in the fridge for the next six weeks.  This, now done, via the classic one-potato, two-potato randomization.

I then weighed the two randomly-assigned samples, and used a coin flip to determine which was to be chitted, and which was to be stored cold for the next six weeks.

I’ll be planting the chitted and un-chitted spuds, in more-or-less similar plots, on St. Patrick’s day this year.  I’ll track their progress and, absent catastrophe, will weigh the final yield sometime mid-summer.

I realize there’s a lot of potential for random variation in this, despite my best effort to draw from the same batch of potatoes, randomize, and then plant as nearly identically as possible.  I nevertheless think this can be informative.  If, at the end of the season, I can barely tell the difference between the chitted and unchitted spuds, then I think that’s a pretty good clue that chitting has a relatively modest impact on yields.  At least, in my climate, my garden, with my spuds, this year.

So, the null hypothesis is that chitting makes no difference.  I’ll see if I can plausibly reject that.  Expect results sometime around the 4th of July.

 

Post #1940: Dark Groundhog Day.

 

With this latest round of our retaliation, for their retaliation, against our ships, in response to the war, in a completely different country, that resulted from the terrorist action, that arose from pre-existing treatment, that is the residual of long-standing conflict … I’m just having a hard time keeping the basic details straight.

I guess what finally set me off is that I have no clue who the Houthis are, why they hate us, and so on.  And after reading up on it, and honestly trying to grasp what the deal was, all I could think was, it just doesn’t matter.  You could basically do the entire Middle East as a Mad Libs, and it would make just as much sense.  And, apparently, even serious scholars sometimes despair that US Middle East policy is just one big, long Mad Libs (e.g., reference).

The current situation is unexceptional.  It’s just the way the world works.

Source:  Vox, 600 Year of War and Peace, by Zack Beauchamp.  Note that deaths is on a log scale on this chart, which flattens the peaks quite a bit.

Source:  Our World in Data, War and Peace, by Bastian Herre, Lucas Rodés-Guirao, Max Roser, Joe Hasell and Bobbie Macdonald

Source:  Our World in Data.

Post #1939: We’re now past the winter peak of COVID.

 

Just thought you might want to know.  Because nobody ever bothers to tell you when the news is reasonable, normal, and good.

Per CDC, US weekly new hospitalizations with COVID, for the U.S.:

The timing of the wintertime peaks (the black lines above) in COVID is extremely regular.  All four of those winter peaks are January 1, plus or minus a week or so.

This is both surprising and unsurprising.

It’s surprising in that the winter peak of COVID is far more regular than the similar winter peak in flu hospitalizations.  The peak of winter flu hospitalizations varies quite a bit from year to year.

Source:  CDC flu data.

But if you think about it, it’s not all that surprising.  Flu often has quite a different season from year to year, based on a new mix of strains being prevalent each year, and based on spread from epicenters of infection.  COVID, by contrast, is pretty much the same year after year now, and it’s everywhere.

It’s also unsurprising in that these hospitalizations are almost entirely for the elderly, and hospitalization rates for the elderly, for respiratory infections, peak mid-winter every year.  So that’s going to reinforce any tendency for COVID to peak at mid-winter.

That said, Virginia still tracks lab-determined cases, and the Virginia case-count data show the exactly same winter regularity as the U.S. data.  This, from the Virginia Department of Health:

The peaks are again January 1 of each year, plus or minus a week or so.  So it’s not merely a regularity of hospitalizations for the elderly.

Finally, I was tempted to try to make something out of the other apparently regular peaks on that CDC graph, the ones circled below:

But those are a mish-mosh.  The first one is due to a new strain — delta ? – that was then suppressed by vaccines (and replaced by Omicron).  The second one is more-or-less mid-summer, and so predates return-to-school for that year.  The third peak is in early September.  There’s really nothing to link them that I can see.

Post #1938: Psychrophilic bacteria for winter composting, total failure

 

This is a quick followup to post #1921, where I dumped some winter pond maintenance bacteria into one side of my tumbling composter, to see what would happen.  The question was whether or not that would keep my composter working in the cold of winter.

Now, one month later, the short answer is, not.  There is no detectable difference in the level of (un-decomposed) compost, between the treated and un-treated sides.

The upshot is that the only way I’m going to be able to keep that composter working throughout the winter is to heat it.  A little passive-solar-heated shed didn’t do the trick.  These cold-loving bacteria didn’t do the trick.  And having an electrically-heated outdoor composter is a total non-starter, for me.

At this point, I give up.  I just won’t compost kitchen scraps over the winter.