Artichokes: Definition of Insanity?

According to popular belief, the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."  I am not sure if the person who first said this (the quote is sometimes mistakenly attributed to Albert Einstein) ever attempted to grow artichokes in western North Carolina, but I am afraid I may be a bit insane when it comes to my efforts to grow that vegetable.  Technically, the edible part of the artichoke plant is a flower bud, but after attempting to grow artichokes for the past four years, none of my plants has ever reached a mature state, let alone developed a bud.

One of two artichoke varieties I attempted this year

In 2011, I ordered heirloom artichoke seeds and started them indoors in early January.  After a few weeks, the first fat sprouts emerged and I eagerly looked forward to steaming their offspring, perhaps enjoying them with some butter, lemon juice and capers.  After the danger of frost passed, I transplanted the seedlings to the herb bed at my home, where I could keep an eye on their progress.  By late spring, all the plants were dead.  With typical gardener's spirit, I thought, There's always next year!

A tray of artichoke seedlings

I read everything I could find about growing artichokes.  For 2012, I prepared a soil mix with a good bit of sand and compost and transplanted my seedlings to the farm.  Nestled at the top of a small creek bank, I mulched them and placed wire cages around the small plants to protect them from marauding groundhogs, eating machines that will eat everything in sight, if not discouraged from doing so.  Although that summer's growing season was ideal for many crops and I picked more tomatoes than most humans can imagine, by mid-June, the artichokes were gone.  No stalks, no buds, their season was a bust.  

I redoubled my efforts for 2013.  Again, the seeds germinated well and I transplanted seedlings to larger containers, giving them more time to develop before moving them to their (hopefully) permanent home.  After all, artichokes are supposed to be perennial plants, if properly mulched in the fall and protected from harsh winter climates.  I guess you have heard the popular definition of "perennial," also, right?  "A plant that, had it lived, would have bloomed for several years."  When I lost every artichoke plant in 2013, probably due to that summer's overabundance of rain, I still did not despair.

On January 14, 2014, I placed thirty-six artichoke seeds, from two varieties, in small greenhouse trays.  On February 20th, I transplanted twenty-six, seemingly healthy, seedlings into larger pots.  For a time, all plants seemed to grow bigger and more leaves developed.  Inwardly, I cheered.  To encourage them to produce the first year, I placed them outside during cool, but not freezing nights.  This process, called "vernalization," is supposed to "trick" the artichoke into thinking it has gone through a winter so it will produce buds when temperatures warm.  One by one, even with the right amount of water, sunlight, temperatures and even kind, encouraging words, the plants began to wither and die.  Today, a single artichoke plant is living and although I am hopeful it will be THE ONE that lives, I am not confident.  Last week, I stuck a few seeds directly into the ground, in hopes they might germinate and choose to thrive where they are planted. 

The last remaining seedling of 2014

My friend, Cindy, who grew up surrounded by artichokes in her California home, told me about a man who lived in the Charlotte area a few years ago.  Apparently, this man was able to grow mature artichokes and had even saved seeds that had adapted to our climate.  What a hero of a gardener!  If anyone knows this person or anyone else who can successfully grow artichokes in North Carolina, please contact me.  I would love to know what I am doing wrong.

Meanwhile, if encouraging words can keep the last artichoke alive, this one just might live.  Otherwise, I am afraid I will have to face the fact that I just might be a bit insane . . .