Growing Things

Time for change

2011-09-20T17:56:00.000-07:00

I am so ready for change...

It's time. It's time to look ahead, to create my own future, authentically, with commitment. To let go of what was for what can be. "Once one is committed..."

Gardening, the initial focus of this blog, is something I feel spiritually connected to but don't currently have the physical capacity for. Other priorities have taken hold.

I still have a community garden in my yard, and I am so grateful for those who garden here, and the friends I've made because of it. I love the garden. Being in a garden - this garden - connects me with so much of who I am. Leaving it may be one of the hardest things I'll ever do. But honestly, it's bittersweet, and I'm ready to leave all the history and memories behind. And, beyond its beauty, it's more work that I can manage - even with help. Perhaps its fertile soil can seed something new and wonderful. Ideally, it'll hold its place in the urban agriculture movement.

I love my community, but I'm ready to leave the wet northwest. The city and the neighborhood where I grew up have changed exponentially, as has my second home of Vancouver, and I don't love what any of these once magical places has become. And while there are countless memorable moments - family, friends, sweet pets, neighbors long gone... there are also painful memories - throughout childhood, my teens, and adulthood - that I'm still reminded of as I go from place to place. I'd rather have the fond memories and leave the painful ones in place.

I'm ready to let go of much of my work. I've been working in this field in some capacity or other since my late 20s. I'm now closing in on 50, and still, my career is unsatisfying and unrewarding, and to quote a friend, I've never really had 'traction.' I'm frustrated by the limited professional growth, the corporate structure, being a cog in a wheel, creativity constrained, here to implement and follow protocol. I've yet to find "my place." I now have a much better idea why this has been my experience. So it feels like it's time to let go and try something different.

And I'm finally ready to leave my home. While I feel spiritually connected to the garden, my house will be difficult and complicated for other reasons. I co-own it with my uncle, so I'd like it to be a shared decision. It's also been both my "safe place," and my shackle. It's one of the few constants in my life - always here, a place I could always come "home" to. So many who visit say how wonderful it is, and in many ways, they're right. But it's time to let go. My mother called it a ball and chain. In many ways, she was also right. She said I'd have pictures and memories.

Living here keeps me from fully living the life I want to live. I didn't want to come back to Seattle, and didn't think I would. I never thought I'd live in this house again, and here I am. There's so much of the world to see and experience, and in my deepest core, I feel compelled to see, do, experience, learn, and ultimately, contribute more. In many ways, I feel like a part of me continues to live someone else's life as long as I'm here, under their rules and beliefs, and the stories I created as a result. I'm grateful to this place - my home. But it's time to let go and and live fully on my terms, risks and all, with what I believe to be true for me, and new interpretations. I made my choices, and I own them, but now I know that many were based on incorrect information and assumptions.

These changes won't happen quickly; I have time to make some peace with the parts that will be most difficult, but I know a shift has taken place.

We've also lost one more kitty... We lost Photon earlier this month - so it feels like there are now fewer reasons to stay. Even Nightmare seems different somehow - lonely, discontent. We're talking about taking him out on the boat to try and get him to be a boat kitty so he can come with us when we're out. I hope it works. I hate leaving here without him - even to go to work. He likes to fly - perhaps he'll like to sail...

All this insight - after nearly two years of therapy! Change is coming, and it's good. We've now outlined a plan. It's mostly still a secret... (and no, I'm not worried since no one reads this and I'm really just writing here for me, for now)... putting this out there, really, for the universe and anyone who stumbles on it to see and know; it's a statement of my intention so there can be no doubts. When the time is right, I'll share this with those who need to know.

I don't yet have the timing for any of this, but I know it must be. I will miss so much, but there is also much to look forward to. An indefinite sailing trip is imminent. Eager now, to make it happen sooner. Life is short, and it's feeling more urgent.

May 25... and few signs of spring

2011-05-25T14:31:00.000-07:00

It's May 25, just a few days before the Memorial Day weekend, and we've had about five days of spring since it began in March. The Memorial Day weekend is typically unpredictable and often, the weather is lousy (having worked a couple of weather-dependent Folklife festivals), but we usually have more sunny days leading up to the long weekend.

I've heard it's not supposed to be nice until July. Really? My garden is suffering, but my weeds and unwanted grass are happily growing and spreading. Plants and flowers that typically bloom earlier are about a month behind. I'm still wearing my down coat, and I've had the heat on in my car. This is not normal, even for gray, drizzly Seattle.

One of the new gardeners, Marion, got an early start, planting all things weather-resistent, and his garden is lush and beautiful, already offering up greens for salads. The rest of us are fair-weathered and have little to show so far.

It's in the 90s in Savannah. I'm here why???

Nothing says local like...

2011-04-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

... Portlandia. Eating out? Ordering chicken? Watch this episode to see just how far - well, relatively speaking - you can go when it comes to local.

"Garden as if your life depended on it"

2011-03-31T20:56:00.001-07:00

I've read this line a number of times recently (but of course I can only find one of the many articles I've noticed). Point being, urban agriculture may play a bigger role in our futures, so doing what we can now, even with our small gardens, is a pretty good step in the right direction. Here's the one article I was able to find.

Garden as if your life depended on it - CounterCurrents, 3/30/11

Gardening season!

2011-03-02T14:09:00.000-08:00

Garden season is here. Seed catalogs dropped into the mailbox in January. Inquiries about garden space landed in my inbox in February. The Early Spring Edible Plant Sale is coming up on March 19.

Our first new gardener, Marion, is an enthusiastic one; he's prepped the bed, and already has some seeds and plants in the ground. Our recent freeze doesn't bode well for the pre-planted seeds, but the starts look pretty good. Although a colleague at work said she's already planted peas and carrots - hearty crops that should survive a freeze or two. Clearly, I don't really know much about gardening...

Joining us this year are Marion, Rebecca, and Ross. Jen, Andy, and Yukko are back again (as is Shiv, of course), along with possibly a friend of Andy & Yukko. It's looking like a full crew. In addition to each of the individual plots, we'll have more shared space this year.

In February, we had Forrest's compadre Ascension do some prep work around the yard and in some of the side beds, cleaning out weeds, grass, and other unwanted growth. The berries and herbs now have room to breathe and spread - and hopefully we'll have weather this year to support a lush crop. After the endless, cold winter, I'm ready. Shiv has expanded, yet again; he has cut back and cleared the north hillside under the lilac and rose bushes, and continues his rows a bit up the eastern hillside.

Stay tuned for pictures and stories as we get our unofficial community garden underway for a third season!

At the root

2011-01-25T13:25:00.000-08:00

It was 2008 when things really started to unravel, although it wasn't immediately apparent. And no, life wasn't always peachy before that, but it was rolling along well enough that any underlying instability wasn't particularly noticable.

In 2009, the earth moved and my life turned upside down in ways I never would have imagined. So in 2010, I dug deep and at last discovered the root of all that shaped me and got me to where I am.

I may not have taken this route had I an inkling of the pock-filled road ahead. But I had to. What was initially forced upon me became a deliberate process of self-discovery. The past, now blown to bits; what was wouldn't ever be again.

To reach that root, layer-upon-unknown layer had to be stripped away, one painful striation at a time. Gradually, all the heartache, the fear, the winter dive into despair, morphed into awareness, understanding, new tools and perspective, and finally, a healthy vulnerability, compassion, and a new way to be in the world.

Tending to what I've unearthed will be a lifelong process. But the knowing makes it possible to move beyond long-entrenched limits, and create my life on my terms - what I want, what I need, not on familial obligations, debilitating beliefs, or other life-squelching perceptions.

I'm not dramatic by nature, but it's been a dramatic process. I have much to be thankful for - many memorable moments and life experiences. I have lived fully, in large part, but I see many places where I've been stopped, or as one friend put it, "couldn't get traction." I'm not lamenting; I can see where divine guidance has intervened at key points and pushed me along this path, both for better and worse; it's all part of what I now recognize as my "soul work" so I could get to the place I am now.

But I can't help notice the missed leverage points, where something could have changed. The question begs: would I still be right where I am at this point in time? Could I have got here sooner, less painfully? Of course there's no real answer, but I'm coming to believe we land here intentionally to learn something specific, pre-designed, in some way. This is a new leverage point, and I can now choose to move through my life in a very different way.

2011 promises to be another year of growth and change, but this time, consciously self-directed and happily embraced. This year, I give credence to my dreams, listen to my internal self, believe the universe supports my needs and desires, and create from a part of me that wasn't previously available.

Big changes are imminent. To the house, the garden, and my life in so many ways. And yes, with my partner, sailing on parallel paths (cultivating parallel plots?), new tools in hand - for ourselves and each other. It's a new adventure, with a whole lot to look forward to. I expect challenges, and I know practice will take mindful effort because I'm still learning, but I am much more equipped to take them on. I'm ready.

Living and dying: A tribute to Motormouth

2010-12-26T15:08:00.000-08:00

Motormouth took his last breath just before 6 a.m. on Friday, December 24 - Christmas Eve day. He hadn't been sick long, and we thought he'd be with us for a long time to come. Just before Thanksgiving, he was diagnosed with renal failure, but he responded well to hydration treatments and a daily pill (followed by his favorite treats).

Then this last week it all changed. He ate a little on Monday night, but on Tuesday, he stopped eating. Several vet trips still suggested he'd be fine with some additional - and fairly minor - treatment. But as I left work on Thursday afternoon for Christmas holidays, Forrest called to say he'd just talked with Dr. Mentzer, that Motor's body was failing, and we had a decision to make. We went straight to the vet and brought Motor home to die. We kept him comfortable, warmed with a heating pad, pain meds to numb, at our feet in a basket full of blankets. I so wanted to snuggle him again, but by then he was too uncomfortable. On Thursday morning, something told me to bring him into bed with us, that this could be his last morning, so I collected him from under a table where he'd begun to hide, and I brought him into bed to snuggle in between us.

That night, we brought blankets and pillows and slept on the floor of the back room, the warmest room in this drafty house, so we could be with him every minute. We set the alarm to make sure he had pain meds before the last wore off.

We buried him deep in the ground later that morning, in the backyard near a place he loved to sit and keep watch. As hard as it was to see his lifeless body, it leaves no questions.

Sweet Motor kitty loved his sunbeams, the back yard, laps, tormenting neighborhood cats and dogs, laps, right shoulders, treats and catnip, dinner time, laps, and his pal Photon. I don't think he ever met a lap he didn't like. He wore a studded black leather collar for most of his kitty life, from which dangled a big red heart-shaped ID tag, hinting at his dual personality - lover and fighter. We're pretty sure he and Nightmare, as well as neighbor cat Buster, had devised some kind of power-sharing agreement, and only pretended to not get along when we were nearby. But when he was mad, he didn't mess around. He had some killer teeth and deadly claws.

I think he also found some kitty pride or maybe humor in being a tough guy. He was known for chasing dogs, and rumor has it that even big dogs (with their owners) would cross the street if Motor was perched near the sidewalk.

Nearly every night we lived together, he'd snuggle next to me at bedtime and all through the night. He'd lay his sweet head on my pillow, stretch out beside me and we'd 'spoon,' and he'd purr and make those sweet little kitty noises. He could be so still; I'd occasionally poke him to make sure he was breathing. Sometimes he'd lay on our heads, or compete for body space with his nemesis, Nightmare.

He was 15 1/2. He started his life in Savannah, Georgia, where Forrest adopted him when he was no bigger than a handful, a wee bundle of grey tabby fluff. He came out to the Olympic Peninsula before he was a year old, and stayed six months - at one time picked up by a bird of prey and dropped from a distance. He had troubled hips from then on, and avoided big jumps and for the most part, climbing trees. He came back to the NW two years later, when Forrest settled into an apartment in West Seattle. He was an indoor kitty then, but because I knew he liked the outdoors, I'd carry him onto the balcony so he could (sort of) be outside.

I met him when he was still on the Olympic Peninsula, just over a year old. We took to one another immediately. His big personality was obvious from the beginning, and I adored him. His voice was unmistakable, and while Forrest was in Savannah and I was still in Vancouver, I'd swear he'd pull Motor's tail so I could hear him on the phone... but no. Motor just talked. He earned his name.

He wasn't shy. He announced himself whenever he'd come in the house, or into a room, or jump on the bed, whatever time of day or night. He introduced himself to guests while the other two would find a place to hide. He early on earned another nickname - Boomakitty - because anytime you'd toss him off your lap, he'd come right back. And he'd always ask for whatever he wanted - the faucet, treats, a lap, outside, more loves.

When we moved back to the house in Ballard, my job became to open and close doors for cats. He was also a smart kitty - after we blocked off the cat door broken by an insistent Photon, he learned to use it as a door knocker. So there could be no question when he wanted to come in...

He had a little tuft of golden fur right behind his ears that was softer than even the softest fur. A sweet little pink nose, set off by white fur above and a white bib below. His paws would spread wide when draped over a shoulder, his happy place - his happy paws. His voice was loud, his purr was big, and he would coo pigeon-like and burble the happiest of sweet kitty sounds.

Weaned too early, he kneaded our bellies to "soften them up." And he was "needy" - he insisted we show him love whenever he wanted it (which was most of the time) and demanded much attention. Because I relate to his need to be loved, I'd give him extra pets, or a treat, or tuck him into a cozy spot if I couldn't make time to give him the attention he requested.

I know some kitties live to be 20 or more now. I thought he'd be with us till at least 18. We thought he'd move with us when we leave this house. But I think burying him here is the right thing - this place has been his home for a long time, and he's had many good years here. What more could a kitty ask for - birds and mice to stalk or watch, grass to chew or hide in, dirt to dig and roll in, trees to crouch or sleep under, room to run at high speeds, leaves to chase...

Sweet and happy cat that he was, he could also be curmudgeonly, and I thought his grouchy self would keep him going for many more years, if nothing else. We knew his kidneys had shown some wear this last year, but other than an illness a few years ago, he's been a pretty healthy cat.

I joked recently that perhaps he was getting a little senile; just before we knew he was sick, he would sit and stare, head down, seemingly "zoning"... Sleep sitting? I didn't realize it was a symptom, and I'm kicking myself for not recognizing that he should visit the vet right then. But soon there were other noticeable but subtle differences in behavior that told me something wasn't right. So we went to the kitty doc.

Yet now I ask the proverbial questions - is there more I could have done, could I have done something sooner, what didn't I notice...? I'm so connected to my cats; I usually have a sense... Now I have enough questions to make me crazy, when I know I did what I knew to do, and did as much for my sweet pal as I possibly could. They're not very good at telling us something's wrong until it's really wrong.

He had more personality than most, and was adored by most people who met him. Diane called him "the big bruiser," an "epic" cat. He had a way about him, of carrying himself. He left a lasting impression on just about everyone. I am missing him more than I thought possible. Motor kitty, King Cat, sweet Motor, precious companion.

Roasted!

2010-10-03T22:12:00.000-07:00

Exasperated over unripened tomatoes and our sunless summer, I apparently had no need for concern about green tomatoes (lack of sun is entirely different...).

But because I don't expect to find much when I inspect the vines (those countless gray days), I'm caught with nothing to put the little red flavor containers in (my mouth only holds so many).

So I fill up my stretched-shirt-basket,then drop them haphazardly on the kitchen table for a random sea of red and yellow.

How to consume them before they go bad? There's nothing like fresh tomatoes just picked, and caprese salads are a favorite. But I can't seem to eat them quick enough, and I don't want to lose a single bite, since the season is so short.

I don't can (yet); I don't have a food dehydrator (and I'm not crazy about sundried). Freezing would alter the texture.

But roasting! Oh, I do love roasted vegetables, and what the high heat does to flavor. Add a little olive oil, some sea salt, and place in a hot oven for about 40 minutes.

I think the smell alone (along with a little garlic) could get me through a cold winter. I will enjoy every bite when I add them to sauces when anything resembling fresh is impossible to come by.

I hope the season lasts just a little longer... I could fill my freezer with tomatoes alone!

Cherry tomatoes and "ground" cherries

2010-09-22T14:09:00.000-07:00

I made a double-score this weekend. Out in the garden, I found little red nuggets hiding under my sprawling, uncaged cherry tomato plants (and a few yellow ones, thanks to garden mates!), and while at the Edmonds Farmers Market on Saturday, I came across a childhood favorite, ground cherries, also sometimes called husk tomatoes.

What's a ground cherry? There's a strong resemblance to a tomatillo, but the husks are a creamy color and the berry inside is golden, with a sweet-tart taste that I remember so well but can't really describe. My grandfather grew them just for me, usually out near our driveway. I could eat handfuls at a time and never grow tired of them. They're typically ripe in late summer, early fall, just like tomatoes.

I've looked for ground cherries over the years but until this weekend, hadn't found the fruit anywhere. A couple of years ago, I found some seeds in a heritage seed catalog, and even after careful planting indoors, nothing grew. The woman at the Farmers Market (and no, I have no idea which farm they came from now...) said they don't typically grow here, but I find that odd since they grew in our Ballard garden throughout my early years. Could the climate have changed that much?

My fondness for ground cherries must resemble Forrest's fondness for boiled peanuts. I've mentioned them to him more times than I can count, but until this weekend, he's never tasted them. He liked them!

The summer that wasn't...(except for figs)

2010-08-31T10:58:00.000-07:00

Anyone have some good recipes for green tomatoes? Hopes of home-grown, vine-ripened tomatoes are dwindling with each raindrop and gust of wind.

Today is August 31. Before leaving for work this morning, I pulled a box from the closet of tucked away winter clothes and grabbed a sweater to wear atop my gray flannel pants and leather oxfords. The red weather-resistent jacket with hood came next, and as I walked out the door, I threw my leather jacket on top of that. No regrets, except that it's August 31.

Grapes are slowly turning from green to red, and I still have hopes they'll ripen. The leaves, too, are turning, and fall arrives without summer ever getting a foothold. A couple of weeks in mid-July, a few days here and there, offered a glimpse of what summer could be. But it was only a glimpse. My garden has suffered, as has my energy.

One clear, unsuspected sign of summer: Fresh, tree-ripened figs. I had no idea they could be so good. A colleague brought these green-wrapped succulent pink-fleshed morsels to work this week, and offered a few favorite recipes to try after eating more freshly picked fruit than one person should.

Here's last night's dinner recipe:

Pasta with Figs, Walnuts and Gorgonzola
- Your choice of pasta (I've come to love brown rice pasta).
While it's cooking, saute in a tablespoon or two of butter:
- 1 chopped onion till brown
- add toasted walnuts or pecans till warm
- add figs, and salt to taste
- Then toss all together and sprinkle with crumbled gorgonzola cheese.

Said colleague also suggested drizzling fresh sliced figs with honey and sprinkling with goat cheese, or wrapping them in prociutto. Toasted walnuts work well here, too.

I think I'd like a fig tree. Had I known earlier that they grew so well in the Northwest, and that a fresh fig could be so delicious...

Eating my yard

2010-07-29T17:47:00.001-07:00

Despite growing very little myself this year, it's a lovely thing to be able to wander from one end of the yard to the other and nibble my way through it.

From Shiv's peas at one end to our raspberries at the other, there's an entire salad of edible goodness. Lettuce left over from a previous garden mate, communally planted strawberries, it's a giant snack tray that's healthier than anything I could find in my kitchen.

I'm a bit shamed, though, by the gardens I saw this weekend on Lasqueti Island, where self-sufficiency is a necessary part of living. There's a part of me that would love to be so capable and grow so much, but another part sees the constant attention and work that such a bounty demands and recognizes the near impossibility given my lifestyle and penchant for fair-weather gardening.

Still, having treats from the yard a few months of the year is something to be savored and appreciated. Just as pine and cedar scents can't be bottled, flavors from fresh peas and berries straight from the vine can't be found anywhere else.

Food tip: Greek Gods honey yogurt with fresh berries on top, or strawberries drizzled with a bit of good Balsamic vinegar. Two of my very berry favorites.

Berry goodness, new reading, and happy cats

2010-07-01T14:13:00.000-07:00

The berries are so amazingly juicy and awesome I couldn't NOT post a picture. But the weather has been dismal here, so fair-weathered gardener that I am, I've spent very little time doing anything useful.

Shiv's garden, on the other hand, is impressive. His pea vines are five-feet tall (that's them, to Photon's left)... and all the other gardeners have pretty good crops coming up. I, however, do not.

I did finally dig up all the weeds and who knows what was growing out there - and happily left the beets I discovered, along with some volunteer tomatoes. Nice to at least have it look like I've planted something - even if that's not really quite the case.

I also pulled copious weeds from around the strawberries (even with earlier help from gardeners, still more must be done) and attempted to pull the grass from in between the raspberries, but this will require much more time and energy than I have right now. The berry flavor, however, is not compromised by weeds and grass, and every berry popped between the lips is a delightful burst of sweetness.

Reading/Recipes:

On my radar - two newly published books by local authors: Amy Pennington's Urban Pantry and Molly Wizenberg's (of Orangette fame and now, in the 'hood, Delancey's Pizzaria) A Homemade Life. Found Wizenberg's book thanks to our friend Cayla, who made an awesome meal for us on a recent Sunday. I'm not a fan of potato salad, but in my opinion, this might be the best potato salad ever. I think Cayla made one change, using Vegannaise in place of mayo. It's worth picking up the book just for that. I hear Molly's also a great storyteller, and that the rest of the book is as delightful as the salad.

Hoping summer arrives - as is typical in Seattle - sometime soon after the 4th of July. I honestly don't feel like I can wait much longer for some sun - it'll be tanning booth, here I come, and that's not really a good idea. But 5000 iu's of Vitamin D3 just isn't doing it this year...

Cheers for a great 4th (and to my Canadian friends, a great 1st!). More pics to come soon.

Growing impatience

2010-06-21T20:50:00.000-07:00

Patience has never been a virtue, but our local weather is testing the wee bit I have.

Today is the summer solstice - the longest day of the year - and with momentary exceptions, it's been dark, cloudy, and dreary, with some drizzle in between.

The berries say it's summer: strawberries and raspberries are popping out all over, ripe and red and fabulous.

It can't rain all the time... can it?

2010-05-28T11:52:00.000-07:00

Here it is Memorial Day weekend and rain is forecast for most of it (a few sun breaks are expected in between drops and we here in the Northwest know exactly what a sun break is...makes me think of Erik the Viking... seen it?). Most of May was wet.

The garden is sufficiently watered, but I've yet to plant most of my seeds as I am a fair-weathered gardener and this is not my idea of fair weather... While it's warmer, I'm still in layers, boots, and rain gear. The days may be longer, but they're barely lighter... the sky just stays gray longer, and on some days, they're just a lighter shade of gray, depending on the torrent of that particular day.

Yes, Rainy Days and Mondays do tend to get me down.

On the plus side, weeds come out of the ground much easier. If I can make myself get out there to pull them.

Jane Siberry has a great song called, "It Can't Rain All the Time" - which is really about lost love and not at all about rain, but the sentiment can certainly evoke how I feel sometimes when the rain just doesn't stop...

Yes! Magazine features water this month, noting that some parts of the country are currently preparing for drought, and learning to manage their declining water resources (includes some awesome looking articles that I haven't yet read, including a piece by Canadian water advocate Maude Barlow, who I've written about here before...). And while water doesn't seem to be an issue here with all that rain, our water supply is greatly dependent on our snowpack, of which we really didn't have much this year. So yes, we should be paying attention to water resources...

I'm sure when summer finally comes (if it does; it's entirely possible that it might not, as nothing about Northwest weather is predictable, climate change or not), I will be grateful for the full rain barrels and the city reservoirs topped up by rainfall. Just not right now. I am ready for sunlight, which gives me energy, enthusiasm, and a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

I think all this rain has made me punchy. Not to mention flabby, because the last thing I feel like doing is going for a walk, a run, or working in the garden.

Flying kitty

2010-05-20T19:28:00.000-07:00

Flying cat: For lack of a better place to put this... since it's not at all about growing things, more about flying things...

But maybe I can stretch it because he started off as mom's cat (extension of yesterday's post...), or because he hangs out in the garden with the gardeners when he's not stuck inside (or freaked out and hiding under the bed), or because it's almost Friday and it could be considered Friday cat blogging...

Or maybe just because it's pretty funny. Do you know a cat that likes to fly? Nightmare does!

Mom's view

2010-05-19T22:22:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago today, I came home from a morning run at Shilshole Marina to a message I hoped would never come.

At least not so soon…

The message was from Ballard Manor, calling about my mom. My mom’s time here ended at about 7:30 a.m. on Friday, May 19, 2000. She was just 64. She had been ill; nine months earlier she moved into Ballard Manor, an assisted living facility about a mile south, but her health - and outlook - were improving and she seemed to be doing well in her new environment. I was hopeful. There were still so many questions to ask, things to say and do, and promises to fulfill.

But I'm grateful for the gifts she left, particularly her appreciation for wit, absurdity, and context, and especially, a small packet of short stories, essays, poems, and other creative writings that helped me view my mom - and her experiences - in a different way. She wrote about growing up (me), growing waistlines (hers/ours/theirs), and growing old, as well as growing things.

Here are a few about the home where both she and I grew up (and you can read "The Visitor" (my favorite) at the May 10, 2009, post).

A garden's a sensible spot
To raise food so it needn't be bought
But remember to weed it,
Whenever it need it,
Or it's likely to soon go to pot.

The Gravenstein
The gnarled old apple tree stands tall against the bleak wintery sky, barren branches swaying back and forth in the cold, icy wind. Lonely, lifeless, it awaits the first awakening of spring.

Life stirs in the old tree as the warm rays of the sun and the gentle rains caress its limbs. Tiny green buds poke out after a long winter sleep. Fragrant blossoms of pink and white burst forth, filling the air with a pleasant sweetness. Twittering birds, returning after a long winter absence, busily weave their nests of straw and string.

The beautiful ancient tree, weathered by time and the seasons, is reclaimed by spring, teeming with new life. Boldly, it stretches to meet the clear blue sky.

Unnamed poem, excerpt:

"That tree was just a little sprout
A long, long time ago."
"You grew that tree?" I marveled.
And smiling, he said, "No."

"It had everything it needed.
It was God that put it there.
But he thought it needed lots of love,
So he put it in my care."

Now I have a little tree,
All my very own.
And the farmer's words still echo back
Although the years have flown.

The Barn

The old wooden barn stands behind the house, silent, lonely, a silhouette against the crimson evening sky. The broken door swings back and forth on noisy hinges, the door knob long since disappeared. Stepping inside, the floorboards wobble beneath my feet, while the cool rush of winter wind blows through time-worn cracks in the walls, where tiny feed boxes still hang. Rusty wire spills from the decaying rafters. A musty chair stands in the corner, and faded curtains hang, lifeless, on the jagged broken windows.

This barn was once a playhouse for happy little girls, now grown and gone away. Cackling red hens once roosted here and laid their speckled brown eggs in nests of golden straw. A hitching ring still hangs where a huge black cow, tethered to the now barren wall, waited patiently to give her soft, creamy milk.

Now, as then, the wispy branches of the gnarled cherry tree rustle against the moss-covered roof. Slowly, sadly, I leave the old barn, standing silently, abandoned... (Ed. note: The barn came down with a little help from us in 1993.)

Back to the garden

2010-05-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

About mid-April, our unofficial community garden got up and running for the season again with a celebratory and planning barbeque. Jennifer & Christopher, Andy & Yuko (and their sweet little Amelie, brand new as of January), and Ben are back - and of course our neighbor Shiv, who continues to expand his garden space anywhere he can. Andy and Yuko, in addition to Amelie, brought with them Amber & Ilan, who quickly readied their space, got seeds in the ground, repurposed some leftovers from last year (red lettuce and several types of onions), and eagerly helped out with other yard and garden chores. What an awesome group we have!

The pictures above and below (other than grape vines) are from that first April gathering. Jen has the distinction of getting the first tomato start into the ground.

A lot of work was accomplished today. Jennifer cleaned up the strawberry patch; if how much they've spread is an indication of how many berries we'll have, we should have quite a harvest. Forrest mowed the several-feet-high lawn behind the house, and I tackled much of the front sections where herbs, bulbs, and various perennials are mixed in with the dandelions, grass, and extensive unnamed weeds. Christopher and Ilan stepped in and helped all around the back, wherever more work was needed; the big accomplishment was clearing the "shared" patch that last year had squash, cucumbers, and volunteer tomatoes. It's now ready to plant, although we never really did talk about a plan for that spot. More of the same? Maybe Forrest can plant some peanuts there! Forrest and Christopher are both Georgia natives (and Jen spent a good amount of time there)... if we had success, we'd have some happy planters. Otherwise, Forrest and I will have one of the raised beds this year, which is now weed-free and ready to plant.

The degree to which the grass has grown - exponentially! - and filled in all the areas we cleared last year continues to befuddle me. And this year, we have wee Maples sprouting in every part of the yard. The good news - just one morning glory vine so far, and only two blackberry shoots. Whew. Perhaps those battles are won - for now.

Spring has sprung

2010-02-28T16:58:00.001-08:00

Spring is here, spring has sprung,
The bird is on the wing.
Oh my, how absurd...
I thought the wing was on the bird!
(anonymous; variation by Anelda)

Despite the calendar telling me it's still February (albeit the end), the signs of spring are everywhere. Flowering cherries are in full bloom, the clematis is white with flowers, the fruit trees have buds and it looks like the blueberries are as happy as can be in their new locations. Cats are bouncing from one end of the yard to the other and - finally - prefer to spend more of their time outside.

Yesterday, a delightfully sunny Saturday, I came home from an errand-filled afternoon to find a yard full of eager gardeners, tilling and preparing their beds for the gardens to come. What a happy day! The long, painfully hard winter (even while milder than previous years), was ending and we were all coming out of hibernation. Andy and Yuko brought their new sweet girl, Amelie, just seven weeks old. How fun it will be to watch her grow as our seeds sprout and blossom this year, too.

A group barbeque will follow soon and we'll discuss plans for what we'll grow and where. More communal areas? Makes sense. It's been a great team effort so far. And we all like to cook, relish fresh vegetables, and have similar palates.

More reports as we go full swing into spring.

The winter garden

2009-11-05T12:16:00.000-08:00

While not technically winter yet, the darker days, colder nights, and bare trees suggest it's close. It's not as grim as it sounds. There's something rather magical about a garden in the dense gray light. There's much going on that can't be seen, and there's a promise of new growth to come.

Proust quote

2009-10-10T17:34:00.000-07:00

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.
- Marcel Proust

While I'm not crazy about many of his quotes, today this resonated with me. I am so grateful to those who make me happy - dear friends who care beyond measure, who are there in hard times and good, with whom silence is as comfortable as conversation... They fill my soul with love and warmth, and their support is a valuable gift.

Fall bounty!

2009-10-06T19:38:00.001-07:00

Andy & Yuko's pepper plant looks like a bell pepper Christmas tree! It's loaded! Tomatoes are still ripening, the Asian pears are crunchy delicious, and even the raspberries have made a second appearance. The grapes are juicy and sweet, and lettuces are taking hold.

What an amazing thing a garden is. Plant a seed, and something grows. Of course there's more to it, but in some ways, it really is that simple.

Signs of life... I feel, in some ways, like I'm finally coming back to life. I can breathe.

Cultivating a life on my own

2009-10-05T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm starting over. Again. It's time to cultivate my inner garden and explore what I want my life to look like. It's shifting gears and recognizing that the life I thought I had was only my perception, and the plans I'd made, in their most recent version, are no longer possible.

My desires and dreams remain - to create a life outside the status quo, to live differently, to live fully. To explore and experience the wider world in a bigger way. But how I'm going to do that, and when, has changed. And I'm planning it on my own.

Acceptance is slowly taking hold, but it's hard. Like in a card game, my hand was forced. I'd have preferred to get here differently, with less pain. But pain facilitates change and growth if healing work is undertaken, and I know I'll come out stronger, better, and ready for the life I want.

Closing doors and opening windows for new opportunities to arrive... To see my life as my own, and no one else's, to create what my innermost self says it needs and wants. To listen to that inner voice, and visualize a bigger picture. The steps will show up and fall into place. I'm trusting the process whenever I can, trying to 'get myself out of the way.'

I don't ever want to compromise my integrity, or my desire to be kind. It's always been important to me to consider the impact of my actions on others, yet I can see how I can easily compromise my own needs for what I believe to be the "greater good." I value loyalty. Clearly, others don't. So my first priority must now be to myself and nothing and no one else. This is hard for me, but it's a lesson I must learn.

I still believe change can come in different ways; I want to believe it's possible to effect change with kindness, gentleness and compassion. Complete destruction to create something new isn't quite what it portends when the pieces aren't all destroyed. The rubble, the very real-world responsibilities, the means to meet them... must still be addressed and worked through or around. To create something new from ashes, to have the freedom and flexibility that comes with complete destruction, isn't as available as it seems. Although perhaps this, too, is just my perception.

Regardless, cultivation is underway, and I'm doing my best to heal and visualize what I want, what I need, what I desire. To create a life outside the status quo. I've always imagined a life near water and boats, maybe on an island, somewhere warm, with flexibility to write, and be who I most want to be. I don't know where, what or how. But I'll trust those answers will come.

Tangled webs

2009-09-30T16:56:00.000-07:00

Fall has set in and many a spider has made its way indoors, or built a web along my beaten path.

But those aren't really the webs I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about the webs we humans weave, as per Sir Walter Scott, "when first we practice to deceive."

Deceipt, omission... the untruths we tell ourselves and others when we don't want to face the truth, or want to avoid unpleasantness. The occasional "white lie" - those little things we say to avoid hurt feelings, like saying "I'm fine" when I'm not, or "You look fine," when you don't - there's a place for that.

But deceipt cuts to the bone, breaks every possible avenue of trust, and seeps into the very core of the person deceived. And it's not just words uttered from someone's tongue; it's actions and words unmatched, promises unkept, or masks worn to veil what's real.

I want to know what's behind the mask.

The intricate weavings of tangled webs are much like the ripple effect, or the beating of butterfly wings... the impact is greater than the act itself, and often unseen by the cause of the effect. And unlike the beating of butterfly wings, those tangled webs are hurtful and damaging.

I trust that wounds so deep can heal, but not without desire, great effort, much time and quite likely, love, acceptance and forgiveness from something both within and greater than all of us.

A sunny September Sunday

2009-09-20T22:16:00.000-07:00

The communal squash patch, and my neighbor, Mrs Bean, still gardening at 96.

Perspective on worms...

2009-09-14T10:43:00.000-07:00

"We all are worms, but I do believe I am a glow worm." ~ Winston Churchill

Tilling the soil

2009-09-08T20:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just have to stir shit up.

I'm not really in the mood, but I don't actually have a choice. Stuff got stirred, like it or not. And my only option is to dig in. I guess I could ignore it, go the "no till" route, but I suspect in this case that's not in my best interest. It's been suggested I see this as an opportunity but I'm not there yet...

It's not like I haven't done a lot of work. I'm more familiar than many with the "how to" and "fix it" type books when it comes to my inner landscape. I've been working on "my stuff" throughout my adult life, even starting pretty early. At different points along the way, I've dug deep, churned things up, let things go, had faith, trusted the universe to give me strength or show the way, listened to my inner self, practiced meditation, worked with those who know way more than me about all this stuff, visualized my dreams, shared my story, journaled, asked for help, and spoke out when I needed to. I've been told I have a lot of emotional intelligence. I've developed a fairly strong "gut" instinct, read between lines, and hear when a voice isn't "authentic." I take responsibility for my own stuff, and I'm not afraid to do the work, especially when something reveals itself as needing the energy. Of this, I'm very capable, although sometimes that outside perspective can make a big difference. I know I'm a work-in-progress, and that my self-worth issues will be with me at some level indefinitely. Yet, sometimes, a break from doing all this is important, too.

So... why am I at this particular place again? What didn't I see, or was unwilling to see? What was missing? Did I really stop growing? Stop digging? Stop sharing? Get complacent? Not recognize? Stop asking? I thought I'd gained a lot of wisdom; I thought I was sure. But I see now that there are many things I just don't know. I think in part I got stuck. Clearly, the work I've done previously was either not enough, or didn't give me the insight or skills needed for different circumstances. I found it easy to defer to "never in doubt." Despite the "often wrong" clause. Now I have a hole in my heart that needs major repair work again.

Fall is settling in, and I'm devastated. The sky turns dark much earlier, the bright reds and oranges only symbolize the death that's underway. I know that spring will follow winter, but that feels like so long from now. And I am so not ready. I don't feel prepared, or that I have the energy.

My life, while not perfect, had much to like. There were dreams, ideas and even plans, but the road map and budget went askew, partly due to flawed or out-of-sync planning and partly due to the economics at hand. Or so I thought. There was still much to look forward to. I'm sure there still is but I can't get a visual.

I enter September feeling lost and adrift. Clarity comes in fragments. Tilling can support healthy growth, and I understand that it's a long-term, continual process. Perhaps this time, I can keep it going, not stop, dig deep enough so that I don't have to revisit where I am now.

Gray day

2009-09-05T12:23:00.000-07:00

Not really a gardening post today... sorry...

The gray sky is an adequate reflection of where I'm at today... Not stormy, not sunny... just gray. The wind also suggests the ever-changing movement of my focus. There are touches of blue out there, I can see them. But the gray overpowers. I have some new context today, though, which has shifted my understanding, compassion, anger and sadness. Doesn't make anything easier or harder, just different...

pm update
Lots of reading and research this evening... perhaps I should change the name of the blog to Growing Inner Strength, or Growing Understanding, or something... I get it, but I don't know what to do with it. Despite the newly realized understanding, it doesn't make the previously felt emotions automatically go away; in some ways, it's worse, because there's little I can do, and that adds to feeling helpless. I can take care of me, but I still want to do more.

Garden is as garden does

2009-09-04T15:52:00.000-07:00

No pretense. It just is. If you care for it and give it what it needs, chances are, it'll grow and hopefully flourish. If it's neglected or misused, it won't. There's always a chance that the weather or some other such thing won't cooperate, though, and could change the outcome no matter what you do.

So many things I wish I'd known, so many things I wish I'd asked, so many things I wish I'd said; and much that I wish I'd been less afraid to explore and experiment with before it became irreconcilable. Had I only realized...

The garden is languishing right now. And I'm clear that it took us both to get here. Sometimes there were complementary skills, sometimes no skills at all... And unfortunately, there were few good examples when they were most needed. Good, honest information can help, but if it's not available, then there's even less to work with.

I have no illusions, but even with that said, I know it could be (could have been) so much more... even now, there are different possible conclusions and pieces can be salvaged, in varying degrees; but no matter how the final outcome looks, work is required to get there and work takes energy and commitment. Not sure where that stands...

Regardless, I am learning things that I believe will be essential - in the garden, in life, and in my heart. I'm recognizing places and senses long forgotten, or tucked away (some could stay away, and I wouldn't mind at all, but then I wouldn't really learn anything, would I?).

Life and landscapes change. A storm can wipe away a year of food crops in milliseconds. All sun and no rain can lead to no growth - just withering vines with no fruit. Balance is nice, but there's no guarantee, especially when there are so many unknowns, so many possibilities, and inherently, no control over any of it.

Perhaps a request for grace...

Greener grass

2009-09-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

The neighbors always had nicer, greener grass than we did. We called them the "yard nazi's."

I guess it's all about perspective. I don't think green grass is a particularly smart way to go. It sure looks nice and it feels good between the toes. But it needs just as much care and feeding as any other kind of living thing - just different.

It's also detrimental. If you want that sweet green grass, you probably have to sabotage something else. But then of course it's justifiable, despite the damage, because it offers something else, maybe symbolizes something, and I'm sure everyone who has it has their own reason for wanting it.

Symbols are interesting. They aren't the thing itself. They only represent whatever we choose to make them mean. It can be a house, a person, green grass, a word... Despite the meaning we assign, there's quite likely another, just as valid, interpretation. Symbols can be very powerful and impact us in both positive and negative ways - but it's up to us to make the choice and how much energy to give them.

A wise friend reminded me that symbols with negative energy (and negative energy, generally) can almost always be deflected, no matter where it comes from, whether real or even just imagined. And it'll only keep us from our dreams and desires - whether it's green grass or a grass hut on a remote island - if we give it enough power.

Takes a village

2009-09-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

Initially, I hadn't planned to start a garden; it started with just three small rose bushes purchased by Forrest's mom on a visit here in 2000.

The idea expanded; we decided we wanted to rid ourselves of grass and all the work involved to maintain it, as well as do the right thing in terms of our shared commitment to the environment... We started planting some drought-tolerant natives, along with a few things we liked (like the mimosa and some lillies).

Certainly, there was no intention to start a community garden.

From early on, I didn't want to expend much energy on the side lot north of the house - it's precarious, because I'm only a 50% owner. One of several options I've considered, should my uncle decide to sell before I was ready to leave the house (and buying him out on the whole property was quite likely not an option), was to sell the lot and purchase his piece of the house, something Forrest and I talked about on many occasions. We would hopefully even leverage our future travel plans if we did it right.

But then Forrest created this amazing grape arbor just off the driveway near the sidewalk. It's gorgeous, creative and absolutely delightul; the grapes are now just starting to ripen again (I'll get a picture soon). Strawberries served as ground cover and lavender attracted more bees; little by little we added wild flowers, herbs, shrubs and trees. Then came last winter - harsh and unpleasant both in terms of weather and economics, and we decided to grow food. So Forrest built the raised beds.

Soon we had a community garden, without really planning or expecting it. Ideas flew about how best to make it work, we met awesome people, and the garden made it into the first Sustainable Ballard Edible Garden Tour and into Pacific Magazine about sustainable communities. Who would'a thought?

And now, very suddenly, my life and my future have changed dramatically without my voice being included in the decision making. Now, it's just me.

Forrest says he may want to grow some greens in one of the raised beds, but he hasn't fully committed and I'm not sure when he'll have time. And because he doesn't plan to be here, there's much that he took care of that I either don't have time for or don't, at least right now, have the energy for. Nor really, the inclination. I liked gardening when it was a shared experience. So if it's going to be maintained, I'm going to need help.

What I hope for is that this little community we've created will stand by and stand up, at least for the short term, till I feel stable and functional again, and finally able to do at least some of the tasks that need to be done. I'll never be able to do it all; I honestly couldn't have done any of this without him.

What kept me going all along was the communal energy; the fact that he and I were doing this together, that we invited others in to share, that something greater than the parts was being created. Never a dream or a goal, it felt more like a gift, to share this place and bring good energy in, to recreate the vibrance that was once a part of my grandfather's garden. Maybe even a last hurrah for one of the few pieces of undeveloped land in the neighborhood.

Perhaps in some ways this is a plea to other gardeners, neighbors and friends - to be there at least for now, to help, to support, to create. I would welcome and be grateful for that in ways beyond words.

The right tool

2009-09-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

At least in part because of a tool, there's a garden in front of the house. In 2000, or maybe 2001, a friend loaned me this really cool thing that I don't even know the name of - it's not a shovel, it's not just a fork. It has tines, but also a place to put your foot that those other two don't have. Point being, it made it possible for me to dig our heavy, trodden soil enough that I could plant some flowers.

The right tool can make all the difference. Knowing which tool to use, knowing how to use it... and maybe even more importantly, knowing what tools are actually available. If you don't know, you wouldn't know to try it. Like my fork-ish digger. I would never have known to ask for it, and I've yet to see one in any garden supply store. I just happen to have one thanks to a friend (who never got it back, by the way - I think there's an earlier post about that).

Sometimes it's necessary to go out and find a new tool; sometimes you can make do with what you've got, or somehow re-purpose. Sometimes you've got just the right thing but you don't even realize it, or maybe it just needs a bit of a tweak or some fuel. Sometimes you have to look darn hard for the right tool... that exact right thing could be tossed aside or deeply buried or somehow misplaced.

Some tools are easy to use, maybe even intuitive, and require no instruction or explanation. Some require expert advice; others require someone with only a little more experience to show us or explain proper usage. It's important to differentiate which is the right way at the right time with the tool at hand.

Bottom line is that having the right tool when you need it most can really make a difference and it's important to notice what the true need is. Especially when something isn't working, or feels missing, not quite right...

Side note: there's a 'possum in my back porch compost bucket! I've noticed some scavenging going on, but thought it was probably raccoons! But no, it's a funny little "Spy VS Spy" critter.

Lining up ducks...

2009-08-31T20:18:00.000-07:00

This is going to seem like even more of a non-sequitur than anything else on here lately, but here it goes:

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

Thanks to the most quotable Mark Twain.

I used to have the "explore, dream, discover" on my refrigerator when I lived in Vancouver. A lifetime ago, in so many ways. Imagine that. Life showed up and I'm more entrenched in the harbor than I ever thought I'd be. Although it's suddenly not feeling very safe.

I'm familiar with an unsafe harbor. That place is more often than not one of my more creative places. But then something happens and life continues on.

And now, I have to pay heed to this. If nothing else, a blinding wake-up call...

At various times, I'm sure I believed that I was just - and probably was on some level - getting my ducks lined up in a row. But maybe I was just moving them around... and maybe thinking other, friendly, more worldly or wise ducks, were lining up, too - maybe even to come along, or show me the way, or better yet, keep me safe along the journey. It's food for thought.

Life is short, and while lining up some ducks can make the sail a bit sweeter, perhaps only some of them really need to line up. And while sharing the experience would be nice, I can probably get there on my own, in one piece, not too worse-for-wear. There are a few I'm not sure what to do with, but if I commit and take real steps to do in earnest what I say I've always wanted, then maybe the universe will provide an answer.

Underway. And I'm not going to be afraid to rock the boat. But meanwhile, my heart aches beyond description, and I'm sad beyond belief that I will not be sharing the rest of this journey with the man I called my life partner.

Hardening off (or preparing for change)

2009-08-31T10:34:00.001-07:00

Hardening off: a process that allows plants to adjust to the new conditions they'll encounter to help prevent negative impacts from sudden changes.

I sure could use some hardening off... the impact of extreme sudden changes is taking a heavy toll. Perhaps if I'd had the tools to be more observant, to know how to better express my own experiences, to interject if necessary, to see the roots of the issues at hand before they became too deep... this wouldn't seem so sudden, and maybe could have been avoided. That would have been my preference. But I don't have those tools, at least not to the degree they're required.

So now it's moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day. Looking ahead to the future but trying to get through today. Allowing all of those well-concealed, possibly buried, certainly protected, feelings to rise toward the light so that they never have to be afraid of being exposed, ever again.

I'm grateful for the nurturing and support of friends. Without that, moment by moment, day by day would be so much more difficult.

Toxicity

2009-08-30T18:53:00.000-07:00

A strong word... dangerous, poisonous, possibly deadly. We're fortunate here; we have some noxious weeds and insects, but nothing particularly serious, more nuisance than threatening.

I'm struggling to write tonight because I'm trying to process hearing the word "toxic" applied to something that I don't believe actually fits. Lacking skill, lacking the right mix of nutrients, the right methods, perhaps, but not toxic. What grows, grows because of the groundwork laid, or not laid, if careful tilling wasn't done. Careful observation, the sharing of information, a willingness to trust. When those don't happen, the weeds can seem pervasive, but with care, they can be removed and replaced with something healthy and beautiful. But it requires will, energy, commitment, and the right tools - and quite possibly, expert insight if the knowledge and tools aren't there. Without these, weeds can indeed take over, and not just a single plot, but with every opportunity, as expansively as they're able.

It just seems easier to me to get to the root of it all, go to where the weeds began and at key leverage points when possible, both independently and in relationship to what else is around, because they're all interconnected. To then clean it all up, do the necessary work, lay new groundwork, and let something new and different take root. Even if it seems like its been done before, it isn't and can't possibly be the same, because over time, the weeds change, new tools have been developed, new skills learned, new information gained.

Some, however, like to believe the wise "Monsanto-types," those who appear to be knowledgeable, caring about the outcome, offering a "fix" for whatever ails, when really, they just want to sell their product and ultimately, they do more harm than good. Catalysts to something different, perhaps, but certainly not something better.

Or they just see the same weeds, and run to the next place where the weeds look different, or maybe non-existent, maybe just not as many, or maybe they seem somehow... better, less threatening. Or they're easier to ignore because they're not visibly present all the time, kind of that "don't think of an elephant" way of seeing the world. But dealing with them in a vaccuum won't work, either.

There's no easy fix, and it's all about hard work, if you don't want weeds. Or rather, if you want the weeds to be manageable, because I don't think there is such a thing as completely weed-free. I'm pretty sure that's impossible, albeit something to strive for.

I'm trying to work with my weeds. Some of them have some amazingly deep roots, some were addressed but found a new place to grow, and a big challenge is working on them in relationship to how the more recent actually grew, given that the landscape has changed. That's an area where I'd like to do some work, because I think it's an important place. But in that case, it takes more than just me, and I don't know if that'll happen.

Regardless, I'm committed to exposing as much as I can to get to a place of manageability so they can't ever take over. There aren't any toxins here, just some old groundwork and outdated methods that can be damaging to the good that's been created. And there's so much good - it just seems hidden when the weeds become overwhelming and the right tools aren't at hand.

Seeds yet to sprout

2009-08-26T20:43:00.001-07:00

There's something to be said for the planning part of gardening. Where to plant what, how each seed or plant will work with its neighbor, how much room each plant needs to grow and thrive, the complimentary nutrients, other needs...

While looking at seed packets and thinking about what'll be in the beds this fall and winter, the anticipation of what might be is clearly there. Although nothing has actually been decided yet... I'm not even sure that all our gardeners will be returning for another season, although I've so enjoyed getting to know them and sharing the space that I hope they do.

I'm starting to feel some real "possibility," what a little care and nurturing might do to the seeds that get planted. I can't even begin to think about spring, and winter seems daunting, but I can look forward to new growth and a fall harvest rich with color and flavors, and maybe some surprises.

Transitioning

2009-08-21T22:21:00.001-07:00

Just as the summer sun transitions to the light of autumn, my heart and mind are also transitioning. Like the garden, every day is different. I can only believe what I see and feel. Yet one minute, I want to believe only what I hear. What I see doesn't necessarily match what I hear. What I feel is hurt beyond comprehension.

My physical self is also transitioning. I have no appetite for anything but dairy, fruit and, thankfully, the fresh tomatoes from the garden. One minute, I'm anguished; my entire being aches with sadness, loneliness, shame, fear; the next, I'm so angst filled I can barely sit still. I go back and forth between compassion and contempt. I feel remorse and disappointment, and anger that neither one of us took the steps that could'a, should'a been taken. How excruciatingly sad.

I do know I have to reclaim my life. It feels very hard to do under such different, difficult circumstances.

Betrayal

2009-08-21T07:10:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning thinking about betrayal and all its meanings. We planted seeds that we expected to produce peppers and tomatillos, and what we got was nightshade. Not just any weed, but a noxious one. So we've pulled up all the would-be peppers and the soil now sits fallow.

The seeds appear to be fine; they're from a reputable supplier. But the soil we planted in was soil we'd dug up from another part of the yard - perhaps not the best for planting seeds and clearly full of stuff we didn't know about, didn't want.

What a surprise it was when the realization hit. The disappointment. Some sadness, because we were so looking forward to what we would produce. It's interesting when you expect, hope for, anticipate, one thing and something completely different happens.

Kind of like my life right now. The seeds we planted 13 years ago both flourished and faltered at different times. We started out open, raw, honest, and grew close through sharing our deepest selves. Over the years, we've both developed and lost different tools, some effective, some not, and didn't always know the right ones to use. Perhaps sometimes it was easier to not use any at all and just wait and see.

What I wish we'd have done sooner was to seek help so what we created could flourish with tending and care. So much was good.

And now, there's anger, frustration, fear... it feels like, and maybe it's not true, but it feels like, those 13 years meant little, given the ease at which they feel like they're being discounted. Instead of working to recondition and amend and build up that soil, we're now starting over.

I'm trying to begin again, get down to the roots, tend my own soil and clear away the debris. An important thing to do at any time, but I'd have preferred to do it differently, in a different context, more closely in relationship to the one I've shared my last 13 years with. That's what I'd like to do, but I'm not really sure how it works without time together, so we can get back to that raw place of emotion and the willingness to be fully honest. We at least acknowledge that we do, indeed, love each other.

I did think we had better tools than this, that it wouldn't come to this, that we'd know to seek support because WE were that important; that with help, with some new, better tools, we could grow stronger and more solid. We just clearly didn't recognize it.

I don't like this place. A lot of resolution needs to happen, but the pain sometimes feels practically unbearable. Yet there are still garden chores to tend to, responsibilities to share, a household to dismantle and cats who need a lot of attention and love. All of this must be done with some kind of harmony. There is a part of me that still hopes for a different result.

Alchemy?

2009-08-19T21:46:00.000-07:00

Seems fitting... Not unlike compost. The breaking down of matter or philosophy to the most basic of compounds. Of course it's really more complicated - or is it? - than that...

From the Alchemy website:

Alchemy neither composes nor mixes: it increases and activates that which already exists in a latent state. Therefore alchemy can be more accurately compared with botany or agriculture than with chemistry. In fact, the growth of a plant, a tree or an animal is an alchemical process taking place in the alchemical laboratory of nature and conducted by the Great Alchemist, the active power of God in nature.
- Franz Hartmann

And another:

Alchemy is the art of manipulating life, and consciousness in matter, to help it evolve, or to solve problems of inner disharmonies.
- Jean Dubuis

Paul Coelho's "The Alchemist" hit the shelves about the same time I was in another major transition, and it was very significant at the time. Conceptually, it's just as significant now. It's time to seek, to peel away layers, uncover bare roots, and in the course of that, be fully open, honest and in complete integrity, for something new, stronger and far more powerful to be created.

Integrity is another of those words that has extreme power. Be your word. Do what you say you're going to do, and be true to your principles. Bring into alignment what you say, what you think, what you feel and ultimately, what you do. Clearly, I have some work to do, both as previously mentioned and in a few other areas, but I think when these all line up, amazing things can happen, and that's what I want. So this is yet another piece of the journey I've embarked on: lining up who I say I am with my thoughts and feelings, and ultimately, the actions I take.

Buy nothing

2009-08-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

Until now, I've had no interest in the "buy nothing" piece of the sustainability movement. But my motivation has changed. So today begins my year of buying nothing. And I'm stating it here to help hold me to my commitment. Whether or not anyone actually reads this blog, it's still a visible declaration.

So this post isn't about the garden, but it is about being more self-sufficient and sustainable, primarily personally but also because of my commitment to doing the right thing for the planet wherever possible. I'd say this is one area I've been out of integrity.

There will be exceptions - house emergencies, cat requirements - and food and household items are of course necessary. But I have to be careful about what I consider necessary - it's far too easy to stop at the local drug store for allergy pills and pick up a new tube of unneeded lipstick or jar of lotion. I'm not a spendthrift by any means and I'm fairly frugal, but when I do shop, it's often for the wrong reasons.

Why today? My life has taken a new turn. I am looking ahead to being on my own.

For most of my life, I've equated "stuff" with safety and love. Shop therapy has served me for a long time, but no longer. A cute new skirt, a pair of shoes, a new type of anti-aging cosmetic, or something for the kitchen... I can play dress up, pretend my life is different... Sometimes I consider shopping as entertainment or my clothes as part of my creative self-expression. But it's really more than that. When I'm feeling insecure, or unsafe, or scared, these purchases offer a momentary lift.

I no longer want the distraction of the "treasure hunt" or "something new," the false sense of being whole and complete. It's time for me to address my underlying safety and insecurity issues, thanks in large part to the baggage of my youth, so that I can come to a new place of power and choice. It will be hard. I have to find new ways to validate myself and allow myself to be loved for who I am.

For the last several days, I've been purging. I have donated about 20 bags or boxes of house and personal goods to Goodwill, and taken about five bags of food to the food bank collection boxes. My recycling containers are overflowing. I hope to never have so much stuff - ever again. And I'm not done. There is still so much more "stuff" to let go of - including the biggest piece of all, the "ball and chain" my mother called my house. Both a gift and a curse, it's time to look at how it can manifest into more of the gift than the curse it's become.

I would like to live life more lightly. My last purchase was a new camera, which for me is an important tool for living.

I hope to find a way to travel within the not-too-distant future, to explore my context within the world. I don't yet know what this looks like - only that I haven't lived my life-long dreams because I've felt incapable of creating them. I had hoped to be shown the way but I don't necessarily recognize the pathway when it opens, or even believe its possible. Doing this on my own would not have been my choice and I'd prefer to move forward with my partner, but I'm owning my own life right now. Clearly, something had to happen to make it important enough to move through inertia, complacency, fear - whatever it was that stopped me. And indeed, something did.

I have a lot of work to do right now - healing, learning, planning, clean up (emotionally, financially, physically) - before anything can really happen. But the weight of what I've been learning this last week tells me that it is infinitely important to do this work, take these steps, and own my past, present and future.

Lessons from my grandfather

2009-08-14T23:37:00.000-07:00

My grandfather was a gifted gardener. After he retired from the Bremerton Naval Shipyard (prior to that, he was a Merchant Marine and traveled the world), he spent most of his waking hours in the garden. At dawn, he'd step out onto the back porch, look out over the Olympic mountains, and take three deep breaths. And then he was off - picking peach curl from his beloved trees, planting seeds, weeding, giving special attention to his infamous Roma's or Golden Jubilees, chatting up the neighbors, the garbage collectors, the mentally challenged man named Roy who walked by several times a day...

I don't have a lot of childhood memories, but there are enough pictures of me in the garden with him to trigger at least a few. We'd sometimes cloud watch together and find pictures in the sky. I know he'd sing, "Don't sit under the apple tree, with anyone else but me..." The Gravenstein apple tree is still in the Northeast corner of the yard; I'm not sure whether he or his dad planted it. I'd climb to the top with a book and read - the view was spectacular, the branches placed just right for sitting, and when in season, I'd savor the sweet/tart flavor of the apples - still my favorite of all the varieties.

He taught me about fairness, about honesty, about integrity. We're all equal. Don't lie. Be respectful. Patience offers many rewards. Pay attention to the details; observe closely - and from afar. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Realize that the limitations of others can be a gift to the rest of us. Share your wealth, in whatever way that shows up, and yourself. Care deeply. Be considerate. Be who you say you are.

These were good lessons to learn and have served me well throughout most of my life. I'm so grateful for the friends I have who give so generously of themselves, who support me in times of need, who care deeply. I value their honesty and integrity, and I'm happy for the gift of their love and concern.

My grandfather died at age 70 when I was just nine, and I have few close relatives left. While my childhood was not idyllic by any stretch, I do know that my time in the garden with him was truly meaningful. I think he was most happy and at peace there, growing things, creating something from nearly nothing, making connections, sharing his wealth.

Rain comes

2009-08-12T19:50:00.000-07:00

We've had a few days of rain now. The rain barrels are full. While I'm grateful for the water, there's a sense that the dark days of autumn are near.

Shiv dropped off some lovely round plums yesterday from the tree he planted on our parking strip.

Garden as metaphor...

2009-08-09T12:26:00.000-07:00

The garden is in transition. Fiery colors prevail. The tomatoes are ripening daily. Carrots are thinning but still flourishing. The rainbow chard is bright and colorful.

Most of the other summer crops are dead. The weeds are coming back. Only a couple of new plants have been set into the ground; the next stage plants yet to be determined. We've talked about a variety of greens, beets, and radishes.

But given time and place, I'm not really sure what any of this will look like.

And so it goes...

Did the sky dry up?

2009-08-08T11:31:00.000-07:00

I can't remember when we've gone this long without rain. And the last several days have been gray and cool and threatening, but still not wet. Just today, I finally see rain predicted on my iGoogle forecast for the coming week, and it actually seems like it might come true this time. Rain has been predicted a few times over the last couple months, but has only minutely paid a visit. I never thought I'd say I was ready for rain.

Seattlest reports, by way of KING 5 Television's weather person, Jeff Renner, that June and July were our driest ever; not quite a quarter inch ( .24) of rain during those two months (a dry season that started mid-May and continues today). The record during that same period is just under half an inch (but the blog report doesn't give the year), although posts elsewhere mention both 2003 and 1965 as very dry summers.

According to the National Climatic Data Center, on July 16, 2009, we were experiencing moderate drought conditions:

The 0.18 inches (5 mm) at Seattle-Tacoma Airport was the third driest June on record dating back to 1948. There were 29 consecutive days (May 20th to June 17th) without measureable rain in Seattle, tying the record for a May-June dry spell.

Wonder where we're at now? And why I can't find anything more current to tell me? I do know that wetter than usual conditions are expected over the next week or so... Wonder what that'll do to the tomatoes?

Delicacy discovered ... in my own backyard

2009-08-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

Twitter is one of those social networking tools that I have mixed feelings about. I signed on because I need to know how to - and while I was job hunting, show that I can - use the tools of the day, given that I'm a "communicator" by trade or profession. But I don't post often, despise those posts that add no value (e.g., so and so is having a fine day...), find it most useful as a news feed (and am "following" many of the major, foreign and food/ag/health-related media), but still don't check it regularly (although I did discover a way to feed it to my Facebook profile, which nicely removes one step... ).

But today I learned about fennel pollen, thanks to Twitter and a local favorite, Amy Pennington's GoGoGreenGarden. I have a vague recollection of hearing about it once before from a local chef, but clearly put it out of mind.

Apparently, fennel pollen is considered a delicacy, and is very expensive if purchased, when you can even find it. I have fennel plants growing like weeds in my yard, and right now, the tall, licorice smelling plants have lovely yellow blossoms on the tops of their long stalks. It's time to harvest!

I looked online to get a better idea of just how to do this, and the best post was from SFGate.com, circa 1999. And I'm only just now learning about this! I love fennel, but only recently tried adding the bulb - cooked and uncooked - to salads and saute's. It's divine. The seeds are what I'm most accustomed to, however, and have many yummy memories of dipping fingers into bowls of seeds at Vancouver's Indian restaurants, or tasting them in savory Eastern dinners. While fennel pollen is reported to taste different, all reports say it's an amazing spice for fish, pork, lamb... or whatever you might want to try it on (a few ideas and links can be found at The Kitchen).

I just picked several blossoms and put them upside down in a paper bag to dry. Probably not enough, though, so I'll pick more tomorrow (when it's light out again) to make sure I have a nice supply. I'm eager to try this new-found seasoning - it adds yet another option for experimenting with food, something I've grown to really like doing.

The funny thing, to me, is how often I've thought I should pull all this darn stuff up; like the oregano, it could take over if I let it. I think I've just had a change of heart.

Seattle Times features sustainable 'hoods...

2009-08-02T13:28:00.001-07:00

...and we're included! Check it out in today's Pacific Magazine. My quotes aren't quite right and there were many other good photos the photographer could have chosen, but so it goes...

The shoot took place on the first - and last - day of rain sometime in June. Most of the gardeners were there, and we were all excited to see the rain (and hoping for a lot more). Despite those pictures not making it into the paper, I'm glad we were all able to be part of that. It was a fun time, and really illustrated the community connection we were creating.

A nod to Friday cat blogging

2009-07-31T22:29:00.001-07:00

It's Friday, they're adorable, they're in the garden, and I can't help myself. My "furkids" always make me laugh, so I had to share.

Note: It's my first-ever Friday cat blogging post... I kinda like it!

(Photos: Photo's cutworm imitation; Motormouth and Nightmare keeping a respectable distance apart)

Orange you glad we planted carrots?

2009-07-30T22:16:00.001-07:00

(I couldn't resist... sorry!)

They're like candy. Only better. They're sweet and exceptionally satisfying. So far, I'm pulling them out of the ground and eating them fresh, but they'd also be delicious sauteed with squash and carmelized, maybe using a bit o' that rich, dark honey... Carrots come in more colors than I ever knew about growing up, from various shades of purple, yellow and orange, to white. We planted orange.

Had I thought about it early on, there are a few things I might have changed, but I fully acknowledge this was an experimental year.

1) I'd have staggered plantings so we had the same vegetable ripening at different times.
2) I'd have planted more of those vegetables that take well to preserving via canning or freezing (and aren't too much work; I honestly can't imagine canning peas...).
3) I'd like to experiment with growing other vegetables (and plant more variety).

A slight breeze and a tad bit lower temperature tonight makes everything a bit more bearable. I know I'd really like the heat if I didn't ever have to get into my car (although a/c is absolutely brilliant), and if I could cool down the key rooms where I need to spend some time. And if my rain barrels still had water in them. I'm easy to please - really.

Carrots are still sitting on the back porch. I like them straight out of the ground with the excess dirt wiped off, but to take to work for lunch, it's probably better to give them a bit of a wash. How nice to have home-grown treats to look forward to in the office. Yum!

(Photos: yummy fresh picked carrots; zucchini and flowers)

Seattle Times features Sail Transport Company

2009-07-28T22:26:00.000-07:00

The Seattle Times online NW Source published a story about the Sail Transport Company, and included some of my photos.

Check it out in the Daily Find section: Sign up for fresh fruits and veggies delivered via wind and water

(Good work, Sheryl!)

Extreme heat

2009-07-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

OK - it's just too hot to sit in my wee little office to type out blog posts. Not a cross-breeze to be had anywhere near here. And the garden, well, it's still thirsty, and drinking lots of water from the tap. It could probably drink more, but for now, I just want to make sure everything at least remains alive.

I've heard it hit 110 here today, but for now it's just a rumor and I find it hard to believe. It would certainly be a record. However, mid-day, while out for a walk... well, it could have been 100, or at least the high 90s. I'm sure this has to be one of the dryest, hottest summers on record.

The tomatoes seem happy. Much more than last year, when rain was plentiful and hot summer sun was late in coming and then fairly scarce. The peppers are slow; we have signs of the fruit to come, but I remember we planted the seeds a little late. The ground cherries (tomatillos) have little pods (really little), so I'm hopeful! I thought they'd be going strong by now with all this heat, but it's the first attempt to grow them, so I guess we'll see. A few things have gone to seed, and we hope to use them for planting next year (more on that later). Grass is popping up everywhere and I'm too hot to care (and to hot to bother pulling it out).

Well, if I'm too hot to write, you're probably too hot to read. More when the breeze picks up!

(Photos: Thirsty raspberries; happy pepper)

Garden critters

2009-07-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

Our cats make a lasting impression on anyone who meets them. They're quite a handful, and I often say that one of my jobs is "cat management." I've had a number of people ask when I'm going to post some pictures. For those of you reading, please feel free to make comments about any kitty encounters with our little furballs.

TOP: Motormouth (14), aka King Cat, Mr. Cat, and the Big Bruiser (so named by my friend Diane); MM has been known to attack dogs. He wears a black leather spiked collar with a big red heart. He's our snuggler, despite being the neighborhood bully even at his advanced age.

MIDDLE: Photon (13), aka Futon (all 17 lbs), Waddles (self-explanatory), and Lassie (he saved a baby 'possum once)... In the 2nd photo, he sees Nightmare, hiding in the green fronds below and positioned to pounce. Despite having lived together for 10 years, Nightmare still continues to pick on him and he continues to run away. Sweetest cat ever, belly bag and all. He's come out of his shell, so to speak, since we've let him spend most of his indoor time in the basement. This is his space, and he's a happy cat. Now I sometimes call him Fungi.

BOTTOM: Nightmare (11), aka Dirt Pig because he LOVES to roll in just about anything, and he often looks more gray than white. He's also our most playful cat, still zipping back and forth, skidding around corners. He likes to play "chase" in the yard, bouncing (rather Tigger-like) from one spot to the next while I pretend to chase him.

All three have staked out their favorite garden spots, claiming them as their own. Forrest stocked our soon-to-be water feature with goldfish to entertain them, but to date, they haven't noticed (although Photon loves to drink the water). They've made friends with all the gardeners, and don't seem to use the gardens as giant kitty boxes. There's no shortage of dull moments with cats - and these guys are loaded with personality.

The good life, take 2, and more...

2009-07-20T22:14:00.001-07:00

Our "come on over, the grill's hot" call to friends developed into a swell little Sunday evening party. About 20 of us - climbers, coffee drinkers, gardeners, runners, music players - all got together for amazing food and good company. Berries were in abundance, corn made its first appearance, and local peaches perfectly balanced the pork and bell pepper kabobs glazed with Buck Hollow Farms honey and Kentucky bourbon (a nod to the south).

The garden is transitioning from early summer to late summer crops, and we're behind on pulling out the old and planting the new. Shiv's zucchini is one of few fresh vegetables right now as we eagerly await peppers and tomatoes. The bush beans look like they might make it, and I see some other squash flowers.

There really aren't enough hours in a day. I have good intentions to post about a weed product I found, introduce our furry garden friends, scan vintage photos from gardens past, and so much more. I'll get there... a new routine takes awhile to find some kind of groove, but I'm aiming for that!

(Photos: Friends; kabobs; Forrest at the grill; Andy's peppers)

Yellow gems

2009-07-18T15:32:00.001-07:00

The first little golden nuggets came off the tomato vines today! A small handful, they're just the beginning of what I hope will be at least a month of all things tomato. Caprese salads, now within the line of sight. Which is good, because I think my raspberries are dying from lack of liquid nourishment. And so it goes with trying to balance nature and nurture.

I stopped by the Ballard P-Patch this morning for their Art in the Garden event. Produce and berries there all look lush and beautiful. I wonder how often they water? Their raspberries didn't appear to be suffering at all, with large red berries ready for eating (but there were plenty of signs asking visitors not to pick).

Sometime this weekend we'll get out there and pull out the peas and start fall greens and maybe some corn. We may have to get starts; it may be too late to plant seeds in the ground. So many things I just don't know yet... trial and error, learn by experience and observation. I've always found that's the best way to learn, anyway.

The good life

2009-07-13T22:07:00.001-07:00

Sustainable Ballard's Food & Health Guild held its first summer event tonight, an "Eat Local" potluck. The open invitation suggested we bring a food dish to share made from local ingredients - ideally from our own gardens, as well as our favorite kitchen garden recipes and any questions we have about what to do with what we grow.

Over a dozen of us shared delicious food, from homemade plum wine and berry dishes, to quiche made from garden produce and eggs from backyard chickens. A number of us had picked up or had delivered a box or tote from Sail Transport Company - and of course we all raved about the Buck Hollow Farms honey.

I learned that beets really aren't very hard to prepare - simmer in a little vegetable broth, add a touch of honey, and they're as sweet as can be. Italian prune plums make fine wine - a batch started in September when the plums are ripe yields delicious results in January. There are a thousand uses for kale - and almost as many types. It's just about time to plant greens for fall crops. Garlic flowers can be sprinkled on top of main dishes and salads for a nice finishing touch. Edible flowers add not just gorgeous color but deliver a nice little flavor package. Bellingham hazelnuts made me want to plant my own. Amazingly enough, I don't think there was a single zucchini dish!

Thanks to Paula, a 23-year Ballard resident, for opening her home and garden. The idea was to come away inspired and with take-away tips and information. For me, it was a pretty successful evening.

(Photo: Jenny's salad, with all things fabulous from her garden)

A bit about the Sai l Transport Company
The Sail Transport Company tied up to the public dock at Golden Gardens on Saturday morning with about 40 shares of fresh produce from Olympic peninsula farms.

I met the boat to take some photos for a friend and colleague, and watched Alex, Fulvio and Robin unload the totes and boxes onto trikes and bikes for the last petrol-free leg. After a 25-hour return trip from Sequim (apparently the longest one yet, after a record-breaking quick trip over), the sailors were concerned about wilting, but the radishes, garlic and greens were impressive, and as pretty or prettier than anything I've seen in most grocery stores.

From the boat, I went to the local pick-up point to get honey pre-ordered by friends. Angela from Kick It Boots & Stompwear has opened up her store on NW Market, just west of 24th, for those who live outside of the delivery area to pick up their shares. The mood was festive - by 10 a.m., the air was already hot, the produce was sheltered in shade, and a fiddle-player entertained passers-by and customers.

If you're not already part of a CSA or growing your own, this is certainly worth a try. At least get on their e-mail list!

Parched! A side note...

2009-07-13T21:49:00.001-07:00

Kudos to Sunset Magazine for publishing a special report in their June issue about water, "Kick the Water Habit (in 12 steps)."

It's both an indictment of our national water addiction and an inspiring and helpful roadmap, showcasing water conservation success stories, offering helpful tips to reduce our own water use, and full of interesting statistics about how - and where - we use our water.

An illustration shows a future less dependent on water, with permeable pavement, native plants, smart irrigation, composters and water storage, along with a glossary of terms for those new to the idea of using less water.

A list of resources is also included. For the Northwest, they suggest Partnership for Water Conservation.

Here's a taste from the introductory article (hope I can do this if I give them enough credit!):

Admit that the West has a problem: Arm yourself with statistics

California is in its third year of drought.
The Colorado River has run low 9 out of the last 10 years.
By 2050, the Sierra Nevada snowpack
By 2050, the Sierra Nevada snowpack is projected to be depleted by at least 25% because of climate change.
Urban growth has reduced the groundwater feeding Arizona’s San Pedro River by 30%. The river already runs dry in places.

Look for inspiration: Dry Las Vegas got support from its innovative water district

Fly into Las Vegas, and you see a turquoise archipelago of pools glinting in the sun. You might think this desert city is gambling with its water supply like a loser at the craps table. You’d be wrong. Aridity is the mother of invention. Even though Las Vegas’ water use remains high ― mostly because the region gets only 4.2 inches of rain a year ― no area of the country has worked harder to use water wisely.

Parched!

2009-07-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

My garden is parched. While all of us make sure the beds are watered should someone forget or is unable to come over, I'm not sure the plants are getting as much as they'd prefer. Sad to say, sometimes I forget or, at various times, get thinking about water consumption and become a bit less generous with my plants. It's not a budget issue, it's a resource issue. I'm really fine with watering, especially when it's used to grow food. I'll even go so far as to say that watering for strictly aesthetic purposes can be worthwhile in some cases, but please, just not big, sweeping lawns!

I was listening to Alternative Radio on KUOW the other night when I heard the term "water justice." We've all heard of social and environmental justice... but I hadn't heard justice applied to water.

And then came, "peak water." I suspect we're also all familiar with "peak oil."

The last few days, the skies clouded over but no rain fell. I began to think about my garden from a place of unquenchable thirst. And then about how I've personally felt when I just can't hydrate - whether from no access to liquids or the inability to absorb them. It's almost like claustrophobia. Unable to breathe... Both the garden and I love the heat from the sun but it's so easy to wither without quenching that thirst.

Those new-to-me terms were uttered by Maude Barlow, a Canadian activist and author. She mentioned that water could be the catalyst that either teaches us all how to live with each other in peace, or be the cause of war for years to come. She talked about parts of the world - including parts of our precious first world - already feeling the effects of too little fresh water.

I know we're feeling it here. At our 2007 Focus on Farming conference, a day-long series of workshops addressed the issue of too much or too little. We're seeing hundred year floods here almost every year now, and drought-like conditions during hot summer months. The state of Georgia has experienced water shortages over the last several years - and this year filled up their water tables beyond capacity in less than a month. Yes, it's water - but it's also unusual and extreme. California and the southwestern states buy their water from wetter parts of the country.

Isn't it interesting that T. Boone Pickens is buying up water rights all over Texas? He plans to one day sell it back to the populace - when free, easily accessible water is no longer available.

Companies like Nestle who sell bottled water (and really bad chocolate-like substances) are draining the water from the Great Lakes and beyond.

Sewage water is now considered a possible resource.

And yet there are plenty of people out there who won't acknowledge climate change. Or that resources are finite. How can we possibly expect that on one planet, we aren't going to run out of the things we need when we have an endless appetite for new, different, better, and all of it takes some kind of natural resource (be it oil, water, mineral, etc.)? There are presently more than six billion of us - and our population continues to grow exponentially year after year.

Water justice. Something to think about when we buy products from the big agri-businesses (such as ConAgra, etc. - read your labels!). What a wasteful industry... Strawberries in January? Grapes from Chile? I'm not being self-righteous here; I'm a spoiled North American and I buy hothouse tomatoes and peppers in the middle of winter (but I do read labels and aim for conscientious purchasing...).

And of course, we have to have our sweeping green lawns, which makes no sense, particularly in water-scarce climates. Just why did that become a symbol of success? And just what is it with golf courses? Lawn's not only require excessive water, but typically require a lot of scary, poisonous chemicals (that end up downstream for our fish to soak up and consume).

Author and Sightline founder Alan Durning once asked, "How much is enough?" I ask this question of myself more and more all the time. I think it's something we're all going to have to ask ourselves going forward - whether we choose to or whether we have to.

A freakish new food trend

2009-07-08T18:46:00.000-07:00

Driving home from work, I tuned into NPR's All Things Considered. The report was about "tornado fries," a Korean trend apparently founded in South Africa and now gaining popularity on the US east coast - New Jersey, to be specific.

The "fry" - since it's really just one potato - comes in two sizes, 18 and 26 inches. Apparently cut like a giant curly fry, it's skewered and deep fried. While the potato is reported to be stretched in size, it seems to me that these must be mighty large potatoes - certainly not your average potato, or even what most of us would consider a "normal" potato. A blog post says you can grow these potatoes in your Denver backyard... Really? They look like frankenfood to me.

Not to mention, that's a whole lot of starch fried in a whole lot of grease. Somehow I doubt they're organic, local, or particularly nutritious in any way. I'm sure they're a "fun food" to eat if you're at the state fair, in need of a treat, and looking for something to share. But for me, even that's a bit of a stretch. Curiosity might bend my resistance... but a bite or two would do.

(Photo: egregiously pilfered from serious eats' June 27 blog post)

AP

2009-07-07T20:51:00.000-07:00

AP - on my electric and utility bills, AP stands for Andrew Peter, my great-grandfather and the second owner of the house I currently reside in. My Seattle City Light and Seattle Public Utility bills still come in his name.

I'm noting this because I recently started a new job, and Forrest and I have to show in some "official" way that we're domestic partners if he is to be covered on my new health insurance plan. Trouble is, while we've shared our residence for over 11 years, we have little to document this. We've kept just about everything separate (fewer things to argue over!).

The city would probably frown on our irresponsibility. But as long as the bills are paid, it doesn't seem to matter who writes the checks. I've been signing my name since we moved here in '99, and it hasn't come up.

Apparently, however, there is a fee for changing the service - must just be an administrative function, as I can't think of any other need for it. My mom declared this change a waste of time and money for her, since the only change for her would be the middle initial, to AM, and she lived here for nearly 30 years. For me, personally, I just haven't gotten around to doing it ... there are always other, more important things to do. And if the question did come up, I think my uncle's middle initial is P, and he is a co-owner... Regardless, the city departments still get paid - even occasionally in person at the local little City Hall. Never has anyone mentioned that the name on the bill is different than the name on the check.

So, AP it is, for now. About that domestic partner piece... well, I've named Forrest as my designate on my Durable Power of Attorney for Healthcare (just in case...), and that apparently counts.

Nurturing the "inner" garden

2009-07-01T22:46:00.000-07:00

Other than dinner-time grazing and occasional (but not the requisite daily half-hour) weeding and watering, I've spent little time in the garden this week. Garden collaborators have also been noticeably absent. Perhaps we all need a break? We worked darn hard leading up to the tour and created a beautiful and delicious place to be. But right now I think we're all too tired to care, and have shifted our focus back to a more balanced way of being.

I like to think I'm presently nurturing my "inner" garden - as I focus on a new job, learn about healthcare and the many issues we're all facing today, adjust to a new schedule, wrap up old projects and try to stick with my own wellness regimen. There's always plenty to do here, too! Pussycats are demanding more time when I'm home, and I don't feel as compelled to spend time at the computer. A long walk to Sunset Hill Park (what we Ballardites grew up calling "the bluff") was rewarded with one of the most spectacular sunsets I've seen yet, and a scent of the sea in the slightly cool air. We're expecting 80 degree temperatures over the next few days!

I have yet to open the utility bill to see what our water usage looks like. I'm hoping the rain barrels were sufficient for much of our first long dry period. Perhaps when I receive my first paycheck (soon!), I'll feel brave enough to take a look.

A few garden notes:

Peas, carrots and raspberries are flourishing and all are as sweet as can be! Miss Kasey from down the street visits the garden regularly; she, too, can't resist the garden flavors.
Tomato plants grow taller every day, and green tomatoes are getting bigger.
Mustard and kale have gone to seed, and we're leaving them untouched for now. Forrest wants to save the seeds for future planting, so we'll see how that works with these greens.
The pear trees look full, but the Gravenstein has only a few small apples. Golden & red delicious are more plentiful but not by much.

Garden tour update: Groundswell Northwest reports that over 100 enthusiasts took the self-guided tour, garnering much-needed dollars for GNW and Sustainable Ballard.

(Photos: Kasey in Shiv's pea patch; this so easily could be a picture of me at her age!; Sara and friend eating Shiv's peas while he describes his Hindu practice prior to our yoga session)

Ballard's first Edible Garden Tour!

2009-06-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

Saturday was Ballard's first-ever Edible Garden Tour, and what a perfectly sunny day it was! Could not have asked for better weather...

While I'd secretly hoped for an endless stream of visitors to show off our hard work (might not have been ideal for the garden, however), a respectable and continuous flow of garden tourists stopped by to look, ask questions, and enjoy our collective accomplishment. New projects were begun, friends came by to see what we've been working on, and ample food & beverages were consumed. Hearing oohs, aahs, and favorable comments was a nice acknowledgment.

Perhaps now that the tour has passed, the energy spent to beautify the yard can again be focused more on the food growing in our gardens. But I do think during this mad dash to the finish, our little garden community has flourished.

(Photos: Shiv, watering, first thing a.m.; new projects - Christopher & Andy; Forrest's new greenhouse [and Kasey's fort until next year]; Yukko talking with a visitor about Thai basil; bbq [Jen, Chris, Joyce, Andy]; Forrest sits)

Meet the gardeners!

2009-06-26T21:40:00.001-07:00

Forrest and I feel pretty lucky to have met such a terrific bunch of garden collaborators.

The result is amazing - the beds are productive, the weeding a collective effort, and together, we're creating a beautiful space for all of us to enjoy (with Ballard's first Edible Garden Tour as a hard and fast, very motivating deadline!).

While I think we're all enjoying the process and the shared wisdom, I am extremely grateful to each and every one who's come on board to create this thing that's far more than the sum of its parts.

Here's a little bit about all of us:

Laura & Forrest

“When I fully realized that we are a part of nature, to no greater or lesser degree than any other plant, insect, or animal, it was purely transcendental. And I didn’t learn that camping or hiking in the wilderness, I learned it in our garden here in the city.” - Forrest

Laura (that's me, your blog host) spent much of her childhood here at this house in this garden with her grandfather, who taught her much about life but not enough about gardening (perhaps not paying enough attention…). So she’s learning by trial and error and finds weed pulling unusually satisfying – although fewer weeds would be preferred. Even more satisfying is sharing the space with others who find it equally satisfying, and to see the space so fully used again.

Forrest seemingly comes to gardening through osmosis – his mother creates a garden wherever she goes, be it Georgia's Barrier Islands (Tybee), the north of England (Newcastle), or some remote setting in Ireland. Forrest has great instincts, is exceptionally resourceful, can be counted on to get things done, and makes sure that none of us have a single dull moment. He fully trusts his indigenous gardening partners- squirrels, birds, and moles- and is learning to trust his new human partners, too.

Shiv

Expose some dirt and Shiv will plant in it. Originally from India, his Punjabi accent is thick and his Hindu faith devout. Arriving in Seattle in 1980, his ancestors are religious teachers and farmers, and his mantra’s help the garden grow. His is the largest plot in the garden – and he also has the parking strip, along with plots in his own yard. He’s an inspiration – his garden produces something pretty much year ‘round, from mustard greens all winter to peas, tomatoes and the ubiquitous zucchini in summer. He’s lived across the street since 1991, has planted here for at least 10 years, if not more, and often brings his own water, digs weeds for exercise, and shares the bounty readily. He is often joined by his brother-in-law, a recent arrival from India.

Jennifer & Christopher

“May your garden always make you smile.”

Thanks to Urban Garden Share, Jennifer and Christopher are now garden collaborators. Their apartment, fortunately for this little community, had no more garden space than a small balcony. In Seattle for a number of years now, Jennifer came to Seattle originally from Ohio but by way of Georgia, where Christopher, like Forrest, hails from. Jennifer spent much of her childhood tromping through her grandparent’s garden and teasing her cousin, who would eat an onion like an apple – with the dirt still attached. She now expands on those memories as an adult by digging in the dirt everyday and nurturing a garden that in turn, nurtures her by providing daily surprises and growing friendships.

Andy & Yukko

“Please help yourself and your neighbors by growing your own community gardens with shared spaces.”

Andy & Yukko found the garden through Jennifer & Christopher. Andy is – like Laura, an anomaly these days – from Ballard, but Yukko grew up in Japan. They currently have a small garden at home, but were ready to do more. An interest in small-scale agriculture has been percolating for quite awhile, and they believe that urban farms can make a big difference. Here, they’re not just growing food, but they’re helping to grow a community.

Liz

Liz grew up in Ohio gardening with her mom but hadn’t done much gardening on her own. But her interest in gardening never waned, and she’s now growing a gorgeous garden complete with colorful edible flowers. Her Sweet Valentine lettuce is a bouquet of unmatchable proportions, and her beets are extraordinary. Liz is excited and grateful to finally have a space in Seattle in which to grow vegetables, also thanks to Urban Garden Share.

Ben

“Gardening is an attempt to deepen my conversation and connection with the earth.”

Ben lives in an apartment of the house just north of the garden. This is his first year in Seattle, and his first attempt at gardening. He became interested in gardening while living in a California orchard, and was continually inspired by the medicinal herb gardens tended by friends. Noting all the activity as the community garden got going, he, too, was ready to grow some food. His salad greens and herbs are thriving, and neighbor and prolific gardener Shiv offers continual advice.

(Photos: Andy & Yukko, early days; Yukko & Jennifer; Liz; Shiv; Christopher & Forrest)

Three days straight

2009-06-21T23:34:00.000-07:00

We've worked three solid days to get the garden "public ready" for next Saturday's Edible Garden Tour.

On Friday, it rained. The timing couldn't have been better. We had a photographer here from The Seattle Times, shooting for a piece that will run in an August (date unspecified) Pacific Magazine about Seattle's sustainable communities and community gardens. He was here barely five minutes before the skies opened and we had our first downpour in 30+ days (although I'm told it rained hard during the night, but I didn't hear a thing). Jennifer, Christopher, Andy & Yuko were here to help and for the shoot. Shiv stopped by to share some gardening wisdom (and some early zucchini).

On Saturday, we had a garden work party, and in addition to garden partners, Sara, Tim, Joyce & Greg came to offer a hand. We were able to get a good portion of the wood chips spread, weeds pulled, sod removed and a garden compost started. Good food followed, including some ice cream with freshly picked strawberries.

Today, Sunday and the summer solstice, Forrest and I finished spread most of the remaining wood chips in the side yard around the garden and back areas; we bought a few more plants, made a rock path, created several trellises, and put in some solar lights. Seemed a fitting way to spend the longest day of the year. We also drove by a couple of places we'd heard about - a swale someone had created on their parking strip, and a fabulous parking strip garden with triple-bin composting. Ideas!

This next week, some clean up, general weeding, more chip spreading (under the corkscrew willow and along the front south path) and a bit more planting and we'll be ready for Saturday's show. It's exciting to be able to share this with so many - I couldn't have imagined it looking better than it does. And there's so much to eat!

(Photos: Friday - Jennifer spreading wood chips; Yuko, Christopher & Andy [and Seattle Times photographer]; Saturday - Forrest & Greg; Sunday - grape path; garden view

Weed smarts

2009-06-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

Garden expert Ciscoe Morris writes in The Seattle Times, "Obey the Half-Hour Rule." Really great advice... He suggests we spend a half-hour every single day pulling weeds from the garden. That alone will keep weeds manageable and ensure lush, healthy vegetable growth. He writes that weeds compete with vegetables for the nutrients the soil and sun provide, so weeding daily allows the vegetables to get everything they need. Had I only started the half-hour regimen months ago!

Good news - it rained last night! While not as much as we need, it was enough to partially fill up a few of the rain barrels.

(Photo: dragonfly perched out in the 'back40' array of weeds (near the raspberries)

Beets, barrels and bark, for free!

2009-06-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

Gotta like free stuff... especially when it might cost a fair bit otherwise. Had delicious slow roasted beets for dinner tonight, compliments of Liz (a garden collaborator), got two new rain barrels from a Sustainable Ballardite, and the bark, of course, is from TreeMendous, as previously noted. Nice!

Praying mantis

2009-06-17T15:11:00.000-07:00

Just out weeding the "northwest corner" of our yard (actually the southwest corner, but it's planted with all natives), and a praying mantis lands on my arm. I didn't think they'd survive, but sure enough, here was this tiny insect...

Several weeks ago, Kasey and Tessa, who live down the street, brought over a just-hatched jar full of the insect-eating insects, and let them go in the yard. They were cultivated for a school project. Kasey, who just turned nine, can name almost any plant in the yard. Forrest and I look to her as a resource to help us identify the mysterious plants growing here that seemingly planted themselves (I thank - or curse - the birds and squirrels for that). She said they were good for gardens and would eat bugs like mosquitoes. Mosquito magnet that I am, I welcomed their arrival.

Mantises can apparently live about a year in warm climates - of which ours has been since their arrival. They'll die off in winter, but they're a friend to gardeners in summer months because they'll eat undesirable insects. Unfortunately, they can also eat desirable ones, so I'm glad they're where they are. There should be plenty of non-beneficial insects to keep them happy for now. And I'm assuming - hopefully rightly so - that these are the type of mantis that are legal to have in the US - apparently there are some types that are not.

Wikipedia has all kinds of interesting information about them: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Praying_mantis, and some really cool photos, too (since this little guy was far too quick for me to get a shot).

Update: Apparently those kept in captivity are doing far better than the one that landed on my arm - they're a lot larger. I'm told they're feasting on a steady diet of "spit" bugs; the neighbors have now depleted their supply, so they've come for ours. They're welcome to all they want - our mantis either hasn't found them, doesn't like them, or has another food source, and I quite despise them.

A natural progression

2009-06-15T00:31:00.000-07:00

After many hours of work and help from Jennifer (gardener profiles coming soon!), the squash bed is ready, cucumbers and basil are in, and the strawberries are happily watered and covered in new mulch. We learned that cucumbers should be planted about a foot apart and will climb if given a trellis. We added greens to our pasta and had fresh strawberries for dessert (on ice cream... mixed in with a bit of balsamic...!).

Herbs are all going gangbusters. The mints and lemon balm are truly prolific, as is the oregano in the front beds. If you plant these at home, make sure you give them room to wander, or contain them well!

The grape vines are spreading further and wider every day, and tiny little dots are forming on the vines.

We've had no rain for 26 days now. Gray sky for much of today, but no rain. The forecast now says Wednesday.

Forrest and I today acknowledged that this year is, indeed, a learning process. How much to plant, where to plant it and how plants work together. We have more mustard than we can possibly use, plenty of lettuce, and soon, peas. My tomatillos (ground cherries!) look promising. The tomato plants reach further upward every day, and I see the shapes of tomatoes to come. Caprese' salads for weeks on end! Does anyone know if homemade salsa can be frozen? A bumper crop of raspberries is anticipated.

Next up is laying down the truckload of wood chips from TreeMendous. They'll be placed between the beds, and hopefully in a whole host of other places, too. Hoping for a lot more - we've promised signage opportunities during the Edible Garden Tour in exchange.

Just two weeks till the garden tour, and much to do between now and then. Forrest and I think a volunteer work party might just be the thing - and a barbeque to celebrate the hard work. More on that to come, and photos, too (sorry no current photos; camera still broken, not replaced, and my computer won't read Forrest's card... )

(Photo: Shiv's gloves)

Rain, please

2009-06-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

With bones and blood firmly entrenched in the Northwest, and ancestry rooted in cold, northern climes (England, Sweden & Ukraine), you'd think I'd miss our dreary wet skies, typical for this time of year. I don't. I'm quite happy with our record-breaking May / June sunshine.

Except the garden (and my allergic nose) is in dire need of rain. The rain barrels are empty. I dislike watering at this time of year as a matter of principle. It's one of those, "shouldn't be's." Yet water we must.

A colleague and I were caffeinating ourselves at Sunset Hill's new Picolino's this morning, and got talking about water. And the very real possibility that in our lifetime, we'll see wars break out over water. I'm always baffled when I learn of people moving to Arizona, or Las Vegas, or ... dare I say it, Texas. With water shortages springing up (no pun intended) even in some of the country's wettest areas, just what are they thinking?

Meanwhile, the heat is divine, and some of our unhappier plants are showing greater signs of life - the mimosa, the jasmine...

Rain is finally predicted for Saturday (of course on the weekend, when we could have got more work done). And while you'll rarely catch me saying, "Rain, please," I'm looking forward to a drippy gray sky. But for no more than just a few days!

(Photo: Garden collaborator Andy, getting the last drops from a rain barrel)

Overgrown

2009-06-07T23:45:00.000-07:00

We've been here before. We've pulled up sod, planted shrubs, flowers, groundcover and herbs, and delineated beds with stones. And now we're doing it all over again. Same places, new growth. We have new holly, ivy, hawthorne, nightshade and morning glory.

Here's what I want to know. Is it ever really manageable?

What we call our northwest corner is actually located in the southwest, but we planted it with northwest natives. And now in addition to the ferns, bleeding hearts, and cedar, we have excessive amounts of money plant, dandelion, grasses and various other "weeds." The grass is insatiable!

On the upside, it looks like we'll have some blueberries this year, and the raspberries are unstoppable. The peas, lettuces, kale, chard and mustard are getting bigger and better by the hour. We're all sharing the wealth. And fellow gardeners are helping with some of the overall yard maintenance. It's nice to have help.

I'm not sure how many days we've been without rain now, but I think it must be a May/June record for Seattle. The garden could use some. The rain barrels are about dry. Maybe we can all do a rain dance?

(Photo: just one of many overgrown sections of the yard - poppies, weeds, grass fronds... the list goes on)

Heat wave

2009-06-04T23:35:00.000-07:00

Suffice to say I've been remiss about blogging. Away for just over a week, then coming home to back-to-back meetings and the heat that was completely missing in Georgia, I haven't had a minute... However, the weeds and grass haven't stopped growing, so each day I take a few minutes to pull a few more, attempting to slow the exponential growth that happened while we were away.

The good news is that the edibles are all coming along en masse, too. The mustard greens continue to amaze - the hot, peppery, spicy leaves resemble a horseradish flavor - and they'll clean your sinuses, too. Which isn't a bad thing with so little rain, and cottonwoods rampantly shedding their fiberous fluff.

I'll be back on track with regular posts soon, and will update all pictures. Maybe even a quick Savannah recap - we finally did meet a farmer! Hilton was his name, and he was there with his wife Robbie, selling their organic vegetables and eggs from the back of his truck at one market, an actual booth at the second. Sales were brisk as they were the only farmers present.

The heat is expected to continue - a little overcast this weekend, but not much cooler. Maybe enough to hold the weeds at bay 'til I can catch up!

Sweet greens

2009-05-30T14:21:00.000-07:00

In just over a week, while we were in Savannah, the garden exploded in size and color!

Last night we picked spinach, chard, kale and mustard greens and I sauteed them in olive oil, a bit of good balsamic and a smidgen of garlic. I didn't know greens could taste so sweet. Delicious! And there's so much more where that came from. A whole season's worth! That, next to some just-arrived Copper River salmon, made for a welcoming homecoming meal.

News tip:
Ballard Market has Copper River Salmon on sale for $9.99 a pound.

There's local... and then there's local

2009-05-21T08:19:00.000-07:00

Washington apples, Nature's Path cereal (Blaine, WA), Pacific Foods tomato soup (Oregon) - these were our first purchases at the Wilmington Island Publix supermarket, the best place to purchase organic near Tybee Island, GA, our "home" for the next week. Not quite what I had in mind when I went looking for "local" food among the organics.

We did, however, purchase locally caught shrimp, and Forrest sauteed these lovely pink morsels in butter and garlic in our beach house kitchen.

The winds here are like nothing I've seen, and my hoped-for trip to the Wednesday farmers market to buy our week's food supply was canceled. Fortunately, Savannah has two Saturday markets, and if the weather improves (although rain and high winds are expected every single day we're here), I plan to go to both, if not for groceries, to sample locally grown freshness.

The market near the historic Pirates' House restaurant at Trustees' Garden, not far from Factors Walk (originally a cotton exchange, dating back to the mid-1800s), was established about this time last year as a monthly market, and earlier this month, opened weekly. The garden's new owner is apparently reinventing it as a center of organic and sustainable living. In 1733, not long after Oglethorpe founded Savannah, it was here that an experimental garden for the silk industry was established (mulberry trees?). Manager Tate Hudson hopes it will one day be an urban educational farm.

The Forsyth Saturday market is a project of the local food collaborative. The 30-acre Forsyth Park is a few short steps from Brighter Day, the local organic food co-op, and The Sentient Bean, a frequent stop during my last Savannah trip. It's the closest I found to a good Seattle coffee shop. In the middle of Savannah's historic district, Forsyth is one of 21 "squares" - parks around which the downtown core is built. It's a beautiful place to visit - even in the rain.

Georgia peaches are not a cliche - they really are amazing, as are the shrimp - but it's not the season for fresh peaches. Surely, there must be other delicious local foods (aside from Forrest's favorite - boiled peanuts). I'll report back!

Noted: Seen on an Illinois-licensed tractor-trailer en route from Atlanta to Savannah, somewhere in rural Georgia: "Delivering supply chain solutions to the food industry." - Dot Foods (specializing in "less-than-truckload" food redistribution...). Who knew?

(Photos: Scenes from Tybee Island - turtles, gardenia [if only I could download the smell!], and... the rain...)

Weed eaters

2009-05-17T23:38:00.000-07:00

So today we take advantage of our first-of-the-season 70+ degree weather and try to get caught up on weeding. And Forrest says, out of seemingly nowhere, "Maybe just one chicken. Well, maybe two..."

Huh?

We've been around other people's chickens recently. Including my life-long friend Laurel's, who sent us home from Fall City yesterday with a half-dozen fresh eggs, and a handful of colorful birds we met about a mile north of us. Their digging and scratching apparently caught his eye. They'll eat just about anything - and dig up anything else while looking for bugs and worms.

"We'd just have to put foot-high fences anything we didn't want them to eat."

Or destroy... Oh - and we'd have to build a chicken coop (and find a place for one), and generally do all the things that must be done if chickens are to share the homestead. We have a hard enough time managing cats.

No chickens. While chickens are appealing for many good reasons - eggs, weeding, fertilizer - just getting ready for chickens would take more work than digging the weeds ourselves. Besides, despite my complaints, weeding is actually a pretty good workout. Noting how my body feels right now, I have muscles that I'm fairly unfamiliar with!

If you can't grow your own...

2009-05-14T23:51:00.001-07:00

...then do the next best thing and visit a Farmers Market near you. Thanks to The Seattle Times for such a comprehensive list!

At just about any market, you'll find more than just vegetables: fresh, sustainably produced, salmon safe meat and dairy products, fish and shellfish, legumes, ciders, honey, lotions, potions, art, crafts, ready-to-eat food - there's an ample array of all things good, and good for you. And there's one happening in close proximity almost any day of the week.

(Photo: Evergreen State Fair '07 - cooking demo - "what's fresh now")

State soil?

2009-05-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

While re-reading Natural Capitalism, I took another book off the shelf to revisit: Donella Meadow's Global Citizen, for me, an eye-opening book. Hers is a voice much missed; I learned of her work through an environmental issues course, unfortunately after her death. But her co-authored Limits to Growth raised the bar on sustainability issues, and Global Citizen is a collection of her essays and newspaper columns that serves as a good introduction and summary of her expansive and important work. Journalist, farmer, environmental scientist (a biophysicist, actually) and teacher, she was a founder of the Sustainability Institute, what she called a "think-do-tank."

Flipping through the pages, I came across an odd tidbit... In addition to state flowers and birds, there are 20 states that have an official state soil. Who knew? If it wasn't for Global Citizen, I wouldn't. Dr. Meadows, while writing about farms, food and land, mentions Wisconsin's state soil, the Antigo Silt Loam. Given my fascination with dirt, I did a Google search. And there it was: Washington State's official soil is "Tokul." (Natural Resources Conservation Service - PDF about the soil). We apparently have more than a million acres of the stuff, all on the west side of the Cascades, and it's extraordinarily fertile ("among the most productive soils in the world").

Really, who knew? Did you? How is this depicted anywhere? A bird, a flower, but soil? Here's a link to the list.

It's about "place"

2009-05-14T16:31:00.000-07:00

Thinking about Wendell Berry, poet, farmer, philosopher, conservationist... I'm re-reading Natural Capitalism and in the "Building Blocks" chapter, authors Hawken & Lovins(2) quote:

"What does this place require us to do? What will it allow us to do? What will it help us to do?" he asks.

He also said, "What I stand for is what I stand on" - referring to how we measure what we value - that it can't always be about dollars and cents, but also about a higher purpose.

Every now and then, I'm reminded of Scarlett O'Hara, on her knees at Tara, dirt running through her fingers, and while hardly so dramatic, I understand what it means to feel connected to something, to a piece of land, a piece of my heritage. I particularly love the trees here.

Here's another Berry quote:

It is possible, as I have learned again and again, to be in one's place, in such company, wild or domestic, and with such pleasure, that one cannot think of another place that one would prefer to be - or of another place at all.

Blossoms & blooms

2009-05-13T20:17:00.000-07:00

Despite our consistently weeping skies, the days are longer and the temperatures warmer (albeit not by much...). Nature seems to know when spring arrives even when the rest of us aren't so sure.

Here - a few images of the blossoms and blooms currently in the garden, captured during a dry moment earlier today.
- Apple blossom: a tree in the far west corner of the lot, golden delicious on one side, red on the other. Either my grandfather or great-grandfather grafted it.
- Strawberry flowers - it won't be long now!
- Rhody rescue - came from one of Forrest's job sites; it's huge and didn't miss a beat
- Grape vines - we have red and white
- Pink dogwood - a tree given to my grandmother by my aunt & uncle several decades ago

Phantom plant update

2009-05-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

Broccoli successfully moved; tomato plants in. The broccoli now lives on the slope to the east of the gardens, but west of the grapes. They're on the other side of Shiv's garden, where they'll still get great sun.

Other than a couple "wasn't me!" declarations, no one has mentioned anything about having planted them. They're healthy plants - and I'm sure there will be plenty for all of us.

The first greens

2009-05-11T19:52:00.001-07:00

Perhaps miniscule, but every bite delicious... Our first harvest: mustard greens. The new little shoots were thinned to make room for more to grow.

Gently pulling the baby greens from the ground, Forrest carefully trimmed the roots and stems and cleaned them. After "spinning" them dry (my salad spinner consists of putting two colanders together and shaking like crazy), we added them to a salad of romaine lettuce with a light oil and balsamic vinagrette.

Purchased at a specialty grocery, the baby greens are potentially expensive - both in dollars and, quite likely, footprint. These sweet greens took a bit of muscle energy, sunlight, reclaimed water and some nicely composted soil. And we have a whole lot more to look forward to.

I think it's a pretty good deal.

The Visitor

2009-05-10T22:16:00.000-07:00

Today is Mother's Day, and in just over a week, it'll be nine years since my mom died. Born in 1936, the youngest of four, she grew up in this house with her mom, dad, siblings, and countless pets. Somehow, they made it work - six of them in this 900 sq ft, barely two-bedroom cottage; some years, they even took in others.

Mom also spent much of her adult life here; we moved in when I was a teenager to care for her mother, my grandmother, and she didn't leave until the last year of her life, when she needed more care than I could provide.

Mom didn't talk much about her childhood, but thankfully, she took a creative writing class where she put a few of her best memories on paper. In a tribute to her on Mother's Day, here's one of her stories.

The Visitor

“Ruf, leave those flowers alone,” dad yelled from where he was hoeing carrots and beets. “And stay out of my garden. You’re ruining it.”

He tried to sound angry, but he was fond of Rufus, so he wasn’t too convincing. She continued on her way, picking blossoms here and there and dropping them, leaving them where they lay. She was quite a clown, parading about in her rusty-red coat and bright red hat. She darted around on her spindly little legs, completely oblivious to dad’s warning.

When I think back to my childhood, I remember Rufus so well because she was such a frequent visitor. So much so that she was like a member of the family. She arrived most anytime of the day, timidly tapping at the back door.

“Hi, Ruf,” said mom, as she opened the door. “Come on in and set a spell. How are you today?”

Accepting the invitation, Rufus entered shyly, looking to see if the dog or cat were anywhere nearby. She wasn’t really afraid of them, just cautious. She made a quick tour of the house and greeted each member of the family in turn, checking to see if there was any activity going on that interested her. Usually not finding, she finished her inspection and headed for the kitchen to look for her special treat. Mom always had a little something for her, and she always hid it in a different place. Rufus poked around until she finally located it. She was a good snooper.

Rufus seemed to know instinctively when it was time for dad’s lunch. While he cleaned up, she perched in the chair next to his and waited, and then, as he ate, watched patiently. Her begging brown eyes followed every move of his hand. She looked plump and well-fed, but I guess dad felt sorry for her – soon he was sharing his meal with her.

She had her fill and went looking for mom. She was especially fond of her because mom took such good care of her during her tragic, near-fatal illness. Rufus followed her around the house like a lost puppy; they went from room to room, dusting, cleaning and making the beds. She wasn’t any help, but mom enjoyed her company.

The only thing that Rufus seemed frightened of was the vacuum cleaner. We couldn’t imagine why because it had never been used when she was there. But she became very flustered and gave it a wide berth whenever it was left in the middle of the floor. I often wonder what would have happened if it had been turned on.

When she decided her visit was over, Rufus left the same way she came. She hopped lightly down the stairs and went about her business. She seemed to know she’d be welcome when she came calling again.

I remember Rufus so vividly because she was our pet chicken, a beautiful, tawny-feathered Rhode Island Red, with a brilliant crimson top-knot. She was part of a flock of chicks, hatched in the old barn behind the house, by a cackling, mean biddy. She was smaller than the others, so they picked on her, a rather common occurrence in Chickendom.

We never knew what really happened, but one day, when mom went to collect the freshly laid eggs, she found Rufus, prostrate, in the corner of the henhouse, half-dead and almost completely paralyzed. The others were pecking at her mercilessly. Mom screamed for help, so we brought her a warm blanket and she gently wrapped Rufus up and brought her into the house. Tears glistened on the rims of mom’s eyes as she carefully laid Ruf in a box by the roaring fire. Day and night she watched over her, talking softly, gently massaging her almost lifeless body. Day and night, she cried a little and prayed a little. At last, she coaxed her to accept some food, and slowly, the battle was won. With mom’s patient and loving care, Rufus returned to life.

It took many weeks for Rufus to regain all her strength. When it was time for her to return to her former residence, she objected strenuously, and the other hens weren’t very welcoming. She never did completely re-orient to her old way of life; from then on, she was only a part-time occupant of Chickenville. Whenever the notion struck, usually at meal time, she flapped her wings, cleared the fence, and came calling on her adopted family. I’m sure, in her little chicken-mind, she felt she was really “people.”

I don’t recall whatever happened to Ruf. I suppose she’s somewhere in Chicken Heaven, picking flowers, leaving them where they lay. Back in those days, chicken was often on the dinner menu. But I hardly think such an awful fate could befall a delightful, captivating and well-loved pet like Rufus.

- Anelda

(Photo: this yellow rose bush was a gift from mom, probably around the time I graduated from high school)

A work in progress (pictures)

2009-05-08T23:47:00.001-07:00

A few pictures... top to bottom:
- yard clean-up begins, blackberries are now gone... (4-06)
- advice from Shiv (4-06)
- "let's plant a garden"... (4-06)
- Anthony's garden looking north (foreground, 7-07)
- Anthony's garden looking south (7-07)

In search of Roma's

2009-05-08T18:56:00.000-07:00

Shoreline's Sky Nursery recently expanded, and I've been eager to check it out. But it's not on my beaten path and I didn't want to make a special trip. Today I ran some errands in the north end, so I dropped in to find organic Roma starts.

From the highway, it's a giant greenhouse, adjacent to a funky little store that's housed the garden center for a half century or so. Stepping inside, the plant choices seem endless.

And out of hundreds of tables and display areas filled with plants, only one - count 'em, one! - offered organic vegetable and herb starts. That's it, just one. I asked a staff person if I was missing something and maybe there were more somewhere else, but she, and not very friendly, mind you, said no, that was all they had.

With all the information available to the public now about our barely-regulated food supply, the harm to land and body from chemical-based fertilizers and pesticides (and the need to lessen our dependence on petroleum-based products), and the ever-growing interest in organic food, how could so little space be devoted to organic plants?

To their credit, they have organic fertilizers, seeds and other materials that support organic gardening. But I'm surprised that demand for organics isn't higher - after all, we live in a pocket of the country that's environmentally savvy, supportive of local farms and food, and we're fervent recyclers.

If it's a matter of supply, the number of organic growers in the Northwest increases every year; surely there must be other sources. These starts came from Rent's Due Ranch, a Skagit County farm that also supplies PCC Natural Markets.

But PCC didn't have tomato starts, nor did my neighborhood grocery, despite great choices in herbs and other plants. I'm sure the weekly farmers market has them, but I don't go often.

I'm not an organic purist. I can't afford to be. But since I'm now growing my own, I'm aiming for organic as much as possible. Growing organic makes sense - it's cheaper, better for the planet, and more nutritious than conventionally grown.

Perhaps the thing to do is help create demand by voicing my concerns in a letter to the nursery. If enough of us use our voice to express the things we care about, change happens. Or... I'll just shop elsewhere.

(Photo: Skagit Valley's Rent's Due Ranch "Roma's Best" tomato plant, purchased at Sky Nursery, 5/09)

Fern parts

2009-05-06T23:38:00.000-07:00

A notice landed in my inbox tonight that Misty Mountain Mushrooms was following me on Twitter. The polite thing to do is to "follow" back, so I clicked on the link to find out more. Based in Richmond, BC, this guy is following nearly 2,000 people, has almost 500 followers - and only one update. How does that work???

Anyway, his one and only post read, "Does anyone want some yummy fiddleheads?" with a link to his web site.

It reminded me that we've got a record crop of fiddleheads in the yard. The unfurled new growth of a fern is purported to be so named because of their resemblance to the scroll of a violin head, which somehow doesn't have quite the same ring when talking about something edible...

Ferns grow best in wet weather areas - along both US coastlines and parts of Canada. And trust me, you haven't seen ferns until you've been to the rain forests of Western Washington or the west coast of Vancouver Island.

While our yard ferns don't compare, it never occurred to me to pick and cook the fiddleheads. Though they're cultivated by places like Misty Mountain, fiddleheads are a true foraged food - available to anyone with a sense of adventure. Like mushrooms, some are quite toxic - foraging requires some research. The ostrich fern is the type most likely to be flavorful and cause the least stomach distress.

I've only had fiddleheads once as part of a meal. I remember a strong bitter taste, not particularly appealing, despite a slathering of butter. I hear they taste similar to asparagus, but that's not my recollection. I love asparagus!

However, health and wellness is another passion, and at our house, we try to eat whole, local and organic food whenever possible. Fiddleheads are apparently very high in nutrients - they're loaded with iron, potassium, and vitamins A & C, the B vitamins Niacin and Riboflavin, along with trace minerals and other nutrients. For those of us interested in greater self-sufficiency and getting the most nutritional bang for the buck, so to speak, these are both good reasons to give them another try.

To reduce the bitterness, fiddleheads must be well-cooked. Boiling is most often suggested (imagine that!), although other methods could work. Their season is short, no matter the locale, but they can be purchased frozen (I think Trader Joe's even carries them in their frozen foods section). Fresh fiddleheads are a crisp bright green, so if you're foraging and come across fiddleheads with fuzzy brown scales, leave them behind.

I'm sure the farmers markets sell them in season. Or find them in the woods when out hiking, or maybe in your own - or your neighbor's - back yard. Other than the massive dose of butter, that makes them pretty affordable, too!

(Photo: Ferns, sans fiddles...missed the opportunity window...)

Phantom Plants

2009-05-05T17:33:00.000-07:00

There are phantom plants in our plot! The space we reserved for tomatoes, of which I bought three at Tilth's Edible Plant Sale this weekend, is now filled with broccoli - at least I think they're broccoli - starts. No idea where they came from... although I'm suspicious of Shiv and his desire to continually expand. But I honestly don't know for sure. We each have our own designated areas, so I find it difficult to imagine anyone planting anything anywhere else. Hmmm....

Move them? Put a little sign out asking for whomever planted them to please pull them up and put them somewhere else? I'm not sure what we'll do, but we have until this weekend to decide. Perhaps by then, the phantom planter will show him- or herself, and we can politely request that the plants be moved.

To be continued...

Harvesting rain

2009-05-04T19:19:00.000-07:00

Water - it's essential to life as we know it. And here in the wet Northwest, it seems like we're blessed with more than we need.

Our rainfall is ample. Winter snowpack on nearby mountains ensures water for most of the year. Yet in the hot, dry months of late summer, we sometimes face shortages.

I curse the rain when it pours for days on end. But that energy is better spent giving thanks for the rain barrels that store the surplus.

Water is a big deal. Because of my work with local farms, I know they're working to reclaim water and create better on-farm water storage. Water rights are a big issue. Water - too much or too little - can threaten our very survival. It's the subject of international discussions and a reason for potential conflict (right up there with oil).

Seattle, fortunately, encourages rain water harvesting, although individual permits were once required state-wide. Recognizing the futility of enforcement in Seattle, where so many homeowners harvest their rainwater through catchment systems, the state granted a region-wide permit. Here in the northwest part of the state, it makes good environmental sense, too - surplus water would otherwise runoff into Puget Sound, carrying with it all the "stuff" that accumulates on our surface areas - motor oil, animal waste, chemicals, pesticides (although not from my yard!).

Plants must have water in order to grow the food we need to thrive. Why wouldn't we capture some of that rainfall for future watering needs? I'm looking forward to a lush, edible garden this year, grown as sustainably as possible, using organic or heritage seeds and plants, deliciously composted soil and the water we've stored in our eclectic collection of rain barrels.

And in case you're interested, here is more information and other resources pertaining to water.
HarvestH20 - online rainwater harvesting community
Rainwater Collection - Washington State Dept. of Ecology
and, while a different issue but no less important and interesting:
"Water for Life Decade - 2005 - 2015" - UN Millenium Development Goals

May Day, and lilacs at last!

2009-05-01T13:06:00.000-07:00

Today is May 1st, and at last, the lilacs are blooming. They're late this year - where we are in Ballard, they're usually earlier than the rest of the city, which means by mid-April, they've come and gone. Today feels like one of those days to be truly thankful for. It's sunny, warm, fragrant and vibrant.

May Day, originally a Pagan holiday, is barely noticed in North America today. Still celebrated in parts of Europe, the most recognized symbol of May Day is the legendary Maypole, a tall, typically wooden pole festooned with greenery, flowers and ribbons for May Day celebrations. Despite my Scandinavian heritage and growing up in the Norwegian and Swede-heavy burg of Ballard, the only time I danced the Maypole was in summer Girl Scout camp.

“May baskets” were the May Day tradition I grew up with. As a kid, I’d make baskets from paper, fill them with fresh-picked flowers (from ours or neighboring yards), and then gently carry them, delivering them to the doorsteps of the older ladies on the block.

Most of the ladies who lived here when I was little even knew my mom when she was that young. An only child, they all looked out for me. In tribute to them, I think I'll pick some lilacs today and leave them on doorsteps.

Clearly, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. Lilacs do that - it must be their extraordinary fragrance that plays tricks with time. We have both white and purple here - white lilacs apparently represent "youthful innocence," while purple are symbolic of first love. While creating something new and different in this house, this garden, and even on this block, the memories of youthful innocence sometimes visit.

I think May Day should be resurrected among acknowledged holidays. It's a happy day, a good "get to know your neighbor" day, or a reminder to show appreciation to those we do know. Knowing who lives nearby has its benefits - we chat casually, look out for each other, share cat sitting and run the occasional errand. It all adds up to a stronger and safer community. Not a bad thing in today's crazy world.

For those who know the block or the garden and are curious about the aforementioned ladies, here's a glimpse into the delightful women who used to live here:

Mrs. Johnson (Todd & Martha's place now) - on the southeast corner of 73rd, whose husband baked the most delicious bread and often delivered just-caught salmon (the Johnson's owned the lot where Shiv's house now stands), she kept beautiful rose bushes all around her house
Mrs. Decker (Caden's house) - who with Mr. Decker, had a funny little cockapoo, and would make woven rugs with my aunt in a back room she dedicated for crafts; the rugs covered the floors throughout my grandparents house
Mrs. Bean - she's still here - and still driving - bless her 95-year-old heart. She grew up on a farm near Yelm and has great stories to tell about living through the depression. She's been widowed now for at least 15 years but still wears her husband's glasses
Mrs. Nolte (Jackie and Bill's place now) - I have her silver-plated angel candle sticks
Mrs. Vaercamp - we still say hello by telephone on the "neighborhood night out" thanks to Doug down the street who stays in touch
Mrs. Carlson - with the long, steep driveway where I'd ride my bike, I remember many evening visits in front of their fireplace; her husband took his own life after her death - he was unwilling to live without her
Miss G (now Leann & Cody's place) - with a German last name I couldn't pronounce, many of us shortened her name to Miss G. She was old and decrepit, barely able to walk; rumor had it she'd never married, and she outlived any friends. She sat next to her front window looking out at everyone who passed, barely visible; I visited often and always waved when I walked by, whether or not I could see her, just in case
Dorothy (Laura, Devon, Kasey & Tessa's place) - a widower and sister of Emil, who owned a 1963 white Chevy Impalla that she drove until cataracts made driving impossible, but it accompanied the hearse at her funeral. Her mother, old Mrs. Wurm, lived there, too, and sat in a rocking chair near the window, rocking her doll; she'd reverted, we said, back to childhood, our then-understanding of Alzheimer's
Mrs. Newton (Karen's house) - whose daughter BG looked just like a model but who otherwise I barely remember, even though she lived just next door

(I have pictures to post when I finally get them scanned...)

Late Starts

2009-04-29T13:01:00.001-07:00

Being somewhat new to growing 'real food' (I've grown herbs, greens, and flowers, and I've been around a lot of gardens, and somewhat recently, farms... ), it didn't occur to me - until it was long past the "six weeks prior to last frost" - that I would need to start some of my seeds in pots, indoors. And even if it had, I don't have a single inch of indoor space for extra plant pots.

I've started some anyway. Growing up, a delicious treat grew alongside the garden's edge - we called them 'ground cherries,' or 'husk tomatoes,' but they didn't really look like either. They were berry-like, small, sweet and yellow, and grew inside a husk. I've looked for seeds or starts for years and couldn't find them.

Apparently they're a type of Tomatillo and Territorial Seeds had a few organic types to choose from in the 2008 catalog. I ordered two varieties, but never planted them. In fact, I forgot about them until about a week ago.

Shiv had some no-longer-used pots, so I borrowed them and planted my seeds. I thought a greenhouse effect of some sort might help, so I re-purposed some plastic storage boxes, placing them over the pots to trap the heat. I think it might be working - I see wee plants popping up. Forrest seemed to think it could work, and did the same with some tomato seeds.

I'll keep you posted, and if they transplant successfully and actually produce fruit, you'll have to come by for a taste.

Honey worth waiting for

2009-04-27T17:16:00.000-07:00

It's the holy grail of honey. I first saw the jars while volunteering with Sustainable Ballard at an Earth Day event just over a week ago (see earlier post) and knew I had to try it.

Today, Dave Reid of the Sail Transport Company delivered a jar to my doorstep, where I happily exchanged a check for a three-pound jar. The glossy, rich golden-brown shade resembles that of new motor oil, but didn't require a drop from farm to delivery. For those of us thinking about our carbon footprint and how we might pay for and access food (other than what we grow) when oil prices skyrocket, this is nice to know.

The honey comes from Buck Hollow Farms in Poulsbo and arrives in Seattle via Whisper, Dave's sailboat. I don't know whether the personalized service is typical, but it came to my door from his slip at the Shilshole marina thanks to Dave's pedal power.

Forrest says, "we've discovered the 'crack' of honey." We shared a honey-combed spoonful with the neighbor. He agreed.

I'm amazed that, growing up, I didn't like honey. But then again, it's understandable when I remember that most of the honey available then was supermarket-style, mass-produced and processed.

This is not that. Until recently, I bought my honey from the Ballard Farmers Market. It's really good stuff. But that's not this, either. This is it. The stuff. I'd call it honey love. You might want to order yours now. It's really too good to pass up.

Dirt

2009-04-23T16:27:00.000-07:00

How important is it? It's essential.

And tasty, too. As a kid, a favorite thing was to pull a bright orange carrot from the ground, wipe off the loose dirt, and savor every crunchy bite of the earthy sweet flavor.

Now that it's near the end of the month, I'm finally reading my April PCC Sound Consumer. The publication always contains great information, but one particular paragraph caught my attention, "Eat More Dirt."

I've long been baffled by our current preoccupation with dirt and germs and the proliferation of all these "anti-bacterial" and disinfecting soaps, sprays, and gels. I'm convinced this can't be good for our immune systems.

The Sound Consumer "News Bites" piece supports my suspicion. It begins, "Biodiversity beats sterile home for healthy babies," citing a study by Rodale Institute, an authority on health, food, gardening and more. It goes on to say that our bodies need germs and dirt for a healthy immune system, and to possibly even prevent allergies and asthma.

While I don't advise eating a handful (although what kid doesn't at some point?!?), especially with all the environmental toxins around these days, a little dirt, especially if it's the nutrient-dense kind from your organic backyard garden, isn't a bad thing. I'm looking forward to pulling up my carrots, wiping off the dirt, and taking a deliciously satisfying bite.

Of course there's more to it than that. We're losing our soil, and thanks in large part to big agribusiness and our utopian idea of the perfect lawn, contaminating what's left. Franklin D Roosevelt once said, "the nation that destroys its soil destroys itself."

We're learning that yes, organic agriculture could feed the world, probably should, and there's a movement afoot to help organic farming grow and stop subsidizing the big agriculture businesses. We have a long way to go but the studies are plentiful and reassuring.

Further along in the News Bites, a paragraph about organics and the food crises states, "UN research shows that organic practices outperform chemical-intensive farming, while improving soil fertility, water retention and resistance to drought" (source - Treehugger.com). This isn't the first time I've read this, and I hope that message spreads like the earth worms in my compost bin.

Here's the link to PCC's Sound Consumer News Bites, and if you'd like more information on soil health, history and geology, check out David R Montgomery's book, "Dirt - The Erosion of Civilizations." A UW Professor of Earth and Space Sciences, he really knows his dirt.

(Photo: Garden plots, 4-27-09)

And because it's Earth Day...

2009-04-22T13:47:00.000-07:00

...here's an interesting perspective found on Alternet.org, "On Earth Day, Forget About the Planet..." Worth a read.

Plantimal?

2009-04-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

In the "what will they think of next" category, a Chicago-based artist has infused his DNA with a petunia, creating what is being referred to as a "Plantimal." The resulting plant features genetic material from both plant and human animal and looks exactly like ... a petunia. However, it reportedly has "delicate red veins."

Sometimes it feels like my DNA is co-mingled with the DNA of 'place.' While I feel little connection to the house I live in, spent many of my years in, I feel very connected to the land surrounding it. We're fortunate to have a spare 'lot' adjoining the structure I call home, and my best memories are the years spent with grandpa in his garden, tending his tomatoes or beloved peach trees. While my grandfather's green thumb doesn't appear to be in my genetic code, my connection to the earth most certainly is.

Forrest is pretty good in the garden. He lives life by the rule, "Often wrong, but never in doubt," and this applies to gardening, too. Actually, he's quite often right - he has great instincts.

My desire is to learn to better grow my own food, and maybe even preserve it, from the gardening community - Forrest, too - that's developing around me. Something my family did for years but most of my generation is so far clueless about.

The desire to mix actual human DNA with that of a plant befuddles me, however. I'm not sure why anyone felt the necessity. Maybe it's just because "they can."

(Photo: Green tomatoes, Nov., 08)

The joy of warmth

2009-04-20T23:54:00.000-07:00

Today's warm temperature, along with the cloudless blue sky and an ever-longer day, suggest that maybe it's time to pack away the sweaters and - finally - don brighter clothing. No more drab grays and blacks!

The colors of spring are vibrant and rejuvenating. Bold red tulips and vivid hyacinths make their mark within a sea of bluebells... Looking closely, I see newly sprouted lettuce leaves displaying deep burgundies and an array of green. The possibility of growing food is far more real.

On Sunday, I helped staff a Sustainable Ballard table at an Earth Day event hosted by a neighborhood church. Later, at the farmers market, a couple recognized a fellow tabler and me as we sat drinking tea at a sidewalk table. The woman was inspired by the sermon about local food and the information we provided, and went to the market in search of fresh-grown carrots. We explained about how eating locally also means eating seasonally, and that carrots would be available before too long, but meanwhile, there's some really tasty asparagus!

Her enthusiasm was genuine and I welcomed the opportunity to share information about local food with someone so willing to learn.

I so love being warm!

Ben's gift

2009-04-17T17:21:00.000-07:00

From the back porch, I see Ben in his corner of the garden. Something has his full attention, but I can't tell what and I don't have time to go find out...

This afternoon, I wander out to the back corner and see that next to our fledgling cedar, he's made a shrine. Tree stumps hold a wooden box, upright, containing a Hindu deity, stones, a bowl and a small flower. The Buddha looks out over all the gardens.

Shiv takes any opportunity to educate me about Hinduism, so in a later conversation, he reveals that this particular Buddha is revered throughout many Asian countries, and that it will "sing" mantras to help the garden grow, like he does. Shiv has a very strong accent, and after all these years, I still have a hard time understanding all of his words, so while he tries to tell me more, I only get bits and pieces. I'll have to listen more closely next time. Meanwhile, he's planting rows of peas for the bunch of us.

My grandfather's name was Ben. For years, a wooden sign, somewhat common at the time, stood in his garden. It read, "The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth, one is nearer God's heart in the garden than any place else on earth."* The sign is long gone, and I'm hardly religious, but those are words that stayed with me from childhood. I do think that certain places are more sacred than others, and I'm pretty certain that a garden is one of them.

(Photo to come)
*Dorothy Frances Gurny, 1858-1932

How it began

2009-04-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

Chatting over tea this winter, my uncle and I looked out at the yard. I mentioned our tentative plans.

"We're thinking about putting in more of a garden this year - we'd like to grow more food, maybe do some canning or preserving."

His thrifty eye noted the raised beds Forrest had put together just a week or two before, and he immediately said, "if you put in enough of them, you could rent them!" The idea of a yard filled with growing things - edible things - appealed to both of us, and the entire yard was actually more than we could manage.

Then I met Amy Pennington at February's Farmer Chef Connection and she told me about her new Urban Garden Share matching service. Sharing and bartering won out over renting - at least for now while we see how it works. So when she launched in March, I was the first in Ballard to post.

The open space north of my house has been a garden for most of its urban years. My family moved in way back in 1907, from Sweden by way of Wisconsin, and the family raised much of their own food. The barn in the backyard, demolished in 1993, housed a cow, a horse and chickens. My grandfather was just seven years old when they moved in.

When my grandparents purchased the deed in the mid-20s, Ballard had long since been annexed to the city and the neighborhood was growing. The barn continued to be home to chickens but also found new use as storage for garden implements. My grandfather's garden was the jewel of the neighborhood for all the years they lived here, and my 95-year-old neighbor still tells the stories. He readily shared his harvest with all the neighbors, the trash collectors, and anyone who took an interest. His peaches, Roma tomatoes, peas, pole beans and "ground cherries" were the treats I grew up with.

After my grandfather's death, there was a time when the yard was just a yard, full of overgrown grass, blackberries and every other invasive weed. The fruit from the trees decomposed, and various critters took refuge in the brush. I'll give Shiv credit for the initial inspiration to start planting again, but the memory must burn deep because I'm moved beyond words by what we're creating here now.

(Photo - backyard, June 07)

The buzz about bees

2009-04-14T19:59:00.000-07:00

One of the first things we noticed early this spring was the number of bees buzzing about the yard. We have honeybees, bumblebees and mason bees!

An e-mail just landed in my in-box with a link to a Science Daily report about why bees are dying in professional apiaries, or honey bee colony depopulation syndrome.

Honeybees are dying - that's uncontested (although thankfully not in our garden). However, as far as I know, there isn't consensus as to why. This article points to a parasitic infection as a cause. But what caused the parasite? And what about pesticide use??? Skepticism crept in as I read further... So what treatment has proved to be successful in eradicating the parasite? Wait for it... the treatment is a good dose of antibiotics. Here's a link to the article in case you're interested.

If you care about the bees (and we all should since they pollinate at least 30% of our food supply), then check out Plan Bee Central and read their special report about what we can all do. And taking a page from the Ben & Jerry's cause-related ice cream playbook, next time you're at your local grocery store, pick up some Haagen-Daz Honeybee Ice Cream (and check out their Help the Honeybees site, too - it's so worth the wait! It's open on my computer and I hear birdsong in the background as I type - delightful!). The ice cream is delicious, and it'll help save bees!

Thanks to Janette for the Plan Bee/HD links!

(Photo: Bee & plum blossoms, Shiv's plum tree, planting strip 4/09)

Waiting for warmth...

2009-04-14T16:51:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, I'm a fair-weather gardener, so I haven't spent much time outside these past few days.

On Saturday I finished laying the stone for our last raised bed. And on Sunday and Monday, it rained. This afternoon, however, the sun came out, and I see the neighbors out working the soil. Liz has been here, too - I see vegetable starts in her plot!

Other than a quick walk-through, I'm waiting for warmth to do much more. I noticed a bluebell by the back steps. That's encouraging! The lilacs can't be far behind. I don't remember it being this cold in April, and I usually love this time of year. It's the scent - fresh rain, tilled soil and sweet blossoms. No bottled perfume can ever truly capture that.

One of the initial garden share gardeners found a place closer to her home, but thanks to Jennifer, the first of our new partners, we found an immediate replacement, a couple who live near Sunset Hill. They seem like a nice addition - I think they share the excitement.

Resources

2009-04-10T13:00:00.000-07:00

Here are a few resources for those of us relatively new to growing things.

What to Plant and How

Mother Earth News - Organic Gardening (What to Plant Now, Pacific Northwest)

Sunset Magazine: Plant an Edible Backyard and NW April Checklist (what to do in your yard); there are a lot of other resources here, from how to grow the perfect tomato and how to grow vegetables, to how to start seeds indoors - check out Veggies 101

Plant Sales

Seattle Tilth's Edible Plant Sale, May 2 & 3, 2009 - Meridian Park in Wallingford

King County Master Gardener Foundation Plant Sale, May 2 & 3 - Center for Urban Horticulture

Farmers Markets - look for plant starts at your neighborhood farmers market

PCC - carries Rent's Due Ranch plant starts

Additional Information

Finding a good, trustworthy seed source is worth its weight. Check out Seed Savers Exchange for heirloom and organic seeds. My grandfather saved his tomato seeds from year to year - sure wish I had some now!

Sustainable Ballard has a lot going on, from a monthly Urban Crop Circle gathering to learn to grow food, to a pending garden tour. Stay tuned!

Also thanks to Sunset's April issue, I just found Willi Galloway's blog, DigginFood. Lots of helpful information here!

(Photo: Shiv's cauliflower)

The spirit of it all...

2009-04-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Shiv pointed at the shoots coming up in his parking strip plot - he has several spaces between his yard and ours - and exclaimed, "Enough for all of us!"

I wasn't sure how he'd feel about sharing the land with other gardeners - he'd happily take over the entire yard, and recently asked for more space. He and his brother-in-law, a recent immigrant from India, wanted to plant more. But I told him that Forrest and I intended to plant this year, and I hoped to include others. We've shared the space before - our friends Anthony and Helen had a fabulous garden next to Shiv's for a few years, but they moved to Santiago early in 2008. I liked that feeling of community that came with a number of others involved, and wanted to recreate that.

He seems to have caught the spirit. The new rows of cauliflower do, indeed, look like enough for all of us, and the giant grin on the old man's face said he likes our new community garden.

(Photo: neighbors Caden & Shiv, summer, 2007)

A great day for gardening!

2009-04-09T14:38:00.001-07:00

Saturday, April 4, was the beginning of our new garden community. Thanks to the just launched garden matching service, Urban Garden Share, we're now sharing our yard with three additional gardeners (five including partners/spouses).

These three join my partner, Forrest, and me, along with Shiv, who lives across the street and has been sharing our space for years, and Ben, who recently moved in next door. We're all excited - in addition to our individual plots, we've decided to create a shared "squash patch" - where we'll grow zucchini, pumpkins, and hopefully both summer and winter squash (at appropriate times, of course).

I'll post pictures as the garden progresses. Meanwhile, it's just about time for lilacs and bluebells to flower - a splash of color in no time!

(Photo: the beginning - April, 09)