The winter garden

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

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!

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.

Tangled webs

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 deceit 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

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

Perspective on worms...

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

Tilling the soil

Sometimes you just have to stir shit up.

I'm not really in the mood, but 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? I found it easy to defer to "never in doubt." Despite an "often wrong" clause.

Fall is settling in. 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, dig deep enough so that I don't have to revisit where I am now.

Garden is as garden does

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

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

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?

What kept me going all along was the communal energy; 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

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...

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.

I'm familiar with an unsafe harbor, which is where I now find myself. Previously, it's proved to be one of my more creative places. But then something happens and life continues on. So here I am again.

Life is short, and getting my proverbial ducks lined up, I thought, would make the sail into unsafe waters a bit easier. But maybe I didn't need so many ducks, or perhaps only some of them needed to line up.

Regardless, I've said goodbye to my safe harbor and I'm underway. And I'm not afraid to rock the boat. But meanwhile, my heart aches beyond description, and it appears I'm on my own for the rest of this journey, ducks in line or no ducks.

Toxicity

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

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.

Betrayal

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 get help so what we created could flourish with tending and care.

Now I'm trying to tend my own soil and clear away debris. Yet there are still garden chores to tend to, responsibilities to share, a household to address and cats who need a lot of attention and love. All of this must be done with some kind of harmony.

Buy nothing

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.

For most of my life, I equated "stuff" with safety and love. Shop therapy served me for a long time, but no longer. 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.

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

Lessons from my grandfather

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

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...

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?

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

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...

...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

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?

(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

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

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

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...

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

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

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 Sail 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...

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!

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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)