"Garden as if your life depended on it"

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!

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

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 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. 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

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!

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

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)

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

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

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

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.