Trouble in Paradise

Where do I get these titles? Can there be trouble in paradise? Pair of dice? When we were kids we shot craps, is that how you say it? I tell you, I'm from a strange era, naughty secretaries, bourbon drinks I mixed for my parents, playing poker with the other kids while the parents drank and smoke. Well, there are worse things I suppose to grow up with. Some folks grow up in hideous conditions; I grew up fairly well off. It was the abuse and alcoholism that rocked my world.

Anyway, today I will gather leaves and heap them on my garden. It rained yesterday and cleared right about time for the little ones went out to trick or treat. I went with my daughter and son-in-law around to the Fairhaven merchants. The grandson wore a dinosaur costume. I thought he looked more like an alligator. He didn't get it at first, asking for candy, but after awhile he was digging into the bowls of goodies just like all the rest of the kids. Very cute. There was no trouble in paradise last night. Just laughter and cute little fairies and pirates and chickens and witches.

I went to dinner at my friends house and on the way home it was surreal. I guess it was around ten and there were marauding young adults dressed as everything from scarecrows to fairies. They marauded in groups down Bellingham's streets. It was bazaar, but of course, I was looking at it all from beneath my naughty secretary outfit: black wig, black short skirt, heels, and white shirt. Of course there were pearls too.

Well, must carry on with my day. I've lingered in bed until 9:30--that's the luxury of Saturday, right.

Happy November and be sure to vote. Flower

PS The picture was from earlier in the day--we were just playing around with the camera.

Endings

And just like that I thought it was fall and I turned nostalgic, thinking of warm clothing (C. has on his navy-blue sweatshirt) and down comforters and hours and hours of darkness and good books and tea--and no mate. Not that I have to have a mate, I mean there are plenty of folks who seem perfectly happy living alone. I, on the the other hand, have been married most of my adult life. I believe in marriage, of cooking together, sleeping together, crying together, figuring out the tough things to get through, going through the births and deaths together. Now I must go it alone. Woman pioneer. And even though I have friends, the married friends infrequently invite the singles to the table. Why? is my question. Is the ending so obvious and painful in a single person that it's not a feeling to introduce it to the couple? Or is it some old policy, the matron, the old-maid, the...

But it isn't fall. The temps are supposed to surge into the 80s. More high pressure and I will take a trip to eastern Washington and get cooked to the bones. Hot! Dry! Spicy smell of pine pitch. And the garden--arugh! The beans are yellow, the spinach and chard munched off and two of the tomatoes--the other beans never sprouted. Arugh! And again the bright side--the spinach was fabulously delicious, as was the broccoli raab.

So a plan for the fall--when it eventually arrives, tons of manure. Now to figure out where to get it. I know I can't do the wheelbarrow work myself. I'll have to have it delivered. Or buy bags. Lots of bags of chicken manure. Once I used pigeon manure--oh it really stunk--but it really worked. I have a neighbor with chickens, perhaps I'll go knock on her door. Get busy amending in the areas that are lying fallow.

Okay then, do things end or just compost and make things richer. I'm voting for the second one. Things don't actually end, just change form.

Ciao!

Putting Food By

There is this great book, Putting Food By that will help you with stocking your larder with a cornucopia of garden delights. From this book you will learn how to pickle and can and dry and salt, etc. It’s a must for anyone who wants a kitchen that feeds the family all winter long. When I lived in Yakima there was such an abundance of fruit from roadside stands, seconds that were cheap. Big old peaches with lumpy spines, misshapen tomatoes, gangly cukes, and cherries that are usually only processed for ice cream (nearly as large as plums and sweeter than any cherry you’ve ever eaten), all for ridiculously low prices. I canned rack after rack of sparkling jars, brilliant peaches soaked in brandy, beets pickled in brine and sugar, pears, prunes, & dill pickles. All of the jars were stowed away in the cupboard next to the stove, a lovely sight to see.
Feeding the family in the 70s tailed the back-to-the land movement, brown rice and hand ground wheat berries, home grown vegetables and chickens in the yard. Wheat bread rising in a bowl on the counter and trays of cherries and tomatoes drying on screens in the sun. It wasn’t easy work. There was the goat to milk first—just after Jack went off to the golf course to tend the greens and the baby was still asleep—irrigation systems whooshing across the valley while I nuzzled my face into my Nubian’s wide side, smelling her lovely goatiness. She gave a gallon of milk a day, milk both my daughter and husband drank. I wasn’t fond of it, and it hasn’t been until lately that I’ve been willing to explore the creamy goat cheeses on the market. Pretty good.
Putting Food By became my summer Bible. I combed through that book daily during the growing season. It is still part of my collection—stained and spine-broken—although it has been a long time since I’ve canned. I may never can again, as it does take strength to lift boxes of fruit and racks of hot canning jars. And it takes time, all the boiling of jars, paring fruit, boiling syrup and brine. It’s worth it for many folks. Me, I’ll just buy fresh fruit year around at the co-op.
Ciao!

Peaceful Bugs

You know how they say if you plant right, you won't have bug infestations. Well, I've had few bug infestations as an organic gardener and many of them are predictable. Like the aphids on the broccoli and the cabbage worms on the cabbage—and broccoli—and cauliflower. I just hose off the aphids or keep an infested plant as bait—hopefully it's growing far enough away from the other plants that it will be a bug magnet and not spread to the other clean plants. Soap spray also works, and I think the netting will keep cabbage worms eggs from being laid those fluttering white cabbage moths.

Organic gardening takes a little extra effort. Rich soil and lots of water, so the plants stay healthy, helps to keep bugs away. Also companion planting. The neighbor says she has onions growing around her garden and when a flock of black flies infested her tomatoes and she draped oniontops over them, which didn't work, but the wind came up a few days later, which did hlep. So perhaps a fan in the garden could be another deterrent to bug infestations.

I've heard that letting chickens wander through the garden rows will take care of many bugs, just make sure your plants are fairly mature first—as our little feathered friends are energetic with their scratching. Also geese are useful in mint fields. Dogs catch flies. Cats scratch up the newly upturned soil, so don't count on them for debugging your field.

When I lived in Yakima, I had an infestation of potato bugs—not the rolly-polly bugs, also known as sow bugs, but the bugs that are designed especially for potato plants. They are a shiny beetle larger than a ladybug and are easily picked off the plant and fed to chickens or just destroyed (crushing). If you are one of those angels that can't destroy a bug, then I don't know what to tell you. Put them in the garbage can—and turn your back. And certainly don't try the blended-bug cocktail as a garden spray--you'll be too squemish I'm sure.

The weather was cooler today and the grandbaby and I were going to hop over to the garden and fix the string on the bean pole, but alas, I was pooped and he was taking a nap, so I joined forces. He did carry his duck watering can around the house later and said, "Water, water, water." Which is astute of him, since I decided I'm too cinchy with the water. I'll do better, promise.

Ciao!

Winter, again?

Photo: Last night's sunset down at the Alaska Ferry Terminal. (This isn't the Alaskan Ferry--it's a regular ferry that's being repaired)

This is supposed to be a week of warm weather—upper 70s and perhaps reaching the 80s. That is warm for the PNW. Seasonal temperatures. But the wind came up at sundown and during the night, after the shorts-and-sweater-day, the wind howled. I had had my bedroom window open, because my condo gets so hot. It's on the corner facing south. And there is no air conditioning, not that I would use air if I had it. I rarely use air in my car. I do, however, breath air. Lots of air. Except for when I'm afraid. And that actually applies to me right now, but that isn't what I'm getting at. Not my fear, but the weather. This is a gardening column, after all.

It's cold, is what I'm getting at. I had to shut the window in the night. My cat curled right next to my side; he never does that. I put on a sweater and pulled the second pillow against the non-cat side. This a.m. I'm seeing clouds, not dark dreary winter clouds, but gray clouds that came on the wind. Arctic wind. All the windows are closed.

So now I'm here with a hot cup of coffee, thinking about gardening and life. I had to move out of my house when my husband quit speaking to me. I decided today, that if I'd stayed in my house, I wouldn't have had such strong feelings of losing an entire life. Our belongings are part of what tells us we have history. We can look at things and say, I bought that back when gas was cheap. Or, like yesterday, I washed my down sleeping bag (could have used it last night) that I bought in 1970 after I got married for the first time. Jack and I bought all the latest and expensive hiking equipment. It was our plan to live off the land, to forage for berries and roots and to fish. We lost a lot of weight and ended up eating big meals on the weekends when we worked at the resort at Priest Lake. The survival manual I was reading at the time said a person would starve to death on just fish. One must eat fat. Well, we hardly even caught any fish. It was an exercise that had people talking—and laughing behind our backs. But we were into living off the land and were for years, growing our own food, raising chickens for eggs, goats for milk (see Storey's Guide to Raising Dairy Goats: Breeds, Care, Dairying. I'd actually like to do that again. A little plot of land to keep me would be lovely.

So my garden is growing slowly. I watered yesterday, didn't stick around because I had multiple things to do, and the garden is puny. It's depressing. Like I said, it needs manure. The beans are up, looking a little spindly and yellow. One had his first set of leaves bit off. Deer? Bird? Actually I'm not optimistic about this garden. It's the soil, or maybe ley lines. Do you know about the electromagnetic lines that wrap the earth? If they cross where you sleep, you can get sick. Just move your bed. A good diviner can help you with this. I'm a good diviner. Call me, okay?

So ley lines are natural courses of energy that crisscross the earth. Where they intersect is powerful, and useful in some natural way that I'm not familiar with. All I know is things don't work as well where they cross, too much energy I suppose. Animals seem to be drawn to this extra energy. A cat will curl up in it. It's possible that my garden is situated in a crossing of these lines. If that is true, I think it will need more than fertilizer to remedy the problem. First I'll try some chicken …..

This wooey moment has been brought to you by: Flower Power.
Ciao!