Category Archives: Garden

Beets, Carrots, Green Beans and Lamb

Summer                                                      Most Heat Moon

Spent the morning first spraying, then in the garden weeding the vegetable beds and harvesting beets and carrots. After the first beet crop was out of the ground, I planted the third. The second is already growing in another bed and between open spaces created by earlier harvests.

The beets and the carrots all go into the hod, a metal mesh with two wooden ends and a curved wooden handle for carrying. The wire mesh is useful with roots crops because it allows the hose to get all sides, including the underside of just picked vegetables.

Inside I prepped the beets, boiled them, skinned them and they now await some other action, one I’ve not chosen. Or, perhaps more than one.

A few of the carrots and a handful of green beans, picked this morning, too, got heated up and eaten with the remaining lamb from the rack of lamb we had the last night Ruth and Jon were here. These were from last November when I got a good deal on a Byerly’s order, brought to me since I had no vehicle. I had rack of lamb for Thanksgiving while Kate had Thanksgivukkah with the Denver Olsons.

 

Almost the 4th

Summer                                                          Most Heat Moon

The last few days have been cool, more late September than early July. Kate worked 2011 06 26_0933early spring 2011outside a long time yesterday, clearing weeds out of the third tier of our garden and it looks great. It’s pleasant to work outside when it’s cool, much less so when it’s hot. I sprayed the orchard and the garden, mounded soil around the leeks to blanch them and moved much of what Kate had thrown over the fence.

Jon and Ruthie are on the road right now, headed toward Kansas City (on purpose), then north to Andover. It will be fun to have them here.

Jon’s going to put in a new deck for us. This was arranged long ago, but it will be good for selling the house.

These nights leading up to the 4th of July and the 4th itself are a problem for our thunderphobic (astraphobic) dogs. They inspire those neighbors who like to shoot off fireworks, one batch (not the usual suspects) who set them off around 10 p.m. each night lately. That’s just enough to launch Gertie (our German shorthair) out of her crate.

Click on the poster for its full effect.

 

 

Right Now

Summer                                                               Most Heat Moon

My favorite subscription e-mail is brain pickings. The creator and writer, Maria Popova,crane engineering generates it through intense reading and intelligent choice of materials. Last year she wrote an essay outlining 7 things she’s learned in the 7 years of writing brain pickings. You can find the whole essay on her website, but I wanted to focus on one in particular because it reminds me of a lesson I’m learning from my friend, Tom Crane.

Being present, how he shows up in the moment, from moment to moment, is his top priority. I don’t know whether he would counterpoise it to productivity as Popova does here, but his business success in forensic engineering certainly suggests he’s no stranger to productivity. He is clear that he does not want to be measured by his efficiency, earnings or his ability to do this or that. Which is saying something since his company is very well-regarded, growing and prosperous.

Here’s Popova:

  1. Presence is far more intricate and rewarding an art than productivity. Ours is a culture that measures our worth as human beings by our efficiency, our earnings, our ability to perform this or that. The cult of productivity has its place, but worshiping at its altar daily robs us of the very capacity for joy and wonder that makes life worth living — for, as Annie Dillard memorably put it, “how we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

And a bit more from an interview with a talented writer/observer:

“I think productivity, as we define it, is flawed to begin with, because it equates a process with a product. So, our purpose is to produce — as opposed to, our purpose is to understand and have the byproduct of that understanding be the “product.” For me, I read, and I hunger to know… I record, around that, my experience of understanding the world and understanding what it means to live a good life, to live a full life. Anything that I write is a byproduct of that — but that’s not the objective. So, even if it may have the appearance of “producing” something on a regular basis, it’s really about taking in, and what I put out is just … the byproduct.”

The moment and our questing in that moment for connection, for understanding, for clear seeing is all we have. Ever. Placing the moment and our immersion in it first swings us out of the past or the future, if we’re tempted to sojourn there, and back to the now.

I like Tom’s insistence on showing up and Popova’s emphasis on understanding as our purpose, and productivity as a byproduct of that process. When at a farmer’s market, it would be understandable to see the fruits and vegetables as a product of gardening, but in fact they are the byproduct of a person in love with the soil, with plants, with the changing seasons and the interplay of wind and rain and sun.

The main dilemmas of our current approach to agriculture can be tied to productivity oriented thinking.  This way sees the fruits and the vegetables and the grains and the meats and dairy as the product of farming rather than its byproduct. What I mean is this, when we love the world in which we live, when we treat it with care and thoughtfulness, when we understand our needs and its needs, the world will produce what is necessary for our existence. That’s been the successful ongoing contract between living beings and the natural world of which they are apart since the first one-celled organism began to wiggle and move. It is no different today.

That’s what I understand right now.

New Feelings

Summer                                                                       Summer Moon

New feeling today. Got outside and moved some mulch into place, took some prunings back to the fire-pit for use during bonfires. It was hot since I got up late, making up for lost sleep yesterday. So I came inside to work.

Under the usual circumstances I would have done some Latin, then moved on to other tasks, perhaps starting the book about our life here. But as I sat down, I had this restless feeling (not unusual for me) and it led me to the bookshelves in the exercise area.

Soon I had books about the civil war in my hands, then in boxes. Green tape. Many books about old travels, a 1985 Guide to Living In Washington, D.C., a similarly aged guidebook to Mt. Vernon and Monticello. Books about Savannah, Charleston, the Piedmont, the Coastal Lands of the south. Red tape. Then, Willa Cather novels, Ambrose Bierce, Mark Twain, Theodore Dreiser, Richard Ford. Green tape. More boxes. Affluenza. Crocks of Gold. Medieval Village Life. Town and Country in the Middle Ages. Calvin’s Institutes. The Future of Religion. Red tape.

Clearing out the six bookshelves that form an L in the area where I work out has become important to me, important to finish before Thursday when the SortTossPack folks come with their truck and their crew. That was the new feeling. An aspect of the move had some urgency in my mind. Living in the move has become my home. This is different than methodically knocking down visits to financial counselors, interviewing real estate agents, or dismantling the dog feeding stalls.

This work took priority for me this afternoon.

When I finished, around 4 pm or so, I came into the office, sat down and wrote 1,000 words of what I’m provisionally calling: Seven Oaks and Artemis Honey.

 

A House With A History

Summer                                                         Summer Moon

IMAG0531Why not write a history of this spot, this hectare? An ecological history. It can start with the glaciations, consider the flora and fauna since then, focusing in more tightly once the first nations began to arrive, then even more tightly as Minnesota began to emerge.

Another starting spot would be today, or from Kate and mine’s presence here. How we decided to be here, why. Go over decisions we made early on like hiring a landscape designer at the beginning. Recount our twenty years, the good decisions and the bad ones, the easy ones and the hard ones. The other historical and geological material could be worked in as backstory.

It would be good for people to view an average approach to the land, one which changed over time (though its roots were indeed in the back to the land movement) and which took advantage not of a particular approach, but of many. An approach that is dynamic, 06 27 10_beekeeperastronautchanging with new knowledge, the seasons, aging, new plants and new desire.

The flavor of “Return of the Secaucus 7” with some Scott and Helen Nearing, Wes Jackson and Wendell Berry thrown in, too. Ah, perhaps it could be a sort of third phase update of the movement years, an upper middle class idyll moving against the grain of upper middle class lifestyles.

Not sure whether to pursue this or not, but it could be interesting. Might even help sell the house. A house with a history.

A structure based on the Great Wheel might be interesting.

Summer Solstice 2014

Summer Solstice                                                         Summer Moon

At 5:51 am the sun reached its full height in the sky, full, that is, for the 45th latitude, 69 degrees above the horizon. That means more solar energy per square foot on the ground and rising temperatures to follow in July and August. It also means the rain soaked plants here in Minnesota will finally begin to get the attention they need to grow tall and produce big fruit. Yes, today is the summer solstice.

This day, like the winter solstice, is an ancient holiday, born of fear and hope, awe and wonder, the basic ingredients, according to Rudolf Otto, of the holy. At the summer solstice the hope was for warmth to heal bones chilled by winter’s cold and sunlight to ensure a good harvest, whether food was gathered or grown. The fear, the opposite of that at the winter solstice when many feared the sun might never return, leaving the world to freeze, with food gone, was that the sun would come too close, stay high too long and burn the earth, scorch it with an intensity neither plant nor animal could survive.

In this way these two markers of the solar system’s formative years, when the orbits of the planets stabilized around their mother and father, Sol, could be seen as an early form of output produced by a very basic, but nonetheless real, computer, movement in the heavens. As this difference engine brought new information into the night sky, humans and other animals, too, sighted it and changed their lives according to its data.

If the holidays of Beltane and Samhain mark the human focused seasons, the growing sun calendarseason and the harvest season followed by the long fallow time, then the solstices mark the astronomical seasons, the season of heat and the season of cold. Together these four constitute the liturgical calendar of an earthly religion, one which honors the earth and its treasures, and a solar religion, one which honors the nuclear fusion roaring in the furnace of our star, a basic source of energy which makes the earth’s treasures accessible to our bodies.

The calendar shown here hangs on my wall, the solstices made evident by the yellow yolk displaying the hours of sunlight on a given day. The point where the yolk lies closest to the inner circle is today, the summer solstice, and the one furthest away, its polar opposite, near the top, the winter solstice.

 

This is a day to celebrate the majesty and wonder of photosynthesis, that essential transubstantiation which converts the love of the sun into foods that our bodies can consume. When you look outside today and see green, the color not absorbed by plant leaves and so left over for our eyes as a signal of the miracle, bless them. Bless the leaves and their photosynthetic work, bless the sun which powers it and the plants themselves which mediate between that work and our life. Their work is the sine qua non of our existence. And worthy of our thanks and our praise.

Beltane’s Last Day

Beltane                                                            Summer Moon

The last day of Beltane. The growing season comes reliably during Beltane, if not by the more ancient date of May 1. We’ve had a weird Beltane this year with rains and more rains. Wet. Drought out. Water in. I’m not unhappy with the amount of wet yet since no fungus or other wet related diseases have shown up.

The peppers still look a bit peaked, but I anticipate both they and the tomatoes will pick up once the heat starts to come in earnest. The garlic has thrown up scapes, so we’ll have a nice dish with garlic scapes and greens, the first harvest of the new gardening year. Some strawberries, too. They dot the ground and the raised bed with their bright red.

 

Here and There

Beltane                                                                     Summer Moon

Whoa. Up early. Like a farmer. Getting outside to drench and spray the crops. Later today 500P1030729Kate and I are going to do some sort toss packing, stuff we need to make decisions about  together.

Still in a here and there mood with the garden. Here, I’m following a rhythm of treatments to optimize the food quality and soil improvement for this year’s crop (and next year’s, too, with the soil improvement). There, after this growing season, or part of the next, we’ll be gone, the care of the soil and the crops it is willing to produce will go over to someone else. An unknown someone. That’s a strange feeling.

Spray, Translate, Box

Beltane                                                          Summer Moon

Sprayed the orchard again. I’m going to have this down by the end of the season with two a weeks in the orchard and once a week in the veggie garden. The rain and the International Ag Labs program (+ plus Bill Schmidt’s super juice that I applied last fall) have combined to give much of our garden big boosts. The collard greens, egg plants, cucumbers, beans, sugar snap peas, chard, beets, garlic and carrots have all exceeded their usual growth by this time of year. The tomatoes and peppers have been slowed down by the cooler weather and we’ve lost one of each. The onions don’t look bad, but they don’t look great either.

Got back on that equus. The next few verses after those that threw me were also tricky, but with the commentary I got through them. That felt very good.

Kate came up with an excellent idea, pack two boxes a day. If we each do it, that’s 28 boxes a week. And, in just two decades at that rate we’ll be ready to go. No, much earlier than that. By next spring, lord willin and the creek don’t rise.

Today I boxed up DVDs and surprised myself by finding several that I want to take along. More, though, thank god, that I could let go.

Mission crew commander Buckman-Ellis tells me that it’s looking bad for Kep coming to join him in Korea. The housing situation there is dormitory style until the dorms fill up, then you can go off base and, presumably, have a dog. That is, however, if the dorms fill up.

Fine with us. Kep has fit in with the locals.

A Morning

Beltane                                                                         Summer Moon

Mulching a hosta bed, a bed of grasses, some newly planted begonias and a few perennials. The cooler air, 63 degrees, made the task pleasurable.

When finished, to the Latin. Ay, carumba! Just as I patted myself on the back for having made strides almost long enough to work on my own, five verses came up that were almost as opaque as if they had been written on black paper. That was Friday. Today I hoped a layoff might have filtered them into easier chunks. It does sometimes happen that way for me. Nope.

At that point I found some empty boxes and began filling them with books. I got a good ways along, filling up three boxes, hard cover fiction, paperpback fiction and a box I’ve started for Margaret Levin. She likes fantasy and science fiction.

In both the Latin and the packing I did encounter an obstacle and it’s one I encounter when the dogs dig under fences and dig up garden beds. A sort of weariness comes over me, a sense that I’ve done this work before and now I have to do it again. And then again. And then again. This feeling saps me of resolve and short circuits decision making so that translation and choosing books to discard become seemingly impossible tasks. This is not, I imagine, peculiar to me, but when it hits, it slows whatever I’m doing down. A lot.

It will pass and the tasks will become easier and more tractable.