Garden Imaginings

I never have enough garden space for everything I long to plant, although I often have enough for everything I'm able to handle. Too much leads to complaints from the neighbors, "Leonard used to keep that lawn immaculate."

"To be honest," says Virginia. "They say that no matter what you do."

Yes. Where we used to live, folks meeting us for the first time would say, "Oh, you live in Sarah's house. Sarah...." Let's face it. We ain't neatniks.

So yesterday we added some fodder. We installed a garden fence for what I'm calling "the donkey garden." We captured 6400 square feet for big crops, those that take a lot of space, like sweet corn, melons, squash, and animal food. I'd like to grow more of what we feed our livestock. We won't be "self-sufficient" until we  stop buying feed at Tractor Supply or the farmers co-op.

Our old mulch and manure pile will provide a solid base for the donkey garden. For a month or so, the fence will provide temporary digs for Roxie, Calvin and Hobbes, our piggish rototillers. By spring, it should be ready to plant.

Brains and Brawn

Yesterday, after I wrapped up another book update, which is how I bring in the bacon, I pulled on my boots and turned to gardening, which is how I bring in the nonbacon. I had strangled one of my beautiful young apple trees, so it stood in a wasted hole, dry and brittle. The strangling was well-intended. My once-intended, now stuck with me forever, had complained about the tree's leaning like the Tower of Pisa, so I'd roped it straight. It complied, then died. I dug it up, added it to a pile of brush and replaced it with a peach pit. I once liked a peach so much, I planted its pit. There, now, the transplanted pit sits.

Next, I cleaned up the garden bed south of the greenhouse. I had just said that I regretted not planting more carrots to take advantage of the cool weather we've been enjoying. I thought I might get some carrots in before the gray western sky descended. When the hard part was done, I began broadcasting carrot seeds, relaxed in the quiet, calm afternoon. A few raindrops sprinkled.

How many times have I said that one of the secrets to gardening is not taking off when work needs to be done? Some folks have told me they've had a tough time getting their gardens planted this spring because of all the rain. Sorry guys, that's a poor excuse; it hasn't rained every day, or even every week.

"Maybe they had to go to work," says Virginia.

Oh. It's been so long since I punched a clock I forgot about that.

"Fred called, said the boys are outside the fence! I need to leave soon!" Karen interrupted my reverie. Persistent honking drew her to our driveway entrance. A second neighbor was reporting the escape. My cellphone cussed at my pocket, "Now Keri's out!" I tossed the rest of the carrot seeds, ran for the keys to our stationwagon, and tore down the lane and James River Road. Karen had already coaxed the goats back inside the fence and Keri was perched on the front seat of our Camry.

She returned Keri and waved goodbye, off with some women who meet for dinner every couple months. The least my brawn could do with my quiet evening was fix the fence. I gathered a couple sledgehammers, a T-Post with brackets, a length of fence (just in case), a pair of pliers, and rolled my wheelbarrow to the gap. Two hours later, I decided the fence would keep the kiddies in.

The rain had merely dropped. I still had time. After a quick dinner of Elk Cliff peas, toast and cheese, I put in this year's third planting of sweet corn. Then it poured. Perfect timing.

Happenings in the Field

I always thought it'd be cool to travel by tunnel.

"I don't think that's deep enough," says Virginia, eyes rolling.

Gotta start somewhere.

Our new water pipeline for feeding animals and campers now lies in the bottom of this ditch.

Here's a view from the corner of our new fence.

And from the center fence that divides the field roughly in half.

Someday maybe we'll stage an Elk Cliff 5K or a donkey pulling a cart around the outside edge.

Mending Fences and Mining the Freezer

The new fence appears to be working, fingers crossed.  To get in, the chickens must either fly over or hike 240 feet to the fence's end.  If they take the hike, adding another 10 or 15 feet to close the rectangle will be an easy fix compared to what we've already done.

So yesterday I removed what had become a ratty yellow mess, the mesh fence around the winter wheat.  I could have torn it down, pulled out the stakes and been done with it.  A friend would say I have too much time on my hands for that, which I think puts the cart before the horse.  I like to think I'm past believing my time is better spent in "productive" use when I could pay someone "less than I'm worth" to do this kind of work. I enjoy repetitive, useless endeavors such as removing the metal staples that held the yellow mesh to wooden stakes.  For me, it's meditative, like shelling peas, pulling weeds, and, sometimes, translating regulatory gobbledygook.  Everyone should be paid the same for the work they do.

"Tell me another one," says Virginia.  "You'd gripe about Johnny sitting on his arse all day, except for his smoke breaks every hour or two."

Good point.  Ummm, how about let's appreciate the folks who do well the things we don't want to do by treating them like ourselves and paying them fairly?

Moving on...after shelling a few bushels of peas, what happens to them?  They get buried in our chest freezer and we can't find them.  Last night we attacked that problem.  We unloaded the deep-freeze and repacked everything.  It was like a trip to the grocery store when everything is free.  Pears, apples, strawberries, and raspberries galore!  Sweet corn and peas coming out our ears!  Local lamb, venison, chicken, and goat!  Squash, tomato sauce, sweet peppers, green beans.

I looked at Karen and realized she was running recipes through her head.  Mouth watering, I made a chart of where the ingredients are stored.

Rain Out

Today we started putting fence rails on the new garden fence.  By the time we installed 5 rails, the skies had dropped enough moisture to send us inside, me to work on impending deadlines.  So I've used today to scan a couple thousand pages of court decisions. 

The financial crisis has obviously taken its toll on the courts.  A rash of predatory lending suits lists every possible mortgage-related federal statute, and many state laws, as the basis for laundry lists of claims.  Most complaints illustrate a lack of creativity among plaintiffs and their lawyers.  They're generally so similar they're hardly worthwhile reading.  Mostly, I watch for old theories being adopted by additional jurisdictions.  Now and then an interesting theory appears.  None today, although I felt a bit sorry for one bankruptcy judge who came up with a nonsensical holding based on his decision to look up the meaning of "originate" in an Internet dictionary.  Did he really have no idea that the term has a pretty clear meaning in the mortgage business?  No surprise, his holding was overturned.

The more interesting decisions fell outside mortgage lending.  Did you ever get mad when you missed your credit card payment date by one or two days, maybe because the mail was slow?  Say you always paid your balance in full, except for that one time?  Boom!  Not only did you have to pay interest for the one or two days late, plus maybe a late charge, you also had to pay interest on the entire preceding billing cycle?  Good reason to set up electronic bill payment with the credit card issuer.  Well, in this case, the cardholder's husband walked the payment into the nearest PNC Bank branch on the due date, a Saturday.  Too bad, it wasn't the location specified on the credit card statement, so the payment wasn't posted and credited until Monday.  The bank "correctly" imposed a finance charge for the 2 days, plus the 32 days of the previous billing cycle.  Because the husband took the payment to the wrong place, the bank had up to 5 extra days to process the payment.  Ouch!

Target apparently did something stupid.  Wanting to replace its in-store "Guest" credit cards, it reportedly mailed Target VISA cards to existing and former cardholders.  The cardholders had the option of calling a toll-free number to validate the VISA cards or cutting them up and staying with their Target Guest Cards.  I guess no one reminded Target that it's not supposed to send out unsolicited credit cards.  Fun-time for a class action!

Then there's the sleazy car dealer who gets you to sign a retail installment sales contract to buy a used car, setting forth the terms of the deal and providing required Truth-in-Lending disclosures (such as the annual percentage rate and payment schedule).  "What's this," you say, "looks likes this contract isn't firm?" You hold up a "Limited Right to Cancel-Purchase," a/k/a "spot delivery agreement," that gives the dealer the right to change the terms of your agreement if it isn't able to sell your contract to the lender that offers the best terms.  "Don't worry," says the dealer, "it's just a legal form.  We have everyone sign it."  A couple days later, the dealer tells you your contract had some errors, so you need to come in and sign another one.  The old "bait and switch."  Ha-ha.  Fortunately, the dealer didn't have the last laugh.

"I guess we need to be careful what we sign," says Virginia.

Yes, even though the stack of documents is 2 inches high and even though you might eventually win in court.  The new Consumer Financial Protection Bureau set up by the Dodd-Frank financial reform act plans to look at the challenge of voluminous disclosures.  In the meantime, happy reading.

Spring Garden Shots

In case yesterday's written description of our spring things left something to be desired, consider a few pictures that might be worth a hundred words.

First, the four-fifths finished fence of Elk Cliff Farm.  The plastic-covered pile contains the poplar rails we hope will disguise the 4x4 goat wire.

The prime purpose of the fence is to separate the garden beds from these guys.  By the way, we're expecting a few dozen more in a month or so.

Before we go behind the new fence, here's a shot of what we call the "field garden," which is found in our field across the James River Road.  I mowed it today and covered the southwest corner with black groundcloths and a green tarp to kill the Johnsongrass.  I plan to rotate the cover across the garden, where I want to plant sweet corn, sorghum, and grain for the animals.

 

Now, through the new fence into the middle of the greenhouse, 6 varieties of lettuce in this bed are close to table-ready.

"Where is this bed?" asks Virginia, as if she doesn't know.  She's always thinking of others.  As I said, in the middle of the greenhouse.  My tomato flats with no sprouts yet sit on the lowest shelf, while broccoli, cauliflower and cabbage seedlings stand above at attention, anxiously awaiting their march to the outdoor garden.  The lettuces grow underneath these shelves.

  

Here's one of our winter wheat gardens, next year's flour.

More rows, garlic this time.

"Won't you please pick me this year?"  A few of last year's onions inquire.

 

Lettuce grows in a cold frame.

Shall we say goodbye to this year's maple syrup season?  For how we prepared our 3 gallons of syrup, please visit Karen's blog, "Maple Syrup Take Two," at http://holesinmyjeans-kpannabecker.blogspot.com/2011/02/maple-syrup-take-two.html.  

Waiting for the Kids

We're waiting for 8 does to deliver babies.  What's the excitement?  Well, first off, it's great fun to be present when a tiny kid breaks out of its bubble and within minutes begins to walk.  Human parents are lucky their kids aren't as athletic.  It's usually enough of a challenge for mom to feel like walking around the block.

To be selfish for the moment, which I suppose is most of the time, not just a moment, I look forward to 2 weeks or so after the first birth, when our refrigerator resumes storing a bountiful supply of fresh milk.  No more skimping on cereal, or mixing what grocery stores call "milk" with the small amount of real milk Karen brings in from Polly, the doe we save as dessert for Witty, our premier buck.  No more drinking water after a run instead of mixing a healthy dose of chocolate syrup into a glass of raw milk.  No more restraining myself from stepping into TeePee's (a/k/a The Trading Post) for a pint-sized half-gallon of Hershey's ice cream, when we can churn our own.  No more retrieving a wheel of aged cheese from the basement without replacing it with a new block.  And no more frozen mozarella when Karen can whip up a new batch in less than an hour, followed by ricotta to boot.

This time of year bodes well for the table in other ways.  Soon the asparagus will be sprouting.  The lettuces in the greenhouse are getting closer to harvest every day, and we now have more lettuces sprouting in a cold frame.  I planted spinach yesterday in the outdoor garden, and earlier, peas and onions.  As we finished putting wire on the new garden fence today, we couldn't help trampling a few tender garlic shoots.  Tomorrow I'll transplant broccoli, cauliflower and cabbages into larger pots, and soon after, into the garden.

"So you finally finished the fence?" asks Virginia.

Finally?  It was beginning to seem like forever, but we only started the fence a week ago.  Our Spring-like weather gave me the itch to plant, so the fence had to be scooted along.  It's actually not finished yet; 3 gates remain.  If I'm lucky, Karen will build them while I convalesce for a few days in Ohio.  Sort of like when a toilet won't stop running or a faucet dripping -- I can disappear for a few hours and come home to fixed fixtures.

I almost forgot to mention that another "kid" was born today.  The Arrowhead Trio dedicated over an hour to practicing the first movement of the violin, clarinet and piano trio I've been working on.  Tentatively titled "The Barnyard Trio," we got to hear "The Hawk's Visit."  As Winston, our violinist, put it this morning, "Getting to hear live instruments play a new composition you've written is like pouring your own freshly-made maple syrup on a pile of pancakes."

The Fence and Maple Syrup Duet

I smell maple syrup.  As I continued working on post holes, Karen and Susan began evaporating the 100+ gallons of maple sap we've collected so far.  I write "so far" for two reasons.  One, the buckets still hang on our trees.  Two, the result of today's evaporation will determine whether we drink the sap, offer it to someone else, or keep boiling it.  The answer to the boiling question alternated among maybe and no throughout the day.

The big problem is we don't have a proper evaporator.  A lot of the heat from the wood being burned rose around the too-small evaporating pans and warmed the atmosphere instead of the sap.  The women kept a fire going all day in the fireplace that's part of our outdoor kitchen.  We rarely use that grill, unlike the adjacent brick pizza oven.  Susan brought leftover lumber from her place and Karen gathered fallen limbs from ours.  Gradually, they learned to keep the fire the right temperature so the sap wouldn't simmer too slowly or boil too fast. 

I checked in now and then, hoping to smell and taste fresh maple syrup, and be a cheerleader.  Right, I probably doused more enthusiasm than I offered cheer as I grumped my way along the final 17 holes.  Each of the first 7 greeted me with 6 inches of hard, tight gravel mixed with clay.  After banging and twisting the tamping bar, the post hole digger rewarded me with tiny clumps.  Fortunately, it took me only an hour and a half to finish the last 10 after suffering 4 hours on the first 7.  Meanwhile, during water breaks, I noticed the sap gradually turning darker and darker, clear to yellow to tan to brown.

My mood substantially improved after the post hole digger returned to the barn.  Instead of lying in the sun, as I had dreamed of doing, I planted more peas -- Wandos and Laxton's Progress -- and shooed a few chickens that had creeped into my territory, soon to be enclosed by a fence.

I joined the fire-tenders for while.  The sun slid behind our mountain, Susan claimed a pot-full and took it home to finish, while Karen needed a flashlight to check the remaining sap's progress.

"So what's the answer?" asks Virginia.

I'm getting there.  I heated up some leftovers for dinner, then headed off to orchestra practice.   When Karen said, "I'll probably still be here when you get back," I had an inkling of the answer.  When she wasn't there when I got back 3 hours later, I thought I might have been wrong.  I opened the back door and the odor of maple syrup greeted me.  Karen was finishing it off on our indoor stove.  She offered me a taste and, if I heard correctly, she's not ready to let the rest of the sap go to waste.

Fence-Building

This blustery afternoon kept us alert for flying objects, such as the roof of our chicken tractor, which refuses to stay where it belongs.  The sun was warm enough to offer suntans, and I couldn't help wondering what the northern wind portended.  Our low was about 50 last night, so the maple sap ran free, offering us about 24 gallons this morning.  The wind slowed the flow to 16 more this afternoon.

I invested my Valentine's Day in post holes.  First time around, most of them did not meet standard, so before sticking in 4x4 posts, I've had to deepen them to 30 inches.  The last few inches tend to be clayey or rocky, and not much fun.  Seventeen more await finishing tomorrow.  Then we'll install the wire fence along the inside.  We'll prettify it soon with wooden boards on the outside.

The main purpose of this fence is to keep out the chickens.  Let's hope the fence, accompanied by regular feather trimming, does the job.

"What were you doing, playing in the dirt today?" says Virginia.  "I saw you take a break."

My resolve to delay spring planting until the fence is finished fell apart, twice.  Three days ago I planted peas (Wandos).  Today I planted onions.  These will assure prompt completion of the fence.  Oh yes, I've got to build some gates, too.

A Day in the Life of a Writer Who Has Caught Up with Deadlines

The greenhouse thermometer read 30 degrees this morning, versus an outdoor temperature of 23.  I'd like to think the manure pile in the greenhouse is making a difference, but I suppose the gauges could be faulty.  The warmer days are helping my 10 varieties of lettuce grow faster than they were.

I'm getting into a habit of every third day stopping by the woodshed to practice using the heavy-duty splitting maul I ordered from Lehman's a few years ago (http://www.lehmans.com/store/Stoves___Wood_Cutting__Splitting__and_Hauling___Heavy_Duty_Splitting_Maul___12450), well worth the $50 investment. My lessons began with the black walnut tree cut down by request of the family of the fellow who ran into it on May 10, 2010.  I probably could have dropped the maul on a walnut chunk and watched it split, but I needed to perfect my aim and my swing because a pile of locust waits for me.  A month ago, I gave the locust a try and failed miserably.  Now I've graduated and am able to add some of that yellow wood, nicely split, to our backstairs bin.

After emptying my cup of apple cider vinegar tea and doing a tiny bit of work "in my office," it's usually time for a morning run.  Last night I realized our bank account was dwindling, so this morning the bank was my destination.  "You still running?" the teller asked, not impressed by the stocking pulled over my face and the pistol in my hand.  "Always, unless I'm injured" was my answer.  The branch is a little more than 3 1/2 miles from our house, so I added a detour to make an 8-mile loop.  As I left Glasgow, Randy waved from his garage, which is stuffed full of things he's trying to sell.  "Since we built this house, we've parked a car in the garage twice," he told me,  "been admiring your greenhouse, started plants myself last year, we'd like to drop by for a tour some day."  Please do, I said.  A few years ago we traded sweet corn for green peppers.

I read the local weekly over a late breakfast, then resumed what I started yesterday -- garden fence building.  Because I dug 17 holes yesterday, I had to match that today, leaving only 16 to finish, tomorrow I hope.

"To keep out the deer?" asks Virginia.

No, the chickens.  My little yellow mesh fences, mentioned in earlier blog entries, haven't worked well except for the first few days after we trim wings.  I figure a 6-foot fence will do a better job and reduce feather-clipping to a monthly task.  The fence will only extend along two sides of the garden area.  Let's hope the chickens don't wander all the way around.