This is Not What I Wanted to Write About Today

Or rather, I was going to write about this, but it was going to be a little blurb at the end, not the main subject of my post. Above is my new fun tool, a leaf vacuum mulcher. Yep, you read that right - it vacuums up the leaves rather than just blowing them around! Then it shreds them into tiny little pieces and spits them out into the collection bag. Those shredded leaves can then be added into your compost! I got it for $65 on Amazon, but the price has now raised $20 for some reason. It’s still worth it. Plusses, besides collecting and shredding your leaves: It’s electric, it’s not too heavy, and it’s simple to put together and use. Minuses: it’s LOUD, and it can’t handle any branches larger than a pencil size, so using this over wood chips is probably not a good idea. Since I only collect the leaves on my driveway and sidewalk, that’s not a problem. And apparently it doesn’t do so well with wet leaves (very rarely a problem here in dry dry dry CA). But I think this thing is going to save my aching hands, and on top of that provide a whole lot of goodness for the compost pile and the chicken run.

But as exciting as this new tool is, this wasn’t going to be my blog subject. Rather, I was planning to write about the field trip I took today with my Nursery Mgmt class. We went to visit Dark Heart Nursery, which grows and sells cannabis clones to the cannabis-growing industry.

Here’s the thing: I’ve learned a LOT in my classes, but most I’ve already sort-of learned, or read somewhere, or knew the overview even if I didn’t know the details, or had already practiced doing in my own garden. Cannabis is the complete opposite for me. Other than smoking a joint once in a while in my 20’s, I have zero knowledge of it - how to grow it, or how it is grown in big nurseries, or the business side of these things, not to mention the legal ramifications. So I went in to the field trip with complete ignorance and enjoyed learning about the whole process tremendously.

Dark Heart has an indoor nursery and a tissue culture lab, and it was a truly fascinating place. I’d love to tell you all about it. However, we had to sign a non-disclosure agreement, so I am not able to say anything else about the place specifically. Dark Heart is one of only a few of the legal, permitted clone providers in California (where cannabis use and growing is legal, but highly regulated), and I learned so much about the business behind it.

Tissue culture is not a new practice; many highly sought-after plants are developed in a lab instead of grown from seed. If you remove the meristematic tissue of any growing plant, it can be grown into a clone (remember back to your high school biology: the meristem is either the shoot tip or the root tip, rapidly dividing cells that develop into the plant. They are like the stem cells in our bodies). It’s a way to replicate the plant while keeping it free of disease, which is a huge concern.

Cloners/growers like Dark Heart are then selling their starts to large growing establishments who then grow the plant up to produce flowers, which they then sell (along with distillations of flower and edibles made with the flower) to dispensaries, who then sell it on to the customer. Here in CA we are also allowed to grow six plants per person (or is it household?), so dispensaries also can sell plant starts.

Just as I’ve learned that your local nursery sells plants that they get from other larger nurseries, who buy their cuttings from even larger nurseries, there are many more pieces to the chain than I ever knew. And if you add labs and tissue culture to that equation, then there is yet another link in the chain. So if you are buying a 4” plant for $4, you have to think that the nursery bought it for $2, and those nurseries had to buy a bunch of cuttings, or seed, and then grow those plants out; or in the case of cannabis, they’ve been grown in a lab. By the way, the lab workers all have graduate degrees, and that seems to be required, mostly in molecular biology. The myth of ‘a bunch of stoners in ripped shirts growing weed for fun’ died for me today after I heard some of the credentials of the employees. It’s a serious, serious business.

That’s about all I can say without violating the NDA. The science-y stuff was really interesting but also seemed like a very boring job, unless you like working in a lab. The nursery was a bit better, but still seemed very repetitive. I guess sometimes desk jobs can seem pretty repetitive too. Mostly what I left feeling was that this was a respectable way to earn a living. I mean, all this stuff happens in grapes and the wine industry too, and those folks are looked to as artists. There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference between that and cannabis, except that cannabis has been only recently legitimized.

In other news, we’ve had some interesting bird encounters lately in the garden. It seems that Northern Flickers have moved into our neighborhood and are delighting us with their hawk-like cries. Something that is not delighting me is the newfound knowledge that sparrows, namely song sparrows, like to eat my greens. Yes, I have caught them in the act, several times now. I always wondered why the leaves of my greens looked like they had been torn in half. Oh, well, there is plenty for all of us.

From That, to This

Our composting systems are far from perfect, but they do yield some nice rich dirt a couple of times a year. I have three dedicated compost areas.

One is a plastic worm tower with the different levels, and I collect from that every three months or so.

The second is a 3x3 redwood bin that my dad made for me, and to which I add worms every other year. This is where all the non-chickeny kitchen scraps go (non-chickeny just means the things that chickens won’t or shouldn’t eat, like garlic peels, coffee filters, paper towels, whole eggshells, etc). I collect a bucket or two from the bottom of this bin every six months or so.

The third pile is in the chicken run, and this is where all the yard scraps go - leaves, old plants, stems, etc. I also add soiled chicken bedding here. It gets knocked down by the chickens every couple of days and strewn about and scratched in and pooped in, and then I hill it up again. Repeat, repeat, and repeat. The chickens turn the compost pile for me, in other words.

To reach the good, composted stuff here, I have to move all the loose, fresh stuff off the top with a garden fork. Then I can dig down deep and find the gold. I sift out all the big pieces - bark, sticks, and the occasional rock, with a screen Tom made to fit on top of our wheelbarrow. More often then not, I end up balancing it on a garden trug because the trugs are easy to maneuver in and out of the chicken run.

It’s a little herky, but I make it work. In the summer, decomposition moves very slowly despite the heat of the pile, because it’s very dry. But still - down deep under the pile - things are cooking. The microbes never stop working for you. They are eating and pooping constantly, aren’t they terrific!

And so, I start with this….

… and I end up with this. Enough to fill an entire 3x8 bed.

This bed won’t be used until March, when my asparagus crowns arrive. At that point, I’ll dig out some trenches in which to put the crowns, and fill it back up again, and likely will add another layer of compost at that time. Meanwhile, I watered it well and covered the entire surface with coffee chaff, to protect it from erosion, compaction, and the sun.

I may not be making perfect compost, but as one of my lecturers (Dr. Stephen Andrews, UC Berkeley Soil Science professor) once said to me, “the best compost is the one you make at home!” Already inoculated with all our good local microbes, and made with our own plant and food residues, which means no waste.

If you’re not already composting, I encourage you to find a neglected corner of your yard, and start a pile today. Even if you don’t grow food, the finished product will work wonders on your ornamental garden plants. You won’t need any fertilizer, and you’ll be taking food waste out of the municipal landfills. There is no ‘perfect’ system - whatever you make will work great!

November Wreath

This month’s wreath is a little wild and crazy. I went to a local trail and found the same olive tree that we harvested olives from years ago, and cut several branches for this project. It was interesting because the tree had only a few olives, whereas back in early 2016 the thing was covered in ripe fruit. Olives do have heavy and light fruiting years, so I guess 2017 was light, then 2018 was heavy, and this crop will be ready in 2019 and it will be light.

Our own olive trees are full of fruit and looking beautiful, even though I really pruned them last year, trying to get them to develop a better form. It’s a little difficult because they are in containers, but they certainly don’t seem to mind that. And they are only a few years old.

Tom built me the raised asparagus bed today, and I’ve filled it with compost to finish over the winter. I also got all the last transplants and seeds into the ground, including the last of the sweet peas, and built three teepees for them to grow on. High hopes for a beautiful spring bloom. With daylight savings arriving, I am thinking about projects I can do indoors in the dark long evenings. I have the whittling that I started last year (I’ll have to develop calluses all over again), and I’m also thinking about an embroidery or cross-stitch fireplace screen. We never use our fireplace and right now it’s filled with XBox and Wii games that are out of favor. If any of you have ideas, I’m open to suggestions. Maybe even a painting or mosaic?

Pavonia missionum

Now, Tom and I are going to spend the hot part of the afternoon working on our ballots, sharing some opinions and ideas. We both feel strongly that this is an important election. Hope you’re all having a wonderful weekend!

Last Gasp

November has arrived, and we still have daytime temperatures in the mid-80’s. I think this is the last gasp; it looks like next week, temps go down to the 70’s, and nighttime temps start to firmly lodge in the 40’s. It’s about time, and it sure would be nice to see some hint of rain.

Bishop’s Lace

The garden is moving on, mostly according to plan. I’ve had a few failures. Something completely eviscerated the beets and kohlrabi, and I’ve had a terrible time germinating spinach this year. The cabbage I started and planted out (an Italian Savoy type) has not fared well, and in that space, there are volunteer potatoes coming up (which isn’t a bad thing). I have more seedlings in the greenhouse of all those things, as well as chard. I’ll plant those out this weekend. I’ve also re-seeded in several places in the beds.

Shallots

I’ve had a tip that I should order garlic directly from Filaree Farm next year. They do have a lot of varieties, all organic. I would like to support a CA farmer, but I am unable to find anyone that will sell directly to me. If you know of any, please share the info.

I’ve ordered new asparagus crowns from Renee’s. They won’t ship until March. Our old asparagus bed was badly situated - not enough sun - and so I’ve prepped a new space over by the chicken coop and the apple tree. I’m going to have Tom build me a long, narrow raised bed, and then I’ll fill it with not-quite-finished compost from the pile in the chicken coop. I’ll let it sit until the asparagus crowns arrive, and by then it should be ready and fluffy. Asparagus needs a rich, loose, well-drained soil. I’m hoping this new bed will work well.

Shelling Peas

I’ve been working on my plan for next year. It’s a good time to do this, because the summer successes and failures are still fresh in my mind, and with everything planted out for winter, I can see where best to place the 2019 crops. I use a drawing on graph paper, and work it all out there. I’ve decided not to plant melons or corn next summer - we just don’t have room. Trying to get crop rotations perfected also makes things a little difficult.

Sorrel

I’ve also been thinking quite a lot about what I want the goal for next year’s garden to be. As you know, we pick a new goal with every new year. 2018 was the year of soil; I wanted to do things that improved it, and I think we’ve succeeded (more on that subject near the end of the year). But what about next year? It’s important to have that in mind, or else I get burned out and lose sight of the big picture.

Gulf Frittilary caterpillars on the passionvine

I’m also trying to figure out what to do with my recent college education. It’s become clear to me that though I am a complete plant nerd, it’s the cycle of things that really excites me. The systems. The way everything fits together. It wouldn’t be a delightful garden without insects, for instance. And the produce wouldn’t be as abundant and delicious without all the soil life. These things are all connected, and I want to study that. That’s Ecology, and every job I look at in this field requires a degree in Environmental Science or Ecology or Restoration, and I can’t get that where I am right now. So I have some decisions to make.

Fava beans

With the cooler nights, I’m feeling like cooking more substantial meals. It’s time to start making braises, and stews, and bean soup. I have also been making gratins - layered, thinly sliced vegetables with a garlic-infused cream sauce, and a dusting of gruyere. I’ve discovered that it’s possible to make almost any kind of gratin. Our latest involved butternut squash, potatoes, and Lacinato (dinosaur) kale. Use a mandolin for slicing (or if using greens, just tear them into pieces), simmer the cream with minced garlic, use plenty of pepper and salt, and don’t forget to butter the casserole dish. Use 2-3 lbs of veg to 2 cups cream. Some sort of sharp hard cheese grated on top, maybe 1/2 a cup. Bake at 350 for an hour and a half. Delicious, warming, and filling. Good for lunch the next day, too.

a gorgeous potato leaf

Tomorrow, I will give the carved pumpkins to the chickens, after cleaning out any spilled candle wax. They will absolutely love them and peck at them until they are gone, and all the vitamin A in the squash will give the eggs (scarce though they may be at this time of year) a lovely orange yolk.

And oh yeah, the great autumn leaf collection has begun. I do not collect the ones that fall on my garden (though sometimes I move them around a bit), but the ones that fall in the street or driveway get moved into the chicken run, or the compost pile, or the pathways between veg beds. It’s always a lot of sweeping, and I’m thinking of eating my words and buying a leaf blower, albeit an electric one. I hate them. But it might save my hands some aching. (We all have to make concessions as we get older, right? At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Better to garden longer, no matter how much I have to compromise on the noise factor.) If you have one that you like, please pass along recommendations.

a plum leaf

What’s happening in your garden? I’d love to hear all about it.

Happy November!

Tell the Story

A dear friend and I have been having an ongoing text conversation, mostly about the fact that we are both depressed at the future humanity faces right now. We both have moments where we want to pull the covers over our heads, stop reading the news, and forget that the climate crisis is happening. On other days, we both feel empowered and active and ready to face the challenge head-on. It’s kind of a weird thing, feeling both ways at once. We both have children with learning differences, and we’re honestly already exhausted by the daily energy required to be an advocate for someone whom you feel equal parts worry and love. This exhaustion also means we’re highly sensitive people, which can be a double-edged sword; our compassion is enormous, but we also tend to shut down when faced with yet another need, even a simple one. So this desire to either block out problems, or work feverishly to fix them (nothing in between), is something we are constantly encouraging each other to overcome. Instead, we are always reminding ourselves to be fully present. To be aware. To simply feel. Just…. to be.

Which is why, when I saw this post on Patreon, from the Parents for the Planet collective (no author listed), I had to share a bit of it with my friend. It’s titled ‘Don’t Give Up, Your Presence is Required,’ and the author really spelled it out for me - giving me an idea of what my steps forward need to be, especially regarding my children. It’s worth reading the whole thing and I suggest you do that, but here is the part that caused me to stop short:

“Somewhere in your future, there will be survivors. We don't know exactly what journeys or difficult times or problems they will face. They may be related to you only through the stories you tell, not the DNA you share. But they are still your descendants. 

They will exist because you survive these times, these journeys, these problems. You are important because you are their living link to this moment. You are the one who remembers things they might never see, who has tasted things they might never taste, who has touched things they might never touch. We don't know which things will still be there. So we have to be incredibly present to all these moments, in case they are the ones we will need to tell stories about.

Eat the peach. Savor the sweet of it, the feel of the juice, the beautiful complex ombre color of the skin. Save that story for them.

Take the walk. Notice the trees, the smell of the leaves, the sound of the birds. Save that story for them.

Get outside in the snow. Hear the crunch of it under your feet. Notice the flakes on your mittens. Feel it on your face. Save that story too.

You are important because you are the witness to this difficult moment, you are balanced on the cusp of this terrible tipping point. And you are also witness to all the beauty and wonder and awe that's still here, in this moment.

Your descendants require your presence.”

I do not look at nature the same way after reading this essay. I find myself thinking about the fact that what I’m looking at might not be here in 20 years, and how important it is to be totally present and experience it and remember it. Not just for me, but for the people who will come after me.

I think this idea has helped me. I feel like I’ve been given a job - but not to fix anything or figure it out all by myself, and nothing so big that it makes me want to put my head under the covers and block it out. My job, right now, is simply to be present in this moment. To enjoy, and notice, everything around me. To firmly tuck it away in my memory. This job I can do. One might even call it a mission.

So today, Tom and I watched three Nuttall’s Woodpeckers in the Japanese pine tree and marveled at the sounds they were making, and the way they were flirting. Or was it fighting? The other day, in the same tree, a Cooper’s Hawk was hunting the little songbirds and causing a great commotion; it was stunning to watch the melee. Then there is one squirrel who has become so accustomed to us that it just pauses and looks at us, Valley Oak acorn in its mouth, before continuing off right in front of us to go bury it in the hop planters or in my newly-seeded herb bed. I can’t bring myself to shoo him off anymore. Instead I talk to him and say hello and tell him what a fine acorn he found.

I realize there is hard work ahead. And fear. And days when I’ll want to go back to bed and forget everything. But I’m hoping that this new ‘job’ or ‘mission’ (attitude?) will help me even it all out a bit, and stay calm.