in the garden

If you have been reading this blog or getting "health update" emails from me, you know that I initially asked everyone to visualize me well and in the garden. I learned the power of visualization during my friend Emily's journey through cancer, and I quickly took up what wisdom I gleaned from her and applied it to my own experience. I knew immediately that I not only wanted to ask people to pray, meditate, and send healing energy, but I also wanted to ask for a focused vision of myself enjoying the vibrancy of life found in a growing garden.
Garden chicken compliments of Beth B.

Having asked for a large group of people to imagine me in the garden has certainly enhanced and informed the depth of meaning I have found in our garden this spring. We have worked in the garden just about every day. For a while I was heading to the garden first thing every morning as a type of zen practice. Stringing the pea trellis and turning the soil in our beds, became important healing practices for me. And, another lovely result of the request for visualization was that friends and family sent us seeds and offered to help with the garden in many ways. The healing effects of the garden run deep, including the literal nourishment of our bodies. If all goes well the garden will provide us with the majority of our vegetable needs for the year.

Our garden is growing like mad, providing us daily food, and soon to hit that stage of wild growth characterized by mid-summer. The garden and my yoga mat are the two places I feel most certain that I am held up by love, support, and the abundant energy of the universe.

This garden is a collective effort (although the top-gardener award certainly goes to Rhonda).

Here is a quick, early-summer tour:

The salad bed (alternating rows of speckled romaine and arugula). We have been eating a salad a day as well as giving lots away. My mom planted some of the lettuce seeds when she was with us in March







The pea trellis. Hollis helped to make these frames and plant the seeds when she was in town in April. They started flowering yesterday!








The broccoli rabe seeds were sent by Jessica!

The long view which includes (in small hills at the bottom left) the zucchini seeds sent by my cousin Emily.

tidbits

I have no theme by which to organize my post. I do, however, have small things to show and tell. (perhaps there is a unifying theme you could come up with...)

First, we found some serious scat on the trail in our woods. Buddy was terrified and I was fascinated. As you can see, I pulled out my uber-dorky scat guide to assess (and measure) the findings. Based on the size and hairiness, my guess is coyote.

Next in the animal kingdom... we were really excited to see bumble bees in the garden this morning. I was even happier when I got a good photo.


Finally, one of the best garden-breakfasts to date was our scrambled eggs on corn tortillas with salsa fresca. yum!

garden bliss and other fallacies of "the good life"

I know that I have a tendency to write about all of the charmed loveliness of our new lives in the North Woods of Wisconsin as though everyone who is not us is living in a slightly less-perfect world than ours. It is, after all, a good story: two city girls move to the country, find the warm embrace of new friends and neighbors, work hard on their old house, and grow a big lush garden. All is well. Heaven on Earth. Green Acres. Rural Lesbian Utopia. yada yada yada.

While most of what I say is true -- I have inherited my grandmother's tendency to exaggerate for the benefit of a good story -- there are so many ways that we struggle. One of the big struggles is ongoing frustration and uncertainty about the garden. We worry a lot, and have a persistent sense that WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE ARE DOING. Yesterday was exemplary in terms of Amy and Rhonda garden frustration; this is not just a deep sigh of frustration. This is this-sucks-so-much-I-would-rather-be-working -the-night-shift-at-Walmart kind of frustration.

Yesterday we did our usual morning walk-about only to find that both of the beds of chard (which we have carefully weeded, fertilized, re-seeded, etc) look like warm death; all of the plants are wilty, some have been de-rooted and are completely dead, and those that survive have been eaten by bugs. Mind you, this is one of the plants that "experts" say will grow anywhere, has no predators, survives over and under watering... so our chard disaster is even more frustrating. One of the most-coveted things we anticipate growing here are leafy greens. You cannot get chard, kale, greens (mustard, collards, etc) for at least 60 miles. We miss and crave these deep-green veggies, and hope to have a bountiful crop to sustain us over the winter.



One of two devastated chard boxes.






Added to this frustration and disappointment is the fact that it seems we haven't yet really gotten that much of anything else to eat out of this garden. There was lots of arrugula for a while, and now we have daily spinach. But the few zucchini, peas, and radishes have been small in quantity -- hardly enough to fulfill my vision of "putting up" loads and loads of veggies for the winter. It is an awful lot of work for not that much food, and, as of yesterday, I was ready to pack it all in.

Since then I have regained perspective, and apologized to the garden deities offended by my cursing. I know that there will be a time -- in about a month -- when we will have more tomatoes, beans, zucchini, cucumbers, and onions than we will be able to handle. However, in the meantime, this whole gardening thing feels deeply imperfect and highly questionable.

To see a more complete picture of the state of the garden, check out the photos uploaded today at my flikr site.

the long, true story of my life with toads

I want to tell you the long, true story of my life with toads.

This spring and summer I have developed an intense and complex relationship to Bufo americanus -- the American Toad. We have many of them. And they live all over our acre of open grass. So, when I mow, I am inevitably almost-mowing toads all of the time. I have evidence that I have mowed at least one toad -- I found a toad limb in the mower's bagger after I was done mowing. Given that I was the Girl Scout who staged a teary intervention when my sister-scouts took to squashing daddy long-legs, I have developed a deep concern for the fate of the toad.

My solution has been to stage what I call the Toad Relocation Project. The site for their relocation has been the garden, where I imagined the toads would be safe from the blades of our lawn devices while enjoying leisurely life among the plants. I was encouraged by Dan who kept saying, in his slight New England brogue, "ah, yes, toads are GOOD for the garden." Imagine my delight when we discovered that this was not just a generalized good (like good karma) but that they actually eat the pests we were trying to rid ourselves of.

I diligently watch for toads while mowing, and even make a pre-mow walk-through to secure the lawn. I have carried at least thirty toads into the garden in the past months, picking them up carefully, stroking their little rugged backs, talking to them as I walk them to the garden. You are going to a better place, Mr. Toad. You will be very happy in Gardenland.

Before I go further, I should say that the similarities of my behavior and that of, say, Roosevelt issuing internment orders for Japanese Americans, is not lost on me. I have spent a lot of time this summer thinking about the management of populations. Whether it is while I am collecting and drowning cucumber beetles, moving toads from one place to another, or removing "invasive species" plants from our woods, I am disturbed by the human desire to choreograph the life and death of species. There is no place where this is more evident than in my relationship to toads. As I carry them across the expansive lawn, remove them from their families and homes, promising them that I know what is best for their well-being, I am deeply troubled by the underlying meaning of it all. And yet, I keep telling myself, toads are not humans, and I am not Hitler.

And this nagging worry about the implications of my Toad Relocation Project came to a head on Saturday. I was working on securing the outside perimeter of our garden, and re-attaching the fine, mesh netting we used to create our fence. As I bent down to the ground to tuck the fabric close to the post, I noticed a little reptilian-esque face staring up at me. I began to scream one of those short, loud screams that means utter panic and freaked-out-ness. I looked again at what I thought was a snake preparing to pounce, only to realize that what I was looking at was a very dead, shriveled, but fully preserved toad carcass. The toad, in an attempt to escape Gardenland, had become stuck in the netting and could not get out. This toad was big and fat (his shrunken carcass was still bigger than most of our other toads); one can only assume that this guy couldn't get through and died from starvation and dehydration in the hot summer sun.

There is not enough room here to explain the deep psychological disturbance caused by my finding of the toad. I felt guilty and sad and really sick to my stomach. It helped that I was not alone in the garden. After I cut the poor dead soul out of the fence, Andrew came over and, in true 13-year-old-boyness said "Wow. Cool!" Dan echoed Andrew's response, while Rhonda, perceiving my distress, looked me in the face and said, "Amy. Toads die." Andrew promptly named the critter Norbert, and suggested that we keep him in a box and show him to all our friends. Buddy seemed to think he might want to eat Norbert, but I decided to photograph him. One might think it perverse that sensitive-girl then turns to photographing her sad, dead, toad, but I like to think of it as some kind of healing. Coming to terms with the fact that toads do die, and this one died in a pretty spectacular way. And, it was just one toad. As I watered the garden in the early morning, I saw many toads hopping between boxes and sitting under plants. Many toads are still in the garden while others (those skinnier than Norbert) have successfully escaped.


Norbert now lives in our sun room where he enjoys life among houseplants and a view of the big bad world.

Mary, Mary

Today we were gifted this 20 lb carp. Our neighbor's son, Dean, brought it as a contribution to the ever-expanding garden. This gift came after a conversation with Dean in which he reavealed that his (now-80+ dad) used to have the best tomatoes around. We asked what his secret was and Dean said "nothing." Then he thought for a moment and said "well, he did used to plant a carp underneath each of his tomato plants."

We have already planted our tomatoes for the summer, so there is no chance of putting this guy under any of our plants. However, they are in 4x4 square beds (four plants to a bed) so Rhonda bravely butchered the fish and I dug holes in four of our beds. Here's hoping.

No carp? I've heard that placenta also works!

Parents, Socks, and Gardening

The title is the definitive of what we have been doing over the last week or so.

My parents were here for a short visit. It was interesting to note the subtle differences caused by shift in location. Wisconsin is not too, too far from PA, and so the trip was less of a hassle, and less of a big commitment. I think, and you can correct me if I am wrong Mom and Dad, that this lesser distance and the fact that we are not longer in a big city -- and the fact that our setting is now rural, quieter, less "happening" -- made for a more relaxed visit all around. We spent more time just hanging out, playing games, eating (fish-fry, Schloegels, Micky-Lu's, etc.) and working around our house.

Mom tries out David's electric lawn mower.

Somewhere, Al Gore is smiling.

While my dad was tinkering away at a number of house projects, I took advantage of my mom's knitting expertise and support to push my way through finishing the second of my first pair of socks. Cindy refers to this hesitation as "Second Sock Syndrome", and I had it really bad. I had already picked out some yarn for a new pair of socks, and just looking at that fine merino wool dyed the colors of the ocean made me want to ditch Rhonda's socks really fast. However, with mom's input and, at times, horror, I trucked through and finished. The final products is pretty darn good considering they are my first. The most notable issue being that I didn't line up the yarn so that the socks match. But what the heck, matching socks are overrated, right? Here they are in all of their green, stripey, splendor.




And finally, there is the garden. We planted most of our plants a week ago, and we are weathering an adjustment period (it was 77 and humid the day we planted and the overnight low the following two nights was in the 30s). Nonetheless, the garden is looking good and starting to grow. All the plants are currently enjoying a good soaking in the form of an afternoon storm.


wee plants in the big boxes
a few days after planting



our re-purposed box spring

My parents have returned to Pennsylvania, the socks are completed, and the garden is on autopilot for a while. I officially declared today to be Pajama Day, a declaration that marks my commitment to being extraordinarily lazy and ushering in the summer season. I am excited to try out this thing called summer vacation. While I have plenty of academic and house projects on the horizon, the next couple of days or weeks will be spent enjoying the quiet, reading for fun, and taking long naps in the middle of the day.

Hard Worker

Accomplished today:

Scrubbed the kitchen floor
Scrubbed the rust stains off of the shower curtain
Built four more boxes to frame garden beds
Made lunch: eggplant, avocado, cucumber sandwiches
with fresh lettuce from the garden
Prepared a new bed for planting in the front yard
Hauled three wheel barrow's full of dirt from the woods to the front
Hung several loads of laundry
Took a load of garbage and recycling to the dump
Drank beer with friends who dropped by
Cleared and cleaned the 3-season room
Watched a bird take its very first flight
Knit a sock (well, just part of it)
Folded laundry


My friend Natalie's reply is too good not to post...

Accomplished today:

Bought an overpriced head of lettuce from the deli.
Stepped in chewing gum on the way home from the post office.
Stared at the orchid which is no longer an orchid, but rather, a stick in a pot with two leaves on it.
Ate two donuts in record-breaking time.
Stubbed my toe while taking out the trash.
Wrote about drag queens.
Made a glass of instant diet iced tea.
Read Keepin' It Rural instead of opening the electric bill.

rhubarb!

We have at least three patches of rhurbarb on our property. They were all surprise finds and are all growing in very different places. One is in the garden plot proper (the same plot where Glen and Donna had their garden), one is in the woods near an old compost pile, and the third is at the edge of our yard where there is a mound of grasses and other wildness. I have been pillaging these stashes at different times (sorry Dan!) and have made two different rhubarb crisps.

This is the first stage of my strawberry rhubarb crisp made yesterday.

the other side

Classes are now over -- hooray! I survived my first year of teaching! Finals and graduation are this week, and by the 27th (when my mom and dad arrive) I will be done for the summer. I am looking forward to spending even more time outside with all of the stuff that is growing. There is something to be said for the ability of a long, hard, snowy winter to make you appreciate every moment of the spring and summer.

I have been rather delinquent in posting much about the domestic projects. There is a brand-new master bedroom (pictures to come) and - TA DA - a garden. The latter has been taking up much of our time these days. Rhonda is wonderfully maniacal about the whole thing, and can usually be found reading Mel Bartholomew's Square Foot Gardening , tending her many seedlings, or devising ways to build things we need from stuff we have. We have a group of co-gardeners who are lending expertise, muscle and enthusiasm. It has been fun and exhausting. We have dirt under our fingernails, the start of some serious farmer's tans, and the tendency to fall asleep before nine pm.

Here are some of the pics of what we have been making/crafting/ growing of late (more can be found through the link to my flikr page).



Rhonda made a compost bin out of wooden pallettes and chicken wire (all salvaged).














Our garden is 25 feet wide and 50 feet in length. We built a fence around the perimeter (to keep out deer and rabbits) and made it out of buckthorn and maple. The buckthorn is an invasive species that we want to get out of our woods, and the maples were already fallen due to erosion (facilitated by the buckthorn). Dan was our master fence builder, having toiled many a summer day on his family farm in New Hampshire.



We are gardening in a series of 4x4 boxes. There are complex mathematical calculations that determine how many of each kind of plant can live in a square foot, and in the sixteen square feet of the box. Rhonda is in charge of the analysis. I dig holes and make the frames for the boxes (grunt).

These are our first sets of lettuce and arrugula (which we grew from seed).


The lemon cucumber are also from seed. They are going to go in the ground soon. (but not today -- there is a frost warning tonight!) We will also be planting a set of heirloom tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers recently obtained through the UWGB plant sale, along with a whole batch of starts that Jane has at home.

thick plots and things that grow

The garden is tilled, the lettuce is sitting in the cold frame having its day in the sun. (Putting plants out for the day and bringing them in at night reminds me a bit of Dr. Spock's c. 1950 advisement that mothers put their infant outside in the pram for a good hour of sun and airing every day!)

The sun is out, and, the semester is nearing its end.

It is hard to believe that we have been here a full nine months. Perhaps because of the connection to birth that nine months seems significant. We have now experienced all four seasons, and all but two months. The sweetest of months, in my book, are yet to come.

I am eagerly anticipating summer. Thrilled to actually have one. A real one. Sure, I will be doing things like planning a Women's Studies course (exciting!), and revising my chapter that is appearing in a forthcoming book, but most of the summer will be spent working in the garden, spending more time with friends, and reading for fun. We are not planning on going anywhere -- sorry mom and grandma. Instead we are going to stay on our little seven acre plot and watch things grow. I am heartily looking forward to the laziness of hot days, the boredom of midsummer, and that delicious feeling -- usually experienced in early August -- of the anticipation of starting the cycle all over again.

the season

it now stays light until almost 8pm. Today was 66 degrees, and things are growing. We are still a bit behind most of the lower-48 in blooms and such, but what we do have is much appreciated and - in our case - significantly documented. All photos were taken within the last hour.


Lemon Cucumber Seedlings



Lilac Buds



Buds on Unknown Tree (Do you know?)