The Front Yard Design

It's good to know when you're in over your head and you can find someone to help.

This happened with our neatly packaged little farmhouse with an acre of raw land.  The house was upgraded by someone we think of every day but never knew, who redesigned the rooms, finished the attic, ran new electrical and plumbing, upgraded the kitchen and baths and did an outstanding job. The only thing we had to do was move in.

That great experience somehow gave us (me) the idea the rest would be a piece of cake. We muddled around with a garden and informal drips, uncovered an iris garden in the back that we've kept alive and been charmed by the figs, pomegranates and olives, but we couldn't make headway on the yard.

My hummingbird/butterfly/bee pollinator garden idea didn't come with a plan, just lots of drought friendly yard tours and pics from the internet. No wonder trying to do it was  front was lost in translation and has since languished for the last several years. I swear to you each of those rocks has a big ugly toothy grin reminding me I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Don't I know it. There was 43,800+ feet of unlimited potential. We needed a plan.

Pretty much we weed our hearts out and mow it like crazy, try to keep it neat and focus on the gardens all the while wishing the outside could reflect our deep love of living here. We needed someone with know how.

Enter Kimberly and a couple of yard installer companies, and we're pretty jazzed with the result.

We also met a great local guy to do the hard prep work, haul off the rock, level and rototill the yards and even run irrigation on the other side of the drive. Looks like there may be a little old fashioned bartering along the way.

Tomorrow it starts.

Restoring Hardwood Floors

https://www.littleyellowwheelbarrow.com/restoring-hardwood-floors/

RESTORING HARDWOOD FLOORS AFTER YEARS OF NEGLECT

BEFORE & AFTER

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SRestoring hardwood floors can be challenging. Years of traffic, dropped items, scratches from bedposts, fires, and floods leave behind damage.

Refinishing the hardwood floors in our home meant dealing with all those things. Over the last century, these floors saw everything.  I still insisted on salvaging them  They were the only historical pieces left in the entire house and I did not have the heart to tear them out

Luckily oak is wood that can stand the test of time. If you can find old oak floors, the likelihood of restoration is high.

Even if you think your hardwood floors are beyond repair, you may be able to breathe life back into them.

The floor in the kitchen was beyond restoration (so they said). We found evidence of a flood, a fire, and a DIY attempt that went wrong.  Whoever attempted to restore these floors gave up midway.  They tossed down a 1/4 inch of leveling compound, some linoleum and called it a day.

Restoring this floor would prove to be a challenge.

Our living room was in slightly better shape. For how it was done, the link is attached. 

I present to you our floors as proof that anything is possible when you’re working with wood.  Many people told us they were beyond repair.  Good thing I’m stubborn.

OUR HARDWOOD FLOOR RESTORATION THE BEFORE & AFTER

Can you believe they are the same hardwood floors?  The after photos all look different colors, but all the floors are a warm brown like the very last picture.  When I took these photos, I was using a potato.

Was it worth it? YES. I love my floors. It cost us 1.00 (Canadian) a square foot for the sander rentals, sandpaper, stain, and polyurethane.

They are not 100% perfect, but I’m okay with that.  These restored hardwood floors have a rustic charm that adds a lot of personality to the house.

If you’re sitting on hardwood floors that are covered up by linoleum or carpet, you should have a peek.  You might not have to repair anything.  Your floors might only need a refinishing job.

Although our hardwood floors took months to restore, the actual sanding, staining, and sealing happened over one single long weekend.

If you have any questions about our floor restoration, feel free to drop me an email or leave a comment.

Dirt to Design

We've got this itch to start on stuff now that I am home to help equally. I'm a little more itchy than the Hubs with me being the freshest retiree, but still.

Our land is mostly dirt except for the amazing trees that have been here since the early 1900s, when the house was built. Other than the house, the garage, a 50 foot gravel drive and the trees that have been here forever and the little sculpted areas for garden and herbs, and the Kalamata olives, Pomegranates and Mission Fig trees, the space is woefully underutilized.

The problem is how to take what I'm imagining and make it real. 

A few years back we tried and failed. I had this great vision of a rock and tanbark front space with a walking trail and benches and an open space for wildflowers. It would have plantings and little funky decorations like a vintage metal headboard and yard art. The bees and butterflies would come and we'd sit on our little bench and enjoy them with the ferals Bob, Rook and Smudge.

I had internet pictures. I had a crew. We had the Hubs with a tractor and a big load of rock. Let's just say it didn't exactly go as planned.

So after licking my wounds for lack of preparation, needless effort and expense - not to mention creating a whole big mess to clean up -  it has stayed that way a long time. The Hubs and a friend made some progress but the yard is a wreck. And working FT, I couldn't find the energy to get out there and make a dent.

Failure has a way of sparking new ideas, though.

Like, we need a design. On paper. By someone who knows this stuff. A design we can understand and achieve. And someone to design the irrigation so everything stays alive. Something to follow.

So this is our dream space.

Leave about 30% of the untamed space in back alone. The target range stays and we'll add an activity course for the dogs. It should blend with our homestead and the community: simple, purposeful, and casually containable. We'll need space in back for entertaining and plant a stand of fruit trees to give us more fruit varieties since I'm so into canning.

We definitely need some grass to romp and play and lots of indigenous plants with room to nestle seasonal garden veggies around.  My herb garden stays.  I guess in the end we want things we can eat and purposeful plantings and butterfly/bee/hummingbird loving trellised vines  -  plus lemongrass, citronella, and lemon for the natural mosquito repellant we make.

Oh, is that all.

So on Monday, Kimberly the Visionary will be here. She specializes in natural and functional designs for our zone. I'm excited.

Not MY Nana's Meat Sauce

I am Midwestern, a mix of Scottish/English/French, and I'm lucky to come from a long line of frugal, hearty cooks. We're big stick-to-your-bones kind of cooks, and keep-you-warm-in-a-blizzard cooks.  I didn't grow up in the Midwest but my parents did, and they did the raising.

The one and only spaghetti sauce I know is a red sauce with browned hamburger meat with some onions and spices, cooked up in about 30 minutes (less if you were using a jarred sauce). Through the years I've worked to improve the basic sauce with longer simmering times, fresh ingredients, freshly picked herbs, more garlic or a spoonful of pesto, but it pretty much resembles the original version.

And then last week I found something called Sunday Gravy. Man! Those Italians know how to keep a secret. The back history of the sauce is that Italian families have made Sunday Gravy for generations and passed the recipe and basic principles for making it from mother to daughter. It's completely adaptable, and an added plus is it transforms leftovers with an amazing sauce that tastes like nothing I've ever had.  Apparently each new generation can totally make it their own without sacrificing the original flavor they remember as kids.

An Italian friend who didn't know the term Sunday Gravy until I described it, said, 'Oooh! That's the refrigerator gravy my grandmother made because she used up all her meat leftovers. We had it all the time.' 

And that made me love it even more, because people like me who hate to waste food love anything that disguises leftovers into an amazing meal.

So I gave the recipe a try.  We had it, we loved it, we shared it, they loved it, so it's definitely blog worthy.

Here is the amazing original post and long version of the sauce with, of course, the recipe:   http://www.platingsandpairings.com/authentic-italian-sunday-gravy/

Browning

I have this need to give recipes my personal spin. So ...
- I didn't toss the garlic, because you don't do that.. And I increased the amount.
- I added in more seasonings.
- I cooked it all afternoon, in a Dutch oven at 325 degrees, not on the stovetop. My stove tends to run a little hot and I didn't want to burn the sauce and I didn't want to stand guard over it.
- I found there was so much meat in the sauce I ended up increasing the ingredients to compensate for it. Plenty of meat for tripling the original recipe. Basically I doubled the meat and ended up quadrupling the ingredients to keep up with how beefy it was.

The sauce starting out

In a large Dutch Oven:
Step 1 - brown all the meat in oil, and set it aside on a plate
1 lb or less each of pork - beef - and Italian sausage (cooked or not; anything you have on hand)


Step 2 - turn down the heat, toss in 10 cloves of garlic to soften and scrape up stuff from the bottom.

Step 3 - add most everything to the pot except meat:

One onion, roughly chopped
Tomato product: 135 ozs of a combo of crushed tomatoes, diced, stewed, or garden/canned or frozen fresh.

Browned Meats, added to sauce

Some fresh basil leaves
A couple of branches of fresh Marjoram (just toss it in, stem and all)
2 bay leaves
Salt and Pepper (I leave the salt out until the end)
Any other favorite sauce flavorings
A couple of carrots sliced 1/4 inch thick, because I am wild for them in pasta sauce

Step 4 - Nestle the meat back in and bake it

If the meat is a little cramped, that's okay. If you're genuinely short of sauce, add broth and mess with it. Once everything looks good, put the Dutch Oven in the oven on a mid level shelf - covered - at 325 for about 4 hours. I checked it once an hour, because the aroma pretty much made it impossible not to.



At about the 2 hour mark taste for the kind of flavor you want - super meaty and deep. You can remove some of the meat here if you'd like. I left the sausage in for good.

Step 5 - After it cooks awhile and flavors do their thing, remove the meat and pork chunks to a plate - and work on the broth.

Late adds/adjustments:
To thin: Add broth (beef or pork), and I did use at least a quart
To deepen the tomato-y flavor: Add tomato paste, up to 6 oz

By now, The Gravy is delicious enough without the meat, but I added it back in to my sauce. Personal preference, I guess.

The Gravy was served over linguine that night with some fresh parmesan, green salad and a sourdough baguette. Two nights later we had it again, this time over homemade ravioli from Jackson CA, and it was also excellent. I hear it's great over polenta and mashed potatoes.

I pressure canned the rest in pints, sure that it will be our reach-for sauce for entertaining, gifting, and when we are out on the road. The canned sauce definitely needs a little thinning, so a pint is plenty for four mouths if served with sides and some bread. As my mother would say, Delish.

PS I started another batch last night.

Land Ho

One of the best things about feeling fingertips on the keyboard again, other than hearing the clicking sound and giving it a good dusting, is the joy of taking time to be quiet with myself. 

On the one hand I suppose I can say something about life being full and overflowing, and not enough time to squeeze it all in; but the truth is more of a shameful reminder of how easy it is to get pulled from something I love to do and fill my time with less gratifying things.

The Artichoke continues to return from the hot unrelenting summer heat and in the late fall through early Spring produces long healthy fronds and *sometimes* beautiful artichokes to enjoy while the getting's good. It inspires me to do better.

The decade of deep drought is taking its toll.  Like people, you can only guess what's going on inside.

We lost a pomegranate. Very randomly, she quit leafing last spring and no fruit came, but the little tree in the partial shade of the olive in back seems to have come into its own, and so we had juice and jam after all. 

A lovely old Halloween shaped Black Walnut that hugs the house has last year's leaves hanging ominously on its branches and we will know soon if they sound the death knoll for it. 

So far, the Pines and Valley Oaks and Olives are standing tall.  So far.

The old fig is in a new phase of its life, as a home for bugs. One brave branch remains, stretching upward, and 50 or more shoots coming up all around the tree to start again. Its bark is loose and perfect for the woodpeckers.

I'm half terrified about discovering the large wild fig along the northern edge of our yard facing the farmer's field. The outside freezer is already half full of figs that are outpacing our capacity to eat them and, with two harvests a season, we've got whole and chopped figs packaged for breads and cookies - pureed figs for leather and to be paired with chicken breasts - whole figs - fig sauce - and in the pantry, fig vodka, jams and preserves.

Fig lovers, come on by!

Firsts and Seconds

After some 40 some odd years of working for Someones, I am two days away from retirement. This day is full of gratitude in so many ways, for being able to make my kind of difference as much as I could for as long as I could, and for being able to take a breath and say to myself, I am back to blogging. For real.

I found this half written and long forgotten post from the spring of 2017. Its fitting that tonight when I took the dogs out at dusk, a barn owl sailed from the box to the trees, reminding me that another year is coming with everything wonderful and new. Here you go. Enjoy.

Through winter and spring, we have been bustling. 

Artichokes into June

There's a garden now, loaded with zucchini and tomatoes and peppers and squash - and it's been crazy hot, so the best we can do is keep them alive long enough for the cool late summer crop.

     A new family of barn owls settled into the palace, our newest box, and the male toggled between the old and new box so often we rather decided he was a returnee from last year's family. The owlets are two this year, both female, and oh so different in personality and boldness from our first family.

And in all that the newness of life never grows old, or miraculous, or fun.

Last year, Tyto and Alba were dutiful adoring parents, keeping a watchful eye. Not so with the parenting style of Max and Ruby who made sure the brood was well fed and well watched, but had a hands-off approach to let nature their chicks into independent and fearless owls. The young owls are maturing faster, they are bolder, and stronger, and ready to go.

So many lessons here, watching the owls, knowing the way I was raised is how it works out for them.

Like,
Be smart and wary;  practice practice practice; know to step off the ledge into somewhere new.

Like,
Lean on your parents and then on your family; be soundless in your approach and take only what you need; keep a low profile and do no harm.

Like,
Get along; be who you are; don't borrow trouble, don't pick a fight but if it comes to you, use your wits and follow your instincts.

Really good advice, if you ask me.

Perfect

 My favorite (only) Aunt and Uncle came from Texas last week for a nice long visit.

They walk a little slower now, but the timbre of their laughter and the stories they tell are the same. A little greyer, maybe, a little forgetful, but with pushing late 80s they are entitled.

We took them to the ocean, on a bluff between Jenner and Bodega Bay, for what may be their one long last look at the Pacific.

It was somehow extremely important to share digging our feet in the sand with them, watching the fog burn off to beautiful windy fall days and hunting for seashells as the dogs dance along the waves.

We had great talks. I'm German, it turns out. And French and English, which I knew - and Scottish on my father's side. My Grandfather was married twice, once during the War and he was overseas when his bride died of influenza. We talked of my mother, my first marriage, things that were wrong and right in our lives. I listened to what life was like growing up in Chicago during the 30s / 40s, and we sang out loud in the car. 

We are gamers, and evenings were filled with Tripoley and Mexican Train and laughing out loud. We dined on Dungeness Crab, local and fresh, and Alaskan Salmon with Sourdough. From the hot tub you could watch the waves wash ashore.

There was something deep and resonating about spending time in a little fishing shop turned retirement home sitting among big and beautiful properties. We felt grateful, even after losing power and having no TV remote. We sat in the dark with little battery candles and watched the waves. The soft worn floors and Indian rugs and the leather sofas brought us comfort in spite of no wifi, not much in the way of phone coverage, and spotty landlines. We sank into beds with soft feather pillows and slept tight in the cold foggy air.

There were redwoods nearby and the Hubs and I reminisced about Guerneville in our youth.  On the way home we stopped at a sandwich shop in Petaluma and ran into Randy's nephew, if you can believe that. Some things just happen because they're meant to.

Thanksgiving had been all week, but we celebrated with the family on Saturday before they headed home  - 14 strong - all stuffed into the kitchen and living room along with 3 dogs - with helpers at the stove, at the sink, at the island doing tasks.  My aunt taught me a thing or two and she said I taught her a thing or two ( although I think she's got me beat in the kitchen department.)

Everyone chipped in.
Everyone laughed.
We had long visits with Mike, who is moving to Philly at the end of the year
... and most everyone stayed long after dinner was through. 

I can't imagine anything better than that, other than remembering to take some family pictures. Totally forgot!

Fresh Turkey Bake

Right out of the oven, ready to cut

Recently, I've been thinking about how we drive ourselves nuts with Thanksgiving preparations that have six different dishes demanding things

COME TOGETHER
at the
PRECISE MOMENT
so everything is hot
AND COOKED
and perfectly seasoned

...and a pie on the sideboard that probably won't be eaten because everyone is in a near coma state from all the dinner carbs.

Cauliflower mashed looks a lot like mashed potatoes

I wondered about a lasagna style make ahead dish made from Thanksgiving foods. Surely someone had thought of this already, right? So I went on the hunt.

I found Nothing! There were tons of the old tired cream-of soup casseroles from the 1960s that are gross, a rolled turkey breast (like you make sandwiches out of) stuffed with stuffing and potatoes, and a few more casseroles with quinoa and noodles and curry and broccoli and lots of cheese and other fatty add-ins. Pass.

So today I made my version of a Turkey Bake that is convenient, freezes well, and is made with wholesome fresh ingredients. I used cauliflower mash instead of potatoes because - well, we like them -- and honestly, in this recipe you can hardly tell the difference, so it would be an ideal time to try cauli-mash if you haven't already.

The recipe was great!  It had great texture, good flavor combinations, all the comfort foods of Thanksgiving in one little square, with plenty of room for a big green salad. I can't wait to finally use up all those sides we usually have left in the fridge - but what I most like about this dish is the balance and honesty of  it.

(Layering is for one 9x13 casserole)

A ladle or two of gravy on the bottom
A layer of fresh cooked and sliced Turkey Breast - side by side
A layer of cauliflower mashed/or potato mashed
A layer of broccoli florets - steamed al dente
A layer of your favorite stuffing
Another layer of turkey breast
Top with your favorite gravy (just a few ladles, don't drench it)

Cover in foil - bake at 350 for 1 hour to heat through. Let rest 5 minutes and serve.

---------------
These were our layers.

Fresh turkey slices with 2 small casseroles being prepped

Turkey: We thawed and baked a 3lb frozen turkey breast at 350 for 90 minutes, and let it cool before slicing 1/4" thick along the largest part of the breast. It gave us 10 good slices, enough for one full casserole dish top and bottom.

Mash:  Trimmed and cut a head of cauliflower and steam in the microwave - we recommend you use the stalks too. Drain well and use a food processor to pulse until smooth. It doesn't work with a masher.  {Do not add water or milk or the cauliflower will be runny}. Turn out into a bowl, season, cool in the fridge and let rest at least 2 hours - preferably more. If you still need to thicken, whip in a little dry Parmesan or dry potato flakes, resting between adds to let it gain body. The trick with cauliflower is not to undercook it. {Or you can just make your usual mashed potatoes}

Cuts and holds its shape like a good lasagna

Broccoli:  Cut into small pieces, cover with saran wrap and microwave it 3 minutes or so until al dente.

Stuffing:  I used Mrs. Cubbison's traditional stuffing bread - and followed the directions on the box - onion, celery, butter, and organic turkey broth and a little sage.

Gravy:  I cooked down gizzards in 2 c water and seasoned it up with herbs (sage, tarragon, marjoram, basil, rosemary, poultry, a little pepper). I added some Better Than Bouillon for depth and some pan drippings and thickened it with a flour roux until it was smooth and not too thick.

The Craftsman

There is a constant flow of ideas out here.

A giant bee and butterfly garden here; a bigger herb garden there; decorative fencing breaks between the drive and the back, the back and the grass, the grass and  the gardens.

The promise of the land whispers, How long have I lain dormant, thirty or more? More than that contributed to the ruination of the house and what it had become. There was just too much to do, the farmers thought to themselves as they watched the Twins fall apart. They considered buying both houses to tear them down because the land underneath was more useful.

In the early part of this century a man found the main house and fell in step with reviving her. He worked tirelessly for many years, a craftsman himself who did much of the work. New windows, and floors, and walls, and bathrooms, and a better kitchen, electrical and septic, and a media room in the attic upstairs. Friends and family helped.

And underneath it, the rich, mocha soil became a dump for the construction worksite and the farmers itched to get their hands on it, or so the story goes.  Before this there had been 35 years of renters who grew pot in the back, and the sheriffs deputies snuck through the corn fields to get the drop on them. Some had a menagerie of unfenced farm animals wandering into the street stopping traffic and eating in the farmer's fields.  Some had too many cars and too much junk. The whole town lived here at one point, and there is still the occasional stop-on-by'er to tell us how they are connected.

Putting up a garage after a century caused quite a stir at the Post Office, which is still open despite the Postmistress retiring a couple of years back. Her mother before her was the Postmistress, and her Aunt. The USPS didn't want to keep it open but finally agreed that someone from the community can work it 9-1, pass out the mail, sell stamps and mail packages if you have cash.

Our little acre has a little garden in back, an herb garden on the side, a Iris garden faded and needing to be cleared, and an artichoke and berry fenced area that doesn't do a very good job of keeping out the squirrels, the birds or the dogs. There's a run next to the garage and a backstop all the way in the back for target shooting. Dotted around are olives, 5 of them, two pomegranates, two mission figs, and an almond that is making a comeback. And about 25 glorious Valley Oaks in all shapes and sizes.

Most of the land is flat and unused. There's more than our share of ground squirrel tunnels and we knock down weeds, and there's a low perimeter of water troughs for the crops that stretch in all directions all the way to the buttes. I long for a lush and orderly space reflecting my hands in the soil springing with life.

I discouragingly wonder if time and energy and money will ever permit a transformation.  And then I think of the Craftsman, his patience, his ingenuity, his devotion to the house, how he must have felt as he transformed it into what he imagined it could be.  It would have taken years, more money than I can imagine, and more talent than I possess. Had he given up, who knows where the house would be, maybe in a heap of lumber somewhere having been cleared for the crops that would take its place.

What a crying shame that would have been. Our beautiful home is a testament to a thousand people connected here, lives won and lost, chock full of memories. The Craftsman reminds me everyday that it is about the journey, after all.

The Craftsman

There is a constant flow of ideas out here.

A giant bee and butterfly garden here; a bigger herb garden there; decorative fencing breaks between the drive and the back, the back and the grass, the grass and  the gardens.

The promise of the land whispers to me. How long have things lay dormant, ten years? Thirty?  Fifty years or more contributed to the ruination of the house. There was just too much to do, and the farmers considered buying both houses to tear them down because the land underneath was so rich and useful.

Then came a man in the early part of this century who was in step with the house and revived her. He worked tirelessly for many years, a craftsman himself who did much of the work. New windows, and floors, and walls, and bathrooms and a better kitchen, electrical and septic, and a media room in the attic upstairs.

And underneath it, the rich, mocha soil became a dump for the construction worksite and the farmers itched to get their hands on it, or so the story goes.  There had been 35 years of renters who grew pot in the fields, and the sheriffs deputies snuck through the corn fields to get the drop on them. Some had a menagerie of unfenced farm animals wandering into the street stopping traffic and eating in the farmer's fields.  The whole town lived here at one point, and there is still the occasional stop-on-by'er to see it and tell us about their recollections.

Putting up a garage after 110 years caused quite a stir at the Post Office, which is still open despite the Postmistress retiring a couple of years back. Someone from the community works it 9-1, distributes the mail, sells stamps and mails packages if you've got cash or check.

Our land has a little garden in the back, an herb garden on the side, a iris garden faded and needing to be cleared, and an artichoke and berry fenced area that doesn't do a very good job of keeping out the squirrels or the dogs. There's a run next to the garage and a backstop all the way in the back for target shooting. Dotted around are olives, 5 of them, two pomegranates, two mission figs, and an almond that is making a comeback. 

Most of the rest of it is flat and desolate, with ground squirrel tunnels and knocked down weeds, and low perimeter water troughs for the crops that stretch in all directions all the way to the buttes. I dream of looking around at a lush and orderly space reflecting my hands in the soil springing with life.

I impatiently wonder when the time and energy and money will come.  When I get down on myself, the craftsman comes to mind, his patience, his devotion to the house, how he must have felt as he transformed it into what he imagined it could be.  It would have taken years, more money than I can imagine, and more talent than I possess. Had he given up, who knows where the house would be, maybe in a heap of lumber somewhere having been cleared with crops standing tall.

It is the journey, after all.

All Smiles

It's been quiet out here with the owl family having moved on. We hear a couple of them in the trees some nights squawking to each other when they think we can't hear.

I had a full weekend of visitors of the two-legged variety. There were long dips into friendships I treasure and miss, freshening them up and making plans. There's a certain kind of laughing old friends do. You've got your stories to haul out and kid each other about, and you wait for it to spring out, and it always does. You start with the warmth of a hug and end that way, too, and in-between you dream of trips to the lake, to the mountains, to the sea ... because they're fun to think about, anyway.

The Heirlooms aren't happy, but the new little hybrids already have a few tomatoes. They may save the day.  The bells and zukes are doing the opposite, and we're glad for that.

The dogs and I walk the fields, watching the sunflower buds struggle to unlayer themselves. They look like artichokes with little edges that look sharp but are soft and pliable. I spied one open flower in a field of 20 acres of green. Soon they will be all smiles.

I look for the bee boxes, rooting for them to help the sunflowers (and the garden). If the flowers open without boxes we're probably neighbors with the non pollenated varieties of sunflowers, the enemy to the honeybee. Having nothing to nourish the bee in field after field of flowers would exhaust them. They would literally die trying.


Rent-A-Hives are everywhere in the early spring. I sometimes pull over with the windows rolled up and watch the hive at work. They are busy and productive and seem happy. Everyone has a job. After a few weeks of pollinating, the hives are carted away to recover and rest. More than a few people have suggested I consider become a beekeeper and it made me wonder why there aren't any beekeepers in our community.

I listen to the answer in the evenings with the sound of the Mosquito Vector helicopter covering the area in sticky spray to keep down West Nile and Zika and whatever else mosquitos carry, and in the rumble of ATVs with chemicals being sprayed on the silage corn and alfalfa and tomatoes.  There is so much to farming that is not good to know.

I think the only hope for the beautiful, delicate and vital honey bees might be to get them on the endangered species list and protected from harm.  Legislation should be passed, chemicals should be curtailed and the bees should be able to concentrate on being bees. I don't want to have to try to explain to my great grandchildren how the honeybees became extinct on my watch.

The Aquafir

There's moments when you just have to own your city roots, like when you forget the difference between well and city water.

We've been having a devil of a time keeping the garden alive. The drips are in place, just like usual; the soil is amended, just like usual; heirloom plants are purchased and planted, just like usual; and the season started right on time.

It's been a typical summer, meaning hot days followed by cool evenings, and some cool days interspersed. About the halfway point to being grown, the leaves started to yellow on the tomatoes, and crispy edges formed on the squash and the stalks hollowed and began to droop. Some squash came off, but most of it never got going.

We added nutrients, read up on the possible causes, sprayed with natural herbicides, checked for fungus. We trimmed everything back and sprayed Miracle Gro to give it a boost, sprinkled slug and snail pellets on the perimeter.

No improvement.

We upped the amount of water twice a day, and the plants still looked parched and starved. Somehow those drips just didn't look up to the job. A couple of our best tomato plants gave up the ghost, and were replaced with more sturdy hybrid naturals (that's what I call cross-bred plants in the same genus to naturally resist disease).  Hybrids get a bad rap sometimes. They are often as healthy as Heirlooms.

Anyway, I became obsessed that we might actually lose everything except for the peppers and Japanese eggplants, which were doing great.

Out front it was the same story with the hummingbird and bee bushes. They looked starved and just hanging on. We kept talking about having had a lot of rain over the winter and the Aquafir should be in pretty good shape. Maybe sediment? We swapped out the sprinkler heads, cleaned and lowered the risers, and still not much improvement.

It been all bountiful crops from the garden, the fruit trees, the olives for 4 yrs. Even during the drought, we had ample water for the house and the irrigation systems and good water pressure. The filter on the well had been changed recently, and our inexperience just let the think that was enough.  We kept upping the pressure and lengthening the watering cycles.

Eventually we went back to the well.  It didn't smell like sulfur, showers were fine and water pressure in the house was good. And the Hubs checked it probably because I was freaking out about the garden. He found the brand new filter was caked with rusty, mineral-y, thick calcified gunk. Right away the place burst to life (literally: we had to repair the blow outs in the drip line from too much pressure). We readjusted the times and satisfyingly watched the water pool at the base of the tomatoes and squash.

You know, I'd been all over those garden websites when people write in about their plants turning yellow and dying off for no apparent reason. They're helpful, but this was a good lesson. Sometimes it's the soil amendments or the temperature or fungus or a worm. And sometimes it's forgetful city folks who didn't realize that with any natural water source it's likely to change from year to year.

This morning, the bird feeders need filling for the bright yellow birds that talk incessantly, the little brown wrens, the blackbirds and bluebirds and bluejays and red birds with black wings. That's about my speed. And then I will check the garden.

A New Kind of Normal

I was driving to work and not far from home when I saw a beautiful hawk floating above the freeway. Suddenly its wings lost the current and it literally slammed into the ground. West Nile does that, we hear. Bam, just like that.

So when our 5 yr old Pitty became seriously sick, we rushed her to the vet thinking it might be that.

In just a few days our robust dog had become virtually incapacitated. Her temp was over 104, she could barely get on and off the couch, she quit eating, she had labored breathing and didn't even try to get into the cab for rides in the truck (her favorite activity other than chasing squirrels).

She cried out when we touched her, so much so that we couldn't even narrow it down to where an injured area might be.

The vet immediately began rounds of blood and urine tests, swabs and xrays and numerous evaluations that turned up nothing. I mean, they knew a lot more than before the testing. They knew it wasn't a sprain or strain, not fungal, yeast, or valley fever infections, not heartworm, not a tick borne disease or rheumatoid arthritis. There found no visible skeletal or muscular trauma but it was clear she was losing muscle mass in her hind quarters.

She was a 5 year old dog that was acting 14.  Now there were 2 top vets on the case.

They focused on pain management and fine tuned that. What's working are 6 tabs of Tremidol daily plus 4 tabs of some other pain reliever, a Glucosamine and an anti inflammatory.

Fearless

Special screens are going up on the house, and sunflowers are filling the fields and growing by leaps and bounds. It won't be long...

How many acres of cheerfulness, I wonder: 200? The farmer broadcasts his workers in every field, running temporary pipe, planting and watering row after row, so it all coincides. We will post when the blossoms burst out.

As for the screens, they have a really small grid, extra small, as in too-small-for-bug size. We are having them made for every window.

This is the first time in 4 years we have been able to open the window in the oval office for a cross draft during the nicest part of the spring and summer...when black gnat no-see-ums and mosquitos thrive.

Fearless.

The Barn Owlets, Then and Now

 

January. February. The empty box is waiting

March. New Mama occupies

 

Daddy owl checking us out while watching the owlets

April. Spied owlet #1

April.  Spied owlet #2

Early May. The structure of their faces are changing rapidly

Late May. They are friendly and curious about us



Mid June. Big changes going on, and look, a third one

Mid June. Better glimpse of the third owlet



Late June. Their first week of flying lessons
(We thought there were three, or possibly four)



And we would be wrong!!  FIVE.
Two female and three male owlets

Late June. A little female learning to hunt in the yard



Early July. Empty again The owlets are making their way.



Ridiculous

It was a beautiful day for a holiday: not too hot, not too windy, not many mosquitos, not much going on.

We waited for dusk to see the owls, and two arrived together. We think this is the brother and sister team that forged a friendship when he helped her learn to fly. Every night they stop in together, and sit on the same branch. Earlier in the day was a flourishing of red tailed hawk juveniles flying low over the fields and then back to home base.

It is sometimes hard to remember we lived anywhere else.

Nothing going on seems ridiculously satisfying. We don't even object to the impossibly endless list of chores.

Today pea gravel went down in the drive and a space was made for parking.  Four years ago Sunday when we were handed the keys, this is exactly how I thought it would be.

Lily has not been herself, but today she and Sam romped like they used to, making the rounds first to the ground squirrel holes, then curiously watching the workers tending the sunflowers, and finally having a good game of chase with sticks in their mouths.  They spent the evening sacked out.

Life breathes here, in the branches and the feeders and the old metal wheels with no place to go. It is in the quiet of all this life where unrealized dreams percolate.

The Greatest Honor

Just days after we celebrate our country's freedom, family is heading there, where it all began.

Freedoms everywhere are being squelched, civil rights are being trampled and lives are being viciously taken. We withstand it, but there is no communal response.

And so for ID 2016,
          In spite of the challenges of the First (and Second) amendments
               In spite of the bickering and privileged whining
                    In spite of It being far from perfect or fair,
                           I pledge allegiance.

I do not endorse Her fully and whole. I resent the 1%; I am shocked by the callous disregard for the mentally ill and victimized; I see cowardice in its lack of action against violent entertainment that is played out on our streets and in our homes. 

And to the Republic for which She stands.  

         One nation.

                  Under God.

                         Indivisible.

Working for a world of one people, one vision, indivisible rather than splintered by the inequities of  money, power, repute, language, color, culture.  In a world paralyzed by fear, how can anyone not consider it an honor and privilege to raise a voice to vote? 

Don't squander what so many others will never have.
With Liberty and Justice for All.