Hidden in Plain Sight

It's been 3 weeks.

Where
Is
That
Plane?

Irresistible

Our community in 1879 (then called Black's Station)

It was a wild week, weather-wise:  first, sunburn-hot weekend days followed by rain and a funnel cloud.  I like the reminder to appreciate the sunny days by having some good, old fashioned, unpredictable weather.

We took advantage of the warm temps to plant the garden - 2 months ahead of last year's garden design and build out. We feel very hopeful for another great harvest. 

I'm sad to say our citrus took a direct hit with the weeklong freeze and mistakes this novice gardener made about not covering them adequately. We lost one lemon and two mandarins, but the lime and blood red orange show signs of life, so I am trimming and fertilizing them, and then water, watch and wait.

It was exciting to spend time with the little apricot and nectarine trees in full bloom, they are so cute in their second year with honeybees all over the little 5' trees. I noticed some fuzzy buds already forming and know they will become excellent producers in a few more seasons.

Garden Babies planted for Spring

The biggest score of the weekend was discovering a great nursery near us. The plants were healthy and strong, no GMO, they had informational handouts on pertinent topics, good prices, and a broad selection. The place was packed.

Hovering nearby were experienced, friendly employees that knew plants, could answer questions, knew the layout of the nursery, directed traffic, loaded the car, cracked jokes with the Hubs and waved to us at the exit.

I have been searching for a boysenberry vine that is a prolific producer and also thorn-less.  Napa advertises them, but that is a 2 hr drive. We found a nice selection at Green Acres and came home with two. It will be fun to watch flourish and bear the kind of fruit I expect will become CityFolk Farmer's signature jam.

We brought home enough plants to double the garden from last year. We couldn't help it.

We are trying seven varieties of tomatoes this year, all heirloom or proven hybrid varieties. A couple we had never heard of but wanted to try. We planted Armenian cukes again, pickling cucumbers, pepperoncini and 2 extra zucchini plants.  We planted another hot pepper plant, this one with more bite, and red bells, and two tomatillo plants for our Mexican dishes and red pepper jelly.

We chose two varieties of green beans and are training them up an old metal trellis, and will experiment with seeding more beans in three week intervals so they continue to produce all summer. Two Japanese eggplants sit alongside the remains of the winter garden that won't give up: brussels and cauliflower.



Green wild grasses: first mow of the season

I'd still like to sow corn and plant a few more artichokes since they seem to like it here, and also lavender. Too much expansion will require a more extensive drip system, and we aren't prepared for that until next season.
We did decide to begin a new tradition around here, and plant a food producing plant in honor of our loved ones who passed away.

A Pistachio tree will honor of Pop B once we carve out a spot (two actually, a male and female). I'll put in a stand of rhubarb for Mom, and a Kumquat tree for Dad. 

Last weekend was our annual walkabout to clear the winter debris from the areas where the riding mower travels. The natural grasses are now tamed, well, for the week.  A junk hauler comes on Sunday to help lighten up what we inherited and added since settling in.

Gotta love spring.

Green Growing Garden

Today was all about rooting out the old and planting new.

With a few exceptions ... the artichokes thrived all year round

And the brussel sprout towers and cabbage don't know winter is over

Today we added in green beans for the angled trellis,
a hot pepper salsa, a zebra tomato, yellow bells and a Japanese eggplant

Over here we planted 7 more tomato plants, zucchini and left an artichoke

Winter meets summer this year with a mild and fluid
seasonal change. We will enjoy it until winter veggies are gone.

4 artichokes coming on line

Green Goddess Cauliflower is still doing its thing

The brussel sprout tower has been interesting to watch

Bees and yellow jackets are everywhere

Duty calls for the Kubota

Random Noise

We met a man who owns a neon shop a while ago, and one thing led to another and we discovered something cool.

There was an old crusty window in his old crusty shop which had 18 coats of paint and grooves for the rope that long ago raised and lowered it. My kind of window, with lots of texture and history. We couldn't use the size and asked if he had others. Yes, actually, he did: hundreds more.

That got the juices flowing about something posted recently on my wall about a vintage window repurposed into a very appealing wall photo display. There's a place for that, for sure.

And that got me thinking about the Greenhouse that got away in Sacramento last year, the one on Craigslist in perfect shape, plexiglass windows on an 8x10 frame with a hinged door, for two hundred bucks.

It was one of those needs vs wants things, and at the time we didn't really need it, although I have regretted not having somewhere to start seedlings in a cool little spot off the porch. I have been on the hunt for something like it ever since.

So the window guy resource kept rolling around in my head and sometime last week the ideas converged when I saw this little grow light potter's bench. This was a very simple and cool grow set up.


What if, what if some of those vintage windows could be used for a funky greenhouse with benches and grow lights and a spigot nearby?

That would look pretty cool with the carriage doors we're planning along the side of the workshop, and the bottle windbreak that's on the Brilliant Ideas chore list.

Just saying.

The Smell of Green

It was the kind of week that started out hard and ended up soft, with our feet comfortably propped up on the coffee table. We'd been sitting on a couple of issues that this week somehow managed to start unknotting themselves. It was fun to sit back and let things play out. I love when that happens.

An arborist and team were out this week to tend to the trees, and put a big bolt through two large and heavy limbs to let the tree grow strong and tall without splitting in two. Some needed a trim and thinning. I feel that way sometimes, looking into my life.

Most of the wood that came down was mulched as bark for planting beds and weed control in the garden. Some went to the Biomass plant nearby; some to a neighbor for his fireplace. Nothing was wasted, and the yard didn't much resemble the morning with a driveway full of big equipment and guys with hardhats and friendly grins.

The bees are back in bright yellow hives dotted around the almond orchards. In the cool mornings they trickle out and down the sides, just starting their day, and by sunset there are big oozing clusters of mocha bee drips humming together in swarms. One of these days I'll stop, and sit by the side of the road in my car, with camera in hand, to watch. I have learned to appreciate the bees. I am more comfortable around them, in an allergic sort of way. Maybe even fond, now that I know they usually keep to the job at hand.

Life smells green. There's projects to do, but probably planter boxes and working on the drips that blew out in the winter freeze will take up most of the weekend. We're being told 70 or better on the weekend, so the fields should be full of farmers. It's definitely spring.

Other Than Here

I did not feel like being inside my responsibilities today.

I desperately longed to be somewhere other than work. I daydreamed about being outside under overcast skies, dogs roaming around nearby, putting my back into the good kind of weeding when the ground is soft but not muddy and the roots come up with the green. 

I thought about being inside in my Mad Scientist lab (kitchen table) playing around with essential oils and beakers of creatively mixing up new combinations. I would be starting a loaf of Artisan bread at 11am sharp, and curling into the sofa with coffee cup in hand, looking out onto a world that in its own invisible way looks back.

I have grown fond of the busy stillness that settles on a place where humans do not dominate. People are present, in the hay trucks rumbling by from time to time and bright yellow crop-dusters swooping down low over the almond orchards as the blossoms burst open. We see men sometimes in the fields with white wide brimmed hats, walking and stooping, adjusting the irrigation pipes, quietly tending the crops. But only at harvest time do humans take the land hostage with an army of night balers with loud diesel engines and big, bright floodlights.


We watch the trickle of lights of the freeway heading past, wondering if anyone thinks of this little, lived-in town. I can't hear the cars and trucks unless the wind blows in our direction. A blessing.

At night just as mosquito season kicks into high gear, we coat ourselves in repellent and park ourselves on the porch to watch the dance of the dragonflies. We can tell when it is about to begin: thousands and thousands of dragonflies begin to gather in the yard and all up and down the road for the first mosquito larvae hatching. It happens just this once, once a year. They swarm together, gently moving the air, waiting.

The mosquitos are almost too small to see until the little brown specks pour into the air. They hatch all at once. The dragonflies dive in and excitedly feed, darting this way and that, their colors glinting yellows and oranges, blues and greens in the fading light.

It is an intense show. When they tire, they settle anywhere: on your fingertip or shoe lace, on the brim of your cap, across the backs of your chairs, hanging from a leaf. They gently swirl around us in a companionable way and we bear witness to a part of life we never knew existed.

And so back to my daydreams, and wondering if, while I am away, the little gray feral tabby next door with white paws and pretty markings has caught another mouse.

Joy and Toil

Everything seems new and exciting again, as life bursts forth with little green leaves.  Only the bulbs jumped the gun in February, and the nectarine tree, that is leafed out and ready. The other trees were waiting for a sign.

That sign came last week in the form of a long, hard rain in a series of storms. Thunder and lightning rain, buckets of rain, puddle and irrigation ditch-filling rain. The coyotes backed off and the egrets returned, and a loud chatter of light-hearted celebration came from the trees. We sat together and watched the miracle.

Mud is a dog's delight, and the rags at the door tell of abundance, and gooey balls coated in grass and leaves. Emerald has sprung up the drive, in the yards, on the burn pile. Fat and happy ground squirrels saunter around, a bit sluggish after their rest, but still quicker than the dogs. Now begins scheming season for clever ways to make the yard as un-hospitable as possible.

The excitement builds at the sight of the majestic trees with tiny green leaves, knowing what is in store: tractor dust in our teeth, a spring garden, aching backs and stacks of canning jars all over the counter. Who's to say what the season will hold: a pergola, maybe? A bottle windbreak? For sure, a bigger garden with more composting, and a tighter, better mosquito/gnat repellent.

I get that springtime fluttery, soft excitement again like I am meeting up with someone just returned from a long trip.  

It's spring! Welcome home.  It still amazes us that this old, forlorn house sandwiched in-between farms somehow found us. Every day, it carries us along like the seasons, surprising and challenging us to participate in its journey. Try it! Grow it! Thrive. Thank you, house: don't mind if we do.

The Morning After a Long, Nourishing Rain

Rain from the roof

The world is happily soaking it in

Clear skies for the moment, looking out over the alfalfa fields

Emerald Country

Puddle view of the birds in the trees

Rush Hour

A neighbor's truck

The appreciative oaks

Chalk marking the drive

Putting things in scale

Sundial

This is from a sick Canary Island Pine. Over 50 rings....