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.
Recipes * Critters * Garden * Stories *
Thursday, July 21, 2016
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2016
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
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.
Fearless.
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
The Barn Owlets, Then and Now
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| January. February. The empty box is waiting |
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| March. New Mama occupies |
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| Daddy owl checking us out while watching the owlets |
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| April. Spied owlet #1 |
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| April. Spied owlet #2 |
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| Early May. The structure of their faces are changing rapidly |
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| Late May. They are friendly and curious about us |
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| Mid June. Big changes going on, and look, a third one |
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Mid June. Better glimpse of the third owlet
|
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| Late June. Their first week of flying lessons (We thought there were three, or possibly four) |
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And we would be wrong!! FIVE.
Two female and three male owlets |
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| Late June. A little female learning to hunt in the yard |
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| 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.
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.
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