The Change

The farmers have begun turning over the soil in the alfalfa fields for the first time since we arrived. Slowly they work the fields, day after day, first with a rough machine that cuts through the parched soil in large clumps and then with other tools to break it down. With every row the ground squirrels scurry away.

Hawks line the trees and electric poles, and circle from high above, happily picking off dinner.  This week, a large Hawk proudly stood its ground in the middle of the road, knowing I would stop for him, and I did. We looked one another in the eye, in what was a very long staredown in bird time but probably less than 5 seconds in mine. Once that was settled he flew off to preen himself and I made my way to the drive.

Through the weeks, the soil has turned a dark mocha color as it is finely churned.  Sunflowers are coming, we hear, and that means bees. I'm already making plans for an extended garden and a special pocket for my EpiPen. How I wish we had a 2nd floor balcony to sit out and watch the field come to life over a cup of java.

Someday these fields will be an orchard of almonds to begin a lucrative and productive crop. His livelihood and lifestyle depends on a bountiful and high yield harvest, but we wonder what it will be like to no longer sit out at night with the world at our feet looking out at the long, open land.

We are into Fall now, and thankfully the promise of El Nino. The temperatures already cool to the 60s at night and the Hubs enjoys being outside.  Another Fall will come and then Winter, without the sheep squatters who grazed on the alfalfa these last few years. We will miss them skirting through the temporary electric fence, and playing King of the Hill on our pile of shredded bark. Once the transition is complete, we are looking forward to the end of open trenches that draw so many summertime mosquitos.

Yolo cat is gone, sadly hit and killed. Our sleepy little street is busy with trucks during harvest and our animals aren't used to that. Although we can never replace him, we are in the market for a new country-wise outdoor cat (ideally a friendly feral) to keep the field mice at bay. 

I love this time of year. Fresh pumpkin puree is waiting in the freezer for muffins and scones and holiday pies. Salted caramel sauce is selling again, and the new stove will have its maiden voyage for turkey day. I am excited to cook the sides right along with the bird in the small center oven - especially simplifying the timing challenges of Thanksgiving. 

Happy Fall to all.

The Real Deal

It was a simple plan to beautify the exterior and protect it from wear.  We had interviewed and hired a siding company because they could preserve the original siding and install a vapor barrier and new siding over the old stuff that was flaking away and needed to be protected from further decay.

When the crew arrived, they realized the siding had to go, because it was loose and bowing and impossible to put the new over the old.

I was heartbroken. We were told it was original to the house and we were serious about preserving it.

I railed against the wind. And then reluctantly. From work. I agreed.

I continued to worry all morning that we had not made the right choice. It is a charming home, and perhaps somewhere in the future a family might want to authentically restore it. Around noon the Hubs who was project managing started texting me. The project was underway, and there were some exciting discoveries.


The top layer was not the original siding. Look!

Under the porch along the front of the house they discovered like-new lath and plaster walls. Un-insulated. That explained a lot.

The south wall is a big 2 story section with the office and hall bath below, and the Dormer guest room above.  Under the top layer they found ugly green vertical siding with insulation dating to the 60s.  Under that was a layer of solid horizontal tongue and groove hardwood they guesstimated to be from the 20s or 30s. It was in nice shape, with weathered patina and a couple of tins of Sheik condoms tossed in the walls. (Rudolph Valentino was very big.)


And there in a tiny little corner under an original electrical panel was one tiny section of rough hewn vertical tongue and groove slats that everyone is pretty sure was the real deal from 1902.

The north wall is the largest section, with the kitchen and dining room down, and a large bonus room up.  There were no layers other than the top layer of siding, and just enough insulation to cover the ground floor. We had thought the a/c unit wasn't strong enough to cool the bonus room, but now we know...

No one would have bothered insulating the upper level because until about 6 years ago it was unimproved attic space.  Now that it's a bonus room, we will be grateful to have fixed that problem.

We got to see the old chimney that used to go to the wood burning stove in the kitchen. The top of the chimney is still on the roof and it's all sealed up behind the walls. We got to see all the straw nests the birds built in the space above the porch.

With added insulation, repairs made to long-ago damaged support beams, and a permanent fix for a couple of incorrectly anchored windows, and maybe this sweet old gal will last another hundred years.

I'd like to think that.

A Good Kind of Old

I have fallen in love with listening to someone old.

My father's wife, who outlasted me with enough grace and patience to become a cornerstone of my adult life, is now in her 90s.  One might think - 90 - wow - her body must be hunched over with a mind that is completely unaware of her surroundings.

A dozen years back, she sold everything and moved into a very nice residence for the elderly, with a pool and gym, a 4 star restaurant, and several hundred others who were transitioning through the phases of old age. By everything I mean, she sold, gave away or donated the house she and my father shared, all the stuff accumulated over a lifetime together, and had just a little room to bring a few favorites.

And then she called me up for advice on how to date, it had been so long.

She took up the internet in earnest to keep in touch, and learned to Skype and began reading my blogs. As her hearing worsened, she sought out better phones and amplifiers, and instructed us how to better enunciate and modulate our voices. We don't bother with large family groups anymore, or restaurants, because it's no fun for her watching other people talk and laugh without her. We visit her in small groups where the quiet of her home helps the communication.

When her eyes started to go, she pursued often painful treatments to slow the deterioration.  She bought floor lamps with large magnifiers to play cards with her friends, and a magnifying machine so she could read and manage her business affairs.  When those tools became less useful over time, she did not give up. Even with a serious stroke,  she worked hard to regain her independent living status.

There is little waste in the discussions we have together. They are rich and deep when you reach extreme old age.  What is it like to be living somewhere people are all old?  Death is not swept under the rug, or viewed as separate from life, I am told. It is ever present in conversations and empty chairs. Does she find that depressing?  Not at all. Everyone accepts the stages of life. There is sadness, of course, but also inspiring examples by watching others cope with worse difficulties and still managing a very good quality of life. I was excited to hear her say it is a hopeful place to grow old.

Do people squabble living in such close quarters?  Not so much anymore, but people are people, so sometimes.  She fills her time with a large group she meets for breakfast for laughter and storytelling about grandkids and great grandkids. They talk politics, and living trusts and investments, the state of our banking system and how in the world there will be a successful bailout in Greece. Some evenings there are musicians who play, or excursions into the city for plays and lectures.

I marvel that this is 90s in the modern world of good medicine and nutritious food ... and good genetics.

She worries she is difficult to understand and it is hard to communicate with her.  {Which in old speak means, she is not hearing from family as often as she'd like, and she is feeling her world contract.}

I laugh with her and tell her stories that in every way connect her to my life. What I really want to do is reassure her how blessed we are to have her so completely herself, in reasonably good health, with an active and inquisitive mind. 

I begin to hear fatigue in her voice, and I know it's time to go. And then I wait for it, the sing song-y lilt in her voice when she says: I love you Nanci Anne!  And give that husband of yours a big hug and a kiss for me!

I hang up thinking that I want a thousand more conversations like this, about life and love and the view looking back. I have told her this, and she smiles through the phone and says if we don't have time to finish them all, there will be plenty of time to talk to our heart's content in the next life.

New Territory

As I sit looking out this morning over the lavender, the lawn and to the big trees beyond, the shadows are long and the leaves are backlit in the color of Kelly green.

On this spot an old abandoned house was given a new lease on life. So, too, a little feral cat appeared one day last year, part of the Feral Recycling Program to give it a second chance.  At first, the little cat would peek from behind a fence, curious but wary.  He lived under an unoccupied home, and foraged for himself until food and water appeared regularly, and he fell into the groove. He lays at the doorstep now, stretching his paws long and comfortably on the side of the house which in catspeak means come out and play. The dogs watch from the house as I sing, 'You'll never get away from me' from the musical Gypsy.

After a cuddle, he prances ahead to the tune of 'Following the Leader' on the way to the food bowl, and I am amazed this wonderful cat could have been overlooked.

Out front there is a gangly shrub we nearly cut down before realizing it was a pomegranate tree. Boy was that a near miss.

This spot was also where a young dog found its way back to usefulness.   It didn't take long to discover her forgiving and kind nature and the unlimited potential of life lessons about love and trust and facing down prejudice.

And just the other day we watched a territorial dispute between two big birds.

Around here, birds of prey grow up glorious, and large, and well matched in size and maturity.  Several varieties of hawk and owl are plentiful and their territories often collide, but we rarely get to witness the exchange.

We were eating dinner when the Hubs saw it first - look! look! - and as I fumbled to focus on the flurry of activity, he ran for the camera and quietly eased out onto the porch.

A large hawk had chased something into the trees.  A beautiful, large barn owl hung upside down with talons clinging to a branch that clearly could not sustain its weight. Moments later, with a heavy thud, it hit the ground on its back. The owl flipped over and spread its wings wide, with an expression of surprise. (I'll bet!)

From the ground, the owl bowed its head and shook it back and forth, back and forth, and looked up and beyond the fence. It repeated this gesture several times from the ground, wings spread, without moving otherwise.  Evidently we were watching a situational struggle for domination without the fierce interchange of a fight.

We thought the owl was injured, but it wasn't: its' eyes were locked beyond our vantage point on the Hawk sitting nearby, staring intently back at the owl, wings folded, and leaning forward.  There was no ambiguity in the message: this is my turf and you need to move on. 

The hawk didn't move and the owl didn't move, and I'm sure the owl was wondering how it would be able to safely extract itself from the situation and save face. It was then the Hubs moved a little closer, and the owl took the opportunity to pivot around to face us, snap his wings in close and take off towards home.  The Hawk coolly watched with a satisfied win.

Later, we watched the hawk family fly from their nest at the top of the trees, teaching their young to ride the currents.

 

 

Tailgaters

I decided to work on the Friday before Memorial Day but I was still out of sorts with my decision when I hopped on I-5 headed south for the 40 minute commute.  The road was packed with vacationers, big rigs, boats and trailers and quads in trailers all behaving themselves in the slow lane, making an early getaway.

A minute or so into the commute I noticed a big rig driver in the fast lane. Hmmm, that's strange, I thought: I like truckers and they are usually awesome and courteous drivers to share the road.

This guy hung out in the fast lane like he owned the whole darn road. For over 10 miles as commuter cars stacked up behind him, he lumbered along.  He was nose to nose with the truck on the right - were they friends? playing a game? - for miles.  I was convinced he'd move over when he eventually passed, but he didn't. There was a truck a ways in front followed by a pick up pulling a boat, but there wasn't room for me to pull to the right and pass the truck before having to slow to 45 or so.

I was first behind the truck and everyone knows rules for the front car to try and dislodge the clog if possible.  I moved a little towards the center to catch his eye, flashed my lights, smiled and gestured for him to move over.  Hello?

So much for my A-Game ... so I got close, moved a little to the left so I could see him and laid on the horn a little.  HELLO?

A company name.  No. None of those 'To report my driving, please call ... numbers'. Not even a license plate. Hey...

By now the cars were 50 deep trailing tight like bumper cars on a rail. They wanted me to do something.

The Causeway was coming up, and the Veteran's Bridge, and I knew the truck had to slow to make it up and over, so I prayed he'd find someplace to squeeze over. And that is when I got a clear shot of the miles and miles of clear open road the trucker was hogging by being in the fast lane.

On the downslope, a guy in a Camaro had had enough. From midpoint in the pack he roared into the slow lane, swerved in and out inches from other cars and flew past me to create an opening in an almost-too-small-for-a-car space between the trucks. Truck right and truck left braked ... and for the first time I saw the driver glance in the mirror.

Several cars charged into the slow lane and raced forward to follow the Camaro, not realizing until it was too late the gap had closed and they were trapped in the slow lane watching us sadly trail by.

When we finally neared the 99 interchange where the road opens to 3 lanes, he turned on his blinker and began to move over.  But that was too late for me: I floored it with the windows down and fist raised in the air, and something else too, yelling some very unladylike things as I sped past.

I glanced in the mirror to see the commuter colony jettison past him with similar gestures and comments. Road rage. So that's what it's like.

I see 'em no see 'ums

Black gnats / no see ums. They are a blight to our idyllic life here in the country. They are as small as the head of a pin and not often noticed or felt until an impossibly itchy bite swells to an inch or more that lasts a couple of weeks.

What began as a general interest in repellents and organic alternatives quickly became a serious and urgent desire to do something about those damned bugs.

UC Davis and other reputable research organizations say there is no repellent on the market that gives relief from no see ums.  We did some research and checked it out for ourselves. We bought about 15 products and spot tested. Sure enough: Deet.  Picardin. Skin So Soft. - even the chemical, bad for you repellents didn't work.

The farmers and staff really suffer from the first week of May until the weather turns hot enough to kill them -- several days in a row over 100 degrees. With wide brimmed hats pulled low over their ears, the farm hands wear long sleeve shirts buttoned to the neck, long sleeves, gloves, jeans turned into boots, and Vaseline along the wrists and at the neckline. It is only moderate protection. For those of us not forced outside except by choice, it is almost unbearable.

We pray for a short hot spell in May.

This year we cornered ourselves by not getting the garden drips done before gnat season, so last weekend was a gnat fest as we hurried through that project. Epsom Salts help soothe the welts.

A couple of years ago, we made the first repellent formula from a recipe on the internet. We thought it would save the world and everyone would smell like vanilla and lemon zest. It works in a pinch, but is more of a party favor.

More serious versions followed, more oils with repellent properties, but the Hubs returned after a day on the tractor coated in oily mosquito repellent that had picked up layers of caked dust, bits of grass, and carcasses of gnats and mosquitos. He looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

The next version involved less oil and natural citric acid which the bugs didn't like, but were attracted to, if that makes any sense. They landed and walked around and we itched like crazy. We spent half the time brushing them away and in the process wiping off the repellent which gave them a spot to bite.

At some point a promising version was tested at UC Davis and we got some tips on staying on the track we were on and how to research further into the topic. He gave us access to UC Davis published papers and promising developments in the field. This lab tests most of the country's repellents and they said most repellents do not test their product before taking it to market.  (!!)

By now we are in an all out war with the gnats so we continually work with adding more essential oils, taking others away, adding more carrier oil and alcohol and then incrementally decreasing them, back and forth.  Each time, God love him, the willing Hubs sprays up and heads out into the world to see what will happen.

And I head to the kitchen to make something good for dinner so we can talk it over, write notes in our journal, and move on something else.

Mom's Brass Bell

Today's story is about a bell. A brass bell.  My mother carried it along with her for her life, and when I was old enough to be responsible for it, it was passed on.

I remember having my tonsils out as a little one and the bell being the means to notify the troops if I needed another popsicle or a sip of water. I remember having Mono and using it then to summon help. Colds, the flu. And when my mother had a Hysterectomy, she used it to summon me.

And in my 20's, I remember tossing it in a box and donating it to Goodwill.

Years passed, and so did my mom, and about 10 years ago I started missing the bell.  There is something about the physical connection of things between us and I wanted it back. (We do really get smarter as we age.)

The Hubs and I spend time nosing around antique shops and I started quietly looking at their bell collections. I'd find a lot of interesting bells, but never what I remember to be a Dutch girl with a wide skirt, wearing a Dutch hat and with a tinkle so melodious that it would call my mother from anywhere in the house.

Out of the blue a couple months back, we travelled to the neighboring small town of Dixon to spend some R&R at a small, folksy antique fair, and blow off steam. The Hubs and I walked through and found some great finds ~

... an old ammo box with great patina that we re-made into a first aid and mosquito repellent storage box;

twenty or so sterling silver spoons and serving pieces that will do well to stamp for garden planting markers;

an old watch and a couple of Edison Gold molded record discs for Grammaphones

and ... a little brass bell.


In the corner of a display cabinet facing away from me, I spied a little brass bell. I picked it up. It was the face of a little Dutch girl with a wide brimmed skirt. I tinkled it, and clutched it to my heart. How strange that memories of the past rise up so strong when you hear them. That was the sound.

The connection to my mother touched my heart. I want this for my children and their children, for them to know this sound. And the vendor who gave the bell to me after hearing the story touched my heart, as well. 

Hey, Mom.

Disguised

The winter came in strong and wild, and we are enjoying the glorious rain.  Grasses grow high and we pick and discard mushrooms sprouting up ahead of the dogs. 

The artichoke is the lone survivor from last summer's garden, and its offspring are flourishing under the olives.  Waiting, watching, hoping for the blossoms to come so we can till the garden and start again.

An interesting plan to fence in some of the land for a bigger, proper garden has brought to light the changes coming in the fields beyond.  Trees are being planned, almonds, and we sit in our lawn chairs and imagine. We have memorized the view to the Buttes and gaze at the farms across a stretch of sunflowers leaning into the sun.  What will become of our view?  I closed my eyes and visualized ... blossoms covering the little limbs as they grow, slowly transforming what is there to what will be. Another beautiful view...

A well was discovered under old weathered wood, with a pump and disconnected pipe coming up from the ground. It is in a lonesome part of the yard covered with mounds of old concrete and wire fencing, that we are clearing. Our neighbor who owns the land says wells are never abandoned, and I wonder if he means its usefulness is staged for a reprise.

A property we own was seriously damaged by an unreported leak that went on for months. In the aftermath of working, planning, rebuilding, back and forth with insurance and subcontractors, what has emerged is a mixed bag of emotions.

It is so easy to be angry over the situation and the tenant getting away scot free. It has been a disheartening insurance debacle. The white hot emotion burns with worry and recompense.  We want him to pay, to learn his lesson.

And yet. As we put our hands into the project, planned it out, ordered the cabinets, bought the tile, things started to settle into a new mindset. Putting our spin on what we envision it to be. A reprise.

Yes, we will always be disappointed with someone who was careless with something that wasn't theirs.  It has taken a lot of our time and effort and created more angst to set things right. The situation is not our fault and it's not fair.

Granted. But among the challenges here we have discovered an opportunity for joy.

Like the pride we feel watching our kids step up without complaint or hesitation to help. Like the thanksgiving of looking with amazement at our kid's friends who are offering to give up a weekend to help get the old gal back up and rented. Like discovering the shared vision of working on the project together, solving the problems one at a time, and learning how important teamwork can be. Like watching the transformation as the unit becomes even more beautiful than before.

In dark times, when things feel hopeless, they rarely are. I can't say how all of this will play out, but we've got more than our share of blessings.

A Most Joyful Fall

Rain, beautiful rain.

It came in gently and has lingered for weeks, sometimes with winds and thunder, sometimes constant and with a promise to give that long deep drenching the earth needs.

The garden is out now, except for a green pepper plant which had so many flowers on it I just couldn't bring myself to pull it. Today's yield will become part of the chile verde sauce simmering on the stove.

Audrey the artichoke has been trimmed back and will eventually join her offspring that are doing well under the olives. We have plans to build a shelter with sunscreen fabric for the searing summer sun. A mister system is in the works as well. It is an experiment to see if we can make our area hospitable for the tender, cool weather plants.

Meanwhile, fall has come, and winter.  We were given a 26 lb Cinderella (baking) pumpkin and it was my first go at making homemade pumpkin puree. It was so good we were eating slivers from the raw pumpkin as it was cut apart. We ended up with 19 cups of pumpkin puree to freeze for soups, cookies, pies and breads.

The electric temporary fence is up all around and we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the sheep for the neighbor's alfalfa fields.  It has been a wonderful winter so far.  The leaves litter the drive and we let them. The road down the way has a dip that floods, but otherwise we've had nothing more serious than muddy paws.

Christmas is nearly here, and the tree is trimmed with vintage style dog-proof ornaments and anchored with bricks. This is Lily's first tree up close and she pulls out the tree skirt every day and sticks her head in the branches to look around. She's turned on and off the tree a couple of times - that dog always seems to delight us. Sammy and she sleep together curled up like Yin and Yang.

We missed the olive harvest by a month with it coming early and me not paying attention to the seasonal changes because of the drought. But our neighbor's tree was loaded and he didn't have any plans for them, so we will have more in the brine for summertime.

This is Resolution Season. There are plenty of things left on the chores list, and the temptation is to focus and resolve to whittle them down. But this year we aren't wasting our resolution on that.

Twenty-Fifteen will be the year of Real Time visits.  Of taking care of ourselves.

No more leaning solely on technology to keep in touch, and taking the lazy way out. We will be ~

Entertaining more
Savoring our visits more
Traveling more for fun

We're not concerned about the work / life balance. We're concerned about engaging better to life outside the farm. So this year count on putting an actual date on the calendar, instead of saying we really should get together more and forgetting to do it. Know we'll be planning a meal, sending a map, washing the dogs and spending quality time in person.  That's a promise.

And thanks again, Santa, for bringing me my wish for everyday rain. It surely hits the spot.

Audrey

I like to rise and stretch awake as I gaze out the back window at the garden. Even now, as the plants are half crusty brown with little green struggling tomatoes, it is a beautiful testament to the soil and sun, and the rinky-dink drip system the Hubs and I installed to keep water flowing in the drought.

I've been itching to get in there and clean things out, but the peppers were still producing and the Japanese eggplant and it seemed like they were asking for a little longer.

We had a solid, fill-the-buckets kind of rainstorm on Friday.  I stood in the courtyard at work,  face toward the sky, arms outstretched, palms up, with a great big smile.  I drove home with the radio off, listening to the slap of the wipers, the tinny taps of raindrops on the roof.  The sky was every color of grey, black and white and I gazed at the drops gain weight and trickle down the driver's side window. How I have longed for the smell, the sound, the promise of rain.

On Saturday the ground was still damp with the soil the color of dark mocha, and we tackled those giant tomato plants that had interwoven with one another and spilled out onto the walkways as if making a run for the gate. We harvested what we could and reluctantly pulled everything except for Audrey.

Audrey presents a special problem. She is a beautiful and robust plant and takes up most of a 4x8 raised planter box. All too late did we discover the mistake of planting her in a full sun garden. She cannot tolerate our style of hot, dusty endless summers. She is a coastal plant that needs the moist ocean air and cool breezes to make big, tender, flavorful artichokes.  She produces big and promising artichokes in the late winter and spring, but they are tough.

I'm attached to this plant.  We have been told a full size artichoke is unlikely to survive a transplant, but we will try -- into a big earthenware pot on wheels to move her seasonally into the shade or to a greenhouse where she can enjoy some gentle morning mist and temperature control.  If I know Audrey, she'll probably do well.

Top Awardees, 2014

At the end of the season when the plants are about ready, and the last of the edibles are safely tucked away in the kitchen to become something luscious, I park myself out in the garden. The little repurposed bench with peeling paint has been there all season to set vegetables on, hold treats and the chuck it for the balls I toss into the yard and rest in the heat.
Today I am taking stock, trying to remember as I look at the overgrown, worn out plants, how small and promising they were back in March. We'd had an unseasonably warm winter and planted early. The garden was composed and ready soil then, needing something productive to do.  The perfectly weeded walkways were covered in tanbark and now are covered by long leggy branches heavy with green and ripening tomatoes. I have really enjoyed the harvest, learning what to do with it, looking forward to the gifts it gives to the family.

This garden did even better than the first. It lasted a lot longer, for sure. Our first garden was planted late in May. I think Green Acres Nursery with their huge selection of non-GMO heirloom veggies and knowledge staff played a big role this year. More than once they talked us off the ledge when we had whitefly troubles. Their recommendation of a spray of water, white vinegar and a drop of dawn dishwashing liquid seemed to help. We bought our ladybugs there, too.

2014 Garden Awards

Most Surprising:  The salsa pepper plant produced literally hundreds of shiny green and red peppers of varying heat. It had no other identification on the card other than 'Salsa Pepper'. Canned in chile verde, pickled, and generally loved and appreciated in every dish we could imagine.

Biggest Dud:  The tomatillo bushes grew like wildfire and produced pods for the tomatillos to grow, but nothing grew beyond a bud. We'll trim her back, trellis and fertilize them and see what next year brings. Maybe they're in the wrong spot.

Most Prolific: We had just one Japanese Eggplant, thank God. Last year's plant produced maybe 8 this year it produced at least 4x that, and is still growing strong. I took 6 eggplants off the vine last week. Having full sun with late afternoon shade proved to be the key here.

The Big Bummer:  For the second year in a row, not very many zukes grew even though there were tons of flowers. The fruit forms, it grows an inch or two, it turns yellow and rots. They are plentiful in the stores. I'm thinking we'll give this a rest.

Best New Plant:  The Pepperoncini produced copious amounts but not enough to pickle and can them as we wanted, because Operator Error planted just one. Next year...

Biggest Faux Pas:  Planting artichoke plants in full sun in a hot climate.  Audrey is too big to transplant now and takes up an entire 4x8 raised bed.  She produced a lot in the winter but they were really tough. We took cuttings and they are doing better under the shade of the olives but I'm not hopeful unless we can devise a mister system to duplicate coastal conditions. Maybe not worth it.

Most Consistently Amazing:  We say it too much, but the Armenian cucumbers just blow us away.  Tons of them, all spring and summer long, big on flavor, crispness, last days and days in the fridge, and they grow huge. Two plants produced probably 100 cukes. I've pickled them, made a fresh tomato vinaigrette salad with 'em, given tons away. They are my favorite plant, other than tomatoes.

And Now on to My Favorite Topic: Tomatoes.
Top awards are for Beefsteak (size and viney fresh meatiness), Black Beauty (not prolific, but what a delicious rich and sweet flavor), and Abe Lincoln (not overly large, but oh the flavor, volume, color, texture). 

Big lessons from Garden 2014.  There were a lot of successes, but still mulling over the other side of things. The Romas bombed and last year didn't do very well either. Maybe a sunny / shady afternoon spot and try them there. The Jetsetter was planted late to replace the Romas and had a modest yield this fall. It won't ever hit its stride before winter.

The Biggest Water Lesson. It was driven home with this hot, hot dry summer the importance of consistent watering like we do with the garden. The corn never rooted, due to lack of water. The Rhubarb never even sprouted. The boysenberries are struggling - not sure if it is the location or just a water issue. I need to spend some time doing research over the winter.

Off Season Projects. Finalize and put into action a greenhouse design. Get a handle on the water cycles for the nectarine and apricot this winter with a drip system in by spring, so we don't have to start from scratch. Devise something also for the olives, fig and pomegranates and get an irrigation specialist to make it permanent and underground.
 

Flavor Up!

It's been the kind of growing season that will become folklore: tomatoes planted on March 31st are still going strong in October. Peppers and Japanese Eggplant, too.

The only problem is we're kind of sauced out by this point, have tons of tomatoes sliced and frozen, lots of canned sauce in the pantry, frozen in bags whole, stewed and chile verde made from the green ones and the tomatillos, and we've eaten them fresh every day all summer.

I cooked them down with some olive oil, and decided to try making tomato paste. We don't really use tomato paste but were told it tastes NOTHING like what is available in the stores. It was worth a try.

So, 16 quarts of fresh, quartered tomatoes made eight quarts of sauce that eventually became this wonderful, just-dip-a-piece-of-French-bread-and-eat-it-right-from-the-jar bruschetta. You're going to love it. Fresh bruschetta is good, and we love that, too - but this - as a gift for holiday entertaining - is amazing.

HOLIDAY GIFT BRUSCHETTA

16 qts fresh tomatoes, quartered in a stock pot (adjust recipe for volume)
1 whole head of garlic
7 yellow onions
Fresh herbs - sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, parsley, basil
Fresh pesto if you have it
Pepper, salt
Fresh chives

Cook down the tomatoes and put through the juicer, skins and all. Transfer to 8 qt stock pot, continue to cook on med low.

In a sauté pan, add cleaned, rough sliced garlic and onions, clean and add fresh herbs in big handfuls, to taste.  When sautéed adequately, add skins and seeds from the juicer and Cuisinart on high to pulverize until nearly smooth. Add to sauce. (We waste nothing.)

Taste as you go - add fresh pesto for deeper flavor, if needed (we had a 4 oz jar of freshly made, and added it)

350 oven. Lay out rimmed baking sheets and wide flat baking dishes - enough for 3 shelves in the oven.  Ladle sauce into each pan to cover the bottom and up some on the sides. A little tip: the sauce will cook down more evenly if all the pans have approximately the same depth of sauce. 

Set the timer for 30 minutes, rotate position of each pan, mix sauce and watch so it does not burn. Continue at 30 minute intervals. When sauce thickens to a deeper red color and reduces by 30%, it is ready. You can tell by the nice spreadable texture and chunks of herbs peeking through. Spoon into canning jars and process 15 minutes in a water bath canner. Cool. Label.

For those wanting to continue on to the tomato paste phase, I'd recommend turning down the temp to300 and continue baking until sauce reduces by 50% or more, and it has a thick, savory texture. Follow instructions for canning.

Tip: have a plate a cookies out, because the kitchen aromas will draw people into the kitchen like a magnet.

Spray 'n Play

The study of plant extracts and essential oils is calling my name, after I have snubbed it for most of the year.  Life -- real life, the stuff you need to focus on like work and commitments -- completely took center stage and I just couldn't find the time to play in the dining room lab.

Boring stuff to most people, but not to me. I've missed trying to figure it all out as we build toward a successful product. The Hubs is still cheerful about being a guinea pig for the formulas, and when the repellent stock dwindles, as it is now, there's no putting off cracking open the leather bound ledger of scribbles and scrawls, the one we keep in the safe like it has the formula of Coke written inside. Hey, when we dream, we dream big.

I'll be digging in the back of the closet to find the bag of bottles to fill and tag. I'll be hauling out the old 1920s Hamilton Beach mixer that smells of oil and dust as it emulsifies a batch, that we found at a yard sale for $2.  In our little speckled kitchen, I will do these things and imagine not being able to keep up with the orders if we really hit on something effective and safe, and wouldn't that be a great problem to have?  And I worry that we'll never settle on just one final recipe after so many revisions and be satisfied.

All we want ... is for it to work well in the mountains and Everglades, and pass muster in real use situations like camping, hiking, and after being tossed into the glovebox of a hot car for 6 months.  Dogs need to be able to safely lick it off your leg, because they will.  Oh, and have a name ... other than Bug Mud.

The girls and I play ball with a persistent swarm of mosquitos that trail around behind us hoping for a meal, and I say to myself, you have to get back to that repellent recipe, and let's keep moving, girls! We don't often squirt ourselves with repellent just for the few minutes we're outside at this time of year because it's too hot to play ball for very long. Still, with reports that West Nile cases are up sharply in our area, we need to rethink that.

Mosquito Vector is on speed dial, and whenever we call they are extremely responsive, and say they'll do a nice spraying for us, and they always come out. BUT! One morning last week one of their employees stopped by for a treatment while I happened to be still at home, and he didn't observe me observing him work. He haphazardly sprayed a little squirt here, a little squirt there, and headed on to the next farm. The abandoned pool next door is finally empty in the drought but you can't tell by the mosquito population. Beats me how they can thrive in a drought. The Vector guy probably understands better than we do the losing battle, but still.

So this weekend I vow to make time for experimentation in the pursuit of making humans downright unappealing to the mosquito population. I'll whip up a batch, and we'll spray n' play to our heart's content.

Hey! Great name.

Long Between Posts

My first love is living my days following our little journey and second is writing about it, and I miss when life becomes too hectic to do either of those things. But do the gardens and fruit trees permit excuses? No.  To catch the worm, I need to find the time to be ready when they say it's time.  The slavedrivers.

The 2nd harvest, 1st pick of figs happened a few weeks ago and from them we made jam. A couple of weeks after that twelve more quarts of figs were picked, which became whole fig preserves along with fresh munchies and a bunch brought to work.  The last of the figs should have been ready last week, and a lot were, and dried, and today I just checked the tree and more are ripening. Alright already!

Garden Chili Verde sauce

So in spite of intentions to hang out on the blog, I was canning and preserving continually after work, fell into bed, and was up and at it again the next day.

It has been a fantastic bumper tomato crop - and yes, Heirloom makes a difference in the taste and quality of the fruit - and also the garden has done well with salsa peppers, green peppers, Japanese eggplant and Armenian cucumbers. I think we have 10x more eggplants than last season just by putting up a trellis that shields them from a little of the afternoon sun.

We've put up quite a few quarts of Gardineira and dilly beans, plus a jalapeno/wax/green/salsa/garlic medley that looks interesting. It was another disappointing yield with zucchini, and I'm inclined to skip it altogether next year.  Our tomatillos are fruiting but they are small - we will trellis them next year and see how they do. They made a really good chili verde sauce base, along with some of the green tomatoes and salsa peppers - and we like knowing it has no preservatives. And now I'm experimenting with ChowChow with green tomatoes, peppers, cabbage and a lot of interesting spices including mustard seed. Will let you know how it goes.

Garden vinaigrette salad

 The full sun artichoke cannot tolerate full sun. It leaves me wondering why local nurseries sell it with those tag recommendations when they know better.  Seymour is too big to transplant, so I took cuttings and planted his offspring under the shade of the olive trees, where they seem to be doing well. He'll be coming out in the fall.

That little spindly leggy Pomegranate out back turned out to have the only beautiful pomegranate of the season: the other big tree produced a lot of small and dry fruit that opened months early and spilled out for the birds. Nothing gets wasted but we were disappointed. But that one pomegranate was harvested and trickled in a salad with friends and we enjoyed every kernel.

Pickled raw veggies

We received a 13 gallon kitchen garbage bag full of fresh basil and made pesto to share - how easy and delicious to whip that up with a Cuisinart, fresh garlic, olive oil, fresh parmesan and pine nuts. We traded it for a couple of pickled veggies and a bowl of tomatoes. Pine nuts are big $$ so we are trying out roasted almonds, roasted walnuts and (hopefully soon) roasted pumpkin seeds.

I am looking into a good salsa recipe now that we are quickly exhausting the tomato options with spaghetti sauce, freezing them whole, eating them in Caprese salads, stewing them and constantly eating them as part of my lunchtime vinaigrette salad.

Garden Pesto

Tried out a new recipe yesterday, a corn, cilantro, fresh tomato, lime and avocado salad.  Super easy, super good. It's a keeper.

Mexican Salad with Honey Lime Dressing (FB)

Salad:  (prep this in a bowl and squirt a little extra lime juice and coat everything so the avocado doesn't turn)
1 pint cubed tomatoes, fresh
1 avocado, ripe but still somewhat firm
2 T. fresh cilantro, chopped
2 ears fresh sweet corn, cooked al dente or raw - cut the corn off the cob and with the back of the knife scrape the cob to get all the juices.

Dressing:  Juice of 1 lime; 3 T. olive oil, 1 teaspoon honey, sea salt and lots of cracked pepper, 1 clove fresh garlic minced, and a dash of cayenne.  (Mix these ingredients and whisk; set aside)

Saran Wrap cover and store in the fridge until ready to serve. Great over broiled fish. Great as a pico de gallo alternative with chips. We loved it as a side for our breakfast omelet this morning.

Being in the kitchen seems to relieve some of the day's stress. Now if only someone would clean up the mess ...

Work in Progress

 

There is something beautifully unkempt about a work in progress.

The dust that clings to our boots as we tromp through the yard is tracked back into the house.  The weeds we appreciate because at least something's green on the back grass. Everything partners here and everything plays a role.

There is beauty in incompleteness.  The weeds jockey for position all spring and summer, being pulled and mowed down, and springing up to make another run. They stand now brown and reedy, giving up in the heat of summer, completely unaware they will be back. 

Change is indiscernible, and I'm more than ok with it. There is no stopwatch here, no big fancy event we need to host. In these rambling thoughts, I look out at the tangible changes we have forgotten about, the workshop and garage, irrigation out front and gardens out back with a rinky-dink drip system that criss-crosses the yard and keeps things alive.  

The work part of 'work in progress' seems to involve thinking and talking out where the wildflower garden should be with the butterfly bushes, and how to devise a seasonal greenhouse over the garden. Should we or should we not invest in gutters and rain collection barrels? What are the pros and cons of solar panels? We seem focused on 3 things: what do we need, how do we get there, and when do we start. It seems we are working towards becoming honest and true self sustainers.

Before all that happens, we are collecting unusual bottles for the bottle wall, and wondering if this climate zone can sustain a Pistachio tree and Lemon Eucalyptus. We walk around framing in squares with our hands: here is perfect just as it is; here will be the deck, and here someday a porch room to sit out in the evenings and look at the stars.

Part of this involves trusting things we can see (the little blue Well) and things we can't see (the Septic). We drive by fields of alfalfa that are being overwatered and furrow our brows in concern. We look for, and miss, the Great Horned Owls and wonder where they are raising their baby. I'd have never given any of that a second thought in the city.

The feral cats are fed and watered and all we hope is for whatever they can give back.  Just like the land, slowly but surely, we feel ourselves as magnificent works in progress, too.

Water Muscles

We get it.

People over plants is the new water conservation mantra. And we know the reality of spending thousands of dollars and thousands of hours of blood, sweat and tears on our yards that we aren't going to give up without a fight. These are real life dollars lost.  Hobbies and livelihoods. Curb appeal.

We started to let the lawn die, like the Governor suggested, and it just seemed too long on regulation and too lean on innovation. I wanted a non partisan, more moderate approach that involves some lifestyle changes and a little ingenuity. We have impactful water choices: let's make 'em!  

So I recently learned a little about plant speak. According to Grassology, your lawn will tell you when it needs water. When the blades have a gray blue tint or older blades curl slightly, it's time. I can't believe how much we have overwatered the lawn all these years... and probably the shrubs.

The idea in a drought is to sustain the root structure even if the lawn looks like hell. Deep, infrequent waterings are the way to go. Watering late at night or early morning is also ideal for water conservation, and never when the sun is up or it's windy.

We're on well water here and not regulated by the city ordinances, but we see farmers struggling all around us and know we all share the same short supply. So we have become self aware and proactive, meaning we are looking at our habits to find better ways to use what we consume so it meets our needs and those of our green guys.

For instance, we shaved some time off our showers, and turned off the running water when we brushed our teeth.  We aren't laundering our comforters and bathroom mats except when necessary, and wearing our jeans an extra time or two. You can't even tell.

Putting a bucket under the spigot in the shower was an amazing experiment. We couldn't believe how much water went down the drain during the warming time from cold to hot, and the step away soap up/shampooing before rinsing off. It's a little awkward with a 5 gallon bucket but hauling it outside and nourished the fruit trees more than made up for it.

We are starting that in the kitchen and bath sinks today. I'm in the kitchen all the time - why not. It feels empowering to build up our water conservation muscles.

Another great choice was to install drip systems for the gardens, plants and shrubs. Timed spot watering puts it direct to the roots, with no waste at all. No big irrigation systems are needed. You can buy rather inexpensive battery operated timers that hook to the hose and the drip line and are easy to program. Drip system kits are available, and you'll need a coupling from the hose to the drip that costs under $3. Seasonal adjustments are a snap and we literally ran the drip lines right on top of the ground inside white PVC irrigation pipe to protect it. Since it works so well, next year we'll bury it right and proper and hook it into the main irrigation system for expansion.

Probably the biggest challenge was in reprising the old school lawn watering technique of using a soaker and regular hose rather than pop up automatic sprinklers. We dug down a little to see how deep the lawn roots went, and deep water in small sections just enough to reach them.  Using a clock timer to remind you to move it makes it extremely efficient, and we are seeing improvement even with temps up over 100 degrees.

It's all good for our friends the plants, and none of the wasteful symptoms of runoff, wet concrete, water loss from broadcast evaporation or overspray on the fences.

Caramel Fanatico

Friends found an article in the local paper about a Zinnia Farm in Zamora so we checked it out.  It was a pick your own flowers place. There were buckets of water, clippers to use, baskets and glass jars to arrange the flowers and take home ... all completely free. This was the second year Metzger's Farm in Yolo has offered the Zinnia Farm but we didn't know about it. It was a pretty great stop, a total feel good from start to finish. There was no one to thank, so we left our clippers behind for others to use. I'm taking 5 cheerful bouquets to work tomorrow.

The other fun part happened a couple of weeks ago when I made caramel sauce for the first time. Caramel is one of those amazing kitchen chemical miracles. You add heat ... sugar ... butter ... and cream and it transforms into this creamy rich dark gooey caramel yumminess.

I took 4 oz jars to my test lab (work friends) and they went nuts. As they talked about it little spittles formed at the edge of their mouths. Not really. But I did hear reports that husbands cleaned the jars and requested refills. Some grandmothers who shall remain nameless resorted to hiding their jar from their family and wanting more even before the jar was empty. And one of my coworkers who has this tiny little body and never eats ate the entire 4 oz jar with sliced apples while standing in the hallway as we all watched in awe.

I offered the recipe, but I was pretty much told to just make it for everyone forever and they would buy it. HA! So I turned it into a Relay fundraiser and in one week had over $200 in orders!

So part of my weekend also involved batches of Salted Caramel Sauce. I was blogging tonight and out of the blue came a photo of a bowl of vanilla ice cream with the caption that read: my ice cream is sad.  I'm not going to even think about my role in creating an office of Salted Caramel Sauce junkies.


I could balance the Federal budget with this!
                                              Fund universities!
                                                                   Create world peace!

Serve with my test lab recommendations ~ green apples, sliced banana, unsalted pretzels, marshmallows, Triscuits, strawberries, and ice cream.

I am told it is also very good twirled on a fork and eaten right from the jar. That's right, the Hubs knows his stuff.