Let's Move the Coop

I've had my vegetable garden laid out in four freeform "S"-shaped beds for years. The long horizontal sections work as a terrace system on ground that slopes away to the east. But the curves are getting harder to reform each Spring, and are difficult to cover to stretch my season. I have one more bed in a separate area below the main four beds, but it's down by the fruit trees and the plants never do as well.

We've done ok with those five beds, but six would work better for crop rotation. So I've been mulling over a garden remodel for a couple of seasons now. If the main garden was just a little bit wider . . . and I got rid of those nasty, thorny blackberries there . . . I'd have room for six long beds, stretching all the way across the slope, plus have the perennial stuff (asparagus, horseradish, sunchokes, and berries) all inside one big sunny space. Get rid of the lower shaded bed, and with straight planting beds, maybe even devise a grow tunnel or two for more fall and winter eating . . . .

So . . . more measuring, plotting, and planning. It would mean moving the fences out, including that old arbor, but everything would pretty much fit just right. Except there in the lower, north-eastern corner - if only the chicken coop were a bit more to the east . . . .

Time to go get sweet husband, draw lines in the dirt, step off some measurements, and explain what I have in mind. And then wait another week for him to take it all in - share in my vision, so to speak. Once he can see it too, he's a git-er-done kind of guy.

Our chicken coop has a slatted floor, with the droppings pit underneath. So first item of business is to pull the bottom skirting off the outside and clean out the pit. A full wagonload, plus more, goes up to the compost bins, covered for use later in the season (kept dry, it doesn't smell at all).

A couple of car jacks from the garage were enough to get one side, then the other, up enough to make a board "highway" atop cinder blocks.

With pieces of metal conduit for rollers.

And so, with a bit (ok, lots) of muscle power, the coop moves east. Time for a design conference: how about, if we also spin it around 90 degrees, so that the east side faces north? Then we redo the pen on this side, and put the gate over here? If we drop it down the hill a bit, the water faucet should be fine, and we'll have the pen door, the coop door, and access to the nest boxes all lined up together, here on the west.

Ok, that's the plan, but it's getting dark. Time to let the flock get back inside for the night, and he'll do the rest tomorrow.

Next morning, let the girls out, rearrange the board "highway", pull down the fence (keeping the ratty, tacked-together, quilt of wire pieces in one long piece to reuse), move everything else out of the way, do a bit of leveling here and there, and the coop spins to the north. Let's get rid of that old pen door, and use this salvaged dog run gate instead. We've got room to give them a bit of pen area east of the coop too, to give them a bit more summer afternoon shade. If we attached both ends of the fencing, and then stretch it out into shape, and then put in the fence posts, we know we'll have an exact fit without having to reconstruct any of the fence pieces.

Dig trenches to bury the bottom of the fence for predator-proofing, and attach new skirting to the bottom of the coop. Get the food, water, and shade sheds into the new pen; get all the re-construction debris cleaned up; the tools cleaned up and put away.

Moving some dirt around with the rake lets the gate swing freely. Meanwhile, the girls are hopping in and out of the coop, inspecting the new pen area, and settling right in. At nightfall, one of the guinea hens walks right past the open door to the east side, then stands there looking quizzically for a door that's no longer there. I have to walk her back around to the north, but then hearing the others inside already, she hops in too. Everyone else, no problem at all. And there are eggs from everyone, even the guineas, in the nest boxes the next day.

Don't Panic!

You do have your towel with you, don't you?

Just a Little Bit Crazy

Sometimes, doing crazy things makes me feel most alive. I went to two outdoor parties this weekend, and snowflakes were swirling on both. Now, it's supposed to be somewhat nice around here by the end of May, so the people that scheduled these parties weren't the crazy ones. It's all of us that showed up anyway :-)

Friday was the end of our local Bike to Work Week, with a big after-work party planned out on the open patio of a local establishment. I didn't ride my bicycle (my involvement with Muscle Powered leans more towards walking/hiking and advocacy), but I did bundle up to be there, and ended up manning the keg. The live entertainer played his instrument wearing fingerless biking gloves, and the attendees took turns around the outdoor firepit. We all laughed when Christy, wearing socks plus wool tights under her blue jeans, took off the socks to offer them to Terri, silly girl, who'd come from work wearing flip-flops. Terri immediately took her up on the offer, and donned said socks. Sometimes, a touch of insanity can really make the party. A good time was had by all.

And then, another party Saturday evening, also outdoors, also cold, windy, and snowing. This one was a neighborhood party, held at a sculpture shop down the street. The owner, and most of the guests, were Burning Man regulars, so I knew ahead of time that this party wouldn't be quite the usual fare. I've never been to Burning Man - my sister and I always plan our annual get-together at a Lake Tahoe beachfront campsite that week. Camping in a sandstorm in the desert with thousands, versus camping in the pines with family? No contest - I'll take the Lake. But the Burners are special and fun people, and so once again I bundled up and off we went. And again, another good time was had by all.

Frost Protection Tips

I'm not the only one dealing with an unseasonably cold Spring. Annette, in Virginia, wrote to me asking for frost-protection suggestions for her garden. I've prettied up the links, and am posting my reply to her to help anyone else looking for ideas:

Hi Annette,
I use Wall-o-waters on my tender plants. Home Depot had some this year, and sometimes Wal-Mart does too in early spring, or they can be ordered online. Okra was the only thing that froze one year (29 degrees June 7th) inside the W-0-W's; tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants survived. I wrote about them here.

I haven't used any kind of tunnels (she asked about them specifically), because with my S-shaped beds it would be difficult to make them. I am, however, thinking about redoing the garden into long straight beds just so I can make tunnels to stretch my season, after reading this Eliot Coleman article in Mother Earth News.

I don't think sheets (that's what she's using) provide enough protection when I have to cover things overnight. I watch for single-layer (not quilted - takes too long to dry if wet) bedspreads and draperies in thrift stores or garage sales. I once found a hideous red velvet bedspread that worked great for years. I like draperies because the pleated top section is heavy enough to stay put on the windward side and then the fabric spreads out nicely, with a heavier hem on the other end. I remove any vinyl liners and just use the fabric part (the liners end up covering the compost). I drape them over plant cages, and wrap them around tall staked tomato plants, sometimes using clothespins to clip ends together or to attach to the cages inside, and bricks to hold down the ends. Photo here.

I have some wire fencing bent into bracket-shapes [ , wide enough to cover my wide beds about 5" high. I put a sheet over one of those to shade carrot seeds for better germination (blue sheet here). They can also support the heavier coverings if necessary in early spring when plants are still quite small. They work great if I have to cover cucumbers and squash that have just started to run.
That ought to give you some ideas to work with. Good luck!
~Sadge

The Spring that Never Came

I have a feeling this is going to be one of those years where we go straight from wintry snows to summer heat. Is anyone else still getting snowed on in the middle of May?

Of course, any gardener that's been here a while knows we can't set out our tomatoes until after Memorial Day. And even then, some sort of night time protection is usually necessary until practically the Fourth of July. But while cold may be normal, the wet this year is a bit more than usual. This year's combination of cold and wet has made it difficult to even get out in the garden, much less get things planted in a timely manner. And whether I'll be harvesting anything at all from my fruit trees remains to be seen. Just about everything is now, or just finished, blooming. Only the grapes and berries are still waiting.

Knowing today's storm was on the way, and expected to be a wet one, yesterday I braved the cold wind to get out in the garden and finish getting my Early bed planted. I scooted around beneath the netting to plant seeds of English, Chinese, and Snap peas, some pak choi, and a variety of lettuces. I set out some little seedlings of Swiss chard and calendula. The onions were set out last week, and the garlic, shallots, and spinach from last fall are looking good. The last bit of that bed I filled up with leeks dug from my leek nursery bed. Now, everything is getting a good soaking, and should pop right up when the sun comes back in a few more days (well, that's the plan, anyway).

Next project, when the weather allows, is to get the Roots and Brassicas bed ready to plant. Too much cold can stress some cole crops, especially the cauliflower, stunting their growth instead of producing nice big edible heads. But I should be able to get them into the ground in another week or two. Today's snow just provided a bit of natural irrigation, melting quickly when I brought them back into the house for the night. It's time, too, to get my seed potatoes out of the cellar and into the light. Maybe we won't see a Spring this year, but I know Summer will be here before we know it.

Potting Up the Tomatoes

I managed to squeeze in a bit of time this afternoon to pot up my little tomato plants - transferring them to deeper containers. Tomatoes will grow roots on any part of the stem when buried in the soil, and more roots on tomato plants means less stress once our hot, dry summer gets here. And happy plants mean a bigger, better harvest. To learn more, see my post on the Simple Green Frugal Co-op blog.

Nights are still hovering around the freezing mark, so the tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants will stay inside, under the lights, for a few more weeks. The cabbages and kales, on the other hand, are now pretty much hardened off. I've been moving them out to the table on the deck every morning, and then back in to the kitchen counter when it gets dark.

I'm thinking maybe Sunday (if the predicted rain holds off) I can get their planting bed ready and get them into the ground. Nobody is going to want to talk to a Census taker on Mother's Day, are they?

A Slow Start to the Early Bed

I really should have gotten my peas and lettuces seeded by now, but this Census job has turned into a full-time gig the past few weeks. The weather has been iffy to work around too. It seems whenever I've had some time to work outside, it's either been raining, snow on the ground, or horrible winds. So I'm trying to get things done in bits and pieces when I get the chance.

Half of the 50' long Early bed was composted last fall. About half of that was planted then too, with garlic, shallots, and seeds of spinach and arugula. They were all up and growing by the end of February, and in fine shape now. In fact, the arugula was starting to bolt, so I pulled most of what was left and gave it to the chickens. One thing that slows me down is having to protect whatever I've been working on from the birds, both domestic and wild, at the end of each day. Then, before starting again later, all the wire has to come off again so I can get at the planting bed.

To date, I've managed to get the rest of that bed composted, turned and raked smooth for planting; the soaker hoses laid out, with all connections fixed up with new rubber washers; pea posts pounded in (and topped with cans to support the netting), fencing trellises attached with twist-ties. Tuesday afternoon, I was out there on my hands and knees setting in tiny little Copra onion plants (a last-minute order from Dixondale Farms - my onions, seeded inside a couple of months ago, didn't germinate reliably enough). I put the dried-out little plants to soak for a couple of hours in a weak fish emulsion tea while I got everything ready. Using a dandelion digger as a dibble, I'd make a loose little planting hole, use my finger to poke an onion down into the dirt, and then give it a little pull upwards, getting the roots started in the right direction as I firmed the dirt around each little plant. I know they're probably hard to even see, set out in a 6" spacing grid, but I know the Copra onions are really good keepers. The sets (little bulbs) you buy in the big-box store are fine for summertime fresh eating, but I want onions that will last in storage until at least March, or even better, May. Onions are tough - these guys are starting to perk up and green up already. The last few I planted into clumps to pull for fresh eating later in the summer, but most of these won't be harvested until mid-September.

We've had quite a bit of wind the last few days, but Tuesday, when Aries was home to lend a hand, I managed to get the netting suspended over that bed then. Every year, I seed my little greens and peas, watch eagerly for them to start poking up out of the dirt, and then, one fine morning, go out to find everything chomped right down to the dirt. The sparrows and quail devour everything - they can jump right down under the wire I use to protect everything from errant chickens. Then, a few years ago, the guinea fowl developed an addiction to pea blossoms. They'd be out there calmly plucking every one on a daily basis. I was going to all this work and getting nothing!!

So last year, after losing everything once again, I tried draping a big piece of netting over the entire bed - held up by the t-posts holding bits of fencing for the peas to cling to, held down by bricks around the outside edges. And got my first beautiful salad harvest in years (the netting applied too late to get much from the peas). So now, as I get the time, I'll duck under the netting to plant my peas (English, snap, and Chinese) on either side of the center bits of fencing, and greens along the edges. The greens shade the pea roots, the peas climbing their fences shade the greens, and I should still manage to get some decent harvests of both before the summer heat fries everything. That's the plan, anyway.

Enumerator 101

I keep thinking I really should post something. I've been really busy the last couple of weeks, and will be for at least another week or two. I got hired for a temp position, working the US Census. At first, I was hired as an Enumerator - the person that goes around knocking on doors. Before any public contact, we had to go through four 8-hour days of training. But the week before my training session was to start, they called me in for an additional day of training, to do all my initial administrative paperwork, and then taught me how to take ink fingerprints.

So, on the first day of training, while everyone else was doing their initial paperwork, I called each one up in turn to do a fingerprint card. That was an interesting experience. Taking each hand in turn, then each finger and tucking the rest out of the way, rolling each across the ink pad, "nail to nail" and then across the fingerprint card, making sure each print was completely within its designated square, with just the right amount of pressure to clearly show each line and ridge. To get a person's wrist to roll from one side to the other correctly, it's best to have them right up against you, but not look at what you're doing. Too often, they tried to "help" and ended up either pressing too hard or smearing the print by not letting me lift each finger straight up. Others had stiff wrists, making it difficult to get their fingers to roll across correctly. At least I was provided with some little stick-on squares to reprint and cover smeared prints, so one messed up print wouldn't disqualify the entire card.

Then, the training: first, being sworn in with the official oath required of all in government - to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic, etc. etc. I've taken the same oath as a volunteer appointee to our City Shade Tree Council, and again when I became a Notary Public. Then, lectures about the confidentiality of the data we'd be collecting, anything we might see while out doing our jobs. The government takes the handling of PII - Personally Identifiable Information - very seriously. Since we were all sworn in as Census employees, we could talk about what was necessary to each other, but our assigned paperwork couldn't even be left out where our family members could see it.

We heard that around 80% of the Census forms mailed out had been returned by the deadline. Our job would be to go out and get the data for the the residences that hadn't. The taking of a national census every ten years is in the Constitution, right there in Article I. The first one was done in 1790, and then every decade since. Only statistical data may be distributed, and confidentiality of all answers is maintained for 72 years afterwards. Only then are specific results available to the public (they didn't say it in class, but I know from talking to a friend doing genealogy research on her family that data from the 1890 Census was all lost in a fire).

Then we learned how to fill out the forms - with tiny little boxes to be marked with an "x" (but don't go outside the lines!), printing neatly within the lines of boxes, one letter per box. No crinkling up those unwieldy forms either - only the original creases allowed (while standing outside - no going inside a house - in the wind, writing on a clipboard). This section to be filled in vertically, then these across, and read every question exactly as written. Extra forms for this and for that instance, when and how to use them, how to read the maps of the area we'd each be assigned to work; how to fill out our payroll forms each day, task codes, codes for areas worked, crew codes. Plus, all the government acronyms and more numbers - forms aren't referred to by their names, but by a letter-dash-numbers. We had to learn an entire new language to do this job: Bureaucrat-ese.

The last day of class, our Crew Leader asked me to be a Crew Leader Assistant instead of an Enumerator. Instead of knocking on doors myself, I've ended up supervising six Enumerators - going out with each to observe and evaluate their procedures and knowledge of the field work, collecting completed forms, helping resolve problems. With paperwork to be collected daily, from employees working independently, setting their own hours - it's like herding cats.

I finally have my team reasonably organized, so will probably start working an assignment area myself. Please, if we knock on your door, be nice - it will only take a few minutes time, and we have to get this information, one way or another. Your cooperation is much appreciated.

Spring Bulb Bed

It's been a pretty busy week - things to do and weather-wise. Around here, especially this time of year, they say that if you don't like the weather just wait five minutes and it'll change. Since my last post about the fog, we've had sunshine up in the 70's, rain, horrific winds, and even another snowstorm.

I love this photo, taken through my living room window. The rain and reflections on the deck look like an Impressionist painting, and the late Spring bulbs now blooming in the herb bed are so pretty. Tulips are really hard to grow around here. Not because of the weather, but because of the ground squirrels. They'll dig up and eat every tulip, and I've lost hyacinths to them too. But this bed (knock on wood) has done great for years - long enough that the original single bulbs have all multiplied into beautiful clumps.

I'm not sure why these have survived. The ground squirrels (not pretty, fluffy-tailed tree squirrels - these are burrowing, scruffy-tailed rat-like squirrels) are still out there, scouting around under the bird feeders, dashing for their holes under the wood pile when I let the dog out. I know the squirrels won't touch daffodils, and when I planted these bulbs I mixed all different kinds together, tossed them out onto the ground, and then planted each one where it landed. Maybe having the daffodils scattered throughout, besides giving me an extended and ever-changing show each Spring, also deters the squirrels from the tastier tulip bulbs.

Or maybe it's the perennial herbs that are just now coming up. Oregano and marjoram are a dense green carpet now, thyme, rosemary, and chives in small clumps, and a big clump of tarragon. As summer gets closer, they'll take over, hiding the withering leaves of the bulbs. Right outside my kitchen door, this little garden is a joy throughout the year. A wandering line of round stepping stones, a few rocks, a cement sculpted turtle, and some hollyhocks for vertical interest makes a wonderful view, sitting out on the deck in the morning sun.

Or some days it's better from inside looking out, and a warm fire going in the wood stove. Day before yesterday, the cherry blossoms were capped with snow. Right now, I'm not sure whether I'll be getting any fruit this year, or not. The night temperatures have only dropped right around freezing, not much below, and the snow might even have provided an insulating layer. We're a bit above the valley floor, so the coldest temps slide on down the hill, past us. So, even with these snowy photos, there's still a chance the blooms will set some fruit. One can always hope.

Chickens in the Mist

Yesterday morning's snow turned to rain by nightfall, melting the snow and giving us a rare high-desert sight to wake up to - morning fog. I was glad I wasn't out on the roads. They had to close the entire length of our new state highway bypass, both directions, for about 90 minutes this morning - the icy roads and heavy fog caused multiple accidents. Aries said his commute up to the lake wasn't too bad - as soon as he started to climb the pass, he was out of the fog and the road just wet in the rising sun.

Before lunchtime, it had pretty much burned off here too, and proceeded to warm up into a really nice day. I got my little indoor seedlings thinned, writing about it for my turn to post on the Simple Green Frugal Co-op blog. For the past few cold and grey days, I'd moved the hardier seedlings in under the lights with the tender ones. But with the sun coming out, no wind, and today's beautiful warm temperatures, I put them out on the deck in the sun. Tonight, they're back inside, on the kitchen counter. I want to let them get a little bit bigger before setting them out in the garden. More storms are still in our forecast, and I haven't been able to get the planting bed ready anyway.

As usual, I don't know what kind of fruit crop I'll get this year. The plums are all in full bloom, and the Asian pears and the sweet cherry have just started. Despite the snow, the temperatures haven't dropped too far below freezing, and the wet just might have insulated the blossoms a bit. I saw some bees on the Oregon Grape this afternoon. I've been watching for them, and it's nice to know a hive still survives somewhere nearby.

More Snow

This morning, it was the tulips and hyacinths turn to get buried in snow. Here at the house we got about three inches overnight, just up the hill it was more like eight.

When I went out to shovel off the deck, I found Dot, our old Golden Laced Wyandotte hen, dead under the steps, sopping wet and covered with snow. She was at least 10 years old, and had been a bit gimpy for the last year or so. But she managed to hippy-hop around ok, her wings were in fine shape, and she had no problems getting up onto the roost at night. I've been letting the flock out or the pen around sunset, for a little runabout - it's a short enough time that they don't get into too much mischief. We'd gone to a lecture at the State Museum (about Nevada rock art - petroglyphs and pictographs) last night, but were back home just as it started to get dark. I'd have seen her if she was still out in the yard, or having trouble getting back, when I went down to shut up the coop for the night.

So I'm thinking she knew it was her time, and hid like animals sometimes do. Maybe she just preferred freezing to death over dying in the coop. I've heard freezing is not a bad way to go - you just get sleepy and don't wake up.

She had a little quirk that gave me quite a start numerous times over the years. She'd sunbathe. Sprawl over on her side, her legs stretched out one way, her neck the other. I'd think she was dead. More than once, the neighbor kids would call to me across the fence, saying I had a dead chicken lying out there in the dirt. So I'd head over to check, and her head would pop up. So then, I'd think maybe something had happened, she couldn't get up; in later years, that maybe her gimpy leg had given out on her. But then I'd get a bit closer, and she'd give me that beady-eyed chicken look, like "Oh, must you?", jump right up, fluffle out the dust, and wander off. It's always sad to lose one of our chickens. They all have such different personalities, and Dot really was quite a character.

Unmaking the Bed

Please don't tell my mom. As a child, the house rule was "if your bed isn't made before you leave the house in the morning, you're grounded for the rest of the day." During my earliest years, I shared a double bed with my sister - I was really good at making half a bed. A little later, we got bunk beds, and being the oldest, I got the top bunk. I quickly figured out the easiest way to make my bed then was to do so while I was still in it - pulling up and smoothing out sheet, blanket, and bedspread over my head, then sliding down and out the side. A quick straightening over the pillow, and I was good to go.

In my teen years, and later in my first college dorm rooms, I did everything sitting on my bed. Having everything pulled up neat and tidy made for a nice work area or company seating, still leaving me with a clean bed to get into at night. As I moved out into houses or apartments, I finally had a separate bedroom where I could just close the door to hide the mess. But I still made my bed each morning. Old habits die hard.

And then, I got married. And moved into my new husband's house and bed. The house heated with only a wood-burning stove; the bed an old baffled waterbed - unheated. That was fine with me. I much preferred it that way, rather than sleep surrounded by electricity (especially with the possibility of adding water into the mix). I'd read about how close contact with electric currents could be harmful to our health, so no electric blankets either.

Instead, we insulated ourselves from a cold, clammy waterbed mattress the old-fashioned way. A few old blankets beneath a felt mattress pad, and then in the winter, add a featherbed mattress atop that. Slide in between flannel sheets, with a down comforter on top, and we slept nice and cozy through the coldest winter nights, even after the fire in the living room died down.

But I also quickly learned that making the bed first thing each morning wasn't the right thing to do anymore. A featherbed mattress needs to be fluffed up and left open to the air to be most comfortable at night. Smoothing and straightening and covering everything up was counter-productive. I'd flip all the covers off each morning, fluff, and usually even flip that featherbed up most mornings, pillows over on our respective captain's chairs. Then, I'd make our bed in the evening, just before bedtime.

Years later, that old waterbed mattress finally cracked and sprung a leak where it couldn't be patched (yay!). So, we went shopping for a real mattress (do they even make baffled waterbeds anymore?). But I kinda liked unmaking my bed every morning. I liked letting the sheets air during the day, only smoothing and straightening it all up at night, just before bedtime. So please, don't tell my mom, but I don't make my bed in the morning (unless she or my sisters are visiting - then yes, it does get made in the morning as long as they are here. What can I say?).

I'm certainly not going to post a picture of my unmade bed for the whole world to see. The bed in our master bedroom is out of sight of any casual visitors, and so shall stay that way. The guest room, on the other hand, is right off the living room. Everyone can see that bed. It's always perfectly made up. There are appearances to be maintained, after all.

Regarding Helium Balloons

First, let me be very clear that I really don't care for helium-filled balloons as party decorations. I don't mean to be a party pooper, but I think there must be better uses for our resources than use-once-and-throw-away rubber sacks, and the steel tanks used to fill them. I especially don't like to see them used outdoors (such as the current ubiquitous attention-getters flying at all the local car dealers just down the hill from me - invariably, some do escape), and absolutely HATE when they're "set free" to signal celebration.

I finally, just this past year, got my Soroptimist Club to stop doing a pink balloon release as part of our big mammogram fundraising golf tournament. Flying balloons do not just float away and disappear - eventually, they break or just lose their buoyancy, return to earth somewhere, and become either litter or endanger the health of birds or other wildlife. Ok, I'll put away my soapbox for now, and proceed to the random observations part of this post.

Each week, I volunteer for a couple of hours, doing computer stuff, for the local Democratic Party Headquarters. When I went in on Friday, they had bunches of balloons in there that had been used as decorations for a fundraising dinner earlier in the week. At least, instead of just throwing them away, they'd been brought back to be re-used for a Fashion Show the Women's Club is doing next weekend. Since I would be going to the Women's Club meeting on Saturday, the Office Manager asked if I'd mind taking the balloons home on Friday, and then delivering them to the Fashion Show committee on Saturday.

Have you ever driven with helium balloons inside your vehicle? These were clumped together into three bunches, held down by ribbons tied to sand-filled sacks. So I wasn't worried about them getting away. But just getting them all stuffed into the back seat was quite an endeavor. And then, being lighter than air, they don't move like everything else does. You know, when you start a vehicle moving forward, it pushes you back in your seat? Balloons float forward. When you go around a corner, how centrifugal force makes things slide towards the far side of the corner? Helium balloons float towards the inside-corner side of the car. Eerie.

When I got home, not knowing how below-freezing temperatures would affect the balloons if left in my car overnight, I brought the bunches inside, putting them on my dining room table until the next day. They terrified the cat. As soon as we start up the wood stove, he's usually stretched out in front of it the rest of the evening. Late that night, noticing there was no cat to trip over, I went looking for him. I found him crouching in the bathroom. Carrying him into the living room, he about tore my shoulder apart as soon as we got within sight of the balloons floating over on the other side of the room. I ended up moving the balloons into a corner of the guest room. The cat crouched and slunk around the rest of the night, and again the next morning, looking for those balloons but not really wanting to find them. I know all of us were glad to get rid of them the next day.

State of the Cellar

It's so nice to see Spring moving in, even with its starts and stops. It means fresh change for our seasonal eating choices.

The cellar has served us well through the winter, but most of those shelves are now bare. The last few carrots have been brought up to the refrigerator vegetable crisper, as have the last couple heads of cabbage. The kraut crock is down to its last inch, and as the weather continues to warm up, will be repacked into a smaller container and also brought up to the refrigerator.

The onions are gone - I ended up buying a small bag a week ago. I was very disappointed with the keeping ability of last summer's Big Daddy onions. They had grown into beautiful onions by Fall - nice size, small necks, brown skins, and then well-cured. Or so I thought. Many of them were used in the fall's salsas and tomato sauce canning batches. But as I went to use them through the winter, about half had to be tossed and others, even those that looked perfect on the shelf, were rotting from the inside out. I've ordered Copra plants for this year, and am starting seeds of Utah Sweet Spanish for an open-pollinated trial variety.

The only things left in the cellar (besides beer, hard cider, and two potted fig trees) are apples and potatoes. Both Russet and Yukon Gold potatoes have held well for me again. I have plenty left for this year's seed potatoes, and will be getting those up and going soon. The apples have softened and sweetened a bit, but there are still plenty of them in good condition too. So many, in fact, that as the cellar warms, I may be canning a batch of applesauce from some of them, and pressing out another gallon of juice to ferment into hard cider to refill my vinegar jar. Plus, enough to bring up a weekly basketful for snacking and my breakfast oatmeal until probably June. And then, of course, to make Aries' his traditional birthday apple pie earlier this week, too.

April Showers

We woke up this morning to four inches of fresh snow. They say Eskimos are supposed to have lots of different words for snow, but so do I (no, and not those kinds of words, either).

When I lived in Leadville Colorado, the high altitude and below-zero temperatures would produce the famed champagne powder - a light, fluffy snow, so dry it wouldn't even pack into snowballs. But in April in Nevada, we get Sierra cement - sloppy, wet, heavy stuff. Pack this stuff, and you have slushballs.

Luckily, cold temperatures have kept the trees and bushes from leafing out much as of yet. Most of my trees bear the scars from May snowfalls. The only casualties so far this Spring have been the earliest apricot and forsythia blooms. And we do need the water. Our 7 inches annual precipitation almost all comes in the form of snow, so it's now or never for this year.

Flat to Fitted Flannel

(Try saying that post title three times quickly) I love having flannel sheets on my bed when it's cold. They're so nice and snuggley, warm to the touch as soon as you get into bed. So for six months out of the year, my bed is made up with flannel sheets.

But flannel sheets are sold in "sets", and therein lies the problem. The fitted bottom sheet always wears out first. First the flanneling wears off, leaving just a regular-type sheeting material. I can live with that, but then even that wears thin, and eventually shreds or tears. If sheet manufacturers really wanted to package a practical sheet set, it would have two bottom sheets with a coordinating flat top sheet, pillowcases optional or sold separately. They'd have my undying consumer loyalty forever (100% cotton please - I can't stand any amount of polyester in my bedding).

I buy a new flannel sheet set every few years, when the previous bottom sheet becomes too worn. I looked at the flannel sheet sets on sale at Christmas time, but decided the current one would make it through until warmer weather got here. It didn't (a very wet winter meant I haven't been able to completely dry my sheets out on the clothesline as often - having to use the dryer really took its toll). About a month ago, I noticed a really thin spot. The past couple of weeks, the mattress cover underneath started showing through, and I knew it would be only a matter of time before it ripped completely.

But it's still so cold at night. I didn't really want to change over to cotton percale sheets yet. So, a few days ago, I went sheet shopping. But, no luck - local stores are all out of their flannel sheet sets until next winter. I double-checked my linen shelf - maybe there was a forgotten flannel fitted sheet for our bed at the bottom of the stack. Nope, just three orphaned flannel top sheets.

Now, I'm a real Princess and the Pea when it comes to my bed. Forget a lump the size of a pea, the thickness of a creased sheet will bother me. I want the nice flat, smoothness of a fitted bottom sheet. Those flat sheets just won't do for a bottom sheet. Well, duh - I have a sewing machine and thread, and I do know how to sew. I can make fitted corners, no problem.

We have a pillowtop mattress, so we don't flip it, but I do spin it top to bottom every six months to equalize the wear. To remind myself, I rotate the mattress around the equinoxes. On this week's sheet-laundry day, I had already planned to turn the mattress. So, since I had the mattress up out of the bed frame, I laid the nicest, thickest flat flannel top sheet out over it, upside down to make the pinning easier, and fitted each corner. I didn't want to cut the fabric and finish the edges inside the corners, so after sewing up the corner, I then folded the excess triangle over to the head and foot sides and sewed that part down (like wrapping a package and taping down the corners). Last little bit was making a small corner to fit underneath the mattress, folding and stitching that part down as well. It's not really pretty, but who's going to see it? It works. And once again, our bed is warm and snuggley, with a nice stretched smooth fit. And the old fitted sheet? The center is worn thin, but around the outside edges, the fabric is still quite good. I think there's enough there to make myself a pair of flannel pajama pants.

Casting Call

I love hearing from my readers - both in the comments and via emails sent to my address in the sidebar. Most are questions about things I've written about - those I try to help, or tell them where they might find the information they seek. Others are requests for links or free advertising. Those, I'll consider regarding the applicability to the things I write about and the tenor of this blog. And every once in a while, I'll get something really different.

Survivor is the only reality-type television show I watch regularly. But I know those types of shows are very popular with the general public right now. For me, I don't like seeing myself in videos, or hearing recordings of me speaking. Reality just doesn't jibe with my own self-image, and I prefer to maintain my self-delusions. Plus, I tailor and re-fashion my own clothes, to fit my own ideas about style. But for those that don't suffer from those restrictions, I'll relay the contents of an email I recently received.

The people that produce Project Runway are putting together a new show, featuring a couple of top designers, and are looking for everyday people with a special event coming up. Here's what they sent me, should you wish to "audition"

"Do you have an event that justifies a new designer outfit, but have nothing to wear?! (Wedding/Birthday/Reunion/Shower/etc) We are currently casting for a new cable network television program featuring two top designers. They will be traveling the country, designing one-of-a-kind outfits for women who need something extraordinary to wear to an important event in their lives.

"If you live in a SMALL TOWN in Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, Louisiana, West Virginia, Virginia, Tennessee, Kentucky, North Carolina, California or Nevada and you're interested in this once-in-a-lifetime experience, more information here.
(The Event in California or Nevada must take place in July or August of 2010 - and fall on a SATURDAY. We will be meeting ladies in the next 3 weeks to put them on tape.)"

There you have it. Anyone that dreams of being on television, wearing a custom-made designer creation to an upcoming special event, can take it from here (no fooling).

Goodbye, March

And so, March goes out like a lion this year - a drippy, wet, white lion. Roaring winds the last couple of days brought us snow last night, with a few last flakes still swirling about this morning.

And the start of April, cruel April, isn't supposed to be much better. More snow is expected later on this week. I am happy to see the moisture. I didn't have to water my trees at all this winter - the storms came through pretty regularly. Now, I'm hoping the regular precipitation will strengthen the fruit trees stressed by the droughts of the last few years, and maybe they'll be better able to fight off the borers that plagued them so last summer. I'm still waiting to see before doing any pruning on the peaches, plums, and cherry.

So, with the morning weather still so dreary, I spent my time bottling up a batch of Kombucha, and am now waiting for the new batch to cool. I'm still playing with that whole process, and the results, and will write more about it here eventually.

Earth Hour 2010

It's chilly but the sun is shining, so I want to get outside. But I thought I'd post a quick something now: one - because even though I've been plugging away at all the little Springtime chores, I've been very lax about getting things written here; two - because I'm going to try getting this household to go dark for an hour this evening.

It's Earth Hour time again this evening. Beginning at 8:30 p.m. your time, can your household go dark for an hour? Turn everything off - the computers, televisions, even the lights? As usual, this event pretty much passes northern Nevada by - just a tiny little paragraph in today's newspaper, buried on page 8. But I hear the Las Vegas Strip will again go dark for the hour, so maybe this state will get pulled into the 21st century one of these days.

I really shouldn't be one to talk, though. Once again, I'm a bit conflicted about the concept. I've managed to get Aries to turn off the lights and the glowing screens in the past, only by enticing him out to the hot tub, the biggest energy-sucker in our house. And justifying it because our nighttime temperatures are still below freezing. Shutting that thing down for a night is a difficult decision. Do I chance destroying the it, plus incurring my husband's lack of cooperation, or do I just reconcile the thoughts of my own hypocrisy in the spirit of compromise? Our house will probably be dark this evening, but the meter still running, if somewhat slower than usual (and I do want to point out that it will be during the regular filtering cycle time - it will run then whether we're in it or not). At least, it does mean some quality time with my sweetheart, and his full attention for an hour, under the stars. And that's not all bad.

Litterbugs!

Pardon me while I rant for a moment: Generally, I really like people - I like working as a waitress, a bartender, a tour guide, because of the personal contact. I like talking to, observing, interacting with, and serving people. But, after spending a couple of hours this morning, doing our quarterly Adopt-A-Mile clean-up on the southern gateway to our city, I'm really upset with some people.

I was raised by an eco-conscious mom, back before the green, take-care-of-our-earth movement became fashionable. Anyone seen the television series Mad Men, set in the early 1960's? I know there's been some talk about how astonished folks have been when the pregnant Betty Draper sat down with a drink, cigarette in hand. You just don't see that these days - we know better. My astonishment moment though, was when the Drapers went out for a roadside picnic, and when it came time to leave just shook out their blanket, left the trash lying there, and got back in the car.

That never happened in my family. Mom says she knows none of her children are litterbugs. When she rides in any one of our cars, every one of us has a bag, box, or just the area behind the driver's seat where the debris of everyday living ends up. It's not on the roadside, that's for sure!

This logo is a free download available here.

Nowadays, we know better. So, why is it, every three months, when I'm out there on that same stretch of highway, I'm still picking up bottles and fast food bags and candy wrappers? And cigarette butts - we can't even get all the cigarette butts that are out there - we'd be out there for days (and this in an area prone to droughts and wildfires)! Please, people, don't we know better? What would your mother say?

Our Beautiful Woodbox

Knowing a wet winter storm was expected by nightfall, I filled up the woodbox before I left this morning. I love our woodbox. Despite having a woodstove as our only source of heat, I didn't want my living room to look like a backwoods hunting cabin. I wanted a woodbox that looked like a piece of furniture. So I drew what I wanted, showed Aries where it had to sit, and then he figured out how to build it. It's beautiful! In the summer, when the lid is closed, most people think it's a blanket chest. And then, in the winter, we can take off the lid and pack it with enough wood to keep a fire going for three days.

It's my turn to post on the Simple Green Frugal Co-op blog. I've written about heating with wood. To see what my woodbox looks like in winter-mode, check out that post here.

Protector of the Protege

Ok, maybe I'm starting to feel a touch of cabin fever. There's a frigid wind blowing today, and every once in a while snowflakes swirling about in it. After writing about the Guardian of our hearth yesterday, when I got into the car to run a couple of errands this morning, Lizardo asked if he might get a turn in the spotlight too.

So, bear with me: this is Lizardo, Protector of the Protege. Lizardo came from the depths of Lake Tahoe, introducing himself when I was out for an afternoon swim while camping in a west shore campground last summer. He really has a nice smile under that grey helmet he wears. He quickly made himself at home in my car, and has lived there ever since. I think it's still too early for the garden gnomes to be out, so this should be the end of such silliness here (although I wouldn't bet on it).

Guardian of the Hearth

A grey brick chimney forms the center of our home. A wood stove backed up to the fireplace opening provides our heat. The hearth, quite literally in our case, is the heart of our home.

Above the wood stove is a clock. Aries made it from a slice of redwood burl his dad gave him - sanding and buffing the prettiest side, hollowing out a space in back to hold the clockworks, gluing numbers on the face.

The wood of the clock completes the balance of our hearth - the earth chimney, metal stove, fire within, water in the teapot and steamer. There's one more element there too - the guardian of our hearth.

From his perch to the left of the clock face, many don't even realize he's there. Most of the year, and especially cold winter mornings, he blends right in with the grey brick behind. During the winter, though, when the stove is going, the rising warmth makes him turn a bright green color. Though still somewhat in the shadows, he's there to protect the wall from falling (nice thought, in an seismically active area) and guard our hearth from evil (also nice to have).

He found me on one of my walks with the dog, accompanied us home, and has found a home above our hearth ever since. Though some may call him a gargoyle, more properly says he, he's a grotesque - since he lives inside the dwelling and has never functioned as a drainspout. Also, completely proper, he has wings, and so can patrol the rest of the house for us during the dark of night. We can rest easy, knowing he's there to protect our home.

March Comes In Like A . . .

Well, it's not really a lion this year. The snow has momentarily given way to rain: drippy days, freezing nights, icy mornings. But I'm sure the snow isn't done with us yet either. After all, this is northern Nevada: just wait a few minutes, and things will change.

Yesterday, outside one kitchen window, a quail stands watch on the deck railing as his covey sneaks through the fence, heading for the spilled seeds under the bird feeder.

Out in the garden, I hope the doubled-up wire fencing will be enough to protect newly emerging seedlings of my fall-seeded spinach and arugula from hungry little beaks. One plan this year is to reconfigure my garden layout this Spring to make the garden beds easier to cover. The city is sprawling our direction. As developers bulldoze the sagebrush, the birds and animals are on the move - looking for new homes and food. Our lot must look like a green oasis, flashing signs saying, "Good Eats Here". I try to make sure they get only their share.

A bright spot in the gloomy weather are the yellow crocus outside my living room window. Closed up tight when it rains or snows on them, as soon as a ray of sun breaks through the clouds they open right up. This wire cover is chicken-proofing. Three of the hens got into this garden and had a field day. Once the girls find something of interest, they get downright obsessive about it. Merely running out there every half hour, flapping my apron or waving a broom isn't gonna keep them away. Time to go find more wire. So, now, they're lined up outside the little picket fence, cocking their heads from side to side, beady little eyes checking out all the wire. This garden is safe for the moment.

March is certainly no lamb this year either. Rain here is snow just a few hundred feet higher up the hill, and snow is still in our forecast this week. This morning, looking out the other kitchen window, a couple of white moving patches caught my eye (hard to see, center of above photo). I recognise what it is immediately, but it surprises me.

It's the rump patches of five mule deer. I'd seen fresh tracks walking with the dog up the canyon, but we rarely see deer down this low. Two things cross my mind: one, I hope they're not hungry enough to jump our fence - maybe the dog will deter them; two, if you see deer, there may be cougars. You probably won't see them, but they are around. For my walks up the canyon, I think I'll be using my sharp-tipped hiking poles for a while now. March came in like alert? alarm? Just no lions, ok?

Making Milk Kefir

My latest kitchen experiment is making milk kefir. Kind of like a liquid yogurt, it's easy to make in a jar on the kitchen counter - no messing with maintaining a constant warmth like with yogurt.

All you need to get started are some kefir grains. I got mine by posting a request on my local Freecycle network, but they're also available via the Internet. Tomorrow, Oz-time, is my day to post on the SGF Co-op blog, so I've written about the kefir-making process. You can read about it here.

Magnificent Mountains, Blue Water

I work on-call in the tourism industry. Right now, with the economy the way it is, corporate tourism is way down so I haven't been working very much.

But when I do get called, it's always interesting, and sometimes downright fun. Yesterday evening, I got to shepherd a group for a Sunset Dinner/Dance Cruise on Lake Tahoe's MS Dixie II. The Dixie is one of three paddlewheelers on the Lake. We left from the dock on the east shore, the Nevada side of the Lake, crossed the south end of the Lake to the west shore, into and around Emerald Bay on the southwest corner, and back.

The Lake is 12 miles wide - it takes 3 hours to make this particular cruise. On the south shore, the lakeside casinos are on the Nevada side of the state line bisecting the lake. Heavenly Valley ski resort rises from a small base area just a few blocks away, on the California side, to an immense basin above, with a ridge straddling the state line between California and Nevada. Skiers can choose between the California runs overlooking the lake and the Nevada runs overlooking the sagebrush valley to the east. Freel Peak, at 10,891 ft, is the highest peak in the Tahoe Basin. Beyond Heavenly's base, it catches the last rays of the setting sun.

It was a beautiful evening - cold, of course, but no wind. The Lake was like glass. Lake level averages 6,225 feet above sea level, but can change daily depending on the weather. Tahoe ski resorts measure snowfall in feet, not inches. Mount Tallac dominates the view to the south, the only major peak to rise up right from the water's edge. (Clicking on any photo will bring up a bigger view)

The Lake is 22 miles long. It's hard to judge distance looking across water, especially in the thin, high mountain air, but those snow-covered mountains on the north shore are more than 20 miles away. The deepest part of the lake is off the north shore. At 1,645 ft deep, Tahoe is the second deepest lake in the U.S; the tenth deepest in the world. It never freezes, but never really warms up either.

The last photo I snapped, before completely losing the light, zooms in on Cave Rock, on the east shore. This large tan rock formation (also visible in the photo above this one), the core of an ancient volcano, is easily spotted from just about anywhere on the lake. The Washoe Indians, indigenous to the area, consider Cave Rock a sacred site - their ancestors used the original cave for religious ceremonies. Much to their dismay, a highway tunnel was blasted through the cave in the 1930's; a second bore added in the 1950's. They have succeeded however, in getting the Forest Service to declare the rock off-limits to climbers.

Dark comes early in the wintertime. Time to go inside for dinner. Afterwards, as we head back across the lake towards the dock, the stars are out, magnificent as well.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

It's been more than 30 years since I got to see Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Many of my earlier adventures were cabin-fever relievers - excuses to get out of snow country, especially necessary by the time February rolls around. So I've seen Carnival celebrations a few other places as well, including the time I ended up dancing on a float in a parade in the Dominican Republic!

But money's tight these days. I haven't been able to go trotting about the globe for a few years now. Guess I'll just have to content myself with cranking up a Clifton Chenier CD and making Shrimp Creole for dinner instead.

I can't really complain though. The snow, at least here at the house, has melted and today was a beautiful day. I think I might even have gotten a bit of sunburn on my pasty white winter skin. We took the dog out for a few hours, across the valley, and hiked up and then along the ridge of Prison Hill. Sunshine, fresh air, a good workout with my sweetie - let the good times roll!

Kitchen Alchemy

We've had some cold, drippy weather lately. The overnight snow melts, the ground is sloppy, and then freezes solid the next night. Every three days, repeat. Since I can't get outside much yet, I've been spending my days playing in the kitchen.

The gallon of apple cider I had fermenting on the kitchen counter never did settle out much. Weeks later, it was still bubbling away through the fermentation lock, and more than an inch of dead yeast cells had sunk to the bottom. So I siphoned the murky cider off, leaving most of the dead yeasts. After cleaning the gallon jug, I then put the siphoned cider back in and the plug back in the top. After another week, the cider had settled out nicely, and fermentation had finally slowed to a stop.

Up in the top cupboard, my vinegar jar was in fine shape: it smelled vinegary, had a nice healthy layer of mother on top, and a few dead layers had sunk to the bottom. I washed my hands well, then reached in for Jolene, the layer of mother floating on top of the liquid - a somewhat rubbery substance that collapsed into a thick slime when I dropped it into a clean bowl. I pulled a couple of dead layers out of the bottom and tossed them. I strained my fresh vinegar through a coffee filter lining a plastic colander while I sterilized a couple of glass bottles in a big pot of boiling water.

One bottle I've stashed up in the dark cupboard to let it mellow. The vinegar is quite sharp, so I want to see what letting it set does to the taste. The other bottle I started using right away, and I'm very pleased with it. I didn't pasteurize the vinegar before bottling. Mother may still form inside the bottles, but since there isn't much airspace I'm thinking it will take quite a while, if at all. I don't know if using vinegar with the live cultures is beneficial or not, but I kinda like having a backup mother source around in case something happens to this next batch.

After cleaning out the vinegar jar, I poured in the hard cider I'd also strained, then dropped in Jolene. The mother sank to the bottom, but should contain the live cultures needed to start turning this batch of hard cider to vinegar. Covered with cheesecloth to allow for the necessary access to oxygen, I put the fresh jar back up into the cupboard to begin its next transformation. It may not be gold, but it's pretty darn good.

Foster's Bighorn

Rio Vista is a little town in the Sacramento River Delta. Midway between Sacramento and San Francisco, halfway between I-80 and I-5, it's a place you'd come across only if you were exploring the secondary roads in this inland delta area. Rarely, the town makes the news when a wayward humpback whale happens to stray miles from the sea, upriver. Rescuers gather there to guide the whale back to safety. There's a monument to Humphrey down by the river's edge.

Rio Vista has another strange little attraction however - one not as readily noticed. On Main Street downtown is a little storefront saloon - its facade of glass bricks only about 20' across. Inside, the bar stretches the length of the long narrow room with high ceiling - room only for a row of bar stools and space to walk behind them. At the back, the room widens out a bit into a small dining room. But it's not the dark, claustrophobic room that has us standing, transfixed, open-mouthed, when we enter. It's the decor.

Bill Frates started out as a bootlegger in San Francisco. In 1931, after Prohibition ended, he moved to Rio Vista, changed his last name to Foster, bought a bar and cafe, and went into the legitimate liquor business. Running the bar provided enough money for him to pursue an expensive hobby. Bill Foster was a trophy hunter.

We take a seat at the bar, and order a round of drinks - a fair enough "price of admission" allowing us plenty of time to gawk at his collection on display. Up high behind us is a row of taxidermied heads of the world's ungulates - deer, elk, sheep, antelope. Underneath those are closely arranged framed black and white photographs encircling the windows - the hunter posing with various carcasses, a slip of white paper with typewritten caption accompanying each picture.

My sister and I check out the dining room in the back. The sights there are even more amazing, or maybe appalling would be a better word in today's sensibilities. We trade off photographing each other. At 5'6", I'm dwarfed standing under the head of an African elephant, mounted with ears and trunk fully extended. Even more fascinating, to me, is a wall plaque bearing the head of a giraffe on the other side. Still open-mouthed, below, my sister stands with her back to the bar area.

Back on my seat at the bar, I strike up a conversation with a local gentleman sitting next to me. He tells me his favorite thing in the place is the photo hung where the bar curves to meet the wall in the front of the room. I get up to check it out, leaning in to read the caption and studying the photo. I can't help thinking about The Thornbirds.

In the novel by Colleen McCullough, there is a gripping scene that always stuck with me. After a wildfire burns through the family ranch and the father, caught out in it, doesn't return, his sons set out to find him. One son, after finding his father's body, startles a wild boar in the brush. He gets off a shot as the animal charges, killing it, but in its momentum it falls on the son, killing him as well. In the photo before me (left, center, here. Check out the video link too, but first read to the end of my post), on the left side are the remains of a hunter - only a skeleton, leather boots, and his gun are left. At his head, on the right side, are the bones and rack of a bull moose. A hunter's nightmare, only this time, it wasn't fiction.

As I finish my drink, I gaze at the animals mounted in realistic poses behind the bar. A rather strange one, above the cash register, catches my eye. A small, burrowing-type owl peers out from what looks like a hollow of a tree. But I've never seen tree bark that looks like that - it looks like the gray, wrinkled skin of an elephant. Oh, no - he didn't! Did he? I've seen the carnage left after a skunk killed some of our ducks, then feasted on the tenderest parts. Could this really be a true-to-life depiction of an opportunistic little scavenging carnivore? The gentleman next to me confirms my suspicions, earnestly telling me it's something the management doesn't really advertise.

Ok, I've been a bartender. I've heard my regular customers telling tall tales to gullible tourists. It's a very common barroom occurrence. But I believe him. If you're ever in the area, check the place out (or click on through to the video on the Foster's Bighorn website, linked to above. Stop the video at 1:21 to see what I'm talking about, there, just left of center frame). Tell me what you think. Tree, gray mud, or is it elephant?