Par for the Course

I’m sitting at the kitchen table. Though the temperature tops out in the high forties (and yes it is June) the back door is open. One of the hens incessantly clucks and I suspect she’s laying an egg. Benjamin, the labradork, wanders in and out, in and out. He occasionally pauses to sniff at the tomato seedlings on the patio.

I wonder what he smells. Me? I smell tomato worms. Which, in truth, is simply the aroma of the plants themselves but as a child this scent was filed as that of the worm. These plants don’t have worms. At least not yet.

The seedlings are soaking up the sun which sporadically peers out from the clouds. I’m guarding them, these precious progeny of mine; wary of impending rain and/or hail that would destroy a months nurturing in seconds.

I’m hardening these plants off; cutting the apron strings as it were. The tomatoes will spend their adolescence frolicking with the sun, the wind, the rain and varying temperatures. They might as well get used to it now. Strong stalks and deep roots will be important. I hope I’m instilling both.

I check my other babies. Heirloom basil seedlings soon to sprout in my table top terrarium. Nothing yet. That’s to be expected as they were only planted yesterday. This cold wet spring is testing my patience; a skill I’m told is a virtue. A skill I’ve not yet mastered.

The wind rustles through the ponderosas. If I close my eyes it sounds like the ocean, waves rhythmically coming ashore, consistent, ever-present.

Frogs croak in the background. Build a pond in suburbia, the desert no less, and frogs will come. How do they find it? How do they get here? Clearly these amphibians know something I do not. Though I, too, have come to the desert. Come to live an improbable life and to grow where no woman has grown before (or something like that).

With the sky getting darker I carry the seedlings indoors. Back to their yellow formica table. Back to their south facing window. Back to the relative heat of the house. The room smells like soil. I inhale deeply. I love the smell of the earth and plants. I’m enjoying my dining room aka greenhouse.

And now it’s time to start some bread then pick up the girls from school. I’m planning on soup for tonight’s dinner. If I’m lucky, if the weather cooperates, we’ll get our ingredients from the season’s first farmers market. Parsnips and pears and onions oh my!

We’ll see. It seems I brought the seedlings in just in time. Thunder rumbles in the distance. It seems thunder is par for the course this time of year.

Oh fickle spring and your erratic weather. I do hope summer is just around the bend.

Sowing the Seeds

It's no secret I fantasize about moving to a hobby farm. But my wish will not be granted until I prove myself. First I must become a steward of this land; this little plot smack dab in the middle of town.

Last year my garden was neglected. Spring came late. I got lazy. Veggies were never planted. The cutting garden was left to its own devices. The flowers thrived despite me.

But come fall the weeds made their presence known. Lots and lots of weeds. This week was time to pay penance. Down on my hands and knees, nose to dirt, I have been pulling weeds and weeds and more weeds. Woo boy is my body sore! Don't let anyone tell you gardening is not exercise.

This year I am planting veggies. My friend, Shelley, is well versed on heirloom seeds. She sent me ten different tomato varieties and well as some lettuces and cucumbers (how lucky am I?!! Thank you Shelley!!).

The seeds have been sown and are starting to sprout. Eventually they'll be transplanted to my raised beds and pots and where ever else I can squeeze them in.

Whilst dreaming about the garden to come I've also been swooning over hoop houses. So much so I spent this afternoon wandering around my local nursery, meandering slowly through the delicious warmth of their greenhouses.

For as long as I could remember I've dreamt of a greenhouse of my own. One big enough to house not only plants but a reading nook as well. Oh the time I could spend out there. Oh the things I could grow!

I've also got honey bees on my mind. This past weekend Middle and I went to Bee School. Our original intent was to get a hive next year. However we learned you shouldn't harvest honey the first year. As such we are wracking our brains trying to figure out how to get hives sooner rather than later.

I've mapped out the hive location, cleared a spot, planned a neighbor screen and picked out paint colors (if we are getting hives they are so getting painted glorious colors).

Now I must admit Mr. Peculiar is, shall we say, a bit less enthusiastic on the bee idea. But the same held true for the chickens. He'll come around.

Yes. I've got grand plans. Now to bring them to fruition.

xo.

What's Up?

Chicken Butt

You may have noticed I've been quiet lately. I am in an unfamiliar place ... the waiting place.  I am waiting for my shift to be over, waiting for the weekend to come, waiting for yarn to be delivered and waiting for paint to dry.  Just waiting. 

We are experiencing record heat and our a/c is still broken (it'd help if I'd call a repair man). I have little motivation.  I don't want to cook or clean or create and I most definitely do not want to exercise. I don't even feel like reading.  I am not depressed, per se.  I am not unhappy. But I'm merely going through the motions; my body is living life without me.  

I find myself looking forward to fall ... cooler temperatures, apple cider, football in the background.  I feel guilty for not enjoying the here and now.  I tell tall-tales like ... if only I didn't have to work then I'd be motivated. Then I'd have time to appreciate.   I know this is not true (though I'm not turning down those lottery winnings should they come my way). 

So here I sit.  Waiting.  Yet I have faith.  In the sage words of Dr. Seuss: 

Somehow you'll escape

all that waiting and staying.

You'll find the bright places

where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,

once more you'll ride high!

Ready for anything under the sky.

Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!

There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.

And the magical things you can do with that ball

will make you the winning-est winner of all.

Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,

with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't.

Because, sometimes, they won't...

And that's it really.  Some days will be better than others.  

Danger, Danger

She’s over on the side of the house. The side next to the empty lot where the tall grasses grow. She wants to plant a vegetable garden. She’s already built one raised bed. But before it can be put into place she needs to pull weeds. She’s not technically pulling - she’s hoeing: goring the weeds at their roots and mercilessly ripping them from their homes. The hoe is working wonders. For the past week she had been picking the weeds by hand, one-by-one. Only weeds multiply, like a herd of rabbits; for every weed plucked three grow. Today she’s cleared nearly half the side yard. I’m nearly as smart as other primates, she thinks, me use tools.

But the hoe wasn’t entirely her idea. She had help. You see a cougar was spotted in the neighborhood sprightly chasing a deer through a neighbor’s yard. The hoe, therefore, serves two purposes - weeding and protection. Because, of course, it is dusk. As the world sinks into darkness and the wind whisks cool air over the junipers the temperature becomes once again bearable. A time to weed and a time to hunt. She has the cougar to thank for the hoe.

She is wary as she demolishes the undergrowth. She glances at the tall grasses dancing in the distance. Is it just the breeze? It occurs to her she has on the wrong outfit. Sweats with the word Juicy across the ass might be more appropriate. One tasty steak, right here, bending over for your perusal. Probably not quite the purpose of the pants but not really so far off mark.

And the little dog. The one barking in the driveway. He should have hors d’oeuvre branded on his side. A nice little start to the meal. Goes well with a fine chianti.

There is a cat in the empty lot. She can’t be seen but her whereabouts are easily determined by echolocation. A pair of blue jays flank her every move screaming four letter twitters in her direction. The cat seeks shelter with the woman and the two of them are dive bombed by the birds.

The cat, now safe, plops herself next to the empty lot for a bath. Hmmm, the woman thinks, Emmie didn’t get the memo. No one told her about the cougar; she could predator and prey. The cat glances casually at the birds and continues her grooming.

The woman begins to think of all the possible dangers: lightening, an errant car, a freak accident involving a hoe and a carotid artery. There are many many ways to die. It’d be nice not to know, to be unaware, to plop down in front of fear and take a bath. Because chances are nothing will happen. The worry would be for naught. And then one would be well-groomed and ready for the next adventure.

The woman surveys her plot of land. More than half the weeds are gone. I’ll take the danger, decides the woman, because without the danger I wouldn’t have grabbed the hoe. And without the hoe I'd still have weeds. And besides, if not for danger what would there be to blog about? Yes, everything is just as it should be. Just as it is.