Category Archives: work

Balmy with bread and honey.

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The sun was hot on my back as I reached up on the trellis to gather the dried Painted Lady runner beans. I separated the beans from the vines and carried loads of still vigorous leafy matter to the green bin. After a while the sun went behind the pine tree, but the balminess hung on.

It was quite a workout climbing up and balancing on the planter box, hauling vines back over the fence from the neighbor’s yard where they always wander. So when I had stashed a five gallon bucket full of bean pods into the garage, I leaned back in my orange plastic Adirondack chair (stained from being out in the weather for years) that I’d moved away from the bean corner, and drank a can of sparkling water.

I was intensely aware of my riches. This morning I had picked another several dozen feijoas, and we put them and what remained from the last week into the dehydrator. Reading ideas for how to use a heavy crop, I learned that people do eat the skins. So I tried a few with their skins on and they are nice that way. The skins are a little more tart than the flesh, but they add another layer of complexity to the overall flavor, and a little crunch. The neighbor’s redwood tree looms over my pineapple guava, so that the dried and prickly twigs that fall are always interspersed with the fruit, and usually tangled in my hair when I come inside from picking.

Below, parsley, which I was prepping to put into the Parsley-Tarragon Salsa Verde, and in which I was exulting. When I have a good sized parsley patch it feels like the most versatile resource. Plus the swallowtails love it!

tarragon

Last year I never got around to harvesting those runner beans until they had been rained on a few times and ruined. So it felt good to have put them under cover, and also to not let the feijoas go to waste. I had made that extra batch of salsa before the tarragon went into dormancy. I could sit back and relax, and just be in the garden. The awareness of my wealth brought to mind the king who was in his counting house, counting out his money, the queen in the parlor, eating bread and honey, and the maid in the garden getting her nose bitten off.

Well, I was the king, taking account of my bounty. But in the garden. And the queen, feasting on the most satisfying and sweet soul food — in the garden. Some days I hang the laundry in the sun, as does the maid, but that also makes me feel rich.

The king was in the counting house,
Counting out his money.
The queen was in the parlor,
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes,
When along came a blackbird,
And snipped off her nose.

-Sing a Song of Sixpence

The first of the newer white Japanese anemones buds opened today, October 16! I’d have to say I’m rich with anemones at this point. The pincushion flower plants that I cut down to stubs and moved to the planter boxes have started blooming again amongst the basil that also won’t stop.

Back to the feijoas:

Bea blended up some pulp with an apple to make fruit leather, and I sliced the rest with the skin on. Now all of that experimental goodness is in process in the dehydrator, and filling the garage with its aroma.

One last thing to illustrate my brimming treasure stores: The rudbeckia is still blooming!! It has been showing off its gold since May 22, and I expect it will go another week at least, which will add up to five months of opulence. Not only are its flowers still lovely, but the leaves are turning all purply and mottled at the end of the season, a patina of autumn. Because it sits close to the street for everyone to see as they drive by, it’s the part of my abundance that gets shared with the most people. I hope it might cause some of them to say, Glory to God for His most generous gifts!

All the weeds are pretty.

homemaking, housework, my garden, work, , , , , , ,
Hairy Bittercress

When the overcast lifted and the sun came out, and my house and I were warmed up, thanks to the wood fire that I was oh so grateful to have had the energy to get going — then I looked out the kitchen window and decided that I would wash the glass patio table that had gotten all dirty from rain and wind and leaves.

It was one of those things where you do one little task, which leads to another, and another. I was oh so grateful for the way that happens, which also can’t be counted on. I pulled out the bare and mushy begonia stems nearby, that had been pleading with me through the window for weeks, and so removed their shame. From there I carried my small green trug all around the garden to fill with trimmings of mint, rose geranium, and part of a lavender bush that had escaped the shears back in the summer.

Chocolate mint

I even repotted a plant! Soon after Christmas Day I had gone to the nursery to see if they still had a little live Christmas tree of any sort, but they were sold out. I had thought a conifer in a pot would be nice by my front door, to get me through the winter. It’s become a pet project to have something in that spot, a plant that is healthy and cheery, and preferably blooming, to greet guests and me when we come and go.

They were sold out of Christmas trees at the nursery, but they did have blooming Kangaroo Paws. I brought one home and switched out the aster right away, but the new plant was cramped — so I moved it into a larger pot where it could spread its roots out more comfortably. This is the “before” picture, though:

All the weeds are pretty right now, because they are all tiny and fresh-fresh green. I can identify most of the peskiest, which in some cases come from seeds or plants that in past years I encouraged to grow in my garden. From that group the ones that I am now dis-couraging to greater or lesser degree are Love-in-a-Mist (nigella), violas, and California poppies.

Common groundsel

I pulled dozens of just-up nigella and bittercress out from around other plants that I don’t want to be choked out, and promised myself I would work on the asparagus beds in couple of days, after they have dried out more:

Violas infesting the asparagus beds.

The plan is to remove all the violas, and then spread mulch again. I don’t know what has been digging in there — maybe crows?

Baby California poppy with Hairy Bittercress

My favorite leather work gloves are pigskin, because they are soft and flexible enough not to hinder me throwing wood into the stove, or doing other tasks that require some dexterity. But they wear out really fast, and are expensive. So I ordered two other types to try out, and they arrived today:

The ones on the left are supple enough and mold to my hands, and I think I’ll use them in the house when dealing with the wood and the stove. The ones on the right are stiffer, but they will be fine for carrying cordwood into the garage or house.

For gardening, I use non-leather gloves, because for that I need even more dexterity, but I end up taking them off half the time. I’m thinking of switching to thin vinyl gloves, but I wonder if my hands just have a mind of their own, and want to be in the dirt all the way.

There’s no rain or frost on the forecast here in my corner of the world, but sunshine is predicted. That will be good for my mood, and probably for sleep, too. I think I’ll make it through January again!

Petty spurge

Fresh crackers and paint.

family, food and cooking, my garden, work, , , ,
March 2017

It’s an exciting week for me, because many dinged-up walls and doors in my house are being painted, along with the black metal stair railings. These were set to be done several years ago, before the workers were interrupted by wildfires, then by covid. When normality returned, I didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to get started again. But now my new handyman James, a friend from church, is doing the work. During son Pathfinder’s visit over the weekend I was encouraged just to have him to talk with about colors. Now things will be so lovely and clean.

Pathfinder and I did a satisfying amount of work in 24 hours, including a big tidying-up of my utility yard and all the scraps of wood I keep there, which I turn into kindling. There are always pieces that are too long for my stove and need sawing up, and I don’t want to use a power saw; he took care of those fast. He even cut my old manzanita stump into a few pieces to take home for his own wood stove, because he heard that it burns nice and hot, and wants to find out.

We cleaned the fountain together, and Pathfinder leveled it perfectly afterward. The easy way to drain the green water from it is by siphoning it out with a garden hose, but that takes two people to manage.

It’s has been wanting a good clean-up for months, and I had been hoping for this family assist. We managed to do all the tasks before the rain began, which was the morning that he left.

Today it poured, then the sun came out, then the wind blew rain in again. Between downpours I was able to go out twice and gather fallen pine needles enough to fill the big green bin for trash pickup tomorrow. The zinnias watched me with their bright faces as I walked by, so I came back and picked another bouquet of them. These wet blooms don’t last as long as the sun-washed ones, but they are cheery as long as they do. My fingers were all wrinkly when I finally came indoors again, because everything I’d been handling was sopping.

While picking up blankets of pine needles off my plants, I discovered that the Sweet Box, Sarcococca, has shiny red berries on it. I haven’t been impressed with the scent of that shrub’s flowers — it isn’t very potent. But these berries are lovely.

The flax crackers I was working on last week turned out pretty good. I had to leave them in the dehydrator about 28 hours. They need more salt and fewer pumpkin seeds, in my opinion, but I’m enjoying them, and gave some away. I’ll make a new batch soon, with improvements, and eventually will share the recipe here.

Today I made two kinds of soup with various leftovers in the fridge, and I like them both as well. Soup and crackers are just the thing for rainy November days.

September is in my blood.

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Blooms on arbutus unedo, the Strawberry Tree.

The American Labor Day holiday is on the very first day of September this year. This prompts me to pay closer attention at the outset, because that’s also the first day of the liturgical year for Orthodox Christians. I’ve been supremely blessed by various aspects and events of the day…

First, it’s quite warm, which is too hot for some people, but I guess it’s in my blood, to want to be enveloped by air that is not much colder than my body temperature. (Of course I don’t feel the same way about it when the humidity is approaching that of my blood.) No marine breeze has come against me for a couple of days; even at night, when the temperature eventually drops to the usual mid-50’s, evidently it lingers in those lower registers more briefly. It is sweet, to feel fully relaxed, without sweaters or quilts. This kind of day is why I love September so much.

My sometimes helper Alejandro wanted to come and work this morning, so he could do family things later on. He probably would have come at sunrise if I’d let him, but he was willing to come a little later, and he cleaned up and trimmed the most parched and spent things around the place. That lifted my already floating spirits a few feet higher.

I pruned the lemon tree a bit, and removed numerous pine needles and spider webs from it, then texted with my brother about what might be causing some fruit to be deformed. He helped me figure out that it is citrus bud mites. I don’t know, if anything, what I will do about this. Maybe some insecticidal soap…

I admired the tallest sunflower I have ever grown.
I dusted one bench, and sat on another
to admire my favorite echinacea flowers.

I watched the skippers on the zinnias,
and tidied up the apple mint and the lemon verbena.
I made tea with the trimmings of the verbena.

Bent-lined Carpet on the other side of the glass one morning.

From time to time I consider tossing out the orchids that have come to me over the years, all but one of which has never bloomed again. But a friend told me that I should give them the kind of nourishment they like, food that is designed specifically for orchids. She said there are different orchid fertilizers depending on the species of orchid, and whether it is in the bloom period or not. I bought just one type so far; that is a start! My plants have been outdoors for the summer, in the shade, where I remember to water them more often, and they seem to be generally very happy, even if only the one is blooming. Today I will start being a less lazy orchid farmer.

Orchid, with lemon tree in background.

I really would like to grow amaranth in my garden, but I keep forgetting to try again. The one time I planted seeds, they did come up, but I think they were shaded by zinnias or other vegetables and never thrived. Maybe next year. In the meantime, I discovered that a type of amaranth has self-sown in the cracks of my driveway.

Amaranthus blitoides, Prostrate Amaranth

Is gardening labor, or is it work? Many people have weighed in on the difference in meaning between the two words, and after a brief perusal of their ideas it seems to me the discussion gets too complex for a day like today, when I am relaxing while working. I know working is the word I much prefer, unless I am talking about the births of my children.

Creeping thyme waiting to be planted.

I find a short quote about the words labor and work is not too taxing to think about on this non-laborious day:

“[Hannah] Arendt points to how language itself has always put a consistent break between them: “ponein and ergazesthai” in Greek, “laborare and facere” in Latin, “travailler and ouvrer” in French, “arbeiten and werken” in German, labor and work in English.” -Front Porch Republic 

In any case, I’m sure I will continue to do both, through September and onward, and I will try, I will even work, to be thankful for all of it, whatever God gives me strength to do.