Seasonal Snaps: Spring Equinox 2013

The homestead has changed in many ways since I posted Winter Solstice 2013 Seasonal Snaps, though I felt wind on my cheeks and spied snow in the air on both photography days. Mostly we have been building and hauling; we're eager to finally see edibles growing at the next turn of the seasons. Not much action in the front yet, pictured in fleeting sunlight.

Careful eyes will spot the new mailbox at the road, a result of a drunk driver smashing our old one to smithereens.

In the backyard, Jacob Sauer Tree Care recently removed a dying honey locust to give more light and eliminate the thorn hazards. We agreed to haul the brush and cut all wood to save costs, a chore that has taken many days. You may be able to spot a catalpa and oak tree Alex cut down further back in the yard.

You can also see the hoop house in this picture, off to the left. We built a 10x20 foot season-extending structure  over several work days with the help of many friends. One of three beds inside is already planted with greens and roots.

Here's the hoop house from the back of the yard. You can also see the dirt pile we're hosting for City Folk's Farm Shop*. That big empty area in the foreground? It's where the family who owned the house before us traditionally kept their garden. We'll use the well-drained spot for an orchard with alley plantings in between rows.

I have to admit I'm a little disappointed in how similar the two seasons appear for all the aches my body feels from working outside. Surely June 21, the summer solstice, will yield a totally different view.

*Alex, Lil, and I want to wish Shawn and Gerry at City Folk's a VERY HAPPY FIRST ANNIVERSARY! We love having this shop in our vicinity for homsteading supplies and education. They are hosting a homestead tool swap, chicken feed giveaway, silent auction, and more fun activities during their birthday week - go visit!

Starting Saved Seeds

Julia Child has been hanging out in an envelope in my seed box since August 2010. I saved her seeds from a sexy homegrown tomato and they laid in wait through a couple disappointing gardening seasons until now. I planted sixteen taupe seeds still stuck to their drying paper towel in two rows. After five days under lights and warmed by an electric mat, my old friend is back! I can't wait to see her luscious pink fruits this summer.

Seed saving is a commitment not of money but time and care. Seeds must be isolated from the best ripe fruit, dried, labeled and stored. In an age where companies create disposable versions of everything, making time to save seeds is practically defiant.

Starting saved seeds is also a political act. Seed savers declare "I don't believe you can patent a living thing". We perpetuate characteristics adapted to the microclimate of our individual location, something no mega-seed company can reproduce. We sustain diverse varieties of vegetables and flowers that otherwise might be lost to the perceived convenience of standardization.

I pledge to grow more saved seeds and save more than ever before this year. Will you join me? I'll share tips for success and overcoming challenges along the way.

Cheep, Cheep! {Wordless Wednesday}

Buy Seeds Like Wine

I have a confession. I feel overwhelmed by the hundreds of plant varieties available to grow. After reading the descriptions of the fourteen kinds of bush beans in one catalog, I just can't bring myself to read about more in another catalog. Every paragraph promises 'great tasting' and 'easy growing', so how's a girl to finalize seed selection?

I turn to my time-tested choosing method, one I also employ when choosing of a bottle of wine among a thousand great possibilities. I pick a pretty label or name.

If there is a variety with the name 'Rachel', 'Lillian', or 'Alexander', it's in. If the description makes me feel warm and fuzzy, I buy. If the illustration harkens a look I want to achieve, I put it in the cart.

True seed-savers are probably rolling their eyes at me. It's true - the 'buy what looks good' method does mean I pass by seeds that might be better suited to my needs or environment than the funky-named varieties that draw me in.

But there is a silver lining, or silver seed coat, if you will: my resulting garden (like my wine stash) is full of diversity. Every year, seeds from new pretty packets make their way into soil. What grows well and produces great fruit, vegetables, and flowers is saved and replanted the next year alongside new attractive varieties.

Biodiversity is important to the culture of a garden. Planting a variety of crops maintains vital nutrients in the soil. In a monoculture field, pollinators will find food for only one or two weeks and then be forced to move on while pollinators provide their plant-mating service for many months in a diverse garden. Pests cannot easily establish themselves where they cannot rely on the same nesting or egg-laying spots season after season.

Perhaps even more critically, biodiversity is necessary for the survival of our food system. Adaptive Seeds, one of the sources of this year's seed splurges, report that "according to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations, we have lost 75% [of agricultural biodiversity] since 1900 and continue to lose 2% every year." In the short term, humans suffer when monoculture crops fail due to weather. In the long term, we are losing seed diversity that could contribute to breakthroughs in medicine, increased individual health, and foods that adapt to climate change.

Not to mention that I find a field filled with dozens of kinds of plants beautiful. Biodiverse gardens have vegetables flowering spring through autumn and leaves of every color. The visual interest of a bed full of varying plant heights will always beat a lawn in my book. I'm not the only one who things biodiversity is beautiful - the UN declared 2010 the International Year of Biodiversity, prompting ABC, photographer David Liittschwager, and others to wax poetic about the gorgeousness of great variety.

You might be delighted but a bit overwhelmed by seed catalogs this time of year, just like me. If so, I suggest pouring a glass or red or white and pick what appeals to your aesthetics. Your garden will be better for the introduction of new varieties.

Ice Cold Chores {Wordless Wednesday}

12 degrees Fahrenheit. Chickens and birds need food and water and dogs need exercise, even if it makes their hair stand on end. Thank goodness for OR mittens, BOGS boots, and warm tea inside.

Moonshine With Mitten Paws

Meet Moonshine, our new kitten!

Moonshine's mama was dumped, pregnant, on a friend's farm. On August 6, our kitten was born with white mitten paws.

Lil suggested the name after reading the book Pumpkin Moonshine, an old story about Jack-o-lanterns. Who were we to refuse a name that references the ultimate DIY activity?

The hounds are confused by this furry creature who has captured our attention. They spent all day yesterday staring at her. Moonshine is very tolerant of their snarfling though she hisses and runs when the dogs get too close.

'Kitten' has topped Lil's gift wish lists for years. Moonshine is a promise fulfilled, a new addition as thrilling as a sip of illicit booze.

Bathing the Little Hound {Wordless Wednesday}

Low to the ground, the little hound dirties quickly. Fortunately, our deep numerar sink contains her for baths followed by baby bunting towel wraps. We love a clean Hawise!

A Most Disappointing Gardening Season

This is my garden. My dry, stunted, disappointing garden.

The year started with a heat wave in mid-spring that dried out the peas just as they started to produce pods. The same temperatures caused lettuce to bolt before the leaves were big enough to eat. A few windy storms knocked off many fruit tree blooms.

Just when I had reset the backyard raised beds with Swainway seedlings, the front yard fell prey to a public works project. Workers first destroyed a peach tree and dug up an eight foot section of the tree yard to run a gas supply line along our street. A month later, a four foot swatch also lost its grass to run the residential line to a neighbor's house. Part of our alley raspberry patch was ripped apart for reasons I cannot deduce. The gas company was entirely within their rights to do such work and made attempts to replace what was removed but it hurt to watch parts of our yard torn to pieces.

Then the heat came. Days and days of hundred degree highs and very little rain led to the hottest July on record and a well publicized drought. The temperatures damaged plant growth and made us all seek shelter in the air conditioning rather than tend the garden.

So now it is mid-August when I'm used to being inundated with sexy tomatoes and bountiful peppers. Instead, my plants are shrivelled beyond repair. Where usually there are weighty colorful fruit arching the stems, the only bent branches this year are those that sustained damage in the few strong storms we received.

The blame for the garden failure can not entirely be placed on the weather; between cleaning and vacating for house showings and fatigue from chronic sinus pain I simply haven't made the time to stake and water plants. I did take an hour recently to pull up the worst of the tomatoes and plant fall greens to try to coax some food from the soil.

Bright Spots

To buoy the feeling of failure, I look at the few successes of the year. Our rosemary plant and fig tree are thriving. We harvest a handful of beans a day. Smiling sunflowers that planted themselves from bird seed attract equally sunny goldfinches. And 'our' mama hummingbird visits the feeder many times a day, defending it from other females.

My thoughts are already turning to next year when my family will hopefully start a big new garden in a new house. But I cannot escape thinking about the farmers who count on growing food for their livelihood. I remain disappointed at my efforts, but pleased that I have the luxury of spending my money at farmers' markets to hopefully ease local farm losses this year.

How is your garden growing?