Garden Tour

April showers have brought May flowers…and the vegetables are following suit.   A momentous day arrives each spring when we can officially “plant the garden”.  Leaving our fears of frost behind, we set out with tools, seeds, and transplants to organize the mulch-covered plot into rows and blocks.  Unlike the cold frame that has been steamily growing cool-season crops for weeks, the garden has been home only to the garlic, asparagus, potatoes, brassica transplants, and pea shoots.  All that changed on Monday.  A handful of the family members bent and stretched, dug and watered, sweat and ached. But it was worth it!

Cold Frame Update: There's a Radish in My Salad!

February 17th

In chilly February, Weldon and I planted a variety of seeds into our first cold frame.  In chilly March we hovered searching for tiny emerald shoots to emerge under the glass roof.  For weeks we watched as erratic temperatures and sporadic sunshine struggled to coax our radishes, kale, chard, spinach, and beets from the soil.  Now April is here...and it's still pretty chilly. Thankfully, a good warm rain last week and a few days of bursting sun did wonders for our adolescent veggies...

April 7th

Keep it Simple, Seedling!

I can't help but smirk when I hear the words "simple living" because the phrase and reality are as similar as black and white.  When the woodstove won't draw properly, the milk sours before there's time to make yogurt, the weather doesn't cooperate with drying the laundry, and "fast food" must be made from whole food ingredients that act more like Eeyore than Speedy Gonzalez, it can be really difficult to find the "simple" in the life we've chosen.  In some respects, there's very little that is actually simple about homesteading...which is why Weldon and I are finding it imperative to follow Simplicity as a guiding light.  My husband likes to call it "lazy", I prefer "efficient".  With each passing year in our farming and homesteading experience, it seems we aspire to be even "lazier" in our ventures ("more efficient", really).  All the while, we remain unwavering in our ideals. With so many worthwhile endeavors to engage in, it's not difficult to recognize the predicament and to concede that perhaps the lazy/efficient way of doing things is the most likely to yield fulfillment and balance in the bigger picture.  There's already an element of hard, why make it any harder?

And so, I'm only slightly hesitant to admit that Weldon and I are evolving into lazy (though passionate) gardeners.  Why till?  Why weed?  Why fertilize or spray?  Our gardening priorities have become whatever is low-maintenance, high output, and keeps the soil, microbes, plants, and us happy.  We both love to grow things, we just don't want to work overly hard at something Nature is pretty adept at doing already.  This year, we decided to turn part of our stubby, sandy anti-yard into a few raised beds for cultivating vegetables and herbs.  Along with our existing container gardening, we are trying our hand at year-round growing (a la Eliot Coleman's books) and using a methodology called square-foot-gardening (a la Mel Bartholomew's books).  Our previous seasons of experience with hay mulching and composting are leading us toward a system that will ideally keep weeds at bay, soil nutrients high, pests to a minimum, and good-eating to the max. Though the forecast this week says it's still winter, Weldon and I spent part of last week renewing our friendship with soil and seeds!

Cleaning: the Long & Short of It

It’s probably unwise for a woman living south of the Mason-Dixon Line to admit it, but I’m not religious when it comes to cleaning my home.  On the spectrum from Clean Jean to Messy Jessie, I prefer to be Sane Jane -- Jean’s artistic, active, and somewhat less-kept sister.  Because I’m not a fan of clutter or filth, I do the basic once over on a fairly regular basis.  But suffice it to say my home has a love-hate relationship with the white glove test.  I've observed that most creative homesteads accept a certain level of disarray in order to focus on living their convictions while maintaining sanity.  This notion has always provided me with calming validation.  As with so much in life, it’s all about balance.  Most people who know me recognize that I’m not a stickler for domestic customs.  Despite this truth, I can’t ignore that our home needs a proper scrubbing after both winter’s hibernation and summer’s flurry of activity.  As much as I like to clean to the beat of my own drum, I generally follow suit when it comes to Spring and Fall Cleaning.  On a recent Saturday Weldon and I put Cinderella to shame with our zealous energy to get our house back to spic ‘n span.  As a shout-out to my thoroughly modern husband, he was neither bribed nor threatened into participating in this event. We turned on some peppy tunes and each chose a weapon of choice (rag, bucket, vacuum, spray bottle). We moved furniture, washed baseboards, vacuumed every stitch, wiped every surface, and even did the little To Do’s that have hovered in limbo for months.  I don’t mean to brag or rub it in, but it gives me great satisfaction to know that not only is my house clean (for now), but we did the work without using toxic chemicals.  It’s neither as difficult nor as pricey as it may sound.  I’m sure there are plenty of Clean Jean’s posting their whiz-bang tips for a perpetually spotless abode, but below I've offered my personal nitty gritty on Sane Jane house cleaning. 

The Gift of Asparagus

I don’t blame anybody for hating asparagus.  How can you ask someone to eat -- let alone enjoy -- a vegetable whose description often includes such stellar entries as “puke-y green colored”, “mushy”, and “stringy”? Another infamous quality is that this vegetable is usually sloshing out of a can with the tube-like reminiscence of a bundle of you-know-what. My husband's childhood asparagus-at-dinner story included his father's stern encouragement, "Are you a man or a mouse?" Weldon answered with a teary, "I'm a mouse, daddy!" Needless to say, he was let off the hook. I can agree that THAT kind of asparagus is gross. However, real asparagus is another story. Real asparagus is a spring-time treat that is nearer the garden than the canning factory or grocery store. Real asparagus is also prepared in a way that maintains a hint of tender crunch and highlights the unique flavor of this green, purple, or even white vegetable. Below are some growing tips and a tasty recipe that will hopefully redeem asparagus from the icky memories you may have accrued along the way: Steamed Asparagus with Lemon Butter & Herbs

When Wildflowers Bloom

Nothing is quite as special or as fleeting as the spring wildflower blooms on our homestead. Unlike so many other seasonal rhythms this one wears its finite nature proudly on its sleeve. The flowers come once a year and are here and gone in about ten days. Despite this, I find them no less glorious than the leaves of autumn, the garden’s bounty, or the majesty of a particular landscape. In our neck of the woods, this past week was what we like to call “wildflower week”. 

A Gardener's Dream

On Monday I was in my garden. Finally. Spring (or perhaps winter, depending on your perspective) has been a bit reluctant this year.  It wasn't until late last week that the tide seemed to turn and spring established itself. The past few days the temperatures have climbed into the balmy seventies. The fire in our wood stove was abandoned over the weekend. The windows have flung open their eyelids to take in the world and the warmth. Naturally, the plants are responding with countless buds and blooms. These were all the signs I needed -- on Monday I was in my garden.

Spring Break

Our county schools are closed this week and I find myself experiencing "Spring Break" in a whole new light. Though it's been nearly a decade since I was matriculating anywhere, I've recently gone back to school -- as a teacher (of sorts). For the first time in my life I have a "9-to-5" job from which to have such a "Break", call it spring or otherwise. My new state of employment came with no lack of soul-searching. Am I breaking the Homesteaders' Creed by taking a full-time job away from home?

Chicks Dig Brooders

Though this is a homestead blog, I feel compelled to clarify that by "chicks" I don't mean girls and by "brooders" I don't mean mysterious & moody boys...though I suppose one could argue the point. I'm talking much more literally about the fuzz-bodied winged variety and their nursery of sorts.

This week was significant on our homestead. First, Wednesday was the beginning of spring a.k.a the vernal equinox -- when the sun spends identical shifts above and below the horizon making day and night equal in length for a 24-hour period. As of this day, winter had to relinquish its reign to spring...at least in title if not yet in temperature. To know spring is officially here makes my cells dance with excitement. To top it off as an unofficial christening to the season, our batch of one hundred chicks arrived this afternoon!

Gettin' Eggy With It

It was snack time in second grade. My friend Stacy* and I sat with the cornucopia of our lunchboxes displayed before us, playing and joking about who knows what. Somehow relating to our reverie I picked up her egg salad sandwich in its tidy zipper bag and nonchalantly smushed it with both my hands. If you envision a rambunctious little boy squeezing a tube of toothpaste with the cap on just to see what would happen you have a glimpse of the scene. The two of us then continued with our giggly play. At the end of snack we packed up our boxes and returned to our lessons...and I obliviously went about my morning. Later our teacher Mrs. Jones came to me questioning why on earth I would smash Stacy's sandwich leaving her lunch-less. I innocently replied, "I really don't like egg salad." Naturally, a mild reprimand ensued and I (being somewhat of a goodie-two-shoes) promptly apologized to Stacy and hung my head in shame. When lunchtime came around I munched on whatever blase item was packed for me...but Stacy got to choose a delectable offering that Mr. & Mrs. Schmidt were serving for hot lunch in the cafeteria. Lucky! Surely I had done her a favor...

*The names in this story have been changed to protect the innocent. The only exception would be me -- who was absolutely guilty as charged.