A Different View

 Gardening looks much different for me this year.

It's not simply the "every year looks different in the garden" kind of different.

This is gardening in a different place.

I've gone from hundreds of feet of raised beds, established strawberry and asparagus beds, fruit trees and berry bushes, as well as established native wild flowers and other perennials, to a 60-foot long, 5-foot wide in-ground garden bed and 20-some mineral tubs for my vegetable gardens. I also have a few smaller containers and flower pots for vegetables, flowers and herbs.

I can't grow quite the abundance that I used to, but we'll manage.

So this is what my gardening looks like this year. 

A portion of the in-ground garden mulched with hay provided by a neighbor. Right now it contains seedlings of kale, collards, lettuce, peas and radishes.

Rabbits started nibbling my peas, so I wrapped row cover around the trellis to thwart them. Cutworms and unexpected cold have threatened the seedlings, but eventually we'll get veggies. 

I'm feeling impatient, though. I want to pull some radishes! However, I have made my first harvest. A couple of days ago I thinned kale and kept most of the thinnings as infant kale. Some of them were cooked with several kinds of wild greens.

The first harvest of the season, though, were garlic mustard, dandelions, nettles and cleavers from around the property.

The other part of my gardening adventure this year looks like this:

These tubs and buckets contained my summer and fall garden last year, such as it was. Our landlady did let me use part of her small garden for my winter radishes once she dug sweet potatoes and cleared a few other things. Maybe she'll let me do that this year, too... if we haven't bought a house and moved.

I have tomato, pepper and eggplant seedlings I started from seed, but they don't seem to want to grow. I will repot all of them and see if that helps. Mystifying. Frustrating. 

I overplanted these, since I only have room for six tomato plants in the garden, and I'm not sure I have enough room in the tubs for all the peppers and eggplants.

Three tubs and one bucket contain five broccoli plants. It started as six, but a cutworm (which I could not find) took one out. Some tubs also contain an abundance of mini bok choy seedlings, and I have some tiny Chinese cabbage seedlings ready to plant in one of the tubs. For some reason I'm craving bok choy and Chinese cabbage. These will become stir fries and kimchi, as well as salad ingredients. A little lettuce is in a couple of tubs, and I planted radishes and carrots in two more.

I wouldn't have considered carrots in a container, but I read an article about vegetables that will grow in containers and it listed carrots as one. Nothing to lose. 

As usual, gardening is an adventure and experiment, as well as a learning experience. Only more so this year. I'm hoping for good results and a decent harvest. Nothing is guaranteed, though, especially with the changing climate. 

Hopefulness has to be an ingrained trait of those of us who garden. We're never guaranteed that our seeds will sprout, much less grow into healthy, productive plants. So I keep planting.

Keep on planting.

Seeds

On the Eve of the Winter Solstice I hosted a party for many friends. First we wrote on slips of paper things we did not want to take into the new year, like bad habits, unhelpful thought patterns, etc. Then we threw the papers into a fire. Since it was chilly and everyone was hungry, we hurried inside where I first gave everyone colorful packets of seeds I had collected from my garden during the past couple of years. Most of the packets of native plant seeds were handed out, so what I had left were poppies and black hollyhocks, as well as a few other things.

Winter Solstice through January and early February is a good time to do a bit of winter sowing. Many of the seeds, especially the native plants, germinate better when exposed to winter's freeze-thaw cycles. You can simply toss the seeds onto the soil. I have often done this with poppy seeds.

But if you're planting something you're not familiar with, or want a little more control over where things go, try "milk jug gardening." That way you know what the seedlings are, if your soil is not contaminated with a lot of other seeds.

A decade ago I did a post about this method. Just follow the link and start collecting  clear plastic gallon containers.

And just keep planting seeds -- seeds of Hope. But don't stop there. Hope won't flourish without it's companions. So plant seeds of Peace, seeds of Compassion, seeds of Love, Generosity, Kindness -- you get the idea. 

Don't just scatter these seeds  "out" into the world, like sprinkling fairy dust trying to get other people to change. These things won't grow in the world if we don't first plant and nurture them within ourselves. Peace won't grow in the world if we, ourselves, continue to be violent in words and thoughts. You don't need to punch people to be violent.

Compassion doesn't grow in the world if we continue to be judgemental of others.

Generosity doesn't grow if we do not give of ourselves (being sure we don't over-give, of course.

Take a good like in the mirror, dive deep into yourself. Are you harboring the traits you abhor in others? Could be, just in a different form.

So don't sit there wishing the world "out there" was different. Look inside and discover what changes you must make in yourself. The cliche "Be the Change you want to See" has real meaning. Don't expect others to change if you're not willing to.

Plant the seeds in your own garden first.

Light Returns

I lit the Solstice candle at sunset on Solstice Eve to capture the Light of the old year to keep me
through the Longest Night and extinguished it at sunrise today, as I welcomed the New Sun and 
the new year. 

Light is Returning.

The Winter Solstice, when the Sun reaches its lowest point in the south, occurred this morning. The Sun is now climbing again and daylight hours will grow -- incrementally, yes, but by the end on January the days will be noticeably longer. 

The Moon also reached maximum darkness on Friday, just two days ago. So between the Dark Moon and the moments before the Solstice we were in double darkness.

But now both the Moon and the Sun are on the increase. Light increases doubly, in both day and night.

The Dark Moon and the Solstice are times for release. We let go of that which no longer serves us, or perhaps never did serve. Last night I held a gathering of friends and we released such things into a fire, asking the Fire to take them and transform them into light. Old habits, old thought patterns, fears, doubts, insecurity were tossed into the fire. We released our hold on old relationships, old ways of living that no longer have purpose in our lives. The fire took these offerings and the smoke carried our wishes and prayers to the Stars.

Light is returning.

As the Moon begins to grow, as the new Sun rises on Solstice morning, we plant seeds of what we wish to bring into our lives -- Joy, Inner Peace, Health, Love, Compassion, new, beneficial habits and ways of viewing the world...

So I gave everyone literal seeds. I had collected these seeds myself from my old gardens -- last year mostly. I created little packets and stuffed them with the seeds for my guests to plant and bring in good things, manifest their wishes as the Light grows.

Light is Returning.

Let us plant seeds of Love with Compassion. Let us plant seeds of Joy with Love. Let us plant seeds of Compassion with Peace and seeds of Peace with Joy.

I honor the Dark, for that is where these seeds will sleep and germinate, in the darkness of soil. We find rest and renewal in the Dark. Dreams and Wishes germinate in the darkness of our inner world. Gestation occurs in darkness. The Dark has its purpose, so I honor it.

The tiny plant inside the seed must first crack the seed coat. That might be quick and easy, or it might take some time. I sometimes feel that a hard seed coat is between me and what I long for. However, that simply means it's not yet time. The seed needs the right amount of moisture, the right temperature. Sometimes it requires abrasion of the coat within the gut of a bird, or to go through a series of freezes and thaws before it can germinate and grow. That might mean we don't just wait for the right nourishment, but we must go through challenges before our wishes are ready to sprout.

Whatever is needed will come if we remain true to our vision.

What is your Vision?

What is your Wish?

What is your Dream?

Plant the Seed now.

Light is Returning.

Abundance

 Purslane grew all over my garden this summer -- huge, succulent plants. I plucked the tender growing tips a few at a time to toss into my salads. It is a highly nutritious "weed" as it is one of the few plant sources of Omega 3 fatty acids, which are great for moderating inflammation, among other benefits. One of the main reasons people take fish oil supplements is to get their Omega 3s.

The amount of Omega 3 fatty acids in purslane does not match the level in fish oil. You'd probably have to eat the entire large basket full of purslane pictured above to get one day's worth, but getting nutrients from various sources is always good. Besides, purslane is a free food that grows in your garden without you have to do anything, except not pull it. 

Purslane always grows in my garden, but i have never seen it in such abundance nor such huge plants. I wanted to find some way to preserve it for future use. Of course, I turned to online resources, as well as the book "Just Weeds." 

One recommendation was to dehydrate it, pack it in and air-tight jar, and later grind it into powder to add to food to boost nutrition. Purslane has very little flavor of its own, so it's a great way to add nutrition without compromising the flavor of the dish. Plus enough of it can serve as a thickening agent if the sauce is a bit thin. (So can dehydrated and ground okra.)

But I wanted to do something else, as well.

Why not ferment it.

I packed six- to eight-inch lengths of tender stems into a jar, added peppercorns, garlic and Thai chiles, maybe some ginger, I forget. Then I cover the purslane with brine (3 tablespoons un-iodized salt to 1 quart water) and set a jar full of water small enough to fit in the mouth of the jar without getting stuck to weight the plant material down so it remains covered wit the brine. (A critical key to brine fermentation is to keep the plant material submerged.)

A week or more later I capped it tightly and stuck it in the refrigerator.

I am delighted with the result. It reminds me of seaweed, not the dried sheets you buy, but miniature live seaweed. (I know, it's not pretty, but it's tasty and nutritious.)

I particularly like eating it as a side to Asian inspired dishes. Brine fermentation works for all sorts of vegetables, from the common cucumber to mixed wild greens. One of my favorites is winter radishes and purple daikon radishes. Red radishes stain the brine red and are gorgeous. 

Purslane is related to some pretty garden flowers, such as moss rose, and is one of the many "weeds" that are good food, often more nutritious than our cultivated fare. Next time purslane pops up in your garden, don't curse it, eat it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbZ866s59M4

Perspectives

 Life requires me to make numerous adjustments these days, from changing the flow of preparing meals, to taking a different turn when coming home from town, to changing the place for my morning "prayers."

This tumble of rocks, likely excavated when the house was built, has become the site of my morning meditation. At first glance it seems like a weedy spot full of horse nettle, hemp dogbane, spurge, wild prickly lettuce, snow on the mountain, and other "weeds" I've forgotten the names of.

But I've come to love the semi-wildness of this spot that contains iris, as well as weeds, among the large stones. And who wouldn't love the beauty of Snow on the Mountain (Euphorbia marginata)? It shines here and there among the other "weeds", and stones, brilliant in the morning sun, the most showy thing blooming here.  The prickly lettuce and horse nettle are doing their best, but cannot compete.

It has made this spot a beautiful place. This tumble of stones has become sacred in the semi-wildness next to a large Eastern red cedar and other trees. It looks out over the horse pasture with a backdrop of a mostly oak woods.

In its semi-wild state, this pile of rocks seems liminal, an edge, a perfect place for my daily meditations, when I seek the edge. 

When I first looked over this spot I wanted to pull the weeds, to tidy it up... but now I think not. That would spoil its aura.

Besides, if I pulled the Snow on the Mountain, and other blooming weeds what would the butterflies drink from?

Silver spotted skipper having breakfast

Transitions

 

Last month the Western Salsify (aka Goat's Beard, Tragopogon dubius) went through its changes, making the transition from flower bud to full blown seed head. In this photo the seed head is somewhat bedraggled from a recent rain. Otherwise, they look like giant dandelion seed heads. The flower bud is difficult to see here so I've circled it in the picture to the right. 

Salsify was introduced to the US by immigrants from Europe and Eurasia a long time ago because it is a food plant. Since then it naturalized and has come to be seen as a weed. The supposed flavor of its thick tap root became the origin of one of its common names, Oyster Plant. The whole plant is edible, from the grass like young leaves of the first year form of this biennial, to the stalks and seeds.

I haven't eaten salsify... most of the plants I've seen are growing alongside my driveway and would be extremely difficult to dig. Since they're growing in tall grass, I can't see the first-year forms. Last year I gathered seed to plant in a garden at some point, so it has cushy soil in which to grow large, straight roots, and in which I can find the grass-like first-year plants. Maybe next year.

The salsify has completed its journey from bud to seed, and now scatters its progeny in the wind. The year transitions from mid-summer's fresh, floriferous growth into late summers yellowing. Yellow flowers, like the grayhead coneflower, and the white umbels of wild carrot (Queen Anne's Lace) predominate now.

My husband and I also are in transition. This process has taken more than a year, so far. While one phase of it is coming to a close, we have no idea when the process will end. Of course, all of life is a transition from one state to another. Some are just bigger than others.

And this is a huge change. More than a year ago, we started discussing selling our rights to Spirit Bird Farm and down-sizing a bit. We'll still want a large garden, but this place requires more work than we are able to give it without wearing ourselves down. My husband received a cancer diagnosis five years ago. Treatment and his aggressive self-care methods have kept it in check. He is strong and healthy, but has no guarantees. 

A couple of years ago, my husband (a retired Functional Medicine physician) noticed that my cognition had significantly declined, which started me on my own aggressive healing path (after significant resistance and foot-dragging on my part). It has worked to bring my cognition back, but I have to remain on this path for the rest of my life to maintain it. My self-care  requires two or more hours a day, when done to its full extent, taking that time away from other work. Spring of last year was difficult for me. The spring planting and tending felt overwhelming. 

So, when my husband suggested we consider selling, the conversation went much differently than other times in the past. I immediately agreed. I was exhausted. Of course, we went back and forth with that decision, crafting different scenarios that would allow us to stay. But those all seemed like plans we should have set in motion years sooner. 

In late winter we started purging in earnest, donating, selling, giving away a lot (I mean A LOT) of stuff collecting over the past 18 years, some of which we each brought to the household from our previous lives. Fortunately, some friends and neighbors are currently building their homestead while we are taking ours down, so they took a good bit. The purge was sometimes painful for me, as I gave away a number of things I didn't want to let go of. I kept some things that I probably will later release, however, as the pain of too much releasing at once subsides.

Finally, we felt ready to go through the selling process. Our real estate agent told us we were past the prime market season, but we couldn't get ready any sooner. On Monday last week the listing went "live." That evening a younger couple came to view the place. They were still here when we returned after being gone for the requisite hour. We liked them and felt that we would rest easy if they became stewards of this place. 

The next morning I asked the land if it had called in these people to take over its care. The answer was a phone call from our agent saying that they had made an offer so "clean" he could find no reason not to accept. And so we soon will come to the end of the first phase of our big transition. 

I went through enormous grief during the first months after our decision. I cried many tears. Now, when I walk through the garden and along the perimeter, all I feel is Love... Love and Peace, and relief. I look forward to having breathing space, to being able to take up pastimes I've had no time for in recent years. Living in our neighbor's basement will require a significant adjustment. I will miss many things about living here, especially all of the group saunas we've hosted, during which we developed deep friendships.

We're floating in freefall at the moment, with no certain plan, but many possibilities. 

And it feels good.

Berry Experience

 

Two days ago, when I went out to greet the rising Sun, I picked the first ripe strawberry of the season. I was still in my morning garb, coffee mug in hand, singing to the Sun and trees. I did not carry it inside to wait until breakfast, I did not run to get my camera... I ate it, right there in the garden, beneath the brilliant morning Sun, as the birds sang their wakeup songs.

It was gloriously delicious. 

The best way to eat food is while standing in the garden. The best way to experience life is face-to-face, not through a camera lens. The best way to experience the garden is barefoot. (The above photo was taken later in the day, just so I'd have one for this post.)

Today I picked many more ripened strawberries, enough for breakfast today and tomorrow. They were magnificent.

I hope to have many more such experiences in future years, wherever we finally settle. Food you've grown eaten right away in the garden is the best way to experience food. Berries, apples, tomatoes... still warm from the sun. These are the sweetest. When harvesting sugar snap peas, I eat many right off the vine, at their freshest. The sweetest. It also brings back memories of when my siblings and I would sit in the garden picking peas, opening the pods, and eating them right there. We were happy. Mom was happy because she didn't have to shell the peas.

About 10 years ago, when three of our grandchildren spent the weekend with us, I took them to the garden to pick blueberries. They had fun, and so did I. When we were done, the oldest one said, "This was the most fun, ever!"

Give your children/grandchildren the experience of eating food right from the garden. Just wipe off the dirt and let them eat it. The microorganisms are good for their bellies. And feed the child in you  by having "the most fun ever" picking fresh food and eating it.

Food and fun go together hand in hand.