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They Followed Me Home, I Swear
Viola and Madge How many times do you go to the store for a couple of items and come back with a bag full? Too often for me. Yet, I persist in shopping. I went to the feed store for chicken scratch, and came back with new friends.
Madge's bad eye. She can find her food pretty well, though! These are two Rhode Island Red hens, about a year old, who had been victimized to the point of injury by sister hens. Too many birds in a small holding pen will do that, plus the whole pecking order thing. Most of us are familiar with that from living through middle school.
Viola's limp isn't this bad; she's just being dramatic for the camera. The larger bird is blind in the right eye. Her name is Madge (she looks like a Madge!). The smaller girl has a limpy leg, and her name is Viola (Twelfth Night). (Have you ever really looked at the word twelfth? I spelled it phonetically as twelph, and knew it was wrong but then had a hard time figuring the real spelling out after seeing it. Sorry… digression). Both are missing a lot of feathers in various places. These two were in a cage by themselves, and get along famously. The poor dears each laid an egg in the cardboard box in which they were transported.
A surprise in the box. Poor girls! I’ve put them in Emerson’s old run (oh, and his price has gone down to $15 and the warning sign is off his pen) until I can build the Hen House of my Dreams.
Temporary shelter in Emerson's cage. My other three girls, Lark, Chickpea and Miss Amelia are a happy trio and I don’t want to upset the apple cart, nor have the newbies subjected to pecking order again.
Lark (getting a bit fat) with Chickpea and Miss Ameila. I bought this fantastic chicken house some months ago, thinking it would be a warm spot for my three hens (wasn’t that a TV show? It should be one!) but they rejected it wholeheartedly. My girls are used to more space. I figured this pen would be good for some smaller breed. I’ve been looking for frizzle hens, but no one seems to have them. If I order from a hatchery it is straight run, which means unsexed chicks, and I don’t want to do the rooster thing again.
The Quail House. I’d like to establish California quail on the property, but since they are the state bird it is illegal to farm them here. Hatcheries in other states will send eggs, but at this moment I don’t have the time to care for eggs (and I’m too heavy to sit on them, although I do get broody a lot). I contacted Project Wildlife for rehabilitated quail for release, but they release within three miles of where the animals were found, which is an excellent policy. I’ve posted on Craigslist for both frizzle hens and Ca. quail, but no responses yet.
The quail that is commonly sold is the coturnix. These are Japanese quail. Because of their looks they are also called Egyptian quail, Pharaoh quail, and other names. They are less nervous than Bobwhite or button quail, they don’t fly up a lot so they don’t bang their heads on the top of the cage. They lay delightful brown speckled eggs. The feed store had a new shipment in, and they weren’t just selling pairs, so I bought three beautiful little girls, about six months old.
Saki. Very contempletive. My daughter did a quick and imaginative search for names and came up with a lot of really good ones. With a nod to the breed’s origin and alternative names, the dark brown one is called Saki, short for sakura which is Japanese cherry, rice wine, or also short for the Sakkara, which is an Egyptian city of temples. Covers all bases there. The mostly white one is called Benu, which is an Egyptian bird god you can read about here: http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/articles/ancient_egypt/the_benu_bird.asp . The light brown one, incongruously, is named after Agatha Christie’s character Miss Felicity Lemon, most notably played by Pauline Moran in the Poirot television series. It was too good a name not to use, although rather long for such a handful of a bird.
Benu in the back, and Miss Felicity Lemon in the front. The quail don’t have much personality as yet. Of course, they had been raised crammed in cages with many other birds, shipped through the mail service, then moved to another cage with many other birds. They had arrived at the store on Sunday. These three are settling in slowly, enjoying the personal space and the tall weeds that have grown inside the coop (it is bottomless). After all the strange sounds and smells become commonplace, they’re personalities will emerge. They don’t scare or fly when approached, but hunker down in a fatalistic “this is my last moment on earth” kind of way. Already they are showing more hope in small ways as they react to my voice. I put them upstairs in the coop last night, but they were down again this morning. Their cage has handles so it can be moved when they’ve thoroughly manured that area. (There, I’ve said the ‘m’ word again!).
The RIR's eggs are on the left. Americauna and Silver Wyondotte on right. So more beaks to feed. At least I’m staying away from the Fallbrook Animal Sanctuary, at least for awhile. General Mischief and Sophie are too old for a new dog, and I certainly don’t need any more cats.
Of course, the llamas at the feeds store, and those really cute guinea pigs, could really use a home….
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Harry Mud Has a New Look
Harry Mud with his bald pate This morning a Meetup was held at my property (Finch Frolic) for the San Diego Permaculture group (http://www.meetup.com/SanDiegoPermaculture/ ). The agenda was to tour the garden and build the second layer – the insulation layer – on Harry Mud, the cob (earthen) oven begun at a similar Meetup last July. There are three installments posted on my blog; you can search for cob oven, or read about the third installment here: http://www.vegetariat.com/2011/07/cob-oven-3/ ) (sorry, I can’t seem to get the hyperlink to work).
During all this time Harry has patiently sat under his tarp awaiting a second layer. Today was his day.
One of the reasons I wanted to work on Harry is that my garden will be on the Association of University Women’s garden tour on May 12th (OMG! Only four weeks away!!!). I’m hoping to inspire a lot of people to research permaculture for their own properties, and to show off earthen building. Harry will be a star.
With 29 people signed up to come today and projected rainshowers, I scrambled a bit to make sure there would be cobbing opportunities for all. However about 15 people toured, the weather although windy was dry and beautiful, and all goals were accomplished. Hopefully everyone came away with what they wanted to hear about, and not so much dog poo on their shoes.
A dirt and straw pedicure. Although I enjoy speaking with groups of people, the drawback is that I don’t have the chance to speak with individuals and find out their stories or learn from them. Everyone has wells of experience and tidbits of knowledge (or buckets full!), and you never know how your life can change with just a passing comment or chance encounter.
Anyway, many of us had mud manicures and pedicures, the group dwindled, and Harry became even more handsome, if that is even possible. Three intrepid souls stayed for Harry’ First Fire, and we lunched and chatted about all kinds of interesting topics, such as communication between plants. It was a good day. Now that I’ve soaked the mud off of myself in a hot bath with epsom salts, I’ll show you what went on.
Sifted soil in wheelbarrow being resifted through smaller mesh. To create the insulation layer, we sifted dirt through two progressively smaller screens.
Screening dirt. That was mixed with water and a lot of straw, which took a lot of time but was fun.
Fancy cob footwork. Cob is a community event. That cob mixture was formed in a four-inch layer around Harry.
Harry looks as if he's going bald, but he's actually getting a straw afro! Just in case all 29 people showed up, I had prepared an extra cob project. I thought a work table next to the oven would be a good idea, so stacked two old tires, topped by a tire with the wheel still in there. These had been part of the fill on my property when I moved in 13 years ago. Two intrepid permaculturalists then filled the inside with rubble (small bits of urbanite left over from walls) and sand left over from Harry Mud. A piece of wood was propped in the center to hold the top in place. At some point the entire thing will be cobbed.
Filling stacked tires with cement rubble and sand for future cob table. Harry’s First Fire was set. Handsome, isn’t he?
Harry Mud, all fired up! He is a little thicker towards the bottom (I know how he feels!) because the mixture slumps a little, but he’s thick enough all over to insulate well. Harry will eventually receive a slip coating on the outside, which will help protect the insulation layer and be decorative. The urbanite base will be covered as well. I’d like a shade structure over the area, built out of the shed leftovers of which I have plenty. Harry will have to be protected from rain by a tarp as usual.
Thank you everyone who helped out!
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Emerson and the Frizzle
Emerson in Rooster Row Do you remember Emerson, the hen that turned into a rooster? (Read about it here: http://www.vegetariat.com/2011/07/segregating-rooster-building-bachelors-quarters-pvc/ ). To review, last year we chose several breeds of chicks, all of which were supposed to have been pullets (females, rather than cockerels). My daughter chose the smallest Rhode Island Red chick, knowing that she would grow to be one of the larger hens and not wanting her to be a bully. That adorable chick turned into Emerson, a huge, handsome rooster. And vicious. After growing up as a pet, as soon as his hormones kicked in he became a nasty attack rooster, flying up to try for our faces, hitting us with his wings (they really are strong and it hurts!), and practicing with his feet for when his spurs grew in. Since we didn’t want fertile eggs, Emerson lived a life of frustrated celibacy next to the girls. I’d asked around at feed stores if they wanted him, but no one did and they said they’d eat him or just kill him. Until a month ago when on a visit to the Vista Country Feed Store I asked again, and they wanted him! They had about thirty one-year-old Rhode Island Red hens they were going to throw him in with. Sorry ladies!
Getting Emerson out of his pen and into a dog carrier was hazardous and scary. My daughter used strawberry on a string as a lure, but darn him, he just wouldn’t step into the box. We tried for almost an hour. Then Jacob came to work on the ponds, and volunteered his services. He said he thought it would be fun! Using his jacket and sheer determination, he captured Emerson without injury to anyone. Amazing!
At the feed store a pen in a line of pens was made available for Emerson. He was temporarily in Rooster Alley. There was a Polish rooster, with the funny head feathers, and a couple of others, all of whom Emerson tried to challenge through the wire. Testosterone Central.
And then there was the frizzle rooster.
Mr. Frizzle and the Forward Feathers I saw the frizzle rooster there last year, after someone had dumped him there. He strutted around crowing and posturing, with his curly feathers and diminutive size. I fell in love. He was funny all over.
Mr. Frizzle Means Business. He Really Does. Everything he did was funny, although it was all rooster behaviour. Well this year he was still there, and apparently had been turned out of his pen for Emerson.
Mr. Frizzle Takes Time Out From Attacking Emerson To Pose For Video. That didn’t make him back down, though! That little guy challenged Emerson through the pen.
"If only this wire wasn't here I'd show YOU who is bigger!" What was truly hilarious was that after he’d crow, he’d breathe in air while still making sound, like a wheeze or a deflated bagpipes. Listen carefully on his last crow; you can see him (with Emerson) here: http://youtu.be/ivtpeHfOSDM . Thanks to my daughter for the video. Happy Days, Emerson! And much love Mr. Frizzle!
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What To Do With Grapefruit
Grapefruit, all grown up. Every once in awhile someone gives me a grapefruit. One or two a year are just about all I can eat. Its not that I don’t like grapefruit. I certainly respect it. It is high is vitamin C and is supposed to be a good diet food. I think that is probably because it is so sour and bitter – even the pink kind – that you can’t taste anything else for hours after eating one.
Bare naked grapefruit. My mother would serve us grapefruit halves. She had a set of grapefruit spoons I always coveted that had serrated edges, but they disappeared at some point and I’ve never seen any like them. The sharp edges would allow you to dig out the grapefruit sections without actually arm-wrestling with the fruit. She’d also often ‘section’ the halves, using a paring knife to cut each section free so that all we had to do was scoop them out. She left little reason for us to not eat them. Of course, not eating my mother’s cooking was unheard of anyway.
If you section the grapefruit first, you could probably get more whiskey in there. To make grapefruit much more appealing, she would doctor it up with brown sugar, whiskey and then broil it and serve it warm. Wow did that ever improve the taste! Since grapefruits are making the rounds right now, and no one else I’ve spoken with seems to have heard of this method of serving them (their ears sure perk up when I tell them, though!), I thought I’d do everyone a favor and print the recipe. The Grapefruit Diet suddenly doesn’t look so bleak.
Broiled GrapefruitAuthor: Diane C. KennedyRecipe type: SidePrep time:Cook time:Total time:Serves: 2This method of preparing grapefruit I learned from my mother, Beth Cywar, a fabulous cook and a nutritionist before her time. She also believed that food wouldn't do anyone any good if they wouldn't eat it.Ingredients- One grapefruit, cut in half widthwise.
- 1 - 2 teaspoons brown sugar
- 1 - 2 teaspoons whiskey
- A few fresh or dried berries (optional)
Instructions- You may section the grapefruit or not; your choice. Sectioning would probably allow more whiskey to seep in, and would be a little easier to eat, but it is optional.
- Place halves on foil or an oven-proof dish, or on a broiler pan.
- Start the broiler. A toaster oven works great.
- Sprinkle the grapefruit halves with the brown sugar.
- Slowly drizzle the whiskey over the halves.
- Broil until warm and slightly brown and sizzling, about ten minutes.
- Adorn with fresh or dried fruit, or if you want to be retro, a marashino cherry, and serve.
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Passionfruit Curd
Passionfruit curd. Yum. Rather than post photos of the rabbits eating my vegetables,
or other Eastery things, I thought I’d put in a recipe that is rather exotic. If you have a passionfruit vine (the ones that produce edible fruit) you may be inundated with the fruit about now. Also the flowers were named passionflowers because of the Christian symbolism read into the shape of the flowers. I always wondered about this, but I figured that faced with ‘heathens’ who ate this aromatic, voluptuous and kind of sexy fruit, some Christian missionaries decided to put the stamp of Christianity onto the plant rather than try to ban its consumption. That’s just my theory, of course, but it makes sense. Therefore a post on passionfruit for the passion of Christ on Easter. Yep, I’m stretching it, but you’ll like the recipe.
Anyway, passionvines have abundant growth (as I mentioned in my post about building a trellis for them http://www.vegetariat.com/2012/03/questionable-carpentry/).
Gorgeous flowers. There are many colors of flowers of both the ornamental and edulis varieties. The flower has a tiny fruit all ready to go and awaiting some friendly bee to come rub herself all over the anthers and stamens (the missionaries are shuddering) and pollinate.
Looks like the fruit is wearing an Easter bonnet! Kind of. Okay, it doesn't. The fruit grows as the flower fades. There is some mother-child allusion somewhere in there but you’ll have to go there yourself.
A developing passionfruit. When the fruit is ready to fall, a good shake of the vines will make them come down. Usually they are still smooth-skinned at this point. You want to wait until the fruit starts to wrinkle before it is sweet, ripe and ready. (I’ll not touch that one at all.)
The fruit falls off still smooth... wait until it wrinkles to use Don’t eat the skin, but cut the fruit in half. Many people like to eat the seeds as well as the pulp. I’m not one of them, and neither is my daughter who very patiently sieved the insides of about 80 passionfruit to obtain the juice. I like to add the juice to tangerine juice for breakfast. We’ve also successfully made a hedonistic passionfruit ice cream that was stupendous. This time we decided to make passionfruit curd.
Wait until they're wrinkly, then scoop out the insides. I’ve posted already on how to make lemon curd (http://www.vegetariat.com/2011/03/when-life-gives-you-lemons-make-lemon-curd/). (You’re wondering, what is UP with this woman and curd, anyway?). The passionfruit curd is slightly different, but yet has that nice bite to it that doesn’t make it too sweet. I thought this curd came out tasting a little eggy, but I believe that is because we used eggs from our own spoiled hens, which have a definate healthy flavor to them. The eggs, not the hens (that we know of, nor will we find out). It was all okay, though.
Scoop and strain. We made two half-pints, and I didn’t ‘can’ them. However you may sterilize the jars and lids, add the hot curd, and give them a 15 minute hot water bath and the curd will last for months. I still refrigerate it, just to be on the safe side.
I found the original recipe in Nigella Lawson’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess. She stirs some passionfruit seeds back into the curd, which looks nice (if you like the fish egg look to your food) and can certainly be done for all of you who enjoy the seeds. I like my curd seedless. On scones. With mascarpone cheese. Mmmm.
Happy Easter!
Passionfruit CurdAuthor: Diane C. KennedyRecipe type: SpreadPrep time:Cook time:Total time:This wonderful spread based on Nigella Lawson's recipe can be used to top baked goods, put in a pie shell, in a jelly roll cake, or used any way you would lemon curd, jam or jelly. It makes an exotic gift, too!Ingredients- 12 passionfruit
- 2 large eggs
- 2 large egg yolks
- ½ cup granulated sugar (superfine if you have it)
- 8 tablespoons unsalted (good quality) butter
- 2 sterilized ½ pint jars
Instructions- Cut the passionfruit in half and scoop out the insides into a sieve.
- With a spoon, strain the juice into a measuring cup. You should have about 10 tablespoons, or a scant ⅔ cup of juice. If you'd like seeds in the curd, reserve the pulp of the 12th one instead of straining it.
- In a bowl beat the eggs, yolks and sugar together.
- In a saucepan, melt the butter over low heat.
- Stirring continuously, add the passionfruit juice and then the sugar mixture, being careful not to cook the egg.
- Keep cooking and stirring until the mixture thickens, about five minutes. It should coat the back of the spoon.
- Take the pan off the heat. If you have reserved the pulp of that one last fruit, here is where you whisk it into the mixture.
- Pour the curd into the jars and seal.
- Store in refrigerator. Try it on scones with mascarpone cheese. Really. I mean it.
- Makes two half-pint jars full, about 1¾ cups.
- Gardening adventures, Humor, Permaculture and Edible Forest Gardening Adventures, Rain Catching, Soil
Seven Hundred Gallons of Cooties
That's a lot of tea. One of the amazing and useful things I learned in my Permaculture Design Course was how to brew microbes in a bucket. Yes, I know, most women like champagne and jewelry. I like compost and worms. Whatever. Microbes are the microscopic creatures that make dirt into soil. By brewing a microbial tea you can so supersaturate the water with microbes that giving your plants just a small drink of it will greatly improve their health. That is because microbes eat plant litter and other decaying things and make available (and by ‘make available’ I mean ‘poop out’.) (Sorry.) more of the nutrients such as minerals that can be locked in the soil. Adding microbes to poor soil is a good thing.
Fish tank water, paint strainer and aerator: tools for microbial brewing. To make a microbial brew, you put good compost in a mesh bag such as a paint strainer or layers of cheesecloth. Obtaining compost from various sources gives you a good mix of microbes because not all the same microbes live in all soils. Suspend this bag in a five-gallon bucket of water, add a little organic molasses for the microbes to eat (like sugar to yeast), and if you want other soil additives such as rock sulphate, blood or bone meal, etc. I used water from my fish tank. Then you oxygenate the water with a fish tank aerator. After thirteen hours the microbes will have reproduced to a maximum capacity and the brewing is finished. You should use the brew within a few hours.
I'm not sure what made it foam, but it looked more like a brew. So, I did this a couple of times last Fall. Meanwhile, Jacob, who still maintains the Aquascape projects and volunteers some time here, managed to have donated to me a 700-gallon tank. It had been used for organic fertilizer.
The tank. The target: under the balcony. Jacob brought it over in his pick-up, and with the building of an impromptu scaffold he, my daughter and I (but mostly him) rolled it into place by my garage without damaging the propane tank or each other. Then he re-routed a rain gutter from my paltry 50-gallon rain barrel into the 700-gallon tank.
Trying not to crush the propane tank. The tank filled after a few rains, and I used most of the water recently between rains. Then the last two rains filled it to the top. Jacob, who is into aquatic microbes with which to balance natural ponds, microbes being referred to as ‘cooties’, suggested turning the entire tank into a cootie-brewing container. That way I’d not just be watering the plants, I’d be giving them a microbial smoothie. A cootie cocktail.
The tank, full of rainwater from the gutter, becoming a microbe farm. Always up for doing the improbable, I filled a paint strainer with some fine samples of soil from several long-established areas of my yard, and suspended it inside the tank. In went an entire bottle of molasses, which is a drop in the bucket, so to speak. Then in went my little fish tank aerator, quivering in fear at the impossible task of aerating 700-gallons of water. I took a water sample and then plugged the thing in. That was a few days ago. I have no idea how well the microbes are brewing, since the aerator is barely stirring the water. The water has turned brownish, which I take to be a good sign. The warmer temperature is perfect for the little guys; springtime for microbes. I think I may have a microscope left over from my older brothers – circa 1950-something – in the garage somewhere, with which I can compare water samples to see if anything is happening. I figure, even if it isn’t, there is no harm done, and even if some microbes have flourished the water has improved.
The aerator down inside the now-brownish cootie water. There are many quips I can make about this whole project. For instance, here are several million pets I don’t have to take to the vets. Or, I really love to cook, and since I enjoy making soup this project is a natural. However I just think the whole idea of making 700 gallons of microbial tea is so funny that no matter how the project ends up, I think the laugh is worth it. If I can’t do something bizarre, it isn’t worth doing!
Microbes are amazing, aren’t they?
And so are tadpoles, which are thriving not unlike microbes, but in my pond. (A belated happy April Fools.)
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The Duck Boathouse
Mallards in the pond Our large pond has been attracting many waterbirds. We’ve seen mallards, widgeon, shovelers, snowy egrets, greater egrets, green heron, great blue heron, plus fishers such as phoebes and a kingfisher. In fact one mallard couple has become brave enough to waddle near when I feed the chickens. I throw a little scratch out, and the ducks snack on that along with the grasses. The male, who my daughter dubbed John Drake after the Secret Agent Man series main character, stands nearby and scolds me for not throwing out scratch on demand.
Since the garden plants are within their first year they haven’t grown in. I thought how great it would be to continue providing habitat by having a duck nesting box. I began to search online but the ones I saw were incredibly expensive for what amounts to just a box. You could place them on shore, but they would be within reach of predators. Or you could connect them to a pole sunk into the pond.
The front, with aquatic iris in front of the entrance. I broached Jacob with the subject and he was enthused, so he built one entirely out of scrap materials. I had a length of 4-inch PVC pipe with caps on the ends, which had come with the house. He used this as plastic pontoons for support. He tied on the side of a crib, built a little house out of a lightweight wooden crate I’d brought home that day which had transported potted plants, and dug up some of the plants already in the ponds to use as camouflage. The plants will live with their roots trailing in and helping clean the water. What came of all these recycled materials is just the cutest duck boathouse nesting box ever, I’m sure. I haven’t seen the female mallard for a few days, so she may be sitting on a nest elsewhere. I hope that a duck does enjoy the house, and if not, it is very fun to look at and is helping clean the water as it floats. What fun!
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How Desserts Lose Calories: My Theory
After years of careful scientific research, I have discovered that food can lose its caloric content under certain conditions. I’m not talking about after you eat half of it, either. This thesis, which I firmly hold to be true, gives a little break to all of us who gain weight if we even see a drawing of a donut. Here it is:
High calorie foods, such as cakes, cookies, ice cream, pastries, pies… you get the picture… lose caloric content when:
They are dropped on the floor.
When they are stale.
When they are given to you by someone who doesn’t want them.
When left over.
When eaten from the container.
When slightly burnt.
When overcooked (different from being burnt).
When eaten reluctantly (food guests force on you and you have to eat some to be polite).
When someone who is a bad or indifferent cook makes them.
After the cat has sniffed them.
When reduced to crumbs in a pocket/purse/backpack.
When eaten other than in their native environment (i.e., ice cream on a cold day, pie in the garden, batter-dipped cheesecake-onna-stick at the fair. No, wait, that is its natural environment!).
When eaten onna-stick, unless they are supposed to be onna-stick, such as ice cream bars.
When eaten with an unusual complimentary food (donuts and Corona) (something about food combining, like making a whole protein).
When taken medicinally.
When washed down with a diet drink.
When eaten en masse at one sitting (like the heavenly cranberry biscotti my wonderful neighbor makes every Christmas. They are MINE.)
When eaten with a plain green salad (they cancel each other out). (If you add sprouts to the salad, you can have seconds on the cake.)
When eaten instead of a regular meal.
Of course, this theory doesn’t work if you plan to do any of the aforementioned. You can’t drop a cookie deliberately and then eat it (ten second rule or no) and expect calories to break off and go skidding around the floor. This works only when you forget to set the oven timer and the brownies come out dry, but you eat them anyway. Or if you are laying kitchen tile and someone brings donuts and someone else brings a six-pack. So what it comes to is this: there is a reward for clumsiness and forgetfulness. We should embrace and reward our faults. With sugar.
I hope this theory aids you in your diet. If you have any corroborating evidence of your own, please comment. Someday I’ll write a paper on my findings and send it to medical journals. Won’t they be surprised!
- Gardening adventures, Heirloom Plants, Permaculture and Edible Forest Gardening Adventures, Ponds, Soil
Finishing Flagstone
The task this morning: move and place flagstone and dirt. Today I finished cleaning up the disaster that I made when I dug out my upper pond (see Reponding). There have been piles of dirt, stacks of flagstones and rocks, and mess everywhere for two months too many. The reponding project is still not a complete success as the decomposed granite mixed with clay soil allows seepage in the pond. I have to keep filling it up, but at least it is with well water, and eventually I believe it will seal.
My faithful hound growing bored waiting for me past the heirloom daffodils. I didn’t want or need the same flagstone surround that I previously had holding down and covering the pond liner. I wanted a more natural look, but yet I had all this flagstone! So I completed the walkway around the pond, adding some overhanging flagstone under which the Pacific Chorus frogs may hide. One jumped out indignantly when I moved a rock. I did a little planting, and Jacob began to plant aquatic plants now that the season is beginning and transplants are possible. I found that the pond was full of mosquito larvae, and much to my surprise and joy, tadpoles! More mosquito fish were added. They are now lolling around groaning and holding their fishy stomachs with all the larvae they have (and still have to) eat.
Moist soil and a tangle of flowers and weeds... magical. I made flagstone stairs through the overgrown embankment, for access to the bird feeders. The grass, borage, daffodils, weeds and wildflowers are so dense in there that as I was kneeling in the moist dark soil I felt as if I were in a Beatrix Potter book, or some other English garden story. It was magical and redolent of springtime.
A pathway up through an English children's story. When I finally placed or stored all the flagstone, I had great piles of dirt to contend with. Some I carried in buckets over to the side yard where I’d placed some flagstones. That got old pretty fast. I only carried them full twice, then only filled them 3/4 full for the rest of the trips. My arms are a little longer now. I really didn’t want to haul wagonfulls of dirt down to the lower property again, so I stood and thought about what I could do. Then I spotted leftover scalloped edging bricks and decided to use them and the soil to make another garden bed. Why not? I can always take it out. It sure beat hauling all that dirt out of there this afternoon!
Have extra dirt and edgers? Make a new bed! Finally I was able to plant some herbs and flowers I’d purchased for this area. Violas and violets, two of my favorites! I’ll plant seeds another day. I’m hoping all this newly moved dirt won’t wash into the pond when we have our predicted heavy rain this weekend. Maybe I’ll cover the new beds, just in case.
Violets and violas... big favs. I watered everything in, which caused mud to scum up the newly swept flagstones (grrr!), filled the bird feeders (it is Project Feederwatch count days Thurs. and Fri.), and closed the gate on this project (for now!). Once again, I shall have no trouble getting to sleep, but probably some trouble getting up in the morning!
A touch of flagstone and rock; plants will fill in. 
Finished! -
Questionable Carpentry
A carpenter's nightmare. I’ve said it many times: I can’t build. I envision what I want. I go about the deed full of instructions and positive energy. Somehow during the attempt I go haywire and what I create isn’t what I’d wanted. I am the Cakewrecks of building. Does that stop me? Noooo! Always optimistic, and without a handy carpenter, I seek to build. This time it was a couple of trellises for the two passionvines which had taken over each other, a fence, a pathway, a dead tree, a live tree and a walkway.
The vine mess. I didn’t want to cut the plants back. They were fruiting and the small one was flowering. So I spent hours untangling vines. I finally sorted out the small one. Then I began to be creative. I had all this old bamboo that I had cut from plants at my mother’s house years ago, and it really wanted me to use it. So I wired it together over the fence, going for a creative look that turned out looking more as if a couple had slipped, but no matter! Then I got the idea to put some wire along the fence, behind the vines, so they would have something on which to grasp. That took some interesting maneuvers as the wire curled and clung, as did the vines.
Up, I say, UP! The small passionvine I tied onto the wire and flipped over the bamboo, without doing much damage to the plant, and felt pretty happy about the result.
The little vine looking much happier. Then I looked at the huge, vigorous passionvine which was eating the world, and decided it would be good to make it grow over some trellises that spanned the pathway, and use old wire and wood for the project. (You should be squirming uneasily in your seats about now).
Untangling a broken dead tree from the vines. Now here again, I KNOW what I wanted. I saw it in my mind’s eye. I can do that with cooking, just envision a dish or a taste and I can recreate it. Probably because I can use measuring cups and spoons like a pro.
A crysalis of a Gulf Fritillary butterfly, which lays eggs on passionflowers. Using a measuring tape is another story. It always lies to me. Oh, and I try not to cut wood, because I screw it up so easily. Anyway, I found wood that was pretty equal, nailed on a crosspiece, made a ‘T’ with scraps for the bottom, and found some unrusted wire that would do well.
Strategically placing ladder to hold up post. To make a long story short, leaving out the wrestling with wire, using my head to hold pieces in place, hammering yet more reinforcements onto the bottoms to keep the whole thing from pulling itself down, I managed to get them up and the vines over the top. They aren’t bad looking from a distance. Just don’t get too close. And in the big windstorm that is due Friday, don’t even come onto my block! Who knows where these things will land!
The trellis looks deceptively good... from a distance. Oh, and then glowing with the success and ease of that project (just short term memory loss), I wanted to make a wire walk-through squash thingy. I bought the heavy gauge fencing wire, t-stakes, and measured and remeasured. All looked okay, although the stakes looked a little short (perhaps I should have bought the six-foot rather than four-foot?) until I began playing with the wire.
Dealing with reused wire... trying to get the bends out. As much as I dislike working with wire, I certainly end up tangling with it a lot. I had a 50-foot roll that I wanted to cut in half, so I layed it out on the ground, walking on it to keep it from viciously curling and scraping my back or imprisoning me. I wired one side onto the t-stakes, and then thought they weren’t high enough and found… what else? Old bamboo! On they went to hold the wire. Then I did the opposite side. And at this point the realization that I’d been trying to fight came to me. It did so as the wire, instead of reaching into a graceful dome, sagged so much in the middle that the structure now spelled out a capital letter M. I had bought the wrong gauge wire. It was too floppy to ever make a nice dome.
The Vine Alley. So I did what I usually do when faced with the product of my ineptitude. I took a walk and did something else for awhile. I do this often. Coming back to the M, I thought of making two very slender passageways, but that wouldn’t work. I considered tearing it all down, but I was pretty tired by then and I hadn’t screwed up the placement of the stakes, after all. So I decided to make two parallel vine walls, like a viney alley. No wonderful squash hanging down from overhead, but I’ll get over it. I planted four kinds of viney veggies, and am now getting my mind convinced that walls are what I really wanted anyway. Otherwise, between the viney alley and the wobbly passionvine trellises, this won’t be so much a garden as an amusement park! I also have another overgrown passionvine that needs to grow over a trellis, in a very visable area of the garden. Anyone know a courageous local carpenter?
Sigh. It would have been lovely with a domed top!