Current Inventory of Growing Things

8 pickle cucumbers, with 3 gigantic pickles holding on for more companions.
3 pumpkin vines
1 bronze fennel plant
37 watermelon radish seedlings
7 cantaloup plants
28 banana pepper plants
6 eggplant
2 grapes, one black, one red
9 blackberry/raspberry stalks, I can't remember which is which
7 potato plants
25 corn stalks
27 climber beans
33 tomatillo plants - salsa verde ole!
32 strawberry plants
20 pattypan squash plants
5 bell peppers
29 tomato plants, 3 warding off blight
2 cabbages, loaded with aphids (should be getting rid of those!)
2 blueberries
1 passionfruit vine
11 swiss chard
2 collards, which I grow for the chickens
2 cucumbers
12 onions
1 lemon tree
1 orange tree
uncountable carrots, probably need thinning
mint
sage

At this time, I am watering all by hand, which takes me about one hour daily.  I keep my water bill down by using grey water from the washing machine and bio-eco-friendly laundry soap, but I need to reroute my soaker hoses so I can put them on a timer before the summer heat hits.
Other news is that my hollyhocks finally bloomed in their 2nd year and as soon as my camera battery recharges I will post pictures of their delicate loveliness.  In the meantime, enjoy my favorite rose (the only one that has survived my pitiable rose cultivation skills).  I can smell the fragrance of it just looking at the photo.

I am looking forward to sweating in the kitchen over the canner this summer!

Garden as Church

Everything is growing.  I find this to be a magical thing, although it happens all the time. 

My mother asked me why I don’t go to church and after telling her that it gave me the heebie jeebies, she asked for clarification.  What is it about church that creeps me out?  It’s not the scripture.  I have no problem with the Bible, old, new, Jewish, Christian, Gnostic.  Even the Qu’ran fascinates me.  But I don’t like the sound of someone else’s voice reading it.  Very self-centered, I realize, but I don’t like hearing a voice of God.  If I read it to myself, I can pretend that voice has no sound, which makes sense to me.  Similarly, I don’t like other people in church with me.  Yes, I want to have the whole place to myself, and that just doesn’t happen on Sunday morning.  So I have found a chapel of my own, close by, and full of wonder.

My garden is a humble place, but there are growing things and dying things, and to me that is the clearest evidence of a great design.  The fact that bright flowers emerge from nubs, or that fruits and vegetables peek out, plump up, and, if left to go full cycle, deposit the seeds for the next generation, these are miracles that prove the existence of purpose.   And it is so peaceful.  There are no sounds of someone else’s interpretations.  There is only life, as natural and pure as it gets.  The birds are calling to each other, the chickens are muttering, the branches in the jacaranda are creaking in the wind, and the cars on the road below drive by.  This is real to me.  This place gives me the regeneration and perspective I need to carry on.

Chicken Love

I have sat in my hammock for many hours, wondering how to begin this post.  Why is it that I like my chickens so much?  What is it about these oddly prehistoric, yet completely familiar birds that is so endearing?  Is it because they act like children on Halloween when I bring out a tub of cottage cheese? Is it because they purr when they are happy?  Is it the fluffy butt factor?

I have loved them since we picked them out of the brooding house at the local feed store.  At that point they were balls of downy puff, peeping incessantly, then curling up on top of each other to sleep.  We put them on our laps as we watched TV, and they purred with the warmth.  When they first moved outside, they pecked around and scratched in the dirt and bathed in the sun.  They passed through a few ungainly molting periods in their chicken teens, then emerged as hens, holding their combed and waddled heads as regally as their cousin the peacock.

What really sold me though, was how they greeted me after work.  I have a demanding job, working with preteens that don't yet know who they are or how to express their hormone-driven feelings.  I am daily dealing with unexplainable outbursts, brainless impulses, and bottomless need.  And simultaneously, I am attempting to teach these pre-people about the Ancient Greeks, fractions, and the three paragraph essay.  So, when I come home, I head out to the backyard and let my girls out of the coop.  They flutter out excitedly, peck around my feet, and ask nothing of me.  They let me be in their busy, curious company, an observer of their natural behaviors, as if I were Jane Goodall with the apes.  Quickly and quietly, the chaotic and egocentric world of my students drop away, and I get lulled by their clucking conversation.  It is a gift, to enter the gentle reality of a chicken, a gift given freely.

In the nitty gritty of chicken raising, there is poop, there are flies, and there were the two roosters.  There are eggs; the first egg laid was an example of real-life, biological magic.  There are the coop cleaning days, and the copious amounts of compost produced.  There are missing swiss chard plants and chunks bitten out of my calla lilies.  There is the unattractive chicken wire and bird netting festooned around my plants to protect them.  There are chicken poop stains on my carpet.
But, I love my chickens for what they offer- a glimpse into their birdish world, into the peace of being without bills, jobs, teenage angst, and politics.  The sun is warm, the dirt is fresh, and cottage cheese is just about the best thing ever.

Update May

It will probably prove to be a foolish decision, but I don't have the heart to rip out 4-foot tall tomato plants, so I have left them in with the hopes that the coming dry southern California weather will keep the existing blight from going crazy.  My mushrooms are getting too dry already, so that is a good sign for the tomatoes I think...

On the positive side of things, there's a lot of blossoming going on.  Here are some pics to show the new and soon to be.

We got a mushroom growing kit from FungiPerfecti, and 3 weeks later we have 3 shiitake mushrooms to saute for dinner.  Fascinating creatures, mushrooms...

These leeks were almost as tall as my daughter!  They went into a simple but tasty potato leek soup - Here's to the Welsh side of my family.

With every chance taken...

I know there are millions of bloggers out there.  And yet, to my not-so-logical mind, I thought I would be doing something a little courageous by documenting my gardening/farming exploits.  Sharing something personal in a overly public forum.  And by doing so, I was taking some kind of chance.
What sort of chance do you take when you blog?  The chance that someone will actually read your thoughts and enjoy or hate them?  It is like mingling at a party.  You hate the process but you take the chance because one interaction might spark a good conversation, or possibly a new connection.  But, really, does that ever happen.  Or do you wake up the next morning just wishing to leave the previous night in the distant past?
I started this blog, this chance, with hopes that I may be able to offer inspiration, and it occurs to me that, just like a night of mingling with strangers, there is an equal chance that I will not inspire a soul.
So I take this next step forward for purely selfish reasons, because I like to write.  And because I love my yard.  It will be like a scrapbook of my most ambitious growing season, and will hopefully be inspiration to my aching back to get off the couch and keep battling those aphids and weeds.

Blight Stress

Armstrong Nursery had a tremendous sale this spring, and I stocked up on about $200 dollars worth of plants and supplies for $70.  Included in the bounty, I got 3 tomato plants which have grown 3 feet tall with tons of blooms.   Each day I tour the garden I felt a swelling in my chest, looking at these beautiful plants, and anticipating the tomatoes coming.  Now, my forehead knots with worry as I examine these plants.  They are covered with black spots.
Am I doomed?  Is this the blight of last summer that plagued the east coast?  Here is dry southern Cali, we are not supposed to have fungus problems, and yet, here they are.  Do I spray?  Do I rip them out?  Do I trim them down to the few unspotted leaves and hope they survive?
This is so discouraging.
When I decide what to do, I will post.  When I find out if my decision worked, I will post.