In drought-remediation terms, we're still dry as a bone. But on a day-to-day experiential level, this winter/spring feels exactly as it should: muddy and green and full of life. We are getting rain, and it is wonderful.
After the last storm system moved through, the temperature turned frigid. Then the wind began howling and whistling, as it often does here. How bad is it? Our ill-fitting back door (which we tried to have replaced this winter, but never did thanks to the complete incompetence of a certain expediter at our local Home Depot...we eventually gave up and got our money back) not only let the gusts burst through into our kitchen, but even popped open three times last night. We locked it before bed.
Luckily, I have these:
They're a pair of fingerless mitts made from the hugely popular Fetching pattern by Cheryl Niamath. I lost a lot of stitch definition by making them out of farmspun alpaca* instead of Cashmerino. But they're fantastically springy and snuggly and fuzzy. I also added some bling by trimming them with cuffs of Bellagio copper metallic yarn.
The only thing I would change about them is the picot edging at the finger opening. I can tell it's going to curl and annoy me a little. But after I had the first one done, it was bound off too irrevocably to contemplate undoing it. So I'll live.
Magically, the mitts took less than 100 yards of yarn to make. So I still have more than 200 yards left. I'm thinking skinny scarf, also trimmed with Bellagio.
By the time I get it done, of course, it'll be 90 degrees outside. It's hell being a slow knitter. Good thing I enjoy the process.
* Thanks, mom!
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, November 26, 2007
Gorgeous
Finally, finally, finally, we got some rain today. Real rain. I think we got more than most areas of the state, because the meteorologists on the news were all talking about how this storm system failed to live up to its potential.
Isn't it amazing how quickly plants respond to the first few drops of rain? The lawn greens instantly, and everything seems to put on new growth within minutes. The spinach and arugula I planted near the end of October are starting to look like rows of baby vegetables instead of rows of little green specks.
The weather today was not what it appeared to be. I walked outside expecting a chilly blast, and was greeted instead by a soft puff of warm, humid, rain-scented air. It was 65 degrees, and so pleasant that I lingered unnecessarily in the garden, picking played-out vegetables and feeding them to the eager chickens.
Isn't it amazing how quickly plants respond to the first few drops of rain? The lawn greens instantly, and everything seems to put on new growth within minutes. The spinach and arugula I planted near the end of October are starting to look like rows of baby vegetables instead of rows of little green specks.
The weather today was not what it appeared to be. I walked outside expecting a chilly blast, and was greeted instead by a soft puff of warm, humid, rain-scented air. It was 65 degrees, and so pleasant that I lingered unnecessarily in the garden, picking played-out vegetables and feeding them to the eager chickens.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Temporarily, the ground doesn't go "puff" when you step on it
We had a couple of hours of steady rain during the night. The air smells wonderful, and the red choy sum I'm taking to market today will be unexpectedly crisp. Now, however, we are experiencing such powerful gusting winds that I expect the soil to be turned back into dust within a day.
Apparently these same winds caused heavy damage and injuries in Tennessee. And also, there's no more rain in this week's forecast, which is a problem because we need the equivalent of about five years of English weather to even begin to get us out of the mess we're in. If I were our governor, I'd keep those facts in mind before giving God too much direct responsibility for this weather system.
I sound so cynical--sorry! Hearts, bunnies, unicorns, fuzzy yellow chicks.
Apparently these same winds caused heavy damage and injuries in Tennessee. And also, there's no more rain in this week's forecast, which is a problem because we need the equivalent of about five years of English weather to even begin to get us out of the mess we're in. If I were our governor, I'd keep those facts in mind before giving God too much direct responsibility for this weather system.
I sound so cynical--sorry! Hearts, bunnies, unicorns, fuzzy yellow chicks.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Why September is so much better than August
Late September is prime time for the s.o.'s flower garden. It's close to the road so everyone in town can enjoy it--and indeed, we often get compliments on it. He is always improving it; the goal for next year, I'm told, is "to plant so many perennials that there's no room for weeds." A worthy goal.
And now that the worst of the heat is over, the vegetable garden finally has a chance to revive. These are the very first of the fall produce: a bunch of Jaune D'Or radishes.
The other big plus is that now the nights are cool and foggy. Interesting to drive in sometimes (where IS the road, anyway?), but much easier on the plant life and on the soul.
And now that the worst of the heat is over, the vegetable garden finally has a chance to revive. These are the very first of the fall produce: a bunch of Jaune D'Or radishes.
The other big plus is that now the nights are cool and foggy. Interesting to drive in sometimes (where IS the road, anyway?), but much easier on the plant life and on the soul.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
August is...well, just August
August in Georgia has only one mitigating virtue: that from within it, one can just see autumn on the horizon.
The record-setting three-week heat wave seems to have broken, if you are prepared to accept the idea that a drop from the 105 range into the mid-90s represents the end of a heat wave. The one thing that makes it feel real is that we are getting a few refreshing, life-giving thunderstorms.
I think the heat wave may have killed our tiny nascent farmers' market. For three weeks, because the National Weather Service was rightfully telegraphing DEATH DEATH DEATH about the idea of spending any time outdoors, we were forced to cancel. This week, after enthusiastic e-mails to our customer base, we started up again. But we had only one visitor, and she was one of our vendors. That's what you call a small turnout. People are creatures of habit, and the hiatus undid whatever shopping habits we had managed to inspire.
But believe it or not, we are okay with this turn of events. We've slowly been coming to the realization that (a) our town may not be quite ready for a farmers' market, and (b) there are a lot of new farmers' markets in the area, each with not very many vendors. So we spent our idle hours last night hatching some plans for a tiny, just-us-neighbors gardening collective. One entity; a few back yards. Instead of adding another marginal farmers' market to the fray, we'll team up to take our wares to some of the existing outlets. More on that next year, I think.
Meanwhile, it is still the dog days of summer. L2 and I sat, flushed with plans for World Domination via backyard market gardening (or was it the humidity?), and picked out our seeds for fall planting. I ordered them all last night.
Time to start pulling out spent plants and dreaming of cool leafy things. We'll plant as soon as we can get the beds prepared.
The record-setting three-week heat wave seems to have broken, if you are prepared to accept the idea that a drop from the 105 range into the mid-90s represents the end of a heat wave. The one thing that makes it feel real is that we are getting a few refreshing, life-giving thunderstorms.
I think the heat wave may have killed our tiny nascent farmers' market. For three weeks, because the National Weather Service was rightfully telegraphing DEATH DEATH DEATH about the idea of spending any time outdoors, we were forced to cancel. This week, after enthusiastic e-mails to our customer base, we started up again. But we had only one visitor, and she was one of our vendors. That's what you call a small turnout. People are creatures of habit, and the hiatus undid whatever shopping habits we had managed to inspire.
But believe it or not, we are okay with this turn of events. We've slowly been coming to the realization that (a) our town may not be quite ready for a farmers' market, and (b) there are a lot of new farmers' markets in the area, each with not very many vendors. So we spent our idle hours last night hatching some plans for a tiny, just-us-neighbors gardening collective. One entity; a few back yards. Instead of adding another marginal farmers' market to the fray, we'll team up to take our wares to some of the existing outlets. More on that next year, I think.
Meanwhile, it is still the dog days of summer. L2 and I sat, flushed with plans for World Domination via backyard market gardening (or was it the humidity?), and picked out our seeds for fall planting. I ordered them all last night.
Time to start pulling out spent plants and dreaming of cool leafy things. We'll plant as soon as we can get the beds prepared.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Another week goes roaring past
Still a heat wave.
Still too much to do and no energy to do it with.
Still a dog in need of extra hugs: Cairo's rear has been healing very nicely, but his first batch of antibiotics made him awfully sick, and we had to take him back into the vet's office to get different ones. He is doing better now--fuzzy and happy and loyal as ever--and thanks you for your kind wishes.
I spent about an hour today floating in L2's pool, which went a long way toward making me enjoy the weather for a change. I should do that more often.
I canned tomato sauce AND salsa on Monday and Tuesday. I made the salsa with Green Zebra tomatoes, so it has an unusual appearance. But if you close your eyes, it's regular hot salsa.
I cooked a lot of local food this week. Unfortunately, none of it was grouped together in a single meal. Local eggplant, squash, and onion shared a plate with exotic tofu. Our own chicken was served, taco-seasoned, with homegrown tomato in storebought tortillas.
So I got to Sunday and hadn't made a single OLS meal. What's more, I couldn't bring myself to make the gumbo I knew would bring it all together: okra! tomatoes! seafood! Carolina Gold rice! So instead, I just boiled some peel-and-eat shrimp. That was it.
I must say these shrimp are pretty special. They're sort of a test run for an agreement that our food-buying club is working out with a Savannah-based fisherman. They're bringing in five-pound bags of freshly caught shrimp--mixed sizes, heads on, straight off the boat. They are really good and fantastically fresh. It's almost like being on vacation, especially if you wear coconut-scented sunblock and mash some Old Bay seasoning into your cuticles.
Here's proof that I grew up landlocked: I had never seen shrimp with their heads on before! It takes some getting used to. For one thing, it's hard to cram all the antennae into the freezer bags; they keep wanting to work their way back out, which is not so good if you're hoping to get a good, tight seal when you "zip" them shut.
A small price to pay, though. I wonder if these people can get us blue crab, too.
Still too much to do and no energy to do it with.
Still a dog in need of extra hugs: Cairo's rear has been healing very nicely, but his first batch of antibiotics made him awfully sick, and we had to take him back into the vet's office to get different ones. He is doing better now--fuzzy and happy and loyal as ever--and thanks you for your kind wishes.
I spent about an hour today floating in L2's pool, which went a long way toward making me enjoy the weather for a change. I should do that more often.
I canned tomato sauce AND salsa on Monday and Tuesday. I made the salsa with Green Zebra tomatoes, so it has an unusual appearance. But if you close your eyes, it's regular hot salsa.
I cooked a lot of local food this week. Unfortunately, none of it was grouped together in a single meal. Local eggplant, squash, and onion shared a plate with exotic tofu. Our own chicken was served, taco-seasoned, with homegrown tomato in storebought tortillas.
So I got to Sunday and hadn't made a single OLS meal. What's more, I couldn't bring myself to make the gumbo I knew would bring it all together: okra! tomatoes! seafood! Carolina Gold rice! So instead, I just boiled some peel-and-eat shrimp. That was it.
I must say these shrimp are pretty special. They're sort of a test run for an agreement that our food-buying club is working out with a Savannah-based fisherman. They're bringing in five-pound bags of freshly caught shrimp--mixed sizes, heads on, straight off the boat. They are really good and fantastically fresh. It's almost like being on vacation, especially if you wear coconut-scented sunblock and mash some Old Bay seasoning into your cuticles.
Here's proof that I grew up landlocked: I had never seen shrimp with their heads on before! It takes some getting used to. For one thing, it's hard to cram all the antennae into the freezer bags; they keep wanting to work their way back out, which is not so good if you're hoping to get a good, tight seal when you "zip" them shut.
A small price to pay, though. I wonder if these people can get us blue crab, too.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Make it stop
Well.
We did manage to have a wonderful visit this week with my mother and stepdad, but only despite rather sobering obstacles.
On Monday, their arrival day, I was just starting to work up my One Local Summer post when I noticed Cairo licking his under-tail area. Remembering that the s.o. had complained of not being able to sleep because of "Cairo licking himself," I took a look. It turned out he was oozing and bleeding from a vicious wound that looked like someone had stabbed him with an ice pick. As soon as we stopped him from licking it, it started to get everywhere. We tried stopping the flow, but it worsened. We called the vet and they told us to get his butt (so to speak) into the office pronto.
Four or five hours later, the s.o. brought an unhappy e-collar-wearing Cairo home with a bag full of antibiotics and painkillers. Cairo had an abscessed gland. He was still bleeding and oozing like crazy and, for the first 24 hours until it dried up a bit, had to be locked in the bathroom. This caused him to cry all night, and Gracie to whimper constantly because (obviously) something was wrong among the pack.
Mom and John slept. We didn't. Two out of four ain't bad.
Pretty much at the same time as they arrived, the temperature rose to 105 degrees (yes, that's a record, even for Georgia) and has stayed there every day since. This was almost tolerable while we were in the house or in their car; however, once John left for Atlanta and took his car, we had to run errands in mine, which has a broken A/C unit. I don't know when I've sweated so much.
We lost a young hen to the heat. She was a favorite of mine, unfortunately. Also, blister beetles came and ate an entire row of chard in one day. Apparently they like 100-plus weather just fine.
We canceled the Wednesday farmers' market because nobody wanted to sit outdoors from 4 to 7 p.m. It would have been dangerous, frankly.
On Thursday afternoon the upstairs air conditioner in our house broke. The upstairs is the guest room, so Mom was the one to discover it. ("It's 96 degrees up there!") We shuffled accommodations for the night. I took the floor. The repair guy came on Friday afternoon and informed us that ants had gotten into our heat pump and shorted it out by scorching themselves to death on the wire contacts. A cheap fix, thank goodness.
Friday I drove Mom to Atlanta to reunite her with John at my stepsister's house. The s.o. had the bright idea that I should make the drive in my bikini top. It was absolute genius--I was able to wear a dry, unsticky shirt to dinner because of his quick thinking. Only a couple of truckers honked at me along the way.
We had a great Indian meal here, which made up for a lot of the ickiness.
After the horror of this heat wave, I think our family will still get up the courage to come to visit us. But maybe not in summer!
We did manage to have a wonderful visit this week with my mother and stepdad, but only despite rather sobering obstacles.
On Monday, their arrival day, I was just starting to work up my One Local Summer post when I noticed Cairo licking his under-tail area. Remembering that the s.o. had complained of not being able to sleep because of "Cairo licking himself," I took a look. It turned out he was oozing and bleeding from a vicious wound that looked like someone had stabbed him with an ice pick. As soon as we stopped him from licking it, it started to get everywhere. We tried stopping the flow, but it worsened. We called the vet and they told us to get his butt (so to speak) into the office pronto.
Four or five hours later, the s.o. brought an unhappy e-collar-wearing Cairo home with a bag full of antibiotics and painkillers. Cairo had an abscessed gland. He was still bleeding and oozing like crazy and, for the first 24 hours until it dried up a bit, had to be locked in the bathroom. This caused him to cry all night, and Gracie to whimper constantly because (obviously) something was wrong among the pack.
Mom and John slept. We didn't. Two out of four ain't bad.
Pretty much at the same time as they arrived, the temperature rose to 105 degrees (yes, that's a record, even for Georgia) and has stayed there every day since. This was almost tolerable while we were in the house or in their car; however, once John left for Atlanta and took his car, we had to run errands in mine, which has a broken A/C unit. I don't know when I've sweated so much.
We lost a young hen to the heat. She was a favorite of mine, unfortunately. Also, blister beetles came and ate an entire row of chard in one day. Apparently they like 100-plus weather just fine.
We canceled the Wednesday farmers' market because nobody wanted to sit outdoors from 4 to 7 p.m. It would have been dangerous, frankly.
On Thursday afternoon the upstairs air conditioner in our house broke. The upstairs is the guest room, so Mom was the one to discover it. ("It's 96 degrees up there!") We shuffled accommodations for the night. I took the floor. The repair guy came on Friday afternoon and informed us that ants had gotten into our heat pump and shorted it out by scorching themselves to death on the wire contacts. A cheap fix, thank goodness.
Friday I drove Mom to Atlanta to reunite her with John at my stepsister's house. The s.o. had the bright idea that I should make the drive in my bikini top. It was absolute genius--I was able to wear a dry, unsticky shirt to dinner because of his quick thinking. Only a couple of truckers honked at me along the way.
We had a great Indian meal here, which made up for a lot of the ickiness.
After the horror of this heat wave, I think our family will still get up the courage to come to visit us. But maybe not in summer!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Open letters
Dear Snake,
Please stop hanging out in the henhouse. You are making the hens uncomfortable, and a couple of times you have nearly given me a coronary. I am forever shooing you out of the coop with a shovel. One of these days, I'm going to decide you've had enough warnings.
Sincerely,
Jumpy
----------
Dear Tommy Irvin and Zippy Duvall,
Surely, as Ag Commissioner and Farm Bureau President (respectively), you have better things to do than to hold a formal government-sanctioned religious service at which you pray for rain. I know we're all a little desperate, but let's leave that to the ministers, shall we?
Sincerely,
Embarrassed
----------
Dear Visitors,
Our house is spotless. Gorgeously spotless. The reason we won't let you in has nothing to do with a housekeeping disaster of monstrous proportions. There's a perfectly good explanation, really, which is... um... let us get back to you on that.
Sincerely,
Not Hiding Anything
----------
Dear Noncompliant Goose,
Lately I have been having a terrible time convincing you to go indoors for the night. All the other geese line up contentedly and wait their turn to go in the door. You, however, always decide to make a run for it at the last moment. Last night you sprinted away from me and got caught in the electric fence. I actually saw sparks fly off you. I am pretty sure our neighbors think I am torturing an opera singer over here.
It is no wonder that tonight you lined up with the other geese. I hope and trust that this improved behavior will continue.
Sincerely,
The Management
Please stop hanging out in the henhouse. You are making the hens uncomfortable, and a couple of times you have nearly given me a coronary. I am forever shooing you out of the coop with a shovel. One of these days, I'm going to decide you've had enough warnings.
Sincerely,
Jumpy
----------
Dear Tommy Irvin and Zippy Duvall,
Surely, as Ag Commissioner and Farm Bureau President (respectively), you have better things to do than to hold a formal government-sanctioned religious service at which you pray for rain. I know we're all a little desperate, but let's leave that to the ministers, shall we?
Sincerely,
Embarrassed
----------
Dear Visitors,
Our house is spotless. Gorgeously spotless. The reason we won't let you in has nothing to do with a housekeeping disaster of monstrous proportions. There's a perfectly good explanation, really, which is... um... let us get back to you on that.
Sincerely,
Not Hiding Anything
----------
Dear Noncompliant Goose,
Lately I have been having a terrible time convincing you to go indoors for the night. All the other geese line up contentedly and wait their turn to go in the door. You, however, always decide to make a run for it at the last moment. Last night you sprinted away from me and got caught in the electric fence. I actually saw sparks fly off you. I am pretty sure our neighbors think I am torturing an opera singer over here.
It is no wonder that tonight you lined up with the other geese. I hope and trust that this improved behavior will continue.
Sincerely,
The Management
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Hooray
Goose #1: Say, this is extraordinary. It appears that water is actually falling out of the sky!
Goose #2: I know! This has never happened before in our entire lives!
Goose #1: HONK!
Goose #2: HONK, indeed!
Goose #2: I know! This has never happened before in our entire lives!
Goose #1: HONK!
Goose #2: HONK, indeed!
Friday, June 01, 2007
Rain, please!
They're saying we may get some rain in the next several days. If we do, it'll be the first real rain in weeks--maybe months, I've lost count. We're experiencing a major, historic drought.
On Wednesday I was talking with my friend L, and she told me that an acquaintance who lives down the road from us was forced to send his cattle to slaughter because he couldn't afford to feed them anymore. Pastures are brown and crackly, and the price of hay has gotten up to $70 per large round bale. As we stood in the park talking, we saw a cattle trailer turn the corner, as if on cue, bearing another farmer's cattle toward the sale barn.
Yesterday we had one of our smoky days. It was a full moon, and the moon shone eerily orange through the haze.
I heard from a fellow vegetable vendor that he has nothing to sell because of the dryness. We have that problem to some extent, too: You can water all you want (or all you can afford), but all it seems to do is keep the plants alive. They don't really grow the way they ought to.
WE NEED WATER! Please cross your fingers.
On Wednesday I was talking with my friend L, and she told me that an acquaintance who lives down the road from us was forced to send his cattle to slaughter because he couldn't afford to feed them anymore. Pastures are brown and crackly, and the price of hay has gotten up to $70 per large round bale. As we stood in the park talking, we saw a cattle trailer turn the corner, as if on cue, bearing another farmer's cattle toward the sale barn.
Yesterday we had one of our smoky days. It was a full moon, and the moon shone eerily orange through the haze.
I heard from a fellow vegetable vendor that he has nothing to sell because of the dryness. We have that problem to some extent, too: You can water all you want (or all you can afford), but all it seems to do is keep the plants alive. They don't really grow the way they ought to.
WE NEED WATER! Please cross your fingers.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Climate change is not our friend
Lately, about every second or third day, we are bathed in smoke. At first I thought the forestry department was doing controlled burns in the national forest nearby, but then I realized they'd never be so foolish since the weather is so dry. Then I thought there might be local brush fires, but none of consequence came over the s.o.'s fire department pager.
Finally I realized it was smoke from the vast, raging wildfires in southeastern Georgia, about 150 miles away. When the prevailing winds are a certain way, we get a faceful of it. It lingers in a thick, polluting haze. It must be terrible closer to the fire. It is expected to keep burning until the area is hit by a hurricane.
There is no rain here. Everyone's crops are a month behind and tenuous at best. The grass crunches when you step on it, and clouds of dust rise whenever a vehicle turns onto a dirt road.
The other night some dimwit was shooting off fireworks. The s.o. and I tried to see where they were coming from. "One more, and I'm calling the police."
What with the late freeze that killed all the fruit, and now this, it's not a good year so far.
Finally I realized it was smoke from the vast, raging wildfires in southeastern Georgia, about 150 miles away. When the prevailing winds are a certain way, we get a faceful of it. It lingers in a thick, polluting haze. It must be terrible closer to the fire. It is expected to keep burning until the area is hit by a hurricane.
There is no rain here. Everyone's crops are a month behind and tenuous at best. The grass crunches when you step on it, and clouds of dust rise whenever a vehicle turns onto a dirt road.
The other night some dimwit was shooting off fireworks. The s.o. and I tried to see where they were coming from. "One more, and I'm calling the police."
What with the late freeze that killed all the fruit, and now this, it's not a good year so far.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Mixed media
I have a theory about Netflix: It's very important to organize your queue so that at any given time, you have two very different sorts of movies in hand. The worst thing you can do is end up with, say, two very depressing dramas or two collections of similar TV episodes. If you do that, you'll inevitably find that you are not in the mood to watch what you've got--but of course, you can't get anything new until you return them. It's what I call a Netflix Blockade.
(Yes, I know one could simply return the offending movies without watching them, but I can't make myself do it. It seems wasteful.)
For several weeks I have been locked in a particularly bad Netflix Blockade: Two serious, potentially rage-inducing documentaries. One, The Future of Food, I still haven't forced myself to watch. J recommended it to me, and I know I very much need to see it, but I can't quite commit to it just yet because I have a pretty good idea how it will make me feel.
The other, though, I finally watched this morning: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room. It was recommended to me a long, long time ago by someone I interviewed for a business article, and over time it filtered to the top of my queue. It was fantastic and infuriating. I guess before I watched it, I never fully understood the shell game Enron played with the California utilities during the power-grid crunch...or, for that matter, what exactly was wrong with the way the company did its accounting. Now I know, and I'm pissed. Better late than never! Everyone should watch this movie.
And now I can watch The Devil Wears Prada!
Meanwhile, I've been reading. I've just finished Bill Buford's Heat, which I absofreakinglutely loved. For those who haven't heard of it (I hadn't, before I miraculously discovered it on the New Arrivals shelf of our tiny local library), it's a memoir about a writer who apprentices in Mario Batali's restaurant Babbo, then goes on to apprentice with all the people Batali apprenticed with. It reconfirmed for me that I would hate working in a restaurant kitchen (that's not cooking!!!), but it also hit all the right notes about the importance of small, local, artisanal food production.
Now I am embroiled in Beryl Bainbridge's The Bottle Factory Outing, a novel with (I'm guessing) all the potential for hilarious trainwreckiness.
For me, reading and movie-watching are like all my other leisure pursuits. I'm either full-speed ahead, staying up late and immersing myself in them; or I can't go anywhere near them for weeks at a time. Knitting's that way, too. Right now I can feel a rush of knitting coming on, but I haven't quite gotten there because I'm way too busy.
And, on that note, I'd better go plant some more vegetables, if the rain will hold off. Not that I have anything bad to say about rain--we need it!
(Yes, I know one could simply return the offending movies without watching them, but I can't make myself do it. It seems wasteful.)
For several weeks I have been locked in a particularly bad Netflix Blockade: Two serious, potentially rage-inducing documentaries. One, The Future of Food, I still haven't forced myself to watch. J recommended it to me, and I know I very much need to see it, but I can't quite commit to it just yet because I have a pretty good idea how it will make me feel.
The other, though, I finally watched this morning: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room. It was recommended to me a long, long time ago by someone I interviewed for a business article, and over time it filtered to the top of my queue. It was fantastic and infuriating. I guess before I watched it, I never fully understood the shell game Enron played with the California utilities during the power-grid crunch...or, for that matter, what exactly was wrong with the way the company did its accounting. Now I know, and I'm pissed. Better late than never! Everyone should watch this movie.
And now I can watch The Devil Wears Prada!
Meanwhile, I've been reading. I've just finished Bill Buford's Heat, which I absofreakinglutely loved. For those who haven't heard of it (I hadn't, before I miraculously discovered it on the New Arrivals shelf of our tiny local library), it's a memoir about a writer who apprentices in Mario Batali's restaurant Babbo, then goes on to apprentice with all the people Batali apprenticed with. It reconfirmed for me that I would hate working in a restaurant kitchen (that's not cooking!!!), but it also hit all the right notes about the importance of small, local, artisanal food production.
Now I am embroiled in Beryl Bainbridge's The Bottle Factory Outing, a novel with (I'm guessing) all the potential for hilarious trainwreckiness.
For me, reading and movie-watching are like all my other leisure pursuits. I'm either full-speed ahead, staying up late and immersing myself in them; or I can't go anywhere near them for weeks at a time. Knitting's that way, too. Right now I can feel a rush of knitting coming on, but I haven't quite gotten there because I'm way too busy.
And, on that note, I'd better go plant some more vegetables, if the rain will hold off. Not that I have anything bad to say about rain--we need it!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Opening day at the farmers' market?
Maybe. Maybe not. Look at this weather report for a nearby town and tell me what you think. We have a picnic shelter, but it looks like it'll be absolutely pouring between 4 and 7 p.m. I wouldn't go to a farmers' market in that kind of weather!
I think I'll call my vendors and see what they think...
UPDATE:
Yep, we're postponing until next week. Thunderstorms are just not conducive to hanging out in the park! It's just as well, really--the freeze hurt most of our vendors way worse than it hurt us. This is going to be an interesting spring.
On the bright side, our friends are now eating free slices of rhubarb pie. :-)
I think I'll call my vendors and see what they think...
UPDATE:
Yep, we're postponing until next week. Thunderstorms are just not conducive to hanging out in the park! It's just as well, really--the freeze hurt most of our vendors way worse than it hurt us. This is going to be an interesting spring.
On the bright side, our friends are now eating free slices of rhubarb pie. :-)
Monday, April 09, 2007
Better weather on its way
Well. They say our cold snap is over--the low will be 37 tonight, and after that, it isn't supposed to dip below the 40s again. Thank goodness.
I managed to save plants I thought I'd never manage to save. We rescued almost all of our peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, and eggplants, and the tender young fennel is unharmed. The zucchini made it through, too. On the other hand, I am going to have to replant a few cukes, and I am going to have to reorder violet podded beans altogether. It was a wholesale bean slaughter, despite the sheets I tented over them. I should have dug them up.
What's strangest about this untimely freeze is that even though it never got colder than 26 degrees, I lost some cold-hardy plants that had stood all winter. I think it was the harsh, dry wind that did it. My lovely Italian escarole, which was planted in the fall and has withstood far colder temperatures, is suddenly a gelatinous mass of garbage (sob!). The lemon balm was killed back to a third of its previous size. And although they're still alive, my peas, chard, and radishes are all badly burned and will not be as presentable as I'd hoped.
So! Onions, turnips, and collards at Wednesday's market, then. Let us soldier on.
I managed to save plants I thought I'd never manage to save. We rescued almost all of our peppers, tomatoes, tomatillos, and eggplants, and the tender young fennel is unharmed. The zucchini made it through, too. On the other hand, I am going to have to replant a few cukes, and I am going to have to reorder violet podded beans altogether. It was a wholesale bean slaughter, despite the sheets I tented over them. I should have dug them up.
What's strangest about this untimely freeze is that even though it never got colder than 26 degrees, I lost some cold-hardy plants that had stood all winter. I think it was the harsh, dry wind that did it. My lovely Italian escarole, which was planted in the fall and has withstood far colder temperatures, is suddenly a gelatinous mass of garbage (sob!). The lemon balm was killed back to a third of its previous size. And although they're still alive, my peas, chard, and radishes are all badly burned and will not be as presentable as I'd hoped.
So! Onions, turnips, and collards at Wednesday's market, then. Let us soldier on.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Winds of change
I don't want to talk about the vile, horrific weather. It may look sunny enough when we glance out the window, but we are currently in the middle of a four-night stint of shocking record-low temperatures. The wind howls nonstop, and my sinuses are bleeding. I was forced to unplant several rows of garden vegetables, troweling them into Dixie cups so they could spend the night in safety indoors. Other tender plants are wearing protective sheets or mini greenhouses made of Mason jars. So far it all seems to be working.
In the midst of all this, I took several boxes of vegetables, herbs, hot cross buns, etc., to the Oconee Farmers' Market this morning. It was 31 degrees, and despite my parka, mittens, neckwarmer, hat, New Zealand opossum socks, and four layers of clothing, my Raynaud's still kicked in with a vengeance. I never managed to put up my chalkboard sign because my hands were too stiff and blue to grasp a writing implement! Business was slow, but the most of the regulars trickled in one by one. I eventually sold enough to make it worth my while.
The cold did me an unexpected favor: It helped me get to know some of my fellow vendors. Part of the morning I spent huddled next to a gas-powered smoker, eating little sample bites of delicious brisket courtesy of the Clarke-Oconee Cattlemen's Association. And when the cold became too much to bear, I took off for the restroom, which the market manager had revealed was heated. I found it full of Asian women--a family of flower and vegetable vendors who, like me, had been slowly freezing to death.
The women turned out to be Hmong and, further, turned out to be fellow ex-residents of St. Paul, Minnesota. There's a large Hmong community there, and I'd known several during my college days up north.
We started sharing reminiscences. Then the talk turned to our current situations, which are remarkably similar. They have a small greenhouse; we have a small greenhouse. They have 30 chickens and aspire to have about 100; we have 30 chickens and aspire to have 75. We have ducks and turkeys and (soon) a few geese; they have ducks and geese and a few guinea fowl. We both succession-plant--in the case of the Hmong family, all through the winter. ("Mom starts the carrots way early, under buckets. She's crazy.")
When we finally left the restroom, I visited their table and bought this story cloth.
It takes four 10-hour days of patient needlework to create a record-album sized piece like this one. It depicts, they explained, "the way things used to be before everything changed."
Maybe it's romantic of me, but I feel drawn to this story cloth. I feel connected to the tiny embroidered people who are feeding chickens, hulling rice, picking squash, and carrying baskets to the market.
I don't want to live in a stone-age culture--who does, who has an opportunity to live in a society with flush toilets and the internet? But at the same time, I am glad there are still people who remember that kind of life and are trying to hold onto what's good about it.
In the midst of all this, I took several boxes of vegetables, herbs, hot cross buns, etc., to the Oconee Farmers' Market this morning. It was 31 degrees, and despite my parka, mittens, neckwarmer, hat, New Zealand opossum socks, and four layers of clothing, my Raynaud's still kicked in with a vengeance. I never managed to put up my chalkboard sign because my hands were too stiff and blue to grasp a writing implement! Business was slow, but the most of the regulars trickled in one by one. I eventually sold enough to make it worth my while.
The cold did me an unexpected favor: It helped me get to know some of my fellow vendors. Part of the morning I spent huddled next to a gas-powered smoker, eating little sample bites of delicious brisket courtesy of the Clarke-Oconee Cattlemen's Association. And when the cold became too much to bear, I took off for the restroom, which the market manager had revealed was heated. I found it full of Asian women--a family of flower and vegetable vendors who, like me, had been slowly freezing to death.
The women turned out to be Hmong and, further, turned out to be fellow ex-residents of St. Paul, Minnesota. There's a large Hmong community there, and I'd known several during my college days up north.
We started sharing reminiscences. Then the talk turned to our current situations, which are remarkably similar. They have a small greenhouse; we have a small greenhouse. They have 30 chickens and aspire to have about 100; we have 30 chickens and aspire to have 75. We have ducks and turkeys and (soon) a few geese; they have ducks and geese and a few guinea fowl. We both succession-plant--in the case of the Hmong family, all through the winter. ("Mom starts the carrots way early, under buckets. She's crazy.")
When we finally left the restroom, I visited their table and bought this story cloth.
It takes four 10-hour days of patient needlework to create a record-album sized piece like this one. It depicts, they explained, "the way things used to be before everything changed."
Maybe it's romantic of me, but I feel drawn to this story cloth. I feel connected to the tiny embroidered people who are feeding chickens, hulling rice, picking squash, and carrying baskets to the market.
I don't want to live in a stone-age culture--who does, who has an opportunity to live in a society with flush toilets and the internet? But at the same time, I am glad there are still people who remember that kind of life and are trying to hold onto what's good about it.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Signs of spring...
...are tumbling out like socks from a clothes basket. At times like this, I think the pagan concept of the "wheel of the year," while worthwhile, is not quite faithful to reality. The year has corners--and we are turning one.
The Bradford pears that line our main street are in riotous bloom. The verbena and rosemary have blossomed purple, and the older of our two quince trees is leafing out.
Yesterday we harvested all of our winter spinach (there wasn't much of it; it likes sand, and we offer it clay), our first two florets of purple sprouting broccoli, and our first asparagus stalk. I put them in a quiche with diced homemade bacon and eggs from our own hens. Many months ago Cookiecrumb wrote about the unexpected sweetness of fresh vegetables, and it was this that sprang to my mind as I ate my slice of quiche. It was the sweetest savory dish I can recall eating. Especially the broccoli was almost shocking in its sweetness.
The sun stands higher overhead, and it is coaxing sudden ripeness from brassica vegetables that have grown ever-so-slowly through the winter. If Yahoo! Weather is not toying with me again, we may have had our last frost. However, I am playing it safe with our tender tomato seedlings.
Now all that remains is for Cairo to blow his coat. Tumbleweeds of dog hair are the surest sign of spring.
The Bradford pears that line our main street are in riotous bloom. The verbena and rosemary have blossomed purple, and the older of our two quince trees is leafing out.
Yesterday we harvested all of our winter spinach (there wasn't much of it; it likes sand, and we offer it clay), our first two florets of purple sprouting broccoli, and our first asparagus stalk. I put them in a quiche with diced homemade bacon and eggs from our own hens. Many months ago Cookiecrumb wrote about the unexpected sweetness of fresh vegetables, and it was this that sprang to my mind as I ate my slice of quiche. It was the sweetest savory dish I can recall eating. Especially the broccoli was almost shocking in its sweetness.
The sun stands higher overhead, and it is coaxing sudden ripeness from brassica vegetables that have grown ever-so-slowly through the winter. If Yahoo! Weather is not toying with me again, we may have had our last frost. However, I am playing it safe with our tender tomato seedlings.
Now all that remains is for Cairo to blow his coat. Tumbleweeds of dog hair are the surest sign of spring.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Georgia Organics Conference 2007
Where to begin? My trip to the GO conference was like visiting the superheroes at the Hall of Justice. I saw good friends (Tucker Taylor and Celia Barss from Woodland Gardens, who I profiled for the issue of Edible Atlanta that's coming out next week; Suzanne Welander and Alice Rolls from the Georgia Organics office; and Jason Mann from Full Moon Farm). I had the privilege of meeting in person people I've gotten to know via phone and e-mail (Mary Dyal, who supplies us with our annual half-pig; Edible Atlanta editor Amanda Dew Manning and her husband Robert; and Will Harris, the extraordinary and witty cattleman behind White Oak Pastures). And I met many, many like-minded people who will be friends for years to come.
Friday we had classes. I chose the following:
• Making the Change to Organic Production
• Blueprint for Building a Community Farmers' Market (pertinent!)
• Pay-Ahead Systems: CSA and Subscription Sales
• Small Fruit Culture: Strawberries, Blackberries, Muscadines, and Figs
All of them were extremely worthwhile and fun, although I'll admit I was beginning to fade by the last one and couldn't give it the attention it was due.
At lunch, we winced and coughed our way through a lunchtime speech by agriculture commissioner Tommy Irvin, a disingenuous bureaucrat who gladhands the organic movement freely but just doesn't get it at all. I have a history with the guy; last year at a Democratic party meeting, he shouted and bullied me into silence when he realized my question was going to turn out to be about NAIS (which he's been promoting to the best of his ability). He's not only a friend of big ag; he is big ag. At any rate, it wasn't terribly important what we thought of him. What was important was that he was there and could see that there were fully 500 of us--many more, I think, than he had expected.
At dinner, keynote speaker Joel Salatin spoke to us about the state of the organic and sustainable foods movement. As I noted in a comment to the previous post, I don't agree with Salatin 100 percent about the details of running a farm. But I think he's enormously important, not only because of his innovations and accomplishments (which are many) but because he is a galvanizing force in natural food production. He's hilarious and engaging and brash and inspiring. If anyone would like a CD of his keynote address, GO is selling them for $7 a pop; let me know and I'll score one for you.
Saturday was the field day--one of the best experiences I've had in ages. It was hosted by C&M Earthworks, a beautiful pastured poultry, cattle, and pig farm in Broxton, Ga. Here's Jim Hudson of C&M Earthworks (left) with Joel Salatin (right) in the broiler pasture:
I got my first sunburn of the year, thanks to Yahoo! Weather. It had predicted clouds and possible rain. Instead, the weather was...well, you can see. It was idyllic. Eventually I mitigated the damage by buying a C&M baseball cap.
Joel Salatin gave a morning presentation about management-intensive grazing and symbiotic relationships between livestock species. Then we took a tour of the farm, including this pasture full of "chicken tractors":
After lunch, Lori Sergeant of the Weston Price Foundation gave a talk about the nutritional benefits of traditional foods, especially grass-fed meat, eggs, and milk. Then Salatin returned to talk about relationship marketing. This final talk, to me, was the best and most useful of the bunch.
I think I want some Tamworth Pigs. Aren't they beauts? And I can testify that they're tasty, too.
I think the conference helped me solidify my ideas about where to concentrate my energies. Because our property is small and has close neighbors, we can obviously never pasture enough animals to make an economically sound business out of it. We need to focus on market gardening, including both fruit and vegetables. But the eggs from our layers will complement the market gardening extremely well. And as for the other animals, there's nothing wrong with homesteading a few of them for our own table, as long as we don't spread ourselves too thin by doing so.
This was the best conference I've ever gone to! Even the drive down was edifying. I had never been to Douglas and was pleasantly surprised by it. And on the way, I saw parts of the state I had never seen before. I was particularly surprised by all the beehives I saw along US 1.
Friday we had classes. I chose the following:
• Making the Change to Organic Production
• Blueprint for Building a Community Farmers' Market (pertinent!)
• Pay-Ahead Systems: CSA and Subscription Sales
• Small Fruit Culture: Strawberries, Blackberries, Muscadines, and Figs
All of them were extremely worthwhile and fun, although I'll admit I was beginning to fade by the last one and couldn't give it the attention it was due.
At lunch, we winced and coughed our way through a lunchtime speech by agriculture commissioner Tommy Irvin, a disingenuous bureaucrat who gladhands the organic movement freely but just doesn't get it at all. I have a history with the guy; last year at a Democratic party meeting, he shouted and bullied me into silence when he realized my question was going to turn out to be about NAIS (which he's been promoting to the best of his ability). He's not only a friend of big ag; he is big ag. At any rate, it wasn't terribly important what we thought of him. What was important was that he was there and could see that there were fully 500 of us--many more, I think, than he had expected.
At dinner, keynote speaker Joel Salatin spoke to us about the state of the organic and sustainable foods movement. As I noted in a comment to the previous post, I don't agree with Salatin 100 percent about the details of running a farm. But I think he's enormously important, not only because of his innovations and accomplishments (which are many) but because he is a galvanizing force in natural food production. He's hilarious and engaging and brash and inspiring. If anyone would like a CD of his keynote address, GO is selling them for $7 a pop; let me know and I'll score one for you.
Saturday was the field day--one of the best experiences I've had in ages. It was hosted by C&M Earthworks, a beautiful pastured poultry, cattle, and pig farm in Broxton, Ga. Here's Jim Hudson of C&M Earthworks (left) with Joel Salatin (right) in the broiler pasture:
I got my first sunburn of the year, thanks to Yahoo! Weather. It had predicted clouds and possible rain. Instead, the weather was...well, you can see. It was idyllic. Eventually I mitigated the damage by buying a C&M baseball cap.
Joel Salatin gave a morning presentation about management-intensive grazing and symbiotic relationships between livestock species. Then we took a tour of the farm, including this pasture full of "chicken tractors":
After lunch, Lori Sergeant of the Weston Price Foundation gave a talk about the nutritional benefits of traditional foods, especially grass-fed meat, eggs, and milk. Then Salatin returned to talk about relationship marketing. This final talk, to me, was the best and most useful of the bunch.
I think I want some Tamworth Pigs. Aren't they beauts? And I can testify that they're tasty, too.
I think the conference helped me solidify my ideas about where to concentrate my energies. Because our property is small and has close neighbors, we can obviously never pasture enough animals to make an economically sound business out of it. We need to focus on market gardening, including both fruit and vegetables. But the eggs from our layers will complement the market gardening extremely well. And as for the other animals, there's nothing wrong with homesteading a few of them for our own table, as long as we don't spread ourselves too thin by doing so.
This was the best conference I've ever gone to! Even the drive down was edifying. I had never been to Douglas and was pleasantly surprised by it. And on the way, I saw parts of the state I had never seen before. I was particularly surprised by all the beehives I saw along US 1.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Poor sweet thing
Silver doesn't like thunderstorms. I was just sitting here reading an e-mail when I felt a furry body brush past my knees. She is hiding under my desk.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Everyday natural wonders
It is 70 degrees and sunny today. Hallelujah!
While filling the turkeys' waterer, I spotted no fewer than 10 happy, fuzzy honeybees in my immediate vicinity. They were sucking nectar from those purple-flowered minty-looking plants that (ahem) dominate poorly maintained lawns. I love our bees' ability to find food all through the winter. Our bee teacher has not been so lucky; some of his bees got overenthusiastic during the warm January weather and laid more eggs than they could keep up with. When it got cold again, they starved to death before he even knew there was a problem and could start feeding them.
And then there was a third turkey egg, just as beautiful as the first two. I thought turkeys were supposed to be poor layers! Maybe this is just their best season.
To top it all off, we are having our friend L2 and her husband over for Indian food and Idol results tonight. I wish more days were like today.
While filling the turkeys' waterer, I spotted no fewer than 10 happy, fuzzy honeybees in my immediate vicinity. They were sucking nectar from those purple-flowered minty-looking plants that (ahem) dominate poorly maintained lawns. I love our bees' ability to find food all through the winter. Our bee teacher has not been so lucky; some of his bees got overenthusiastic during the warm January weather and laid more eggs than they could keep up with. When it got cold again, they starved to death before he even knew there was a problem and could start feeding them.
And then there was a third turkey egg, just as beautiful as the first two. I thought turkeys were supposed to be poor layers! Maybe this is just their best season.
To top it all off, we are having our friend L2 and her husband over for Indian food and Idol results tonight. I wish more days were like today.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Pig in progress
I just talked to the folks at Fries Frozen Foods in Millen, and our pig is in the house! Our half will probably be ready tomorrow or Friday.
That means I've got to get busy. First there's shopping--we'll need pickling or kosher salt in very large quantities, plus some hard cider, sausage casings, and various other items. Then there's a brine to make; one of the lessons we learned last year is that it should be cooked and chilled beforehand so there's no scramble to get the ham in in time. I should prepare the bacon cure, too, while I'm at it. And I have to tidy up a little right now, because one of our friends is coming over to watch the Pig in a Day DVD with us.
The weather's going to be perfect. It's forecast to be fair and in the upper 40s to mid-50s for the foreseeable future. Normally I'd prefer it 10 degrees warmer, just for my personal enjoyment, but this will be totally ideal for working with large quantities of meat on the back porch.
That means I've got to get busy. First there's shopping--we'll need pickling or kosher salt in very large quantities, plus some hard cider, sausage casings, and various other items. Then there's a brine to make; one of the lessons we learned last year is that it should be cooked and chilled beforehand so there's no scramble to get the ham in in time. I should prepare the bacon cure, too, while I'm at it. And I have to tidy up a little right now, because one of our friends is coming over to watch the Pig in a Day DVD with us.
The weather's going to be perfect. It's forecast to be fair and in the upper 40s to mid-50s for the foreseeable future. Normally I'd prefer it 10 degrees warmer, just for my personal enjoyment, but this will be totally ideal for working with large quantities of meat on the back porch.
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