I was eating a slice of Sweet Melissa’s homemade bread this morning, covered with sunflower seed butter and it reminded me of how much I love sunflowers.
I wonder if I could make nut butter from some of my sunflower seeds? Not today. Today, I’m going to rest.
You rest too.
I’m not a big movie-goer. Occasionally, I go to watch the Metropolitan Opera broadcast live in a local movie theater. You knew that. I don’t watch many movies at home, though. I own a few movies on DVD, but I’ve never gotten involved with Netflix or Hulu.
If you’re going to follow this blog, you should probably also know that I haven’t owned a Tee Vee since 2000, by conscious intention. I just don’t have time. I like to be doing things, not watching other people doing things. If you like to watch Tee Vee, that’s cool. We don’t have to fight about it. You watch, I’ll do. (Some day, I’ll write about what happens when my Tee Vee watching friend stops by my garden and watches me work. Maybe I am their Tee Vee?)
This weekend, I’m going to watch the following three food and farm related documentaries, in no particular order.
Of course, this is only after I’ve done everything on my weekend “To Do” list.
Have you watched any of the movies listed in this post? If so, what did you learn?
I’ve been going to bed a few minutes earlier every night to prepare for the dreaded Daylight Saving Time (DST). DST will be upon us like a stale bag of Doritos in less than 2 weeks. I don’t mean to malign stale Doritos since I’d be a liar if I said I’d never eaten any, but I dislike Daylight Saving Time so much that I had to write down the first freaky and potentially frightening combination of words that popped into my head. Most people probably don’t like stale Doritos.
Some people mistakenly think this time adjustment racket is perpetrated upon us for the sake of the farmers. Um…no.
Wikipedia has a surprisingly long and extensively footnoted article about DST; should you like, you can read it here for yourself. Let me quickly summarize some important facts:
First, let’s clear Ben Franklin of the crime. Although he did suggest that going to bed early and rising early would make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise, he never proposed changing the time to accomplish these goals. Nor was it an English outdoorsman and golfer who wanted to make it to the 18th hole in daylight. It was actually a New Zealand bug collector who first proposed the idea in 1895. It was not until 1916 that the scheme was implemented in Germany as a way to conserve fuel during the first World War. They called it Sommerzeit.
The United States began time manipulation, aka Sommerzeit/DST, when they entered the war in 1918. Since then, there have been many politically motivated adjustments, sometimes to sell more French fries and sometimes to sell more sporting equipment. Some day, I’ll tell you just how little money a potato farmer makes when he sells potatoes to a commercial French fry producer. Let’s just say it’s not the farmer who is getting rich, Daylight Saving Time or not.
In fact, farmers generally dislike changing the time because it upsets the natural rhythms of farm life.
I dislike Sommerzeit too. It upsets the natural rhythms of my dream life. I can’t remember a darn thing about them when I wake up in the morning. Not even the ever-lovely White Flower Farm catalog could induce anything but sleep. In the last week, I’ve had no dreams, no nightmares, and no chase scenes with bags of Doritos driving Pintos.
Since I have no somnia-vignettes this week, I hope you don’t mind if I share a few waking dreams for this year’s Hampton Victory Garden. I dream of a carpenter who donates a few hours of time to fix the roof on our garden sign. I dream of finding an umbrella for our picnic table. I dream of a “flash mob” of strong young people showing up to work on a one day “fix the fence” project.
Those are my dreams this week. Oh, and remember:
Sommerzeit is a turkey.
What do you think about Daylight Saving Time?
Dear Hampton Victory Gardeners,
I’m working on the Hampton Victory Garden annual mailing.
Tick Tock.
P.S. Last night’s snow turned to rain.
This is the last day of my month of “power blogging.” I wrote 29 posts in 29 days. It was a challenge I designed for myself; an exercise in writing. I like to write and I have been doing it for a long time, but mostly to a limited audience. One of my aunts gave me a cloth-bound journal for my birthday in 1974 and part of my first entry, dated August 8, is the cryptic sentence “I am going to watch Nixon resign.”
I have been writing ever since.
Maybe there is something genetic about writing, but I don’t know if my paternal grandfather ever wrote anything. He was a textile worker and farmer who came to America from Bavaria in 1924. He didn’t speak much English when he got here. My maternal grandparents came from farm country in the Province of Quebec. English was not their first language either. It seems that dirt, trees, and textiles were more prevalent in my bloodline than any written English words.
My father writes a daily journal he hides away at night. He also scribbles things on recycled envelopes.
My brother writes. He has been blogging for 10 years so that would make him an innovator. He’s written two books and now, one will be published by Down East Books this spring. I am happy for him; he’s worked diligently at his craft. Good job, Mr. Jimmie (love you, bro)!
My nephew writes. I don’t know when he started writing. I was impressed when he wrote “action plans” for his hockey team as the high school team captain. He is also one of the five greatest cover letter writers of his generation. He encouraged me to start blogging.
I’ve had some excellent writing teachers along the way, all of them encouraging me to “follow the muse.” I was a writing tutor, too. When I was younger, I had some dreamy notion about being “a writer” but I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I went to work for a large corporation. I have written according to the rhythms and dictates of corporate America for most of my adult life. I’ve kept the writing “muse” alive by writing letters to friends. Some people still do that, although it’s not clear the epistolary form of literature will ever be a big hit.
Somewhere along my distracted journey on the road of life, I decided it was necessary to produce some of my own food, preferably in the dirt and not in a test tube. Ayuh, I want to be some kind of a farmer and it all started (sort of) in the Hampton Victory Garden. With the Victory Garden as my topic and reason to write, I’ve jumped into public farming and writing at this time and place, laggard though I may be. Thank you for reading my writing about gardening and dirt and home. Thank you for your comments, too. Here’s a special “shout out” to all the people who have encouraged me to write. You know who you are.
I am glad you are here on the road with me.
Do you have a story to tell? How do you plan to tell it?
The United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) updated their “Plant Hardiness Zone Map” this year. The first update since 1990, this new 2012 version provides greater accuracy and detail. You can find it here.
The purpose of the Plant Hardiness Zone Map is to indicate the average annual minimum temperature for each zone. According to the new map, the Hampton Victory Garden is in zone 6a; prior maps had us in zone 6. On the old map, our minimum temperature range was between -10 degrees to 0 degrees. Now, it’s -10 degrees to – 5 degrees. Is it getting colder on the Seacoast?
Here in New England, almost everything we plant from seed will not survive outdoors over winter without protection, except possibly kale. So the zone map is really not enough information for planning a successful garden. Some of the elements not included in the map are summer heat levels, snow cover, length of days, soil moisture, humidity, and frost risk. For us, the hardiness zone map is lovely to look at but only part of a more complex picture. During the month of March, I’ll write more about some of the tools you can use to plan your garden.
How do you use plant hardiness zone information in your garden?
I’m in the middle of updating the seven “rules” of the 2012 Hampton Victory Garden’s “tenant agreement.” Shockingly, two of the seven “rules” involve liability and the other five are very general suggestions. The hardest “rules” in any project or endeavor, though, are the hardest to put into words. Emily Post tried for years to codify some of life’s most difficult and delicate issues. In the Hampton Victory Garden, our codification of The Golden Rule (a.k.a. “play nice”) reads:
“As this is a community project, an attitude and posture of common good must be practiced at all times. Each tenant will be responsible for maintaining their garden as well as the walkways around their garden plots. All of the pathways must be cleared of weeds, rocks and other debris.”
For the last two winters, I’ve filled some of my idle Saturdays by attending live, high-definition transmissions from the Metropolitan Opera. It’s a whole different kind of “Live from New York,” in movie theaters around the world, and even in places like Portsmouth, NH and Brunswick, ME. “Going to the opera at the movies” can be exciting, entertaining and educational. It can also be unpleasant.
It was a difficult crowd at the Maine movie theatre I attended on Saturday. I would never have thought so many opera lovers would need to wear headlamps for pre-performance book reading. I was quite happy to sit in the darkness and relax for a minute, but it was impossible to do so, what with the inside of the theatre lit up like a coal mine. (I know you won’t believe me, but I’ve been in a coal mine; when I say “lit up like a coal mine” I know what I’m talking about.) My friend and I tried to be polite and well-behaved. We tried to shield our eyes from the blinding lumens. Unfortunately, we almost got into a fist fight with a couple sitting next to us because of their refusal to turn off the high beams when the opera started. It sure did dampen my opera experience and it got me to thinking about how difficult it is to get along with people in close quarters.
The ugliness of the opera donnybrook reminded me of how nicely community gardeners generally get along, even when it’s “ Peak Summer.” My squash runs into your garden and your weeds creep down my pathway. You water your tomatoes and the hose crushes my lettuce a little bit. Accidents happen but things bounce back. We do the best we can to garden together peacefully. Thank goodness. The only diva antics are the mysterious amaranth plants that occasionally pop up for an aria.
Just in case, though, I’m thinking about adding this new rule:
8. No headlamps in the Hampton Victory Garden. Ever.
Have you been blinded by someone’s dazzling brightness lately?
I was looking over my notes and dates from last year’s gardens, trying to gauge when it will be the right time to start tomato and pepper seeds. The Seacoast weather seems to indicate that spring will be early this year, yet a fresh layer of snow covers the landscape north of Portland, Maine.
Conclusion: it’s still too early.
Last week, I rummaged around my storage space to inventory seed starting supplies and when I got up from kneeling over the box, I realized how out of shape I’ve gotten this winter. The forty minute walks at lunch can’t compensate for all the time spent SITTING in front of a computer screen or lounging around with a book. We hardly had any snow to shovel. Gardening in New England requires a certain amount of physical stamina and the time to prepare for it is NOW.
But how can it be done? My “garden style” condo, more appropriately named “chicken coop style” condo, is far too small for any type of home exercise equipment. I don’t enjoy the gym and the days are still too short (though getting longer!).
My solution is to vacuum. Every day, I pull out my vacuum and run it around the coop whether it needs it or not. I move furniture, kneel down to get into corners, and stretch to reach under the bed. By using every possible vacuum attachment on every square inch of the coop, I can get an additional 20 minutes of aerobic exercise a day.
How do you like them chickens?
It’s been raining a bit, the kind of rain that helps soften the ground and encourages a different kind of sprout.
We’re so lucky here in New England; we have lots of water. We also have running water at the Hampton Victory Garden, which is nice. The garden’s founders were thoughtful in creating a watering system which taps into the town water supply, managed by Aquarion Water Company. No one has to lug water from home.
In making my various lists and checking them twice, I analyzed our Aquarion water expense and usage over the last 5 years. Ouch. My back of the envelope scratching indicates we’ve doubled our water usage in the last 2 years. When correlated to weather patterns, it makes some sense, since we had less rain in 2011 and 2010 than the wet summer of 2009. We’ve also been at full capacity, meaning we’ve had no vacant gardens and thus more water usage.
Another factor is the annual fee we pay to turn the water on and off. This is non-negotiable because our pipes would freeze if we left the water on over the winter and then we’d have no water at all.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t use water; I’m just saying that water is expensive.
In 2010, we installed a rain barrel at the Hampton Victory Garden. This provided water to those who start their gardens before our water “turn on” date. I love that rain barrel.
I love it so much I convinced Uncle Bob to let me install one in his garden. (The day Uncle Bob, my Dad, and I installed the gutter for the rain barrel is a whole different story, to be written and filed under “Three Shouting Baumers” some other day.)
We also use two overflow barrels at Uncle Bob’s garden and this provides us with quite a bit of extra water. This year, I’m thinking about doing some gen-you-wine drip irrigation. Uncle Bob doesn’t know it yet, but I’m even thinking of implementing a second rain barrel with one of these saucer attachments.
(I can almost hear him laughing now. I can almost hear a “No!” too.)
I think we could install a second rain barrel by the Victory Garden tool shed. Let’s discuss it when we have our Hampton Victory Garden spring annual meeting, which is tentatively scheduled for April 17, 2012. Keep your eye on your mail box for additional information.
How do you water your garden?
Dreams are so crazy. If they’re sweet and dreamy, they might not be memorable. On the rare occasion when I’ve had a sweet dream, I could only remember a shadowy image of the events or people involved. My father, King of Winter Carnival ‘51, (I love you, Dad), always seems to have the same dream about a job he worked at for 35 years. A typical breakfast conversation at home might start out with “well, I dreamed I was down at the mill again last night.” Inevitably, the water pressure in the dream boiler would dip and his boss would come down and give him a hard time and tell him to stoke it up. He never says the dreams are bad, though, and he always laughs about them nostalgically and enjoys remembering them over his coffee and ever-shrinking newspaper.
My dreams are never about my job and the dreams I remember are mostly “struggle” dreams. Someone is either tearing down a house and I’ve gotten there too late to salvage it or I’m being chased. When I’m at home, my father always tells me when I’ve had such a dream. King of Winter Carnival ’51 will say “I think someone was chasing you again last night.” It’s gotten to be a joke.
Then, there are the teeth dreams. According to a dream analysis web site, it is quite common to dream about teeth falling out in one’s hands, teeth crumbling, or teeth rotting. I have never dreamed about my pearly whites turning to dust, decaying, or dive-bombing into my palm. I dream about someone slamming a door on my face, loosening one tooth, and then I try unsuccessfully to call my dentist. Last night, I had a dream about food being stuck in my teeth.
I was reading Elliot Coleman’s “Four Season Harvest”, trying to figure out how to build a miniature hoop house. You know the drill. Eyes close, book flies to the floor, and I’m asleep. I was driving somewhere in my Jeep (not a Pinto or a Pacer). Who knows where I was going, but I could feel something attached to the roof of my mouth, just behind my two front teeth. I kept looking in the mirror and trying to dislodge whatever it was while keeping my Jeep on the road. I kept thinking “what is it that is stuck in my teeth?” In my dream, I was envisioning some type of gum growth that would need to be surgically removed and result in a catastrophic dental crisis. It seemed like I was driving nowhere or the same road kept going on forever until suddenly, I pulled out the darn thing that was lodged in back of my tightly packed, orthodontist-approved teeth (thank you, Dr. Chabot, and rest in peace). It was a chunk of kale the size of a grasshopper.
The Jeep started spinning out of control and I woke up.
I’ve got nothing more to say, except that kale is delicious and good for you, too. You can read about it here. I think I’m going to grow some this year.
Are you growing kale this year?
Julie-Ann Baumer 