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Hi Everyone,
With life getting springier every day my five senses are in full swing.
Touch
I have been touching a lot of weeds lately, and getting my hands dirty digging in the dirt. On Tuesday, as I dodged rain showers, I dug 120, six inch deep holes and dropped a gladiola bulb in each one—all the while dreaming of all the color that they will bring in a few months. I will admit that I wasn’t sure if I would ever get the gladiolas planted. I wanted to plant small clumps all over the garden, but Mom wanted one big bed. One bed was too big, one too shady, and the one that was just right—well, it had peppermint growing in it. The peppermint always dies back in the summer, but the apple mint thrives year round. The peppermint was in full sun, but the apple mint is in part shade. I had wanted to move the peppermint, but I didn’t know where to. Since I wanted to replace the peppermint bed with gladiolas I looked harder for a place to move the peppermint to. I found that one of the 4 x 4 squares around the Ponderosa lemon tree had nothing growing in it (but a single daffodil). I decided to move the 8 little peppermint sprigs that were still alive to the lemon tree bed. Once I had the old peppermint bed free of peppermint and weeds—our work day was over. The next day I headed out to the garden after milking and managed to broadfork the bed, level it out, and measure it—then I was called in for lunch. After lunch we were supposed to package eggs, but our helpers called in saying that they were still mending from being sick. We decided to cancel the egg party, and postpone it until Thursday. That meant that I could go back to the garden and plant the gladiolas. We had purchased six different color schemes and I wasn’t sure if I should plant them in clumps by color, or scatter them all together. Mom wanted them planted by color. It just so happened that the bed I was planting in was about 3 feet wide and 6 feet long. Therefore, each one foot section going across holds a different color. It took me a little bit to figure out a pattern to plant 20 bulbs in a 1 x 3 section—all four inches apart. I ended up planting a row of seven, a row of six, and then another row of seven. Once the gladiolas were all placed where I wanted to plant them—I began digging holes. I wasn’t even half way done when I began to question my sanity—could I endure 120 holes? Would my hands last? Would my neck, back and knees survive? I persevered, and in the end all 120 bulbs were no longer seen because they were six inches under.
Sight
Every week the garden looks better and better. More and more beds are becoming weed free, have new plantings in them, and are covered with some fresh mulch. In the winter tunnels the Swiss chard is growing so beautifully with its burgundy, strawberry and green, and green and white leaves. Each row in the tunnels have a different sight to behold. The long rows filled with vegetables and a few flowers are separated by thickly mulched walk ways. Curly leafed kale grows lush and tall in two rows, while another row houses the dark green leaves of collards. At the far end of one of the tunnels the stocks are starting to bloom. Keeping the broccoli from going to flower is quite a chore, but many a day I walk into the tunnel and find bright yellow flowers swaying over the little broccoli shoots that are sprouting all over the plants. I think that next year I shall try growing broccoli raab—a branching broccoli since I can never get my broccoli to produce a big head and I sell the leaves and little shoots. Why not grow a broccoli that doesn’t grow a big head—but lots and lots of little shoots?
The fields are turning greener and greener—some because they are full of winter grasses such as oats and barley. Other fields are green with weeds—Carolina geranium, chickweed, plantain, dock, hen-bit, wild mustard, and the ever terrible fireweed just to name a few. When you look at the tops of the trees you can see a distinct redness on the branches—all new growth just waiting to burst out with little green leaves very soon.
Of course I am always on the lookout for the sight of colors other than green and brown—as in pink, violet, yellow, white, lavender, red, and orange. No they are not the colors of the rainbow—but of flowers. I believe that this shall be my favorite spring ever, because the garden has been almost flowerless for three months. I am ever grateful for the Florida narcissus with its white petals, yellow centers and strong fragrance; the daffodils; and the dianthus. A few weeks ago one of my Camilla’s gave me four flowers. One I picked and it is still floating in a tea cup on my bathroom counter. I also bought some pansies—mauve and blue colored ones. I put them in the greenhouse until I could plant them in the garden, but I have enjoyed seeing them so much that I do not want to go one day not being able to enjoy them, so I planted them in a hanging basket in the greenhouse. To my delight the other day I found the first Johnny jump up blooming in the garden. Twelve years ago we planted about nine Johnny jump up plants and let them go to seed, and now they grow everywhere like weeds—protected weeds, cherished weeds.
Hearing
The days are full of sounds right now. The mockingbird’s perches have been replaced by the ever singing wrens. I noticed that the mockingbirds are back though, so maybe we shall have two soloists singing nonstop—or maybe they will make an ensemble. In the evening you can hear the spring peepers singing away in the neighbor’s pond. High overhead the whooping cranes are calling to one another as they travel north—don’t they know that it is still winter up there? Out in the pastures there is the sound of little lambs calling for their mothers, or ewes calling for their lambs.
We have also been hearing rumbles in the sky as the spring rains shower us with lightning and thunder. Tuesday found most of us becoming drowned rats. Papa and Steve were out in the fields doing the morning chores, our carpenter crew was putting the roof on the new milking parlor, and Moises, Mom and I were in the milking parlor milking cows—when there was a bright flash, followed by another and another. When the flashes were done—the thunder rumbled, and rumbled, and rumbled. The carpenters came off the roof, and the cows shook with fright in their milk stalls. Steve finished his chores—and then had the luxury of bottling kefir in the dry milk house. Poor Papa was still finishing up his chores. Once the rains began to POUR, we took a break from milking. When we realized that the rain was not going anywhere, we continued milking. Mom got drenched having to go out and open the gates to let the cows in and out. Papa and Mom were both grateful for hot showers once everything outside was done.
Smell
Saturday we were in the greenhouse plating strawberries in a clay strawberry pot—we have high hopes that worms and roaches will not eat strawberries that are hanging in the air. Anyway, as we were puttering around we smelled something. The smell was sweet, and delicate, but ever so pleasant. We followed our noses—and they led us to the pansies. Out in the garden there is the pungent smell of the Florida narcissus, and the minty smell of the apple mint when you brush past it—or dig it up to share with a friend.
Taste
O the taste of spring! I would love to make a lemon meringue pie—you can check out my recipe here. I have the hardest time making deserts though—because they take so long and I would rather be outside in the garden. Speaking of the garden we are finding all kinds of flavors to tease our taste buds. There are carrots to add to fresh lettuce salads, or to sauté with butter, salt and parsley. We have a variety of greens that range in taste from strong to mild, peppery to sweet. When we first started the garden in 2008 we planted some Florida Broadleaf mustard—and we let it go to seed. I have never planted it since and it grows wild all over the garden. In the winter tunnels there are three types of kale, collards, Swiss chard, and lettuce. In the open rows there are onions, leeks, and garlic growing.
A Sense of Adventure
Wednesday night I headed outside to do the evening chores. They were really simple: lock up the chickens and ducks, feed both dogs, and close the tunnels (so Peter Rabbit doesn’t eat the lettuce). Since we sold one house of chickens, that meant I only had two to close up. I headed down to the farthest chicken house and parked in the lane. I grabbed Jill’s dog food and stepped over the hotwire fence. The chickens were just over the top of the hill—at the back of the 2-acre field. The sun had already set, but I could still see without a flashlight. I closed up the chickens, greeted Jill, and together we walked back down the hill to her dog house so that I could feed her dinner and her bedtime cookie. I gave Jill a “Goodnight” pat and then I headed back to the Gravely. When I went to hook the hotwire back to the post I found myself with just the handle in my hand—the wire had broke off. I walked over to the Gravely to put down the empty dog food can and noticed that Yasha’s dog food can had been knocked over. It looked like a chicken had done it—but there were no chickens around. I then thought that maybe I had taken Jill’s can out too fast and knocked over Yasha’s. I then walked to the other end of the wire to disconnect it, but realized that I would have to fix it since it was the top wire and if I let it dangle it would still be hot because it was dangling on the other two wires. I decided not to unhook the wires because I remembered that Papa had told me that the hotwire tester was in the Gravely and with a push of a button I could turn the hotwire off on the whole property. When I got back to the Gravely I found that the tester was not in the Gravely—but I heard a noise. By this time it was dark, and in order to see anything I needed a flashlight. I listened closer. All around me I could hear crickets chirping, but it was not a cricket I was hearing—it was the soft murmuring trill of a chicken. I turned on my flashlight—yes, I would rather walk in the dark by the light of the stars than with a flashlight that beckons bugs to my face, and blinds my eyes. I shined my flashlight to the other side of the Gravely and there WAS a chicken. I walked around and picked her up—and carried her all the way back up to the top of the hill (about 300 ft.), and put her to bed in the chicken house. When you sleep outside you temp owls, coyotes, and foxes. On my way back down the hill I headed back over to the other end of the hotwire and disconnected all three strands. Then I walked back to the other side where the broken wire was. Now that the hotwire was “cold” I could tie the wire back on to the handle, and thankfully it didn’t take very long. I then had to walk back to the other end of the wires (130 ft.) in order to hook them back up. It required a lot of walking here, there and yonder but I got it all accomplished!
Yes, there is never a dull moment on the farm. Right now our new milking parlor is coming along nicely. The idea is to replace problems with long term solutions. We are replacing rotten wooden floors with concrete, rotten wooden posts with heavy duty metal pipes, brittle plastic with stainless steel, muck with concrete, and flooding with good drainage. The rainy weather is not helping the progress to be fast—but it is showing us where water stands and where it flows.
I hope that you have a wonderful week, and be sure to take time to smell the roses, listen to the birds sing, give someone you love a hug, watch the sunrise or set ( or should I say “sit on the porch and watch it rain”), and eat some chocolate—I mean a freshly pulled carrot from the garden!
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare