I can’t say that I fall into this camp, although by default, I did manage to get a good start with those things that overwintered or that self-sowed on their own. We still have chard, kale, spinach, and onions going strong; a lot of things have bolted into flower and are so covered with bees, I haven’t had the heart to cut them down.

Overall, though, my garden will be radically different this year. I have decided to forego the usual spring frenzy and give more support to our local growers and less to staking up falling tomatoes.  I mean, so much of what I do is just so fruitless!

However, it is hard not to question that decision after our recent visit to Paul Gautschi’s farm, followed by a few days of good weather.

Ha! What an understatement THAT is! Seriously, we are still reeling from the heat wave that blasted through here last week, propelling us into thinking, OMG, if I don’t get those tomatoes, cukes, & squashes in the ground immediately, it’ll be too late!

Work in garden or go kayaking?

Personally, though, I did not think that. We paddled our kayaks across calm waters to the Dungeness Lighthouse and back. It felt like a late summer day with nary a cloud in the sky. Perfect.

This little guy followed us

But now I am having Slacker’s Remorse. I mean, how could I NOT grow our own food after all these years? It’s not a bad thing to re-think our decisions, after all. There is something indescribably special about picking and munching something on the spot…. Certainly, a compromise is certainly in order here.

But is it too late??? (Quick Answer: Heck No!)

Sure, it’s a trick question on when to plant and when to wait. One of my favorite seed companies, Renee’s Garden, from whom I purchased last year an assortment of salad greens, cukes, sweet peas, sunflowers, morning glories and other flowers, all of which did really well, advises waiting until nighttime temps are above 50 degrees to plant tender veggies.

Good luck with that, I say! If you wait that long here, there won’t be enough time to ripen before the degrees dip back down along with the daylight hours.

The spring window for planting is when we all get a little nervous. Get it wrong, you might not get a second chance. We get creative with cold frames, cloches, raised beds, and pre-starting things like corn crowded in pots on windowsills all over the house (what are windowsills for, anyway? Isn’t that why they call it the spring window?)

Besides, let me remind us that it’s only mid-May, and even though Seattle topped 80 this last weekend, we were thinking we were suffering at approaching 75. It’s all relative. Normally, we’d be dancing if we topped 60. The onshore flows will ensure we get back to normal in no time, which means the wind that topped 40 knots yesterday is just a breath of fresh air compared with what’s to come. And I don’t know about you, but I usually count our average last frost date at April 15 – which always seems so late to me – seems like we wait forever for that magic number. Well, those recent sunny days brought some very cool nights, and I couldn’t help but notice that some of my plants got nipped – get this – on MAY 11!!! So it can – and does – happen!

The Soil Temp Answer:

Cliff Mass, my favorite weather guy, recently wrote about measuring the temperature of the soil and using that info in gardening. This makes a lot of sense to me.  The air temp, after all, is quite different from that at the top of the soil, which is quite different from what you find a few inches down, which is why I think my peas rotted. Or maybe the birds got them. Either way, if you wonder why something isn’t germinating, the soil temp could give the answer. Cliff provides a link to the Washington State University AgWeatherNet, which gives a daily reading of the soil temperature taken 8” down at numerous stations across the state. At that depth, the temps are undoubtedly more stable, but my first reaction was, “How useful is that? We plant maybe an inch down, not 8!” Still, it is a value that reflects trends, and you can adjust to your upper-level circumstances, accordingly. Which may vary widely, I might add, through the aforementioned creative use of plastic, rocks and concrete, old tires, & lots of etc. that wouldn’t normally be in a garden other than to create individual microclimates to your advantage.

Here is a chart that shows the required soil temperature for germination of various vegetables, which, in full disclosure, I stole from Cliff Mass. Note how the “practical” differs from the “optimal” by sometimes 40 degrees! I would suspect these are temperatures of the soil where the seed is, not 8” down under.

So no – it’s not too late to plant things like peas and spinach (optimum at 70), and yes, I’ll have to try again with the pod peas (not listed on the chart, but place it in line with spinach and parsley), and I will pass on the okra, thank you very much. What – 95 for pumpkins? It’ll never happen – but we DID get pumpkins last year – so take this info however you want.

The point being, don’t let admonitions make you think you can’t. Throw caution to the wind! (I do it so much, I should install a wind tower!)

Whether to plant or not to plant: Maybe it’s also about weighing what is worth the effort for the return. Pod peas, for example, are just SO GOOD fresh and too expensive in the stores! Herbs? Who can’t have a little pot of thyme and oregano on their porch?  Basil takes a little more effort, but it’s a spendy gourmet item in the markets if you like fresh pesto, which I do, I do. If you get ripe tomatoes, you grow justified bragging rights, and more power to ya.

For those of us with time and room, we can continue planting stuff all the way up until fall – garlic being a prime example of something to stick in the ground in October. I usually wait until later this month or even early June for potatoes so they are ready just in time for a fall harvest and storage, but I see some volunteers are already up, which will give me an early crop (and yes, those were the ones that got hit hardest by the frost, but they are making a comeback). Potatoes might be cheap, but if you consider commercial growers kill the tops with weed killers to facilitate harvesting, I think they’re worth either buying organic or growing your own if you have space.

So do not be dismayed by the calendar and whatever you haven’t been able to accomplish! All it takes is a few days of sunshine and the soothsayers are out there predicting drought and pestilence. But hey, we only get an average of 17” of rain here anyway – and the pests, well, they, too, are part of the world we live in. Some are like weeds, underappreciated for the role they play.

I just remember how last year never seemed to warm up until mid-July – and yet, when I look back at the pictures from last year’s garden, I am blown away by the sheer amount of biomass! Despite day after day of cold temperatures, heavy rains, unrelenting wind, and outright neglect by yours truly when I disappeared for a full month about this time – my garden hung in there. I came back in late May to a garden full of weeds and started planting anyway – and all this stuff still managed to grow. Most striking, the pod peas, sweet peas, beans, squashes, and nasturtiums, which just seemed to clamber over everything, and the spectacular sunflowers towering overhead. Check out this photostream:

2011 – it was a hard year and also a good year. What’s in store for 2012? In the garden, it’s just beginning!

So Plant ON, Plant People!

Strong, expressive hands - huge spirit - Paul Gautschi shares his love for God and His creation.

Paul Gautschi is not a big man in stature, and one cannot help but notice that just walking is difficult for him, as his body is quite crippled from the ravages of Agent Orange. Spend just a few moments with him, however, and you do not see his physical challenges – you only see a strong human being with a profound relationship with the earth and its Creator, a man whose mind knows no limitations.

“I think about how hard I used to work to fail.” He chuckles at the thought and shakes his head at his own folly. Paul obviously takes no credit for what he has created, only giving credit to the true Creator.

Poor Beginnings

He and his wife, Carol (who, as an aside note, is a well-known midwife and delivered my latest granddaughter), bought some land years ago on the Olympic Peninsula, Washington State, in an area that was probably quite remote at the time. The problem was, though, that they dug a well over 200 feet and it only produced ½ gallon per minute – and the “soil” was a rocky thin layer over hardpan.

These, he claims, were blessings in disguise. Keep in mind, they raised seven children on this land! I can imagine him in those early days, at his wits end, wondering how he was going to make it all work. So he did what many of us would do: he took a walk in the woods, and he called out (probably with a certain amount of despair), “Lord – help me out here!” And the answer was, “Look around.”

Hmmm. He realized the trees were huge – with no help whatsoever from mankind. No irrigation. No plowing or tilling. No weeding. No applied fertilizers.

“I can do this,” he said – and from then on, his approach to gardening changed from slave labor to letting Nature do the work for him.

The Solution in Wood Chip Mulch

Back to the present: we are visiting his homestead on a field trip as part of a Conservation District Native Landscaping class. The first step, he noted, talking about those early days, was to layer things on top – and more specifically, wood chip mulch – not just bark or just inner chips of wood, but the whole tree, including green leaves and branches, similar to how Nature drops a combination of needles, leaves, branches, and trees over time. He was just speeding up the process. This combination of green and brown, he says, is essential to keeping things in balance. It also provides a nice texture, unlike hay or grass clippings, which tend to get slimy and compacted and may contain seeds.

Note how the gnarly branches reach downward on this tree (also pictured: one of the homestead expert vole catchers!)

“I haven’t watered this orchard in 33 years,” he says. He rakes across the top of the mulch to reveal black, mineral-rich soil.

Paul is a Certified Master Arborist, but does not own a chipper. “Just another machine requiring fuel,” he says. It makes much more sense to utilize what would otherwise be a waste product from road crews and other sources.

“Look at nature,” he explains. “Nature doesn’t like bare ground. If there is bare ground, something will move in and cover it. Soil is a living organism,” he emphasizes. “It should never be exposed. Whether by scales, fur, or skin – every living thing is covered.” All materials are placed on top.  In fact, in the fall, he just covers up his strawberries with more woodchip mulch. Healthy young plants come up every year.

One student makes the comment that she feels badly that we are all standing in his garden, a big no-no for most Pacific Northwest soils in wet, late April. “You can’t compact this stuff!” he exclaims. I look around and notice that most of us are lightly bouncing in place on what is like a giant cushion.

Water Solution

The soil becomes like a sponge, holding just the right amount of moisture. And every time it rains, it’s like giving the garden a dose of compost tea. It’s a constant mineral supplement – and those minerals are key to flavor, nutrition, and vitality. “What is snow?” he asks. “Snow is slow-release, drip irrigation, as well as insulation.”

He points to his orchard. The “dwarf” trees are really quite large (no one tells you how big they’ll get if grown in compost – they don’t know!). The roots spread out unencumbered. The branches, instead of growing upward, bend down toward the earth. The roots have an easier time reaching the water, which is then transported to the fruit. “The fruits are so full of juice and so heavy that they weigh the branches downward – where they are easier for me to pick,” he adds.

“Like nature intended,” we all say in our minds. We are catching on.

Mineral-Rich Soil Smells Rich!

The soil just beneath the top layer of chips is incredible – soft, moist, dark, and rich. He encourages us all to take a handful and smell it. “You can literally smell the minerals in this soil,” he exclaims. His enthusiasm and the wonder at the perfectness of nature are catching.

Sweet Russian Kale - SO good!

It is the end of April, and he guides us to a patch of Russian kale planted a year ago beneath a cherry tree. “The tree gives it protection over the winter,” he says. He clips us all a little sample. It is juicy and surprisingly sweet. “Come on over here to the asparagus…” We eagerly follow. This is the best tour ever. The asparagus is literally dripping juices. He comments about the wonders of nature and its perfect sense of timing: asparagus has roots that can mine minerals 15 feet down into the ground. It comes up in the spring when hardly anything else is growing, when we most need something fresh, green, and nourishing.

“When you cut the plant off from its life source, it immediately begins to die,” he explains. Within 10 minutes, it doesn’t have near the vitality it did before. By growing your own food, you can harvest and eat it right there for optimum nutrition. His explanation makes perfect sense to me.

We all can’t help but notice that he also has a lush patch of parsley and cilantro that have overwintered. I help myself to a nibble of the fragrant cilantro. I love this stuff – and when I plant it in spring, it usually bolts before I harvest much.

Paul Gautschi leans against a rake, taking questions from our tour group and sharing what he has observed and has worked for him.

Building the Soil Without Tilling

But of course, a vegetable can only be as nutritious as the soil in which it is grown. Many agricultural practices only deplete the soil further and further, unlike the mulch applications that continue to build the soil, year after year. Done right, you can use less and less and get more in return (“at about the time we are getting older and can’t do as much,” he notes as another example of perfect timing).

“You don’t have to mix it all up,” he says. “All that needless work, and so destructive! Tilling is like sending a hurricane through the environment! God doesn’t till. He just lays everything on top. When you mix it up, that’s when it ties up the nitrogen. It brings too much oxygen into the soil and the microbes burn up the nutrients too quickly, leaving nothing for the next season.” He points to the lush grass on the edges of the mulch. “Does that grass look like it doesn’t get nitrogen?” he asks.

He recalls how much work he used to do tilling, trying to break up the layer of hardpan beneath. The process only brought more weed seeds to the surface, which then required more tilling – a never-ending process. He shakes his head again, thinking how hard he worked against nature’s way. It was like God was saying, “I sent all those worms to break up your hardpan, and you kept killing them with your tiller.” The evidence is clear: cultivation is destroying our topsoil, and despite the obvious, people are still doing it, and on a very large scale.

No Thinning, Weeding, Hilling, Rotating….  (like, what does this guy do all day?)

Another Mouser - these daffodils just grow on their own - and look at that grass on the border! No lack of nitrogen there!

Paul doesn’t bother thinning his vegetables – too much work! And what a waste! The soil is so loose, they naturally just move each other out of the way. He doesn’t need to hill potatoes; they, too, just move to where they need to grow. He doesn’t rotate his garlic. “God doesn’t rotate crops,” he explains. “Why should I?” I notice no quackgrass, no bindweed, no real insect issues. I like this guy. And I love his methods. I am tempted to spend the afternoon in his parsley patch, but right now, we are headed to see the chickens, who are busy with their waste management duties.

“Everything in nature is in total harmony,” he explains as we walk. “We (meaning mankind) take out the best. Nature, though, takes out the weak.” So when he harvests potatoes, he puts the best ones back. His crop improves every year.

Throughout our tour, I am marveling at how this man with so many physical challenges, manages to achieve so much. “I let nature do the work for me,” he repeats. But even more extraordinary than what he has accomplished is his deep connection to the land, his reverence to God, and the continual sense of awe in His creation.  His source of inspiration truly emanates from his being.

The lessons seem so obvious to those of us who slave to force our gardens into submission, rapid growth, and our contrived sense of pedigreed perfection.

There is an easier way.

M-U-L-C-H.

Yes, it IS that simple. Just layer it on top. It builds the soil; it conserves water; it releases nutrients gradually. Plants grow together in harmony. And as Paul Gautschi illustrates, we can reap from this bounty, with enough left over to feed our neighbors and give back to the earth.

Permaculture is hardly an original idea. Nature has been doing it on her own since time began.

Paul quotes Einstein, “When the solution is simple, God is answering.”

Maybe it is time to take a walk in the woods. Take a little closer look around us. Witness. Communicate with the Powers that Be. Listen. Learn. Share. Stand back in wonder. Be humbled.

~ * ~

Additional Information:

Watch the Film:

Paul Gautschi’s approach and methods have recently been featured in a film, “Back to Eden,” which is currently being translated into several different languages – including Swahili!

Happy International Permaculture Day everyone!

Here is how the schedule went in obtaining and installing the bees into their new Warre Hive at Barbolian Fields:

Wednesday evening: bees packaged up in Oregon

Thursday morning: bees traveled to Sequim, WA. We picked them up at 11:30 a.m. (try driving home with 15,000 bees buzzing in your car – including a few hitchhikers that were along for the ride and on the OUTSIDE of the cage!).

Friday: the weather was rather windy and cold, so we waited and got ready. See Ain’t Mis-Bee-Havin’  and the Warre Hive set-up.

Saturday: Time to release the bees! Beautiful day! The weather was perfect!

Sunday and Monday: We left them alone.

Tuesday (yesterday): Time to make sure everyone was ok and that the Queen was out of her cage. It was a good thing I did! Here’s how it happened…

The weather had dramatically changed from uncommonly warm and spring-like to our normal cold, drizzle-rain. There was not a soul at the entrance. I worried that anyone was even alive. I knocked on the hive. No sound. I opened up the bottom drawer. A little bee flew out, and the drawer wasn’t full of bees, so I figured they were just sleeping in.

I returned later in the day, dressed in my bee suit, equipped with smoker, feather, jars of fresh sugar syrup, sugar spray, hive tool, and a nail, just in case I needed to help the queen out. I intended to use the smoker only if I really needed to, but I was a little leery of opening up the hive on a cold day.

This is where the reality hit that I was invading “their” space. It was no longer “my” hive. The key, however, is respect, politeness, and don’t let them know you’re afraid. Keep the fear pheromones under control.

I decided to give a little puff of smoke at the hive entrance, just to let them know I was coming. Or maybe to mask my odor. Or maybe just to confuse them. You can’t be too careful, right?

I removed the roof and quilt box. So far so good. However, when I tried to take off the top cloth covering the feeder box, I was blown away by what I saw: a zillion bees hanging from the screen in a large clump. More like a giant glob of bees. If I wiggled the cloth, they moved in unison. And they were humming. Loudly.

What’s this? They’re supposed to be down in the hive! How was I going to get to the Queen? I tried giving them a few gentle puffs of smoke, but they didn’t automatically descend into the hive – so I gave them a little shake. Many fell off; many flew out; some still clung tenaciously. My eyes were wide and my accelerated breathing was starting to fog up my glasses inside the bee veil. Finally, I set the cloth back down, picked up the feeder box (which has no bottom – just the four sides to protect the jars and keep the hive intact), and set them both on the ground.

Next surprise: One of the pint jars of syrup was covered in freshly made comb! They were building off the jar! Wow. The symmetry is absolutely amazing – but this is not where it’s supposed to be! These bees are clearly not following the rules (my kind of bees!). Either that, or they are terribly confused (I can so relate!) Of the two pint jars of 1:1 sugar:water, the one with comb was almost empty, the other 3/4 full. I removed them both, and numerous bees followed.

I still needed to find the Queen. I could see the push pin, but the cage itself was deep down in the hive, thickly covered with bees. Hmm. Not a good sign. And why did I put it so far down there? Oh yes, to keep it beneath the triangular piece of wood attached to the top bar. But how was I going to get my hands in there? It is very difficult to grab something small with thick vinyl (Vinylove!) gloves, but you couldn’t pay me to put my bare hands down there! A lot of comb was being built, attached to the center top bars, which was good – however, it just isn’t all that easy to pull out a bar thick with comb and a zillion bees.

I gave them a couple more puffs of smoke. I am not convinced it “calms” them. I would think instead it affects their respiratory system and their breathing slows down. Breathe slowly. That would be me. And I don’t smoke.

Next problem: I couldn’t get the push pin out. The other day, it was easy to push it in there when it wasn’t covered with bees! I tried using the hive tool. I finally got the pin out, but then I dropped the cage! It fell deeper into the hive box, on top of thousands of bees. I could see it there – just out of reach.

What I really needed was a pair of long, needle-nose pliers! [Note to self: put “pliers” on the Beekeeping Equipment List!] I calmly stepped away from the hive and then ran as fast as I could to the barn to get a pair. I ran back to near the hive, and then slowed to a casual-walk pace, singing a Pooh-bear version of “I’m just a little white cloud” song. Tum de dum…

I gave them a little puff of the magic dragon in the can. But my running and looking down over the hive only served to fog up my glasses even more – it was difficult to see the edge of the screen to the cage, covered with bees, of course, and even more difficult to grab it without pinching anyone. I managed to only push it further down. Yikes. Now what.

Ah ha! But this is one of the advantages of the Warre Hive! Something falls down, just remove the box! Sure enough. The cage fell gently to the box below. It was covered in bees. The Queen was still intact.

I could see the problem. When I originally pinned the cage to the wall, I must have accidently pushed the little flap of screen back over the hole. None of the bees could help her get out. And if she ate her way through the candy blocking the entrance, which she had not, she would still not be able to escape. She was trapped.

I felt like the villain alien in some Grade B Science Fiction Reality show (is that an oxymoron? A Fiction Reality?). Clearly, I was only trying to help these little creatures. To them, however, I was this smoke-breathing gargantuan dragon, tearing apart their home, destroying their handiwork, taking away their food supply, and now stealing their Queen! All alarms were being sounded. Only we hear at different frequencies, and I could not hear them.

It was chaotic frenzy. They were bonking me in the face, buzzing all around my head, darting back and forth; numerous bees landed on my gloves; others were on my clothing…  “Why is this giant so dense??” they were screaming.

Did I mention? I love my Vinylove gloves and my beekeeper veil and the multiple layers of clothing. Plus, one can never have too much Velcro.

Breathe slowly. Do not let them sense my fear….

Yes, it was the creepy-crawlies / heebie-jeebies all rolled into one. Still, I carried on. I MUST GET THE QUEEN OUT. I focused.

I realized it was they who were afraid. I was not getting stung or hurt. They, on the other hand, were being invaded, exposed, and unfortunately, a few got a little smushed. Hate that sound. It’s kind of a little crunch. Sorry, girls. Clumsy giant. I didn’t mean to.

I took the nail out of the Beekeeper kit and tried to pry loose the candy. I had been advised that if I gently poked a hole through, being careful not to hurt the Queen, who was frantically jumping this way and that in the little cramped container, that I could just put my finger over the hole and release her into the hive.

Good luck trying that wearing Vinyloves. I do not love Vinylove.

Unfortunately, the candy was not all that easy to get out. It was goopy and waxy. I eventually managed to get a little hole through, though. It was the best I could do.

By this time, the hive had been open for quite some time. I decided to just hang the cage back in and close things back up. We’d all had enough excitement for one day. This time, though, I pinned the cage to the top of a bar 2^nd in from the end. That way, I could easily remove it without getting in everyone’s way, and it wouldn’t interfere with where comb was already being built. I tilted the box sideways, pointing toward the center of the hive. I made sure she could get out.

I placed new jars of sugar syrup back in the hive and some more pollen patty and rock candy. I covered it back up with the box and the cover cloth, the quilt, and lastly, the roof. I tightened things down with the Bungie cords and quietly walked away.

Whew. The dragon will retreat into her cave for the night.

Wednesday (today): As much as I hated to open things back up so soon, I knew I needed to make sure the Queen was safely out and remove the cage before they built comb all around it. These bees were obviously Type-A workaholics; they would work until they die, to which I’m sure many of us can relate.

It would also be good to check on the syrup supply. Some folks tell me they can go through a quart of syrup in a day in cool weather before the blooms are out. But these bees only went through a little over a pint over the entire time, which told me they were finding food outside the hive, but probably also appreciated the indoor food on cold days.

It was 10:30 a.m., 57 degrees. The forecast was for afternoon rain and more rain throughout the week. Now was my moment.

As before, I dressed up in 4 layers of clothing (this could get hot!), donned my veil and Vinylove gloves, lit up the little smoker. I brought along a pair of needle-nose pliers, just in case, and also a small tarp, which would be handy to set the feeder box on.

Puff puff. The bees start buzzing. Something’s going on. Do they remember me?

I took off the roof and the quilt. I gingerly peeked inside the top. Puff puff. Stand back and wait a moment. Quite a different experience this time. The bees were busy. They were feeding on the candy and syrup; crawling up and down between the bars. Fewer were obsessed with me and what I was doing. They were no longer clinging to the cloth in a clump.

The push pin was easily accessible. All I needed to do was to move the syrup jars out of the way and lift up the bar enough to pull the cage out of there. As I pulled up the bar, a glob of bees came along with it. They appeared to be making comb. There were a few bees on the Queen’s cage, but not too many. I could gently push them off with my finger. I realized I could do this with my hands; I didn’t necessarily need the feather.

The bee cage was empty! Success!

I did not try to find the Queen. I was sure she was in there, doing what Queens do, catching up on her responsibilities.

Everyone has a role. Everyone knows what they are supposed to do.

Me, too. I put the syrup back on the bars and added an extra jar to cover them over the forecasted cool weather. I put the feeder box around them, covered with the top cloth, then the quilt, then the roof. I tightened down the sides against the spring winds that can whip through here hard enough to blow over my corn crop. The whole procedure took me less than 15 minutes.

Success! Long Live the Queen!

The bees were already coming and going outside the front entrance. And the best part: they were ignoring me. They had better things to do. The Queen must be getting ready to lay eggs, if she isn’t already. And you gotta be amazed at how hard those girls were working to build comb! Incredible architecture in wax!

Something very satisfying about seeing them all so busy, fulfilling their life missions. Singing, indeed. Some were already returning with pollen. The weather might be changing, but they didn’t seem to mind.

As an aside note, when I attended my first local beekeeper’s meeting, I couldn’t help but notice how “bee-like” the instructor was. He confessed he spent an embarrassingly large amount of time watching his bees. I suddenly completely understood.

Away from the hive, I more closely inspected the cage. I could see how the wire mesh could easily be pushed back over it by mistake. Something to be aware of.

I examined more closely the piece of comb that had been built on the syrup jar. Oozing from the cells, a clear thick liquid, dripping like dew. Mmmm. It tasted remarkably like honey.

I think I could get used to this. Maybe.

So without further ado, my contribution to an Earth Day celebration of how ultimately amazing this Earth is, as are all the creatures that inhabit it, both large and small; a recognition of how each of us can do a little something to make the world a better place or to make life a little easier for someone else; and last but not least, the release of 15,000 bees….

Let them be Bees! Let them be Free!

(P.S. Interested in a hive? Contact us! Jeff could probably be talked into building another one!)

Here is a video to show you how it’s all put together (plus a little introductory harp music by yours truly – just can’t resist!)

Want a closer look?

Two Warre Hives along the back fence, facing south. They get a lot of morning sun here and are sheltered from the prevailing west wind.

Top bars on a box in the Warre Hive

Bottom drawer makes cleaning easy

Sunflower rooftop stands out!

It's supposed to be a black Hollyhock flower! Hope it helps them find their way home!

Quilt box is filled with loose material to absorb condensation

Jeff, the Master Warre Hive Builder! Dang! Nice Job!

Advantages of the Warre Hive:

• Simple system
• Allows bees to do what they do naturally
• Bees build from the top down
• Bees adjust the size of the comb according to their own requirements
• Easier for bees to keep warm during winter
• Fewer problems with disease, mites, and varmints
• Good ventilation
• Is much like a tree
• Bees like trees
• Low cost
• Low maintenance, “hands-off” philosophy
• Lets the bees be bees and follow their natural instincts.

Here is a great link if you’d like to build one yourself or learn more about Abbe Emile Warre and the Warre beekeeping system.

Want us to build one for you? Questions? Contact us!

It’s been a bit of a learning curve, building them homes, landscaping the entire property to transform it into a bee sanctuary (needless to say, when it comes to plants, I go all-out), and learning all about bee behavior, what they need, what their issues are (do bees have “issues?” – well, actually, yes they do…). The more I learn about them, the more I am in awe of these incredible little creatures who are so vital to our world. If, as some report, approximately 1/3 of what we eat is from insect-pollinated plants (personally, I would guess more) and that 80% of those plants are pollinated by bees, and if over 1/3 of the bee populations have already died due to a variety of factors – chemicals and weakened immune systems being primary among them – we are in a world of hurt – and you can read that on many different levels. And If – and this is a big if – we don’t wake up right now and get a handle on this crisis, it could mean the end of life as we know it. Sounds like drama, but if you carry out the thought, that’s where it – and we – end.

Of course, we could be waiting a long time if we are waiting for the likes of Bayer and Monsanto to change their policies and recognize that rather than enhancing food production, they are actually killing the Earth; to recognize that the future of our existence is more important than immediate financial gain; or to see that industrialized agriculture, in general, and massive bee-breeding in support of that industry, more specifically, is also contributing to this spiraling decline.

But this is not about the end of the world. This is about saving the world. And so, for Earth Day, which is Every Day, I am doing my part in learning to be a Bee Guardian – that is, someone in support of helping them to live a normal, natural life and bee all that they can bee, and that is on their own terms, not mine. If I eventually get some honey and some wax out of the deal, that is a bonus, but it is not my main objective. I want to create a place where they can thrive.

When it comes down to it, it’s not that hard. Each of us can do our part – even if it just means becoming more aware of the importance of these creatures, refraining from using yard and garden chemicals, and  maybe planting a few wildflowers and other bee-friendly forage.

This is who I want to be:

(Sara Mapelli, the bee dancer featured in the “Queen of Sun” documentary). If you have not already seen this film, please do. Profound is the only word I can think of to describe it.

Ok. So maybe I’m not quite that far “out there.” For now, I accept my reality. (Did I mention my mother was deathly allergic to bees?) I might have a long way to grow, but we all have to start somewhere. I know this is overkill, and I suspect, as I gain more confidence and understanding, I will shed a lot of this garb, but for now, this is me:

And here is Part 2, which goes through all the tools you might want to have handy, and a few extra, just in case:

For those who want the quick list, here are the supplies I have gathered:

Beekeeper’s Survival Kit

Dress for Success:

• White painter’s coveralls (not meant to be a reflection on the painter’s nationality)
• Mosquito Netting Hat
• Raingear: Rain pants with heavy coating
• Rain Jacket
• White pants & shirt
• One-wrap Velcro or other taping material for wrapping around ankles and wrists
• Beekeepers hat
• Heavy gloves

 General Equipment:

• 5-gallon bucket
• Cloth for wiping hands or whatever
• Pocket Knife
• Duck/Duct Tape
• Rubbing Alcohol
• Bee-sting salve
• Lavender oil (yarrow, plantain, baking soda, and mud have also been shown to relieve stings)

For Installing the Bees:

• Spray bottle of water
• Spray bottle of sugar water (1:1 sugar:water solution to spray the inside of the hive and lightly mist the bees)
• Lemongrass oil to make the hive attractive (after note: I have since discovered that this is best used when trying to catch feral bees or swarms – not so much in your regular hive, and in fact, it might even attract nefarious characters, like robbers and thieves.)
• Sugar syrup in a jar (1:1 sugar:water solution) – for feeding the bees (use push pin to poke holes in the top)
• Bee brush and/or hawk feather
• Hive tool for scraping, prying, levering – for getting the syrup can out of the box they come in and for assorted tasks later on
• Small container to hold push pins and wood screw for getting the cork out of the Queen cage and hanging it in the hive
• A small marshmallow – for plugging the hole where the cork was on the Queen cage, unless it came with bee candy instead of a cork.

For Inspecting the Hive and Harvesting

• Smoker (I still question whether this is necessary, but some people swear by it; I don’t think you need it for the initial installation)
• Pine or fir cones or other burning material for the smoker
• Matches, lighter, or blow torch for lighting the smoker
• Bee comb for scraping wax (eventually) to access honey
• Small bucket for debris
• The hive tool, as noted above

Other Useful Stuff

• Flower & herb seeds for bee-friendly landscaping
• Beekeeper advice book

I hope to reduce this list with experience and as I learn how to be around bees. I am also hoping they will learn to be comfortable with my working around them – but I plan to disturb them as little as possible and mostly leave them to be bees.

In some cultures, bees are revered. What is your reaction when you see a bee? Do you panic and swat it away in fear? Or do you stare at it in wonder?

Nettles. (Photo from NorthernBushcraft.com)

I love foraging. I love the idea that there is all that food out there just free for the gathering. This is a perfect time of year for foraging, because a little bit later, many plants turn tough and bitter. Nettles and dandelions, for example.

So – for today’s wild feature: Nettle soup.

Those who read my blog know that I’m a freestyle cook who throws things together never the same way twice, depending on what is at hand. So here, more or less, is what I did:

Basically – take your favorite potato-leek soup idea and add nettles. How hard is that?

Ingredients: nettles, potatoes, a leek, a couple stalks of celery, soup stock (chicken would have been good, but I had some beef bone broth available), a handful of French sorrel, a little lemon juice, bacon (optional), garlic, salt & pepper, and kefir, yogurt, or sour cream to decorate the top. Don’t worry – you don’t have to have all of these – except the nettles, of course.

Here’s what to do:

1. Collect the nettles. Yes, first you have to pick the nettles and be reminded why their full name is “Stinging nettles.” Emphasis on sting. Wear gloves. I used to know someone who could take a handful of them and rub them on her face with no ill effects, but I have no desire to do something crazy like that to impress my friends with my daring stupidity. I have found, though, that if you pinch them directly on the leaf, no problem. It’s when you brush lightly past them that you break out in a rash, which is something I will remember the next time I decide to go running naked through the edge of a field. Just kidding, of course. Sort of. However you do it, get a bagful, because they cook down like spinach. Personally, I collected 2 bags, cutting them off at mid-stem so they would grow back – one for the soup and one for drying to make tea at a later time.
2. Cook potatoes: boil up 5 or 6, depending on how big a batch you’re making. Make this pan the one you want your final soup in.
3. Cook bacon: optional item – but we get this really good chemical-free bacon and if you’re a bacon fan, nothing more need be said. Drain it after cooking on a paper towel. Meatless friends, yes, the soup is good without it.
4. Sautee the leek & celery in a little fat of your choice: oil, butter, bacon fat. Slice them up first; make sure you get the dirt out of the leek. I use almost the entire leek up to near the end where it gets a little too tough.
5. Wash & cook the nettles. Mine were recently rain-washed, but I gave them another quick rinse just to make sure there were no bird droppings or bugs. Throw the nettles in a kettle with a little water & lightly simmer until limp – just a few minutes. Don’t bother cutting them up – just get them in there without hurting yourself. Boiling them takes away the sting.  Ok – it’s starting to look like you’re dirtying too many pans at this point. I admit, I really am a messy cook.
6. Blend up the vegetables: Put the celery & leek combo in a blender. Add a little of the nettle liquid to the pan they were cooked in so you get those flavors off the pan. Throw that in the blender too, along with the nettles, stems and all. Also throw in a handful of fresh French sorrel if you have it and blend some more. Sorrels are high in oxalic acid, but it is neutralized by heat. They add a little tang and a lot of Vitamin C.
7. Mash the potatoes. I used a separate immersion blender to buzz up the potatoes in their liquid, mainly because I didn’t have room in the blender – but it doesn’t really matter where you do it. The potatoes act as a thickener for the soup. Keep in mind you might want to add some soup stock later, so it doesn’t have to be super thin at this point.
8. Combine all the veggies: potatoes, nettles, celery, leek, sorrel – it should look very green.
9. Add some soup stock to thin it a bit: I am into making bone broths, so I added a cup of beef bone broth that was gelled solid with its natural gelatin. It’s extremely flavorful, full of minerals and vitamins, and melts in the heat. I often have a crockpot of bones simmering on the counter, so I usually have this handy. Chicken or vegetable would also be good.
10. Crumble in the bacon (if you’re using it):  Everything else is pureed, so this adds a little chew-factor. Give everything a stir.
11. Add a little lemon juice and salt & pepper: A tablespoon or so will brighten the flavors – and salt and pepper to taste, less if you added bacon. Mmmm, still needs a little something….
12. Garlic! Chop up about 3 or 4 cloves: (hope you still have some!) Chop finely and let it sit for a half minute or so to develop flavors; then toss it into the soup. Give it all a stir. The heat from the soup will cook it just enough and not too much.
13. Ladle into bowls and top with kefir, plain yogurt, or sour cream: I’ve been into making homemade kefir with the raw dairy milk from the Dungeness Valley Creamery down the road, so that’s what we used. We’re really fortunate to have a source of grass-fed cows and certified raw milk so close by! VERY much worth the extra price – this milk is a REAL food, and the nutrients are easily absorbed.
14. Serve. Amidst “oohs” and “ahhs”. Very fun. Cost was hardly anything. Nutrient ratio out the roof.

Nettle Soup - a few weeds, some potatoes, and a dolup of homemade kefir - mmm!

We had a lot of family over that night and some went back for seconds.

Caveat: Since making this, I have read that potato water shouldn’t be used because potatoes contain hemagglutinins that disrupt red blood cell function, and those go into the cooking water. What can I say – we all survived.

Nettles as a Superfood

Nettles are seriously good for you. They provide protein, vitamins C and A, carotenoids, potassium, iron, calcium, thiamine, riboflavin, and niacin. They’ve been used as a tonic and a diuretic, applied to stop bleeding in open wounds, and slapped on bald heads to stimulate hair follicles and new hair growth. They’re a good source of quercitin, a flavonoid that inhibits the release of histamine; hence, they’re effective in treating hay fever and other allergies. They’ve also been used to treat arthritis, gout, urinary tract infections (the diuretic flush effect), and prostate issues; they’ve also been used to purify the blood and to cleanse the liver and kidneys.

Wow. I really do think I should be eating nettles more often.

Plus, they are a whole lot like pot, only they won’t get you high and they are legal. Ok, so maybe they’re not like pot. But – like hemp – they can grow 7 feet tall and be used as a fiber. They are extremely strong. This is good news. I used to do a lot of spinning (mostly dog and llama hair) – and I am definitely going to give nettles a try. They grow so fast and are so prolific, they even show promise to be used in biofuels.

You learn a lot of things on the Internet. I used to really like nettles, but I love them now. So much, in fact, I’m thinking of turning them into pesto.

One site I read said how the authors love to wrap stinging nettles around them because it makes them feel so alive and tingly.

Um. Ok.

Thanks, but no thanks. I might have to draw the line with that one. I think sex sounds like a better option if you’re looking for those sensations, and a heck of a lot more fun. Just my opinion.

Anyway – before we get sidetracked – bring on the Spring! Take a walk on the wild side. Collect things along the way. Throw them in a soup. Don’t forget some of the domesticated garden plants that are also at their best at this time of year. Cardoon, French sorrel, and lovage all come to mind. Each are rather strong-flavored in their own way, but are so good added in small quantities to just about everything.

And DO give nettles a try!

Won’t be long and the morels will be ready. Oh yes! Can’t wait!

Here are a couple of good sources for identifying your weeds and wild edibles:

Northern Bushcraft 

Westside Gardener

Spring Equinox Sunrise on the Olympics - the view from our backyard

We have reached that turning point, all things being equal, which, of course, they are not – when day equals night and darkness turns to light.

When the sun hits the sky and the temps climb toward 55, we Vitamin D-starved souls in the Pacific Northwest throw off our clothes and dance in circles and raise our hands to the sun in praise.  “Let the wild rumpus start!”

Even though true outdoor heat is still just a warm dream for those of us who can’t escape to a tropical sandy beach somewhere, it is now officially Spring, folks, and that is definitely worth capitalizing and celebrating.

The Equinox Paradox

We all know it eventually happens every year, and yet how it comes about exactly is still a convoluted mystery to many of us. The Vernal Equinox marks that day when, as the world turns, we will see more and more daylight. Most of us mark the date as March 21. The truth is, however, we missed the real balancing point already. For those on the East Coast, it was yesterday. For us, it was even earlier, on the night of March 19. In fact, those who know these things say that spring technically arrived this year the earliest since 1896.

How can this be? How could this important event quietly happen when the great majority of us were sleeping? How can we all think the equinox is on March 21 when in reality, it only occurs on that date maybe 30% of the time?

The truth is, the equinox is simply a moment in time when the sun is neither more above, nor more below – but right at – the “celestial equator” – a term I find amusing because it sounds like there must be a middle of the universe out there, but is really just the idea of the Earth’s equator projected outward. We Earthlings traditionally like to think of ourselves as the center of the universe, after all.

You can blame the Gregorians for the differences about when this happens (actually, it was the Pope, but we’re not going to go there). As we were leaping over the last day of February, we were playing catch-up to an imperfect system that says it takes 365 days to dance around the sun, when it actually takes about 365.25, more or less.

Of course, you also have to factor in that the Earth is not a perfect sphere (like many of us, a little fatter around the middle) and it tilts (as many of us do after 5), so if you’re looking for that perfect 90-degree angle to the sun, you might have to wait.

If that’s not enough to make the Earth wobble on its axis, don’t forget the pull of the moon and other planets, also in perpetual motion. I think I feel them tugging at me right now, in fact.

Moreover, if you are looking for that moment when daylight and night are exactly the same, consider that sunrise is defined by when the first edge of the great yellow orb rises on the horizon (I’m assuming at sea level, which we don’t see here, because there are a few mountain ranges in the way), and it sets when the last bit of sun (not the center) sets in the west (coast is clear! we get fantastic sunsets here!).

But also remember that refraction throws everything off even more. Our atmosphere bends the light. Which means, when we think we are watching the sun rise or set, we are actually watching an illusion. Do not confuse this, however, with the Green Flash, which is a real phenomenon, not just something exalted by dancing substance-infused individuals, names of whom we won’t release here.

Throw in the kink with Daylight Savings Time, something I’ve never quite understood the logic in.

Obviously, the magnolia knows it's spring!

Ok. We get it. The Equinox came and went while we were sleeping. Most of us didn’t know and didn’t care what time it was. What matters is, it is officially Spring. People east of the Mississippi have been thinking this for months – and if it’s warm there now, you gotta wonder how they’re going to suffer through August. For us in the Northwest, though, we’re in another La Nina chokehold. According to Cliff Mass’ weather blog (one of my favorites, nerdy person that I am), in the last month, only 4 days have been at or above normal. Everything else is pulling down the bell curve. The mountains and every skier on them have been inundated with snow, and avalanches have been a serious risk that has cost lives.

For us in the lowlands, however, it’s just another dreary day until you get a glimpse of those first snowdrops of the flowering kind. Daffodil bulbs are bulging, also a good sign. Pussy willows – who does not adore them? It’s a feel-good time of year, despite the wind and rain.

On the practical side, the equinox is a great opportunity to take note of where the sun is in relationship to our gardens.

For example, in the middle of winter, it was interesting to look at the melting snow and see which areas melted first and which last. I would have thought the morning sun would have melted the eastern side by midday. The reality, however, was that the sun was so low in the sky, that it did not get above the row of tall firs bordering the neighbor’s property across the road to reach that side of our house. By afternoon, when it was higher in the sky, it was on the other side of the house, which then cast a shadow to the east. I might not have otherwise thought of this little microclimate staying so cold and wet. In the afternoon, despite all the tall trees on our northern side of our property, the snow melted quickly and everything dried out. Thump on head! It faces south! Whereas the southern side stayed cold and dark and was the last to thaw, because we built a fence alongside the edge of the road to block the traffic noise, so now the “south” side was actually on the north side of the fence, which kept everything in the shadows.

Everything changes a little later in the year. Now, as I write this at 9:30 a.m., which, technically speaking would be 8:30 a.m. if we could stay in one timeframe (we’re not “saving” anything with daylight time! What was Benjamin Franklin thinking? I believe it’s a conspiracy that coincides with the Ides of March!), the sun is already high above the neighbor’s row of trees and shining on a little clump of daffodils, which are just loving it.  Two hours from now, though, it will be directly behind a big fir tree, and the flowers will be in the shadows again, at least for a few hours.

The fact is, the light and its availability is always changing. Here at approximately 48-degrees latitude, the sun doesn’t really rise in the east and set in the west all year long. In the summer, it rises more in the northeast and arcs high across the sky to span nearly 270 degrees to set in the northwest. In the winter, that arc is lower and smaller.

So how do we apply this information?

We can become more aware of where the sun is at different times of day and year. The equinoxes and solstices are good points to mark those differences and maybe make a map of different garden areas, how the light changes, and how microclimates are created in the process. We can plot the arc of the sun at various times of the year – lower in winter and higher in summer and how it changes from one month to the next – along with other structures and plants that might alter the availability of that light – and then better determine the best place to plant something so it can reach for the light it needs.

For example, an overstory plant, such as a fruit tree, might need 6 to 8 hours of sunlight (and warmth!) for the blossoms to open and for the fruit to ripen. Where can we plant it where it can get this minimum daily requirement (MDR) when it needs it most? Or would we be better off with selecting something that has a higher tolerance for variation?

Or – if the site for a particular sun- and heat-loving plant isn’t ideal, is there something we can do to create a little microclimate, such as planting plants in a south-facing U-shape around it to trap the heat? Too much heat is rarely a problem here, but you might also need something quite the opposite to provide more shade or to protect from the drying effects of a late afternoon summer sun that is still relatively intense at 6 p.m. (wishful thinking, I know).

Cool Tools for Tracking the Sun

Sun path chart across Barbolian Fields from Dec to Jun, as plotted by the U of OR program

Our pinpoint on the Earth and how the sun hits it at this particular time of day and year (by Sun Earth Tools).

If you can’t wait a year to synchronize your back yard with your sundials, and if you really like precision, you might want to take advantage of several of the sun charts now available on the web. My favorite that I’ve found so far is the Sun Path Chart Program, produced by the University of Oregon. Just plug in your zip code and voila.

Another good one is at Sun Earth Tools, which overlays the movement of the sun on a particular day with your site, as plotted on Google Maps.

Oh, and in case you didn’t know, according to The Old Farmer’s Almanac, it’s the night of the new moon, but actually, the new moon isn’t until 7:39 tomorrow morning. Go figure (or not) – just in case you’re feeling the effects of a force that is strong enough to move large volumes of water.

Some of this is a little mind-boggling. All I know is that it’s sunny outside right now, so I’m going to go soak up a little of my MDR of Vitamin D before I experience any more cognitive impairment caused by a lack thereof. Or something like that. Whatever it was I was talking about.

List of links:

Cliff Mass’ Weather Blog : the very best site about Pacific Northwest weather

Space.com: More info on space and how the world turns

The Old Farmer’s Almanac

The Farmer’s Almanac

SunEarth Tools: great for solar designers & gardeners - Where is the sun and how do the rays fall on your favorite place on the planet?

Sun Path Chart Program through the University of Oregon

Being able to see the naked bones of the garden like that, though, can be quite an eye-opener – kind of like standing nude in front of the mirror and admitting you really should start working out (as in, something’s gotta change here). Course, we don’t notice it so much in the summer when everything is clothed in flowers. The worst part was, though, I realized it was not just boring; it was conservatively conventional, words that are almost blasphemy to my creative being.

Ah yes! Clean, neat rectangles. I DO love them! The garlic in this plot will be easy to take care of, if you like hard work. Back plots are planted with green manures. A very organized way of growing garlic on a small commercial scale. (And did I mention, very labor intensive).

Ok. I admit. My garden is very structured. Rows within rectangles within squares. Orderly. Clean. Neat. Ultimately linear. I stress over weeds. They disrupt the order.  A lot of people really like that sort of thing. It’s organized.

Other parts of my life? Not so much.

I was considered a bit radical back in the 70s when I experimented with the French Intensive methods promoted by early Organic Gardening magazines. I had recently returned from a stint as a foreign exchange student in Paris, so I thought I was pretty legit. My neighbors, though, wondered whether I had buried my dogs out there in the raised beds.

It might seem a bit odd, then, that someone who has long subscribed to the motto, “Question Authority,” never really questioned conventional wisdom when it came to gardening. Like canning peaches and making strawberry jam, certain things are passed down through generations, and they seem good just the way they are. Real good, in fact.

There is usually a good reason that things are done “the way they always have been.” Efficiency and convenience are two adjectives that come to mind: rows the width of a tiller, tractor, mower, or wheelbarrow. Ease of watering, weeding, and harvest. Knowing where things are might be important (ahm).

Don't worry. This is just me going crazy. Thinking in circles and squares. And maybe a few triangles.

On this particular windy day that was shaking my belief foundations, however, I came to the “ah-ha!” moment when I realized that nothing in nature grows in rows. Like, duh. It’s more of an organized chaos. Now ThatI can relate to!

Looking at the weathered skeletons of the previous year’s vegetables interspersed with clumps of grass, it struck me that the difference between nature, a farm, and a garden is not just one of order and scale.

I also realized that my little backyard universe fell into the “none-of-the-above” category. Too small for a real farm; too structured to really be called a garden, which I think of as an artistic retreat expressed in a riot of colorful flowers (Tell me, why are a lot of colors always in a riot?).

Sure, we could call it a “hobby farm,” a term that I dislike because it sounds like a person doesn’t take it very seriously – and I am very serious about growing 24 varieties of garlic! But it’s basically too small for a tractor and it’s a lot of work with just a shovel. I have a lot of mixed feelings about a tiller, because it violently massacres worms, which are my friends, so I rarely use one.

Ok – so maybe the more appropriate term would be a “veggie garden,” which, in my experience, is traditionally a place of toil and trouble. These are tightly controlled spaces where people focus on succession planning and efficiency evaluations. It’s all about timing. Conditioning. Nurturing. Weeding weeding weeding. Harvesting. Processing. These words all sound like work to me, but at least you are (sometimes) rewarded for the effort.

And on the other extreme is nature — grand scale, everything grows, no work involved. The plants grow every which-way – up, down, around, and through. They support one another in their diversity. Rarely do you see a lot of insect damage. Slugs on the trail, sure, but not under every leaf. No one is out there with a rake, a hose, and a bag of bone meal, and everything is prolific without them.

Hmm. What is wrong with this picture? Or should I say, “right?”

I might grow a lot of different things, and I’ve always been a big believer in companion planting, but I realized with a certain amount of consternation that my garden was really just a series of little monocultures.

Some of this is necessitated by the garlic operation, a crop of around 1000 bulbs, more or less, depending on the year, that is rotated around six 25-square-foot plots. The rotation is important to prevent disease. In the off-years, I alternate between building the soil with green manures and growing an assortment of veggie crops for friends, family, and strangers, depending on who is willing to take the zucchini. Yes, it’s bigger than the average garden, but not quite up there with the farming league. A lot of work with a hoe and a shovel; not enough to warrant firing up a tractor.

I was contemplating this lifestyle when I came across Gaia’s Garden, Second Edition by Toby Hemenway. It was an “Ah Ha!” moment for me. A complete garden-changer. Seriously. This book completely altered my way of thinking about the way I grow things and my relationship to plants (this link provides a long review). I still refer to it again and again.

The short synopsis is that it is about looking at your garden as an ecosystem, not a series of compartments; it’s about working with nature to optimize that system.

I have previously written about the folly of my attempt to patrol and control the borders of my garden, a militaristic viewpoint at best, where I was constantly at war with the weeds around me – and believe me, I was surrounded.

Through this book, I realized that weeds are not the enemy. They are, in fact, a resource. Allow some to thrive, and they will provide innumerable benefits. Cut some back, and they will still provide innumerable benefits. It’s all good.

Garden path to?

It was in this Kumbaya moment that I decided to try a little horticultural experiment to transform our back acre into something much more than a garlic merry-go-round. Life – including plant life – travels through this timezone in circles, after all, not rectangles. Paths may appear straight-forward, but that doesn’t mean that they are.

Maybe it’s an age thing. It is hard to write about gardening without also writing about life; there are so many correlations. Gardens are always changing – through the seasons, over the years, according to vision, design, or whatever you are willing (or not willing) to let go of. There are infinite possibilities, certainly too many to contemplate in one lifetime. (As in, “Yes, Mother, I know, ‘It’s all about choices’.”)

In case you doubted that I really have a pink flamingo in my back yard, this one wishes she were in Florida.

Perhaps it was time to get smarter about the gardening. I have a tendency to make things overly complicated (or so I’ve been told), and according to Nature, I have been working waaay too hard at this. After all, I am officially a grandmother now, 5 times over. I never thought I would ever write those words, much less contemplate traveling across the country in a travel trailer and staking up a pink flamingo in a park in Florida. Ha! Actually, I’m joking. I have a pink flamingo right here at home – why would I need another in FL?

But as the grains slip more quickly through the hourglass, we think about what else we might want to do, aside from watching them form those cool little pyramids in the bottom. I mean, there might come a time when I might need to phase out the garlic if there is no one else to carry on the legacy (I know, I know – those are strong words!). And maybe there is something else I might like to leave behind – like, for instance – a jungle.

This temperate jungle (aka Olympic Rainforest) is just down the road

It’s not that far-fetched. We have a jungle, also known as the Olympic Rainforest, just a couple hour drive from here. Course, we don’t get the rain here in the Olympic rainshadow of Sequim (classified as semi-desert) that they get in the Twilight zone of Forks – but with a little planning and a lot of mulch, a food forest, as opposed to a rainforest, is very much a possibility. I like the idea of sitting in the middle of my very own patch of blueberries and eating them until I am blue in the face. Now That is my idea of a retreat!

And with that idea, thus began my journey into the food forest, one that I am creating as I go. I am a year into it and adding on with every season.  The sharp borders between garden, farm, and sanctuary are becoming blurred every step of the way.

Garlic Maze - not really so crazy as it seems. Probably just as much work, to tell you the truth. That's what growing over 1000 bulbs of garlic is. It can still be fun, though.

Did you wonder what wild hair motivated me to plant my garlic in such crazy circles? Rest assured, there is a method to my madness. And it just keeps getting crazier – and at the same time, so much saner. I might have to start wearing purple. I kind of like getting old and crazy. Maybe I need a dozen cats. And a hot-air balloon. At the very least, a pair of red dancing shoes with sparkles on them.

And a jungle to dance in. Yes.

Stay tuned.

Bare-root mock orange (Philadelphus lewisii) is a native plant that will fill the air with the heavy scent of oranges with a hint of pineapple, a magnet for birds, bees, and butterflies. Not only that, but the bark and leaves contain saponins, which, mixed with water, make a gentle natural soap! All that from these little twigs??? Amazing plants! Ten is clearly not too many!

We leaped (leapt?) over the last of February and are now smack in the middle of the madness of March. We go from howling winds and swirling snowflakes on one day to almost balmy (loosely defined) the next. Despite our weather ups and downs, though, it’s far worse in many other parts of the country – and even the world. So no complaining. (When it hangs on like this through July – ok, then we have a right to complain.) Those days when the temps vary a mere 5 degrees or so night and day for days on end can really get to a person, though. That’s when the doldrums set in. And as someone who likes to play the blues, I know all about doldrums and stormy Mondays.

I have a solution for the doldrums, however. You buy plants, of course.

Oh, I know – all the garden blogs at this time of year are proselytizing on the virtues of taking inventory of your seeds and testing viability. You make a list of exactly what you need, and then, like anyone who has tried various diets and won the weight battle, you simply stick to the list.

Like, who does that? It’s like having a luscious piece of chocolate cake on the counter and watching it day after day until it goes moldy. Why waste a perfectly good piece of chocolate cake?

No, taking inventory just doesn’t satisfy that deep need all of us true gardeners have right now.

We need to grow things.

We need to see things turn to green and flower profusely.

We * need * Spring.

It’s not about restriction – it’s about cutting loose! It’s about having a vision and believing you can make it happen. Gardeners are, after all, some of the world’s greatest visionaries. But the key is to not let the vision control the reality, for even visions can be restrictive. It’s about allowing serendipity to be part of the equation. It’s about embracing change and the ability to shape, not control. But lest I digress….

After all, there is no time to lose. Nature doesn’t pay attention to calendar numbers, and despite the stormy Mondays (and Tuesdays can be just as bad), March, as we all know in the Pacific Northwest, is the unofficial beginning of spring. Things are already budding out.

And so, in that spirit of bringing my vision to fruition, and in my heroic effort to combat a serious case of doldrums, and in my Zen state of being open to allowing things to happen … I did what any self-respecting gardener would do: I went shopping for plants.

You can spend a lot of time online, that place “out there” where botanical wonders are in full color and detailed descriptions are at your fingertips, but still slightly out of reach. Cyberspace is nothing compared with wandering between rows of real live plants, which, admittedly, at the tail end of winter might look like mere twigs full of promise. Promises, like last year’s leftover plants, are cheap. That spells Bargain in my book, and on this particular day, that meant 75% OFF.

Whoaa. “Let me save you,” my heart trembled with joy.

These poor plants looked quite forlorn; they had been frozen and were most likely root-bound. Standing bravely together on the Sale table, they were the survivors of the survivors. Already, the flashy primroses and sweet violets were stealing the show as this year’s pretty new arrivals. This was their one last chance before they hit the big black “C”-pile (whisper it, please: “compost”). They were the big-eyed sad shelter puppies of the plant world, and I wanted them all. There is something uncanny about plants, though, because even though they can’t wiggle, wag, and look cute, certain ones just seem to speak. If you feel that connection, you need to act on it. I do believe this.

So – connect, I did. I came home with a crabapple tree, nearly two dozen assorted groundcovers, 3 periwinkles that would cascade over a large planter, an azalea, 2 rhododendrons (mmmm – in tangelo orange!), a giant Solomon’s seal, a scrubby, but beautifully shaped cotoneaster, and a few other plants for birds, butterflies, and bees, among them a Clethra alnifolia, aka Summersweet, a Rock Daphne that I can almost smell already, a St. John’s Wort (Ignite Red!), 2 gorgeous clematis vines (for only $6 each! I went back for a 3^rd!), and a Leycestria formosa, aka Himalayan honeysuckle, which just sounds divine.

One would think that would do it for the year, but then I was at a real weak point the other day and, indeed, it is hard to resist new arrivals. I do believe in supporting our local nurseries, after all. So I vowed to keep it practical while still maintaining my Zen attitude toward staying open to possibilities (just not infinite possibilities – this is also about balance, right?).

For starters, I figured we could really use a good 10 asparagus crowns (very high on the practical scale). Then, since I have been planting a lot of edible fruits over the past year, I figured a gooseberry bush, a Goji berry (Lycium barbarum) to replace one that didn’t make it, and a Korean cherry bush all fit that category and are good permaculture plants in that they serve multiple purposes in the garden ecosystem.  I allowed myself one pièce de resistance: a Japanese Yam (Dr. Yao), aka “Cinnamon Vine” (kind of like that piece of chocolate cake). I congratulated myself for holding back on the two varieties of Akebia that would make an incredible garden statement (read that, potentially take over) and also provide delectable, if a bit unusual, fruits. Maybe next year. Or later. But not now.

Ok, maybe that was a little over the top, but still within reason. But true confession, here. Ahm. I “forgot” to mention that a few weeks earlier (long enough ago to almost forget), I had taken advantage of the County Extension Service native plant sale (there’s that key word again – it starts with an “S,” in case you missed it) and purchased Oregon grapes, red flowering currants, serviceberries, and mock orange plants, all in bundles of 10 (yes, TEN of each – that is 40 [forty!] plants!) I just picked them up this last Saturday, and what can I say – bareroot plants don’t look like much – mere twigs, in fact – but they hold the power to transform the back part of our property into a wildlife corridor.  Now THAT I can envision. The birds and the bees are going to love me.

Um…and as long as I’m confessing…speaking of bees… I was inspired by a friend who raises these complex, interesting creatures – and I’ve wanted to raise bees for a very long time, am sympathetic to their plight with colony collapse disorder and the very real threat that means to agriculture, and consequently, to the economy, to our ability to feed ourselves, and even to survive, when it comes down to it – and besides, I have so very many plants that they would love – it seems like the logical next step in my quest to save (or take over) the world. So I attended a meeting of bee enthusiasts, who were full of information and inspiration. Amidst all the buzz, I signed up. I ordered a “package” of bees, which amounts to somewhere around 15,000 bees – and by some counts, 30,000 (how many bees in a pound – and how can one possibly count them? Good questions to know – and answer – before you buy 4 pounds!).  They arrive in about a month. I am trying to wrap my mind around this. Let’s just split the difference and say a conservative (?) twenty THOUSAND BEES.

A small caveat here – I am very much afraid of bees. My mother was severely allergic to them, and I swell up a lot, too, when I get bit, as does my daughter. But I believe in meeting my fears head-on. To be on the safe side, though, I purchased a protective hat and veil (I like the idea of us all living together in harmony; I don’t like the idea of my eyes swollen shut), and a good book to give me guidance.

I think I really * need * guidance at this point. And maybe even a little therapy (not of the retail kind).

As in – OMG – What have I done?

So – for those of you out there with a little buyer’s remorse after a serious case of spring fever and suffering through a cold, not-close-enough-to-the-end-of-winter day when you are FORCED to stay inside in an easy chair and read colorful garden catalogues … take heart. Purchasing a few packets of seeds you don’t really need is nothing to worry about. In fact, it is a *good* thing. Trust me.

Course, come the end of this summer, things around here could be quite spectacular if all goes according to my vision. I am fond of quoting Mark Twain, “You can’t see clearly if your imagination is out of focus.”

Or something like that.

Imagination, indeed.

What was I thinking?

Maybe “thinking” wasn’t part of the equation?

I think I’ve been a victim of March Madness.