Ok. I admit to having a certain level of pruning phobia. Cutting is just so drastic. So life-changing. So controlling. There is so much potential to do wrong.

But I have come to realize that pruning is one of the most gratifying parts of gardening. It is something you do for the love of your tree, encouraging it to be all that it can be — a simple thing to give it strength and vitality — an opportunity to shape it into a living, breathing thing of beauty. Ah yes.

It’s simple, really. Trees are generally grown by 4 philosophical mindsets, in order of our desire to control:

1. espalier or cordon (meaning, rope) and other means of creating walls of picturesque shapes
2. open center (vase-shaped), where the tree is topped and scaffolding branches are trained to reach out from the center
3. central leader (pyramid shape), where the tree is allowed to keep it’s natural shape and branches are selectively thinned, and
4. do-nothing, let it grow as Nature intended.

I like the latter (#4) idea. It sounds like a lot less work. Maybe you don’t get the biggest fruit in the world and maybe you can’t reach all of it. And hey, maybe those aren’t the objectives.

But here’s our situation: we have 5 very old apple trees – 4 of which are a wonderful tart-sweet heirloom Gravenstein. I think the original intention was the “open center” method, but they have at times been sorely neglected and at other times just pruned willy-nilly by people who didn’t know what they were doing. (Ahm.) They keep producing, despite their twisted deformed shapes. There is no amount of pruning that will totally correct the past at this point, but I cannot in good conscience abandon them.

We have two philosophies of pruning in our family:

1. cut off everything below 4 ½ feet from the ground so it doesn’t whack the person in the head who is doing the lawn mowing, and
2. prune so future sprouts grow downward so the short person picking the apples can reach the low-hanging fruit.

Obviously, these two mindsets are in direct conflict with one another, resulting in a tree that is even more contorted and confused and probably in need of psychological counseling.

Ah, but enough about me…. And Yes, we have contributed to the problem. So now what?

Time to Take Action! (But what action to take is the question!)

Obviously, suckers will take energy from the tree, so it is good to remove them when you see them – and you can do this at any time of year with great benefit to the tree. I actually did this to one of our trees. The early pruning opened it up to more sunshine and let the air flow through. The tree loved it. It gave me much joy. And my workload now is less. It always feels good when you do something right for a change.

However, for the great majority of pruning, the proper time is right about now, while the tree sleeps. You just sneak up on it in broad daylight when it’s still cold and before the tree starts budding out.

Tools. There is a product out there called “Sucker Stopper,” and I’m not saying I advocate it, because I can’t pronounce napthaleneacetate, and anything that claims to be a plant-growth regulator is highly suspicious in my book, as is anything that requires its own Material Safety Data Sheet. However, a “Sucker Stopper” is kind of an interesting concept on a lot of different levels, and might have been quite useful in my previous life. In my opinion, though, spend your money instead on a good pair of pruning shears and maybe a small saw (I love my Felco F-6 Classic Pruner For Smaller Hands and my Felco F-600 Classic Folding Saw with Pull-Stroke Action, which, in my opinion are the best and have really saved some wear and tear on my hands!).

Philosophically speaking, the whole pruning concept is not difficult to understand: help the tree to more easily bear fruit, which is what it is designed to do anyway by forces far greater than we. All you have to do is take out diseased and broken limbs, let in the light, and allow the tree to breathe.

Humans, however, have an uncanny ability to make things overly complicated and otherwise screw things up. And, Um…that would be me. So to further explain…

There are only 2 basic kinds of cuts. (How hard can it be?)

A “thinning cut” takes out an entire branch. They are good for opening things up, i.e., letting in air and light and encouraging outward growth. Make these flat across the main limb, or if it’s a large branch, just outside the collar.

A “head cut” cuts off the end of the branch, which stimulates branching of the buds behind the cut (so pay attention to the direction of the bud left at the tip after you cut! You want it to point outward). If a head cut is made back to a branch, it will stimulate growth in that branch’s direction. A head cut will also help stiffen the limb. Make these cuts at an angle to shed water.

Where does the fruit grow? Keep in mind that fruit will form for many years on the spurs on older wood – so don’t break off all those little nubbins. By making head cuts, the energy is directed more towards that older growth. That said, also keep in mind that after awhile, those old spurs tend to get old and wear out – as do we all – and so you need to encourage the tree to produce new spurs as well. New growth will carry future year’s apples (apples, cherries, pears, and plums fruit on 2- to 3-year old wood; peaches, nectarines, and figs, though, fruit on 1-year old wood) – so even though it’s tempting to whack everything back to a manageable size and width, don’t cut off all the new growth.

Also think horizontal. Horizontal branches produce more fruit than vertical ones.

So – without further ado – the 5-stroke approach to tree pruning:

1. Take out diseased and broken branches
2. Cut out suckers (growing up from the trunk of the tree) and water sprouts (growing in clusters from last year’s cuts). I have a theory that if you cut out all the suckers & water sprouts, twice as many grow back – but do it anyway. They suck the life out of the tree, cause excessive shading, and take your tree in wrong directions.
3. Cut out “problem” branches. These are ones that grow
   • straight up (if they aren’t a major trunk)
   • straight down
   • backwards
   • at narrow angles
   • straight out at 90-degree angles
   • toward the center of the tree
   • across one another.
4. KEEP branches that reach out and gently upward.
5. Shorten up leggy branches.

Perspective: When in doubt, step back and look. Problem branches don’t support your vision of the shape of the tree. They don’t do anything besides hog light and nutrients. Take out anything that crowds, overly competes, or limits air flow. Open up the center to let the sunshine in – thin to let the tree breathe – take more out of the top to let light in to the bottom (and control height).

Look at it this way. Vertical branches are often suckers that were allowed to get oversized. They don’t produce fruit. They tend to be excessively vigorous, meaning they have the longest shoots out where you will never reach. Branches that come out at narrow angles develop weak crotches.  We don’t like weak crotches. By the same token, when it comes to fruit trees, branches rubbing against each other will not create more fruit. Take out the cross-overs. “Problem” branches are more susceptible to wind damage and can splinter, break, and bleed under the weight of the fruit, and then the insects and borers move in, and then you have real problems. Don’t put your tree (and yourself) through that agony. Remember, too, your human friends. Long thin branches can break from heavy fruit, true, but they also tend to whack people in the head who forget to duck (dang those young whipper snappers!). General rule of thumb is to cut back no more than one third of the overall tree and no more than 20% of the new growth, a rule that is, I am sure, frequently broken.

Is there anything left? If, like me, you pruned the living dweedle out of your tree last year in an attempt to impose some form of structure and reform, you were rewarded with an over-stimulated response which in other life forms might be considered exciting, but in the case of a tree meant a superfluity of water sprouts, jumping out of last year’s cuts like a fountain of willow whips.

“Gramma! Get down from there before you fall!” This role reversal would have been more amusing had I not realized I had climbed our old tree only to find myself in a rat’s nest of overgrowth and that it was not only the tree that was a bit out of balance. But I also realized up there that if you think like a powerful old godfather of a tree with an extensive root system, and someone comes along and takes away your food-making supply (i.e., the leaves), that your underground support is going to send a lot of energy up above to fight back. Yo. It’s survival mode.

I sat back for a moment and looked around me. I could almost feel the trees tremble and hear them whisper to each other, “Here she comes with the saw.” The setting sun was turning the sky into pastels. Maybe it was time to call it a day. There is always next year, and if we’re lucky, a year after that.

Trees – ya gotta love em. They teach us so much. They quietly put up with our abuse and, regardless of whatever hardships come their way, keep on reaching for the sun.

~ * ~

Some Extra Help:

“Training and Pruning Your Home Orchard,” a Pacific Northwest Extension Publication (OSU, WSU, UI)

“Pruning to Restore an Old, Neglected Apple Tree,” published by Oregon State University

We buried our mother's ashes beneath the rosemary. Lambchop, Argus, Griffin, Molly, and Lupine are near her side.

We planted my mother with the dogs in the pet cemetery. It’s true. She would have wanted it that way, right next to her best friend, little Lambchop.

It’s not as bad as it sounds. The cemetery, which we affectionately call “Boot Hill,” sits on a little knoll with a view of the Olympic Mountains, overlooking a small creek and the neighbor’s barn and farmland. The sunsets there can be quite spectacular.

My mother was a retired nurse. Intelligent. Caring. Even in the midst of a disease that steals your memories and leaves you without a sense of who you are, she never stopped giving and reaching out to others. Our family pets had a special place in her heart, as did the wild birds, which she helped through many cold winters. She loved the outdoors, the ocean, going fishing, and gardening – things she taught me to appreciate at a very young age.

And so, when she passed from this earthly existence, rather than toss her ashes to the wind, to an outgoing tide, or down a river in time, we thought she might like best to be in our backyard, close to family and pets. It was a stormy day in early December when my brother and I and other family members returned her ashes to the good earth and planted a rosemary shrub on top. At that precise moment, the clouds parted and beams of sunlight streamed through to that little spot below where we all huddled together in a circle, marveling at how such a strong personality could be physically reduced to such a small quantity of dust. We shared a few loving thoughts and memories and were thankful that she was finally freed. I played “Amazing Grace” and “Over the Rainbow” on my harmonicas, the clouds moved back in, and we left.

Barkley on the knoll, getting in touch with his inner dog, contemplating the world and all its wonders, or quite possibly, just enjoying a ray of sunshine.

I often return. Sometimes I talk to our mother, ask her advice, talk about the goings on of this world; plus, it’s a nice place to play my harmonicas. Other times I just sit quietly and look out at the fields and mountains. Our dog, Barkley, frequently joins me. He is a rather tormented, somewhat neurotic soul, who has come a long way since his troubled days in the dog pound – hence the name Barkley, which is the kind of name you get when you spend time in the joint making a racket. I like to think that he sits there in a ray of sunshine in peaceful meditation, getting in touch with his inner dog, thinking about how he can be the best that he can be. He is a very intelligent, thoughtful creature.

The rosemary shrub did not make it through the heavy rains and snow of this last winter, so early this spring, in memory of our mother, I decided to transform the area into a kind of mini-wildlife reserve – and also a kind of secret garden – a place to escape the craziness of this world.  I started thinking of my garden in an entirely different light – not only a place to grow food to nourish our bodies, but also a place to nourish our souls.

Plus, we needed a good windbreak to absorb the frequent storms we get off the coast, also something to help stabilize a steep slope, the aforementioned wildlife food and habitat, and last but not least, we needed to ensure that whatever we planted wouldn’t eventually block our mountain view. It was a bit of a challenge.

First, we took advantage of a Conservation District native plant sale and planted about 20 firs and cedars and a dozen or so huckleberry plants. Not all of them made it, but enough will eventually grow to make a forest grove on the northern edge of the property. We will fill in the spaces with rhododendrons and native plants as time allows.

To the west, we planted a new vine maple (Acer circinatum), a familiar Northwest wind-tolerant species that can grow tall in the sun or almost vine-like in the shade. It grows well with conifers, Doug Fir, hemlock, and dogwood. We planted it near the base of a gigantic maple whose limbs are starting to dry and break during winter storms. I love this old tree, and I am not sure why it is dying. Our house is over 100 years old, so the tree could very well be much beyond that. When my son was young, we built a tree fort in it and used to have picnics up there and read the original version of “Treasure Island.” You could hear us calling loudly from the branches, “Shiver me timbers!” The birds also love this tree, and we have often found cherry pits in our hideaway left by marauding raccoons.

Between the vine maple and the cemetery, we planted a Black Hawthorn tree (Crataegus douglasii - Lindl.), which will branch out and provide food and cover for birds and small mammals of all kinds. The hawthorn is a good fit for this spot because it will have room to grow; can be pruned to a hedge or thicket and makes a good windbreak; will stabilize slopes; can be coppiced; its branches can be made into tool handles; and all in all, it makes a good understory plant. Plus, they attract hummingbirds, which were my mother’s favorites.

Around the gravesite, I planted Sunchokes – sometimes called Jerusalem Artichokes – a perennial sunflower that will multiply year after year, creating yet another windbreak. The starchy tubers are low on the glycemic index and provide a good substitute for potatoes, or so they say. Planting a variety of sunflowers here is kind of an inside joke between my mother and me because they unexpectedly showed up in her garden one year, and she was certain that I planted them there, which I swear to God, I did not. I explained a little bird must have put them there, but she gave me the stare that only mothers can give and said she could read “L-I-E” across my eyes, which in earlier years would have made me tremble with guilt. I have planted sunflowers in my garden every year since, and yes, Mom, I planted these out there for you and your little bird friends.

Homemade chair from apple tree prunings.

The crowning achievement in this little retreat, however, is the living chair. Barkley helped me pick the spot for this chair on one of his meditative days when I saw him out on the edge of the bank, his nose turned to the wind, his eyes closed with his face toward the sun, savoring the warmth of an early spring day. I had earlier saved the largest prunings from our old gnarly apple trees. I sawed them into pieces that would make two short legs in front, two tall ones in the back, braces to connect them together, and the straightest pieces for the seat. It is rather rustic looking, to say the least, but in it’s own way, perfect. I set it out in Barkley’s spot, on the south side of the little cemetery, beneath what I think is some kind of delicate birch, planted long ago (possibly by a bird). At the foot of each leg, I planted a willow cutting, a combination of Harrisons, Golden, and Noire de Villaine. They will one day grow tall and willowy (of course), and I will bend them into shapes, fitting for a throne.

I shared a picture of the chair with a friend, who commented that he envisioned a woman sitting on it with a figure behind, arm extended, one hand on the shoulder of the seated figure. It seemed to represent departure, “but certainly not a sad one,” he noted.

This vision is exactly what I feel there. The figure is my mother with her hand on my shoulder. No departure. She is always with me out there. I confessed to my friend that I have been going through some troubling times, which my mother understands – and in that is where the sorrow lies – but, like most earthly things, is transitory. We watch the sun go down together, along with our cadre of wild birds and pets.

What I did not tell him, though, was that I was expecting a visit soon from my brother, who would be flying an airplane from New York, across the U.S., and eventually to Alaska, where his home is. My mother and I have always worried about him; he had had a difficult life in general, but had been going through some particularly hard times of late.

Then one sunny afternoon, in what now seems an eternity ago, my brother buzzed our back acre with his plane. It was a vintage Cessna 195 aircraft, and he was like an ecstatic kid with the ultimate new toy. We later walked out to Boot Hill and I showed him how I was transforming our mother’s gravesite into a sanctuary of sorts for people, dogs, and birds. He liked it. We took turns trying out the chair. We talked about replacing the rusty looking dried rosemary.

A few days later, he left on the final leg back to Anchorage. His last words as he hugged us goodbye, “Take care of each other.”

I was out weeding my garlic that afternoon when a weather system blew in, as they often do, quickly drenching me in rain. I kept thinking of my brother, but was determined to finish this “one last row” before giving him a call on the cell. “Hey – it’s pouring down rain here. Hope you’re doing alright! Love you!”

What I didn’t know at the time was that his plane had fallen off the radar. Before long, a search and rescue effort was launched, but the information had to travel to Anchorage and back before I heard the news.

The rain ceased, nearly as quickly as it had begun, and the sun broke through the clouds. It was a surreal light – a kind of glow-in-the-semi-dark kind of light when you most expect to find a rainbow. An odd feeling overcame me. I could hear him saying to me, “I am worried about the kids. Please help them.” And I replied, “I am always here for you. Always have been. You know that.”

It was then I got the phone call no one wants to receive. I walked out to our little makeshift chair, looked out over the fields, and called him again on the cell. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We have people trying to find you. Try to stay warm. Hang in there. Help is on the way. We love you. We WILL find you!”

But in my heart, I already knew.

Later that afternoon, I walked out to the chair again and sat down. The sky was such a mixture of dark and luminous clouds. I called him again on the phone, knowing he wouldn’t answer. “Do you hear me?” I almost yelled into the phone. “Because I think you do. And I just want you to know I love you. Don’t you worry. We will be ok.”

I have just returned from Anchorage to bury my brother. Odd how you find things out about those you love after they die that you really always knew. He was more like our mother than I ever gave him credit for. His wife and young children have a long, difficult road ahead. I am sorry to report, there is no happy ending to this at this time.

The garden has exploded in my absence. I walked out to our chair yesterday and cut away the wild parsley and other weeds. It felt good to chop and drop, slash, clean, mulch – do something strenuous. The sun came out in the afternoon, and I sat down to rest, feeling the warmth on my face. It occurs to me that in the blink of an eye, our lives are changed, yet all around me, life keeps on growing as if nothing happened. The days are long; spring rains are plentiful; the weeds compete for their share of the sun, just as they always have. I selectively choose those I allow to grow and bloom – such as the sunflowers – and cut back those that will turn back into soil and nourish their roots. It is something I can do in the midst of things I can do nothing about.

I look down to see the willows sprouting at the legs of my chair. They will grow tall and bend, yet remain strong. With care, the chair will live on, long after I do not.

“Do you hear me little brother?” I call out, “Because I think you do.”

I like this spot – this place where I can escape all the world’s craziness. Our most devoted of friends sit at my feet, and standing beside and slightly behind me, I can feel my brother, reunited with our mother. Their hands rest gently on my shoulders.

Like “Lasagna Gardening,” this is another book that I never got around to reading, because again, I thought I pretty much had the fundamentals down. Well, now we have the “All NEW” version, full of good advice and ideas – and I’m here to tell you it’s worth a look.

The basic idea is to build beds, mark out your space in square feet (or it’s not “square foot” gardening), and thickly fill in the space with plants.

The idea is not new, and over the years, it has taken on different forms – biodynamic, biointensive, calorie farming, French Intensive, etc.

As an aside, back in the 70s, “French Intensive” gardening was my mantra. As you might guess, this method is very intense, just like the French, just like their coffee. Intense planting, intense building of the soil, intense results – and a very intense workout getting there. Just drink a quadruple shot of ultra-dark-roasted mud and you are good to go. I was much younger then and in great shape – so the double-digging required to loosen the soil down 2 feet was “pas de probleme.” I dug little pathways between the beds and tossed the dirt into the growing area with great flair. I made neat rectangular mounds that would make any French person sincerely exclaim “Oooh la la!.” Plus, I had recently returned from a year in France on a student exchange program, so I thought I knew what I was doing.

My neighbor, an elderly farmer who had always grown things in long, single rows but mostly herded cattle, had never seen garden “beds,” much less heard of “companion planting.” When he came across my series of mounds, crowded with vegetation, he scratched his chin and tactfully expressed sympathy in that he thought maybe I had buried my dogs out back. Although now I better appreciate his country sense of humor, I also admit there is always something new you can learn – and that something over the years is that there’s gotta be an easier way.

Bartholomew’s “Square Foot Gardening” is that way.

For one, he doesn’t mess with digging up sod, double digging, moving soil from one end of the bed to the other to make room for tossing over the new stuff – none of that. He just lays down a ground barrier, builds a frame for the bed, mixes up a growing medium, and piles it inside. Map out your grid, plant as thickly as the plants will allow, watch them grow like crazy.

It doesn’t get much easier, and throughout the book, you gotta appreciate Mr. Bartholomew’s never-ending cheerfulness and enthusiasm that exudes in every chapter – along with his sense of irony, which makes the book very fun reading.

There are several other things in the Square Foot Gardening book I can appreciate: for one, Mr. Bartholomew is both a civil engineer and an efficiency expert. This explains so much. You have to admit that it doesn’t make sense to scatter a bunch of seed only to thin it out later – and who doesn’t waste lettuce and carrot seeds? Or how about the space you waste if you follow the directions on spacing between rows? In Bartholomew’s beds, there are no rows. You build a bed frame and you tend the garden from the sidelines. And you have to appreciate how he advocates growing enough for your own needs (and perhaps a little to share), but does not advocate methods created for the convenience of commercial farming, which could possibly feed all of humanity if large businesses felt so inclined, which, of course, they are not, and we won’t go there because that’s for a different rant.

But think about it. Our whole mentality of planting in long rows caters to the convenience of large farming practices, an industry that has literally grown up on large tracts of land, abundantly available in the U.S., and also on the abundant availability of cheap oil, which is already history. Gas at $4.00/gallon is making us all reconsider the wisdom of those practices that are just another example of America’s culture of waste.

In the words of Masanobu Fukuoka, the Japanese scientist and author of The One-Straw Revolution: An Introduction to Natural Farming, who demonstrated on his own family farm that he could get comparable results as commercial enterprises simply by working “with” nature rather than against it:

“The food-growing situation may seem to be in good shape today, but that’s just an illusion based on the current availability of petroleum fuels. All the wheat, corn, and other crops that are produced on big American farms may be alive and growing, but they’re not products of real nature or real agriculture.
They’re manufactured rather than grown. The earth isn’t producing those things… petroleum is!”

Time to downsize, folks. Time to take lessons from around the world and efficiency experts such as Mel Bartholomew on how to make the most of our space, water, and other resources, and how to maximize our yields in the process.

So – it begs the question: If you aren’t rolling a combine across the back 40 or even a small tiller in your own little postage stamp on the planet, then how much space do you really need? How do you come to terms with that?

I confess, this is a real problem for me. I have my garden scattered across 15 different growing areas, depending on how you count them, and that doesn’t even include the orchard. Even though I am selling some of my crops, I definitely have room for efficiency. I am caught between being too small to be a big farmer; too large to be a small gardener.

Part of the answer, according to Mel, might be in looking at your garden in terms of individual square feet. How much, exactly, can you fit in a square foot? Turns out, a lot. And just how much space is required to grow all the veggies for a family of four if you stagger your plantings and grow things in 3-dimensional space where you can and throughout all the seasons…well, that depends, of course, but the final answer – not much!

The other big advantage to the Square Foot method is the reduction in labor. If all the space is filled up with plants you actually want, then there is no room for weeds, right? And if you start with a weed-free soil mix, you are 99% ahead of their game. I am currently on a warpath against weed domination and it is very apparent that to win, or at least to hold your ground, you just have to never give them a chance. Easier said than done.

I admit, when I first read this book, I thought, “That’s cool for someone with a small backyard or someone who just wants a little garden, but not very practical for me.” I am, after all, borderline-tenacious about my garden plots in which I have labored intensively (there’s that intense word again), and I’m not ready to give them up. My kids have often suggested that I should reduce my garden to a few raised beds, which they would happily build for me (trying to tactfully say that I have more than I can handle) – as if I’m some little old lady who just wants to putter in her petunias. (It’s just so interesting when your own kids start treating you like one of the elderly. Good grief.)

I mean, I’ve got over an acre of garden and I’m not about to go build a bunch of boxes and line them out in square-foot measurements (I mean, I understand the mentality, but is this not a bit anal?) and fill them with 1/3 peat (agh! there’s that recommendation for a nonrenewable resource again – and I don’t care how much you try to rationalize or justify it!), 1/3 vermiculite, and 1/3 purchased compost, (because c’mon, we all know the compost stuff I make is full of seeds and weeds because it just never gets quite hot enough to destroy them) – not to mention all the 2 x 6” boards & extra riff-raff required to tend to the plants’ individual needs, protect them against the elements, and provide whatever else they demand (now that they’ve become next of kin) – and even though some folks might be able to scrounge up this stuff for free, wishful thinking – reality is, many of us can’t.

Ok – so now we’re into some bucks for something clean and neat and orderly, which SO appeals to my husband, also of an engineering mindset. Me, of course, I’m more of a freestyle gardener.

Did you follow all that?

The question, again, is: does this make sense to me?

Um, well, as it turns out – yes.

Well, maybe not for my entire garden. But I have a little strawberry patch out back – it’s maybe 12’ x 24’ – and it’s always a pain in the you-know-what to weed, because it is full of quack grass and the god-forsaken-should-be-condemned-from-the-universe morning glory and wild blackberries. I am at the point where, you know, I hate to say this, but strawberry plants are relatively cheap. Maybe I should start over. Maybe I should just smother everything – it’s rather cruel, yes – but in looking at the bigger picture – just cover the entire area with several layers of cardboard, maybe some bark, and then maybe top it off with some fancy beds laid out in measured squares – orderly – in control – plant some new & improved strawberries and maybe a few salad greens and maybe some flowers to attract some bees – and, yes, maybe a few kitchen herbs – the kinds of things you want by your front door – perfect.

It’s a start.

100% of the harvest at 50% of the costs, 20% of the space, 10% of the water, 5% of the seeds, 2% of the work. Hard to argue with that. Mel is taking it on a mission to combat hunger all over the world.

Good idea, Mel. Thank you.

One day, we go from this...

…and this...

…to this (yikes!)

("Garlic? Are you still there?" "Yes!" come the muffled replies)

…and even to this! No, there is nothing wrong with your monitor. This is an official picture of a garlic bed in a snowstorm.

HA HA HA! Says Mother Nature!
(Just proving that the moment we anticipate spring, we are bluntly told it is still winter!)

Mother knows best, I say.

The temperatures are predicted to drop into the teens tomorrow and Saturday. If so, this blanket of snow will be just the thing the garlic and other plants need for survival.

So many little birds! I couldn't capture them all! (picture taken through a window)

The little backyard birds have flocked in great numbers to the bird feeder. We created little makeshift shelters to keep the ground seed from getting completely buried and, based on a simple recipe suggested by a birdwatching friend, filled up the log feeders with a lard-oatmeal mix (recipe below). Much easier than the ideas I posted in my previous post, New Year’s for the Birds – and easier to smear into the feeder. Definitely a big hit with the feathered friends.

Also – don’t forget to fill up a water bowl – they SO appreciate a little thawed-out water!

High-Energy Mix for Birds:
1/2 part lard (not suet), melted
1/2 part quick oats
Mix together.
How simple does it get? I added a little peanut butter for good measure.

Brrrr! Pruning apple trees can wait!

And the good thing is, I can take a break from pruning the apple trees!

Dare I say? Tropical days ahead!

"Glenham Arbor" by Henry Peeters, illustrating the concept of clearly defined boundaries - a vision of orderly garden loveliness. I should hang it on the wall of my workspace to help me visualize garden utopias. (Click to buy at Art.com)

Questions for you: Do you have a strategy for keeping up with your garden tasks? Do you make resolutions for your garden? And if so, it’s already the end of January – how are those resolutions working for you?

Last year, I was big into strategies and resolutions. I was determined, motivated, and all about results. I made long lists of resolutions, refined them into measureable goals, and sorted them according to my personal, professional, and gardening lives, which all have a tendency to blur.  “Blurring,” I realized, is simply a lack of focus. So I listened to motivation time-management podcasts, broke the goals into tasks, assigned them time slots in my week, and reported results in a calendar. I even purchased a timer to keep myself on track and played a little “race the timer” game when I did housework to prevent myself from getting sidetracked on the Internet. I made myself accountable.

The perfect garden. Who are these people, anyway? Turns out, they're my neighbors! The photo of this organic garden on Vashon Island, WA, was taken by Aaron McCoy. I really want to meet these people and see how they do it. (Click to buy at Art.com)

I also defined a “theme” for my garden to help keep me focused. Theme gardens are common in the horticultural world, although they often don’t make sense to me, because they are often based on color or utility (such as a moon garden or a tea garden), rather than light, soil, and water requirements. This is not that kind of theme. This theme is based on something you want to accomplish – a “theme for success,” kind of like a mission and vision statement of a gardening strategy. Kind of like a resolution.

Ok. So true confession here: my theme last year was “Establish Boundaries.” Sounds simple enough. Notice the way it begins with an imperative (command form) verb. I figured if I could just establish boundaries around the many garden plots, I could control the creep of quack grass and other weeds, which were joining forces in an underground plot to take over the world. I described this idea to a counselor friend of mine (I wasn’t lying on the couch at the time…although perhaps I should have been). She smiled and nodded with understanding. “I like it,” she said.

Ok - here's an example of a space we're dealing with - I started with admittedly somewhat scruffy boundaries, but at least you saw the difference between dog, grass, and dirt! (sorry, no rainbows)

I kept this whole resolution routine up for several months, and yes, the results were impressive.

And then things got kind of chaotic, as they always do when the weather warms, and I realized I was spending a whole lot of time turning my life into some kind of executive project management exercise, and I threw the whole idea in the compost bin. Seriously, did I leave the corporate world to become my own little corporate tyrant? Apparently so. These are deep-rooted habits.

The weeds and grasses grew with a vengeance in the long, cold spring, just to prove to me who was in charge. Meanwhile, my tender flowers and even my sturdy garlic flailed in the wind. My simple motto, “Establish Boundaries,” proved to be not so simple to implement. And later that year, as I harvested one moldy bulb after another, I had to admit that when it comes to backyard farming, there are a whole lot of things that are not in my control.

Are there borders in this garden? I think not. In fact, it's rather blurred. I think Gustav Klimt had it right (painted in 1905). (Click to buy at Art.com)

And so, this year, in the spirit of learning from my mistakes, I decided that I needed to take a long, hard look at what worked and what didn’t in 2010.  “Establish Boundaries” sounded like the optimum theme when I made it. Now it is quite obvious that it was all about my unrealistic need for control. World domination. A frivolous endeavor at best.

Perhaps this year requires a gentler approach. “Appreciate diversity.” “Work with nature, not against it.” “Let go and let live” (or rather, in Paul McCartney’s words, “Live and let die”).

I did not bother making garden resolutions this year. Oh sure, I might make a to-do list now and then; however, not in the sense of time management, but rather because my memory isn’t quite what it used to be. Besides, I really like checking off little boxes.

The real difference is that this year, I will be working from a vision of peace and harmony rather than one of a stressed-out control freak (this is starting to sound like a resolution). Either way, I think I’ll get just as much done – I’ll just do it at my own speed and switch tasks when I feel like it. Of course, I realize it’s only the end of January.

As for a mission statement, here is something I wrote earlier that seemed rather profound at the time:

“This year’s garden will support biodiversity and a multitude of ecological functions, build soil rather than take from soil, minimize watering requirements, take advantage of our region’s natural amenities/peculiarities, thrive with minimal effort from me, provide food & habitat to humans and wildlife along with an assortment of other useful products, and at the same time, provide a retreat for relaxation and enjoyment.”

Still NOT my garden - but we can dream, eh? ("Informal Garden" by Lynn Keddle) (Click to buy at Art.com)

Ok. Maybe a little wordy, but it sure beats “Establish Boundaries.” Jeesh. What was I thinking?

I have pruning to do – in my orchard, in my writing, in my life. I’ll get to it in due time. No ticking timers, thank you.

Word is out! FOOD & WATER!

The days may be getting longer, but we’re just now settling into winter proper. I have never quite understood this topsy-turvey concept. Today we awoke to a shivering 20-degree morning under a frosty blanket; last week, we were warmer than Orlando; a month earlier, we were buried under 2 feet of snow and temps in the teens. In between, we’ve been hammered by winds, rains, floods, and everything in between. And they say winter has just begun.

Whatever the weather is up to at this time of year, one thing for certain, there is always a frenzy of activity beneath the bird feeder. We may sit in our cozy home roasting chestnuts and singing carols, but for them, it’s just another day about survival.

Ok. So maybe we’re just a couple of nuts roasting by a propane fire and are really more into vintage blues than Harold’s angels, but you get the idea.

I will spare you the sordid details, but I confess, I’m addicted to feeding the birds – hence, the frenzy. I mean, once you start, you can’t really stop, can you? I confided to our neighbor, who just happens to run a nursery, that it was my main source of entertainment, which earlier in my life would have seemed quite pathetic, but he quickly assured me that this is, in fact, a *good* thing. His quick response also told me I had met a fellow addict; we instantly bonded and were fast forming our own little support group. “SOME” people, he confided, actually get on airplanes for no other reason than to go see a certain bird. I nodded in understanding. The cost of my own addiction was starting to approach rising airfare status. Would the money I spend on feed be enough for a trip to the Galapagos? I didn’t want to do the math. I purchased a couple of salal plants, some kinnickinnick, and some bearberries – all good plants for birds – wished him a Happy New Year, and left.

And then I got to thinking – I may not exactly be Martha Stewart, but why not make my own bird treats?

Bird Muffin Treats

Mmmm….good enough for a bird to eat!

“Muffins” made of suet, peanut butter, bird seed, dried fruit, and more

Friends, I think I am onto something here. For my inspiration, I consulted a booklet, which at the moment is lost in the post-holiday chaos, but when I find it, I will post the title in the comment section. It has handy charts of typical backyard birds, what they eat, which are the most nutritious foods, and some delicatessen ideas.

I purchased some beef suet from the local market and melted the fat out of it. Tallow is rendered from beef; lard from pork — something I learned from my soap-making days — and the tallow can be quite hard when it is cool; lard is softer.

I also assembled a few other ingredients: dried fruit (raisins), sunflower seeds, and peanut butter are sure bets. The book also suggested leftover spaghetti noodles, a surprise, but something I just happened to have, along with some cooked apples.

I put a little of each in some paper-lined muffin tins, sprinkled on a little sand, patted it down, and topped everything with the liquid fat, which congealed into a nice thick cake. I kept one out for the birds and put the rest in the freezer.

These, according to the manual, are supposed to be particularly appealing to robins, which live here year round and like to eat off the ground. They are also quite appealing to our fat yellow lab, Ginger Roll, who didn’t seem to mind the sand. Based on her indigestion, however, future cakes will be hung in netted bags or wire boxes.

A Very Cool Bird Feeder

Golden-crowned sparrow eats off the trunk

If making greasy muffins is not your style, you can always just smear peanut butter on the trunk of a tree, and the nuthatches will be forever grateful – or whatever feeling they have for as long as their little bird brains allow them to think about it. Enjoying a good find and living in the moment is a good lesson for us all, I would think.

You could also smoosh it between the spaces in a pine cone, roll the cone in bird seed, and then hang it from a tree.

A 1.5" drill bit is used to drill holes in log for bird feeder

Hang the log from the tree; fill holes with suet and seed

ORRR, you could get fancy, like we did, and instead of a pine cone, drill some holes in a log and fill them with a mixture of melted suet and an assortment of nuts, grains, and seeds, such as whole & shelled sunflower seeds, thistle, millet, quinoa, crushed peanuts….(nix on the noodles, I’d say – keep it concentrated energy foods). We drilled small holes beneath the feeder holes into which we inserted dowels for perches – and then hung the whole thing from the tree.

Wow. They really like it.

New Year’s Morning Update: It is a sunny but chilly (20 degrees) morning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many and such a variety of birds at the feeder. All the little regulars: finches, wrens, sparrows, juncos, chickadees, nuthatches…they’re having so much fun. Downy woodpeckers are attacking the fat in the log feeders. Thrushes are dominating the pile of apples at the base of the tree. Jaybirds come swooping in and gobble up corn kernels by the dozen before flying off. Quail are mixing everything up at the base of the main feeder, picking up leftover fallen seeds. Mourning doves, always in pairs, also paid us a visit. Robins and towhees, also steady residents. A squirrel scampered down and around the tree, picked up a few choice morsels, and raced off again. At one point, several starlings, which I’ve seen completely clean our cherry tree in very short order, flew in with much fanfare and a lot of flapping of wings and pretty much dominated everything. The highlight of the morning: a red-shafted flicker – not something we see very often. A huge woodpecker-like bird, he pecked deep into the crevices of the bark of the trunk. His coloring is beautiful. Everyone takes turns at the water dish. Everyone, though very different, seems to understand that everyone needs to eat. Everybody gets a turn. Very cool.

Chickadee at feeder (picture taken through a window)

I could watch them all day. I can’t wait to make them more treats. Clearly, their lives are a little bit easier this winter. And does it really matter whether I ever get to see the Galapagos in person?

My plan for the new year, however, is to grow more plants that provide natural habitat and bird feed throughout the year, so there is plenty available whether I am here or not.  My nursery friend agrees that it’s a good plan, although he admits that even though there is plenty of bird habitat and natural food at his nursery, the birds still like to hang out at the feeder.

Course, if they are not so dependent on my food supply, maybe we could take off for someplace warm.

Or not. I am ok with staying here and watching the birds. They sure are fat.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I cannot keep this blog without taking a moment to tell everyone how much I appreciate all your support – through the rise and fall of garlic (hopefully to rise again!) – through all the follies of this backyard “bigger-than-a-garden/smaller-than-a-farm” pursuit of living closer to the earth, working to be more self sufficient, growing enough to share, connecting enough to give, understanding enough to see what is truly important: love, laughter, friendship, doing what we can to make this world a better place.

I am so overwhelmed at times at how fortunate we are to have such an abundance of the good things in life – because the world is not a fair place, and it is so very sad to see that as a species, we still have not been able to overcome our differences enough to eliminate hunger and sickness.

It strikes me that one way each of us can help to change the world is to think a little differently about our food and what we eat – where it comes from, who grows it, how it was raised, whether what we pay for it is supporting a living wage or supporting what amounts to slavery. It is so easy to overlook the hard work that it takes to get the food from a tiny seed to the market, and so very easy to take for granted this food that is so accessible to us. Is it food that nurtures? Did it come from good soil? Is it free from poisons? Can we even recognize it? (so many “foods” look nothing like what is grown in the field!)

Garlic? Are you there?

Oops. No protection. Maybe just as well.

I am glad I didn’t get around to covering certain beds with hoops of plastic, because it all would have been blown away or shredded. When the snow melts, we’ll see what survived and what will be an “oh well” moment. It may be too late for the red wigglers.

But there are bright spots. I have seldom seen so many birds at our bird feeder — they barely waited until I finished filling the feeders, scattering seed on the ground, and filling up a small dish of water before they were there in great numbers. Finches, sparrows, nuthatches, chickadees, juncos, towhees, woodpeckers, jaybirds, mourning doves, quail … large and small, they all eat together. They are obviously thankful for the abundance of food.

(Note to self: plan on growing some birdseed next year!)

Mmmm. Homemade pies and cranberry sauce.

And speaking of abundance, I have three pies in the oven: apple, pumpkin, and green tomato mincemeat, all made from the fruits of the garden. We are looking forward to a large family gathering, full of chatter and a high level of chaos.

It is something to remember – just how blessed we are in this country. This holiday tradition of celebrating the harvest and taking a moment to be thankful for what is meaningful in life is one that can be extended to every day of our lives.

And with that thought, may I extend a happy Thanksgiving today and every day to anyone reading this. May your day be filled with many blessings: good food, a wealth of love, laughter, and good health, a warm place to be, safe travels.

And, as always – grow your own when you can, but when you can’t grow your own, thank a farmer who makes your meal possible — buy local and support family farms!

So – no time to lose! If you get out there right now, you might still have a chance to harvest things from the garden to use in making gifts for the upcoming holidays!

Or you could procrastinate like me and the week before Christmas be scratching your head and wondering what there might be to salvage, an experience last year I solemnly vowed not to repeat!

Of course, everyone’s garden is different – so what you harvest and make will largely depend on what is available. I took a survey yesterday of what I had, and here are some ideas I came up with:

Seed Packets: Sure, some have already shattered and scattered – but there are still a lot available. I found quite a few flowers: calendula, marigolds, hollyhocks (save the deep red ones!), larkspur, 4 o’clocks, nasturtiums, poppies, and sunflowers (leave some for the birds!); my usual assortment of herbs: savory, oregano, dill, coriander, fennel, feverfew, and verbena. Also a few not-so common ones, such as cardoon, which is a dramatic plant that is fun to share. For your dyer friends, weld and woad seeds are abundant.

Make little packets of seeds with a photo or drawing and instructions how to grow. Save the poppy seeds until the last minute and make your friends a batch of poppy seed muffins – or write out the recipe, assemble the ingredients, and let them make their own muffins!

Bulbs: Dig some up now to share with friends

Cuttings: So many things to do with cuttings! You don’t want to prune too heavily before the plants go dormant, but taking a few cuttings here and there now while they’re still in half-way decent shape should be ok. Dip cuttings in rooting compound, and get them started so you can give them as plants later. A little indoor herb garden makes a really nice gift (dig up clumps of chives) – and cuttings of some herbs, such as the thymes, are much more true to the mother plant when propagated with cuttings.

Dried Culinary Herbs: Hang herbs to dry and make your foodie friends some gourmet culinary blends. Rosemary, sage, thyme, oregano, savory, bay leaves, dill, cilantro/coriander – what have you. Sometimes it’s nice to just shake on a little of something already mixed up, rather than hunt through everything to get individual pinches of this and that. Make a blend for meats, poultry, fish, veggie dishes, etc. Including a recipe is a nice touch.

Tea blends: mints, bergamot, chamomile, lemon balm, rose hips come to mind…you could add a little dried orange peel or ginger, depending on the blend. Nothing like a mug of hot tea to add warmth on a blustery winter day. You could even “wrap” it with a mug to sip it in.

Potpourris: take your favorite dried blends – add a few flowers (do you still have roses?) and seed pods for variation – it might be too late for lavender blossoms, but lavender leaves also have a nice scent – add scented oils if you like – fill a decorative jar, small basket, box, or sachet bag – easy! Embroider on the sachet bag…um…now you’re turning it into a “project.”

Catnip bags – don’t forget your feline friends. They don’t care about embroidery.

Wreaths: Bay leaves in wreaths are particularly nice, as are rosemary branches. Sage gets kind of crumpled looking, but combined with wormwood, santolina, and lavender can be quite beautiful. Swags are usually more my style – tie a bundle of herbs with a bow and call it good. We do have grapevines, though, as well as corkscrew willow – so it’s fun to come up with funky creations when I have time.

Apples sliced cross-wise (don’t bother peeling) and dehydrated have a beautiful star shape in the middle and are a really nice addition to wreaths. (Try drying oranges sliced this way, too – they come out looking like stained glass!).

Pressed Flowers & Leaves: Put them in an old book, weight it down, and use them later on cards, candles, homemade paper, botanical bookmarks, gift wrap, etc. Dip pressed leaves in paint and make prints. Photocopy your designs to make multiple cards & wrapping paper.

You can also “press” your leaves and flowers in the microwave on half power. Wrap a paperback book with rubber bands to make sure things stay flat – or just weight it down with a plate. Take it out every 20 seconds or so (more often toward the end) to let the moisture escape, and be sure to stop short of crispy dry as the plants will continue to “cook.” Flowers keep their color a lot better this way than when allowed to dry in a book or pressing block over time.

Herbal Salves and Lotions: Got calendulas? Calendulas bloom profusely all through fall and are such a cheerful flower – I think everyone should grow them for that alone – but their medicinal properties are legendary. It is so easy to collect the blossoms, chop coarsely, place in a jar, and top with olive oil or some other fine oil. Let them infuse for a couple weeks, during which time the oil takes on a beautiful golden color. Strain the oil, thicken with a little beeswax (1-4 parts wax to 10 parts oil, depending on how thick you like it, is pretty standard), and you have a soothing cream or salve. You can add a few drops of tincture of benzoin as a preservative, but it keeps very well as is if stored in a cool dark place. A few drops of lavender essential oil is antibacterial and also acts as a preservative, as does a little tea tree oil. I really don’t know why I don’t get around to making this more often, it is so easy. So nice on chapped hands. Or a baby’s bottom. Or both.

Canned & Dehydrated Fruits: We’re into canning and dehydrating in a big way in our household, so homemade jams, jellies, pickles, chutneys, and dried fruits are always fun to give away. Someday I will write a post about my experience with some of the more unusual combinations – but as far as what you can do right now – apples are big. Apple butter, apple sauce, herb-infused apple jelly (rosemary, mint, etc.), and cinnamon-dusted dried apples are all good. You can later use canned applesauce to make cakes and candies, like applets, which, if you haven’t had, are a gelled apple-nut mixture that is dehydrated.

If you’ve got green tomatoes (yes! despite the cool summer – or maybe because of – we have a few!), don’t forget green-tomato mincemeat.

Herb Vinegars: Purple basil in a jar of vinegar is absolutely gorgeous. Repurposing unusual bottles and adding a sprig of rosemary, thyme, a clove of garlic, or combinations of herbs to a nice vinegar is a lot of fun. Makes me wish I still had my tarragon plant. A combination of rosemary and tarragon in a little champagne or white wine vinegar is – hmmm – worth buying another tarragon plant and trying again next year, for sure.

Pickled Garlic: When I plant garlic, I always have quite a few leftover cloves that didn’t go into the ground. They don’t keep very long when they are broken away from the bulb, so toss them in a jar, top with vinegar, and stash in the fridge. Very easy! (Dehydrating them and making your own garlic powder is also good).

Pickled Nasturtium Seeds: Ever make nasturtium capers? If you’ve ever tried them, you will want to grow lots of nasturtiums just to pickle the seeds with a clove of garlic and a little mustard seed. Canned in a fancy jar with an elegant label, they are the perfect gift for your gourmet friends.

Horseradish: Ready for harvesting! HOT gift!

Garden & Nature Ornaments: Seed pods, woven grasses, twigs, walnut shells, & lots of etc. can be made into ornaments. Let your imagination be the limit (is what they always say). You’re on your own here, friends. We’ll compare notes later, mmm-k?

Seems like everything is ready at once: corn, tomatoes, green beans, beets … and all those greens & brassicas are really coming into their prime with the cooler temps. I came across a great recipe for minestrone soup this morning at one of my favorite blog sites: Cookus Interuptus. It uses a little bit of everything you might have along with some kidney beans simmered in some soup stock. Pretty darn easy, and that’s what we’re having tonight.

If you haven’t watched the videos over at Cookus Interuptus, check them out. The characters in these mini-soaps are real people – and they’re cooking and eating real food and trying to make a video while constantly being interrupted – and maybe it’s just because I relate so much that I laugh through every episode and am then inspired to make something new and fresh for dinner, that I am totally hooked. (I also watched their video on making homemade dog food this morning, and guess what, my mutts got a little fresh chard, carrots, and chicken livers mixed in with their gruel for breakfast. Barkley and Ginger give the video the two paws up, tail wag, tongue-hanging-out-for-more vote of approval, and Guy Noir, the cat, concurs with a silent nod, which, for a very demanding cat, is significant.)

I’ve got a lot on my agenda this week, so this post will be short (ha!). First, thanks to everyone who supported the Harvest Celebration Farm Tour last weekend. Personally, I volunteered at the Freedom Farm (a horse ranch & equestrian center), and we had great weather and a fantastic turnout.  Very fun to see so many people into buying local, which has truly become a movement in our community!

This week, I’m getting the garlic beds ready for planting, which will take place over the next few days (later post on that procedure!) – and I hope to get some apples in the canner, because that is something we use all winter in breads and cakes and pies and just plain. The jars are starting to stack up on the shelves, and they are absolutely beautiful!

We have an abundance of apples every year (5 trees, mostly Gravensteins). I am not sure how old the trees are, but our house is dated around 1900; our place was part of an old dairy farm homestead. Last year, we had so many apples, I put them in a wheelbarrow by the side of the road with a “Free” sign on them, and they quickly disappeared. This year, we don’t have nearly as many, and all I can figure is that we had such a cold spring with lots of wind and rain, that maybe the blossoms didn’t get pollinated. I remember feeling sorry for the bees and hoping they would find our trees.  Even so, there are still lots and plenty to make into pies, cider, cakes, sauces, and to share.

So without further ado – here is a pretty quick & easy apple cake recipe. I modified it from the King Arthur Flour site, which has a ton of recipes on it and is a very fun site to browse through (but somewhat dangerous if you have a fetish for cool kitchen gadgets & supplies that you can’t find elsewhere that make you look like a real kitchen pro!)

Basic Instructions: All you do is make a very thick cake batter, pour it in the bottom of a buttered cast-iron skillet (or other pan), and top it with sliced apples that you’ve tossed with a little lemon juice, sugar, and cinnamon or whatever combination of apple pie spices you like, mixed with a little apple cider. Sprinkle it with crystallized sugar if you want to be fancy.  Bake until done. It makes the whole house smell wonderful. It is easy to imagine grandmas baking this cake in a cast-iron woodstove.

(BTW – I used our windfall Gravensteins. I quartered them, cut out the stems and seeds, and sliced them thick. I didn’t bother peeling them, because the whole peeling, coring, slicing thing is what prevents me from using the apples as much as I’d like, and mechanical gadgets create too much waste in my opinion. And guess what? They’re great with the peels left on! Oh – and since we have so many apples, I frequently make apple juice or a combination of apple-carrot juice with our juicer. So I made up a little extra apple juice and used that as the liquid in the recipe. It tends to be a little denser as the pulp isn’t completely removed, and the flavor is just oh-SO-intense!)

Detailed Instructions:

Foolproof Skillet Apple Cake

Pan Prep:

Butter a 9-inch cast-iron skillet or pan

Apple Prep:

Wash & slice 5-8 medium-sized apples ; toss them with a little lemon juice

Sugar & Spice Prep:

¼ c brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon + ¼ tsp cloves + ¼ tsp allspice, or combination of your choice
¼ tsp salt (optional)

Mix up and then add

3 T apple juice

Stir this into the apples

Cake Batter Prep:

Mix dry ingredients:

1 1/3 c flour (I grind my own flour, so mine was a blend of fresh ground wheat and triticale – which is what I had on hand)
¼ c sugar (I use apple cider for the liquid, so you don’t need much)
¼ c non-instant milk powder (since I was out of milk and didn’t have time to go to the dairy)
1 ½ tsp baking powder
½ tsp salt

Mix wet ingredients:

6 T butter, melted
2/3 c. apple cider (the official recipe calls for milk)
1 tsp vanilla
1 egg

Stir the wet into the dry and pour into the skillet.

Top with apples – dump them in, or, since I was trying to make a photo op, arrange them on top & sprinkle with crystallized sugar.

Bake at 350 for 50 or 60 minutes.

Skillet Apple Cake - fast, easy, and easy to eat!

Or – like I ended up doing – bake for 40 minutes, find out you have to go somewhere, crank the oven up to 400 very briefly, turn it completely off & leave, come back an hour later and walk into a house smelling like apples and cinnamon, open the oven door, and voila! Beautiful apple cake!

Seems pretty foolproof to me!

Have you herd? Farm Tour this weekend!

Tomorrow, Saturday, October 2, is the 14^th Annual Harvest Celebration Farm Tour in Clallam County. If you are on the Olympic Peninsula, Washington State, this is a very fun event that gives you a glimpse of what the Peninsula has to offer.

This year, nine different farms are opening their barn doors and throwing a party – hayrides, music, great food, farm animals & produce, demonstrations – a ton of down-home family fun.

It’s a great opportunity to see not only the resources we have here, but also a chance to see how people are making it work from home.

• Lazy J Tree Farm grows Christmas trees and all kinds of organic produce. They’ll have apple cider, hay bale mazes, and Coleman Byrnes’ Heritage “Chocolate” turkeys (order now for Thanksgiving!).
• Bowers’ Blue Mountain Belgians will be giving demos on farming and logging using draft horses and mules, as well as how to turn logs into lumber using a portable sawmill.
• Trade Winds Alpacas will give spinning demonstrations and offer opportunities to buy products made from this finest of fibers – and there is nothing more adorable than baby alpacas!
• Freedom Farm specializes in horses in all shapes and sizes. They will be giving pony rides to kids, making hay and silage, and will have lots of kid-friendly activities.
• Lökalie Gaare (Lucky Sheep Farm) will give demos on sheep shearing, spinning, and herding sheep using Border Collies (they make it easy!)
• Dungeness Valley Creamery offers raw milk, locally made cheese, farm-fresh eggs, whole grain breads, and other locally made basics at their store. They’ll give demos on how to separate the cream from milk and churn it into butter. Their big brown-eyed jersey calves are pretty hard to resist!
• Nash’s Organic Produce is pretty much legendary in these parts, offering some of the largest assortment of fresh veggies this side of the Cascades. They’ll give demos on all aspects of beekeeping, and we won’t want to miss the organic shepherd’s pie, green salad, and fruit crisp!
• Bekkevar Family Farm has been in operation since our pioneer days (Happy 100^th Birthday!) Hayrides, antique tractors, unique breeds of cattle, pigs, and other farm animals, wool spinning, and just about everything you can think of on a self-sustaining farm operation – along with a little toe-tappin’ bluegrass – await visitors here.
• Sunshine Herb & Lavender farm will give talks on growing, processing, and distilling lavender and other herbs. Registered mini Southdown sheep and rare poultry from the Barking Beak Farm will also greet onlookers.

The sign says, "Homegrown Vegetables," and they don't get any better than that!

I am always amazed at the number of varied agricultural enterprises we can find right here on the Olympic Peninsula. Of course, Sequim has built quite a reputation in the last few years around its lavender farms, but there is so much more available: all kinds of fruits and vegetables, grains, livestock, poultry, seafood, herbs and flowers, field and seed crops, bees & honey, grapes & wine, hay and livestock feed, mulches & compost, and an assortment of nurseries – not to mention local markets and community gardens.

You know, I’ve always wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible, to “live off the land,” to work from home – and maybe this dream is just a kickback from a 60’s-era idealism, but I have to say – these people are making it work. Some are carrying on traditional methods, such as using draft horses or herd dogs – some are approaching modern markets with unconventional crops, such as lavender – some are combining the old with the new – all are demonstrating how wholesome, home-grown, small-family-farm goods are better for you, better for the environment, better for our community. These folks have my utmost admiration, and there is so much we can learn from all of them.

As I get older, I am rethinking my ideals of being completely self-sufficient. Sure, I will always have a family garden – and I will always share my passion for unique varieties of garlic – but I also know that being completely self-sufficient is a lot of work. Maybe it’s time to rethink this concept. Maybe self-sufficiency is more efficiently accomplished at a community level. That means reaching out. Supporting our neighbors.

This support has never been more important.

Anyone who lives in the Sequim-Dungeness Valley knows how recent population growth and developments have taken away a great percentage of our farmland, and with it, some of our heritage. It’s a sad story told across the country. But all is not lost. We have a resurgence of people who are showing us that it can still be done – but they can’t do it alone. We all need one another.

The alternative means being dependent on outside sources for our food supply. It’s a scary thought. We get complacent about the availability of cheap food in large markets, the availability of which is largely dependent on cheap energy. That cheap energy will not always be available.  And as big business and outside interests gain more control of our food supply, that cheap food may not always be available, either. “Cheap” has hidden costs beyond the obvious health impacts.

We are incredibly blessed to have such an abundance of “real” food and local products available to us. It’s up to us to insure that availability. By supporting our local family farms, we are supporting our independence, our self-sufficiency, and our communities. Our health – and our quality of life – defined on so many levels – depends on it.

So when you check out some of our local farms this weekend, take time to get to know our farming neighbors. We’re all in this together.

And remember to

* * BUY LOCAL * *

P.S. Can’t make the tour? Consider donating to Friends of the Fields, a non-profit organization dedicated to saving farmland in Clallam County, WA.

Thank you!