PNewL PNewS
Volume 17 No. 1 “All the pnews that phits.” April 2009
When I moved to the wilds of Marin County in California, I remember showing Peter where I lived and he pointed out that I didn’t live in the country, I lived in the suburbs. When Carla and I were talking about where we ideally wanted to live, she asked if I had always lived in a suburban-like environment. I had to confess most of my homes leaned in that direction (though only one of them truly leaned). So sue me. (I guess I am a little defensive.)
Now I believe I do live in the country. There are llamas uphill from me and angora goats next door. Sculley has become a chicken herder. And there were horses across the street until they moved to greener pastures—really. Oh and an honest-to-god bison farm (ranch?) at the end of the road. A nice young couple have a vegetable stand during the growing months from the crops they grow across the road. And the road—I try not to call it a street and sound suburban—is gravel and dirt; the fire department is volunteer. If I have a medical emergency, I am fairly convinced I am on my own. Water comes from a well; outflow goes to a septic tank. Sounds a wee bit like the country to me.
And so between snow and rain interruptions, I have been pretending to be a gardener. Some of it is fun and some of it, frankly, hurts. First, I would start by telling you the story about why there are so many bloody rocks in this ground but I can’t remember it and my North Carolina native older neighbor tells it way better than I ever could. I cheered at every shovelful that was rock-free and believe me, there was not much cheering going on. Some day I will make a nice wall—about fifteen feet high—with all the rocks I have dug up.
Chris and I went to the Madison County Extension offices in a blinding snowstorm to get blueberries and raspberries for me, and asparagus and strawberries for her. It was a good morning. We went into Marshall and had a delicious lunch. Then the painful part started. I hope the blueberries appreciate it.
When I learned about growing roses, there was a line about a $25 hole for a $5 plant. If not quite $25 holes, the blueberries got fancy dang holes filled with all sorts of goodies. And they won’t even produce a berry for two to three years. As a big fan of immediate gratification, this is killing me! Then I started digging for the raspberries and when I felt I had done them justice, I noted that I had bought TEN plants not 5. Sigh. More digging but not where I had started as I fear it won’t be sunny enough. The yard is starting to look at bit like a patchwork quilt: little flower things here, bulbs over there, here a berry there a berry.
At the end of a long afternoon of digging (how do I remember my mother sitting so much when she gardened?), I dragged all the tools into the shed which I had been using for storage. Tired of trying to squeeze my totally wonderful garden cart into the garage, I decided to move the gardening supplies to the shed. Since I was last in there, some new tenants moved in. Fortunately, they don’t take up too much space. They took up residence under a shelf of a wire rack I had left out there. Boy did that resident look surprised when I removed his roof. Bear thought it was a fun game, chasing the skittering critter out the door. The next one was living in the plastic bag with the rack hardware, which she filled with moss for a nest. When I moved the bag, a mama with the biggest sweetest black eyes--Susan says she’s a field mouse--jumped up and ran, leaving behind—oh never mind. It was not a happy scene, but if I sound callous, trust me I wasn’t. I screamed…like a girl…and can’t seem to get those big eyes out of my mind.
Meanwhile, the rain continues off and on and Bear and I slip walks and planting in between downpours. (I know, I know, we need the rain.) And if nothing blooms or bears fruit it’s not my fault this time, it’s the wacky ways of Mother Nature in the wilds of a North Carolina spring.
Volume 17 No. 1 “All the pnews that phits.” April 2009
Hee Haw…or not
I am not a farmer. I am not even a very good gardener. In California, I used to think of my trips to the nursery as charitable donations that were not tax-deductible. I spent many dollars on plants that didn’t thrive under my less than watchful ADD-ish eyes. Now I have moved to the country where everyone seems to be gardeners if not full-fledged farmers and I am trying to keep up.When I moved to the wilds of Marin County in California, I remember showing Peter where I lived and he pointed out that I didn’t live in the country, I lived in the suburbs. When Carla and I were talking about where we ideally wanted to live, she asked if I had always lived in a suburban-like environment. I had to confess most of my homes leaned in that direction (though only one of them truly leaned). So sue me. (I guess I am a little defensive.)
Now I believe I do live in the country. There are llamas uphill from me and angora goats next door. Sculley has become a chicken herder. And there were horses across the street until they moved to greener pastures—really. Oh and an honest-to-god bison farm (ranch?) at the end of the road. A nice young couple have a vegetable stand during the growing months from the crops they grow across the road. And the road—I try not to call it a street and sound suburban—is gravel and dirt; the fire department is volunteer. If I have a medical emergency, I am fairly convinced I am on my own. Water comes from a well; outflow goes to a septic tank. Sounds a wee bit like the country to me.
And so between snow and rain interruptions, I have been pretending to be a gardener. Some of it is fun and some of it, frankly, hurts. First, I would start by telling you the story about why there are so many bloody rocks in this ground but I can’t remember it and my North Carolina native older neighbor tells it way better than I ever could. I cheered at every shovelful that was rock-free and believe me, there was not much cheering going on. Some day I will make a nice wall—about fifteen feet high—with all the rocks I have dug up.
Chris and I went to the Madison County Extension offices in a blinding snowstorm to get blueberries and raspberries for me, and asparagus and strawberries for her. It was a good morning. We went into Marshall and had a delicious lunch. Then the painful part started. I hope the blueberries appreciate it.
When I learned about growing roses, there was a line about a $25 hole for a $5 plant. If not quite $25 holes, the blueberries got fancy dang holes filled with all sorts of goodies. And they won’t even produce a berry for two to three years. As a big fan of immediate gratification, this is killing me! Then I started digging for the raspberries and when I felt I had done them justice, I noted that I had bought TEN plants not 5. Sigh. More digging but not where I had started as I fear it won’t be sunny enough. The yard is starting to look at bit like a patchwork quilt: little flower things here, bulbs over there, here a berry there a berry.
At the end of a long afternoon of digging (how do I remember my mother sitting so much when she gardened?), I dragged all the tools into the shed which I had been using for storage. Tired of trying to squeeze my totally wonderful garden cart into the garage, I decided to move the gardening supplies to the shed. Since I was last in there, some new tenants moved in. Fortunately, they don’t take up too much space. They took up residence under a shelf of a wire rack I had left out there. Boy did that resident look surprised when I removed his roof. Bear thought it was a fun game, chasing the skittering critter out the door. The next one was living in the plastic bag with the rack hardware, which she filled with moss for a nest. When I moved the bag, a mama with the biggest sweetest black eyes--Susan says she’s a field mouse--jumped up and ran, leaving behind—oh never mind. It was not a happy scene, but if I sound callous, trust me I wasn’t. I screamed…like a girl…and can’t seem to get those big eyes out of my mind.
Meanwhile, the rain continues off and on and Bear and I slip walks and planting in between downpours. (I know, I know, we need the rain.) And if nothing blooms or bears fruit it’s not my fault this time, it’s the wacky ways of Mother Nature in the wilds of a North Carolina spring.
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• Once again, this time at the John Prine concert, I was reminded how full of lyrics my brain is. There is no more room. It’s not my memory that is a problem, it’s the storage issue. I sang along with almost every song in the program.
• My favorite new books: “The Survivors Club” by Ben Sherwood–great statistics about why some of us survive and some don’t, and how you could have better odds; and “Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings” by Edward Espe Brown (suggested by Tracy, one of my fellow travelers to Bhutan) which is part wisdom and insight, and part recipes. Both good. Check em out.
• Happy Birthday PNewL PNewS! You are 17 years old!!
• Sitting in an auditorium, fairly certain I wouldn’t see anyone I know, I tallied up the number of people I have met since I moved to North Carolina—the number of people who I know well enough that we would recognize each other and perhaps remember the context. I was pleased to realize the number was working up towards 30. While that may not impress others, I thought that was pretty good progress.
• The other day I went out at around 6pm. While March had been full of the swelling of spring, early April brought back a taste of winter. For two days, we had snow (which Bear loved) with huge heavy snowflakes. When we went out at the end of the day, the light was kind of gray towards greenish-yellow. The sun was coming through a fairly heavy layer of clouds. I wondered if I was having some frightening neurological event because the colors got lemony and vibrant, the bright spring green of the grass was coming through the fresh white snow on the ground. And then there was this swirl of huge—I mean HUGE—wet flakes. A large happy puppy tossing his ball into the snow and stuffing his face down into the stuff on the ground added to what was pretty darned surreal scene.
• I was sent a link to an article by Kathy Freston in which there was a remarkable list of statistics regarding the impact of not eating meat. It gives one pause. I quote some of it below. The original text can be found at http://www.alternet.org/water/134650/the_startling_effects_of_going_vegetarian_for_just_one_day/
If everyone went vegetarian just for one day, the U.S. would save: 100 billion gallons of water, enough to supply all the homes in New England for almost 4 months;
Globally, we feed 756 million tons of grain to farmed animals. As Princeton bioethicist Peter Singer notes in his new book, “The world is not running out of food. The problem is that we--the relatively affluent--have found a way to consume four or five times as much food as would be possible, if we were to eat the crops we grow directly.” Food for thought…
• I have been back to the Women Build house at Habitat in Asheville a few more times. (Leaving after my last day before the “key ceremony” when they turn over the house to the new owners, was hard. I enjoyed myself and I think we did a good job.) I have nailed subflooring, hung cabinets, done some really horrible stucco-ing, installed soffits and trim. Next week, the garage on the house in Florida is being torn down. Two years ago, we gutted houses in New Orleans. What is it about April that brings all this building and tearing down?
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Angel Island Picnic #28
Saturday, June 27th
Perles Beach
Be there or be square—Everyone’s welcome to join us!
----------------------------------------------
"I wish Pooh were here. It's much more friendly with two." AA Milne
(Piglet? Eeyore? Christopher Robin? I will have to go re-read to find out.)
Things I am Learning & Miscellaneous Observations
• While I really enjoy having the large hound with me, I have these moments when I just wish I could take his batteries out and shove him in the closet…just for a few hours. Good thing I never had kids, eh?• Once again, this time at the John Prine concert, I was reminded how full of lyrics my brain is. There is no more room. It’s not my memory that is a problem, it’s the storage issue. I sang along with almost every song in the program.
• My favorite new books: “The Survivors Club” by Ben Sherwood–great statistics about why some of us survive and some don’t, and how you could have better odds; and “Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings” by Edward Espe Brown (suggested by Tracy, one of my fellow travelers to Bhutan) which is part wisdom and insight, and part recipes. Both good. Check em out.
• Happy Birthday PNewL PNewS! You are 17 years old!!
• Sitting in an auditorium, fairly certain I wouldn’t see anyone I know, I tallied up the number of people I have met since I moved to North Carolina—the number of people who I know well enough that we would recognize each other and perhaps remember the context. I was pleased to realize the number was working up towards 30. While that may not impress others, I thought that was pretty good progress.
• The other day I went out at around 6pm. While March had been full of the swelling of spring, early April brought back a taste of winter. For two days, we had snow (which Bear loved) with huge heavy snowflakes. When we went out at the end of the day, the light was kind of gray towards greenish-yellow. The sun was coming through a fairly heavy layer of clouds. I wondered if I was having some frightening neurological event because the colors got lemony and vibrant, the bright spring green of the grass was coming through the fresh white snow on the ground. And then there was this swirl of huge—I mean HUGE—wet flakes. A large happy puppy tossing his ball into the snow and stuffing his face down into the stuff on the ground added to what was pretty darned surreal scene.
• I was sent a link to an article by Kathy Freston in which there was a remarkable list of statistics regarding the impact of not eating meat. It gives one pause. I quote some of it below. The original text can be found at http://www.alternet.org/water/134650/the_startling_effects_of_going_vegetarian_for_just_one_day/
If everyone went vegetarian just for one day, the U.S. would save: 100 billion gallons of water, enough to supply all the homes in New England for almost 4 months;
Globally, we feed 756 million tons of grain to farmed animals. As Princeton bioethicist Peter Singer notes in his new book, “The world is not running out of food. The problem is that we--the relatively affluent--have found a way to consume four or five times as much food as would be possible, if we were to eat the crops we grow directly.” Food for thought…
• I have been back to the Women Build house at Habitat in Asheville a few more times. (Leaving after my last day before the “key ceremony” when they turn over the house to the new owners, was hard. I enjoyed myself and I think we did a good job.) I have nailed subflooring, hung cabinets, done some really horrible stucco-ing, installed soffits and trim. Next week, the garage on the house in Florida is being torn down. Two years ago, we gutted houses in New Orleans. What is it about April that brings all this building and tearing down?
----------------------------------------------
Angel Island Picnic #28
Saturday, June 27th
Perles Beach
Be there or be square—Everyone’s welcome to join us!
----------------------------------------------
"I wish Pooh were here. It's much more friendly with two." AA Milne
(Piglet? Eeyore? Christopher Robin? I will have to go re-read to find out.)
