Fjord Horses and Snow

We have snow, lots of snow. Schools are closed. The roads are almost deserted and the few hardy souls venturing out are driving slowly and carefully down our hill. If I see that someone has gotten stuck in the ditch, it will be a temptation to harness up the Norwegian fjord horse, trot him out to the road, and offer to pull the car out of the ditch. I can imagine my neighbors looking concerned at this offer. Looking worriedly at the horse standing there stamping his feet and exhaling icy clouds of horse breath while the bells on his harness jingle with his every move. And probably they would be right to think that AAA would be a better way to rescue their car. The fjord horse loves to pull. He throws his weight into the harness and is determined to move whatever is behind him. Sometimes he enjoys pulling so much, he keeps going. The first time we hitched him to a log he was so happy he pulled it halfway across the garden and fetched up in the middle of the blueberry patch. But I don’t know if he could pull hard enough to liberate a SUV that has snowplowed into a ditch. Maybe it would be best to leave him watching from the field. After all I could always fire up the tractor. I bet the John Deere could take on any car stuck in the ditch!

Greenhouse Dreams

It is now December and the very last of the tomatoes are ripening in a bowl on the counter. I cleaned the tomato plants out of the greenhouse and collected all the tomatoes that had a hope of ripening. The greenhouse now holds large pots of salad greens. These are winter lettuces, spinach, and salad mixes. They have names like Arctic King, Tundra, and Winter Mix. Not the plants to grace a summer’s garden, but they are the ones tough enough to take on the long winter and the cold, rainy days. It is a joy to walk out and pick fresh lettuce in November, December, and further on. I grow these plants in pots in the greenhouse because the cats are very determined to find dry soil in the winter. I now know that a perfect greenhouse design would be cat proof, so that the felines could not add their questionable nutrients to the soil. I keep the pots well watered and thus they don’t appeal to the cats.

My greenhouse is a simple arch of plastic tarp stretched over a metal framework. Its the kind they sell in building supply catalogs, an inelegant, but serviceable shelter for plants. I collect the pictures of tall, roomy, English design greenhouses. The kind that are large enough to hold a tea party in. And maybe someday, when all other needs are met – all the cars repaired, all the hay bought for the horses, all obligations fulfilled – maybe then I’ll take the glass I have owned for 17 years and build that lovely, large greenhouse and host an outdoor tea party in January. It could happen and, yes, the design would definitely be cat proof.

Update. I built the beautiful greenhouse! Some dreams come true. But that glass that I had for 17 years? That glass went to a friend, I built the greenhouse out of a kit. It’s made of double wall poly carbonate panels, much easier to handle than glass.

I don’t look at the stars often enough. Here, the night sky is often cloudy in winter and in summer after a day outdoors, we’re tired and we don’t stay up to watch the sky. But sometimes, unforeseen circumstances give me a very good reason to watch the stars. Last evening, Honey, my little mare had a mild colic. Its easy to tell with her. She didn’t finish her hay and was not at all interested in her grain. I took her blanket off and inspected her body. She was not tight with pain and showed no sunken area around her flank. Ok, we got to this quickly. We gave her some banamine to relax her abdominal muscles and then we walked her. We walked around and around the house, into the fields, and back again by the barn. We walked until she began to get feisty and look over at the other horses as they ate. We walked under a clear sky full of stars with the moon helping to light our way. One woman, one horse on a small planet orbiting a friendly, but insignificant star. Sometimes it helps to consider all of ones affairs by starlight and moonlight. And, yes, Honey – grumpy, pushy Honey – is just fine this morning.

Hollyhocks grow best when they grow upright. They send tall spires up from their bunches of large leaves and the blooms are held high in the afternoon sun. However, when you get an unexpected windstorm in the summer, you can end up with a very different hollyhock growth pattern – the creeping hollyhock. I tend to let plants fend for themselves. I provide good soil, water, and some protection from plant predators (the dogs chase the deer away). But I don’t like to stake plants. I want them to stand on their own roots and reach their strong stems skyward. Sometimes this doesn’t work at all. The wind that blew up on that summer day, blew down the Hollyhocks. The cosmos and the mallow were flattened as well. I thought of just cutting everything back and giving up. I tried to straighten some of them, but that caused more damage. I left them sprawled on the ground, a most undignified position for a hollyhock.

I shouldn’t have worried about them, they adapted to their new situation. The main stem stayed stretched out on the ground, but the side branches turned and grew upward. Instead of one 7 foot tall spire, there were several 3 to 4 foot tall spires of bright open flowers. I’m almost thinking of doing this next year. I could leave some upright and peg others to the ground where they would be safe from summer storms. Or I could actually stake them, so they would stay upright no matter what.

Blackberries, blue berries, berries for jam! I used to make jam in the summer with berries just picked. They went from the picking bowl to the jam kettle. But there is so much to do in the summer: gardens to weed and water, horses to ride, and that afternoon wind can send a sailboat flying across Puget Sound. Nowdays those just picked berries go into the freezer, after all the associated insects have had a few moments to consider their fate and let go of the berries. Protein is a good thing in one’s diet, but I do try to avoid deep freezing members of the insect world. It doesn’t take long for the freezer to fill up with casually labeled bags, “Mixed Berries, 2008.” Then in the fall when the rain starts and the wind blows and gray is the predominant color in the sky, we create the fragrances of summer. The berries are poured into a big pot on the stove. We search the basement for the canning jars and sometimes run to the store for more canning lids, jars and pectin. The jars are scrubbed and set out to dry all over the kitchen. The old black enamaled canner is hunted down, filled with water, and sits regally on the stovetop steaming and ready for the jars. Once again we go through the tradition of ‘putting food by’. The berries of summer became jams to grace muffins and scones baked in the cold winter months. Yes, we could buy jam in the stores, but it would be so predictable. When we make it, it may be jam or it may be syrup. We always try cutting back the sugar, so sometimes our jam doesn’t set. If it remains fairly liquid, we simply change the label and give our friends jars of gleaming red or purple syrups to serve over morning pancakes. We have the freedom to combine various fruits and berries, raspberries and cherries go very well together. And many years we made Autumn Sauce with apples, pears, and small purple plums. Maybe this year, I’ll make a Summer/Autumn Sauce, a hybrid of summer berries and fall fruit. That could be a fine tasting blend…

It is November now, typically a time of dark skies and never ending rain in the Pacific Northwest. However, we haven’t had the rain settle in this year. One day it will rain, then the next is dry and clear, though not warm. So, I’m still picking raspberries. The kiwi golds and fall golds were late this year, but the plants have enough energy to keep pushing the berries out. The colors of the berries match the glowing yellow leaves of the big leaf maples. It is strange to be picking berries with stiff, cold fingers. I use the sense of touch as an indicator that a berry is ripe. A gentle tug should release the raspberry from the core. Color also is an indicator. The red berries get a bit of a purple blush when they are ripe. The yellow berries look almost orange.

Usually one or both of the dogs keep me company at the berry rows. They know that any dropped berries are theirs. They also have the right to graze on any low berries. If we don’t tie up the canes as we should, the dog notice this and search for their snacks. Sometimes they get lazy and, if I set a bowl of berries on the ground to reach for some jewels at the end of a tall cane, I’ll see a white dog casually reaching for the already picked fruit. “Go pick your own!” I tell them. Samoyeds never look guilty. They just smile their ever present smile and look up at me happily. They know that more berries will drop and that we grow enough for family, friends, and white dogs.

I finally carved a scary looking Jack O’Lantern! I don’t carve the pumpkins that I grow, those are food, sugar pie pumpkins, and they are rather small. I go to the store that has the biggest pile of orange orbs and I look for that true pumpkin shape – round and ribbed. This year I waited a little too long and all the smaller pumpkins were gone. I brought home a 35 pounder, which gave me a larger canvas to express myself. I considered some complicated ideas, but I went with a simple design because this squash had thick walls and I didn’t want to break a knife. Triangles for the eyes, a smaller one for the nose, then a large asymmetric mouth with offset teeth. Put together, this thing is scary. It sits on the front porch, surrounded by the edible squash of future winter dinners. Cornstalks are tied to the porch posts and the whole scene is ready for the arrival of trick or treaters. I hope they come to visit tonight because if they don’t, I’m going to have a big of candy that I don’t want to eat and it probably won’t compost well!

This year, the raccoons waited until I had picked the wine grapes. I thought the grapes would be safe on the back porch in boxes, at least safe overnight. We intended to make wine in the morning. But sometime in the night, one or more raccoons found the bounty – the carefully labeled boxes with 4 different varieties of grapes. The fuzzy predators dumped the boxes and spread the grapes along the porch and the steps. They probably ate some, but seemed to spend most of their energy dispersing the grapes in a wide area. Most of the grapes could be gathered up again and tonight they are safely stashed in the garage. Tomorrow I’ll start the wine. At least I know what to name it. This year’s wine will be of the Raccoon Paw vintage.

Greetings from the Pacific Northwest, the upper left hand corner of America. On this rather crazed day of economic chaos, I’m starting a blog about gardening. A blog about gardening from my point of view, the point of view of a somewhat demented gardener. Some people plant orderly gardens. They know what to expect from season to season. They divide their perennials at the proper time. They trim up and tidy the annual beds instead of leaving huge, browned, ghosts of cosmos past. I am not one of those organized gardeners. My garden is exuberant. Sometimes it looks like an exhibit of botanical warfare. The flowers crowd one another, searching for the sky and sun. The raspberries years ago escaped their bed and forged into the field. Mystery squash sneak into forgotten corners and hide another generation of mystery squashlings under their huge leaves.

And this wild garden is not just filled with plants. Two dogs romp through on a daily basis. Three cats prowl about and set up their feline fortresses under the rhubarb or under the cascading branches of the Camperdown elm. And there are horses, six of them, large and small. The small ones wander through the garden but attempts are made to confine the full size equines to the pastures. This is the setting. I’ll go from here and relate the adventures, botanical and biological, of the creatures of this energetic homestead.