her able hands

First of all, thank you so much for your thoughtful comments on my last post. Much food for thought, particularly in Joe’s comment. It’s interesting that Joe picked up on the Tyler aspect of the post because that’s the part that I most wanted to write more about, but I stopped doing the mommy blog thing for a reason. I felt like I crossed the line saying anything at all. But now I want to follow up on a few of those thoughts. But that’s for another day after I let it percolate a little bit more. Today I’m thinking more about my blog as a whole.

For a couple of months now, I’ve been annoyed by the fact that most of what I write about, I’ve written about before, and how I’m so very bored with my bloggy self. Then yesterday I read Becca’s post about blogging in time and the challenges for a long-term blogger to make the cyclical nature of things work well.

Time goes forward–2008, 2009, 2010–but it also cycles–spring, summer, winter, fall, spring, 4/16/08, 4/16/09, 4/16/10. That’s the beauty of it. Blogs are essentially temporal: the two things that make a blog a blog are the computer and time as the organizing structure of the post. The topical blogger and the narrative blogger can, I think, take better advantage of this nexus of the progressive and the cyclical. [emphasis mine]

That last line has popped into my head a thousand times as I wonder just how I can take better advantage of that in my own narrative efforts. Each season rolls around again and the idea is to record the progress, both internal and external. What’s happening in the gardens, in the kitchen, with the family, inside of me. What new ideas we’re playing around with in our heads and in our hearts. But I so often now feel as if I’ve already said it all, or that there’s no new way to say it to make it a slightly different story.

I don’t want to stop blogging, but I do think I’ll be posting less story over the next few weeks and working on some photography instead. Things are shifting here and I don’t feel the need to write about any of it. Quite the opposite. I feel the need to hold it inside and keep my attention on the vision of this new life unfolding. To stay in action as much as possible during the transition because I have so very many balls in the air, or pots on the stove, or seeds in the soil. Actually, I’m managing all of these things while working full-time and it’s a little crazy-making. It’s also short-term, I can really feel that. I think looking at it all through the lens may help clarify my vision some, and give me a chance to learn a bit more about this camera I’ve been toting around for three years and still only using the automatic settings.

So let’s end out this gorgeous week (goodness this weather has been spectacular!) with a little list love, and then I have to go make lunches and get us all up and out the door so I can go hang out in the cubicle farm for another eight hours. (I take a break every half hour to close my eyes, breathe deep into my body and see this other life in action—this life of working with food and gardens and people.)

• The squirrels did not, in fact, dig up all of my Fava Beans and Peas. They’re almost all up about an inch now, and I have a newfound hope for the harvest this season.

• My peppers and eggplant are finally beginning to poke through the starter mix after 22 days. I really need to seal off the light stand with some plastic to create more of a heated room in there.

• Three bags of plant splittings that Cheril gave me in the late fall somehow survived the winter, even though they spent it sitting out in plastic grocery bags. They now have new homes in the perennial bed. I have no idea what they are.

• Turnips, radish, arugula, spinach and chard are all up.

• I forgot to take the lids off of my winter sowing containers on Tuesday and fried most of the seedlings. Hand smack to forehead. So much for my masses of Lupine and Delphinium. Boo.

• I have a couple of people who want to buy vegetables from me this year. I’ll make no guarantees on quantity, but will be good practice to get the succession planting schedule in rhythm.

• My brother is considering coming to Kent State to do his graduate studies in ceramics. I know! I might actually have family I understand in town with me in a year. Holy mackerel, Andy. I need to not get too excited about that one because he also might be going to Osaka Japan to apprentice with a master potter. His future is wide open, as Mr. Petty would say.

• Last night my neighbor asked me if I’m pregnant. That’s two people in two months. I really am going to need to learn to chew and spit when testing cupcake recipes. And make time to get vigorous exercise in every day again. And do about five thousand crunches a day, to boot.

• And tell Chris to not bring home any more Corona. No matter how warm it gets out, I need to step away from the icy cold beer.

Happy Friday peeps…here comes another weekend. What’s on your plate?

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This is the new playground, set up in the spot where the rickety old death-trap once stood. You can see him just slouching over there in the yard all sad and rejected and looking even more dangerous than before now that the new kid’s in town.

You know that phrase, NIMBY (not in my backyard) that people toss around in regards to building that they don’t want to look at, or high tension wires, or landfills, or nuclear power plants? When we decided to buy this house, we had to consciously let go of a bit of NIMBY-tude. I mean because we moved from acreage to city and gave up the view of many trees and open sky to look at the back of a McMiniMansion type home. The houses aren’t very attractive and are the first thing you notice when you go in our backyard, especially when the leaves are off the trees. Of course, if that house ever sells, those poor people have to look at our toy-littered, trash-day furniture covered back yard. But if they have little kids, they’ll be happy enough to let go of their own NIMBY attitude because my backyard has become the epicenter for fun and adventure in the neighborhood, as well as for growth and renewal. I’ve been walking around for days, giggling like a little girl and shouting, “Yes, please! Bring it to my backyard!”

You can sort of see the open land behind us, to the left of that house. That’s the west edge of the five acres that are going to be turned into a gated senior village. There’s no way to stop that plan now (and it looks like a fairly sane plan), but other things are swirling around in the atmosphere here. Big things, but smaller than my initial ideas, more manageable scale things, more of a scale that I can take my time, learn and then expand. I don’t mean to be cryptic, I’m just not supposed to talk details with anyone until it’s finalized. But I do think it’s safe for me to say that if it goes through the way it sounds like it will, (I’m told it’s 99% a done deal), I’m going to have a half acre of open land on which to plant and teach and hopefully make some dollars. Half an acre of open, sunny land, in sight of my own home.

Needless to say, I’m trying not to count my chickens and all that, but I do think the last two weeks have been a trip in the river of life, and for once I have completely surrendered to the current. I’ve asked many questions, stated what I want, listened to stories and advice, taken action where it felt right, and otherwise waited and envisioned this scenario (or one very close to it) with all of me, in every free moment. New people have come into my life, people who might turn out to be excellent partners in whatever this venture turns into. Other people who might need my help in a part time, paid capacity. Things are lining up to make it possible for me to be at home.

I feel like magic has been going on under the surface of that river where I can’t see it, but I can feel it gently move me in new directions. Sometimes it’s so scary to feel that tug out in to the middle where the water moves faster and my instinct is to start paddling for shore. But then I remind myself that shore isn’t working anymore. That living in the relative safety of the shallows is making me sick and unhappy. That I’m ready. I’m ready to live my life and earn my living in a meaningful way.

The guy who wants to do a land contract for the house contacted Chris yesterday and they hammered out the terms. Chris goes to see Titus, The Octogenarian Barrister today to get the contract drawn up. They want to move in two weeks from now. We’ll be holding the mortgage for three more years, but they’ll be paying most of it this year, a little more next, and then full the third year. See what I’m talking about?

Also, I attended the second (my first) Akron E4S (Entrepreneurs for Sustainability) event last night. The topic was building a sustainable local food network and industry, and was very well attended. I met beekeepers, CSA owners, landscape designers, writers, large scale farmers, two guys who are starting a distribution program to get local food from the grower to restaurants, the man who runs the Countryside Conservancy, people who work from grant foundations, a woman who manages a Cleveland farmers’ market and is starting a beautiful new glossy magazine on local foods, a chef who uses a lot of locally grown food, and many, many more. My head hurt when I got home, from the hundreds of ideas ringing in the space between my ears.

I forgot how much I hate driving at night, and a forty minute ride on the highway that’s mostly under construction, with my head pounding and my night blindess made for a stressful journey back to Kent, and I slept like a coma patient last night. My dreams were all about organic food, interesting people, writing about gardening and farming and the people who make it all happen, and feeling connected and successful and alive. My headache is gone this morning, and the sun is shining. So we’re meant to get some snow on Sunday…okay, it’s April in Ohio. That’s not a big surprise. My tomatoes and peppers are almost all up, the broccoli and brussels sprouts need transplanted this weekend, and I need to get another half dozen flats of culinary herbs and medicinal herbs started.

Onward into the season!

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It’s definitely spring because Tyler has used half a box of tissues this weekend. Poor guy gets allergies like his father does, long and brutal. I feel mine cranking up too in the form of a headache that’s hung out in my skull for four days and an ever-so slightly scratchy throat.

What a spectacular weekend. We all spent at least eight hours outside both days and managed to get a whole lot of work done. The new wood playground is now in place with the swing beam and both slides attached. It took us four hours to put that blasted tube/spiral slide together and get it attached to the top platform. But it’s done and is already the neighborhood play zone—ten kids made wild fun on it after the birthday party next door.

Let’s see, what else? I’m not feeling particularly narrative this morning as I sip coffee in the dark and hope the headache will go away. I raked out half of the border beds and started a new lasagna bed along the back of the deck (more almost full sun). As I worked I thought about fruit tree placement around the property. I had originally planned to dig out the two ornamental shrubs on the south side of the house to plant the two pear trees as espaliers up against the house, but read in The Garden Primer that pears should not warm up too quickly in spring because of the risk of early buds and late frost damage. Apples might fare better in that spot. Thus the lasagna bed behind the deck. I can put four dwarf fruit trees along the back and espalier them, which will make a great living screen, but then, will also screen out the playground from the house, so maybe that’s not a great idea. Of course, it’ll be a few years before that’s fully filled in, so maybe it’s fine. It’s an ideal spot, facing east, plenty of sun, natural windbreak out of the northwest from the house, and in a dip in the property, so moist enough, but not too moist, it’s also very well drained.

I had intended to get some more seeds in the ground, but that didn’t happen. I’m going to leave work an hour early today and plant some radish, kale, collards, chard, turnips, rutebegas, spinach and arugala. The peas aren’t coming up yet, and I see that a bunch of the Fava beans got dug up by the squirrels. I really do need to fence.

Late yesterday, while all of the birthday party kids played on the swing set, and the parents hung out chatting, we moved the chickens to a new spot. I forked up the top layer of soil and dumped it on top of the cardboard for the new bed first so they had plenty of bugs. I need to get out there and take some pictures (have been so camera lazy lately). We have a huge new mattress of straw/manure bedding to work with—my next weekend project is to assemble a couple of quick and dirty compost bins with garden stakes and fencing. I want to be ready for the first lawn mowing when I’ll have some green to add to the layers of leaves and bedding and finally, finally get some real composting happening on the property. Instead of these random piles I have everywhere that seldom, if ever, get turned.

The chicken wire had rotted and we didn’t notice. When I went out across the back yard to bring some Sesame Noodles to the neighbors who recently had a new baby, I heard an incredible volume of rustling coming from the chicken tractor. They had busted out and were blissfully scratching in the dried leaves on the other side of the cage. Luckily they were so engrossed in their freedom, they didn’t really notice us corralling them and when we tipped up the bottom of the tractor, they all went right under. Chris cut new wire and attached it and now they’re on new ground with a fresh layer of straw and oats, some cracked corn the kids sprinkled for them, and I’m hoping they’ll start laying in earnest. This one egg every three days is just not going to cut it.

In other news, I had a conversation with a neighbor who happens to have worked for OSU extension up in Cuyohoga County, organizing community gardens in Cleveland. She offered to give me a hand if I need to do any grant writing. That same day we got another certified letter from the city about the senior village development. There will be another meeting the following week about an easement for the Residential 3 zoning, which calls for 30% open space with any building project. They’re looking to cut that in half to 15%. This could be a real opportunity for the city to put some sustainable building practices in place—to work on a model for land ownership, housing and community relationship building. My job this week is going to be to talk to everyone I can think of who might want to make this a pet project. I need to act fast because the first meeting is next Tuesday. People assure me that things in town move very slowly, but I don’t trust that.

We’re also talking to the homeowner who works for the housing developer who started this project five years ago. There are two lots still standing empty on the cul-de-sac and there has been zero interest in them for two years. He has made a proposal to the builder to put a playground/park on one lot to make up for the fact that the development will not be finished and the people who bought in with the promise of a community center and playground now have to drive to a park if they want to play like that (the yards are really too small). The other could be an excellent neighborhood garden. It’s wide open, graded, has water and electric. It would just need a shed and a faucet.

Of course, I also did a lot of thinking this weekend about the fact that most of these ideas I have will entail me being in a volunteer position. I really need to learn how to parlay this into for-profit work. I don’t need to get rich doing it, but I need to replace the paycheck I currently collect for my time in the cube farm.

More to say, but out of time. Must wake up the children and get ready for the day. Hope you had a wonderful weekend!

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I found a new use for the scrumptious pickled turnips:

And the mummy even agreed that the mommy needed a little edge removal after the day she had yesterday (of which we will not speak because we’re being more careful about work-plaining on blog.

Sure, the vodka may have canceled out the digestive aid effects of the pickled turnips, but we all have to make sacrifices.

Vodka Martini:

Fill shaker 2/3 full with ice.

Pour 2+ shots of a good vodka over ice depending on size of glass . (I did 1 shot because it was Thursday night and who wants to get drunk anymore anyway? Like I said, edge removal. Not stupor inducing.)

Shake and set aside.

Pour a few drops of vermouth into martini glass. Swirl it around and around to coat surface of glass, then pour out any extra into the sink.

Shake vodka one more time. (I’ll usually set my shaker aside for about five minutes, just to let some ice melt into the vodka because I’m a wuss and a lightweight).

Place 2 sticks of pickled turnip in glass.

Pour chilled vodka over turnips.

Sip slowly and feel the spikes retreat back into your brain.

Now watch a movie and then go to bed, but make sure you drink a tall glass of water sometime in between or you might wake up feeling like somebody rolled out a Berber carpet on your tongue.

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Making it to the 5:00 bell (not a real bell, just the figurative bell that clangs loudly in my head at the end of the day, dismissing me from my desk and back into my life) felt like a huge accomplishment today—ridiculously huge.

I cleared out my inbox (for the most part) and only brought one thing home to work on over the weekend. It’s proofreading an instruction manual that’s due first thing Monday morning. It’ll be the thing that keeps me from working on that essay I’ve been struggling with, but I’m in deeper doo-doo than I’ve been in all week if I don’t get it finished.

Can I tell you how grateful I am to no longer feel as if I just swallowed a bottle of vinegar and a box of baking soda? To be able to sit upright for more than ten minutes in a row? Really, really, really grateful.

Yes, lunch was a quandary and I definitely should have bowed out of the group trip to the local swill hole. I really botched it when I ordered a fish sandwich and french fries. But that was the only thing on the menu that didn’t come smothered in pepper jack cheese and chipotle sauce. Or bourbon.

Dear Damons,

Your menu sucks. Twelve bucks is too much for a salad. Especially one with iceburg lettuce. And the four bites of sandwich, three french fries and pickle that I ate gave me gas pains so extreme that from 4-5 pm I seriously worried that I might be having an appendicitis attack. I almost called you to transport me to the hospital. But then the 5:00 bell rang and I scuttled off to my truck. Fortunately I commute alone. If only I could have somehow used that gas for good.

Sincerely,

Kelly

I look forward to a good night’s sleep and beginning the deep disinfecting of the house tomorrow morning. I may even turn off the heat and open some windows and doors for a little while.

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