This blog contains 1000 posts. Posting to Blogger with such a large archive has become unwieldy. Also, your blogista, who is sewing a kesa, is not writing much at present. She has ceased adding new posts. Still-active links are here.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

The stars will continue to shine

Click to expand
Risa's in bed today, fighting off something strep-ish, related to some dental work that is going forward. Supposedly, she's editing Book II of her post-apoc for print publication, but she's distracted by the goings-on in the Middle East and the possible link between those and food shortages and between food shortages and what Stony Run's all about. So she's been fantasizing about how she thinks everyone's yard should look -- drawing on her touchpad again (crudely) with Paint. If you want to see how this sort of thing looks when drawn by an expert, see Aaron Newton's blog. Better yet, take the class he's offering with Sharon Astyk (see same post).

The diagram echoes similar images in books with "self-sufficient" in the title. No, she doesn't think self-sufficiency is all that possible, and thinks resilience is a better term. Other things being equal, the more you can take care of yourself sustainably, the more everybody else doesn't have to decide whether to take care of you. She likes this concept at any scale: personal, family, extended family, peer group, neighborhood, community, region, nation, continent -- and recognizes that minerals and mineral-based products have their place in the scheme of things -- but thinks the main thing to be more resilient in is access to food and water.

To which end, she's always recommending rural or small town over urban, ownership over rental, free and clear over debt: your own patch of arable land, with enough water, and scaled to get by without oil-intensive machinery if necessary. On a foundation of working-class subsistence farming, any locality is much more resistant to the Four Horsemen than it might otherwise be. Large urban centers, dependent upon massive transportation networks carrying the produce of industrial-scale farming, fishing, mining, and production worldwide, are more vulnerable.

In the drawing above, she's visualizing a half-acre's worth of resiliency. She'd say something about Permaculture at this point, but has noticed that when she says "permaculture," those to whom she's speaking think "hippie" -- and that's where the conversation grinds to a halt. This happens in her head, too, alas. So instead, she'll just say that the activities on this site are "diversified." If you do like the word "permaculture," just re-draw Risa's diagram with lots of really curvy lines instead of straight ones and you're all set.

Yes, it's aimed at a suburban "western" readership and of little use to people in "developing" nations. Yes, it all comes to naught if things happen fast. She's aware it's an interim fantasy. Etc. But for the sake of discussion, bear with us a bit here, please.

The Encyclopedia of Country Living [Book]
For futher information, you could do worse than to start with Carla. ==>

Here are the labels for the image:

a -- house. Consider energy audit, retrofit, passive solar, wood, composting toilet, greywater. Points if the house emphasizes access to visiting, music-making, board games, reading and such over having a 60-inch flat screen TV. Extra points for access to non-electric lighting, just in case. Double points if there's something you can do in here for a living. Be able to cook. Be able to cook solar. Be able to cook on wood. Be able to preserve foods -- especially without a freezer.
b. -- garage. (Roofs, and walls, are white here for a reason. You might not have air conditioning. If you can, develop water catchment from these as well.)  Practice a skill here, such as candlemaking or ironmongering. Big points for being a doctor, veterinarian, or dentist.
c. -- well house. If they don't allow wells where you are, move. Otherwise, perhaps, be surreptitious. If possible put it on its own separate circuit, with a freeze-proof hydrant nearby, in case of house fire. Add supplementary non-electric pump.
d. -- Potting shed/toolshed. Cold frames, hoophouses or greenhouse in this vicinity a plus.
e. -- barn. A little shed will do. This one is for two milk goats plus poultry. YMMV.
f. -- garden beds, polycultural. Tomatoes and lettuce are nice, but think beans, potatoes, squash, corn, kale. Things to live on.
g. -- orchard. Semi-dwarf fruits, nuts. Start now; nuts are a long time coming.
h. -- "chicken moat." Poultry live in the orchard and mostly not in the garden or your play space. They eat bugs that like your orchard and bugs that are migrating toward your garden. Points if you run vining crops along the fences.
i. -- goats. Fence well; they love young fruit and nut trees.
j. -- vehicle access. A pickup will be necessary in the near term; if you live to see the return of horse carts, you'll still want to get things to your barn and potting shed.
k. -- path to potting shed and barn should withstand heavy rains; if you slip and break a leg, well there you are.
l. -- shade trees to hang out under on breaks in summer, reading a book maybe. Remember books? Bonus if the trees are "standard" size fruit/nut trees.
m. -- your play space. Toss an old Frisbee; they don't need batteries and will be with us forever. Add a garden swing.

The Concise Guide to Self-Sufficiency [Book]If you're young and ambitious, and have room, put in a vineyard, a cross-fenced pasture, assorted fields, fish pond, and woodlot. Bees are nice, too. Here's some discussion of managing a larger place ==>

If you're old like Risa, don't bother; you can only do so much, and after sixty, what you can do diminishes steadily, like the orchestral chord at the end of Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony. And that's if you're healthy. So then convert some of the raised beds into berry patches and grape arbors accordingly, reduce the flocks, spend more time sitting in the swing at point "l" (shade trees), and tell stories to the grandkids. Then try for a graceful exit, leaving the place better than you found it -- for descendants if they're interested. If they're not, don't trouble yourself about it; the stars will continue to shine.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

She won't be



Photo from Flickr 

A photo from three or four years ago -- but it will do -- imagine the water chocolate brown from the last three weeks' furious runoff and snowmelt, and you've got it about right. Your blogista has been asked by Daughter to get herself in shape for a repeat of last year's river journey and so today she was out on the water -- in shirt sleeve weather. There were dead honeybees floating everywhere, and along the shore the summer songbirds, such as robins, were much in evidence and singing nesting songs.

We know y'all in the east are blanketed in snow once again, but in case anyone wondered, in Western Oregon the last week, people have been running around in tee shirts and shorts. The earth has woken up. Is it a fake-out? The urge to go out and plant seeds periodically seizes Risa and shakes her, like a Braxton-Hicks contraction. Scary. If she has any sense at all, she won't be putting out the corn and beans for 120 days yet!

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Our best shot

In hopes of getting to do some farming this year, Risa is planning her campaign. Four more fruit trees have been added, and she's ordered some red-wine grapes, raspberries, more hops, two mulberry trees, and asparagus roots. No, she doesn't know where she's going to put all that. But apart from watering, which can be delegated, they don't need much input from her, should she have to go traveling yet again. She's realizing that many of the projects that occupied her in previous winters are done. A certain flexibilty, to which she is not at all accustomed, has crept into the schedule.

The potatoes in storage are looking good. As it is a la nina year, Risa's uncertain about laying down cardboard for the next potato patch, though. We kinda need a new spot because we hear if you are saving your own spuds you should move them from year to year. But in '97 there was a fast moving body of water, two feet deep, in the available location, for several terrifying days. We have not felt up to gardening there ever since, though the floods have not reached it the whole time.


So she's experimenting with a different approach. There is some black plastic on hand, in surprisingly good shape after more than a decade of heavy use in the Nineties, which hasn't been touched in ten years. She'll use this to kill a patch of grass in the flood zone (February, March). In six to eight weeks, this can be taken up, spuds laid on the ground, and the site covered with a deep layer of straw and grass clippings. Water often stays in the creek through June, and can be pumped for irrigation until it runs out. After that, the spuds will depend on the well along with the garden and poultry (the orchard gets recycled duck-pond water), but the early watering can be critical for the tubers here.


Then the plastic can be relocated to the garden (April, May) to warm the beds intended for summer crops, in an effort to heat the soil enough for seed generation. If it rains as much and as late as it did last year, the soil will be too cold and wet right into July. So this might be our best shot at working with summer crops.


:::

As there is a surplus of potatoes and collards on hand this year, Risa has begun emphasizing colcannon on the menus. Irish farmers practically lived on the stuff in the winters up until the blight year (the Potato Famine). Boil or steam potatoes until soft, then mash them. We leave the skins in. Add some some water and olive oil or some cream if you are not lactose-intolerant or vegan, for smoothness if desired. Now add shredded, steamed kale, collards, beet greens, chard, or cabbage, to taste. Or all of the above. Mix thoroughly, with sea salt if you like, and melt in a pat or two of butter if you're as decadent as we are. Many recipes call for bacon bits and we do like a little ham fat in ours. This can sit in a bowl on a trivet on the wood stove till your sweetie comes home; it's a very forgiving recipe. Serve. Goes well with your home-canned apple juice.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Hunting and pecking


Risa is starting to put her nose out the door more often now that the latest storm has abated. Yesterday, rundling around with the wheelbarrow, she planted four late-bearing storage-apple trees in the orchard/chicken moat, spread some wood chips on the blueberries, picked up some stray potatoes that had been shoveled out of the garden beds by the ducks, gathered some bricks and pots that were languishing in the garden, and picked a few new-growth top leaves from the giant collards.

She chopped up one of the leaves and added this to about a quart of baby potatoes in water in a wood-handled saucepan with lid, and set the pan on the woodstove to simmer down into a soup. Then gathered some eggs and put the birds away in the barn for the night.

A starling was roosting with the hens! Risa, bad girl, couldn't resist giving the little thing a bit of a tug on the tail feathers. With an indignant squawk, the starling flew out into the darkness.

Today, Risa  mucked out the barn bedding onto some garden beds, after scything down some surplus favas --


-- and brought in new straw. Now she's sitting by the fire, hunting and pecking.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Trust me on this

Slug patrol
Risa went for a walk with Beloved this morning, down to the park on the Mighty River amid cries of flocks of geese. We stopped to admire the fresh legs of a frog which had been dropped near the road, perhaps by a passing blue heron. The wetlands in the park had flooded across the entry road and finding a way down to the riverbank turned out to be an exercise in wetting shoes till they were squeaky. The river itself, brown and filled with unfamiliar standing waves, was roaring past like a Union Pacific freight making up time, and trees that had fallen part way in were dancing frenetically in the current. Not kayak conditions!

In the garden the slug patrol continued their merry quest. When the soil is saturated their opportunities expand exponentially and their little shovel beaks go everywhere in the loosened soil, accompanied by cries of gluttony.

This is all good, but Risa, who is down in the dumps, is fighting off a spell of gluttony of her own, brought on by signs of mortality among her relations and perhaps by the effect that winter darkness in Oregon sometimes has, especially during a sequence of "Pineapple Express" storms. The harder it rains, the more she digs in the pantry for stuff she shouldn't even be consuming on holidays (if she knows what's good for her). A couple of times she's made it into the garden, though, to see what alternatives there are.

The ducks, she's noticed, do nibble at the chard and the beet greens, but largely avoid the kale and collards. These are popular if thrown over the fence to them when they are fenced out, but in the garden they have enough to do that they have, apparently, no need for these greens. The chickens, who are fenced out all winter after two glorious weeks in the garden, would have no such restraint, but they are rewarded from time to time with a whole brassica, hacked off by machete and heaved over into the pasture with a satisfying thump.

Risa also regularly cooks up butternut, hubbard or delicata squash for them on the wood heat stove. In days gone by, she cut up the fruits obligingly and used a saucepan, but now she simply drops a whole one in a twenty-quart stock pot on the stove and fills the pot with enough water to do the job -- half a day later, pulls the pot off the stove to cool, sets the water aside as stock or takes it out to pour along the south side of the house as compost tea, then grabs the softened squash and lobs it over the fence to smash itself into suitable chicken feed. It's gone within an hour or so, seeds and all -- nothing but the stem remaining.

The collards are almost a year old now and show no sign of giving up, after repeated hard freezes. They are forming loose cabbage-like heads of light green foliage that resembles Napa cabbage in flavor. Risa has taken to bringing these in and using them in salads and stir fries and the like, and this is helping a lot with the darkness-induced gluttony. But the walks to the river -- some three miles round trip -- help best.

If you steam winter collards they will have a mild and nutty flavor that goes well with salt and fats or oils as needed -- Southern cuisine has many pairings of collards with pork, for example -- and the leftover water -- traditionally called "pot likker" -- is incomparably nutritious, and would get you through a winter in which no other vegetables are available. Use as a standard stock in baking and soups, or just drink the stuff.

If you have let yourself slip a bit, as Risa has, it will build up your immunity and restore some of your sanity. Trust me on this.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Seed time


Seed time, originally uploaded by risabee2007.
Mostly greens, beets and corn. Short season, as we anticipate cold late-spring ground again. Many seeds we have on hand, some saved. With potatoes and fruit trees and sunchokes and such, we are well supplied. And this year for some of our staples -- tomatoes and the like -- we'll revert back to locally-grown starts, due to anticipated time constraints.

Yes, this catalog is from Maine and we are in Oregon. Our local seedsman is fabulous but expensive, and Fedco is a cooperative, avoids feeding the Monsanto/GMO monster, and works closely with Seed Savers Exchange. So, sure, this is a plug -- for the business model they represent: honest and responsible.

Dreaming green

[repost; also appears in Collected Poems]



sometimes

this is what you'll come to, picking about
in earth, pulling morning glory roots
like long white worms and heaping them

beside you of a morning: you will become
distant and glum, and as your wrists dry up,
caked in clay, you'll look around you, and

not your small red barn, your irises,
your bamboo patch, your oak and ash,
your three brave maples rattling in the breeze,

your small house bracketed in lilacs, breathing smoke,
your woodshed stacked roof-high,
your mint and parsley putting on new life,

your geese, your ducks, your pear trees in bright bloom
will rid you of the thought of what this is
that you are digging, bit by troweled bit.

Assuming the sun will come out, which now
it does, things won't seem quite that bad,
and yet you will walk stooped, with furrowed

brow, into the house for a late cold lunch
without words, for there are no words
to share what it was the cold ground

said to your hands just now.


or, sometimes

you'll come to this, lovingly rooting
in earth, gently setting to one side
fat worms, watching them

sink from sight with shrugs of their nonexistent
shoulders. As your wrists dry up, caked
in clay, you'll look around you, and

your small red barn, your irises,
your bamboo patch, your ash and oak,
your three unfurling maples whispering in the breeze,

your white house bracketed in lilacs, breathing
smoke, your woodshed stacked with fir,
your mint and parsley putting on new life,

your pears and apples, your geese in their bright plumes
will bring to you the thought of what this is
that you are digging, bit by troweled bit.

Assuming that the clouds will come, which now
they do, you will take things as they are,
and so you simply walk, with even-tempered

gaze, toward the house for a late cold lunch:
one without words, for there are no words
to share what it was your hands

said to the green earth even now.

Thursday, January 06, 2011

Simple things


Risa is a bit aimless of late, as three dear people are crossing into the edge of Shadow.

To distract herself, she's baking daily on top of the woodstove. This turns out to be surprisingly easy.

She grinds whatever takes her fancy in the Corona mill -- today it was barley, oats, quinoa, and a few dried favas -- and throws in some water, honey, yeast, salt, and whole wheat flour, shapes a lump, and drops it into an oiled glass bowl.

The bowl just fits inside her Dutch oven, which is not a real Dutch oven as the lid does not have that lip for coals that a proper camp or hearth oven should have. But it's fine for the woodstove top. A few steel washers dropped into the oven seem to help prevent burning the loaf -- tiny trivets.



After four or five hours, the loaf has both risen and baked while the house is being gently bathed in the same heat. She takes the lid off the oven, lifts out the bowl with a pair of potholders, drops one potholder on the table, tips the loaf out, upside down, onto the other potholder.

She has hot fresh medieval bread with a bit of local butter. Watches the juncos and tanagers peck at seed on the windowsill. Simple things.

Sunday, January 02, 2011

The great railway journey

Ten minutes to spare

Your blogista reports on her journey.

Clark Fork, Montana
New Year's Eve.

By now the train was thirteen hours behind schedule, and the passengers were on the verge of becoming unruly, especially after the conflicting announcements concerning free food. The crew held a series of meetings in the dining car and decided to offer redeemable vouchers for those who had paid for breakfast, and to offer a car-by-car lunch call for all passengers, on-the-house. There was an implication that those who had gotten a free breakfast would skip the free lunch, and this was mostly honored. We rolled into Libby, Montana, and carloads of passengers trooped back and forth through the train to the dining car or stood around outside in brilliant zero-degree sunshine while the train waited for a replacement crew.

There was much grousing about the blown schedule and the wait for a crew, but none of this was Amtrak's fault. This passenger system runs on trackage owned by corporations that are hostile to Amtrak, and they give priority to the passenger trains grudgingly and under protest. Freight is their be-all and end-all; cost-cutting is on their minds. Track infrastructure and freight engines are under-maintained. Also for many years, privately-owned railroading relied on a lot of overtime. Exhausted crews made fatal mistakes; so now it is Federal law that a crew must stand down after a full shift and not do overtime, even in quasi-emergencies.The combination of these circumstances is a constant stream of breakdowns of freights, rails, bridges, communications systems, all of which run afoul of the no-overtime rule, putting passenger trains farther and farther behind.

Also, Amtrak owns equipment that should be replaced as well, and they can't afford to. So the burnt-out power unit in Chicago put us three hours late, the burnt-out BNSF freight power unit at East Glacier added another eight hours, and the overextended train crew's stand-down requirement added another hour. The Empire Builder could no longer hope to make any kind of connections for the eight hundred or so passengers aboard. They ordered up a fleet of buses to meet us at Spokane at sunset; we were to disperse like a flock of quail in all directions, most to either Seattle or Portland in the middle of the night.

Lake Couer d'Alene, Idaho
The bus drivers were very aware of the state of the passengers and gave us every consideration. Everyone was fed another free meal -- Kentucky Fried Chicken mini-boxes -- and we Portland quail were shuttled down the Columbia Gorge in the gathering darkness with a minimum of fuss or discomfort. The end of all this, for some, however, was to be taxis and motels while figuring out a strategy for continuing a blown journey.

Risa thought she might be one of these. She has a son and a daughter in the vicinity, but the hour was getting late and historically these kids are party animals on New Year's Eve. Would anyone be home? If she could stay overnight, Beloved could come and get her and this would combine nicely with the late Christmas planned for the weekend with the kids anyway. She placed a tentative phone call.

"Oh, you bet. Eleven o'clock at Union Station? We'll be there."

Risa got "home" to be with her children to ring in 2011, with ten minutes to spare.

Saturday, January 01, 2011

Very very

Your blogista reports on her journeys

Okay, so Risa jinxed the Empire Builder.

She said she would like to do some sightseeing in Montana, but as we all know, to Risa sightseeing means mountains, and the mountains of Montana are served up by the Empire Builder under cover of darkness..

But soon after Risa and the six hundred other passengers gave up on the darkness and folded up their little toes (not being able to move much more) and go to sleep, the train stopped -- and stayed stopped. Until daylight.

What had happened was a freight burned out its power on a single-track section somewhere up ahead, leaving the Empire Builder and a host of BNSF freight trains out in the cold. The last temperature Risa had seen, on a bank sign in Wolf Point, had said three degrees Fahrenheit, and that was in the afternoon. At two in the morning, she stuck her head under the curtain to assess the night. It was very, very cold by the window, and darkness reigned supreme -- except for the stars, which seemed very, very near and very, very bright. Though it had not snowed in days, there were no tracks on the white stuff out there -- many furry things had elected to stay home for the week. She slept again, albeit fitfully.

Dawn came and, with, train movement. We were now eleven hours behind schedule. The man on the intercom -- engineer? conductor? -- Apologized profusely for Amtrak -- though the accident was BNSF -- and offered everyone free breakfast. Half an hour later, the lady on the other intercom -- dining car -- assured everyone breakfast would be served on time, and announced the ususal range of exorbitant prices. Confusion reigned supreme. After awhile, she returned to the airwaves with a notice that those who had already paid for breakfast would be refunded, but they would have to keep their receipt or get a new one because Amtrak could not refund without a receipt. Then someone -- probably Risa's deceased uncle -- got on the air to say that lunch would be complimentary. Or was it breakfast? Anyway, no one's talking right now.

Risa's having gorp, washed down with water.

So, about the jinx. All this happened right outside the gates of Glacier National Park! Those of us not too bedraggled to look were treated to the sight of Glacier Peak and its siblings robing themselves in the blindingly, achingly, terribly gorgeous pink and golden light of a midwinter sunrise.

Hopefully Montana

Your blogista reports on her journeys.

Risa ordered her return tickets on a Saturday, and they had to come in the mail as the local station has no ticket office. So she checked the mail every day as she began her walk around the neighborhood -- to the "Do not feed the alligators: sign and back. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, no tickets. Friday, tickets! A near thing, as there would be no mail Saturday (Christmas) or Sunday, and departure was set for Monday.

She was dropped off at the station and the train came an hour late, but it was not a terribly cold day. The train was very crowded, and the attendant walked her from car to car looking for a seat, which was found next to a morose, non-communicative and fidgety young man on his way to New York. As Risa would be with this train to Washington, that set the tone for the next seventeen hours. She did not attempt to do computer work or much of anything else but eat (discreetly) and sleep. This train runs at night, so sightseeing was also -- well -- not on the menu.

From time to time she awoke, to see the train stopped in front of some dimly lit sign -- Savannah, Petersburg, Alexandria -- and she found herself in the most closely guarded train station in America, with videos of our brave bomb-sniffing dogs running the clock around on all the monitors. Now for a nice, easy (if jittery) ten-hour layover.

Here, at least, there was both power (but not near the seats) and wi-fi, and by sitting on her luggage next to a concrete column for hours on end, Risa was able to complete a chapter of her novel and post it to its blog.

As soon as it became pitch black outside, it was time for the next train, and again, dimly lit signage told of the train's progress: Harper's Ferry, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Toledo crawled by in the semi-darkness of snow under a quarter moon. Sunrise founf the Capitol Limited pushing through Gary, Indiana en route to Chicago.Her seatmate was a nice, youinger Chicagoan who likes to sleep and so Risa slept too and missed her phone date with Beloved -- which would have happened anyway, as the appointed hour came with the train wandering through the deep canyons of the Appalachians, with not a cell tower at hand.

Risa did not much like Union Station on her way to Florida and did not much like it better on her return journey. There seems to be twice the train traffic of Washington and half the terminal seating. There is no evident access to power, so computing was limited to a few quick emails. Not that Amtrak seems to have any wi-fi here -- but a bakery in the food court does!

Once again the train would not depart until late in the day -- and when its time came, it blew a power unit and this had to be replaced before the train could back in and take on passengers. Two-and-a-half hours late, Another ten hours of downtime. But Risa's fellow passengers were, for once, a patient and even jolly bunch -- and that always helps a lot. So she's on the Empire Builder at last, with some prospects of doing some sightseeing somewhere -- hopefully Montana.

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