Much of my winding-down life these days is spent in Zoom meetings of Zen sanghas or fighting COVID misinformation and fascist propaganda online (not on Facebook -- I'll leave that to my friends there). I know it might not be the best use of my time but as a relatively impecunious seventy-one-year-old who needs to stay home, these are things I can do, such as they are.
Much of the rest of it is devoted to raising, to the extent of my ability, more food than I personally eat, because the little I know about that is most of what I still know how to do, in a world that has, mercifully, left me behind. Let's see how that's going.
Up at the hut, in March, I planted two small beds of store-bought organic red potatoes. The vines on one have died back, so I've pulled back the mulch to see how they did.
For this I seeded flats from the "old seeds" jar; usually that gives me mostly Red Russian kale and a smattering of lettuces and such, but this year, for some reason, most of what sprouted turned out to be collards.
That's actually a bonus; we're not that into collards and neither are those we give food to, but they hold up exceptionally through the winter (and are tasty after frost), so they represent food security and close to the house at that. There's also some Fordhook Giant chard, which is good through the summer and a personal favorite. It goes well with the Romanesco zucchini, which has just begun producing.
Most of the kale is in three of the beds in the "kitchen garden."
Summer things are very slow this year. Beans have been non-starters, along with corn -- soil is still 62F well into July. But we persevere.
The "field" garden, or the two-thirds we had given up on due to persistent bindweed, is back in service. Every few days I have pulled back the black plastic one row at a time, replacing it incrementally with kraft paper, and planted sunchokes, five kinds of potatoes, winter squash, pumpkins, tomatoes, and sweet corn.
The bindweed doesn't seem to have figured out the kraft paper, but it does run to the light, which is wherever I've put in a transplant, so I go around pulling up the climbing vines as they appear on the growing squash or spuds. So far, so good.
Germination of the "certified seed" potatoes that I bought for extortionate prices has been so-so to downright spotty. The worst performers seem to be the Pontiac Reds, which were developed in Florida and probably prefer warm sand to our stony, frighteningly cold clay. But in March and April there was a nationwide run on seed potatoes, and by the time I got serious about expanding the garden, the Pontiacs were all that suppliers could still offer -- which suggests they are not all that popular.
The broad beans I planted at Daughter's place did quite well. I've dried down a two gallon bucket full; these are for seed. I'm also (trying to) save kale, beet, and chard seeds. It's difficult; there's too much humidity still.
It does look like it will be a good blackberry year. We'll be needing that. Cherries did so-so but were welcome; pie cherries did well and will be a help come winter. Some figs are coming in.
Pears, plums, peaches, quince, nectarines, apricots and most of the apples are sleeping off their record year of 2019. The Gravenstein, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp, Cortland and Egremont Russets will maybe produce about a fifth of what they did then, but that's enough to keep me busy.
I have learned, after some experimentation, that green apple drops can be gathered, sliced and cooked and they are quite edible. They help bridge the gap between cherry time and true apple season.
The creek has finally dried up (or down, falling with the water table), giving me access to some wood I'd like to cut up.
But I'm tired. It might not happen today. Another cup of mint tea sounds good right about now.
I know I've bitten off more than I can chew. Don't we all, all the time?
But an ambition to do well is, I submit, not a bad thing.
In Mahayana Buddhism, it's the only thing: in the Bodhisattva vows we make promises to do the impossible on behalf of the innumerable, so to speak -- not that we're expected to deliver it all, at least any time soon. The point is to make sure, as circumstances permit and to our varied ability, that the steps we take are in the general direction of right doing.
In my readings (Barbara O'Brien, Circle of the Way, p. 281) I have come across a gatha by her teacher Jion Susan Postal that ends:
Service to the present: find money to send. Water the corn again.
Responsibility to the future: if there's not much else happening, I will try to save kale seed.
Someone might need it.
Much of the rest of it is devoted to raising, to the extent of my ability, more food than I personally eat, because the little I know about that is most of what I still know how to do, in a world that has, mercifully, left me behind. Let's see how that's going.
Up at the hut, in March, I planted two small beds of store-bought organic red potatoes. The vines on one have died back, so I've pulled back the mulch to see how they did.
Not too bad. I've given away half and put the rest in storage. I don't think they are the best keepers, though, so if some of my other spuds turn out, we might keep those and eat or distribute these.
One of our strategies this year is to utilize the "flower" beds along the east and north side of the house for greens.
For this I seeded flats from the "old seeds" jar; usually that gives me mostly Red Russian kale and a smattering of lettuces and such, but this year, for some reason, most of what sprouted turned out to be collards.
That's actually a bonus; we're not that into collards and neither are those we give food to, but they hold up exceptionally through the winter (and are tasty after frost), so they represent food security and close to the house at that. There's also some Fordhook Giant chard, which is good through the summer and a personal favorite. It goes well with the Romanesco zucchini, which has just begun producing.
Most of the kale is in three of the beds in the "kitchen garden."
Summer things are very slow this year. Beans have been non-starters, along with corn -- soil is still 62F well into July. But we persevere.
The "field" garden, or the two-thirds we had given up on due to persistent bindweed, is back in service. Every few days I have pulled back the black plastic one row at a time, replacing it incrementally with kraft paper, and planted sunchokes, five kinds of potatoes, winter squash, pumpkins, tomatoes, and sweet corn.
The bindweed doesn't seem to have figured out the kraft paper, but it does run to the light, which is wherever I've put in a transplant, so I go around pulling up the climbing vines as they appear on the growing squash or spuds. So far, so good.
Germination of the "certified seed" potatoes that I bought for extortionate prices has been so-so to downright spotty. The worst performers seem to be the Pontiac Reds, which were developed in Florida and probably prefer warm sand to our stony, frighteningly cold clay. But in March and April there was a nationwide run on seed potatoes, and by the time I got serious about expanding the garden, the Pontiacs were all that suppliers could still offer -- which suggests they are not all that popular.
The broad beans I planted at Daughter's place did quite well. I've dried down a two gallon bucket full; these are for seed. I'm also (trying to) save kale, beet, and chard seeds. It's difficult; there's too much humidity still.
It does look like it will be a good blackberry year. We'll be needing that. Cherries did so-so but were welcome; pie cherries did well and will be a help come winter. Some figs are coming in.
Pears, plums, peaches, quince, nectarines, apricots and most of the apples are sleeping off their record year of 2019. The Gravenstein, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp, Cortland and Egremont Russets will maybe produce about a fifth of what they did then, but that's enough to keep me busy.
 |
| Gravenstein ripens first and is our favorite for apple butter |
I have learned, after some experimentation, that green apple drops can be gathered, sliced and cooked and they are quite edible. They help bridge the gap between cherry time and true apple season.
The creek has finally dried up (or down, falling with the water table), giving me access to some wood I'd like to cut up.
But I'm tired. It might not happen today. Another cup of mint tea sounds good right about now.
:::
I know I've bitten off more than I can chew. Don't we all, all the time?
But an ambition to do well is, I submit, not a bad thing.
In Mahayana Buddhism, it's the only thing: in the Bodhisattva vows we make promises to do the impossible on behalf of the innumerable, so to speak -- not that we're expected to deliver it all, at least any time soon. The point is to make sure, as circumstances permit and to our varied ability, that the steps we take are in the general direction of right doing.
In my readings (Barbara O'Brien, Circle of the Way, p. 281) I have come across a gatha by her teacher Jion Susan Postal that ends:
With infinite kindness to the past, infinite service to the present, infinite responsibility to the future.Kindness to the past: toward what I have not done well, toward what we have not done well. O'Brien points out it's not the same as forgiveness -- more like forbearance.
Service to the present: find money to send. Water the corn again.
Responsibility to the future: if there's not much else happening, I will try to save kale seed.
Someone might need it.
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Stony Run Farm: Life on One Acre