Lily

 

Meet my new toy.

In my own case, it's not yet what it seems: I walk a lot. 

Even hike, admittedly with two sticks.

But I absolutely cannot stand in a queue. 

I have obtained it to get in line for vaccinations and such. 

I like it; amazing what all I can store under the seat.

I'm sure it will come in even more handy later. 😄

What with the Second Law and all. 

I think I will call it Lily, as it is my lily pad where I can sit and wait for whatever turns up.

A frog's way of sitting is much better than our zazen. I always admire their practice. They never get sleepy. Their eyes are always open, and they do things intuitively in an appropriate way. When something to eat comes by, they go like this: gulp! They never miss anything, they are always calm and still. -- Shunryu Suzuki

 

 

 

Some cold tea

The renovations that took place here seven years ago led to there being a massive pile of rubble and old cinderblocks and another of lumber studded with rusty bent nails, which quickly acquired a covering of very robust Himalaya blackberries. 

I'd had a notion of building some kind of greenhouse/shadehouse out of these bits and bobs, but renters occupied much of the premises during most of that time, and I felt shy of hammering and sawing in their sunbathing space, so ... but this year, I resolved to evict the blackberries and put up a structure in their stead, using the materials now solidly locked in their embrace.

Once the cutting, uprooting re-piling and tilling was done (this took a couple of months), I sorted materials, pulled nails, and meditated on the shape of the space. It would be about ten feet by sixteen, and would need to be tall enough to allow for a door, yet low enough not to exceed the height of my neighbor's wooden fence, which stood only six feet tall on a curb of about fourteen inches height along the property line.

I had imported the screen door from the farm, ideal for the purpose as it was made of wood and had been cut down to accommodate a low porch ceiling. I attached the door to the back corner of Manzoku-an with hinges and framed it. The height of the door frame determined the height of the east-facing wall of the structure, facing in toward the back yard. I then bolted a two-by four, eleven feet long, across the back of the hut, with enough slope to shed water past the door. This would determine the height of the walls and height and slope of the roof.

From there, I proceeded to wrap walls around to the east and north, always using wood from the rapidly diminishing pile, framing in scrap windows as I went.

It was now possible to roof the space, which was done with corrugated fiberglass also found in the pile.

On the floor, with some digging, I managed to create a path of sorts using the rubble and cinderblocks.

It would be nice to have raised beds, but I've used up the materials. So, for now, I'll spread straw. The uphill bed is straight, about fifteen feet long, and the downhill bed is a kind of keyhole pattern.

I've brought in the seedling shelves, potting table and tools, freeing up a bit of breathing room for Manzoku-an, where they spent the last year.

 

Yes, it's close to the fence line, but Manzoku-an predates the fence, this is a tiny agricultural project, and it's free-standing. None of it is attached to the fence.

Will this thing work? I expect there will be problems at first. At the moment the ambient temperature is 76F, the hut has 83 and the greenhouse is a toasty 92 (!!) -- but of course I'm not bothering to shade and ventilate much until next summer. It's not a proper shadehouse with such big windows, nor is it a proper greenhouse as it does not face south, but -- assuming I have allowed enough light -- I feel it has some potential toward season extending. We'll see.

Left to right: "deer fence," Manzoku-an, "greenhouse," tool shed. Some leftover used lumber is stored on the hut's roof.

The last construction project for the year is deer proofing the old and new beds with a bit of chicken wire fence. Whether it will work is for the deer to decide.

I think will go now and sit in the shade with some cold tea.

There are four inherent attributes to tea: peacefulness, respectfulness, purity and quietness. -- Martine Batchelor

Daughter would approve

Even a short-timer's habits die hard. 

My dad had some kind of fishing boat, each a little smaller than the one before, well into his nineties. My mom used to read him the funnies every day, and tried to do so even in hospice, with three days left to her.

Daughter's little dog can only smell, her seeing and hearing having pretty much gone by the by, but she still checks every corner of the place, inside and out, before settling down to her all day nap.

I had gardens and fruit trees, and for awhile a downright microfarm, from about 1970 to 2022. I had built Daughter a few raised beds from scrap lumber, but, always traveling for the health department, she left them to me to fill up. I put in a crop or two of broadbeans, returning the chopped plants to the beds to build soil.

I'm sadly now one of the inheritors of Daughter's house, and no longer have the large gardens to which I had become accustomed. I'm also joining the ranks of those who spend most of their time sleeping in a recliner, due to lack of motivation and age-appropriate health concerns. I made noises to those around me that my gardening days were done.

But those beds out back did not stop calling to me. I wandered out to inspect them -- they had been taken over by a lush carpet of grass -- thought about things a bit, then on one of our furniture runs from the farm, brought over a couple of bales of straw. These had been intended as bedding for a poultry flock that had departed the world, and so were no longer needed where they were. In the autumn, I cut twine and threw straw flakes over all the grass, then as winter drew to a close, covered the beds with repurposed black poly to shut out any stray photons. 

In April, I pulled off the sheeting and found the straw had worked down a bit. No grass was in sight. I threw on a bagful of potting soil to each bed, smoothed it out, and began planting things.

There are deer in the neighborhood, who regard themselves as the landlords, so I wrapped the row of beds in scrap fencing. Anticipating (correctly) a record hot summer, I also had brought from the farm some 36" by 50' shade cloth, and hung some above and some vertically to the west of the beds. 

 

We were back in the veggie business, in a tiny way.

This is hardly tinyfarming, or even enough production to dent the grocery bill really, but along with the dozen or more fruit trees I planted seven years ago, it has done two things: it supplements our diet with fresh organically grown tomatoes, squash, kale, collards, potatoes, apples, pears and plums, and -- briefly, two hours at a time --- it gets me out of that chair.

I feel Daughter would approve.

 

 

 

Rinzai was planting pine trees. Obaku asked him, “Why do you plant so many pines in this remote mountain monastery?” Rinzai answered, “Firstly, they provide good scenery around the monastery gate, and then they are for the benefit of those who come after us,” and struck the ground three times with his hoe. Obaku said, “Although this may be so, I’ll still give you thirty blows of my stick to taste.” Again, Rinzai struck the ground three times with his hoe, sighing deeply. Obaku said, “Through you, our school will flourish throughout the world.”