Storing sunshine

I've been stressed. 

After all, I am running a garden--in the spring.  Another reason for the lack of posts here.

(Why is it that stress for something you love is still just as...stressful?  I love Fall Creek Gardens.  I am so often grateful and amazed to be doing this work, turning a vacant urban space into a source of beauty and food and wildlife and art.  Loving it all as I do is even more wearing in some ways, though, and I am overwhelmed by the amount of work I need to do, most of the time.)

So spending a glorious spring day harvesting dandelions and violets...is a gift.  Just for me.  And I spent it with a bit of my friend Frederick the mouse in mind...soaking up the beauty of a warm, sunny May day and preserving it in jars.

Dandelion & Violet Jelly

I will not resume my diatribe against weed-free lawns.  I will, however, tell you that we brought dandelions with us from Europe.  On purpose.  They didn't exist here prior to the mid 1600s.  Dandelion greens are a good source of calcium, potassium, and vitamins A & C...and they are good for the liver and urinary tract.  The sap of the leaves and stems can be used to treat warts, and the roots can be dried, roasted, ground, and used as a coffee substitute.   And then there is wine and jelly from the blossoms.....  It is a similar story with violets--some varieties immigrated, brought along for their medicinal qualities, while others are native.


So anyhoo, boo on chemical lawns.  Here's how to make the jelly:

 

The general methods are the same for both flowers: pick the blossoms in the morning, after the dew has dried and once the flowers have opened up fully to the sun.  For the dandelions, snip the yellow petals off of the little green sepals--the base of the flowerhead which holds the petals together--discarding as much of the green as possible, but not getting too crazy about it.  Pick & snip until you have 2-3 cups of this exquisitely downy, golden fluff, if not more.  For the violets, make sure to remove stems, but don't worry about removing the sepals.  

Put the flowers in a mason jar or other heat-resistant container and cover with boiling water--for the following dandelion recipe, around 3 cups is good.  Cover the jar and let sit for at least 4 hours, up to overnight.

Gently but thoroughly strain the liquid from the petals, using a sieve, cheesecloth, or a coffee filter.  Use the back of a wooden spoon to gently push the liquid from the flowers into the bowl.   The better job you do straining, the less cloudy your jelly will be.

Next, you want to prepare to your canning supplies:  

• Heat water in a water bath canner to a rolling boil--1/2 to 2/3 full is best; you need 2" above the height of your jars once you add them after filling.  
• Wash your jars and rings and brand-new lids in hot soapy water, then sterilize jars in either boiling water, a hot oven, or dishwasher, and leave them there until you need them.  
• Put the rings and lids in a saucepan and fill with just-boiled water.  
• Clean all utensils and get clean towels and washrags.

Your jelly ingredients will be:

Dandelion

3 cups dandelion tea

4 1/2 c white sugar

2 Tbsp lemon juice

1 packet (1.75 oz) powdered pectin

Violet

2 cups violet tea

1/4 c lemon juice

1 packet powdered pectin

2 cups sugar

When I was ready to start the dandelion recipe, I couldn't handle using that much sugar (I mean good god, people), so I looked up low-sugar adaptations.  For the dandelion jelly, I used around 2 cups of the sugar (still awful) and 2/3 cup stevia, and this meant that I needed low-sugar pectin. 

(Which I didn't have, which lead to jelly that didn't jell enough, which lead to a very delayed second blog post...which lived happily ever after.  But I digress.)

SO.  The moral of the story is:  if you use the sugar as indicated, you can use regular pectin.  If you want to cut it down, do not use regular pectin unless you want syrup rather than jelly.  The violet jelly recipe above calls for a reduced amount of sugar anyway, and it didn't jell well either until I low-sugared-pectined the bejeezus out of it the second time around.

Once you've figured your stance on the sugar/pectin question, pour the flower tea into a wide saucepan or pot--the wider the better.  Add the sugar, pectin, and lemon juice and whisk over med-high heat.  With the violet tea, be prepared:  when you add the lemon juice, the mixture immediately turns pink/magenta.  Chemistry is cool. 

Cook until bubbling, whisking frequently, then cook for 3-5 minutes allowing the syrup to reduce a bit and begin to thicken.  

Skim off any foam and ladle into your clean, hot jars.  Leave 1/8" head space.  Wipe the jar rims with a clean rag, put on lids and tighten rings until you just reach resistance.  Process in hot water bath with 2" of water above jars for 10 minutes.  

Remove and allow to cool for 24 hours without disturbing.  Then remove rings, wipe off lids, and check that everything sealed.  If any jar failed to seal, refrigerate and eat first.  

Violets and rescue chickens. The Chapter after Next?

Well, hello there!

It has been a shamefully long time since I've done much more than momentarily remember, with a twinge of guilt, this poor neglected blog.

 I miss it, to be honest.  I miss the life I was living while I wrote here regularly even more. 

The trouble--if we stick with the "next chapter" theme-- is that my life-book is no longer where it was when this blog began.   We're on the chapter after next at this point.

No longer am I an unemployed student exploring all of the ways I could build, bake, grow, or otherwise create the items we use in our daily lives.  I've reached a plateau in homesteadery due mainly to limits of time and energy...now that I am working outside the home again, it has become vividly clear to me that one type of work necessarily cancels out the ability to fully maintain the other.   (But that is a blog post to tackle another day--the economics of home-work versus outside-work.)

Hence, the lack of homesteading-specific blog material.  I'm not doing many new projects at this point, but simply trying to keep up with all of the others.  We still operate this household differently from many others; I am still always looking for ways to live better on less.  I think it is time, however, to change the fundamental purpose of this blog from an exploration of urban homesteading to a more general purpose, this-is-my-life-and-I-happen-to-be-into-herbs-chickens-and-craftiness type offering.

So, with that, here we go:

What, you may ask, is going on at our place on this pretty day in May?  Well, quite a bit, actually.

Dandelion jelly.  Violet jelly.  The first crop of plantain for infusing in oil.  The first stage of integrating a rescue chicken into our flock (i.e., run, Elsa, run!).  Lilacs perfuming the homestead with their ethereal fragrance.  And lots of lazy time with coffee on a gorgeous Sunday morning. 

This is what it looks like to start the jelly-making process.  I'll get to the actual jelling part in a bit....

...but first, a quick word about pollinators and herbicides.

The latter is killing off the former (with a lot of help from pesticides, of course).  These critters pollinate some of your favorite foods.  Like berries, avocadoes, almonds...and chocolate.

Worse,  home use of herbicides is the top source of run-off pollution in our lakes and rivers.  Not agricultural spraying.  Not commercial or industrial use.  Nope...it's the poison you pay to put on your lawn.  Ugh.   Please quit using that stuff and embrace your inner dandelion.

These little dudes will thank you.

But back to my jelly.  It is no great hardship to sit, surrounded by this loveliness, snipping stems off of flowerheads.

Dandelion petals, plantain leaves, and violet flowers.

The 2 cup measure runneth over.

This will turn pink later in the recipe...but what a gorgeous blue!

 Now I'll let these steep all day to make a strong tea.  The tea is the basis for the jelly recipe (add sugar, lemon juice, and pectin...boil...process in a water bath....yum).

 More soon!

Happy spring....

Finally, fruit!

Blueberries!  Raspberries!  Apples!  (Oh my!)

So the story with fruit around here is a dual one.  On one hand, there were two diseased, unidentified, and rather puny apple trees in our backyard when we moved in four summers ago.  One, we chopped down; I don't think there was any pruning drastic enough to make a productive tree, and it was very unhealthy.  The second tree I pruned.  And pruned.  And then wondered if I'd gone too far and almost cut it down.

My first clue that waiting another year was the right idea appeared this spring, when the tree bloomed.  We'd had a handful of blooms each previous year, but this time the tree was covered in the pretty, fragrant pink & white blossoms.  The bees and other buzzing insects approved tremendously.

 I was still skeptical, however, because in earlier years the blossoms had eventually dropped and the tiny fruits disappeared not long after--I never knew where or why.   So I waited some more, without many expectations.

And now there are golf-ball sized green apples covering the tree, heavy enough already to drag the branches several feet below their usual height.  Many of them have a hole or spot or other imperfection, so we may not end up with a huge crop to eat from the tree--but there's always cider or cider vinegar to try.  Either way it will be fun to guess the variety when they ripen and to learn more about our tree as the season continues and we see how the fruit holds up to insects and disease without any intervention on our part.

The other side of the fruit coin around here are the berries:  blueberry bushes we planted and have been waiting to get established, a wild raspberry thicket I've been encouraging in the back corner of our yard, and--of course--the mulberries.  This is the first summer for fruit of any note from either the blueberries or raspberries, and it is incredibly gratifying to stroll the yard for a snack. 

We amended the soil pretty heavily for the blueberries, which need a much more acidic soil that we have in Indiana, and then they didn't get the attention they deserved last summer during the drought.  We did water them, but just not as often as we probably should have, and I wasn't sure what we would see from the plants this year.  Well, we have berries!  Big, sweet blue ones.  Just enough for eating, with no pressure to get out jam jars or freezer containers.  This was worth the wait and the extra effort, and now I am re-energized to continue giving them acidic treats and to do some careful pruning.  Can't wait to have bags in the freezer and blueberry pancakes and muffins in the winter!

The wild raspberry is a black raspberry, and  I have been hoping it would take hold for several reasons.  The fruit is one, of course, which isn't as big as domesticated versions, but is still tasty.  Plus, I like to have a few thorny plants on the property for wildlife habitat and general diversity.   Wild raspberry is also an important medicinal herb for women, with a tea or infusion of the leaves recommended throughout life and especially during pregnancy.  I will, however, have to monitor this wild friend carefully--the thorns on the established canes are BIG, and the fruit hides on the interior as well as in more easily reached areas.  Comprehensive harvesting would require protective gear...I'll probably just leave what I can't reach painlessly for the birds. 

Finally, there is the neighbor's mulberry tree which has several large branches over our yard.  As a laundry-line aficionado, I live in fear during mulberry season of the big purple bird droppings that inevitably find one of my clean, drying shirts, but I don't consider these trees a nuisance like some do.  I don't like the mess either, but I love the berries, and I love that just about every furred and feathered creature out there also seem rather partial to the humble mulberry.  Every time I glance at the tree, a branch is quivering somewhere while something non-human grabs a bite to eat.  And it is a good bite; why in the world turn up your nose at free food, and sweet food at that?

In fact, we used mulberries in one of the homemade ice creams for our wedding a few weeks back--but more on that next time.  :)

Spring (coop) cleaning...tada!

Ahem.

It's HERE!


(Actually, it's been here for a while now but after such a slow approach that it seemed to creep up almost in disguise.)

I'm talking, of course, about spring.

It has sprung in central Indiana, despite rainy, cool weather until the last few week or so.  All the rain has made for a particularly gorgeous spring, even though it has often been too chilly and wet to be outside enjoying it.

I didn't check, but I'm sure that I've written about our lilacs before.  So I'll just say, that there is particularly wonderful timing between the row of blooming lilacs and the first time each spring when it is warm enough for us to have windows open for days at a time.  The result is that we are given frequent fragrant breezes and live in a sweetly perfumed world, just as it is finally turning green outside.  It is heavenly to be standing in the living room and suddenly watch the curtains flutter and then inhale the sweet, airy, scent like some sort of gift for making it through winter.  Spring is a revelation, every time.
 
Last Sunday was the biannual Great Coop Clean-out, which is a big undertaking, but very satisfying to accomplish.  This one was particularly so, because I decided to use herbs in the fresh straw and nest box, and an orange-cinnamon infused vinegar for spraying down the roost. (Orange peels--I freeze them for later use--cinnamon, and white vinegar.  Ordinarily, I would combine them in a jar with a plastic lid and let it infuse for 4-6 weeks.  Today I was impatient, and so I simmered the mixture for 20 min on low heat instead.  Smells divine.)

I have my methods fine-tuned for our current coop, which always ends, at one point or another, with me silently swearing that our next coop will be fully human-height, so that I never have to crouch or attempt to sustain advanced yoga poses in order to scrub it all down.  Someday, I promise.

In any case, since we use the deep-litter method for our coop, I start by shoveling (as in snow shovel) out the bedding in the base of the coop, depositing it on a tarp until I have a decent pile in the center.  This, I drag around the side of the house to the garden and then roll the composted litter out onto my garden rows or any area where I want to blanket the ground and kill either turf or weeds.  Eventually, I'll either dig this right into the beds, or if it needs more time, transfer it to the compost pile.

Back in the coop, after wielding a shop vac and a screwdriver for any nooks or crannies, I typically have a few stubborn patches left on the linoleum, but that's easily handled by dribbling white vinegar liberally over them.  While that soaks in, I scrub down the walls and ceiling with hot water/vinegar/peppermint castile, and then finally address the floor.  While the coop dries, I mix up more disinfectant and wipe down the outside and clean the nest box. 

Then in goes fresh, clean straw and herbs.  This is the best part...somehow it reminds me a bit of putting crisp, line-dried sheets on the bed and then slipping between them while just from the bath yourself.  The sweet scent of the herbs this time really reinforced the shiny-clean, spring-is-here vibe, at least for the human involved with the experience.

I used lemon balm, mint, and lavender all of which are highly aromatic and should be a tool against mites, flies, and other bugs.  I also have tansy that volunteered in the veggie garden this spring, so I will be adding that for its bug-repelling properties.  The girls seem happy with the fresh straw and a new tree-branch roost, and I am happy to have this task off the list!

Spring chickens

The girls.  

I cannot wait until spring, when we can spend more time with the girls again.  

I want to pin clothes on the line to dry,  I want to shellac the picnic table, and I want to hang out with my chickens. 






I am, apparently, a simple creature.











I am also a bit end-of-winter-cabin-fevered, and we are supposed to get some enormous and much-hyped amount of snow and nasty weather tomorrow.  [Which reminds me. Welcome to my annual battle of wills with late winter:  I may win in the end, but it is usually too close to call during late Feb-early March.  I most always suffer a complete--if temporary--reversal at some point before April arrives.] 

But the chickens are quite sure that spring is here.  Almost overnight everyone perked up, and now combs are bright red, feathers are shiny, and it is time to get out in the yard and patrol the premises. 

Suddenly, eggs are everywhere.  Roxie's laying again and refuses to use the nest box, so there is usually a pale blue egg in the straw underneath it.  Then again, Jason found her recently sitting half out of the box on Ethel, who was squished entirely in the box, so maybe Roxanne is just looking for trouble.  Some of the girls are having fun occasionally using the outside nest box, too, which I keep forgetting to check after no one touched it for months. 


When all of this chicken exuberance appeared, I had a moment of bliss:  Spring really is around the corner.  The girls know; they are my own little assurance.  

I remember one sheltered courtyard on my Minnesota college campus, where a tiny forest of crocus bloomed each spring long before any other area had lost snowcover.  It was a miracle each time.  Turn the corner, look down and--color!  Green leaves, gold and purple flowers.  Hallelujah, winter's lost!

Well, we've got some additional colors to add to the hallelujah 'round here.  Richly orangey-yellow egg yolks, and all shades of brown, black, silver, tan, and deep-red feathered hens.  There are green tips of garlic and daffodils up as well, and the dark brown of the earth is richer and wet with the thaw. 

 



Mmmm.

Almost here.   

Our strange ways

It occurs to me it might be time to revisit how we are doing with some of the weirder embargoes and substitutions around the house that we've adopted in our attempt to live a more sustainable--and frugal--life.

This thought came to me as I was cooking bacon just now.

If you fail to see the connection, then you have never lived in a household with a rule against purchasing paper towels.

I should make one distinction clear:  there is probably a really nifty product out there designed to drain bacon without paper--perhaps a platter with a grill pattern that drains the grease away, or something.  However, my purpose isn't to justify purchasing a bunch of "green" products designed to solve the given problem.  Reusable or not, I believe that we are too easily seduced into buying the next clever environmentally-friendly product.  I say this, not in judgement, but as a fellow perpetrator--believe you me, I could spend our combined incomes in a hot second on any number of websites and catalogs geared toward the green consumer.

But the truth is that anything new has an enormous manufacturing legacy of materials, fuel, and and often cruel labor choices behind it; no matter how many recycling triangles and super-duper green endorsements are on the packaging (the packaging!), it would still have been better, ecologically speaking, to get a used version at a thrift store or make your own out of re-purposed items.

So.  The paper towels.  What do we use instead?

Handsome, but occasionally vomits.

Well, we realized pretty quickly that we use paper towels for three main things:  draining bacon, mopping spills, and cleaning up cat puke.  (Yep.  Just took you from mouth-watering to gagging in one sentence.  Mad skills, I tell ya.)  You might add cleaning windows and mirrors to the list, I suppose, but I can't think of much else.  If you are still using paper towels to wipe down your counters in the kitchen, then please, consider the beauty of a...

...(drumroll, please)...

Rag.

A rag.  A rag is a beautiful thing, simply because it can be made of so many, many other things most of which you would otherwise throw away.  Under duress, I will admit to a bit o' pride in the cardboard box of rags in my laundry room.  It is satisfying to always have one when you need one.  I realize this is weird.

Sock have a hole in the toe?  --Rag.  Grease stain on your skirt?  --Rag.  Almost any item of cotton clothing can be used in place of paper towels.  Cut them up into 12" squares, and there you go.  If you want to get really fancy, you can mix up some cleaning solution out of castile soap, white vinegar or lemon juice, and water, put it in a lidded bucket, and use it to store your rags--just wring one out and clean what ails you.  Old towels are perfect for bigger spills, and cotton jersey works nicely on windows and mirrors too.

But back to my bacon.

I have two substitutes for paper when I want to drain bacon.  First, is a square of fabric from an old t-shirt.  Between uses, I suds it up with dishwashing detergent (which cuts grease better than regular soap), rinse, and let it air dry.  Not all of the grease is removed but enough for my comfort level; we probably use the same cloth over a period of 4-6 months or more before I throw it away.

If you aren't comfortable reusing a cloth like that, then why not at least give a second life to paper grocery bags that are likely lurking under your kitchen sink?  A plate-sized square of brown paper drains bacon too--and if you are feeling particularly virtuous, save the greasy paper and use it the next time you start a cozy fire in the fireplace. (Consider the humble grocery bag for many things...rustic gift wrap and gift tags are another common use around here.)

[So, bacon and spills are handled with cloth rag, blah blah blah.  I mentioned cat vomit also.  Well, I draw the line there.  I refuse to reuse anything that addresses vomit--the whole situation is too gross.  I realize that this is illogical.

Instead, I use...junk mail.  Mmm hmm.  I take a credit card offer in one hand, and a stiff-papered catalog or flyer in the other, and I use the envelope to scrape up the yuck on to the flyer and then throw it all away. Then I spray the spot with cleaner and mop up any residue with a rag.  I'm sure you were dying to hear about all that.]

Used rags of all sorts tend to wait for the next washday on top of the dryer, but you might want to give them a box or bucket in which to be stored until you do laundry, just to keep things tidy. 

Ready to cut up some old shirts and towels?  Want to get really obsessed and make rugs out of them?  Perfect. 

Tis a gift to be simple...tis a gift to be free

Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day, 

with no mistakes in it yet?

 -Anne Shirley

I don't know about you, but 2012 has been a doozy of a year around here.  Good and bad, yes, but a challenge on many fronts for me.  New year's resolutions are not a tradition of mine, but somehow I am drawn to the idea a bit.  Perhaps this is a way of petitioning the universe to honor my bargain--if I start fresh, then it will too?   

I have been pondering the older, seasonal truths that make up the fabric of this time, the juxtaposition of the darkest, longest nights with our ancient faith that sun and warmth will come again.  I am fascinated by our stubbornness and the small, silent light that persists and nests defiantly in our hearts.

Christmas was good this year, filled with family that I see too infrequently.  There was a whole crop of new babies this time, snuggled little baby birds tucked here and there in the crook of an arm, alongside lots of good food and laughter.  My heart, usually so capable of absorbing it all, is tender and easily overwhelmed this year, and my eyes a bit leaky.  It is strange and poignant to hear my dad's voice when my brother sings a carol, the echo of my nephew's childish giggle when his son laughs at a joke.  It is weird and lovely and staggering to love all of these people and belong to them and accept the risks that such loving brings.

Of all the things that I didn't get around to, I was able to whip up a few goodies to give away, and my favorite of the bunch is the new recipe for hand and body cream that I've been making lately.  This recipe is from Making It: Radical Home Ec for a Post-Consumer World, and the cream is rich and luxurious.  It goes on a bit shiny but quickly absorbs.  Best of all, it has five ingredients, all of them pronounceable.

 Coconut-Vanilla Cream
6 oz olive oil
2 oz coconut oil                                                                
1 oz beeswax (grated or chopped fine preferred)                         
                                                                                                      
1 cup tepid water, filtered or distilled is best
essential oils as desired (I used a splash of vanilla extract)

Tools:  Blender or hand mixer, Mason jar, sauce pan, spatula, empty jars

Combine the oils and beeswax in a wide-mouth mason jar and set the jar in a small saucepot with several inches of water over low heat.  Stir occasionally as the beeswax melts.

Prepare a blender or deep mixing bowl by filling with boiling water to warm the container.  Have the cup of water and any essential oils mixed and ready.  Dump out the hot water and immediately pour in the hot oil mixture. Turn the blender on the lowest setting or start mixing the oil with a hand mixer.  Slowly pour the water into the middle of the oil.  The mixture will quickly turn to cream and the blender will start to rev and be unable to continue incorporating the water.  Stop the blender, scrape down the sides and mix with a spoon, then turn the blender on again.  Repeat until the mixture is smooth and the water fully incorporated.

If the cream is still liquid enough, pour into clean jars.  If not, scoop it out with a spoon.  Tamp down the jars to eliminate air bubbles.  Let cool, add labels, and enjoy!



Many delightful blessings to you and yours in the new year. 

Fall...and snippets of Summer

We've had so many warm, sunny days this fall that I've been able to sneak in a few last-minute outdoor chores and harvests that I might otherwise have missed.  Of course, as I type this, snow is falling thickly outside, so it looks like winter has arrived....

Ethel helping with the garlic

Yesterday, I finally got around to planting the garlic. I chose a bed along the western fence of our garden that I had left fallow this year, after applying a good dressing of rabbit manure in the spring.  There was some red clover growing there over the summer, along with a jungle of lambs quarters which will make a nice crop of greens in the spring when it self-seeds. 

I pulled all of the greenery and smoothed out the soil.  It is great to see the soil after three years of amendment--finally starting to resemble the rich, organic loveliness that is the goal.  Between the reliable source of rabbit manure, and the manure/bedding from the girls, my garden flourishes no matter how much I neglect it.

My plan for the bed is to plant the garlic now and then following with a planting of pole beans and/or squash vines in late spring.  Since the garlic will be ready for harvest by July, it will be out of the way for the later crops.  I plant two varieties of garlic, one that doesn't keep as long but has a soft stem that can be used to braid the bulbs together...which I love in theory and yet have never done.  *sigh*  The second variety is a great winter keeper, but the bulbs are slightly smaller and the stem is very rigid.  They both require the same growing conditions, which for today means that I need to give them fairly loose, fertile soil and a good mulching since it is so late in the season and cold is just around the corner.

Soft- and hard-neck varieties

Since the soft-neck variety doesn't keep for very long I don't plant as much of it, but plan to use it up during the summer and fall after harvesting.  Of the four rows I planted today, 2 1/2 were the winter-hardy and 1 1/2 were the soft-neck.  Then I piled several inches of bunny manure over the top and capped that with straw bedding.

A quick word about rabbit manure:  it is the one manure that is safe to put directly in your garden; it will not burn the plants like other uncomposted manures will.  It makes a nice, if stinky, mulch for taller plants because there is so much grassy bedding along with the manure pellets.  If you can find a source, definitely take advantage--check at 4H events, county fairs, etc.

I am happy to have the garlic in the ground; it is the one thing I grow in which we are self-sufficient, and I feel as though I have a standard to uphold!

Next I moved on to split up the daffodils at the end of the driveway, which for the last three years have sent up more and more leaves with fewer flowers--a sign, I assumed, that down in the soil the bulbs were dividing, multiplying, and making many smaller bulbs without enough room to flourish.  The problem, and the reason why I've been avoiding this chore, is that the daffodils come up each spring through the heavy mat of vinca and ivy that the former owners of this house planted every last place they could think of.  Arggh.

Clearing the ivy requires a ridiculous amount of sheer tugging and yanking, working through the soil with my hands to pull out roots...I already know how sore I will be tomorrow.  But the fun part was finding the little gnome-like colonies of bulbs, whiskery with roots, and separating them between my fingers.  I spaced them out and replanted them, covering the soil with a 2' x 3' piece of chickenwire to keep the squirrels out, and then topping it all with a heavy mulch of rabbit manure.  

Finally, it was time for the big event. Okay, the big event for me--which is not everyone's idea of excitement, I'll grant you.  Anyway:  echinacea root harvest!  I started these plants from seed the first spring we were here in our house, and they are just now old enough to try for roots big enough to be worthwhile. 

Roots of Echinacea purpurea

Here's the thing with herbs and healing--this is something that I've always had an interest in, no matter the guise--from traditional Chinese medicine to modern American herbalism, or within the paradigm of women, midwifery, and reproductive health.  I have no clinical studies or controlled experiments going on, but I know that over the past few years we've adapted several homemade remedies that work for us when colds come on or there are wounds to heal.

So, onto the echinacea tincture:  To get at the roots, I pushed the shovel in all around the plant and then tugged it gently up out of the ground.  I turned it over, cleaned off as much soil as I could, and snapped off the roots I wanted, and then replaced the plant in its hole, filling in around it and tamping it back into place.  I added a thick manure/bedding mulch for good measure.

I think that I could have waited another year for these plants...I've read that finger-sized roots are best, which are old enough to have developed full medicinal potency, and I didn't have as many roots that size as I'd hoped.  Of course, this wasn't exactly a summer of heavy growth for any of my unwatered native plants, so we'll see what next year brings.  I chopped up the roots into small pieces and filled a pint jar with them.   I poured 80 proof vodka over the roots, capped the jar, labelled it, and put it on the shelf to wait six weeks.  (The alcohol should be 100 proof ideally, but I used what I happened to have.)

These last warm and rainy weeks have allowed me to harvest comfrey and plantain, healing plants whether used fresh as a poultice or infused into a healing oil which can be used as is or made into lotions, creams or balms.  At this time of year, I want to preserve whatever I can because the dried versions seem to miss some essential greenness.  So I picked the wide, furry comfrey leaves that grow by my garden and the smooth green plantain leaves that grow in my lawn, let them wilt and dry for a day, and then cut them up into separate mason jars.  I poured in olive oil slowly, stirring with a stick to release air bubbles, until the oil topped the herbs with space to spare.  Now they will sit in the sunny window sill for a few weeks, slowly infusing the oil with their goodness.

I also put together a few new items and one old standby:

First, we were out of toothpaste--which is actually a peppermint tooth powder that I've been making for the past year or so out of baking soda, stevia powder, and peppermint essential oil.   I have never measured my formula, which isn't helpful, but it goes something like this:  2-3 big spoonsful of baking soda, one medium spoon of stevia, liberal sprinkling of essential oil.  Mix.  Repeat until jar is full or you've made the desired quantity.  To use, spoon a heaping portion on a wet toothbrush and brush teeth.  (Or if you get lazy about using the spoon like we do, then dip your dry toothbrush in the powder, wet with a few drops of water under the tap, and brush.)


As for the new stuff, I decided to work on a hair & scalp oil-- specifically, jojoba oil infused with rosemary, lavender, nettles, and horsetail.  Once the oil has infused for 4-6 weeks, I will add a few other essential oils such as clary sage, lemon, and patchouli, and then use this as an overnight treatment for my scalp, which gets dry at times.  All of the herbs and essential oils are ones that are either good for hair and scalp in general or for dandruff or itchy scalp.  It will smell amazing.

Lemongrass honey and rosemary lavender oil.  Mmmm.

Lemongrass Honey--this was a last minute idea and an easy one--I snapped off one of the thickest stems at the base of the plant I'm attempting to over-winter, chopped up the green leaves, and then peeled the dry outer leaves from around the heart of the stem, which I cut up into small rounds.  The leaves and stem pieces I put in a small jar and covered with honey.  This can steep for weeks, and will be completely wonderful in tea over the winter.

Oh and one final announcement:  I have a wonderful new addition to my office, in memory of my friend Cathy's mother, Molly Malone.  This hutch held her recipe boxes and china for over thirty years before she passed away last month--and now it holds all of my crafty herbal homesteading paraphenalia.   An apothecary hutch?  A potion cupboard?  Who knows what to call it...but thank you, Molly.  I have no doubt that you would approve of the new purpose for this lovely old piece.

Books, herbs...and room to work.

Finally, all of the herbs in jars.

Chickens, gardening, homemade cleaners--ta da!

Lemon verbena.  Best scent ever.

Whole lotta love & loss

Consider yourself warned:  I've been trying to write this post for most of my life.  


(If that is a bit too dramatic for you, then at least believe that I've been wrestling with it all summer.)


So here's a question:

Do you ever look back and see distinct eras in your life? Do you think:

I wish I'd known that chapter of my life was closing.  If I'd known, I would have cherished that time, savored that good-bye, lingered just a bit longer and soaked it all up before leaving.


Lately I am being slowly and surely pushed into another stage of life, one that I understand intellectually, if not emotionally.  A chapter is ending, folks, and although I am aware, I am not necessarily any more equipped to face this change with grace than if I were walking in blindly.  It is, apparently, my lot in life to mourn things preemptively and then still get smacked completely out of orbit when the dreaded event finally occurs. 

The Year of our Lord 2012--a la Maggie--is riddled with milestones:  I turned 35, my dear papa turned 80, my baby sister turns 30 this month. 

I found to my surprise, in the months leading up to my birthday, that some part of me was extremely reluctant to accept this new thirty-five-ness.  I considered this for a while, pondering it and turning it over like a pebble in my hand.  Why?  I am not particularly worried about aging, truly, or at least I never used to be, so what was wrong with me this year? 

What's wrong is that I celebrated my 30th only a few short months ago.  Now, 25--that's been a while, I'll grant you, but 30?--no way.  It is simply not possible that five years have already gone by.  If this is how time has started to pass, then we are all in big trouble.  I might blink too many times and end up 105 years old and the only person I know left alive. 

And then, my friends started losing parents.  Right and left, willy-nilly, a universe gone suddenly mad and vengeful:  six deaths in eight months.

2012 is claiming its pound of flesh, by God. 

Each time, I have found myself without words, blindly stumbling through the stash of exquisitely inadequate phrases I learned as a pastor's kid at funerals long ago: 

I'm so very sorry for your loss. 
My heart and my thoughts are with you. 
If I can help with anything, please let me know. 
If you ever need to talk, or a shoulder to cry on, I'm here. 

Each friend and parent are unique, of course, and each loss has its own sharp edges and hidden, deadly quicksand.  Each time, I retreat to my safe space with Jason, cats, chickens, garden, our shady green yard and the river nearby, constant in its silvery flow.

I come home guilty with a secret and overwhelming relief:  it isn't my parent that is gone--the child in me is still safe, still loved unconditionally, still a part of a familiar, well-ordered world.

And now we are at the crux of this post, this life-long never-ending post:

Dad was very sick over the winter, hospitalized twice, and the bad news started to pile up in layers as we watched him sleep in the hospital bed:  infections, kidneys, heart.  If I live a thousand years, I will not forget my dad sitting at the dinner table, newly home with his IV-bruised hands, so fundamently exhausted that his head hung down chin to chest, bowed and cowed like no big, strong dad of mine should ever be. Tuning in and out of the conversation, a bit bewildered, shaky, skin thin and papery, eyes occasionally losing their fire entirely.  This was bone-deep.

I've been trying since I was a teenager to be prepared for my dad to turn eighty.  And now I find that I've wasted all of this time in preparation for something that it is not possible to emotionally anticipate.

I am the oldest in a second family; my parents have always been older than my friends' folks, and that has largely been just fine.  We've had running jokes about AARP, Modern Maturity, and senior discounts at restaurants, and all the while strangers are shocked to learn that my parents are the age they are.  We keep them young--my little sister and I laugh and roll our eyes, and we will continue to do so.  There are no certainties here.  We may well celebrate Dad's 95th in fifteen years, and I will look back at this post and shake my head at the self-imposed drama, yet again.

But with every friend's loss, my faith is shaken.  When is it time to shrug off other pressing responsibilities and fly away home?  When do you drop everything and go?  How can I make the most of the closing pages of this particular chapter, the one in which I walk around the earth with my family healthy, lucid, and intact? 

While I was growing up, my parents suffered the loss of one of my older sisters, and a vivid lesson that I learned from the aftermath is that the death of a child is unnatural and the grieving almost unsurpassed.  The implication was then, and is now, that losing a parent is...natural...and therefore somehow more tolerable, a fact that I've tried to comprehend ever since. 

As a witness to my friends' grief over these last months, it seems to me that the only generalization that we can attribute to any death is that it is always unique and intensely personal to those left behind, and I know, even as I write this, that there are no ready answers to the questions that have seemed so monumental to me this year.  I have been wrong:  this is a new chapter, a blank page yet to be written, and I know that this, truly, is where adulthood begins.

****

I remember:

We were on the road, six hours through the country side, heading to the town where all of my dad's earliest stories were written, and where my own began.  The news had come that my dad's mother was dying, and we were trying to get there in time to say good-bye. 

We stopped for gas (and candy--this is my memory, after all) and for my dad to use the pay phone to call the nurse's station for an update on Grandma.   When we returned to the car, Dad was back in the driver's seat, and he was crying.  He had never done that before.

He said:  I'm an orphan now--and certain substantial and permanent parts of my universe shifted and tumbled out of place.  For the first time, I understood that he was someone's little boy, that he could be my dad and that boy at the same time...that he had been all along. 

And I know now, that it is okay to be that bewildered child still in my heart, that being an adult means inwardly balancing that child with the outer grown-up...and allowing both to do the best they can.


Outside of my window, after months of dryness, things are green again, and they are starting to grow.

Summer: in the Midwestern Sahara.

Whelp.  This is, I'm certain--but without actually checking, naturally--the longest I've gone between posts.  It has been a summer of preoccupation.  With work, primarily, which poses the constant challenge of trying new things and reluctantly stepping out of my nicely arranged comfort zone...



Plant sale in May



...but always, every moment, better than working in a cubicle.  (Or anywhere that I clock in or can't open the windows.  I really don't ask for much, seriously.)  I am, above all, glad to be having this experience, as Fall Creek Gardens becomes its own self, a non-profit entity.   This is a free education in starting an organization from the ground up, and I am so very glad that I have found such fantastic, helpful people to help keep things, well, growing, as I find my way up the mountain.



The community garden

 When work is over for the day, you would think I could write a simple blog post occasionally though, right? 

Well, yes.  I should.  I have guilt here, okay? 

But to be plainly truthful, when I am stressed, I go a bit overboard with rewarding myself.  And really, it is summertime, after all.  My after-hours life lately has been spent either hibernating at home with Jason & the animals or cooking dinner with friends.

Weekends are largely taken up with work, at least on Saturdays, and I find after my year of unemployed homesteadery that I am fiercely protective of my non-work time.  Moreover, I like it best when the non-work time is consecutive and not sprinkled about.  Even worse, as far as blogging is concerned, I spend a lot of time on the computer during the day, which results in a distinct resistance to getting out the g.d. laptop once again at night or on the weekend in order to wrack my brains for the examples of urban homesteading that I've a) had time to do and b) haven't already written about.

Wow.  Sorry.  I guess I had to get that off of my chest.  I am a bit torn between being engaged and excited about my work...and wishing that I had all the time back to explore the eco-friendly DIY world and write about my discoveries here.

With that long-winded disclaimer, I am here to tell you a few things about how I've spent the last many weeks.  But I've decided that this is best done visually, since I tend to take pictures of the fun stuff...not the endless hours at my desk.  :)  And don't worry, I have another post percolating right now.  I'll get there soon.  I promise.

But, for now, here's my summer so far:


First, there is keeping chickens cool when it is well over one hundred degrees outside.  Please note the yogurt beak...

I'm still managing to keep us supplied with lotions & herbal balms, which is always fun.

 

...Camping here.  I vaguely remember how relaxed I was just then...



 Seed starting for work.  We are so lucky to have access to the greenhouse on the State Fairgrounds...

Ahh.   More from the camping trip.  Did I mention how much fun we had with the canoe?? 

We made a quick trip up to Fort Wayne at the end of June...Dad's 80th birthday!

Please note my virtuous summer knitting.  (Now, if only I would start tackling the Christmas presents....)

Two of my favorite people, at a "The Head and the Heart" concert.  What a fun!

Not nearly enough time with the girls these days...but they are doing just fine, at least so far, despite the horrible heat.  Lots of cold treats and fresh, clean water!

Colby, however, had to have that gorgeous fur coat shaved down to the wrinkles  :)

Craftiness!  Thanks to Amy, a chicken feeder that only cost $2.

Four batches later...and I'm set for laundry soap for the foreseeable future.

I am secretly in love with my new climbing rose.  But his name is Don Juan, so I guess it's understandable.

...and, finally, what may be the only thing I harvest out of my poor, ignored home garden this year:  garlic!