If Dad Approves Chickens, Surely The City Will

Adorable photo taken by my cousin Lindsey;
who also knew Grandma's chickens in our childhood

So my dad called me this afternoon, and in his typical style, launched into a conversation with no preface or warning.

Cancer, and Finding Peace in Veggies

Michelle, beautiful as always, with her son (my nephew), Cody

Foraging: Free Marriage Therapy

My husband and me...

We've been weathering a rough patch lately, as many marriages do. We've bickered, we've fallen silent, we've lost our way, and we've sought therapy. For no tangible reasons and yet lots of silent ones, our marriage was slipping and we have been looking for ways to get our feet back on the path.

When Life Mows it Down

The vacant house down the block became a source of wonder for us this summer. While other neighbors shook their heads with mild annoyance, we watched the

Liebster Award

I'm so excited--I've been nominated for an award! The Liebster Award is a really cool way to meet fellow bloggers, find kindred spirits, and get to know our blogging friends a little bit better. I was nominated by one of my personal favorites, Linn Acres Farm--you really need to go and check out their helpful and inspiring blog.

"Urban People are NOT Farmers"

The words made me bristle immediately.

A local Facebook friend had posted the link to a much needed petition. Our city does not allow backyard chickens, and many of us would like to change that. The petition can be found here:

Urban chickens for Fort Wayne

I shared the heck out of the petition, not before excitedly replying to my friend's post "YAY! Signing immediately!"

Leave it to Facebook to create unexpected negativity. Not more than an hour later, another post appeared below mine saying (and I'm paraphrasing from memory, because since then my friend has taken her link down);

Inventory Made

I sat down and wrote them all down.

I absolutely do not have enough room for all these seeds.

Why is collecting seeds so much fun? Magical, even? The potential in these packets as I lift them out of the seed box fairly buzzes in my hand.

Bittersweet Bites

Because I am very new to the beginning-to-end process of growing food, I don't have a specific--or heck, even a general--mental timetable yet. I don't have memorized, from experience, what is supposed to come first, what crops come and go different during seasons, and what is an average date for the summer crops to be absolutely finished.

I do know, however, that finding these surprises, just a few days ago in November, is not a common experience. I know this just by reading books. By browsing seed catalogs and looking at a zone chart. By listening to seasoned gardeners and food growers around me. November 3 is not a 'normal' day to find 3 cucumbers (albeit very odd looking ones), enough green beans for a meal, and a dozen bright cherry tomatoes that should be hard and taste terrible, but instead have a sweet, summer ripened flavor.

 

 


I would not have found these goodies at all if I'd cut all the plants down 2 weeks ago like I had intended. I had figured their time was up, and they were starting to look terrible, anyway, but I never found the time to go out and clear everything out. I couldn't have imagined that any more seeds or fruits would have burst from them like a last hurrah.

After my initial surprise and enthusiasm, worry settled deep. Alongside the sweet tomato flavor left on my tongue, there was a sour aftertaste. "This is part of it. This is another small hint that things are changing," a voice said in my head.

I realize that global warming is hotly debated, but when my instincts and observations inch toward evidence that something is amiss, even in subtle ways, I'm hard pressed to just ignore it. If we only had longer summers, perhaps that would be a good thing, and everyone, in every growing zone, could easily grow food year-round with the help of simple hoop houses and cold frames. I mean really, if I'm completely honest with myself, the thought of never having to shovel snow from the driveway again makes me sad for only a moment, because I'd pine for drifts to jump in and snowmen to build. Mostly, I don't love winter. The older I get, the more winter makes my bones ache and my heart dread the extra work and energy used to keep warm and from being buried in. However, winter is a part of the midwest cycle I'm used to. Part of the cycle that my surrounding ecosystem has been going through for countless lifetimes.

If it were only mild winters and longer growing seasons, then perhaps there would be reason to celebrate. I have to think harder on this for only a few moments to realize that no, it is not that simple at all. Mild winters themselves can have negative effects--pests that would normally die back during the freeze are suddenly a huge problem in spring when their numbers are much larger than usual. If the planet really is warming up, we won't just conveniently gain mild winters and long summers. We may be facing unpredictable weather, just like we did this past spring, when an unexpected killing freeze in April affected apple orchards across the midwest and the east coast. The trees had blossomed with the early warm spring, then the freeze killed many of the tender new blossoms, irreparably harming the crop for the year. Along with strange up-and-down temperatures, we might experience more damaging storms, droughts, floods, with no rhyme or reason. We may have horribly frigid winters mixed in with mild winters. As human beings we've always had to deal with nature's patterns, and have had lots of surprises thrown in, but at a certain point the changes seem too many to be flukes. It seems possible that some very fundamental pieces of our weather patterns are shifting right before our eyes.The idea that weather may begin to seriously lose its predictability, on top of the fact that it can throw some very damaging tantrums at us regularly, has me bothered and concerned.

Today I went to finally get some cleanup done in the garden, and after hard frosts the past couple of nights, it's clear that there will be no more last minute bittersweet snacks. Everything from the summer is definitely dead. I am excited to get to work on some fall crops and build my hoop house. But as I cleared away the dead and rotting (and smelly) summer garden plants, I kept thinking of the surprise harvest from just a few days ago, and realized that deep down I am very wary of, and a bit alarmed about, the changes I feel around me.  I can only hope that the changes are not so fast and harsh that we'll be helpless to adjust to them.

Darkened Windows

I was just, a few minutes ago, laying on the loveseat in the toyroom, gazing at the darkened window.

In the dark, you can imagine that you are situated in any place.

I could be in the middle of the country, with space, with land. Outside that darkened window could be acres of beautiful land, ready for me to go out and roam into. Staring at a window that is filled with black void lets you imagine the most wonderful things outside.

But, no. The reality is, on the other side of the darkened window is the same suburban landscape I've looked at for 10 years. Houses and tiny yards. Neighbors who don't really know each other.

But does it have to be that way? Is moving out into a rural home really the ticket to the freedom I'm longing for? We drove through some countryside just a few days ago, heading to my cousin's house for a visit. I passed a wonderful property that had a sign in front, advertising an upcoming auction. I craned my neck to take in the simple beauty of the place: a smallish house filled with character, a large shed, a bigger outbuilding with 2 car doors, a barn, a long stable-looking building. A fenced in area in which two horses stood, nibbling the ground. A few large, old trees added character to the view. Nothing looked perfect, exactly--in fact, the buildings looked worn, and the house definitely didn't fit the bill of a 'dream-house.' Yet, immediately, my imagination took off and I pictured myself, my family, puttering around here. Raising food and goats and chickens and keeping horses and living peacefully.

I uttered my daydream out loud: "wow, wouldn't it be cool to live out here." My words were met with an incredulous look that only a 13-year-old can manage--my own teenage son sighed and said..."no, it would suck. There's nothing out here to do. There are no cool neighbors."

My first instinct was to give him a look, and say "You would find plenty to do. You would meet the neighbors. Long days of quiet country life would do us all some good!" I held my tongue, because I knew this was just a way for my teenager to bait me, to push my buttons, and I wasn't going to get into a silly debate with him just for the sake of bickering.

His words made me think harder, though. We are happy here in our humble home. Yes, it's the suburbs, and yes, we are limited in what we can do. We have very little space outside, but our 'outside' is much more than just our property line, especially to the kids. To them, the property doesn't end at our driveway, or where the maple tree divides our front yard from the neighbors--to them, the whole neighborhood is their home. They roam to the yards of dozens of neighbors, and those kids who live within the confines of our suburban lots do the same, arriving at our front door daily. The kids hop on their bikes and that extends the lines even further.

In the same way, my sense of being 'closed in' is soothed by my long walks along the street. Waving or stopping to talk to neighbors. Making real effort to talk to my immediate neighbors every time we are outside together, even bonding with one of them over tomato growing. The better I get to know my neighbors, the more of a sense of community I feel. Most of the time if I begin to discuss gardening, they become very interested. I sort of enjoy it--being the somewhat 'eccentric' neighbor who is a little bit obsessed with her gardens.

Instead of longing for a big space to call entirely my own, perhaps I should be claiming this place as where I'm meant to be. Perhaps I should be looking for the ways that I can grow my own food, dry my clothes on the line, ride my bike to the places I need to be, all while getting to know my neighbors and loving my community. Perhaps this is where I make my mark, even if my soul calls out to the rural landscape.

Facing Changes

The rain that whispered in last night was a welcome relief. Everything outside seems to be finally breathing, and a sense of normalcy is returning.

We've experienced a drought that stretched through more than 2 months--no real rain since late May. Then suddenly, with a wicked, loud, tornado-like vengeance, the storms came. The first storm, on June 25, knocked out the power in much of the city for days. Trees were down everywhere--it looked like total carnage, even though the violence only lasted 15 or 20 minutes. I was attending a parent gathering at my oldest son's writing camp, which met in the basement of Kettler Hall at IPFW. Being in the basement, I didn't get to see the sudden insanity, but we all certainly heard it. We came upstairs to investigate. Looking out the glass doors, we saw the world--dry and crackled just minutes before--strewn with huge trees, the sky green. Patrick and I made a dash to his bike (which he had ridden in the sickly-dry heat just hours before) loaded it clumsily into the van (all the while I was thinking the storm would suddenly rear up again and take us out), and headed home, where a power line draped in front of our house, with trees struck down like a warzone. Miraculously, our power stayed on.

The second storm suddenly rushed through while we were sitting at the table eating supper, about 10 days later. We'd been spared the power outage from the first storm, and I thought "Oh great, now it will be our turn to find freezer space somewhere." Many friends and family were just getting their power back, and we heard all the stories about food lost, laundry needing a place to be washed, and general inconvenience created by not having electricity. I did have to giggle at a facebook status that had a picture of an Amish man, complete with a bemused smile, with a caption that read "Lost your electricity? LOL".

I watched, taking a few slow bites of our supper, at the repeat show outside, trees bending and branches flying. Sure enough, the power flickered out. Then back on. Out again. 3 long minutes passed as I stared hard out the window, throwing an internal temper tantrum..."nope, I don't wanna do it...I love my air conditioning, I love my fridge and freezers...and my computer. Damn it!!!" Power came back on, for good, and I let out my breath, relieved.

Today seems like a normal summer day, finally, and I feel my spirits lifting up a bit, like maybe the warning is letting up. Like the earth has been giving us some hints and clues that there really are big changes coming, but that for now we can have some breathing space.

The strange drought-then-storm summer has made me feel like global warming is putting on a show. I am absolutely certain that many other people are making that connection. Although, the words 'global warming' are so overused anymore, it can seem like a joke. As the drought dragged on during the past months, my thoughts have turned dark and worried.

In the past couple of years, I've read countless books concerning the environment, the mess we are in, and steps we need to take to change it. When I began to realize the gravity of our situation and the lack of concern that most people have, I fell into a deep depression that lingered for months. Lately, though, I've been heading toward hope, thinking that I could take charge of my own life and make some changes. To at least be prepared for a society that will inevitably be different than it is now. However, with that hope I've also maintained a comfortable feeling. I've clutched to a security blanket, a general feeling that there was plenty of time with which to 'get situated'. Sure, let the power go out...permanently! But, wait until I have an idea about what to do! Let the weather turn cranky...but let me have some tools on how to live with wild new weather! Let me build up some kind of reserve! Let me have more knowledge, please! With the weather becoming more like a normal July, I am filled with relief, because if some crazy life-is-permanently-changed-as-we-know-it kind of thing were to happen, I'm absolutely unprepared. Just like almost everyone else.

I'm not one of those people who thinks the world is going to end. I don't truly think there is going to be a sudden change, either. I am becoming convinced that society as a whole is going to have to make some adjustments to a new kind of world where oil is not cheap and accessible, and I truly believe that will occur in my lifetime. Right now I am making very tiny changes in my lifestyle, mostly revolving around the food I eat. I fully admit that bigger changes are going to be very hard for me. I feel guilty at times for continuing on with the status quo and not making a big effort like many people do. I want to hang the clothes out to dry, but don't have a clothesline (so...build one?). I want to get rid of air conditioning...but not now, it's just too weird, too uncomfortable. I want to do all kinds of things that will lessen my footprint...but it's just so hard. Excuses tumble around in my brain, in a whiny childish voice, as my consciousness bickers with what is real, normal, and absolutely accepted/expected.

Experiencing strange weather like this really, really gets the mind going, however. During the week long power outages, we went to various houses of family members who were roughing it. I wondered, as people got out the generators--and others began making insurance claims on houses and vehicles caught in the path of toppling trees--how hard would it be to let our old lifestyle go? What if we had no choice, and the power wasn't coming back? What if the insurance companies go bankrupt with too many claims, and there is no more repairing the status quo?

I realize that I'm touching on two separate issues here; 1). the depletion of oil and 2). global warming. Everyone has heard, ad naseum, the statistics, the grim explanations. The terms have become so common that the ideas hang around us like an annoying little sibling who just won't go away, when all we want to do is play with our friends in peace. It wasn't very long ago that the terms meant nothing to me, they were just words I'd heard my whole life. Yet, because the ideas have become so ingrained, we also don't take them seriously. They've become hot-button political issues, sure. But politicians are not interested in making any serious changes. Changes take so, so long...and politicians need to focus on things that will show effect in the few years they are in office, not things that won't show effect for decades.

So why do I suddenly care about the issues? I am not really sure when I first started to investigate for myself, but I am gaining awareness with each new source I find. The topics have been discussed endlessly, so there is no lack of resources. I am not living blindly anymore. I am concerned about the path we are on, and I care, deeply, about what state we leave the world in for my kids, and their kids, and their kids...you get the idea. I'm just one person out of billions, but I'm leaning more deeply into a new camp...those who want to know, need to know, and are willing to face inevitable lifestyle changes instead of blithely going about daily business with eyes closed.

For now, I'll take the gentle rain showers, but the vicious storms are in the forefront of my recent memory. I admit, with some trepidation, that I think the droughts and storms will continue. Our world is changing, right along with my view of it.

I Wish For a Garden

Dear Grandma,

There are so many pieces of your life that I took for granted. I look back at the way you lived and all the things you did on your little homestead, and I'm amazed, almost stunned. I have fresh eyes, and a wish that I could sit and chat with you, now that I fully appreciate everything you did. As a child I never really thought about those things, they were just a natural part of my Grandma; details in the background fabric of my childhood that didn't need any special attention.

One example; your vegetable growing. I've become--quite suddenly-- very interested in growing vegetables. I long for a gigantic garden chock full of everything imaginable. I am getting ready to buy a share in a community farm, a CSA, because I can't figure out how to grow anything around here, on this tiny lot.

I would love, however, to have a fantastic garden someday, and I am starting to brainstorm ways to do this. Like you and grandpa. My gosh, you grew everything. At one point in my childhood I believe your garden was bigger than my current entire yard. You prepared food with all this wonderful home-grown food. You canned, dried, saved. You also had fruit trees. You took good care of your chickens, and they provided so many wonderful eggs. Grandpa took up beekeeping and I have never had honey as tasty again in my life. I think about it now and I am in awe...but then, it was just there. I had no real appreciation for the lifestyle you two lived, no deeper understanding of just how important the lessons could be to me.

Uncle Loren and Aunt Jeanne still have a completely amazing garden. You passed that along, for sure. I love walking around their huge garden during summer to see what new fabulous vegetables have begun to grow, or which are bursting with ripeness. They love to share, and in summer when I go visit, I always get to take home a bag or two of zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers, or whatever is producing like mad. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. I have ventured out into the world of cooking (usually seeking healthy recipes) and have so many ways to prepare and use these veggies now.

Your garden no longer exists. Just a piece of grass now, in the big farm yard where no one lives.

Just knowing about and remembering your incredible garden is another way your memory lives with me. Perhaps I will keep the memory going, and become an avid gardener. I truly hope so.

I love you always, Your Granddaughter, Andrea