Living the Airstream life. We have now been at Base Camp for 6 nights, and I have learned two things about a tiny home; how I still think my coffee cup (jacket \ phone) is too far away (you mean I have to get up & walk, what, 10 ft?) and, as long as the outside is also part of my living space, this is plenty of room. And earplugs. I recommend earplugs. After all, each passing in the hall, each reaching over one another is a smoochie opportunity.



This is Bessie's first real test run, and we've been checking out the various systems and making sure they all work. Yesterday, for instance, she was a little constipated, but thankfully we figured out quickly how to alleviate that. Today we're dealing with a dodgy water heater.

On the 4th night out we got hit with a snow storm, which left about 6 inches total before passed through. Bessie performed like a champ, and we are snug like bugs in rugs.

I really love the little kitchen. Sure, it could be a lot more modern, but it functions beautifully and, with the possible exception of no oven (we haven't tested it yet) it has everything you'd need. So far we've made spaghetti with meat sauce, green chili burros, pea soup, oatmeal, omelettes, salads, and apple crisp. And lots and lots of coffee.

When Bessie's 100%, when the weather warms up just a bit more, when I am just a wee bit stronger, we can pull her up north and get started on finding a forever home. 

Thinning

 

 



In general, on our little farm we seed thick and get ready to pick.  We maximize our growing space by planting as tightly as possible, always closer then the recommendation, and thinning when necessary. 

With the crops coming in well from the first planting in early September, this week's project was to thin.  I'll admit to struggling with this somewhat.  All that lovely energy gone into these plants that I'm uprooting.  All that lovely potential that is arrested.  But of course, that thinking is superfluous.  Thinning lends energy and potential to the remaining plants, and there are always ways to use these thinnings.

I thinned three crops this week; beets, radishes and carrots.  Beets, because unless you purchase special monogerm seeds, your "seed" will be a ball of several potential embryos.  Radishes and carrots because the seeds are so ridiculously tiny, you can't hardly help but over seed. 

Thinning gives you plenty of time to think about the labor intensity of farming.  "Carrots should cost a LOT more," is a frequent theme of mind, while I'm trying to stretch out my aching back.  Which leads me to question how the big guys can afford to sell them for so little.  One way the commercial farms maximize profits is to reduce labor costs by buying special seeds and seed-sowing machines.  This eliminates the whole thin-by-hand step. 

In the meantime, while I don't have the special equipment, I am the cheap labor, and realize that it's like having a free gym memborship.  Plus you can eat the thinned greens - fabulous in an omlette, or added to salad, or blended into a smoothie.  Food from the "throwaways".  Yoga in the garden.  How does it get any better than that?

Plus, I swear the beets & carrots & radishes are twice as big as when I thinned them.  Or, maybe it was just perfect timing.

 Ahhhh

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!

This is why we live here.  When other places in the country are getting in-doorsy, we are seriously beginning to get out-doorsy.  I move my office outside, my eating outside, and as much play \ work outside as possible.  All the hard work put into the preparation of the beds has paid off.  The plants are growing beautifully.  I thinned the very first radishes and beets, and used the greens in an omelette and a salad.  Light, peppery taste that informs but doesn't dominate.  And very high in iron (like all dark green leaves), as well as calcium,  magnesium, folate, and vitamins A, C, & K, all used to strengthen your blood and bones.  We are pulling in ever more quantities of Japanese eggplant and Yardlong beans.  Some of the seeds put in earlier didn't sprout, so it's time to re-plant in those spots.  This week I ordered a ton of seeds, and they will go in the ground this coming week.

 Seeds in the Ground, Ladies

It's hot.  Well, it's going to be hot.  I seem to be spending more time inside, looking out at what needs to be done, than outside doing it.  If there were a lick of a breeze, it'd be more comfortable - as comfortable as it can be when you're turning dirt - basically becoming a human tractor - or shoveling and humping new compost.  But since it's also humid, and I'm sweating buckets, a slight breeze would wick some of the heat away, not to mention the flies.  Bed preparation is not for sissies.
     Last year I planted the fall crops according to the phases of the moon.  Every turn of the phase - from full to waning to new to waxing, for 4 months - we carefully plotted and charted what was planted.  Consistently, I found that my seedlings came up later than predicted by the seed companies, and the harvest occurred later.  ROFL  This year I'm trying to understand the plants themselves better, to be in tune with what they need to produce, in terms of temperature, humidity, soil, sunlight.  I feel like a conductor, marshalling her instruments to perform at their best, and in their own best time. 





     I'm excited about how the tomatoes - and the other nightshades (peppers, eggplant) - are LOVING the hot & humid.  And how the legume seedlings (beans and peas) are JUMPING out of the ground.  I gave my roses an end-of-summer deep pruning for the first time ever, and they look fabulous.  Usually, in the desert SW, roses are deep pruned in January.  But the summer is so harsh on them, more so than the winter (plus the local 5-star resort prunes theirs in August, and I figure they can afford real rosarians) that I thought I'd try it.  I kid you not, the new branches were beginning the very day after I pruned them.  That, and a new layer of fresh compost, and they are looking fat and happy.





     Still, nothing comes up without a little labor, so on this Labor Day Weekend, the motto around our little farm is, Seeds in the ground, ladies.
    

On Onion Harvesting and Curing

The main reason I'm writing this blog is so I will remember things from one year to the next. It is my garden journal. Most of my mornings are spent in the yard; planting, harvesting, tying up, cleaning up. I run between what I see in the garden and my computer to look up stuff on the internet; what's that bug, that plant, when to harvest, what do I have growing there again (?!?). This week I harvested a lot of onions, and this is what I've learned.

You can pick onions at any time; young onions are called "green onions", and you can eat from one tip to the other; medium onions are called "spring onions", and you can eat the bottom (root) part, which has started to get bigger \ fatter \ bulb-ier, and some of the green; mature onions are called "bulb onions", and you eat the bulb only.

Bulb onions can either be eaten "green", right out of the garden, or they can be cured for storage.

The trick - some say the art - comes next; knowing when to stop watering.

The longer your bulb onion is in the ground, the larger it will get. However, once they stop growing, you need to stop watering them, so they don't rot because they are no longer taking in the water.

Conventional farmers watch for the leaves to fall over. In a field planted with the same kind of onions, all the onion leaves \ greens will fall over at the same time, signaling that the onions have stopped growing, and to stop watering. In an urban farm, where the crops are often interplanted, that's impossible.

So, you need to feel the shaft of the onions, down near the bulb, and if it feels squishy \ soft, you need to pull that onion today, before you water again, and begin the curing process. The onion in the picture to the right was harvested this morning. The greens have not died back, but the shaft is soft - it bends 90 degrees.

Knock off the excess dirt. Lay the onion out on the ground, or on a screen, in the shade. After a day or two, when the roots are dry, you can trim off the stems, but no less than 1" from the bulb.

If your onions are 2nd year onions, they very likely will have had scapes. When you harvest onions with scape stems, separate that from the bulb. That is where the moisture will concentrate, and your bulb will rot if you don't separate them.

Onions take up to 3 weeks to cure properly. The point is to dry them slowly in order to concentrate the flavors. Keep them in the shade, keep them where the air is circulating. Once they are cured, theoretically they can be thrown in a box and kept in the dark. Last year we tied them up in pantyhose (knot in between each bulb) and hung them from the ceiling. This year most of them are in a basket and seem to be ok so far. Check them periodically to pull any that have gotten soft.

Or (see last week) make them into chutney!

 Onion Chutney !!



We are awash in onions, and there are more to come. We have been grilling them, sauteing them, and broiling them. It's time to preserve some for later. One of my favorite recipes comes from one of my favorite books, The Herbal Pantry, by Emelie Tolley and Chris Mead. I have found their Tomato Chutney recipe works just great with onions instead of tomatoes. Sweet and spicey and tangy, and the galoot loves it.

3 lb. onions, chopped - whatever you have; this time I used Siskiyou Sweets and Red Bottle

1 c brown sugar
1 c cider vinegar
1 large red pepper, chopped
1 large tomato, coarsely chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 T fresh ginger, grated
1/2 c cranberries
2 jalapeno peppers, seeded and chopped
1 tsp cumin seeds
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp salt

Place all ingredients in a large non-aluminum saucepan, and cook over medium heat, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved. Continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture thickens, about 30 min.

Sterilize the canning jars by boiling them for 10 mins. Separately, cover the jar tops and rubber rings with water, bring to a simmer, and turn off the heat. Let the jars and tops sit in the hot water until you are ready to use them, then drain them on a clean towel.

Fill a large pot half full with water and bring to a simmer. Ladle chutney into jars, leaving some space at the top. Lower the jars into water and add more boiling water if needed to cover the jars by 1 in. Cover and bring to a boil for 15 mins. To test for a safe seal, lift the jar by the lid only. If the lid stays on, it is safe to put that jar on the shelf for up to 4 mos. 

If not, eat now!  Open jar will keep well in the refrigerator for a week or so.  Chutney is an excellent accompaniment to meats, but also is wonderful on sandwiches and veggies.

Go Vertical

In a small space, the best use of the land can often be to grow vertically. Some crops are obvious choices - beans will grow up just about anything if they get a chance - but many can be trained to grow up rather than out, with a minimum of work.

Growing up is especially easy for us, because we have had a structure of posts - and wires strung between them - since last year. Specifically erected to hold shade cloth, a pleasant surprise is how versatile you can be with dropping some string down from the grid above, just about anywhere.

Keeping in mind that vertical growth will cause shade, you will want to plan to take advantage of that. I have been thinking that if I had put in something - sunflowers perhaps? - on the extreme Western edge of the backyard, the squashes that are growing there would be a little more shaded. Why is it always hard to remember that, yes, it's going to get really, really hot?

The beans against the east wall of the back square, for instance, are only hanging on through sheer determination. That wall is a killer for absorbing the heat. I had thought the beans would shade the wall, but rather, it's taking them out.  Next year . . . melons? that have been in for longer?  Maybe they could get up and shade the wall before the extreme heat.