Farm Cats

If you know us at all, you probably know that we used to have three cats.  They were sisters, and they were lovely, and cute and adorable and loving and special, and all those things people say about their cats. They had wonderful personalities and liked, especially, to hang out with us. They each lived a very long life, with the oldest, Cimpy, getting to be about 20 (nobody seems to really know).  Last spring it was Cimpy's time, and one night she stumbled off and we thought that was that.  Then, 2 days later, she stumbled back into the house (THAT was shocking), but then stumbled off again.  And we missed her and her sisters, and mourned our catless state.

But it isn't easy - or possible, really - to "replace" your friends quickly or readily.  So when our neighborhood, and our farm, became overrun with stray cats, we thought them more nuisance than pleasure. Though it's been delightful watching the changing dynamic of this clowder, we've seen 3 rounds of kittens in 7 months. We quickly had to educate ourselves on cheap resources for spaying and neutering.

Well, now there are three again.  Perhaps that's the exact right amount of cats per our little farm. We know they are mother and daughter, and believe the tom is the father. This week, for the first time, they have really started to play and connect together, and their antics around the farm are hilarious. And they are lovely, and cute and adorable and loving and special.  They have wonderful personalities and like, especially, to hang out with us.

And I believe we have officially been adopted. And now only one of them is named Petey.

Imbolc

I have been sick this week, sick still while I write this. I have what's "been going around" - a head cold - which I am, at turns, fighting or courting or dancing with, in order to send it on its way before it becomes a chest cold. I am at that stage where there is a pot of clean water boiling all day long, so that I may have tea at all times, so I don't cough even once. And I have spoken very few words for the past 5 days. I hope it works, as I have 2 recitals to sing in the next 2 weeks, not to mention a solo tomorrow morning. So, I rest.

According to the pagan calendar, February 1 is Imbolc, which is the day of new beginnings, and the day to put the plow to the earth for the first time. I have been struck before by the similarity of the planting calendar of the Southwest and that of the British Isles, which holds that "Spring" begins February 1st. In the US, the traditional date for the first day of Spring coincides with the Vernal Equinox. This year, because it is a leap year (!), the Vernal Equinox occurs on March 20. But if Spring is the time to sow seeds into the fertile earth, March 20 is too late, too long to wait, in the Southwest. So we must follow the planting calendar of England and Ireland and Scotland.

This is mystery to me.  In what way would the Sonoran Desert resemble the climate of the British Isles? We are dry, hot and desolate, and brown, while they - as I understand it - are verdant, lush, green. They are much further north of the Equator than are we, and though the days are now getting longer for all inhabitants of the Northern Hemisphere, it is difficult for me to imagine a climate far north of ours that is readying itself for planting. And yet, here we are, both areas putting plow to earth, putting seeds in the fertile soil. Where last week the air outside said, rest, relax, it's Winter yet, it now says hurry, hurry, seeds in the ground, ladies, chop chop.

And so we planted, or rather, Larry did; on February 1st, tomato and pepper and tomatillo seeds in the the Godzilla plot, consequently giving up on and pulling the remainder of the Chinese cabbage growing there.
MY LESSON LEARNED: Proximity rules can matter. I had thought that the rules were basically guidelines, and that many crops can be grown much tighter than suggested. And certainly, as an urban farm, this theory would be to our advantage - cramming as many crops as possible into a small footprint.  Chinese cabbage, however, must be separated by about 12 inches apart. Otherwise they foster cabbage worms and aphid infestations of a scale impossible to control without spraying (which we won't do) or just pulling the whole crop. My lessons in insect infestations continue. Ew.

It is Imbolc, Spring. The earth is awakening, the seeds are in the ground, gathering strength from the soil and the water and the warmth of the sun as they prepare to burst forth into the air.

 Dormant Season

This week it has been overcast.  On this quiet and still winter (67 degrees) afternoon, walking through the farm gives one the sense of waiting.  The crops aren't measurably bigger than last week.  No sign, yet, of the seeds planted last week; kale, spinach, Chinese cabbage. I'm beginning to wonder if the spinach, planted in September and, according to the packet, due for harvest in November, will ever mature. Time seems suspended.

In the meantime, this week I made my first ever tomato sauce. The harvest from last week's pulling of the vines was many small tomatoes. First, I put them - whole - in the freezer, so that, upon thawing them, it was easy to remove the skins. They then sat in a colander overnight to seep out as much liquid as possible.  Cooking them in a saucepot further broke down the pulp, but they still needed to be put through a strainer to separate out the solids (mostly the seeds). This was a lot of work, and took quite a long time.  If I continue to do this, I will invest in a tomato mill! 

If the tomatoes had been larger, as I understand, you would peel and core them first, negating the strainer \ tomato mill step.

Back in the saucepan, I added onions which had been sauteed for 45 mins., to make them sweet, and some chicken stock, which had been conveniently also on the stove, and some dried basil. Very delicious and fresh tasting.

The tomatoes pictured made enough sauce for about 4 pasta dinners.  We definitely need to plant more tomato plants!

 Tasks

This week we:
~ Pulled the tomato vines out.  They have been in the ground, I believe, one year.  Which means we've nursed them through the summer and through at least 2 frosts.  Their end-of-season bounty was worthy, and I expect to preserve much of what's pictured; probably in sauce form. Practicing good crop rotation (roots, craving potassium, follow fruits), we will put in beet seed, as soon as this plot gets turned over with new compost.
~ Planted two plots. With more Chinese Cabbage, spinach and kale.  I think I've learned that to successfully grow Chinese Cabbage, they need to be way further apart - need lots more room to grow properly.  So, I've interplanted them with spinach which, I surmise, won't crowd the cabbage.  And then, I've planted more kale because it's delicious and nutritious, and everybody's eating it.  Last year, kale was the single longest crop that we harvested; from the end of January (when I finally figured out what it was - seriously, I'd been composting it before then!) to the middle of June. With the planting of these plots, our little farm is all-but stuffed.
~ Harvested first sweet peas. This line of peas were put in September 27. They are, according to the packet, 1 mo. behind schedule for harvest. More testimony to the fact that this is the dormant season and things take 3-4 weeks longer, and that the general information is for other parts of the country.
~ Put up more seed in "nursery". Theoretically, a seedling will be ready to go in the ground as soon as something comes out. Although the flats are not, I don't think, much warmer than ground planting, as we don't, as yet, have a greenhouse or hot box. One advantage is that it takes less cheesecloth to protect the babies from rapacious birds.

Broccoli and Chicken Noodle Soup

I await the broccoli harvest with great anticipation, ever since I first tried this recipe.  It is from Cooking Light Magazine, so it is heart healthy, delicious, creamy and satisfying.  And especially good on a cold winter night.  Serve with nice salad and pair with a crisp Pinot Grigio.



2 c chopped onion
1 c sliced mushrooms
1 garlic clove, minced
3 T butter
1/4 c all-purpose flour
4 c 1% milk
14 oz. chicken broth
4 oz. uncooked pasta - sm. pieces
2 c shredded cheese
4 c cubed cooked chicken
3 c sm. broccoli florets
1 c half-and-half
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
3/4 tsp. salt

Heat a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Drizzle pan with a little bit of extra virgin olive oil. Add onion, mushrooms, and garlic to pan; saute 5 mins. or until liquid evaporates, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to medium; add butter to pan, stirring until butter melts. Sprinkle mexture with flour; cook 2 mins., stirring occasionally. Gradually add milk and broth, stirring constantly with a whisk; bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cook 10 mins. or until slightly thick, stirring constantly. Add pasta to pan; cook 10 mins. Add cheese, and stir until cheese melts. Add chicken and remaining ingredients to pan; cook 5 mins. or until broccoli is tender and soup is thoroughly heated.

Although it is the dormant season - and the farm grows frustratingly slowly - we are just starting to harvest lettuces.  I think lettuce is the easiest crop to grow in the south west.  Or maybe it is just the first crop I ever grew, after I moved here 13 years ago.  Last spring we let the end-of-season lettuces bolt and go to seed.  Then we collected the seed and stored in plastic bags over the summer, and planted in early October.
Lettuce, as an above-ground, leafy crop, likes a lot of nitrogen.  In regular crop roatation, lettuce should follow beans or peas, which "fix" soil by putting nitrogen in the ground.  To prepare the lettuce bed, I start by digging deeply - 8" to 10" - to break up the soil.  Then I remove the top 4" (adding to compost pit), and replace with a top dressing of rich, loamy compost.  Then dig this in.  Planting lettuce is easy in that you can scatter the seed directly onto the ground.  Cover with a scant 1/4" of dirt and water well.  It is important to keep the seeds moist, or they will not sprout. 
For personal use we leave the seedlings close together.  To harvest, you just cut off the tops of the leaves with a scissors like a hedge.  More will grow.  For market, we transplant and spread out individual seedlings in mid February, to about 6" apart.  Those will be ready to harvest as head lettuce starting in early April.
Lettuces, besides being an excellent source of fibre, also pack a punch with vitamins A, K and C, and the B-complex vitamins, beta-carotene, and with minerals such as iron, calcium, magnesium and potassium.  A salad a day . . .



Blood Red Beets, shown here, are generally grown for their gorgeous & nutrient-rich leaves, so I have started harvesting just the outside leaves and adding to my daily salads.  They are so beautiful, and I can't wait 'til we harvest the full bulb, even though I don't really like beets.  Maybe this year we will discover a recipe I like!

Transitions

More than anything else, this time of year means - to me - transition. The end of things, the beginning of things. Anniversaries of our little farm, of my life, of holidays, and wonderful and poignant memories of all. The balls keep on spinning.
Our deciduous plants - the Chinese Pistache, Vitex, and dwarf Bonanza Peach trees, and the Wisteria Vine - all have finally loosed their leaves, creating puddles of color underneath, blanketing the earth, providing one more layer of mulch for the plants beneath. The sun, just now starting her climb back North, is beginning to peak through.
The South-facing front yard has the feeling of expectancy, as if it is poised - holding its breath - in anticipation of the long, lovely, sun-drenched Spring days to come. The largely root crops planted there have held on through the shade cast by the Pistache and Carob, slowly gathering up the sweetness from their dark delicious earth, waiting for the final push toward a delightful finish that the return of the Sun will bring.

The back yard, North facing, is colder than the front. Visible ravages from the low-lying frost of the past few nights are evident in the brown-tipped leaves of the lettuces, in the truncated branches of the peppers. Not dead, thankfully, just singed. This afternoon I will trim the lettuces of their now-slimy (lovely!) edges, in an attempt to encourage them to grow more leaves.

I'll admit to some anxiety over the blank spaces in our canvas.
I try to look at these places as challenges. What could best grow in the shadows of Big Red, the shadiest part of our little farm? What's the best rotation crop, following zucchini, in the exact opposite - the sunniest part?
I try to see opportunities for learning more about seed propagation, about hot boxes, and starting earlier.
But more importantly I try to remember Farm Time, which teaches me, yes, that there is a season to everything. And this is the season of transition. Of bean vines dying, while pea vines flower. Of frost-bit tomatoes that may be alive just enough to ripen the fruit on the vine. Of onion seedlings finally coming up after weeks in the ground. Of the whole great reality that there is no end, no beginning, just always transition.