What do you do? 

Six months ago I was a voice teacher, a professional singer, and a farmer going to farmers markets.  That was until September.

Then my life flipped upside down when I tumbled down the stairs and broke (shattered, L says) my ankle.  I don’t think the metaphor is too strong, and of course I wondered what it all meant, what the Universe was trying to tell me.  Immediately my job became taking care of myself, healing my ankle, and I practiced this in Colorado for ten weeks, then came home to AZ to practice for another ten weeks.

Now I’m in a mobile home park in New Mexico, and my job is “moving”. 

L and I are in full-on move mode.  We are driving around, seeing the sights, getting to know the neighborhoods, and meeting new people on the rate of about 3 a day.  Names, so many names, not the strong suit of either one of us.  No TV (gasp)!  Very sketchy internet (gasp gasp)!!  We crashed over the weekend and holed up.  The Airstream got very small.

Perhaps “occupation” is a better word. How do I occupy myself.  Overall, my occupation for the past six months has been a lot of hurry-up-and-wait times.  During the wait times, I continue down the path of learning (AFLE) how to be in the moment.  I have periods when I’m fairly successful at this, and periods – like right now – when not so much.  Did I mention how small the AS has gotten?

What does it all mean?  I haven’t a frickin clue.  But my mantra from the bone-healing phase – take time – seems to still fit.  When I can remember to breathe.

Things on top of other things.


When living the Airstream life, space is, of course, at a premium.  Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that 2 layers of things, on top of other things, is my goal.  I shall only ever attempt to have two things on top of one another, and only two.  This gives me the facility to pick up the top thing – which is invariably NOT the thing I want – in order to achieve the bottom thing. 

This is greatly preferable to simply carrying around things, which is another one of my “tricks”.  One becomes, in essence, a mobile storage device; a bi-pedal bookcase, or pantry, or laundry cabinet, depending on what one is carrying around.  I have read many wise RV-ers speak of never purchasing one more thing,  unless one knows where that thing is going to be stored.  I admire their principles.  I try to adhere to mine.

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!