Posts Tagged ‘Greenhouse’
The Mystery of the Missing Goose
When I pulled into the driveway this evening there was a thin line of steel grey streaked across the horizon; that time of day that is well past dusk, but not quite pitch dark. I hurried inside dropped my laptop and quickly slipped into my work clothes. With a few minutes of pseudo daylight left I had just enough time to feed and water before night time set in fully.
I moved around the barn like I was on auto pilot, moving from feeder to waterer to throwing down another layer of bedding. It’s a routine that I’ve done a thousand times over my life; a routine that may have included more animals, or fewer, but a routine that is always the same. Screaming animals get feed first, followed by filling water troughs, then checked over for any signs of discomfort, disease or injury, and this night was no different.
With no lambs in the barn and it too cold to be brooding meat chickens the barn is fairly empty, save for the laying hens and Sophie. In less than 15 minutes everyone was bedded down for the night, or so I thought.
As I walked across the barnyard, breathing in deeply the cool crisp air and admiring a tea stained moon and stars that sparkled like diamonds on velvet I stopped—stopped dead in my tracks. The kind of stop that your body brings about, but your brain can’t figure out why. I stood like a stone, slowing looking around at what might have caused my reaction. I stared at the barn. Nothing came. I looked at the greenhouse, dark and silent, still nothing. Then, as I panned around the garden it hit me. WHERE WAS SOPHIE?
Now, Sophie is a large Sebastopol goose mind you, and unlike a small bantam hen that can easily get missed she is large. Her body is the size of a basketball and she is so white she fairly sparkles in the moonlight. But, on this night she was nowhere. I looked in the barn again. Nothing. I checked under the sweet pea bush (a favorite place). Nothing. I walked and called and peeked and poked, but still no sign of her. In a last ditch effort I stood very still, hands on my hips and called her name, which usually elicits a honk or two, but still not a peep was heard.
As night continued to darken the inevitable began to penetrate my consciousness…she had meet with a predator. There was no more to be done, sadly, so I slowly walked into the house and continued on with inside chores.
My mind kept going over every little detail. I had seen and heard her in the morning when I fed. When I come home from work she is either nibbling grass or sitting by the back door. She’s loud when she hears noise in the driveway or the house. And, when it’s lying season, which it is now, she is too nasty of a bitch to succumb to any small predator. What happened?
As I laid in bed that night I couldn’t help but feel sad. No farmer wants to or likes to lose an animal, but I have to admit that I was grateful for the fact that I would not have any orphaned goslings. We had bought her as a pair with a little gander five years ago, but he died shortly after we got him, so her eggs are not fertile.
The next day the early morning sun blazed through my bedroom window, bringing me out of a dead sleep. There in my drowsiness, that half awake half asleep state I heard that familiar honking. As I bolted out of bed there she was standing in the middle of the yard, bossy as ever. I quickly threw on some work clothes and ran out the back door, but by the time I arrived on the scene she was gone. I looked around, but saw nothing. She didn’t honk when I called her. I didn’t see her anywhere, so I began an inch-by-inch search of the whole place. I knew she was out there somewhere and by God I was going to find her.
After searching all the logical places I crept around the back of the greenhouse, almost on hand and knees. The greenhouse sits at the back of the property almost surrounded by an overgrown bougainvillea on the east side and a pepper tree, in dire need of a trim, on the south side. I worked my way through the tangle of vines and branches and THERE! nestled beneath the low hanging branches and tucked under the tangle of vines she sat on her nest. I was so relieved, at least for a split second.
It had been more than a week since I picked up the egg she laid near the raised vegetable beds. My thoughts immediate went to the number of eggs she could have in her clutch. If she laid one a day, which geese normally do, that meant she could have…1…2…3…4…5…6…SHIT, almost a dozen, if I calculate from the day I found that egg near the garden beds.
Relief is never without its own predicaments. Now I have to “unthrone” her, gather up all the eggs she’s laid and dispose of them because I can’t eat them, they’ve been outside too long, they won’t hatch because they aren’t fertile, but they will attract other animals, and if left too long they will spoil and stink up the place. Yep, there is nothing else to be done, but pull all the eggs out from underneath her. She’s gonna hate that. And, if history repeats itself I will be enjoying the attack of a hopping mad goose every time I walk outside for the next few weeks. Such is life with animals.
I am glad she’s not hurt though.
Labor Day Indeed!
I know it’s long past the Labor Day weekend and I am woefully late in posting anything on the blog, but it’s been one of THOSE months and it has barely just begun. Between working on the greenhouse (a pleasurable labor to be sure), starting a new job and family issues my days have not been my own lately. But—this post isn’t about sleepless nights or long days. It’s about a greenhouse and the future of growing things and the self sufficiency it brings.
Since Brianne left for college my sis and I, two single women farming in suburbia, have been trading weekend labors at each others house, and Labor Day Sunday was my day.
We started early, trying to get as much done as we could before the heat and uncharacteristic humidity drove us inside. The roof of the greenhouse went up earlier in the week. A clear poly corrugated style with a ridge cap and an old copper rooster weathervane I’ve been hauling around for decades. I think all farm building should have a weathervane. We concentrated on finishing the plank siding inside and out, measuring and cutting and nailing the rough hewn whitewashed boards, moving around each wall like two dancers floating over a shiny polished floor. I am always in awe at how in sync sis and I are when we undertake one of these projects. It’s like we can read each others mind, handing off tools before they are asked for, fetching more wood before the last piece has been used, refilling water glasses without request. I guess when you live around someone, work with someone for as long as we have you get a 6th sense about each other and you instinctively know what comes next.
The rhythm of the work was steady and somewhat mesmerizing because with no regard for the weather we worked straight through the day, not breaking for lunch and right into the evening. We finally stopped when the sun cast a long shadow over our work, making it hard to see in the dusk. There is some left to do, and of course stocking it with my garden supplies, tools, seeds and soil will be more fun than labor, but that is still a weekend away. We have a few trim pieces to put up and build the planting shelves, but for the most part the long awaited greenhouse is done.
By the time our heat wave breaks I may be ready to start a few early spring flowers, a cool weather garden or some fall veggies. I might even try my hand at wintering over a few tomatoes; fresh tomatoes at Christmas sounds wonderful.
Work is so much more fun when it is shared.
Moonlight Yoga and Moving On
I had the most wonderful evening last night. My dear friend, Anne, and I went to a moonlight yoga class at the beach. What a wonderful experience. We got to the park, over looking the ocean at about 7:45pm. The weather was cool and the fog was just beginning to roll in off the calm sea. The grass had just been mowed and the smell of sweetness mixed with the salt air made the evening even more relaxing. The class started out slowly with lots of easy stretches and deep breathing; just what I needed after these last few weeks of hectic schedules and preparations for Brianne leaving for college next month.
As the class progressed I could feel the tension in my body drift away. I have to admit I did think about my ability to move the next day, but frankly didn’t care I was having too much fun. The sun began to set and the fog thickened as we moved into longer and more difficult poses. We breathed in the damp air, looked out over the horizon and watched the stars get brighter. The moon began to shine, hanging low over the horizon. It was amazing…cool air, stars, moon, crashing waves. By the time the class finished darkness had fallen completely. We laid on our mats for a few moments longer, not wanting to leave this quiet place.
When I woke this morning I had none of the feared aches and stiffness I expected. I was refreshed and rejuvenated, eager to start a new day and a new way of living. This is my beginning of a life that does not revolve around sheep and shows and a daughter.
And, I am beginning in earnest. My long awaited greenhouse now has a floor and the walls will be finished by the end of the weekend. I will post pictures as we go. I’m excited about all of it. I can now keep my gardening supplies all in one place and the planned for patio on the front will be a nice place to sit and look out over the garden area. There’s so much I want to do there doesn’t seem to be time for it all, but I’m having fun making plans and setting projects in motion.
I’ll raise a glass tonight as I enjoy a country western swing concert followed by our annual fireworks display. Here’s to moving on into a new stage of life!
Caring for Garden Tools
garden tools © by Pleuntje
The tools you purchase for the garden and how well you maintain them will, in part, determine how enjoyable the gardening experience will be for you. With care, a spade or pitchfork or lopper can last a lifetime. The key, however, is regular maintenance. It only takes a few minutes at the end of a gardening day to clean a tool so it will be in good working order and easy to use the next time you need it.
To quickly and easily clean tools with teeth, blades or tines place a 5-gallon bucket near your tool shed, greenhouse or where ever you store your tools and it fill with clean sand. Now, mix in enough motor-oil so the sand is damp, about 2/3 of a quart. Each time you come in from the garden scrap off any excess dirt and plunge the tool into the oiled sand several times. The friction of the up and down motion will gently scrub and oil the tool, protecting it from rust and corrosion. Brush off the sand and the tool is ready for storage.
With each cleaning take the time to check the handle for cracks. Minor cracks can be wrapped with hockey-stick tape, found at most sporting goods stores. Start a few inches below where the crack begins and wind the tape tightly around the handle, overlapping with each turn, and ending several inches above the crack. Replace severely cracked or damaged handles before they break and a metal blade or head flies off injuring someone.
When tools are ready to store, don’t just throw them in a shed or garage, hang them up, off the floor so they don’t get damp during colder winter months.
Changes From Within
We are a small suburban homestead here—a few cloven hooves, a few mixed breed chickens, a rabbit, a garden with fruit trees and berry canes, and two wandering dogs.
The posts that hold the arbor fences also hold the laundry line. The lamb I roast for Sunday dinner is also the lamb that is chopped and sprinkled over kibble. The shells from the eggs I crack into omelets end up in the compost, and scraps of fresh salad greens and veggies are feasts for our feathered ones. So what was once waste, to be thrown into the trash, is now feed for future eggs or chicken salad or turned into garden soil. The system we have is simple, but it serves us well.
There is work yet to be done though; I’d like to have a greenhouse to extend our growing season, a pond with geese and Thanksgiving turkeys. But, for now there is a garden to turn and meat chicks to raise. There are the chores of switching from one season to another, lamb to sell, firewood to lie in and workshops to attend. Without really knowing how, it all seems to fall into place. It all, somehow, gets done.
As I think back on all we have accomplished, I realize that the real work of this farm is not the food we’ve grown or the skills we’ve learned: it’s us. I say this will all sincerity.
When you build a place into your life purpose it changes you; changes how you understand yourself. It humbles you, but not at the mercy of the main intention. There’s no room for ego when there’s a barn full of shit waiting to be shoveled. When I think back over how we have slowly turned an overgrown suburban lot into what we want it to be, I see confidence in who we are, strength in who Brianne will become, but also worries. I never used to think about Brianne going off on her own, wanting to make her own way. I know she wants her own place one day, but I think about how and where and when. I worry about tasks that are beyond my strength, being alone and having time to myself. Certain things subside over time, but some stay raw and exposed.
Maybe that’s just the growing part. Or, maybe this place is teaching me to mind my priorities and let logic win over emotion. I’m not quite sure. I do know one thing I’m happy in this life, feel at home on our little farm with the animals and home cooked meals. I can close my eyes, click my heels three times and settle in.
Perhaps we never really settle down into our lives. Maybe we just have to give our lives time to settle into us.
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