Why Should the Birds have All the Fun?

It's that time of year when fields burst into yellow dandelion blooms and balls of fluffy sheep hair. The sheep are in full shed and rubbing against fences.

Birds are swooping down and gathering bits of white, tan, red and black fiber for their nests.

This year, I gathered some for myself and used the sheep hair for container gardening.

I grow herbs in pots near the back porch. While big pots of herbs look impressive, they can be back-breaking to move.

When foam packing peanuts were used in packaging, my mother reused them at the bottom of pots. They were lighter than soil and allowed for drainage.

This year, after seeing a posting on Facebook, I decided to give sheep hair fiber a try.

I put it in the bottom of the pots and then poured potting soil on top.

Last night, frost was predicted. As I was carrying the pots inside, I thought, "Coats! I should have felted the plants some coats."

Photo of hair sheep in various stages of shedding.

How Many Border Collies Does it Take?

The sun was shining. Temperatures were in the 50s. I had the day off work. It seemed the perfect time to plant my spring-blooming bulbs--and to spend some time with the dogs.

About five minutes into the project, I was questioning the wisdom of gardening with dogs.

While tucking crocuses into the ground, Gael, the 4-month-old Border collie, snatched my glove and darted across the yard.

Glove retrieved and crocuses planted, I moved to a different spot where I attempted to dig. Gael was front and center, right where I wanted to dig.

Then she wanted to participate. She dug in the dirt,upsetting recently planted bulbs.

Meanwhile, Emma stared at the cat.

And Raven stared at the back door, hoping some dog would exit.

Because I'm planting so late in the fall, I don't know if the bulbs will come up in the spring.

If they do, I'm sure they'll have that natural, fall-where-they-may look, and that they'll make me smile and remember the day I attempted to plant bulbs with Border collies.

The Zucchini Solution

Mama Hen and her three chicks inspect a tomato, their first of the season.

Because it is summertime, and I have a garden and a flock of chickens, I am a picky produce eater.

When I find three zucchinis that grew a foot overnight, I don't make them into bread or mix them with cheese and bread crumbs. I simply break them in two and toss them over the fence to the chickens who cluck in delight.

Is that cucumber past its prime? Over the fence to the chicken yard it goes.

Tomato have a spot on it? The mama hen and chicks will love it.

In my Before Chicken years I felt compelled to use or give away everything I grew in the garden. The 2-ft. long zucchinis and bushels of tomatoes that I had no time to process took away the joy of gardening and eating fresh produce.

But now that I have chickens, I take joy in tossing the excess and damaged produce over the fence and watching them gobble it up. And, I can savor the six-inch tender zucchini, the perfectly ripe tomato, the crunchy, snack-sized cucumber.

The Killer Frost

Weeks ago, I succumbed to temptation of warm days in early spring and planted eggplants, peppers and herbs that I usually plant in late May.

Last night I was in the garden, assessing the damage from a hard, late spring frost.

The buckwheat that I'd planted as a cover crop died. As did the pepper plants that were covered with just a light layer of straw. The potato plants that were peeking through the straw are questionable.

The eggplant and basil that I'd covered with a heavy layer of straw survived. And, of course, the peas are thriving.

And so I did what gardeners have been doing for generations.

I spent the evening in the garden. Mornings that produce frosts often turn into bright, sunshiny days and calm evenings that linger into sunset. It was a perfect evening to be outdoors.

I pulled weeds that survived the frost quite well, and I dug in the dirt and marveled at the earthworms, and watched the lambs romp in the pasture, and listened to the birds. I planted tomatoes in the dead buckwheat patch and made plans for more plants.

My Green Thumb Turns Red

Among the new tries for this year's garden was popcorn.

It loved my garden, and grew and grew, then turned brown, the full ears drying on the stalk. I harvested it last week and had two paper backs full of mahogany red ears.

I could leave the corn on the ears. When I want a snack, all I'd have to do is grab an ear, stick it in a paper bag and zap it in the microwave.

But ears of corn take up a lot of space.

So I opted to save some whole ears for popping and began shelling the rest. Removing the kernels from the cob made by thumb sore. I put on gloves. It helped, somewhat.

After filling two jars, I called it quits. My thumb was quite red and beginning to blister.

Corn shelling will have to wait a few more days.

A Midwinter Treat

Today, digging fork in hand, I stepped into the garden and removed several flakes of straw.

Underneath the straw, I found unfrozen ground and bits of green.

So I dug and unearthed worms and dirt and parsnips.

I'll roast them and eat them and pat myself on the back for not getting all of my gardening tasks done in late fall.

If only the rabbits were like Louie...

My grass-growing project is going amazing well.

This morning, I brought the grass container inside so that Louie the Cat could graze.

After Louie ate Lily earlier this summer (click here for blog), I grew a plot of rye and wheat for Louie's dining pleasure.

It sits on the back porch, next to the containers of basil and spinach. Once it grows several inches tall, I bring it indoors and present it to Louie.

Over the course of a few days, he grazes it down to a few inches tall.

Then I take it outdoors where it grows again. We've repeated this process three times in the last month.

If only the rabbits could graze like him.

This morning, I went to water the lettuce I planted a few weeks ago. When I reached the spot between the asparagus and parsnips, I stopped.

Where was the lettuce?

I oriented myself -- a necessity when the sunflowers and tomato plants are taller than me.

Yep, I was where the lettuce was supposed to be. Kneeling down, I examined the ground and found little green stems even with the dirt.

I will have to plant again... or learn to love wheat and rye.

The Volunteers of the Year

Each year, I appreciate the volunteer tomato plant, dill weed and parsley.

Their seeds lie hidden under winter's snow until, under the spring sun, they sprouted and grew, often a little faster than the weeds.

Sometimes, I pluck them before they have a chance to mature. Other times, I leave them and spend the summer wishing they weren't growing in the middle of a row.

The volunteer garlic is already curing for winter -- and the onion has been sauteed and eaten with the planned spinach.

But one group of volunteers really outdid themselves this year.

I was late tending the garden this spring. When I found them, the sunflowers were a few inches tall.

So I let them grow and grow and grow.

They grew taller than the fence.

And then they bloomed, adding their sunshine to the morning sky.

Watching the Zucchini Grow

I noticed the two thumb-sized green fruits a few days ago.

Ah, the first zucchini of summer. I must watch them and pick them when they are six inches long, with tender skins and few seeds. I'll saute them with a little onion in butter and olive oil.

While zucchini is easy to grow, it takes constant vigilance. Those summer squash grow unnoticed under the cover of leaves until... BOOM! They're ginormous. Zucchinis that grow past a foot long are only good for chicken food.

Every year my chickens eat a lot of zucchini.

So twice a day, I inspect the zucchini vines.

The fruits don't seem to be growing.

Could it be that "a watched zucchini never grows?"

One Potato, Two Potato

Red potato, blue potato. Little potato, ginormous potato.

Grow your own vegetables, and you'll soon discover that they don't always look and taste like what's on the the grocery store shelves.

This year, I grew blue potatoes. While delicious and colorful, none were bigger than a tennis ball.

My sweet potatoes, on the other hand, grew to ginormous proportions.

I began digging them up yesterday and was surprised to find that some were six, eight, ten inches long, and had girths to match. As for taste? Oh so sweet.

They were such a nice complement to red tomato, black tomato, green tomato, striped tomato.

The Fall Garden

As the sunflowers drop their seeds on the ground, I, too, am planting seeds in the ground.

Years ago I discovered fall vegetable gardening. The lettuce, spinach, beets and peas that grow so well in late spring, also grow well in early fall.

Many times I've enjoyed fresh lettuce and spinach into November -- and once, in December.

Last year, during the drought and heat, I coaxed a little lettuce and spinach to sprout and grow. But I also battled the rabbits who also were looking for something tender and green.

This year, thanks to rain and cooler weather, I don't expect that problem.

I planted beets, kohlrabi, lettuce, spinach and peas on Sunday.

This morning, I found this.

Cat Training

I can train a cat to come when called, to ring the bell to go outside, to fall over when I say bang, to sit, to tap the ball.

But I can't train him to differentiate between the songbird and the starling, or the dandelion and the dill.

Trick the Barn Cat has made the garden his summertime home.

It's the perfect home for a curious cat. The fence protects him from rambunctious Border collies, yet offers him a view of the chickens and sheep and humans.

The sleeping choices are abundant. I've found him lounging in the shade of sunflowers, on the straw around the potatoes, or in the dirt by the tomatoes.

Best of all, it's the one spot where he can get my undivided attention. He rolls in front of me while I'm weeding, twirls in the rows I'm trying to plant, and walks on the newly-sprouted beans. I pick him up, move him, pet him.

This morning, when I entered the garden with a hoe, I didn't see him. Maybe weeding could be a 20-minute job.

But within a minute he was trotting from the barn to the garden. He strolled in front of me and the hoe, rolled and mewed.

And I realized I'd train him perfectly to do what I didn't want.

The Garden Surprise

For weeks, the squash, melon and tomato plants sat on the back porch. I watered them daily and waited for the soil to dry.

Last night, I began planting.

Midway through planting the vine crops, I reached for a plant and noticed a toad, moist and plump. Then I saw the disturbed soil by one of the plants.

Apparently in the past few weeks, she'd made the melon plant on the back porch her home. Apparently the trip to the garden and movement of plants awoke her, and she emerged from her home in a new place.

I wanted the melon plant, but I wanted toady to have a home.

"Stay there, girlie," I told her as I stuck the melon plant in the ground. I filled a plant container with loose, warm moist soil and returned the toad and cardboard tray to the back porch.

Weeding the Plantless Garden

As I knelt among the thistles and weeds this weekend, I thought how silly it was that I was weeding a garden that had so few plants. It's been too wet to do much gardening this spring.

A corner of the garden dried enough so that I could stick onion sets in the ground. I have a few rows of lettuce, spinach and beets popping through the soil.

The potatoes await planting. I haven't prepared the sweet potato rows. The ground is still too wet to be worked.

Tomato, pepper and squash plants are usually sitting on the back porch awaiting Mothers' Day plantings. This year, I haven't even thought about buying them yet.

Gardening and farming teach patience and flexibility. I'm getting lessons in those by the bucketloads this spring as the rain keeps falling.

Two Perspectives

"Might not want to go into the barn just now," I tell my spouse.

Trick the Barn Cat found a nest of bunnies in the garden. I suspect he named them breakfast, lunch and dinner. I didn't ask. I was glad he was doing his job.

The spouse wasn't. He goes into the barn, retrieves the bunny and returns it to the nest.

"Do you think we should put wire mesh around the nest so the cat can't get the bunnies?"

Standing in the garden, among the rows of lettuce, spinach and beets that didn't "germinate," I stare at him.

Garden Planting: First Seeds

As I dropped pea and spinach seeds into the cool, damp earth on Saturday, I thought of how I'd welcome the first taste of homegrown garden greens in late spring. But I'm sure I'll never greet them with the anticipation my ancestors did a century ago. By the time the greens and peas were ready for harvest, they would have gone months without fresh green vegetables.

What were their thoughts as they dropped the seeds into the earth, covered and watered them, and waited? Did they approach the task with joy, anticipation, hope or worry?

Digging Potatoes

I'd been putting off digging potatoes for weeks. With the weather being so dry, I wasn't looking forward to digging into the ground. But yesterday was cool and sunny, and I knew I finally had to tackle the task. I was rewarded twice for the efforts. The soil, underneath the mulch, was moist and crumbling, perfect for digging around the ground for potatoes. Within an hour, I had three boxes of yellow and red potatoes. I also found a marble -- clear glass, with stripes of green, and a chip out of the side. For a moment, I paused and studied the marble, and wondered when it had been dropped on the ground and lost. Did the child look in the grass for hours for the missing orb? And, did the child mourn its loss? For how many years did the marble sit on the grass, in the ground, before I found it? What will I lose and leave behind that will have people pause and stop and wonder?

The Garden in September

My garden consists of three tomato plants, three rows of potatoes and a row of sunflowers. I can't bear pulling up perfectly healthy, producing tomato plants. Yet, I vowed weeks ago that I will make no more sauce nor can tomatoes. After eating a few each day, I toss the rest to chickens who eagerly await something juicy and sweet. The potatoes lie in waiting. I'd planned to dig them six weeks ago, but held off until we received enough rain to soften the ground. I'm still waiting. The sunflowers lost their yellow petals and green leaves weeks ago. Yet the stalks still hold the bowed heads. I need to behead them before the stalks weaken and the seeds fall to the ground. I choose that as my afternoon task. After lopping off the head of a sunflower plant, I plucked a seed and stuck it in my mouth. I hope the chickens didn't see the look of disappointment on my face moments before I tossed the sunflower head to them.

Watering the Cracks

We haven't had much rainfall for weeks. Dust clouds follow the sheep as they trot to the faraway alfalfa field. Each evening, I check my little patch in the garden where I planted spinach seeds. The plants aren't quite an inch high. As I water them, I gaze at the cracks that snake through the garden, threatening to gobble up those tender young plants. How much water would it take to fill those cracks?

The Sunflowers

The sunflowers are the bright spot in my garden right now.

They reach six-feet tall, maybe higher, and greet the morning sun. I can't help smiling when I see them, and I wonder if the chickens and humans will fight over the seeds come fall.

Everything else demands my attention. I harvest the cucumbers, green beans, and onions. I pull weeds and squish the cabbage worms that seem intent on devouring my plants.

While holding seven summer squashes, I wonder why I planted them. I enjoy the occasionally squash, and the harvest is far more than that. I throw the squash to the ground and stomp on it. Picking up the flattened squash, I toss it to the chickens who eat it greedily.

"You can't have the sunflowers," I tell them.