A Compost Post

Looking at the seed catalogs at this time of year, I'm tempted to send for a compost bin. Something plastic, guaranteed to keep things tidy and produce tons of lovely compost. Then I bring myself up with a start. My garden is simply not on that cute scale at all.

Why the manufactured compost container solution is so appealing is because nothing has broken down in my compost cage for months. It looks like garbage, because it is. Everything I could cover it with, like leaves, was frozen. For a few days now, it's stayed above freezing. Better yet, it was fifty degrees yesterday.

In addition to the cage, I have a Big Weeds Dump, where I throw spent tomato vines and their ilk over the back fence of the garden onto the steep hill. Those gnarly things will break down over a period of two years.

When I was exiled to the suburbs years ago, I bought a compost tumbler from a neighbor for twenty-five dollars. The guy who did the lawn maintenance for the nearby apartments told me he'd sold it to him. So it was not highly recommended. I did manage to produce some compost if I was careful with what went into it.

When I moved here,the composter had started to rust in the drum and the supports. I was not tempted to buy another one, especially for five hundred dollars. Having plenty of  old hog fencing, and no old hogs,  I bent a length of it in a semicircle and attached it to the garden fence posts. That is my cage. It was time to move it along the fence to the next spot. Thick fescue loved that cage and wouldn't let it go. I got out the shears and convinced that grass otherwise.

The top layer of the pile was full of garbage, but a ways down was compost. This stuff was along the edge of the pile.

This is one of my favorite tools, the big hoe head. I found it at my old farm when I moved there in 1977. In constant use in the gardening season, it has served me well, surviving a big flood and occasional neglect. But I digress.

First, I dumped a tub of leaves in the "new" cage, on top of the thick grasses in residence. Then I raked off the stuff from the pile that could be recognized as garbage. All went into the cage, along with several tubs of chicken bedding I had spread on the garden in the fall.

After a rather dry winter, the straw had not broken down much. The Bradford Pear at the end of the garden contributed leaves to the wonderful potential compost.

The beauty of my system is once I use the compost, the indomitable fescue has been smothered to death, leaving a new bed for planting flowers. To the right of the  pile are two former compost cage spots, now growing peonies, rudbeckia, irises and coreopsis.

Words cannot express how happy I was to actually do some gardening. Instead of dreaming about better soil, I mixed up some ingredients for a batch..

Geese flying high overhead showed me that even though it is still January, spring is on the way. I didn't quite understand why they were headed west.

Possums as Astronomy Buddies

Perhaps it's been a mistake, but I've been leaving snacks out for the two possums.

Whenever I feed Beau leftovers, he manages to barf them up, so the possums are getting them now, along with any cat food Oreo and Iris leave.

Why this may be a mistake is they are rather noisy on the back deck. They knock the bowls about and I have seen the big guy nipping the little one to protect his bowl. They make a noise like a little bark. All that causes Beau to bark quite loudly and spring into action, which startles me and the cats. The other night, I was stretched out on the couch in front of the wood stove, reading a book. Iris was on my lap. She bolted, getting purchase with her claws on my leg.

Last night, I was stargazing on the deck.  I went out early, all bundled up, to find some open clusters in the constellation Auriga seen in my star atlas. Auriga is quite far north and so is rather high as the night progresses. The little possum stayed in the corner, despite me moving the chair and tripod and gasping in delight at the myriad stars in Auriga. To the naked eye, or one wearing glasses, those stars are invisible.

I only wish I could have held the possum up to the eyepiece so it could have a look.

Today is the Winter Solstice

Only another gardener would understand why the Winter Solstice is important. No, we aren't doing any pagan rituals. It's the turning point toward Life and Living. That means a lot to a gardener.

After the Summer Solstice, we gardeners lose interest in gardening. Things don't want to grow well and  the soil is usually too dry. A Fall garden is usually a big waste of time and energy, with days still hot for the recommended cool crops. Plants sense the shift toward Death and Dying. It's Nature's way.

Now, the seed catalogs have started arriving. As usual, I don't look at them until Christmas Day. They are in a secure location, hidden from the Grinch. More should be arriving shortly.

Seed catalogs are some of my favorite presents.  I dream of them while cutting firewood. Incidentally, I cut, hauled and split 14 carts full, but a sudden really cold snap of minus 15 degrees both used up the wood and kept me from getting more. The ground is still covered with ice and snow, making my hills more than imposing.

Fortunately, a young cattle farmer nearby has come to my rescue. He's bringing a big truck load of wood tomorrow. For my money (literally) burning wood is cozier than burning propane.

Not looking at the catalogs or getting the seeds stash out does not preclude me from thinking about my veggie garden and flowers I might start indoors. These ideas are germinating in the warmth of the wood stove.

Happy Winter Solstice to all gardeners everywhere! May our numbers increase.

Chain Saw Grandma Returns

I'm concerned that the dog and cats are chilly with the furnace set to sixty degrees at night. Even though it's hard to get out of my cozy flannel sheets, their comfort is such a high priority that I am motivated to get up and get the fire going.

At last, the days are getting cool enough to cut firewood. The road dust is still a problem, but the time has come to run the chain saw.

Today, I cut up the sycamore limb that fell near the pond in the summer. I'm rather fond of sycamore for the sound it makes when knocked together, which is rather like bowling pins. It's quite heavy. I understand it won't split for anything, but I only cut the limbs. They are just my size. I'm not sure where sycamore stands on the BTU's scale, but maybe not knowing is better. Also, it doesn't seem to deteriorate. Best of all, it's very pretty, camouflaged in a distinctive way.

I cut these kindling pieces with the pruner. They are almost too gorgeous to burn. Last fall,  I wimped out and bought fire wood, on account of having that awful lingering cough. I was pretty much wiped out by it.

Now, I'm eager to start cutting wood. Because it's hard work, one load a day seems like plenty. One winter I kept a tally and cut 40 of these carts full.

I could buy wood again, but where's the fun in that?

A National Tragedy

To my readers around the world, I'd just like to apologize for the election outcome. How people could call themselves Conservative and yet vote for such a horrible creep is beyond me. Those of us who voted against Trump are huddled in shock, clinging to the hope that justice in his upcoming lawsuit will remove him from office. Having a loose cannon on deck does not make us feel secure.

Please don't think we are all idiots. He did not win the popular vote.

Tucked in for the Winter

That little bed has been planted. Several dozen daffodil bulbs are tucked in around the three transplanted daylilies and five butterfly weed bushes. To a non-gardener, this must look like some dirt and some plants sticking out of it. However,  I can see the daffodils in full bloom, nodding in the spring rain or even braving the last few snowflakes. It always snows on the daffodils. In my mind's eye, I can see the later flush of bloom from the daylilies and then the gorgeous butterfly weeds in yellow, orange and red, echoed by the marigolds that I'll plant along the edge.

My new auger made short work of planting the bulbs. Much better than the way I once did it. That required loosening the soil, running Tillie, scooping off the soil, placing the bulbs and then dumping the soil back on top. That was such fun that I only did it once, for a very limited amount of bulbs, like a dozen.

Had a little time out from gardening to have pneumonia. I blame the road dust for starting that.

Still awaiting more much-needed rain, but at least the cistern has rainwater and the pump delivers it.

Thinning the new spinach was lots of fun and I got plenty of thinnings to eat now. It's great to have anything growing in the garden after two light frosts. The El Dorado chard were eaten by bugs all summer, but have finally put on some growth. These darling volunteer lettuces may make it, and the garlic will overwinter for next year. The marigolds are still blooming, but another frost is forecast tonight. It's November, for Pete's sake, and they cannot go on forever.

Because the warm dry weather continued, I got a paint project going. Not perfect, but better. The old paint on the structure above the fruit cellar steps has been peeling for years. I decided I can't possibly look at it for another winter. It's the view from one of the windows. The paint was brown, one of my least favorite colors. I went with a pale green, the same color as my living room. The roof needs replacing, but this was what I could do. I scraped loose paint, nailed quantities of loose lap siding, added gobs of caulk, and ripped off the curling top boards.

The second coat was awaiting a bit of rain to dampen the horrific road dust, so I could breathe. I got a break when the wind shifted away from the road. Slapped on the second coat. It's as pretty as new paint.

A Feather Bed

Despite having a three-tiered roost and plenty of fresh straw for bedding down, the little crazies found a place they like more.

This won't work when they get much bigger. The nights are only in the sixties, so they must just want to cuddle with their friends. It doesn't appear that we have a rooster, so this must be a hen party that goes on into the night.

Magic Beans

Last year, I went to town and got a packet of Black-Eyed Peas.

In summer, I planted less than a dozen beans (they only call themselves peas to seem more appealing).

There wasn't anything on the packet to indicate they weren't what I was expecting, namely a bush bean. They started to grow, whereupon it became obvious that I'd been uninformed. First, they twined around a cage of green peppers, then cast an eye (they have plenty) toward the big daylily nearby. I hastily erected an opened-out tomato cage for them to climb up.

Before long, actually it was while I was sleeping, they had twined right up that. Next, the weight of the huge vines, leaves and long pods of beans caused that fence to fall over, blocking the path for the remainder of the summer. Since I love black-eyed peas, I let them continue.

The disappointing part, however, was most of the beans were tinged with brown flecks due to our humid summer. Hulling them was a lot of bother when most were spoiled.

They were trying. The kindest thing to do was to let them carry on until frost. Today, I started cutting them free from the fencing and the pepper cage. That's when it became apparent that I had in fact purchased Magic Beans.

Most of the vines were over ten feet long, great strapping monsters that probably would have reached the clouds if they'd had something like a cell phone tower to twine around.

Tossing the remainder of the packet out of the window, I vowed to never grow them again.

Frost Tonight

Frost warning, so that's it for the summer garden. The chicks will be sad because they have been feasting on largish zucchinis for some time now. The baby cantaloupes set an extra round of melons but most won't ripen. Even the possum isn't interested in them when they are under ripe.

The green peppers are always in fine form finally when the frost finishes them off. From an avalanche of vines, these tomatoes were the only ones that may ripen in a dark closet. The potatoes were a lovely surprise. I didn't get them all dug in a timely manner, so they put on new plants and gave birth to babies. I'll enjoy new potatoes and old potatoes, too.

The last blooms of summer were the tall zinnias. They took their sweet time in growing, for some moody reason. Now that the end is near, they burst into bloom and have loads of buds that will be zapped tonight.
Dahlias and Gaillardias were still growing strong, too.

The spinach and mystery Toy Choys are up, so winter isn't here yet. It always seems a short time between the heat of summer and cold nights. Probably because we have basically two seasons, hot and cold. However, there will be some lovely days between now and the first snow.

It's a Start

After some nice rain settled the road dust, I'm back at the Great Hillside Project. The bees were finished with the White Heath Asters. One bee did come around while I was cutting them down. I did a little dance to show her there were lots more in the nearby fields. However, I don't believe we both have the same choreographer.

Before the rain, I ran Tillie over the hand-dug parts. I transplanted four of the Butterfly Weed shrubs, now dormant. I was surprised to find they have big roots, most of which are still in the ground.

I started them from seed one year. They were pretty. The next spring, I guessed they weren't going to show up, so I planted some new daylilies there. Surprise! Not wishing to play favorites, I let them all try and duke it out.

Now they can have enough room. I'll plant some of those daffodils around them, so I'll have some pretty blooms while waiting for them to break dormancy, rather late. They are like me, not early risers. Perhaps they are also into astronomy that keeps them up late.

The scrawny bamboo markers show the curve of the planned bed. Most of the weeds now are English Plantain, a solid carpet of them. The moles have kindly helped with the excavation and will no doubt come back when I have everything planted.

Speaking of planting, today I found the seed packet from the Toy Choy bok choy. Wish I'd seen it before I used the saved seeds to plant lots of them the other day. I thought  they were open pollinated, but they are hybrids. Who knows what I'll get for all my trouble. I did plant some Melody spinach for spring. It always does better with a fall planting, if I'm not running terribly late. The heat just passed a few days ago.

It was 36 degrees this morning, so Jack Frost is probably going to call soon. The sweet potato vines have taken over the tomato planting and lots of the garden. Hopefully, there are a few tubers in there.

These marigolds in the garden make my eyes glad to look at them.

From four plants, I now have many square feet of autumn blooms, really finer than mums, which are so fleeting and lots more expensive. These are Hero Mix, a much better bargain, $1.50 from Pinetree Garden Seeds. They've been in bloom all summer. Rich, beyond my wildest dreams.