“Who needs a telephone? This (he took a pinch of tobacco from a pouch) is my communication. Better than any telephone. Telephone carries your voice around the earth, not up to the Creator. You don’t need a telephone to talk to the Creator. When we want to talk to the Creator we burn tobacco and it takes our prayers all the way up to the Sky World. What telephone can do that?” ~ Louis Farmer, Onondaga Nation

Peaches, cherries, pears, blueberries, and fig.

Refugees from the old beach road. They are all planted now.

]]> https://wildmuse.net/hobbity-homestead/feed/ 15 https://wildmuse.net/roses-and-nails/ https://wildmuse.net/roses-and-nails/#comments Fri, 11 Jun 2010 17:39:43 +0000 http://wildmuse.net/?p=664 Continue reading →]]> The entire contents of the studio and library, old book pages, works in progress, and art supplies, are still in boxes and bins waiting to be moved and reorganized. I’ll have to content myself with garden photographs, beginning with the ridiculous amount of allotment pictures from a recent trip to Boston. The light, the sky, the weather, and the scarcity of other wandering bodies made it a perfect day for taking photographs. There are a few more in my previous post and a full set on Flickr.

 Although I would never again wish to live in a city, I have a fascination with small urban gardens and allotments. There is such an abundance of charm in small gardens with their clever use of structures and strategic plantings. The victory gardens on the Fenway create an oasis in the midst of crowds, cars, and chaos.

There are rusty nails and thorny branches all over the posts and gates. I know they are there to discourage vandals and thieves yet no less beautiful and sculptural in this context.

Sometimes we have to say goodbye though. I said farewell and all that to one of my favorite works titled Rabbit, pictured in a new frame chosen to match a lovely new home. This has been a running theme for the past few weeks. I wonder if the “rabbits” are trying to tell me something.

Gnome and nastursiums…

…and bees

Potted thingies inside the sun shed.

Lovingly bundled sage waiting to be hung up.

The spiral path is overgrown and bursting with color.

Alpine strawberries, wild celery, and parsley are in their prime time. The hot peppers show no signs of stopping. They are still producing generous bounty in spite of the much cooler weather and early frosts. The combination of hoop houses, raised beds, and lots of compost is like a small season extending miracle.

Lettuce beds

Newly planted garlic beds and my mum foraging for lettuce in the background. :)

The head mason is my mother who is 70 years old and loves to build walls and paths out of stone. She doesn’t just design and supervise. She does the actual lugging and building. The stone path leads out to the sandy beach road and we’ve left the entrance open. No gate. There is an enclosed fence around the main garden in the back so I’d like to leave the front open if possible. It’s friendlier. We’ll see how well the neighborhood dogs behave.

I’ve also photographed our medicinal plants since it’s harvest time. I’m about to take most of them out of the garden to dry or otherwise store for the winter. Many will last through the fall a few will live through the winter in cold frames. This is my kind of health insurance. Build your own and grow your own. Self sufficiency and simplicity. I learned this from my parents. Hopefully, if I follow this path, I’ll be lugging big rocks around and planting trees when I am 70. Hmm. That didn’t come out quite right but I think you know what I mean. I’d like to keep that option.

Sage

Mint

Wild Strawberries. They look homely but they are so good.

Echinacea

Dandelion Greens.

Oregeno

Cat Mint!

Raspberry Leaves.

Lavender

Comfrey

Rhubarb

Heavenly Blue Morning Glories. ;)

Purslane

Chamomile

Basil

Jalapenos & Cayenne

Parsley, Rosemary, Chives, Heather, Lavender, Garlic, Dill, Mullein…

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Orange “sungold” tomatoes. They taste like candy.

Pesto!

Bees love sunflowers.

The new front garden planted with evergreens, heather, and mums for fall.

Hibiscus flowers as big your face. Kids love these.

Foxglove

Marigolds and clover.

Hot hot hot peppers. Cayenne, jalapeno, chili, and banana peppers. We do so love our peppers.

Parsley, basil, mint, chives, onions, garlic, lettuces, wild celery, raspberries, strawberries, cucumbers, tomatoes, hot peppers, grapes, dandelion greens, radishes, nasturtium, purslane, and rhubarb in abundance. We may get a few eggplants and figs in the fall. Blueberries and sunflower seeds are a possibility if the birds will allow. We’ve planted pear trees and I have one little avocado tree that may survive in a cold frame. I’ve been saving up all the excess for winter like a good little squirrel. Canning, drying, and pickling. C.P.’s next project is the cold frame. Between that and the new shed, I’m fascinated to see what I will be able to grow and harvest through the winter. Last year, we harvest mache, beets, radishes, and parsley through the winter in open beds with nothing but a frost cover so I think we will squeeze quite a nice harvest of fresh food out of a cold frame.

Lack of mossiness aside, the rest of our garden is thriving and the micro-climate we created has held up well to the elements. We are still working on the dry laid stone wall that will go all the way around the garden and up the hill. Last night we had an unexpected frost. It’s an ironic May Eve gift for gardeners, a sort of literal “May Day” for the seedlings and bulbs just beginning to bloom. I put tomatoes, peppers, and basil in the potting shed and lit all of the votive candles I could find.

The mossy path and spring tulips in the front garden.

The dry laid wall in progress.

The beginnings of a strawberry patch and phlox with rocks.

Pesto and salsa hiding in the potting shed.

We live on sand. The bare space is 24 x 24 feet with nothing planted on it. Purslane grows there every spring and every summer we eat it and then the patch is bare again. My plan is to lay out a spiral path with flagstones that I’ve been collecting and then to see what will grow there other than purslane.

I’m still floating in the mist. I think it’s called a brain fog. The signs of life I refer to are (unfortunately) not mine. Not yet. They are outside, here on the coastal homestead among the flora and fauna and wildlife. Spring flowers, mint, oregano, garlic, purslane, parsley, dandelions, sage, spring onions, rhubarb, and asparagus are all peeking up now. My fig tree and wisteria survived the winter and have new buds. There are signs and indications that I will join them soon. Last week began the long slow tease of a spring which never quite arrives. Then it will be summer. We’ll sneak in gardening days whenever the sun miraculously appears or the whip winds of a sudden storm off the Atlantic. I love it though, living and gardening on a cliff by the sea. It’s like resistance training for the spirit.

The compost came out better than I had hoped and there is plenty of it. Rich and black. Nitty gritty down and dirty with the earth is what really wakes me up and gets me going. Solar power also helps. My cozy by the fire evenings and lazy daze of winter woolgathering are over though…until December.

Wild turkey trot through the garden.

Nemo is fascinated.

“Those are the biggest chickens I ever saw!”

Starting the season.

Transplanting seedlings from greenhouse trays to beds and containers.

Daffodils and driftwood.

We created a micro-climate by hollowing out a bowl for a sunken garden and surrounding it with a stone wall, then installing raising beds filled with generous amounts of organic compost. We still need these walls-o-water to plant tomatoes and peppers. Otherwise the season would be too short to yield fruit. Everything else grows fine in the beds with just an occasional frost cover or extra windbreak.

Garlic! Planted last fall and ready to eat soon. Repels vampires too. So very handy.



Dandelions for dinner.

Layer, glaze, layer, glaze, cut apart, reassemble, layer, glaze, layer, glaze, cut apart, reassemble, and repeat indefinitely…usually until the rare moment of lucidity or financial inclination motivates me to stop long enough for something to be released from this eternal cycle of construction and destruction. It hasn’t happened lately. Now if only I could combine composting with art making. That would be heaven. Hmmm…