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The Stylish Gardener

The Pergola Project

1/14/2018

1 Comment

 
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I know winter seems like a strange time of year to do outdoor projects, but remember, I've never claimed to be normal. And with the garden asleep and the animals as dormant as they get, it's about the only time we have to get some much-needed projects finished.

Speaking of finished, my old grapevine pergola was just that. A salvaged piece, it was all that remained after a fire destroyed a lovely old home in our little town, and it had found a new home (scorch marks and all) at my new old home several years ago.

But all good things must come to an end, and the end finally came for my beloved pergola after the years of deterioration finally took their toll. Unfortunately, as the pergola was withering away, my grapevines twining up it were hitting their stride. I feared the inevitable collapse would not only mean the end of the pergola, but also the end of the grapevines. And that meant an intercession was needed.

So, enter my husband, who in one day of hard work, cleared out the old pergola and built me a new one. And just like that, the project was finished and the problem was solved.
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And I was beat. After all, I did most of the heavy lifting...oh wait, I meant heavy breathing.

All I know is that the little bit of help I gave him caused a lot of huffing and puffing on my part, for the most part.
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But there were parts that weren't too difficult for me to do, like tightening down screws...
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Steadying up the frame while smiling at the camera...
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And taking photos of my husband as he calculated measurements in his head, marked out exact lines, and shot exasperated looks in my direction as I clicked off the pics and chatted incessantly about the cold damp air and forecasted snow.

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But he still loves me, and I love my new pergola...and him, of course.

And I can't wait to sit out beneath it this summer, watch the grapevine leaves flutter in the breeze, and dream about getting our next project finished. Or more ideally, dream about my husband getting our next project finished.

Oh, I'll help him, of course. I just hope the weather's a bit more comfortable and I'm a bit more in shape.

Huffing and puffing is so unladylike.
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Breaking New Ground

6/26/2016

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I love seeing my husband on a tractor.

Especially if he's on the tractor and doing work of some kind. 

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Like raking a section of field that our friend Tom plowed for us earlier in the spring.

This area had not been plowed for years, if ever, so we quite possibly were actually breaking new ground.  And if you know anything about breaking new ground for a garden, you know it is hard work. 

Hence the tractor.  I'd rather use our well-worn 1959 ​International Harvester to do all that work than my well-worn 1975 not-getting-any-younger body.

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And speaking of bodies...the one belonging to my husband seems to be shaping up nicely, post-broken leg. 

Pardon my catcall.​

​Sorry, I couldn't help myself.  I do love seeing my husband standing in a newly prepared garden plot. 

But enough standing around, Honey.  There's work to be done...​

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Aahh, that's more like it.  He's sowing kale, which is what he decided needed to be planted in our new garden.  This is after he discovered kale smoothies, and then followed that by discovering and smoothie-ing my small kale patch to smithereens. 

He's a kale addict.  And he needs lots of kale to feed his habit. 

Could be worse.​

He planted the majority of this area with his beloved kale, and then I planted ​the remainder with my beloved "Three Sisters": corn, pumpkins, and pole beans.  In the past I've had great results with this ages-old planting scheme used by the Native Americans and named for how the plants assist one another. 

Although in this case, there wasn't nearly enough assisting going on.

​The first year planting in a new garden is always iffy, and if only we'd known how hot and dry the spring would be, we might have waited until fall to plant this area.

I guess my next-to-nothing Native American ancestry wasn't enough for me to see that coming.

But I can do a mean rain dance...except clearly I forgot to do it this year.  ​ ​

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The kale grew well, but the corn dried completely up.  I think there are a few beans and pumpkins straggling along, although I doubt we'll harvest much from them.

Oh well.  At least the area has been cultivated, and if all goes as planned, I'll be able to sow our winter greens there later in the summer. 

That's how gardening goes around here, if round one fails, there's always round two!​

Maybe I can get my handsome husband back on the tractor--I'd so enjoy watching him make those rounds again!

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Clearing The Fence

2/20/2016

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I'm covered in scratches, my muscles are so exhausted they're quivering, and I'll most likely break out in a poison ivy rash within the week, but I'm happy.

An eyesore in my yard is gone, and I feel like celebrating!  But before I get the party started, I should probably explain what the fuss is all about...


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Once upon a time there was a barbed-wire fence.  This fence ran the western length of my yard between these large trees, alongside the swing set and parallel to my house. The fence was so broken-down, patched up, and overgrown with brush that for the past five years I've done my best to avoid looking at it.  I couldn't just get rid of it though, because it was somewhat of a necessary evil:  The fence marked a boundary, dividing our yard from the rental property next door. 

As much as I hated it, I needed it even more.

I do like my privacy.  And there was so much other work to be done to the property that improving this highly-neglected privacy fence was extremely low priority.

But priorities tend to shift, and this past fall I claimed that rental for myself and transformed it into a much-needed studio workshop.  Hence, the much-needed fence became much-less needed.

Yippee!!

With the recent onset of some unseasonably warm winter weather, and with the help of my pole saw, bolt cutters, and my husband's chainsaw, I ripped that ugly fence out all the way down to the far corner of the backyard.

It felt so good.

Here's the corner of the backyard before I started clearing...
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Oh boy.  Ugly may not be a strong enough word.

Quick, scroll on down to this...

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Okay, this is better.  Still needs a lot of work, but I have to wait until my husband gets off  work before I can clear anymore--he's better with the chainsaw than I am. 

And just to make myself feel better about showing you these awful photos, let me show you this...


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This is the opposite side of the backyard, which a few years ago closely resembled the side I just showed you. 

I like this side better.

But once I finish the side I'm working on now, I may change my mind.  It really is amazing what a little elbow grease and a lot of hard work can do. 

I have to remind myself of that every now and then.  But let's get back to the western frontier...

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Before I could even think about yanking out the fence, I had to find it.  And that meant clearing out the brush that hid it.  So, armed with my arsenal of take-no-prisoners tools, I headed into battle and within minutes had accumulated a brush pile of epic proportions.  It was massive, and unfortunately, it was also in my way. 

Every once in a while I wish I was good at thinking things through ahead of time.

The pile had to be moved.  Aye-yi-YI!  As if I needed anything else to do...

So here's what I did.  My obsessive-compulsive side flared up, and I decided if I had to move the pile, I might as well do it in an organized fashion. 

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I huffed and I puffed, and I managed to move the pile, eventually stacking all the trees so they faced the same direction. 

Ahhh...who knew organizing a brush pile could feel so good?


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Good thing I enjoy hard work, because the pile just kept on growing.

As I cleared all this brush, the fence finally became visible, although only slightly so due to the rampant honeysuckle, wild grape, and poison ivy vines that had entangled it.


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I managed to cut away the vines, and with the help of my bolt cutters, eventually the fence, which I then rolled into a makeshift ball that we'll eventually roll on over to the recycling center.



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Finally, I piled all the rotten boards that I uncovered into a heap of their own.  I'll salvage what I can and burn the rest whenever the wind decides to die down.

But for now, I'm basking in the freedom that freeing up space bestows on those who accomplish it.  And it's tasks like these that make me feel like I've accomplished something, whether it's clearing an overgrown fence or cleaning out a cluttered cabinet--of which I have plenty.  I'm just waiting for a rainy day to come along before I tackle them. 

Or so I keep saying.  But as long as the weather stays nice, I'd rather play outside.

And speaking of playing outside, that celebration I mention earlier comes to mind...and I'm thinking "bonfire". 

I certainly have more than enough fuel for one!


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Building A Pallet Fence

1/9/2016

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Although I love my newest vegetable garden, after spending most of last season fending off hungry rabbits, curious geese, and one very greedy turkey, it became clear that I needed to replace its temporary fence with a more permanent one--and this one had to be varmint-proof.
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I love the look of the pallet fence I built around my older garden, and I especially love the cost--a whopping $7! And that was for the screws and a fence post.  The pallets were free, and any boards I used came from our scrap lumber pile.  The fence isn't perfect, but since nothing else around here is either, it fits in just fine.  You can imagine after building that first garden fence so inexpensively, I had no desire to spend a lot of money on this second one.  And thanks to my resourceful Uncle Curt, my dedicated dad, my handy husband, and my sweet son, I didn't have to. 
Since Uncle Curt seems to have an endless supply of pallets (and anything else you could ever think to need), his house was where I headed first.  My dad brought his truck and trailer, and as soon as we pulled in the driveway Curt hopped in his bobcat and headed down to his massive pallet pile.  He wasted no time loading Dad's trailer, or maybe I should say overloading Dad's trailer, with stack after stack of pallets.  The higher the stack grew, the more worried my cautious dad looked.  Or vice versa, since I got the feeling that the panic in Dad's face only spurred that ornery Uncle Curt on.  It was quite comical actually, and only ended when my dad finally reached the breaking point and began wildly waving his arms while nervously shouting, "Enough!".  Curt killed the engine, grinned mischievously, and then innocently asked, "What do you mean?  I can get twice that many more on there!".  Dad shot him a sideways glance, Robert Redford-style, and quietly reached for the strap ropes. 
After a precariously slow and wobbly trek home, we unloaded the pallets by the shed, where they could wait for me until I could find time to put them to use.  That time finally came just before Christmas, when our activities were finally winding down for the year.  One sunny December morning while cooking breakfast, I told my husband that I intended to get that fence built before the sun set in the winter sky.  Ok, maybe I didn't say it quite that poetically, but you get my point.  Later, as I headed outside toward the garden, lost in fence-building thought, I was startled to discover my husband and son busily working away, with two sides of the fence already constructed!

How wonderful!  And thoughtful...and helpful.  I wish all my chores went like that.

Although I adore my family, they do have other demands on their time so there's a fat chance of that happening very often.  But in this particular case, here's how this one did.  (Happen, I mean.):

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Geoffrey carried the pallets down one by one and laid them around the perimeter of the garden, and William carried the fence posts down two by two and laid them by the pallets.

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Then Geoffrey stood the pallets up, boards running horizontally, and drove a post down through the slot between the boards of every third pallet or so.  The corners got two posts each, because they're special.  And also they require special support to handle pressure from two sides.


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For those pallets without a post, he wired them to their neighbor, creating a sturdy line of fence that would protect my plants and even corral livestock if I chose to use the area that way.

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The finished fence took only a few hours to build, if that, and it cost me about $20--the bulk of which was spent on the fence posts.  I know that's more than double what I spent on the first fence, but I'm not upset.

I'm thrilled, actually.  For twenty dollars I got my garden protected and ready for spring, I gained a nice addition to my homestead landscape, and I got to spend quality time working with beloved family members.  I'd say I got quite the bargain--a priceless one at that!

Now all I need is a gate...after all, a fence is only as good as its gate!  Or something like that.


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Breaking Ground

6/13/2015

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One vegetable garden is simply not enough for me anymore.  I realize I sound slightly silly by saying that, but it's true.  I love my potager-style veggie patch, but lately Will and I have had a yearning for an old-fashioned, row-after-row, full-blown Victory Garden-style garden. 

So we started one.  If only it was as easily done as it was said, because it turned out to be quite a chore to get this thing completed.  Thankfully, I've learned to be suspicious when things are too easy around here, so I actually appreciate having to struggle a bit to accomplish a goal.

I bet you really think I sound silly now.   Well I know what I'll do--I'll just jump right into the photos and distract you...

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Let's start here.  This is my old garden tiller. 

It's seen better days.  We have to talk it into firing up every time we want to use it, and after it finally takes off it will run for about 3 minutes before coughing itself to a halt.  But after it thinks about things for several more minutes, it'll start back up and do a little work. 

Have you ever known anybody like that?

Well the work I wanted it to do was to break up an area of soil that (to my knowledge) had never been broken before.  This little fact turned out to be key, and really threw a wrench in my plans--the grass roots were so thick, it was almost impossible to break through them! 

Now had I thought ahead back in the fall, I could have smothered the area with old carpet or cardboard boxes and killed the grass while simutaneously creating a perfect haven for earthworms to fertilize the soil over the winter.  But I've never been good at thinking ahead.

So attacking the area with the roto-tiller was my only choice.


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But all that did was scratch the surface and reveal my least favorite thing.  Have I ever mentioned how rich in rocks we are?  And how they don't belong in my garden?

Yet somehow they always seem to end up there.  I call them my winter crop because every spring when I go out to check what's made it through the cold weather, I always discover more rocks.  I think freezing temperatures make them multiply.  One day they'll prove that, I'm just ahead of my time.

And by the time I finally gave up trying to break the soil, I was exhausted.
So it was time for Plan B.  Which I didn't initially have, but ended up revealing itself after church the next Sunday.  I was telling our friend Tom my dilemma and how the only way I thought the soil would ever break up was if I used a team of oxen to pull a plow through it.  

To which he responded, "Plow?  I've got an old 1930's plow that I hook onto my skid loader, and once those blades hit the dirt, it doesn't take "No" for an answer." 

And then he followed that with, "Would you like me to bring it over?"

I've never heard more beautiful words...


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And true to his word, Tom and his skid loader and his plow arrived the very next day.


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Tom wasn't exaggerating about the plow either.  This eighty year old tool dug into the job just like it must have back its younger years.  Sometimes I wonder why they don't make things like they used to.


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Because within twenty minutes my soil was broken.  It was the best twenty minutes of my life...but unlike Tom, I am prone to emotionally-fueled exaggeration. 


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After that, we quickly got to work.  I coaxed the tiller into running through the soil to break up the  clods of dirt, and then Will and I raked the soil into rows.  Since the area is on a slope, (what isn't around here?) we mounded the soil to prevent runoff from the spring rains.


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We then added a few amendments--like cow manure and composted wood chips--and then began to plant all our troubles away...


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In rows and rows of things like Dragon Tongue Beans, Blue Basil, Golden Fingerling Potatoes, Giant Zinnias & Marigolds, Burgundy Okra, and Red Cabbage.  And then some.


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And I've never seen a more proud Farmer Boy than this one as he walked the newly planted rows, surveying his handiwork and dreaming of his harvest.



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And so far things are coming up nicely.  The cabbages are lush and full, the basil is bushy and bold, and all the rest are healthy and happy too.  In fact, we had to put up a temporary fence to hold off all the rabbits who tried to gorge themselves on our beautiful "buffet".  (Wascally wabbits! Arrgh!!)

Eventually we'll expand the area (this is only a 1/3 of what we planned!) and get a real fence up around it all, but everything in its season.  Pretty soon it'll be harvest season, and we'll be so busy we won't know what to do.  But then again, on this homestead, when are we not?! 

It's a wonderful world.
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Sowing Tomato Seeds

3/1/2015

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The calendar says March 1st, and despite waking up to 6 inches of snow on the ground, I knew it was time to start my tomato seeds.  I like to do this task on March 1st because I like to transplant my tomato seedlings on May 1st.  The seedlings need about 8 weeks of growing time before being transplanted out in the garden beds, and this schedule seems to work out well for me and my garden.  

Having said this, I almost backed out of the chore when I opened the front door and that first wave of cold air rushed past me.  But since I had to feed and water the animals anyway, I figured I might as well plunge on ahead, or in this case, outside.  The greenhouse was bound to feel cozy after trudging around the homestead in the wind and the snow. 

As I finished my chores and stepped inside the warm greenhouse, I realized that (once again) I was right--it did feel cozy in there.  So, I dusted the snow off of me and happily slipped on my gardening gloves.  Suddenly it felt like Spring, and just as suddenly, I felt like planting something.

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I like to make things as easy as possible, so I tend to sow seeds as simply as I can.   Henceforth, I sow my seeds the way most commercial growers do--each variety as a group in a tray, not in individual containers.  It's much easier than finding room for and keeping track of thousands of cell packs, each with one seed inside that may or may not sprout.  The growers' way saves space and time, and when the seedlings do emerge and the tray becomes too small to contain them all, they transplant the little sprouts to their own little pots.  Makes sense to me, so that's the way I do it too...on a much smaller scale of course.  Here's how it happens:

I fill a shallow container with soil, moisten it with water, and sprinkle on the seeds.



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I aim for a little space between each seed, but if two land close together I just scoot them over to a better spot.  We all need our space, and seeds are no different.  Shocking, I know.   On the other hand, if I think I'm wasting space in a big tray, I divide the tray up into sections and then sow different seeds in each section.  It's all about balance...which honestly I can't say I'm particularly gifted in.  But I try.


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Once I've got enough seeds sown, I spread a light layer of soil over them all and gently press down to firm the soil.  This gives the seeds good soil contact on every side, and removes any major air pockets that might have been hiding.  Then I sprinkle the entire container with water, just enough to dampen that top layer.  Finally, I label the trays with the name and date (I use painter's tape and a sharpie for this, but you do what works for you) and place all the trays on the upper shelf of the greenhouse.  Seedlings like to be warm, and since heat rises--at least it did the last time I checked, this upper shelf tends to be the warmest spot in the greenhouse.  It's also the closest shelf to the glass roof, and that helps magnify the heat even more.  The seeds also like to be moist, and generally there's enough moisture inside the greenhouse to fulfill their needs, but I do occasionally check the soil just to be sure.

If you don't have an upper shelf in your greenhouse, or even (gasp) no greenhouse at all, I'll add you to my prayer list...and I'll let you in on a little secret:  You can still sow seeds.  Just cover the container with plasticwrap to trap in the moisture, stick the whole thing somewhere warm (like on top of your fridge), and forget about it for several days.  Most seeds don't need light to germinate, so as long as they're warm and moist they'll do what they naturally do--sprout.  And that's our ultimate goal, right?  After all, if seeds don't sprout then they can't grow.  And if they can't grow, they can't produce all those ripe juicy tomatoes that we can't live without.  Oh, what an awful thought!  Sorry to depress you, and by "you" I mean me. 

So to make up for making you read those disturbing sentences, let's do something to make ourselves feel better...how about looking at this:


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Your welcome. 

I'm pretty sure you're in love with me now...or at least with the tomatoes.  Either way, I feel better.


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Walking the Property

1/20/2015

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This weekend the weather was gorgeous, and we spent the majority of it catching up on outside chores.  By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, we were ready to relax.  But, since warm winter days are a rarity in the Ozarks, I couldn't let a beautiful January afternoon go by with us just sitting on the couch.  So I decided we should go for a stroll, and being the multitasker that I am, I also decided to kill two birds with one stone.  Oh stop, you silly goose!  Not literally.  What I meant is that we'd take our stroll around the perimeter of our acreage--we'd enjoy the lovely weather, and also do a long-overdue maintenance check on the areas of our land that we don't see everyday.  It was time to "walk the property", as the old-timers used to say.

I managed to get everyone on board, booted up, and out the door in record time, but it helped that the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the warm breeze was gently luring us into the yard.  We hit the door running, and then off we went into the wild blue yonder.


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We didn't get very far before I got distracted, which didn't surprise anyone.  And in my defense, it was my husband who spotted the wild rose hips, not me.  I thought I had foraged every last hip on the property, but low and behold, there along the fence line was another thicket.  And me without a basket.  We quickly sent Will and Poppy back to the house to grab one, and then we set about gathering the hips.  I was so excited at the thought of making another batch of Vitamin C rich Rose Hip Honey that I didn't even mind getting scratched by the prickly thorns!


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But after we left the thicket, we wandered across this, and getting scratched took on a whole new meaning.  This is a Honey Locust tree, and yes, it's as viscous as it looks.  The thorns are hard and sharp, and can be slightly toxic to humans.  Farmers long ago used these thorn as nails, and wood itself made good fence posts and rails.  I'm all about using old-fashioned techniques, but I draw the line at risking my health to obtain building materials when I can run to the hardware store and buy a box of nails and some lumber.  That said, we still have a few of these trees along the fence row, and if the hardware store ever runs out of supplies, we always have this as a backup.  As long as I keep my distance, I kind of like them.

 
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Having said that, here's one I didn't like.  It came out of nowhere and almost poked me in the eye as I was trekking through the field, trailing behind my family.  You think they would have warned me it was coming...okay, they did warn me, but I was lost in thought (as usual) and didn't hear them holler.  It's alright--thanks to my incredible reflexes and quick reaction, I made it through without a scratch...barely. 


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Here's what had me so distracted.  I kept seeing these incredible seedheads bursting from random clumps of grass as I passed through the field.  They were breathtaking!  And I'll let you in on a little secret--I don't know what they are.  Yep, I don't know everything.  Stunner, right?  Don't answer that.  But surely you can see how perplexing this situation could be, and how my puzzlement could distract me so much that I would literally walk right into a massive thorn tree, can't you?  Oh well, maybe I've asked too much.

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Yet maybe I will ask one more thing...don't you just love old barns?  This is our old barn, and I love it so much that I married the love of my life beside it almost ten years ago.  It's weathered a few storms, but it's still standing.  Hmm...kind of reminds me of us.

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Speak of the devil, and there he is!  Complete with a cute little devil of a sidekick and a wicked looking spear.  Or maybe it's just a old cedar branch that just happens to look like it's covered in thorns (which appears to be our word of the day).  And maybe he's not the devil, but just the opposite...nah.  That wouldn't be any fun.  And by the way, what is it about frozen ponds that make you want to poke at them with a stick?  The world may never know.

But, thanks to our stroll, I do know now that the property is in decent shape--it could use some TLC, of course, but we knew that already.  All the fences are okay, the fields are reasonable healthy, and the animals are content.  Things could always be better, but then again, they could always be worse.  As I've said before, there's always something to do around here, and as always, we'll keep doing it.  We'll also do our best to do it all with a grateful heart.  After all, a wise man once said, "There is nothing better than to enjoy the work of you hands.", and I'm so thankful that my hands have work to do!

It keeps me out of trouble...most of the time.
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Oh, Christmas Tree

12/16/2014

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This Christmas we began a new tradition: chopping down a Christmas tree from our very own cedar grove.  The cedar grove was a recent discovery on our property, and in some ways, an unwanted one. Cedar trees, lovely though they are, are dime a dozen in the Ozarks.  They sprout up along fence lines and edges of clearings faster than Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve, and if not properly managed, the cedars will happily crowd out any open space. 

This seemed to be
their intention on the slope beyond our pond, where the field meets the woods.  The cedars that had sprouted up there a few years ago had quickly formed this grove, and by all appearances, were planning to take over the world.  Whoops! Should have been paying more attention.  Cedars are sneaky.  It was time to tackle the issue before they conquered our pasture (and the universe as a whole).  Since Christmas is not far away, we decided we would attempt to stop the invasion by choosing one of the best specimens as our Christmas tree.

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With our minds made up, we bundled up, grabbed the machete (and the chainsaw for backup), and headed off toward the cedar grove.  Our excitement grew as we approached our destination...


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Will was the most excited of our trio.  He was thoroughly enjoying the adventure and would have willingly chopped down every tree he came to had I let him.  Focus, Will, it's all about focus.


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Here, watch your dad.  See how composed he is?  He's excited, he really is.  He just hides it well. 

On second thought, go ahead and go crazy.  It's Christmas.  And you're a kid...with a machete in hand.  Okay, let's go back to focusing.  It's safer.


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Alrighty here we are.  Time to pick a tree...hmm.  This one might be a teensy bit too small.


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But how about this one?  Yeah, you're right.  Too tall.


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And this one is a little too sideways.  Odd.  There are so many interesting things to see in the woods.


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Ooh, look at this!  It's beautiful!  Maybe too beautiful.  No, I can't do it.  It's too pretty to cut down, and I like where it's growing.  Shoot.  But we're getting closer.


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Wait a second, here's one that looks promising.  Let me get a closer look.


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Eureka!  I found it!  Hey Will...Will!...Will?  Where are you?!


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Honey, that one might be a little too big.  And it's not a cedar.

I think we'll add tree identification to our lessons this week.  It's good to know what you're looking for.
Like this...


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These two trees are both in good shape, but they're growing too close together.  One of them needs to go.  Look at that front one.  It's got a really nice form, good color, and healthy branches.  It's perfect for a Christmas tree!

Now we need to figure out how to cut it.  Hacking it down with the machete would be fun, but the prickly branches on this one go completely to the ground.  That means we probably should use the chainsaw to get in close and quickly cut the trunk.
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Good thing we brought along our own personal lumberjack.


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And his apprentice.  It's nice to have somebody steady the tree as it comes down. 


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As long as they don't get hung up in the branches, which can happen when you forget to yell "Timmberrr!"

But he's okay.


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After we untangled Will from the tree, something miraculous happened.  The tree grew legs and walked itself home.

If only.  


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But the next best thing is having my husband carry it home.  See why I bring him along on these adventures? 


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We arrived back home, found the tree stand, and set the tree up.  After a tiny bit of pruning, we were ready to decorate.


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Ta-da!  Here's our finished product.  I think it's beautiful.  And I love being able to turn a problem into a blessing.   This cedar, if left to grow in our field, would surely have become a nuisance.  It had sprung up near the edge of our pathway to the pond and was rapidly expanding.  The tree definitely needed to go, and by removing it now, we could give it a final, celebratory send-off.  For a few days, it will stand in a place of honor, all gussied up and being admired by all.  

It's recycling and repurposing at its best, and I think it's a wonderful way to enjoy
"the most wonderful time of the year".

And if by our efforts we just happened to save our property, the world, and you from a highly organized, covert cedar invasion, so be it.  Let there be peace on earth.

You're welcome.
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Infusing Rose Oil

11/20/2014

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Up until about a week ago, my roses were putting on a nice Fall display of blooms.  But as the days grew shorter and the nights turned colder, I knew the end was coming.  I wanted to make a final batch of rose-infused oil before it was too late, so I decided to take action before I lost the last of those fragrant, vitamin-rich petals.

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Roses are extremely high in vitamin C and have been used in beauty treatments for centuries.  When rose petals are infused in olive oil, they release their beneficial properties into the oil, which can then be applied to the skin.  Whether used on it's own, added to lotions, or used in balms, rose-infused oil is a wonderful skin enhancer.  It's excellent for dry or sensitive skin, can help alleviate redness, and has been shown to counteract the effects of aging. 

That last part is what sold me on it.  Does that make me shallow?

Oh well, I don't care.  Especially when it keeps me from buying all those expensive anti-aging creams at the store!  I like saving money.


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And for me, saving money means gleaning from the garden. 

So, I slipped on my garden gloves, grabbed a basket and my clippers, and made a beeline to the rose bushes.

Actually, I didn't really need my clippers because once I grasped the blossoms, the petals simply fell off into the basket.  I guess when they saw my shiny clippers coming, they figured they might as well surrender.   Smart move.


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I brought the basket inside and left the petals to dry for a few days.  I wanted to remove a little bit of the moisture, so there would be no chance of mold forming later on.  Every once in a while I gave them a shake just to get some air circulating around them. 


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Once the petals had dried out slightly, they were ready to go into a jar.  I had enough petals to fill a pint-sized mason jar, and so that's what I did.  I'm a practical person.

I then poured enough olive oil over them to completely cover all the petals. 


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The next step was to set the rose-filled jar into a pan of warm water (about 100 degrees) on the stove burner.   There it would stay for the next three hours or so, while the heat infused the oil with the fragrant essence of the roses. 

This is actually the shortcut method--and I'm all about shortcuts.  But the other option is to cap the jar and let it set in the windowsill for 3-4 weeks, allowing the sunlight to slow-infuse the oil. 

I do this when there is actually sunlight coming steadily through my window for 3-4 weeks at a time.  However, this time of year
it's hard to come by that much sunlight for that length of time.

Thank goodness I had that other option.  Plan B's come in handy a lot at my house.


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I went about my other chores, checking and maintaining the water temperature from time to time.  Then, later that afternoon, it was finally straining time.


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I like to use a tea strainer and a measuring cup to do this.  Basically the goal is to filter the infused oil off of the petals and into another container. 

There are many ways to do this task, but these tools seem to do the job well for me.  The tea strainer catches the petals and particles while allowing the oil to flow through, and the measuring cup shows me how much oil I end up with.  


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I start by pouring the oil from the jar into the strainer, and as the petals flow out, I take my fingers and press them down.  This squeezes the oil-soaked petals and gets as much of the infused oil out as possible.  

And it makes my fingers smell all nice and rosy.  Bonus!
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After the straining is done, I'm left with my finished product:  Liquid rose-scented gold. 

The pint-size jar of rose petals netted me about 10 ounces of rose-infused oil, and I was very pleased with that amount.   I could feel my skin yearning for it already.

But my skin had to be patient.  Although, I did have a special treat in mind for later...


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And it involved all those oil-drenched petals that were left over after the straining. 

Since I'm not a professional rose oil infuser-ista, I'm never able to get every last bit of oil out of the petals.  I can't stand to toss them away, so I leave them on the counter until nighttime, and then (here's the kicker) I add them to my nice warm bath.  The 
petals release such a heavenly scent when immersed in the steaming water, and the olive oil is extremely moisturizing.  The soothing effects are nothing short of glorious.  Do I hear angels singing?

The ancient Greeks used to bathe this way, and so of course, I have to also. 
It's all very goddess-like.  I said goddess-like.  As in, I would like to be a goddess.

I think I have a long way to go...but it's a job I just might accept if offered. 

Who wouldn't, if they get to bathe like that?!


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Gathering Marigolds

11/8/2014

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The growing season is winding down on the homestead, and this morning I heard the weatherman say those three inevitable words:  Hard Freeze Warning.  

As a gardener, I take that as my cue to get out to the garden and harvest the last of my herbs and flowers before the killing freeze finishes them off for the season.  Today's chore was to gather the last of the marigold blooms. 
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I like to grow marigolds because first of all, I think they're pretty.  But they also are great companion plants in the garden because they help deter pests.  In addition, they have antiseptic properties and can be used medicinally if needed.  The best part about marigolds, though, is that they are edible--at least the petals are.  They don't have a very strong flavor, but I like to toss them in a salad or on top of a casserole to add a unique punch of color. 

As much as I like eating my marigolds, there are some who enjoy them even more than I do...

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You guessed it, it's my chickens!  Notice that gorgeous yellow color on those marigold flowers... well, when fed to the flock, they actually increase the yellow color of the yolks in the eggs they lay!  

It's for that very reason that marigolds can actually be found in the ingredient list on many commercial chicken feeds.  In South America they grow massive fields of marigolds that are designated specifically for chicken feed!  That sounds like my kind of country...

My chickens free-range throughout the warm months, and so they have an endless supply of bugs, grubs, and greens to forage from around the homestead.   The yolks of their eggs are naturally a dark orange color because of their healthy food choices.  But their winter meal options are a bit more limited, so I spice up their feed mix with these lovely little flowers. 

But in order to have some to feed them, I first have to get them harvested.  
It's a simple process, but there are a few necessary steps involved...
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First I head out to the patch and scope out the best flowerheads.  The biggest blossoms seem to dry the best, and I look for the ones that are in the midst of full bloom.  Any that are tiny or past their peak I leave for the birds. 
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It's really easy to snap off the flower head, and I don't even need to use clippers.  I just grasp the stem in my fingers and use my thumb and index finger to pinch off the head in one quick motion.  It makes a nice crisp snapping sound that's somehow very satisfying to me.

I like sound effects.
Call me crazy.
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Then I transfer the whole flowers into trays, make sure the flowers are spread in a single layer, and set them in the greenhouse to dry.  Sometimes I take my scissors and snip off the petals before spreading them out to dry.  It just depends on what kind of mood I'm in.  The chickens don't mind to peck at a whole flower with seeds intact, but if I'm going to use the marigolds to make potpourri or a body scrub, I only need the petals.   It just works better that way.
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After about a week, I check the petals to make sure all the moisture has evaporated.  

The final step is to fill up any spare mason jar I can find with these lovely flowers.  I store them with all my other dried herbs and seeds, and I use them as needed throughout the winter. 

And since marigold petals retain their hues even after being dried, they add a nice cozy pop of color to my herb shelf.  When I glance that way on a cold blustery day, I feel a little warmer inside.  Every little bit helps, right??!

At least the chickens seem to agree with me.

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