The Road Not Taken

One of my favorite poems is "The Road Not Taken" by Robery Frost. He was a stoic old New Englander, and there isn't an ounce of self pity in this poem-- just a reflection on a life, if you happened to take the road "less traveled." Here's a charming thing about the aging mind: you begin to remember what happened when you were six more vividly than what you did last Tuesday afternoon.

This is an old picture of the Pennsylvania farm where we lived until I was about seven. It is still there, the field stone houses were built to last in those days, although most of the out buildings are probably gone. My parents worked hard to make ends meet with dairy cows, chickens, pigs, ducks and of course an enormous kitchen garden for Mom's canning and freezing. On Friday nights, we drove to the A&P in Quakertown to buy flour, sugar, salt, coffee and other staples, but that was about it. Just about everything we ate, and the animals ate, was grown on the farm. If you've read the wonderful book "Omnivore's Dilemma" you know this is called poly-culture farming (as opposed to mono-culture) and it has become environmentally trendy indeed. But back then, this was just how small family farms were run.

In those days, most kids didn't have scheduled activities except school, and we were sent outside to play in the summer. My sister, brother and I invented a make-believe world of our own on the farm, and had no trouble amusing ourselves. I was a tomboy and always loved animals, so I spent more time underfoot in the barn than the house. Somehow we managed not to get trampled by a cow, fall out of the hayloft, or drown in the creek! And I'm sure my strong immunity to this day has something to do with toddling around a cow barn. Another favorite poem, "Fern Hill" by Dylan Thomas, captures the absolute magic of childhood spent on a farm.

Nova and Mom

Here's Amanda and Nova out for a walk in the park yesterday. What an adorable and chubby little baby! And doesn't Amanda look happy and wonderful? We can't wait to see them this coming weekend.

The blessing of rain

It was wonderful to wake up to the sound of rain this morning falling on the parched grass. I forgot how much I missed it, and the garden will be thankful. It also rinsed the dust off our pretty (but worthless) fig tree. I call it worthless, because thousands of green, inedible figs drop off in the fall along with the leaves, and I have to rake them up or they rot on the ground. This tree is also responsible for John's broken knee a year or so ago during a pruning misadventure. It seems ironic to have such a robust backyard tree that doesn't produce any delicious, expensive fruit.

In the colder parts of the country like Ohio, the fig trees are nursed along in the winter, and never get very big. But they probably produce a little fruit to make it worth the trouble. This tree was here when we moved into the house 30 years ago. Of course it was smaller then, and Amanda had a tree house up there that our old cats "Cowboy" and "Puss" liked to nap in. I like to think about Nova sitting up there in a just few years.

Here's some info on growing figs, that gives an idea of just how much trouble they can be:

http://www.crfg.org/pubs/ff/fig.html

Swing time for Nova

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'Tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down
Where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

To bow and to bend,

We will not be ashamed.

To turn, turn, will be our delight,

Until turing around, we come round right.

From Simple Gifts , written by Shaker Elder Joseph Brackett in 1848.

P.S. Amanda said Nova was good for about 2 minutes in the swing today. Well, a start :-)

Apples and Frosted Mini-Wheats

Our apple tree has some pretty looking fruit, but I haven't looked too closely. This tree is a disease resistant "Sparta" variety, although a few years ago it finally succumbed to the dreaded western Washington apple maggot. The cycle goes like this: the larvae winters in the soil, hatches into a nasty fly at the exact time the tree sets fruit, then lays its eggs in the little apples. Then they hatch, eat the apple, and do it all over again. Nice.

I checked with the agricultural Extension, and the timing and chemicals to control this thing is daunting. And why risk decimating the bees along with the "maggot" just when they are pollinating gardens in the spring? In fact, the Extension does not recommend growing orchard fruit at all anymore. They suggest you buy it at the store or farmer's market in season. No surprise, the fear is this disease will spread to the commercial apple growers in eastern Washington. Since neither John OR Sizzle likes to eat the Sparta apples, I should take their advice and cut the thing down.

Most horses like carrots, and sweet apples too. (The Sparta is not sweet.) But after years of toting bags of carrots to the barn, I finally found the perfect and inexpensive little treat for a spoiled horse: Frosted Mini-Wheat's! I don't think Sizzle ever tasted anything so good in her long life. Yum.

Fall sedums

A few years ago, my sister-in-law Rachel in Ohio sent me this unusual purple sedum. I'm not sure of the name, but it has a slow spreading habit like a ground cover, and the bees love it.

The sedums are an easy garden plant, and just coming into their prettiest stage now. But I think they are attractive almost all year, and none are fussy about water or soil. I usually cut them down each fall, but even in the winter the tall seed heads on Autumn Joy are interesting. I've never seen any winter birds eating the seeds, but it seems like they should.

And speaking of garden birds, where are mine? Before I left last week, the finches, sparrows and chickadees were draining a feeder of sunflower seeds every couple days. John let it run dry while I was gone, and now they've deserted us. I guess they gave up on the free buffet. I've only seen a few chickadees in the yard this week, and even the house sparrows and crows are somewhere else. But I've heard big flocks of starlings gathering in the trees, a sign of fall.