Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Let's Play Make Believe

Adults are as bad as teenagers in judging each other. Recently, the following phrases have crossed my ears:
"When people bring Trader Joe's wine, we make fun of them. Not in front of their faces of course, but after they leave."
"I can't believe she wore that to this."
And the perpetual, "Well I guess it's okay if you like that sort of thing."
Weren't we all beat up enough by high school to not perpetuate this pretention? Don't we all know that for everything we think we are better at, someone else thinks we're worse at? Can't we just get over ourselves? As badly as I wish it weren't true, I'm guilty of pretentions, and am weighted by the judgements I pass on others, prejudices that sit heavy on my shoulders, holding me back from swirling, free, joy-filled appreciation of these miracles that live on this planet with me.

And that is why I love the Renaissance Faire. So rarely in life do adults get an opportunity to play make-believe, especially in a safe place without judging. This year, I dressed up for the first time ever, as about the least authentic gypsy one could imagine, and no one mocked my lack of authenticity; in fact, I received compliments on my wrong-culture, wrong-era skirt. I felt amazing.

I go once every year to revel in people being whoever or whatever they want to be for the day. This year I saw Waldo ("found him!") and a silvery-princessy-looking creature sitting together in the shade. I've seen fairies, beasts, all sorts of animals, knights, a knight in a cow costume complete with udders, Puritans, witches, witchy-Puritans, pirates, time travellers. At the fair, people get to tell the story of who they want to be at that moment, with no need for permanance, no need to feel embarrassed for wanting to be that person, and so little threat of judgement. It's seriously joyful.

Come with me—right now—and see if you can keep from smiling.

It's hard work not thinking you're better than someone else. My yearly dose of renfairing is one way I remind myself of how freeing lack of pretention is.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

A Smidge Obsessed

They are drought tolerant, in love with my sandy-gritty-alkaline soil, and easy with a major caveat: the gophers love them too.

White Hot and others.

Cosmic Celebration

Cosmic Celebration from above.

Miles Ahead.

Navajo Velvet.

Mad World.



Private Eye.

Thornbird again.

Safari Sunset.
I want more.

Thursday, April 03, 2014

Saving Beans

Tonight, I'll be teaching a group of home gardeners how to keep bean varieties pure. These gardeners are helping me grow out and maintain the bean collection I inherited last week. As I was putting materials together to share tonight, I realized I should share the same information here so the information is public, available to any who'd like it.

Basic rules of seed saving:
1.     Do everything you can to ensure the plants are healthy. They’re the mothers of your seeds!
2.     Collect seeds from early flowers rather than later. The younger plant is less likely to experience mutations that may negatively affect your seed stock. I like to keep seed from the second or third sets of flowers on bean plants.
3.     Mark fruit you’re keeping for seed with twist ties or other tools. This is particularly important if you’re using mechanical isolation (see below).
4.     Do not keep seeds from malformed fruits or sick plants. Always, you are trying to preserve the ideal.

How to isolate:
Beans are perfect flowers and usually pollinate themselves; therefore, many people do not worry about protecting them from cross-pollination. However, we live in an area with lots of bumblebees who often tear open flowers to reach food. I have had little success maintaining bean purity without some form of isolation. Each of the following forms of isolation has proven successful for me.

Physical: This is the easiest form of isolation. If you’re the only person growing beans on the block, and you grow only one variety of bean, you’ve already isolated your variety so that the seed will be pure.

Mechanical: Since I grow lots of beans at one time, this is the strategy I most frequently use. It’s fiddly, but it works. I gently bag flower stems with organza drawstring bags before the flowers open. If a flower on the blossom spray has already opened, I snap that flower off and cover the rest. This guarantees that whatever beans develop on a flower stem will be isolated from cross-pollination and will have pure seed. Try to collect seed from as many plants of your variety as possible—the more the better to help maintain varietal genetic health. Once the pods have set, remove the bag to allow the pods to grow normally and mark the flower stem with a twist-tie or similar.

Temporal: Use time to help you isolate beans. You might try growing your variety in the fall instead of having it share a yard this spring with another variety. With temporal isolation, your goal is to make sure the variety blooms at a time no other bean nearby is blooming.

Wait until the pods are dry and crackly before removing pods from the vine. After you shuck the seed, let the seed dry further on a plate until they are dry enough to “crack” rather than “smash.” Once seed stock is thoroughly dry, place in a ziplock bag or other airtight container, and freeze for three days to kill any bean seed maggot larvae. After you remove the bag from the freezer, let it defrost completely before unsealing it. This helps keep the moisture balanced so there aren’t extreme shifts in moisture, which greatly limit the seeds’ viability.

I keep all my dry beans in lidded jars in a dark cabinet. Keep them away from shifts in temperature and light. You can also keep your seed beans in the freezer—that helps keep in them viable for longer.

Bean Vocabulary:
Bush: Low-growing variety with no twining stems.
Cornfield: Pole variety suitable for growing in a cornfield, up corn stalks.
Common: Phaseolus vulgaris, snap and dry beans.
Cutshort: Descriptor for varieties whose seeds are packed so tightly inside the pod that the ends are “cut short.”
Dry: syn. “Eating,” descriptor for beans are grown for their dried seeds, not their green pods.
Greasy: Descriptor for varieties that lack the normal super-short, fine hairs on the pods that make them appear velvety—these pods appear “greasy” because they are naturally hairless.
Half-runner: Medium-height variety that has some twining stems. (This is confusing terminology, as a runner bean is a different species, Phaseolus coccineus, but a half runner is still the same species as a common bean, Phaseolus vulgaris.)
Lima: Phaseolus lunatus, a different species than common bean. Limas grow better in heat than common beans do.
Pole: Tall, twining variety that needs trellises and support.
Runner: Phaseolus coccineus, a different species than common bean that won’t set pods in heat, but does grow beautiful, tall plants with red, white, or orange flowers.
Shelly: A stage between snap and dry when the pods are mostly dry and the seeds inside full-size; remove the beans from the dry pods, and eat them this stage after braising them in butter and stock. Mmmmm.
Snap: syn. “String,” descriptor for varieties grown for their fresh pods. Many dry beans make decent snaps, too.

Tuesday, April 01, 2014

One Fruit, Two Marmalades

Let's start with the marmalade that's a sonofabitch. How could that be?

Think of it this way: A Spaniard, a Basque, and a Scot walk into a bar and plays drinking games until she hits the floor, because she's only one but she's been drinking for three.

That's this marmalade.

It's very assertive in flavor and dark in color, but when spread on toast, it snaps and sparkles. The smoke from the scotch and the heat from the peppers add to the fiery effect. Though I haven't tried it this way yet, I think it would work really well as a glaze for pork or chicken.

Seville Orange Marmalade with Chiles and Scotch
You will need:
2 1/4 cups Seville (bitter) oranges
juice of one lemon
1 cup muscovado sugar
1 cup brown sugar
7 cups sugar
3 piment d'espelette dried peppers (or similar, medium-heat peppers), split, seeds removed, and minced
3 ounces smoky, peaty scotch
(Cooking directions are below the ingredients for the second marmalade.)

The second marmalade is more refined but still pleasantly drawly. Without making the marmalade any more alcoholic, the brown sugar and vanilla bean amplify the bourbon.  Slather this on whole wheat cream scones or tender, fluffy biscuits. Use it as sweetener in a modified Old Fashioned.

Seville Orange Marmalade with Vanilla and Bourbon
You will need:
2 1/4 cups Seville (bitter) oranges
juice of one lemon
1 cup brown sugar
8 cups sugar
1 vanilla bean, split
3 ounces bourbon

To make either marmalade:
Wash oranges well, cut them in half, and juice them. Don't discard the seeds or the juice; you'll need both. Pull off any membranes that still hang on the insides of the peels, and slice each peel cup in half, then crosswise into strips as thin or wide as you like. Place the rinds, juice, and 10 cups of cold filtered water in a large bowl. Tie the seeds in cheesecloth or a tea bag and drop the package in the bowl. Let sit overnight.

Pour the mixture into a large pot, bring to a boil, then simmer until the peel is very tender and the contents have reduced by 1/3. This takes a while: over an hour, maybe up to two. With a slotted spoon, fish out the bag of seeds and press it against the side of the pot to release any remaining pectin. Discard the seed bag.

Stir in lemon juice, the chile or vanilla bean, and the sugars. Raise the heat and stir until you've dissolved the sugar. Boil for 20 minutes or so, until the marmalade reaches setting point. Let cool for a minute or two, stir in the scotch or bourbon, and can according to USDA directions.

Both recipes make approximately 6 1/2 pints of marmalade.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014


I love seeds. Seeds tell me stories of cultures and families and soils. In a fold in fate that makes me grin, someone with whom I've had a few seed exchanges recognized my passion and passed my name on to another person, who through the death of a seed saving neighbor, was suddenly rich in historic bean seeds, and soon thereafter, I became rich in these seeds as well. Yesterday, a box of 33 varieties of beans—many quite rare, a few more familiar—arrived in my mailbox.

As soon as I heard these beans were coming my way, I recruited a team of local gardeners, some experienced, some new, and one even a former student, to help me maintain this collection by growing it out. We'll meet next Thursday at a local pub, where I'll distribute seeds, tools to perform small-scale mechanical isolation, and information on how to maintain varietal purity.


Tucomares Chocolate Runner

Herren Bohnli



Tennessee Wonder

If the internet didn't exist, it is very likely all this history wouldn't be sitting in my lap. Yet, the internet does exist, and through it, in 2014, I have a box with a shy estimate of 2,500 years of seasons—droughts, floods, freezes, bounties, and lean years—right here with me on my couch in my house on the edge of a canyon.

Sunday, March 09, 2014


The citrus is beginning to perfume the neighborhood, lots of South African bulbs are blooming, and the earliest roses are hinting at the show to come. It's a beautiful time of year.

An unknown bromeliad species that never looks like much until it blooms, then ooooooo-baby.
The March garden chores that happen in my neck of the woods:

1) Pot up tomato, pepper, and eggplant seedlings. By the end of this March, tomatoes can begin to go in the ground. 

The Albuca circinata is blooming.
2) Dig in the cover crops to prepare beds for summer planting. This year, I planted agricultural mustard as a cover crop in two beds to act as green manure and to help combat root knot nematodes. Yesterday, I turned over one of the beds so the mustard can decompose before I plant out the tomatoes.

3) Weed.

4) Start a second round of pole beans.

This year, I grafted four pieces of Hawaii apple to my Golden Russet. Every scion took. 
5) Find something to do with all the Meyer lemons. Make marmalade, Meyer lemon liqueur, preserved Meyer lemons, Meyer lemon aigre-doux. Dry them, make curd, make cookies, send them to friends in cold places.

6) Prune back winter damage and worn-out on perennials and blooming shrubs for a good mid-spring show.

6) Fertilize citrus, roses, perennials, garlic, onions, everything.

Four years ago, I planted scarlet flax from seed and I've never needed to plant purposefully again; now I just thin for where I want it.
7) Thin the self-seeded annuals for the best show later this month and through the spring.

8) Check the irrigation lines before it gets hot to make sure the gophers haven't cut through them and all the drips are functioning.

The apricots are struggling this year with so few chill hours. This branch of Goldkist has bloomed, but most of the rest of the tree and its sister, Blenheim, hasn't bloomed.
9) Curse the damn, mother-licking gophers for being assholes.

10) Thin the fruit on early-setting stone fruit.

11) Weed some more.

Royal Lee cherry has a nice set of fruit, the most yet.
Minnie Royal is loaded. I can't wait for cherries.
12) Turn over the compost pile and deliver completed compost to the awaiting beds.

This rose pre-existed my tenure in this garden, and it is a fragrant, silvery showstopper. Later this month, it will be loaded with buds.