tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-304986472024-03-12T20:25:59.668-07:00A Thinking StomachChristinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.comBlogger476125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-18386129113172514482024-02-27T20:28:00.000-08:002024-02-28T07:11:27.314-08:00On Running: A Brief Playlist<p>Last year, after Indy grew too old to take the long hilly walks with me, I started running again. It didn't take too long for me to hurt myself, and I spent my spring and early summer working through physical therapy to strengthen up so I could get back to it. (<a href="https://youtu.be/JG17jiPdbb0?si=0BfWrqrNdthg028_" target="_blank">New Body Rhumba</a>, LCD Soundsystem)</p><p>By late summer I was running regularly, and now, late winter, it's part of how I think about myself.</p><p>Because there is nothing like running for me. </p><p>I don't run fast. My left knee twinges and probably always will. I have mild bursitis in one hip, but I stretch well, and it certainly isn't getting any worse. My knees won't let me run down my steep hill or even walk down it if I'm going to follow that with a run, so I drive down my hill, park at the bottom, and run the flats of my neighborhood in circuitous routes around parks and schools, along our neighborhood's high street, and past all the ice cream colored row houses. I can run four or five miles without feeling like I'm going to die, and I smile when I run. I do. I am so happy to be running even though I'm lame at it. (<a href="https://youtu.be/bxWxXncl53U?si=yeovt4sUw93up2pJ" target="_blank">Soy Yo</a>, Bomba Estéreo)</p><p>It's a love affair, running and me.</p><p>When I run, I love the man walking the three legged chihuahua. The guy at the bus stop who always yells "nice Beats" at me, even though they're not Beats, but $35 hand-me-down headphones. My neighborhood's high street: Mexican food, a variety of dim sum, a funny furniture store with velvet covered cabinets, the banh mi shop, the sadly defunct bar that hosted Scott's and my wedding reception, the little bodegas with really good bananas. My friends who live down the hill and their little girl who has a penchant for wearing a unicorn horn on her walk home from preschool. Other friends and neighbors, their cars and waves, their dogs on leashes. Each body I pass carries such a big life. (<a href="https://youtu.be/qMadelP88VA?si=Zkll_rgKCFptVWgj" target="_blank">Billions of Eyes</a>, Lady Lamb)</p><p>I run with my head in the air, looking where I'm going, not at my feet. A boy I dated in college used to tease me about walking head-up, never looking at the ground. He couldn't believe I wasn't tripping over everything all the time. The truth is, I trip all the time, he just never witnessed it. I fell down a whole flight of stairs on a family trip to England; I tattooed my thigh with my keys on a fall a few years ago in McLaren Park; I slipped down my deck stairs a couple weeks ago and landed so hard on my right butt cheek that it bruised the entire cheek, resulting in a butt that looked, according to Scott, like a blood orange. I have been well-taught: every horse trainer I've worked with through my life spent with horses has told me that looking down instead of ahead is just looking for a place to fall. So I look ahead, and when I fall, it's a surprise every time. I'm okay with that. (<a href="https://youtu.be/znfNpN6rfoM?si=YsFTGQdobmlu0Wna" target="_blank">Can't Run But</a>, Paul Simon)</p><p>When I run, I hear music in the best way, with my whole body. My breathing is in the rhythm of what I'm listening to, my legs moving with my breath and my heart. I can't think about work or family. I can only think about my run and the music in my ears. I'm consumed by physicality. Dancing is running's only competition. It is a place without a place, a feeling with no home other than my senses. (<a href="https://youtu.be/T703EHtdPwo?si=-iLSdArKmM3_c7er" target="_blank">No Cars Go</a>, Arcade Fire)</p><p>When I cross an east-west street on my run, the afternoon sun throws my shadow across the street, long and lean. I've never been lean and I am happy with my round butt, but I like that look of my shadow, too: so strong, striding across the intersection. I love my body, imperfect and aging. It works. (<a href="https://youtu.be/UULrmCBzeWc?si=y_0UHGGi-gcJD0Xu">Masterpiece</a>, Big Thief)</p><p>I'll keep doing it as long as I can.</p><p><br /></p><p>Here is the playlist again:</p><p>1) <a href="https://youtu.be/JG17jiPdbb0?si=0BfWrqrNdthg028_" target="_blank">New Body Rhumba</a>, LCD Soundsystem</p><p>2) <a href="https://youtu.be/bxWxXncl53U?si=yeovt4sUw93up2pJ" target="_blank">Soy Yo</a>, Bomba Estéreo </p><p>3) <a href="https://youtu.be/qMadelP88VA?si=Zkll_rgKCFptVWgj" target="_blank">Billons of Eyes</a>, Lady Lamb</p><p>4) <a href="https://youtu.be/znfNpN6rfoM?si=pBz3RR_X7YLmSe-N" target="_blank">Can't Run But</a>, Paul Simon</p><p>5) <a href="https://youtu.be/T703EHtdPwo?si=-iLSdArKmM3_c7er" target="_blank">No Cars Go</a>, Arcade Go </p><p>6) <a href="https://youtu.be/UULrmCBzeWc?si=y_0UHGGi-gcJD0Xu" target="_blank">Masterpiece</a>, Big Thief</p><p><br /></p><p>P.S. I've written about my relationship with running <a href="https://www.athinkingstomach.com/2009/04/starting-out.html" target="_blank">before</a>, but fifteen years ago, at a time when I had a very different relationship with my body.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-15938666697529044132023-07-04T18:30:00.001-07:002023-07-04T18:30:45.466-07:00It's the berries!<p>McLaren Park, the big park of the southeast corner of San Francisco in which I walk almost every day, is is kept in a state of loose order. Trails are cleared, fallen trees cut and new ones planted, and playing fields mowed. Poison oak allowed to grow? Nope. Most everything else that makes itself comfortable there? Yes. It is home to redwood groves and eucalyptus forests, open meadows and scrublands. Tucked into its center is an old green house (green house, not greenhouse) where the maintenance team keeps their offices and a large, fenced vegetable and fruit garden. Most of the fruit in McLaren Park, however, is outside of that fence. The park is full of blackberries.</p><p>Blackberries are in the rose family, clearly evident in their thorns, caning habit, leaf structure, and flowers. Two species of blackberry compete for superiority in McLaren.</p><p>This is a Himalayan blackberry, Rubus bifrons. It is a vigorous invasive plant that can take over whole hillsides if there is even a little water available. Himalayan blackberries have five (sometimes seven) leaves on each stem, arching canes with large recurved thorns, and relatively large white flowers.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouMNnrjuU2acVRKAEGtPRBWDcv12DgnH6qfA0IVZZmcdH4S_EUcaA0ukdpAkHUEDg9dET_9ecpehUw62w73BBcn6cZu_rv-yxAVWtuY19Oim0yqZ-Q8tgDBVP64gwSkf4hjOnmGokRVTrYfkmCbUPdf6zLiSCM513_ajS-haYBT8crg_TWU-2/s4032/IMG_6726.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouMNnrjuU2acVRKAEGtPRBWDcv12DgnH6qfA0IVZZmcdH4S_EUcaA0ukdpAkHUEDg9dET_9ecpehUw62w73BBcn6cZu_rv-yxAVWtuY19Oim0yqZ-Q8tgDBVP64gwSkf4hjOnmGokRVTrYfkmCbUPdf6zLiSCM513_ajS-haYBT8crg_TWU-2/w480-h640/IMG_6726.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5ctktvKGY49wsx5K6IxaABWrCH-N1UdUQOCBGNcOFqldDwVIc0H1q6rA0F6f92fTcP487gKMwm4h4z4ZIgipXMYxzox8eOiIBhl-UhtuV8kgMx64BHv4gqYotjA5REsITutdIBLZQwJstzzOpbKQf1K7p0DqGGJibp87hNRlYtyY2iX-x7RN/s4032/IMG_6707.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu5ctktvKGY49wsx5K6IxaABWrCH-N1UdUQOCBGNcOFqldDwVIc0H1q6rA0F6f92fTcP487gKMwm4h4z4ZIgipXMYxzox8eOiIBhl-UhtuV8kgMx64BHv4gqYotjA5REsITutdIBLZQwJstzzOpbKQf1K7p0DqGGJibp87hNRlYtyY2iX-x7RN/w480-h640/IMG_6707.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhqNlPSrMifpmgWRkMfs5ZMB3SUgWlBnDTS5whjO8CbY56Ix5FuqJaRKjrKrfds6tILqM-anxXWQUoCpHvS_2gLl15m_v2Nun9n0wNdEIPfBO3vdZ2zX6j99pnAdDDPi2G8lu2iVXCyn6E-GSclFyb7bSaUPSLStCRgpe7Z0pf5NpeZExT8TA/s4032/IMG_6705.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhqNlPSrMifpmgWRkMfs5ZMB3SUgWlBnDTS5whjO8CbY56Ix5FuqJaRKjrKrfds6tILqM-anxXWQUoCpHvS_2gLl15m_v2Nun9n0wNdEIPfBO3vdZ2zX6j99pnAdDDPi2G8lu2iVXCyn6E-GSclFyb7bSaUPSLStCRgpe7Z0pf5NpeZExT8TA/w640-h480/IMG_6705.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Most of the berry thickets south of Mansell, the biggest road that splits the park, are Himalayan blackberries; there are also other large thickets on the park's eastern edges, and of course, near the "lakes" and the spring.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is California blackberry, Rubus ursinus. It has three leaves instead of five on each stem, slender thorns that stick straight out of the canes, smallish white flowers, and the whole plant grows a little lower to the ground than the Himalayan blackberry. While the plants will grow with little water, they won't produce much fruit without access.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6WxrsrVT5Pjyp0lXekH1BAZjzYjdlc8bgJrBtbmMu7fp8V4774JMLD3V5KomYevUQIY3BYHxyPZPfaw4ZpNokC1Cy6g8RXzsc4CutbJzl5fo7YVkK3iUq8n0PW-l7-548WVy9c1PfBlucadRxZ3LhG5sYLU7EoEQPf4yoe1cLIFBBsCNd2TZ/s4032/IMG_6711.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP6WxrsrVT5Pjyp0lXekH1BAZjzYjdlc8bgJrBtbmMu7fp8V4774JMLD3V5KomYevUQIY3BYHxyPZPfaw4ZpNokC1Cy6g8RXzsc4CutbJzl5fo7YVkK3iUq8n0PW-l7-548WVy9c1PfBlucadRxZ3LhG5sYLU7EoEQPf4yoe1cLIFBBsCNd2TZ/w480-h640/IMG_6711.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Qkq6YG7d8U5vVtJzLFpawjBNyUgKAU7zPyeJJWoDCjkgxhIsTAfcX-tMfwNPulQ36PJpfEeyx32-dVJTaRD8FmDCSlDBOEEtG2EgFhv9ilfBOYQBlwYKutXBfyBEt5r8VHjt4uiB_t3ljSaOFZWy6pf3Rx9WVz3JFJDjg1gasrXU3orhkaXe/s4032/IMG_6710.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Qkq6YG7d8U5vVtJzLFpawjBNyUgKAU7zPyeJJWoDCjkgxhIsTAfcX-tMfwNPulQ36PJpfEeyx32-dVJTaRD8FmDCSlDBOEEtG2EgFhv9ilfBOYQBlwYKutXBfyBEt5r8VHjt4uiB_t3ljSaOFZWy6pf3Rx9WVz3JFJDjg1gasrXU3orhkaXe/w480-h640/IMG_6710.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UUF5LwDai69k3t8d4Pr2klqGMrP1YNPX_SpW8bq0xWD2J5Q_LghlGRb64tXvCsZXFh2FYnZ7ZLJInj4jKoerpTqTz5UdheNYsBN7QjqqPEKGr9_mIveOsyc_i8YkUGxnV3k5o9WFYGuNpTJfdI7dbigAB5Tp8jUWlH7DUR0dVEc306IAJXIq/s4032/IMG_6709.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6UUF5LwDai69k3t8d4Pr2klqGMrP1YNPX_SpW8bq0xWD2J5Q_LghlGRb64tXvCsZXFh2FYnZ7ZLJInj4jKoerpTqTz5UdheNYsBN7QjqqPEKGr9_mIveOsyc_i8YkUGxnV3k5o9WFYGuNpTJfdI7dbigAB5Tp8jUWlH7DUR0dVEc306IAJXIq/w480-h640/IMG_6709.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Most of the California blackberry I have found in the park is north of Mansell, near the two "lakes" or fed by spring water. In the park, I have only seen it growing in partial sun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Both Himalayan blackberry and California blackberry produce very tasty fruit and every August and September, I fill containers of fruit to munch on and cook with.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, they're not the only two varieties of Rubus in the park. There are others that are causing me a lot of delight as I try to figure out what they are.</div><div><br /></div>Consider this, which looks to my eye, like a boysenberry, a hybrid of a bunch of different Rubus, including Rubus ursinus. Is it? Or, is it a different hybrid that emerged from the crossing of ursinus and bifrons? Or a crossing of one of the two and the maintenance team's berry bushes from behind the fence? A fence won't stop a bee. I have only seen one patch of this type, growing in a willow thicket fed by the spring. Its leaves are big and floppy, its fruit over an inch long, and its thorns slender.<div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKYfbN3Y7xSlbn1Y4uY9qdv5vAHOXsdjDEEOeHlwRqOLlOdr5ixPOlx590qJ9FqbbuUAbXAiLDHuJeuDEcXkJ0EPRgTAfdgCBhttfJPHKWUnTz1YfTbJfK_Of6psmgvWpjHziH6qz6aV6kcpQyxNhnaCZ36N7KT06NulbvTJXYxNctElJP1Zv/s4032/IMG_6714.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKYfbN3Y7xSlbn1Y4uY9qdv5vAHOXsdjDEEOeHlwRqOLlOdr5ixPOlx590qJ9FqbbuUAbXAiLDHuJeuDEcXkJ0EPRgTAfdgCBhttfJPHKWUnTz1YfTbJfK_Of6psmgvWpjHziH6qz6aV6kcpQyxNhnaCZ36N7KT06NulbvTJXYxNctElJP1Zv/w640-h480/IMG_6714.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1IXytv6Cfrpk7nXdutaP6x5TjD1GDkoRad8xlxZ7yH7_eHd0-scTNxgeNcv29FUQtaO3zhqQX9yzGmi6XF0-DtopWDkkNlulq3pw2qJDsqTIyNh13dHlsroO39oxJ3gVq_3xg0H2ErdvD21AobKVGy8MzNBtzcxTyvfJpfN4qgblvlXR5VXh/s4032/IMG_6713.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1IXytv6Cfrpk7nXdutaP6x5TjD1GDkoRad8xlxZ7yH7_eHd0-scTNxgeNcv29FUQtaO3zhqQX9yzGmi6XF0-DtopWDkkNlulq3pw2qJDsqTIyNh13dHlsroO39oxJ3gVq_3xg0H2ErdvD21AobKVGy8MzNBtzcxTyvfJpfN4qgblvlXR5VXh/w480-h640/IMG_6713.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And what about this one? It has smooth leaves, usually three per stem, completely thornless canes, and bright pink flowers. I've found several large thickets of them on either side of the meadow near Gambier Plaza. Could it be some kind of cross with a Rubus canadensis, a thornless berry? How would that cross even happen? And, where did that pretty pink flower come from?</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fq7YVcFaxGXp-kjIU85_cWGR9eBw9LM5xtM9Sdv72LbIIaKVhKEQ3myuazIX3gWtRnRDDJRP8IhOeuPJgvUXdzu4WHloTt6tL2HF0im-YkBOlmU7AnYn0iD1lCs5v0Bmf9q87X19YTgcA3ATVNvUX-7LqeOD7iS8hwiD3_5dqFnPOI_GSxzZ/s4032/IMG_6721.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fq7YVcFaxGXp-kjIU85_cWGR9eBw9LM5xtM9Sdv72LbIIaKVhKEQ3myuazIX3gWtRnRDDJRP8IhOeuPJgvUXdzu4WHloTt6tL2HF0im-YkBOlmU7AnYn0iD1lCs5v0Bmf9q87X19YTgcA3ATVNvUX-7LqeOD7iS8hwiD3_5dqFnPOI_GSxzZ/w640-h480/IMG_6721.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxgT7A9R3L9154T-SqMiGsxWON8cApbE3byBXn6UQkGrhXXgNI3EwQBVizBhmEsw_dzHOstfNLaGonoQBLmLUkYqIaYXfmTMOlnM1qT-NGAFvJx4FpJE4unlQqM_ZGJ2cuhU9rmaX1m4oY9FYYfIGs3bChvqt_sz4vRyVSSwzRETVMtiJ8ecf/s4032/IMG_6723.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxgT7A9R3L9154T-SqMiGsxWON8cApbE3byBXn6UQkGrhXXgNI3EwQBVizBhmEsw_dzHOstfNLaGonoQBLmLUkYqIaYXfmTMOlnM1qT-NGAFvJx4FpJE4unlQqM_ZGJ2cuhU9rmaX1m4oY9FYYfIGs3bChvqt_sz4vRyVSSwzRETVMtiJ8ecf/w640-h480/IMG_6723.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSEMCn3Of_YT57Jqe-j4H-jLDcwQNbDrWbS9_dTyCwuT1lHUE_EqhJ4stA3E-dIeQLGm7fcWYT36C0a_5C8Gfv-4CgikuDqdRfNDlViaznCvz7ZRHoGfDBsjTLxr4huvxB303EEkui8BmyX-o4w_eTueWKkuWqbwbsq01pSoQaSIFWGboQBsN/s4032/IMG_6717.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSEMCn3Of_YT57Jqe-j4H-jLDcwQNbDrWbS9_dTyCwuT1lHUE_EqhJ4stA3E-dIeQLGm7fcWYT36C0a_5C8Gfv-4CgikuDqdRfNDlViaznCvz7ZRHoGfDBsjTLxr4huvxB303EEkui8BmyX-o4w_eTueWKkuWqbwbsq01pSoQaSIFWGboQBsN/w480-h640/IMG_6717.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In some cases, a couple varieties grow all tangled up together, like this.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5EN2y-JL0zLnrNAW7FRyroEoRR6-zRqSjAxMlJGMT-9vKgsf68LaIoYOBng6huSUFKA2vOWAVaEUDqOKsXp-T887KRj-CbG2kz63vkq8CNwgzrWSZoEAS4TI12sUmevw7tN4B3JxmcnNJWIyiIG99iCFSbWDSt10wjlXc6QqwJ-fdAQ-hNFK/s4032/IMG_6722.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5EN2y-JL0zLnrNAW7FRyroEoRR6-zRqSjAxMlJGMT-9vKgsf68LaIoYOBng6huSUFKA2vOWAVaEUDqOKsXp-T887KRj-CbG2kz63vkq8CNwgzrWSZoEAS4TI12sUmevw7tN4B3JxmcnNJWIyiIG99iCFSbWDSt10wjlXc6QqwJ-fdAQ-hNFK/w480-h640/IMG_6722.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm sure there are those who would like all the berry bushes gone in McLaren, replaced by well-tended flower beds or more pickleball courts, both of which are good, important things. But so is all this undefined wildness. Something inside me has to observe and and seek out plant patterns, then question and research. These Rubus thorns (or lack thereof) scratch me in ways I need. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank you, maintenance team in the old green house. You keep the park just right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p></div></div>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-50821392350568385282023-06-12T17:33:00.000-07:002023-06-12T17:33:28.824-07:00Early June Wildflowers of McLaren Park<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIguTQOC5IquN0MnIJjtB4I8BWFb4T17smeujyRkjXgxsOItJER5jyGRi7f4U3GwufHNK6BBNovmQMAgUgkcZfOXs9qmfUYLZ0sWg65q39yRwBTl7CvPewwG6HGPFdFJjU2-0VZmD6w92XabHqzB8GmstuFRYXpD1OPlux9IXzOli0IG64A/s4032/IMG_6614.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIguTQOC5IquN0MnIJjtB4I8BWFb4T17smeujyRkjXgxsOItJER5jyGRi7f4U3GwufHNK6BBNovmQMAgUgkcZfOXs9qmfUYLZ0sWg65q39yRwBTl7CvPewwG6HGPFdFJjU2-0VZmD6w92XabHqzB8GmstuFRYXpD1OPlux9IXzOli0IG64A/w480-h640/IMG_6614.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Lupinus nanus</i> (unpollinated), Sky Lupine</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1SycMV0_WEvQGjVimB6IjnVAmq91XqQbm7y6LW3ju-0N2NW1xMFUEqk1_SRlLPUu5Jp0wLpKrI5BAwtWmrDhQyfYdxhpzdzOnCM7K4_a6bK_NrbkVAS0r0dKvoc14InU60FBljG97PeEHp_NcLU1DebK0sujG2CfqvRIZc5Ur6MplAsgMg/s4032/IMG_6612.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1SycMV0_WEvQGjVimB6IjnVAmq91XqQbm7y6LW3ju-0N2NW1xMFUEqk1_SRlLPUu5Jp0wLpKrI5BAwtWmrDhQyfYdxhpzdzOnCM7K4_a6bK_NrbkVAS0r0dKvoc14InU60FBljG97PeEHp_NcLU1DebK0sujG2CfqvRIZc5Ur6MplAsgMg/w480-h640/IMG_6612.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Lupinus nanus</i> (pollinated), Sky Lupine</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxZhET4q15BwkaBAis7b-9eQ80UhAOG-sO--oRz2FsvG27YlbEL-3JeBmg1qDm_CN2TYlqP4ZCLkghpJVzTIwwrR5ZZvC2fkFv0bWqRqAlRHoUvDihL7KRMyj9PJLScMWepcb1nohEVn8-4_QUyUhqXtd_zoP2TkcQ56Q9tmBtbZ_mvvsFA/s4032/IMG_6610.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxZhET4q15BwkaBAis7b-9eQ80UhAOG-sO--oRz2FsvG27YlbEL-3JeBmg1qDm_CN2TYlqP4ZCLkghpJVzTIwwrR5ZZvC2fkFv0bWqRqAlRHoUvDihL7KRMyj9PJLScMWepcb1nohEVn8-4_QUyUhqXtd_zoP2TkcQ56Q9tmBtbZ_mvvsFA/w480-h640/IMG_6610.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Choloragalum pomeridianum</i>, Soap Plant</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXmK7NooydrymaPwOnuIOPpgFtFvl51mEaNmFzUWK_ao3ZtPhzyb0XxyoGS7Wi2AC0E2OjuiI0CSVRe4aJeSB6rtl3FkpCW1xv2mD4RoaerWj8pJZonTxdW2DRlpPM0kClft_QhLP3r9EUw6R7jm_dz5HvThxbDBlO6pXt0Y430HqHKPjEA/s4032/IMG_6604.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXmK7NooydrymaPwOnuIOPpgFtFvl51mEaNmFzUWK_ao3ZtPhzyb0XxyoGS7Wi2AC0E2OjuiI0CSVRe4aJeSB6rtl3FkpCW1xv2mD4RoaerWj8pJZonTxdW2DRlpPM0kClft_QhLP3r9EUw6R7jm_dz5HvThxbDBlO6pXt0Y430HqHKPjEA/w480-h640/IMG_6604.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Leptosiphon grandiflorus</i>, Large Flowered Leptosiphon</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VTJ5kaBcfBZj6YFpccLgRqjo7rD_o3vjNtG1VDRE3YYyDpAQPGEBlEUUP7zK2iwTwUxvPQBXzzU0FyWfMisGaUa70unDm06qsLtGmfsX4ZPnZ6Rsbe8GDhFAFKRyaYviK_R1tdhaJP7_FV0d_o_ywj5pUcIduOBVWEA9ScXuXsHaVvMdrg/s4032/IMG_6584.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VTJ5kaBcfBZj6YFpccLgRqjo7rD_o3vjNtG1VDRE3YYyDpAQPGEBlEUUP7zK2iwTwUxvPQBXzzU0FyWfMisGaUa70unDm06qsLtGmfsX4ZPnZ6Rsbe8GDhFAFKRyaYviK_R1tdhaJP7_FV0d_o_ywj5pUcIduOBVWEA9ScXuXsHaVvMdrg/w480-h640/IMG_6584.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Aesculus californica</i>, California Buckeye</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-31gJzK08s17hQy2W7ocAq_0sIGMoAZwzSlIR5ozCmCPoUmyhdnHF2aJ2zkCSDNP9eltPA-rOpDmX-SC8qgl_dkLlu9zUfdEQvEWqZtX6XBQkeV6atgYFbtsuJn4_SQKcaVUAByo7wC5HR1AUeZ-Pc-_WFMx8Du0YfmI3pBuvCVzfi_AY4g/s4032/IMG_6579.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-31gJzK08s17hQy2W7ocAq_0sIGMoAZwzSlIR5ozCmCPoUmyhdnHF2aJ2zkCSDNP9eltPA-rOpDmX-SC8qgl_dkLlu9zUfdEQvEWqZtX6XBQkeV6atgYFbtsuJn4_SQKcaVUAByo7wC5HR1AUeZ-Pc-_WFMx8Du0YfmI3pBuvCVzfi_AY4g/w640-h480/IMG_6579.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Lupinus arboreus</i>, Yellow Tree Lupine</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYL_NaToul49U0pmQNVULlh6yKMstZLpFWQW4iZEUUWJUbwQTxFpZBLKCudfaCnUK1CYInoocHejGOEBJtVyw6SCS8cZKziyUNA0-2xP9xCIY9uGUtj29d5qnNX2fLMl-64IU-FTdHCZoPfslG9-4HI7R6twiPid2iLojMhz2JYmcxsWyig/s4032/IMG_6571.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYL_NaToul49U0pmQNVULlh6yKMstZLpFWQW4iZEUUWJUbwQTxFpZBLKCudfaCnUK1CYInoocHejGOEBJtVyw6SCS8cZKziyUNA0-2xP9xCIY9uGUtj29d5qnNX2fLMl-64IU-FTdHCZoPfslG9-4HI7R6twiPid2iLojMhz2JYmcxsWyig/w480-h640/IMG_6571.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Lupinus arboreus</i>, Yellow Tree Lupine</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OiUh_uLwNEwAZQNMwRAHSJbM_6asd5dNuyn2jCSt8bGmTGPyN_-TVkoM0BB9DS59--la2bO2HYPBy6jvfSSDwio3hx5rs98Mv5rXZ78pFnvMzAby43g16BOrH2mmMRMWwbqGtoIS5ZOYWnPB2Xk3P6csNXl-t5Q7GBIbz-ljxqST4g3ZrQ/s3876/IMG_6561.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2907" data-original-width="3876" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OiUh_uLwNEwAZQNMwRAHSJbM_6asd5dNuyn2jCSt8bGmTGPyN_-TVkoM0BB9DS59--la2bO2HYPBy6jvfSSDwio3hx5rs98Mv5rXZ78pFnvMzAby43g16BOrH2mmMRMWwbqGtoIS5ZOYWnPB2Xk3P6csNXl-t5Q7GBIbz-ljxqST4g3ZrQ/w640-h480/IMG_6561.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A mass of <i>Triteleia laxa</i>, Ithuriel's Spear</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpodB093elkhz_CldvxCm6N4y66YI6GaZJZblvIhXaVvGa27Mc9CjiHW7I1W8RDSfbxNXVjx55J1bd8QItLKcYkUPdRjbFOA8mYlk7t2LA97N_3AOWJx5DLWMqAlFDoRyb8G1lTs4oazAZdVSE287SoYmga917B1N3ozOJ2vxT3UrzglJC4w/s4032/IMG_6555.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpodB093elkhz_CldvxCm6N4y66YI6GaZJZblvIhXaVvGa27Mc9CjiHW7I1W8RDSfbxNXVjx55J1bd8QItLKcYkUPdRjbFOA8mYlk7t2LA97N_3AOWJx5DLWMqAlFDoRyb8G1lTs4oazAZdVSE287SoYmga917B1N3ozOJ2vxT3UrzglJC4w/w480-h640/IMG_6555.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Triteleia laxa</i>, Ithuriel's Spear</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BjD29YGr4yKAnZvwy4k_o8gM9Tj2bgrcGq1ccVpx5NdgSZuK1yIf7xcqBFJCiRssM8T3XylZZUq3z401-gXad5XV8LFNpwFNxNygDD_wTbHwhyzdXIaX2rr5gB3U4OO9KHeYJwORNihkHBX2QAoTnVN3DnB5-2h8Qp7NBM97gavkae5NzA/s3901/IMG_6559.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3901" data-original-width="2865" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BjD29YGr4yKAnZvwy4k_o8gM9Tj2bgrcGq1ccVpx5NdgSZuK1yIf7xcqBFJCiRssM8T3XylZZUq3z401-gXad5XV8LFNpwFNxNygDD_wTbHwhyzdXIaX2rr5gB3U4OO9KHeYJwORNihkHBX2QAoTnVN3DnB5-2h8Qp7NBM97gavkae5NzA/w470-h640/IMG_6559.jpeg" width="470" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Eriogonum latifolium</i>, Coast Buckwheat, in foreground and <i>Allium peninsulare var. franciscanum</i>, Franciscan Onion, in background</div></div><br /><p></p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-39788549126286324252023-06-09T12:00:00.000-07:002023-06-09T12:00:07.639-07:00Plant Profile: Oregon Giant Snow Pea<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">If <a href="https://www.quailseeds.com/store/p181/Oregon_Giant_Snow_Pea.html" target="_blank">Oregon Giant</a> snow peas are flat, they're good, but not as delightful as they will be when they get a little puffy. When they're a little puffy, the pod is sweet and the peas inside are sweet. They taste like childhood. This is a variety <a href="https://gazettetimes.com/news/local/obituaries/james-ronald-baggett/article_3f5ef781-365d-513b-8281-267a95d81f6e.html" target="_blank">Jim Baggett</a> created with the goal of deliciousness and disease resistance, and here in San Francisco, powdery mildew capital of the world, they live up to those goals.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yes, the plants will eventually develop powdery mildew, but in my garden, that only appears at the end of the lifespan of this variety, when I've already collected which pods I'm saving for seed and harvested all that is harvestable. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61Ri_Fp8M11667S7daiq8HJM7r7YQsASygRiQopJImV9b44UcwbKPAkXNIifeCu31M-yWA6x1jz0_w7obmvNcPRJbl9urbCr-UiZ1T1CGhFYKuQl2MYMd6KwWgcsMqgES-jU6qkwxfey-wzvjun_ErbC92WMTYsOH2wRLOD_1p2zqiEQRtA/s3343/IMG_6466%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3010" data-original-width="3343" height="576" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61Ri_Fp8M11667S7daiq8HJM7r7YQsASygRiQopJImV9b44UcwbKPAkXNIifeCu31M-yWA6x1jz0_w7obmvNcPRJbl9urbCr-UiZ1T1CGhFYKuQl2MYMd6KwWgcsMqgES-jU6qkwxfey-wzvjun_ErbC92WMTYsOH2wRLOD_1p2zqiEQRtA/w640-h576/IMG_6466%202.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Catalogs list this variety as semi-dwarf, maxing out around 4 or 5 feet, and most vines in my garden follow that rule, but there's always an outlier or two that really go for it, extending beyond the 6 foot trellises.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Nv7YroNqVwDFwtvs5KdOIvHPTa1IYJSQrXebjTqTLNMARy_oNryi81rsKPfC_kO_buDAXPMiFwdmS4_vWEGV14CZhQHGQ7pEXkLWW8JPvPKx9WNOLJyxzkGxQUvfSOctZXYnfy7KTOQta5oGIueNafZWzsOm_0u7WKccq3iyaGhaeSk_Fw/s4032/IMG_6473.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Nv7YroNqVwDFwtvs5KdOIvHPTa1IYJSQrXebjTqTLNMARy_oNryi81rsKPfC_kO_buDAXPMiFwdmS4_vWEGV14CZhQHGQ7pEXkLWW8JPvPKx9WNOLJyxzkGxQUvfSOctZXYnfy7KTOQta5oGIueNafZWzsOm_0u7WKccq3iyaGhaeSk_Fw/w480-h640/IMG_6473.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've tried Sugar Snap, Sugar Magnolia, Green Beauty, and a couple others in my garden, but this pea wins for me. It's productive, strong-vined, and so very delicious. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u><br /></u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><u>How I grow them:</u></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The plants need moderately rich, relatively moist soil. I do well planting them in late winter thickly (about 1.5" apart) around the edges of trellises. </li><li>Bountiful dustings of diatomaceous earth on seedlings helps limit slug and pillbug damage.</li><li>I protect seedlings from birds with twigs or agricultural cloth.</li><li>I grow and save seed from at least 30 plants to keep a healthy genetic population. Peas suffer quickly to inbreeding. </li><li>I aim to save an early, perfect pod from each healthy plant. Later in the season, the plants are more prone to mutation, so the early pods are likeliest to be stable.</li><li>I don't save seeds from undesirable (disease prone, misshapen, or otherwise struggling) plants.</li></ul></div>This time of year is peas-at-least-twice-a-week season, soon to be swallowed by runner-beans-all-the-time season. I won't complain about either.<br /><p></p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-17563245564632750522023-04-20T09:41:00.000-07:002023-04-20T09:41:36.932-07:00Springtime and an Old Dog<p>Indy is asleep at my feet. He and I just came back from a slow walk around a couple blocks that didn't include much of a hill. Earlier, he had begged me to throw his toy for him, over and over, and I did, but only for a few feet and only on flat ground. When we walked up the stairs after our short walk, his back legs slipped on the stairs, but he caught himself and kept going. He is happy. He is old. </p><p>When Indiana first came home with me over twelve years ago, he was unstoppable, full of anxious energy and young dog enthusiasm. He would play fetch for hours. Six mile hikes up the steep Altadena hills hardly made him blink. He needed to move all of the time. In the first year of knowing him, I lost 20 pounds.</p><p>Young Indy was anxious. When my friend who was on a run passed us as we walked along the side of the street, Indiana chomped down on his hand. He bit several of the first people he met at our house. <a href="https://www.athinkingstomach.com/2012/12/mouth-of-metal.html" target="_blank">He got in scrabbles</a>. Nowadays, he has two dog friends who he has worked hard to tolerate, and dislikes the rest of his own species. He's great around cats that don't run, but chases those who do. In his elder years, he has become affectionate. He mashes his head in my thigh, smearing me with slobber and waiting for ear rubs. When I sit down, he places his head on my lap and asks for me to rub his ears and neck. When he gets exactly the petting he hopes for, his tail wags madly and a mohawk along his lower spine rises. We call this the "happy hackles."</p><p>He can no longer hit the hills with me for long walks. To take care of myself the way that I need to in order to be the person I like being, I need these long walks, so I have to take them without Indiana. I hate leaving the house without him. My leash arm feels naked.</p><p>Without an anxious dog attached to me, I'm able to move through the territory of unleashed dogs. I don't have to worry about a potential fight, or some other dog owner who has no control over their off-leash dog blaming me for their dog attacking my own. There is a freedom, not a freedom I have wished for, but a freedom just the same. This freedom is coinciding with a spring after historic rains that have filled my local wild-ish park with very wild flowers. Walking without Indiana, I've been able to stop at every wildflower that catches my eye. The meadows in McLaren Park this year are beautiful.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKfz2YNu47Gp6BeeDaLYTZYqxvgZ8k1Ty82lco9cRqFFEevLtartgqBd0cDS1ugEfLUdgaaOs-onhNzDQVz1Wz2aC2IA4zxjqL55GzWiKuCBiOwCuyObXOA25zZAe5dVmpVJy0xx4uSpwAFxkfVr_MikxlM7BKsumuIf418KMH34zFTqoLA/s4032/IMG_6118.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrKfz2YNu47Gp6BeeDaLYTZYqxvgZ8k1Ty82lco9cRqFFEevLtartgqBd0cDS1ugEfLUdgaaOs-onhNzDQVz1Wz2aC2IA4zxjqL55GzWiKuCBiOwCuyObXOA25zZAe5dVmpVJy0xx4uSpwAFxkfVr_MikxlM7BKsumuIf418KMH34zFTqoLA/w480-h640/IMG_6118.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue eyed grass, <i>Sisyrinchium bellum</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCpc-hRNkl_0lqswBpZV0Dql-5URNRlI3kQ5z6vRwOVnB7fdgeEx_Ms4vg7JmwSfQiqkk9QW7jIKajHOfQv_g5E8ybc4GldTUzRlGvlxwOUTj2Nzdno_MB31XZUcqSVhIxBBDT1IG7yQulhViXsnVk2E0FmVGba5xL7Y4yryElfgC5VeMbQ/s4032/IMG_6123.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCpc-hRNkl_0lqswBpZV0Dql-5URNRlI3kQ5z6vRwOVnB7fdgeEx_Ms4vg7JmwSfQiqkk9QW7jIKajHOfQv_g5E8ybc4GldTUzRlGvlxwOUTj2Nzdno_MB31XZUcqSVhIxBBDT1IG7yQulhViXsnVk2E0FmVGba5xL7Y4yryElfgC5VeMbQ/w480-h640/IMG_6123.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suncups, <i>Camissonia ovata</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-73ZiWGgfGkm-grecMKk7smeUoXDJZNPqry-zyIrKDVA6d40EX_qCLDIwdOHVryai9BhfESmjDdHOfzCKbf9cqIoz1EU1KF1FrfJvELOU-_mw8b0uOlJqgT43KU03nxfo_HhVPnrJqf6f397V14-e62IFjp0XBwc81E0q6MbZKLvCW1Bhg/s4032/IMG_6142.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-73ZiWGgfGkm-grecMKk7smeUoXDJZNPqry-zyIrKDVA6d40EX_qCLDIwdOHVryai9BhfESmjDdHOfzCKbf9cqIoz1EU1KF1FrfJvELOU-_mw8b0uOlJqgT43KU03nxfo_HhVPnrJqf6f397V14-e62IFjp0XBwc81E0q6MbZKLvCW1Bhg/w640-h480/IMG_6142.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Footsteps of Spring, <i>Sanicula arctopoides</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbT60Ff8WmpRC7O29ZqQv5UnqJUMuUNQuTAyUjEdqtgPrZY0r1iG-25XPzdbpxma5FSdftM-hAGVk10U3lBvSQwiI3eGlm35jhBQsE9G8FZZ40wwixLevQrRqQ_bLOfevpLrMMKXTArIRWzTRxarK5HRk3VNF6hRgdIvRgLoycCKrSO37Yw/s4032/IMG_6146.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKbT60Ff8WmpRC7O29ZqQv5UnqJUMuUNQuTAyUjEdqtgPrZY0r1iG-25XPzdbpxma5FSdftM-hAGVk10U3lBvSQwiI3eGlm35jhBQsE9G8FZZ40wwixLevQrRqQ_bLOfevpLrMMKXTArIRWzTRxarK5HRk3VNF6hRgdIvRgLoycCKrSO37Yw/w640-h480/IMG_6146.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Checker-bloom, <i>Sidalcea malviflora</i>, with footsteps of spring below it.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEHnIdqGvk_kyC80of3LHiWGSqXXfs2U7PpREH3SSkVQdciaUl0GIHgp8hyNSc4BOXk1AjMqcNJQ3Ie3dSHmVVRVCRsfFtOs7cLhIWevbpBb6R_gN5p6l4pFy_ZRySIv039XBo5cnc2rrxnpa2h-IITIBLuk_Mr_vkaj2Owi4h7U3GuvsAg/s4032/IMG_6214.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEHnIdqGvk_kyC80of3LHiWGSqXXfs2U7PpREH3SSkVQdciaUl0GIHgp8hyNSc4BOXk1AjMqcNJQ3Ie3dSHmVVRVCRsfFtOs7cLhIWevbpBb6R_gN5p6l4pFy_ZRySIv039XBo5cnc2rrxnpa2h-IITIBLuk_Mr_vkaj2Owi4h7U3GuvsAg/w480-h640/IMG_6214.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby blue eyes, <i>Nemophila menziesii</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwaH4eEB_mAoLO0sL2mB0p9JW1R0QGPXIc-yV80fUsUcFLjglywU-fU4tirbNLAxIwtcQ1tCqrWUqIMfQvTsfYsfKCkmdoW_uPw0HbNKyBKIGRCjCZGJ_EV_axPoFl5vIdfCchvk3AfE1yxv927cTfqLOpKsGbs0PeSz9XiKOX_bgEncYtw/s4032/IMG_6217.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwaH4eEB_mAoLO0sL2mB0p9JW1R0QGPXIc-yV80fUsUcFLjglywU-fU4tirbNLAxIwtcQ1tCqrWUqIMfQvTsfYsfKCkmdoW_uPw0HbNKyBKIGRCjCZGJ_EV_axPoFl5vIdfCchvk3AfE1yxv927cTfqLOpKsGbs0PeSz9XiKOX_bgEncYtw/w480-h640/IMG_6217.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ribwort plantain, <i>Plantago lanceolata</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2_WMpLT7F8mCtGP5yRmWtwHtEmDZxmTBKHJ7bIf4lG-oA5WEV2PSvUT5ZEcf-QCPgej28iYPmZ95-zUsLC4O69hdnIeSBF5gvpdBW744lkZJpVtJzUbRKzldZ6kiqfU4HJZeii29jW5yhCi-Y_F6-L_Q2NunyaM0MD1Ivw1U-7XLJN2YHQ/s4032/IMG_6125.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2_WMpLT7F8mCtGP5yRmWtwHtEmDZxmTBKHJ7bIf4lG-oA5WEV2PSvUT5ZEcf-QCPgej28iYPmZ95-zUsLC4O69hdnIeSBF5gvpdBW744lkZJpVtJzUbRKzldZ6kiqfU4HJZeii29jW5yhCi-Y_F6-L_Q2NunyaM0MD1Ivw1U-7XLJN2YHQ/w480-h640/IMG_6125.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">California poppy, <i>Eschscholzia californica</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXcqefpdeBc7-kIrhzjbEep-3hWUonAcEYK6XqKFgZoeg0_SAAvvz4PofGsvauYCfMx0TRXcPHfjPWwqSeGDqhkx2xfOqENvmDz0Fmns7xi57OP-tBIYXOwhnsPRKI35hGap69QuHLI4VqUdRGUOuIe8mdQywttg-oA6G9YXZlDoiKQFt-w/s4032/IMG_6173.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOXcqefpdeBc7-kIrhzjbEep-3hWUonAcEYK6XqKFgZoeg0_SAAvvz4PofGsvauYCfMx0TRXcPHfjPWwqSeGDqhkx2xfOqENvmDz0Fmns7xi57OP-tBIYXOwhnsPRKI35hGap69QuHLI4VqUdRGUOuIe8mdQywttg-oA6G9YXZlDoiKQFt-w/w640-h480/IMG_6173.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">California poppies are just getting started in our park</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>After I take my long walk, I take Indiana for his own short walk in which he can take all the time he wants to sniff all the things that catch his attention, and when we return home, I pet his velvet ears and gray muzzle until his hackles rise; that's pretty beautiful too.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-68336806221363762162023-01-12T21:34:00.000-08:002023-01-12T21:34:38.620-08:00Kingfishers and Joy in Edinburgh and Glasgow<p>On our first full day in Scotland, we walked along the Leith in Edinburgh and a man stopped us: "There is a kingfisher about 250 meters ahead," he said. My heart leapt. A kingfisher! I had never seen one before, but how many times had I read the Gerard Manley Hopkins <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44389/as-kingfishers-catch-fire" target="_blank">poem</a>? So many times—I work at a Jesuit institution, after all. </p><p>A few paces further, the iridescent turquoise of the small bird caught my eye. It was much smaller than I expected, but it swooped off its branch to dive, so quickly!, into the surface of the river, and flashed metallic in teal and orange, as if it really did catch fire. I smiled so hard and I didn't stop smiling for over a week.</p><p>We had decided to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary with a trip to Scotland, in the middle of the winter, the darkest, wettest time. Though the weather was dreary, the people were warm; the stone buildings damp and grey, the art vivid and thought-provoking; the trees leafless, the history present in every inch. Scott experienced food poisoning, and we walked about 8 miles a day. I wanted to gorge myself in every space and vista, so much so that sometimes it was hard for me to spend the time needed to absorb what I was seeing and learning. But Scott was the best companion, slowing us down with questions and reflection so that what I was walking through and reading about and seeing had even more meaning.</p><p>Here are a few highlights from our trip, starting in Edinburgh, to Glasgow, and back to Edinburgh.</p><p><a href="https://thedunstane.com/" target="_blank"><b>The Dunstane Houses</b></a></p><p>We splurged for the Christmas package at the Dunstane Houses, which included special meals, Christmas stockings and crackers, and general good cheer. But, whether we had splurged for a special package or not at The Dunstane Houses, we would have received the warmest hospitality. Not only was our room beautiful and comfortable, the whole place smelled so good. When we asked about how good it smelled, we were told it was a proprietary scent. It was impossible to even buy that scent, a scent of pine and whiskey and age and leather and spice.</p><p>When Scott came down with food poisoning early in our stay, the staff worked to still help him feel like he was having a special experience, even though he couldn't feast. The refrain of the staff was "no worries," and they certainly helped us feel as if we had none.</p><p>We loved our stay here and would recommend it to anyone. Also, the Scottish breakfast? The best we had on the whole trip. The haggis is rich with black pepper and excellent smeared on brown toast.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbo1_2QYcCuIeC70ITWssgix1Sxdyz8MidklTjWNwlckv570zju4FUcSSn-RP--NHHChoPJVIO9ZywK2OAf6QYH26hI_ZKuePGXnIOZP6eeWkruWLQ2Numc1O8hqZ1OqyDdYJm-yknNk4zkRRF7re3OI0KDLshJNtAtjXVxsutOQdsJ4wPw/s3931/IMG_5593.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2948" data-original-width="3931" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbo1_2QYcCuIeC70ITWssgix1Sxdyz8MidklTjWNwlckv570zju4FUcSSn-RP--NHHChoPJVIO9ZywK2OAf6QYH26hI_ZKuePGXnIOZP6eeWkruWLQ2Numc1O8hqZ1OqyDdYJm-yknNk4zkRRF7re3OI0KDLshJNtAtjXVxsutOQdsJ4wPw/w400-h300/IMG_5593.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZWfM8QUIb8rjpQJ-8mH9Udc0v2THw1v2Rtx5GEPR619SgnzPtG6xCd94ySM-XPe2dhYBSndvjPBmrLDcib1CiTtAyP34dBkPzeP1bLcIyFDxq3ODDExO4NJnW81VTFexKRAgNOI6V_CImfLl49ce8OcB8M5z9Qhem6md35gjg4PZI1PNZQ/s4032/IMG_5604.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZWfM8QUIb8rjpQJ-8mH9Udc0v2THw1v2Rtx5GEPR619SgnzPtG6xCd94ySM-XPe2dhYBSndvjPBmrLDcib1CiTtAyP34dBkPzeP1bLcIyFDxq3ODDExO4NJnW81VTFexKRAgNOI6V_CImfLl49ce8OcB8M5z9Qhem6md35gjg4PZI1PNZQ/w400-h300/IMG_5604.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://www.nationalgalleries.org/visit/scottish-national-gallery-modern-art" target="_blank"><b>The Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art</b></a></p><p>Scott and I walked here easily from The Dunstane Houses. Here, I learned about <a href="https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/artists/eduardo-paolozzi">Eduardo Paolozzi</a>, the <a href="https://www.futurelibrary.no/">Future Library</a>, and so much more. Scott and I were both moved and delighted by the collection, and we are still talking about it. </p><p>Scott has a friend who backpacked with his brother through Europe and ended up here on his trip, and was so struck by it (and by the time with his brother) that he wants his ashes sprinkled in the pond out front. It's that kind of of museum. We didn't spend enough time here. We couldn't have.</p><p>The national museums in Scotland are free. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCuqeSLri6lCR8S7lq3s-2C9JZbBZacTRLs4WWTAACzr_bB2V1mAh9HoMpW_J1M6kvqdbFKWCfvcei3AnjFSR8WbNayKFDCmto_7vCUCiV81gUkiUcIq7qsEcrtdYwRHadyMFc6wHQ1j1XdeNcijg8ShSQ1mgDwOVcBznU_tPIhB0C9JyPQ/s4032/IMG_5403.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbCuqeSLri6lCR8S7lq3s-2C9JZbBZacTRLs4WWTAACzr_bB2V1mAh9HoMpW_J1M6kvqdbFKWCfvcei3AnjFSR8WbNayKFDCmto_7vCUCiV81gUkiUcIq7qsEcrtdYwRHadyMFc6wHQ1j1XdeNcijg8ShSQ1mgDwOVcBznU_tPIhB0C9JyPQ/w400-h300/IMG_5403.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd4I01BfUWIDUqbTVZN07nuVA5UGlStQ9QMSZvyp8ka1RgfVIqHB_F3hMmbn-z7xAd0V9ntAUGisl-CutXW3m4g65_IoWoz1SaiC9LCb5B4zWqcF4mVVHHPCmMs84IIO_Nzos9yZPTX-GK97MSycktz2_SbqR3XuIx6MeEAxcHCYKGoad-Q/s3704/IMG_5404.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2778" data-original-width="3704" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKd4I01BfUWIDUqbTVZN07nuVA5UGlStQ9QMSZvyp8ka1RgfVIqHB_F3hMmbn-z7xAd0V9ntAUGisl-CutXW3m4g65_IoWoz1SaiC9LCb5B4zWqcF4mVVHHPCmMs84IIO_Nzos9yZPTX-GK97MSycktz2_SbqR3XuIx6MeEAxcHCYKGoad-Q/w400-h300/IMG_5404.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC3RslAxwstVmSy-PYAVgSNPHS8ofgvajoML_CJENSXXdzcywPjURKmnRrqSlybV__Sv_71nMpK0MKs96N981P5yz3YYQjMDKTOU5OMPCCdPytlm852alOcqG4PxVPAWXdKaaQ2nASOnrQRLoVoNgL76axMU_nwC-58e2ylfcoAtNDq5VzA/s4032/IMG_5420.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBC3RslAxwstVmSy-PYAVgSNPHS8ofgvajoML_CJENSXXdzcywPjURKmnRrqSlybV__Sv_71nMpK0MKs96N981P5yz3YYQjMDKTOU5OMPCCdPytlm852alOcqG4PxVPAWXdKaaQ2nASOnrQRLoVoNgL76axMU_nwC-58e2ylfcoAtNDq5VzA/w300-h400/IMG_5420.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://www.waterofleith.org.uk/walkway/" target="_blank"><b>The Water of Leith Walkway</b></a></p><p>We found ourselves using The Water of Leith Walkway to move between different parts of the city. It's a beautiful, peaceful walk. It's where we saw the kingfisher and many other birds and animals. It's where we saw many, many of the dogs of Edinburgh out with their people. It's also how we walked through Dean Village, a gold-toned mill town that Edinburgh swallowed, and how we got a sense of how both the mill and maritime industries fed Edinburgh.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf719MVhC5n1ZMCKri2ke_ky-lPJ-uxXLoHLTibzzRnTo9731InAf9RvpC1IFDnq7UJm1qKASE708M7fm2emweGG0vKy0fTM_kbLUrIomMMw8TKQKKVZ46RiivAQbbwaumRLth91B9Z7lRteYUYT8b4vc1-SejXU9uRzDf0IEkO0REww53nw/s4032/IMG_5425.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf719MVhC5n1ZMCKri2ke_ky-lPJ-uxXLoHLTibzzRnTo9731InAf9RvpC1IFDnq7UJm1qKASE708M7fm2emweGG0vKy0fTM_kbLUrIomMMw8TKQKKVZ46RiivAQbbwaumRLth91B9Z7lRteYUYT8b4vc1-SejXU9uRzDf0IEkO0REww53nw/w300-h400/IMG_5425.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U3QaVnC0jjqEWGIvfZXoCfnTvExmwVlkebSwu7VZtD-Xqj5ZeDtPTPH9RcIHnr75FulBzhyibltthmwdnHN2bUHEuEjd_rKi-GePVrCSKDcewI0XBhVKt6tdtEB8j_HpE2YzrzH6smoz3MdnDSrplj_YrfGBE9tC9ZinQhCRYcceDUsxwQ/s4032/IMG_5427.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8U3QaVnC0jjqEWGIvfZXoCfnTvExmwVlkebSwu7VZtD-Xqj5ZeDtPTPH9RcIHnr75FulBzhyibltthmwdnHN2bUHEuEjd_rKi-GePVrCSKDcewI0XBhVKt6tdtEB8j_HpE2YzrzH6smoz3MdnDSrplj_YrfGBE9tC9ZinQhCRYcceDUsxwQ/w400-h300/IMG_5427.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDwaW_cqITC-sC1P2ytOvOb-JuS-nNgHHVBAELAjKLJkBqx-sYX-xo8WhfAyJJRKiUZN3cHW2b-jRrADfsFkvNwNlvZ_kyT6V7UuxBZNf7t5YdROp-EjrzwXYk4vPfJ_Eb4ZZF7dFzisqBXW5OGGj9-fJN5lM6wxZzviJQDC5qZ8l6xztPQ/s4032/IMG_5429.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDwaW_cqITC-sC1P2ytOvOb-JuS-nNgHHVBAELAjKLJkBqx-sYX-xo8WhfAyJJRKiUZN3cHW2b-jRrADfsFkvNwNlvZ_kyT6V7UuxBZNf7t5YdROp-EjrzwXYk4vPfJ_Eb4ZZF7dFzisqBXW5OGGj9-fJN5lM6wxZzviJQDC5qZ8l6xztPQ/w300-h400/IMG_5429.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYrQl02Kviyf-w6EY2t8rCVIf2y97kH4Z08IrpE_WqwTK68-Dzohp5k4ykoVbNoOoGTocD_lF9S6_GahOeS47luIYdm062gCcIsezkSsLnin--q3fQVApfhlPz7oPqDcfjWincol5970RyUqERC49bEF_eCyupSKHqKm8qobBtKUkBZzYgw/s4032/IMG_5788.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYrQl02Kviyf-w6EY2t8rCVIf2y97kH4Z08IrpE_WqwTK68-Dzohp5k4ykoVbNoOoGTocD_lF9S6_GahOeS47luIYdm062gCcIsezkSsLnin--q3fQVApfhlPz7oPqDcfjWincol5970RyUqERC49bEF_eCyupSKHqKm8qobBtKUkBZzYgw/w400-h300/IMG_5788.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><b>Walking everywhere in both Edinburgh and Glasgow</b></p><p>We are walkers, and there's no better way to feel a place. On our walks through both cities, we experienced surprise, awe, longing, and joy. We heard and felt the textures of voice and cobblestone. We stopped for good coffee when we were tired, and everywhere encountered gracious people. During our whole trip, we did not hear one horn honk, one person curse in anger at another, or any expression of impatience.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWSZgYZOnj8lvQw6EQ4MRMqDbWWGZh_sGiJuo5KtJsrcCOXYpEuxc8oaAPbUh5bDDxPSalrjPNstFzcGM0zYwMn9UXUV3ccB6sByX96wZCCAVaz_7b5SuyPk4AvVciwk832fMqU-HE4Ax7SjA53Bfa0iO6J8Y9jkgKhIJJoKSN74LBQOIiA/s4032/IMG_5441.jpeg"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWSZgYZOnj8lvQw6EQ4MRMqDbWWGZh_sGiJuo5KtJsrcCOXYpEuxc8oaAPbUh5bDDxPSalrjPNstFzcGM0zYwMn9UXUV3ccB6sByX96wZCCAVaz_7b5SuyPk4AvVciwk832fMqU-HE4Ax7SjA53Bfa0iO6J8Y9jkgKhIJJoKSN74LBQOIiA/w400-h300/IMG_5441.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xi-_u33bB0BX2kBGtxyC7K1XFXLmKHErkkTVYOGn8nPdmfmNECk0Ewva2pnLMj4e0yQkimSCtXtb2RerEO85mbs3iLHNlcaeUoDORfcRYxdmmJDEePUQ-lv9HBrAr3mgdTvtK1guFlkE0bDOZt-HIRlCW84fHmq0cJimNbjk_Xm5Kq1Ugg/s4032/IMG_5447.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xi-_u33bB0BX2kBGtxyC7K1XFXLmKHErkkTVYOGn8nPdmfmNECk0Ewva2pnLMj4e0yQkimSCtXtb2RerEO85mbs3iLHNlcaeUoDORfcRYxdmmJDEePUQ-lv9HBrAr3mgdTvtK1guFlkE0bDOZt-HIRlCW84fHmq0cJimNbjk_Xm5Kq1Ugg/w300-h400/IMG_5447.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JLoPLB3FeIqB6BWSjlb8iSUtCo1DJ9MDJyNtTV6F5nt9xd1plpXtk0foeONUnfRgUxCrS8vgCPXRwT9OFK55Oy_lH9oosIcMuHGP-35qm0_ffbVhwZAy34bVDlSxRonHnyzONwJpAuN-7clmt7PEsfkQ4zLtnR-6I6EJILgyElqt9udtIA/s4032/IMG_5464.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JLoPLB3FeIqB6BWSjlb8iSUtCo1DJ9MDJyNtTV6F5nt9xd1plpXtk0foeONUnfRgUxCrS8vgCPXRwT9OFK55Oy_lH9oosIcMuHGP-35qm0_ffbVhwZAy34bVDlSxRonHnyzONwJpAuN-7clmt7PEsfkQ4zLtnR-6I6EJILgyElqt9udtIA/w300-h400/IMG_5464.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpsM91ScRYzQw1hr37HM0smDazhmo7I1QUf6hAWG94DlieRec8FIxMyBP6X3XDc4W7QqbssFgPi26yiDyq6YEtLTu817-5FIFmayj3pdNCH11nPFpQ2JBQh3RPXOs3VRH8ZCqnnM6oUagvNl-tKdrg80He1zCvWD_lZwSyaE4ao7vpQNGlg/s4032/IMG_5504.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpsM91ScRYzQw1hr37HM0smDazhmo7I1QUf6hAWG94DlieRec8FIxMyBP6X3XDc4W7QqbssFgPi26yiDyq6YEtLTu817-5FIFmayj3pdNCH11nPFpQ2JBQh3RPXOs3VRH8ZCqnnM6oUagvNl-tKdrg80He1zCvWD_lZwSyaE4ao7vpQNGlg/w400-h300/IMG_5504.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw4bG7_-MW_H2dSiDhHEynzeYaO7Rg7HOrgWMYck2MsM8PFamGnwBHALSFPhb2d39FhcmombrYfkITWQO3mucF4bVwRizZccETRyvabV1aVCYqrfDnO1IQP2Hs-eAVxsMdcnCJlOH8dlvLpRdXXIMVGDQY6i0Ml3JcklCpUIKhSpEvxcNZQ/s3876/IMG_5513.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3876" data-original-width="2907" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw4bG7_-MW_H2dSiDhHEynzeYaO7Rg7HOrgWMYck2MsM8PFamGnwBHALSFPhb2d39FhcmombrYfkITWQO3mucF4bVwRizZccETRyvabV1aVCYqrfDnO1IQP2Hs-eAVxsMdcnCJlOH8dlvLpRdXXIMVGDQY6i0Ml3JcklCpUIKhSpEvxcNZQ/w300-h400/IMG_5513.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib4UxDf2MkBduKOnmfZZ4HpTPgQqO3WUdGGxmqRFRqyn859IkojHmStVsWfSGHF5kq7c2hfJwlF1M_IwJVYS48-9isl03JbKAQsKgyd1ifYduJCyfugZEIa2fOiiTezQhV9YVpufjTBVpcXj-n768Y7T19LDlwh_FRk_E8FRYX4L6NaLSYg/s3024/IMG_5531.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="3024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiib4UxDf2MkBduKOnmfZZ4HpTPgQqO3WUdGGxmqRFRqyn859IkojHmStVsWfSGHF5kq7c2hfJwlF1M_IwJVYS48-9isl03JbKAQsKgyd1ifYduJCyfugZEIa2fOiiTezQhV9YVpufjTBVpcXj-n768Y7T19LDlwh_FRk_E8FRYX4L6NaLSYg/w400-h300/IMG_5531.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicc7BmTzs-mTpv6Jggrhe7-qeHtSjusCE36joV2HsHqvGr4ISoyRHB1Z_ng1o9SN83GgjCuuGmdhXEouiQctP32OCwpY4u5EfTuzvuvA1RRET_naEWfJu-sLOBz_FuasQd4fpYPmyo2I2M8Fas3rqRa9f5SKI87u69JyUguGWvL8up5o3mlQ/w400-h300/IMG_5782.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_Cl8Ln5LfhOjMx_FnQunjp2xk0ppKwdKgT064zLCk-LDCm5MDVq0L0J5lYNtyKQZnCO-j9veixonKTnYnbaUJ7AWBOfurO9SPuwKlX5Ih1_ZkII87-O7VzF-__M5u-7TRcZHN0MAyhZ4NTZQpPoHA-yGkyr7Ie0aEqLSWaXONelI-7lXTw/s4032/IMG_5785.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_Cl8Ln5LfhOjMx_FnQunjp2xk0ppKwdKgT064zLCk-LDCm5MDVq0L0J5lYNtyKQZnCO-j9veixonKTnYnbaUJ7AWBOfurO9SPuwKlX5Ih1_ZkII87-O7VzF-__M5u-7TRcZHN0MAyhZ4NTZQpPoHA-yGkyr7Ie0aEqLSWaXONelI-7lXTw/w300-h400/IMG_5785.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3lfujH-2FATOdq8AT9KBrIkmRyPoRkDMFplBlFKg0-WUBfoSjoScuRBG85Hpp5KVdWmGjjrwKAAeQBZTosuLluFFJ2fNdXegdHxBsglrVYCUcrQZ-mXCfbqyHoez7xSj5qWqFUlkaYcnF43E1U46T_IGR2pIvQ5oMtVl-fhqOsZNLdYMtQ/w300-h400/IMG_5810.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLmV2bBVaLORvFuaS_G2uOeySQWMpPzsmlXBlDtbAZdHXTylQAvYD0itZKHHRYruXHlOG7k5aPWhxnXQROiq8BZcP-Ydp2JVIezE8MvAgIck2_0rxmSgSLLimhbazTy8GHq1TdnidY0iVeEKAE6cWHpHg5JjDD843fBv0d3I-bL720d9G7w/s4032/IMG_5819.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLmV2bBVaLORvFuaS_G2uOeySQWMpPzsmlXBlDtbAZdHXTylQAvYD0itZKHHRYruXHlOG7k5aPWhxnXQROiq8BZcP-Ydp2JVIezE8MvAgIck2_0rxmSgSLLimhbazTy8GHq1TdnidY0iVeEKAE6cWHpHg5JjDD843fBv0d3I-bL720d9G7w/w300-h400/IMG_5819.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://artuk.org/visit/venues/kelvingrove-art-gallery-and-museum-3305" target="_blank"><b>Kelvinbridge Museum</b></a></p><p>We stopped in Kelvinbridge in Glasgow and saw some amazing things. But it is so much and all mashed together so there's hardly a breath between exploring Scottish wildlife and the Spitfire and Art Nouveau architecture and classical sculpture. We enjoyed what we saw, but if we were to go again, we would have chosen a wing or a section on which to focus and maybe made a couple visits, with a different focus each time.</p><p>Also, Scott decided this was a prime photobomb location.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQMomMFTh46VTYRahet03qvTypHH2k21j3o8iZvfbuok6CeXitjX0QR7FHsdhz-fuFjO2dbzRIlW7lV2ErH5ZiXw6aGcNGDUYhbb9HAXttFE--oXy6YEri1qZragALNqmk1Oa0cD-UyQpEpsRaUSn75gM0EhVGhfmq9AYsJ4DjeLrgBoCxg/s4032/IMG_5660.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQMomMFTh46VTYRahet03qvTypHH2k21j3o8iZvfbuok6CeXitjX0QR7FHsdhz-fuFjO2dbzRIlW7lV2ErH5ZiXw6aGcNGDUYhbb9HAXttFE--oXy6YEri1qZragALNqmk1Oa0cD-UyQpEpsRaUSn75gM0EhVGhfmq9AYsJ4DjeLrgBoCxg/w300-h400/IMG_5660.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqWWUEaDYfjCtXGFmMkOxcyEdRGmxS_zgg7QfEIMF3zPc55Xu5ZvlhLpmLToNRY92AQbFtPJBat8ESOS_JhUd-RJhufrVZN7GVNS_DLjZYPXLwLn6FUekfe1cEHZYqX6JoiYpXcwPLfHfFUoYUGObRKsZXncmc1aJS1K6_uhehKhWFmDEAw/s4032/IMG_5665.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqWWUEaDYfjCtXGFmMkOxcyEdRGmxS_zgg7QfEIMF3zPc55Xu5ZvlhLpmLToNRY92AQbFtPJBat8ESOS_JhUd-RJhufrVZN7GVNS_DLjZYPXLwLn6FUekfe1cEHZYqX6JoiYpXcwPLfHfFUoYUGObRKsZXncmc1aJS1K6_uhehKhWFmDEAw/w300-h400/IMG_5665.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoalr5S5pq89dIYlkRKNDhxNBFjSld36VciJgVG2otxNjwzUi0tln9GCi2ccTp4PmNKwR3l_su4wQ1wGskAr8Zor6cZRkxv4K0wMrzLaPFf5GErcthndd4iPwq6cCpItRX5vqKycGSwP1p1Uizy8VJu2NJ7LdshljvHPC0O9NJDyNqPj8g5w/s4032/IMG_5666.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoalr5S5pq89dIYlkRKNDhxNBFjSld36VciJgVG2otxNjwzUi0tln9GCi2ccTp4PmNKwR3l_su4wQ1wGskAr8Zor6cZRkxv4K0wMrzLaPFf5GErcthndd4iPwq6cCpItRX5vqKycGSwP1p1Uizy8VJu2NJ7LdshljvHPC0O9NJDyNqPj8g5w/w400-h300/IMG_5666.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzw9zq7OeypNRN7SzmLCv1TSUHAO4uhJZ3qhxKGTJEVlRsk_g1CJfzqkIsYVR8tj62vTvOsi1ti8rKdc85hQrlSjD-Cgnh8ywJ50GF80KPCOiAopWSz1nBXkWN6dApmlkdoxJHhBzP2HH0qX1kZXbgG3ExD0RXdzTEL6ntNoOmcjtf7pxBgQ/s4032/IMG_5682.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzw9zq7OeypNRN7SzmLCv1TSUHAO4uhJZ3qhxKGTJEVlRsk_g1CJfzqkIsYVR8tj62vTvOsi1ti8rKdc85hQrlSjD-Cgnh8ywJ50GF80KPCOiAopWSz1nBXkWN6dApmlkdoxJHhBzP2HH0qX1kZXbgG3ExD0RXdzTEL6ntNoOmcjtf7pxBgQ/w300-h400/IMG_5682.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">**********</div><p><a href="https://www.mixeduprecords.com/" target="_blank"><b>Mixed Up Records</b></a></p><p>On a mega-walking day in Glasgow, we stopped in an art gallery and talked to the owners for a bit. One of them had been a DJ in the 80s and had been a very present part of the 80s Glasgow scene. His wife said to us, "You're from San Francisco. When I think of San Francisco, I think of its moment as the Summer of Love. Glasgow's moment was 80s punk." Scott, a former punk rocker, found his people with this couple. The man gave us a list of record shops that still existed—his focus was on the past, and he mourned the loss of so much that no longer existed. But he did mention a new shop, Mixed Up Records, that happened to be just off our walking path for the day. </p><p>It was pouring outside and rain dripped off the jackets of those inside. It was warm. It seemed like people came in pairs or small groups; each entrance or exit was more than one person, and quite frequently, the group was multigenerational.</p><p>There, the pickings were good. Scott found records he couldn't find in the US. </p><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://artuk.org/visit/venues/riverside-museum-3308" target="_blank"><b>Riverside Museum</b></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvEF4LJ1RMUO9uyll2u6q2qcQZABCXz4WdvoXUqKwAIGnasNPU86XBz5oQsA0hbiNiC_Onv692slWTT6s6j-vKdWsrUosbaRWyFpIlMHRpO2wfBCnk_93f27uBjzW_BtMiNX01dwbMK4WRJoKBZVB3eh0pPmyyHryPtBE-knaR06a62ipHw/s4032/IMG_5717.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyvEF4LJ1RMUO9uyll2u6q2qcQZABCXz4WdvoXUqKwAIGnasNPU86XBz5oQsA0hbiNiC_Onv692slWTT6s6j-vKdWsrUosbaRWyFpIlMHRpO2wfBCnk_93f27uBjzW_BtMiNX01dwbMK4WRJoKBZVB3eh0pPmyyHryPtBE-knaR06a62ipHw/w400-h300/IMG_5717.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25FdYChAmj0VvNFLyN8o_dCSpX3A3PFXrNuVbS31pu5X-JwdEV2t_cHMD-ZDNi2VEvsHHi72kRy5qApO1cnEvbJXL_7dxEaropXnrN5icXi-mjoxtN7OeGZ4JNboTAFCYk-ByKJ8uqyGj-V5uX2Thh_vUkhpsMPrAXd52LJblldCkfG8cYw/s4032/IMG_5722.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25FdYChAmj0VvNFLyN8o_dCSpX3A3PFXrNuVbS31pu5X-JwdEV2t_cHMD-ZDNi2VEvsHHi72kRy5qApO1cnEvbJXL_7dxEaropXnrN5icXi-mjoxtN7OeGZ4JNboTAFCYk-ByKJ8uqyGj-V5uX2Thh_vUkhpsMPrAXd52LJblldCkfG8cYw/w300-h400/IMG_5722.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0jJyXYwzL3vEC_iADknQkjAHMq2kLUw7YFsaSNEWHBJOIXd6_dc2N07jKa72X1g-iaH8XP8y85Z3qrgFdTwse3ytHs3mJqqNvEqYZaXze6UhFN1tBMitU5WAWzUqQk09FhGJnQv2fkltpc1M3c9qK7safKLhO9DPjYsRjYWJqiFmdDDtlw/s3774/IMG_5724.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3774" data-original-width="2830" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0jJyXYwzL3vEC_iADknQkjAHMq2kLUw7YFsaSNEWHBJOIXd6_dc2N07jKa72X1g-iaH8XP8y85Z3qrgFdTwse3ytHs3mJqqNvEqYZaXze6UhFN1tBMitU5WAWzUqQk09FhGJnQv2fkltpc1M3c9qK7safKLhO9DPjYsRjYWJqiFmdDDtlw/w300-h400/IMG_5724.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>This was an unexpected delight. We learned so much about the history of Scottish culture through interactive, transportation-focus of the museum. We learned about Glasgow's tram workers, who volunteered together to fight World War I, and Dorothée Pullinger, who started a car company, hired women engineers, and when she couldn't find women engineers, trained women to be engineers. She was also a race car driver and general badass. We learned about how the UK has struggled to meet the transportation needs of their disabled population, and we learned that some cars might just be too cute to survive. This museum is great for little kids who can enjoy crawling in the tram cars and walking through the reconstructed city street, but it's also great for adults, because the stories are poignant and the combination of art and science beautiful. And the building? I've never been in anything like it.</p><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://www.theclydeside.com/" target="_blank"><b>Clydeside Distillery</b></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSZxAyLBTrTpb3r7MJYRXWraAKZcUWASEpq9tz9KZemYXhpFo8jKGePTIhtrjoITraMySlFkvLR5uFjNJ5rzeCwpI9hF-SFGNIgtF52TYTQCJhZJ8eB4M5Kpt9LJYCwErrfAXw7jDbHSogxem5s9NqEwepoMED4LezFxY2gzX7rH5hNOuVQ/s4032/IMG_4088.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxSZxAyLBTrTpb3r7MJYRXWraAKZcUWASEpq9tz9KZemYXhpFo8jKGePTIhtrjoITraMySlFkvLR5uFjNJ5rzeCwpI9hF-SFGNIgtF52TYTQCJhZJ8eB4M5Kpt9LJYCwErrfAXw7jDbHSogxem5s9NqEwepoMED4LezFxY2gzX7rH5hNOuVQ/w300-h400/IMG_4088.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We didn't do the tour here because we didn't have time, but I'm sure it would be fascinating. But, we stopped for lunch on our last day in Glasgow—the best lunch on our trip—and I tasted both the whiskeys the distillery produced on site.<br /><p><a href="https://www.theclydeside.com/online-shop/clydeside-cop26-release/" target="_blank">Clydeside COP26</a> single malt. Delicious.</p><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p><a href="https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/85620?guests=1&adults=1&s=67&unique_share_id=635f4c1a-2d08-4474-8bc5-57cb6bca2fbe" target="_blank">The Best Airbnb Ever</a></p><p>Yes, we had to carry our luggage up four flights of stairs through a dingy hallway, but once we were there, heaven. An art filled space with a view of Arthur's Seat, a fully stocked kitchen, a comfortable bed, and a feeling of a new experience in a very old space. The host, Carrie, was incredibly responsive and her recommendations were great. We wished we could have spent another day here. I wanted to stop in at the butcher down the block and imagine that we really lived in the Leith neighborhood of Edinburgh.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGaB0GmWNz0yYF6CA4wV3Xfggh_juPFxZVb5NxUApDaagWbgT9VCPvx4SLcwnNg5NLFsA1cSFRrveWbUyWpHgxnL2O2ZAEZ3y3rVgJMLJADo9oMk8Lm1b1wYbmkGHHe_GvBHGbK4aqmW-0MLgBnpvzGCj_uJBhENqQko33_rAmG0d0M2Reg/s4032/IMG_5766.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGaB0GmWNz0yYF6CA4wV3Xfggh_juPFxZVb5NxUApDaagWbgT9VCPvx4SLcwnNg5NLFsA1cSFRrveWbUyWpHgxnL2O2ZAEZ3y3rVgJMLJADo9oMk8Lm1b1wYbmkGHHe_GvBHGbK4aqmW-0MLgBnpvzGCj_uJBhENqQko33_rAmG0d0M2Reg/w300-h400/IMG_5766.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">**********</div><p><a href="https://www.theleithcollective.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Leith Collective</a></p><p>On the day we spent exploring Leith, our last full day in Scotland, both of us were a little grumpy. The day started out beautiful and sunny, but got wet fast and we weren't sure what we were looking for. We were disappointed by The Roseleaf Cafe for lunch—we had such high expectations—and didn't know where we should spend our last waning minutes. We were in a limbo: looking forward to going to our own home, bed, and dog, but also trying to grasp the last Scotland specific pleasures available to us. Luckily, when I was desperate to find a bathroom, we entered the Ocean Terminal mall to use the facilities. And while there, we discovered The Leith Collective, a shop that sold local art and used records. We could have easily purchased half the store, but we would have had to carry it all home. Scott found more record treasures that he is happy to have brought back with him. I eyed some art that I'm still thinking about.</p><p style="text-align: center;">**********</p><p>How do you leave a place that you've barely made a dent in and may never make it back to without feeling a sense of loss? I hope we get to go back some day, perhaps during the long days of summer in which we can explore the highlands and visit islands. I hope we get to walk through the narrow, ancient passageways of Edinburgh again. Before then, however, there are many other places to see and feel. </p><p>But right now, my own bed is feeling mighty fine.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-36017633719382663552023-01-05T18:48:00.000-08:002023-01-05T18:48:21.783-08:0050 Years of Surface Tension<p>The rain slid through the steam and hit the water of the hot spring-fed pool. After each splat of rain, the pool sent up another drip straight into the air. Our heads were just above the mineral pool's surface, and the rising drops rose to just under eye level before falling again. They were fat, each drop rising like a narrow pyramid with a sphere hanging just over it before collapsing back into the water. The surface tension played a trick on what seemed logical. The molecules' attraction to each other is so strong, it allowed liquid water to rise for a moment against the pull of gravity.</p><p>It was Scott's 50th birthday, and we were celebrating at a nearby resort, just the two of us.</p><p>This year has been a hard year for Scott. The challenges he has encountered are different than he has ever experienced. But, he has been through hard times before, and knowing that you have survived difficulty helps you understand that you will survive again. I remember a marriage that was hard. Scott does too. But our marriage isn't hard, even though we experience hard things. With each other, it is easy to share challenges, a home, a life, a future.</p><p>At the beginning of this year, not knowing all that was ahead for him, Scott set a goal for himself: arrange, record, and release 50 cover songs, each chosen for its special meaning to him. He set out to post a fresh take on each of the 50 songs every Friday. Through the year, he covered country songs, punk songs, alternative rock songs, pop songs, and more. I would hear him play around with an idea over and over, and sometimes he would have to put it away to come back to later and choose a different song for the week. But, he would come back to the hard ones and work through them, creating something unique and beautiful. He finished this project even though he works some days very long hours, even though it may have been the hardest year yet of his life, and even when he might have felt like doing something else. </p><p>As each hard thing pummeled Scott this year, he released another song. A seemingly impossible day. He'd follow it with a blog post and a song release that Friday. A friend commented on Scott's project: "You hear about people setting goals all the time, but achieving them is a different story." Scott made it happen. (If you would like to hear them all, you can find them <a href="https://scottgarred.com/home" target="_blank">here</a>.)</p><p>He did all this while also able to make me laugh, every day. </p><p>Maybe a buoy could be an appropriate metaphor for Scott, pushed down, but rising back to the surface. But he does more than that. He floats above. He's like those impossible drops that hang in the air after hitting the surface. </p><p>Scott, thank you for defying gravity. I love you.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-62783924932513793092022-07-05T16:25:00.006-07:002022-07-06T13:13:02.438-07:00Henry Eckford Sweet Pea<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLR1SjlEeufwS1rNp2SAUlCUhNR_F6fOR4BumYAchFNBhSGAL6GT-u3X7TdoT2nCL3baHBt3DvpPJzxJhePdWIM4r8lDKYruB07IApLRyl5ci0l2xfjCIMbv6A40NnhDd2ANq9ik-iVm821OmTPoGW0MLEdzru86pHuRYsyDpwE125eHWZ9g/s3780/016621FD-3363-48C2-8524-C415748C77BE.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLR1SjlEeufwS1rNp2SAUlCUhNR_F6fOR4BumYAchFNBhSGAL6GT-u3X7TdoT2nCL3baHBt3DvpPJzxJhePdWIM4r8lDKYruB07IApLRyl5ci0l2xfjCIMbv6A40NnhDd2ANq9ik-iVm821OmTPoGW0MLEdzru86pHuRYsyDpwE125eHWZ9g/w512-h640/016621FD-3363-48C2-8524-C415748C77BE.jpeg" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A single stem of Henry Eckford on a trellis. Here, you can see the intense color, but you can also see some of the sunburn that happens on hot days.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>In the first third of the 20th century, the agricultural valleys of California were full of sweet peas grown for seed, and even though Morse (of Ferry-Morse) grew his seeds a little further south on the peninsula, he maintained his business in San Francisco (1). This very land where my house now stands used to be covered in greenhouses for flower production. Maybe, in the early 20th century, like in other parts of California, sweet peas grew plentifully here. And perhaps, in the spring, the whole hill was fragrant with flowers. I like to picture it so.<p></p><p>Whether or not sweet peas grew here in the past, they grow here now. But the single variety that I choose to grow dates back to 1904, so it could have been here 100 years ago.</p><p>Sweet peas are among my favorite cut flowers to grow, especially the old varieties that were bred as much for fragrance as for other characteristics. Modern sweet peas have relatively large, ruffly flowers, with many per stem. But, so often, they lack the scent that gives them their name. Older varieties may or may not be ruffly (depending on whether they are pre or post the development of ruffly Spencer varieties), but they're dependebly fragrant. However, it's getting harder and harder to find single named heritage varieties in the United States. Seed companies occasionally sell heirloom mixes, but only a few sources provide named heritage varietes.</p><p>The best way to keep a historic variety alive is to grow it and share it. That's how another seedsaver and I kept afloat a breadseed poppy that enslaved people grew at Jefferson’s Monticello. When I first received seeds for that plant from Seed Savers Exchange member Patrick Holland, he included this letter:</p><blockquote>"These seeds come from the poppy original [sic] grown by Thomas Jefferson on his estate in Virginia. It is called "Monticello." I first obtained this seed from a member some years back who, herself, obtained it from Monticello. For some years now the operators of the estate have discontinued its sale. For approximately 5 years, as far as I know, I am one of the only persons (or the only) who possess this seed. It represents an unbroken chain of seed transmission that extends back for over two hundred years. No one should be burdened with bearing that responsibility alone. [. . .] As of this year, there will be only 4 people left with this seed including yourself as one of them. 200 years of living history in 4 [sic] hands." </blockquote>I grew these poppies and shared the seed through Seed Savers and my local community, and I bragged about the plants' beauty until it was picked up by fellow gardeners, then by <a href="#">Southern Exposure Seed Exchange</a>, and now a few other commercial sources, too. The sources have renamed the variety to "Charlottesville Old," but it is the same plant. Holland's effort of maintaing the plant, sharing the seeds with me, and the both of us sharing it and telling other people about it means now lots of people have access to its beauty when it had been almost extinct.<p>So, since named heirloom sweet peas are harder and harder to find in the US, and because this general area of the country was once a hotbed of sweet pea happiness, I've decided to adopt a variety. I chose Henry Eckford.</p><p>I chose this variety because it is orange and I love orange things. It's just a slice more orange than runner bean blossoms but a lot more red than the color of orange fruits. I chose this variety because it is ridiculously fragrant, so much so that I can smell it in my whole garden when it blooms. And I also chose it because the "father of sweet peas," <a href="https://thegardenstrust.blog/2015/09/26/the-sweet-pea-and-its-king/" target="_blank">Henry Eckford</a>, felt so connected to this variety that he named it after himself. Eckford released this variety in 1904, so it appears to be one of the last varieties that he developed before he died in 1905. </p><p>I also chose it because there is something about Eckford's story that appeals to me. He started out, like many plantspeople do, by working <i>for</i> other plant geeks before ending up <i>in charge</i> of other plant geeks. He had a two-decade long gig at an estate as a head gardener. But, he still hadn't started developing sweet peas. He didn't start his sweet pea experiments until after his first wife died in childbirth, until he remarried, until after he left a long-held and stable job. He didn't start sweet peas until his world shifted entirely, and he took a job I wonder if he previously had ever imagined:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">"In 1878 Eckford was invited to work in the gardens of the lunatic asylum at Sandywell Park, near Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, run by the physician William Henry Octavius Sankey (1814–1889). Sankey was a keen amateur hybridist himself and together they raised seedlings of florist's flowers at Sandywell and then, from 1882, at Boreatton Park, Shropshire, where Sankey moved his asylum." (Urquhart)</blockquote><p>He begin his exploration of sweet peas in 1879 (Urquhart). He started the sweet pea developments for which he became famous (2) while he worked with and for a doctor at the "lunatic asylum." There is so much more I want to know about that story.</p><p>Eckford's variety "Bronze Prince" was the first to catch the attention of the garden world of the time, and for it, he won a Royal Horticulture Society award in 1882. "Bronze Prince" has disappeared through time and history. There aren't even any images of it ("The Sweet Pea and its King"). By its name alone, "Bronze Prince" sounds like a flower I wish I could have met.</p><p>I didn't get to meet "Bronze Prince," but I am lucky to know Henry Eckford's self-named variety. I think I might also know a little something about the man from the plant he chose to name after himself. It's a loud, funny color. It gets sunburned easily. For a sweet pea, it is pretty darn tough, rolling with drought and brushing off the dreaded powdery mildew. It doesn't hide its fragrance, and even though it works well in a vase all by itself, it gets along with others beautifully.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwD7ss6qGhRitXo6xtFTf_pRhd0kxjp0QRBoWvlTz79RkGrZZgTIr3Ri3ck-skdoxfLbiVdki2yDvLx9eQ6Oxy795T3-72rNuMpVd_J19weO3K7B6Wqvk8Be5nG2bhf18FnYT9CYgXZ2qx-zsGwzF-beX_jTDqgWD7t48g-XNrF7_xAMmoA/s4032/IMG_3368.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwD7ss6qGhRitXo6xtFTf_pRhd0kxjp0QRBoWvlTz79RkGrZZgTIr3Ri3ck-skdoxfLbiVdki2yDvLx9eQ6Oxy795T3-72rNuMpVd_J19weO3K7B6Wqvk8Be5nG2bhf18FnYT9CYgXZ2qx-zsGwzF-beX_jTDqgWD7t48g-XNrF7_xAMmoA/w480-h640/IMG_3368.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Henry Eckford and white nigella in my grandmother's vase.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j4Pyn7rWqKZqlJ6bSIHkaqQZK4iJbvvy04C6mYOwNuQoPiznZOb_s_czyJvYFxwZjV1nq1OrXT1M6RU3aPdH8Kg8B-lKH28rtFV_o7dOXl9kvf9JWa5aXfNB6zawxA0mtOu8DK_gTKhVsF0glQ7QlBj63Wi7aLjxxmGnJlD1LRL5XcTUpA/s4032/IMG_3965.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j4Pyn7rWqKZqlJ6bSIHkaqQZK4iJbvvy04C6mYOwNuQoPiznZOb_s_czyJvYFxwZjV1nq1OrXT1M6RU3aPdH8Kg8B-lKH28rtFV_o7dOXl9kvf9JWa5aXfNB6zawxA0mtOu8DK_gTKhVsF0glQ7QlBj63Wi7aLjxxmGnJlD1LRL5XcTUpA/w480-h640/IMG_3965.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Henry Eckford pods, almost dry.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><b>Addendums and Digressions:</b></p><p>1) Ferry-Morse now lists only <a href="https://ferrymorse.com/collections/sweet-pea-seeds" target="_blank">three sweet peas</a> in its entire catalog, and none of them are either single varieties or heritage varieties. Each is a modern mix. This is particularly sad, especially since the son of Morse (of Ferry Morse), Lester Morse, in 1917 wrote a book detailing the world's varieties of sweet peas, titled <i>Field Notes on Sweet Peas </i>(Taylor). The fact that the company isn't working harder to maintain its own history is such a loss. I don't bemoan the creation of new varieties—that is necessary and important. Instead, the loss of old varieties is what worries me. Old varieties of any plant contains genetic material that we may someday need. And, very important to me, varieties also carry with them stories, and when we lose the variety, we lose the story.</p><p>2) Yes, Henry Eckford was relatively famous. It still happens occasionally. Consider <a href="https://www.latimes.com/obituaries/story/2020-06-12/floyd-zaiger-fruit-breeder-dies" target="_blank">Floyd Zaiger</a>, the developer of so many of our modern stone fruits. He said about his releases: “It gives me great satisfaction, far greater than any return on investment, to create something new that gives so many people so much pleasure.” If we lose some of Zaiger's varieties through time, just as we've lost Eckford's, we will similarly lose so much pleasure.</p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Sources:</b></p>Holland, Patrick. Personal letter. 27 March 2008.<br /><br />“The Sweet Pea and Its King….” <i>The Gardens Trust</i>, 26 Sept. 2015, https://thegardenstrust.blog/2015/09/26/the-sweet-pea-and-its-king/.<br /><br />Taylor, Judith. “Sweet Peas in California: A Fragrant but Fading Memory.” <i>Pacific Horticulture</i>, https://www.pacifichorticulture.org/articles/sweet-peas-in-california-a-fragrant-but-fading-memory/. Accessed 30 June 2022.<br /><br />Urquhart, Suki. “Eckford, Henry.” <i>The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography</i>, edited by H. C. G. Matthew et al., Oxford University Press, 2004, p. ref:odnb/96775. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/96775.Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-51624765800913348412022-04-18T18:14:00.002-07:002022-04-18T18:14:55.811-07:00Clarence and Easter Morn<p>My bearded iris began blooming yesterday, Easter Sunday. </p><p>Their bloom date reminded me of another iris that belonged to another woman in another part of the state. I knew this woman in the early 2000s. and she was in her 80s, quick with a smile and to share an opinion. She was mad about iris. Beds and beds of bearded iris filled her front yard. While she had so many iris of so many colors, she had a favorite: Easter Morn. It's a simple iris, mostly white with a little gold veining near the gold beards. Its fragrance is spicy and sweet. I <a href="https://wiki.irises.org/TbAthruE/TbEasterMorn" target="_blank">looked it up</a> and discovered that Edward Essig patented it in 1931. Even though it's considered a <a href="https://historiciris.org/gallery/easter-morn/" target="_blank">historic iris,</a> it was younger than my elderly friend. She claimed that no matter how early or late Easter fell in the spring, Easter Morn would always bloom on Easter Sunday. </p><p>My iris is not Easter Morn. I'm pretty sure the variety I have here in San Francisco is the tall bearded "<a href="https://wiki.irises.org/TbAthruE/TbClarence" target="_blank">Clarence</a>," patented in 1990. There's no storied history I know of attached to this particular variety. However, to me, it has a sweet provenance. I received the rhizomes as a passalong plant a few years ago from another elderly friend whose garden is full of color. She's in love with flowers, and each spring starts loads of blooming annuals from seed to go along with her flowery perennials. When I met this friend a few years ago, she had red colored hair, but she stopped dying her hair during the pandemic and it is now the shiniest, most incredible silver. Most of the time when I see her, she's wearing a pink jacket, red lipstick and her silver hair glows. She's beautiful.</p><p>I planted the rhizomes she gave me a few years ago in the late summer, and they promptly bloomed that fall. The standards are silvery almost white gradually darkening to a pale lavender. The white falls darken to a watery blue-lavender towards the edges. While the beards are white, the tiniest hint of yellow emerges from the center of the blossom. The individual cell walls are translucent enough to catch the light and each cell sparkles, as if the blossom is crusted with tiny gems. Amazingly, though the heaviest bloom is in the spring, it reliably reblooms in the autumn. In a previous garden, I've grown more unique and more colorful bearded iris, but I've never grown an iris as floriferous as this variety.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQOZRG2F4msVGkoA-K5UzePI9UHPGjZHvsVg5dj_2oOLClLC2YV2scFCr7VpHg-93QoKvlEqeYfJ4jBX_2T5W7XjB43jbCaZniQaW2SUWE_4CcBBbRi8mmTJWH4hXasnGhUYw50rJ_fhdI9PJjhmSLrCMlacTmbowqvNXWM0QfE7GyAcy2w/s4032/IMG_3085.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQOZRG2F4msVGkoA-K5UzePI9UHPGjZHvsVg5dj_2oOLClLC2YV2scFCr7VpHg-93QoKvlEqeYfJ4jBX_2T5W7XjB43jbCaZniQaW2SUWE_4CcBBbRi8mmTJWH4hXasnGhUYw50rJ_fhdI9PJjhmSLrCMlacTmbowqvNXWM0QfE7GyAcy2w/w480-h640/IMG_3085.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><p>Last year, I divided the part of the patch that had grown dense and started a new stand. This morning, I counted 16 spikes in the original stand and 6 in the new clump. Clarence is indefatigable. I'll need to divide part of the origianl clump again this summer, and I hope to share rhizomes with my friends and neighbors.</p><p>Somewhere, in another garden sometime in the future, Clarence will bloom wildly for its new host, and that person will smile over the unstoppable nature of hope.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-65237371843084687652022-04-12T20:21:00.001-07:002022-04-12T20:21:50.742-07:00Sage<p>I stuck my hand in my pocket and found a loose piece of purple sprouting broccoli that I had harvested earlier, but that didn't make it to our dinner. I popped it in my mouth.</p><p>"Did you just pull a vegetable out of your pocket and eat it?" Scott raised his eyebrows at me.</p><p>Yes. This isn't an unusual experience. I live and eat and create in this space because of what grows in the back yard.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntkvnGmNq1wDrK62aYn_D8MvYPhRh_qcoBlo4PEaHIYqDlb2dTd_iO15ZxUyR6630BDLTFprBNBnGm6ru6h85EzJg52jAnNuosxbnPYpYW4gg0V6aYXmk_Jqfs3XwIkghfR_ycphFA5NoTKGqzym9GAkwO_widS9xfXuVpUSMHmRdkK27tA/s4032/IMG_2971.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntkvnGmNq1wDrK62aYn_D8MvYPhRh_qcoBlo4PEaHIYqDlb2dTd_iO15ZxUyR6630BDLTFprBNBnGm6ru6h85EzJg52jAnNuosxbnPYpYW4gg0V6aYXmk_Jqfs3XwIkghfR_ycphFA5NoTKGqzym9GAkwO_widS9xfXuVpUSMHmRdkK27tA/w480-h640/IMG_2971.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>My garden drives my kitchen and much of my free time and it informs what I build at the pottery studio. What I build at the studio pottery shapes what I cook. It's all a tangle. I can't think of living in a home without also thinking about feeding the home and creating tools for the home. Because I once had an overabundant lemon tree, I began making preserved lemons, and now that funky salty flavor is often central to my greeen vegetable dishes. And since that flavor is central to my cooking, a lemon tree was one of the first fruit trees I planted here in San Francisco. Because Scott and I drink pourover coffee, I made us a pourover set that makes us the perfect amount for what we need each day: two cups for me and three for him. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_bChbcR_dZQ_zkIYPCJK4dRxNcAkEGscoh6w0Eq3GxbfabsATix6_LL3imOLhcuwFTxwgopts0p9cvx66KM_iiQcBIZW7llVUSXevndcNcmH_Uxu1GtCpaxnV7MkgDvY-4buF5MIuZEgBBbHRtGOrQ0corIfHaHpCr-v0LjP-xhbovg0wA/s4032/IMG_2973.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_bChbcR_dZQ_zkIYPCJK4dRxNcAkEGscoh6w0Eq3GxbfabsATix6_LL3imOLhcuwFTxwgopts0p9cvx66KM_iiQcBIZW7llVUSXevndcNcmH_Uxu1GtCpaxnV7MkgDvY-4buF5MIuZEgBBbHRtGOrQ0corIfHaHpCr-v0LjP-xhbovg0wA/w400-h300/IMG_2973.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />In no previous garden has sage grown as abundantly as it does here in San Francisco. I grow the Berggarten selection of culinary sage, which has broad silvery leaves and stays relatively low and dense. The gophers leave it alone. Light brown apple moths have annoyed it in the past, but it recovers quickly and seems to grow even better after an attack. I planted two plants that over the years have spread into dense 2'x2' patches of fragrant foliage. And, sometimes, the plants even bloom for me.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraNdpY0BMhuQlyMy-JJuic9qSLT--N7q_nxh4BsUB7ZSTisYx_dhwW46dIy6LAVOSf-uR2K5k08_2N7etSD9tGVweOvpPj8sITaDP2MH2hgfOotboPwXrBeSK2wA6Lp3g7eprS3sNQmQiSukryLeZvkbbyu9qWV9mUgEhjCoYWZF4W6PesA/s4032/IMG_2966.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraNdpY0BMhuQlyMy-JJuic9qSLT--N7q_nxh4BsUB7ZSTisYx_dhwW46dIy6LAVOSf-uR2K5k08_2N7etSD9tGVweOvpPj8sITaDP2MH2hgfOotboPwXrBeSK2wA6Lp3g7eprS3sNQmQiSukryLeZvkbbyu9qWV9mUgEhjCoYWZF4W6PesA/w480-h640/IMG_2966.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Because I have riches of sage, I have shared handfuls of it at each <a href="http://www.athinkingstomach.com/2019/07/growing.html" target="_blank">Seedheads</a> meetup. I've also learned a few really good things to do with it:</p><p><b>1) Sage salsa verde</b>: In a food processor, dump a handful of sage leaves, enough parsley leaves to equal triple the amount of sage leaves, grated lemon peel from at least one lemon, a garlic clove or two, a couple tablespoons of capers, a couple anchovies, salt, and pepper. Add a little red pepper if you feel like it. Start blitzing the mixture then drizzle in olive oil until it is the consistency you hope for. Sample it to see if it needs more salt or a squirt of lemon. It should be salty, sharp, and deeply umami-ish. Serve it with lamb or pork or even chicken. The next day, spread it on bread to make sandwiches with the leftover meat. You can also replace the sage with mint for a different flavor profile.</p><p><b>2) Sage bread crumbs: </b>Grate frozen stale bread to make at least a third of a cup of bread crumbs. Grate the rind off half a lemon into the same bowl, and grate a garlic clove into it too. Finely mince 10-12 sage leaves and toss them in the bowl. In a frying pan over medium heat, add a glug of olive oil. Once the oil is hot, add the bread crumb mixture and begin frying the crumbs, stirring frequently. As they cook, sprinkle the pan generously with salt and pepper. Cook until the breadcrumbs are evenly brown and crunchy. Taste for salt and season as necessary. Use them instead of parmesan over simple spaghetti dishes or over vegetables or fish. They add not only flavor but also texture.</p><p><b>3) Brown butter fried sage leaves and walnuts:</b> Each autumn, I make as many winter squash tortellini as I can manage in one day. The filling is simple: mashed roasted winter squash, parmesan, ricotta, egg, salt and pepper. I freeze it on trays, then bag it to keeep in the freezer for Scott and I to eat during the winter. When I cook a batch for the two of us, I get the pasta water going. When it is boiling, in a different pan—a frying pan, I begin melting a big knob butter. As it just starts to brown, I add sage leaves and chopped walnuts to sizzle in the butter and flavor it as it browns. This is about the perfect time to add the pasta to the boiling water; it doesn't take but a few mintues to cook. The browning butter infuses the sage leaves, which become crunchy and savory and release their oils into the butter. The same happens to the walnuts. I scoop the just-cooked tortellini from the boiling water into the frying pan, tossing everything around, and the tortellini fry together with the flavorful brown butter, some even gaining a browned, delicious crusty side. Just before serving, I taste for salt and pepper and season accordingly. The brown butter fried sage and walnuts are also good with other pastas and over cauliflower.</p><p>The three recipes above are staples in my cooking now that I have befriended sage. But, I have so much that I want more ideas. Anyone have a good sage cocktail idea? What about using it with vinegar? I think there is an idea to suss out there that I haven't yet explored. Any preserving ideas beyond drying? Ideas to use sage with fruit? Bread? What about how it might appear in pottery? </p></div>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-53384417216014745172022-01-30T17:05:00.012-08:002022-01-30T17:11:08.774-08:00The Garden Report: January of 2022<p>The oxalis comes in fast and green in January, especially when we've had rain like we had this autumn. I pull it out of the gravel paved stairs, from behind the compost bins, through winter-sad lavender branches. If I don't catch it in time, it starts to bloom, and even though Oxalis pes-caprae doesn't set seed, it sets corms along the root as the plant reaches bloom size. The more corms it sets, the more of it I'll have to pull out next year. </p><p>On the other side of the oxalis spectrum, sweet candy-cane blossoms of Oxalis versicolor are blooming in the alpine tub right now. Also in the alpine tub, Iris reticulata spreads its blue carpet. First, a single spectacular blossom, as January progresses, the blue gets bigger.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguht3C2vbpIxlgNpcxOrluLS_YaIexTxvbX0mctIafaio_NSAmxAPYsZ9rsEQ_6wQBnNd53l9ZP6EwahVJRQkhHRxUcSShTwsYPQWhIUmhFA2-CZ6rnTZQUZ_vDvbQ87qwyUZvjURi7_QuSpwDO8fHRaNcHH9rlu7tlg9HjtlUOWKMnFIu0A=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEguht3C2vbpIxlgNpcxOrluLS_YaIexTxvbX0mctIafaio_NSAmxAPYsZ9rsEQ_6wQBnNd53l9ZP6EwahVJRQkhHRxUcSShTwsYPQWhIUmhFA2-CZ6rnTZQUZ_vDvbQ87qwyUZvjURi7_QuSpwDO8fHRaNcHH9rlu7tlg9HjtlUOWKMnFIu0A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oxalis versicolor.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjCWYkEDEqvk80yXMG9ox6totWyrgDZtPolc_pN5wWZkmVwZpYV3WKEK4L78Eyiih4PJdQXq4ENNyO59hQTBW_DBrq4UOepGpJFW2IN7RssgvkBwQS2Ra3a7bLqhMNoYvkRkfrtI_7aMoos5tJxFgk3qedvZp0wE-xqjiS8ctezs3Ncy8l-g=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgjCWYkEDEqvk80yXMG9ox6totWyrgDZtPolc_pN5wWZkmVwZpYV3WKEK4L78Eyiih4PJdQXq4ENNyO59hQTBW_DBrq4UOepGpJFW2IN7RssgvkBwQS2Ra3a7bLqhMNoYvkRkfrtI_7aMoos5tJxFgk3qedvZp0wE-xqjiS8ctezs3Ncy8l-g=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iris reticulata blooming in the alpine tub.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><p>Also blooming are narcissus, a single-out of season Anastasia passion flower, and a surprise Cyclamen coum. I have several patches of Cyclamen hederifolium that bloom in the fall and put up their tapestry of intracately patterned leaves in the winter to stand through the spring and early summer. Since they had grown well for me, I wanted to try another species cyclamen, so three years ago, I planted Cyclamen coum corms—fifteen of them, if I remember correctly. No leaves ever sprouted. Nothing happened until this week, when a single leaf and flower appeared where I had planted them so long ago.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQZPsqX7MOZgKtIeByJjKBotF3-bf5d6963jLRjjsJRGO_1o0hdRtUDHSi6JWymSOcjKIz04wD9zwa2pcP-a6JPZMpr2s8gIYxfO7SnLPDU5x0aAnbLsuUOiIStf2lyvxW9P6t59VAg9cWxrkRtdNT0lcPtLqQ-zqFZwzPeDKTgVXewELFkA=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjQZPsqX7MOZgKtIeByJjKBotF3-bf5d6963jLRjjsJRGO_1o0hdRtUDHSi6JWymSOcjKIz04wD9zwa2pcP-a6JPZMpr2s8gIYxfO7SnLPDU5x0aAnbLsuUOiIStf2lyvxW9P6t59VAg9cWxrkRtdNT0lcPtLqQ-zqFZwzPeDKTgVXewELFkA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passiflora "Anastasia."<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8Up0s8euQ6OwWr5suT86Rcw4R9Y6mcW6NcUwDY6ehRm0ihdjPC8Wzv2_b3ZWZDQpSxW3DPxlCWcXWksXmxiUbLruIJ4schzYueNxwd6Uw6n0cirFm-E1XrKzkq8OONXj0LkIys9DQ8q6PNILYWp7SEFFdI5ib0g43gvNnYcSzY1abA4Ph5g=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8Up0s8euQ6OwWr5suT86Rcw4R9Y6mcW6NcUwDY6ehRm0ihdjPC8Wzv2_b3ZWZDQpSxW3DPxlCWcXWksXmxiUbLruIJ4schzYueNxwd6Uw6n0cirFm-E1XrKzkq8OONXj0LkIys9DQ8q6PNILYWp7SEFFdI5ib0g43gvNnYcSzY1abA4Ph5g=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cyclamen coum.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p>A few early honeywort have just started to curl upwards with their purple bells against glacous foliage.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqP_XxNms-TyVD-4GKyUcnCY-bHIDTMOqZBx0acB-i9bfHbmSAWUeinpQHmWTGx6NTOzTYOoCRSDJhoPv2p6BLQZMgCeWlmfrBaetknELP9emIJHv5iM42hCCqCZTZfJA-ap6cUQOcRHL5ir8tDtePAgyXkCfXISEJYmWp80BHtLRHqQJlXg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqP_XxNms-TyVD-4GKyUcnCY-bHIDTMOqZBx0acB-i9bfHbmSAWUeinpQHmWTGx6NTOzTYOoCRSDJhoPv2p6BLQZMgCeWlmfrBaetknELP9emIJHv5iM42hCCqCZTZfJA-ap6cUQOcRHL5ir8tDtePAgyXkCfXISEJYmWp80BHtLRHqQJlXg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue honeywort.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>This January, like the last few Januaries, we have leafy greens, luxurious as green velvet. Miners lettuce is everywhere, so much so that if it isn't pretty enough to eat, I drop it in one of our composters rather than sifting through it. The bitter greens—escarole, frisée, sugarloaf chicory—that I planted in the fall are still coming in, the kale is sweet, chard at its best, and purple collards at their sweetest. It is a good time to be a salad eater. In this month, I try to clear out a lot of the greens before they bolt with spring weather, and I start prepping the veg beds for spring and summer vegetables. Where there was a line of frisee, I planted parsley and cilantro seeds mid-month. I also started my year's peppers.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsMYY7n6Q7d3z9_baAcPNk56UbkGwxVTc6I9CRNLuJKtodbQ3cRylfgkvSIi6Gx38SMbGMQfboClUrDfAV4g9_Zv47I2ifFfwoVx6I9CcwEThShJf47BXZLbaqSwN0rQNjoj8GodFWIXag1qvWdgaptm4xIeK0KmoJwA6OyAAM2gKTH3OyqA=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsMYY7n6Q7d3z9_baAcPNk56UbkGwxVTc6I9CRNLuJKtodbQ3cRylfgkvSIi6Gx38SMbGMQfboClUrDfAV4g9_Zv47I2ifFfwoVx6I9CcwEThShJf47BXZLbaqSwN0rQNjoj8GodFWIXag1qvWdgaptm4xIeK0KmoJwA6OyAAM2gKTH3OyqA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diva escarole.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0m6qlC5t-GHgN1KFA7yWPoN_sgOtPiNOIOcy7E_HPt_MTfcHjARYymOUuaK73Cl1CbrM6eg719nYQ871OoJuPYTpYATCfyp31Us7UwHK64EV_z7L0s3xQPYhYcCvK3N_A53vLizAD_8OTKUOFexqhL_DhO1Cuk0JAhE7RKpnb4rtd7hzalg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0m6qlC5t-GHgN1KFA7yWPoN_sgOtPiNOIOcy7E_HPt_MTfcHjARYymOUuaK73Cl1CbrM6eg719nYQ871OoJuPYTpYATCfyp31Us7UwHK64EV_z7L0s3xQPYhYcCvK3N_A53vLizAD_8OTKUOFexqhL_DhO1Cuk0JAhE7RKpnb4rtd7hzalg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dazzling blue kale.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>At the beginning of this month, I pruned my fruit trees. Mid-month, I sprayed them with horticultural oil and the tiniest bit of copper to gird them against pests and disease. It's the only spray they will get other than a little bit of soap for critters or diatomaceous earth for pear slugs later in the season.<p></p><p>For the first time in this San Francisco garden, I'm trying to grow bulb onions. Over the Martin Luther King, Jr holiday weekend, I planted the seedlings, Candy and Red Candy Apple, that I purchased from Dixondale. Though I've never grown bulb onions in San Francisco, I've had a lot of luck with green onions, and the best bulb onions I have ever grown were for a client in San Carlos, not too far away. In her garden, I planted a ton of Red Candy Apple onions from Dixondale, and they grew fat, sweet, and succulent. We grew so many onions, her husband asked what to do with them all. Make magic, I thought to myself. Magic is what happens when onions join heat and fat in a pan.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIjyP3jV-g5Tm_a_Yg7Z4NwT25Tv0x9pVokdNjHqd9_eMrJ9v2eI5oWmxPHMCP5FGafYZQfCjMqLV4hJx-QVuR52rrjx3o5H8qdl9VWoAKaJ-_brQRJJzXnKgEgA3QimUrs8efCRCiRZzLp1qrhnPqZDNLK3vuJlKXuf0y7CjeD0sXcg5XZQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjIjyP3jV-g5Tm_a_Yg7Z4NwT25Tv0x9pVokdNjHqd9_eMrJ9v2eI5oWmxPHMCP5FGafYZQfCjMqLV4hJx-QVuR52rrjx3o5H8qdl9VWoAKaJ-_brQRJJzXnKgEgA3QimUrs8efCRCiRZzLp1qrhnPqZDNLK3vuJlKXuf0y7CjeD0sXcg5XZQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The largest bed of onions. The twigs are there to keep the cats and other critters from digging in the bed as the seedlings are getting established. Purple sprouting broccoli in the background.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>At the very end of January, I planted a ring of Oregon Giant snow peas, using the circumference of a cylindrical trellis as a guide. I watered them in, sprinkled diatomaceous earth generously over the surface to provide a little protection against slugs and sowbugs, and wrapped the whole trellis with a layer of ag fabric to keep the birds from pulling up the seedlings as they sprout. I also threw some annual flower seed around in flower beds to see what takes.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjc-AFki_0Nk4dCplAHiTgjRYMglihFaMGfzlcd5faFEcgqH5Bs2M17hIm2CjnOELyP0gCxDRzeBwzrVkN9pJkaCbLMEujkT3e6o3t_qxyPY339LDaXHP6tpBnAu2sc2R4NBdkrI_hBIl0IBiYcuRiVhtqdMPKrfKQNmG1D7NOkMe36UtDkOg=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjc-AFki_0Nk4dCplAHiTgjRYMglihFaMGfzlcd5faFEcgqH5Bs2M17hIm2CjnOELyP0gCxDRzeBwzrVkN9pJkaCbLMEujkT3e6o3t_qxyPY339LDaXHP6tpBnAu2sc2R4NBdkrI_hBIl0IBiYcuRiVhtqdMPKrfKQNmG1D7NOkMe36UtDkOg=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First pea planting of the year.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1qHWulq4iC2NFoJ-COvMxmhfmy8z0BFU4S4S3lKO19KIK5Sin8UgD6xRswC49kUkRPzIdQbzcTExsxd_ssqfBpiQy7QMQsA4j78JvSRUflwyY67JsLEwCORHl_5UcIHfyeNmmw5rUbFOuyErOIsqi1p6w4aWD6YmdOgsCGgTE5V_a8ubJTA=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1qHWulq4iC2NFoJ-COvMxmhfmy8z0BFU4S4S3lKO19KIK5Sin8UgD6xRswC49kUkRPzIdQbzcTExsxd_ssqfBpiQy7QMQsA4j78JvSRUflwyY67JsLEwCORHl_5UcIHfyeNmmw5rUbFOuyErOIsqi1p6w4aWD6YmdOgsCGgTE5V_a8ubJTA=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Tsuki guards against rodents. Here, she sits on a composter. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Working in January means harvesting in June.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-57260438084360424672022-01-25T19:54:00.004-08:002024-02-09T22:53:02.958-08:00On Pruning<p>I love pruning. Scott asked me why I love it so much. I told him that it is very satisfying to cut out branches that weaken the tree. When I prune, I think about how each branch produced and where I saw signs of illness the previous season, and I cut according to the plant's history. I tried to explain that when I prune, I have the past picture of the tree, the current picture of the tree, and a beautiful, healthy, and fruitful picture of the tree that I want it to be in my head. And that future picture isn't just for the year, it is for years and years to come. I get to imagine the tree that will be for a lifetime. The cuts I make literally shape its future. This is even more fun with the apples and pears that I am growing as espaliers against our north fence. Those trees take strategy. </p><p>The first tree I remember pruning was a young olive tree my parents asked me to prune in the front yard of our house in the central valley. I couldn't tell you how old I was, other than somewhere between ten and fifteen. Olive trees in all stages are beautiful. When they are young, their branches are smooth and pale gray, echoing the silver backs of their gray-green leaves. The young tips of branches are almost white. As they age, they bulk up and become wise in their dark bumps and burls. But I didn't understand the future tree when I pruned that tree. I could only see the tree of now, and I didn't do a good job. I just kept cutting. I kept looking at the pale gray branches and delighted in their lovely shape at that moment. I focused on the branches, not the tree. When I was done, the tree was naked and sad, and though my parents didn't complain, I could tell that they didn't love the job I did.</p><p>Pruning olive trees (pruning any trees, really) is so important that Italy holds olive tree pruning contests. Looking at <a href="https://www.oliveoiltimes.com/world/italy-crowns-pruning-champ/51470" target="_blank">this article</a> about the winners of the 2016 contest makes me marvel at how young some of them were. How could they hold all those ages of the tree in their head as they pruned? A few years ago, I read <a href="https://www.saveur.com/meet-tree-pruner-behind-some-italys-best-and-rarest-olive-oils/" target="_blank">an article</a> about a man who prunes ancient olive trees on Lake Garda, and I've been thinking about it ever since. The article profiles Sergio Cozzaglio, an olive pruner and esteemed olive oil maker. In his work on the trees of Lake Garda among the 2000-year-old ruins of a Roman estate, he's discovered several scraggly plants that weren't originally identifiable. The article's author asked him if one of those trees could be as old as the ruins: </p><blockquote>“Not this exact tree,” he said. “There was a great frost here in the early 18th century. Even the lake froze. Everything died.” But the roots of olive trees, Cozzaglio pointed out, are extremely resistant to cold, which means they can send up new shoots even after the wood has died. It was well-known that the Romans kept olive trees on their rural estates, using the oil to fill lamps, soften their skin, and feed the household. The Villa Romana variety’s genetic profile suggested we were looking at a descendant of trees that stood here in the first century. [...]<br /><br />Cozzaglio had turned his back to me, and was dreamily caressing the branch of a small tree with some tiny olives on its lower branches. “I don’t know what variety this is,” he said. “Six years ago, when I discovered it, it was a bush, it was nothing.” After several seasons of careful tending, it had started to flower and bear fruit. “Now it’s grown into a tree. This is the part of my work I love. To help give birth to a plant.” </blockquote><p>Cozzaglio is ensuring the past makes it to the future. </p><p>I wonder who will someday place a hand on a sturdy horizontal branch of one of my pear trees. Will that person wonder about the gardener who chose to set that branch at that angle? Will that person wonder about the gardener who anticipated each blossom and hoped for each fruit? Will that person prune for the future?</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-28260810231605961212022-01-23T16:09:00.001-08:002022-01-23T16:14:58.473-08:00Peppers in the City<p>People don't really think of San Francisco as a pepper growing paradise. Even in the sunny districts, it's not very hot for many days of the year. There are, however, some peppers that have grown really well for me and that prove the naysayers wrong. I love proving naysayers wrong.</p><p><b><u>Capsicum annuum:</u></b> Chances are, when you think of a pepper, hot or sweet, you are thinking of a C. annuum. This is the species that contains red bell peppers and Aleppo peppers and jalapeños, serranos and New Mexico and pimentos. </p><p>From this species, last year, I planted out four <a href="https://www.adaptiveseeds.com/product/vegetables/peppers/sweet-pepper-liebesapfel-organic/" target="_blank">Liebesapfel</a> plants. This year, I'll plant even more. Though the fruit was slow to ripen, the first coming in early October, it consistently produced all fall into December. Scott felt the fruit was a little too crisp, but I loved the scalloped red peppers, and they made it into my daily lunch salads at work. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixi1KyqI6rPserfIo2BJOVymZijXBY_IYjB3PGQ0l5dRmXHa92n5ukiF3a9eaiO2cu0CDhX802uTTfWJwjJaTUWk8PyVoRJJ3DgwAwFWTXdmNt_tFY8TtBmbmUNi2BvpbyVi-naXMMVQb6jSIB5UvnhTMfcf-vFwZukKgDMUZeTRPhHEfKoQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixi1KyqI6rPserfIo2BJOVymZijXBY_IYjB3PGQ0l5dRmXHa92n5ukiF3a9eaiO2cu0CDhX802uTTfWJwjJaTUWk8PyVoRJJ3DgwAwFWTXdmNt_tFY8TtBmbmUNi2BvpbyVi-naXMMVQb6jSIB5UvnhTMfcf-vFwZukKgDMUZeTRPhHEfKoQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liebesapfel in hand.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRpMGIxHC8mBSde836slA1MQTUOaNbpCHkbtNWa3GKZC7x2SP7nHReWFmf3qEmcZlNn6vrxq4Q8ZktM860mZzjeVFnARDY1CEA6dx69UEFHXLX62MPft4_DkC358E_mTnZFG2HjaBU5oWvzqTAG05XcdU3JXLm5kBwHOhAocIGaC5yix0qTA=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRpMGIxHC8mBSde836slA1MQTUOaNbpCHkbtNWa3GKZC7x2SP7nHReWFmf3qEmcZlNn6vrxq4Q8ZktM860mZzjeVFnARDY1CEA6dx69UEFHXLX62MPft4_DkC358E_mTnZFG2HjaBU5oWvzqTAG05XcdU3JXLm5kBwHOhAocIGaC5yix0qTA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liebesapfel in the garden.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I ordered my seed through Adaptive Seeds, but I saved a lot of seed last fall and am listing them currently through <a href="https://exchange.seedsavers.org/">Seedsavers Exchange</a>.</p><p>This year, I'm adding <a href="https://www.adaptiveseeds.com/product/vegetables/peppers/sweet-pepper-gernika-organic/" target="_blank">Gernika</a>, a basque pepper, to my C. annum lineup.</p><p><b><u>Capsicum pubescens:</u></b> C. pubescens live up to their name. They're hairy plants. They also have black seeds that are almost shocking if you aren't expecting them. While they're very hot, they also have thick flesh like a bell pepper, but the flesh isn't sweet, even when ripe. Instead, they have a rich, very spicy, very paprika-y flavor. In San Francisco, the plants are perennial bushes that <a href="http://www.athinkingstomach.com/2020/07/san-frandisco-cloud-forest.html" target="_blank">I have written about before</a>. I have a large fruited, deep red manzano and a smaller fruited, bright red rocoto. Both are plants that I purchased and are now well-established as bushes in my yard, and from which I've started seeds and shared the seedlings with others. In my yard, the fruit of this species begins ripening in the fall and continues through the winter. </p><p>This year, for the first time, I'm trying my hand at using some of the fruit in a fermented hot sauce. The fruit mash is fermenting right now, with garlic and salt, in a pickling crock. Will it be a wash, or will it mean our days of buying hot sauce are over? </p><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZNnVSleg7Viv7CCz2egl2tm2mTQ0aZrtWjmwVAe_b7KcWqH1g-zjPPqr9LqxmbneDGPMS_f-HrGdyKMzjMgYaMH7wfEoC2UcFdk4NatzS9tS499NX7hxDjIhBKLk1_3H5SwyU0IBjGZNqddgzdObFlqB3y6_EofTyhH2HeE0DsBzTqblq2g=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjZNnVSleg7Viv7CCz2egl2tm2mTQ0aZrtWjmwVAe_b7KcWqH1g-zjPPqr9LqxmbneDGPMS_f-HrGdyKMzjMgYaMH7wfEoC2UcFdk4NatzS9tS499NX7hxDjIhBKLk1_3H5SwyU0IBjGZNqddgzdObFlqB3y6_EofTyhH2HeE0DsBzTqblq2g=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pile of rocotos.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKFH9YnOhxJfOSzdNjxUVAsEM7c8ZGNtEuhuABmvV6eFvRUxKhcvsmaysr_wZ8JWlikdt8zLB9dZNucWnrTqxZWw8JJ3qvpxIokAoqB9Hsvi_3yWHcgzILf2Mlmb9xI22kYjq2Tm4kLWCY9hvqorPKhcTlRG3OB7b6zvNu2O2YjJ_IssAHmw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKFH9YnOhxJfOSzdNjxUVAsEM7c8ZGNtEuhuABmvV6eFvRUxKhcvsmaysr_wZ8JWlikdt8zLB9dZNucWnrTqxZWw8JJ3qvpxIokAoqB9Hsvi_3yWHcgzILf2Mlmb9xI22kYjq2Tm4kLWCY9hvqorPKhcTlRG3OB7b6zvNu2O2YjJ_IssAHmw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An experiment: fermenting rocoto and manzano mash.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p><u style="font-weight: bold;">Capsicum baccatum:</u> For flavor, this is my favorite species. They're the delicious, fruity and hot-sweet peppers that often have funny shapes like bishops' hats and starfish. When you hear a pepper referred to as an aji, it is usually referring to this species of pepper. In my current garden, a few of these have grown well for me, especially those with smaller fruit. Sometimes, they overwinter. I have a two-year-old Criolla Sella plant that produces spicy-citrusy yellow pinky fingers and another couple Aji Ecuador Orange plants that produce crisp, delicious top-shaped fruit that are very flavorful but not very hot. I hope to offer seed for both varieties in next year's Seedsavers Exchange listings.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYZMGjberQs6au_S9Jk1OF7MRgN6FESm246BfwjkFMCuaxsEeAiwgzDta0mHplhTuG_DpYoWeR0klCwsclhW8Ip2ZOaLzaQqQo7XpjLPXwrnzLFMAzxv3i5jyJZk8oRsguYnpOb5AqtDUtinVD6v9tAahiZ_snEskA16UH2J_JaCv_6rYiEQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYZMGjberQs6au_S9Jk1OF7MRgN6FESm246BfwjkFMCuaxsEeAiwgzDta0mHplhTuG_DpYoWeR0klCwsclhW8Ip2ZOaLzaQqQo7XpjLPXwrnzLFMAzxv3i5jyJZk8oRsguYnpOb5AqtDUtinVD6v9tAahiZ_snEskA16UH2J_JaCv_6rYiEQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Criolla Sella plus dog nose. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLuPEudU5_FQW-D_cXWIGiRKLZE6M0ITS9yzN33eywvNx7-edX0RWWkqBaGThYnCu7Xi0JLKBFw6HGWRHgnbVWb8fx3DtUMdbpgKHIyFVatHd4o3p1BY5FmFKH02WvRAi10Ij4_FAFXUNrfb-CWoIva-F_zJRGuc77nNr37SI-ttXxaAsKsw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgLuPEudU5_FQW-D_cXWIGiRKLZE6M0ITS9yzN33eywvNx7-edX0RWWkqBaGThYnCu7Xi0JLKBFw6HGWRHgnbVWb8fx3DtUMdbpgKHIyFVatHd4o3p1BY5FmFKH02WvRAi10Ij4_FAFXUNrfb-CWoIva-F_zJRGuc77nNr37SI-ttXxaAsKsw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aji Ecuador Orange.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p><u style="font-weight: bold;">Getting my peppers growing:</u> I used to start my peppers on a heat mat under lights, but I've found a mini-greenhouse method works best for the cool-weather adapted peppers I grow here. I use old milk and juice containers, punch some holes in the bottom with my trusty old awl, and cut them open along three sides to make fliptop greenhouses. I fill them with soil, place seeds on the soil surface, gently add another loose, very shallow layer of soil, water it all in with a gentle spray, then duct tape it shut and label it. I keep the lids on until the days start warming up, at which time I remove them to prevent overheating the seedlings. I keep peering in through the lid until I see true leaves; when I see those true leaves, I open up the cartons and pot up the seedlings. After putting them up, I use a very large tupperware placed upside down as a cold frame to help them along for a couple weeks until they're big enough and the weather is warm enough for them to harden off and go into the ground. I like this system better than grow lights, a heat lamp, and a fan: I end up with healthier plants and I don't have to use energy other than the sun.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0BUcqj-TUPgWRvMy9XaphBc4a4UbypXA_aZBY9_iSc4OAOaBWxr0mhqUsS9OzMEP1SfIvZE5g2g9KyoXhe4XVcaCihJeedgbFciYXhl_fr8sm50fi-oHPJ_ERgQ57bsZwps5w1wS0RK3gcTcNEVkd-6UknwUgYI4lEoXzWTpdb0umooMAfw=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0BUcqj-TUPgWRvMy9XaphBc4a4UbypXA_aZBY9_iSc4OAOaBWxr0mhqUsS9OzMEP1SfIvZE5g2g9KyoXhe4XVcaCihJeedgbFciYXhl_fr8sm50fi-oHPJ_ERgQ57bsZwps5w1wS0RK3gcTcNEVkd-6UknwUgYI4lEoXzWTpdb0umooMAfw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holes punched, three walls cut.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNr11QukQ8T8AsTCAGbP8FzwBg2XIaH-yi6tVuin6_8L-zQS6QSH6PbijxMBXra8OLsOlZDbxeTPfR6uobUvjeiC4vRxxp_fy9WSVDouzTuZMpaJsOqK-ljVzqN5j0YdNvQ6_qHx1CX551Bke6lY-2dHoSbLoLqiTPplX7YzWbF7rd0Q2CHQ=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNr11QukQ8T8AsTCAGbP8FzwBg2XIaH-yi6tVuin6_8L-zQS6QSH6PbijxMBXra8OLsOlZDbxeTPfR6uobUvjeiC4vRxxp_fy9WSVDouzTuZMpaJsOqK-ljVzqN5j0YdNvQ6_qHx1CX551Bke6lY-2dHoSbLoLqiTPplX7YzWbF7rd0Q2CHQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sunny spot for my peppers to get started.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Today, I started Liebesapfel, Gernicka, and Criolla Sella. That means, this autumn, I'll be bringing in the red and gold.</div>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-1185748638390311392022-01-22T16:48:00.002-08:002022-01-22T20:36:33.434-08:0020,000 miracles a day<p>In the past two years, I haven't known what to write because it feels like there is only one conversation: the virus. </p><p>The conversation hasn't felt like a virus. It has felt like a fungus, releasing its spores, infecting us all with fear or anger or too much caution or too little caution. It's trapped us in corners with webs of its social media filaments, along with other people with the same fears and angers, netted together. </p><p>In the past, I've had little phrases that niggle at my brain that I can't get out until I write them down. I would awake in the early parts of the morning and the phrase or idea would be there, waiting for me. But, that hasn't happened for a couple years. I still wake in the early parts of the morning, but there's nothing there. My brain isn't capturing words and ideas.</p><p>Recently, though, finally, a thought keeps coming back to me. I keep thinking about breathing.</p><p>I was on a plane not too long ago, and though wearing a very good mask, I thought about everyone else wearing masks, and our breaths, filtered through those masks, gathering together in the cabin and mingling. And then we would breathe again. Our masks may do the job; they may not. A few days later, I was at a retreat, and several times through the course of the retreat, our leader would guide us in our breathing to help us quiet our minds. Breathe in, wait. Breathe out, wait. We were all breathing together. My body would quiet, but my mind wouldn't.</p><p>This makes it sound like I'm frightened and anxious. That's not the right way to explain my feeling. I'm not frightened of breathing. This act that keeps me alive might make me sick; however, I know that I will recover. I'm healthy, I'm boostered, I have a safe and comfortable place to wait out my sickness. I will breathe my way through it. </p><p>We do the best we can to keep the world moving. I go to work and wear my mask and my students wear theirs and we breathe and learn together. Some of them have lost family members. Some of my colleagues have, too. We test after notification of exposure. I go to the farmers' market and smile with my eyes over my mask at the farmers who bring us their best goods, and breathe with them. I take Indy for walks on the hills and breathe hard, unmasked, and chat outdoors with my neighbors when we run into each other. We laugh. At home, I watch the steam my breath moves over my coffee cup. I kiss my husband when we say goodbye in the morning and when we greet each other after work, and our breaths mingle as we embrace.</p><p>So, I'm going to keep breathing, and I'm going to start writing again, but may the breath from my lips reach God's ears: let this be the only post about the virus.</p>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-27716671827852716982021-06-08T07:53:00.000-07:002021-06-08T07:53:25.180-07:00San Francisco Cloud Forest<div>One day in our neighborhood in early January, we hit 66F right around 3pm. Yesterday, June 7th, we hit the same temperature around the same time. In January and now in June, the sky greys out in the west, and from the top of my yard, I can watch the fog erase the lower elevations of the city until a few hills and the SalesForce building are all that poke above it. This is my neighborhood weather: warm sunshine followed frequently by cold and grey, and lots of wind. Most evenings, the fog doesn't make it all the way up our hill, but it sometimes does, and then the house and garden feel like they are floating somewhere outside of space. Sometimes, in the winter, we get a little frost, but it's rarely much. Sometimes in the late summer and early fall, we get extreme heat, but we know it won't last long. The air is temperate and moist, but it doesn't rain a lot except in the winter. Foggy days feel rainy under a tree, though, when the condensation forms huge drops that always seem to target the very center of the top of your head. A cold, wet explosion of surprise.</div><div><br /></div><div>With weather like this, it's no wonder that food plants that hail from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud_forest#:~:text=A%20cloud%20forest%2C%20also%20called,formally%20described%20in%20the%20International" target="_blank">cloud forests</a> perform very well in our San Francisco gardens.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><u>Here are a few cloud forest transplants in my garden:</u></b></div><div><br /></div><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ugni_molinae" target="_blank">Ugni molinae</a>:</b> Ugni berries taste like zingy strawberry candy, the flowers are fragrant pale porcelain bells, and the whole plant smells kind of like wintergreen. It's a pretty, tough in our climate bush, with small shiny leaves and a slow but nicely shaped growth habit. The only problem I've had with it in my garden is spider mite attacks when I let the whole plants get a little too dried out. I have two plants along my back fence under the edge of the old apple canopy, and they have given me a few flowers and fruit each year. This spring, however, they're loaded with flowers. I've never seen Ugni berries sold in any produce market, so to sample fruit and decide whether this is a plant you want in your own yard, you'll have to do a little exploring. If you go at just the right time in the fall to the cloud forest in <a href="https://www.sfbg.org/" target="_blank">SFBG</a>, you can find the bush that is loaded with fruit each year and sample them yourself. There is also a huge bush on the north side of the house at <a href="https://filoli.org/" target="_blank">Filoli</a>, near the gate that usually has a pretty good crop in the fall, too. Don't tell anyone I told you.<br />
<br /><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phaseolus_coccineus" target="_blank">Runner beans</a> </b>(<i>Phaseolus coccineus</i>)<b>:</b> I've written about runner beans <a href="http://www.athinkingstomach.com/2020/07/runner-beans.html" target="_blank">before</a>. I grow them for their beauty and for the food they produce. So much goodness in a plant.<br />
<br /><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solanum_muricatum" target="_blank">Pepino dulce</a> </b>(<i>Solanum muricatum</i>): If you have a pepino dulce plant, your neighbors can, too. These plants grow so easily from cuttings. Despite their name, they are not cucumbers, and their round purple flowers place them firmly in the Solanaceae camp. The fruits are zeppelin-shaped, creamy yellow striped with purple, and thin-skinned. The fruit inside tastes like a cross between a cantaloupe, a cucumber, and a banana. So far, my favorite application for them is fresh salsa. I peel and dice them with red onion, garlic, chiles, cilantro, a little mint, salt, and lots of lime juice. <br />
<br /><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capsicum_pubescens" target="_blank">Rocoto and Manzano chiles and other <i>Capsicum pubescens</i></a></b>: I have one three-year-old red Rocoto and one two-year-old red Manzano in my garden, and they are both healthy plants. The Rocoto is unstoppably productive, producing hot chiles all year except spring, but the Manzano is more elegant with larger, prettier fruit. The thick-walled fruits are like miniature bell peppers, but very hot when raw. When cooked, however, I find the heat tempers quickly. The plants are productive, but I find the older branches get ugly and sad, so regular pruning out of old branches keeps the plants happier and much prettier.<br />
<br /><a href="https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4951640" target="_blank"><b>Tamarillo</b></a>: I grew out several plants from seed last year, kept one and gave the rest away. I planted mine in a pot, where it languished. On the other hand, a friend put the seedling I gave to her in the ground, where it has grown mightily and is threatening to overshadow her semidwarf orange tree. Inspired by her success, I recently moved my tamarillo from a pot to the ground, where it has taken off. There is a beautiful specimen I pass on one of my walking routes through Vistacion Valley, and another very healthy one I've seen in a front yard of an Outer Sunset home. Both have a healthy crop of fruit each year. We'll see how long it takes for mine to reach fruiting size. I haven't had much experience eating tamarillos, so I'm not even sure I will enjoy the fruit mine provides. If I don't, I'll pull it out. In the meantime, it is a fun experiment.<div><br /></div><div><br /><div>I'm finishing my morning coffee right now, sitting in my east facing room where the morning sun streams in. Looking west through my kitchen, I see the sun hitting my sloping garden. Farther to the west, the sky is leaden. The fog that will haunt the ocean-side of the city today will likely sneak up on us tonight. If it does, my cloud forest plants will welcome the cool blanket of damp.</div></div>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-59080481233636645372020-08-05T16:31:00.004-07:002020-08-05T16:34:33.148-07:00Ruby BuckwheatLast summer, I grew a cover crop in what was my garlic bed. After the garlic harvest, I planted Takane Ruby Buckwheat and California Blackeyed Peas to enrich the soil. I chose the colorful buckwheat because I thought it would be a pretty step up from the standard white buckwheat cover crop.<div><br /></div><div>We just don't get enough hot days for the blackeyed peas to thrive, so though they germinated and grew a bit, they never made much of a dent against the buckwheat. The buckwheat, on the other hand, grew into a huge crimson-stemmed cloud covered with dark pink flowers. When backlit, the whole bed glowed like stained glass, the light warming up the semi-translucent red stems and lime green leaves. My neighbors asked me what the flowers were because they were so pretty. Buckwheat, really?</div><div><br /></div><div>I saved seeds last year to plant again this year, this time around a row of black felt grow-bags. I hoped that the plants would grow and hide the ugliness of the bags, and perhaps shade the bags' surfaces later in the season, when it really warms up and plants' roots may suffer. They seem to be doing that job.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DJWsy__Ffbc/Xys-64Ets9I/AAAAAAAALaI/sJ9MQSplUjkrcwHtxGFYcURMc2AXGG6IgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_7486.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DJWsy__Ffbc/Xys-64Ets9I/AAAAAAAALaI/sJ9MQSplUjkrcwHtxGFYcURMc2AXGG6IgCLcBGAsYHQ/w600-h800/IMG_7486.jpeg" width="600" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buckwheat around black felt grow-bags.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />This summer, I've had a bit of time to really <i>sit</i> in my garden. Right now, my favorite spot to sit is in a little corner of mulch, a giant catnip plant in bloom to my left, the cloud of buckwheat straight ahead, and just to my right, scenting the whole garden, a clump of naked ladies (<i>Amaryllis belladonna</i>). There's a whole lot of pink in this spot, but more interesting than that, this corner of the garden is abuzz. Bees, wasps, hoverflies, moths, butterflies, bumblebees: it's a pollinator frenzy. If I sit still and just wait, I lose track of how many different insect species I observe. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_TSlgB5RzXo/XysuKVaIbMI/AAAAAAAALZs/w3YvrpNotdQuW7fOzjU8cThhXI4K1npJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_7251.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1521" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_TSlgB5RzXo/XysuKVaIbMI/AAAAAAAALZs/w3YvrpNotdQuW7fOzjU8cThhXI4K1npJwCLcBGAsYHQ/w594-h800/IMG_7251.jpeg" width="594" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hoverfly on ruby buckwheat flower.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jRqjGCtwaR8/XysuKqYxlLI/AAAAAAAALZw/2g41AHY-IU8mjzeChGoRxiHY2p3giIAHgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_7301.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1613" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jRqjGCtwaR8/XysuKqYxlLI/AAAAAAAALZw/2g41AHY-IU8mjzeChGoRxiHY2p3giIAHgCLcBGAsYHQ/w630-h800/IMG_7301.jpeg" width="630" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Honeybee on ruby buckwheat flower.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>I've also learned this year that the buckwheat makes a superb cut flower, lasting a long time in a vase and providing lots of visual interest with its contrasting stems, leaves, and flowers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Could I harvest seeds (groats), grind them and use the flour? Maybe. <a href="https://www.scatterseedproject.org/blog/2018/6/7/buckwheat-for-the-home-gardener" target="_blank">I've read about it</a>. That would take quite a bit of seed though, and I'm not sure I would ever have a large enough quantity to make anything. No matter. Without providing food for our kitchen, this plant still has plenty of purpose.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-am4wd2ylNPc/XysuKns4ocI/AAAAAAAALZ0/t1VW_B4j5LEL5RHl50yuAVD8gHAIb2zJwCLcBGAsYHQ/w600-h800/IMG_7278.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="600" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young groats are just forming on these flowers.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="800" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AJ6vQhvEvSI/Xys-6ePHlKI/AAAAAAAALaE/5kH1kSogTKE2xAHB59YqoJLCFNg1mx8XwCLcBGAsYHQ/w600-h800/IMG_7484.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="600" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maturing groats.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-91780711189304291722020-07-22T13:54:00.002-07:002020-07-22T13:54:39.848-07:00Runner Beans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Three towers of runner beans (Phaseolus coccineus) stand as showy exclamation points against the northern edge of my garden. The oldest tower is on its third year, because, in our climate, runner beans are perennial. The plants form underground tubers from which new vines spring each year. So far, the older the plants are, the more vigorous they’ve been in my garden.<br />
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The three-year-old tower is a mix of various dark-colored beans, mostly solid black. Most of the original beans were from a bag of Rancho Gordo Ayocote Negro, a couple from a bag of Ayocote Amarillo, and some purple-splotched beans were brought to me from Greece by a friend. All the vines on this tower have lipstick red flowers and the hummingbirds claim the tower as territory, zipping over the space in aerial combat. Last year, this tower alone gave us almost five pounds of beans, beans which were soups and stews through our winter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2QcgOUBvTj0/XxenSmBUOjI/AAAAAAAALYY/ntgdURg_-64KlypU0aV95OSjHe9mSyhfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7071.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2QcgOUBvTj0/XxenSmBUOjI/AAAAAAAALYY/ntgdURg_-64KlypU0aV95OSjHe9mSyhfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_7071.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The dark-seeded tower blooming right now.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rYpUpI750_M/XxengNo8PpI/AAAAAAAALYo/RaSdaqNJIx0FHhzhcMRZaxZwTqzkaYg0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_2216.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The dark-seeded tower in October or so of last year.</span></td></tr>
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The second tower in my garden is planted with white runner beans that my same friend brought me from Greece. The beans this tower produces are huge and creamy, delightful in soups, purees, or marinated. The large white flowers are lovely and elegant. The plants are less exuberant growers than the dark seeded varieties and stay mostly politely on their trellis, loaded with pods. Last year, this tower gave me three pounds of huge, dove-like white beans. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OHZ7u4HXjXs/XxenR8QAqhI/AAAAAAAALYQ/pRK4F6D4o9wRMMtGBgNZnWjOeNB7o8wpACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_6576.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OHZ7u4HXjXs/XxenR8QAqhI/AAAAAAAALYQ/pRK4F6D4o9wRMMtGBgNZnWjOeNB7o8wpACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_6576.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Early bean set on the white seeded tower.</span></td></tr>
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I harvest the beans of both towers as the pods dry up. I shuck the beans and let them dry further on plates or trays. However, in the moist air of our city, it is hard for me to get the large beans completely dried out, so last season, I stopped trying. Instead, after letting them dry for a couple weeks on plates, though they weren't completely shatter-dry, I bagged them in freezer ziplocks, one pound per bag, and put them in the chest freezer. This winter, the beans I stored this way cooked so quickly, much quicker and more evenly than completely dried beans, and were stunningly delicious.<br />
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The third tower of runner beans used to be planted with the same mix of seeds as the first tower. However, after munching on young runners to eat as green beans in the last couple years and enjoying them as much or more than common green beans (Phaseolus vulgaris), I decided to grow a variety specifically focused on pod rather than seed production. I chose <a href="https://www.adaptiveseeds.com/product/vegetables/beans/runner-beans/runner-bean-british-pop-organic/">British Pop</a>, a genetic mix from <a href="https://www.adaptiveseeds.com/" target="_blank">Adaptive Seeds</a>, because I liked that it would provide a nice mix of colored flowers and the pods looked promising. This tower has been incredible productive of long, tender bods that have been in piles of dishes so far this summer: blistered with soy and chile, slivered and sautéed with corn, steamed with garlic butter, blanched in salade nicoise, and so on.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qlTaWE1SBI/XxenRc_Z1OI/AAAAAAAALYM/coDEYD_f9BQgyly4eA8djfWd6Dve7_PIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7073.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--qlTaWE1SBI/XxenRc_Z1OI/AAAAAAAALYM/coDEYD_f9BQgyly4eA8djfWd6Dve7_PIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_7073.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Perfect eating size of British Pop—this is when they are juiciest, most flavorful, and still very tender but crunchy.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INbM6Q-KZQw/XxenTtMMG9I/AAAAAAAALYc/q_WeQheb44cioFmABrZyQVRD0UPb8Oi8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7082.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-INbM6Q-KZQw/XxenTtMMG9I/AAAAAAAALYc/q_WeQheb44cioFmABrZyQVRD0UPb8Oi8gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_7082.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This British Pop is too mature to eat as a pod bean unless it is stewed slowly. It will be tough and the beans will be starchy. At this stage, save them for dried beans or harvest just before dried stage for shelly beans.</span></td></tr>
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In my previous southern Californian garden, I stuck mostly to common beans, P. vulgaris. The green beans and dried beans of vulgaris varieties were very productive and liked the heat and could tolerate some drought. There, runner beans, P. coccineus, always struggled to get going for me, and when they did grow, it was usually too hot for them to set many pods. But here in San Francisco, the vulgaris varieties grow okay but not great. There’s less heat, less searing sun, and the cloud forest loving P. coccineus do much better. Plus, they’re loads prettier and bring the hummingbirds.<br />
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Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-75040238385684962102020-04-15T15:22:00.001-07:002020-04-15T15:26:46.193-07:00Short in the ToothHead thrown back in deep laughter, I careened through the playground. A fireman's pole stopped me and knocked me on my butt. "Your tooth!" my friend gasped. When she looked at me in horror, I stopped laughing. My right front tooth had broken in half. I was ten.<br />
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My childhood dentist attached a wonky bottom half that lasted for years and years, but the tooth eventually died, and after college, I had to have a root canal and a crown. My young adulthood dentist was a few months from retiring and felt his experience qualified him to perform the surgery himself. He was wrong. About six months after the root canal, the front of my mouth ached, and pain crackeled up my face each time I bit down. The root canal had abcessed and I needed another one.<br />
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This time in an oral surgeon's chair, my head thrown back in discomfort, I sat through his exclamations. "Oh my god, there's so much drainage. That's a horrible infection." He brought in other staff members to raise their eyebrows over the puss that dripped from my tunneled tooth while I watched their faces react to my own pain. After the show, he packed up the canal and stuck on a crown. I lived with that crown for almost twenty years.<br />
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By 2017, age had lengthened my teeth or shortened my gums, whichever way you want to look at it, and the blackened stump of my root canaled tooth began to be visible, so it was time for a new crown. My current dentist sent me to a lab downtown behind a dingy door that opened to Italian marble and wide skylights. The lab technicians had already made a model of my tooth, and they fitted it in my mouth to double check the shade; when they weren't satisfied, they murmered to each other and painted on glaze, firing and fitting it several times, until I ended up with a lovely crown, as pearly and fitted physically and aesthetically to my mouth as one born to me. Finally, my front teeth gave me the smile I had missed for decades.<br />
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On Monday, February 24th, I treated myself to a dried peach for dessert. I bit down. I bit neither pit nor a particularly tough piece of dried peach. No matter, my tooth broke completely off anyway. I howled. Scott turned to check on me and visibly recoiled at my short black stump. That beautiful crown had snapped off, taking most of what was left of my root canaled tooth with it.<br />
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The next day, I met with my dentist. She told me the original tooth wasn't salvageable, and I needed a dental implant. She connected me with an oral surgeon specializing in dental implants, and we set a date for the surgery. In the meantime, she put together a makeshift stump on which to attach the old crown, warning me that I couldn't bite down on anything with the front of my mouth, but instead, I could only chew with the sides of my mouth. She told me I would be lucky if it held together until my surgery date, March 17th.<br />
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On March 16th, Mayor London Breed declared a Shelter-in-Place order for San Francisco. The dental surgeon called that afternoon and canceled the appointment until the order was lifted.<br />
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So far, the crown has held on. I eat everything with a knife and fork. PB&Js? Knife and fork. Celery? Knife and fork. Gorgeous homemade chewy-centered, crunchy-crusted bagels? Forget about 'em—too hard on my tooth even with a knife and fork. Pizza is less pleasant, salads make me nervous, and I don't even bother with chips.<br />
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My 12th grade students have watched their longed-for spring semester evaporate: no prom, spring break travel, last minute bonding, graduation trips. My neighborhood restaurants, bars, and shops may lose this battle against the virus and time. My husband sets his jaw each time he drives to work at the psych hospital; each day, more hospital staff tests positive. Members of my friend and family circle have filed for unemployment for the first time in their lives. Students and colleagues have lost family members to the disease. And in the larger community of those unknown to me, thousands of people are losing their closest family members without holding their hands through last breaths, unable to provide the comfort of love. The virus has snatched away what solace the communal grief of a funeral can provide. The economy no longer knows its ass from its pinky.<br />
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Meanwhile, I'm sitting in a blue adirondack chair in sunshine and birdsong, writing away part of my day, fretting about whether or not I will still have a front tooth by the time this is all over. Pretty small for a pandemic.<br />
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The impossibility to forget the minute concerns of one's life while being swallowed by a worldwide event, the psychological seesaw of petty and profound, that's the Poloroid of this moment that will end up in my album of memory.<br />
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What may also end up in a memory album but never an actual one: a picture of my mouth short a front tooth.Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-72571412069589290312020-04-09T14:09:00.002-07:002020-04-09T16:48:06.940-07:00Alpine TubNancy had held onto the cast iron tub for years, but she didn't know what to do with it. She considered refinishing it and using it in an eventual bathroom remodel. She thought about using it outside, maybe for a fountain. But her garden and house projects kept growing and changing, and the tub just sat in the back corner of her yard.<br />
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So she gave it to me.</div>
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About ten years ago, that old beat up three-footed tub came to live with me. In my former garden, it sat in the middle of the backyard and my ex-husband would bathe Indiana-the-dog in it. I always wanted to do something more with it, but hadn't figured out what it would be yet when we decided to move. I insisted we lug it north with us a for a future garden project. It sat upside down next to the rental house, waiting for that future garden. After my ex and I split up and I bought the house in San Francisco, it moved with me up here. I had the movers set it along the edge of the property while I wondered what to do with it.</div>
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For a long time, I thought it was going to be a pond, and I spent a lot of time researching how to make an old bathtub into a pond. The longer I thought about it though, the less right that seemed for this tub in this yard. After Scott and I met, fell in love, and he moved in, we dragged it together to different parts of the property. It eventually ended up at the top, next to our upper patio. It was the right place for it, but my nextdoor neighbor teased me: "I don't want you taking a bath out there! I can see the tub now from my room!" I assured her there would be no bathing.</div>
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Last May, Scott, the kids and I went to the San Francisco Botanical Garden big spring plant sale. My stepson fell in love with the strange, matted plants in the alpine section, and I'm a sucker for all kinds of dianthus and the tight low growing ones made me grin. The kids and I oohed and aaahed over the hypertufa troughs in which the low growing plants embroidered together to make tapestries of green and silver. I was hooked. And, I figured out what I would do with the tub.<br />
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I bought bags of cactus soil and gravel, and collected a small pile of flagstone from other garden projects and pretty rocks that the kids and I had collected on camping trips. I also ordered plants through several sources, and picked up a few at a local nursery. I tried to focus on matting plants and bulbs, with the hope that eventually the surface of the tub would become blanketed with strange alpine foliage, some of which would bloom extravagently in the spring, and bulbs would poke through the thick blanket. I even chose some California native plants that seemed to fit the alpine garden requirements: low fertility, gritty soil with little summer water.</div>
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To keep the soil from spilling out of the drain and plumbing holes, I wadded them with balls of scrunched up chicken wire, then filled the tub. In the deeper end of the tub, I positioned the flagstones vertically, to make tight crevices, similar to what you might find in high places, where the earth has twisted what was once flat into mountains. I positioned the plants and bulbs where I wanted them, placed soil around them, then covered the surface with gravel and stones.</div>
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This is what the tub looks like this morning:</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ToX7pjCw96c/Xo9m0gDdDMI/AAAAAAAALOg/TgJc0csAR3UJiRbAE_HRfMrBzlOTauFQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_5942.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ToX7pjCw96c/Xo9m0gDdDMI/AAAAAAAALOg/TgJc0csAR3UJiRbAE_HRfMrBzlOTauFQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5942.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Here is more information of what's planted in there (with links to sources):</div>
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<a href="https://www.wrightmanalpines.com/all-plants/campanula-betulifolia" target="_blank"><b>Campanula betulifolia</b></a> This should form a bright green matt with white flowers. It is healthy, but very tiny right now.<br />
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<b><a href="https://www.brentandbeckysbulbs.com/Calochortus-Cupido-/Liliaceae/Calochortus/Cupido" target="_blank">Calochortus uniflorus "Cupido"</a> </b>Calochortus is a native California lily. There are many species, all of them beautiful. This selection supposedly tolerates garden conditions a little more easily than other varieties. We'll see how it does hanging out with its crew in the tub. Right now, it is hitting peak bloom, and the flowers are lovely, silky-lavender with blue stamens.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0zcAfU4ZAA/Xo-O69CQBmI/AAAAAAAALPY/ZuDXfmM1b8ILNwcAQrJ7KCkzTfsFMvawwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_5925.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X0zcAfU4ZAA/Xo-O69CQBmI/AAAAAAAALPY/ZuDXfmM1b8ILNwcAQrJ7KCkzTfsFMvawwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5925.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<b>Dianthus "Tight Blue"</b> I bought this last year at the SFBG plant sale and I don't know another source, nor do I know what the flowers will look like, though one of the two small matts looks like it will begin blooming soon. It has pleasing, very low growing blue foliage. I hope it spreads and mounds over stones.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1XDT5eoIsPA/Xo9mzpzg_GI/AAAAAAAALOY/g5CZNeHdT4gnfM2xopRHILrxB5xWXHUvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_5940.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1XDT5eoIsPA/Xo9mzpzg_GI/AAAAAAAALOY/g5CZNeHdT4gnfM2xopRHILrxB5xWXHUvACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5940.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.brentandbeckysbulbs.com/Dichelostemma-ida-maia/Amaryllidaceae-Liliaceae-Alliaceae/Dichelostemma/ida-maia" target="_blank"><b>Dichelostemma ida-maia</b></a> This is another California native bulb. It is just beginning to send up flower stalks now. I may feel that it's too tall for the tub once it's up and blooming, but I couldn't resist the unusual, beautiful flowers. We'll see.<br />
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<a href="https://www.brentandbeckysbulbs.com/Iris-Dwarf-reticulata-Pixie/Iris/Iris-bulbs/Iris-bulbs-for-sale" target="_blank"><b>Iris reticulata "Pixie"</b></a> These bloomed in February. They're quite pretty little flowers, and I had planted many of the same in other parts of the garden, too. However, they really shine in a tub like this because you can focus on them. In the rest of the garden, they're so low and small, it's hard to notice them. The flowers are only 4" above the soil line. This photo is from February 1st.</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.diggingdog.com/plant/p-1339" target="_blank">Helianthemum "St. Mary's White"</a></b> I put two of these in along the edge of the tub farthest from the patio. Two will probably be too much, and I'll need to edit. If so, no worries. This is a beautiful, drought tolerant plant I wouldn't mind growing in other non-irrigated parts of the garden.</div>
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<a href="https://www.calfloranursery.com/plants/monardella-macrantha-marian-sampson" target="_blank"><b>Monardella macrantha "Marian Sampson"</b></a> This grows in rocky screes in California and seemed suited for an alpine tub. I hope it eventually spreads and tumbles its scarlet flowers over the edge.</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.brentandbeckysbulbs.com/Narcissus-/Oxford-Gold" target="_blank">Narcissus "Oxford Gold"</a> </b>A short, hoop-skirted narcissus, this bloomed all late winter. Here it is on February 29th.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQzRT-IO3Vg/Xo9t3H4zdHI/AAAAAAAALPA/gyTqbzUaLWUobTw2t8VvEHDm8D_z34hIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_5487.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qQzRT-IO3Vg/Xo9t3H4zdHI/AAAAAAAALPA/gyTqbzUaLWUobTw2t8VvEHDm8D_z34hIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5487.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<b>Saxifraga "Lutea"</b> I bought two of this variety from <a href="https://www.wrightmanalpines.com/home" target="_blank">Wrightman Alpines</a>, but they no longer have it listed on their site. The Saxifraga genus are incredible. Mounding, tiny foliage and spectacular flower shows. They grow directly on rocks in mountains, so Wrightman grows them on pieces of tufa and sends them, stone and all. I "planted" these by burying the bottoms of their individual stones in the tub. I took these pictures this morning, and while the flowers are mostly faded and beginning to seed, the flower branches are still so lovely and colorful.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRwh-nuTdZI/Xo9muKfwcVI/AAAAAAAALOM/9UQbI8d7j7wurl5JFew7HrROyOVR8Yc0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_5936.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iRwh-nuTdZI/Xo9muKfwcVI/AAAAAAAALOM/9UQbI8d7j7wurl5JFew7HrROyOVR8Yc0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_5936.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.wrightmanalpines.com/all-plants/silene-baumgarteniana" target="_blank">Silene baumgarteniana</a> I love the ballooning flowers of silenes, and this particular alpine variety looked wonderfully weird, so I had to try it. So far, it's growing well, and just about to start blooming. Here is a picture of it this morning, tucked up against Elfin thyme.</div>
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<a href="https://www.wrightmanalpines.com/all-plants/vitaliana-primuliflora-v-cinerea" target="_blank"><b>Vitaliana primuliflora v. cinerea</b></a> I tucked this tiny plant in between the flagstone crevices. It has grown well, but no blossoms yet. It's another one that I hope forms a tight matt that fills in and mounds up against the stones in the tub.<br />
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Two more species form patches of the tub's quilt: Thymus serpyllum "Elfin" (pictured above) and an unknown plant, a scrubby, scappy, silvery creeper. I purchased one of the unknowns from the alpine section at the SFBG plant sale last year, and another identical one in the half-price section of a local nursery, and in both cases, they were missing their tags. So, I don't know what it is. It is, however, growing very well, spreading into firm-textured puddles of silver. Can you identify it?<br />
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The alpine tub has become a spot in my garden where I spend lots of time just <i>looking</i>. Since all that grows in it is miniature and the focus of the landscape so limited, every leaf is a miracle. I've read that bonsai originally began as a meditative practice, and the alpine tub helps me see how that could be true. Growing it is growing the art of noticing.</div>
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Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-19617290616143405262019-11-13T21:28:00.004-08:002019-11-14T12:21:35.699-08:00Chestnut GatheringIt was around twenty years ago when I first visited the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena. I remember what the weather was like that day—cool and grey—and I wore a sweater and a skirt. For some reason, I remember my car being in the shop and I drove a loaner car, one with a much better sound system than my own, and I rolled into the museum parking lot with the music up really loud. Maybe it was a short day at work that day, because I felt like I was playing hooky. In other words, it was a really good day.<br />
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To enter the museum, I walked through a row of larger than life Rodin sculptures. Once inside, I had my choice to go to the left and see European art from the last couple hundred years, or go to the right and see older European and Asian art. I don't remember which section I went to first, but I do know I eventually found myself in the wing of European art from the turn of the 20th Century, stopped still in front of a painting.</div>
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The painting is large, about 5 feet by nearly 8 feet. Its colors are saturated: crimson, orange, gold, brown, and black. Sawtoothed chestnut leaves litter the ground—the older ones red and overlapping, the newer ones gold and horizontal—all in a highly decorative pattern. In the forefront of the painting, three women gather chestnuts while two other women collect more behind them. The first of the three women in front kneels, taking a stone in her large Picasso-esque hand to use as a tool to remove a chestnut from its thorny burr. She drags a burlap sack of nuts she's collected. The second woman is upright. It looks as if she's walking slowly. She carries a tray of perfectly arranged chestnuts, and her disproportionate hands support the tray from above and below, like a gift. Behind her head, a break in the large trees creates a dome of light, framing her face like a gold leaf halo in a medieval illuminated manuscript. The third in the trio walks behind, slightly bent over, carrying a load of chestnuts in her apron. Unlike the other two, her hair isn't free, but covered with a loose scarf. Reminiscent of a religious procession, the trio remind me of the holy connectedness of work and nature and food. Foraging under these trees is a sacred act.</div>
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That first day I encountered this painting, I sat down on a bench in front of it and thought about it for a long time. I noticed the smoothness of the women's features and their long legs, the pattern of the ancient trees in rows, and the way the chestnuts on the ground don't succumb to the laws of perspective; they don't shrink in the "distance." I purred with joy in front of this painting, rubbing my soul against it like a friendly cat.</div>
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When I finally got up to look at the information plaque next to the painting, I learned its title, "<a href="https://www.nortonsimon.org/art/detail/M.1979.35.P/" target="_blank">Autumn: The Chestnut Gatherers</a>." I had never heard of its painter, Georges Lacombe, before. The plaque explained that the model for the painting was a young woman, Marthe, who would become Georges's wife, and that the painting was the third in a four part series about the seasons commissioned by Marthe's mother, Gabrielle.</div>
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The woman who commissioned the painting and the woman who modeled for it share my not-too-common last name, Wenger.</div>
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Nowadays, a canvas-transferred print of that painting hangs, framed, over my sofa as the most prominent piece of art in our living room. I stare at it every day. I sit under it in the morning to drink my coffee and catch up on the news. At night, when we watch television, I relax under it with my feet in Scott's lap. That painting is part of what makes my house home to me, and it lives in a corner of my brain, always.</div>
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But, until this weekend, I had never actually performed the act depicted in the painting. I consider myself an aficionada of orchards, but I had never seen a chestnut orchard in person until Sunday, when I went chestnut gathering.</div>
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<a href="http://skylinechestnuts.com/about2.html" target="_blank">Skyline Chestnut Orchard</a> is tucked away in the Santa Cruz Mountains between Palo Alto and Pescadero, between the bay and the ocean. According to the orchard's website, soon after the purchase of California in 1847, a Spanish settler moved up into the mountains and planted the oldest European chestnut trees. Presently, the property is owned by Midpeninsula Regional Open Space District and managed by a farming family, the Johsens. They open the orchard every fall when the chestnuts begin to drop and run a farm stand where they sell chestnuts and chestnut (and other varieties of) honey.</div>
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Sunday, I drove down the peninsula and up the mountains, good music playing and the sunroof open. Scott and the kids were out of town, so I had the day all to myself, with nowhere I had to be other than exactly where I wanted to be. After I found the turnoff for the orchard, I parked and checked in at the farm stand. I followed the path to the trees, but instead of staying on the lower flatter ground, like the many families that were also out collecting nuts, I clambered up the hill under old gnarly trees. I waded through native blackberries, identifiable two ways: they have slender prickly thorns rather than Himalayan blackberries' scimitar-shaped deadly thorns, and their leaves turn wine and maroon in autumn. Under the tree canopies, I sifted aside golden leaves to find shiny loose chestnuts and split burrs about to release their smooth chestnuts. Below me, families speaking many languages laughed and helped each other. But, up by me, the only sounds were birds and chestnuts dropping from the trees. I moved from tree to tree in the gold light.</div>
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When I felt like I was done, I had collected three pounds of chestnuts and bought a jar of chestnut honey. That night, I roasted a few chestnuts for dessert and savored the fudgy, earthy sweetness.</div>
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The only reason I can head to the hills and collect chestnuts is because I live in the West, not a native home to chestnuts, but a safe haven when the rest of the chestnut population in the United States fell victim to two diseases, "ink disease" and "chestnut blight." Prior to the 20th Century, every fourth tree in Appalachia was an American chestnut, and it was a foundation tree in most other eastern forests. Now, all the established trees are gone, and what's left are sprouts coming from the living roots, trying again and again to grow before being inevitably felled by blight. Many, not all, non-native chestnut varieties are also susceptible to both diseases. Yet, mountain ranges and climate have protected the few chestnut trees planted in the West. I'm lucky to have seen old trees up close, to rake around under their leaves, to find their satin-robed fruit.</div>
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Here at home, sitting under the golden-haloed chestnut gatherer, a distant relative, I am three pounds richer in miracles. What should I do with them all?</div>
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<b>For more information about American chestnuts:</b></div>
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<a href="https://www.acf.org/the-american-chestnut/history-american-chestnut/" target="_blank">The American Chestnut Foundation</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.esf.edu/chestnut/" target="_blank">Restoring the American Chestnut, SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.invasivespeciesinfo.gov/profile/chestnut-blight" target="_blank">USDA's National Invasive Species Information Center's Resource Page on Chestnut Blight</a></div>
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Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-63612031220553804042019-09-14T20:35:00.001-07:002019-09-14T20:35:16.271-07:00SoilLast week, I read an <a href="https://bittersoutherner.com/will-harris-white-oak-pastures-farm#.XXsPDS3MyqB" target="_blank">article on <i>The Bitter Southerner,</i></a> after which I was really, really excited about soldier flies. I kept interrupting Scott to read him passages. The article examined a farmer, his ingenuity, and a shared goal among a community who worked on a large farm. It didn't sound like every other article—and there are a lot of them—on the subject. I couldn't stop thinking about those amazing flies and the way a farmer and a farm are restoring both a town and its soil.<br />
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<i>More than once as we roam the pastures of White Oak, Harris makes it clear he believes chemical fertilizers are to a farmer as heroin is to a junkie. </i></blockquote>
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<i>“When I first gave up chemical fertilizers, my pastures looked like shit.” </i></blockquote>
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<i>But he persisted, and two or three years later, the farm’s bottom line turned black again. So did the soil in his pastures. The percentage of organic matter in his farm’s soil today, Harris says, is about 10 times higher than the soil of nearby conventional farms. Two years after that, he introduced sheep, heeding what farmers have known for centuries: that raising different species on a single farm benefits both the land and the animals.</i></blockquote>
<a href="https://bittersoutherner.com/will-harris-white-oak-pastures-farm#.XXsPDS3MyqB" target="_blank">Source</a>.<br />
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Last week, walking over the coastal grasslands south of Half Moon Bay at <a href="https://www.markegardfamily.com/" target="_blank">Markegard Family Farm</a>, nuzzling up against a six month old Appaloosa foal, learning about a careful return of ruminants to the perennial grassland, and how that return has restored soil health all felt exciting and hopeful. Belted Galloway cattle dotted the hills. We watched a pig and its piglets poke around among native shrubs; two piglets had found their way past the fence and darted through our legs to run back to mama.<br />
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<i>Doniga [Markegard's] deep observation experience aids in her ability to monitor grassland health, biodiversity and to manage land based on the principles and patterns found in nature. Doniga is passionate about large-scale restoration of Western Rangelands through cattle grazing. The Markegard Family has forged partnerships with some of the largest land trust groups in California, private landowners, as well as regional open space parks. Each ranch has a grazing plan and conservation management plan developed in conjunction with landowners and the Natural Resource Conservation Service. She is dedicated to finding ways to regenerate lands and community through ranching practices that build soil, sequester carbon, capture and purify water and enhance habitat.</i></blockquote>
<a href="https://www.markegardfamily.com/doniga" target="_blank">Source</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you look really hard at this photo, just to the right of center, you can see the chicken shelters for the pastured Freedom Ranger chickens.</td></tr>
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My friend and I toured <a href="https://davero.com/" target="_blank">Davero Farms and Winery</a> earlier this summer. We expected to learn about farming, but we didn't realize we'd have our minds blown. Everything the farm needed came from the farm itself. After exploring the farm, we sat in a cave built from living willow trees, woven together to be a green cupola above us. The wine we tasted came from small vineyards that grew on soil that pond algae, chicken, sheep, and pigs had worked together to feed and tend.<br />
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<i>Grow what belongs here. Be patient.</i></blockquote>
<a href="https://davero.com/philosophy/farming/" target="_blank">Source</a>.<br />
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Markegard and Davero are not cost-effective places to buy meat and wine. They are impractical for most people and are not a world-wide solution to our problems of pollution and animal welfare that plague our farming system. Even the much more extensive production at Harris's White Oak Pastures isn't large enough to make prices reasonable (or products available) to an average consumer. Instead, they're hints at what may not be probable but might just be possible.Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-60490635662968712172019-07-12T11:07:00.001-07:002019-07-12T11:08:46.872-07:00Growing Space, Growing CommunityLast month, Scott and I finished a huge project in the backyard. We turned our poorly designed main garden path, a wonky, sloping mess of torn up landscape cloth (come on, it's never a good idea) and decomposed granite (an even worse idea on a slope) that pre-existed my purchase of the property into a sturdy stone and gravel staircase.<br />
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It was hard work. We have no way to push a wheelbarrow through the house and into the backyard, so we hand carried all the stones and gravel through the garage, through the downstairs bedroom, and out the back up the hill. We sketched out the stair case, then built each step one at a time, tested it, tore it out if we needed to, and rebuilt it. We paid attention to how our feet landed along the path and the purposeful curve. When stones we had set with morter didn't stick, we pulled them out and set them again.<br />
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When we finished, we ended up with something that looks like it's on purpose. It winds up to the brick patio we also rebuilt to the evenness of a dance floor. On the patio perch at the top of our property, we can sit in our comfy blue adirondak chairs and admire the view of downtown or huddle around the fire pit. Our very livable backyard makes the inside of the home feel ten times bigger. I've already taken two naps in the chairs, reading until I fall asleep. Scott's started talking about adding a hot tub close to the house. My stepdaughter uses the patio to practice her back walkovers and handstands. Both kids have played ping pong and have chosen to be outside more than ever.<br />
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While the backyard has made my home feel larger, the community has made my backyard bigger.<br />
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In April of 2018, I started a group that meets up once a month to share produce, plants, seeds, and other garden materials and that asks each other questions, sharing our knowledge and experience. When I first started the group, we met in the local park. But, soon, I figured it out would be better to meet up in various members' yards, so we all could learn by the experience of seeing each other's spaces. Members starting drumming up a name for ourselves; Seedheads stuck. Since then, we've met in yards that are immaculately kept, in yards that are wild and ridiculously productive, in yards that are mostly concrete but have been turned into garden spaces through containers, hale bales, and other creative means. We've met at a special open-to-all community garden, and we've met in several gardens with unique chicken coops. We've shared seedlings and flowers and jams, wild-harvested mussels and seeds and fruit, bread and cuttings and lots and lots of ideas.<br />
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The Seedheads mailing list now includes over 80 members scattered across the southeast corner of San Francisco. The group crosses lines of gender, age, ethnicity, and socio-economics. Yet, we all love to grow and build, so together, we do.Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-77708813894978416582019-07-10T16:46:00.001-07:002019-07-10T16:46:43.493-07:002019 Garlic HarvestBlergh.<br />
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You know what doesn't grow well in San Francisco's Garden District, or at least has not yet grown well for me? </div>
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Garlic.</div>
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You <i>know</i> I <i>love</i> growing garlic. In previous gardens, I've grown more garlic than I could use in a year. I shared it with neighbors and grew out many different heirloom varieties. But here, there are challenges galore for my allium friends.</div>
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The garlic I planted in October started so well in the fall and grew steadily through winter. Christmas came and a gopher (or two) stole about a tenth of the crop. I cursed gophers. One variety, Belarus, a previous favorite in other gardens, broomed. The plants divided early into cloves which then tried to grow as individual plants, so when I pulled them up, they were just clusters of tiny cloves and stems rather than a single heads of regular sized cloves. I cursed brooming. As late winter hit, so did the rust, and some plants gave up entirely while others struggled along. I cursed rust.</div>
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A few weeks ago, I pulled my runted garlic from the bed. The plants were covered with rust and they had already bulbed up as much as they would. I shook the dirt off the plants, bundled them to dry under the eaves where they wouldn't get any drizzle—if there were to be any—and planted a cover crop of red-blossomed buckwheat and cowpeas in their former bed. Yesterday, I pulled the cured garlic bunches down to clean up for storage. Ugliness awaited: all the artichoke varieties (eg Red Toch and Kettle River Giant) had rotted. Instead of drying out in the breeze and shade, they turned into mushy stink bombs. So, I cursed rot.</div>
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Gophers, rust, brooming, rot. The garlic has not had a good year.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What broomed garlic looks like.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My complete measly harvest. </td></tr>
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I'm going to try one more time this fall, planting out only the three varieties that seemed to be able to survive the onslaught a little better than others. The hardneck varieties appeared to fare better against the rust and weren't at all affected by rot. One hardneck, Belarus, broomed, so that one is out. Another, Early Portuguese, didn't do much of anything. So that leaves three I'll try again next year: Basque, Rose du Lautrec, and Burgundy. I'll gopher wire the allium bed when I dig in the cover crop, and I'll plant the cloves really far apart, leaving plenty of room for wind to dry humidity off the plants. But, if I can't get a good crop next year, I'll stop trying with garlic and use the space for other winter crops. It will be more room in which to experiment.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basque, one of the few varieties I'll try again next year.</td></tr>
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Are you listening to me, little bulbs? If you don't shape up, your space will go to somebody else.</div>
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Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-52203565768455344722019-07-01T21:19:00.002-07:002019-07-02T07:53:01.015-07:00The 29thA few days ago, I ran into my ex-husband at the grocery store. I hadn't seen him in over three years. When I first saw him, I had to search my brain for a second. Then I couldn't believe it. I could see the same processes going through his face. We smiled at each other, greeted each other with a hug, and chatted for a few minutes.<br />
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It was strange to see him, but in no way sad or discomforting. I left our conversation very happy.<br />
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I no longer know him in the way I once did, his daily breath and movement, frustrations and hopes, but I am still deeply familiar with him. I could tell he was nervous seeing me. He has a telltale mouth twitch that happens when he's anxious. The same mouth twitch I saw on our first date a decade and a half ago twitched powerfully as we talked the other day. Within our few minutes of conversation, I heard refrains that were so familiar to me, they could have been lifted from a script I might have written about a conversation with him.<br />
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Later in the afternoon, I drove my nine-year-old stepdaughter home from summer camp and she told me all about what she had done that day. She asked me about my day and I told her that I had run into my ex-husband. She asked, "How did you divorce?" I told her an honest and abbreviated story of our marriage and divorce.<br />
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A little over a year after the marriage with my ex-husband dissolved, I met Scott. We fell in love, married, and I became stepmother to my stepdaughter and stepson. I gained an instafam. When one joins a pre-existent family, one learns quickly that the family has formed habits and roles that have none of the new member's influence. I'm learning how to be a stopmom and what my role is here, and I probably will be learning this for the rest of my life.<br />
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Despite my lack of experience in a parenting role, there are at least traditions and experiences I feel confident offering this family of mine. I can share with them my mom's Saturday morning crepes and Christmastime cardamom bread. I can teach them the weird little miracles of the plant world and how to identify California wildflowers. I can geek out over the details of the Narnia Chronicles with them and take them for really long walks full of stopping to look at things. These are things that come from me, my parents, and my brother. But there are things I collected from being married to my ex-husband that I want to share with my newish family too.<br />
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One of those things is ñoquis on the 29th.<br />
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My ex-husband told me briefly, early in our relationship, in Argentina gnocchi—or ñoquis in Spanish—was a lucky meal when eaten on the 29th of a month, and people placed money under their plate during the meal for financial luck in the following month. Soon after he told me this, a good friend and I stopped in for lunch at an Argentine place. It happened to be the 29th, and we happened to order a large plate of ñoquis to share. The waiter delivered our plate and walked a few steps away, then turned to watch us. When neither my friend nor I picked up our plate to place a bill under it, he came back to the table.<br />
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"Stop. Stop. I can't let you keep eating right now." He was adamant. "I'm too superstitious." He pulled out his own wallet and placed a dollar bill under our plate. "You must have money under your plate when you eat ñoquis." So we ate our meal over his money. I don't know if that meant we were to be lucky the following month or if he was. Either way, it made the ñoquis more fun to eat.<br />
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Later in my relationship with my ex-husband, my ex-mother-in-law, a woman I still count as very dear to me, sent me an <a href="https://www.chron.com/life/food/article/Once-a-month-Argentines-gather-at-table-for-1911663.php#photo-1487185" target="_blank">article</a> from the <i>Houston Chronicle</i> about the Argentine tradition. Ñoquis are the food of poverty and, historically, by the end of the month, sometimes not much was left in the larder but potatoes. This dish became the meal to eat towards the end of the month while hoping for a less difficult month ahead. People place money under their plates in the hope that somehow doing so will bring wealth the following month.<br />
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This past week, Scott, the kids, and I weren't able to eat together on the 29th, so we cheated and ate ñoquis on the 28th. I had hoped that we'd have fun family time making ñoquis together, but the kids were a combination of both wired and tired, and making dinner as a team didn't happen. We sat down to eat later than I had hoped. Scott placed a bill under each of our plates. Each of us enjoyed the little potato pillows, so much so that I brought the pot of water to boil again to make seconds for each of us from the reserved pile of dumplings.<br />
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I don't think eating ñoquis over money will make us luckier. I do think that luck is partly attitude. I appreciate (but see the limits within) my colleague's grandmother's famous refrain, "Luck is in the backbone, not the wishbone." But, I want to eat ñoquis with my stepkiddos whenever I can on the 29th. It's a small way I model to my stepkids that when life twists in ways that hurt, when it surprises you with its jabs and taunts, those hurts don't have to be endings but can be beginnings.<br />
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My hurts led me to my stepkids. I'm incredibly grateful.<br />
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<b>Making and Eating Ñoquis </b><br />
I really like the <a href="https://www.seriouseats.com/2015/03/how-to-make-light-tender-potato-gnocchi.html" target="_blank">Serious Eats</a> resource on gnocchi. My ex-mother-in-law used to encourage me to bake potatoes rather than boil them for lighter dumplings, and this Serious Eats recipe follows that approach.<br />
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My family loves Hazan's famous <a href="https://food52.com/recipes/13722-marcella-hazan-s-tomato-sauce-with-onion-and-butter" target="_blank">tomato-butter sauce</a> on our ñoquis.<br />
<br />Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30498647.post-15982300620914231432019-03-03T18:51:00.004-08:002019-07-02T13:50:34.849-07:00Tejocote, A New-to-me FruitTejocote, Mexican Hawthorne (<i>Crataegus mexicana</i>), trees aren't a common sight in northern California, even though they seem to grow so well here. But, my friend's next door neighbor has a tree that right now is raining golden fruit, and it is impossible for me to see all this fruit sitting there, not getting used, without experimenting with it.<br />
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My friend's neighbor gave us a bag he had picked, and my friend and I picked up even more fallen fruit. Curious, I bit into one. It was bitter and pithy. It didn't taste like something I wanted to eat. But, I had read that they didn't taste great fresh, and it was really how they were used as an ingredient that made them special. They are necessary for the Mexican holiday drink <i>ponche</i>, and some people also make a sweet tamale filling with them or add them to <i>atole</i>. I also read in various sources that they're used for candies and jellies, and that they were rich in pectin, so jelly sounded like the perfect place to start experimenting.<br />
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*I rinsed off the fruits, put them in a big pot, covered them with water, and boiled them until they were soft. Then I mashed them with a potato masher and boiled them for a few more minutes. Finally, I poured the contents of the pot in a couple jelly bags in order to strain the liquid from the solids. This is standard practice when making "juice" for jelly with quince, berries, or other fruit.<br />
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The juice was the color of fresh apple juice, but goopy, already almost syrupy. I have never worked with a fruit so rich in pectin, not even quinces or limes. When I tasted the juice, it still was a little bitter, not very acidic. It tasted incredibly earthy, not like dirt but like dark clouds and parched corn and winter. It really needed brightening. So I reached for the blood oranges that Scott and I have been getting at our farmers' market. It still needed a little more something special, so I added some sweet vermouth. The juice is so rich in pectin it could handle the addition of alcohol without resulting in a too-loose jelly. The three flavors, tejocote and blood orange and vermouth, came together beautifully. And the jelly turned out not just delicious, but a lovely warm pink color.<br />
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<b>Tejocote Jelly with Blood Orange and Vermouth</b><br />
<i>Makes 3 pints</i><br />
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You will need:<br />
4 cups tecojote juice (see above*)<br />
4 cups sugar<br />
1/2 cup strained blood orange juice<br />
peels of two small very dark red blood oranges, cut off in wide strips with a vegetable peeler<br />
the strained juice of one lemon<br />
3 oz sweet vermouth<br />
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To make the jelly:<br />
Pour all the ingredients into a preserving pan or large pot and stir. Bring to a boil over high heat, stirring frequently. The juice will clarify when cooked but, since it is so rich in pectin, it will also form clumps of pectin. Cook until the mixture is boiling vigorously and the bubbles look like fish eyes. Since this fruit is so pectin-y, this will happen much faster than with other jams or jellies.<br />
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Once the mixture has reached the jelly stage, carefully pour it through a strainer to collect the rind and any extra clumps of pectin. When I made this, I poured it through a strainer into a large pitcher, which I then used to fill my jars.<br />
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Pour into six prepared half-pint jars and sterilize according to the <a href="https://nchfp.uga.edu/publications/usda/GUIDE07_HomeCan_rev0715.pdf" target="_blank">USDA's guidelines on home food preserving safety</a>.Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607821498331135305noreply@blogger.com2