Oh Yeah, This Is Techically a Gardening Blog

Things are finally happening! They may be smaller than my pinky finger, but we're actually getting some cucumbers. The raspberry bush has 6 or 7 berries ripening, which may not sound like a lot, but it's 6 or 7 more than we had last year. The peas are really sprouting right now, tomato plants are coming along nicely, and I got to use some of my own cilantro in a chicken tortilla pie last night (yum).

Perhaps my greatest sense of accomplishment comes from finally gaining the upper hand (or mollusk) over the slugs. The day after I installed the seaweed barrier, I found the stump of a squash flower encased in slime. That night, I went on stakeout. At around dusk, I found 5 slugs coming from all directions, heading toward a secret society meeting in the middle of my garden. Skulls: The Invertebrate Chapter. Only one of them was trying to amble over the seaweed; the rest seemingly emerged from camouflaged ninja hiding spots within the garden itself. I took great pleasure in hurling them into the prickle bushes, and haven't heard from them since. Not that I'm waiting for a postcard.

Not everything's coming up roses, though. The corn is stunted, the slugs seemed to really like the soya beans and it appears that carrots are just not meant to be for us this year. I'm not sure if a slug ran down the rows of carrots like a lawnmower, or if the birds have been sidling up to the buffet. Regardless, I am reluctant to sow them a third time and am considering allotting the real estate to one of my pumpkin plants. So, you win some and lose some. And in gardening, like life, I tend to learn more from the losses. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go eat my one strawberry before the deer beat me to it.

Market Day

We made a trip to our local farmers' market this weekend. Part shopping excursion, part reconnaissance mission, part face-painting expedition. With a mixture of disappointment and relief I found that most of the stands had plenty of salad greens, but not an abundance of anything else. And these people are professionals. I chatted up one lovely local farmer as she bounced a baby on her knee, who explained to me that we're just having a slow growing season in our neck of the woods. She assured me that my tomato plants will probably still produce something, but I suspect she may have just been being nice to me because I bought some of her peas.

Farmers' markets are a lovely thing. They have the freshest produce you'll ever find, if you don't grow your own. Even if you do grow some things yourself, you can still discover lovely little gems to supplement what you have, or at the very least find a dose of inspiration. Markets are inherently family-friendly, and usually foster a sense of community and solidarity. In my case, I get to commiserate with other growers and pretend that I know what I'm talking about. In my son's case, he gets a moon and stars painted on his face. There are usually other local artisans as well, both food-related (bakers, cheese makers, sausage makers, spice makers) and non-food-related (jewelry designers, wood carvers, musicians, hula-hoopers?) Thanks to the interwebs, it's really easy to find a market in your area. In BC, check out the BC Association of Farmers' Markets, or go here for those specific to Vancouver. For the rest of you folks, there's this handy little thing called Google. According to my mom, you remember something longer if you look it up yourself. I will, however, throw some links up to some of my favourite local haunts. Go support your neighbours!
Sooke Country Market
Metchosin Farmers' Market
Moss Street Market

What Day Is It??

Ah, summer. When the days just roll together and you find yourself one day thinking "wait a minute...it's Saturday? Wasn't I supposed to write a blog entry yesterday?" And then you think "I could just skip it. I'm sure my massive readership of 5 won't even notice." Then you think "the whole reason I started this blog was to have some sort of accountability for writing regularly, so if I skip it, I'm only letting myself down." And then you think "You sound like my mother."

In case you can't tell, I'm a little unprepared and uninspired today. Can't pinpoint why; we had a great walk on the Galloping Goose Trail yesterday followed by the afternoon fun of "let's vacuum Momma's car!" Finally got that seaweed in the garden bed. Did laundry. Put away the last of the camping gear. Perhaps there's the reason for the lack of inspiration. Yesterday was what a friend likes to call a GSD day (Getting Sh*t Done). When you're an at-home parent on GSD days, most of your inspiration goes into convincing your kid(s) to help you, get out of your way, or at the very least not sabotage your efforts by jumping into the pile of freshly folded clothes. Come to think of it, even our lovely walk was occasionally tarnished by ruminations on my part of what all needed to get done. Thankfully, almost-4-year-olds are brilliant at living in the moment and bringing you along with them. So what if you have to re-fold the laundry.

Today, I pledge to get out of my own head. Forget about the never ending list of S that needs to GD. Today, I will take lessons from my son on how to have fun, follow my heart and go where the day takes me. These are the days that tend to bring boundless inspiration. These are the days that remind us why we bother with all the busy work in the first place. The first and only item on today's agenda? Don't have an agenda. In the true procrastinator's spirit, there's nothing I need to do today that can't be put off until tomorrow.

Sometimes I Just Wanna Smack That Kid

I love my son. 3 days ago, he excitedly told me loves "all my (his) friends." 2 days ago, he called me "the sweetest momma in the world." Yesterday, he spat in my face. Now, I'm a pacifist; I don't believe that hitting someone is going to get me anywhere I want to go. However, as I wiped the spit from my eyes with one hand, I could feel the other hand itching. I could practically see it slapping his almost-4-year-old face. But it didn't. I didn't. I sure as hell wanted to, but instead I picked him up, walked out of Starbucks, loaded him back in the carseat and told him that I was too angry to talk to him and that he would be out of time out when I had calmed down.

I could see how we got to that point. We had been camping. He hadn't had enough sleep for three nights in a row, and here I was asking him to stand patiently and not touch all the enticing, dazzlingly packaged things right at his eye level, all because Momma was tired too and wanted a chai latte. At that particular moment, I was asking for more than he had to give, and he was trying to exert some influence in a situation where he was not given any choice. It seems that spitting is his latest method of pushing Momma's buttons and trying to gain some power. I get it. I don't have to like it, but I get it.

Some people feel that spanking is okay. A friend argued with me that kids fear spanking, and fear breeds respect. I don't buy it. Fear breeds quiet resentment; respect breeds respect. Not to mention the fact that it looks like my son will take after his 6'5" father, and fear would only work for me for so long. I can't say that I've never hit him, though. Months ago, I had put him in time out for hitting me. If I walked away, he would grab random things and start throwing. If I got too close, he would hit me again. I grabbed his hand, and with two fingers slapped the back of his wrist as I said "No more hitting!" I could feel the hypocrisy dripping from the words as they came out of my mouth. That's not the parent that I want to be. Instead I pin him down, explaining that I won't let him hurt me or destroy my house. I figure as long as I stay relatively fit, I've got another 9 or 10 years before he's able to overpower me. Hopefully the lesson sinks in before then. Do boys use more physical aggression than girls? I don't know. All I know is that I've taken a poll of my friends who have daughters, and none of them felt the need to institute a "no head butts" rule in their house.

I don't want to give you a too negative picture of my son; he really is a sweet boy. He prides himself on being a "great helper," loves to dance and sing, calls our German Shepherd his "fluffy good girl" and loves other kids, big and small. Really, he saves all this stellar behaviour for me, because he knows, no matter what, I'm not going anywhere. I prefer it that way. I'd rather he not be super sweet to me and an ass to the rest of the world. And I know we'll grow out of this phase, just like we did the last one. I also know that when we reach the teenage years, I'll be extra glad that he's not a girl.

Townes Van Zandt Had Issues

A few nights ago, I got hooked on a movie called "Be Here To Love Me." It's a documentary about the brilliant singer-songwriter, Townes Van Zandt. Even if you're not familiar with the name, you may know a few of his songs without realizing that they're his. (My personal favourite is "If I Needed You," made famous by Don Williams and Emmylou Harris.) However, like most geniuses, the man had issues. The film discusses his personal demons and his struggle with alcohol, but there was one little nugget of information buried in there that I found far more shocking. According to Steve Earle, Mr. Van Zandt became "obsessed" with Morning Glory. He went through a phase in which he would plant it everywhere. To me, this is a sure sign of a troubled mind.

Morning Glory has been the bane of my garden life for quite some time. Up until last year, when I saw a seed packet sitting innocently amongst the other flowers in a store display, I didn't realize that some people put them in intentionally. I suppose the flowers are quite delicate and rather pretty, but the plant itself is so insidious. Morning Glory will creep into every area of you garden and choke out any living thing in it's path that doesn't move fast enough. I've spent years trying to abolish it from one area of the yard, but have only succeeded in keeping it relatively contained. I'm sure it's prolific nature is a good thing if you really, really like Morning Glory, as did Mr. Van Zandt. Moreover, if you hate all the rest of the plants in your garden and want them to get swallowed in an ominous mound of little green leaves and trumpet-like flowers, then Morning Glory may be for you. However, on the advice of my attorney (and based on a deep, personal loathing) I would hesitate to buy another house that had Morning Glory somewhere in the yard. Once it gets in, it's almost impossible to get out.

So while I can't recommend Morning Glory, I can absolutely recommend the movie "Be Here To Love Me." Especially if you like music in general, Townes Van Zandt in particular or just enjoy good documentaries. Perhaps even if you like Morning Glory.

Salad Days

These are the salad days of summer. Literally. In this case, it is not a poetic reference to youth or inexperience, but merely an observation that the only thing I'm getting out of my garden right now is salad. I remember getting a bit disheartened last year at this stage. I mean, I love a good salad as much as the next gal, but she probably doesn't want to eat the same one every night either.

At this point, the garden becomes an arena for the practice of zen. And I hate practicing; just ask my mom about clarinet lessons. There's no getting around it, though. There are things I can control, and things I can't. I can't control the length of summer, or the amount of sunshine we're (not) getting this year. I can''t really impact the life cycle of the plants. I can't change the fact that Bambi helped himself to my growing carrots and strawberries. (Note to Bambi: yes, I'm still mad.) I can make sure that everything's getting enough water and nutrients. I can stake and prop and weed and try to give my plants the best chance possible. I can re-sow the carrots and try to bring my strawberry plants back to life. I could build a greenhouse, but seriously, we just rebuilt the wall and that's not gonna happen until next year (at least!) And finally, I can plant 4 different types of greens as well as some nasturtiums in an attempt to stave off salad fatigue.

This is not to say that you shouldn't grow lettuce. Quite honestly, nothing you can buy at the grocery store, or even (gasp) the farmer's market will beat the flavour of the lettuce you pick ten minutes before sitting down to eat. It's also obscenely easy to grow. Just don't plant too much of one variety, especially if your friends and neighbours also have gardens. After a point, you won't be able to give the stuff away. Try some nasturtiums, or other edible flowers, too. They add a nice mild flavour, but more importantly some colour contrast. They make my salad pretty and happy. And that makes me pretty happy. At least until I start getting some peas. Or beans. Or carrots. Or tomatoes. Or really anything that isn't green and leafy. On that note, anybody need some arugula?

I Like Men

Gardens, vegetables, blah, blah, blah. Today, I want to talk about men. I like men. Always have, and presumably always will. I've known some really great ones in my lifetime: my dad, brother, husband, teachers, coaches, friends, co-workers, even most of my ex-boyfriends. My son will be a great man one day, if I manage not to screw him up too badly. All in all, I would say that 95% of the males I've encountered are really good guys. I've crossed paths with some of the other 5% (there are probably one or two ex-boyfriends in that group, too), but my momma taught me to "never let one bad apple tarnish the whole bunch."

That's why when I read the title of the article The End of Men, my first thought was "don't go quite yet, please." However, when you get into the meat of the article (and it's a long one, so give yourself some time) it's author, Hanna Rosin, has some really interesting statistics and observations about the tipping of the gender balance in the work force in favour of women. One theory is that in today's marketplace, the interpersonal skills traditionally associated with women are a valuable commodity. It makes perfect sense. The earth's population has exploded; people are everywhere. Of course most of the jobs out there deal with managing people, their wants and/or their needs. If you don't have some semblance of emotional intelligence, you may not thrive in this economy. Ms. Rosin does acknowledge that the statistics are slightly skewed due to the current economic depression, as the construction and manufacturing industries take massive hits in these troubled times. However, the trend seems to indicate that the era of male dominance is coming to a close.

Despite the brilliantly provocative title of her article, I don't think that Ms. Rosin is suggesting that the days are numbered for the males of our species. Nor are we heading for a reversed version of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. Perhaps what we're inching towards is the end of uber-masculinity. The end of in-your-face machismo. That barnyard-rooster of a man who struts around with his chest puffed out believing that everyone is entitled to HIS opinion (there's a reason these fowl are called 'cocks'). And really, good riddance; knuckle-dragging was so 50 millenia ago. Today's men are generally more aware, more emotionally available, more involved in raising their children. There's still some ground to cover, but we're getting there. We need to value and encourage ALL forms of strength (physical, intellectual and emotional) in all of our children, regardless of their gender. Rarely do I hear someone assert that "boys don't cry," and I will correct anyone who says so in front of my son. We can't deny our children emotional expression and then expect them to be fluent in it as adults. I'm not suggesting that anyone cry at the drop of a hat, or cry over spilled milk, but not crying when the tears want to come can lead to a build of of stress hormones, which can be detrimental to one's health. To put it in guy-speak, it's like blue balls for the eyes. If you don't get that release, your eyeballs may explode. (Okay, maybe I made that last part up, but the part about the stress hormones has been documented.)

My bottom line? I don't think men are going anywhere. And while there are definite differences between males and females, many more of them are learned rather than innate. So let's encourage our children to be full, well-rounded human beings, and perhaps the pendulum will finally come to rest in a place where we can understand and value eachother without pre-judgment or expectation. In short, world peace.

Bambi Can Kiss My Ass

I blame Disney movies. I have to hide the rat traps from my son because he loves the movie 'Ratatouille', and has bought the pro-rodent propaganda hook, line & sinker. And the there's 'Bambi', with his abnormally large head and huge fluttery eyes. Distracting me with his cuteness as his cohorts sneak in and ravage my strawberry plants. Anything but the strawberries! Where were they last year when I had all that chard??

Normally, a German Shepherd is one of the best deer repellents you can have. However, it only works if she's out in the yard. This past week, while we were visiting relatives and she was having a week-long playdate with the neighbour dogs, somebody came in and ate all the budding strawberries. I was able to narrow the suspect list, as the culprit ate all the leaves, too. Also missing: the young carrot tops and the beans that had just started sprouting before we left. These clues, combined with the damage to the fence and the hoof-prints in the dirt, all lead straight to the deer. I owe my deductive prowess to years of reading Nancy Drew as a young girl.

So what to do? At this point, not much. Chalk it up as a loss, fix the fence and let the dog take care of the rest. To the deer-lovers out there, she'll never catch one and would not know what to do if she did. She just makes it not worth their while to come into the yard. I'm certainly not going to let the deer in on this fact, though.

Another note on the pest front: found another slug lounging on the radicchio. I suppose I really should get around to that seaweed thing. Frickin' slugs. (I know; juvenile swearing. But my mom might read this, and I'd already be in trouble for saying 'ass'. Sorry, Mom.)

Getting Away From It All

I'm in the back woods of Northern Ontario with no tv, no phone, no cell reception and internet only at the local library. Sometimes you just gotta get away from the fast-paced world of Vancouver Island (for future reference, anyone who wonders if I'm joking, the answer is usually yes.)

I find myself obsessing about my garden. We stop by to visit relatives, and I eye up their potatoes, wondering if mine have sprouted up that far yet. I see corn growing in a community garden and I wonder if the promising new growth that started just before we left has continued, or if I'll have to rip out my stalks when we get home. The longer I'm away, the more curious I get. I'm hoping to find a significant change, the kind you don't see when you stare at something every day. And I'm hoping that change has nothing to do with those infernal slugs.