Solstice

Through the troubling times in this country, the one bright spot here on the homestead has been the vegetable garden. Whether it's food on your plate or in the ground, the sight of that kind of goodness always warms the heart, strengthens the spirit and reminds us that no matter what, we all must still eat. 

June has been filled with showers and summer-type thunderstorms. It has not been unusual to see pouring rain with thunder and lightning at 10 am followed by bright sunshine and blue skies by 10:30, or by bright sunshine with simultaneous rain, but it hasn't deterred (and may even have helped) all the desired growth and abundance out in the garden.

We're up to our ears in snap peas, lettuce and onions, all of which performed beautifully in the cool weather. Surprisingly though, even the tomato plants are happy and have been growing like gangbusters. I started everything from seed this year due to March being filled with COVID concerns, so I feel especially proud of this garden, as I usually rely on at least a few (and sometimes more than just a few) transplants to provide a quick turnaround from planting to eating. But not this year.

And last night we sampled the first of our potato crop. My mom told me once that there is nothing more wonderful than a freshly dug potato, cooked and served with some butter and sour cream, and she is absolutely right. Fresh potatoes have a stronger flavor, are creamier and much lighter on the palate than older potatoes are. 

So here's a little photo summary of all the green goodness.

The California Olallieberries are very happy living in Oregon. Plenty of berries on the vines. I'm thinking we could give Linn's in Cambria a run for their money!

We have more snap peas than we know what to do with.

Baby pumpkins, which haven't even blossomed yet.

Some of our tomatoes -- Roma at the rear and 4th of July in foreground. Plus the irrigation system I just finished installing. We'll use it in July and August, mainly.

Some of the onions are going to seed, but we have more than enough so that's OK. I like their cool, spiky alien-ness. 

Wildflowers in one of the beds over the septic system.

Spiderwort with blue hydrangeas in background

I planted five rhubarb plants, and two have really taken off (far right). No cutting any the first year, but 2021 is looking hopeful.

My Yuzu tree, brought from California, is doing great!

And no photo-heavy post would be complete without an image of a deer peeing in the yard.

New Times

So every morning I have breakfast in my new dining room, also known as "the garage." I'm not alone, even if Big Ag isn't up yet -- my car is there. I actually think it's been good for our relationship to have some quality time together each day, especially since I'm not driving much anymore. 

I wonder sometimes if my car sits in the garage wondering what it did to cause our relationship to sour. I'll bet most of my shoes and clothes are thinking the same thing. My car and I went from spending five days a week together to maybe a half hour every couple of weeks, which is roughly my drive time to and from the nearest grocery store. 

At the rate we're going it actually may outlive me, or at least outlive my driving years. 

Our kitchen has also moved to the garage. If I could give any advice to prospective home buyers, it would be to always buy a home with an attached garage -- preferably one large enough that it can pinch hit for a kitchen, extra living space, gym (that you'll never use), or greenhouse/potting shed, when/if necessary. 

Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to blanch a bumper crop of spinach in a big pot on the outdoor burner of our barbecue, which should be interesting since it is probably going to be raining all day. This is the best spinach harvest I've ever had, so I'm not going to let a little kitchen apocalypse get in the way of getting it all put up. I'm already dreaming of yummy winter meals when (hear oh Lord our prayer) all this disorganization, social unrest and global weirdness is in the process of healing and I can take in all the new hope, comfort and warmth from a working kitchen once again. 

It's like what I've been reminding myself most of 2020: The adaptable not only survive, but thrive. It's what I tell myself when I wake up each morning, have coffee and chat with my car, and also before I go to bed and try and fall asleep to the sound of the six industrial fans and three de-humidifiers running downstairs, which is kind of like living next to a C-17 transport plane that's warming up but never goes anywhere. 

We're all just kind of finding our way around the new times. So take some time today to let your friends and your car know you're thinking about them. I recommend a virtual coffee or happy hour for your friends and a new air freshener or a wash for your car. 

But coffee with your car works, too. 

The boys are back in town

The workers may all be in masks, but they are here, as we deal with the kitchen gutting/renovation after our flood. Craftsmen are generally a pleasure to deal with, in every situation. They're almost always pleasantly conversational, have the rockstar confidence that comes from having one great skill they've well and truly mastered, and as an added bonus, they always laugh at Big Ag's jokes, no matter how lame. I should put them on the permanent payroll just for that.

Having them around is almost like having a house full of sons again, this cadre of plumbers, electricians, general contractors and remediation specialists who are all working to save what they can in our kitchen and dining room.  They all know each other from other jobs, and are part of a group that socializes in their off hours. 

The remediation guy brought a 16 year-old boy with him yesterday -- his daughter's boyfriend -- a lanky kid who would probably be playing baseball if not for it being the Summer of COVID. Anyway, there he was, trying to impress his girlfriend's dad and make some extra spending money by folding himself into an accordian and going down into crawlspaces of all kinds of homes to check for water damage. He'll have stories of fist-size spiders, dead rats with maggots in them and who knows what else when he goes back to school, whenever that is. 

The plumber called us at 9:30 last night and told us he'd just finished a job, was still awake with plenty of energy, and was wondering if we'd like him to pop by and fix our hot water so we could have showers in the morning. He's in his late 20's, unmarried, and as an in-demand essential worker, the world is his oyster right now. 

The space formerly known as "the kitchen."

One little thing, capable of creating a whole load of havoc.

It's always fun to ask these guys about the worst they've ever seen. The plumber told us about a family who went on a long vacation and had asked an adult relative to check the house weekly. One day the relative came in and used the upstairs bathroom before they left, clogging the toilet. The toilet overflowed and kept running for the next seven days. "It would have been better if there had been a fire, probably," the plumber told us with the thoughtful pauses and colorful language all good war stories have. You could almost see the sagging and collapsed ceilings and ruined furniture in every room after he was done with his tale. 

Once they start telling me their horror stories, I always feel better. After all, there are no rats with maggots in my crawlspace, and no collapsed ceilings. But the day is young, you know? These days anything seems possible. Next month could be dead rats, or we could be fighting space aliens. It's been that kind of year.