Summer notes

So western Oregon is in that transition between spring and summer right now. Temps are mostly mild, and we've had a few little rain showers here and there that have helped keep things green.

This was taken at 3:45 am the other morning. Short nights here!

One thing we're having a hard time adjusting to is the length of the night. This part of Oregon sits at about 44 degrees north latitude, like parts of Minnesota, which means our nights are short this time of year. Sunset/rise seem to be at fairly normal times (9 pm and 5:30 am, respectively) but there is a lingering twilight/dawn that lasts a few hours on either end that has made sleeping eight hours a challenge. At the same time, getting up to close a window at 4 am gives a peak at the beginnings of a two-hour sunrise, which is very cool.

But you want to hear something else cool? The latitude of the Willamette Valley also sits on a parallel with Provence, France. So those tall pine trees and fields of tall grass Van Gogh painted also appear in our landscape. Vincent would feel right at home here. 

The girls are finally out of their enclosure and free-ranging for part of the day, which lifts my heart and probably also the nutritional content of the eggs they lay, so that's good.

Just don't crap on the chaise lounge.

I am kind of surprised how much my mood has changed since living here. It seems I'm just consistently in a mellow, congenial kind of attitude, with almost no angst at all. I've realized that's because through most of my adult life I've always hated summer; hated when it started early and stole from spring, hated when it was in its triple digit height from about July through mid-October, and especially hated when it wiped out autumn entirely. That's a lot of hatred and, hence, the angst. 

And the  brush fire danger has gone away, too. I recently took down the three-part list I had posted on the fridge with what to gather up in a wildfire evacuation if you have 5/30/120 minutes to pack. There will be wildfires in Oregon this summer, to be sure, but probably not where we live. 

A Van Gogh kind of summer

Back before we moved here I used to wonder what I'd miss about California, and the answer is nothing...except the people we left. Luckily we've had no less than four friends come to see us since we moved, and more are on the way. Some are just visiting, and others are looking at possible relocations themselves. Either way, it's nice to see familiar faces in new places!

Hot summer days..and nights.

Hello, sunshine.

It absolutely amazes me that my plants can handle being outside when it's like this. The month of June here on the Central Coast has had three weeks with significantly above average temperatures..meaning in the 100-degree range. 110 yesterday, 109 the day before; you get the idea.

And yet, here are my lovely plants in all their greenery. While they are not exactly thriving in the heat, they are definitely surviving. The plants at the winery are doing similarly well. Which is more than I can say for myself. How do they do it?

Growing strong.

For humans, there's a completely different time schedule when days are like this. You must finish your chores by about 9 a.m., when the temperatures hit 90 degrees. You must close all the curtains and blinds in the house to keep out the heat. Running the air conditioning is not optional at this point, it's mandatory. Our house thermostat is generally set at about 78 degrees and the a/c comes on by about 4 pm. (A testimony to what good insulation can do for you). 

And of course, you must content yourself with sitting inside throughout most of the day with a good book, and using the "chore and hide" method of being outside, where you pop out the door for about five minutes to complete some task (which you no doubt forgot to do before 9 am) and then run back inside to the cool house before you begin melting onto the sidewalk.

Big Ag says that the summer heat is something you acclimate to, but he's a native of Arizona so no acclimation necessary on his part. For me, summer is my season of discontent. It's when I check weather.com and look at how other places (like Spokane, which we just visited in May) are faring in the high days of summer. I dream of autumn, of sweaters, and most of all, I dream of rain. Lots and lots of rain.

But there are a few advantages to this kind of heat, believe it or not: The outside clothesline dries clothes much faster than a clothes dryer can. It doesn't matter whether you hang it out at 9 am or at 6 pm. It will be dry in about an hour. You also have a built-in excuse for not tackling any large outside task. And the term "summer reading" jumps to a whole new level when it's pretty much all you can do on a burnt-to-a-crisp 110 degree afternoon.

Not amused.

You could also amuse yourself (if that's even the right word) by watching coverage of the state burning up in various wildfires, some close, some farther away. But it's just too heartbreaking to see the toll in terms of human and wildlife loss. So instead I'm watching the first two seasons of "Vicious," a PBS show about two elderly gay men living in Britain. It's absolutely hilarious. Sometimes you have to laugh, or you'll never stop crying.

Our evenings also cool off nicely most of the time. Last night we went to an Industry Night being held downtown and stopped in at our favorite winery, Bodegas, to taste and buy.  Then we took ourselves out to dinner (too hot to cook -- another great excuse in summer). And by the time we got home, we were able to open the windows and let in a little nighttime breeze.

While it's true that I'm still counting the days until autumn, I will accept summer's compensations and enjoy them. They'll be here for at least another four months, so I'd better!

Four-bottle box of Spanish-varietal deliciousness from Bodegas Winery. Yum!

Welcome June

June is bringing in the hottest weather of the year so far; no June Gloom fog and clouds here this year, sadly -- although the month is young, right? But things around the garden are loving this spate of heat, which will likely go away within a week or so. (hear oh Lord our prayer)

Milk Carton Tomato Kids.

The tomatoes are snug in their milk cartons to protect them from the wind and are quite happy.

As are the zucchini squash I said I wasn't going to plant again this year....Why do I plant zucchini. Why? Why? Because I need something to leave on my coworkers' desks when they are not looking. That's why.

I even planted a bed for cutting flowers this year with a couple of Bell Peppers thrown in for good measure. We'll see how that goes.

20 more just like this one!

And I've had the best berry harvest since moving here. More than enough for pies and sauces and galettes galore. While I sold some of these beauties in the past, this year everything is being preserved, because last year I got only a handful of berries. The moral of that story is that you just never know what the weather is going to to for, or to, your crop. The Great Berry Deficit of 2015 was a crisis of epic proportions, so this year I'm not taking any chances. Sorry, friends and neighbors. It's every man for him/herself where berries are concerned. Get your own.

My garden at work is producing zucchini already, along with tomatoes and lots of herbs. And my corn and pumpkins are popping up, too! (Pics later this week)

But still, when it's this hot, the order of the day is to finish work early, say by 10 a.m., and shelter in place somewhere cool, like inside with a good book. I'm currently reading "The Geography of Bliss" by Eric Weiner...a look at the places on earth where people are the most happy. Fascinating.

Berry good.

I'll tell you what...as long as I have plenty of berries and a cool place to retreat to in the heat of the afternoon, I'm convinced I'm actually in one of the happier places on earth, even when it's triple digits outside.

Hope your spring is springing up lots of greenery and food!

Cycling Through

Here on the Central Coast (and probably in other places where weather unpredictability is the name of the game), you learn to go with the weather patterns rather than fight against them.  We had our first heat wave of the spring season last week, with temperatures hitting the 90 degree mark.  It was also the week my cucumbers, which I grew from seed, were due to be planted. No go. Instead, I moved them outside into a shady spot to acclimate and held off on planting.

Can't wait to get these cukes in the ground. Mama needs relish.

Our weather tends to come in waves or cycles, and this week was a heat wave.  We also get "wind waves" which are possibly even worse for young plants than heat is. Most places around the country get "cold snaps" which are extremely cold temperatures which are temporary in nature. We get those sometimes, but extreme heat is usually what Mother Nature chooses to "bless" (!) us with.

And it all runs in cycles, for everyone. There are small cycles, such as heat waves/cold snaps, and larger cycles, such as drought/rainy cycles and possibly completely new cycles occurring due to global warming.

Success in growing things means learning to flow with the waves and snaps, not fight against them, whatever their reasons. It's, literally, the same thing as waves on the beach.  Fight the waves and the waves will always win.  Go with the waves and you can usually navigate within them to find your way either out to sea or to the shore, wherever you need to be.

I'm not saying to necessarily lay down and accept climate change without taking political action.  But in the garden, you can't fight it without losing your crop, so best adapt to what's happening and just get on with it. That also gives one a sense of productivity instead of helplessness. Work with what's happening and do what you can with what you have.  There's peace of mind to be had within that, whatever is going on.

So next week will be the time for planting not only my cucumber transplants, but also getting some pumpkins and summer lettuce started, because of course the heat wave also sent my spring lettuce into bolting. But next week the heat cycle breaks for a few days and we'll have seasonal temperatures once again.

In other news, one GOOD thing about the heat wave was that it gave us an advance start on killing most of our back lawn and kicked our baby squash plants into high gear.  Less water on the lawn means a bit more can be applied to the food crops. So, again, working with what's going on rather than against it, the heat does have at some advantages.

Global warming may NOT mean a world covered in water, but instead.....giant squash!?!

Line In The Sand

Everyone has a line in the sand which, once crossed, takes you into a behavior zone different than how you'd normally act.  In our house, for instance, we try and conserve electricity whenever possible, as do most homesteaders. Because of that, we frequently sit in an 80 degree house in summer, waiting for the sun to go down, the winds to pick up, and the temperature to drop, at which point we open the windows and let Mother Nature provide us with some free, clean and green air conditioning.

But I have my limits. 80 degrees is my line in the sand as far as the inside temperature goes.  At 81 degrees, all bets are off and I reach for the switch that will start up the air conditioning unit...the giant, electricity-sucking air conditioning unit.

As you can see, today the inside temperature hit 81 degrees, something which had not happened in 2014 until today, which is actually pretty good.  I broke a sweat, and I reached for the switch. In addition to the heat, we've also had a little monsoon moisture, which has made the air especially sticky. Sticky.  Yuck.

It's bad enough that I have my own internal summer most of the time.  When the temperature inside the house rises too much, I do what I have to do. I suppose if I were to be in a survival situation, I'd find things to help me deal with the heat, such as losing my temper with my loved ones and sulking in a sweaty heap in a cool hallway.

But until that time, I make no apologies for using the air conditioning when necessary, which can happen when the air inside reaches 81 degrees or I have a hot flash and my internal temperature flares to roughly what the surface of the sun's is.

It's called the Hot Flash Homestead for a reason, ya know.

Undercover Lettuce

Undercover Lettuce (background) and radishes (foreground).

Last week it was quite hot -- 96 degrees in the daytime, and my spring lettuce is just about perfect.  This is, of course another lesson in Murphy's Law, because when it is that hot it becomes very common for lettuce to turn bitter, and even bolt prematurely.

Luckily last year I bought some white shade cloth, so this gave me the chance to try it out.  In addition to providing shade, it also reflects quite a bit of light, making the lettuce cooler and not as stressed.  I also made sure I watered plentifully, in order to keep the roots (and therefore the leaves) as hydrated as possible.

This week we are back to seasonal temperatures (the 70s) and so my lettuce and I survived the first heat wave of the season.  I take my lettuce crop very seriously, as it gets too hot to grow it here in summer. For us, therefore, it's a fall, winter, and spring treat, and I'm always aware when "lettuce season" (which is in reality three seasons) is coming to an end.  I miss those salads in the summer, but there will be other pleasures once the hot weather really takes hold, like cucumbers, squash and of course tomatoes.

Welcome summer

Things could change over the next several weeks, but I'm thinking they probably won't.  I believe summer is officially here.  Some years we have 4-month summers and some years, 7-month ones.  This year will probably fall into the latter category.

Oh well, I guess there are worse places to be for a 7-month summer. Once the spring crops are established, I foresee a lot of strolling-the-beach hours in my immediate future!