A Season of Celebrations

Spring was rather slow coming to Farm Dover this year -- but, without a doubt, it is here now in full force.

In less than a week, our woodland glades have gone from a soft carpet of lush green maché, violets, chickweed and ground ivy to a knee-level tangle of tiny white wildflowers, mayapples and cleavers that love to stick to my overalls. Every tree but the walnuts has issued its buds and new leaves, casting dappled sun down to the forest floor.

A pair of Red-bellied Woodpeckers has taken up residence in the top of an old ash tree towering just above my Girl Cave. From my garden, I can hear the lovers calling with a series of hard-to-describe drills, churrs, chatters and screeches. I'm guessing that their cavity already holds a clutch of baby woodpeckers as the parent birds are constantly darting out for tasty bugs, seeds and fruits to take back to their young ones.

The Baltimore Orioles are back at our orange feeders and dipping their beaks in a hanging jar of grape jelly. The male, one of the most brilliantly colored songbirds, is hard to miss with his flaming orange and black feathers. The female is smaller and mostly olive colored. They provide great entertainment for us as we watch them from our study window.

The daffodils have come and (mostly) gone. The viburnum continue to bloom – sending wafts of spicy-sweet perfume into the air – and the peonies are just about to burst open. Yes, spring is definitely here and we are definitely rejoicing in its arrival.

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As part of our Spring rejoicing, we celebrated Easter on two consecutive weekends -- one here at Farm Dover with an egg hunt with Hazel and Norbert; and one in Brooklyn, with Mary and Brian. 

While in New York, we got to meet our newest granddog: Rita, a rescued galgo (Spanish Greyhound). She joins Saltie (also a rescue) as the most popular citizens of Red Hook (Mary and Brian's neighborhood). They are two lucky dogs. 

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And more celebrations...

Spring also brings a plethora of birthdays in our family: two daughters, two sisters, two nieces, two friends -- so lots of jubilation fills our lives.

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Some sadness too...

Friends are sick and struggling. The war in Ukraine wages on. We worry about the climate and future life here on earth. I miss my friend, Karen... But we are reminded that every day is a gift and we must rejoice and be glad in it. We are trying.

What's making you happy?

Many of the things that made me happy a year ago are now impossible – things such as sharing a memorable meal in a faraway place with some or all of my family. 

Today, my happy moments come in the everyday unfolding of life here at Farm Dover. They are usually triggered by a sensation – something seen, heard, smelled or tasted.  Here are some of the small joys that have revealed themselves in recent days. 

Coffee in bed/early morning light: On these dark December mornings, Ed, who usually gets up before me, makes coffee and brings me a hot mug of it along with my iPad. I wake slowly, often staying snuggled in until I see dawn breaking against a flaming horizon and eventually, the first light on our bedroom wall.

Owl hoots and starling murmurations: A Great Horned Owl has taken up residence at Farm Dover. We saw it for the first time at dusk as Ed and I drove up to the house after my Dad's funeral. He flew up from the driveway and perched on an eave, silhouetted against the darkening sky. I now listen for his evening hoots and find strange comfort in them. 

Most nights – just before dusk – huge groups of European Starlings come together to roost. Before settling in for the night, they will twist, turn, swoop and swirl across the sky in beautiful shape-shifting murmurations. 

Photo by BBC.com

Snail mail: Most afternoons Ed and I walk the half-mile drive out to the mailbox, where I get great pleasure from finding a stack of holiday cards or handwritten letters of condolence. 

Cheesestraws sliding off the baking sheet: This year, granddaughter Hazel is my cheesestraw apprentice, and a worthy one at that. She helps mix the ingredients then tries her very best to turn out the squiggly dough onto the ancient baking sheets, which once belonged to my Grandmommy. The sheets are rimless on two sides allowing the baked and cooled cheesestraws to easily slide off – with a swoosh – into ever-growing mounds.  Hazel and I sample one from every batch.

FaceTime calls: Many mornings of the week we get a call from Hazel wanting to say "hi" or show us what treat she discovered in her Advent calendar box for that day. Such a great way to start the day. The highlights of our Sunday are always calls from Mary, Brian and Saltie from Brooklyn and Jack and Kasia from Berlin. Just seeing their faces and hearing their voices make me happy. 

Saltie, waiting patiently for her turn to FaceTime

Winter fires and tangerines: We keep a wood fire burning most evenings. Ed splits the wood and brings it up from the woodpile out by the garden and then feeds it to the fire all evening long. I love to peel a tangerine and toss the peel into fire which sends the citrus fragrance out into the room. 

Dressing as twins with a two-year old: When Hazel was visiting last week, we dressed as twins. It completely satisfied my happiness quotient. 

Happily wedded couples and healthy newborn babies: As hard as 2020 has been, there have been bright spots that include the marriage of Dan and Allie, and Jeananne and Justin, and the birth of baby boy Tripp to Claire and Donald.  Life does go on and I hope 2021 finds us spending time with the newlyweds and rocking newborn babies. 

Photo by Tara D Photos

So my question for you is: What makes you happy these days? I hope you can find ways to include more small joys into your everyday life. Sending love your way...

We are only visitors

Knowing that you love the earth changes you, activates you to defend and protect and celebrate. 

But when you feel that the earth loves you in return, that feeling transforms the relationship
from a one-way street into a sacred bond.

– Robin Wall Kimmerer

Fifty years ago tomorrow marks the first Earth Day. It was organized as a teach-in on college campuses by Gaylord Nelson, a junior senator from Wisconsin, who had long been concerned about the deteriorating environment in the United States. Today, it is the largest secular observance in the world, marked by more than a billion people committing to a day of action to change human behavior and create policy changes. Well, at least that was the case before a pandemic swept over the earth...

Since we are sheltering in place, I will spend Earth Day 2020 much as I've spent every day of the last six weeks. I'll rise and go for a walk along the paths. I may collect some edibles along the way. I'll probably toil in the garden until Ed finds me to go out into the fields and woods, hunting down and destroying invasive plants. Later, we might stop at some of the 1000+ trees that we've planted to clear the weeds from their bases, fertilize and mulch them. We might divide some perennials in the Bee Garden, or add a new layer of wood chips to tamp down the weeds. The grass needs mowing and the fences need weed whipping. The list, as always, is unending.

Ed and I have been grateful to have this work this spring. Our days pass quickly; we fall into bed well before 10 p.m. with a duel sense of achievement and exhaustion.

We are the caretakers of this patch of land; we understand that we do not own it. Sure, we possess a legal piece of paper that says it is ours, but we know...we are only visitors.

The Moment

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Margaret Atwood

Turn of the seasons

Today marks the Vernal Equinox – an occasion of perfect celestial alignment – distinguished by a day of light and dark of equal length. The sun rose this morning at 7:43, precisely in the east – and will set 12 hours later, precisely in the west. A few minutes after noon today, the sun crossed the celestial equator, signaling the official turn of the seasons. Winter be banished; Spring be welcomed!

T. S. Eliot claims April as the cruelest month; I beg to differ. I nominate March. For it is this month that has me groggy from hibernation – desperately seeking sunshine and time outside. Instead, I'm greeted with only short snatches of sunshine, followed by long stretches of grey skies, freezing drizzle, cold winds and random snow showers.

Heavy wet snow is expected tonight in Shelby County. It could be worse: in Brooklyn, Mary is bracing for the fourth nor'easter in less than three weeks, and Jack in Berlin is looking to overnight lows in the teens.

I'm itching to be outside all day: planting my spring garden, inspecting our trees for breaks of dormancy, picking early daffodils and greeting the returning birds of Farm Dover. Instead, I find myself pulling on another sweater, wishing that Ed would build a fire, that a Netflix disc will arrive in the day's mail, or that I can crawl under the covers well before 10 p.m.

On my brief ventures out, I do find signs that spring is arriving, albeit slowly. I spot a mama woodcock sitting camouflaged atop her four spotted eggs, the red shoots of my peonies unfurl, daffodils hold off blooming by staying insulated in drifts of snow, and Grandmommy's sedum plants send up tiny succulent rosettes.

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I'm not the only one wishing to hurry up spring's full arrival. My good neighbor, dear friend, and creative genius, Sandy, turned her talents as a weaver into a masterpiece as she waited for a warmup. This past week she wove a beautiful bird-seed basket from grasses, branches and vines that she collected from her next-door-to-us farm.

Once woven, she brought it over as a gift for us to fill with bird seed/suet and hang in the tulip tree in our bee garden. It's made from wisteria, honeysuckle vine, raffia, broom corn, red dogwood stems, and Japanese bittersweet, with bits of Shetland wool tucked into the cracks for birds to use for nests.

It's amazing – a work of fine art – almost too lovely to hang in the elements. But hang it we will, and know that the birds will enjoy it as much as we love admiring it. Thank you, Sandy. Happy Spring. Happy Equinox.

Another year; another transformation

Here comes another birthday. Don't get me wrong: I'm delighted to be having another birthday, but don't really feel like doing a lot of celebrating. (I'm still recovering from Christmas.) I've been trying to talk Ed into celebrating with me on July 19, rather than January 19. He's about convinced. (He's still recovering too).

Debbie, circa 1960. Artist unknown.

Whether we celebrate this weekend or in six months doesn't really matter. But the fact that I will be turning a year older in just a couple of days, does give me pause. It always does. As you may recall, two years ago I pondered the fact that I was turning into a tomboy; and last year, I announced that I was transforming into a late-in-life protester. I'm declaring 2018 as the year I dip my toe (or my paintbrush) into making art.

I've always considered myself artistic, but never ventured very far into validating it. I figured there would be a time for art somewhere down the road. But now that I find myself somewhere pretty far down that road, I better get started on that dream. So, I've signed up for a drawing class. It meets on Mondays for 8 weeks. Santa brought me all the supplies that I will need. It is just a small step, but a step nevertheless.

I'm excited and a little fearful. What if I don't have any talent? What if everyone in the class is way ahead of me? Or heaven forbid, what if I find great joy in drawing and want to spend all my waking hours making art? The uncertainty is scary and exhilarating at the same time. This class will surely be a time of growth and learning, perhaps a transformation. Creating art is something that I've always wanted to do – here I go. Who knows, perhaps this year, I'll turn into an artist!

Nose to the Grindstone

Ed and I have had our noses to the grindstone all week. On Monday, we had 13 cubic yards of mulch delivered to Farm Dover. (Our pickup truck bed holds 1 cubic yard, so just imagine that times 13.) We are creating a bee garden, planted with native flowers that our honey bees and other native bees and butterflies will surely love. But before the plants can go in, we had to kill the fescue grass, put down layers of newspaper, and then top it with 2 inches of natural hardwood mulch. Believe me, it is much harder than it sounds.

On top of that, there was grass to cut, weeds to whip, potatoes to plant, strawberries to uncover, asparagus and radishes to harvest, beds to mulch, planters of Lilly of the Nile to divide and replant, ferns to haircut, roses to fertilize, and, of course, honeysuckle to battle.

In the middle of all this work, I managed to look up and around and noticed the solid yellow field just across the way on the adjacent farm. Like a siren of mythology, I heard it calling me to come explore. So, just as the sun was headed down and my work was mostly done, I climbed the barbed wire fence between our and our neighbor's property, closed my eyes and jumped, landing in another world. In honor of Earth Day this week, I invite you to come along and see what I saw....

Acres upon acres of canola flowers. Their subtly sweet fragrance engulfed me. Like Dorothy in Oz, I wanted to lay down in the field, and just nap for a bit. Obviously, I wasn't on Farm Dover anymore.



My lesson for the week: yes, there is work to be done and it must be done. But I mustn't forget to look up and look out, and go where I'm called.

I thought the day's weather would improve...

I'm trying to talk myself into going out to set up two new bee hives back behind the big garden. We are picking up two new 5-frame nucs (small honey bee colonies) with Italian marked queen bees tomorrow morning in Clarkson, Ky. Maggie is in L.A. working and so isn't available to guide us in how to install the bees into their Farm Dover hives. Fortunately, she sent us a YouTube video that shows in detail how to complete the transfer. Wish us luck.

In the meantime, I'm sitting in my study, sipping hot tea, watching the cold drizzling rain ping against the window and hoping it will quit before dark comes. I should have set up the new hives while I had the chance this morning, but SNOW was spitting from the grey sky and I thought the day would improve. Wrong.

I did take a walk around the farm this morning, mostly to pick the drooping daffodils before the temperature drops tonight to 27 degrees and freezes the tender blooms. While crossing the farm to get to the daffodils near the sink hole, I couldn't help but stop and snap a couple of pictures of the young maples unfurling their tiny red leaves and showcasing their helicopter seeds.

I'm trusting that the fruit trees will make it through the cold night. May drape a beach towel over the barrel of radishes – just to be on the safe side. You can find me sitting by the fire tonight, happy to be in for the evening.

Headed out for dinner

While Ed watched the news, I headed out for dinner. You are probably thinking that I was on my way to one of my favorite in-town restaurants. But instead, I pulled on my overalls and grabbed a metal bucket and took off for the creek that runs through Farm Dover. I was headed out to collect dinner by foraging along the creek bank. There was plenty to choose from.

I was inspired – and perhaps emboldened – by Samuel Thayer's guide to identifying, harvesting and preparing edible wild plants titled: Nature's Garden. In his book, he covers a small number of plant species in detail, replete with thorough preparation instructions and photos.

He cautions his readers to never eat a plant unless you are 100 percent positive of its identity. Oh how I love a good challenge!

He goes on to outline the five steps to positively identifying a plant. His steps include making a tentative identification, backing it up with a trusted reference comparison, cross-referencing with at least two more field guides to double and triple-check your identification and then go on a specimen search to ensure that you can find and identify the plant in diverse stages of growth and growing conditions. His last step involves being absolutely confident that you have identified the plant correctly, being sure enough to bet your life on it. Yikes!

Here's what I gathered in my bucket.

Chickweed. We have been eating it all week and have not died from it yet.
 I've served it raw and sauteed. 

Wild garlic. It has a hollow stem and strong oniony smell.

Mustard Garlic. Highly invasive, so I pulled these up roots and all. Stems are particularly good. 

Ramps. From our original creekside patch that Maggie planted five years ago.
Just this year, Ed and I planted 3 dozen ramp sprouts and about 50 ramp seeds.
The sprouts are sprouting! Not sure about the seeds. 

The bees love our dandelions and so do we. Be sure you harvest chemical-free plants.

A trio of purple: Purple Deadnettle, Violets, and Ground-Ivy

In Thayer's book, he writes about the time he and his wife went on a 30-day wild food diet. He says they didn't do it to prove that it can be done, since for most of human history, everybody was on a life-long wild diet. They didn't do it to prove that they could do it, as they had done it before. He says they did it because they wanted to focus on eating really good, healthy food and to feel the satisfaction of being self-sufficient. He says eating wild makes each meal an adventure, and so they did it for the excitement. 

So tonight's meal will be focused on really good, healthy (and super fresh) food. I'm thinking of making a big salad and a ramp omelette – with special thanks to friend Jackie for the farm fresh eggs. It will certainly be an adventure. Let's just hope I've identified all the fixings 100 percent correctly!