Spread the Love

Blackberry Jam. Package design my Mary.

Brought to you by the letter B

Through the eyes of a child you will see the world just as it ought to be. 

- author unknown 

Our cousins came to visit on Saturday. Nathan and Julia, ages 7 and 3 (soon to be 8 and 4), were visiting their grandparents for the week. Their grandmother, a teacher by trade and passion, organized their week's activities by the letters of the alphabet. Their visit to Farm Dover was brought to them by the letter B, as in Birds, Bees and Blackberries.

Before we sat down to a lunch of BLTs, we headed out to the garden to gather the makings for our lunch and baskets full of vegetables to take back to their grandfather.

My whole day was made when they pulled up a dried potato vine and discovered a handful of new potatoes just below the soil's surface. You would have thought they had found pink Easter eggs by their cries of delight.

As we made our way through the garden they were totally up for tasting what they picked. They unwrapped the ground cherries and willingly popped them into their mouths; they found a few lone strawberries hiding beneath the patch's green leaves and gobbled them up. Okra, straight off the plant, and raw green beans were each cheerfully sampled; and cherry tomatoes were snatched up for snacking. Nothing could have pleased me more than to see these kids being excited by the garden goodies and willing to try new tastes.

Before the afternoon was over, we had played ping-pong, hiked to the blackberry patch, picked wildflowers, watched for birds, danced in the drizzling rain, and toured around the trails on our Polaris, with little Julia begging Mary to "go faster and faster."

We loved their visit and hope they will come back anytime they find themselves in Kentucky.

Truism

It is far more pleasant to pick blackberries on a 60 degree July morning than a 95 degree one.

Sunflower with Small Moth

Model Kids

A number of of highly competitive ping-pong games have taken place on our back porch this summer – mostly between Mary and Jack. So imagine my delight when I pulled this week's New Yorker magazine out of our mailbox and found an uncanny likeness of those two on the front cover. What do you think? Just wish our backyard looked like the background in Lorenzo Mattotti's illustration....

The Secret Garden

We planted part of one of our fields in sunflowers. The field runs along our gravel road for several hundred feet and I couldn't wait to enjoy the view as we came and went up the driveway. What we didn't plan for was the tall Johnson Grass that grows up on the edges of the field and completely blocks the view of the sunflowers.

Today, I waded through the Johnson Grass to see how the sunflowers were doing -- and sure enough, they had started to bloom. Behind the curtain of grass were hundreds of sunflower plants, with dozens that had started to bloom.

I think tomorrow we'll take a machete and clippers out to the field and see if we can't clear the view a bit. I'll let you know if it works.

Up with the Birds

It's hot here this week, which isn't surprising as it is mid-July in the Ohio River valley. An hour ago, we gave in and shut the windows and turned on the AC. Both Ed and I prefer to leave the house open. Windows with screens, ceiling fans, and pitchers of brewed iced tea are all we need to stay cool...until the thermometer inches up into the mid-90s.

The thing I love the most about sleeping with the windows open is hearing the birds begin to chirp in the very early morning hours. I hear them, but then immediately fall back asleep. Ed rises early; I sleep until 7:30 or so.

This week I've been trying to rise earlier. It's just so pleasant in the early mornings. This morning I headed out early to pick blackberries. They are just starting to ripen, maybe one ripe berry to every 20 red ones.

I worked my way deep into one of the best patches and was busy picking away when I heard a funny-sounding bird in a nearby tree. I could see it was bright yellow, but couldn't tell if it was a gold finch or something else. Usually when I turn to look at a bird, it takes off. It's like they can tell when a pair of human eyes train on them. This time, the bird just kept calling and calling with a series of whistles, cackles, mews, catcalls, chuckles, rattles and squawks. Soon, its mate began to call back, coming closer and closer.

The bird flew from the top of an osage tree to a tall weed just feet from my blackberry bucket. It was a yellow-breasted chat: one of my favorite birds.

I stood still and watched it for several minutes. I never saw his/her mate, but could tell he/she was close by. I felt like I could have reached out, petted it, and had a little chat with the chat. Soon enough it flew off and I continued on my way.

Awaiting a Visit by The Great Pumpkin

We brought a packet of pumpkin seeds back from a farmers' market in France two years ago. They sat among my seed packets until this spring when Maggie and I made a small hill in the back corner of the garden and planted four or five of the seeds.

Because the package language is in french, I can't tell you much about them, other than they are named Kürbis Rouge trés d'Etampes, which roughly translates to: Very hasty Red Kurbis of Stamps. So, that's not very helpful. Ed just informed me that d'Etampes is a suberb of Paris. These pumpkins are evidently quite reknown in France and are often called "Cinderella" pumpkins as they are wonderfully round and squat – the perfect shape for a carriage.

On the back, I can kinda make out that they are supposed to become numerous fruits with smooth orange red skin. The flesh is moderately sweet and best for storage, pies and purees. Weight up to 5 kg. Harvest if the stem is brown.

In any event, it is thrilling for me to go out to the garden in the morning and check out these glorious pumpkins. The vines are flowing everywhere; there are a bunch of yellow flowers, and so far, two large pumpkins have appeared – almost overnight.

So come October, I'm hoping to have pumpkins to carve, seeds to toast, and pumpkin flesh to make into soups and pies. In the meantime, come sit with me some night in the pumpkin patch and see if we are visited by The Great Pumpkin. Good Grief.

Proud Owner of a Monster Fern

My friend, Kathleen, is downsizing and moving to Cincinnati. Slowly over the past few months she has been sorting through her extensive collection of books, furniture, kitchen items – deciding what to take, what to sell, what to give away. It's a huge job. I know. I did it three years ago when we moved to Farm Dover.

And because I know how easily possessions can pile up, I have been especially mindful about purchases. The last thing I want is a cluttered house -- or any more cluttered than it already is. But when Kathleen put out a SOS for help finding a good home for her spider plant and fern, I responded. I thought Mary might like a plant for her new home in Lexington and I figured I could find a spot for the fern on our back porch.

When I said "yes," I didn't know what I was bargaining for. I swung by her house over the weekend and found the spider plant waiting on her front porch, as promised. It was sitting on a waist-high wicker plant stand, which I could hardly see; it was a huge plant with about 50 baby spider plants hanging down to the ground. It looked more like a muppet convention than a plant. It barely fit in my car.

Once I saw the spider plant, I should have been suspect of the size of the fern. Kathleen suggested that I bring the truck -- and Ed, to help me lift it. She volunteered her dolly to help move it. We somehow managed to get it into the back of the truck and unloaded onto our back porch.

I'm a little worried about the commitment I've made. I mean, this is a living thing. It needs watering, feeding, loving. Kathleen mentioned that it likes to come inside for the winter months. Yikes! What have I gotten myself into? I feel like I might as well get a dog and some chickens.

The closest I've come to this kind of commitment (besides my three children) was when Mary was nine and her piano teacher gave her a sourdough starter for Friendship Bread. Mary and I diligently added one cup each of sugar, flour and milk every five days, with bread baked and extra started shared every tenth day. One night, the starter escaped the plastic baggie and ran all over the counter. That was the end of our commitment to the sourdough starter.

I hope I do a better job of taking care of Kathleen's monster fern. Wish me luck. And let me know if you have room for a winter resident.

Bringing Back Memories

I found these 1950-era kitchen canisters buried deep in the back part of my parents' basement. They hadn't been used in at least 40 years, but I remember them from my childhood. I brought them home, washed them out, scrubbed a bit of mold off the wooden tops, and now they are ready for a new life in a 2013 kitchen.

I'm hoping Mary might use them in her new apartment, or maybe Maggie, or one of my nieces. Pretty cute, don't you think?

The Grandest Grand Marshall

Missing Aunt Gladys this 4th of July...

Happy Pattern

My new i-phone has an option to take a panoramic photo. Yesterday morning, I leaned out an upstairs window and took a photo. I was supposed to keep the camera steady and follow an arrow along a horizontal line. Not sure I've got the technique down, but I love the wide-angle of the photo. The fields look so green and the stepping stones to the cottage seem to curve in a happy pattern.

The Spirit of Juniper

When our children were little (and as they grew into their teen years) we would go fishing for a week each year at The Juniper Club with a handful of our dearest friends and their children. It was the perfect place to take a family: nothing fancy, no cell phone or internet service, no TV, only one public telephone in the hallway, no place to spend any money, meals were included and served family style, the kids could be outside all day – fishing and exploring. At night, they worked puzzles, played cards, or went on "bear hunts." Books were read, songs were sung, guns were fired, alligators and owls were spotted. 

Back in the fall, the now-empty-nester parents speculated on how fun it would be to get all the kids back together for a reunion camp this summer. We issued the invitations and then sat back, fully expecting most of the now-grown-children-with-lives-of-their-own, to politely decline, sighting jobs, school, significant others, or generally busy lives as excuses not to come. 

But one by one, they accepted. Yes, they would love to come. Yes, they too thought it would be fun to be together. So on June 16, four sets of parents, one sister, and 14 grown children (including four friends) made their way by car or by plane down to the camp. 

We spent the week doing the same things that we always did: fishing, eating, walking the mile-long gravel drive, shooting clay pigeons, working puzzles late into the night, singing (loudly) the pre-dinner song, and catching up with friends.

Since we were last there as a group, all the kids have graduated from high school, all but two are finished with college, four have graduate degrees or are working on them. And all have turned out to be delightful adults – ones that I would gladly spend a week's vacation with. 

One night at dinner, we flipped through a guest register from the year 2000 and saw where we  caught a total of 66 bass at a one-week camp. This year, the same group caught 425! We laughted, remembering that as parents we were so busy baiting lines and unhooking fish that we rarely put a line in ourselves. Today, each of the children is an accomplished boat driver and fisherperson.

In addition to catching some very large bass, Jack took some beautiful photographs. Here's a look at some of his bird photos.

Osprey landing at nest with fish in claw

Red-shouldered hawk, waiting to swoop down on fish bait.

Soaring eagle

The thing I haven't yet mentioned in this post is that three of the families that came to camp had experienced a recent loss of a loved one. What I hope they found at Juniper was the beginning of a healing from those losses. Just to be among close friends, in the middle of a beautiful natural setting, hoping to reel in a large bass, sleeping soundly, eating well, laughing alot. That's the Juniper Spirit. 

When Skies are Blue

The War of the Weeds

We were only gone a week. But in that time, my garden went berserk.

The crops grew; but the weeds grew faster. I've spent the better part of this week weed-whipping, hoeing, tilling and finally inching down each row hand-pulling the weeds. I knew if I didn't get them under control now, they would completely take over and all the hard work of planning and planting my garden would be lost. The weeds would win.

It helped that we got a nice rain last night. It made pulling up the weeds and grasses much easier this morning, even if it was a bit muddy. One of my main targets was pigweed. I thought it got its name because the roots are bright pink; but evidently it is because it is often used for pig fodder. Guess I'm glad it's good for something. If only I had pigs....

An upside down view of pigweed. 

I'm not yet done. My plan is to clean up as much of the garden as possible and then put down cardboard, with a thick layer of straw between each row and around the plants. Makes me wish I had a much smaller garden.

On Monday morning I started my weed work in one of the raised beds. The big garden was just too overwhelming. Once I pulled up all the cabbage and kale that had been eaten to the ribs by some mean slugs, I harvested all the beets and carrots. Pulling up the weeds in that small space was pretty easy. I now need to replant the bed with something that likes hot and dry weather. Hmmm...must consult Maggie.

I took a load of pea vines, cabbages, sorrel, kale, and bolted lettuces over to my neighbor. We stood at her fence and fed her long-haired sheep and Beulah, the donkey. It was like a jumbo salad bar and they seemed most appreciative.

Working out on our ping-pong table, I cut the beets from the greens. I washed and spun dry the beet greens and have been sauteeing them for our meals all week. Last night, we had a mess of them with a fried egg on top. I roasted some of the beets, but have plans to can a number of pints to use all year in our salads. Hmmm...must consult Maggie for her red-wine pickled beet recipe.

The carrots are beautiful and taste completely different from the baby ones you get in a plastic bag at Krogers. They taste like, well, like carrots.

I'm done for the day today. It is raining hard outside and there is nothing I like better than a summer rain. I'm just afraid that the weeds will like it too and will use it to boost their growth rate. We'll have to see who wins.

The Wind Began to Switch

Better get under cover. 

There's a storm blowin' up - a whopper, to speak in the vernacular of the peasantry.  

- Professor Marvel, The Wizard of Oz

My Garden Calls (Screams)

Just back from a very fun week of fishing with my beloveds at The Juniper Club. More on it later.

First, I've got to get my garden under control. Gone one week and the weeds took over and the zucchini took off.

Dad

I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day.

Six thick thistle sticks (try saying that six times)

In agriculture the Thistle is the recognized sign of untidiness and neglect,
being found not so much in barren ground, as in good ground not properly cared for.

A sign of untidiness and neglect. YIKES! Two weeks ago we were in big trouble -- every field at Farm Dover was thick with thistle sticks. But that was before we started to pull them up by their wicked roots. 

Every single day, we go out to the fields, morning and evening on thistle patrol. I'm guessing we have pulled up at least 5000 thistle weeds. Maybe more. 

With thick leather gloves on, we sneak up on them, pluck off the purple blossoms, toss the blossoms into a bucket, lean down and give a good pull on the base of the thorny plants. If the weed won't budge, we push a spade into the ground, lean back, hold onto the spade with one hand and pull the thistle by the other. Ed and I get into a bit of a rhythm; but I will tell you, after about 500, I need a break!

Even though the blossoms are kind of pretty, here's why we don't like them:

• The noxious weeds grow up to six feet tall and reproduce through prolific seed production. 
• Each plant may produce up to 6000 seeds, which are viable in soil for up to nine years. 
• It is toxic to livestock, due to its accumulation of soil nitrates.  

As of two days ago, we thought we had them all. But that was only for one brief moment in time. A few hours later, a handful poke their purple heads above the Bluestem grass and taunt us. So morning and evening, we ride around the fields in our Polaris, scouting for lone thistles, just daring them to show themselves.

What Did You Do For Fun When You Were 10?...

...and do you still do it?

I've been pondering this question for the last week or so and making a conscious effort to do those things that I remember enjoying as a child. So far for me, it's been about hunting for arrowheads, searching for four-leaf clovers, playing in the woods, cloud watching and eating cookie dough. I've been seriously considering getting a bow and arrow as I used to like to make them from forest branches with kitchen string.

One of my most precious memories as a child was making dolls from hollyhock blossoms. My mom taught me how to take a blossom and a bud and connect them with a toothpick. With these dolls in mind, I bought a small hollyhock plant at the Shelbyville Farmers' Market last summer and planted it in one of the whiskey barrels on the back porch. It grew like crazy, but never blossomed. This spring, it sprouted again and grew as fast as one of Jack's beanstalks. Last week, it began to blossom. Instead of pretty white, or pale pink blossoms, it revealed almost black ones. How cool is that?

So today, I took a minute to create a doll. Mary thought I had lost my mind, but I very much enjoyed creating this little playmate – drawing eyes and a mouth, even adding a small leaf fascinator on her head.

So, I challenge you to remember what you loved most as a child and find a way to do it again. Discover your inner child. That's what summer is all about.

Holy Bat Box!

As a child in the 60s I'm embarrassed to admit that I spent far too many hours sitting in front of a black-and-white TV watching episode after episode of Batman. I thought Batman's side-kick Robin was rather cute and I loved it when he said wacky things like "Holy Amardillo" or "Holy Bikini" or "Holy Fruit Salad." If Batman and Robin came driving up our gravel road in their Batmobile, Robin would surely declare: "Holy Bat Box" when they see the latest edition to Farm Dover.

Ed and I spotted this nifty bat box while we shopped at Rural King last week. This bat house is designed to hold 20-25 brown bats, which can easily catch over 20,000 insects each night. Each bat can consume half its weight in insects each night. Pretty impressive insect control if you ask me.

It's Been a Berry Good Week

There is no such thing as too many strawberries – especially around our house. When they are in season, we eat them daily; for breakfast, lunch and dinner. In all years past, this meant that I spent an inordinate amount of time and energy hunting down local berries – at various farmers' markets, Burger's Supermarket, Doll's Market, Huber's or Gallrein Farms in Shelbyville.

Now, I just have to walk out the door and over to my raised garden beds, lean in, and start picking (and eating).

Yesterday, I went out early and picked a quart or so to share with friends in Louisville; Mary went out later and picked almost a gallon!

In addition to eating them straight from the garden, we've been piling them over shortcakes, topping granola with them, and adding them to salads.

I figure we only have about two more weeks before we have to wait 50 more weeks for the 2014 berries. I'm loving each day. Bring on the berries.

A Growing Vision

From day one, I had a clear vision of how I wanted our house to look and feel. What I couldn't quite figure out was how we would leave our imprint on the land. When we bought Farm Dover, it was being farmed, rotating corn and soy beans. Before that, it was a dairy farm.

Fortunately, my partner in this adventure is Ed, who possessed a very clear vision for the land. Before we even broke ground on the house, he met with a wildlife biologist from the Ketnucky Department of Fish and Wildlife Resources to figure out how we could create a healthy wildlife habitat, particularly for quail.

One of the recommendations from the biologist was to eradicate the fescue grass and convert most of the fields to native warm season grasses. We chose to plant Little Bluestem, as it is ideal for quail, providing them with excellent nesting cover while maintaining enough bare ground to allow their chicks to move freely.

Turns out, planting native grasses is tricky work. One must have the right equipment to drill the seed into the ground and the expertise to know how to do it and when to do it. With a bit of calling around, we found our expert: Greg Stephens. Greg interviewed us about what we were trying to accomplish and suggested that we add some specific wildflower seeds to the native grass mix. Last summer, he planted most of our fields with Little Bluestem mixed with Black-eyed Susans, False Sunflowers, Greyheaded Coneflower, Purple Coneflower, Partridge Pea, Butterfly Milkweed and Lance-Leaved Coreopsis. With this wildflower mix, one or more of the varieties would be blooming from May through October.

It took a full season for the plantings to get established. Last summer was hot and dry and not much was happening out in the fields. I was beginning to wonder if they were supposed to look like they did -- and if so, what was all this fuss about native grasses/wildflowers?

I want to show you how our fields look today. It just takes my breath away. It is acres and acres of the most beautiful yellow Coreopsis.

The quail love it; mornings and evenings we hear them calling bob white back and forth. The bees are buzzing all over the place. The red-winged blackbirds rise up from and dive down into the grasses, as they fly to and fro from their nests. The gold finch perch on the slender flower stems. Millions of fireflies at dusk stage a magical show, put on just for my entertainment.

I can't wait to see what comes up next.

So Proud!

Our younger daughter Mary graduated from college one week ago. In her honor, Ed, Jack and I headed to Baltimore to partake in all the festivities.

Mary graduated (summa cum laude) from the Maryland Institute College of Arts, better known as MICA, with a degree in Graphic Design and a minor in Art History. While every school's graduation is different from every other, I must say that this art school's graduation was quite special. For one thing, all the graduates wore artist's bérets instead of your standard square mortarboards.

For another, every single graduate was given gallery space in which to show his or her senior thesis. Which means that every single graduate was hard at work their last semester producing display-worthy art and that art stretched almost two miles in total, across campus, in every building. Much to my delight, Mary chose to brand Farm Dover as her senior project. I knew she was hard at work on it, but the design was unveiled to us for the first time as we participated in the Art Walk.

I cried when I saw it. She captured everything I love about this farm and our life here. In a Farmer's Almanac that she produced as part of her project she calls Farm Dover a special place of retreat. A refuge where life is slower, more intentional, and healthier for all the creatures that come – be they friends, family, birds, bees or mice."

The graduation took place on Monday afternoon, but we celebrated all weekend. We made sure we hit all our favorite spots as we don't know when we will be back in Baltimore: Artifact Coffee, Lexington Market, the fabulous Thai Restaurant, the Sunday morning Farmers' Market, Sip and Bite cafe, and of course, Woodberry Kitchen, our all-time favorite restaurant. We also enjoyed just walking the streets of Baltimore, taking in all the sites, sounds and smells.

Meeting at the Farmers' Market

Dad and Grad

Mary and her boyfriend John, who also graduated from MICA

A kiss from brother

Mary and her fellow graphic designers

Waiting in line for graduation to start

Mary's roommate Hanna (on right)

Mary's boyfriend John and friend Tom addressed the class of 2103 in whimsical rhyme

The big moment

Once graduation and the reception were over, we loaded up the car and headed home. Mary and John came along the next day. (I think they had some more celebrating to do.)

To Mary, we say: well done. And to Ed I say: we're done!

Congratulations to all!