Monday, July 17, 2017

How Much Does a Garden Grow: June 2017

Have I mentioned lately how much I love June in the garden?

Yes, I know its July already. I'm finally doing the June tallies, and that just reminds me how full of hope June always is. Just look at those lovely Principe Borghese tomatoes in the photo, days from starting to ripen. Just lovely.

June brought with it three notable garden harvest events:

  • The blueberry harvest was almost finished by the end of the month, with ounces of blueberries total. Even with some critter damage, that's over half a gallon just from my three little bushes (plus a small one that isn't producing yet). Grand total of blueberry value through the end of June was $25.46.
  • I discovered/developed a radish relish recipe I've already shared with you, allowing me to harvest and use more of my crop than ever before. Through the end of June, I had harvested over 20 ounces of radishes, for a retail value of $3.90.
  • The first tomatoes came in!  Even though they were only a couple of ounces of Principe Borghese and a single Siletz, both intended as early tomatoes, this is the first time I can remember harvesting tomatoes in June. Let's hear it for starting tomato seeds on Groundhog Day!
July is shaping up to be a whopper.  Fingers crossed; I may even get the garden to profitability, although that's always a dicey hope for July.  Stay tuned!

Cumulative Totals

Total Ounces of Harvest: 107.5
Total Pounds of Harvest :6.71875
Total Value of Harvest: $35.06

Total Expenditures: (-$287.67)

Total Profit (Loss): (-$252.61)
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Monday, July 10, 2017

Is Gardening a Subversive Act?

(Note: The illustration is from a product available on my RedBubble store.  Find it here.)

Well, it's summer once again, and the news is full of human interest stories about people being penalized for growing food on their own property. There's the standard array of home owners' associations mandating that people remove front yard gardens and neighborhoods adopting policies that gardens, along with clothes lines, depress the property values. My favorite this year, which I unfortunately did not save the link to, involved a municipality that declared that the right to grow food was something to be bestowed by the government, and, since the government had not explicitly conferred this right, the area homeowners could not garden.

Gardening, in some places, has become a subversive act. And this is the kind of subversion I can get behind.

Think of it this way. Every time you plant something you can eat, you remove a little of your dependence on corporations that produce and distribute foodstuffs. Every tomato you pick from your garden is a little less reliance on a corporate entity to provide your dinner. It also is a little step toward independence in the form of better health. That tomato, grown your way (organically, if you so desire), brings you the kind of nutrition that might help ward off diseases and disorders, freeing you from reliance on healthcare and pharmaceuticals.

This is not to say that gardening is a fix for "everything that ails ya." Most of us would notice if the food trucks didn't come to our local grocer, and most of us will need to take advantage of medical care, even if we eat nothing but homegrown organic produce and do yoga every day.

But, every bit of your own food you grow is one step toward greater independence and less reliance on the impersonal structures that seem to govern our lives. That's the kind of subversive behavior I encourage.

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Monday, June 26, 2017

Radish-Onion Relish

I love raw radishes; Mr. FC&G does not, finding them too sharp for his tastes. So, in the years I grow them, I often have more than I can eat, and I have been searching for a way to preserve their goodness.

Enter radish-onion relish. This sweet, spicy (but not hot) relish is just crying out for a hot dog or hamburger to sit on, although I've been eating it as a side dish.  It is simply one of the best creations I've stumbled upon in a long time.

First, it is based upon this recipe from Hobby Farms, so please click over and give them some love, then come back to see how I altered it for our tastes.

Radish-Onion Relish
5-8 ounces radishes, trimmed and shredded
1 medium onion, diced
canning salt

1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
1/2 cup sugar
1 t. mustard seed
1 t. whole coriander
1/4 t. turmeric
1/4 t. celery seed

Shred radishes and dice onions, and sprinkle liberally with salt.  Allow to wilt for one hour, then rinse and drain.

Heat syrup ingredients to boiling, then add vegetables and return to a simmer.  Simmer 5 minutes, then pack into hot, sterile half-pint jars.  Process in water bath canner for 10 minutes.

Makes two half-pint jars (or one sealed jar and one for immediate eating!)

The Analysis

Fast:  Shredding the radishes cuts down on the wilting time, making these pickles something you can put up while you are making dinner.

Cheap:  If you are growing your own veggies, you only have to pay for the syrup supplies.

Good:  While the original recipe says these are reminiscent of bread and butter pickles, I don't find the flavors at all similar.  The radishes and onions give these a sweet, spicy flavor that is unique; definitely include the coriander, as it introduces a very special note.

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Thursday, June 15, 2017

How Much Does a Garden Grow: May 2017

Finally! After a couple of months of nursing increasingly-enormous tomato plants and neither spending nor harvesting anything, the garden is back in business for May!

First, the expenditures. We are going back to basics around here; well, modern basics, that is. After several years of tilling our soil using a broadfork, we went back to using a mechanical rototiller. It kind of broke my heart, honestly, but apparently our clay soil is just too much for the poor plants to do any good without a good soil churning. We also added several bags of manure and sandy top soil to the garden to lighten things up, and so far, the plants are responding beautifully. However, the tiller rental and soil amendments set us back a bit, as did the purchase of a few plants I didn't grow from seed, so the challenge is on for the garden to really produce.

It really needs to produce, anyway. We depend on the garden to reduce our food bills across the year, and, in the past two years when we really, really could have used that boost, we didn't have it. I'm primed and ready to have a good year this year.

In May, the harvest officially began as well.  It's a little hard to brag, since May showed a total harvest of less than a half a pound of blueberries, worth about $2.85, but that was just the kickoff of the season.  You wait until June's totals come in!

So, we are entering my favorite month here in the garden. There is nothing that screams "possibility" quite so much as a June garden, and I am very hopeful that this year's garden will live up to its planned purpose as another "income" stream.  Fingers crossed, y'all!

Cumulative 2017 Totals:

Total Ounces Harvested: 10.5
Total Pounds Harvested: 0.65625
Total Value of Harvest: $5.15

Expenditures: (-$287.67)

Profit (Loss): (-$282.53)
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Monday, June 5, 2017

Of Coffee and Avocados

Most of my philosophy of sustainable living is based on controlling small things. I've told you to plant a single basil plant, eliminate buying cotton balls, and switch to at least one vegetarian meal a week, all to save money and resources. But today I'm going to tell you why that approach has to be taken in balance, and it all comes down to coffee and avocados.

Back in the day, I was part of a marketing research project for a company that I will not name, but which makes some of the best grocery-store-level ground coffee out there. The project sought to figure out why Generation X was eschewing coffee in favor of pop in the mornings as we became adults.

See, the crux of the problem was the generation ahead of us. After a youth spent going to Woodstock and a young adulthood spent at Studio 54 (or the equivalent, for both), they had settled into corporate jobs, and they needed to make some money. And those who sold coffee were getting pretty worried that the next generation was not adopting the all-American habit of a cup or six every morning.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, the findings of the project were that young adults basically needed their coffee to not taste like coffee. We preferred it to taste like hot chocolate or some other highly-flavored drink, and an entire industry of flavored creamers and "gourmet" coffee shops was born. We settled into needing our coffee every morning just like generations before us had done.

But, as the economy experienced inevitable ups and downs and the mortgage market got tough and we were having trouble getting promotions at work, some of that older generation had a brilliant idea: Perhaps we couldn't buy the houses and cars we wanted and fund our retirement plans like we wanted because we were drinking too many coffee-shop lattes. Just start bringing your own brew to work in a thermos, and you'll be just fine! Put that $3 or so you save every day into your IRA or toward your mortgage, and the American Dream is all yours.

I'm guilty of this too.  I give that kind of advice, and I will continue to tell you to make small changes because they allow you to take control of your life in a very tangible way. And I think I have about two coffee shop coffees a year, preferring the savings realized from my own percolator.

But, if you're struggling financially, chances are it isn't because of the coffee.

I say this because of an annoying trend I see in the media castigating Millennials for buying too much avocado toast and saying that they will never move out of their parents' houses because they are buying too many avocados.

Yeah, that's it. We have a generation that we've saddled with student loan debt the size of a mortgage. If they opt to freelance or be small business owners (as many do), they also pay a health insurance premium that is the size of a mortgage. And buying a house (and taking an actual mortgage) is no longer the guaranteed increase in value that it once was. All of these things are political and societal problems that are beyond the scope of this blog.

But I just wanted to say to all the Millennials:  Yes, absolutely watch the money you spend on little things. Restaurant meals add up, as do other small expenses. Take control where you can, because you have to handle that mountain of expenses so you can have a shot at a prosperous life. Heck, I'll even tell you to learn to make avocado toast at home so you don't spend the money for someone else to do it.

But don't ever feel guilty for liking a nutritious fruit and taking some pleasure in what you eat. If you are feeling the crunch, it probably isn't due to the avocados.
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Monday, May 22, 2017

The Myth of the "Extra" Tomato

So it's happened again. I mentioned the number of tomato plants I put in this year (60, as of last count), and a well-meaning, generous soul has responded by suggesting a charity that I could donate my "extra tomatoes" to.

This isn't the first time I've heard this.  Every year, one or two people have a local charity or food bank that they would like me to send my garden produce to. In general, I think it is a lovely idea. I like the idea of helping those in need have access to fresh, organic vegetables instead of packaged crap, and I may very well decide to make a donation of vegetables as I see fit.

The problem I'm having is this idea of the "extra" tomato. I have never, at any point of my life or at any success level of my garden, looked at my tomato crop and said, "I have no use for these." So, I've set out to attempt to prove or disprove the existence of the "extra" tomato in a scientific fashion.

Hypothesis: There is such a thing as an extra tomato in the FC&G universe.

There are 52 weeks in the year.  Let's say we don't eat tomato products for four of those weeks, which typically accounts for the period during which all we eat is cucumbers while we wait for the tomatoes to ripen. 

Let us further assume that ripe tomato season lasts for eight weeks. During that time, the plants need to produce at least six tomatoes per day to feed the two of us; I can eat that many slicers by myself each day, but let's assume that Mr. FC&G and I each have one capresse salad per day made of three sliced tomatoes, basil, and cheese, which is not unusual at all.  

Then, let's look at how much canned and dried tomato product we would consume if rationing were not an issue.  We would easily drink a quart of tomato juice each day, for a total of seven quarts. Then, we would use a certain amount of chili sauce, salsa, dried tomatoes, crushed tomatoes, and plain tomato sauce in our cooking. For ease of calculation, let's say that we would consume eight quarts of tomato products per week.

8 quarts = 2 gallons per week
2 gallons per each of 40 weeks = 80 gallons of tomato products

Therefore, my tomato plants need to produce 80 canned or dried gallons of tomatoes in addition to the 336 slicers we will be eating fresh.

Lest you think that the bottleneck will occur at the canning end, let me point out that I have a 7 quart large canner and a 7 pint small canner.  I can do two batches a day in each of those with no problem; I'm a writer who works from home, and I have no fewer than four laptop computers that can move easily into the kitchen.  I can spend August in the kitchen.

Let's assume, again for ease of math, that I can two batches totalling 10 quarts on each of five days during each week in August.

10 quarts x 2 batches x 5 days = 100 quarts, or 25 gallons

So, during the month of August, I have the capacity to can 100 gallons of tomato products if need be.

Now, I have great hopes for my 60 tomato plants, but I don't believe for a second that they are going to produce 80 to 100 gallons of canned tomato product.

Hypothesis disproven.
There is no such thing as an "extra" tomato.
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Tuesday, May 9, 2017

How the World's Best Ballroom Dancer Picked My Kitchen Sink

Note: In response to a conversation I was having about the joys of home ownership, I wrote this account of the tragic winter of 2008-09 when we replaced a sewer pipe.  While not strictly a sustainability issue, I thought you all might enjoy laughing at our misfortune.  It's OK; really, we don't mind!

Mr. and Mrs. FC&G Replace a Sewer Pipe: A Tragedy in Four Acts
How the World’s Best Ballroom Dancer Picked My Kitchen Sink

Act I

It all started when we thought we’d gotten lazy about the compost.

Like a lot of DIY sustainability types, we have a compost pile, and that means we have a compost bucket. Now, one really needs to empty that bucket every day, especially during high gardening season, but sometimes you get lazy. So, when we started to smell rotted food in the fall of 2008, we immediately blamed the compost.

We started being vigilant about emptying the bucket every day. Then, it was every time we put a scrap of food in it. Then, it was a thorough washing outside before the empty bucket dared to come back in the house. By the end, we were pretty much carrying individual tomato peels and cores out to the compost pile as soon as they were cut, then sterilizing the compost bucket and sunning it for extra measure. But the smell continued.

Mr. FC&G insisted that the smell wasn’t a clogged drain pipe (spoiler: he was right), but I was unconvinced. So, one day I bought a bottle of Draino and dumped it down the non-disposal side of the kitchen sink. I was quickly rewarded with the fresh, chemical smell of Draino wafting through the house every time the AC kicked on.

“See, I fixed it!” I crowed! “Now you can just smell how clean that pipe is.”

Mr. FC&G didn’t so much react as wilt, visibly, on the spot. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” he said.

I will always remember this moment of my life as the last time I was truly innocent about the horrors of home ownership. “Whatever do you mean, my darling husband?” I asked. (I may be remembering that moment a bit better than it actually was.)

“You didn’t clean the pipe. The sewer pipe from the kitchen sits on top of the ductwork that returns to the HVAC system. We have a pipe that is leaking, and you just leaked Draino into the air ducts.”

After a bit calm discussion (or else I’m intentionally misremembering that part too), two things became clear: First, if the heat had been on instead of the AC, I could have sent a stream of Draino into the heater, and, second, our sewer pipe was located in our slab.

“What do you mean, ‘in the slab?’ Is there a crawl space?”

“No,” Mr. FC&G said defeatedly.

“Then how do you get to it?”

“Exactly how you think. You jackhammer up the slab.”

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur. I don’t have any desire to remember anything else about that day.

Act II

Well, all was not lost, because first we needed confirmation that the sewer pipe was indeed broken. For that, we just needed someone with a flexible camera that could be threaded down a pipe. I had no idea there was such a thing, but there is. Apparently, it’s kind of like a colonoscopy, except no one offers you anesthesia and you have to be awake for the entire invasive procedure.

Not that we would know this first hand, mind you. As it turns out, there was precisely one plumbing company in town with such a camera, and they would not, for any amount of money, consent to come to our house to scope our sewer pipe because – are you ready? – if they stuck their camera designed to view the inside of pipes down our sewer pipe, it might break. No appeals to logic, or, indeed, offers to just buy them a whole new camera that they could throw away if it broke, would change their minds.

So, after approval by our insurance, we found a company that would handle the whole deal. With their help, we moved the entire back half of our house into the front living room. Every cabinet, every picture on the wall, every piece of furniture, all of it moved into the living room or up into the spare bedroom. Then, our workers sealed off the living room and various entrances with plastic and tape, and they prepared to jackhammer up our slab.

At the time, I was working part-time as an instructor at a local college, and I left that day thinking that this wasn’t going to be too bad.

I returned from work and, hand to heart, it looked like someone had been re-enacting The Grapes of Wrath in my house. Dust clouds hung in the air, swirling and obscuring your vision. And, once I made it through the dust and into the kitchen, there it was.

There was a three-foot deep, 15 foot long trench through my house, running from the kitchen, through the pantry, across the downstairs hallway, and into the guest bathroom.

To their credit, the workers had done an impressively neat job of the work, once you took into account that they were wielding a jackhammer in places a jackhammer was never intended to go. But, as it turned out, they started at the bathroom end and excavated the pipe toward the kitchen until they found the break: at the joint where the sewer pipe met the drain pipe from the sink.

Let me let you think about that for a minute. Had they started in the kitchen – or, had we had someone with a flexible camera willing to shove it two feet down our kitchen drain – we would have known that the break was essentially right within the slab under the kitchen counter. Sure, there would have been some destruction, and I probably would have freaked out anyway, but it would have been a problem that required relatively little in the way of jackhammering and pouring of concrete. But now the damage had been done, and we had to live with the repair.


The problem with not having a sewer pipe hooked up in your kitchen, in addition to a gaping trench in there, is that you lose the use of your water, your disposal, and, until they haul it back in from its temporary spot in the dining room, your stove. This makes eating a little difficult because, while you can still microwave, cleaning up the dishes requires washing them in a dishpan and then taking the dirty water outside and throwing it in the yard. Since it was now December, this was no one’s favorite job. We spent part of the subsequent May rescuing flatware from the yard before we started mowing that year.

Our workers proceeded with, well, absolutely no speed at all. Part of this was because it was now Christmas. I had to call them and ask nicely if they would hook up my stove so that I could make us something more than reservations over the holiday.

Part of it was because my tile shop was mad at me. I wanted to replace the vinyl, Formica, and nasty carpet that were originally in the kitchen, on the island countertop, and in the hallway, but I wouldn’t opt for any of the expensive choices and complex layouts that would make this a good before-and-after story for their design portfolios. So, since I didn’t want granite and mosaic tiles laid on the diagonal, they were going to make me wait.

In the meantime, Mr. FC&G started having to go out of town for work, and I was left home to manage this. I was only going to be out of class for a couple more weeks of Christmas break, and I pushed to get the big parts of the job done while I was home, but of course the project dragged into the beginning of the semester.

“Oh, ma’am, we’re bonded! Just leave the house unlocked and we’ll let ourselves in!”

Like hell. Pardon my French.

So, I spent the next two months giving the workers set hours that they could be in the house and shooing them out when I had to leave. This made for some interesting schedules. For one thing, it necessarily made me the first stop on their route each day, so I was getting up at about 5:30 to let workers in the house so they could do a little bit of work and leave by lunch time.

I tried to disguise the fact that I was home alone without my husband, but I was running out of places he could possibly be at 7:00 every morning. At a certain point, I resigned myself to the fact that my life had turned into a situation in which every day I waited for a panel van to show up in my driveway, and I would let two or three strangers into my house to do heaven knows what while I tried to write. One day, I went downstairs to get something and found my tile guy rummaging through my cabinets looking for a coffee mug. When he grabbed one of my good ones (mostly I only have printed coffee mugs that people give me as speaker gifts; no one ever thinks to give the guest speaker a bag of coffee beans), I offered to make a pot of coffee.

“No need,” he said. It turned out that he just wanted to use my good mug to measure the water so that he could mix a batch of mortar. I just sighed and went back upstairs.

Act IV

As I mentioned, Mr. FC&G was doing some travelling for business and was on a per diem (read: paid restaurant meals), but I was home alone. And, since my kitchen facilities were limited for most of this endeavor, I had pretty much stopped eating. There were a good three months that I subsisted on granola bars, cashews, and cookies – anything that wouldn’t require me to do dishes and throw flatware into the yard.

So, when May arrived, the project was nearly done, and I was literally on my last nerve. I was having panic attacks and was basically shaking all the time. And that was when a man I’ll call BK came to town.

BK is the world’s best ballroom dancer, or at least he was. A professional ballroom dancer and body builder, BK has won championships in every ballroom discipline available when he was competing. BK doesn’t walk across the floor; he floats while the angels sing and small birds come and light on his shoulders. And he is an absolutely ruthless ballroom coach, but he is not one that you dare miss if you have the slightest opportunity to take a lesson from him

When our project was nearly complete, BK was in town, and we booked lessons knowing full well we didn’t have the time or the mental stability for the usual dressing-down one gets from him. But go to our lessons we did.

BK, who had relentlessly critiqued us and our sub-par cha-cha the previous visit to town, apparently figured out that we were not at our best, and he asked us what was up. We told him a highly abbreviated version of this story, ending with, “and that’s why, once we finish up here tonight, we still have to go to Lowe’s and pick out a kitchen sink.”

He leveled his gaze at us and said, “stainless?”

I agreed and said that I had my eye on one of those three-basin sinks with the vegetable sink in the middle, but BK said no.

“Nope. What you want is a single basin sink. The whole thing, one basin. You won’t ever use the others, but if you get a single large basin, you can defrost a turkey or wash your puppy.”

We left the dance studio that night and drove to Lowe’s and said, “BK wants us to get a single basin stainless steel kitchen sink” and handed the guy the measurements. And that’s what we got.

I’ve never yet defrosted a turkey in that thing, and I don’t have a puppy. I don’t care. At least I know the world’s best ballroom dancer picked my kitchen sink.

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