Back the Truck Up
Defining Viable

Self-care World-care

This is how it went, Friday morning, in the time between the last 30 minutes the bread needed in the oven and the time I needed to be back at my desk. This is walk-about and it's what I do as often as possible. When I can't breathe, I sit on the steps and look at it (and talk to the mountain) and if I've enough time (and the gumption to return), I grab the deer spray and make rounds.

Rounds - unfiltered, unedited, un-straightened, un anything. Just the facts, ma'am:

There are 5 primary gardens on the property. The property is on a 22-acre parcel in the middle of the woods. There are deer, and bear, and bunnies. They all want to chow down on the garden. Sometimes I'm ok with that, sometimes, not so much. This is why I walk around with a nasty-ass spray bottle of wolf pee (at least that's what I think it's made of).

Here we go.

This is the center of the upper oval garden. The center section was double dug down two feet in the fall and then given a blanket of garden compost. Just a blanket. Let's not burn the soil. Nightshade has been planted in the upper garden too many years in a row. So, no more nightshade for a bit. The kale, lettuce, cabbage, and brussels sprouts have gone batshit in the space. I can't keep up with it and therefore, the bunnies are welcome to chow down on their share. If they bring in the neighboring tribe, somebody’s going in the stew pot.

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OK, I lied a little bit. There are six tomato plants and some basil and a couple of cucumber plants in the corner near the house. They're doing OK but this is the last year in this spot. Don't fret about the size of the plants and the fruit. Keep in mind that Northern Vermont is in zone 3, or something like that. I added some compost in clumps around the plants about a week ago. It seems to be helping.

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This is the lower oval. I'm trying to grow a moon garden. A moon garden might be a myth, but we'll see. I need a bunch of white flowers with a little other color for contrast. Moonlight is supposed to be reflected in the white petals. We'll see.

At the back of the garden is a row of potatoes against a wall of Irises we tried to kill last year. Not very successfully. Yes, potatoes are nightshade, and this garden has been over-nightshaded, but not where the potatoes are planted (in the hole where the successfully killed Irises left). I have garlic on the left and holly hocks on the right and a bar of Irish Spring hanging from a tripod. It is useless. The rat bastards ate the holly hock anyway. And then I started spraying everything with wolf pee and the holy hocks are growing back. I have dill and cilantro and marigolds that might be 3 feet high by the end of the season (that makes me a little nervous, but OK).

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Just because.

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The Art of Cassis and Milkweed with no business being there. This might be the last year for cassis making. The currants haven't been feeling well and may need to be put out of their misery.

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Dinner is coming. Not happy about the freaking fungus, but we'll work with it.

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Sage. If you know, you know.

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No filter, remember? That sky is the sky, and that hydrangea tree thing is in the process of being rescued from a truly naturalized garden (Lupine and others coexist sorta with the encroaching meadow. remember last year when I tried to weed this thing from the back? heh.)

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We are trying to dispense with the milkweed. S doesn't care for it and it's her garden (I'm just a steward). We examine the plant for monarch eggs and if it's naked, out it comes. I ran out of time.

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No words required. It's part of the permaculture.

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My father's tree. Sacred.

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Old growth asparagus forest. It's a bit droopy from the dew but imagine it about two feet taller. Upper woodshed where I write when it's raining or when I go when I've just banished myself for a bit. That's rhubarb and there's a battle going on. So far, me and the lawn mower, we think we're actually winning. 

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The rat bastards finally discovered the four strawberry plants I put in this year. More wolf pee.

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The Foxglove that would not quit (for those of you getting ready to dive back into the hope of horticulture in response to the overturning of Roe v. Wade, this is digitalis. Please be careful. That’s not what you want anyway).

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Because.

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and also, because... and also because, this is where I sit and look out when I haven't the time for a walkabout.

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