LAKE MACBRIDE— It rained on plans to work in the garden and yard. So now, the long lawn will wait until the next dry, sunny day; weeds are getting respite from being chopped; and the garage is clean enough for one auto. After the last, I went upstairs to the kitchen and processed vegetables for a meal— dinner of fresh asparagus, rice, salad greens with chopped vegetables and a veggie burger. And radishes. And spring onions. And soup stock with vegetables past their prime— mixed greens, asparagus stems, onion, celery, carrot and bay leaves. Simple fare for a simple life.
I have written about 2,000 words in two articles today, making this my third. Writing brings a sense of calm and I need that now. Better medicine than the antibiotics for my frying pan burn or the iced tea with blended whiskey. Writing works through our tension and helps release one’s cares, at least for a brief time. We write to clarify things. To straighten out a turbulent life, and by creating a narrative, yield understanding. That’s what we hope.
It doesn’t always work that way. But for now… rain came, dinner’s ready to cook, and what else is there to do on the Iowa prairie?
LAKE MACBRIDE— The Blue Spruce (picea pungens) showed new growth during my yard and garden walk. The tan-colored tips are breaking away, revealing young needles below. What was once a nine-inch seedling is now more than nine feet tall. It has been a nice, non-native addition. We are all transplants of a fashion. While it was not my intent when planting the Blue Spruce, it serves as a reminder of many recent trips to Colorado.
Apple Blossoms
The lilacs and apple trees in bloom made the first lawn mowing memorable with fragrances that bond me to this place. The bare rooted plants from the nursery were dormant but have come alive and enliven me.
The mowing deck was set as high as possible during the first cut of lawn. The grass was long and my process is to prepare for re-cutting and collecting the clippings today. After the first cut, the lawn looks lush.
Space for 18 Tomato Plants
I spaded the first of two tomato plots. After working the soil with a rake, I’ll plant the first seedlings and dump the clippings directly on the plot as I cut them. I left a shallow row on the north end for existing chives and oregano. That space will be filled out with other herbs.
The tomato decision has been made. The first plot will be home to eighteen growing cages bonded together in couples on a single stake. This is to reduce the number of metal stakes used and optimize the space around them. One row will be the Martin (F1) Italian tomato which retains a variegated green and red color when ripe. The intent for this tomato is ketchup making, although that may change as they mature and we see what they taste like. The center of the plot will be three types of cherry tomatoes (Sweet Olive (F1) baby grape tomatoes, Black Cherry (OG), and Gold Nugget (OG) golden cherry tomatoes). The third row will be Olivade (F1) and Monica (F1) (OG), two tomatoes for use in sauces, and Rose (OG), an heirloom pink tomato. Unlike in past years, I plan to keep closer track of the varieties and how they produce.
Lilac Blooms
The other tomato plot hasn’t been finalized, but it will be some combination of Acer, Beefsteak and Best Boy planted in similar couples. The Beefsteak and Acer are slicers, and the Best Boy will be canned whole. Whatever tomato seedlings I don’t use will go to my sister-in-law’s garden.
A local chef is seeking spring garlic, and it looks like my plot will produce an abundance. Once it matures to spring garlic stage, I’ll harvest a couple of bunches and take it to his restaurant to barter for store credit.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Apple blossoms are in full bloom, and it never lasts for long. Once bees pollinate, the petals fall in snowy softness, carpeting the ground as quickly as they went from pink to bloom.
One of the farms where I work is an apple orchard— a resource for learning about my four trees. I recently sent a question via email.
“Can last winter’s pruning cause a lot of blooms this spring?
I pruned my trees and the Red Delicious tree is loaded with blooms like it was last year. Not sure the pruning helped that, but I was expecting very little fruit because it was a branch buster last year.”
The answer came promptly:
“I spoke to my dad about your question. He said that pruning and the number of blossoms aren’t directly related. The exact reason is quite a long answer, but he said that you must just have a good tree!”
That’s a good enough answer for me, “it’s a good tree.”
I did my first experiment in making flour tortillas at home yesterday. They came out more flatbread than tortilla, so it needs more work. Trouble is we’re not running a test kitchen here and need to consume what we cook. We’ll enjoy the flatbread, but wait a couple of weeks for round two.
The dough recipe included some baking powder, which leavened the bread. Next time, I’ll omit it and see if the result is more tortilla-like.
There is a zero percent chance of precipitation through sunset today, so hopefully the ground will dry out, enabling preparation of more garden space for transplanting. There is a lot to get into the ground before Memorial Day.
The row croppers took advantage of last week’s drying conditions, and according to the USDA crop report, 70 percent of the corn and 20 percent of the soybeans are planted, putting spring planting right on its traditional schedule.
Reflecting on time spent with Physicians for Social Responsibility (PSR) last week, I am glad I participated in their national meetings. My primary interest in the group is their long history of nuclear abolition work. Dr. Ira Helfand from Massachusetts has been a prominent figure in the nuclear abolition movement, and it was good to spend some time with him. Likewise, the Washington, D.C. staff was there, along with chapter leaders from around the country. The organization has expanded its reach beyond abolition to include the relationship between health and climate change, and toxic substances in the environment.
I broached the topic of the effectiveness of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) in effecting policy change. In today’s political environment, more people associate with NGOs, and a lot of people make a living doing that work. My concern is that in the perpetual chase for grant money, the number of funders is reducing, and whatever may have been successful last year, is out of step this year.
In Washington, there is a small group of people working on nuclear disarmament and they talk among themselves constantly. This includes people in NGOs, the U.S. and foreign governments and citizen advocates. I met a number of these people during my treaty ratification advocacy work in 2009. However, there is a certain self-interest they have in keeping conversations alive that perhaps may be better off placed on the back burner.
We are entering an era when regardless of which political party dominates the Washington conversation, the same work goes on, and currently it is work that includes refurbishing the nuclear weapons complex with a great diversion of funds. A person can’t be happy about that.
Nonetheless, while NGOs may not be as effective as I would like, they are currently the only game in town, so I plan to re-engage with PSR over the near term. The work will include rolling out a program on nuclear abolition to local Rotary clubs, working in between gardening and yard care sessions.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Jaime Oliver and Gennaro Contaldo taught me to make pasta without tomato sauce. The two television chefs went searching around London for wild rocket, brought it to Oliver’s kitchen, and made a simple pasta dish with it. That local greens could be the beginning of a pasta dish was a new idea I am adopting into my cooking.
We have an abundance of baby bok choy from the CSA and a large bag of leaves separated from the stems was the starting point for last night’s dinner.
Ingredients: a bread bag of roughly chopped baby bok choy leaves, three full heads of garlic peeled and sliced thinly, bits and pieces of aromatic vegetables leftover from salad making (carrot and bell pepper), a cup of grated Parmesan cheese, a half pint of last summer’s pesto thawed from the freezer, a roughly chopped large onion, and salt and pepper to taste.
Process: Bring a pot of water to boil for the farfalle. While the water is heating, perform the chopping work: rough chop a large onion, dice the carrot and bell pepper, rough chop the greens and peel and slice the garlic heads. This is a lot of garlic, and our kitchen has two dozen from last year needing to be used up before the spring garlic comes in.
In a large frying pan sauté the onions and carrots in olive oil. Add salt. Add the bell pepper next and when the onions begin to soften, add the sliced garlic, stirring to prevent the garlic from burning. Once everything is soft, add the baby bok choy leaves, turn down the heat and cover to let them wilt. Take the pan off the heat and let it rest until the pasta is done.
Drain the farfalle and put it in a large bowl. Add the cooked greens mixture, half a pint of pesto and a cup of grated Parmesan cheese. Mix gently with a spoon and serve, adding freshly ground pepper on top, and salt to taste.
Notes: The greens mixture is a form of mirepoix, and my ingredients were chosen because they were on hand: the operative principle in this local food dish. Farfalle is used because of the broad surfaces for the sauce to adhere. Most other forms of dried pasta would work well. Last summer I made and froze three different kinds of pesto based on what was coming from my garden. Any pesto would be fine in this dish. Other ingredients to consider would be pine nuts, fresh herbs, leeks or shallots.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The apple trees are in pink, which means the blooms will soon follow. Because my trees were not properly pruned until last winter, the number of blossoms will be low. Last year was the best ever for fruit, and 2014 tree energy is likely to be devoted to forming next year’s buds. Hopefully pruning cleared enough space for sunlight to encourage the fruit that does form.
Neighbors are out mowing lawns, and I am usually the last to make the first cut. I stopped trying to get an even and lush green lawn, eschewing chemical applications ten or more years ago. I bag my Spring clippings to use as mulch in the garden. A former neighbor once told me I should leave it to mulch the grass, but why waste it?
Two years of drought have thinned the grass, leaving a patchy mess before cutting. Where deer droppings fell are mountains of green. Once I mow, it will all even out… at least enough to stay out of the neighbors’ attention.
After a shift at a farm I hope to spend a few hours in the garden fencing the recently germinated spring vegetables. There is a burn pile on top of a tree stump. If winds are calm, I’ll burn it, hopefully taking the stump with it. I bought a bag of “natural charcoal” to use as a stump remover. If the burn pile doesn’t take this stump out, charcoal will be next.
More than 1,000 seedlings are growing in our bedroom, way more than usual. I am re-thinking how to plant everything. Maybe two full plots of tomatoes if we can afford the new cages. With all the varieties, this may be the year to make the most of it. I also want to plant all the germinated bell pepper seedlings to increase yield. Peppers don’t grow uniformly and the more plants, the more chances for decently formed vegetables. The celery is developing, but at this stage looks very delicate. I’m thinking about cucumbers and squash, but I want to wait a bit before planting them until after the squash beetle eggs.
Here’s hoping for some time in the garden and yard squeezed in between paid job in this complicated schedule of a life on the prairie.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Easter was the biggest holiday after Christmas while I was growing up, although its importance diminished when I left home at age 18. This photo of my maternal grandmother’s parents— my great grandparents— typified the gatherings of an era that is gone.
Things are more casual today, and seldom do we gather on the lawn for a photo. If we did, our small family wouldn’t have many people in the image. A sign of the times and choices made when we were young.
Our next door neighbor gave birth to her third child on April 10 and yesterday she carried the baby in the yard while we talked about our shared lot line. The baby, swaddled in a blanket, didn’t make a sound. We walked the length of the line, discussing the easement and placement of gardens, hers and mine. The two younger children and her husband joined us. It was a pleasant moment in a life of neighboring.
The lettuce is not up in the garden. In fact the surface looks pretty dry. After the newspaper proof reading, I plan to spend the balance of the day preparing a bed for spring vegetables and working in the yard and garden. There is a lot to be done.
Lingering in the pre-dawn darkness, there is an hour to write, read and think before the rising sun of Easter morning.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Sunday and Monday rain was welcome and much needed. According to the Community Collaborative Rain, Hail and Snow Network, 2.7 inches fell. The ground remains too wet for planting, and this morning, temperatures dipped below freezing— it’s 25 degrees presently and too cold for outdoors work. There was a large crew at the farm yesterday, so the soil blocking for the week got done without me. If the ground dries later in the week, there will be planting, but for now there is a schedule gap— also welcome and much needed.
The sound of cello on my smartphone alarm woke me at 1 a.m. to view the total lunar eclipse. Still in my bedclothes, I pulled up the blinds and the sky was as clear as it gets. The eclipse had just begun.
I pulled on my jeans and a shirt, donned my winter coat, and went outside to witness the proceedings. The houses were mostly dark and moonlight reflected off the surface of the lake. Only the sound from a distant I-380 could be heard. I was the only person outside in my neighborhood. It was worth breaking deep sleep to watch as Earth dimmed the moon for a while.
There were spectacular images and a live stream available on the Internet, but I preferred my own view, filtered by the atmosphere and my aging retinas, captured on a handheld digital camera. Along with the light pollution from Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, the Milky Way could be seen. And so many stars.
Checking my email on the smartphone before heading back to bed, I found my state representative, Bobby Kaufmann, formally announced his campaign for re-election yesterday. That’s not really news, just a tick mark off a list of political events I am monitoring. The newspaper asked me to do interviews with the two candidates in the Democratic primary, and I accepted the assignment. The newspaper work gives me more reason to keep my views in this race to myself.
When I returned to bed, I slept a full five hours, and am ready for the day with the unexpected gift of a couple of hours to myself. A rarity in sustaining a life on the Iowa prairie.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Canned beans are delightful because the processor calculates the moisture content of each batch and cooks them accordingly. The product is consistent, and we use a lot of them. We are also willing to pay a premium for USDA organic. Recently, we began buying them by the case from our local grocer.
In our town of 2,200 the cost of goods is much higher than what can be found in large grocery and box stores a few miles away. Sometimes items are ridiculously high.
Most locals don’t buy organic, and the store manager is reluctant to carry slow moving goods. There is a carrying cost of inventory. They do have buying power and access to warehouse inventory. When asked, the buyer was willing to buy special items for us as long as we bought a case or more. We tried our first bulk order this week.
It was simple. Two cases of dark red organic kidney beans and one case of organic black beans for an average price of $1.07 each. A savings of 23 percent over the closest chain store, and 30 percent over buying them from the shelf when they used to be offered. I ordered on Thursday, and they were ready to pick up on Monday. It’s hard to beat the deal.
What is significant is that by special ordering in bulk, we could leverage our local retailer’s network and save money on things we buy, but others don’t. This could have broader implications, not the least of which is expansion of bulk purchases in town to include other items currently being purchased through Walmart, HyVee and others.
What matters is not where we shop, but how we live. By negotiating with local retailers and growers, there is an opportunity to eliminate what is worst about the big box stores and grocery chains… things that make them unsustainable.
By buying locally more often, and custom ordering, society might take a step toward reduction of the carrying cost for a broad and mainly idle inventory. There will always be a need for impulse items, and there should be a premium for them. Yet with proper planning, negotiating and bartering, grocery expenses could be less, and the quality of food higher. A paradigm shift is in the works.
How shall we live? At least in part by buying organic canned beans from a local retailer.
LAKE MACBRIDE— The germination rate of indoor seeds has been 59.3 percent. Seeds leftover from the 2013 season are performing better at 96.3 percent, with a dismal performance of 46.9 percent for 2014 seeds. Not sure of the trouble, however, will start way more than needed in order to ensure there are enough plants for the garden.
The lettuce seeds have done particularly poorly. They are some of the same used at the greenhouse where I work, so the problem must be me— soil and water.
“We are planning to live to be one hundred,” said a friend about she and her partner yesterday. “I’m not sure we will make it, but we are planning for that.”
This was in response to a statement I made that there is a life after the socially accepted retirement age of about 60. In addition to the seven ages of man, we need a eighth lying between ages 60 and 80. She said it should go to one hundred. If one can resolve the issues of this American age, then there may be perquisites. But it runs against social norms in a way that only the most compelling logic could assert such a thing. Just think of all the financial planners who would be out of a job.
As April begins, I know two things. I can’t give up working on a new paradigm and I am sick of winter soup.
LAKE MACBRIDE— Snapping a photo with my handheld device reduces automobile search time. When I learned about willing suspension of disbelief in high school, I took it to heart, and applied the concept to much of what I do in public. So much so, I forget where the car is parked after an event… more often than I would like. A photo helps.
This morning the moon was a yellow crescent, refracted by the atmosphere on the horizon. I was taking the recycling bin to the curb. From above, ancient starlight fell on me through the darkness. It was cold, the cold and starlight and crescent moon were invigorating on a groggy morning.
Two months in, my jobs as newspaper correspondent and warehouse worker seem to have taken. That’s good news. A stable financial platform is important to sustaining this errant life of writing. While the two don’t produce a living wage, they get me closer than I was last year— a footing upon which to leverage aspiration’s ascent.
I understand ranges: of potential pay for each part time job; and of the time investment required to produce it. I’m entering into the period we called stability operations in the military. Settling in, and working toward other important goals.
In the news stream of images, articles and recordings that is social media, I came upon a list of the 20 most popular TED talks. After watching a few of them, it occurred to me that a very small percentage of my time has been spent answering the question why? I’m not talking about the lengthy intellectual excursions taken during my undergraduate dalliance with western philosophy. Rather, what motivates me to eschew the six figure job I left for doing what I love? There are three things.
My outlook on life in society was formed after being an altar boy at our local convent. Rising early, I walked to our elementary school, where the nuns lived on the top floor, and assisted the priest with morning Mass. It was in Latin. After Mass, I had an hour or so at home before returning to school for classes. I read pulp magazines bought at the corner drug store. An epiphany that morning was the nature of intellect and language.
We are separate from language, and everything else perceived by the senses. Language is a medium for communication, and our faith is that there is another reality outside sensory perceptions to perceive us, and if we are lucky, to communicate with us. Just as the starlight traveled for years to illuminate my morning walk from the curb, so too is everything our senses perceive: light, not stars. This epiphany remains with me, grounded in experience, not in the ideas of others.
Secondly, money is a means to an end. Founded on a life of sensory perceptions, in which we know not the existence or motivation of others, life becomes a quest for truth and meaning. Such a quest is to rid our consciousness of utter alone-ness. Accumulation of wealth is simply not that important. While raising our daughter, we were able to get through it all financially: buying a house, securing food and clothing, transportation, and formal education. While I made some progress over a 25 year career in transportation, other than addressing an occasional abstraction about needing more money, we used money to live as best we could.
The final point: the necessity of self-realization. The signs that I needed to leave my long career were everywhere. The conventional wisdom was to continue working as I had until reaching full retirement at age 68. What I also knew was life expectancy was such that if healthy, I would have another 20 years to work. It became a compelling enterprise to shift away from work I felt was unsustainable to something that would see me through the years 60-80. Something less reliant upon a single source of income. Once I realized this and accepted it, my days as a transportation worker were numbered, leading me here.
The photo of the parking ramp was taken last week. It was a brief step toward finding a way. Now that I’m on a path, it is proving much easier to follow it.
Journey Home 
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