SOTC 362/365

If I can't go to the Red Chairs this year, I'll bring the red chairs to me!

SOTC 306/365

SOTC 131/365

For those of you who think I'm dangling precariously in the top branches of this tree, you're wrong. I love climbing trees, but my position is 10ft away on the lawn.

Gorilla pod + remote shooting app = awesome.

SOTC 110/365

Poppy Head, a photo on Flickr by Gina Blank.

SOTC 102/365

Bug on a a Button, a photo on Flickr by Gina Blank.

SOTC 101/365

Fiddle in the Evening Sun, a photo on Flickr by Gina Blank

SOTC 98/365

Under the Hammock, a photo on Flickr by Gina Blank

The Experiment Continues

Earlier this summer, I mentioned that I was engaging myself in a gardening experiment, after learning about and being inspired by the concept of edible landscapes.

I can say with confidence that the snap peas loved growing up the chain link fence this summer. Despite their curling tendrils that self-wrap around the chain link wire, they still grew so tall and heavy that I had to support many of the plants with twist ties. And anytime I took some to share with friends, the comment (aside from "yum!") was, "they're so big!"

The snap peas were pretty much done this week, so I took the warm summer evening yesterday to pull the yellowing plants off the fence and out of the dirt. I filled half an ice cream pail with snap peas in the process--the last harvest.

And then I got a crazy idea.

Well, really, it's the next step in edible landscaping, but while it may seem unsurprising for a small community on Vancouver Island, BC, somewhere, it's a little bit more 'out there' in terms of Edmonton, Alberta.

But I decided to share my snap peas. With strangers.

Because while part of edible landscapes is about viewing my own space differently when it comes to growing, part of it is also about interacting differently with the people in my community, so they might view gardening differently, too.

"This is about sharing, and investing in kindness." -- Pam Warhurst

It was about 7pm when I put out my plate of snap peas. When I brought the plate back in before bed at about 10:30, there were only three peas left.

Whoa.

This may have been several evening dog-walkers or cyclists, or perhaps just a single group of teenagers enjoying one of their few remaining summer evenings before school starts again. Nevertheless, the peas were clearly enjoyed.

This whole thing gives me much anticipation and hope for next year, both in the growing and the sharing. I have already decided to try growing cucumbers again, now that I think I might be successful growing them vertically on the chain link fence. I tried several new plants this year, and have gotten to know how they grow, so I know if/how I want to plant them next year. And I want to look at re-landscaping my front yard to turn a good portion of the grass into garden, so I can continue to share a larger variety of plants with my community.

Maybe it's crazy, but a plate of snap peas can't be wrong, can they?

The Snap Pea Experiment

Last year, I was a little bit inspired by this video:


I mean, not so much in the area of becoming an activist for an Edible Edmonton (though I think that would be really cool, and I would totally participate at whatever level I could). But more in using even my own space differently to maximize the way I grow food.

I already have a raised bed garden. When I saw the video last year, most of it had already been harvested, and the season was nearly over. But it got me excited for what I could do this year.

I've added several flower pots to my back yard to house herbs and vegetables. I cleared the front garden beds of their flowers, dedicating the space under the cherry bushes entirely to strawberry plants. But the thing I was most excited about was the snap peas. I decided to plant my snap peas (and some sweet peas) along the chain link fence lining my driveway, instead of in the raised garden like I've done in the past. It was a bit of a risky venture, given that the dirt is not exactly top-quality potting soil. Sandy with a bit of clay, I added some nutrient-rich compost soil to the mix, sowed my seeds, and hoped for the best.

Everything in the garden has been coming up over the last week or so, and wouldn't you know, the snap peas are, too! ...Looks like my snap pea experiment is a success!

Not What They Mean By 'Green'

As I was out and about today, I spied something. It's something I've seen in a few neighbourhoods. Do you see what I saw?

That house in the middle sure seems to have the jump on spring. Jarringly so, given the brown-ness of all the lawns and park surrounding it. Walk a couple more blocks, and there is another house, also seemingly well-tended to. I took a photo of his lawn compared to his neighbour's. Certainly seems like he knows his fertilizers.

But look a little more closely. 

Do the edges of those blades of grass seem rather... square to you? A little too clean cut?

They should.

They're fake.

This is the fourth or fifth lawn I've seen in the last couple years made of artificial grass. And it's one of those things that just makes my brain go, "seriously? Really, seriously?" It continues to boggle my mind, some of the things we come up with that serve only to propel our self-centred little lives.

On the surface, I can see the appeal. Save time, energy and money by not having to mow, rake, weed, water, etc. Always have a beautifully manicured, lush-green lawn (because to be fair, I could not tell you where the fake lawns are in the middle of June--they blend in very well). And as NewGrass.ca goes on to say, artificial grass also means no grass stains on kids' clothing, and apparently this stuff is "completely unaffected by snow or ice," so... presumably no snow mould?

Yes, some advantages.

But at what cost?

First of all, are you really saving money? I checked the Home Depot website. It's $189 for 50sq ft. Estimating my front and back yards combined to be about 1,000sq ft, that works out to nearly $4,000. NewGrass has a warranty of 8yrs, so let's say this grass lasts ten before needing replacement. So that works out to about $400/year that this grass is costing me.

Now, let's look at what real grass is costing me. I spend about $5 per summer on a jerry can of gasoline for my lawn mower. I'm supposed to tune up my lawn mower with an oil and filter change every year. I haven't thus far, but let's say I'm on the ball--that's about $50. I try to let as much rain as possible do the watering of my lawn for me, so for the last two summers, I've only had to use my sprinkler 2-3 times. I let it run for the recommended max of an hour each time. I'm not sure what volume of water this is, but knowing my overall water bill during the summer months, I'm guessing the lawn only soaks up $10-20 of that. Let's say $20. I spent $50 on ant and weed killer last year. And another $10 on grass seed to fill in the hole where the ants were. I need to aerate and fertilize, which will run an average of about $200.* So $335 altogether.

Sorry, who's saving money?

Artificial grass supporters would say the extra $65/year is worth it, simply for the convenience of not having to maintain a real lawn. Okay, just hold that thought.

Let's look at the cost to our earth. NewGrass claims their product is eco-friendly, because you save water by not having to irrigate, and because it's made of recycled and recyclable materials. Except... since when was real grass not eco-friendly? MY lawn makes oxygen, for Pete's sake! And while I know that the oxygen output of my lawn is probably not as significant as the tree on the boulevard in front of it--given the surface area of grass blades to elm leaves--my lawn still has its role to play. And not just in the oxygen cycle, but the water cycle, and overall circle of life.

Remove the grass from a lawn, and you've removed one more small piece from the ecological equation that holds our atmosphere together and keeps our climate in balance. Remove the grass from a bunch of lawns, or a few school fields, and it starts to add up to something. Something NOT eco-friendly.

Finally, let's look at the cost to our mental and physical well-being. I'm not sure how many calories a person burns by pushing a lawn mower, raking leaves and grass, pulling weeds, etc. But for me it seems to be enough that, in conjunction with my other favourite summer activities, I do not need to carve out extra time to be active, nor do I need to spend money on a gym membership (again, who's saving money?). I am also soaking up vitamin D from the sun, which is still the best way to get vitamin D.** 

As an introvert, my lawn and garden work is valuable recharge time. Sure, I could just as easily recharge with a book in my hammock, but remember, I'm also being physically active. That's two birds with one stone, people. Plus, the hammock is much more satisfying after all that yard work.

Speaking of satisfying, what a sense of accomplishment and ownership when I maintain my own lawn. Such a heightened sense of competence from all the different aspects of lawn care I can do independently. I have learned so much over the last two summers about the functioning of lawn mowers, how weeds grow, the process of edging, the benefits of mulching... I could go on. 

....What sense of pride and accomplishment does your extra $65 a year get you???

Socially, working in my front and back yards means I have a chance to connect with neighbours. It means I form a relationship with the "fertilizer guy", with my colleague's husband who will teach me how to change the mower's oil, with the greenhouse lady at Rona (I've gleaned her wisdom two years in a row, now). I'm building community.

There is one more aspect of our well-being affected here. When we lose our interaction with nature, we lose our connection to nature. And I'm not sure people realize how important that connection to nature is. Interacting with nature is a sensory experience. I understand the stubbornness of getting grass stains out of jeans--but there is something children learn when they roll around in the grass and feel it under their skin, when they feel and see what it takes to hit the ground hard enough to make a grass stain, when it squishes under their shoes after the rain, in being close enough to the earth to smell it. I'm pretty sure ladybugs and earthworms and the things of childhood discovery don't roam around in fake grass. And while I can't paint all parents with the same brush, I just have this gut sense that those who put artificial grass on their lawns are not the kinds of parents spending all their 'extra time' camping out in nature with their children to give them the experiences they're missing at home. Just a hunch.

In the same way that children are losing their ability to identify where food comes from as they eat more and more processed meals, they will start to lose their understanding of the natural world, and how it influences so many other systems. There is something precious in fully participating with nature in the seasons--watching the change marked by each one. When your lawn stays the same all year.... it's just not natural.

And this connection with nature is not just valuable for children, you know. Who doesn't link carefree summer days with the smell of fresh-cut grass? Who's ever felt the cool relief of laying in the grass after running around in the heat? Do you ever use wet grass to wipe mud off your shoes? Ever watch a robin expertly pluck a worm from the depths of the front lawn? Have you ever grabbed that stray piece of wild grass that's just perfect for blowing like a trumpet? Or ever sat in a remote corner of a field, after a romantic picnic, in that first really deep conversation with a significant other, on the cusp of taking that relationship to the next level, all the while plucking blades of grass beside you to give your nervous hands something to do while the words stumble out of your mouth and you decide whether you can handle looking up from the grass into his eyes?

Okay, Gina, you're diving off the deep end, here. It's just a patch of grass.

Yes, but that's how anything harmful starts. As "just a patch" of something.

Artificial grass is just one more thing that feeds our selfish, individualistic desires. Someone who wants to save themselves a little bit of time and energy. But at the cost of further damaging an already-broken ecosystem, and depriving themselves--and possibly their children--of the natural experiences that contribute to physical, mental, social, and emotional well-being.

Seriously? Really, seriously?

*Though I'm getting aeration and fertilization done for nearly half of that this year.
**Yes, only when I am also responsible about sunscreen, which I generally am.

SOTC 50/365

Why would I ever invest in a gym membership, working my muscles on a machine that goes nowhere, when I could rake the back yard, and unearth spring?

SOTC 13/365

The bane of my summer, and yet, so intricately lovely to look at.

SOTC 9/365

On the north side of my house, there is what I call my "wild space." It is not really part of the main back yard, but more just a patch "around the side of the house." It is nestled in the shade, and as a result, has a more temperate climate than the rest of the yard.

I've come to call it the wild space for two reasons: 1. Because I don't touch it. And yet, 2. Really cool stuff grows back there of its own accord, as if I was in some British Columbia woodland.

Ferns and other decorative grass grow there. Clover, henbit, and the occasional buttercup. A poppy or two for good measure. And my favourite, the lamium.

The bulk of its little flowers come out in June, providing an aesthetically pleasing mix of green and purple. As I was back there today, I noticed one late-bloomer had made its way.

Clearly, summer is not finished yet.


PS -- I discovered this little flower for the first time today. He stands all alone in my wild space. Not sure what he is, yet, but I hope to find more of him next summer!

SOTC 8/365

SOTC 6/365

It was as my foot descended off the back step and onto the driveway that I heard the strong WHOOOOOOOOOSH sound. It took a fraction of a second for my brain to connect the favoured sound with its source, and I immediately looked up.

It was amazing. Directly overhead, in the crisp, clear, blue sky of morning, a vibrantly coloured hot air balloon floated low above my head and over my yard.

No.

I did not have my camera.

Of course, I always have to try, so I ran back into the house for it. But by the time I returned, the balloon had already floated over the neighbour's house across the alley. There was no time to switch to the zoom lens, and the power lines were cross-crossing the field of view by this point anyway. I snapped a couple pics, but they weren't even worth keeping, let alone posting.

SIGH.

It happens.

For instance, I have seen countless sunsets empty-handed, wishing I had my camera and/or the ability to pause and capture the moment. I have come to be [mostly] at peace with these instances, recognizing that I cannot possibly capture every single amazing moment in existence, and that sometimes it's important to just take in the moment with my heart and not my lens, and geez, Gina, look at what you do manage to glean. It is enough.

Still, it would have been an awesome photo.

I can still hear the rhythmic whoosh as I watch the balloon disappear completely behind the trees, absorbing the peaceful moment internally.

I turn towards the garage.

Keys out and camera away.

Well, maybe not quite.

355/365

This one seems to need some extra attention today.

350/365

On the agenda today: 
pruning,
weeding, and 
deadheading.

Cohabiting With the Robins

It was April or May when I learned that there must be a robin's nest in a near by tree. On more than one occasion, I would wake up at around 6am to a tap-tap-tapping at my bedroom window. When I would pull back the curtains, I would make eye-contact with a robin fluttering about the window. She would land on the sill, cock her head to one side as she sized me up, and then fly off, allowing me to sleep for the remaining hour before my alarm.

Moving through summer, I occasionally saw Miss Robin flying around, or perched in the elm in front of my house.

Yesterday, as I was transplanting some lamium on the north side of my house, I heard fluttering. A young robin had gotten himself caught in a tight space between the fence and the downspout of my eave. I lifted him out of the space, and he exited my hands as quickly as he could. He half-flew, half-tumbled into my yard, and then proceeded to hop away. Whether he injured his wing getting caught, or had done so before hand, I'm not sure. But it was about this point that major freak-outs ensued. Apparently, his siblings and Mama (formerly Miss) Robin were hanging out near by. They all started cheeping fiercely--the siblings calling for their other, and angry Mama Bird yelling at me. Mama Bird flew back and forth between the elm tree and the fence where I was standing, stressed and vocal.

I managed to get the young robin back onto the other side of the fence. He flew low, short distances around the neighbour's yard, and I left him to his family. The loud cheeping ensued for a good 15 minutes, but I think they eventually realized that I had not been trying to kidnap their kin.

Today, my back yard task list involved checking the eaves to see if they needed unclogging. It is a bit of a task in mathematics and physics to maneouver my 12' ladder in the thin space on the north side of my house, without taking out the fence or the air conditioner. A sturdy angle against the side of the house also means that the base of the ladder reaches right out to the fence. So, it took me a bit by surprise that after clambering around back there to get the ladder set up properly, I turned around to ascend the first rung and came face to face (i.e. less than a foot) with Young Robin, perched on a cedar branch overhanging my fence.

We looked at each other for a while. I knew it was the same robin I had rescued, because his one wing sat just slightly lopsided against his body. And I'm pretty sure any other robin would have flown away.

"Glad to see you made it up here. Are we friends? Do I own you now? Hmm?"

I slowly backed out of the space and retrieved my camera from the house. When I returned, he was still there. His gaze was fixed upon my hands as I worked the lens and buttons. He cocked his head slightly at the first "click" of the camera. After several pictures, I retrieved some cherries for him from my nanking bush (I had seen his Mama eating them the day before). I placed them--slowly--along the fence, mere inches from him. He watched me set each one down, but didn't move; didn't fly away.

I took several more pictures, then got brave.

I reached out a finger, and stroked his good wing. He stayed.
I stroked his freckled breast. He stayed.
I gently stroked his head. He stayed.

I stepped away and went back to my original task. Went up the ladder, cleaned the eave, came back down. He watched me the entire time.

When I went back an hour later, he had finally gone elsewhere. And had left the cherries behind. Clearly, he is doing okay despite his injury.

My friend told me that by touching him--with my scent now on him--I will have rendered him abandoned by his mama. Though I've still seen her about today in the trees, I wonder if I may have inadvertently adopted myself a bird.

That's okay.
There are plenty of nankings for both of us.

333/365

For Pete's Sake OR 321/365

There is a rabbit. Well, more precisely, a hare. I don't see him very often, though he was quite ambitious earlier this week when he hopped within four feet of me as I weeded the front garden. I've named him Peter. I usually try to be more original when I name things around me*, but given this hare's behaviour, I think 'Peter' suits him just fine.

Last year, I noticed lots of nibble marks in the leaves of my vegetables--the peas just barely survived. But after hearing that hair can sometimes act as a natural deterrent, I promptly brushed the cat and sprinkled her fur all over the garden. Someone else stated that garlic was also effective. So I sprinkled garlic powder around a few times, too (if nothing else, it kept the vampires away). Sure enough, the peas stopped looking nibbled, and my garden did just fine. So, I figured I knew what to expect this year.

When I planted the garden, I sprinkled cat fur around it right off the bat. But as the plants started to come up, most of them quickly showed signs of struggling. However, I came to the conclusion that it was most likely bugs, given the holey--not nibbly--state of the leaves. After stocking up on diatomaceous earth for the bugs and blood/bone meal for the rabbit (just in case), I replanted half my garden. Everything has started to come up again that had suffered. Except that the spinach--just the spinach--disappeared again earlier this week. Where's the fairness?!

Since everything else is doing all right, I decided that the bugs had been beaten, but the rabbit had not.

I think I made my sixth trip to Rona today in just as many weeks.

Chicken wire; check.
Wooden posts; check.
New package of spinach seeds; check.

How come this garden's taking so much more effort this year???

*For example, my Macbook is NOT named Mac. That's too easy. She IS, however, named Ambrosia (she is an Apple, after all).