Two Girls and a Road

Second Season

Dena — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 23:35:31 +0000

Surprisingly, my blackberry and blueberry bushes from last year’s spring garden did not die. I suspected the worst while I was cleaning out the raised beds the other day only to realize that most of the roots burrowed beneath the dirt were from those bushes. They were my pride and joy last year, my hopeful fruit producers, but gave me nothing but trouble and a few thorny stabs in my fingertips to boot. Not a berry. Not a flower. Nothing.

Blackberry leaves, still showing signs of life. Oh, happy day!

Even so, I feel they deserve better. Both blueberries and blackberries alternate years of production so I decided to transplant them to another part of the yard where watering actually happens and where they will stand a fighting chance. Both bushes have been moved to the side of the house, but to the side of the house that is visible to neighbors and, therefore, is required to look all nice and green. That side gets watered, even during a drought. Also, they have been placed at the bottom of a very slight incline. I’m hoping this will help them drink up the moisture that will inevitably run down from the top, once the weather decides to unleash a torrent or trickle of rain upon us. The pear tree, the Valencia tree, the palms, and the flowering bushes all seem to be thriving on that side of the yard. Each fruit tree/bush/vine (the bush produces the vines) has sufficient room to spread its roots in the search for water and if anything dies back there, I’ll consider it a blessing that I didn’t have to choke anything with my bare hands as the plants’ roots will have already done it for me. Let’s hope peace prevails.

My blueberry bush. Nothing at all like the wild ones from my Upper Michigan childhood, but as close as I’ll ever get.

I’m learning that beginning Florida gardeners sometimes struggle with blackberry bushes. Of course, some farmers have this plant’s successful growth down to a science but, to point out the obvious, I’m no farmer. The blueberry bush is quite common although I’ve never seen just one bush standing around, but usually see an entire 6×6 or larger plot devoted strictly to them. I’m totally small-scalin’ it here and I’ll consider myself successful if these plants don’t just decide to up and die.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

Green Thumb

Dena — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 13:01:53 +0000

My garden was a wreck until yesterday. Six months of neglect had left our four raised beds in dire need of weeding, raking, and an overall renovation of sorts. Leaves had taken over the whole area which was behind a fence to keep out the cat and the dog – dachshunds are diggers, in case you didn’t know – and ensured a safe living environment for all the critters that had taken refuge in the abandoned mess of dirt. Each time I happened upon one (sometimes with my bare hands – I eventually wore gloves), I carefully moved it to an area in which I was finished working, so they wouldn’t be too far from home and could hopefully find their way back. I am convinced most animals are smarter than people and don’t require GPS.

The family of spiders, however, was another story. They were pretty big. They were also furry. I don’t deal in the business of handling and moving big, furry spiders. Of course, they are still alive and well in the garden and I insisted they move themselves. I waited patiently, mostly because I had no choice.

Here are some before cleanup shots:

Armed with a rake and not much else, I fearlessly attacked that mess. Within the first fifteen minutes, I’d already stumbled upon my first garden friend of the day, a southern toad (my best guess at identifying this guy). He was about the size of baseball.

Such a serious look on his face.

My encounter with this toad went much better than my last run-in with a toad a few years ago. A very large toad showed up at my front door and decided to hop himself into my foyer and squirt some nasty liquid all over the place. I knew only a little bit about the poisonous cane toad so that morning ended in me calling a vet for advice on how to effectively clean the tile floors. I really didn’t want my dogs or cats to lick some toxin out of curiosity/stupidity. After explaining the size of the toad (HUGE!) and the color of this “secretion” to the vet, he laughed and assured me the toad had simply peed. I still don’t see what’s so funny about my question. Yet this reminds me of another time when a random dog jumped into the backseat of my car and peed on Elle’s science project. He quite literally appeared out of nowhere, took a wizzer in my car, and left. How does this stuff happen to me? And more than once?

Anyway, I let the toad go about his business until he left the safety of the fenced-in garden and disappeared. About three hours later, I found another one. This one was noticeably smaller and much feistier. I immediately took on a maternal role and made the little toad a new home in a glass jar, filled it with a handful of dirt and covered it with some surface roots for shade. Finally, out of guilt, I tossed an old planter over the jar to keep the little guy from cooking under the sun.

I’m nowhere near finished preparing the raised beds for planting. The blackberry and blueberry bushes both seem to be thriving underground (they’re being transplanted next week so they will have more room to spread their roots) but the weeds and unidentifiable sprouts are horrendously overwhelming. Our fig tree showed some promise in the fall so I’ve decided to keep it exactly where I planted it last summer. All in all, I had a vigorous five-hour workout today. I can honestly say that is the hardest I’ve worked, physically, in years. It felt good. And the dirt smelled good.

Here’s an after shot (please, please, PLEASE, I beg of you to notice the difference – see, no leaves. You can actually see dirt):

I’ll be back out there later today to tackle some more wild roots and get my hands dirty again. At least yesterday, I could see progress. I hope I can do just as much, if not more, in the coming days and weeks.

Did Old Man Winter Get Lost?

Dena — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 22:37:05 +0000

In the middle of December, I posted about my beautiful red maple tree that was still carrying its summer leaves and colors. Then just ten days ago, I posted about how my red maple tree was looking a little perplexed. It started dropping its leaves and all as though the fall season had blasted through North Florida and the red maple had barely enough time to catch up before winter would be on our doorstep.

Now I am starting to believe winter forgot all about us.

Believe me, I’m not complaining for my sake because I am self-admittedly one of the whiniest people in the world when faced with cold weather. I do respect the cyclical seasons and the purpose each one holds for death and renewal and all of the things that nature needs, so I’m beginning to get a little worried. What happens when one season just doesn’t happen?

I looked out my kitchen window this morning and noticed red blooms on the red maple. Red blooms! As in the tree already thinks it’s time to blossom and prepare for spring, even as the golden leaves from the fall change are still hanging from its branches. This variety of tree is one of the first trees of them all to flower and usually occurs between March and May. It’s only January and it’s already blooming! Grrr…but it’s oh so pretty!

I wonder what this says about the other trees, or even the plants and animals. Are they just as confused? I know I am! I tore up my garden today and started the first of many weed-pulling marathons, following the Zone 9 guide for spring planting. As I’m a novice at this gardening thing (last year’s drought did nothing to boost my confidence in greenthumbing and everything promptly died), I’m afraid I might have to keep one step ahead of the weather since it doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be doing anymore.

Boneyard Beach

Dena — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 23:09:44 +0000

It was humid and overcast, almost perfect weather for exploring the shoreline on Big Talbot Island. I say almost, only because we barely saw a sliver of the sun while we traversed over bleached-out trees and high, sandy bluffs. The air had a slight chill and the wind could be felt more and more as we made our way through the maritime forest. At the end of the shoreline trail, we came to an opening that led down a bluff and into what is called Boneyard Beach. It was perfect timing – low tide was at its peak and we had plenty of room to play in between the bluffs and the beach. The gray skies matched the muted reflection of Nassau Sound, still and peaceful waters until a passing boat left small waves in its wake. The salt water was clear as glass, too, so clean we could see tiny fiddler crabs dancing beneath the surface.

the two were the only hint of color for miles

One tree had been pulled closer to the water by the changing tides over time and was dressed in bright green algae, unlike the drier trees closer to the bluffs that had been whitened to the color of bone by the harsh Florida sun. This algae-covered tree stump served as a shelter for what looked like hundreds and hundreds of sea snails. Some snails rested above the water line, living off the moisture of the dead bark. Other snails, the much larger ones, seemed to be happily hiding from civilization in pools of salt water in the sand or from the bottom of the stump. Whenever one of the girls or I stepped near the top of the felled trunk, the piece closest to the water, the surrounding sand made a whooshing noise as if there was no ground beneath our feet. It was like we were walking over sponges and the bottom wanted to give out from the weight of us. We left the dead tree stump, and the snails, alone after a few minutes.

After nearly two hours of walking up and down the shoreline and finding fiddler crabs, sea snails, and clam shells still intact, the girls and I realized how exhausted and hungry we were. The three of us climbed back up the cliff to the trail, a point of entry made recognizable only by a strategically placed and very large live oak tree trunk. Once we were back in the land of evergreens, live oaks, and sago palms, the girls talked about how they couldn’t wait to go back. They’ve already declared, “It’s better than any other field trip we’ve ever been on!” I was also favorably compared to a tour guide.

a trick of the eye called "blackrock", which is really just dead shells and vegetation and will crumble if stepped on

I couldn't resist a shot of pink and purple barnacles

Farmers vs. Monsanto

Dena — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 17:43:22 +0000

I watched a documentary a few years ago called The Future of Food, an eye-opening film about genetically modified foods (or GMOs). Some people have called it corporate bioterrorism.

While I remember being quite frustrated with my own ignorance by the time the film was even halfway through, I know that by the end I was just plain angry. I wasn’t angry at myself because, let’s face it, it is never too late to start learning and becoming more informed (and that’s exactly what I started doing), but I was infuriated with a corporate giant called Monsanto.

Maybe you’ve heard of them. Maybe you haven’t. But you may be surprised to learn Monsanto has taken over almost everything you put inside your body. It is quite a shock to discover, all of sudden, that every choice you thought you had made about your own food (whether grown from packaged seeds or purchased at the store) was really a choice already made for you. You just didn’t know it. And because of those choices (a term I’ll use loosely here), you have unknowingly been contributing to the demise of our country’s agricultural livelihood.

If you would like to learn more for yourself, please check out the links below. The first two links will take you directly to some of the more popular and most informative documentaries on the subject. The last link will direct you to Food Democracy Now!, an organization committed to protecting our food, our natural environment, our farmers, and our families.

The Future of Food
The World According to Monsanto
Food Democracy Now!

Food Democracy Now! is asking for your help to support farmers as they face the corporate bully known as Monsanto on January 31st in a lawsuit designed to protect our farmers from “genetic trespass”, a tactic developed by Monsanto decades ago and that lawfully allows the company to invade conventional and organic crops with their own patented seeds by way of wind. How convenient and, sadly, it is completely legal.

Alien

Dena — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 20:23:15 +0000

Our philodendron has been around a very long time. It’s a gorgeous evergreen, large and leafy, and it gives a tropical feel to our backyard, even in the dead of winter. This year’s dead of winter has been pretty insanely fantastic, I must admit. Even today, it is in the mid to high seventies and this warming trend is set to continue for the next seven days.

I was looking out the window this morning and into the backyard where the philodendron lives and thought back to last fall. I remember being very curious then about what was hiding beneath all of those leaves. The leaf stems of the philodendron are thick, like stalks, and take on quite a bit of weight as the shrub matures and grows. As a result, the leaves serve almost like an umbrella, blocking a lot of what is under them from seeing the light of day or, in my case, blocking me from seeing what could possibly be hidden inside.

Practically on my hands and knees, I either crawled or duckwalked under the leaves. The tangerine tree has thrived next to the philodendron all these years and I knew I also had to avoid another set of branches due to it being nearby. Toss into this mix the possibility of meeting snakes, spiders, and other critters living inside this world of green and one can understand my need to move slowly. But moving slowly gave me the opportunity to appreciate what I saw when I finally took my focus away from swatting at sticky spiderwebs and took a close-up look at the bottom of a philodendron.

That stem is seriously one of the craziest things I have ever seen nature produce, am I right?

The silly part about this is that when the philodendron is ready to reproduce, it will develop something called a spadix (which conjures up many other phallic images – seriously, Google it). But whenever I look at this beautiful stem, all I see are gorgeously inquisitive eyes decorated with luxuriously long eyelashes. This plant is completely capable of self-producing, but I can’t help but think of her as exactly that, a her.

D’ough!

Dena — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 05:00:32 +0000

My first attempt at homemade bread was not a huge WIN. It wasn’t necessarily a FAIL, either. On the Successful Bread Making Spectrum, I’d put it around…oh, a 7. Or a 6.5, perhaps. The crust was delicious but the entire loaf of bread seemed to be nothing but crust. The pot I’d used to bake it in (I’ll explain later) was too wide and, therefore, the bread baked too far around. Ideally, bread should bake up so that the insides can become fluffy and puffy and pillowy. That didn’t happen with my bread since it baked flat and approximately two inches tall. The final product did end up being deliciously edible and it tasted like bread (score!). I just wish there had been more…er, bread.

This time, though, I will refer to my kitchen adventure as FREESTYLE BAKING. As in, I screwed this up from the beginning and let’s just see where this goes, mmmkay? Also, whereas I would normally include a recipe here, I’ve decided to not post this one because I didn’t actually follow the recipe. I meant to and I thought I was doing just that until I found myself accidentally going through the processes of the second rise of the dough when it still had yet to go through the first rise. After you make a mistake like that, there’s no telling what will happen next. So, I just let my dough sit overnight at room temperature to go through its second rise (which, essentially, is the first rise).

I present to you all, ATTACK OF THE DOUGH!

That is what I awoke to Wednesday morning. I refrigerated the dough for 7 hours on Tuesday and the bowl I chose to store it in was apparently too small. At a room temperature rise, dough explodes when you’re asleep. LESSON LEARNED: Use a bigger bowl next time. Or don’t sleep.

Things started looking up after that little snafu, though. As I mentioned earlier, this particular recipe was for a crusty pot boule – a round, peasant-style bread baked in a pot – and it is only the second recipe listed in one of the cookbooks I got for Christmas, Kneadlessly Simple (Nancy Baggett). The difficulty factor for this recipe given by the author: SUPER EASY. Seriously, I’m embarrassed to have screwed this up.

Here is what it looked like after the first 55 minutes at 425 degrees, baked in a stainless steel pot and covered with the lid:

I was encouraged solely by the sight of it, the sight of it actually looking like bread. Hallelujah. There is a slight browning taking to the top crust. The bread baked for another 20 minutes, without the lid this time. After this final round in the oven, I knew I had a decent enough finished product.

Sure, it looks like a wheel of cheese but when you slice it into long, thin cuts, it looks more like fancy biscotti and is shaped perfectly for dipping into a rich alfredo sauce or dunking into a hot, steaming mug of soup.

Luckily, the food-curious side of me actually made a hot, steaming mug of soup earlier in the day for lunch. My soup consisted of pastina stars, free-range organic chicken broth, thyme, carrots, garlic, onion, and salt. It was my first time making a homemade soup, too. It was pretty damn tasty.

My bread(sticks) + leftover soup = perfect match. I know what I’m having for lunch today while I figure out my next bread making endeavour.

(Note: Go here to read Nancy Baggett’s blog, Kitchenlane. Here Nancy provides wonderful tips and recipes and, as far as I can see, responds back to her readers and answers their questions personally.)

Aurora

Dena — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 13:39:10 +0000

This morning, I noticed my backyard was pink. This sometimes happens at sunrise. The tall trees surrounding the yard tend to block direct sunlight until late morning so I was immediately aware that all the exciting stuff could only be seen in the front yard. Such a phenomena may happen quite often but it doesn’t last very long and I always try to take advantage of what the sky is willing to offer us so early in the day. Instinctively I run outside with my camera in hand, each and every time. Never fails.

My view to the east is blocked by a portion of my house, but only a few short steps down the walkway and everything is visible. Photographs will never do justice to such a exquisite morning sky.

When I turned around to head back inside the house, I realized the sky wasn’t quite done with me yet. To the northwest, just above the roofs of some neighborhood houses, a rainbow took up the other half of the sky. While hardly as brilliant in color as the sunrise itself, the subdued rainbow did its part by filling in the bland western sky opposite the fiery orange and pink to the east. One could get dizzy having to look in so many directions to take it all in.

I really, really love these kinds of mornings. Like I’m one of the lucky few who gets to witness a sunrise like this and yes, I even drag my kid outside and say, “Look at it! Not everyone gets to see something like that!” And in a matter of minutes, it’s over. The sun takes its rightful place in the sky, sometimes behind clouds and sometimes not, and all the jaw-dropping color seems to fade out the higher it gets. It truly is remarkable.

I read this NOAA article this morning, in hopes of getting a better grasp of the how and the why behind sunrises and sunsets, the kind that leave you gawking on your front lawn with a camera. Clean air and different types of clouds play a pivotal role in our morning and twilight skies, as explained by using the desert as a prime example. Few people live there and, in turn, it has a better chance of being clean and pure – not polluted and mucked up with dust and other bad particles. Essentially, this is why desert sunscapes are so much more spectacular.

(I don’t really think “sunscape(s)” is a word, but it seemed fitting and self-explanatory, so please don’t call me out on it.)

Suddenly, it’s winter

Dena — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 16:23:25 +0000

Last month I posted a couple of photographs of my red maple tree, which you can see here. At the time, it was patiently awaiting the beginnings of winter so it could finally start to shed its leaves. I quite enjoyed looking at my red maple in its December dress, full and leafy and exhibiting a very generous shade of spring green. Like me, it seemed defiant in the face of inevitable cold weather, but this weekend’s push of wintry winds has, yet again, established Mother Nature as the one in charge of these kinds of things.

In just one month’s time, my red maple has gone from lively to dormant – a hibernation of sorts, just as most trees do in the winter months.

Cheaper by the Dozen

Dena — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 15:47:14 +0000

For years I have driven past this one house on Starratt Road, a white ranch home with a lush side yard full of vegetables and a front yard full of very cluckety chickens. The sign outside their property fence lets passersby know that all of their honey, eggs, and greens are for sale. Being as I don’t know the people that live there, or even any of their neighbors for that matter, I have always been somewhat hesitant to pull into their driveway and just knock on their door asking for eggs.

This morning that all changed. After I pulled a standard chicken egg from a carton I bought at the grocery store (I use those eggs for the baking) and pulled another free-range chicken egg from a carton I bought at the farmer’s market (I use those eggs for the good eatin’), I finally realized how much better looking the free-range chicken egg is, not to mention it is also significantly bigger than the standard egg. I would prefer to eat only the free-range chicken egg from now on, if possible. The only concern is that the free-range chicken eggs cost quite a bit more – not only in dollars, but also in time spent driving to the market so I can buy them for $5.00. (Please note: I’m not stingy, I’m just unemployed.)

At last, today I resolved to meet the people that live in the white ranch house down the street and buy eggs from them. Now I could justify spending $5.00 on a dozen local eggs especially because I would be saving a 30-40 minute drive to Neptune Beach every Saturday afternoon.

I’m happy to report that my new egg supplier is less than 2 miles away and only charges $3.00 a dozen – handy egg carton included. Isn’t that eggciting? *snort* Ha! Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.