Late bloomer

Have you seen the commercial where the kinda creepy guy in the carpool gets a text on his smart phone, laughs ... then, wait for it, everyone else in the carpool finally gets it, too? (The point is that his smart phone service is better than their smart phone service.)

I'm the rest of the folks in the carpool. A late bloomer, if you will. I wait to jump into the latest technology because I don't want to pay top dollar, know there are bugs to work out, and figure it's better to let everyone else do the trial and error bit before I join in.

My handy dandy new smart phone is quite a treat, a miniature computer in my hands and ready to tell me where to go, how to get there, and why I want to be there in the first place. But my gee-whiz reactions get a mental eye-roll from friends who've been sending me emails and texts "from my XYZ totally cool smart phone" for YEARS.

Ah well, better late than never.

At the moment, the smart phone is out-smarting me on several fronts ... quickly draining battery life, cumbersome wireless pass-keys, icons I don't want and can't delete, and jiggly photos (including an unexpected photo of myself - so THAT's what that little icon does).  I'm checking user forums and getting up to speed, so the learning curve isn't bad. Well, mostly.

Fun! And much more relaxing than yesterday's heavy labor.

26 or so bags of leaves and sticks from the front yard. My aching back.

The raised bed vegetable garden is now in the front yard. Needs more peat moss, compost, and vermiculite. Scat, cats! Off, dogs!

Today, it's all about copywriting and Preschool Phonics.  So the next wave of yard prep will wait until later in the week, when it's supposed to be tantalizing warm and clear.

Get ready, back yard. Your loser days are nearly OVER.

It's gardening weather.

I had no idea so much time had passed since my last post. Let's see ... finished my tenure at Dunwoody Nature Center, had a birthday, enjoyed the resolution of our long rezoning headache,  demolitioned some sad-looking plants in the yard, re-enlisted at DNC to serve an interim role during the transition from retiring Executive Director Claire Hayes until her successor is named, moved the garden box to the front yard (where there's actually sun most of the day), watched our son compete in his last Mock Trial competition for Dunwoody High School, sent several more checks to North Georgia College & State University for our rising Freshman, enjoyed the Student Showcase at Peachtree Charter Middle School, and wrote lots and lots and LOTS of copy for my wonderful clients.

Love writing. Love gardening. Love this beautiful, warm February week.

And now for a public service message.

Dear neighbors passing our home on the way to and from the path to Dunwoody Village:

PLEASE don't let your darlin' dog PIDDLE on my soon-to-be-planted bed of lettuces, radishes, and early peas. Yes, it's right at the edge of our yard, in tempting leash distance from your sniffing-for-a-good-spot pooch. But it's the only sunny spot in our entire yard. And I have high hopes for spring and summer crops. So please aVOID the temptation to let your dog  ELIMINATE on our vegetable garden.

A Farmers Market bike - what a great birthday gift.

Thank you very much.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Take a walk. Ride bikes. Explore the trails at Dunwoody Nature Center and Brook Run. Get outside and breathe. Just breathe.

Aaaaahhhhh.

Trial and error

For two summers, I've tried to coax vegetables to grow in less than four hours of direct sunlight. The beans were cooperative, the cucumbers did just fine, but everything else winced. So I've put my name on the waitlist for a plot at the Dunwoody Community Garden, where direct sunlight is in abundant supply (as are advice and encouragement by other gardeners).

Dunwoody is hilly, lush with greenery, and quite beautiful through every season. But the downside of all these trees is that gardening is a challenge.

Which reminds me of the history of Dunwoody Park. We have evidence of terraces cut into the hillsides along the creek. In the early settler days, the farmers cleared the land and cut terraces so they could grow crops. Faced with the same conditions as we have today, they maximized the yield of the hilly terrain by leveling as much land as possible and clearing the way for direct sunlight. One family even had a mill on the property - its dam and millstone are still on the grounds.

Urban gardening has so many challenges those early farmers would have thought ridiculous. We can't just do with our land as we see fit. There are tree ordinances, setbacks, residential codes regarding structures visible from the street, and sundry other obstacles to raising food. But creative folks are figuring out ways to be self-reliant.

The good news is that my garden box is mobile. So I'll take it down this winter, keep my fingers crossed that I can move it to Brook Run, and get ready for a new year and a new garden.

Gardening in the shade.

I know, I know. It's raining and cold and the ground is muddy and everything is brown and numb.

But it's time to think about the planting season.

Our house faces east. A large maple tree shades most of the front yard and the woods alongside the creek keeps the back yard in shade most of the day. The only consistently sunny spot is the side yard - the NORTH, no less, where I've tucked my single 4 x 4 square foot raised bed garden. It did pretty well despite the challenges of not optimal light or positioning. Well enough that I'm adding another bed. But I'm thinking about putting it in the front yard, right next to the street, which is the only spot in the entire yard that has wonderful sunlight for vegetables.

I say I'm "thinking about" it because a raised bed garden isn't decorative. A streetside location means those darling dogs that amble by each day are likely to "water" it regularly, when they aren't doing the other business.  (One of our neighbor's dogs destroyed the winter plantings when she decided to poopy and scratch right in the middle of the bed. Darn it.)  For one thing, that's gross. For another, dog urine has an unfortunate effect on soil chemistry.

So, which is better: great sun and animal waste? or southern light for 5 hours a day and some protection from most canine passers-by?

I'll keep thinking, at least for another week, because it's almost time to get those peas in the ground.

(For those of you interested in trying out this very practical and easy-to-manage gardening technique, Dunwoody Nature Center has a square foot gardening class coming up, as well as some cool offerings in birding, native plants, garden tools, and photography!)

Seeds of summer

The seed catalogs are arriving!

Last evening, I poured over the latest offerings with a cup of tea and imagined overachiever crops of brussels sprouts, peas, garlic, cucumbers, cantelope, and romaine. Rather like Hyacinth of Keeping Up Appearances (my favorite Brit-Com), my imaginings are not linked to reality. ("Dust off the garden, Richard. I don't want the neighbors to think I don't run a tidy yard.") My garden wasn't lush or particularly prolific, but it was pretty darned satisfying for this gardening newbie.

I plan to add a second 4x4 raised bed to my garden this year since the first did well enough with beans and cucumbers. I discovered that I love the smell of dirt and compost, the early morning damp of a hot summer day, the singing of tree frogs in the evening, and the absolute joy of grabbing a few handfuls of vegetables for dinner . . . with the promise of more in the vine and in the ground for days ahead.

Which means that I need this ultra cold snap to ease up long enough to move the original raised bed to a slightly better location and build the second one for its adjacent site.

Snow is in the forecast for tonight, and I expect the dusting and scant 1/2 inch that falls to mean closed schools tomorrow.  Overreacting to snow is a Southern thing. Gotta love it.

Aw, come on!

I abandoned my poor vegetable garden for a week while I was focused on several volunteer- and work-related commitments. Finally, I checked it to see how many weeds and insects had invaded the patch.

Throughout the summer, when I've tended it carefully, the harvesting has been modest, though satisfying.

After a week of neglect, I just picked four huge cucumbers and another handful of green beans. Many, many more are on the vine. There are very few weeds, and no signs of hungry insect pests devouring flower buds and leaves.

For pete's sake. I did better leaving it alone than checking on it every day!

That's life. You know all the sayings, about the watched pot and while the cat's away and letting a kid figure things out for himself. Sometimes it takes inattention for things to grow.

Of course, for overachiever micromanagers like me, inattention is anathema. It's just hard to believe that good things come to those who wait AND LEAVE THINGS ALONE.

All right, garden. I'm going to leave you alone for another week. Let's see if this was an anomaly or a learning lesson!

Is it ready yet?

Before I built my square-foot garden, the only food I'd ever grown was tomatoes. They're easy - big container, good soil, a tomato cage, and voila - tomatoes!

I have discovered a major obstacle with home gardening. If you've never grown food before, how do you know when it's ready for harvesting?

Onions are below ground.

Brussel sprouts look like Jack's beanstalk for a long time.

Romaine lettuce looks all lettuce-y right after it pops out of the ground.

Carrots are below ground.

Beets are below ground.

Peas and beans are easy - their pods get really plump and look like they do in the grocery store.

My garden is thriving - lots of lovely leaves and stalks are surging upward. I've pulled out the peas-that-weren't and planted cantelope, cucumber, and watermelon weeds.

As for the rest of the spring plantings, I can't tell if it's time to harvest yet.

It's downright embarrassing.

I've googled "red onions" and "harvesting" and chosen "images" to figure out what I'm supposed to be looking for. Little help there so far - mostly pictures of them plucked out of the ground and lying on drying racks.

This first year is definitely a learning process, with a curve a mile long. I may not get as much out of the garden as I could if I knew what the heck I'm doing, but it sure is fun.

I never thought I'd love gardening as much as I do.

My peas aren't doing so well.

The peas in the garden box at Dunwoody Nature Center are thriving. They've emerged from seeds and are twining their way up the trellis with lush green vigor.

The peas in the garden box chez Knitternall are downright embarrassing. They're pathetic. They thrust out a few pea pods just to get my hopes up then laid back down, exhausted, on the ground.

Same box design. Same mix of vermiculite, peat moss, and compost. Same watering cycle.

Blast it.

The romaine is bursting with leafy goodness. The beans are perky and the brussel sprouts are surging out of the soil. Twelve out of 16 square foot sections of the Knitternall square foot garden box are growing majestically according to plan. But all I can think about are the peas. I love peas. I planted four square feet with peas because I wanted as much bounty as my little garden could muster.

I tried to give peas a chance. For naught. Oh well, there's always the farmer's market (though I may have to drive to Druid Hills if Dunwoody can't figure out a way to embrace the mom and pop sensibility of farmer's markets.)

Knitting in the dirt.

Two funerals, a cotillion formal dance, and a weekend in the garden: it's been a rare week. I've been present at the closing of life and labored over seeds of change for our family. All in all, the emotional slope has soared high and low, culminating in a deep sense of rightness.

The tween and I built the square foot garden box on Saturday. We worked well together, her interest never waning as we drilled pilot holes, attached the frame, and mixed the "magic" ingredients: compost I've nurtured all winter, peat moss, and vermiculite.

Saturday evening we prepared dinner together: molasses and soy-sauce marinated chicken thighs, homemade potato salad, and baked beans. Dessert was s'mores with marshmallows roasted over our front yard fire pit. It was a luscious day: hard, physical work, a sense of accomplishment, and soul-filling food shared by the four of us under the darkening sky as birds "brit-brit-britted" above and stars peeked through the still-unleafed trees.

Knitting took a backseat to gardening, though I did make time for it Sunday evening while the teen and tween were wrapping bandages for African hospitals with their youth group. I had to frog the shoulders of the Piedmont Park Hoodie (horribly written directions by the designer that I will have to decode and rewrite so I can finish it). I also worked a few more rows of the latest prayer shawl, in my favorite St. Luke's blues.

Next weekend, we'll plant our spring vegetables: peas, romaine lettuce, red onions, red cabbage, and a few herbs.

I'm thankful for the splendid weekend and feel refreshed for the frenetic to-do's of the week ahead.

Bibimbop

The Dunwoody Nature Center staff hosted lunch at the Wasabi House in the Village today, to celebrate a couple of birthdays, thank several volunteers for over-the-top service during the recent office renovations and program brochure, and sundry other blessings.

Mmmmmm. Bibimbop. It's my favorite dish at Wasabi, a one-bowl Korean lunch of hot rice topped with stir-fried vegetables, bean sprouts, fresh greens, and an egg on top. I usually add some shrimp to the mix. Topped with a mild chile sauce and stirred together, and it's comfort food at its tastiest. Dunwoody is filled with special little places like Wasabi House and Wright Gourmet and Goldberg's and Villa Capri and El Azteca. The chain places are largely confined to the Perimeter Mall area, close enough for convenience, but not so intrusive as to take away the townie feeling of the Village and environs.

This was a busy day, participating in a Dunwoody Schools Cluster Council meeting at the high school, dining with the splendid company of coworkers and compatriots, and finalizing plans for cool classes. The Chicken Whisperer - who turns out to the son of one of our past Board Presidents - has a Saturday class that's filling before we've had a chance to promote it. The Square Foot Garden classes are so popular (and full) that we need to schedule another round in May. We've put together a Sustainable Pantry class as well, for those like me who are still novices when it comes to finding, storing, and serving fresh, locally grown, organic foods.

It's fun to live and work your ideals. I'm blessed to be part of Dunwoody Nature Center and this town-in-the-making.

I learned something new.

I can't believe I haven't been knitting continental style. I just watched this video, and it made the miles and miles of ribbing on the recently completed Hanover jacket an impetus to do things quite differently.

When I learned to knit, it was with the "throwing" technique, and I have happily tossed yarn from right hand, over and around the left hand needle, and shifted needles from row to row.

One time, I was knitting in the waiting room of a train station. An elegant woman dressed in beautiful Indian raiment waved her hands at me, shook her head, and mimed taking the needles from me. I let her (the knitting community is amazingly receptive to such incursions) and she showed me how much FASTER her continental technique was. I tried a few stitches, and fumbled. Back to throwing. (She smiled, shook her head at me, and moved on to her train.)

So Continental knitting seemed too exotic, even cumbersome. But it's not. I just hadn't seen the technique up close and personal. Thanks to this handy dandy video and amazingly simple instructions, I want to invest some time in learning a new technique, with its requisite fumbling and miscues until my my muscle memory is up to speed.

I'll post pix of Hanover tomorrow. I'm delighted with the finished sweater and look forward to wearing it for the rest of this winter. It's going to be a mainstay for years to come, thanks to its classic lines and understated texture.

It's a new year, and time to learn a few new things. Continental style knitting, square foot gardening, and table loom weaving . . . this is FUN!

Things to do when gas is not so much

At looooonnnnngggg last, the gas shortage has eased here in Atlanta. Dunwoody has gas, even the BP station, which has much more frequent outages than any other stations during normal times. Of course, it's way above four bucks a gallon, so it's a good news/bad news proposition.

Our Sunday School class discussion centered on the issue of simplicity, choosing what and who are important, passing on the unnecessary. Yes, we've grown technologically in the past 2,000+ years. We still haven't learned a thing. While Martha was cleaning up after feeding Jesus and his entourage (and in a mighty snit about having to do it all by herself), Mary was enjoying the visit. Guess who Jesus praised? Not the busy Martha.

So, despite the nerve-twisting and costly gas crisis, it did offer one silver lining: it forced us to slow down and think thrice about how and why we drove anywhere. Staying close to home was easy for us, because Dunwoody has all the basics right here in town. Groceries and a few things from the hardware store? Check - just three blocks from home. Pick up the kids after school? Check - a couple of miles away. Breakfast at Old Hickory House with T early Saturday morning? Easy. Church on Sunday? Right around the corner. Walking to the bank and post office, as well as work at Dunwoody Nature Center was a peaceful option. Our family is blessed by proximity.

And, because it was a slower week all around, I finished two prayer ministry projects (a shawl and a lapghan), cast on the Side-to-Side Garter Stitch Vest, and finished one Maine Morning Mitt. The compost pile for next spring's Square Foot Garden is coming along nicely, and I raked up a ton of acorns falling across the driveway and sideyard.

Bliss!

Out of touch and darned happy about it

One of my Preschool Phonics moms is diving wholeheartedly back to basics. She has embraced growing her own food, now has three chickens producing plenty of eggs for her brood, and is happily taking a class in cheese-making and square-foot gardening.  All this, in the midst of Dunwoody, with our upper income and higher education ethos and commute-to-work lifestyle.  

I love it!

Vicariously through Earth Mom's experiences, I've learned so much already:

• I'm depressingly ignorant. I thought you had to have a rooster for the hens to lay eggs. Hello. Ovulation. 
• Vegetable gardens start during the winter, with ground prep, composting, and varmint-prevention measures. We have coyotes, foxes, rabbits, squirrels, and other wildlife roaming our creeks and ravines, so I'm looking at chicken wire and other options in parts of Home Depot  I've never visited before.
• Things grow in waves, not all at once. So you can be eating from your garden from last frost to first frost.
• People love the idea of vegetable gardens, particularly urbanites.  They'll share stories about grandparents' gardens and "I'd love to have one, but . . ." These are the same comments I hear about knitting. So maybe knitting and vegetable gardening really do go together!

The older I get, the less interested I am in the latest technology and the more I'm drawn to simple living.  So I'm getting a bit out of touch with the world . . . yet more in touch with what really matters to me.

We're now considering offering classes and a demonstration Square-foot Garden program at Dunwoody Nature Center. Our area is heavily treed and hilly, so most families have limited space with sustained sunlight for growing food. Square-foot gardening makes perfect sense. It's manageable, understandable for novices, and maximizes available space.  Our first step is finding a site on our grounds, getting an "expert" to help us and to teach the classes, and put it on the calendar.

As the Nature Center's program gets underway, the Knitternall family will be prepping soil and composting this winter in preparation for our own garden next spring. 

I've been playing with this idea for a couple of years now. It's time to get started.