Friday, June 23, 2006, 19:54
Smoldy Oldies
The things Randy and I don't go through in hopes of getting a few squash, a couple of cucumbers and several dozen ears of sweet corn.
Every year that we've had a garden here (we moved back here 11 years ago the first of July), we've put mulch on the garden. Mulch is a wonderful thing. It holds in the moisture. It keeps out the weeds. And it adds organic matter to the soil. Often times, we have used grass clippings as mulch. At other times, we have used hay.
This year, of course, seeing as it's so dry, the lawn isn't growing enough to give us any grass clippings. But I did have hay left over from the windbreak I built in the lane for Isabelle last winter. Plus, some of the hay we got from my brother earlier in June were bales that were too wet and were starting to heat.
We set the warm bales outside the barn (I'd rather not burn down the barn, if I can help it!) and figured we could use them on the garden.
Wednesday night, we started breaking open the bales to spread them out between the rows of sweet corn and around the hills of squash and the one cucumber plant that managed to sprout.
Unfortunately, the hay has plenty of mold in it. Clouds upon clouds of mold spores.
I am allergic to mold, according to the allergy tests I took a few years ago.
Randy is allergic to mold, as well, if the sneezing, itchy eyes and prickly nose and tingling lips is any indication. And I think it is.
So, we have been mulching a little bit of the garden at a time. Why over-expose ourselves to mold spores when we can stretch it out over many evenings instead of getting it all done at once?
By the time I am finished with the evening's task of opening bales and spreading out the hay, my arms itch. My eyes and nose and lips itch, too. So into the house I go to wash my arms and face and neck and to take an antihistamine.
I hope the squash and cucumbers and sweet corn are worth it. I think they will be. If they don't burn up first from lack of rain. And if we can keep the raccoons from eating the sweet corn once the ears come on.
That's the thing about gardening, you know. It's never a sure thing. So many opportunities for failure: not enough rain, too much rain, not enough sun, too much sun, insects, deer, rabbits, raccoons. Planting a garden, as it turns out, ends up being an act of faith.
But a garden is worth it, in my opinion. A chance to watch plants grow. An opportunity to have a hand in growing a tiny little bit of our own food. A time to feel connected to the soil -- and to the land around us.
All those opportunities, and more -- just as long as we can survive the mulching. . .
Cheese Curd Festival -- Once again, I have a craft sale scheduled this weekend: the Cheese Curd Festival in Ellsworth, Wisconsin. I am hoping the Cheese Curd Festival will draw more people than the Arts and Crafts Fair last weekend in Amery and the Dairy Days at the beginning of June in Thorp. We shall see.
Thanks to Rural Route 2 subscriber Deanna, who sent me URLs for several articles about the economy, I am becoming more and more convinced that the poor turn-outs for events like this that have been around for years really is due to an uneasiness in the country about the state of the economy.
We don't have the double-digit inflation rates of the 1970s. But I think the problem is more insidious than that -- an inflation that has been rising slowly over the years, so that all at once, when something like high gas prices come along, people seem to realize that other costs have been rising, too. Insurance. Prescription drugs. Groceries. Medical costs. They add it all up and figure out that they are worse off than they were only two or three years ago. Or if not worse off, necessarily, depending on how you look at it -- they realize the money they do have is not going as far. And so they stay home. And they put that discretionary income they *would* have had to spend at a weekend event into their gas tanks for the coming week.
If you are interested, here is the URL to one of the articles.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Thursday, June 22, 2006, 20:34
As Still as a Mouse (Almost)
I still am in a mild state of shock.
I took Charlie into the vet clinic this morning to get his sutures out. On the ride into the vet clinic, I kept reminding Charlie that if he could sit still for a few minutes, the vet would be able to take the sutures out, and that it wouldn't take very long and then we could go home again.
Asking Charlie to sit still is like asking the sun not to rise -- or asking the wind not to blow -- or asking the oil companies to reduce gas prices back to $1.50 a gallon.
In other words, it is impossible for Charlie to sit still. He has waaaaaaaay too much energy for that.
So, when the vet hoisted Charlie up onto the exam table, I figured I would have to put everything I had into holding Charlie. And to tell you the truth, I pretty much expected that we would have to call the vet tech in -- not to mention one of the large animal vets who had come back to the office -- as well as the lady who is filling in for the regular person who usually answers the phone at the vet clinic -- plus maybe three or four people off the street.
To my complete amazement, Charlie sat there -- and barely moved a muscle.
The vet quickly and efficiently snipped off all the sutures on his shoulder, the sutures on his stomach, the sutures on the back of his leg -- and the one suture left in his ear. (Charlie has been digging at his ear and managed to remove one of the sutures himself.)
Taking the sutures out was a procedure that lasted no more than five minutes.
"Okay, Charlie," the vet said, lifting the dog down to the floor. "You're done."
"Do we have to keep him on a leash for a while yet, or can we let him run?" I asked.
"Let him run," the vet said. "I'm satisified that he's healed well enough to run around on his own."
The vet opened the exam room door.
That was the end of the peaceful interlude at the vet's office.
Charlie galloped through the door and dragged me along with him. With his feet slipping and sliding on the polished linoleum, he dragged me down the hall and into the office.
I barely had time to see that there was one other person standing in the office before Charlie dragged me to the door.
"Bye. Nice to see you. No charge for today!" the vet called out after me as Charlie dragged me into the entryway.
Once we were out on the sidewalk, Charlie dragged me to the truck and waited expectantly for me to open door. I had no more than pulled the door open, and Charlie jumped in and sat down.
I closed the truck door -- feeling as if I had just been deposited in a quiet field by a tornado raging overhead.
On shaky legs, I walked around the truck and climbed into the driver's seat.
Charlie took one look at me and started to lick my bare arm.
Now, Charlie licks the way he does everything else -- with every bit of enthusiasm and energy and strength that he can muster.
"Thank you, Charlie," I said.
Slurp -- slurp -- slurp -- slurp went Charlie's tongue on my bare arm.
"You can stop now," I said.
Slurp -- slurp -- slurp -- slurp went Charlie's tongue on my bare arm.
"If you don't stop now, I won't have any skin left on my arm," I said.
Slurp -- slurp -- slurp -- slurp went Charlie's tongue on my bare arm.
Finally Charlie figured that he had licked my arm enough. I started the truck, and we headed for home.
Once we arrived back home, I took the leash off Charlie while he was still in the truck. I was planning to get out and go around and to open the other door for Charlie -- but Charlie didn't give me a chance. As soon as my feet hit the ground, he jumped out over the driver's seat and happily cavorted around on the driveway.
Later on, I took Charlie for a walk around the hayfield. I have not walked around the hayfield in three weeks. I figured that since Charlie couldn't come with me -- and he LOVES to run around the hayfield -- that it would not be fair for me to walk out there if Charlie was tied up by the house.
Charlie thoroughly enjoyed his jaunt around the hayfield, sniffing here and there and free to go wherever he wanted.
I can't say I particularly enjoyed my jaunt around the hayfield, though.
I know we need rain, but walking around the hayfield was downright depressing. It is practically burned up out there. Everything is dry and kind of crunchy. We will be lucky to get a hundred bales off it. In a good year, the five-acre hayfield will produce 400 to 500 bales.
So -- if it doesn't rain soon, I am predicting that we will be able to cut the field one day and bale it the next. What little is out there is practically hay already while it's still standing.
But at least Charlie's sutures are out -- and things are looking up!
LeAnn R. Ralph