Archive for August, 2008

Potato and garlic harvest

Barb asked what else was growing along with the pet Romaine.  This is from the same small plot:  a hundred pounds of potatoes and almost 200 garlic bulbs. 

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Peg is proud of her root crops, and grows between 600 and 800 pounds of potatoes and perhaps 400 garlic bulbs. 

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This year, she grew Russian Bananas, red Sangria potatoes, blue potatoes, and German butterballs.  Here’s she’s toughening their skins: when they first come out of the soil, the potatoes are thin-skinned and easily scraped.  After a week of air, their skins toughen up and they can be handled without damaging them. 

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When garlic comes out of the soil, it is also thin skinned and liable to bruise.  Here the bulbs are air drying and forming their papery skin.  Peg has been refining her strain of garlic for eight years, growing each successive crop from her biggest most successful plants.  Her bulbs are beautiful, and they’re specially selected for these conditions.  I’m planning on 80 garlic plants this fall, so I bought 10 bulbs for October.  

 She said that each bulb has six to ten large cloves around the outside, and those are what you plant (you eat the small ones inside). 

Garlic and potatoes are both ancient plants.  Here is an illustrated manuscript of garlic harvesting.

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Harvesting garlic, Tacuinum sanitatis, 15th century.  (Paris, Biblioteque Nationale, Département des manuscrits, Latin 9333, folio 23.)

Since potatoes were developed in South America, their harvest art from the 1400s is less familiar

but the solemn pride that comes from bringing in the winter’s food is just the same. 

Gratuitous photos of flower beds

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There are a lot of flowers at Clearwater Farm.  Some of them are in beds,

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and some of them are in meadows.

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These flowers have that high altitude, short summer glow.

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It surely is a lovely scene, but there’s a dark underside:

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let’s just say that you can’t believe how those ladies can weed.   

Steve’s green tomatoes

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Steve grew a hoop house of heirloom tomatoes this summer.  It’s a bold move to grow tomatoes at 8200 feet, but it seemed like a good idea at the time:  he was given the greenhouse and there were a whole lot of extra tomato starts.   

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This is the hoop house on June 15, when the tomatoes were about 6 inches tall.  The skinny black tubes are the irrigation lines, and the thick black hoses going down the middle of the hoop house hold water.  The water absorbs heat during the day, and it lets the heat out at night.

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Last week, those same plants were nearly six feet tall.   There are thousands of pounds of tomatoes hanging on these plants, and local tomatoes fetch a fancy price.

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But they’re all green, and the temperature is already dropping.   It’s an agricultural nightmare. 

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He tried a propane tank and a fan.

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The red tape is a nod to studies that show red mulch increases tomato yields–he put a roll of DO NOT ENTER tape to good use.   He is now heating the water in the big tubes.  He pumps the water out of the black tubes into that white garbage can, and then he pumps it into a hose that goes outside

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where it gets a big boost of solar energy.  The water is hot when it comes back into the greenhouse, but it’s doubtful that’s enough to do the trick.  Steve ordered another roll of plastic, and with two layers of plastic over the hoops he’d have a layer of air for insulation.  That should be a big help. 

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If the soil temperature drops too low, Steve’s summer project is going to be a bust.  He’s handy, and he’s willing to try anything. 

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It’s not clear right now if Steve’s going to be the Tomato King or a tomato pauper.  But regardless of how the tomatoes come out, this guy’s a prince.   

I asked him, Is it OK if I say you’re single?

He said, Why not?  You never know …

He wasn’t talking about tomatoes, of course, but he could have been. 

Peg’s pet Romaine

I asked Peg, what’s that giant red thing in your garden? 

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It’s my pet romaine, she said.

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I’ve watched it since it was a tiny sprout,

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and I’ll save its seeds when they’re ready.

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Lettuce seeds are famously small, and I wasn’t surprised to see that the flower spikes were covered with tiny yellow insignificant blossoms.   With leaves like this, a fancy flower would really be gilding the lily. 

A new beaver dam

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Suzy took me to see a beaver dam that was built in the last few weeks.  You can see from my big dog that it’s no more than a few feet high. 

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This is a second dam downstream, and it stretches halfway across the stream.  You can see that the beavers are using stones as well as sticks in their construction.   This is a classic high altitude, snow-fed stream.  See the wall of stones on the left?  It’s about six feet high, thrown up when the water is running high during spring melt. 

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At first glance, it looks like this dam starts at this end of the stream, and ends at the other side.  Instead, it’s a small piece of a humungous engineering project.  The pond behind the dam isn’t very deep because it’s a part of a larger scheme to move water to the right. 

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The dam doesn’t end on the other side of the stream… it goes on and on and on.  Here the beaver have patted up a rim of mud to hold in the water.  Look closely and you’ll realize that this edge is weeded–that’s the only way it’d be so clearly delineated.   

 

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Farther along the same dam the mud is shored up with sticks, and it still goes on. 

In some places along the dam, the water is less than knee height.   In some places the water is nearly waist deep, and my dog has to swim. 

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This dam isn’t very high, but it is exceedingly long.  After we bushwhacked hundreds and hundreds of feet we realize this couldn’t be new construction.  The beaver are taking over a spot that had been dammed before.  And sure enough, after crossing over the newly filled pond we found an old lodge that was reoccupied.

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I bet this lodge was once surrounded by water.  Looking out from from the lodge towards the dam,

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you can see there’s a lot of newly impounded water.  The dam is all the way back at the big cottonwood tree, extending hundreds of feet to the left,  and I think to the right as well. 

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This is the meadow to the right of the photo above, with Jessie standing in 6 inches of water.   If you look closely, straight back from Jessie there’s a silvered old stump of a tree that was felled by beaver long ago. 

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There’s a new sheet of water moving across this land.  If people’d just let them build, these beaver will be making some big changes around here.  If you want to see the biological complexity of an acre increase right in front of your eyes, add a pair of beaver and step back. 

How to embarrass a teenaged boy

When I started this blog, my teenager knew that he didn’t want to be a character in it.  This seemed reasonable to me, because I wouldn’t have wanted my adolescence to be publicly chronicled either.   That’s why the only time Sam comes up in these posts is in context of yard work (and his Peru pix). 

But here’s the godawful truth:  we had three and four seventeen-year-old boys staying here for the last week, and they are so sweet, so handsomely male, so incandescently barely mature that I can’t pretend they’re not here and I can’t write about them directly, so I’m doing another yardwork post in their honor. 

I love that these boys drink two gallons of milk a day.  I love that they hoover down all the OJ.  I love that they can eat a loaf of bread between meals in less than an hour  (what a vicarious thrill!).   I love that Sam is pushing 6′2″ and was recently 2′6″.   I love that everything is new for them.  And I love the fact that if they’re carefully fed and well hydrated, they can do projects that would take me weeks to accomplish. 

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I put in this border last year, and it turns out that I made the beds too narrow. 

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Woops!  The shrubs and plants droop over the grass so it looks messy, and it’s hard to mow.  Bob grew the lawn from seed, so it’s a horrible job to widen these beds.  The problem has been obvious for a month, but all I did was tell the grass, Shoo. Those boys took care of it in two sessions.

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Here is the bed after it was widened,

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and here it is after we mulched it.

Those boys are the best

(How to embarrass a teenaged boy: bribe him with food to work, and tell everyone what he accomplished.)

 

Hatch Green Chiles

One of the signs of fall in southwest Colorado is the tang of roasting chiles in the air.   

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Hatch, New Mexico is six hours south of here, and that’s where these chile are from.  All of the chile roasters get their chiles from Hatch.  (We all grow a few chiles, but they aren’t the size of those chiles from Hatch.)

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A peck is $12, and he dumps it into the roaster. 

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People hang out for the 15 minutes their chiles take to roast. 

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He watches the chiles closely at the end, to make sure they’re done just right

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The chiles drop some of their seeds in the roasting process, so

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when they’re done, Shawn scrapes the seeds onto the ground.

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He pulls the chiles out of the drum, and

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 scrapes them into a clear plastic bag, ties it, and then ties off the black plastic bag as well.  The chiles steam in the bags, and their skins slip off. 

Why do I need a peck of chiles for the freezer? 

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Because they are so beautiful. 

A drained beaver pond

Here’s a little beaver pond that I drive by regularly.  It always looks pretty much the same to me, so my last photo there was April 18. 

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The pond was there yesterday, and today it is drained.

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The dam was breached and the beaver must be gone or they would have fixed it.  You can see from the height of the pond walls that this dam has been here for a long time, and you can see how it increased the complexity of the landscape.  The geese and herons in the April post won’t be here next year. 

I’ll come back with mudboots to scope out the broken dam, and in the meantime I have photos of big new beaver dams downstream, which I’ll post next week.

Time: Farmer’s Market, 23 hours

Friday is a big work day for people who sell at the Farmer’s Market.   It’s best to pick while it’s cool, so when I stop by at noon to take pictures Suzy already has banks of flowers and piles of produce assembled. 

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These are market flowers, cut and waiting in the shade.  

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I help for a bit, wash the kale and basil, the leeks,

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beets and cabbages, the broccoli and the radishes, and bundle them.  I’m not a fan of beets, but these are just bursting with life. 

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The next day at 11 AM, there isn’t much left. 

Time: 23 hours.

  

Apricot season

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On April 21, apricot trees throughout the valley were in bloom. 

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Four months later, they’re ready to pick.  The apricots on these old trees are tiny–they’re barely bigger than an inch–so they’re left for the birds.

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 Our neighbor’s apricot tree bears enormous fruit.  Pickers for a local jam company stripped this tree of a hundred pounds of fruit last week, and the rest were left to ripen for another week.  Judy called and said that if I wanted any more, I’d better pick them soon.

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So I did.  (Weight: 20 pounds).