Category: Sustainable living

Jewel weed


This jewel weed grows along the roadside downhill from me, in an area where my small stream passes through a culvert under the road.

In the previous post, I mentioned jewel weed as a plant that might grow well in the dark, moist area under my deck. As luck would have it, there is a stand of jewel weed along a branch downhill from me, so I can steal some seeds down there.

The native wild jewel weed grows in the shady undergrowth along small streams. It has dangling, horn-shaped flowers. In the fall, it forms elongated seed pods. When the pods are ripe, taut fibers along the seed pod are like springs. If you touch a ripe pod, it will explode with a surprising amount of force and fling seeds as far as 10 feet. It’s a magical little plant, even without the seed bombs.

Michael’s suggestion was that I gather some jewel weed plants when the pods are ripe and lay the plants under the deck. When the pods explode, they’ll seed the area under the deck.

A major shift in the weather

I wasn’t expecting rain today, but I heard thunder around 5:30 p.m. and discovered that a good-size storm was bearing down on me, moving out of Virginia headed north to south (not the typical summertime pattern). It left a bit more than an inch of rain.

Not only that, but the 14-day forecast shows the entire eastern seaboard down for below-normal temperatures and above-normal precipitation. If that forecast holds true, then this miserable summer is over. The abbey will soon be green and lush again. I already feel myself transforming back into a human being from the snarling ogre I was during the summer.

By the way, I had a visit this week from Michael, who was Stokes County’s agricultural extension agent for the past five years until he resigned a month ago to work for himself. One of the things he’s now doing is consulting with organic farmers and gardeners like me. I was almost ashamed to have him here while the abbey grounds are looking so parched, but Michael saw right past all that — he lives only a few miles away and deals with the same weather patterns that I’m dealing with. The work that Ken and I have done here (thank you, Ken, wherever you are) got all kinds of gold stars from Michael (especially for the lawn, the orchard, the vegetable garden, the wildflower patches, and the animal habitat), and his message basically was keep up the good work. He did have some great ideas, though, and he solved some of my problems. Such as:

Q. Why did my blueberries die? A. Soil pH. Blueberries like a more acid soil and won’t do well in my orchard area, where I keep the soil well limed for the apple trees.

Q. Why did my fig trees die? A. Replant in an area with morning sun and more water. We picked a spot.

Q. Why did my dogwood die? A. It’s difficult to get dogwoods started under full sun without lots of babying for several years. Replant dogwoods in an area with less sun.

Q. Will anything grow in the darkness under my north-facing deck? A. Jewel weed! This is one of the most magical plants in the world. I’ll post later about jewel weed, with a photo.

Q. What’s the best way to solve my irrigation problem? A. Do some shoveling and enlarge an already-existing pool in my branch which just happens to be at the point where the branch is closest to the garden. Buy a low-cost pump from Harbor Freight. Buy flexible irrigation tubing to run up the hill to the garden and hook it to a soaker system. This will be a winter project.

Q. Can I grow pawpaw trees along my branch? A. Probably not, unless I’m willing to clear some trees over the branch to provide a little more dappled light. Though pawpaw trees might grow by my branch in the existing low light level, they probably would not bear fruit.

Michael also had some excellent ideas, such as planting muscadines on the upper side of the garden fence and raspberries on the woods side of the fence. Both will climb the fence without need for strapping. The other two sides of the fence already have roses, which are growing slowly, but Michael assured me that they would eventually cover the fence. He’s also going to help me find and plant a new shade tree for the south side of the house. I want a shade tree that’s as big as I can find, so that I’ll see some shade in my lifetime.

I doubt that a non-commercial type like me could get this much attention from a county agricultural extension agent, because they’re very busy. So I’m lucky that he’s now working for himself. But that’s something for everyone to keep in mind. I believe that just about every rural county in America has an agricultural extension agent. Expert help is a very good thing. And I’ve learned enough from my experience, and from reading, that I can well understand what a professional horticulturalist has to say.

Climate Prediction Center. These forecasts are updated every day. Your tax dollars at work. What would we do without a strong weather service, information to which every American is entitled, for free? “Entitled” is a beautiful word.

What hurricane?


Miracle peppers. Do they have deep roots or something?

One would think that a major hurricane traveling along the North Carolina coastline would bring more rain to inland North Carolina. I am about 225 miles from the coast. My forecast shows a chance of rain of only 20 percent as the hurricane passes by tomorrow (Saturday).

A thunderstorm last night left .4 inch of rain, the only rain I’ve had in almost two weeks. This summer has proved to be more wretchedly dry than last summer, which was bad enough. In any case, last night’s rain will help things survive a few more days.

It surprised me, but the peppers took the hot, dry weather better than anything else in the garden. I have no idea why. I left the peppers standing when I pulled up all the dead stalks from the summer garden. I’ve also watered the pepper plants a bit during the last four or five days, because they had some blooms and they clearly they wanted to produce another round of peppers.

Surveying the battlefield


A pathetic sunflower. My flock of finches moved on. I don’t blame them. There wasn’t much for them to eat after the heat wiped out the annuals.

The brutal, killing weather of summer makes me clinically insane. I can’t explain this, though other gardeners might understand. The most I can manage is to stay indoors, cooled by a system powered by the burning of strip-mined Appalachian coal, and read, or practice new organ pieces. It’s not safe to be around me, because I get all snarly, constantly angry. I’m probably a danger to myself and others. I have been completely unsuccessful at finding an attitude from which I can remain philosophically detached from the misery and destruction that surrounds me. That’s why I’ve posted very little lately. I’m just trying to survive the summer, and no one should be subjected to what goes through my mind. I can accept the heat. That’s inevitable. But it ought to rain, and instead the rain perversely stops when the heat is at its worst.

There was a book in the 1970s that popularized the idea that plants can scream. I believe it. These past two months, I have been in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by the screams of the dead and dying. I will generally water new perennials during their first year, especially if I was foolish enough to set them out in the spring. But if a plant isn’t hardy enough to survive its second summer, then I have to let it go. I worry constantly about my young fruit trees, planted in 2008. Luckily, they have survived, though they’ve grown very little, or not at all, since May. Starting an orchard is hard, risky work. Those who are lucky enough to have an established orchard are lucky indeed.

We’ve had a break in the weather, and finally I bucked up and found the fortitude to go outside and survey the damage. Half the grass is brown, but recovering. The annual flowers are baked to a crisp. The roses look pathetic. I lost a dogwood tree. The garden is gone except for a few scrawny tomatoes and peppers. I’ll probably lose a small arbor vitae that was planted this spring. Some of the native species have been miserably stressed, but they’ll make it fine. The bigger arbor vitaes that I planted in 2008 have flourished and must have deep roots. During the hot, dry weather of late summer, leaves on the native poplar trees start to turn yellow and drop, but that’s probably normal for poplars, because it seems to happen every year. The grapes handled the hot weather amazingly well. That’s probably because they’re native grapes — muscadine and scuppernong.

The forecast is for a few days of unusually cool weather. It’s not quite noon, and it’s only 74 degrees outside. I’ve had 1.6 inches of rain during the last two days, and there’s a good chance of more rain today and tonight. Most of the screaming outside has stopped, and instead I hear sighs of relief, and quiet weeping for the fallen. I even saw two little frogs frolicking in the rain last night when I went out to shut up the chickens. Where those poor frogs went during that long, hot, dry spell is a total mystery to me.

Here are some photos of the survivors. I’ll spare you photos of the corpses of the dead.


Muscadine grapes, very much holding their own


One of the last tomatoes


The last pumpkin, attacked by the last squash bugs. By the way, I had very little problem with squash bugs this year. I scratched their eggs off the squash leaves every couple of days and squished the adults bugs when I found them. They’re pretty easy to control that way.


Shabby black-eyed Susans


A wild persimmon, of which I’ll have a bumper crop


The poplars grow fiercely during a wet spring, but they hate the hot, dry weather of late summer.


I don’t know what this is. It’s growing right beside the chicken house. No doubt its seed came in with some chicken straw.


Poke is a very hardy native species. I never cut it down, even in the yard.

A raccoon did it, I believe


A hollowed-out watermelon

Of all the varmints around here, it’s now the raccoon, I think, that does the most harm. Before the fence was installed last year, it was the deer that did the most damage. But now, with most of the high-value stuff inside the fence, the deer can’t wipe me out. But the raccoons know all sorts of tricks.

I’m pretty sure it was a raccoon that killed my young chickens. Most of my watermelons have been destroyed (I had only a small crop of watermelons), and it appears to be raccoons’ work. Only raccoons, I think, would have the dexterity to open a watermelon and scoop out the goody. Luckily, I had harvested most of the corn, but the raccoons got the rest. They pulled the stalks to ground, then ripped the ears off the stalks.

I can certainly see why the old-timers had a zero-tolerance policy toward thievin’ varmints. I can’t let the raccoons get away with this next year. Maybe a bit of electric fence would teach them a lesson.

The miracle of rain

Four days ago, .4 inch of rain fell. The day after that, there was another .4 inch. That was enough rain to greatly revive the garden. Tomatoes ripened on the vine that otherwise would have rotted on the vine. The corn freshened. The pumpkins and melons resumed their growth. There may even be more peppers if the rain continues.

I’ll probably scald the tomatoes to remove the skins, then freeze them. As for the pumpkin, I couldn’t possibly eat a whole pumpkin pie. Even though it’s a shame not to use the pumpkin fresh, I’ll probably cook it and freeze it and use it later when I have company. I have at least two more pumpkins that I left on the vine, plus a couple of watermelons and canteloupes. I planted only two watermelon plants and two canteloupe plants, as an experiment. They’ve done amazingly well, so next year I’ll plant more than two.

Book review: Sovereign's Son


Don’t judge the book by its cheesy cover!

In the old model of publishing that is now dying, it’s tragic to think about how many books never got published. Deserving authors simply couldn’t get the attention of agents and publishers. They weren’t deemed worth the financial risk. In the old model, only so many books could be published, and at least some of them had to have big sales. In the new model of publishing, in which anyone can cheaply self publish, it was inevitable that many authors would release their books into the wild just so that they would be read, not caring whether the book ever made money.

That seems to be the case with Sovereign’s Son, by Brad Dalton, which was released in March 2011 and is available free in many digital formats. To my knowledge, there is no print version of this book. It is available only in digital formats. I got my copy from iTunes. I was intrigued to find a dystopian science fiction novel that was not only free, but also from an author with the same last name as mine. I believe he’s also a Southerner who lives in Virginia. I’ve been making a survey of dystopian novels — old and new — so of course I had to check this one out when I came across it on iTunes. The book is full of typos, as though it was never edited. But I was hooked right from the start, and I kept reading. It was such a hot read that I finished the book in two days.

The story takes place in a world that has been seriously screwed up by war, climate change, nuclear accidents, and a shift in the earth’s poles. Most of the population of the earth has died. And not only that, but aliens from elsewhere in the galaxy have arrived and set up a base in the mountains of California. The story gets off to a ripping good start when a 19-year-old boy is awakened by his mother in the middle of the night and told that he must leave home immediately and run for his life. The plot is beautifully constructed, and we even have strong characterization and character development, often missing in science fiction. The author also reveals himself to be one of those people — like John Twelve Hawks, who I have written about in the past — who is able to see through the fog of distortion and propaganda and grasp the essence of what is really going on in the world today. I believe that is largely what motivates people like Brad Dalton and John Twelve Hawks. They want to wake people up to what is all too likely to happen if we don’t come to our senses, if it’s not too late.

In a strange way, I have to say that I find dystopian novels comforting. This is because I feel less alone and less isolated in rejecting the false picture of the world that is constantly reinforced by the corporate media and all the other water carriers for the elites who hold almost all the power and all the money. It is comforting to know that other people get it and that they are as alarmed as I am about where it all appears to be leading. It’s shocking, though, how our culture can absorb the insights of brilliant writers, and yet nothing changes. The insights of Orwell’s 1984 and his warnings about power and propaganda have been part of our culture for decades, and yet no one calls out Fox News (for example … there are many other forms of propaganda) or sees it for what it is. Tolkien’s warnings about industrialization and the crushing of fragile local cultures by centralization and homogenization likewise are part of our culture. And yet nothing has held back industrialization and centralization.

In any case, the messages contained within a novel are secondary. What matters is that a good novel is a good read. I couldn’t put this one down.

Note to Brad Dalton: If you happen to Google across this, I’d appreciate it if you could drop me an email. I couldn’t find contact information for sending you a note.

Update: I’m glad to have been able to bring some much-deserved attention to this book. A Google search for the title and author now brings up this review as the first listing.

2011 garden, R.I.P.


Pumpkin vines in 99-degree heat

I haven’t posted lately because I’ve constantly been in a foul and angry mood. I’m afraid my mood is not going to get any better until it rains and the weather turns cooler. And of course it’s not just me made miserable by the weather. This heat wave is affecting something like two-thirds of the country. Thousands and thousands of acres of crops and growing things are being scorched.

Every summer has been like this since I moved here from California in 2008. I’ve been going over the nearest local data from the National Weather Service. In June, July and August, daily high temperatures have been substantially above normal almost 75 percent of the time. I don’t even know how normal is defined anymore, since we’re almost always above normal. Scorching summers are the new normal. That’s clear.

With a practical, data-hungry and reality-modeling mind like mine, what can I make of this? For one, I’ve had to consider the possibility that I simply bought land in the wrong place. I was years behind the curve in understanding just how much the climate has changed. I’ve realized that, not only am I not living in the North Carolina of my childhood, I’m not even living in the North Carolina that I left when I moved to California 20 years ago. This land, which fed generations of people including my ancestors, is now no longer capable of supporting a summer garden without irrigation. I can’t explain how awful it is to face that fact. Sir Walter Raleigh’s men, surveying inland North Carolina in 1585, called it “the goodliest soile under the cope of heaven.” Now it would be dangerous to live here (as in most places) without the cheap energy that makes modern agriculture and long-distance food-hauling possible. If people were smart enough to understand this and let it sink in, I’m sure they would panic. Most people assume that the grocery stores will always be there for them, and that food will always be cheap. My practical, data-hungry, reality-modeling mind knows better than that.

But where could one go where a tiny farm can still operate the way they used to operate? I took a trip last week up to the mountains, westward toward the Tennessee line, where temperatures are lower and there is a bit more summer rainfall. The altitude varies from about 2,400 to 3,500 feet. They do indeed have thriving gardens and beautiful fields of cabbage up there. But to move now is not practical for me, and there are many downsides. There are even some compensations. For example, the growing season is longer here. Less energy is required to get through winter. And the hillbilly culture in those places makes Stokes County seem sophisticated. No, I’ve got to rethink some things and make some changes at Acorn Abbey.

As part of that thinking process, I read Bill McKibben’s book Eaarth, hoping that the book might contain some specific, practical ideas for adapting. But I was disappointed. This is not necessarily a criticism of the book, because the book does make it quite clear that there is no single answer and no single strategy for adaptation. As we relocalize and adapt to climate change, we must each relocalize according to our own locations, our local resources and our local problems.

Before I made the decision to move back to North Carolina, I did check the climate models for this area. They showed (and still show) a slight increase of 2 to 3 inches in annual rainfall, in addition to higher temperatures. But what I failed to understand is that water evaporates from the soil much more quickly in high heat. The equations for water loss from the soil are differential equations that look as complicated as the equations for launching a spacecraft toward Mars. I don’t understand the equations, but one thing has become obvious: The soil dries up much more quickly in a run of 98-degree weather than in a run of 88-degree weather. It’s that fact more than any other that has made the summer garden so difficult. I think that’s why people in the mountains north and west of here can still garden in the summer. It’s cooler there, just as it used to be cooler here.

One thing that’s clear is that, next year, I must irrigate. As I’ve said before, I am opposed on principle to irrigating with well water. Well water is simply too precious to be pumped out and used for irrigation. That’s what rain is for. My steep roof is not suited to gutters. Snow avalanches would rip the gutters off. The most practical plan I can come up with is to buy one of those 275-gallon tanks in aluminum frames that are used for shipping industrial liquids. They sell for $100 or less. I’ll buy a gasoline powered water pump from Harbor Freight, about $150. The tank will fit on my utility trailer, and, using the Jeep, I can take the tank down to the stream and fill it up. Then I can park the tank and trailer above the garden and attach a hose to drip-type fixtures in the garden. I also plan to get a local grading guy over and see if there’s a spot where I could make a very small pond. However, I don’t think that’s likely to work.

In any case, this year’s garden is now in salvage mode. The tomato crop, which should have been extensive with more than 30 tomato plants, was very poor. The plants were constantly water stressed, which led to bottom rot. I got small, tasteless tomatoes instead of plump, juicy ones. The tomatoes were simply starved for water and for the nutrients that come up from the roots with the water. The squash dried up and died almost two weeks ago. The peppers barely produced. The corn did fairly well. I had some decent green beans. The cucumber crop was excellent. I may get a couple of pumpkins and one or two watermelons and canteloupes if there’s any rain within the next few days. I’ll have to say this, though. Even with the miserable, dry weather, I don’t think I’ve spent more than $15 on produce in the last three months — some garlic, two or three avocados, a couple of canteloupes. The garden has fed me well and saved me money. But there was not nearly enough of anything to freeze or can.

For those of you who may be reading this blog because you’re planning projects similar to my Acorn Abbey project, I’d urge you to put a lot of thought into your sources of water. It also takes a few years to get your gardening skill — and your soil — up to speed. Even if one had enough land and enough help, I think it would take years to learn what one needs to know to truly become self-supporting. But every little bit helps.

My new dog substitute?


I’m not ashamed to say that all that overgrowth is in my front yard.

I was reading near the upstairs window with Lily curled up beside me when I saw that Lily had her eye on something out the window. She has stopped growling at the fox now. She just watches it, alert. Clearly the fox feels very much at home in the yard, and for some reason I’m seeing it more often in broad daylight. It lies in the sun. It moves to the shade and lies in the shade for a while. It yawns. It stretches. It patrols for voles. It’s just like having a little dog in the yard.

I rarely get an opportunity to photograph the fox, and something always seems to go wrong. This time not only did I have to change to the telephoto lens, the camera’s battery was dead and I had to snap in a fresh one. I was too afraid to miss a shot to fiddle with the adjustments. These photos were taken with too narrow an aperture, which forced a slow lens, which led to some blurring.

I’ve had no further incidents with the fox and chickens. I’m hoping the fox is eating enough voles to not get too hungry for chicken.

It’s nice having a dog — I mean a fox — in the yard. I don’t even have to feed it, and, unlike Lily, it’s not always demanding attention.

Climate change, under our noses


Temperature data for Greensboro, NC, June 2011

If the American people were rational, rather than cracked up on right-wing propaganda, they would suspect that the same people who are lying to them about climate change also are lying to them about other things. But there is something about right-wing minds that makes it easy to deny what is right in front of their noses if it conflicts with some belief or prejudice.

Just over a week ago, NOAA released new 30-year temperature normals, revising average U.S. temperatures up by .5 degree F. These 30-year averages are kept lower by data that is up to 30 years old, of course. We’re actually, on average, even warmer than that now. “The climate of the 2000s is about 1.5 degree F warmer than the 1970s,” NOAA’s director of climate data said. We’re not talking about models, or predictions. This is official observation data.

The chart at the top of this post shows temperatures for June 2011 in Greensboro, NC. That’s the station closest to me with official weather data. If you do some scouting on the NOAA web site, you’ll be able to find similar data for your state.

There were those who thought I was just being subjective — and just plain wrong — about this summer’s weather being much hotter than when I was a boy. But look what the chart above shows. There were 24 days in June when the temperature was above normal — often far above normal. There were 12 days when the temperature went above 95. There were only three days during the entire month of June when the high temperature was in the normal range. There were only five nights in June when the temperature went below normal, and only slightly below normal at that. So far for July, every single day the temperature has been above normal.

Not only is this miserable, it is making dry weather and droughts much more dangerous to crops and other growing things. A drought with normal temperatures is one thing. A drought when temperatures are running 10 degrees above normal is deadly.

Anyone who is not terrified by this is in a state of denial. This changes everything, for ourselves and for our children.

And we’re doing nothing about it, because of greed, denial, and the right-wing mind.