Proofreading.

At last! At last! Spring has sprung. Oh, I know not to put the sweaters up yet, but who can resist the warmth? The sun? The bees and the tiny buds? The weeds.
Jackdaddy was resigned kind enough to break down the old raised beds which were not getting enough sun, reconfigure them, and help move them into a new spot. This is my last try at a spring/summer garden. If sun is not the issue, I am just going to be a fall veggie girl for good. I can do nothing more than I have done: raised beds, $400 per yard soil, $500 per yard compost, water timers, blah, blah, blah. I'm pretty sure sun is the culprit though (pleasepleaseplease). This is one of the old beds. This one was spared by a few days as it still has some yummy lettuce and broccoli in it.

Old bed carcass. Mmm, manly man leg and crowbar.

Ooo pretty, pretty! Aren't they gorgeous? Finally, something to sit on top of the mulch which is sitting on top of the cardboard which is sitting on top of a yard full of weeds which is sitting on top of a yard full of formerly dead soil.


THIS is the product of my third year of trying to grow carrots. As I was moving the soil from the old bed to the new beds, I found these tiny things. WHY can everyone else grow carrots? Why, I ask you, why? I'm going to bribe Iris from Society Garlic to come over and make mine grow like hers. If she doesn't I will pout and kvetch and whine until someone does so, watch out.


Plants from the Sunshine Garden's Plant Sale. Is that the cutest place in the world? Every time I go there I get all teary at the sweetness and beauty and earthiness of it all. Makes me love the world so ... all those babies and old people and young people trying to make the Earth a better place. Sniff.

First casualty. See the empty tomato cage? There was a tomato in there. I emphasize the word was. I don't know who got it, but my money is on a squirrel. Ratbastard. Warthog. Villain. Poopyhead.


My new herb bed. When I broke down the old veggie bed, I had this Shangri-Lah patch of yummy earth left behind so I decided to put the herbs in there. I had a bunch of branches and stones in my crap pile and they made a sweet, natural looking border for it.


Can anyone tell me what this stuff is? Is this what they call duckweed? I really like it. I let it grow wild. I have a feeling it is taking over, but I still like it...so far.

*Note* My dear neighbor, friend, and Master Gardener, Elaine says this about the mystery plant: Your mystery plant is Dichondra (don't know what species). It's a little
ground cover that reproduces by stolons. It always stays small but can make
an attractive clump in a season. It doesn't seem to be bothered by drought,
cold, a little foot traffic, or regular watering. It looks quite nice in
between paving stones. I have some growing at the corner of one of my front
beds and I like the look of it, so I refer to it as groundcover instead of a
weed. It's related to pony foot.
Thanks Ms. E!


Last, but not least, a word to the wise - proofreading is valuable in the garden as well as on the blog. Or maybe I was just feeling some love for the beautiful rocket gate that Jackdaddy made so many years ago when the dogs were babies. Keeping it close, like a Mama should.
(I think it might be hard to read...it says: KEEP GATE CLOSE)

Little Boxes Everywhere.

Isn't that just the most precious thing you've ever seen, ever? This is my favorite thing in my boy's room. I just painted his room this crazy electric baby blue color, and the "Finn Box" looks soooo amazing yup against it. When Finn was a baby he was fascinated with this box. He just loved to hold it and stare at it (and try to pry the train off it). I added that little Peter Pan/Robin Hood boy that I found at Savers because, well, who can resist a little Peter Pan all alone at a thrift store? This sweet box was just the spot for him.

Here's the view from the other side so you can see the compass. I. love. compasses. And the maps as the background! How perfect is that for a curious boy? I tried to make one of these boxes because I love them so, and mine looked like an angry 4-year-old had designed it. It was all wrong. How does she do it?

And this one! I do not think that anyone has ever come into my home without stopping to look at this piece and ask about it. Who would ever think to put a tiny, red fox underground like that? I mean, would you ever think of that? And a chandelier? A fox and a chandelier! I have always called this piece, "The Fantastic Mr. Fox Box." Being a Roald Dahl fanatic and all, you know.
These delicious pieces of art are made by my delicious friend Lynell. She has a new blog called 365making, and it is sooooo cool. I just drool over every little thing she creates. She recently RETIRED and the art is flowing, lemme tell ya. She also has a dreamy house that she is decorating to the nines (as she always does cuz she has the best taste) and she'll show you some of that too.
I can't type too much today because my hands are still throbbing from sawing all weekend. (ME, sawing!) Gardening uses muscles I never even knew existed.
If I just had a new little box, I'm sure I would feel better pronto. Or maybe a new shirt with a bird on it. I know that would help my poor hands. (Hint, hint and hee, hee.)

Moo.

I just gotta tell y'all how much I am LOVING being in a milk coop. I love, love, love knowing that the cows are treated humanely, that I'm supporting a small farm, that these people really care about my health and the health of their animals, but mostly, mostly I like being smug as hell about being in a coop. HAHAHA. Isn't that just naughty as all get out? I'm being silly, but honestly, it's a teensy bit true. I was a vegetarian off and on for years. I've been unvegetarian for several years now, but I've never stopped wanting to go back. (Sometimes it takes me years to do stuff, what can I say?) Anyway, I had a sort of, oh, awakening while we were in Australia. Not that it's the land of vegetarians or anything, quite the opposite, but just that I had 5 weeks of living outside with the natural world and it helped me tap into some stuff that had been dormant for awhile. You know what I mean? I won't freak you out with talk of spiritual things, but I came home wanting to be healthier. (Nothing more "spiritual" than turning 47 and being surrounded day and night by Australian beach bodies.) So, one of the things I did when I got home was read some books to get me good and horrified into vegetarianism again. I also got on the bandwagon and found a place to buy milk and cheese from folks running a small dairy who treat their animals humanely. FinnigantheCurious and I head out every other Friday to Green Gate Farms to pick up our goods. The dairy stash comes from Shulenberg, TX. then they deliver to Green Gate and we pick up there. Dude, that is the cutest place in the world. Picture Boggy Creek Farms on acid. Well, on mushrooms, let's say, since we're talking natural and all. They've got it all...dogs and kids and pigs and chikkins and guinea hens and really cute volunteer boys (not that I'm looking or anything) and the sweetest yellow farmhouse you ever did see. I just love to go out there and pretend like I'm all into it. I am into it, of course, but I would not make a good farm girl at all. I am way, way too lazy for that, but I love to pretend like I'm all farm girl and stuff when I'm there. I can talk nutrition and modern food production and slow food and fast food with the best of 'em, but I am talker and a consumer, not a doer. I'm just soooo glad there are people out there doing it. Bless every one of 'em up and down from here to eternity.
Can I just say one more thing? Eggs. The eggs. My god, the eggs are so good. I buy farm eggs at the farmer's market and I have friend here and there who front me some, but the eggs from Green Gate are sooooo good. I won't tell you how much they cost, but they're worth it and that's how much they should cost, you know? My mama, who, as you know, lives in the country, gets farm eggs for like a dollar or some crazy shit like that. Sigh. There are pluses and minuses to city living. I harp on the pluses, but I'd like farm eggs for a buck.
Here's my mama's funny chikkin story which came in response to my Cry Fowl post. So...I grew up in the country. We had the best house in the world and it was situated right on the Pine Island Bayou, across the bayou from The Big Thicket forest, and at the end of a mileish long dirt road. It was the perfect road to dump animals on and we always had a yard full of dumped dogs and cats living with us. My mama was a softie back then and she would feed them all (she's gotten over that somewhat these days). She can't remember what dog it was, but one of them went down to the neighbors house and ate some chickens. The lady called mama and told her that our dog had eaten some of her chickens and that mama needed to come pay for them. Mama said that she'd be happy to, but that since she was buying them, she wanted the damn things and she wanted them delivered. Mrs. Bruno (who is long gone by now, I'm sure) got so mad she just hung up the phone and never mentioned it again. My mama...what a hoot. Her position was that it's the country...dogs eat chikkins and if you end up having to buy some, you'd better get to eat them.
PS Like my cool new water bottle? Milk jug.

Cry fowl.

Man, I really want chikkins. (I love to spell it like that, not sure why, but I do.) I've wanted them forever and I think the chikkin set-up is pretty high on the list for spring, but you never know what else might come up.
You know who else really wants chikkins? This guy - Angus:

You know who really, really wants chikkins? This gal - Luna:

Here's my funny as hell chikkin story. So...we have dear friends who live in Hutto. They have chikkins. Well, I should say, she has chikkins. He ended up a farm boy by default because he loves her and she is a farm girl (via Connecticut, via Colorado). She moved to Texas for him and so he bought a ranchette with her. Anyhoo, one day we were out there, FinnigantheCurious and I, and her ladies were running around, as always, when I noticed Luna was missing. Sigh. Lots of feathers later, we realized that one of her chikkins had been murdered by my lovely girl who was just doing what dogs do. My friend, ever, ever the nicest person in the world, and a dog-lover in her own right, was gracious and forgiving.
A few days later I send Jackdaddy to the feed store to buy them some chicks to replace the one Luna ate. Jack called 'em up and said that he was on his way out. My girlfriend was not home at the time, but her man was there and he was quite excited that Jack was bringing chikkins. Well, um, seems that when Jack gets there, the man is quite disappointed to learn that Jack has brought live chikkins. All this time he's thinking Jackdaddy is bringing dinner...in the form of fried chikkin...as an apology for the death of the live chikkin. Turns out the man is wishing the whole chikkin-keeping thing would just disappear so he won't have to deal with it anymore ... him not being a farm boy and all. He's all worked up and ready for some hot dinner and all he gets is more damn chicks to deal with.
That's my hilarious chikkin story.
So...I have to dog-proof the chikkin area and design my coop (cuz I want a bitchin' cool coop with a green roof) and then we'll get some ladies. La la la. I'm going to name them all after my mama's friends who have passed (in Texas this is how we say someone has died). There will be a Margie Ann, a Mary Davis, a Lynell, a Jo Ellen and a Shirley. They were fine ladies in real life and I know my chikkins will live up to their namesakes. " God willin' and the creek don't rise," I'll be showing y'all some pics of them sooner than later, taters. The chikkins, that is. Oh, well, maybe the namesakes too now that I think of it!

The *%&$^# Uglies.

My yard is so *%&$(# ugly right now that I think I'm gonna freak out.
I barely had any garden due to all the building and hammering and painting and pouring of cement we had to do, and now all that little bit is dead damn frozen or brown and stiff or the dogs dug it up while we were in Australia or blah, blah, blah, whine, whine, whine, dammit. This gardening thing is hard sometimes. I mean, my yard just looks so ugly; there's green stuff growing everywhere after I spent a year digging it all out; an ugly tree finally died and now it looks uglier; the pond filter crapped out and the pond is full of leaves and sludge; the big, bad-ass agave is all frostbitten and there are leaves EVERYWHERE.
*%&$^#@*&!

The last of the garden, dug up by the dogs, waylaid by freeze.


The dead tree, looking really dead. Jackdaddy's beautiful new carport, looking beautiful.


Poor baby.


I dug and dug and dug this area out, covered it with cardboard, smothered that with leaves and still...STILL it lives.

Here's how 1/2 of my backyard looks. Add to this some piles of dog poop, mounds of leaves, 47 ugly plastic toys, etc., etc.

Esperanza...will she return? Is there hope? (I couldn't resist.)


But look who hung in there! My sweet little Jerusalem Sage that I love. I really, really love this plant for some reason. Reminds me of a Dr. Seuss plant when it's in full bloom.

Anyway, I'm feeling soooo grouchy about my yard. I just want to rip it all out and bulldoze. I won't though. I'll get out there and purge and clean and plant and dream...as always.
How about you? You hanging in there?

Happy Birthday...

to the most wonderful, beautiful, amazing, witty, wise, clever, kind, generous, invincible mama in the whole wide world. My mama...she is my everything. Happy Birthday, mama. I love you more than words could ever convey. Not a day goes by that I don't thank my lucky stars that we chose each other. Here's to many, many, many more.

Little Mary Sunshine and Suzy Homemaker.

LOOK! I got nominated for a Sunshine Award from Fits and Starts. Thank you ever so much! I can't tell you how fun it is to know that someone (anyone) is reading my blog, much less liking it. I am just sooo thrilled to get the award, but also to have found her blog which is really, really great. I had no idea you could get free Christmas tree mulch at Zilker park! You know me and free...I'll be there next year. So, thank you, thank you, thank you ... I feel like Little Mary Sunshine indeed!

Speaking of Miss Mary, I am also claiming the Suzy Homemaker title today because last night....drum roll, please...we made homemade pasta! Have you ever done this? SO easy. I mean, really, really easy.

One of my favorite blogs is soulemama. The other day she was talking about making pasta and it got me thinking I could too. Now, this is a woman who makes her own bread dailyish, homeschools 4 children, sews and knits the most beautiful things in the world, writes books, has an uber-popular blog, grows her own food, and lord knows what else. I'm under no illusion that her claiming something is easy to make, makes it so. In fact, half the time I don't even know what the hell she's talking about what with patterns and knitspeak and canning bruhaha. I don't need to understand what the hell someone is talking about to appreciate what they're saying...you know what I mean? I'm clever like that.
I look up recipes on the Internet all the time and most of them claim to be easy. Like bread recipes. It seems that everyone who posts a bread recipe claims that it is SO easy. Then I make it and 47 hours later I end up pulling an inedible brick of terracotta out of the oven. This has happened more than once, I'm afraid to say. So, it was with great trepidation that I decided to try making pasta. I felt more confident because Jackdaddy was on hand to give me support (he is a helluva good kneader/roller) in case things went south. I'll be damned if it didn't turn out just DELICIOUS!

It was so yummy we just put some good olive oil on it, added a dash of salt and some lemon juice. Girl, girl, girl! Finn had some little friends over and fortunately they did not like theirs. Jack and I are not ones to waste food so we took it upon ourselves to eat both their bowls too. At some point I added some pesto just to shake things (like my rapidly expanding ass) up a bit. Poor Jackdaddy and I were forced to split a bottle of wine too. We wouldn't want to eat all that pasta without having a little sumpin' to aid the digestion.
Here's the recipe I used: Homemade Pasta. Try it! I know you can do it. I also think if you are any kind of friend at all, you will eat at least 3 bowls and drink a bottle of wine as a show of solidarity to me (and my arse).