Of Peas And Inner Peace

Posted on July 12, 2021 by Ann Lovejoy
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Tasty and beautiful garden bounty

Snappy Summer Salads That Celebrate Peas

As I harvest my peas, I often think about a friend who died some years ago. Dave Ullin was a big man in every sense of the word, large in stature, huge in spirit and enormous in kindness. If you didn’t know Dave, a timid person might have crossed the road to avoid passing him on the sidewalk; his hulking form, shaved-bald head, worn canvas overalls and giant tool bag added up to a formidable looking whole. Yet stop and speak to him and his face split into an engagingly sweet smile. His manner was unfailingly courteous, his voice always low and gentle. He seemed like Paul Bunyon’s brother, a man out of time, not least because he spent a lot of time helping people fix things with the traditional tools stowed in that old fashioned canvas tool bag. Dave treated everyone with respect, young or old or in between: Not many people would take the time to make a small adze or wood plane for a curious child who wanted to try woodworking the old way, but Dave did such things often, freely sharing his skills and knowledge with anyone who showed up.

Over the years, Dave Ullin helped with many community projects at schools and in island parks. He helped a team of volunteers rebuild an old settler’s cabin using traditional techniques, demonstrating to an awestruck crowd how to cut down towering firs with an axe and a cross-cut saw, then hauling away the trunks with the help of his friend Betsey’s enormous draft horses. If his great size and strength made him seem dangerous, he was absolutely a man of peace. He talked often about how much more peaceful the world would be if we could slow down and take pleasure in simple, purposeful work. Dave enjoyed teaching others how to mend clothes and tools, something he did often, as he was a firm believer in the old adage; “use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.” He preferred to do whatever work came to hand rather than anything that might seem frivolous, but did enjoy both practical and philosophical conversations about many things, from gardening and mending socks to defending personal freedoms and making sure no one was ever left out in anything he was involved with.

Meet The Man

Here’s a short video of this remarkable man at work and at rest. Take five minutes to watch it and I’m guessing your day will have a new savor:

One With The Work
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QK0U3oxya84

Of Peace And Peas

I remember Dave when I harvest peas because his jam-packed memorial service featured not just stories and music but a big burlap sack of local snap peas, plump and sweet. Handfuls of peas were passed around the room as people gathered to remember or learn more about this unforgettable man. Now that I’m gardening in the community garden he helped create, I think often about Dave and his love for growing things and especially for fresh vegetables. Is there anything more delicious than fresh peas, straight off the bush? Crisp and tender, earthy and sweet, raw peas are a favorite nosh for my grandkids too, and when we pick peas, we eat as many as make it into our harvest bags.

Growing, harvesting, and eating fresh food all seem equally joyful to me. I often think of Dave and how simple, practical, daily work was so satisfying for him. In the community garden, I see other people peacefully puttering, weeding and watering, harvesting and amending soil, planting fall starts or another crop of greens. Many of them say that gardening kept them sane during the pandemic shutdown. For me, gardening has kept me grounded and given me more peace than anything else in my life. And more peas, too. What’s not to love? I think Dave Ullin was living the true Beautiful Life, one of service and kindness, generosity and humble abundance, sharing his skills and knowledge and nurturing community wherever he found himself. Like Dave, I find worthy work deeply satisfying and his life is a model I strive to emulate in my own bumbling way every day. Onward, right?

About Those Peas

Fresh sugar pod peas are too delicious to waste in cooked dishes, but simple, summery salads help celebrate each ingredient. The diagonal cut lets ingredients mingle especially well.

Raspberry Sugar Snap Salad

1 cup sugar snap pea pods
1 teaspoon fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon maple syrup
pinch of sea salt
2 green onions, thinly sliced on the diagonal
1 cup raspberries
1/4 cup basil, finely chopped
2 cups ribbon-sliced Romaine lettuce (chiffonade)

Top and tail intact pea pods, pull off the strings and slice in half-inch diagonals, set aside. In a serving bowl, whisk together the lime juice, maple syrup and salt. Adjust to taste, add remaining ingredients (including peas) and toss gently to coat. Serve immediately. Serves at least one.

Terrifically Tart

Tart pie cherries, fresh ginger root, and cilantro or parsley give pod peas even more snap. Raw cabbage adds to the crunch factor, though a few minutes rest in the dressing pre- “cooks” it a bit.

Pod Pea & Tart Cherry Salad

2 cups (about 16) snap peas in the pod
1 cup chopped pitted tart cherries (or any kind)
1 cup very thinly sliced red cabbage
1/4 cup finely chopped Walla Walla Sweet onion
1/4 cup stemmed cilantro OR parsley
1-2 teaspoons grated ginger root
1-2 teaspoons seasoned rice vinegar

Top and tail intact pea pods, pull off the strings and slice thinly on the diagonal. In a serving bowl, gently toss peas with remaining ingredients, adjust ginger and vinegar to taste and let stand for 10 minutes before serving. Best at room temperature. Serves at least one.

 

Posted in Health & Wellbeing, Recipes, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living, Vegan Recipes | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Freedom From Fear

Posted on July 5, 2021 by Ann Lovejoy
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Soothing, scented roses help us relax

Seeing Our Way

While I truly love my country, I really don’t enjoy the Fourth of July. Last night, as fireworks exploded all around the island, our cats cowered and cried in terror, along with millions of other critters, domestic and wild, all around the country. Veterinarians, veterans, and recent immigrants also dread the annual barrage, which triggers PTSD in those for whom big booms awaken fear and represent destruction, death, damage and endless loss. I woke up this morning to swirling fog, heavy with the smell of smoke from regional wildfires. Like last week’s heatwave, the stench of burning forests leaves me feeling sick and sad. Oh, and scared. Still scared: When the heat hit like a hammer, many of us found ourselves reacting with fear, as if to a fresh trauma, which in a way it was.

Unprecedented high temperatures are traumatic and terrifying because such heat is one more thing we have no control over. It can be life threatening for people who live in urban settings, in small apartments or homes that lack air conditioning, or for everyone when power goes out. Such heat is a harbinger of worse climate changes in the wings. Fortunately, heatwaves in the maritime PNW are far and few between. Or they were. Recent decades have seen a steady increase in the number and intensity of heatwaves, along with a steady reduction in rainfall. Drought has triggered a legion of woes for our native plants as well as people, and when plants suffer, so do birds, bees, bears and other wildlife. The past few years have felt like a blur of continual assaults on the natural world and on people. The inexcusable lack of effective leadership during the pandemic created even more trauma for millions of people in our country and billions worldwide. After all that, BOOM isn’t what I want to focus on.

Keeping Track Of Hope


What I do want is to find and appreciate ways in which our beleaguered country is improving. Fortunately, I’m finding them every day, in my family, in my neighborhood, in my community, in my state, and in the world. To help me remember them , I’ve started keeping lists of positive programs and beneficial changes that are shifting us inch by inch towards a more equitable world culture. Among those things to be hopeful about, here’s a big one for me: Washington State’s new Office of Equity, headed by Dr. Karen Johnson, a woman whose curriculum vitae reads like a lifetime of being a tireless force for good. (Curious? Check this out: https://www.governor.wa.gov/news-media/inslee-names-karen-johnson-phd-director-new-state-office-equity). Recently Dr. J met with equity groups all over the state, inviting responses to a listening survey designed to identify gaps, shortfalls, and blind spots in current programs and services that contribute to inequities. That openness and willingness to see and hear make me hopeful.

Here’s another powerful woman who gives me hope: Hilary Franz, Washington State’s Commissioner of Public Lands, who is responsible for protecting some six million acres of public land. She has worked hard to create positive relationships on both sides of the mountains, helping communities recover after wildfires destroy towns and homes, reminding us that about 88% of wildfires are caused by human carelessness. When she issued a state-wide burn ban before the Fourth of July weekend, it got less pushback than usual, since our wildfire season has already started and the state is tinder dry. People are starting to take more responsibility and be more aware of the consequences of their actions. Hilary’s wise, thoughtful community building work and its results make me hopeful.

Hello, Fear, What Are You Doing Here?

Over the last few years, many of us have developed a reflexive fear response to anything that feels like a threat. Last year, smoke levels were so high here that household smoke alarms were set off in the middle of the night. Everyone was constantly monitoring air quality along with local covid rates, and this morning’s smoky start had me checking AQI levels again and again, just to be sure. By midday, the outdoor fog began to lift but I was still caught in a fog of fear. Not just the pandemic brain fog so many of us are still experiencing, but an unreasoning fear that too often clouds my ability to see situations clearly. Fear can blind any of us, especially when we are repeatedly knocked off base. We may center back up the first few times, but eventually it gets harder to find our way home. Fear creates blindness, and while it’s classically easy to see blind spots in other people, it’s much trickier to see our own.

These days, when I notice my automatic fear response, I greet it and ask it what it wants. That may sound silly, but listening for an answer helps me slow down, breathe deeply, and center up before reacting. Fear wants to keep us safe, but when it blinds us, we’re apt to stumble around in the dark. When fears flare, I’m learning to refocus on thoughts and actions that are helpful and healing. Nearly always, that guides me to promoting and nurturing community. Encouraging conversations instead of confrontations. Listening to younger generations and unfamiliar voices. see our way clear together, now and into the future. Onward, right?

Soothing Rose Salve

When the heat hit, I gathered dozens of withering roses, stripping the petals and drying them for many uses. This simple salve is soothing to dry skin, its fragrance comforting to the spirit. Wide mouth 4-ounce canning jars are easiest to use, but any kind will do.

Rose Petal Skin Salve

8 cups petals from organically raised roses
4 cups organic coconut oil

Strip petals from roses and arrange in a single layer on a baking sheet. Let petals dry indoors in shade to preserve the fragrance (it usually takes a day or two to dry them). Fill clean 8-ounce canning jars with rose petals, gently packed. Put the coconut oil in sunlight until it’s melted, then pour into the jars. Seal jars and put them in the sun to heat up for 2-4 hours. Move jars to indoor shade and let stand overnight. Next day, return the jars to the sun until oil is melted, then pour oil through a fine mesh sieve into clean 4-ounce jars. Seal jars and let cool, refrigerating if indoor temperatures keep the oil liquid. Rub a little oil on your skin and breathe in the lovely, refreshing fragrance. Makes about 4 cups.

Posted in Climate Change, Health & Wellbeing, Recipes, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

If We Can’t Stand The Heat

Posted on June 28, 2021 by Ann Lovejoy
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Hung out to dry in the blink of an eye

No Getting Out Of This Kitchen

Here in the maritime Pacific Northwest, summers are usually temperate, thanks to cool nights that mitigate even the hottest days. Usually. This week, however, we’re experiencing what most of the country usually does; days of high heat with no cooling marine layer to buffer it. Nights are staying warm and there’s no promise of rain in sight. When I went out to water various gardens this morning, it was just as hot at 5 am as it had been at 10 pm. Soaking wet yarn I hung out was dry in 20 minutes. We just aren’t ready for this. Until recently, Seattle area houses famously lacked air conditioning and insulation, though that’s starting to change. My daughter and I are extremely grateful for our elderly heat pump, which is working hard day and night to keep the temperature livable in our elderly mobile home, which is basically an aluminum box. When we renovated, we replaced insulation in the roof and the crawl space, but there’s nothing in the sides but plywood, air and aluminum.

We can’t rebuild the walls, but there are things we can do: We hang wet towels everywhere to help cool things off. We drape wet bandanas around our necks or over our heads, where they dry out in a matter of minutes. We drink a lot of water. We nap. Plants need help too: I water the gardens early and late, spraying dust off foliage to help the leaves do their job. My huge fuchsia baskets get a gallon of water each morning and evening and an extra half gallon two or three times a day as well. That keeps them from collapsing, which helps nurture our resident hummingbirds, who buzz both the baskets and the shrubby fuchsias constantly all day long. Bird baths get cleaned every morning and topped off twice a day or more. I put rocks in each basin and it’s sweet to see the bees drinking eagerly as well as fluttering birds. Bees and other pollinators have breakfast in the pollinator patch by 5 am, and someone will feed eagerly on every blossom, whether it’s tiny hoverflies on oregano and thyme or big bumbles on foxgloves and lavender, or various bees on the various catmints. Variety is important, as is planting for long and overlapping seasons of bloom to keep our smaller neighbors nourished.

How We Can Help

Keeping the gardens alive and flourishing despite the heat is challenging and takes time and planning, but it’s something we can do. There are just so many things we can’t directly affect, at least not easily. Wildfire threats are mounting daily and I can’t stop thinking that severe climate change effects are already here, sooner than predicted, because we have not been willing to change our wasteful ways. What will it take? I suspect that in some ways, this dire heat wave will push us to become more willing to be aware of the effects of our actions. Most of us aren’t running huge multinational corporations and can’t change their policies individually but it’s been interesting to watch major companies change their ways because of public pressure and cultural shifts. Each of us is a part of that or can be, and it can be as simple as voting with your checkbook. It’s also still useful to make calls to elected officials and voice your views. The easiest way I know to do that is with 5 Calls, a nifty program that helps you choose your topic(s), offers scripts and bullet points, then directs you to your local, regional and state officials. You can make 5 calls while you drink your morning tea or coffee:

https://5calls.org/about-us/

You’ve probably read a bunch of lists about ways to reduce our impact on the suffering planet, but here’s mine: Plant trees and take care of them afterwards. Heal the soil on your property and anywhere else you can. Protect birds and insects, including pollinators. Use water wisely. Eat more plant based foods and less meat (or none). Buy locally grown food. Grow some of your own. Drive less, walk more. Use LED bulbs. Unplug all devices and device chargers when not in use (keeping them plugged in uses a surprising amount of power). Change investments from extractive companies to green energy and building companies. The best way I’ve found to keep up with good intentions is to do any of them for a month, then add another one. A month later, add another. Go faster if you feel inspired, or slower if you need to, but don’t stop doing any of them.

Cool Food For Hot Days

Before the heat hit, I hard boiled beautiful eggs from our neighbor’s chickens so we don’t have to fire up the stovetop. I also made our favorite lovely melange of pesto and hummus. This version of the twin classics is light and fresh tasting because it doesn’t use oil or cheese, though you can certainly add either one if you like, or use almond or walnut butter instead of tahini or sunflower butter. Combining the nutritive value of hummus with the sheer delectability of pesto, this fragrant melange is perfect with raw vegetables, crackers, or toast and makes a lovely pita stuffing.

Fresher Basil Pesto Hummus

1-1/2 cups cooked chickpeas or white beans
1-3 cloves garlic
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 cups basil leaves and stems, lightly packed
1-2 tablespoons tahini or sunflower butter
juice and grated rind of 1 organic lemon
Freshly ground pepper and/or hot smoked paprika

Grind chickpeas or beans with garlic, salt and basil to a thick slurry, adding water as needed. Add tahini or nut or seed butter and 1 tablespoon each of lemon juice and grated rind. Adjust seasoning to taste (salt, tahini, pepper/paprika, lemon juice) and thin to desired consistency with water. Makes about 3 cups and keeps, refrigerated, for up to 3 days.

Onward, right?

Posted in Birds In The Garden, Care & Feeding, Climate Change, Health & Wellbeing, Pollination Gardens, Pollinators, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

The Magic Of Mulch & Patience

Posted on June 21, 2021 by Ann Lovejoy
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Let nature work in peace and prepare to be amazed

Nature’s Healing Takes Time

Every Friday for over twenty years, I’ve worked with a band of vigorous volunteers to plant and maintain the extensive grounds at our local public library. Even during the pandemic lockdown a handful of us kept coming, wearing masks and keeping our distance as we worked, finding solace and satisfaction in planting and weeding and pruning. Sometimes pruning has been especially satisfying, notably when the news was particularly dire. In early January, two of us who love to prune decided to tackle a huge, overgrown variegated redtwig dogwood that had spread almost 30 feet in width, spilling into the sidewalk and smothering nearby neighbors. Fueled by fury and horror, we whacked the crap out of the poor shrub, which was a tangled mass of gnarled and twisted stems. Once we removed the dead and damaged stems, not much was left, but twiggy dogwoods are tough and hardy. If didn’t re-sprout, it would be removed altogether. Oh well.

As winter fades and spring approaches, there’s always plenty to do. Dormant bindweed pops up, lusty and vigorous. Crowded plants need dividing and new plants need just the right home. The whacked dogwood left a large gap of bare earth near a sidewalk, so we put our minds to choosing some attractive new plants to fill in the now-empty bay. However, several busy months passed before we returned to tuck in native mock orange and golden flowering currants. I was astonished to see masses of plump bulb shoots emerging from what we thought was bare earth. As weeks went by, it became clear that over a hundred large allium bulbs were getting ready to bloom.

Letting The Seeds Fall Freely

About 15 years ago, I tucked a group of five Allium christophii into the library garden. They’ve persisted but I had never found any seedlings. I always enjoy gathering the dried seedheads and using them to decorate bare twigs and branches each winter, then tossing the battered remains into the back of the borders each spring to give them a chance to self sow. Invisible under the spreading skirts of the twiggy dogwood, these highly ornamental onions had sown themselves into a flourishing colony. It take a few years for seed-grown alliums to reach blooming size and this undisturbed area was clearly a fine nursery for them.

Each winter, we weed and mulch all the borders, first with compost, then with coarse wood chips, which open the hard soil enough that weeding is much more successful than it used to be. As the soil heals under its comforting blanket, we start to find many seedlings, not just weeds, but also offspring of our border plants. This spring, those lovely alliums were joined by clouds of black chervil (Anthriscus sylvestris Ravenswing) and deep purple columbines, all self sown volunteers which look smashing together. Nearby, waves of California poppies and calendulas line the driveways and sidewalks. Lettuce leaf poppies appear here and there in luscious clusters, their huge, ruffled flowers nodding over silver-blue foliage. Moon plant (Lunaria annua) rises in tiered towers, some tinted purple, others jade green, all tipped with flat, round seedpods that strip to silver at summer’s end.

The Gardener’s Choice

Yes, many weeds are also ardent self sowers, and part of the gardener’s task is to choose which plants to let bloom for hungry pollinators and which to yank without mercy before they can go to seed. In my own gardens, I ruthlessly root out bindweed (aka morning glory vine), Scotch broom, Bishop’s weed and buttercups whenever I spot them. However, I also allow a few of the overly enthusiastic purple toadflax (Linaria purpurea) to bloom for the bees but pull at least 90% of the hundreds of seedlings that pop up here. Even if I were to yank every last one, the seeds in the soil would keep on sprouting for years to come, so I might as well let the local pollinator community get some pleasure and nourishment from this prolific flower. Feverfew is also permitted to grow here, though I may give seedlings a new home; its cheerful sprays of starry little white and gold daisies look lovely with California poppies and calendulas and are endlessly useful in cut-flower arrangements.

Naturally enough, there’s a learning curve to this live-and-let-live policy. It takes a few years to discover which plants are lastingly mannerly and which are biding their time before beginning an invasion. It also takes time for starved bare soil to heal enough to support new life. This morning I met a friend who told me how well her once-barren garden is doing. When she first moved in, she was dismayed to find solid clay and hardpan throughout the yard. One small wooded area was weedy and overgrown, yet it was almost impossible to remove weeds because the ground was so hard. We brought in truckloads of hog fuel, the coarsest, cheapest form of wood chips, and raked it out to a depth of about 8-12 inches under and around the tall firs. Now, when my friend digs down, she finds actual soil, and what she plants no longer dwindles and dies. Victory!

Time & Patience & Wood Chips

She excitedly described making mounded beds, planting everything from annuals and vegetables to ornamentals, and watching them thrive. The satisfaction of bringing a static landscape back to life, turning a wasteland into a flourishing garden more than makes up for the work involved, which was surprisingly little. Despite daunting initial conditions, continuing remediation consists mainly of spreading more wood chips under the trees as the original layer breaks down. Weeding is much easier in mounded and mulched beds and takes very little time and effort. Instead of a still life, her property is now a vital garden, lovely with plants and lively with birds and pollinators.

At the library, we found that nothing heals clay and hardpan like annual layers of mulch and coarse wood chips (not bark). Year after patient year, we spread mulches; compost, aged dairy manure, flaked bedding straw, shredded leaves. That helped, but it was only when we added thick layers of coarse wood chips that we finally got the upper hand on long-existing perennial weeds that plagued the site. With patience and mulch, a barren clay parking lot has bloomed into a living garden. Amen! Oh, and Happy Summer! Here in the maritime Northwest, Real Summer is here at last, with warm, sunny days that make the vegetables burst into happy growth spurts. Onward, right?

 

 

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