Build an ark

So much rain. So much, much rain. Last Wednesday, we had 2.3”. Saturday had passing showers with occasional sun. We sorted through the grapes in the garage to stay dry. The total didn’t amount to much, just 0.4”. All of Saturday night it stormed. I couldn’t sleep because of the thunder and lightning. And the worry about the garden flooding. Sunday wasn’t too bad during the day. I got to the garden to pick cantaloupe and zucchini. The south end had standing water, not surprising for 2.6” of rain. I took the row cover off the beets, thinking that they would dry out faster. If the deer come back to eat the tops off, so be it.

A flock of geese flew in, apparently attracted by standing water in the field that was not deep enough to see from the house. 

Geese invasion

I counted 21 in the group. I don't see them all in this picture

They alternated between that location and the shade of the fifth oak. Can’t say I blame them—the day was hot and miserably humid. The turkeys were none too pleased at having their territory invaded. They kept their distance, being seriously outnumbered.

Lounging in the shade

More storms Sunday night. More worry, but nothing else to do about it. We didn’t need more rain, but it isn’t financial assistance. Not awarded according to need. The rain continued off and on Monday. I walked out before lunch to take some pictures. The garden was even more flooded.

Standing water in the south garden. We did not need this.

I walked to my restoration area where the flower that I have never been able to identify was blooming all over. It’s an impressive plant, growing to a height well over my head.

A tall, mysterious composite flower

I went back to the creek. It was right up to the top of its banks. Two more drops of rain, and we’d have a flood. Again.

The creek right up to its banks at 11:45 a.m.

I checked on the woodland garden that I planted back in the spring, so hopeful and optimistic that I would get back to check on it and keep the weeds at bay. The last time was after the first floods in June, where I saw with despair that the straw had all piled up in one corner. I pulled some of the weeds off the fence and made a mental note to get back and rearrange the straw. Never made it. Too hot, too buggy, too much work to do in the south garden, too, too, too. Still, the Joe Pye weed was blooming, and there were wild strawberries all over.

Joe Pye weed blooming in my alleged woodland garden. Weeds have completely taken over the fence.

I was headed to the house as the next wave of rain was rolling up. I walked as quickly as possible in 4’ to 8” of water so as to not be struck by lightning. I just got back as the first drops fell. No more! Please no more! But there was more. Soon the air was white with falling water. Before it was all over, it was 3.1” more. The creek was going to flood. I checked the radar, and worse storms were north of us, pouring even more rain into the Piscasaw watershed.

The turkeys seemed trapped by the standing water. I knew that their feet were wet since I’d just been through that area, but they seemed hesitant to walk through the deeper water to get to high ground. I mentioned this to Terry, who quickly pointed out that turkeys can, in fact, fly. But they wouldn’t. They just stood in the rain with wet feet looking grumpy. If I were a turkey, I would have found a perch in a tree and hunkered down.

Turkeys (upper right) looking glum surrounded by water

The water rose and rose. It wasn’t as bad as in June. It didn’t get to the orchard or the garden shed. I saw what looked like apples floating south. I asked Terry if he had apples in his “bone yard” (which could easily be mistake for a “junk yard” behind the willows. He took the binoculars, confirmed that the objects were apples and said that he didn’t have them in the bone yard. After a bit of thought, he concluded that they were the fallen apples that he’d been dumping back by the creek so the deer would eat them. It is a bad idea to leave them in the orchard because the pests build up and attack the apples on the trees. The bald-faced hornets like the fallen apples too.

Mistaking our field for a wetland, a great blue heron flew in looking for a snack. This is about as high as the water got.

A great blue heron at the height of the flood

It finally stopped raining in the afternoon. By this morning, standing water was not visible from the house. The day was again very hot, replicating the one-two punch that killed the cabbage in June. First the roots are damaged by the standing water, then the cabbage wilt in the heat because the roots can’t replace the water fast enough. The cabbage are bigger now and the flood not so extreme. We’ll know in a few days.

Six inches of rain in three days with the ground already saturated. So much water.

Grape juice

Hilda harvested the last of the carrots this week. They were pathetic due to neglect. We had them planted in the drier “upstairs” garden, but they suffered from the flood of the lower garden nevertheless. See, in a normal year, we only have to weed the beans once. After that, they shade out the weeds. This year, however, the beans never fully recovered from the flood. But hope springs eternal, and we kept weeding and weeding, waiting for the moment that they would take off. Probably should have just ripped them out and been done with it, although we did that with the peas and had to pull the weeds in the space they had been in to keep them from going to seed.

Anyway, the carrots were puny, but we were able to put together a chorus line.

A chorus line of carrots

Labor Day is usually when the grapes are ripe. We all remembered our grape juice marathon two years ago, and we all knew that there were only three jars of this juice left in the root cellar.

The last three jars of juice from 2016

Terry and I were at the Minnesota State Fair last Labor Day. As far as anyone could remember, we did not make grape juice. Terry and I started picking grapes Saturday morning. When we had a good amount, Terry washed them off, and Dad and I started sorting through them and pulling them off the stem. They weren’t as ripe this year, which was odd given that the summer had been so hot, but good because they were not thoroughly infested with picnic bugs. In fact, they were relatively bug-free, perhaps in part because of recent heavy rains.

Sorting and de-stemming grapes in the garage

We weren’t too far into the process when we remembered about washing the Mason jars. Hilda’s dishwasher was full, so I volunteered to do them downstairs. I went to the root cellar to pull out every narrow-mouthed quart jar I could find. Imagine my surprise when I found 15 jars of grape juice labeled “17” in the corner. We had put up grape juice last year after all.

15 newly discovered jars of grape juice from 2017

I went to the vines to consult with Terry. We decided that he would pick only the biggest clusters that were easy to reach. “I’m not pissing around on my knees anymore getting the ones at the bottom,” were more or less his exact words.

Picking the grapes off the stem put the phrase “Grapes of Wrath” in my mind, and consequently, the song in my head. Grapes of wrath—what the hell does that mean? What’s next? The Wine of Vengeance? And where were the grapes of wrath stored? “He has trampled (was that right?) out the [two syllable blank] where the grapes of wrath are stored.” Legend has it that the lyrics came to Julia Ward Howe in a dream, so perhaps expecting it to be coherent is asking too much. (And it’s “He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored.” Which makes even less sense.)

Hilda helped with the de-stemming until we had enough grapes to start the juicing process. First, she crushed the grapes.

Crushing the grapes

Then—this is the hard part—she let the grapes simmer 190°F and no higher for 10 minutes. The Blue Book is cautions strongly about letting the grapes boil.

Simmering the grapes

Straining is next. That’s the most time-consuming step. I suggested that maybe cheese cloth would be faster than the flour sack towels Hilda usually used. She tried it, but it was still slow. She got new cheese cloth after using it twice and, she confided toward the end that she was used fewer and fewer layers as time went on.

Straining the juice through cheese cloth

In theory, one is supposed to refrigerate the juice overnight to let the sediments fall to the bottom, then carefully ladle off the top, heat again to 190°F and no higher, then can. In practice, we have found that there is sediment in the bottom of the jars no matter what you do before canning them, so screw it. We just put it in the jars right off the bat.

I planned to roast a chicken for supper and offered to share with Mom and Dad so they could finish up with the canning. They took a break to eat when I delivered, but kept at the juice until after 9:00. A long day. We ended up with 20 jars, which figures out to 5 gallons. Now we  have to remember to drink it.

The reality of farm to table

When I consider the idyllic romance that now surrounds the Farm to Table movement, I’m not sure whether to laugh or roll my eyes. Maybe both. In real life, at least this time of year, it is a frantic race against spoilage. Sometimes, as with corn, it involves marathons of blanching, freezing and/or canning. For foods that are not easily preserved, it means gorging on whatever is ripe to the point of not being able to look at it until next year. I considered it a victory when we finished the last of a giant bag of lettuce before it rotted (much). Every night when I make dinner, I contemplate how many vegetables I can serve before Terry revolts. The answer is generally one, but he will eat cucumbers in sour cream with BLTs. (I have had people ask for my recipe for cucumbers in sour cream. Here it is: Peel, deseed if necessary, and slice cucumbers; add sour cream and stir.)

The cantaloupe began to ripen about 10 days ago. Terry estimated there were 50 melons out there. It was fine at first, a melon here and a melon there. We could keep up. I fear that there will be a day when we have 40 ripe cantaloupe all at once. It’s already starting. In the last two days, I have harvested 12 cantaloupe. What do you do with 12 cantaloupe? We got rid of two when my brother, SIL, and their friend came to visit Saturday. Hilda took one. I can eat one cantaloupe in four days. When I brought the harvest in Sunday, I asked Hilda if she was ready for another melon.

“We still have some from yesterday,” she said.

“Eat faster!” I replied.

I will have to take some to work, and certainly my friends will be glad to get them. There is nothing like a vine-ripened melon. They are, however, bulky, heavy, and generally a pain to be hauling around. It will be a good work out.

Nine cantaloupe in the refrigerator

Terry called the house one morning when I was home to tell me that the five tom turkeys had met up with some hens and adolescents from this year and were walking around on the north side of the farm. I got my camera and went out to have a look. I walked slowly toward them and they walked away from me at exactly the same rate. I could only tell which ones were chicks when they were next to the adults.

The turkey chicks are only a little smaller than the adults

It’s good to know that some of them survived and are big enough to make it through the winter.  As best I could tell there were four chicks. Their heads seem to be blue.

Four chicks together. Their heads look blue.

In this photo, the chicks are on the left, and the toms are on the right. The toms are showing off their red snoods and waddles.

The toms (right) show off their snoods and wattles (in red)

The wild cucumbers are going crazy. They are native plants and seem quite aggressive. I don’t remember noticing them before I moved here. Now I see them everywhere. I suppose they have been growing all summer long, but when they send up their white spikes of flowers, they are much more visible, carpeting the trees and shrubs underneath. Unlike domestic cucumbers, the fruits have spines. They also have a fibrous interior which will persist well into next summer, looking like a small loofa. Wild cucumbers are one of summer’s last hurrahs. Autumn is definitely on the way. How sad.

Wild cucumbers signals the end of summer

Sneezeweed

My, my, the chicks are getting big! Terry found one of the Whiting True Blues outside the fence one evening and asked me if I was sure it wasn’t one of the hens. As luck would have it, I had remembered to count to six before I shut the door on Coop 2 that night. Terry opened the gate to Coop 1, and the errant pullet (I suspect it was Amelia, our wanderer) walked right in.

Amelia Noire, the adverturer

Here’s a group shot of all but one of the Dominiques as they came out to inspect some cantaloupe rinds. This was their first time, and they didn’t quite know what to make of them.

Pullets inspect cantaloupe rinds

The hens, on the other hand, thought the scraps were the best thing ever, especially the seeds.

Bianca is no longer white. Her chest feathers are coming in a dark brown. Frankly, it makes her look untidy, but it’s not fair to judge.

Bianca's brown chest feathers

You may have heard (or not) that you can tell the color of the eggs a hen will leg from her earlobes, at which point you probably thought, “Chickens have earlobes?” When I was out taking pictures, I noticed that I could actually see Carmella’s earlobes, which if you use your imagination are kind of blue.

Carmella's earlobe

The wild turkeys make the rounds every day. Terry watches carefully that they don’t go near the garden. He has been known to hop up in the middle of supper to run out after them, yelling and clapping his hands. It’s quite a spectacle.

One evening, I saw a bird that did not match the usual profile of the familiar robin.

A new visitor to the lawn

I didn’t get a great picture, but this view shows the characteristic yellow breast and black chevron of the Eastern meadowlark.

It's an Eastern meadowlark!

Out in the butterfly garden, the sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) is blooming profusely. It is providing food for many insects. In particular, the soldier beetles are having a huge party and mating frenzy.

Soldier beetles mating on sneezeweed

Here is a flower that is hosting a well-camouflaged yellow larva of some sort.

A yellow larva on a yellow flower

I also saw a number of bees, like this small bumble bee.

A small bumble bee

And this one, with its pollen sacs full.

A solitary bee with full pollen sacs on back legs

Here’s another one. I don’t know if it is the same or different from the previous bee. It doesn't seem quite as hairy and is smaller.

Another solitary bee with full pollen sacs--maybe a different species?

Notable in its absence is the European honeybee. All the bees I saw were solitary. I’m happy to be supporting the native bees, although I do wonder why the honeybees don’t find the sneezeweed attractive. Maybe they don’t like to compete with the soldier beetles.

Harbingers of fall

Summer is essentially over. Retired people, such as my dear Terry, are quick to point out that summer officially ends at the equinox. I live by the academic calendar. Convocation is tomorrow. Next thing you know, it will be Christmas. Whoosh.

A sure sign that autumn is coming is the shedding of the acorns. Deer and turkeys are constant visitors. This doe and her twins showed up one evening. In this picture, the turkeys are visible in the background.

Mama deer, right; twins, left; turkeys in background

Here’s one picture of the twins.

What are YOU looking at?

And another in which their spots are more visible.

Fawns still have spots

I walked out to my restoration area because Terry told me the cardinal flowers were blooming. I was disappointed that there were not nearly as many of them. They are being crowded out by smartweed. I suppose I’ll have to try to control that someday. Or maybe conditions next year will be different, and the cardinal flower will hold its own.

Cardinal flower--so vividly red

The butterfly garden that I planted by the garden shed is going crazy. When I put the puny starts in the ground last summer, I could not imagine that it would matter that my garden was a good deal smaller than the recommended size. I could always divide the plants later, I thought. I’m going to have to get on that next spring.

My very crowded butterfly garden by the garden shed

The swamp milkweed by the shed flowered later than the common milkweed. It’s basically the only game in town for the monarchs, and they are swarming it. I counted 10 at one time.

Monarchs on the swamp milkweed

The monarchs like the meadow blazing star as well.

Monarchs on blazing start

The cherry tomatoes are starting to ripen. We have lots of green tomatoes on the standards, but they are slow to turn red. The floods set them back at least two weeks. If the frost is late, we can still get something.

The cantaloupe seem not to have been fazed at all. I know from experience that if left on the ground, insects and worms will invade them from the underside. In the past, I have used the straw that was formerly on the garlic to keep them off the soil. Last year we couldn’t get straw and put hay on the garlic. The hay decomposed. I thought about newspaper, but that would trap water after a rain. In the middle of the night, I thought of using some of Terry’s cocoa fiber mats. Perfect! It’s still literally a pain in the butt to lift each melon and slide the disk underneath. Even worse is putting deer netting over the top to keep the deer from taking one bite out of each melon. It also discourages the raccoons. Not much I can do about mice, but they tend to just burrow through one melon and take all the seeds out before starting on the next on. Terry has counted over 50 melons; we won’t be short.

Cantaloupe on cocoa fiber mats

We’d been picking a bit of corn from the earlier varieties ("Sugar Buns" and "Bodacious"—I don’t make this stuff up). Hilda had to take over the freezing after I cut the tip of my thumb off. On Sunday the vast majority of the corn was ready. I picked nearly 10 dozen ears.

Corn in the wheelbarrow

Dad shucked it all; Hilda de-silked. Most of the corn was perfect. Seven ears were too immature to freeze. Hilda set them aside for the chickens (best thing ever!!)

Shucked corn

When I was done making ratatouille with the surplus zucchini and pattypan squash, I went upstairs to help cut the kernels off the cobs. We put up 32 9-ounce bags, bringing the total in the freezer to 42. We will stop freezing it now. With respect to corn, we are ready for winter.

Monarchs at last!

I am late with this week’s post, I know. Last Friday, I neatly whacked off the tip of my left thumb while trimming cobs of corn. This is the first time since that I have been able to have my hand level with my elbow without experiencing serious throbbing pain. I wasn’t up to typing a whole blog post with my right hand while my left hand was elevated.

For years, we have been working on establishing populations of various milkweeds to support monarch butterfly reproduction. Common milkweed colonized the hay field on its own. I planted butterfly weed behind the tractor shed when we moved here. It grew to nearly 6 feet in diameter but is now being outcompeted by bee balm and purple cone flower. It has, however, spread to two other locations by the garage. I spread seeds and transplanted seedlings of swamp milkweed into my wet meadow restoration. The rain did not cooperate, and the seedlings died. I was gratified to see swamp milkweed blooming this year.

Swamp milkweed

Over the years, I have walked through the field looking for damage on the milkweed leaves, the most observable sign of monarch caterpillars. Nothing. Imagine my excitement when I saw this caterpillar on a volunteer butterfly weed by the house!

Monarch caterpillar on butterfly weed by the garage

I checked another butterfly weed by the garage, and found another caterpillar.

And by the tractor shed

When I went out with Hilda to show her the caterpillars, we saw this little toad on the sidewalk. It was not quite as cute as a just-metamorphosed tadpole, but still adorable. We moved it to a safer location.

Cute little toad on the sidewalk, slightly larger than the tip of Hilda's finger

On my next walk through the hay field, I found one caterpillar on common milkweed. I’m sure there must be more, as we have had an exceptionally high number of adults around this year.

Monarch caterpillar on common milkweed in the hay field

The wet meadow is doing well. We started trying to control the reed canary grass this year. Next year we need to get out when the grass is shorter. Our herbicide application this year merely killed the ends of the blades. The bottom is doing just fine.

Obedient plant is spreading.

Large population of obedient plant

Black-eyed Susan is blooming.

Black-eyed Susan

This plant is new this year. I think it is square-stemmed monkey flower.

Square-stemmed monkey flower

Also new this year is New York ironweed.

New York Ironweed

Because Hilda forgot to ask me for my vacation dates before calling the butcher, she and Terry had to wrangle the chickens into the cages without me. When I got back, we had only six hens and six pullets. They are still in separate coops because the pullets are too small to hold their own against the hens.

I have mentioned before, but it bears repeating. Chickens are very Zen. Everything that comes there was is the best thing ever. Because Hilda spoils them rotten, they are accustomed to getting scratch grains every afternoon when she comes out to collect the eggs. As soon as Hilda (or anyone, actually) walks toward the orchard, they come a-running to the gate. In this video, you can see them surround Hilda, take a little practice lap under the coop, and hop up on the box where the treats are stored. One of the black stars jumps up to peck Hilda’s arm in her excitement. This moment is the best ever! I should learn more from chickens.