The Secret to Success in One Word (Sometimes Written as Two)

I have discovered the secret to success (at least in double-digging a Plant a Row) and it is one word.  Pickaxe.  If you have not swung a pickaxe before (or lately), let me tell you, it is a remarkable tool that blasts through the hardest red clay with ease (the pitch fork wouldn't even puncture the rock-solid clay when we tried that first).  My friend, David (pictured here, sort of), and I each swung one and knocked off our 25-foot Plant a Row at the food pantry garden in maybe an hour tops (with lots of talking breaks).  Now, there is about 8 inches of fluffy soil there, ready for cover crop seeds next week.  And then that will be it.  We'll water it and watch it grow, while building organic matter and adding nitrogen over time.

I ran the numbers with David as we were working, before we met in the middle and our pickaxes clanked against each other.  "So, what did this take us?  An hour last week, with some help from the food pantry clients, to scrape off the grass and move the frame?  An hour for Van to till, an hour for James to mulch, and now this hour?" I pondered. Not such a big time commitment to create something out of nothing, for zero cost.

What's more, this was not only not that hard, but fun. And, of course, the question that comes to my mind, the question that always comes to my mind, the question I then said to David out loud,  and that I now ask you, is this--what else is possible? After ten years (since the towers fell) of digging in and trying to make a difference, I still keep going back to that question and finding there's always more I don't yet know is possible.

As we were swinging the axes, I also said to David, "What part of our bodies do you think will hurt the most tomorrow?" Well, it's two days later and I do know the answer to that question.  It's not the arms.  It's not the shoulders.  It's the back.  But you know what?  I'd be back to do it again.

If you're still on the sidelines on Plant a Row 2012, here is the introduction to this fun, you-can-do-it-at-home, project, and here are the two action recommendation posts so far in this six-week series:

Operation Plant a Row: Choose a Method and Get Going (Growing)
Operation Plant a Row: "I Smell the Time" and It Is Now

Speaking of pickaxes, I had used one several times before, to plant my fig tree, two pomegranate trees, and a small berry orchard at my home garden, and some blueberry bushes at the community garden.  To plant a tree takes about ten minutes of digging with a pickaxe.  If you are thinking of adding some permaculture edible landscaping features such as fruit trees or bushes to your home garden, you are only ten minutes away from having the hard part done.

See the first time I swung a pickaxe--Previously Bound and Trapped--when yes, the famous Richard of the Worms introduced me to it.

The Secret to Success in One Word (Sometimes Written as Two)

No Lie (or Lye): Making This Easy Soap Recipe Is Very Enjoyable

Yes, I know the light has turned more golden and the evening sky more pink.  

Yes, I know that gentle breezes now blow across your yard as the children start their homework and you stand there gazing out the window, leaning on one leg, contemplating.  

Yes, I know you're thinking about those couple snippets in my book where I described the pleasure of making the simple soap recipe I like to make in exactly these conditions.  

And, yes, I know I didn't include the recipe in the book, and many of you have emailed me to ask for it.  My college roommate and dear friend Kristin is particularly anxious to get going as she is planning on giving the soap along with the book (she bought a pile) as holiday gifts (whoops--Kristin, I hope no one on your list reads my blog yet--email me if I should take this off). 

(FYI, the first time I made bread was when I lived in that apartment with Kristin, and the bread took so long that we were already in our beds when the oven finally sounded that it was ready, and we sat there in the dark, each eating a big, hot, delicious slice of it.  That's actually one of my favorite memories ever. And, yes, there is a bread recipe in the book at the end of the January chapter.)

Anyway, the soap.  It actually starts with existing soap, so this is really sort of a cheat.  No lye involved. 

Sunday Night Soap

2 cups grated soap--I usually grate 2 bars of Ivory 

1/4 cup olive oil

1/2 cup water 

1 tablespoon oatmeal (you may like to grind it in your coffee grinder first, depending on what texture you want)

I usually add 1 tablespoon of dried lavender as well

Be sure to get 1 four-rectangle soap mold from a craft store near you.  If you'd rather repurpose something from the waste stream,  I think you could also do this in a can and then slice the soap but I haven't tried this yet and therefore can't recommend it.  (If someone tries it, please let me know how it goes!)

Instructions 

 

Put a few inches of water in a sauce pot.  Put the first 3 ingredients into a glass measuring cup and place it in the water in the pot.  The objective now is to melt the soap, so put the burner on medium/low.  This takes awhile.  Stir every few minutes with a wooden spoon (and then remove the spoon from the measuring cup).  Honestly, you must have a book or something else to read while you are doing this (you can go sit down in between stirring--you don't have to stand there). Oh, and now is a good time to lubricate the soap mold with some olive oil. 

Once it is fully melted, let it cook a little longer (the whole cooking thing should take 20 minutes or so).  When it's really nice and creamy, you're done.  Take it off the stove and then mix in the oatmeal and lavender. (If you don't have lavender, don't worry.  But it's nice.  Snip some now from your garden and dry for a week or so and then make the soap.) 

Rub the molds with olive oil.  Spoon the mixture into the soap molds (work rather quickly as the soap gets lumpy as it cools).  It should make four.  Bang the mold on the ground slightly to remove air bubbles.

In about two days, you can gently pop the soaps out of the mold. Place them on a cooling rack (for air circulation) on the counter and turn them every day for about three weeks so they can "cure."

Then, decorate them.  I like to wrap them around the belly with either a crepe paper or a homemade paper (more on that in the book--but no recipe for that, either--maybe I'll do that one on this blog too one day) and tie with ribbon (as pictured), or twine or raffia and a sprig of lavender or rosemary.  

The whole process is really very easy and quite relaxing.  One year, I got into a kick where I made a batch every single Sunday night while reading the New York Times and other materials and preparing my mind for the coming week (which is a non-negotiable habit of mine since I was 19--you will most likely never see me at any function after 6 PM on a Sunday).  Very nice.  No lie.

No Lie (or Lye): Making This Easy Soap Recipe Is Very Enjoyable

Operation Plant a Row (Next Steps): "I Smell the Time" and It Is Now

I went in the opposite direction of the sea of traffic flowing down Roswell Road and made a left on Azalea Drive, which hugs the Chattahoochee River, the heavy morning mist still laying across the water.  Another left, then a mile or so, and I turned right into the Chattahoochee Nature Center, half the gate open, this treasured conservation and education center still closed to the public at this hour.  

I drove up the gravel path with the sign that said, "Staff Only Beyond This Point," as I knew to do, even though I'm not Staff, because I had been there before.  And then, there it was.  A greenhouse, hoop house, and the 14,000-square foot hidden jewel--a community garden/urban farm called the Unity Garden, built and maintained with money from a Kaiser Permanent grant, where 100% of what is grown (5,000 pounds a year) is donated to a local food pantry. 

Corporate teams (such as Autotrader.com and UPS) come to help on volunteer work days, and more are encouraged to do so (contact Libby Lintel here).  Other groups and individual volunteers come to help plant, tend, and harvest.  I came to help for a bit, and to learn.  What is the ethnic makeup of your food pantry clientele?  Are there any crops that have proven to be particularly culturally appropriate?  What are your harvest strategies, including post-harvest washing, storage and delivery?  What are your challenges?    

I already know the challenges of the local food pantry where we deliver from our community garden, and where we actually have a separate garden specifically for the food pantry clients (which is where we are doing the Plant a Row 2012).  

* I know that there are many weeks when our food is the only fresh food they get.  

* I know that the predominantly Hispanic population loves the hot peppers, dislikes the arugula, and has been slow to embrace heirloom crops that are somehow odd (dragon tongue beans and lemon cucumbers, anyone?) but enjoys trying them if someone is there to explain them to them, translated into Spanish. ("It's a cucumber and you can eat it like an apple.")  

* I know that I can't assume they will all have a way to cook the food and therefore food that can be enjoyed raw is extra valuable.  

* I know that they most likely don't have olive oil, so the way I prepare the greens at home is not the way they will be doing it.  (I'm trying to find someone to donate 150 bottles of olive oil, by the way.  Got any connections with olive oil distributors with a penchant for giving?)

* I know that herbs are extremely popular (and this fact was enthusiastically collaborated by the folks at the farm where I helped yesterday as well), even though they are not the heavy, calorie-dense crop choices one would initially consider when growing for those in need. 

* I know that the food matters, that they value it, and that they enjoy telling me how their mothers or fathers cook it, back where they are from.

* I know that the fact that I struggle with Spanish means that they always have something to give me as well (yet another lesson in how to say, "Qieres chiles picante?" You want hot peppers?) and my awkward attempts make us laugh, which is, of course, a universal language.

For this week's Plant a Row recommendation for you, I suggest you:

* Find a local food pantry near you.  In the United States, Feeding America is a great place to start.  Chances are you have a large metro food bank in your city, which distributes to many small, local food pantries, often at places of worship.  Search for contact info and send an email or call as recommended.  Ask if you can visit (and help) on the days when food pantry clients are there.  Watch.  Listen.  Learn.  Pay particular attention to what the clients are getting in groceries so that you know what they will be mixing with the food you grow.  Here is an example of what families at our local food pantry receive:

Miscellaneous:        Canned goods:  

5 lbs of chicken        Pork in BBQ sauce    

Frozen peaches        Vegetable soup         

Loaf of bread           Peas                       

Box of sweet rolls    Spaghetti Sauce (2)  

Orange juice            Fruit                      

2 lbs macaroni          Diced tomatoes      

2 lbs rice                  Spaghetti/meatballs   

2 lbs dried beans       Applesauce

Mushroom soup        Refried beans

Roll of TP                Sliced potatoes

                             Yams

                             Tuna

NOTE:  Local groceries donate breads.  At 16 cents per pound the food pantry buys most of its food from the Atlanta Community Food Bank.

* Find a garden or urban farm that is growing at least partially for those in need.  Again, contact it and see what help is needed.  Many have a set harvest day that lasts an hour or two.  Help in some way.  Pay attention to what is being grown, and ask questions about the food pantry clients and their likes and dislikes.  

Then, take this information home with you and start thinking about your Plant a Row 2012.  We're going to plan a planting strategy together next week, so do try to at least start this process. You don't have to finish it--in fact, ten years into this growing thing, and I'm still learning.  Ten years from now, I'll say the same. There are so many people in need, from so many cultures, that there is much to learn.  Basics matters: salad greens, cooking greens, tomatoes, peppers, squash.  But it is also particularly gratifying to grow at least some of what's considered culturally-appropriate food for those in need because they cannot find these ingredients in the store and, even if they could, might not have the transportation to get there or the money to buy them. (For example, Libby told me a common Mexican herb named epazote was a big hit at their food pantry this summer.  I haven't grown that yet, but now I will.)

My favorite moment yesterday was when Libby strolled confidently down one of the 100-foot rows with a big basket of okra resting on her hip as Michael McLane and I were giving major "hair cuts" to the herbs (and having extraordinarily enjoyable conversations--thanks, Michael), and she exclaimed, "I smell the thyme!"  

And I replied out loud, "I like that.  I smell the time.  T-I-M-E."   And as I drove down the gravel path, around the river, back to my city (where 30% of the children in our schools will get free or reduced lunch right now, today, and where about 100 families will line up at the food pantry this afternoon--there has been a 45% increase in need in 2011 over 2010 at our local food pantry--see details here), I smelled the thyme on my hands all the way home.  

"I smell the time.  I smell the time," I kept thinking.

I smell the time, and it is now, to get the basic info we need to make our time truly matter when we grow for (and with) those in need.

Take the time.  Make the time.  Grow the thyme.

Did you miss last week's action recommendation?  See Choose a Method and Get Going (Growing).  I know of at least three other Plant a Rows that have started in the past two weeks.  Dig in with us! (A special shout-out to corporate teams--do you have a spare strip of land on your corporate campus that might be perfect for this?  As little as 4' x 100' will work wonders.)

If you'd rather donate a ton, right now, here's an easy way to make a difference where you live if it's fruit-tree-harvest-time in your growing zone: Shake a Tree and Share.  It's as Easy as Pie.

Operation Plant a Row (Next Steps): "I Smell the Time" and It Is Now

I Write. I Roast. I Rejoice in "Muscadine Moments"

It's hard to know what I smelled first this morning when I walked down the stairs.  It was a roast-fest here yesterday, as I sliced and baked at least a dozen eggplants, about ten butternut squashes, and some garlic as I wrote, wrote, wrote.  Take pans out of oven, throw more in, write another article.  Puree, make soup, make pasta sauce, make Meal Muffins, punch down the Mama Bread dough, make Mint and Lemon Balm Tea, make mess.  Write more.  Make more.  That was my day.  And then, as the sun set, I walked around a local track with my friend Tracy of the Chickens (her hair shorter now, her chickens gone), with whom I hadn't talked in ages.  Or, rather, we strolled.  Meandered.  Moseyed.  Dawdled.  Pondering the meaning of life.  Determining it all just boils down to each moment in time and our authentic expression and embrace of it.  That nothing all that much else matters.

We smelled the pungent fragrance of fermenting fruit and wandered off the path.  "Muscadines," I said out loud, and sure enough, there they were, rotting on the ground and dangling full-bodied from branches everywhere.  Tracy reached up and plucked a couple.  She said she had never tasted one and I told her to pop it in her mouth and bite it and it would explode with a flavor sensation of incredibly grapey juice.

I heard the pop as the muscadine's skin snapped open.  I saw her eyes grow wide, and her complete and total presence in that moment's sensations. And I realized that, yes, that's what we're striving for, that's what our conclusion about the meaning of life meant, that every moment had the potential to be a "muscadine moment."

I gave Tracy a handful of muffins, still warm from the oven, and then came home and baked the bread and scooped the soup into cups to freeze and store for another day. 

I write.  I roast.  I rejoice in being fully present in simple moments.  I know a moment will come one day soon when warm bread and soup will truly matter, when we will be cold and tired and needing nourishment.  I know that this food, mostly grown on the land over which I serve as steward and made by my labor, will now be further enriched by the memory of the day I made them, the friendship I shared, and the wisdom that we perhaps gained.  And now, as the children awake, I warm the tea. 

Read more about muscadines on page 180 of my book, and Meal Muffins, Mama Bread, Smooth-n-Creamy Butternut Squash, and Mint and Lemon Balm Tea are all end-of-chapter recipes in it as well.

I Write. I Roast. I Rejoice in "Muscadine Moments"

James Falls Down the Rabbit (or, um, Dumpster) Hole

I swung by the main community garden and picked up the pile of brown paper lawn bags from soil deliveries from Farmer D Organics' shop that had been left for anyone to use to put on the ground before mulching. I had told James Tola, who is the person in charge of the garden at the food pantry at the church directly across the street, where we are putting in the Plant a Row, that I would try to come by with the bags before he mulched the expansion, or, I suggested, he could put down cardboard or newspapers instead.

When I pulled into the parking lot at the church, its spots mostly full with churchgoers on a Sunday morning, I saw someone scrambling up the side of a dumpster way in a corner.  As I got closer, I realized it was James!

I had taken James for a neat and fastidious guy who doesn't necessarily like getting dirty, although he digs in anyway.  Yet there he was, in the dumpster, and then barefoot in the garden, spreading cardboard.  He laughed and worked with a purposeful, relaxed joy that I hadn't really seen in him before. 

We have a saying (based on witnessing it over and over again) that there's a point when folks involved with this urban agriculture stuff peer so much over the edge of the big, black hole of information and involvement that they literally fall down it, and it just gets deeper and deeper.   James, I have news for you.  You have now officially fallen down the rabbit (or, um, dumpster) hole.  You're now in deep.  Welcome.

See "But Then You're Raising Rabbits, " pages 209-211 in my book.

James Falls Down the Rabbit (or, um, Dumpster) Hole

Van Understands

So I showed up at the food pantry garden yesterday morning at 8:02.  I had asked my friend Van Malone if he could meet me there at 8 AM to till the Plant a Row that we are adding.  Earlier in the week, my friend David had worked with the food pantry clients, mostly a man named, ever so metaphorically, Angel, to clear the grass and move the border frame. When I got there, Van was already tilling (see short video here), and I realized, you don't show up late when a gardener is involved!  Van got home at 11:30 PM last night from Washington, DC and I apologized for asking him to come so early.  And he replied, "Gardeners can't wait to get up and get to work." 

And that got me thinking about the magazine-whose-name-must-not-be-named-just-yet.  The November issue is coming out probably in about two or three weeks, I would guess, and yes, this magazine is everywhere magazines are sold in the United States. I'm kinda', sorta' in it, maybe just a little sidebar, I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure that the article makes mention of the fact that I get up at 4 AM every day (a fact checker had called me about this).  

Van's words, that "gardeners can't wait to get up and get to work" hit home for me, because that's exactly how I feel.  And not just about gardening, but about all the projects I have going on, both passion projects and my paid client projects.  And, yes, I'm tired later in the day.  And, yes, I often nap, even if it's just for ten minutes in the hammock.  And, yes, I fall asleep at the drop of a hat at night.  And, yes, I was two minutes late to meet Van because I was working on one of these other projects.  And, yes, this all makes me sound crazy, I know.  

But Van understands.  And if you find those things that make you excited to get up each day, too, you'll understand as well.  Almost nothing feels better than going to bed already looking forward to tomorrow.  Almost nothing feels better than the blank slate of morning, brimming with opportunities.

Oh, I just heard the birds.  They're finally up.  The sun will be rising soon.  People will be gathering.  The expanded food pantry garden will be mulched by a youth group.  Fruit trees are being planted at another garden.  I'm baking Meal Muffins for my mom (they have proven to be helpful for anyone going through cancer treatment, or taking care of someone in need, such as a new baby, and being short on time or lacking energy to prepare nutritious meals).  (And, by the way, thanks for the emails about my mom--she's almost done with treatment and is doing well--want to see my fave story about my mom?  See here.)  I'm volunteering at one of the schools.  I'm making food for my daughters, of course.  And I'm trying to talk baseball and football with my husband and sounding ill-informed about both (but he finds it touching when I try).  In other words, I'm ready, Day!  Bring it on.

See pages 30-31 in my book for the famous Meal Muffins recipe.

Van Understands

"Fast Food" for Lunch Boxes

I pack "fast food" lunches for school every day.  What makes them fast is that, most of the time, they are comprised of leftovers in some way, shape or form, from our dinners.  These calzones were made with leftover whole-grain pizza dough I made for that pizza a few days ago.  Rolling these out around 7 AM, filling them with homemade sauce (which I have in cups in the freezer, made from eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, and more from the summer), adding some cheese and some fresh basil from the garden (last call for making pesto, by the way), and baking for just ten minutes is no big deal and makes the house smell great.  

The cookies are from a gingerbread dough I made weeks ago (when the temperature dropped thirty degrees in a day, and the thoughts of gingerbread suddenly danced in our heads). (I also like that the molasses in the recipe gives an iron boost, especially since I'm a vegetarian).  I baked half of it then and formed the rest into a roll that I froze.  To slice the frozen dough and pop them in the oven, already warm from the calzones, was literally less than two minute's work.  I put two in each lunchbox.

And the watermelon--well, that just involved walking outside and picking it.  I then scooped it in little balls into containers.  Done. (See the ever-so-exciting videos about my watermelons here.)

This took less time, cost less money, required less packaging, and produced less waste than would have resulted if I had bought a whole pile of "convenience foods" specifically marketed for lunch boxes.  Add a cloth napkin and a reusable water bottle and, you know what, that's a pretty nice lunch.

There's one recipe (or so) at the end of every chapter of my book, and I try to give you variations as much as possible so you can incorporate this kind of flexible "fast food" into your everyday life as well.

See "Fast Food for Dinner," page 34, and "The Lesson of the Cloth Napkins," pages 52-53, in my book.

"Fast Food" for Lunch Boxes

How Rotting Food Gave Me an Idea--and How You Can Get In On It (Introducing Team "Food for the Fugees")

So I ran into Rod at the community garden yesterday when I went to water David's new food pantry bed and Bob's food pantry beds (I think he's up to, I don't know, five fully-planted beds now, with another seven or eight waiting for soil?  This is the guy who planted strawberries our first fall because he didn't want to have to do anything until harvesting them in May).

Seeds in Rod's demonstration "commercial" micro-greens growing table are germinating beautifully.  The garden, in general, looks amazing, although many beds are not yet transitioned to fall, and red peppers and tomatoes are rotting (creating an attraction for both "thieves" and pests for the entire garden membership), which provide me with the opportunity to practice letting go (which is hard).  I even think about leaving the garden sometimes, since it is in terrific new leadership hands, and then wonder if I should pack up my cinder blocks and soil and set them up at home as a food pantry bed, or if I should leave them for the food pantry effort there.  If I leave them, I'd have to allow the bed to possibly not meet its production potential over time if there is not a committed steward for it.  And those cinder blocks and the soil I've built there have really high meaning for me (see the final entry in my book, pages 240-243, to know why). (These pictures are of my bed in August 2009 and then in August 2011.) 

As luck or kismet would have it, Rod and I got to talking, even as a welcome downpour started.  Rod has access to pounds and pounds of local, certified organic produce, from a farm where he serves as a consultant, that is deemed not market-worthy because it is a day past its prime or misshapen or otherwise visually compromised but perfectly edible.  Many times, Rod will save this food from the compost pile and bring it to the Team Food Pantry harvest on Tuesday mornings.  In fact, he did this just a couple weeks ago, on a day when we thought there would be nothing. 

For the other days, I had introduced him to the Fugees and he has brought a good deal of fresh food to their school in the past, but he is a busy man, he never knows which days he's going to have the food, and Clarkston is 13 miles in a different direction from where he goes each day.  So, I suggested we build a team. 

And, yes, that's where you come in.  Your opportunity for service would be just to "answer the call" (or, rather, email--and I promise you no meetings, ever) if and when you can.  Here's how it would work:

1. When Rod has food available that might be a good fit for the boys (and now girls) of the Fugees Family (a school established by Coach Luma Mufleh, of Outcasts United fame, for refugee children), he'd let me know. 

2. I'd send out an email to the new team--let's call it Team "Food for the Fugees."

3. If someone is available that day or the next morning, they'd let me know and they'd pick up the box or boxes from Rod at his home in Dunwoody and drop it off at the Fugees school in Clarkston. (If no one is available, the food will get composted, which will, of course, help to nourish future food so it's still a good thing--we're not going to get crazy; we're just going to do what we can and "learn as we grow.")

4. You'd follow up with an email to the team with any new information regarding culturally-appropriate food insight (perhaps we donated something that wasn't liked, for instance, so we can stay away from that, if the school chef would prefer).

We dipped our toe into helping just a little bit with Watermelon Week these past two summers, and it was very easy and really mattered to those kids (see here for when one of the boys told me why).

For some background on the Fugees Family, see its website here, see 13 Miles and a World Away, and I highly recommend you read the excellent book written by Warren St. John.  And, yes, I am hoping to sell a whole lot of my books (big thanks to Kate for the generous review today) so I can donate money to help create the community garden at the new school the Fugees Family is trying to build on land it bought in Clarkston.  For now, we'll consider getting involved to help with that a "long-term plan" of Team "Food for the Fugees," okay?

As I left the garden to go to the middle school for something, I passed this sign.  And yes, I could see it--children in a great deal of need "biting in" to both fresh, healthy food and an education.

Anyway, email me if you're in.  Bob, I already put your name down.  For those who don't know Bob's deep feelings for the Fugees Family's efforts, see here.  For folks who live elsewhere around the world: see if there is a food recovery program in your city that could use your help here and there picking something up or dropping something off.

How Rotting Food Gave Me an Idea--and How You Can Get In On It (Introducing Team "Food for the Fugees")

A Little Happy Talk (and an Introduction of Julie of the Woods)

So I call my mom (pictured surrounded by healing light recently) and say, "You know, I kinda' want to do it, the Google directions, to Tasmania.  It would take 56 days and I could chronicle it in a book I call 56 Days to Tasmania.  Don't you think that's a good idea?"

"No," she replied. (I exhaust her sometimes.  See pages 131-133 in my book for another example.)

But then, after what happened next, when I saw her a day or so later, she completely changed her tune, and a smile crept across her face (and when you're hanging out at "chemo," smiles are good things).

Here is what I told her:

"Julie has a kayak, and she'll come with me."  I explained it wouldn't be for eight years or so, until my younger daughter is in college.

"This I could see," she said.  And the important thing about this story is not whether or not Julie and I actually go; it's that Julie and I (and everyone who knows us) could actually see us doing this, even now, even as middle-aged moms living in suburbs of B-cities (that's an ad sales term from my Turner Broadcasting days, not an editorial comment on the quality of our cities).  And that this intention of ours brings us into the paths of others we never would have met and opens up opportunities that weren't even options a day ago.

First, meet Julie.  Julie is one of my best friends from college. Our most memorable time together in school was when we partnered for a semester in a creative writing course and co-wrote a series of stories about which we still talk (along with my college apartment-mate Kristin, who was our best audience and with whom I'm now back in big touch because of my book).  We were going to move to L.A. and write TV sitcom pilots and be a team.  (She fell in love, got married, and stayed in Maine. I moved to New York City.  Things changed.) 

Julie makes me laugh so hard that one time I had to use a paper bag to keep from hyperventilating.  She lived with my family one summer on Long Island when a job at the camp where I was working sounded like far more fun to her than the waitress job at a truck stop on the Maine Turnpike.  That was until she was immediately given the after-camp assignment of driving the camp bus in the New York City borough of Queens and really, I don't know how any of those children made it home that day.  With Julie as their bus driver, I know they probably thoroughly enjoyed the detours, however.  ("Things are different here. In Maine, a honk means hello," she remarked afterwards.) We used to sing the song Happy Talk from the musical South Pacific with the campers, and the first stanza from that song appears and disappears with regular frequency, like the morning mist, in my mind:  

Happy talk, keep talkin' happy talk,
Talk about things you'd like to do.
You got to have a dream,
If you don't have a dream,
How you gonna have a dream come true?

The next summer, I traipsed with Julie through ten countries of Europe (from the United Kingdom to the island of Corfu, with a stop in East Berlin at a time before the wall came down) on 20 dollars a day, a trip that caused me to practically fail a class at college because I spent all year with my nose in the book Let's Go Europe (I'd call her and announce things like "did you know that the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays?" when I should have been studying Shakespeare.  There is no other way to explain the downward spiral of that Shakespeare class.)  

That trip truly changed my entire life in many small and large ways that continue to manifest themselves over time. (By the way, here is a grainy photo of Julie with her head stuck in the Eiffel Tower, right before we discovered it was stuck.  The more she laughed when realizing her situation, the more her head swelled.  A small crowd gathered, and we eventually squeezed her out.  These are not out-of-the-ordinary experiences when you travel with Julie).

Anyway, so I told Julie about the Google directions and how I was thinking of doing them but how kayaking across the Pacific Ocean may be too big a challenge for me. (I'm a little iffy with large bodies of water--okay, even small bodies, even creeks--ever since my older daughter almost drowned a number of years ago.) 

"Julie of the Woods," as she likes to call herself, told me she had the kayak and that she would, yes, indeed, like to come with me (we had been planning on a new trip after the kids were off on their own) and she would take care of the kayaking.  She told me I just needed to focus on learning Japanese (for the part where we have to follow Google's directions across Japan, which include street signs in Japanese).  She then proceeded to send me pictures of herself with her "day pack" (that's a whole series of jokes from our Europe trip that have just resulted in me sporting a big, broad grin), ready to go.

And so, who knows if we will actually go (although I did tell my mom yesterday that I was going to rerun the directions with the "no highways" option because you know how I don't like driving on the highway--I can barely get to Fred's!) and I did start this blog as a "holding place" so that no one else could take the name ("You really think anyone is going to take that name?" my husband said to me), and I am actually thinking through the littlest details ("I'd pack almonds," I found myself saying out loud last night).

See Julie of the Woods in the back, leaning in toward her daughter

As Julie emailed me yesterday:

"Even talking about it and possibly never doing it doesn't take away any of the pleasure.  No expectations but dreams of possibilities and so many possibilities and so many dreams that you couldn't possibly have all of them in one lifetime.  My spirit being open to dreaming and possibilities is all it needs to stay on fire.  Quick, write that down it sounds so damned poetic!" 

Listen, times are tough.  Very tough.  Poverty's up.  Jobs are down. Resources in every definition of that word (physical, social, emotional, spiritual) are running out.  The suicide rate for those between the ages of 46 and 64 is the highest in a really long time.  A little happy talk can't hurt.  A little dream can only help.  A little imagining that it's actually possible that we could be kayaking in the South Pacific, singing Happy Talk, and co-writing again, is life-affirming.

A Little Happy Talk (and an Introduction of Julie of the Woods)

Operation Plant a Row: Choose a Method and Get Going (Growing)

Okay, so you're on board with Operation Plant a Row 2012 (thanks for all the emails about this, by the way) and you want to get going.  Today and over the next few weeks, I'm going to:

* Show you how to create your row (pictured is a corner of my front lawn that is now a grow space ready for fall planting--it started with a mailbox garden a few years ago and just kept expanding);

* Give you some tips about connecting with your local food bank and determining the culturally-appropriate needs of the particular clientele you will be serving (hint: get "close to the people" as much as possible);

* Help you develop an annual "grow strategy" to maximize your production per square foot (points of reference--aim for about 1 pound per square foot in Ohio, 2 pounds in Atlanta, 4 pounds in Cuba);

* Share some "hunger in America" and around the world jaw droppers so you can see what is sometimes a hidden need in your community (home-bound seniors? yep, they're hungry);

* And spotlight folks doing effective work in helping to feed people in need in their communities (I have a whole bunch of cutting-room-floor stories from national research I did on this for an article not long ago that I've been itching to share with you!)  (An actionable tip for today: you may want to volunteer while growing your own row--you'll learn a ton--ask your local community garden if it donates to those in need, and if you can help).

Let's get that row started now because then winter can work in your favor, further preparing your bed for planting.  Here are some choices for you.  Choose your method and get it done (you can mix and match methods to meet your needs, and there are many other ways to do this as well).  I find most anything I want to do in life takes two hours.  Seriously.

See if you can do 100 square feet--4' x 25'--because it'll be more satisfying for you to have a significant delivery to your food pantry (and it's easier to do a bigger space than a smaller one because then you have space to move things around--trust me on this one). You most likely have lots of underutilized space around your home or at a school, place of worship, park, or community center near you.

Will Have You Planting Now

Want your row in immediately?  Identify your space, mow low, cover with newspaper or cardboard (or used brown paper lawn bags work great, too), and truck in a load of high-quality, organic compost.  Mound up to form your row.  Mix in organic fertilizer (I'd put in 50 pounds).  In Atlanta, I strongly recommend Farmer D Organics.  You can have an insta-garden in two hours.  In fact, if you choose this method, get seeds and transplants, too, because, frankly, your row is done and you can start the fun and be donating this season.  I'll even circle back in a few weeks and tell you about season extension solutions to keep this row going all winter.  As for costs, our food pantry growing efforts show that we "made back" the start-up investment in this method in donated food value in one season (one year if you include the sustainably-harvested cedar wood raised bed frames that Farmer D builds and sells as well).  (These are the facts--I am not paid to endorse this company, or any company, for that matter, on this blog).  The spot where you see that soil delivery in the photo above produced over 100 pounds of butternut squashes, 25 pounds of watermelons, and an endless supply of basil this summer alone.

Will Be Ready for Spring 2012 Planting

Identify your space, mow low, cover with newspaper or cardboard, and pile on chopped fallen leaves (I don't use leaves gathered from chemically-treated lawns).  These will decompose over the winter.  Additionally, get a compost tumbler (my favorite is EnviroCycle--see my post: If You Get Just One Eco-Thing)--I actually have two so that I have a fresh load of compost every month from one of them) and use this to compost kitchen scraps (veggies, fruits, coffee grounds) all winter (make sure to include 70 percent "browns" for balance--leaves work best).  

Also, buy a roll of hog wire (it's fun to walk into Home Depot and ask, "Where's your hog wire?"--I know, I need to get a life) and set up two circles (simply cut it, form a big circle, and hook the wires to clasp--it's intuitive; you'll see).  Put these in a corner of your backyard.  Fill one with yard and garden waste (only that which is not treated with chemicals) (cut anything long into 3" lengths--eh, forget that; I don't really do that--just kind of break it up--the smaller the pieces, the faster it decomposes).  Toss from one hog wire circle to the other once a month from now on. You're making compost (it'll be on the bottom of the pile and it looks like dirt and smells sweet). (I get a wheelbarrow full of finished compost--see picture--from this part of my operation every single month.) 

Will Be Ready for Summer 2012 Planting

Identify your space, mow low, till up slightly (honestly, I don't even think I did this), and toss cover crop seeds in the row (see my short post about cover crops, with a photo I love, here).  At the same time, follow the directions above to get your compost operation going.  Done.  This is what I did on the side of my house.  The cover crops grew right away in the fall, stayed green over the winter, and flourished in the spring.  I then chopped them down, tilled them under (not with a tiller; with a hand tool), let them decompose for two weeks, covered them with compost, and planted.  Easy, easy, easy.  In the spring, if you want, you could decide to do a summer cover crop and further build the soil before planting in the Fall 2012.  This is what I'm doing at the St. Pat's Plant a Row. (See below for info about the wood chip paths.) Here's the side of my house last month, by the way (please note this was lawn two years ago). 

Will Be Ready Someday

Ask around to find out what tree removal company near you will deliver free wood chips (they have to pay to dispose of them so they are happy to add you to their list of willing recipients). Use these chips to create your row, and any other rows or patches you want, and any paths you want to create as well. (Plan on a week of 45-minute spreading sessions to get through an average pile, if you are working alone.  It's daunting at first, but very meditative once you get into it, and counts as your daily workout.  I do this about twice a year.  Suggestion: Get together and "chip in" with two friends and help each other spread at each person's home.  Or pay someone to spread it--how about some neighborhood teens?  They are having trouble finding part-time jobs.)  These will decompose over time.  Just get the row established now with the wood chips.  If nothing else, this you can do.  

And, by the way, no matter what method you use, compost and wood chips are your friends.  They work wonders, save you gobs of money, and help you create a balanced ecosystem (which will make organic gardening much easier for you).  Regarding compost, get a system going as soon as possible (even if it's just a worm bin--see my little video here, and listen to what my friend, Richard of the Worms, has to say).  As for wood chips, don't put them up directly against your house, but otherwise, go to town.  And don't be afraid of mistakes.  It's all just experimenting and finding what works for your particular personality and your specific micro-climate.  Remember--the garden resembles the gardener.  What will your garden look like? 

Get many more ideas in my book, most notably in "We Can Save the Butterflies," pages 121-123, where I give you the quick download on what I do regarding soil, compost, perennial herbs, vegetables, crop rotation, nutrients, water, and maintenance.  I'm not a pro--I'm just learning as I grow and sharing what I know.

Operation Plant a Row: Choose a Method and Get Going (Growing)

Do It the Healthy Way the First Time (Thoughts While Making a Pizza, Regarding School Gardens)

I had made the dough around noon so it would have a chance to rise, even though it really only takes an hour, but my younger one was supposed to start a 3-week volleyball clinic last night and I wanted to have dinner ready early and I had someone coming over at 1 PM (for which I had canceled a work meeting), someone working on a school garden effort.

After that meeting, I have something to suggest to folks just getting involved in this stuff--please take the time to check out best practices locally and nationwide regarding school gardens.  I'm finding that many hard-working, well-meaning people are starting them without doing this, even in my supposedly "educated" city (City Hall went so far as to call our city "smart" in its branding effort even though it has no relationship to best practices usages of that word by exemplary technologically-advanced and sustainable cities)--thereby using pressure-treated wood, lots of chemicals, and other 20-year-old practices that are not in line with what's recommended for healthy learning environments for children.  The info is readily available with a simple two-minute Google search and a visit to your local community garden or other school gardens whose leaders have done their due diligence.  And I often hear, "well, we'll just start however is easiest and get people on board and then try to change it over time."  It is easier to do it the healthy way the first time, and frankly, there is no group of children that deserve to be guinea pigs in anything less.  

It's uphill here, in general, on just about every issue, and I know for sure that I don't do uphill anymore.  And I also realize that I live in the wrong place for me--yes, yes, I know this blatantly obvious fact--but here is where I am for now, and so that's why I've been trying things on for size over the last few years to see where I can be helpful without spinning wheels or wasting time (time is a non-renewable resource, and how you spend your days is how you spend your life).

(And FYI, a group of high school kids in my city are trying desperately to lead a citywide organic school garden effort that does represent best practices--they could use some help because they have an uphill journey here--if you could just email them a note of support or a link to your local youth-run effort, I think that might be helpful.  See the beginnings of their website here, and an article about their effort here.)

Anyway, so my younger daughter came home at 4:30 on the school bus (they start late, they end late), walked in the front door and out the back with a backpack full of homework (hours worth).  The weather was beautiful and I saw her eyes wandering to the tree she likes to climb, and, let's face it, my mind was wandering, too.  

I made the pizza and left it sitting on the counter to cool, and I gazed at her out there, trying to hurry on homework but increasingly puttering in the garden, the light streaming over the pizza, the breeze blowing, the birds chirping, the clock ticking closer and closer to when we'd have to leave.  I puttered also, picking fresh basil leaves to pile on the pizza like a vegetable, the way we like it, and I waved to all the little kale babies, hundreds of them now, that are growing like weeds under the eggplants, where I planted them for shade they no longer really need.  And I called to her.

"How's it going?" I asked, meaning how's it going in relation to getting in the car and leaving.

"I hate having to be somewhere," she replied.

"I agree, and I hate having to rush," I added, sympathetically.

That bunny we love ran from bush to bush.  A yellow goldfinch dipped into the stand of Egyptian wheat I had planted as a cover crop and then dangled from the gangly Jerusalem artichokes that are draped all over the fence. 

My daughter had gone to the hospital emergency room a week or so ago for a badly sprained wrist (I was sure it was broken this time) and just stopped wearing the splint the day before, so I offered (us both) the gift of an extra day.

"Ya' wanna' give the arm one more day?" I suggested.

And she answered, "Could we?"

Yes.  We could.

And back she went to simply "being" in our home school garden.

See Fresh Harvest Pizza recipe on pages 140-141 of my book.

Do It the Healthy Way the First Time (Thoughts While Making a Pizza, Regarding School Gardens)