Let’s start off with a smile:

Former park visitors gave AJ this “No Pooping” sign, because he raved about it so much. My focus is on the cactus, but the squatting dog does upstage the subject. Do try to remember the cactus; as it will feature in a future post.

If plants could talk (and surf the internet) some of mine might have been miffed for being left out of the garden showcase post. If they could express emotions like pride and motivation, Oregano would win the prize. This plant is a real over-achiever, and is competing with the Mint for who can take over theirs and all neighboring containers.

Purslane strives to shed its reputation as a weed, by being packed full of nutrition and by displaying plump, fleshy leaves and dainty, colorful flowers. This is my secret weapon should the Zombie Apocalypse happen in my lifetime. A person would be hard-pressed to starve with as much Purslane as we have around here.

AJ is the tree enthusiast. He is cultivating Avocados, Papayas, Mangoes, and this Ponytail Palm that his mom has been growing for us.

When she and Mark visited in January, they went to Rock City Gardens in Vero Beach and found this mature Ponytail Palm. We look forward to the day we can lounge in the shade of our own grown-up, primordial-looking tree that isn’t really a palm and stores water in its foot.

This Pigeon Pea is also supposed to be a tree. It is stunted after surviving the winter. I won’t plant it in the ground, because it is an heirloom, of sorts, and I don’t want it to pick up the dreaded nematodes. All of the potted plants are going with us when we move, and we hope to leave unwanted stowaways behind.

Amaranth or Callaloo is everywhere. The volunteers have popped up from seeds left by the one and only batch of these that I planted. Welcome weeds, they are, though. I call them “Secret Super Lettuce”, because they grow in the worst conditions, laugh at nematodes and have tasty leaves, great for salad or on a sandwich when real lettuce has long since gone bitter. They are also great as cooked greens.

Chives limped through winter. They seem overjoyed with the warm weather and are preparing some lovely, fuzzy, lavender flowers for a future post.

The Back 40 was getting primed for a feature. That was until AJ got rambunctious with the lawnmower! I told him to check with me before doing yard work back there. I had some great clumps of Gaillardia and Seaside Oxeye Daisies, which were doing nicely, and promising to bloom soon. I also had a little watermelon plant, that was thinking about growing up soon. So much for that. I came home, yesterday, to find that he chopped them down, as well as the Spiderworts I was harboring.

At least he left the Crookneck Squash. I would have been pretty crabby to find that mowed down!

With everything blooming, I had begun to wonder when the insects would show up. Activity is beginning to pick up. I’m starting to see my favorite beneficial insects, some that are more popular with me than most gardeners, and signs of the more rotten little critters who think I have been working on their own private buffet all winter!

Stick around to find out who they are.

Some day, when we get a video camera, I will record some of his antics as he plays with scraps of wood and runs up trees. For now, I will share the pictures of one of his latest naps. We call this a “Soft Spot”. After a long night out on the town, he bolts through the door and looks around for a soft spot. We place towels and throws over the furniture in an attempt to “cat proof”. Strange cat that he is, Smokey prefers to drape himself over something uncomfortable, and unprotected instead.

Whatever works for his cat self. He just seems grateful to be allowed inside.

With compost smells, and limestone shells,

and three gray cats all in a row.

Just kidding about the “Foxy” part. It rhymes, and may have applied at an earlier point in my life.

So, people are asking about the garden. I’m astonished that it is still alive, so I will oblige the requests and share some photos.

Thank your lucky stars that I am written out and will keep the blabbing to a minimum on this post!

Without further adieu, and in no particular order:

Eggplant

Cauliflower (I think)

Baby Celery (Probably won’t make it.)

Potatoes

Jalapenos. There are dozens on this one plant.

Cilantro

Periwinkle. A volunteer that pops up somewhere every season. I don’t think it is edible, but sure is pretty for an uninvited guest.

Aloe Vera

Chicory

Green Onion

Dill

Seminole Pumpkin Squash (I believe.) This plant is doing some strange things. I’ll have to feature it in a future post.

Baby Bell Peppers. Can’t wait for them to get past the cute stage and into the “eating” stage.

Pretty sure that these are Butter Beans. We may never know for sure; as I have terrible luck with legumes.

Seminole Pumpkin Squash Plant

Tatsoi

Curly Parsley

Poblanos. There are at least twenty of these on this plant.

Thyme

Okinawan Spinach

Mint

Broccoli

The Oasis, in all of its Tomatoey Splendor.

Tomatoes

Tomatoes

Tomatoes

And moreTomatoes. When they start to ripen, we are going to be drowning in tomatoes! There are at least one hundred green tomatoes, right now.

As we signed the marriage certificate, I had visions of future family celebrations, camping trips and waking up in 40 years to gaze beyond the wrinkled landscapes of each others’ faces and into cataract-clouded eyes.

As our 7th anniversary approached, all of those dreams seemed to be at risk of slipping away.

When we first met, I noticed an unusual mole on AJ’s back. I described it to him, and decided to keep an eye on it. Having recently experienced a minor basal cell carcinoma, I had a heightened awareness for all things that hinted of skin cancer; especially the dreaded, deadly Melanoma.

The years passed. We built a life together. The infatuation ripened into love and dedication to each other and our future. We got responsible and started getting medical checkups. When AJ got into the VA program, they completed an extensive physical. Although the funny mole had not changed, I asked him to have the doctor look at it. He forgot, but the doctor found it on his own. It was measured and put under observation.

Months later, AJ got around to a follow-up visit. He came back with the news that the mole had gotten bigger, and that there was another growth on his arm that concerned the doctor. A biopsy was scheduled. I had to work, so his mom, Karen, and her significant other, Mark, came for a visit and took him to his appointment. His mother was concerned, because she is a two-time cancer survivor, and the disease runs in the family. Perhaps it was denial, perhaps I had too many other things on my mind; for whatever reason, the thoughts of the biopsy were relegated to the back of my mind, and I continued on with the assumption that we would grow old together.

The days came and passed, with no word from the clinic. I had planned a trip to Jacksonville for my stepmother, Judith’s, birthday and to see my dear best friends and my darling goddaughter, Madeline.

As I was sitting on Judith’s couch, getting ready to take her to dinner, I got a call from AJ. The doctor had just called him. The story he got was that the spot on his back was melanoma and that the one on his arm was even worse. There was also something about his blood “not looking right”. So there I was, three hours away, getting ready to help celebrate a birthday and having to deal with news that the rest of my life was about to drastically change. I went numb (just like you always hear). The words were coming from my mouth, but it felt as though I was floating outside of myself, observing everything in slow motion. I tried to put on a happy face for the dear woman, who is still mourning the loss of her own life partner, my father.

Although I had only just gotten there, I felt compelled to get back into the truck and go straight home. AJ assured me that he was OK (which I later learned was not really true), and that I should stay. The rest of the trip was darkened with the black cloud of a future without my beloved.

When I got home, things were strange. AJ was subdued. His spirit was muffled. We went about our lives like robots programmed to audit bars and clean house and live a human life. I would have been a rusty robot, though; because I was on the brink of tears at all times. As soon as I found myself alone, my face was drenched. We acted like regular people (only nicer to each other than normal), but my eyes were puffy and red most of the time. I’m sure some customers suspected that I was dipping into illicit substances.

The doctor had called on a Thursday with the results. The appointment, to have his stitches removed, was on the following Monday afternoon. Every hour felt like a week. Somehow, we managed to get our work completed. I also managed to whip myself into a frenzy by scouring the internet for information about melanoma. My own skin cancer scare had disturbed me, but the thought of being left without my husband was worse than the thought of dying, myself.

The prognosis for metastasized melanoma is not good. Treatments are virtually ineffective, and the survival rate is six months to a year. Unless you are independently wealthy, the best hope is to get accepted into a study. I researched this, as well as natural cures. There is some good research indicating that chemotherapy with Dandelion root extract could be effective, and that even consuming the substance might help fight off cancer. I eyed my two Dandelion plants and wondered how many treatments I could squeeze from them.

I planned out how I would nurse him through his last days. I even fantasized about taking him out to our sandbar on the lagoon, when the end was near, and helping him float on to the next realm in the least painful way possible. I even considered taking that trip with him. Mostly, I just reeled at the thought of spending the rest of my life alone.

Who would I do everything with? How would I get my work done? Who would I go to when I was happy or angry or sad? How would I stay warm when winter cold crept into my bed? What would I do when things broke? I have always been grateful to be married to my best friend, but I never realized how hopeless and helpless I would feel without him.

I suddenly felt motivated to complete the most mundane and tedious tasks. Everything that I have been putting off became acutely important. I imagined that I would soon be in no state of mind to do anything, and that I should get busy while I still could. It was as though the timer on my life was about to run out, and I wasn’t ready.

We were noticeably more kind and loving towards each other during those days. It felt as though nothing external mattered any more, and that our parting memories should not be polluted with bickering or taking each other for granted.

We were angry with the doctor for phoning in such bad news and leaving a long weekend to dwell on it. I was angry with myself for not insisting that he have the mole looked at seven years ago. I was frustrated with him for not taking it more seriously.

On Monday afternoon, we found ourselves sitting in front of the nurse, who was expecting to remove the stitches from the biopsy. He chided us for having taken out the stitches and used the extra time to check the home blood pressure machine against the one in the clinic. We were agitated with having to wait for a consultation, and the fact that the nurse was more concerned with missing stitches than talking to us about how long AJ had to live. We explained the phone call from the doctor and how we were anxious to hear the official results. In my mind I was screaming “What is wrong with you? My husband has a death sentence. Who cares about stitches and blood pressure?!”

The nurse nonchalantly pulled up the records on the computer, and stated that it was melanoma in-situ (which I had already learned was the earliest and least dangerous stage). He continued to explain that the growth they had removed from AJ’s arm was completely benign.

We both let out a long breath, that we must have been holding for days, and barraged the nurse with questions about how the story from the doctor could have been so different from what he was telling us.

Relieved, and with a regained perspective, we left the VA clinic and stepped into the bright Florida sunshine. The black cloud was gone and we both shared an unspoken vow to be more thankful for what we have.

An excision was scheduled to make sure that they had gotten all of the cancer. The surgeon assured us that it was as close to harmless as melanoma can be, and that it is a type of slow growing melanoma that many people have for decades without incident.

He removed a chunk of AJ’s back that was the size of a human thumb. I think it would have been OK, had not the nurse shown it to him! It was a painful episode, and I let him milk it for every ounce of coddling.

The remaining scar is one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed.

When we came home from the results of the biopsy, on what had become one of the happiest days of my life, AJ got drunk, played the stereo loud and ticked off the neighbors.

All is good though. AJ is alive, and so is our dream of being two old farts together!

We don’t have smart phones, nice clothes or super-fancy anything, but certain luxuries have greatly improved our quality of life.

First, it was a new stereo receiver to replace the one that had a horrible high-pitched hum. Then, a 32″ flat screen Hitachi LCD TV to replace the failing hand-me-down we were previously going blind trying to watch. (Bear with me on this. I am really working to justify this TV.) Truth is that he got it for less than half of what it is currently selling for today.

A reverse osmosis filter to get the salt, chlorine and other impurities out of our water.

AJ’s mom got us a fire ring for Christmas. We’ve already had a number of memorable nights sitting (and drinking) around the fire; including the one night where his mom (after a Chardonnay infusion) demonstrated her best Yoga moves on the concrete patio. That night has gone down in history as the “Up-dog, Down-dog night”.

One of our best purchases has been the RV. This fifth-wheel has served us well over the past six years; allowing us to live in affordable comfort as we worked through a difficult financial period in our history of marriage.

A quick note for those of you who don’t know AJ, personally. His purchasing habits border on the obsessive. When a buying opportunity breaches the horizon he goes into research mode. For days, weeks, even months, he wades through the internet, interviews anyone who may have knowledge of the product and explores various retail outlets offering said item.

This painstaking deliberation is both inspiring and agonizing to observe. By the time the money leaves our bank account, he is qualified to teach a college course on the item we are buying.

Smaller purchases, such as flip-flops or an oil filter, might only take a week of research. A larger purchase, like a car, can take up to a year (as was the case with our “new” car). The beauty of this is that he always manages to find the best value. Many of our belongings have actually appreciated since acquisition, and a good number more have held their value over time.

I can say, with confidence, that our 2008 Toyota Camry is right up there with the RV. The money spent on fuel and maintenance, due to our commutes to Orlando, was burning up our wallet. This car is modern, comfortable, looks and smells like it just drove off the showroom floor, and has a unique interior that is the envy of the members of the Camry forum (which has replaced the Mercedes forum as AJ’s most visited website). Oh, and it saves us so much money on fuel, that it almost pays for itself.

Not exactly sure how he did this, but the first few miles he drove on this particular trip, he got 56.7 mpg. The actual average is around 40 mpg.

That’s it for the new stuff that has recently improved our quality of life. I’ll be back very soon to talk about what we went through when we thought one of those lives was about to end prematurely.

From this moment forward, I reserve the right to vanish from the blogsphere between the months of November and February. Birthdays, holidays, travel and familial obligations take precedence over photographing and rambling on about the mundane and sometimes disgusting things that go on around here.

That being said, let us get on with the business of catching up. Forget about time lines. Forget about the rotten cold winter that tried to kill most of our favorite stuff. We have arrived in mid February, where the sun is beaming, the doors and windows are open and the birds are insanely upbeat.

Things are great around here. One of the greatest things is that we don’t expect to be “around here” for much longer. Not that we don’t love the place, and we certainly don’t want to jinx it. So suffice to say that we expect our surroundings to change very soon. As it stands, they have already changed dramatically. So much so, that I am now quite proud to announce that we live in Breezeway Trailer Park. If you are a new reader who has Googled your way to this page, please keep in mind that most everything about this park has taken a dramatic turn for the better over the last few months. Have a look around and see for yourself.

Remember Jack, the junk hoarder in our back yard? Sadly, he was injured and had to go to a nursing home. Once his belongings were removed, the park owners cleaned up the lot and created a parking space made of crushed asphalt. The bean screen that I had built to block the chaos had finally given up the ghost; and since the view has drastically improved, we elected to remove it.

Since the cleanup, the lots along “The Back 40″ have been much more active. Jack’s old lot is reserved, and the others are currently filled. We have some really great neighbors back there, including Lee and Linda, who are also avid gardeners.

Did you notice some barrels and PVC going on? Well, in the event that you have some unusual fascination with 55 gallon barrels, and the various uses thereof, let me indulge you. When it rains, the roof of the RV puts off more water than you can shake a stick at (or a PVC pipe, for that matter). I can’t be bothered to look up the actual climate zone of Micco, Florida, but my best guess is “Tropical Desert”. Every time it threatens to rain (and it rains a lot in the surrounding areas), the storm seems to split off and leave us high and dry, like a thirsty party goer who has waited in line for 20 minutes only to find that the keg is dry. When we do get precipitation, it is usually fast and furious; so we try to make the best of it.

We picked up some 55 gallon barrels and AJ did his engineering magic by attaching drainage tubes from the roof to direct rainwater and air conditioner condensation into these storage containers. They are raised up on concrete blocks, with handy spigots at the bottom attached to hoses.

We now have a nice irrigation supplement, which mitigates the need to tap into the park’s potable water supply.

In downloading photos from the camera, I even found this shot that AJ took of the water pressure provided by the rain barrels. I just adore how he documents his projects!

Oh, and remember my project, the Black Soldier Fly/worm composter? Here it is today. As it turns out, I didn’t have enough PVC/engineering skill to build a stable design. Once it had some weight to it, the whole thing started to lean at a dangerous angle. Things that lean can be unsettling, but things full of putrid, decomposing food and crawly maggots are downright scary. Being the innovator that I am, I came to the ingenious solution of letting it lean into the shed. I also hung a spare piece of lattice on the thing to disguise it from the front. I didn’t ask permission to erect this eyesore; but (fortunately) the park owners are green-minded, and actually contribute their own kitchen scraps to the cause.

Now that it is warming up, I shall be picking up a batch of composting worms to get busy in the bottom section of the contraption. I will then post another update (whether you like it or not!)

If you think that the back is an improvement, take a look at the front. The two ratty trailers across the road were demolished and replaced with crushed asphalt and sod to create very nice RV lots. The spots were quickly filled by a group of very cool snowbirds from Michigan, who chatter in delightfully nasal voices and fill their days with fishing and metal detecting.

We have new neighbors next door, too. They are younger (our age), with two dogs and a passion for gardening and good food. See that gray car in the foreground? Stick around for the next post, and I’ll tell you about that!

The park is going through some serious changes for the better. Trailers are coming down left and right, lots are being improved, and plants are being planted or pruned. I will take some photos of the progress and post those, too.

For now…here is a photo of a tortoise walking down the road.

If you haven’t heard from us, it is because we have been working 16+ hour days, seven days a week for a solid month now. Today is my “day off” if you want to call it that. I’m only here as a form of procrastination in silent protest to the mound of work on my desk and “Laundry Mountain” on the bed.

I did do something slightly recreational yesterday and thought I would share it.

If you have visited our place, you know that we have a compulsive hoarder in the back.

Jack is an illustrious man with a colorful history and a brilliant personality. Unfortunately, he is physically and mentally ill. His compulsion to acquire and compile random objects continued until the day that he went to the hospital for back surgery. He is no longer able to live on his own and will likely end his days in a nursing home.

However, his legacy lingers in the form of the small sampling of his collection pictured below. As long as he dreams of coming back home his lot rent will be paid and his clutter will remain.

Shortly after Jack moved in I saw the writing on the wall and began to devise a solution for blocking some of the inevitable accumulation of that was sure to come.

Back in April of 2009 we built “Oasis 2″, a combined raised bed with a bamboo trellis to screen the view of Jack’s junk.

Over the past year and a half I have learned a lot about gardening. I had a good run with O2 before the nematodes and insects took hold and made it clear that tomatoes, pole beans and cucumber vines were not meant to survive long enough climb the trellis, as I had imagined.

A trip to the beach brought my attention to a lovely wild native called Canavalia rosea maritima, also known as baybean. I became enamored by the plant’s lush foliage with its large, round, waxy leaves and its beautiful lavender flowers.

After my battles with delicate heirloom vegetables I was open to a plant that was able to thrive in the salty, sandy environment of beach dunes. I read up on the plant and learned that it is ideal as a ground cover, and is actually used as erosion control in other countries. An added bonus is that the plant produces large, tasty, edible beans that surpass soybeans in nutritional value.

As I lamented the fact that so many of my fellow Floridians do not take advantage of this local resource I discovered that Mike (our employer and friend) had picked up some beans and was growing them on trellises in his own yard. He gave me a couple of beans, which I quickly planted at the base of my bare trellis.

It didn’t take long for the baybeans to take hold and fill up the trellis. I now regret that I did not place one more bar across the top, for the plant would have gladly filled it in. That is a project for a coming day. This amazing vine has thrilled the pollinators and is threatening to overtake the whole back yard.

The biggest challenge is redirecting the tendrils so that they don’t strangle out every other plant in the garden. This is a battle that I am currently losing, due to the lack of time I have been able to spend in the garden. In the right hand side of the photo above, there is a tenacious habanero plant, which continues to present me with its spicy offerings; although they are almost invisible until they turn red.

Here is a shot of 02 in all of its messy glory. We are getting lots of peppers, and AJ has taken over most of the bed with his collection of pineapple plants. At this point, I am letting nature decide what I am allowed to grow here.

The baybean doesn’t give a hoot about nematodes, lack of fertilization, or even the fact that it has been given two five gallon buckets worth of soil to do its thing. It is growing and making beans like crazy.

Yesterday I noticed that it was time to harvest. Here is a sample.

I picked a large strainer full of these massive beans and decided that I would try roasting them.

Due to their large size, they were easy to shuck and yielded almost two cups worth of the biggest beans I’ve ever cooked.

I experimented by tossing them in soy sauce, olive oil, cayenne pepper and garlic salt before roasting them in the oven.

They turned out good, and AJ even ate a few!

These beans are evergreen plants, so I anticipate many more harvests to come. The vines are loaded with pods which will be mature in a few more days.

Baybeans anyone?

Make yourself at home, Smokey!

Someone once brought up a point that has always stuck with me. Imagine the world without decomposing organisms. Not only would the energy stored in waste and carcasses be locked in place, but the planet would be covered with mountains of corpses and discarded scraps. Of course, things would never get to this point, because without the scavengers of the world, everything would come to a biological standstill.

As I’ve been more than willing to admit, my whole horticultural experience is nothing more than a grand experiment. I’ve been winging it since day one, and all my successes have been the result of trial and error. When I first decided to get into composting I was warned of the numerous mistakes and pitfalls that await the flippant composter. In my usual form, I threw caution to the wind and kitchen scraps to the bin.

My composting system consists of a large, plastic storage container with holes punched in the bottom. Despite advice to the contrary, I throw in anything and everything, including meat scraps, dairy and large chunks of things. There was a period of time where my  bin emitted an aroma that rivaled that of an open sewer, but I covered it with yard waste and pretended like it wasn’t happening.

One day I noticed some big, ugly maggots on a cantaloupe rind and made a mental note to deal with the fact that I was set for a major fly invasion. Over the next few weeks, I approached the bin with trepidation; tossing in my coffee grounds and vegetable scraps with the expectation of the inevitable fly fest.

Remarkably, the flies never appeared, and the putrid odor diminished. In addition, the scraps (including yard waste) began to decompose at a rapid rate, no matter how much I added to the bin.

Being busy with work, and having lost enthusiasm for being outside in the heat, I ignored the compost bin, other than the daily visit to dump scraps. I haven’t turned it. I haven’t added leaves or soil in ages. I just pile on food waste and garden clippings and leave it alone. In the back of my mind has been the nagging sense that when it comes to composting, I am doing it wrong.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about this barren section of The Oasis and wondering whether or not some earthworms might help make new soil. Since nothing botanical is going on, I entertained the idea of raising some giant African nightcrawlers or some composting red wrigglers. I’ve learned that worms are a bit persnickety. They like their food chopped up. They don’t care for anything acidic, such as coffee grounds or citrus. And, their own waste is toxic to them and must be periodically removed. To top it off, they will desert the farm if they don’t like the digs.Slimy little snobs!

Ever the entrepreneur, I been fantasizing about how to raise earthworms, mealworms and other creepy crawlies for profit. This train of thought brought me around to those husky maggots which have taken over my compost bin. “Maybe they could be marketed as pet food or the like” I mused. Upon closer inspection I decided that they were not your everyday housefly maggots. They look almost like beetle larvae with their thick, dark skin. A few searches on the internet led me to the discovery that not only was I not failing at composting, I am actually winning!

The grotesque creatures writing about in my food waste are truly the stars of the composting world: Black Soldier Fly larvae! “BSF” as they are known in gardening circles are sleek, black flies which resemble wasps. However, these flies have no mouth parts and they neither eat, bite, nor carry disease. All they do in their brief lifetime is mate and lay eggs. Their larvae, on the other hand, have voracious appetites and will consume anything organic at a breakneck pace. This is how my compost bin keeps from filling up. The BSF larvae seem to be in a race to eat whatever I feed them.

Their rapid composting skills should be enough to endear you to these ugly ducklings, but they have a few additional tricks up their grimy little sleeves. BSF larvae emit a chemical that repels houseflies. Finally, the mystery of why my compost bin is free of houseflies has been solved. The BSF larvae do seem to get along with the abundance of woodlice in my bin. The woodlice, or sowbugs are also valuable decomposers, as they break down cellulose. What I find most amazing is that since these critters have taken over, my bin doesn’t smell bad. I throw some disgusting stuff in there, but it is broken down faster than it has a chance to stink!

Why am I so excited? Well, not only do BSF larvae make quick work of rotting food, but with their high protein and fat content, they are also prized as chicken feed, fish food, bait and even as live food for exotic pets. Not to mention that other gardeners buy starter colonies for their own composting setups. So, there is a possible income opportunity for the future.

For now, I am planning to put these little miracles to work repairing the soil in The Oasis. Since I’ve all but abandoned serious gardening, I have nothing to lose.

If you aren’t completely swayed by these marvelous creatures, have a look at how Black Soldier Fly larvae dispense with fish carcasses. If you can get past the yuckiness, it really is a beautiful process.

Let’s start out with a great plant that has far exceeded my expectations:

Bay Bean

Canavalia rosea, otherwise known as the bay bean, beach bean, seaside jackbean, coastal bean or Mackenzie bean is an important plant for control of beach erosion. I’ve often marveled at the lush foliage and quirky flowers of this plant when I found it growing on the sand dunes.

Last year I became very interested in the plant and learned that it is a severely underrated, hardy and drought-tolerant ground cover. I decided that it would be the perfect plant for our barren “Back 40″, and resolved to acquire some beans to plant.

As though I had placed an order, Mike (the guy who pays us) who had been harvesting beans from the beach, and growing these plants in his garden, gave me some seeds. He also mentioned that he enjoyed eating the beans, prepared the same as edamame. Research gives mixed results about the toxicity of these beans and suggests that they should be thoroughly boiled (if eaten at all).

He shared some seeds with me, which I planted this spring. The vines have since grown to fill my trellis and are blooming and creating beans.

I’ve also begun training them to grow out on the Back 40″. My next step is to get some native beach daisies and gaillardia to intersperse with the bay beans. I’ve seen this at Sebastian Inlet, and it is not only appealing, but attracts native pollinators.

I would be remiss if I failed to mentions that Canavalia rosea is a psychogenic herb. In other words: People have used it to get high. I cannot vouch for this quality, but I have noticed that my bay bean plants are conspicuously absent insect damage. Maybe the bugs take a bite and then forget where they are? Whatever the reason, this plant is thick, healthy and exuberant, despite the root knot nematodes and abundance of destructive insects in my garden.

I’ve also discovered a treasured Carolina anole living in its canopy, as well as a marked reduction in the number of aggressive brown or Cuban anoles.

Today I found an exception to this generalization as I was following a small, blue butterfly with my macro lens; hoping for it to light on a blossom for a photo op.

Before the butterfly could land, it was snatched up by a juvenile brown anole, which proceeded to dispense with it in a few hearty gulps.

As healthy as is the bay bean, the rest of the garden is struggling. My best producers are the Jalapeños grown from the seeds of a produce market pepper. I’ve shared many of these peppers and have made some hot sauce that I think is pretty darn good. Despite the obvious damage of pests and the dreaded root-knot-nematodes, these plants continue to offer up their picante prizes.

Today, I was reminded that insects and nematodes are not the only culprits responsible for the weakened plants in my garden.

Smokey makes sure everyone knows these are his plants.

The heat, drought and root knot nematodes have conspired to ensure that we pay cash for our produce.  The bamboo fascia around the Oasis is also rotting and falling over. This repair is one of many projects on my procrastination list.

In hopes of getting our own place in the near future, I’ve let things go to seed (literally). The amaranth you see in the foreground is a volunteer from last season’s experiment. But something I learned today has given me a new found sense of encouragement. In order to find out what this is, you’ll have to read my next post. I warn you to avoid eating immediately before or during such reading.

For now, have a look at some magnificent mangoes bequeathed upon us by Mike. These represent half of what we had yesterday (before gifting them to the neighbors and making the frozen mango rum drinks that entertained us last night.)

Thanks Mike!

Every once in a while we get a great neighbor like Captain Kym. I was apprehensive when Kym’s motor home appeared in the spot next door. We had gotten used to our big open space; as it had been vacant for a long time. “What kind of neighbor was he?” I wondered. My imagination ran the gamut of all the different type of aggravations we might encounter. “Did he have a noisy dog? Did he get falling-down drunk and have scream fights with his significant other? Would he take issue with my ever-expanding garden, which had already encroached onto his lot?”

It wasn’t but a day or two before AJ had met Kym. He quelled my fears and assured me that he was “a really cool guy”. He went on to inform me that Kym was a treasure hunter who had hit a few bumps in the road, and a guy with a lot of great stories and life experience. A robust guy with a preference for tropical print shirts, a great sense of humor, the spirit of a jovial pirate and some of the best stories you could hope to hear; Kym is the life of every party.

I don’t recall the exact date that Captain Kym pulled in, but I know it was at least two years ago. Over those years, we’ve had the privilege of living next door to a fascinating, funny, thoughtful and generous neighbor. We’ve had cookouts, helped each other in times of need and shared the things we have to share. Heck, Kym even looked after the cat crew on the occasions that we went out of town.

Over the past year we’ve been so caught up with life and work that we didn’t hang out with him as much as we might have. In the meantime, a beautiful lady and longtime friend of his (Marie) came in and swept him away. He moved out of his rig a few months ago, but didn’t really seem gone because his friend Cokey was staying there, and Kym and Marie would drop by every so often.

Yesterday, as Kym’s rig rolled out, it struck me that our neighbor is really gone. Although he now lives just up the road, it seems such a shock to have that empty space next door. I’m glad that Kym is moving on to bigger and better things, and I think that he and Marie make such a fun pair; but I sure will miss my favorite neighbor, Captain Kym! He’s still my favorite neighbor, only now I have to get in the car and drive to visit.

Cokey and Kym on moving out day.

Cokey and Marie. Two more awesome people I know because of Kym. Cokey was also an awesome neighbor; but luckily, he’s house sitting right behind us for a few months.

In July, Gary passed. He was suffering from cancer, which took over his entire body before he relinquished. Gary was a quiet and seemingly peaceful man who lived in the back of the park. He was only in his mid fifties when the disease took his life. We have heard that Gary was a rough and tumble guy, with a penchant for hard drugs, in his youth. However, the man we knew was a gentle giant who cared for his mother at the end of her life and always took our neighbor, Carrie, to the store until he was no longer able to do so. Rest in Peace, Gary.

Jack, the atomic veteran and hoarder, who lives behind us, is in the hospital. He had some discs removed from his neck; and I am told that when they were transporting him to the rehab facility, three paramedics dropped him and fell on top of him. Word is that he may be sent to a nursing home, instead of returning to the park. I think this would be in his best interest, as his living conditions are far beyond unsafe and unsanitary. I’m hoping that he gets placed in a nursing home nearby, so that I can go visit him. He really is a fascinating guy, and I’d love to document some of his stories in a more comfortable setting than the cluttered heat of his yard. My hope is that he finds comfort and cleanliness at the end of his life; and in a fit of selfishness I find myself wishing that his accumulations will soon be removed from our back yard. Although my anti-clutter trellis has managed to disguise much of the junk, I still have concerns about wandering roaches and rats, which will be rendered homeless when he is gone.

Carrie is not doing so well. We feel so helpless as we witness her gradual deterioration. Her mind seems to be holding fairly steady, but her physical state continues to decline. Last week she fell on her way to the bathroom. Her tale of crawling (first to the kitchen table and then to the living room chair) to right herself, was mortifying. What do you do with a strong-willed, independent woman who professes that she would rather die than go into a home? The worst part is that her air-conditioner has completely quit. So, while we languish in our cool environment, she is roasting in the sweltering heat! I am sickened by the thought, but am unable to help her. AJ spent half the day trying to fix her AC, and I have posted an ad on craigslist in search of some window units. If I can’t find something in the next day or two, I will have to call social services and see about getting a case worker assigned to her. I feel like such traitor, but I don’t know what else to do!

The garden is pretty weak. The pepper plants are hanging in there. The stevia is doing OK (although, I’m not sure what stevia is supposed to do). The weedy greens like Okinawan Spinach, Purslane and Amaranth are doing great, while the green onions and basil are limping along.That’s about it for the Oasis, as the nematodes have decimated everything else.

O2 is not doing much better. I have harvested quite a few Jalapeño peppers, and another, smaller pepper given to me from my cousin Alan. The Culantro continues to produce, as well as the rosemary. Because of the nematodes I have all but abandoned the garden. AJ has taken over with planting pineapple tops (mostly donated by our neighbors, Jane and Barry.) The pineapples and the sea beans seem to thrive, no matter what. The sea beans are a wild native ground cover that produce pretty, round leaves and purple flowers. As you can see in the photograph, they have filled up the trellis and are doing a good job of blocking the view of “Hoarder Haven”.

Well, that catches me up on the park business. I have one more post to share the recipe of a hot sauce I made today. I’m not too shy to admit that it might be one of my best concoctions, yet!

Come back tomorrow for that recipe. Better yet, come on down for a taste of the real thing!

We are both fascinated by aquatic creatures, and both aspired to be marine biologists as children. So, when AJ pointed out an interesting hole in the sand bar, we were intrigued. As we continued to snorkel, we observed a handful of these perfectly round holes. The largest one I saw was approximately 3″ in diameter.

Most interesting was that the holes appeared very deep and resembled underwater volcanoes. It was obvious that a good-sized creature had created the mound when excavating its den.

Not long after AJ and I had met, we took a trip down to the Florida Keys, where we went snorkeling together for the first time. I recently found the photos from that trip and almost had a heart attack when I saw a particular photo of myself holding a huge, live cone snail. I’ve since learned (thankfully not the hard way) that this was a terrible idea. One sting from a cone snail, and you are pretty much a goner. There is no anti-venom for the deadly poison of this mollusk. I unwittingly escaped a painful demise on that day; and have since developed a high level of respect for sea critters.

So, when we found these mysterious volcano-shaped holes, last weekend, we were cautiously curious. I did drop a pinch of sand into one hole and could vaguely make out what looked like a prehistoric monster peering up at me. It looked almost like a disfigured lobster or a strange crab. I doubted that it were either of these, though; as its body shape had to be conducive to the perfectly cylindrical excavation.

Later, AJ found a remnant of a creature near one of the holes. This led us to believe that either the resident or its prey was some sort of crustacean. If you know me at all, then you will probably have guessed that I spent a good hour or so on Google that night. I did finally ID the creature.

I’ll show you the remnant AJ found, and will give you one hint. “I am very glad I did not have the opportunity to pick up one of these bad boys.”  If you want to guess what it is, stop at the picture. I will post the answer below.

What does this look like to you? I started by searching for crabs, because it is hinged and looks like a bizarre crab claw. To his credit, AJ had suggested what it reminded him of, but at 2″ long, it seemed large for a shrimp part. We ran the gamut from crab to lobster to horseshoe crab, but nothing seemed to fit.

Finally, I remembered what AJ had mentioned and searched “Mantis Shrimp”. Sure enough, we had a match!

I’m not positive, but it seems that we came across Squilla empusa. If you are really interested, you can search this character and find out all the sciencey stuff about him. Otherwise, here is a quick breakdown:

Mantis Shrimp are neither mantids, nor shrimp. They are stomatopods, and are related to crabs, shrimp, lobster and even the roly-polies you find in the garden.

After reading a bit about Mantis Shrimp, however, I think I’d prefer a crab pinch over the damage done by the claw AJ found. Stomatopods are distinguished by two types of claws “Smashers” or “Spearers”. Smashers have a club-like claw and use blunt force trauma to disable their prey, Spearers, well, “spear” their prey with the appendage pictured above. I can attest that this device is very sharp. This is one critter you don’t want to piss off! They are commonly known, by shrimpers, as “Thumb Splitters”, as just about every shrimper has encountered a Mantis Shrimp injury. When AJ and I were in the shrimp selling business, these primitive creatures would occasionally appear in the bags with our stock. I was fascinated enough to take a photo of one (although I cannot find it now).

Mantis shrimp make one of the fastest movements of any animal on earth. They make a “popping” sound as the movement of their claws is as fast as a .22 caliber bullet and creates a sound wave which causes the cavitation of air bubbles. The bubbles “emit light and produce heat in the range of several thousand Kelvin” as described in this article “The Science Behind Stomatopods”. Although admired and collected by some, they are generally thought to be a nuisance by aquarium enthusiasts, as they decimate the other inhabitants, and can even break the aquarium glass with their powerful strike.

As a foraging enthusiast, the trait I find most interesting is that these creatures get as large as 12″ long and are said to be delicious; with a flavor resembling lobster.

With our new found knowledge we will be aware of these feisty critters and will stay poised for the opportunity to grab a couple of them up for gastronomical experimentation.

Broiled Mantis Shrimp, anyone?

Somewhere in the midst of a bleak week in February, I hiked up my wool socks to close the gap of bare leg exposed by my flannel pajama bottoms that shrank in the dryer, wrapped my “warm fuzzy” blanket tighter around my shoulders and made a promise to God.

“I swear, I won’t complain about summer at all. Give me whatever heat you’ve got. Give me the blazing sun and stifling humidity over this bitter cold, and I will make the best of every moment! I promise that I will go outside and play in nature. Just please don’t give us another winter like this one!”

I’m holding up my end of the bargain. Let’s see if the big guy comes through this winter.

In the spirit of being true to my word, AJ and I went snorkeling again, last Saturday. The ideal conditions are so rare that we were compelled to take advantage of the crystal clear water and light wind.

We drove to the boat ramp in Sebastian to put in. We watched the family ahead of us as they lowered their boat and prepared to board. On this gorgeous day, surrounded by bountiful nature, I witnessed something I see all too often, and which induces more anger each time: As she walked down the ramp towards her boat, a woman took one last drag from her cigarette and flicked it down onto the pavement. In my observation, this is an acceptable practice amongst many smokers. I have called people out on this in the past, and would have done so, had I not been too far away to catch her before they motored away. I quelled my disgusted rage and realigned my state of mind in the direction of positive thoughts. I did promise myself that I would deal with this at a later date.

Advice often given  by my pal, Doug, came to mind “Seek Understanding”. So I thought to myself “I could put together an educational flyer, with visuals, expressing the crappiness of throwing your cigarette butts on the ground.” Maybe my understanding would come easier if I could help them understand. I envisioned illustrating how they get washed into the waterways and eaten by wildlife. I imagined a nice explanation of how fire works and what happens when fire comes in contact with plants that haven’t seen a drop of rain in a month. The imaginary flyer kept me occupied for just long enough to burn off some of the anger, before it occurred to me that these clowns would probably just throw that on the ground, too! Oops, sorry Doug! I did change it to “clowns” instead of what I first wrote.

Next I decided to go on craigslist and post my thoughts on the community page. That idea soon lost its appeal. It wasn’t until I started typing this post that I remembered I have my own soapbox. Approximately 10 to 15 people per day find my blog by searching keywords. So, maybe with the enticement of some pretty pictures, I can lure some of them into reading my rant. I’ll keep it short and sweet:

For the love of God, butt-chucking smokers! Put some thought into what you do with your nasty cigarette butts. I assure you that I do not want to step on them, I do not want to eat fish that have eaten toxic sludge filled cotton balls, and I sure don’t want to move because you burned down my neighborhood! Put half as much effort into how you will dispose of your butts as you do in getting the money to pay for your cigarettes and we should all be happier! End of rant.

Are you still with me? Great. Let’s look at some pretty pictures of the place I prefer to find free of cigarette butts and other trash.

AJ drove us out to the Sebastian Inlet. Conditions were so calm that we were able to go out into the ocean with our little dinghy.

Approaching the Sebastian Inlet Bridge, facing east.

The fishing pier was full. I always feel a little sorry for those people who don’t have a boat. Although, not too sorry. They are in paradise, after all!

Facing the beach and north side of Jetties.

The Sebastian Inlet Bridge, looking west from the Atlantic Ocean. AJ calls those clouds “Bahama Clouds”. Pretty sure that is not the meteorological term, but it works for me.

Back in-shore and past the sand bar where everyone congregates in the Indian River Lagoon. We like our private sand bar much better.

Our private sand bar, plush with sea grass and lots of little critters to explore.

AJ couldn’t wait to jump in the cool, refreshing water!

Not so fast for me. I had to fight with the insoles of my water socks for five minutes!

Finally!

Hours later, still snorkeling. All those white parts are now peeling!

These guys know how to party. They have a table, umbrella and lawn chairs on their private sand bar. I’m pretty sure they were enjoying adult beverages, too.

One last swim before heading home.

Another lovely day in the lagoon. Proud to say that I’m keeping up my end of the bargain!

Check back for my next post about the mystery critter we discovered during our adventures.

Conditions were ideal, so AJ and I went out in the boat and snorkeled on a sand bar. It was gorgeous. The water was clear, and we found a couple of spots all to ourselves.

This whole area is about waist deep. The dark sections are sea grass, and teeming with life.

It’s hard to look dignified with a mask, snorkel and wet hair. I am officially a “Dorkeler”

The Indian River Lagoon is an important estuary that is used as a nursery by many sea creatures. When we snorkel, we like to take an unofficial survey of what we find. Aside from the things we caught, we saw a manatee, a barracuda, a large cobia and thousands of colorful little bait fish, which schooled around us as we floated. Surely they viewed us as some handy pieces of flotsam, beneath which to seek shelter.

Here is a sea urchin I found wandering across the sandbar.

A shy hermit crab.

And a gangly spider crab, who was not keen on having his photo taken.

AJ can manage to still look cool, even when snorkeling.

You’ve got to keep an eye on him, though. When he gets in nature he takes “au natural” literally. There were no boats within viewing distance, so he got a little extra sun where the sun doesn’t usually shine.

AJ caught the tiniest, most adorable little tripletail. These fish grow up to be quite ugly and very tasty.

With his experienced eye, AJ noticed the telltale star marking of sand dollars buried in the sand. I was quite surprised, as I didn’t realize they were so plentiful in our lagoon.

Looking to the East, towards the inlet.

Here is a typical view to the West on any summer afternoon. That large beige box is the big, ugly marina. Our park is right next to it.

After we got water-logged from snorkeling, we cruised over to an island by the inlet and had “Happy Hour” in our beach chairs while watching the boats go by.

A wonderful day in a wonderful paradise. Times like this remind me why we live here and love Sebastian so much!

Miss Carrie and the Giant Electric Bill

Miss Carrie is doing fine (see this post for context). The assistance program covered not only her past due electric bill, but they matched the amount of her credit. I assume this is what happened, because she now has a credit of $250.00. It has been difficult to get her to understand that she won’t have to pay her electric bill for about one year. I guess that she’s had this large credit since February, and has been paying her monthly bill, regardless. We’ve had to explain this to her numerous time, and I’m still not sure that she isn’t sending them payments. I am very grateful to Tom at FPL for taking a personal interest in her case and making sure that her power did not get turned off while we sorted things out.

AJ got her a nice, new water heater for free. Frank (the park manager) donated his time to install it, and Captain Kym’s wonderful lady (Marie) was so generous to pay for the materials.

Carrie also got an increase in her Social Security check (I’m assuming as a result of the phone calls we made). She still won’t wear the clothes I got her. When I ask, she says they are “really nice”, but continues to wear the old ones, with rips and stains. Oh well. I guess you can’t win them all.

Visitors

We’ve had some great company including AJ’s friend Nelson and his son, AJ’s Mom and her fiancee Mark, AJ’s dad and his wife Caroline, my dear friend Kim and my other dear friend Christy. As always, lots of great food, beverages and conversation.

The Garden

I’d give the garden a solid 5 out of 10. A few things are doing great, but many are not. The nematodes are winning most of the battles. The whole endeavor has become a testing ground for which plants are nematode resistant. I’ve had some interesting results, which I’ll share in a later post; as well as a depiction of what happens when you grab the wrong sprayer when treating the plants.

Work

Work is going great. We have finally gotten the wolves away from our door and are working at paying off our debts to family and credit card companies. As the economy continues to falter, we are seeing that bars are hanging in there. I suspect that people will continue to drink until they haven’t a dime to spend.

OK, enough of that half-hearted attempt to get caught up. Please move along for a more interesting post about our recent outing in the lagoon.

14 years ago I went to “find myself”.

I found a lot,

but not what I thought

I’d find.

My Weeping Buddha polished to a rosewood shine.

Today I find myself here

with the drunks, the drugged, deranged, diseased and dying.

With the barely here and the barely trying.

A respite turned me desperate, and is gnawing at my peace.

Aching to look out my window and see something other than an old hoarder’s collection of junk.

Longing to relax on my patio undisturbed by barking dogs and a chattering neighbors, who talk too much about too little.

Dreaming to stretch my legs on an acre and raise heirloom tomatoes and chickens for eggs.

14 years ago my future looked so different.

Yet, nothing feels so right as the tomorrow I see from here.

For Sagittarius the future is sublime.

The chase, the elusive dream, the next stop on the line.

Always looking up and over, aiming arrows towards hope.

So, beware the end of the line.

A colossal waste of time.

Live long and young and free.

Make it work, make it good, and wish the same for me.

Mrs. Downy Woodpecker: Oh sweetie, I just love our new place! Our hard work has finally paid off. I can’t wait to move in and start a new family. Let’s get frisky up here on top of the roof and start making babies.

(Mr. Downy obliges.)

Red Bellied Woodpecker: Wow, this yard is very posh. It has an All You Can Eat Asian Palm Nut Buffet. I think I’ll hang out for a while.

Bluejay: Wow, this place is great! It has a birdbath in my favorite color!

Bluejay: Um…a little privacy, please!

Red Bellied Woodpecker: Hey, What’s this? A luxury condo and move-in ready. All I need to do is enlarge the doorway a bit. Good thing I didn’t waste my time building one of my own.

Red Bellied Woodpecker: Hey you little pipsqueaks, I’m taking over this place. Go get yourselves another.

Great Crested Flycatcher: Hmmm, I wonder about this place. The perching is nice, and it has a spa, but the woodpecker neighbors are almost as bad as mockingbirds. I think I’ll look for quieter digs.

Mr. Downy Woodpecker: Take that you evil home invader!

Red Bellied Woodpecker: Ouch! You’re pretty tough for a little guy. But I’m not leaving!

An epic battle ensues.

Feathers fly and little woodpeckers strive to defend their abode. The Red Bellied Woodpecker is unflappable.

A stupid human interferes with the natural order and tries to chase away the big invader by squirting with the hose. The Red Bellied Woodpecker returns again and again. The Downy Woodpeckers pant with exhaustion but refuse to relinquish their home.

The next morning, the nest is abandoned. No baby woodpeckers in our yard this season. The meddling humans lose!

Making your own yogurt is like throwing a party. Making  Greek yogurt is like throwing an even better party. First you must send out the invitations. For my party I invited a gallon of whole milk.  I wish I could have gone with fresh whole farm milk, or even goat’s milk, but I am working on a budget. here. Instead, I threw in a quarter gallon of half and half to thicken it up a little more.

With every party, there are sure to be uninvited guests. Maybe Kendra’s mom pressured her to bring her 35 year old virgin cousin who wants everyone to know that he is a “Trade Prince” in World of Warcraft (whatever that means), or perhaps Greg’s stalker ex-girlfriend followed him to the party from her stakeout in his work parking lot. In milk, there are microbes which ruin the yogurt party and must be eliminated. The good news is that the yogurt party poopers are much easier to remove than Kendra’s cousin (who you may have to send on a pizza run to a neighboring county) or Stalker Chick (who might require a friendly visit from the local “Five-O”). Unlike with the human element, all  we have to do is heat the milk to a steamy 180°F and those pesky microbes will die of unnatural causes.

There are a few ways to successfully heat the milk without scorching it. A decent thermometer is essential. I use a crock-pot, but a double boiler also works, and is quicker. If you live in the Middle East you may wish to place your milk in a clay pot on the patio. No matter which method you choose, stir frequently and remove from the heat as soon as the temp reaches 180°F. The good news is that the high temperature also makes the milk proteins happier to stick together. Everyone knows that all good parties have a cohesive vibe.

OK, now that the party crashers are gone we can introduce some culture. The yogurt culture is like that DJ who shows up with his professional sound system and every album you ever loved. Once he plugs in, the room comes to life. You must have patience though, the culture cannot be added until the optimum fermenting temperature is achieved. That temperature is 110°F. So have a couple of drinks and stir occasionally to keep things mixed up as you wait for the DJ to finish up that wedding he is doing to pay his bills. In this instance, the DJ is simply two tablespoons of  regular yogurt. On your first run you will need to get a small container of plain yogurt from the store. What to do with the rest? Well, you can eat it; but after you’ve had the real deal, you will wish that you had given it to the cat. I suggest that you just give it to the cat. Some recommend removing  a few cups of the hot milk, whisking in the yogurt and then whisking that mixture back into the rest. I haven’t noticed any difference between this technique and simply plopping a couple of spoonfuls of yogurt right into the crock-pot and whisking it all at once. Once you have finished your first batch, you can save some of your yogurt for the next one.

Next, let the party start! As long as the neighbors don’t call the cops and the refreshments don’t run out, the party should go on until the sun comes up. The only tricks to keeping the yogurt party hopping are to maintain the optimum temperature and to leave it alone for about eight hours. There are a few ways to keep the temperature at a steady 110°F. If you have a gas oven, you can turn on the pilot light and place the container in the oven. Mine gets too hot, so when I used this method I had to crack the oven door and monitor frequently. Other recipes call for placing the heated concoction in a cooler (or un-cooler in this case) to insulate it. My best results have come from wrapping the crock pot in a towel (with the thermometer exposed) and placing atop a heating pad. This heating pad also has a massage function, but this isn’t that type of party.

Now, you’ve gotten this far without pictures; and good for you. If you haven’t seen a gallon milk or a crock pot, then this is probably not the place for you, anyhow. I did contemplate throwing in a shot of Paris Hilton, but decided to keep things classy.

Here’s where things get fun. In the morning (or whenever your eight or so hours are up) you may lift the lid and stare in amazement at how that milk has transformed into a firm, pudding-like substance. That is the sign of one good party! Now it’s time to stir everyone up and make a figurative trip to Waffle House for some greasy fortification. This is where a regular yogurt party turns into a Greek yogurt party. If you want regular yogurt, simply stir up the mixture and  refrigerate. Did I mention that this is a ton of yogurt? See, that’s why they say to read the recipe all the way through before starting. You are going to have a lot of yogurt and about a week or two to eat it all up or give to neighbors. If you can’t eat a lot of yogurt in a short period of time, then do this with a half-gallon of milk and one tablespoon of culture. If you are ready for the much more wonderful Greek yogurt, then proceed to the next step. You will end up with a significantly smaller amount of finished product.

Get a nice, clean, cotton dishcloth (or a good piece of cheesecloth), a strainer and a catch bowl. Gently ladle the yogurt into the cloth-lined strainer and tie shut. Place inside the refrigerator and leave for a while.

“How long is a while?” you might ask. I don’t know. This might be the point where “by the book” cooks realize that they should have consulted an official recipe. I have winged every batch of yogurt I’ve made, and am currently at a 75% success rate (three out of four batches turned out great).The cats did make a good go of trying to down that one gallon of failed yogurt. The giant bowl seemed to confuse them, though.

As you are straining your yogurt, you will realize that the catch-bowl is not nearly large enough for the liquid that is seeping through the strainer. Keep an eye on your project and transfer the drained liquid to a larger container, if necessary. Of course, those blessed with a regular-sized refrigerator can place their straining setup inside a large pot or some-such device. The key is to keep the strained yogurt out of the drained liquid.

Does anyone remember this nursery rhyme “Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey”? Guess what: The yogurt you made is actually the “curds” and the greenish-yellow liquid that drains from it is “whey”. Pictured is a large mixing bowl that holds the whey drained from my yogurt. This protein-loaded, watery substance remains in regular yogurt, and its removal is what makes Greek yogurt so rich and creamy. Don’t throw this out. The whey has a very clever trick up its sleeve. For now, cover it and let it sit out on the counter for another eight hours.

Now that the party has thinned out, you are left with the die-hard hangers-on; let’s call them “The Curds”. Dump the curds into a bowl and scrape the lingering bits from the towel. My Greek yogurt came out exceptionally thick, because I left it in the refrigerator overnight and for part of the next day. It was nearly the consistency of cream cheese.

Grab that whisk and fluff it up. Isn’t that beautiful?

Now you have some incredible yogurt. Here is where the party is winding down and all of the cats are cut off. Do whatever you normally do with yogurt. Mix in some yummy fruit and eat it up, use it in place of mayonnaise on your sandwiches and salads, make dips or even Tzatzitki.

Here is a picture of the Tzatziki AJ made. I may post his recipe, later; but there are many variations of this lovely Greek sauce. The key ingredients in standard Tzatzikis are chopped cucumbers, garlic, olive oil dill or mint, parsley and lemon juice. Awesome!

Well, the party is coming to an end and most of your guests have either passed out on the bathroom floor or taken a cab home. You have memories of the great times, and wish that things weren’t over just yet.

Guess what! It isn’t over. Surprisingly, the doorbell rings and you open it to find Kendra’s cousin behind a mountain of pizza boxes and Greg’s ex-girlfriend with a bag of weed she found on the floor of the cop car (right before they let her go on insufficient evidence). I don’t smoke weed, but anyone that brazen is usually a good time to be around. Turns out that they are pretty cool people. Virgin man is just too shy, and Stalker Girl was only trying to collect the money that Greg borrowed/stole from her.

In this case, the whey returns to the party with a nice surprise of its own. Do you still have the other quarter gallon of half and half? You don’t need it, but it is nice. In a large pot, dump the whey, the half and half or some regular milk (if you have either) and heat. Use a thick pan or double boiler, so as not to burn the liquid. The acid formed by allowing the whey sit creates a reaction which causes the whey proteins to form curds. Heat the liquid to approximately180°F. For good measure, stir in a splash of vinegar and a dash of salt. The vinegar will aid in the curdling process.

Once the curds have floated to the top, remove from the heat and let sit for another two hours. After this has cooled, gently strain the mixture through your trusty cloth-lined sieve. Tie the cloth shut and let stand for two more hours. I’m not sure, but I believe that the word “cheese” is derived from the Latin word for “slow”!

Ricotta is very forgiving. I got distracted and let mine strain overnight. The result was a very small amount of tasty but dry ricotta, perfect for crumbling on salads, in pita sandwiches and over eggs.

And, on that note, the party is over. I hope that you have as much fun with a gallon of milk as I did. Just make sure to invite all the neighbors who have an itchy 911 finger and to put locks on your bedroom doors. People get a little crazy when they are having too much fun.

Since many of my plants are open pollinated heirlooms, I’m letting them complete the cycle in order to save the seeds.

The broccoli has been a steady source of goodness from day one. I didn’t really like broccoli until I planted my own. It didn’t take long to accept the fact that I wasn’t going to get those big, compact heads like you find in the grocery store. I learned to be thrilled by anything the size of a golf ball. However, had the plants produced lots of broccoli, I may not have discovered all of the wonderfulness of this completely edible and boisterous plant.

Broccoli is like the Golden Retriever of the garden; a gregarious, versatile, attractive and loyal plant. I made cream of broccoli soup from the leaves, stems and diminutive florets. We had cooked greens and stuffed leaves, we had broccoli on salads and as tasty snacks while walking around the yard. Even the flowers are sweet and yummy! The old plant has been around for a year now; and as it goes to seed, it has one more trick up its seed. (That’s no type-O.) I anticipate collecting enough seeds to keep us in tasty broccoli sprouts for the duration of the summer!

And like a Golden Retriever, this plant wags its tail all over the garden bed, innocently trampling everything nearby. Next time I will give the broccoli plenty of space to spread out.

Broccoli Seed Pods

OK, I guess that’s enough about broccoli. I do have other things going on, too.

Lettuce gone to seed

Lettuce Seeds

Tatsoi Seed Pods
If these look familiar, that’s because tatsoi is an Asian relative of broccoli. I know, I know…I said I would shut up about the broccoli!

Dill Flower Head

Wax Beans

Speaking of seeds; see those gray things around the base of the bean plant? Those are the nuts from the Asian Sabal Palm. It puts out a huge mass of pretty blue-green seeds, which are stripped bare by squirrels and mocking birds and tossed all over the ground. They even throw them at the roof of the RV, making lots of loud “thunks” throughout the day.

Well, that about wraps it up for this post. Next time I will share the fun I’ve had with a gallon of milk. Hint, we’ve gone all Mediterranean with our diet.

I’ve also got a bunch of photos of the babies in the garden, although they won’t be babies much longer. Fertilizer and Atomic Grow are making sure of that!

And today is Carrie’s birthday. She’s got her hair done, so I will get a good picture of her. I’ll also post an update on the electric bill and water heater issue.

The cats have learned to band together in manifesting their food. If they stare at the bowls,

or a human, with just the right amount of concentration, the food will magically appear.

And it works like a charm!

We moved to this lot because it had some nice trees and lots of shade. Then something began happening to the hickory trees throughout the park. We had one in the front. It was the base for my first gardening attempt (the fern bed). Well, it died right away. AJ and I went round and round about that dead tree. I wanted to save it for the critters, he wanted to chop it down before it toppled over and smashed the RV. We had hit a snag about a snag. Fortunately, as we are usually prone to do, we arrived at a compromise.

AJ cut the tree back, leaving most of the stump, but not enough to pose danger to any structures. It isn’t very attractive, so we planted a large wild bromeliad in its crook and hung a bird feeder on one arm and wind chimes on the other. As the tree has gradually decayed, it has developed a nice patina of lichens on the trunk and sprouted a spectacular crop of shelf mushrooms. I especially love the mushrooms because the lizards use them for basking and the squirrels use them as a staircase. I believe that the old tree has never been more full of life than after its death.

Doomsayer that he is, AJ frequently comments upon the increasing instability of the rotting snag. “One of these days that think is going to fall over. It’s already so loose that you could push it down.” Then he threatens to cut it down. I resist and point out that the poor woodpeckers depend upon these dead trees for their food; and that there are so few already, because everyone cuts them down. Sure enough, the woodpeckers began to take notice and often visited for a meal. They are so shy and skittish that they could see us inside and would flit off if we moved around.

Imagine my surprise when I noticed a pair of Downy Woodpeckers carving a perfect circle right on the branch closest to the window.  As the days passed and the hole got deeper they became more bold. Eventually they got so brave as to keep working even if we went outside and walked around. This only confirms for me the scarcity of suitable nesting sites.

Meet our new neighbors who live in the snag next door. Can’t wait for the babies to arrive!

Mom bought us a new rug for the living room. It’s so nice; and we needed it so badly! We’ve been playing catchup for so long that everything is ragged and threadbare. Next are towels, sheets, kitchen rugs and throw pillows. Someday, we will get around to buying ourselves some new clothes. I’ll post a photo of the rug after we clean the place up. That will be this week since AJ’s old pal, Nelson, is coming to visit this weekend. Can’t wait to meet him; and I know that AJ is really excited to see him again.

The garden is recovering from the cold snap, and things are starting to happen.

Here are some carrots.

We’ve been eating a lot of lettuce. It looks pathetic because it is heavily harvested.

The broccoli never made big heads, but it makes lots of bite-sized florets.

I let the old broccoli plant go to bloom. It is covered with masses of bright yellow flowers. The bees are ecstatic! Every part of broccoli is tasty. We had some flowers on a salad last week. They taste like broccoli, only sweet and delicate.

Things are really noisy around here these days. We’ve got neighbors running boat motors, power tools, motorcycles, and lawnmowers much of the time. There are also plenty of dogs barking, traffic noise from the road, and various aircraft on a flight path overhead. You didn’t think living in a trailer park was a peaceful, idyllic existence, did you?

When Karen and Mark were here, we all sat on the patio enjoying our adult beverages when Karen said “What’s that noise?” Having become so desensitized, we didn’t even notice it. “Oh, that’s just our neighbor using his grinder (or something like that)”. “No” she said. “I hear that noise, but this is different.” Eventually we realized that she was hearing the skydiving plane that drops off over the Sebastian Airport, a few miles down the road. The wind direction was such that it was dropping almost overhead in order for them to land in the right place.

Nothing unusual. Then, Eagle Eye AJ noticed that this wasn’t a usual drop. These were pros doing a formation jump. I grabbed the camera and dug out my cheapo zoom lens to take a better look. Snapped a few shots as they came together. The red chute joined the formation while the blue and white ones circled around. We are guessing that they were photographing.

They seemed to float in place for a long time, then they all broke apart and drifted to the ground. Funny that we would have never looked up and saw it had Karen not noticed the noise of the plane.

The amaryllis put out two stalks with four vermilion blooms on each.

The cats are beginning to scare me. They think it is time to eat, all the time. 30 minutes after their food bowl is empty, It’s time to eat. A couple of hours after that they are all following me around in their own formation.

Smokey in the front saying “Hey lady, How’s about some grub?” Llami right behind him saying “Um…excuse me, but do you have any idea what time it is?” and Jorgi bringing up the tail with “Yeah, I could eat. I might puke it right up, but I’ll be happy to give it a shot.”

I hope that I never fall down and can’t get up. They might eat me!

I was feeling a good deal of guilt associated with the discovery of her recent $429.00 electric bill. We had always been impressed with how her power bills never exceeded $25.00. The previous one was only $21.00, and that was for the cold month of December. Now, we were trying to determine what could have caused so much usage in a single month.

In the process, we learned some very disturbing things about the way Carrie has been living.

Carrie is a stubborn and resilient old gal who reminisces about the days when she worked and played hard. her face softens with sadness and guilt as she tells the story of losing her first husband. They were a young, married couple traveling in the mountains, with their daughter and her friend in the back seat. Carrie had offered to drive, but her husband insisted upon taking the wheel. An oncoming car swerved into their lane, hitting them head-on. Carrie and the children survived, but her husband was killed. “It should have been me. I should have died instead.” she repeats, each time she tells the story.

She never remarried, but she did spend 40 years with the person she refers to as “My Man” (her common law husband). They retired and moved to Florida together. Not long afterward she came home from work to find him dead on the couch. For reasons that I’ve yet to unravel, neither his children, nor hers have contact with Carrie. To top it all off, her trailer was damaged by the hurricanes of 2004, which ripped off her front porch and carport and created numerous water leaks. She is completely alone except for her “family” here in the park. Until recently she never failed to bake a cake for everyone’s birthday, which she would always present with a recycled greeting card. No one may stop to sit with her without being offered a can of Natural Light. I suspected that something was wrong when the cakes stopped, but I assumed that it was her memory going, not her stove.

“Don’t take my picture! I look like a witch. I’ve got to go get my hair permed.”

I won’t delve too deeply into her financial situation, other than to say that she makes do on nothing more than $600.00 per month. She is fortunate to live in a park where the owner is kind-hearted and hasn’t raised rent in a very long time. It doesn’t take great math skills to determine that Carrie is a master of getting by on very little. The $429.00 electric bill, however, was too much for her to handle. A fortuitous fuel credit (whatever that is) did bring the bill down to $246.00, but that is still ten times her regular bill! Once she showed us the bill, we got busy trying to figure out what could have caused it. This is when we learned the lengths to which Carrie had gone in order to retain her pride and independence.

For over a year she has been without heat or air. At least three months ago, her water heater stopped working. Afterward, she was heating water on the stove; until it also broke. When we went over to investigate, we found that the breakers for all of these things had been switched off, months ago, by a neighbor. We also found out that she really needs help in cleaning (although she adamantly refuses) and that she has been reduced to wearing clothing that is in rags. This is compounded by the fact that her roof and windows leak, and her floors are all dangerously rotted out.

She still insists upon doing her own shopping, and won’t consider the idea of going into assisted living. She never comes back from the store without gifts of food, beer and wine for all of her neighbors. We have come close to fighting more than once, when I refuse to take cash for driving her around or doing her laundry. She can hold a grudge, but only as long as her memory allows. Dependence upon others upsets her more than she can describe. On warm evenings, her laughter echoes throughout the park. Her closest neighbors are always around to check in on her and help out with things like mowing grass, raking leaves, taking out her trash, driving her to the store and doing her laundry. She can’t recall our names, but she goes to great lengths to remember which brands of alcohol we drink and which snacks we like. Anyone who takes the opportunity to sit with Carrie will be treated to one of her many humorous songs or sayings.

I’m a rambler and a gambler and I’m a long way from home. And if you don’t like me, just leave me a lone.

I’ll eat when I’m hungry, I’ll drink when I’m dry. If the whiskey don’t kill me, I’ll live ’till I die.

On Thursday, a delightful man named Yoel from Florida Power & Light came to do an evaluation. His only theory for the astronomical power usage was the leaking water heater. At this point it is FPL’s word against the neighbor’s (who claims to have switched off the breaker so long ago). Regardless, Yoel’s supervisor is unable to do anything about the bill but freeze it until Tuesday, while I try to locate assistance. Although the county funded assistance agencies are out of money, the Salvation Army has alluded to the possibility of finding a way to help her with this bill. I hope to contact the supervisor on Monday and see what she can do.

In a desperate plea for assistance, I turned to the internet in hopes of finding a used water heater and some clothing for Carrie. Although I’m still looking for a water heater, I did meet quite a few angels. A woman named Tracy has offered to donate the labor of her and her family to help fix up Carrie’s place. She has also been a wellspring of ideas and supply resources. Today I picked up a huge bag of clothing and some food from a woman named Sandy. Along with the aid from these two great ladies, I have gotten many helpful suggestions from other online strangers. I truly appreciate the support from so many people who don’t know Carrie or me.

I will continue this story as it unfolds.

I used to be the floor manager for an Irish Pub. During this time my heart had just been tragically broken, my father passed away, and numerous other emotional events took place.

I’ll never forget the first time I was asked “What’s the craic?” Although pronounced like “crack”, the Irish term refers to something much more positive. It wasn’t long before I learned that “craic” is a Gaelic term referring to fun, entertainment or jokes. I am proud to say that during the late 1990s I was a “craic” addict.

Going in, I knew very little about the history of Ireland and its people. Early on I developed a strong, yet conflicting, penchant for the Irish, their humor, food, drink and music. Although I worked hard, each night was a party. Unlike most music, I never tired of hearing the same songs played over and over. The entertainers were talented and authentic, right down to the pints of Guinness they demolished throughout their sets and into the “wee” hours of the morning. I hate to generalize, but my experience was overwhelmingly one of a people with a passion for love, life and fun. All of my colleagues were honest, outspoken, humorous and warm. They were also brash, intense, sometimes angry and often difficult to understand. Never, even in the darkest moments, did they fail to charm, delight or intrigue.

I miss that simple time in my life when I answered to no one but myself and delved deep into my  own emotional chasm. The energy of those years charged my memory to such an extent that simply hearing one of the songs from that period brings chills to my skin and tears to my eyes.

Even today (many years later) the songs of the Irish haunt me. When I’m joyful I think of the song “Whiskey in the Jar” and when I’m miserable “The Fields of Athenry” comes to mind. I recently went to find a few of these songs on YouTube and stumbled upon Brian Corcoran, who just happened to be starting a “song per day” project. I immediately subscribed and listened to everything he had posted. An American of Irish heritage, his voice is soft as velvet and his range spot-on. If I had a greater grasp of musical terminology, I would attempt to do Brian justice; instead, I will default to his videos so that you may form your own opinion.

Although Brian is an American, I think that his heritage gives an insight into the plight of his ancestors. The Irish people suffered famine and oppression, yet maintained their dignity and pride. Listen to these songs and think about how you would react if your country and livelihood were ripped from your grasp. In fact, we might think about starting our own tradition of song and rebellion; as our beloved country is at risk right now!

OK, this is just a sampling. Brian goes on for days and days; each song more lovely than the one before. I implore you to subscribe to his channel, listen to his music,  leave a comment and a rating, and express your appreciation for the gifts of this talented and prolific singer of Irish folk.

AJ and I typically get up in the mornings and go to work together. We ride in the car to our jobs, work and ride home. Sometimes we talk and sometimes we just ride in silence as AJ frets about money and fixing things and I think of ways to bring in more money and wonder which component of our auditing kit I forgot to load up. After work is finished we return home where we each retire to a computer and/or the TV. AJ often has some beer or wine and I usually have some wine. On other days I work the audits and AJ does the side job of driving Worker’s Comp patients to their appointments. Either way, our evenings rarely vary.

Just as in our car rides, we sometimes spend long periods of our evenings without speaking, while at other times we chatter away like the old pals we have become. Although quarters are tight, and we both often long for our own private space, there is a certain comfort in being so close. It’s hard to conceal things from each other. When one of us is feeling bad or has something on our mind, the other knows almost immediately. The lines of communication are always open. We have misunderstandings and annoyances, but those little glitches tend to get ironed out fairly quickly.

Last night we spent a good deal of our quality time talking about Carrie. Carrie is our 87-year-old next-door neighbor. Yesterday, AJ discovered that she has gone without heat or air for a year and that her water heater is also broken. She just received an electric bill in excess of $400.00 (up from the average $25.00 bill)! The best we can figure is that the space heater she has been using caused this. We try to look after Carrie, as she is completely alone. Her common law husband died years ago, and her children seem to want nothing to do with her. We take her to the store and other errands, mow her grass and fix things around her place; yet neither of us had realized just how bad it had gotten for her. Although our conversation revolved around this, we did briefly discuss the significance that February 20th holds for us.

This morning we awoke, had our coffee and headed over to help Carrie. AJ diagnosed the problems. The water heater is DOA, but the central heat and air unit was in working order. The ducts connected to the unit had become detached. We spent much of the day repairing this; including my crawling under her trailer to reattach the ductwork. Many cuts and scrapes, and much grime later her heat and air was working again. I raked her yard and picked up some trash. AJ finished cleaning up with the leaf blower while I went to the store to buy her some necessities.

It wasn’t until 4:00 pm that I remembered what today is…Our Anniversary! By this time AJ had gone to visit his friend Jay, and I was absorbed in laundry and the internet. Aren’t we romantic?

I know that our laissez-faire approach to romance strikes many as callous, but it works for us. We share companionship and partnership on a daily basis, and find romance in unconventional moments.

As a tribute to the fact that today marks the sixth anniversary or our marriage, I would like to share a couple of photos of that special day.

On February 20th, 2004 AJ and I drove to Kingsland, Georgia because we don’t plan ahead especially well, and there you can get married without a waiting period. I had found the Kingsland Wedding Chapel online, and made an appointment.

We didn’t bother to dress up for the occasion. In fact, we completely failed to consult each other about wardrobe, and accidentally wore non-matching red shirts. This just helped add to the campiness of the experience. Note the wood panel walls and artificial Ficus trees.

The most memorable part of the chapel (apart from the proselytizing minister) was the massive crack in the front window. I secretly hoped that it wasn’t an omen; although so far, so good!

Next, we drove to Savannah, walked around and stayed the night.

Speaking of happy couples…Mark and Karen (Mom) came to visit at the end of January. We had a fine time. They cooed and giggled like high school kids (which they always do:), and we all ate well, drank wine and had a generally great time.

While they were here we had a spectacular sunset.

So, what else has been going on? It’s been cold; too damn cold for Florida! Llami has been inside most of the time, but when she does go out, she snuggles up with Jorgi.

The Oasis didn’t take the cold very well. Here is a shot showing the decimated banana trees. Fortunately, they didn’t die, and now have fresh leaves emerging.

The broccoli seemed to love the cold. We have had broccoli greens more than any other veggie from the garden, this season.

I love how the waxy broccoli leaves repel water.

Here is a shot taken today. The broccoli is blooming (much to the delight of the bees), and lettuce, rosemary and carrots are thriving in O2.

It has warmed up a bit, and Jorgi is thrilled.

Sometimes I plant things to surprise myself. I can’t recall whether I planted a melon or cucumber here, but I will find out soon enough.

The Tatsoi loves the cold as much as the broccoli, and although it is lush and healthy, I haven’t become adept at incorporating it into the menu. Anyone have Tatsoi recipes to share?

Well, I guess that is enough for now. I promise to come up with something interesting for my next post. Thanks all for reading!

Well, we made it through Christmas relatively unscathed, thanks to a couple of unexpected cash windfalls, including a bonus from the honorable “Mike, the Guy Who Pays Us”. Thanks Mike!

We were able to make it to Jacksonville for Christmas and Christmas Eve at Aunt Anne & Uncle Norman’s. Glad that we got up there, because a bunch of important things took place, including the Engagement of AJ’s mom, Karen Swinson and her darling Mark Werbil on Christmas Day. Congratulations!

The next day we attended the wedding of AJ’s dad, Allan Ricketts to his new bride, Caroline. Congratulations to the two of you!

We got to see Judith, although she was sick, and also enjoyed the Palmrose clan Christmas party at Uncle Pete’s and Aunt Melanie’s. Between the festivities, I was able to squeeze in a few moments with two of my dearest and best friends Christy and Kim. I missed a few people, but I’ll see ya’ next time (I promise).

After the whirlwind, we spent a quiet New Year’s Eve in bed before the ball dropped. Wish that I could have stayed there, as it has been cold and/or rainy ever since!

Cabin Fever

It is cold outside and it’s drafty in here. We are both in our flannel jammies, with  warm socks. AJ is wrapped up in a wool blanket, and I have on my warm fuzzy slippers and house coat. At one point I even had on gloves and a stocking cap! No, I will not post pictures.

In South Florida, the Iguanas are losing their grip and falling from the trees. My favorite part was the one about the man who took the opportunity to cull them by picking up the stiff lizards and tossing them into the back of his station wagon. Unfortunately, the warmth brought them back around and he almost wrecked as they crawled on his back!

We are going stir-crazy in here! Especially AJ, whose projects all involve being outdoors. He and Llami appear to be competing for the restlessness award. Llami hates, hates, hates the cold. She curls up, trying to stay warm.

She snuggles up, trying to stay warm,

and stares at me as though demanding “Make it warm!”.

She insists upon going out, only to turn right around and knock on the door.

I love them both dearly (AJ & Llami), but I can’t wait for the hot sun to return!

The Fallout

I was already having difficulty in the gardening department. Thanks to the evil nematodes and various other inclement circumstances, the winter plantings have been a bit sketchy. The Marketmore 76 cucumber produced one, big fat specimen (which was quite tasty) right before the vine croaked. Most of the heirlooms do not seem to have any resistance to the nematodes, and were suffering, even before the cold spell.

Ironically, the broccoli (which suffered attack by caterpillars all summer) is flourishing; and even though we have had some hard freezes, the plant looks as though it couldn’t be happier. The same goes for the collard greens and a few other hardy plants. The verdict won’t come in until it warms up and I take the covers off. What I do know is that the beautiful bananas and papayas are taking it pretty hard. I guess that I shouldn’t complain too much. At least it hasn’t snowed…fingers crossed. The garden did yield some interesting characters. I present to you…

Frankensquash!

Earlier this year I attended a seed swap, where I was given seeds for a Seminole Pumpkin Squash.

At this seed swap I learned two valuable things:

1. The native Seminole Indians were pretty good gardeners, who developed a hardy strain of squash that was perfectly suited to the sandy soil and numerous pests of Florida. The Seminoles were said to have trained the robust vines of this prized plant to grow up into palm and oak trees. Since they ripen in the winter, I like to picture the thought of the Native American’s version of a sub-tropical Christmas tree, drooping with golden globes of sustenance. As long as it didn’t go below freezing, they could leave the squash hanging on the vines and pluck them as needed.
2. The second thing I learned is that when you plant seeds, the product can be drastically different from the parent. As if this weren’t confusing enough, there is a serious degree of myth and misunderstanding surrounding this fact. At the same meeting where I picked up the Seminole Pumpkin Squash seeds, I overheard the statement that plants of a similar nature could interbreed if allowed to cross-pollinate. “If you plant cucumbers and watermelons too close together you will get a normal looking fruit, but the seeds will produce a hybrid of the two, and you’ll end up with some nasty-tasting cucumber-melon.”
   

This idea fascinated and confounded me. Why had I never seen such a thing? Surely, someone would be growing them by accident, or for the sheer novelty? I couldn’t wait to get home so that I could get to the bottom of this. Sure enough, it was an old wives’ tale. Although Watermelon, Cucumbers, Squash, Gourds, Cantaloupe and Pumpkins all belong to the Cucurbitaceae family, they are different species, and cannot inter-breed. However, varieties of the same species can cross-pollinate. This means that salad cucumbers and pickling cucumbers will blend to create a seed stock that produces some mixture of the two. The frustrating part is that, in some cases, a plant over one mile away can contaminate yours. For the standard gardener this is not a problem, as it only applies to the product grown by the seed of the cross-pollinated fruit. However, it is a problem for collectors of heirloom seeds.

I planted the Seminole Pumpkin Squash seeds that I got from the seed swap. Not long afterward I visited John Roberts, “Bamboo John”, who gave me a gorgeous specimen from his own garden. I ate that squash and planted a seed from it, as well. All plants grew rapidly, and looked identical. It wasn’t until the squash appeared that it was demonstrated how easily an heirloom can get mixed up. I had researched the Seminole Pumpkin Squash online and had noticed that there are at least two distinct varieties of what is supposed to be the same plant. The fruit from the first seed were of the bell-shaped variety. They got very large and heavy (almost 5 lbs.) before I was forced to pick them due to a variety of circumstances. The plant from John’s squash produced a single specimen, which looked exactly like the smaller, round squash that he had given me. As both were blooming at the same time, it is quite possible that the seeds from these squash would produce something in-between. I plan to roast the seeds when I cook the squash, so I will not have to wonder what they would produce. Well…maybe I’ll save a couple.

Roasted pumpkin-squash seeds do seem like a fun cold-weather treat. Anyway…the verdict is still out on what exactly a Seminole Pumpkin Squash is. What I do know is that Llami might be part squash, herself, based upon this quick comparison.

Yogurt

The only other (remotely) interesting thing that I have to share is about yogurt. Those of you closest to me know that I have been suffering from a serious bladder infection that was causing me undue pain and inconvenience. I went to the clinic (another blog post in itself) and got some antibiotics. They didn’t work. I know it is unpleasant to read about, but I was peeing what could easily be mistaken for curdled milk! (I exaggerate, but only slightly.) Doctors sometimes get offended when we go online to look for remedies; but my doctor can get indignant all he wants, because if I hadn’t gone searching I would still be suffering. The doctor did discover that I have glucose in my urine. This means that I either have undiagnosed diabetes (doesn’t show up on blood tests), or a congenital kidney disorder. The only other explanation is pregnancy (which I assure you does not apply). So, I got to thinking “Sugar feeds yeast. What if I have yeast in my bladder? What kills yeast? Acidophilus!” I got some plain yogurt, and within an hour my suffering was over!

What I don’t like about store yogurt is that although you can find all natural, plain yogurt, it is impossible to find anything but lowfat or nonfat in the regular store. Besides, it is not cheap. So, I found a blog post about how to make your own yogurt. It is incredibly simple. All you need is a crock pot, a towel, a gallon of milk and two tablespoons of yogurt for a starter. I didn’t add gelatin, so the yogurt I made is not as thick as the store brand. This is fine with me, as it is perfect over cereal. I bought a box of Paul Newman’s Own organic cereal (with no corn syrup) and have found my new breakfast treat. Yum! The bladder problems that plagued me for over one month have disappeared.

Well, I applaud anyone who made it this far through the rambling post. Hope that you all are staying warm and safe!

My friend Doug Havens came to visit from Utah. We went out in the world and found people to interview. We went to the Sebastian Clam Bake (which happened to be on the weekend he came to town), and my neighbor Captain Kym got us into the Mel Fisher Treasure Museum and the McClarty Treasure Museum via his treasure hunting connections. We drove a big loop from Micco up to Melbourne, over to Indialantic (which Doug thought sounded like “In the Atlantic”), down through Sebastian Inlet, south on the Jungle Trail and back up through Wabassso and Sebastian. We got so busy with talking to people and taking photographs that Doug never got the coveted, unobscured sunset shot. I guess that’s good reason for him to come back. He promises to bring his lovely wife next time.

Doug is quite a “piece of work” (in his own words). Here he is hamming it up for the camera.

After Doug left, Llami got attacked again. She was just getting back to normal after the foot abcess episode, when we noticed that her rump was expanding. It took a while before we got worried, because she is so darned fat! By the time I got her to the vet, she had a serious abcess that required surgery and insertion of drainage tubes. This cat has not had a good year. On the upside, she is healed up and seems to now accept that she must stay in at night. I told her that the alternative would be that we save money by having her taxidermied and plated with gold. She seems embarrassed of her “assless chaps” look, but we are all getting a good laugh at her expense. I’m sure she would kill me if she understood the internet and knew that I’d posted these!

AJ is busy, as always, with his quest to keep us mobile and safe. I can’t remember the list of things he has done to the vehicles, but it’s a lot and I am ever grateful for his dedication to this worthy cause. Our neighbor Jay is repainting the hood and roof of our truck. The hood looks great, and I can’t wait to see it finished. The goal is to keep the cats from scratching that up. Right now, this means a piece of upside-down carpet protector placed on the hood when parked. In the future, it will be motion-activated sprinklers aimed at the vehicles. That will be much more entertaining!

Here’s AJ cleaning up the replacement rear-end that he put in the car this week.

Aside from his mechanical activities, AJ has also been cooking up a storm. We have enjoyed two batches of AJ’s Crock Pot Chili and a batch of superb Garbanzo bean soup; as well as countless gems from the smoker.

We had a cold spell, some rain, and are now back to the “summer heat” of December. Wait a minute…something is wrong with this picture. Well, the garden loves it; and despite the ongoing battle with nematodes, I am seeing some good things happen.

For now, I must wrap up this post and get busy cleaning house. Check back tomorrow for a garden update and (hopefully) a post about my first time drying papayas. See you on the flip side!

The sun has come out today and I finally find myself sitting here, alone, with freshly brushed teeth (did I mention that I cannot write with fuzz on my teeth?) and earplugs inserted (to block out that high-pitched sound coming from the computer). The task at hand is to edit down the colossal post, that I wrote about Doug a couple of weeks ago, into something readable enough to convey just how incredibly cool this guy is. Instead, I’ve managed to add two paragraphs about my quirks. Forgive me, and please read on.

My friend, Doug Havens, is a large guy. I suspected that he was tall by the pictures that I’d seen and by the fact that he frequently refers to himself as “Shrek”. His grand scale was confirmed when he stepped into the RV and proceeded to whack right into the ceiling fan with his face. Just the day before Doug’s visit I had looked up and realized that it had been way too long since I’d cleaned that thing. Whew, dust bullet dodged! Had Doug arrived a day earlier he would have gotten a face full of the greasy gray stuff. When his head met the fan, I immediately got to wondering how many high crannies had been overlooked in my cleaning spree. Fortunately, RVs don’t have a lot of tall areas to collect grunge. I did chuckle to myself though, as I recalled an observation made by AJ’s 6’7″ friend, Larry.  When asked what it was like to be so tall, he replied “The tops of peoples’ refrigerators are really nasty!”.

I met Doug on a photography forum years ago. He has been a mentor, teacher and friend since the first conversation we had. If it is possible for someone you’ve never seen to be just as you’d expected, but not exactly as you had imagined, then that was the case when I saw Doug. Don’t ask me to explain what this means, because I’m not sure I can. The best that I can come up with is to ask you to envision a grown man (even wiser than his years) having discovered an ageless “kid suit” and slipped it on. His appearance is timeless and youthful, yet his soul is ancient and sage. This combination allows him to do so well what he describes as “Get people to open up to me and tell me their stories.” Something magical happens when Doug sidles up to a stranger and asks them “Where are you from?”. During his visit it occurred to me that people everywhere are human storage tanks full of stories, memories and opinions just waiting for someone to turn on the spigot. Oh, how Doug can twist a spigot!

He is an artist, a designer… a digital virtuoso who uses circuit boards, sensors, plastic and glass to craft an electronic symphony for the senses. People pay him well for his genius, but he is not satisfied with just helping others glam up their content. Doug wants to “change the world…one person at a time”, and I believe that he is well on his way. I could expound upon his talents for hours, if not days; however, I prefer to let his work speak for itself. He has finally created a venue in which to pool his many talents: PeopleStory Network or PSN.

Doug recently found himself in Orlando and was able to steal away a couple of days to come visit us. I got busy trying to round-up some interviews for him, but I needn’t have worried about it so much, because they seemed to fall from the sky all around us. We hopped in his van, drove around, took photographs and struck up conversations with strangers. When the sun went down we sat inside and talked late into the night. Now I understand why Doug is so prolific: He never stops. He is constantly active, creating, observing, learning, teaching and sharing. Too many topics were covered to include in this post, so I will not be able to do him justice without writing a book; instead I will attempt to capture the essence of this remarkable man.

“I’m looking for people who are larger than life, people who extend their sphere of influence.” he stated, in a way that revealed how much thought he had given not only to the desired subjects of his stories, but to people in general. I had often contemplated what it is that makes certain people stand out. The conversation with Doug crystallized this for me. They stand out by “standing out”, outside of themselves. I think of those in my life who have “star quality”, and with this new-found revelation understand why this metaphor works so well for me. Just like an actual star, certain individuals generate energy that expands well beyond their physical presence, they reach out with their actions and ideas and affect the surrounding space. Doug and I also spent some time discussing the personalities that are more like black holes; the people who are so caught up in their tiny worlds and self-serving interests that they suck in energy from the space around them. This was a brief topic though, because Doug is a big proponent of manifesting all things positive.

“Practice what you preach” is a favorite mantra of mine. Doug is the first openly devout Mormon I have met, and many of our conversations revolved around religion, spirituality and goodness in-general. He doesn’t preach, but he actively practices what he believes, and this is a trait that I hold in high esteem. The topic of “agency” came into play many times during his visit. The premise is that (and hopefully I won’t screw this up) even though everyone is a part of God’s grand design,  we still have the ability to choose our actions. The “Fate vs. Free will” argument has always intrigued me, and I could tell that Doug was also working to sort through this paradox. As far as I understand his viewpoint, the Mormon belief is that God has set about the framework for human destiny, yet believers retain the ability to change the course of events through their chosen actions, or “agency”. He is interested in the philosophies of other faiths (especially Buddhism), and offered relevant quotes that I wish I could now remember. I can’t tell you how nice it was to have a conversation with a religious person without feeling pressured to abandon my own world view.

Part of Doug’s ability to get stories is his combined tactic of asking good questions and actually listening to the answers. During his visit I marveled at his retention, as he seized and preserved (without taking notes) details and anecdotes that easily escaped me. A talented wordsmith, he adeptly collects and shares his experiences with others, but only after viewing them from all angles to capture the most interesting perspective. In talking with Doug you can almost envision his ability to rotate a thought like a 3D model in his brain.

His multi-angled approach also applies to his photography. Here, Doug is seen at Funky Chicken Farm photographing the geese.

Much of our conversation revolved around his children and his beloved wife and friend LeeAnn. He describes LeeAnn as being someone who was “genetically designed” for him and “just about perfect in every way”. The more he talked, the more I believed this. The impression I get is one of two people with different skills and interests who find the enviable common ground of wanting to improve the world through their own acts of goodness. LeeAnn makes a career of selflessly serving others. “I think she’s trying to give all our money away” he reflected; and where you would expect a man to launch into a tirade about his wife’s irresponsible spending, he smiled fondly and with great pride. She is known to spend days making dozens of loaves of bread, just to give away to those less fortunate. She gives everything that she can, including her time and teaching skills. Doug described his wife as “one of those people who is larger than life”. “She extends her sphere of influence with almost everything she does.” As we spoke, it became clear that Doug is quite generous, himself. He expressed a great sense of satisfaction at being able to assist others in financial need. All of this is done without a sliver of arrogance, but rather a sense of guilt for having such good fortune. “It’s not my money” he explained “Keeping it all wouldn’t be right”.

When Doug was gone, I ruminated over all of the things we had seen, heard and discussed, and a strange feeling came over me. Only as I write this am I able to identify that feeling. It is the one you get after coming home from a funeral. Not the sadness, the other part. It’s that feeling of “I’m alive. I can make a difference. I must do something special with this gift that I have.” Doug left me believing that I could somehow radiate my own influence for the good of the world.

There is only one way that I can describe a person with such talent: Larger than Life.

The Story

As of 1899, the Young family made Glen Elder Kansas their home. The people mentioned include the matriarch, Pauline and her children. With the exception of the one written by the mother “Pauline”, the letters are all written to or by “Freeta”. They include letters written by her sister “Pauline” and brother “George”. A brother called “Johan” is mentioned, as well as a person named “John”, who may or may not be another brother, or even the same “Johan”.

The story begins with a letter from Freeta’s sweetheart “L.J. Anderson”, who is living and working in Glen Elder, Kansas. Freeta is away, and it is unclear for how long. What is clear is that L.J. is smitten with Freeta, as he calls her his “wife” and peppers the letters with “Here is a kiss”. He also intends to incite a jealous reaction by mentioning the attractive girls in town and how some of them are interested in him. This serves him well to reassure her that although others find him attractive, he only has eyes for her.

L.J. is a farm laborer and follows the harvest crews to make the few dollars per week (which must have been good pay in those times). Subsequent letters reveal that Freeta is in Taloga, Oklahoma Territory. In translating, it took my by surprise to realize that I was holding letters written up to eight years before Oklahoma became a state.

The letters are rich with details and insight into Western life at the turn of the 20th century. We get a rare glimpse into the personal lives of a family of German immigrants making their place in the harsh, yet promising landscape of the Great Plains. They are full of love, hope, disappointment, loneliness and restlessness as we trace the romance and marriage of Freeta and L.J. through their letters and those of Freeta’s familiy.

By the last letter in 1912, it seems that Freeta and husband L.J. have a farm in Glen Elder. L.J. is still working the harvest crews and Freeta is away (presumably in Oklahoma) The multi-paged letters filled with tenderness have given way to letters that are lonely and almost businesslike.

There is no mention of children, so my next project is to piece together how and when Grandma Reenie came into the picture.

Enjoy.

#1

Date: July 9, 1899

From: L.J Anderson in Glen Elder Kansas

#2

Date: July 23, 1899

From: L.J Anderson in Glen Elder Kansas

To: Freeta Young

#3

Date: October 28, ????

From: Pauline Young in Taloga Oklahoma

To: Freeta Young

#4

Date: December 12, 1899

From: L.J. Anderson in Superior, Nebraska

#5

Date: July 12, 1900

From: George in Waukomis O.T. (Oklahoma Territory)

To: Freeta

#6

Date: December 2, 1900

From: Pauline in Taloga, OT

To: Freeta

#7

Date: December “Dezember” (?), 1900

From: Pauline (the elder) in Glen Elder, Kansas

To: Pauline (daughter)

#8

Date: July 16, 1912

From: L.J. Anderson in Glen Elder, Kansas

To: Freeta Anderson

#9

Date: July 19, 1912

From: L.J. Anderson in Glen Elder, Kansas

To: Freeta Anderson

#10

Date: October 28, (1900,1906 or 1917?)

From: Freeta Anderson in Glen Elder, Kansas

To: L.J. Anderson

Grandma Reenie was getting on in years, and I knew that the opportunities to gather history and memories were running thin. Over the course of that year I visited as often as I could make the five-hour drive from my place in Colorado Springs to the remote farming community of Wray. My stepfather was her youngest son and only son of her second husband “Ernie”. Ernie was an ornery-spirited old man who had died of a heart-attack when I was nine years old. Although he died early in my life it wasn’t before he made it clear that he was willing to hold a grudge against a small child, just because he had a feud with my biological father’s family. It was difficult to comprehend how a grownup could dislike me merely because of my last name, but my mother assured me that this was the case. In his softer moments he showed signs of fleeting kindness and humor during which he did things like pop his dentures out mid-sentence. I’m not sure if it really happened, or if it was a childish nightmare, but I do have memories of Grandpa Ernie chasing us around the house with his teeth.

After Grandpa Ernie died, Grandma Reenie went through some adjustments, one of which involved the appearance of a bottle of Jack Daniels in the spice cupboard. She made no bones about the fact that she chose my oldest little brother as her “favorite”. My father and stepmother sent me a gift package on both my November birthday and Christmas, and sent for me to spend my summers with them in Florida. It was hard for the grownups to explain why my little brothers couldn’t go with me to Florida. I am surely exaggerating, but the feelings I had were much like what I’ve heard described as “Survivor’s Guilt”.  My special treatment came from Florida and my youngest brother’s came from Mom, who was traumatized by almost losing him when he was born premature and with Rh negative blood. This left my middle brother, and Grandma Reenie made it no secret that she had taken it upon herself to make him her favorite. She always got him presents that were grander than those for our little brother and me. Despite all of the favoritism, we grew up feeling safe and loved. I was just not especially close to Grandma Reenie as a child. I was close enough to appreciate her phenomenal cooking, and the fact that she was a reliable source of toilet paper and laundry soap whenever we ran out. Grandma Reenie always made sure we had the things we needed.

Although I had returned to Colorado to visit upon many occasions, things changed between Grandma Reenie and me, once I had become an adult. Our previously tenuous relationship quickly evolved into a loving, affectionate friendship as my interests in cooking and researching the family history were revealed. She taught me how to can wild plums and how to make the perfect pie crust from scratch. She told me the story of how her mother had sewn straight through her fingertip with an old trestle-powered sewing machine and how her childhood best friend had died of botulism from a mistake made in canning green beans. Her blue eyes flashed with mischief as she told me funny stories and dirty jokes until we both exhausted ourselves with laughter.

She shared her justification for treating my mother with such contempt and for showing extreme favoritism towards my brother. I kept a notebook to jot down her seemingly endless stream of humorous and fascinating euphemisms, colloquialisms and aphorisms. When my mom came to visit she usually left “Madder than an old wet hen”. When the summer heat got to Grandma she would complain of “Sweating like a whore in church”. When I asked her how she was feeling she would say “Foxier than a fresh fucked fox in a forest fire” and so on. We had a great time with her as the teacher, and me the avid student.

Grandma Reenie and Grandpa Ernie collected humorous novelties and naughty souvenirs from their travels. Her home was scattered with fun nic-nacs from tourist traps around the country. My favorite was the pair of ceramic frogs, which appeared innocent enough until one flipped them over to reveal that they bore graphic representations of human genitalia. The female frog did not have a monopoly on glazed breasts, though. Grandma Reenie also owned a pair of booby coffee mugs, with holes in the nipples for “sipping”. Where other grandmothers might display decorative plates bearing images of famous landmarks, Grandma Reenie proudly showed off items like this little gem:

Grandma Reenie’s spunky sense of humor belied a more serious, sentimental side that I had rarely witnessed until one special afternoon. Perhaps it was in response to my interest in antiques, or maybe she just figured that it was time. For whatever reason she spontaneously announced that she had something to show me; something that she needed my help to excavate.

With curiosity raging, I followed her down the dark and narrow hallway that led to the garage. The gravity of the event was highlighted as she carefully worked her way down the uneven concrete steps. I offered steadying support as her feeble knees threatened to give way at any moment. It had been years since she had dared to go down into the dank, musty garage. She guided me to a pile of grime-covered boxes. We had lived with Grandma Reenie many times throughout my life; and I had spent countless hours “helping” my stepdad work on vehicles within inches of this same pile of boxes. Yet, never once had I noticed the antique steamer trunk buried beneath the mass of dusty cardboard. Together, we dismantled the pile with the enthusiasm of gold miners. Upon reminiscing,  I can relate to the excitement she must have felt at the prospect of revisiting such long stored memories.

Within a few moments we had unearthed the ornate, steel and oak camel-back  trunk and carted its contents into the living room. The trunk surrendered a cache of antique porcelain, glassware and fragile ephemera. Grandma Reenie was especially interested in a sheath of old letters and photographs. She thumbed through the yellowed pages, explaining that they were love letters detailing the courtship of the couple who had adopted her from the orphanage when she was a small child. The stack also contained one or two love letters of her own; which she quickly snatched away and read with a youthful blush engulfing her face. She held close her personal mementos and handed me the remaining letters.

The Love Story

As we sat together on the sagging, afghan-draped sofa we attempted to decipher the scribbled writing (some in fountain pen and the rest in pencil).

The letters were written on small pages of yellowed stationery and crammed with unpunctuated text; as though to take advantage of every inch of precious space. Grammatical and spelling errors abounded, bringing to mind the script of a spaghetti western. Grandma Reenie was from Glen Elder, Kansas, which is the central scene of the touching romance which unfolds upon these brittle, hand-penned pages.

Grandma explained how her birth mother had died and how Freeta and L.J. Anderson adopted her from the orphanage after her father was forced to give up her and her siblings. I regret the fact that I did not pull out my notebook and jot down details. Now I cannot recall her accounts of how she was treated by her adoptive parents, or what took place between the time they took her in and the time that I wore my sky blue dress in the wedding between my mother and her son.

I took the letters to bed with me that night and spent long hours attempting to decipher the hand-penned scrawl and impossible grammar. I felt a sense of immense privilege to be allowed this glance into the intimate life of two strangers from a lost time. The letters wove a tale of a young couple separated by circumstance and distance. L.J. worked on a farming crew and spent the harvest season traveling around Kansas and Nebraska. Freeta and her sister alternated between Glen Elder, Kansas and Oklahoma Territory. Instead of using periods in his sentences L.J. peppered his paragraphs with  “Here is a kiss” throughout his touchingly tender letters to Freeta. The earliest letters are from 1899 and continue on through 1912.

The next day the trunk was packed back up and returned to its place, where it stayed the remainder of her life. A couple of years later I had made my way back to Florida and was waiting tables when I got an emergency phone call at the restaurant. It was my little brother calling to say (between heartbreaking sobs) “Grandma Reenie is dead!”.  I was devastated, but a great deal of my grief went towards my brother, who had just lost the one person who made him feel as though the moon and stars revolved around him. I could hear the loss and despair in his voice and I cried hardest for him that night. My mom later explained that Grandma was found on the floor next to her vacuum cleaner. Her house was always immaculate and a bad heart wasn’t going to stop her from keeping it that way. I was thankful that she went quickly and didn’t suffer. I remembered the time she had shown me her arterial bypass scars and (nonchalantly) spoke about her death. “I’ve lived a good life and I hope that when it is my time to go, I just drop dead in my tracks”

I wasn’t able to make it home for Grandma Reenie’s funeral. The next time I did get out there my mom led me out to their shed to show me my portion of the inheritance. There was the big old trunk. It looked so out-of-place amongst the gardening tools and spare car parts, looming in silence, as though steadfastly guarding its contents. Excitedly, I revisited the artifacts (which seemed almost artificial in the bright sunlight that beamed in through the shed door). Although I could not take the trunk and the antiques with me, I did salvage the letters and photographs, which I have carefully preserved to this day.

They have been gnawing at my conscience and curiosity ever since. As life whizzed by and changes rushed like whitewater, I promised that I would eventually get around to translating and preserving these precious bits of history.

That time has finally come.

As I scanned and processed the images of the delicate letters I ruminated upon their value. The greatest treasure to me is the story I have just told. A close second is the link they add to the chain of history and genealogy. As precious as they are to me, I have come to the conclusion that I would happily donate them to an organization with the desire to preserve and share them. Once I have connected as many dots as possible, I may offer them to a Glen Elder museum or historical society.

I think of my cousin Roberta (who is the historian for my biologically paternal side of the family), and how excited she would be to come into possession of family heirlooms, like these letters, in her genealogical research. I truly hope that someone with the ability to make good use of them will surface.

For now, please see my next post for the love story of Freeta and L.J. Anderson.

I’ve been busy boiling water and sterilizing my soil. This is a laborious process.

Today I got to talk to my photographer pal in Utah, Doug Havens, who is coming to visit in November. AJ found the idea of talking on the phone and gardening to be humorous; so much so that he snapped a photo. So, in case you are wondering what that looks like, here you go. If not…please continue on to the butter beans. If you haven’t checked out Doug’s blog “Who I’ve Met”, you must do so (after you have read mine, that is:) I can’t wait for Doug to come visit so that he can interview some of  the people in the park.

Butter Beans

Today I learned something about Butter Beans: Pick them the day before they look like this:

For some reason, I was expecting the pods to turn buttery yellow when they were ready. Fortunately, they were just fine, with only a few casualties. This batch was the yield of two vines, which were planted on the old compost heap. I got just enough for a nice pot of Cajun beans and rice. Guess I’ll plant more next time! They were scrumptious.

Oh No, Smokey!

Ahh, poor Smokey. I found him by the road…

It’s one of his favorite nap spots. Good thing the speed limit is 5 mph. Silly Cat!

Well, she’s inside now, because she’s been attacked again. This time something got ahold of her foot. We set up a kitty hospital on the couch and got her convalescing in style. Too bad I threw away the collar she got from her previous vet visit, but there was a Natural Light box available (imagine that); so I rigged up something to keep her from pulling off the bandage.

She’s actually been a model patient and only needed the collar briefly. She understands “Llami, No!” and has already figured out that chewing on bandage = thing around neck. We trusted her last night, and she did us proud by still sporting the bandage this morning. “Good Llami’.

She is in a lot of pain, and the abcess on her foot is pretty nasty. Unfortunately, we cannot afford another trip to the vet, so we are keeping it sterlized and wrapped up, and hoping for natural healing. It is draining and getting better each day.

Fish Stories

Recipes

After searching long and hard for a horse manure supplier, I finally got smart and called

Kempfer’s Feed & Seed
2728 Malabar Rd.
Malabar, FL
32950

(321) 723-6433

They were extremely helpful and actually went out of their way to put me in touch with

Pat Reilly of  J Bar E Ranch in Malabar.

Pat was glad to hook me up with as much horse manure as I wanted, and is officially my new supplier.

I also learned that he boards horses and has availability in his barn. From my vantage point, his property is beautifully kept and his stables are ample and immaculate. If you are looking for horse boarding in Malabar, FL please give Pat a call. You won’t find a nicer guy to look after your horses.

His number is (321) 427-0839.

The park manager was so kind as to provide me a space for my new compost heap on the back lot. It is unloaded and beginning to compost as I write.  Yay, horse manure!

Up to now, I’ve kept my posts on this main page. I thought I’d try something new and make you click around a bit more. Keep an eye on the tab marked “Blips”. The additions I make there will not show up in my regular posts. If they interest you, please check out my blips and feel free to share your own in the comments.

BLIPS

My short term memory for day to day events does not behave as I would like. I often forget the important things (like birthdays and things I said I would do) and have “Blips” of past experiences on a regular basis.

Recently these blips have centered around the time I was a pest control inspector in Jacksonville and St. Augustine, right before we moved to Jensen Beach to work in construction with AJ’s father. Incidentally, today is Allan Sr.’s birthday, and I have forgotten to make sure he gets a card.

It can be strange and somewhat disconcerting to have a memory invade your regular thoughts, like an unexpected visit from a neighbor dropping by to return a borrowed item that doesn’t belong to you. The most confusing part is why I am so frequently taken back to a specific moment when I was pulling up to a person’s house to look for termites or climbing through a particular attic in search of rat droppings.

The only explanation for these frequent, impromptu recollections is that the moments were surrounded by a charge of human emotion. People experience a lot of extreme feelings when their house is being chewed away from the inside out or when they discover cockroaches homesteading in their microwave. Perhaps the energy of these experiences burned the blips throughout my mind like random kilobytes of data onto a hard drive. Bits of information that don’t reappear until you run Scandisk.

They are not all about that brief period of my life. They cover the complete range of adulthood. And they aren’t just memories of events. I frequently blip dreams from years past, that had long since been forgotten.

It’s strange and unsettling; and therefore, I have decided to share some of these with you.

The Cleaning Lady

Chinese take out is bad for you and this week just proves it.

Writing has long been my favorite form of therapy; and (unfortunately for my readers) I have readers. Otherwise, I would scribble this stuff down in a notebook and tuck it away in some dark corner.

But paper notebooks don’t upload pictures, and I have pictures. I am reminded (by that annoying voice in my head) that every cloud has a silver lining. I am taking this post to review my most recent clouds and get busy looking for the linings.

These are in no particular order, except the most depressing part at the end because I don’t want to give you bum-out whiplash.

Cloud #1: Root knot nematodes

The name sounds like I’m talking about cartoon characters, doesn’t it? And these bulbous root growths I discovered when unearthing a tomato plant even look like something you’d see on Adult Swim. But, trust me, there is nothing funny about these little monsters! I thought the caterpillars were annoying, but they have nothing on these microscopic beasts.

I was digging up the expired plants in my garden beds in preparation to infuse my soil with a nice helping of composted road apples (that’s horse manure to you city folk), when I discovered my worst gardening nightmare. Up to this point my gardening woes have ranged somewhere between moderate annoyances and fascinating learning experiences. Mother Nature has upped the ante’ and bestowed upon me the wormy devils of the horticultural world: Root Knot Nematodes! I won’t bore you with the details of their biology, but if you are interested, you can go to The University of Florida IFAS Extension and learn all about them.

“Why are these tiny roundworms such a scourge?” you might ask. Because there is nothing on the market to kill  them. Right away I had a brainstorm and hopped online to see if it had been done. The idea was “Maybe I can cook these little suckers out of my soil with boiling water”. Lo and behold, this is the oldest treatment in the book, and one of the most effective. If one can saturate the soil with hot water, the nematodes will die. Manure also helps to deter them, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

So, off I went to grab the propane boiler, which I set up next to the Oasis and prepared to douse my soil with boiling water. Since my garden is divided up into various containers, I figured that I could get a good kill on in the empty sections and boil off each adjacent area as the plants died off. This all seemed like a great idea until I went to get the propane tank.

Cloud #2: Project aborted due to empty propane tank

The fact that this rusty old tank is empty might actually be a silver lining, since AJ was certain it would rust through and blow us out of the park the next time it was lit.

Cloud #3: No Horse Manure

No picture needed for this one. Just look around you. If you don’t see horse manure, that’s what it looks like here, too. If you do see horse manure, please call me. I’ll be right over to pick it up!

I’m sure that were you to consult my astral chart for this week you would discover that my planet of communication is transiting the house of the planet where chainsaw exhibitions and tractor pulls take place.

I found a pile of horse manure for the taking by placing an ad on craigslist.org. Turns out it was available, but only if I could swoop in with a bobcat and get it without causing inconvenience to the owner. I made attempts to put together a horse manure party by organizing a group of people to come take it all at once. That didn’t work. Next, I suggested to the owner that Mike (my boss/friend/sometimes-nemesis) and I could come with two pickups and a trailer to get it. The email replies ceased at that time, so I guess the answer was “No”.

I’ve suffered a week-long inability to communicate properly (especially in writing). I have managed to unintentionally confuse, piss-off and annoy a good handful of people, one result of which being that I have no free fertilizer for my garden.

Cloud #4: Spaced Out Keyboard

Literally. The space bar has broken and constantly gets stuck in the down position. This causes the cursor to run off faster than Karl Rove from a congressional subpoena. Once I chase it down and start backing up, I end up deleting some of the characters of the previous word.

AJ tried to fix it by banging down real hard with his fist and then whacking the keyboard on the desk. I am officially starting a list of things that AJ can’t fix. So far, this is the first and only. Taking a more creative (and less hostile) approach, I popped out the space bar and taped the little springy wire part back in place with some pretty blue electrical tape. Now the cursor only bolts every once in a while. The silver lining here is that it helps me self-edit by reminding me that every superfluous word brings me that much closer to the next unsolicited space.

Cloud #5: Dropped Green Peppers

This one isn’t quite so bad. My amazing volunteer green pepper plants have been manufacturing some promisingly giant peppers. We have been watching and watering in anticipation of picking a bunch once they get really big and making a big batch of stuffed peppers.

This morning we discovered that the branch holding these two could no longer do it; and had dropped them to the ground. The silver lining is easy to find on this one. Two gorgeous, free, organic green peppers and many more maturing on the plants.

Cloud #6: My Beloved Stepmother spent the weekend in the hospital.

Judith went to the emergency room with edema and spent the weekend and all day Monday in the hospital. We have both discovered one silver lining on this one. She got a wake-up call that she needs to start taking oxygen and get back to using her CPAP machine for sleep apnea. Her heart is healthy and she can get better if she follows the doctor’s orders. She is also receiving some help at home. Still, this cloud is an especially dark one, since I live so far away and cannot afford to go up there when she needs me. She has always gone above and beyond the call of duty for a stepmother and I regret that I cannot repay her as I would like.

No picture here either, for the above mentioned reason.

There are a whole lot more little clouds, but I’m done dwelling on the bad stuff. I’m ready for the success for which I have apparently been rehearsing. I have great friends and great family, good health (mostly) and a wonderful life in comparison to so many unfortunate people in the world. With the exception of Cloud #6, my hopes are that we can all find some light humor in my misfortunes and missteps and look forward to a time when you don’t have to read so much griping from me:)

My friend and creative inspiration, Doug Havens, has invited me to collaborate on a brilliant creative project, which I hope to reveal in a future post. For now, please take a look at his wonderful imagery at “What I saw” and writing at “Who I met” and try to forget about all of my doom and gloom.

Here’s how splogging works:
A scumbag thief steals your content and posts it on their “blog”, which is loaded with advertising.

I have moved the post that was here because a Splogger stole it and is illegally using my content in conjunction with Google Ads.

If you are reading this on http://florida-fishing.ultimatefishingvacations.com/weeks-in-review-working-painting-gardening-2/

DO NOT CLICK ON ANY OF THE LINKS!

Any clicking activity on this bogus fishing vacation site will pay them ad revenue for stealing content.

Since commenting is locked and WordPress takes no responsibility for intellectual property theft, it is virtually impossible to stop this.

If a search brought you here, please look below for the actual post that relates to my tags.

Update: It worked! Now this post is on their site. Ha ha, take that you scoundrels!