Spring and summer garden, 2023, in pictures

March:

 July 

August

Farm vignettes

A smattering of vignettes from life on the farm in 2022

Homemade tofu, a report.

I decided to try making tofu, because it's fun to make things from scratch, and I was tired of dealing with plastic tubs. After reading that you can coagulate it with lemon juice, I found a recipe online, procured soybeans, and commenced with the experimenting.

It is fantastic! We're spoiled for storebought, now. It took a little tweaking with the recipe a few times, but it has steadily gotten easier. We learned that I need to leave it on very low heat while it's coagulating, and add a bit more lemon juice for best results, but it's the best tofu we've ever had. Much happiness. I press the bejesus out of it, so it's super extra firm.

We soak the soybeans -- six hours, up to a week, depending on how the week goes -- they keep well, in the fridge, although they take up a lot of room. We have a little magic pitcher for making the soymilk, although it is possible to use a blender, and might be faster, since we have to make four batches in the little pitcher. That part is time-consuming.

Making the tofu itself is a little like making ricotta; very similar process, except you don't press ricotta. I'm still working out uses for the okara (lefotover soy pulp. I make sausage that we really like added to spaghetti sauce, and have also made failed garden burgers that we ate with mayonnaise. The first time, DH said they were just like imitation crab cakes; the second time, he didn't like them quite as well. They were really good though; might have to work on that one some more.

Fruit tree woes

I planted a fair-sized orchard last winter -- frantically, right before a massive ice storm hit, and froze everything solid for a week. The little trees gamely survived, and off we went into a brutally hot, dry summer I spent lugging hoses around the field. The little trees gamely survived, although they did not grow very much. And then we headed into winter again ... a cold winter, followed by a very long, cold spring filled with unexpected late freezes ... and it all proved too much for some of the poor things. I lost an apple, a peach, a sweet cherry, a fig, two apricots and an elderberry. Sob.

So, not to be thwarted, I ordered more trees: A peach, a sweet cherry, two figs, an elderberry and a plum, plus a couple of comfrey starts. It was late for ordering trees, but I had high hopes, which might have been the first mistake. They went Into the box, it was later clear, looking beautiful.

The trip, however, was not kind. The box arrived looking like this:

Things did not look better on the inside. The cherry and both figs were snapped in half. The leader on the peach was broken. There were assorted broken branches and wilted leaves. I wanted to sob. All has not been lost, however. UPS has made no response at all to my claim for shipping damages, probably because I refused to let them throw my trees away, except for the cherry rootstock. I should have kept it, if they were going to be like that. The nursery did reimburse me for the broken trees, at least. The cherry was now out of stock, so I'll have to wait for fall to re-order. But the figs are putting out new leaves! And the peach will be Ok, I think. They urgently need to get into the ground, though, and I have been busy in the garden, instead.

Moments in the garden and greenhouse

The garden is running well behind schedule, thanks to the extremely soggy spring, and the snows of April, and I am frantically trying to get things planted that should have been in the ground a month and more ago. I am also digging up at least some of my already-coming-up potatoes, to replant in chicken-wire lined trenches, as the gophers have proven remorseless and disinclined to share this year.

I walked into the greenhouse, and a startled mouse must have dived off something — my potted potato, I think — because the first I saw of it was its landing at my feet, furry white belly up and tiny pink paws waving as it squirmed and flailed until it rolled over and ran off.

I blinked and walked further into the greenhouse. A juvenile banana slug was on one of my hardware-cloth protected seedling-boxes, just starting to curl itself under a protruding flap to squeeze inside and start munching. I removed it to the extensive and lush grass outside.

No chipmunks squeaked and ran today, but there were the remains of green strawberries scattered all over, as usual.

The yellowjackets I evicted a few weeks ago are back, busily constructing a new nest, just above the door, on the inside. We keep forgetting to go out early enough to remove it, and them, to a more suitable location again.

I don't know why I persist in thinking this is MY greenhouse. Everyone else on the farm is clearly of the opinion that their claims are at least equal to mine.

Speaking of which, it turns out that the wool I thought was such a bright idea for mulching the vegetable garden with, makes a lovely, luxurious mouse nest liner.

Well. They say enhancing ecosystems is a good thing ... I certainly seem to be doing my part.

 I have a very large garden, but it's almost never all in cultivation at once, and there are pretty much always a few sections covered in tall grass, because I don't till, and don't have enough landscape fabric to cover the whole thing over the winter. Drives me nuts, and I keep trying to eliminate the grass and at least most of the thistles, but I'm finally realizing I just need to accept wild edges and a grassy swath here and there, after yet another reminder that the rest of the denizens here prefer it so. (This year, I'm using it to mulch potatoes, so it is coming in handy.)

After work yesterday evening, I was out cutting blackberry vines trying to infiltrate the grassy northwest corner, next to a gallica rose and a row of verbena. I reached for the last one, brushing the grass aside to get to the base — and looked down at a tiny, perfectly-woven cup filled with gaping beaks. They were absolutely silent! But there are pretty much always birds perched around the garden fence, enjoying the day or watching me work, and sure enough, a male junco, midway down, making its "chip, chip, chip," call. Leaving the blackberry to wreak its wretched will, I decamped hastily to the other end of the garden to plant a rhubarb instead, and fashion chicken-wire guards for the rhubarb and peonies, since something -- I suspect rabbits -- snipped off their branches last year, for no apparent reason. This place is filled with quiet, unobtrusive wonders.