Alexandersmap

    Category: Garden and Home

    • Apple Blossoms in the Woods

      Sitting in traffic a couple of weeks ago on Route 110 in Chelmsford, Massachusetts I glanced over at an old apple tree blossoming in the woods. The woods have grown up around it, shading the tree, but it was still throwing out blossoms to be pollinated for fruit. The average apple tree lives about as long as a lucky human – about 100 years.  If your typical farmer in 1920 is 30 years old when they plant the tree it’s likely to outlive them, and maybe their children too.  Like people, an apple tree reaches towards immortality by reproducing, and this tree was working hard to ensure that.

      New England is not an easy place to be a farmer, or to maintain orchards. Short, fickle growing seasons, harsh winters and encroaching development makes farming a challenging livelihood. Farms run out of steam as children choose a different career path, farmers near retirement and the lure of the real estate payday becomes increasingly attractive.  How many farms and apple orchards have been swallowed up by urban sprawl?  More than I’d care to think about.

      The tree I saw was swallowed up by woodland instead.  Farms that aren’t worked return to the woods eventually.  Native trees compete for light and strive to outgrow each other.  An old apple tree doesn’t stand much of a chance over time when the trees come back.  The woods of New England have many such apple trees, which like stone walls and old cellar holes live well past the farmers who introduced them to this place. But unlike stones an apple tree is a living, breathing witness to the history of this plot of land. Eventually the woods will shade the tree so much that it dies and returns to the earth. But not yet. Perhaps the apples will reach the ground, and the seeds will root another tree to replace its parent. The odds are stacked against it though. And yet, this spring the white blossoms signal hope for future generations.

    • New England Hops

      New England was once the hop growing capital of North America.  Like the population, it migrated to New York and eventually to the west coast.  But it all started here, introduced by the Massachusetts Bay Company in 1629, making it one of the original crops brought to North America.  Potatoes wouldn’t be introduced for almost another century.  So beer played an important role in the life of the earliest settlers.  The Puritans were pretty good at growing hops and eventually began exporting the harvest to other colonies.

      If there is a problem with growing hops in New England, it’s the humidity.  Hops are susceptible to downey mildew, which can devastate an entire crop.  Downy mildew and other factors like Prohibition eventually led to the entire hop growing industry shifting to the west.  In my younger beer drinking years I thought of hops as a west coast crop, and my experience growing a single hop bine proved futile enough to make me believe it wasn’t meant for New Hampshire’s climate.  And yet it was indeed a viable and profitable crop for almost 300 years.

      Today’s explosive growth in micro-brewing has fueled a resurgence in local hop growing.  Driving around Vermont and New York you can easily spot the hops growing in farms and even in urban breweries.  Growers will built tall support structures of wooden poles and string strong cables across the tops.  From these vertical cables run from the ground to the horizontal cables, forming 20 foot long channels for the hop bines to grow.  The hops are usually harvested in August and September and give unique bitter characteristics to the beer.  So we’ve come full circle, and hops are once again a viable local crop.

       

    • Leafing Out

      Mid-May; the time of year when the bones of the northern New England forests are once again masked in greens and yellows. Tree trunks, stone walls and other hardscape details disappear into clouds of leaves and shadows. The calendar says it’s been spring for awhile but it doesn’t really feel like it until the trees leaf out.

      Southern New Hampshire is officially Zone 5, and you really notice it this time of year when you travel regionally as much as I do. A trip to New York or Cape Cod can feel like a different world in early May. Zones 6 & 7 are that much further ahead of us. A trip further north reveals our own good fortune.

      Flowering trees and shrubs are well underway, while daffodils are just past their peak. Now and then you get a surprise from a bulb that’s way behind popping up to say hello. A single pink Hyacinth poked through a day lily to announce it was time.

      These are the early days of the growing season. Still a danger of frost lingering in the minds of eager gardeners, but safe for some plants. We haven’t seen the heat of summer yet, but we can anticipate it. This is mid-May and mid-spring all at once. Best to enjoy the show because it never lasts long.

    • Seeing Green

      “As if the earth sent forth an inward heat to greet the returning sun; not yellow but green is the color of its flame; – the symbol of perpetual youth, the grass-blade, like a long green ribbon, streams from the sod into the summer, checked indeed by the frost, but anon pushing on again, lifting its spear of last year’s hay with the fresh life below…. so our human life but dies down to its root, and still puts forth its green blade to eternity.”                – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      It happens every spring anew, the world explodes in green and birdsong.  The endless winter is behind us, school is almost out for the colleges and U-Haul trucks and vans are commonplace, the roads and rest areas are getting more crowded with tourists, lawn mowers and leaf blowers roar back to life, and pools filters begin to hum again.  Spring in New England is here again.

      As Thoreau observed 120 years before I was born, the blades of grass begin to rise up once again, bringing welcome life to a lawn that was looking pretty pathetic just two weeks ago.  I’m grateful for its return and look for the bare spots that require re-seeding. When you live on the northern edge of the woods the lawn gets a lot of shade.  When you don’t invest in an irrigation system the lawn fights for a drink with the trees and shrubs that surround it.  When you don’t dump massive amounts of chemicals on your lawn you lose some gain to the insects who nibble on the roots, and the weeds that would gladly supplant the bluegrass and assorted other grasses that make up a lawn.

      Twenty years of maintaining this lawn, and in general it continues on perpetually.  A few troublesome spots where the microclimate doesn’t give the grass much of a chance.  These are the places that the natives take over and moss and dandelions and all the things listed on the bags of chemicals make a home.  These are the places where the tires from the mower wear down bare spots in the yard that harden over time.  Irrigation and chemicals would help in these spots.  Maybe a less aggressive mower too.  But to me these are minor considerations.  When you look at a lawn you know immediately if the homeowner prioritizes it.  My neighbors likely shake their heads at the contrast between my focus on the garden and my apparent disregard for the lawn.  So be it.  At my home low in the valley and snug up against the woods there’s a natural order to things, and moss tends to be more natural than grass.  But it has its own lovely shade of green this time of year.

      I hired someone to mow the lawn several years ago.  That decision has trickled down to my dwindling overall focus on the state of the lawn, which in turn trickles down to my focus on edging and weeding the beds.  The neighbors must look with perplexion towards the flower garden and pots that I meticulously tend every season.  I’m a fickle gardener, and perhaps I need to tend to the rest of the yard once again.  Or perhaps not, and continue my adventures elsewhere.  After all, spring is in the air.

    • The Evasive Groundnut

      “I discovered the ground-nut (Apios tuberosa) on its string, the potato of the aborigines, a sort of fabulous fruit, which I had begun to doubt if I had ever dug and eaten in childhood, as I had told, and had not dreamed it.  I had often since seen its crumpled red velvety blossom supported by the stems of other plants without knowing it to be the same.  Cultivation has well-nigh exterminated it.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      “Hannah Bradley later told her family that “she subsisted on bits of skin, ground-nuts, the bark of trees, wild onions and lily roots” on the trek to Canada.” – Jay Atkinson, Massacre on the Merrimack (endnotes)

      Apios americana, also known as the American groundnut, potato bean and several other names, is an indigenous plant that grows in the forests from Canada to Florida.  I’ve had a strangely compelling fascination with groundnuts since I read a description of Hannah Dustin, Hannah Bradley and other prisoners of the Abenaki who kidnapped them digging around in the woods of New Hampshire wherever they were encamped to find groundnuts to eat.  I live in New Hampshire, I wander about in the woods (though not often enough) and I found the fact that these groundnuts were so readily available to be fascinating.

      Reading about Benedict Arnold’s men starving on their march through the woods of Maine when they invaded Quebec, or Roger’s Rangers starving to death as they evaded the French and Native Americans during campaigns in the Lake George/Lake Champlain region have made me wonder about this evasive groundnut even more.  If this was a staple of the Native American population’s diet, and were known to men like Robert Rogers, why were so many of them starving?

      Henry David Thoreau alludes to one reason in Walden when he writes about discovering a “now almost exterminated ground-nut” someday resuming “its ancient importance and dignity as the diet of the hunter tribe.”  These New Hampshire woods that I like to wander in were once fields as settlers plowed fields and brought in livestock.  The stone fences that criss-cross the forest betrays the history of this land.  So for a farmer from Massachusetts living off the land may have been tougher than it is today.  As ancient forests were cut down and plowed fields took their place the groundnuts became harder to find, just as wild animals who were hunted for food became harder to find.  For the native population who lived off the land as hunter-gatherers, this must have been particularly devastating.

      Over the last few years of gardening I’ve noticed some invasive vines growing into the yard.  I sprayed some of them along with the poison ivy to knock them back, and pulled them off the fence and a spruce tree in the yard.  Imagine my surprise when I realized that the plant I was aggressively expelling from the edges of my yard was the very plant that I’ve been wondering about.

    • Backyard Observations on this Easter Sunday

      The deer are 50 yards away moving silently in the woods.  Their movement betrays them as much as their flicking white tails.  Another few weeks of spring buds leafing out and I won’t see them at all.  We glance at each other occasionally just to keep tabs, but otherwise go about our business in our own ways.

      The red wing blackbirds call out in the forest, no doubt telling each other how close I am to the feeders they hungrily raid.  They travel in packs, those blackbirds, and they make quick work of the seed.  There’s a chorus of other songbirds surrounding the yard.  I can pick out a few, others blend together.  A lot of conversations this morning.

      Writing this I’m buzzed by a fat bumblebee flying over to the flowering Mountain Laurel.  A squirrel circumvents the yard eying me warily as it makes its way to the base of the feeder, looking for the seed the blackbirds toss aside as they pick through for the juiciest meal.  A chipmunk scurrying along the fence joins the squirrel for an easy meal.

      Human neighbors are using this time for chores.  I can hear the hum of a pressure washer a few doors down, and hammering of something or other nearby.  My chain smoking neighbor’s phlegmy cough invaded my space and I brace for the smell of her cigarette wafting over the fence.  Some things aren’t welcome.

      The air cools quickly as the warm sunshine gives way to overcast skies.  The day changes quickly, and I’ll take it as it comes.  We have places to go, family to see.  I’m reluctantly getting up and heading inside.  So much to do on this Easter Sunday.

    • Pruning

      “Relentlessly prune bullshit, don’t wait to do things that matter, and savor the time you have.” – Paul Graham

      Spring is a good time to assess the yard, clean up the debris that accumulates over winter that was covered over in snow, fix things that need fixing, and prune the trees and shrubs to clean up any winter kill and promote growth of healthy new shoots.  I’ve gotten better at pruning over the years.

      I watch less television than ever.  I moved all my social media apps into a file called Time Suckers.  I deleted Words With Friends and other such games.  I steer clear of negative people who infect the air with poisonous rhetoric.  I eliminate a meal more often.  I’m not a monk mind you, but I’ve gotten better at pruning over the years.

      Instead, I write more than I’ve written since college.  I exercise every morning even if just a little bit.  I read immediately after exercise, even if just a little bit.  I research the places I go and look for interesting things to see and do there and try to get to those places and then write about them to help me remember what I saw and learned during my visit.

      I’m more present in the moment.  Not just the easy stuff like smelling the roses when they’re in bloom, but the harder stuff that’s easy to ignore.  I wash the dishes, sweep the floor and do the laundry.  I call old friends and family more often, and try to see them when I can.  And in work break out of the familiar routines and make new contacts, learn new skills and push myself out of the comfort zone.  I’ve gotten better promoting growth over the years.  And savoring the time that I have.

      I was going to end this blog post right there, and in fact did publish it.  Then I read Brain Pickings today and apparently I’m not the only one thinking this way today.  Maria Popova tackled time management in her own way, with quotes from Walt Whitman, Seneca and others.  So instead of ending this post on my own observations, I’ll lean in on Seneca to wrap up this post:

      “Set yourself free for your own sake; gather and save your time, which til lately has been forced from you, or filched away, or has merely slipped from your hands…  Certain moments are torn from us… some are gently removed…. others glide beyond our reach.  The most disgraceful kind of loss, however, is that due to carelessness.” – Seneca

    • Late Bloomers

      I was doing some yard work this week and stopped to consider the roses.  I have these tea roses that bloom constantly throughout the summer and well into the fall.  It’s got these masses of light pink, fragrant blooms at its peak in June.  With a relatively mild autumn, we had blooms much later into the season than usual.  But some of the rosebuds waited too long to bloom, and were frozen in place.

      We hear a lot in culture about late bloomers.  Colonel Sanders comes to mind.  And there’s a place for late bloomers in culture and in nature alike.  But there’s a lesson in the roses too.  Don’t wait too long to bloom, or you may die with unfinished potential.

    • The Best Available at the Time

      Today I took this picture of a hummingbird.  Well, I took many pictures of a couple of hummingbirds and this one was good enough to post.  I know several photographers in my Facebook community who will look at this and bite their lip at my amateurish use of filters or aperture or whatever.  That’s okay with me.  While I wish the body wasn’t as blurry as it is, these suckers move fast, I don’t have 10,000 hours to dedicate to mastering the craft and at 52 I don’t really care whether someone harshly judges a picture I took.  Photos are time stamps of what I was looking at in a particular moment.  The 25 other photos I took to get this one go into the recycle bin.

      I recently heard a Tim Ferriss podcast interview with Brandon Stanton, creator of Humans of New York in which Stanton readily acknowledged that he’s not the best photographer, but that’s never been the point of it anyway.  His real strength lies in pulling stories out of the people he photographs.  And really that’s why people follow Stanton’s work.  He’s a master at going deep with his subjects.  He also mentioned that he’s interviewed and photographed thousands of people over the years, and most never make the final photoblog.  Those cut either hold back, decide they’re not comfortable with what they said, or perhaps Stanton didn’t find it as interesting as another person he photographed.

      Facebook is where we post pictures of the best of ourselves.  Great sunsets or vacations, adventures we’re on, fun times with friends and family, etc.  And I try to keep up as best I can, though I’ve toyed with the idea of deleting my Facebook account for years.  I don’t because it’s the only way to keep in touch with people I grew up with, worked with years ago, moved far away or simply don’t see regularly.  Some people hate Facebook because they feel like they’re not living as good a life as someone else.  I believe most people will post the good stuff and not the challenges they may be going through in their lives.  Which is why I appreciate those who open up about their struggles.  Chasing perfection is a fools game.  None of us are perfect.  Judging yourself based on how many likes you get is a dead end game.

      I was at two events over the weekend.  The first was a Celebration of Life ceremony for my Aunt Debby.  She was a remarkable, beautiful person who always got me smiling no matter how self-absorbed in teen angst I may have been at the time.  She was incredibly perceptive and could see when you were struggling with something and give you a shoulder to cry on if you needed it, or infect you with her laughter until you forgot whatever the hell you were spun up about in the first place.  I’m a better person for having known her, and strive to be better still.

      The second event I went to was a party with my wife’s work friends.  I didn’t know anyone but Kris there, but I make a living building bridges with people and rolled with the opportunity to get to know a lot of people in different stages of life.  All good people, and I was struck by how close they were as a group.  This was partly because they shared a common struggle to maintain dignity while working with two narcissistic VP assholes.  Having worked for or with some truly narcissistic tools before it was easy to sympathize with them.  I’ve learned not to blindly respect people just because they have a title, but for who they are and how they treat people.

      The hummingbirds are constantly in the garden right now.  Bee balm in particular is a hummingbird magnet.  Wait a few minutes and you have one or two hummingbirds buzzing around.  That meant I had plenty of chances to get a perfect picture, and yet never quite got there.  Hummingbirds are curious creatures, and while I lingered near the garden waiting to check them out they would swoop in, hover a few feet from me and check ME out.  Turnaround is fair play I guess.  They didn’t seem overly concerned about my photos of them and whether I was getting their good side.  If my photography and writing proves anything, its that perfection is… evasive.  So be it.  Sometimes you just need to go with the best available at the time and move on.  This post is far from perfect, but I think it’s time to post it and move on to other things.

    • Tomatoes, Chicken Shit and Marcus Aurelius

      “…. Leaves that the wind. Drives earthward; such are the generations of men.”
                                                                                         – Marcus Aurelius (quoting Homer)

      “Even as are the generations of leaves, such are those also of men. As for the leaves, the wind scattereth some upon the earth, but the forest, as it bourgeons, putteth forth others when the season of spring is come; even so of men one generation springeth up and another passeth away.”
                                                                                        – Homer, The Iliad with the original quote

      We’re in the prime of growing season now and the tomato plants that I grew from seed are over knee high.  I’ve tried a couple of things this year that I haven’t done previously.  First, growing from seed instead of just buying plants at a local nursery.  I did that just because I wanted to do something “summer” in the middle of what seemed like an endless “winter”.  And second, I switched to chicken manure instead of composted cow manure.  This is a nod to my grandfather, who was known to gush about the benefits of chicken manure for growing kick ass tomatoes.  So far that seems to be bearing out.  Chicken shit is a derogatory term, but the real stuff packs a punch; pungent, powerful and efficient (a little goes a long way).

      The more I garden, the more I recognize the seasons for what they are.  And the longer I live, the more I see the similarities between our lives and the seasons.  There’s nothing revolutionary in this thought process, just refer to Homer and Marcus Aurelius and you see that countless generations of humans have thought the same thing.  This is our season, make the most of it.  Don’t fear the end, embrace the now.  I don’t view this as fatalistic, but pragmatic.  Believe me I’m in it for the long haul but know the deck of cards doesn’t always play out in your favor.

      A couple of seasons ago I had a problem with groundhogs eating half of my tomatoes and leaving the rest to rot in the sun.  Apparently they’d rather sample than finish the fruit.  Lovely habit.  Around the same time I had a nice batch of blueberries ripening in the sun.  The birds picked every last one of them before they showed a tint of blue.  Lesson learned.  Last year I planted pole beans to fill in around a clematis vine I had growing on a trellis.  The rabbits ate them all to the ground before they’d even reached a foot tall.  You just never know what fate brings your way, but I’ve learned to take measures to protect the fruits of my labor.  Don’t go through life trusting blindly that everything will be just fine.  Fence in your fruits and vegetables, change your passwords and lock your doors; trust but verify.

      “Life is short.  That’s all there is to say.  Get what you can from the present – thoughtfully, justly.  Unrestrained moderation.” – Marcus Aurelius

      Our growing season is pretty short, but it’s long enough to grow decent tomatoes.  Provide plenty of sunlight, nourish and give them a drink now and then, protect them from those who would harm them and if you’re lucky you end up with beautiful, ripe tomatoes later in the season.  It’s a basic formula for gardening and raising children, and it works well for how we maintain ourselves along the way too.  The last step of course is to savor the things you produce, the good fortune that comes your way, and the season that you’re in.