Imbolc

Most people I know, gardeners included, tend to think of March 20/21 -- the Vernal Equinox -- as the 'first day of spring', just as June 20/21 is thought of as the first day of summer, and so on. We gardeners, at least, should know better. Especially for those of us who live in a climate where 'spring' is of necessity a rather elastic term for the several months of .... varied .... weather leading up to summer, a keener eye set to subtler signals than a mere calendar date are needed to track the seasonal changes.

When I started gardening, I certainly thought in these more traditional terms. I read books and made my plans and charts based on what I gleaned from their pages, not having had any personal experience of gardening as a child, other than eating what my mother grew in the back yard. The urge to start gardening hit me quite suddenly and unexpectedly, just a couple of months after getting married. I was going through some of my parents' old books that summer and found my mother's copy of the Sunset Western Garden Book, probably the 1933 edition. Like lightning, I was struck with the nesting urge and proceeded to draw up the first of the possibly hundreds of garden plans/seed lists/planting schedules that have filled my garden journals in the nearly 40 years since.

For the record, said 'nesting urge' resulted in no human children, but I have had plant babies in abundance. Here's a photo I sent to my grandmother (Arabella, this blog's namesake) entitled 'your first great-granchild and me' in January 1974.



I was as proud as any parent of my darlings, which I always thought of as my children. Many early photos of me in the garden show me in similar embrace -- with tomato seedlings, fondling my first ear of corn, hugging a sprig of apple blossoms. My poor sweetheart soon became resigned to being dragged out in freezing cold or rain to gaze upon a field of freshly dug soil, then pulled along, foot by foot, to admire 'this will be carrots ...... over here will be onions ...... this is where the tomatoes will go next month ....'

As the years have passed, if I have shown no signs of waning enthusiasm for gardening, I have at least stopped pestering him like this. Well, not often. Now I take my wee digital camera out, point, shoot and pester YOU, dear readers, with such shots! Hahaha



The photo shows a wee, wee spinach seedling, just popping up in the garlic bed a couple of days ago. On a whim I had thrown some spinach seed in an empty space at the end of the bed, after planting the garlic and shallots last fall. Being either lazy or wise, I have learned that the easiest way to gauge planting dates for early vegs like spinach, peas and hardy greens, is to pay attention to when overwintered volunteers germinate on their own, and then plant more ASAP. Here's the result:


If this first sowing freezes or rots, it doesn't matter. It's certainly not taking the place of anything else, at this time of year. I never seem to plant spinach early enough, so maybe this year I will be lucky.

The point is, for me, and in my garden and climate, the old tradition of honoring the four other seasonal markers -- the so-called Cross-Quarter days, or Celtic Fire Festivals -- makes more sense as a garden planning device than the more obvious and well-noted Equinoxes and Solstices. Imbolc, the first festival of the ancient year, was celebrated at the point halfway between Winter Solstice and Vernal Equinox, on February 4 or 5. I have heard this described in other traditions as the time when 'the back of Old Man Winter is broken.' Modern American pop culture has trivialized this as 'Groundhog Day' but ignoring this silly, shallow media non-event, I am reminded to stop my winter dreaming and get on with serious garden planning for the new season just ahead.

Sure, we will have months (and months and months -- sigh) more of cold weather. But starting in late January/early February, we and the plants notice lengthening days. In the greenhouse, I begin fertilizing the wintered-over flower pots -- geraniums and other stalwarts -- and begin to take an interest in what might be sprouting out in the garden.....

Get a Grip, Ned....

or, there's no need to panic just because I loaned my favorite seed catalogs to a friend, and am now going through withdrawal .......

When I first started gardening, at the tender age of 21, I was pretty much on my own for inspiration and information. No internet, no knowledgeable neighbors; just my mother (300 miles away and in a vastly different climate zone) and the garden books I found at the library. At the time I lived in a mild-winter area (northern California coast) and could pretty much plant year-round. I killed lots of plants and murdered a lot of seeds in my first stumbling efforts but had fun anyway. With the wisdom of hindsight, I can say that beginning gardeners should just plan on this happening, no matter where they live.

A few years later when we moved to Central Oregon, things got a bit dicier. The neighbors all said, 'you can't grow anything here' but I ignored them and planted anyway. A lot of things died as the local axiom 'frost is possible any day of the year' proved to be true. Blackened squash and bean vines in July -- oh my!

But I was determined and found a few resources for encouragement: legendary local OSU Extension Service agent, Marvin Young (with his list of vegetables that would indeed grow here), and a wizard gardening friend or two who astounded the community with beautiful perennial flower and vegetable gardens in the face of the common wisdom against such bountiful potential.

The only local source of seeds was the occasional rack in the hardware store, and there wasn't much of a selection, nor were most of the varieties particularly well-suited to our crazy climate. I became a seed catalog junkie, welcoming into my home the standard Burpee and Park seed companies back when they were still smallish and family-owned, along with a growing crowd of newcomers and new-to-me oldtimers: Johnny's, Nichols, Gurney's, Stokes..... I was soon able to turn up my nose at the pitiful local offerings, and order varieties that showed actual promise of surviving our short growing season. With the birth of the heritage seed movement, options expanded again: Seed Savers' Exchange, Seeds Trust (then High Altitude Gardens), and many more. Now there is an embarrassment of riches in the seed catalog world.

Early in December, I looked forward to the catalogs, which began to show up in my mailbox right after Christmas. They come earlier now, but I still feel a tingle of anticipation when the first one arrives. In my early garden journals, I noted the date of the first entry in what I thought of as the Seed Catalog Sweepstakes. I'm a bit more blase nowadays, but I still love to see them piling up on the shelf, awaiting the day I have time to sit down and start making lists of things I need. Want. Lust after. Whatever.

Luckily, I have help in sorting it all out.

A Walk in the Winter Woods

We are so lucky to have a beautiful forested park right outside of town. Shevlin Park was gifted to the city of Bend by one of the big lumber companies in 1920 and most of its 650+ acres are undeveloped. Just the place to go on a sunny winter day for a walk with my sweetheart.



As we are in the middle of a classic El Nino winter (most West Coast precipitation occurs south of us, bringing torrential rains to California and a mild, dryish winter to the Northwest) there is very little snow on the ground at our elevation (4000 ft). Skiing continues to be great just uphill from town, but for a less strenuous outing on our Thursday day off together, we took ourselves here.

Winter walks are a time to see the bare bones of the landscape -- nature's hardscape, and the remnants of last summer's greenery as well.

The park consists of a long canyon, with a paved road along part of the valley floor, and trails along the creek, the hillsides and on the canyon rim.





It's a favorite destination for mountain bikers, runners, walkers, and people on leashes. Since it is a wildlife refuge, dogs are required to be leashed, but I'd say the majority of dog owners let their dogs run free as soon as they leave the entrance and simply carry the leashes, obviously considering the rules don't apply to THEIR dog. I don't quite get this, so I assume they know best: that it is they who need to be on the leash.....

There's a covered bridge, a large group area with big shelter, a couple of very low key picnic areas, including one in Fremont Meadow, named after explorer John C. Fremont, who camped in the area during his 1846 expedition.

There's a creek....




and an interesting cast of characters.

The Rock People...


(Bigfoot?!)


Trees with history...



and ex-trees.... This one fell across the trail during a big windstorm last winter.



These are all that's left of last summer's wildflowers...





Manzanita is evergreen...



I love its smooth red bark and sturdy round leaves..


On our way back towards the car, we took the trail on top of the rim, which goes through a burn. No pine needles underfoot, just mud and lots of tracks. Footprints of joggers, hikers, bike tires, dogs...



and these...


hmmmmmm, definitely not dog prints. Bobcat or a young mountain lion. There have been a lot of cougar sightings in the park in the last 10 years or so. My intrepid sweetheart, who rides there several times a week during the season, has never seen one. But he says he won't be surprised if and when he ever does. Conventional advice when coming upon a mountain lion is to stop, make oneself look tall, and slowly back away. I suspect it would be tough to ride backwards, so I hope the looking tall would be enough.

The day after we took this walk, it snowed several inches and the trails and park were buried under a new blanket of white. After a few warm, sunny days, it's clear again. We'll probably head out there again soon.

Technically gardening

Unlike the rest of the country, apparently, we are having a (mostly) mild, dry winter. Well, we did have the weird 6" of snow on October 4 .... and the wee freez-a-rama (3 days of -10F-ish here in Bend, 5-10 degrees colder in neighboring locales) ... but other than that, it's been anywhere from nicely brisk (overnight lows in the high 20's) to downright balmy (days in the 50's). Sheesh. We haven't seen snow since just before Christmas. There's still enough to ski on (the local skiers are praying for more, though) but down here in the lower elevations, it's just like spring. Well, like spring in Bend, anyway.

The greenery I see sprouting in the garden is, alas, mostly weeds, sneaking in an early start (the little baggages!). Still, I have been strolling around outside quite a bit in the last week or two, cheering on the things I know are lurking underground: the garlic and shallot bulbs I planted last fall.....



and of course the spring bulbs: species crocus and tulips, miniature daffodils and all the usual suspects. Last week, after several days indoors with a cold, I just had to get outside. It hits me every spring, but this year it's coming on a bit early. In the early days of my gardening habit, I would I tell my sweetheart "I've got to outside and throw some dirt around!" and at first he was surprised. I guess he thought I was kidding? As the decades have come and gone, he has moved from amazement to chuckling (apparently it was cute there for a few years) to, nowadays, barely a head nod.

I could have done it too (thrown dirt around), since the soil is not frozen anywhere except where shaded by fence or northern exposure trees. But as I picked up my shovel and donned my gloves, I had a little guilt attack about the pile of mulch/compost which I had had delivered last fall, still sitting out by the street, partly encroaching on my neighbor, Stan's, front lawn. Oops. So I grabbed my trusty wheelbarrow and moved a few loads to the back yard:





I did three loads and then my cold-weakened limbs demanded a tea break, and that was it for the day. Still, it was very satisfying to be outside with my plant buddies. Today looks promising too ..........

An End to Pogonip?

I know, I know, it doesn't look all that exciting. Just a cloudy sky above some vaguely snowy trees. But trust me: this is an exciting sight for us today. We've been experiencing the dreaded winter weather phenomenon known formally as a 'stagnant air inversion layer', more colloquially as 'freezing fog' or, as I have just learned, 'pogonip' -- a Shoshone word meaning, well, freezing fog.

Since the fog rolled in Christmas morning, we have seen neither the sun nor the sky. The fog has been so thick, and so settled-in, that it has actually been falling out of the sky and accumulating on the ground like snow, as well as the usual hoarfrost attached to tree branches, etc.



I actually had to shovel it on Sunday. Who ever heard of shoveling fog?!

Quite lovely for about a day, then we Central Oregon sunshine freaks start whining and feeling depressed. Conveniently, the fog ends less than 1000 feet above town, so skiers heading up for nordic or alpine skiing at Meissner Snow Park or Mt Bachelor hit sunshine within 5 minutes of leaving town, and come home with sunburns.

Winter for non-gardeners?

What does the non-gardener in the family do during the winter?  He switches from mountain biking to cyclocross (known to some as pscych(l)o-path) racing, and shovels snow as needed.  This late fall, following a back injury, the sweetheart's CX training suffered a severe setback.  Through hard work, a lot of physical therapy and acupuncture, and his own personal self-healing abilities, he is ready to participate in his age group race at Cyclocross Nationals this afternoon.  I suppose if nats were being held in say, Kansas City (3 years ago) or Providence, RI (last 2 years) he wouldn't have made such an effort.  But having these races right here in Bend has been a powerful incentive to heal and get back on his bike.  He is my hero.  (Insane, but my hero;  what else is a guy with Bicycle Disease supposed to do?)

In this photo you see him, shoveling the front deck a few days ago, during Sunday's big snow dump.  When I took this shot, he had just come out of the garage where he did some intervals (thus the garb), and was 'cooling off' while doing manly householder deeds.  Note the wooden sign to his right.

A few years ago, when he started racing 'cross seriously, a friend cut this board from a hunk of lumber as a training aid for Don.  This is the exact height of a regulation CX barricade (16 inches), which racers must get over by either dismounting and jumping over them while carrying bikes on shoulders, OR 'bunnyhopping' over them while still in the saddle.  I'm not sure what you call a 55+ year old man learning to bunny hop:  perpetual kid or nutcase.  But he did it, and this sign sits on our front deck as a reminder to keep learning new things, to never give up, and to stay young at heart.  (The other side says:  'Lift Off')

Greenhouse panic!

Can you tell by looking at this photo that the temperature outside is 0 degrees F? When I woke up yesterday morning, as per usual I quickly checked the indoor (in the greenhouse)/outdoor (in the carport outside it) thermometer and was shocked to see a reading of 30 degree INSIDE the greenhouse. Uh oh. And this was at 4:30 am, so the temps were still going down.

Although technically an 'unheated' greenhouse ie I don't keep it warm enough to grow orchids, I do keep a small space heater in it in the winter, hooked to a thermostat which is set at around 38 degrees. Since the greenhouse is attached to the MIL apartment's south-facing wall, it normally stays well above freezing most of the winter, even without auxiliary heat. I overwinter my geraniums and a few other tender perennials in containers, on a tiered stand right next to the wall. Other plants that will take light frost -- cymbidium orchids, a California ceanothus, potted maple and larch 'bonsai' -- are out farther from the building, next to the outside walls.

But every 2-3 years it gets really cold here, and then that heater is Life to the plants inside. Years ago I discovered that leaving a small fan on, 24/7, keeps cold (in winter) and hot (in summer) pockets from forming, and works amazingly well to keep things from freezing, even when the outside temperature is in the 'teens. But below 10 or so, that wee heater is necessary to keep things alive.

So I rushed out to see what was happening, and could see that, although Herbie (the 20 (30?) year-old oil-filled radiant heater) was working valiantly, he just couldn't put out enough BTUs. I grabbed the spare space heater -- one of those cheap, stand-up, oscillating ones and tried to plug it in. And promptly blew the fuse powering the fan and light. S---! Now it was 30/0 degrees and dark, and I was still fumbling to plug in the second heater. The electricians who put in this electrical plug carefully covered it with a 'waterproof' metal sheath, which alas, makes it nearly impossible to get actual electrical cords plugged in. I'm still in my nightgown at this point, not feeling the cold in my worry about my darlings, but I ran inside to enlist my manly guy for advice and assistance. He, still in his bathrobe peacefully reading by the fire, protested at first. But nobly (and this is why we are still married and madly in love after 40 years) he got up, put some proper clothes on, and came out to help.

Each of us was hampered by a different problem. After watching years of sci fi movies and shows, he claims to have become quite expert on advanced technology of all kinds. Unfortunately, since we are not on Battlestar Galactica, the Enterprise, or moving through the Stargate universe, most of what he has learned is useless. A Level Three Diagnostic did not help. The forward naselles could not be located. The inertial dampeners were offline. He was left with only a flashlight and a simple electrical cord to save the day.

I suffer from a different handicap. Despite being 60 years old, and having lived my entire life (bar a great deal camping, backpacking, and living in various cabins, Forest Service guard stations and the infamous 2 years in the pink trailer) using electricity, I still don't really ... get it. It seems unnatural and probably highly dangerous to me. In fact, I am the spiritual descendant of James Thurber's grandmother, who ....

"lived the latter years of her life in the horrible suspicion that electricity was dripping invisibly all over the house. it leaked, she contended, out of empty sockets if the wall switch had been left on. She would go around screwing in bulbs, and if they lighted up she would hastily and fearfully turn off the wall switch and go back to her (magazine), happy in the satisfaction that she had stopped not only a costly but a dangerous leakage. Nothing could clear this up for her."

This explains why I still have the uneasy feeling, whenever I plug something in, that I will be electrocuted. And fishing around in the (cold) dark bowels of the greenhouse, where there could also be huge, hideous spiders, trying to jam the 2nd heater into the plug, gives me the willies. Although I suppose the spiders have probably packed their wee spidey suitcases long since and headed south for the winter.

Anyway, the plug went in, and thankfully, that circuit did not blow. The extra heater did the trick, and the oscillating motion fills the need to circulate air. Nothing froze and this morning, despite the temperature having fallen to (so far) -7 outside, it's a balmy 38 in there. My darlings are safe.