All Choked Up

Awhile back (last August, in fact) I planted my first artichoke seedling.

Historically, artichokes aren't one of my favorite foods, but I've been trying to diversify my plantings (and my palate). So when my local nursery stocked vibrant green artichoke seedlings, I just had to buy one. I stuck the plant in a rear corner of a raised bed in my backyard, with no better reason for its placement than the fact that it was the only open space left. I know, that was not very scientific of me.

The plant took root and grew, and grew, and grew some more. As months passed I realized I had a monster of sorts on my hands. Other plants withered and died away with the change of seasons, but not the artichoke.

The artichoke plant got greedier, taller, wider, darker, and just generally more massive. Furry fronds unfurled from its fuzzy center, and the larger, more languid leaves lay lazily upon the ground. First it overtook a few assorted flowers... then the herbs planted nearby... and finally the patch of savoy cabbage was smothered in an array of artichoke foliage.

Of course, there were no actual artichokes to be found.

My feelings and opinions about the artichoke plant turned from admiration and curiosity to suspicion and resentment. Did I really want to commit 16 square feet of raised bed to a single artichoke plant? I mean, in a small urban yard this thing was squatting on some valuable real estate. Would it ever produce an actual artichoke? And if so... when, and how many?

I ranted and raved to my husband in a nonsensical tirade about selfish plants that always take and never give. Tying my shoelaces in a dramatic flurry, I grabbed the biggest shovel we own and stormed out the back door, ready to do some serious damage to that good-for-nothing, free-loading, perennial fiend!

I flew through the yard, scattering chickens this way and that, as I planted the spade at the root of the great beast. Raising one foot to the top of the shovel, I gripped the handle mercilessly and prepared to dig with all my might. I bent forward and down toward the plant to ensure enough leverage when--lo and behold--a minor miracle occurred.


I found myself nose to nose with none other than our first tiny artichoke, tucked sweetly within the greenery. Surprised, I dropped the shovel, and parted the great leaves in search of more baby artichokes. I found nine altogether, and I hadn't even known they were there. Fury melted away to a feeling significantly more maternal.

In fact, I got all choked up.

So the monstrous artichoke plant has been granted clemency... for now.


Of course, we'll have to see whether my family will actually eat any of the artichokes before the beast is officially pardoned!

R.I.F. Season

March means one thing to obsessive gardeners: the great gear up for spring! Time to dust off those reference books, purchase any supplies you may need, and get your gardening gloves, hand trowel, and seed packets ready. Spring planting is just around the corner.

As a tenth year educator in the Long Beach Unified School District, however, March has come to mean something else: layoff notices. Yep, that's right... the big R.I.F. is back in town, second year running.

If you have the luxury of not being familiar with the acronym R.I.F., allow me to enlighten you. It stands for Reduction In Force, as in (and I quote), "...the Governing Board has directed that notice be given to you that your services will not be required for the ensuing 2011-2012 school year." End quote.

"The reasons are as follows," it continues. Blah blah blah blah blah blah.

The fine print really doesn't matter. What it boils down to is that there is hardly any money flowing into our public school system, and too much flowing out. Sacramento needs to balance its budget on the backs of our teachers and against the futures of our children. Because it's really okay, you see, for our governments to run trillions of dollars in debt, but heaven forbid we finance the salary of one great educator.

Am I getting too political for you? If I've made you uncomfortable, I apologize. Pocket Square Farm is not supposed to be a vehicle for political commentary, but the teacher in me (and the mother of two children just beginning their careers in the Long Beach school system) just can't help herself. It's all I can think about right now.

So here's my attempt to turn R.I.F. season around. I am officially re-defining this acronym.

Until either my notice is rescinded or the last nail is hammered in the coffin that is my career, the letters R.I.F. will hereby stand for "Reemergence Into Farming."

I have been down and out of the garden for the last month, instead working toward my GATE certification, completing my professional portfolio, and preparing my students for the 4th grade state writing test. (You may have noticed the stark lack of posts to this blog. I have been a little busy.)

But whatever will be will be, so instead of staying angry I will go back to my other passion: organic farming. I will grab my shovel, dig deep into the earth, and cultivate the small patch of soil that absolutely belongs to me.

I may not be able to plant the seeds of change that are so desperately needed for educational reform in the U.S., but by God I can plant some green beans and watch them grow!

The Coop that Ross Built

This is the coop that Ross built.

These are the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

This is the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

Here are the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

Next the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

Here's the project, all painted and done
(And moving it to the corner was seriously not fun)
After the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.


Open the doors and take a look;
Our ladies in waiting enjoy quite a nook
Inside the project, all painted and done
(And moving it to the corner was seriously not fun)
After the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.


This is the bar where the ladies now roost
(We had to train them by giving a boost)!
Open the doors and take a look;
Our ladies in waiting enjoy quite a nook
Inside the project, all painted and done
(And moving it to the corner was seriously not fun)
After the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

Here are the nesting boxes where our gals will lay--
They'd better or they may become dinner one day--
Beside the bar where the ladies now roost
(We had to train them by giving a boost)!
Open the doors and take a look;
Our ladies in waiting enjoy quite a nook
Inside the project, all painted and done
(And moving it to the corner was seriously not fun)
After the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

Our Chicken McMansion is done and it's dandy
Thanks to my husband who's totally handy;
He hinged the nesting boxes where our gals will lay--
They'd better or they may become dinner one day--
Beside the bar where the ladies now roost
(We had to train them by giving a boost)!
Open the doors and take a look;
Our ladies in waiting enjoy quite a nook
Inside the project, all painted and done
(And moving it to the corner was seriously not fun)
After the project was covered with ply
Making it look like a barn to the eye,
Along with the beginnings of the very first door
And a few flaps of wood attached to the floor,
Screwed to the frame, set in place by one man
According to his graph papers and hand-drawn plan,
Built from the beams that sat outside
And were soaked by the rains as the clouds opened wide,
For the coop that Ross built.

(Thanks, Honey!)