Garden in a Jar

I will admit right off the bat that this quick post is none-other than a shameless plug for one of my least favorite mega-stores: Target.

Okay, I don't actually despise Target, but I am still incredibly irked that the Target nearest to my home recently closed their garden center so that they could use it as "storage space" for their new in-house grocery department.

I mean, I do see the convenience of having groceries available at Target. And they do carry quite a few organic products, to their credit. And, to be honest, I have purchased a gallon of milk there. And maybe some peanut butter. And wine... on sale of course.

But what does it say about us, as a society, when we [more often than not] buy our "fresh" produce from the same store as our DVDs, nail polish, and socks? I have mixed emotions about the whole conglomerated concept.

Regardless, I did recently find a new product at Target that I love, love, love... so I wanted to share.

This is Target's newest soy candle line. I adore candles, but especially soy candles.

I love candles in glass jars, because they never get messy or drippy, and the jars can be reused.

I love the name of this candle, "Garden Blossom," and the cute red and white vintage yet modern-looking graphic on the label. It matches my kitchen exactly.

More than anything, though, I LOVE the scent. You know how most candles smell too sweet, or too strong, or too perfumey, or nice but totally artificial? In my humble opinion, this one doesn't.

It smells just like my garden.

Like the freshly-turned earth.

Like rays of sunshine filtering through the grape leaves.

Like buttery yellow tomato blossoms unfurling before me.

It just smells clean and real.

If you happen to be shopping at Target anytime soon (and I promise that if you do buy your broccoli there I won't hold it against you), and if you happen to peruse the candle aisle and find this one sitting there, beckoning you, you might just want to give it a chance.

I, myself, am going to stock up before it's tragically discontinued... just like my beloved [former] Target garden center!

Rain Barrel Dreams

Was it just a week ago that I was complaining about an unexpected heat wave?

Scratch that, because now we are inundated with rain.

Don't get me wrong. I love the rain. We need the rain. Having lived in Oregon for four years, going out in the rain (or hail or snow) with my children, even umbrella-less, doesn't phase me at all. But this sudden onslaught of water falling from the sky, flooding my yard, and drenching my garden caught me unprepared... because I haven't installed my rain barrels yet.

I've been wanting rain barrels for a long time. This year I vowed to purchase them in the fall before our "winter weather" hit. But I obviously didn't make it in time. Which means that all of the fresh, clean water streaming off my roof, down the rain gutters, across the driveway, into the street, and out into the [polluted, salty] ocean is just going to waste. And in my mind, that is an unethical tragedy.

I know which rain barrels I would like to install. I've had the page earmarked in my Gardener's Supply Company catalogue (one of my faves) for about a year. They look like this:

Each barrel holds 65 gallons of freshly harvested water, ready with a spigot and hose for garden use, and I would need four of them to cover every downspout in my yard. I love that it is tall and narrow so it can hug the already-slim walkways around the sides of my home. And isn't the space at the top for a plant cute? I thought that was unique.

I could just go out and buy some food-grade plastic containers and have my husband install screens and spigots, but that seemed like a lot of work for an end product that wouldn't hold as much and, well, would probably be ugly. I don't usually get too caught up in appearances, but when it comes to my garden I can be a little vain. I prefer for Pocket Square Farm to be productive and pretty. My neighbors have to look at it every day, after all. And although most of my neighbors seem to like my yard, I worry that I might soon offend someone with my growing menagerie of plants and animals. The last thing I need is someone calling the city on me!

Speaking of the city, I have tried to procure rain barrels in other ways. Just last spring the Office of Sustainability announced a pilot rain barrel program. The first 100 citizens to apply via email were given one rain barrel with the city logo on the side. I applied but apparently didn't make the cut... I think the city ran out of barrels faster than they could say, "Water conservation!"

Which leads me to another tirade of sorts. I don't really understand why rain collection programs aren't mandatory in areas of the country that don't naturally have a significant amount of rainfall. When there is so much heated controversy over water rights and use, the Sacramento River Delta, the Colorado River, and desalination, aren't we [collectively] overlooking something kind of obvious?

As I drove home today (just a few miles from a friend's house) and witnessed millions of gallons of fresh water streaming through the flood controls and out to the open ocean, I found myself shaking my head. I'm not a conservation ecologist, a chemist, or a government policy maker, but isn't there something we could do to collect and use our most precious natural resource as it falls from the sky?

I think, nationwide, the overall feeling is that people want to collect and save water from rainfall. Several states have created legislation that denies citizens the right to collect and use rain water, claiming that the rain landing on a property owner's roof actually, lawfully, belongs to someone else. I am a pretty smart person, but I can't really wrap my head around that one. To read a fairly radical article about this issue [and I don't necessarily subscribe to the tone of Natural News, but some of the facts are interesting], click here.

So if I feel so strongly about this issue, why don't I have those rain barrels yet? Chalk some of it up to forgetfulness, another part to procrastination, and the last bit to the expense of it all. Maybe after Santa delivers [and if his credit card isn't maxed out], and if I've been a really good farm girl this year, I will get one (or four) in January!

Moo Moo the Milk Cow

My son, Mason, is quite the enthusiastic gardener. His special brand of "pitching in" around Pocket Square Farm usually involves his 3 foot long child's shovel and sprays of dirt flying in all directions. His commitment to soil removal can be witnessed in many a raised bed... and among my flowers... and even in the middle of the lawn. We're working on this.

Nevertheless, I love that he loves to "help" around the yard. He's been especially interested in our recent garden expansion and developments, mainly because most of them have occurred just outside his bedroom window. Whereas he used to have a view of our neighbor's stucco garage, a sad patch of overgrown lawn, and various discarded garden accoutrements, he now awakens to the sights of raised beds, our beautiful berry arbor, pumpkins, and--of course--our vintage bathtub full of basil.

Although Mason never once questioned the presence of a cast iron bathtub squatting in a pool of gravel in our front yard, he was disturbed by another, more pressing issue.

"Mama, if we have a farm now at our house, we need to get some farm animals," he announced.

"Of course we should, and we will," I replied. "Remember, we're going to get chickens just as soon as we can get a hen house in order," I reminded him.

"But Mommy," he whined, "we need a bigger animal than just chickens. What we need is a cow! Every farm should have a cow!" he proclaimed with conviction.

I agreed whole-heartedly that every farm should, indeed, have a cow. Then I explained in five-year-old terms that our city ordinances did not exactly allow for the raising of cattle.

"Well, I can take care of that!" Mason announced. And suddenly, he was rummaging through his desk, retrieving scissors, crayons, paper, tape, and an errant toilet paper role. He began coloring and snipping, perched on the edge of his chair like a little bird, tongue sticking out licking his upper lip in extreme concentration. Tiny scraps of paper fell like snowflakes at his feet, littering the floor beneath him. This is typical; I walked away and left him to his own devices.

Our house was oddly quiet for quite some time. It must have been at least 40 minutes before his project was complete... and anyone who has a busy 5-year-old knows that 40 minutes of peace and quiet is somewhat akin to an eternity in the parent space-time continuum. At last Mason emerged, triumphant, from his bedroom; a wide, flashing grin spread across his face. I wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified about what he was hiding behind his back.


"Mommy, meet Moo Moo the Milk Cow!" he laughed, presenting our new family pet.

Although Moo Moo can't exactly graze in our pocket-sized "pasture," she now hangs day and night in Mason's bedroom window... where she is most definitely part of our tiny family farm.

Easter Every Day

Midsummer is my favorite time in the garden. All of the hard work of spring planting is a distant memory, and most crops planted in April have really started pumping out the produce. Between my handy drip system and virtually weed-free raised beds (knock on wood), all I really have left to do is glean... and glean... and glean some more. It's a wonderful, lovely chore.

Most mornings I head out to the garden first thing to pick lettuce. Okay, actually I get my cup of coffee first and pick lettuce second. Lettuce leaves are best harvested early in the morning, before it gets too warm and much of their moisture has evaporated, leaving them warm and wilted [yuck]. Armed with kitchen scissors and salad spinner, I cut either just the mature outer leaves or entire heads of lettuce. Greens get a quick rinse and spin in the house, and then my salad spinner is popped into the fridge to chill for lunch... and dinner. We eat a lot of salad at Pocket Square Farm. When you're trying to eat sustainably, big salads go a long way toward filling out your meals... and hungry tummies.

A little later in the day, I grab hold of one of my very favorite farm things: my harvest basket. It is large, metal, heavy, and painted sunflower yellow. I love the smooth, spiral-bound handle and its decorative, chicken-wire-esque belly. I wish I could tell you that I found it in a flea market or long-forgotten corner of an antique store, having been owned and used by another farmgirl in another state in another era. But I have to sheepishly admit that I bought it just last year. New. At Crate&Barrel. It's not super eco-friendly, but boy do I adore that store. (Remember I was raised in the OC?)

But it's not just the cool vintage shape that speaks to me, or even the cheerful tone and texture. I love what this basket symbolizes. It represents my mission to feed my family sustainably. It is all the meals we have had or will ever eat that were grown right here at Pocket Square Farm. It embodies the number of miles our vegetables will be driven or flown from some other state or some other country to our dinner table: exactly zero. After all, it is only 26 steps from my kitchen to my raised bed "market." You can't get meals much more local than that!

Tip-toeing among my many raised beds, harvest basket resting on my arm, is like having Easter morning... every single day. If you grew up in a house that celebrated Easter, or at least participated in the annual secular egg hunt, then you might remember that giddy, youthful, innocent feeling of darting here and there, searching out the elusive, colorful prizes, and dropping them victoriously in your plastic grass-lined Easter basket. In my home, Easter morning looks something like this.

Do you remember how it felt?
The thrill of the hunt?

Found one!

This photo says it all.
That basket of treasures is his pride and joy.
This is how I feel in my summertime garden.
(But a photo of me hugging my basket wouldn't be nearly as cute.)

During the lazy summer months, my yellow harvest basket cradles different prizes on different days. But there are the usual, dependable suspects: eye-popping neon purple eggplant, prickly slicing and pickling cucumbers, tender and juicy tomatoes, furry zucchini (yes, they're hairy when picked right off the plant), handfuls of green beans, and if we're lucky, a golden "Twice as Nice" cantaloupe or two. These are my son's favorite garden treat.

I plan my meals for the day based not upon what we'd like to eat, but what I have in my harvest basket. It's definitely an alternative (and more natural) way of planning meals... one my family and friends have gradually become accustomed to. These days, when we're going to be cooking and dining with our best friends, they no longer ask "What do you want to bring?"

"What do you have in your garden today?" they begin. And we go from there.