An Embarrassment of Riches

     Most every gardener feels it, especially by late summer: overwhelming abundance. Those tiny seedling that crowded the windowsills

Tomato seedlings on the window sill in the spring

in spring are feet high or yards long by now, producing more food than most of us can use or preserve. Friends, neighbors, co-workers and food banks share in the bounty. Fellow gardeners swap varieties and techniques while birds pluck seeds from sunflowers overhead. The ground is baked hard (even the recent rain won't change that much yet), so robins can no longer pull worms from it. Those wrigglers are buried deep or hiding under mulch.
   

   Canning pots rattle throughout the land and freezers bulge. Dry, cool spaces are hung with garlic, beans, onions, squash, ears of popcorn and other foods that (mercifully) require no electric power or more of our time to preserve. Power bills are high in the fall from food dryers, canners and new freezers. Yes, it's a lot of work and I confess my enthusiasm for it isn't quite as strong as it was a couple of decades ago, but once I get started and see colorful, glistening armies of jars lined up on the kitchen counter, that old self-sufficiency glow is rejuvenated.

     This is the true time of thanksgiving, when we have more than we can possibly use and think of those without enough food. I'm grateful not only for the bounty but for the space and ability to grow and preserve it. It seems every day the news proves we have less and less control over our lives. Growing food is one thing we can control to some extent. Mother Nature has a strong say in our success and even she has ratcheted up the challenge knob more than once, but that's part of the game and so far we've at least filled the larder and usually start each

season of preserving with some still left in the cupboard. That's our backup if or when an earthquake or fire or some other disaster visits our neighborhood - if it doesn't get destroyed in the event. It brings my late friend, Bunny, to mind. She said she was so proud the first year she had a big garden and canned dozens and dozens of jars of produce. Her husband built special shelves in their basement to store all the bounty. One night, they heard a terrible crash and went downstairs to find the weight of all those jars proved too much for the shelves and all that work lay amid countless shards of glass. She never canned again.
       Don has taken over much of the gardening, especially the year-round part. I'm a fair-weather gardener and the years I did it all by myself (plus most of the preserving) were exhausting and I was always grateful when fall arrived and the

soil and I had a few months off. It was (and still is) so rewarding in the deep of winter to pull something from

Tomatillos ready to roast

the cupboard or freezer and get not only the taste of summer, but the aroma of it in the form of roasted tomatoes, basil, pesto, apple crisp, you name it.
     We've eaten mainly local foods for the last 20 years since most of it came from our garden. Now, we can supplement with so many other local products that you barely have to put extra thought in creating mostly all-local meals. I know that's another thing to be grateful for - and

I am. My work has allowed me to meet most of the local farmers and interview them for stories or columns. The same with countless small food businesses over the last 35 years. What good fortune! Some of those food businesses are no longer around, others have been sold to other people or to larger businesses. Some celebrate milestones and get even better each year. Knowing all of these folks has given me insight into what it takes to build and keep a farm or business going. It makes what I thought was an enormous garden seem pretty puny (about 1/3 of an acre - I jokingly called myself a "fardner" when doing it myself - too small to be a farm but too big to be just a garden). If any of my crops failed I could go to one of them to buy whatever didn't work for me. Who could they turn to?

     Just looking at our continuously full counter (in spite of preserving things daily) I/we have many, many blessings to count. May I never take them for granted.

The only things not local in this Nicoise salad Don made (with local albacore) is the salt, pepper and olive oil.

    

Be Careful What You Wish For

     It's not news to anyone that weather this summer has been extreme just about everywhere, at least part of the time. Here, in the Pacific Northwest, it's been exceptionally dry and hot. As predicted, wildfires are ablaze in every western state with resources stretched to the snapping point. The Okanagan Complex in north central Washington is the #1 national wildfire priority today. Firefighters from Australia and New Zealand are expected to arrive this weekend.
     Tragically, three firefighters died near Twisp, Washington yesterday and others were seriously burned when they were trapped by fire. I don't know what those men and women are paid, but it's not enough. I can't even fathom the grueling work they face, without let-up, once a fire starts. This summer has been a particular hell for them. They must be absolutely exhausted, in spite of every comfort they are provided. Some train near here and I've seen the heavy protective clothing, helmets and packs which must make already extreme heat darn near unbearable. I try to imagine what must be going through their minds at the end of a long day (or night) or in the hellish thick of an uncontrolable fire. They have to wonder what the heck they were thinking when they signed on. Was it adventure they were after? A challenge? Money for school or family? Whatever it was, we should all be extremely grateful. It's work few can perform.
     On Monday, one of the weather prognosticators that I follow said there's a good chance for some serious rain to visit us by the end of August or early September. It would likely begin as snow in Alaska and move down -- all the way to northern California, he said -- bringing rain, glorious rain to our parched world.
     Yeah, yeah, we've heard that before, but it has yet to pan out. Still, I've pinned my hopes on it all week, telling everyone I'll be out dancing in it when it arrives.
    But, today on Oregon Public Broadcasting's Think Out Loud, one of the reports made me feel almost greedy. Apparently, the cold front that would eventually drift south, bringing that glorious rain, would also wreak havoc with the wildfires, which are barely contained at this point. The cold air clashing with the hot air created by the fires would cause winds to shift quickly and unpredictably, creating even more hazardous conditions for firefighters and property owners. How could I wish for that? Would that inhibit the rain from falling there? Couldn't it help almost immediately thereafter? How scary weather is proving.
     Oregon's biggest fire right now is the Canyon Creek Fire in southeastern Oregon - a very different terrain from the Willamette Valley, yet beautiful in it's unique way and home to amazing wildlife, especially birds.
     I never used to worry much about wildfires in our forested neighborhood until the last couple of years when things started to dry out more. This year has been especially scary. What if this truly is the "new norm"?
     About 20 years ago we converted about 4 acres of former cow pasture into a forest. It seemed like a much higher calling for the land at the time, but now I'm having second thoughts. Two summers ago we thinned quite a few, which left nightmarish piles of branches everywhere. The forester said they'd decompose within about 6 years, but I think that's under normal wet conditions.
  

Arthritic-looking droopy branches

  I also trimmed countless branches from other trees on our property, about head height, making them easier to walk among and improving the value of the timber by reducing knot holes. This summer we've notice that the branches higher up have slipped downward, tapping or grabbing us as we walk through the woods. Is that in part because of the drought? Our neighbor pointed out there are fewer fir cones this year too. So many silent "messages" I wish a professional could interpret for us.
     If there's a way for that rain to come and not worsen the already horrible situation firefighters are dealing with, that's what I wish for...

Sweet Revenge!

     This has been a nasty year for yellow-jackets. Nasty for humans, that is, but apparently great for hungry yellow-jackets. Their populations multiply exponentially in dry springs and early summers. By mid-summer, they've taken over - and this year with a vengeance. Recently, while mowing our dandelion "lawn" (we let our grass dry out in summer), a yellow jacket got stuck in my shoe and stung like crazy when he couldn't get out. He was really ticked off. When I stopped "dancing" and hastily bent over to take my shoe off, two more under my shirt took umbrage with the move and let me know their displeasure. Now I was really ticked too!

Goldenrod Crab Spider (credit: Bugguide.net)

     However, while hanging out laundry yesterday, with yellow-jackets swarming and buzzing their warning, my eye caught something that made me happy. It was a Goldenrod Crab Spider on the side of the wasp trap hanging from the clothesline. She had just nabbed and poisoned a yellow-jacket with her powerful venom. It looked like she was "kissing" him. The wasp became motionless and she proceeded to suck the "juice" right out of his mean little body. "You go girl!" I shouted. Though the wasp's mates continued to harass me to the point I went inside, I kept sneaking back out to check on her, wondering if she'd nab more. There were plenty buzzing around the wasp trap she was sitting on (and blending with so beautifully).

Sucking the life out of a yellow-jacket. Yum!

     First thing this morning, I went out to see if she was still on the wasp trap. Yep. She'd apparently spent the night on the black strap holding it onto the line. As the day progressed, she moved first to the top of the trap, then down until I thought she'd given up and left. But,no! The clever girl had moved to the bottom where the wasps enter the trap. I never did see her catch one today (and checked frequently), but hope she nabs one tomorrow. She's in the perfect spot to do it and blends in so well with the trap, I'd be surprised if the wasp saw what was coming.

Hungry spider coming out of her hiding place at the end of the day

     According to the various websites, Goldenrod Crab Spiders can move backward, forward and sideways. They don't build webs, but hang out in flowers where their prey show up (flies, bees, wasps). I'm not happy to think of her nabbing bees - they're the "good guys" and we've got lots around here. She's welcome to all the yellow-jackets she can eat, though. Apparently, they lay eggs in a leaf, fold it over and secure it with their silk, but the mother dies off before the little ones hatch, so they're on their own. It can be a cruel, but very interesting little world out there.