more rats

This summer we had rats in our walls. They are gone but now we have them in the garden. And they've always been in the trees. Rat medicine. It must be good for me. Everything else is running so well. We are all well and happy. The house is full of life and activity. Work is great. The rats must be in line with all of that. Or maybe not. There is a nagging quality to this rat thing. Especially the close encounters. It's one thing to hear them scratching in the walls and quite another to have them jumping out of a bin a few inches from my face. I mean, really? Must I see them that close up to get the benefits of their medicine? It's a big pill to swallow, this rat pill. It's got me feeling as though I am missing something. Some detail is eluding me. Like that I am really bugged about something I am not admitting to. Denying some part that wants to be screamed about. But what? Rat medicine is definitely tricky. It's a dirty little secret hidden away. Maybe its the pile of bills on my desk, or the to do list that is getting a bit unmanageable or the long over due maintenance on the house. But I'm not sure. I think it might be something a bit deeper. A bit more entrenched. I am going to keep investigating this rat medicine stuff and see if I can't discover what it's all about.

Growing Dirt

I thought I could write about composting a few months ago when I started this blog. But then my compost pile got soggy and smelly and I realized I had no idea what the hell I was doing making dirt. I was making a stinking pile of rotten food that would probably kill any plant I put it on.

I started over and even though I was tempted to take a class on composting (go ahead gardeners, laugh), I never did. I figured it out, damn it, and I can now boast that I know how to grow dirt! And it's not that hard. The trick is to follow my intuition (which is getting sharper all the time) and work with good old trial and error. I now have two composting bins working full time that are moist, smell like rich earth and are warm to the touch. I also have piles of leaves and other garden waste that I am accumulating to help make more dirt.

No this is not a HOW TO because composting is sort of like learning to drive. I can't explain it in words. I'd have to show you. One thing I can say is that dirt is built from the top down. Its all about layering and getting the proportions right. And whatever goes on top will find its way down into the dirt. At the bottom, you get some mighty nice black stuff to put in your garden.

Yes I am writing this to toot my own horn because I am so proud of myself for figuring it out, but also to say it's pretty easy once you get the hang of it. You definitely have to trust yourself. I think that's the main ingredient after the kitchen scraps and the dry leaves. I also helps to have a lot of garden waste lying around that's already decomposing to throw in.

My compost piles are full of surprises. I love looking in and feeling the temp and the moisture and deciding what it needs. One day I decided the pile was dry and I started watering it. Next thing I knew a rat was flying up and out of the bin like an escapee making a break for it. Yes I was grossed out, but I just decided that bin would be for the rats to enjoy and left it at that. After all, they're just helping my compost along. But I don't think I will be putting the stuff from that bin on my vegetables...

Desert Morning

Roadrunner

Runs across my path

Long tail and legs

He is big

His call is funny sounding

And bubbles up a smile

Smile at the bird

Who tells me I am right

I am at the center

I have arrived

Guns me to run

To get it done

Up comes the wind

Circling my spot

And lifting my clothes

From dry skin

Opening the time

And bleeding love out

Desert sun

Releases a bluer sky

The mountains like paper cutouts

Crisp along the edge

At night the stars

Settle on their shoulders

This open space

That appears to have nothing

That only likes simple shapes

And plants with tiny leaves

Like a vacuum it sucks the words out

Spilling onto page after page

Like a bleached out can in the sand

With a lizard hiding inside

This land is full

of surprising stories

Of disintegration and running fast

Taking the heart up in a snap of heat

Potato Volcano

Last night for dinner I served mashed potatoes. I was in a hurry and didn't make a volcano out of Grace's pile of mash, like I usually do. Oh no, actually I did. I made a hurried version, taking about two seconds to shape it with my fingers and a fork as Dave was carrying it
to the table. But there was no melted butter lava.

She didn't complain but when she saw there were leftovers she asked if she could have a volcano in her lunch the next day. I looked at the potatoes and thought about how well the mash volcano would hold up through its journey to school in Grace's backpack and decided it would be better if I gave them to her in a plastic container and let her make the volcano herself. She was very excited about it and we came up with a solution for the lava: Thinned ketchup. "It will be perfect!" she screeched carrying her plate to the sink. But what to put the volcano on was still an issue to be solved. A plate would need to be washed after lunch and she didn't like that idea. I suggested a square of aluminum foil which she could just fold up and put back in her lunch
bag. She liked it.

So at dinner tonight, I asked her how it went with the volcano at lunch and a cloud passed over her face. "I couldn't do it" she said glumly, slowly reliving the full weight of her lunchtime disappointment. "I started to make it and the teacher came over and told me not to play with my food."

Ah manners. Too bad we don't teach her those at home.

Ruby Red Beauties

My tomatoes are the last man (men) standing in my garden now. They are (I swear) producing the most delicious cherry tomatoes I have ever eaten. There is some kind of magic between the love I give them as I water and pick them and tell them how gorgeous they are (because they are!), and the sweet taste they bestow on my tongue when I pop one in my mouth. What is better than that squirt of pure tomato juice fresh from the vine? I love the way the skin actually holds the faint scent of soil on it which finds its way up my nose as I pass one after the other into my waiting mouth. I just finished a whole bowl. These little ruby beauties have been deeply nourishing me for the last couple of weeks. I always make a meal out of them and say thank you. Sometimes I saute them in a pan with a little garlic and put them on toast. Other times its just slicing them and sprinkling them with olive oil, salt and lots of basil, the other plant that is flourishing still. But this time it was just a bowl of them, straight up, now empty, with only a pile of their curly green little jester hats left at the bottom.