Magic Mushrooms

                                                                                                         

Not like that. Magic like we drilled a bunch of holes in a bunch of beech logs last year (as in a year ago),  filled the holes with the spawn of Shiitake mushrooms, sealed em up with hot wax, stacked the logs in a pile somewhere for the year, picked up a few logs last week, threw them in our new pond for 24 hours, and within a day or so this was happening. Mushrooms were growing out of the logs. I know this is exactly what was supposed to happen, what I've been reasonably assured would happen with shiitakes, as they are a very reliable mushroom to grow. Still, it seems unlikely that all would go well.  And seeing them growing there feels like magic. That's all I mean.

Beech wood is a very good wood to use for growing mushrooms, along with maple and oak (the best). They are hard woods, but not so rot resistant that no fungus could colonize them. Two years ago we tried this process with oyster mushrooms on black locust logs, and were not successful. I've since learned that black locust is just too rot resistant. This is why people often make fence posts out of locust- it really stands up against decay. 

We got the beech from our neighbor's tree, which had shed a limb in a storm and needed some cleanup.  Matt went over with his chain saw and cut the choicest limb into three or four foot sections, and brought them over to the garden. We have about ten logs or so, and will continue to soak some on a weekly basis, so we can draw out the harvest for a few weeks. 

I would really love to come across a reliable source of wood to keep this project going, but asking a local arborist to please drop off the straightest cuts of the most desirable wood they've got might be met with a bit of a chuckle.

Well, after unwittingly catching a squirrel and making a trip to the market for a cantaloupe, I got him. Poor guy. He was so scared.  I just have to keep reminding myself that he and I are simply competing for resources, and my half acre can't sustain us both. I told myself that he is way more adaptable than I, and that he should get along just fine in his new habitat. I also told myself that he is a male, lest I start worrying about unfed babies waiting for their mother back in the hole (thanks, Amber). So he's off on a new adventure in Fairmount Park. Across the great Schuylkill River.
The next order of business will be getting that wood pile cut up and stacked elsewhere.

Groundhog Day

It's finally happened. One of the hundreds of groundhogs in my neighborhood has taken up residence in the garden. We had a scare once before, the first year we were here, when the snow was just melting and a little guy awoke to find that the forest he'd fallen asleep in had become a field overnight. We cornered him under a giant tank, threw a sheet over him, sent the dog after him, stepped on him, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, threw him in a cage, and he still got away. He never did come back, though. That was four years ago, nearly. This one seems pretty content. Pretty settled in. Pretty hungry.
If I were around everyday like I used to be, I would be less concerned. As I worked out there yesterday, he kept his distance, scrounging around the grassy area behind the beehives, keeping his eye on me. Every time I made a move he'd scurry back into his pile. He'd peek out like this to see if the coast was clear, then duck back down again. So he didn't get very far. Since I work away from home two days a week now, though, I am nervous. Nervous for my beautiful bibb lettuce, the succulent peas, the baby cabbage, the edible flowers. What kind of damage will he do once he feels no threat? Once I am gone? For ten hours. Oh, my.
I have a cage set up- a real one this time, a trap. I put apples in it, but I hear they really go for melons. Since he watched me put it there, I doubt that he'll be all that enticed to go in. The only other thing I can think of is adopting him as my pet. Look at him looking at me. He's so suspicious. He'll never consent to that. Maybe if I had a melon.

 I have a dream of starting a flower business with flowers and herbs that I grow in my garden. I would do a few weddings in the spring, a few in the summer, and then in the winter I would collect wreath materials and make wreaths. I made wreaths for years at my grandmom's place- she has a greenhouse from her years running a flower nursery, and we'd work in there, taking the clippings from the Christmas trees that my uncle grows and making giant wreaths for businesses to put out front. We'd make smaller ones for families, too. We had a bunch of heavy wire frames and a cool machine that clamped the brackets down. It was always very cold work, even in the greenhouse, and I always wished we could fancy the wreaths up a bit, with some herbs or flowers, for color and texture variation.
So this year I made us a wreath from whatever I could find around my own yard. We have a holly tree and a yew tree, and some other weird, spiky, evergreen, topiary looking thing, so that was an obvious start. To that I added these dried up flowery pods I found all over my backyard, some dried up goldenrod puffs, and a few heads of garlic. And since I have my own house now and don't have to worry about making a mess, I assembled it all on my dining room table- where it's warm. Only problem was, I didn't have a wreath frame or proper wire. I had to improvise, big time, and I ended up with a an oval or a triangle depending on how many sections I held up at once. My solution was to tie the thing in several places to the lovely iron grate on my front door.  Just imagine what I could accomplish with the proper supplies.

I just tossed the last of our garlic into a pot of soup. From now until July I'll be buying the Chilean or Californian stuff at the grocery store like the rest of you suckers. Anticipation of this fact had me planting an extra bed of garlic this fall. And why not? It's the perfect crop, in some ways: plant it in the fall, mulch it, do nothing else until it's time to pull it up midsummer, at which point you have an empty bed for planting your fall cabbage or what have you. Plus, it's the second most popular item at the stand behind honey. Unlike the honey, it is not much of a moneymaker (I charge 50 cents a head for the larger heads or 3 for a dollar if they're smaller), but people are really impressed with fresh garlic. It's like magic to them ("You grew this?"), and I think it gets them excited about cooking the various other vegetables on display. So I think it's a win. If nothing else, hundreds of garlic plants hanging from the rafters of the patio roof makes me feel like I have a totally legitimate operation going. Sometimes I'll just take a walk back and admire them hanging there. And then there's the potential for my personal supply to last until the next harvest, and that is an exciting prospect indeed.

Farm Stand

Farm Stand

It's been seven weeks since the start of our farm stand. With the exception of last week, which was abysmally slow, it's been going surprisingly well for a poorly advertised, back street vegetable stand. The question is, was last week a fluke, or was it a sign of things to come now that it's summertime? Kids are out of school, so less pick-up traffic (we are right around the corner from John Wister Elementary). Time will tell I guess.

The nice thing about having a stand at the garden is that I can still get some work done if nobody shows up, although I'm not sure just how dirty I'm allowed to get before patrons are turned off. A possible fine line between authentic farmer charm and dirt-and-sweat-near-food gross out. Maybe stick to tying tomatoes and other duties that don't have me on all fours in the dirt on a 95 degree day in between sales.

My mom comes up every week to help me set up and she stays for an hour or two, depending on the heat (we are opposites in that regard, I'm afraid. She she starts melting at 85, 80 with humidity). People always seem very pleased to meet her. I think it's cute for them to see the two of us there together. She's also painting us a giant, beautiful sign for the gate (imagine that, a name posted out front and everything). As soon as she finishes it I'll post a picture of it. It's going to be great.

The refrigerator repair man is here now, to take a look at our Traulsen commercial fridge that's been either freezing everything or reaching a minimum temperature of 82 degrees, depending on the day. Here's hoping we don't have to squeeze everything into that tiny little fridge for much longer.