a man and his hoe

every day is a good day

Month: November 2017

  • A Mind of Its Own


    Each tree has a mind of its own. We have a pear tree whose leaves stay green all winter, and don’t fall off until the new leaves come out in the spring. This year we trimmed it way back, and its leaves are turning bright yellow and falling.



    In the garden, the garlic shoots are appearing. They whiz past the tender mustard greens. The nice thing about greens this time of year is that they grow slowly. Each day you can walk the rows and see the subtle changes from day to day.




    The stellar jays and pileated woodpeckers have made their mark on the apples. How many pecks can an apple take before it falls to the ground?



    Plant a few kale plants, and you are guaranteed greens all winter long. The colder it gets, the sweeter they become.

  • Of Fanged-Things and Fallen Giants


    Something was amiss last night. It was in the warm night air. Stepping out of the cabin where I make tofu, there was no November chill in the air. A warm night breeze wafted over the dark pond.



    At dawn, the ducks went wild with their bath, diving deep, splashing, and flapping their wet wings with pure joy. Perhaps they thought winter was over.




    With today’s bread order cooling, it was off to the cabin to label and pack up the tofu. A fanged thing greeted me on the door. A harvestmen was waiting for something to ambush. To be an insect must be to live in a nightmarish world of monsters. Imagine the tales children would have to tell if they had to sneak by monsters like this on their way to and from school. “Mommy, Bobby didn’t make it home today, the Fanged-Thing got him!” would be an oft heard phrase in such a world.




    On the way to deliver bread and tofu, I see that a giant has fallen. The massive cottonwood in the parking lot of BowEdison Fine Food & Drink has met its demise. A crew of tree fellers has been working on it since yesterday, and now the giant is but a crumpled carcass on the ground.


    All day the warm south winds have gusted. Huge clouds billow above the mountains. I see flocks of swans shooting by at jet speed, riding the howling winds. The day ends as warm as it started. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It’s a far cry from a snowbound Seattle Thanksgiving of some thirty years ago when my husband came in our four-wheel drive Tercel to fetch me from the downtown office building where I worked. That evening, we passed bus after bus which was stuck in the knee-deep snow which blanked the hills of Seattle. This Thanksgiving will be nothing like that. This Thanksgiving will be more like Maui in the Pacific Northwest.

  • Time to Experiment


    With no farmers markets to worry about, I have time to hone my bread baking, and experiment. What if I add more levain, or change the moisture content of the levain, or let the dough rest longer, or rise longer, or, or, or … there are as many variables to play with as I can imagine. This morning’s cumin loaf was pretty good.



    Chuckanut Mountain looked like a volcano steaming ferociously, about to blow it’s top. Fortunately it’s not a volcano, just a mountain that clouds have a thing for.


    At home, late afternoon sun rays turned an apple tree into a burning bush.


    I’d gone out to rake more leaves for the garden beds. Though the leaves on the pond are out of reach.


    It’s impossible to rake leaves without stirring the interest of the chickens. They have all day to inspect the leaves, but something about me raking them, makes them more interesting to the chickens. It may not be the leaves that pique their curiosity. They are probably wondering why I bother gathering them into big piles and cart them off in a wheelbarrow.



  • Camouflage


    Snowgeese camouflage as clouds. Maybe that is one reason they gather in such huge flocks. On the ground they look like snow. When they take to the air, they look like a fog bank or clouds nestled against the mountains.


    Among the golden ferns, the Buff Orpingtons are nearly invisible. Are they the color of golden ferns, or are the ferns the color of Buff Orpingtons?


    What are the Silver-Laced Wyandottes camouflaged as? Winged Zebras?

  • What Passes for a Sunny Day in Mid-November


    In mid-July a day isn’t a sunny one unless the sky is crystal clear at dawn and no clouds mar the cobalt sky all day. By mid-November, our standards for a sunny day have crumbled, and if we can spot any blue among the clouds, a sunny day it is. If we can step outside and not get wet walking to the gate, a sunny day it is. If we can bicycle to the post office and back without having to crawl into rain gear, a sunny day it is.


    It’s a sunny day if rays of sunshine light up swan wings as they fly overhead. It’s a sunny day if the snowberries aren’t dripping raindrops.



    For the ducks, rain or sun, it makes no difference. Any day that ends with a splashy swim is a sunny day.