• Mini Spring

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    After summer’s long draught, the fall rains have given birth to a mini spring. Nettles push up through the damp earth to soak in the morning mist. We’ll get to enjoy nettle soup before the frosts cut them down. The mosses are enjoying the wet too. They spring to life, drinking in the water and fluffing up. Funny isn’t it, that when you caress a soft moss, you’re touching mostly water.

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    Chickens enjoy the wet woods too. The damp earth digs up easily, revealing juicy earthworms and bugs to fill their crops.

    One last flower clings to the stewartia. One last flower next to a crimson leaf. It’s spring next to fall.

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    The cool weather keeps the salad greens growing. The tub of greens I picked this morning went off to Tweets. The cabbage below I picked in the dark this evening for supper. It’s a wonder how plants grow out of the earth to become these delightful, edible feasts.

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  • Vegetables Come from the Sky

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    Where do vegetables come from? They come from the sky, and this is how. Before you can plant a carrot or lettuce seed, you need living soil. Living soil starts up in the sky where the tips of the trees catch the wind and the rain. After soaking in the sun and drinking the rain all summer, the leaves come fluttering down to earth, where they end up in my wheelbarrow.

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    Look at a wheelbarrow full of leaves and you’re looking at your future salad. Over the winter and into spring, bacteria and fungi and earthworms and a million other organisms will take this bounty that drifted out of the sky, and turn it into living soil which will grow your future salad.

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    Speaking of the sky, more than leaves live up there, so do the swans and snow geese. Working outdoors lets you hear and see the trumpeters when they fly overhead. At first you hear them honking. Half the time they go by behind the trees, out of view. It doesn’t matter. Even if you can’t see them, hearing them brings plenty of joy.

    When the snow geese go by, you can’t miss them. They love to party. They fly by in the hundreds and thousands, all of them talking at the same time.

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    I picked the last bowl of tomatoes today. It was time to toss the tomato plants in the compost and save a few tomatoes for the kitchen. The rest of the tomatoes I gave to the chickens. Next to worms and bugs, chickens love sweet, juicy produce like melons and bananas and grapes. They enjoy juicy tomatoes too.

    Two summers ago, these tomatoes were tree leaves high above the ground. Now they are inside a chicken, though not for long. They’ll get ground up, nutrients extracted, and the unused bits will soon pop out the chicken’s butt. Then it’s a sojourn into the soil before getting sucked up by tree roots and carried to the top of the trees to spend a summer in the sky again. Everything goes round and round and round.

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  • Swans-here, Swans-there

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    Today was an auspicious day. The start of Swans-here. Hearing their distinct honking, we looked up into today’s blue sky and were dazzled by a flock of swans flying in off the bay. There are really only two seasons in the Skagit Valley, the time when the swans are here, known as Swans-here, and the time when the swans are away, called Swans-there. Where? Out there, where you can’t see them. All the other seasons are subsets of these two distinct times.

    Around when November begins, the swans start flying in from their summer homes in the far north. If you see them for the first time on November 1, it’s particularly auspicious. They leave in early April and once they are gone, we are in Swans-there. During Swans-there, the whole activity of the valley revolves around preparing for Swans-here, making sure that plenty of crops are grown and harvested so that when the swans arrive, there are acres of good stubble and potato buds for them to savor through the rainy winter. The belief is that if the swans leave satisfied, that year’s crops will be exceptional. If the swans leave discontented, it means we have to try harder. The world would come to an end if they decided not to come back. Then we’d be stuck in Swans-there forever.

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  • Flinstonian

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    I describe this salad fork and spoon set as Flinstonian. The woodcarver who made these, Allen Berry, sells his creations at Bow Little Market and the Mt. Vernon’s Farmer Market. He creates an assortment of boxes, spatulas, stirring spoons, salad forks and spoons, knitting needles, spindles, and other wood wonders. If you don’t live in the area, there must be an Allen Berry in your neighborhood who whittles wood into salad forks and spoons you can use.

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    November begins with rain, rain, rain, like it always does in this neck of the woods. Every thing is wet and lush. The rain intensifies the fall colors. They pop out when you walk through the woods.

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  • Who Made My …?

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    It all started a few months ago when I purchased two teacups at my local Skagit Valley Food Co-op. I liked them so much that the next time I was at the co-op, I asked one of the staff if they had a way to contact the Cheryl Harrison whose signature was on the bottom of the teacups.

    “Yes, she works here,” they said. Wow! That surprised me. I found out which days and hours she worked, and I met her and asked if she made pottery on request. She did, and I took some pottery that I liked and gave her the sizes of the cups, plates, and bowls that I wanted.

    I picked them up this week. It’s a delight having handmade dishes and knowing the person who made them. Each cut, plate, and bowl is slightly different. It’s refreshing setting the table and having pieces with personality.

    It’s made me think how much we’ve lost with everything being mass produced, with everything being identical. A couple hundred years ago, you knew everyone who made your clothes, your dishes, your furniture. It was either yourself, or someone in your town. Today, most people have no personal connection with the people who made the things they use every day; their clothes, their shoes, their dishes, and the many other things they use.

    One thing I’ve learned being at Bow Little Market this summer, is that if I look around, there are people nearby who make many of the things I use every day. It’s nice having a bowl of warm soup and knowing the person who crafted your bowl, and when I’m tossing a salad, knowing the person who made my salad fork and spoon. And they aren’t people who live in some far distant town, state, or country. They live nearby.

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