The first batch of home brew on the stove tonight, rain and wind outside. It’s a tradition purely our own. No family history, no ancient recipes. Just the two of us, and a few good friends back at K. Our first equipment purchased in Port Townsend from Jackie, who was (and probably still is) best friends with Debra, my boss’ wife and partner at the trinket shop where I sold coffee to make ends meet, and was paid on the generosity of Debra and Rudo. Almost a dozen years ago to the day.

Dozen-Year Dunkel

• 3 1/2 lbs amber malt syrup
• 3 1/2 lbs dried dark malt extract
• 3/4 lb crystal malt
• 1/4 lb black malt
• 1/4 lb chocolate malt
• 2 oz Hallertauer hops for boiling
• 1 oz Hallertauer hops for finishing

1 – Crush the grains (crystal malt, chocolate malt, and black malt) together and add to 1 1/2 gal cold GR city water in a grain bag. Bring to a boil.

2 – Once wort comes to a boil, remove the grain bag and add malt extracts (Place the dried extract in a large kettle, and dissolve as well as you can in a few cups of wort. Add the boiling wort to the new kettle, stirring well, and then slowly pour in the syrup. It takes 2 people.)

3 – Add boiling hops and bring mixture to a boil. Boil for 30 minutes. We put all our hops in a grain bag to reduce the straining needed at sparging time.

4 – Add 1/2 oz finishing hops and continue to boil for another 15 minutes. Add remaining 1/2 oz finishing hops and boil for another 15 minutes (that’s 1 hr total boiling time).

5 – Sparge into fermenter (we use a glass carboy) filled 2/3 with ice water. We call this “sparge the barge,” and we pour the wort into very fine grain bag as a filter. A chop stick wedged between the big funnel and the mouth of the carboy helps keep air space for better sparging. Again, it takes 2 people.

6 – Cool to about 70 degrees, and pitch 2 packets of lager yeast.

And now we wait for the bubbles to begin!

Original gravity: 1.065

Bread: the usual recipe

• 2-1/2 tsp active dry yeast
• 1/3 c.warm water (110 degrees)
• 1 c. room temperature water (70 degrees)
• 3-1/2 c. bread flour
• 2 tsp kosher salt

1. This time, I mixed the yeast and 1/3 c. warm water together, rather than sprinkling yeast on top. Let sit for 5 minutes or so, until yeast is dissolved. Add in the remaining 1 c room-temp water.
2. Meanwhile mix together in a stand mixer fitted with the dough blade the dry ingredients.
3. Pour in (while mixing) the water/yeast mixture, and mix/knead until elastic. Turn onto floured work surface and knead by hand for a few moments. Place in oiled bowl to rise until it doubles in bulk (about 2-1/2 hours).
4. Punch down dough and knead by hand until elastic. Divide dough in half, and shape two loaves. Set to rise on baking sheets coated with corn meal (to prevent sticking) until doubled in bulk (about 1-1/2 hours).
5. Bake risen loaves at 450 degrees. For the first 15 minutes, spray or splash water in to increase steam to help with browning. Bake an additional 10 – 15 minutes until deep brown and done.

Wheat variation

Substitute 1-3/4 c. whole wheat flour and 1-3/4 c. white bread flour.

I baked 2 loaves of each, taking 2 of them out of the oven after 15 minutes of baking. Once cool, I put them in the freezer–we’ll see how well they perform when I thaw them and finish them off.

We finally got the third bed planted on Monday last week (April 26) –the one closest to the street. We had to select things that, if peed-upon by the neighborhood dogs, we’d still be down with eating them…

Enter root vegetables

Nestled safely underground (and hopefully undisturbed by the large number of white grubs we find in that bed–unsure whether these are Japanese beetle larvae or June bug larvae… in any case, I’ve no compunction when it comes to mashing them with the tines of a rake or the blade of a hoe) are:

• Closest to the road, a row of German Butterball potatoes
• In the middle of the bed, a row of Red Russian kale (Brassica olearacea)
• In the row closest to the house, Red Thumb potatoes.

Squash, squash, and more squash

In the bed right next to the steps (the unfinished one), Kevin planted Potimarron (Curcurbita maxima) and Thelma Sanders Sweet Potato (Curcurbita pepo) squash. I still suspect I might be able to squeeze in a cabbage or two around the edges…

Update on previous plantings

The peas are nearing need for a trellis in the next couple weeks, and the radishes, turnips and kohlrabi are all coming up. We even have a few first leaves on the onions in the second bed. It’s been dry this spring, but am hoping the rain this weekend might inspire a bit more sprouting…

We’re still so early in the spring to be having this warm weather, too, I’m really not sure how things will behave for me this year. We’ve been having frost advisories even as late as Wed/Thurs last week, but it’s so warm during the days (I believe even 80 degrees yesterday).

In the middle bed, closest to the house,  on the driveway side, we planted a row of “White Lisbon” scallions/bunching onions (Allium cepa)—calçotes all around! I can’t wait. In the middle of that section, a row of “White Vienna” kohlrabi (Cavola rapa)—tip of the hat to Uncle Bob’s Oscoda garden— and a row of “Italian Red of Florence” bunching onions (Allium cepa).

In the other half of the bed, we planted four rows, the two closer to the house are “Purple Top White Globe” turnips ( Brassica rapa) and the two rows closer to the street are “French Breakfast” radishes (Raphanus satious).

Update on the first planting

And in the good-news camp, the straw mulch on the bed where we did our first planting has not defeated germination—it seems that everything is starting to come up, although the spinach might be a bit spindly. This time around, we’ve opted not to mulch until after the plants are up, as the straw seems like it might hinder germination of the seeds that I want to sprout. I’m not sure how this is usually done, though I did find a decent article on vegetable garden mulch types on the Virginia Cooperative Extension site (random search result, but helpful).

We’re learning that straw mulch is also reflective–and is effectively keeping the soil cool. It’s early spring here, still frosting lightly at night, and the straw mulch that looks so cozy over the bed that we’ve planted in cool-weather crops is actually cool to the touch, compared to the beds that are unmulched.

It may be that straw is the right mulch for later in the season when things heat up, and keeping the soil cooler is desirable. But for now, we’ve added black plastic over the straw, loosely, and we’ll be checking it every day to see if the seeds beneath are germinating. Once they appear, we’ll remove the plastic–and we’re hoping it will be warmer by then and we won’t have to worry about soil temp.

We hoed all the weeds out of the beds on Saturday, and tonight laid in about 2″ of  composted manure and peat moss, raked over the top.

In the middle bed, we planted 2 rows of Green Arrow peas (40 seeds worth), 1 row of Nantes carrots and 1 row of Detroit beets. The carrots and beets are surrounded by a border row of American spinach.

The nights are still pretty cold, and the days too, though we’re forecast for 70s this week. It’s been sunny, and 50s in the daytime, 20s at night. And it’s dry. I can’t remember the last rain, but I’ll hold off on watering for a bit.

Everything covered up with a layer of hay, looking cozy in the waning light.

Creating the beds

Front-yard garden

At our home in the city of Grand Rapids, we’re close enough to our neighbors to hear their baby cry at night. To smell their coffee in the morning. Our yard really is the size of a postage stamp. And yet, last fall, I set out to begin a garden, small at first and with room to grow and expand. I suspect that if we planned it right, we could feed ourselves all the vegetables we could eat and preserve out of our own yard. With help from my father-in-law, and a great deal of digging on my part, and some serious work from my husband, we took out about 1/3 of the grass and laid in beds.

Planting fall perennials

Taking advantage of autumn discounts, we stocked up on perennials at Fruitbasket Flowerland, and planted the median between our sidewalk and the street, and the strip along the “lawn side” of our front walk, full of yarrow, coneflowers, sedum, hen and chicks, catmint, mums, and probably a few things I have forgotten over the winter. I also dropped in a load of bulbs—daffodils, hyacinth, narcissum, crocus, and probably more. Now that the snow has melted, you can see the beds again, and tiny shoots of green are starting to appear.

Flower bed between the sidewalk and street

Buying seeds

This morning, the winter dreaming and endless drawing and sketching and listmaking gave way to ordering seeds. Months ago, I discovered Seed Savers Exchange while I was researching sources for heirloom and heritage varieties, and this morning, I spent $254 on seeds to plant more than the garden space we have. There are a few more things to pick up (like onions, potato sets, shallots, and possibly some melons), but I think I managed to buy almost the entire garden today, plus a copy of Seed to Seed, a three-year membership to SSE for myself, and a gift membership for my mom, who celebrates 60 next week.

The seed list:

Total amount: $254, including shipping. I’ll keep track of how much I plant, and what our yield is.

From seed to seed—a defining principle for my garden

I have a profound desire to grow my garden from open-pollinated, heritage varieties that are cultivated, tested and selected by me, not controlled by big companies. I don’t want any genetic modification beyond what Mendel discovered all those years ago (cross-breed, ok; add fish genes, not ok). I’m looking for a garden that helps out our beleaguered pollinators (I have a ridiculous affection for honey bees), and one full of plants that participate in our natural cycles. It might sound like a manifesto, but I feel really strongly about preserving the normalcy of being able to collect seeds and start again next year, to say nothing of how important I think it is to preserve the diversity of our food sources.

Over the last three or so years, we’ve been on a quest. A search to simplify, an effort to move toward independence. It has seemed to us, that this independence we seek is based on controlling or changing three things: economics/careers, home, and food supply. More on economics/careers and food some other day. In this tiny essay, I’m trying to work out how we pick a home.

In Ferenc Maté’ books on boats, he talks about finding a hull with the right lines. I think it’s not terribly different with homes. We’ve looked at so many different places in the last few years, I could never remember them all. But, there are patterns and priorities.

Patterns

Our house dreams have led us to three or four types of situations, which seem to be our archetypes.

Old Farmstead, by Roofer1

The farmstead: The beautiful, 120-year-old farmstead with an unbelievable complement of timber-frame barns and outbuildings. This property type is 10-20 acres, and in its ideal form, it has either an old farmhouse full of character just waiting to be brought to life, or the barns are intact and the house gone. It is a chance to rebuild, from the inside out, or to build our own home, in the tradition of a more independent time. It is a chance to preserve a rapidly disappearing history–the family farm. It is a chance to grow food, raise livestock, and live off of our own efforts. Smokehouse, hayloft, chicken coop, sheep, goats, and maybe even a cow, and a horse or two. It is a pattern that is in our bones. My husband and I both come from agricultural heritage and pine for its rhythms.

The homestead: A scaled-back version of the farmstead, this one comprises a house that we’re in love with. The potential of an old home that needs love and attention, two to 10 acres for gardens, orchards, pastures. A barn and a chicken coop, room to experiment with most or all of our agricultural dreams, from charcuterie to cheesemaking, with a lower cost of entry, and less opportunity for the expansion to a farm-based business or cottage industry that involves customers coming to the premises. Another pattern that is deep in our psyche, it can encompass more modern, contemporary houses, but ultimately the pattern is strongest (for me anyway) when it involves preserving some sense of our farming history.

The cottage: This one is the only that doesn’t center on agriculture. Its root is the small lakeshore town, the closeness of the Lake, and the simplicity of a small house that can flex between full-time home and vacation getaway. In this pattern, the yard must provide for a garden, and the house must either be full of potential or already refitted to our tastes and standards.

Ivy Covered Cottage, by Stephen Curtin

In all three patterns, the binding theme is the pastoral. In other words, they bespeak a lifestyle centered on family, creativity, and the seasons. They exclude subdivisions, those awful, conformist, faceless neighborhoods. They most definitely don’t feature gaping garages. They offer connection to the land.

The “House List”

It is not without difficulty that one can select an option from any of these three without regret for what one loses in the other. And unfortunately, the combination of the three is beyond our price range.

• Setting: a peaceful, tranquil place, where the dog can roam and cars move slowly. Where we can leave the door unlocked, the car unlocked, and I can go for a walk at night by myself if I want.
• Potential: the opportunity present in a structure or a landscape, to create a home that suits our uses, works with our lifestyles, and supports our goals. The presence of story, history, curiosity. The possibilities that excite. The chance that this place might let us cook more, eat together more, grow more, learn more, read more, create more, sail more, love more.
• Practicality: the reality check. Commuting distance to our jobs, manageable in terms of price, manageable in terms of time to keep up, clean, restore. Sized for us, not thousands of square feet, but 900 or 600 or 1200.

Barns at the farm we almost got

Swimming upstream

For years, we’ve been seeking a simple, grounded life, connected to the seasons. A life that allows us to spend our time doing the important things–creating, growing, being together. “Capital C” Career, once a primary concept in my philosophy, has become a trade for the time and the resources I need to build the life I live. I barter my time and energy in exchange for pay. I aspire to the freedom of subsistence living.

And so. Here we are, hoping against all hopes that we can get a loan to buy a small farm. And, let’s just note, we qualify for much larger loans as long as the property we buy fits the (chastised) mortgage industry’s definition of “standard.” Which small farms do not. It seems that two people with no debt and nearly perfect credit need more savings than we have to get a loan for acreage and a house. Never mind that for years, it will serve merely as our home, and may never be a “commercial” venture. Never mind that we “pre-qualify” for a larger loan with 5% down, as long as we get a suburban house in a development that used to be a cornfield. Never mind that ten years ago with debt, no savings, and less income than it takes to comfortably put food on the table, we could get a loan in a greater amount with no money down. This is frustrating, and a disappointment.

Waiting and hoping

Along the way, we’re hoping for some kind of financing fairy to pop up. We know that a regular 30-year fixed mortgage with anything less than 20% down is not possible for this property.  We know that Farm Credit Services can’t offer us anything without 20% down. We’re hoping that FHA might have some trick up its sleeve. And if not, we hope that the sellers will find it in their hearts to take the 80% in full and hold a note for the 20%, but we fear that they’ll think there is someone out there ready to just write them a check in full.

Barns on an old dairy farm

If they look away from the bird in hand, we’ll have to hope that over the next 15 months while we save the remaining down payment, that no one else does write them a check in full, and that we’ll still be able to work something out. And that we won’t lose hope, as we try to turn our city lot, postwar, feels-like-the-suburbs home into something we can live with for a little longer.

Update: March 2010, reality check

After all that, we thought we’d get help from the sellers, and then it didn’t work out. I still look through the photos of the barns, and feel a little wistful, but as it turns out, it’s perhaps for the best anyway. The inevitable division of time between a dream of raising heritage crops and livestock, and the reality of having to pay for the mortgage and remodeling with a day job would be frustrating and disheartening in its own way. In truth, the next ten years will be divided between home and work, but lessening the gap and enabling myself to be less divided during that time is probably wiser than moving toward the dream, however tempting.

• PH: 6.4; good for most things
• Humus: 4 moderate to high organic matter
• N 60#/a P 200#/a K 220#/a
• Nitrogen: 60#/a moderate
• Phosphorus 200#/a high
• Potassium 22#/a moderately high

Maple seeds and crab grass seed heads: corn gluten after all planted, and seeds have travelers every 4-8 wks

No lime needed – use sulfur for acid-loving plants (pref 5-5.5)

Add compost every fall

Add urea in the spring (April) 1 #/100 sq ft (44#) working into soil and watering in. After 1 wk, feed Espoma Plant Tone at 1/4 c per plant through the growing season. For acidic plants, feed monthly with Espoma Holly Tone, 1/4c per plant.

Espoma plant tone this fall and yearly (October), 5#/100 sq ft (220#).

Watering: in a.m. between 6 and 9 a.m. to deter foliar diseases; use soaker hoses for same. Water every 3-4 days 1″ when temp is in the 90s. At lower temps, water once/wk to thoroughly soak the root ball. To control disease and insects, spray with Espoma 3-in-1.