He is Risen and a Raised Bed Garden

The day began with Nora, Grandma, and Grandpa at church.  I always love what Pastor Jurchen says on Easter Sunday.  "When I die, and there's a pastor standing over me and he says, 'Well, Arnie Jurchen is dead,' I want you to know I'm NOT.  It only looks like I am.  We are resurrection people!"

We came back from church, sliced and diced a few vegetables for a relish tray and headed over to Grandma and Grandpa B's farm down the road a mile or so.  This is where Mike grew up, and where Mom met him.  She lived in a farmhouse between my place and Grandma B's place.  Mom remembers walking to Seward...I think to see a movie...I need to write all that down sometime.   But I'll save it for another time.  After we were done with ham and Easter egg hunts and tree planting, we came back to my place and Mike got back to work tilling the garden.  He's done this for me every year I've lived here.  I wouldn't have even begun to understand who I am and what I love if he didn't show up every year and work this dirt for me.  He's got his own dirt to work out in a field near Grandma B's house, but he still finds the time.  He's a really good guy, and I love him a lot.

Here's some lumber.  It's like pick-up sticks.   Nora arranged them in various patterns and balanced.

This is before I made Nora and Mom shovel a bunch of dirt.  They look happy.  And relaxed.

Mike and I consult the map.  I made a few smart alec comments about where the pirates had buried the treasure.  And then we got to building and digging.

Yes, I need some sawhorses.

I was just going to hold the corners in place like this, but Mike thought it would be neat to use screws instead, so we went with that.

From the looks of this picture, you might think we're arguing about where things should go.  We aren't.  Our backs just hurt because we're getting old.

Yo-hoe-hoe and a bottle of...

Mike has nicer power tools than I do.  This is me admitting that he does.  He started to talk about "torque" or "tork"--it's some man word that means "twisting power," I think.  Whatever.  All I know is that I'm really strong.  And I like tools.

Here's Mike holding one of the corners.  I reminded him about our plan to use screws.

My plan was to have Mike till up the entire space and then shovel the loose topsoil into the beds.  At first we thought we'd have to haul a bunch of dirt in, but there was plenty.  Flies buzzed over the top of the ground searching out all the dead stuff Mike had tilled up, and I hate to say that I found a few of those things while shoveling--toads mostly.

Nora and Grandma jumped in and shoveled a lot of ground.  A few times Nora said she was tired.  She'd lie down on a "dirt bed" and then jump up saying, "I'm not giving up" while she stretched her arms and got back to work with her tiny spade.  I love her gumption and grit.

In fact, here is a toad she found.  (Alive and kicking).  I hate to admit this, but I'm a bit squeamish around frogs and snakes.  Not Nora.  She reached right down and picked him up.

You can't tell from the dark picture, but we finished the first part of the project just as the last light faded.  We had trouble finding the tools in the grass.

These starters are ready.  Now a couple more weeks for the soil temps to rise and threat of frost to skedaddle, and we're set.

Tonight, there is silence.

A List of Good Things on Good Friday

1.  The Backyard Farmer is back!  Season 60 of everything you need to know about growing stuff in Nebraska!

2.  We have seven birds in the house right now:  five of Mrs. B's chickens, rustling and talking quietly (most likely about how to break out of this joint) in the mud room as I type, Nacho (her pet bird), and, of course, Tweety Sweetie.

3.  The house smells of violets.  Nora and I cut both white and purple blooms, and when I walk into a room, I am lifted.  I told Nora they smell "divine."  "What does that mean?"  "Like they came from heaven."  "How would you know, Mom?  You've never even been to heaven."  "Hmmmm....maybe, but it seems really familiar to me."

4.  I'm reading The Secret Life of Bees, and the words taste like honey strengthening my heart.

5.  I am alone, but I'm not lonely.

6.  We had lady bug pizza (Nora's recipe) tonight, read books, snuggled, talked about Jesus, hung laundry, raked the garden and Nora's flower bed, filled bird feeders and made watercolor paints out of dried up markers.  We fought a little bit, and I felt put out that I had to get up five times during dinner to get Nora something she needed.  Later, she stepped on something sharp in the yard while we cut violets, and I filled a pot of cold water for her to soak her feet.  I grabbed a bandaid and some neosporin.  And I kneeled in front of her, drying each foot off with a towel.  I froze in place, the sudden realization, and I hear/feel Him reminding me:  You must do this for each other.  I look up, and I can't see Nora's face because the sun is setting behind her head, and she says, "Mom?  Do you know what song I'm thinking about?"  "What's that?"  I'm still not entirely in my body, still humming from how close He feels, like a teacher standing behind me, encouraging, challenging.  "That one that goes 'every little thing is going to be all right.'"

These are true stories.

No Small Potatoes

Good Friday has traditionally been the day to plant your potato seed and onion sets, so I stopped off at the local Pac n' Save grocery and picked through the cardboard boxes of dirt coated potatoes for this year's crop.  If you have been reading for over a year now, you'll remember that I murdered my potato crop with organic aphid spray last year thinking I wouldn't have any potatoes, but I did!  Anyway...

I wanted to share a few tips for those of you thinking of trying potatoes this year.

1.  First of all, I love the symbolism of planting these two things on Good Friday.  When it's time to harvest the crop later this year, I'll be reminded again of the reason I can feel at peace, the reason I don't have to fear death, the reason I try to do my best, the reason that testifies of the kind of love God has for us.  And the blessings on our table will speak of that abundance given to us because Christ was willing to die for us. I'll be reminded that life and love win.

2.  I'm not sure how to transition here, so I'll just say that potato seed doesn't look like seed.  Potato seed is actually a potato with eyes growing.  For those of you thinking, "Hey!  I have a bag full of those growing in my kitchen right now!" I want you to back away from that thought and that bag of potatoes.  You can try to plant them, and sometimes they work, but usually the potatoes you eat have been sprayed with a chemical that inhibits it from sprouting eyes.  You may see some potential there but they wouldn't grow.  I've tried.  My mom actually had some grow once, but she's just lucky like that.  Stick with actual potato seed.

3.  You only need two eyes per seed, so feel free to cut your potatoes up.  Leave them out in a cool, well-lit place for a week or two until they've sprouted a few places, but don't let them get over an inch or so long.

4.  Plant them between 8 and 6 inches deep in holes spaced between 8 and 12 inches apart.  (Remember, we're doing away with rows, so I won't be adding the 2-3 foot row between them.)

I think potato plants are really pretty.  Plus, next to that chocolate cake plant I'm working on, potatoes are one of my favorite garden treats.  I mean, french fries.  Need I say more?

So, Tell Me About Your Day

1.  We started off with coffee and ovalteen.  Nora watched this show called Kipper about a British dog and his friends.  I like it.  I read through a few devotionals, did my Bible study, prayed about a few things I'll just keep between God and me, and then got back to work grading the rest of my online class materials.  Kipper ended at the exact moment I hit "enter" for the final grade.  I was 36 hours late getting those grades turned in, but there was no other way around it.  The end of the semester has hit, and like my students, every hour is overfilled.  Even so, I know we can make it.

2.  I was caught up enough by tonight to watch American Idol with Mom and Mike.  I swore I wasn't going to get hooked this year, but I did.  I like singing.  We had Chinese for supper.  Nora's fever kicked in, and despite her refusal to admit that she is sick, she's caught a cold.

3.  I helped out with the Easter party at preschool today.  Mrs. B. should know that those kids thrive because of her gentle love, her straightforward rules, and her ministry.  I got to hide the Easter eggs around the classroom while they played outside.  I think that's number 15 on the "Best Moments Being a Mom" list.

4.  Mom, Nora and I walked around downtown York for awhile this evening.  I bought a shirt with sparkles, something I might wear on American Idol if I wasn't 5 million years over the age limit.  Nora bought a mailbox, and I found a few things she can do during church.  During church, I usually end up holding her while I attempt to hold the hymnal in the other hand.  My arms start to shake, and my hands leave sweaty wrinkles on the pages.  Usually if I tell Nora not to try to compete with Pastor Jurchen's voice, she'll talk all the louder.  I used to turn bright red, but I'm getting better at just moving like water through the hour and a half that I need so desperately but avoid at times because of the juggle between my desire to worship and the mind and body of a five year old firecracker about to go off at any minute.  Anyway, I was glad to find a few things she can do.

5.  And now it's the end of the day.  We're in the guest bedroom at Mom's house, and I'll get up around 6:30 or so tomorrow, climb into my truck and drive off to school where we'll put on a production of "Trifles" and my writing class will continue to debate research topics.  (Side note:  I found a thank-you note in my school mailbox from a student on Tuesday, and I'm thankful, too.)

What's the Plan, Stan?

I love the feel of graphite on graph paper.  The experience of writing or drawing is as much a tactile, muscular experience as it is an imaginative one.  Anyway, the plan this year:

1.  Build raised beds and experiment with square foot and vertical gardening.  The idea is to reduce the spacing between plants, so there aren't any rows.  Most gardens have rows because they're built from larger agricultural models that use machinery to plant and cultivate large areas of land.  Naturally, you need wide rows to fit those big tires down the line.  In a small space (the home garden) there's no reason to incorporate rows unless you plan on driving up and down the rows on your big wheels or something.  So, you build a bed that is no wider than 5 feet across (figuring your arm can reach about 2 1/2 feet into the bed) and as long as you want.  Instead of planting in a line, you space each seed equidistant from each other (per the seed packet instructions.)  So, say lettuce should be spaced 6" apart in a regular garden row with 1 1/2 to 2 feet between each row.  Using the square foot model, you can plant 6" apart on all sides, doing away with all that empty space and hopefully saving you some backache from hoeing weeds.  Also, if you space the plants closer together, they should give you a good canopy and shade out most of the troublesome weeds.  A few other benefits:  You can continue to modify and build your soil only composting in your bed rather than wasting all that good stuff spreading it out in the row where you aren't growing anything.  AND you cut down on compaction because you aren't (or you shouldn't be) walking on your garden bed.

And it looks purdy, too.

2.  Experiment with companion planting.  Some vegetables grow well together.  For example, tomatoes love nitrogen and peas leave a lot of it in the ground, so you can put in some cattle panel (which is what I plan to do) and plant your peas along the row with your tomatoes.  By the time your peas stop producing (early to mid-summer) the tomatoes will be ready to take over.  Carrots do nicely with tomatoes, too.

3.  Vertical gardening.  This is pretty self-explanatory.  Instead of letting your vining vegetable spread around the ground, you build a vertical structure and let them climb.  Just be sure you aren't shading out any of the plants that require lots of sun--instead, plant lettuce or spinach on the shady side.  It won't bolt as quickly.

4.  Start building on my perennial herb bed.  If you've ever worked with dill or mint or...well, lots of the herbs out there, you have probably noticed that they spread all over tarnation.  This is pretty neat, actually.  I mean, that's how it's supposed to work.  I like the idea of maintaining a perennial bed and watching it grow and change each year.

5.  Plant more flowers along with the veggies.  It's all about attraction, kids.  I need pollinators, and pollinators enjoy pretty.  Sidenote:  I recently went to the local green house to track down something I could spray on my apple tree to deal with the cedar rust that's been destroying my crop the last two years.  Everything I saw said "Kills bees."  I don't usually like to cuss in my blog, but what the hell?  How do you think apples are made anyway?  You kill the bee, you kill the pollen messenger.  I finally found something organic that is only harmful to fish.  Luckily I don't have any fish in my orchard.

6.  Succession planting:  I used to put all my seeds into the ground at the same time (another throwback to the larger model that relies on a single, mechanical harvest), so I'd usually end up with about 30 pounds of lettuce all at once.  I'm going to save that practice for down the line when I'm farming more land and working out the CSA I dream of having one day...  For now, since I don't own a tractor, an entire acre, or enough family members to eat more than 3 pounds of lettuce a week, I'm working on staggering my planting and thinking in terms of cool and warm season crops.  The dance is rather complicated, though, and I have a feeling I'll be working out the choreography for many, many years (God willing).

Here's the plan:

And this is the prettiest flower in the garden:

And what if...

She was raised in jeans and dirt under the sun and open as the wind and dirt comb through her hair.  She goes to the kitchen sink, washes her forearms and cups her hands underneath, lowers her face into them like she's done before in grief but this time, tasting sweat and something cool and clean together, she feels refreshed and worn out at the same time.

And when they make a story using each square of the walkway, the chalk blue dusted and white on their palms, they'll walk back inside certain they've made the best of a day they could have either rejoiced in or cursed about.

All of us together, we move order into the scared and chaotic parts of our lives, interiors that won't risk telling.  A sock matched.  A dish washed and dried.  A plant watered and a daughter's long, golden hair combed and braided.  She puts her feet in motion hoping to lend a small something, not through her own effort but through her (finally) giving up, then lifted beyond the floor and into clean clothes, a shovel now in her hands digging potential and burying the past, as the saying goes.

And what if everything she knows seems familiar, too simple?  Perhaps, finally, she's found the truth she stopped everything to find.

I would like to say so.  So I will.