The Joy of Composting

Eating as we are has a side effect that could either be considered a drawback or a gift, I suppose.  It is the  enormous amount of organic waste that piles up daily in the compost bucket by the kitchen sink.  Everything goes into it: peels, cores, shells, rinds, trimmings, grinds, teabags, even used paper towels and coffee filters. The paper towels are made of recycled paper and the coffee filters are unbleached (most of the grinds go right under the roses as food for them). So, drawback or gift?  For me, no question - a wondrous gift.  All of this stuff goes into the compost bin in the backyard, where it gets mixed with mulched up leaves and plant clippings.  We just mulched up leaves last week, and they aren't too well-incorporated into the pile yet, but they will be soon.

The center of the pile is full of fat happy worms, turning cantaloupe rinds, peapods, wilted cabbage leaves, onion skins, and old tea leaves into black gold.  We've been here five years now, moved the compost bin with us from Delaware (although we did leave the compost there, dumped it out into what had been our big vegetable garden, and our neighbor came over and scooped much of it up for his garden across the street), and started filling it up from scratch that summer.  Since then I have emptied it several times, using the resulting product in garden beds, planters and pots.  It is very full right now, with the addition of the leaf mulch, but it really needs some time to cook before I can use it. Workng on the compost always makes me so happy, makes me feel connected to everything I love: the earth and the cycle of life and death that is constantly happening all around us.  Because of the drought we're in and the recurring cold weather, weather which froze the emerging leaves on several much-loved plantings,  I haven't really done much planting yet this year. I think June will be my big gardening month, and hopefully there will be some loads of compost ready to go. The slogan "Compost Happens" is a fun euphemism for the real phrase, but in fact, it doesn't just happen.  It entails some knowledge and a bit of work:  Here are some links to sites that can get you started on your own Black Gold project if you don't already have one going, and maybe give you some tips if you are not quite sure what you're doing:

Compost Mania offers both advice and equipment (although really, equipment is nice, but optional).
Composting Section on Journey To Forever  advice, philosophy, The Big Picture
163 Things You Can Compost - A fun list of just exactly what it says.


-- "Man's work with Nature that furthers Nature's aims is the work that rewards him the best." (I-Ching)

Still In The Garden

The monsoons seem to be affecting other parts of NM much more than they are us here in Albuquerque.  Other parts of the state have actually had flooding, whereas I am happy if my rain barrels fill up at least halfway.  Things have perked up, though, and I recently read the reason that our rains make the plants so much happier than water out of the hose, even when mixed with fertilizer.  The rains are nitrogen-rich, especially when they fall during a thunder storm, and nitrogen helps plants grow, develop and reproduce.  So, whether it's from the rains or the fish emulsion, or what, everything in the yard is looking healthy and happy.  Even, or maybe especially?, the weeds. Tomatoes and cucumbers are coming on strong, arugula has recovered from the snail attacks, and all the herbs are gigantic. I was sad when the vitex blooms were over, as I'd waited for them all spring, but my sadness quickly dissipated when early one morning I saw a flock of goldfinches chowing on the seeds of the spent blooms, just the way they do on the sunflower heads full of seeds.

We are so fortunate not to be suffering the heat wave that other parts of the country have.  I read the weather forecast for anyplace I have loved ones, and reading the Dallas weather is beginning to scare me.  I called a friend there this morning, just to be sure her AC was working, and she was okay.  My sister (also in Dallas)  got what she calls a tacky, redneck, aboveground pool in June, when temps in that city first went to, and stayed 100 degrees or more.  I think the whole family is staying in the pool around the clock, with heat indices of 110 and over currently.  Most of the country, except the West, is going through this heat horror, but I'm still waiting to hear Jim Inhofe and others like him get behind calling this global climate change.  They were plenty quick to scoff at what they still call "global warming" when the country was drowning in blizzards and freak winter storms - sure, easy to mock "warming" when it's pouring snow and you're wearing every warm garment you own.  But, why are they so quiet about this freaky deathly heat?  I suggest that everyone in the country needs to read Bill McKibben's latest TomDispatch post, and Tom's intro to it: A Wilted Senate on a Heating Planet.

Rain, Rain, Lovely Rain

After so much whining and bitching - both here and on Facebook - about our lack of rain, our dry and dusty life, my wretched thirsty gardens, I just thought I should write a short happy post about the wonderful weekend of rain, continuing into today, that we have had here in Albuquerque. According to one news station, yesterday's just-over-half-an-inch of rain was a record-setter for the day (shows you how little rain we get, doesn't it?).  It is still, however, the second-dryest July on record.  Oops, sounds like I'm moving back into the whining and bitching mode.  Oh no, stop that right now. 

My gratitude for this moisture is truly boundless, it has been the best weekend of the summer, for sure.  I spent a lot of time sitting out under the back portal just watching the birds enjoy the weather, hopping in the yard, flying overhead in wild happy swoops, - reading, and breathing in the damp air, rehydrating body and soul. Gail and I went for a long walk yesterday in the rain, which is a slow and steady drizzle, really.  We got wet, but it felt entirely wonderful.  There were masses of wildflowers and grasses where we walked, and you could almost hear them saying aahhhhhhh. Showers and thunderstorms are forecast off and on for the entire week.  My idea of an enormous gift.  And as I sit here typing, it is raining yet again.  The smell of rain is coming in the window fan, the rain barrels are filling, the plants are sinking their roots ever deeper.  Life is good. (Photo of wildflowers and grasses, Phil Chacon Park Something wrong w/dater on my camera.  I took this photo yesterday,)

More Thoughts From The Garden

Perhaps I should just rename this blog "Garden Thoughts."  As those seem to be just about the only thoughts I have nowadays.  I used to think about my classes, lesson plans, student problems, stuff like that.  For many years I thought about those things.  Of course, as always, I do think about things like the stupidity of  the cranky right wing, Wall Street, Timothy Geitner, et al's objections to putting Elizabeth Warren in as head of the newly formed Consumer Financial Protection Board, the latest blatant lies and deception of those monsters running British Petroleum, the fact that this is on track to be the hottest year since anyone's been keeping track and that we're unlikely to see any sort of effective legislation to control climate change getting passed in my lifetime - stuff like that, yes.  But really, during the active hours of the day, before it gets close to one hundred degrees in my yard, most of my thoughts have to do with what is living, even perhaps thriving, what looking droopy and discouraged, what could go in that empty space right over there, why the tithonia seeds I planted turned up their toes and croaked soon after sprouting (when last year the same plants, grown from seed, were the stars of my late summer garden), will I be able to find any aster plants to put in for fall?  And many more ruminations in a similar vein.  Actually, most of the time my thoughts are with the possibility that it is never going to rain again here in the NE quadrant of the city of Albuquerque.

Well, I began this post two days ago, and am just now getting back to it.  Still hasn't rained here, though a friend on the outskirts of Grants up on the toes of Mt. Taylor reports a lovely "plant-loving" steady rain last night.  So I guess, I'll go out and water for a while, continuing to wait and hope.  Because I am watering, and feeling bad - but not as bad as the city golf course mangers should feel, at using water for this purpose, things actually aren't looking too bad.  The sunflowers everywhere cheer me up every morning, the roses are finishing up their second bloom, all the sedums are happy as pigs in mud - I'm thinking of just sedums next summer, forget anything else.  Okay, as many kinds of sunflowers and sages as I can manage as well.  Also going to research native grasses, the tall waving kinds, for several places.

Garden Thoughts

Here in New Mexico rain is a precious thing.  We have had no measureable precipitation in Albuquerque since May second.  That's nearly two months now. It had gotten to the point where I was watering some of my plantings every darn day.  So, when yesterday as I stepped out the door to head to work, the skies opened up and let loose with first hailstones then raindrops, I and every other gardener in the city whooped with joy.  It rained all afternoon.  It was still raining when my class was over and I headed across the parking lot to my car.  It was still raining while we ate supper.  It stopped long enough for a gorgeous break-in-the-clouds sunset, then rained off and on during the night.  We opened up every window in the house to let in the cool wet breezes for the evening, and left the bedroom windows open all night.  This morning when I went out to do my morning tour of gardens and planters it was like a new world.  Everything was perky and happy, refreshed in the way that only rain can bring.  All the watering and fertilizing in the world can't accomplish what one good long gentle rainstorm can. 

So, I have brought in most of the remaining lettuces and lots of herbs.  The greens are starting to bolt, they have reached their limit of heat tolerance.  I think there is one more harvest of lettuce greens, but they will be pretty bitter.  The arugula is growing apace, partly in the shade.  I need to thin it, bring in the thinnings for a salad.  In the past weeks of heat we have been eating salads just about all the time, varying them with sandwiches.  Even toasting bread for sandwiches has been almost too much heating of the kitchen.  We are impatient for the tomatoes and cucumbers to get busy and produce some fruit - but I have to keep reminding myself it's only the end of June.  The tomatoes have blossoms, the cuke vines are strong and healthy but no blossoms yet.  This year I haven't done too much with flowers, though the sunflowers and thithonia seedlings are getting ready for going into the ground.  The maximilian sunflowers (perennial native sunflowers) have spread hugely across the back of the yard and once they bloom they will be magnificent.  I lost some perennials over the very cold winter, and am taking my time deciding what to use for replacements.  The agastaches and mallows are about ready to bloom, which should bring more hummingbirds back into the yard. What we've had lately are flocks of bushtits in the front yard, at the suet and in all the small trees and shrubs.  They are such darling birds, so very busy and full of themselves. I'm thinking of a trip to High Desert Gardens either today or tomorrow, at least to stroll, observe, and think about what I'll buy next.  Soon I will be a lady of leisure (more on that in another post) and have time time time for all the gardening I can stand.

A Walk In The Park

One of the conclusions drawn from the research I wrote about a couple of days ago, was that we'd all feel better more, and be better people, if we got out and took a walk more often.  I walk for exercise as close to daily as possible, most often on the mean streets of my city.  But that's not what the article meant.  It meant get out into the trees, the wildflowers, the birds, in other words, Nature. I had no classes yesterday, and after working in the house (laundry, getting a strata ready to bake for supper) all morning, I really wanted out into the emerging sunshine.  It's been so cold and grey, so unlike New Mexico, that I just haven't been inspired to make an effort to find good places to walk. 

Although the sun was shining, it was still quite cold, and I wanted someplace I could enjoy the bounty of Nature, yet have someplace to warm up if I really couldn't take the cold wind.  And, in fact, I was inspired.  I thought of the Albuquerque Biopark, a facility that comprises the Zoo, the Aquarium, and a wonderful  Botanic Garden.  I did some errands along the way, and arrived at the Biopark about three - only to find, to my horror, that it had been invaded by hordes of people and equipment filming for the TV show In Plain Sight. Once I got through the active filming area and into the gardens, I was almost the only human out walking the paths on this cold sunny day.  So I walked for over an hour, visiting the Curandera Garden, the Desert Garden, the Heritage Gardens, and a long time in the Japanese Gardens.

When I got too cold, and wanted to see some blooming plant life, I went into one of the glasshouses, full of green, and brightly blooming, tropical plants.  I couldn't stay long, because my cold glasses fogged up ferociously and I soon became much too warm. It was either take off many layers of clothing or head back out into the cold.  I did another tour of the Japanese Gardens, the newest feature of the Biopark, and a place of such tranquillity.  These gardens are full of water features, the sound of falling, rippling water everywhere, the sight and smell of water a boon to my dehydrated desert soul. I meandered back by the big pond in the middle of the park, where wood ducks and mallards were having a wonderful time, a few mothers with strollers were sitting on the rocks letting their children enjoy the birds and the water.  Despite having to thread my way through the filming business again on my way out to the parking lot, I left feeling like I'd had a brief vacation, from daily life and chores.  It's so easy and close, I need to remember to get back there more often.
(More photos from the Biopark on my Flickr photo storage site.)

Ten Things

This post comes as a result of a note from Aine of the blog The Evolving Spirit.Her blog was the recipient of what she calls an award, though I would call it a meme, which involved listing ten things that make her happy, then passing the meme on to ten other blogs. As I was sort of in two of her ten blogs, I'm only doing the listing part here at this one, and hoping that at Women On, where I also blog, we can come up with ten other blogs to send this to. This was a wonderful assignment, causing me to reflect on the many things in my life that daily induce happiness. The difficult part was choosing only ten of them!! I didn't include chocolate, or flowers, or bodysurfing....oops, I think this is cheating. So here are my chosen ten, and though I'm not officially sending this on, anyone who chooses to play is welcome to do so.


1. Children. Almost any old children, anywhere - and this includes babies. My own nieces, nephews, and grandchildren of course are great sources of happiness. But children anywhere, in the supermarket, airport, restaurants, playgrounds, always bring a smile to my face. They are often under-appreciated by those accompanying them, so I often try to bring a smile to their faces as well, making a silly face, whispering a bolstering word or just a grin.

2. Birds. Birding is one of my main pastimes, and I do it anywhere I am, including my backyard, where we often have large crowds at the birdfeeders, fountains, and in the big cottonwood. In the spring and summer I plant for them, and last summer's many different kinds of sunflowers brought flocks into the yard well into the fall.

3. Working in the garden. Working hard, getting dirty, sweating. In the spring and summer I work outside as much of every day as I can. Middle of the day in the full sun and heat is out, of course, but early morning and evenings are simply heaven. The hummingbirds keep me company as I work, so - there - that's two things at one time, garden and birds.

4. Rain. This one is a corollary to number three - as it is so dry here that I, along with all my plants, constantly yearn for rain. Whenever it actually rains, like this morning, I am so happy I often go out and dance in it. Well, not this morning, as it was quite too cold to dance. But my heart was dancing. We've had no rain all winter, so this week's storms are manna for all our dormant roots.

5. Green chile. This is strictly a Southwestern source of happiness. Since coming to NM I have discovered the joys of cooking with green chile, and am constantly experimenting. I love how it smells here in the fall, with green chile roasting in the parking lots of every market and farm stand. It is a wonderful smell, one that you can practically taste, saying ahhhhhhhhhhhh: tamales! stew! soups! warmth in the winter's cold!

6. Meaningful Work. I've done a lot of things in my life, but mostly I have taught. For the past ten years I have taught English to speakers of other languages, starting in Delaware, continuing here in NM. My current job is at the University of NM, teaching immigrant employees of the University, service employees for the most part - and wonderful people with such enthusiasm for learning this language, for helping their children with their schoolwork, for becoming citizens. This is work that makes me happy into the marrow of my bones. I love it.

7. Singing. Best of all is singing with a group, but so far I haven 't found a compatible group to sing with here. I tried one out, but didn't enjoy the music selections, and they expected the singers to learn parts a lot faster than I am capable of. So, I just put in a CD and sing along at the top of my lungs, or make up words to the tunes that are always playing on the jukebox of my mind. I sing when I'm happy, and it makes me happy to sing, so it's a full circle.

8. New Socks Especially in the winter, when my feet are always cold. We just got a bunch of delicious warm new boot socks on sale, they're great colors, soft and cozy, and every time I put on a brand new pair my feet and I hum with happiness.

9. Farmers' Markets. There is almost nothing more beautiful than the piles and basketfuls of freshly harvested vegetables and fruits, braids of garlic, loaves of bread, jars of jam, artisan cheeses, handmade pastas that show up every weekend, and some of the weekdays, at the growers' markets here in town. Even on a day when I don't purchase anything, just browsing the stalls, talking to the growers, smelling the earthy richness of it all makes an hour or two at the market a peak experience.

10. The Moon, which is currently a beautiful silver waxing crescent. It's not hard at all for me to understand why people once worshipped the moon - I think I probably still do worship it, in my fashion. The full moon rising over the mountains in the winter has been the subject of much famous photography, but nothing beats the breathtaking experience of seeing it in person.

Nature Deficit Disorder

Following is the text of a post that I wrote a year and a half ago, saved as a draft and just out of curiosity opened to read this morning. Yes, there are drafts from that long ago hanging around on my computer; I'm afraid it's true. Anyway, since I wrote this draft, many moons have come and gone, and this past summer was spent almost entirely outdoors in my gardens. It was the healthiest and happiest I've felt in a very long time. Ironically enough, now that summer has faded into deep autumn, the mornings stay dark and cold for entirely too long, and I'm back in the classroom much of the time, or preparing for time in front of my classes, I once again feel I'm experiencing Nature Deficit Disorder. I seriously miss getting out into the yard as soon as light breaks over the mountains, and staying there until the sun sinks behind the volcanos. My little beds of cool weather crops are growing apace, and this morning I thinned out the lettuce, chard and spinach, going to use the thinned-out babies in tonight's salad. There's lots of garden cleanup that needs doing before it gets much colder, and we made a start on it this past weekend. We've had some good hikes in the bright gold October weather, and hopefully will be able to continue to get some more in before the short afternoons grow shorter and colder. I need to do everything in my power to evade a winter of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), and/or the lesser-known NDD (Nature Deficit Disorder)

Written in March of 2008
There is now a "social trend" called Nature Deficit Disorder, which so far is only associated with children.The term describes the human costs of alienation from nature, among them diminished use of the senses, attention difficulties and higher rates of physical and emotional illness, The term was coined by author Richard Louv, in his book Last Child in the Woods. According to Louv, our children's lack of connection to nature is causing what amounts to an epidemic of overweight depressed kids with high rates of attention disorders. I'm so far past childhood that I'll soon be eligible for Medicare, but as soon as I read about this disorder, I recognized it as exactly the condition in which I've been living far too long. The book is one I've been meaning to read, as a person blessed with quite a few young children in my life; but I realized as I read about NDD that just about the only time I myself venture very far into nature is when kids are visiting. That's when we hike in the mountains, go to the Biopark, bird along the river at the Rio Grande Nature Center.

The rest of the time I'm like the kids in Louv's book, cooped up in the artificial lights and indoor air of a classroom, or in my home office in front of the computer, not, in my case, playing video games, but reading and writing, ironically, about the environment. I have been reading so much about gloom and doom lately that I fear I am also suffering from yet another twenty-first century disorder: Eco-anxiety.

And so, it seems to me that it's time to get out of this chair, away from this computer, and experience more of "the environment" than the view of trees and birdfeeders, tops of mountains, cloudscapes, that lies outside the office window. It's fully spring here, some days even feels like we're already moving into summer.