Lifescapes

High Water: Drought Notes 9

The drought may not be broken, but it's certainly been bent. We got 5" of rain in 24 hours--very welcome. Our little lake (about 20 acres) is full, and so is the creek. The photo here was taken about 8 hours after high tide on Pecan Creek. The water roared over the bridge in the foreground. You're looking downstream in this photo. Pecan Creek flows into the North Fork of the San Gabriel, into Lake Georgetown, and finally into the Brazos River and the Gulf. We're close (in miles) to the Highland Lakes, but on the north side of a ridge that divides the Brazos and the Lower Colorado watersheds. (Do you know your watershed? It might be important some day!)

The water levels in the lakes are coming up--I understand that the rise in Travis just from this one rain could supply Austin for a full year! But even with this amount of rain, Buchanan is only 44% full, Travis only 49% full. The water levels in the aquifer (especially in our Upper Trinity) are always a mystery, but the situation has to be somewhat improved.

This week, I've been reading galleys of Holly Blues, and take back all the nasty things I said about Word Track Changes, which my publisher now uses for copyedited manuscripts. I still don't like using it (much prefer paper/pencil) but the result is a much cleaner final product. Less work for editorial/production, and eliminates the cost of mailing (substantial, these days). Peggy posted the first chapter of the book on the website. We've also posted an interesting video that describes the brewing of yerba mate, a tea made from the holly plant.

Also this week, an interesting interview with the editor of The Herb Companion, with Vicky Uhland. We talked about the importance of knowing the herbs and food plants that are native to the places in which we live--which can also introduce us to the histories of our places. One of my favorite things to do: walk around our fields and woodlot and name, silently, to myself, the plants I recognize, honoring them, considering the many ways they've been used by humans. It's an important meditation, reminding me that we use plants so unwisely these days. We exploit their habitats (and the habitats of other species that share the space) to the point where the natives are destroyed. Caring people need to do all we can to preserve them and use them with thoughtful consideration.

As well, this week, an interview with Susan Tweit about memoir and place, especially about Together, Alone. Susan and I will be spending some time together over the next week or two. We'll be at Texas State University, the Texas Book Festival, and at a very special program hosted by Story Circle Network and open to all (yes, guys, that includes you!) The events are posted here. Come and say hi!

Reading note. We can lie to ourselves about many things; but if we lie about our relationship to the land [or to the sea, or the wetlands, or the Arctic wilderness, or global warming] the land will suffer, and soon we and all other creatures that share the land will suffer. If we persist in our ignarance or dishonesty, we will die. . . . Seeing the danger of ignorance, we may be moved to invent or recover some of the lore that connects us to the land, that tells us how to live in our place.--Scott Russell Sanders

Drought Notes #8: Resurrection

 
  
I've never before seen this clematis bloom in the fall. In fact, I thought I'd lost the whole vine in the drought--until two weeks ago, when it suddenly greened up, put out tendrils, then a tentative blossom or two, and now it's covered with these lovely purple blooms. We're still in what the weather folks call a "severe" drought (28" deficit for the past 24 months), but we've had enough rain to make some of the plants think that spring has come around again. The cypress trees along the creek are putting out new green leaves, roses are blooming, and the meadow is bright with blackfoot daisy and even a few out-of-season penstemmon. There's some water in the lake, a little in the creek (it's not flowing yet). I saw a heron fishing in Turtle Pool, so the crayfish must be reappearing. And a few days ago, I spotted this guy (or gal, as the case may be):

 
The perfect picture of a self-satisifed toad in a hole in a delightfully dampish place, enjoying a bit of rain for the first time in months.

I don't know which I like better: starting a new book or finishing one. This week, I finished The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree. If you've been following along on this one, you might remember that I started it at the end of July and have worked pretty steadily ever since, with 4-5 days out here and there for book travel and the other ordinary business of life. Starting a book, I'm always nearly overwhelmed by the immensity of choices to be made; ending one, I'm struck by the apparent inevitability of the book's events--which says something about the miracle of plotting, I suppose. Monday, this one goes to NY via the magic of cyber-travel.

Snap beans, snow peas, carrots, zuchinni--fresh from the fall garden to the table. We're also eating kale, collards, chard, spinach, and a few sweet potatoes. Looking forward to various squash, and I'll dig the rest of the sweet potato crop next week. The tomatoes I direct-seeded in the garden are beginning to bloom: don't think they'll have time to set fruit. But those I cut back in July are producing nicely, so I count that a success. Next year, I need to put the fall garden in a little earlier: I was so daunted and disheartened by the drought this year that I waited a little too long.

Now that the book is done: housecleaning (especially my office, which is a horrible mess), catching up on the mail and the email, reading/reviewing a couple of new books, knitting, checking the page proofs for Holly Blues (due to arrive on Monday) and pondering China #19, which is the next book on the schedule. Also, working with Peggy on the upcoming Story Circle memoir conference, which she and I are co-chairing. I'm sure I won't be bored.

Reading note. The only reward I look forward to is seeing the finished piece of writing in hand. And if I should find myself in a lazy spell, all I have to do to get active again is to remember how miserable life was for me when I was trying to get published.--Erskine Caldwell

Stevia: In bloom this week

 
I haven't kept up on the FDA's latest position on stevia (if you have, please leave a comment), so I don't know whether this super-sweet herb is now legal for import. Last I heard, the American Botanical Council was petitioning for recognition as a GRAS herb ("Generally Recognized as Safe"). You can listen to a fairly technical discussion of this issue with Mark Blumenthal (American Botanical Council). If you don't know what stevia is or how to grow it, you can read about it here. If you're interested in finding out why import has been banned in the U.S., go here. Short version: it's opposed by the sweetener industry. Of course.

Whatever the progress on the legal end of things, my stevia plant is growing happily--and yes, it is legal to grow stevia in your garden. I bought my plant from Carolee's Herb Farm when I was there in April, and it thrived, even during the drought. I harvested it this morning, and am drying it my dehydrator. I use it mostly for tea, although one of  my favorite muffin recipes (Oatmeal Apple Pecan Muffins) includes stevia as a sweetener. With obesity and Type 2 diabetes looming as huge threats (thanks to our addiction to calorie-dense sweeteners), stevia could be part of the answer.

Cool and damp here. Many of our native perennials went into dormancy during the record heat and drought of last summer and have been deceived into thinking it's spring. The crepe myrtles are blooming, as is the trumpet vine and crossvine, the pyracanthus (which is bearing red berries at the same time). I've even seen some Bradford pears in bloom. The rain is pushing the fall garden into production: lots of peas and green beans right now. We're still in a serious rainfall deficit, over 27" over the past 24 months, but things are looking up as El Nino intensifies out in the Pacific. Reading more about climate change: this week, Tim Flannery's The Weather Makers. If you haven't read a good book on the subject, that's a place to start.

Hoping to finish The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree this week. Cancelled a couple of trips to Austin so I can focus on the book. Lots of little cleanup/fix-up details to attend to.

Reading note. 1986 marks the year that humans reached Earth's carrying capacity, and ever since we have been running the environmental equivalent of a deficit budget, which is sustained only by plundering our capital base. The plundering takes the form of overexploiting fisheries, overgrazing pasture until it becomes desert, destroying forests, and polluting our oceans and atmosphere, which in turn leads to the large number of environmental issues we face. In the end, though, the environmental budget is the only one that really counts.--Tim Flannery

 

Ducher Rose: In bloom this week

 
The antique roses--wonderfully hardy and resistant to almost all the ills known to hybrid roses--not only survived the drought (although most lost their spring leaves in July this year) but have put out new leaves and are enjoying a re-bloom. Another indication that "heirloom" or "heritage" plants (non-hybrids) are superior to plants produced by plant engineers. I'm delighted by their beauty and love their fragrance.

Drought note: For the past two years, our bluebonnet meadow has had only a few bluebonnets. Yesterday evening, when I walked there with the dogs, checking out the soil and the grass, I saw strong stands of sprouting bluebonnets, just an inch or two tall. These lupines produce very hard-shelled seeds that require both abrasion and moisture to sprout. The current rains are coming at just the right time. If we get good rain in December, when the plants are putting down roots, we'll have great bluebonnets next April. If you're thinking of visiting the Hill Country, stay tuned for bluebonnet reports. The main bluebonnet area, around Fredericksburg and up 281 to Burnet, has had the same good rains, so their bluebonnets are probably sprouting, too.

Rain this weekend: almost 3" total. The soil is now becoming saturated here and the rain that falls is running off into our creek, marsh, and lake. The creek isn't running yet--that won't happen until the lake fills up, and that won't happen until we get another 10" or so in one "event." Happy days!

Work this week: Three-four more days will see me finished with The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree. Then I need to go back and clean up a few problems, inconsistencies, etc. Planning to turn it in by Oct 20, since I have travel plans for the end of the month. Also need to be picking peas and green beans every day, to keep ahead of the garden. Stir-fry veggies every night, some for the freezer. Still planting, too, for the winter garden: more garlic, more onions, cabbage transplants, bok choi, kale, carrots, spinach. Looking for the first frost by the end of the month or maybe the first week of November.

If you haven't checked out the Cameo-Character Raffle, please do. You've always wanted to appear in a book, haven't you?

Reading note. It never really stops, this business of growing things--garlic goes into the ground agian in October, just as other frost-killed crops are getting piled onto the compost heap. Food is not a product but a process, and it never sleeps. It just goes underground for a while.--Barbara Kingsolver

Gayfeather: In bloom this week

Her real name is Liatris pycnostachya, but I much prefer her "common" name, gayfeather. Now that we've had a little rain (2" in the past week), I'm beginning to see a few of gayfeathers blooming in the pastures and meadows. These native perennials grow from corms. And yes, they are drought-resistant. In fact, they're often named as an important low-maintenance garden plant. But when the soil completely dries out as it has done in the past 12 months, the corms become dessicated, shriveled, dead. I've noticed that the few that are blooming grow in favored locations: places where a little moisture might have collected, or in just enough shade (a grass clump, or a small tree) to permit some shelter. Or maybe the corms that survived had a tougher "skin" and could hold their own moisture better. (Will their offspring inherit this trait?) Whatever the reason for their persistance, I'm delighted. It's a joy to see these survivors.

But it's also a lesson, another indicator of the impact of climate change here, at Meadow Knoll. When the drought-resistant species begin to die off, we know that the situation is getting serious. And of course it's not just here. It's everywhere. But there's not enough political will to stop it, too much corporate investment in the emissions status quo, too little public concern. Bill McKibben wrote a strong piece in the New Republic this week--Earth to Obama: You Can't Negotiate with the Planet. Read it. 

Expecting rain here this weekend: remnants of TS Olaf in the western Pacific, colliding with a cold front sliding down on the jet stream from the NW. Happy days. The zukes/squash are still blooming, but there's a serious dearth of pollinators (the drought again?) so a fall crop isn't likely. There will be some tomatoes, green beans, and soybeans, and I'm eager to see if the sweet potatoes make a crop. Planted some pak choi and other Chinese greens, and the usual lettuces.

Darling Dahlias: 77,000 words as of yesterday, and making forward progress. Very much enjoying the characters. I love working with ensembles: much opportunity for interesting interactions, conflict, humor. One ensemble in this book (The DDs and the Cucumber Tree): a group of older ladies who live in a boarding house--a sort of 30s version of The Golden Girls.

If you haven't entered the Cameo-Character Raffle, here's the link. Your chance to appear in one of China's mysteries!

Reading note.  We can lie to ourselves about many things; but if we lie about our relationship to the land [or to the sea, or the wetlands, or the Arctic wilderness, or global warming] the land will suffer, and soon we and all other creatures that share the land will suffer. If we persist in our ignarance or dishonesty, we will die. . . . Seeing the danger of ignorance, we may be moved to invent or recover some of the lore that connects us to the land, that tells us how to live in our place.--Scott Russell Sanders