Lifescapes

Works-in-progress: October

The broiler chicks (Cornish Rock X) are growing fast, eating like there's no tomorrow. I just opened the second 50# sack of chick starter. The nights here are beginning to cool off, so I turn on the heat lamp about 10 p.m. and turn it off at 7 a.m. Next week, they'll be big enough to keep themselves warm unless the temp drops below 55. I'll let them out of the coop next week, weather permitting, and into their fenced chicken yard.

The layer chicks (Red Stars and Buff Orpingtons--7 of them) are still in the house, in their bathtub brooder (yes, we do have two bathtubs--one for them, one for us). They grow more slowly--will probably go out to the coop in another 10 days or so, and move in with the broilers. I don't think there'll be a problem integrating them: the Cornish are pretty laid back, as long as there's food available.

 

Needlepoint project: This is "Amber Waves," designed by Laura Perin. (Apologies for the photo: I'm still learning this new camera and not liking it very much.) I started this needlepoint sometime late in August. I usually work on it in the evenings for a couple of hours--not making very fast progress, but that's not the point, is it? I do want to finish this one, though: have a new one waiting and am eager to get started on it.

Book report. The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose is out this month (strong reviews!). I visited Dani Greer's blog, The Blood Red Pencil, blogging about some of the historical background in the book.

Also out this month: the final book in the Cottage Tales: The Tale of Castle Cottage. I posted a page of historical recipes from the book, for those of you who have read your library's copy. All the recipes from all the books are up now--just click on the book cover and you'll go to the page. The link to the printable pdf is at the top.

Writing work currently in progress: Wild Rose (that's the working title: it may change). I'll be focussed on this through Christmas, when I need to start the next China Bayles mystery. I'd like to have a full draft by that time--hoping so, anyway. This is a novel about Rose Wilder Lane (1866-1968), for those of you who have tuned in late. RWL was an enormously complicated woman, and the challenge (in addition to the difficult work of fictionalizing a real person) is doing justice to her rich contradictions and complications. As a basic background text of RWL's life, I'm using William Holtz's splendid biography, The Ghost in the Little House, as well as the collection of articles and books I've put together over the 20+ years of my interest in this topic. For the primary source material, I'm using RWL's diaries and journals for the years 1928-1939, the period covered by the central story of the novel. I'm deeply indebted to the archivists at the Herbert Hoover Presidential Library for their help in assembling the primary material. I'm also indebted to Nansie Cleveland for her excellent bibliography of the writings of RWL and her mother, Laura Ingalls Wilder. I'll have more about this later, after I've finished the draft. I'm pretty obsessive about the writing just now.

Garden report. Tomatoes blooming, Kentucky Wonder beans climbing the trellis, spinach planted for early spring harvest. I'll be digging sweet potatoes later this month.

Reading note. Somebody commented on Confederate Rose that it was "easy reading." I'm complimented, but it made me think of this: Easy reading is damn hard writing.  ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

Baby Chicks: New Arrivals

 

Here they are, this year's chicken flock, just as they arrived in the mail this week, safe in their cardboard box from McMurray Hatchery. We've gotten our chicks there for years and have never been disappointed. In this batch: 30 Cornish Rock X, meat birds; 5 Red Stars, laying birds; and 1 "extra" (replacement, in case of an early death).

 

The little flock is now safely settled in its bathtub brooder, in our guest bathroom. (Guests, please keep the door shut. The dogs and cat would love to investigate.) I lined the tub with plastic, put down dried grass hay for litter, then (for the first day or two) a layer of newspaper. A couple of 100-watt bulbs keep them warm. The bathroom is next to my writing studio, so it's easy to keep an eye on them. They'll outgrow the tub in a couple of weeks and then go outdoors, to the chicken coop and yard, which is fenced against predators (skunks, raccoons, hawks, snakes).

I'm not crazy about raising the Cornish because they have leg problems if you don't butcher about 9-10 weeks. But the meat is wonderful and they're fairly economical. The Red Stars are great brown egg producers and start early, about 5 months (hoping that we'll have eggs by February!). Starting another laying flock was a big decision: it means that one of us has to be home to feed. We'll see how that goes.

 

Book Report. The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose is out, to great reviews. Publishers Weekly calls it a "superior cozy"--high praise, from that publication. I'm working on Wild Rose (a novel about Rose Wilder Lane, the writer behind the Little House books)--about halfway through a draft and enjoying the writing process very much. As you might guess, the project involves an extraordinary amount of research: transforming a real person into a fictional character is very different from creating a fictional person out of your imagination. And this particular real person presents some large challenges, so the process is even more interesting. I look forward every morning to sitting down to work--a huge blessing, and I'm hugely grateful.

 

Garden Report. Some rain this week (amazing!) so the garden is looking especially good. The potatoes are coming up, the tomatoes look good, there's a new planting of okra to look forward to, and beans have mostly survived the cutworm stage. Hoping for a productive fall garden and a late first frost, but of course you never know.

 

Reading note . If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood.  I'd type a little faster.~Isaac Asimov

Well, well!

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you've been hearing (maybe more than you want) about our water issues here in Central Texas.

You know that we've been updating our water systems for several years. We installed this 1500-gallon emergency tank last spring (the photo was taken in April, when the grass was still green):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If it ever starts to rain again, we'll hook the tank up to the gutters. In the meantime, we've filled it from our well. It's mostly meant for emergency use: Bill has rigged a pump that will enable us to use it for firefighting, if that's ever necessary. But we have several producing pecan trees within easy hose distance of this tank, and we can use it for irrigating them. Previously, Bill irrigated the pecans from the creek, but that's been dry for nearly a year.

We've known for a couple of years that our current wells (there are three of them at Meadow Knoll, all drilled in the early-mid 1980s) are in trouble. The Trinity Aquifer that serves our area is depleting, which means that the older wells are too shallow to reach the new lower levels. Well drillers in our county have a long queue of replacement wells to drill--and they're all going to be between 50-100 feet deeper. We've been on the list for months, and finally TODAY! it's our turn. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The team got to work early this morning, expecting to drill to depth (not sure yet just what that will be) by the end of the day, then case the well tomorrow.

The county hydrologist is on the site, too. He's logging the well: that is, using an electronic sensor dropped down through the pipe string to make a record of the strata through which it's been drilled.These well logs (which weren't systematically kept for the earlier wells) add to the understanding of the geology and water resources of the area.

The images are read on a computer in the trailer the hydrologist towed onto the site. Please bear in mind that all this is happening in Texas while I'm sitting at my computer in New Mexico, posting the photos that Bill is emailing me. (I'm old enough to remember pasting a 3-cent stamp on my high school graduation announcement. I may never stop being thrilled by this instant communication.)

And here is the first water strike. Bill titled this photo "Looks Like We're Getting Somewhere." Of course, we're not there yet--that is, "there," at the right point in the aquifer, where we can count on good-tasting water, produced at a sustainable rate of over 10 gallons a minute. Well-drilling is still an art as well as a science, although probably less of an art than it used to be in the days of the dowsers.

Our current wells produce very slowly, just a few gallons a mnute. We're hoping this new, deeper well will give us more water for the vegetable garden and our trees. But that doesn't mean we'll waste it: we do conserve and recycle as much as possible. My main use: the vegetable garden. The only decorative plants I have left are herbs and natives that tolerate heat and drought--although even they struggled last summer, with months of 100+ temperatures.

Our situation is only one small example of the problems in this region. The drought may be only beginning, and there are no quick fixes or silver bullets. Rural folks who manage their own water supplies and live surrounded by the drought's visible impacts (dying trees, ranchers and farmers going out of business, recreational supplies drying up) are far more conscious of the issue. Urban residents will only catch on when they discover that their grassy lawns and swimming pools are no longer sustainable. Water availability will limit how much fracking can be done in some areas, such as the Eagle Ford Shale, where residents, farmers, and ranchers compete with the oil companies for what little water there is. And policy planners will have to stop playing political games and start making long-term plans for this endangered resource.

Meanwhile, we're happy that our well finally got to the top of the list, and that the drillers are finding water at the bottom. Believe me, we will treasure every drop of water it produces.

UPDATE: Sat Jan 7. Looks like we may get 8 gal/min tops from this well--a little hard to say yet, because the pump hasn't been installed. It's not going to be a gusher, but it will certainly be better than the current well, and good enough for the irrigation we need to do.

If you'd like to read more about the importance of our water resources, here are two very good books: When the Rivers Run Dry: Water: The Defining Crisis of the Twenty-First Century, by Fred Pearce (2007); and Cadillac Desert: The American West and Its Disappearing Water, by Mark Reisner (1993).

Reading note. If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water. Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey, 1957

 

 

A Little Bit of Green, the Drought, and the Stealth Project

First off, thanks to all who have written to ask if I'm okay! There's been a long silence on this blog, mainly because of my despair over our drought situation but also because I've been working on my stealth project, and my writing time and research energies have mostly been spent on that project. Here's an update on what's been going on at Meadow Knoll.

A Little Bit of Green. The photo shows a typical harvest for a 3-4 day period in the garden, the only green spot in an otherwise drought-burned landscape. Now that October is here and the weather is cooler (90 here most days this week, which may seem hot to you, but actually feels cool to us), I'm getting zukes, cukes, squash, and mini-melons--oh, and okra, of course! The melons, like most produce this season, are dwarfed by the heat. The sweet potatoes are stressed, only about half of my fall Irish potato planting actually came up, and my two tomato plants are blooming but not fruiting. Recently planted: lettuces (several kinds), spinach, chard, kale, carrots.

Drought Update. Blessedly, it rained on us last weekend--3+ inches! But since we're two feet (of rainfall) behind for the past twelve months, three inches didn't dent the deficit. You can see on the current drought monitor map (click to enlarge) that much of the area is in "exceptional drought." That's the very worst category the weather service has come up with--yet. Maybe super-exceptional? Stay tuned.

The lakes (Travis and Buchanan--the water supply for Austin and Hill Country towns) came up about 2 feet after last week's rain but began falling again immediately. Travis (Austin's water supply) is 39% of full. If you're a Barton Springs fan (who isn't?) the status of the aquifer that feeds the pool is "critical." Nearby Georgetown has been pumping water from Stillhouse Hollow Lake in Bell County to Lake Georgetown in Williamson County, but the pipeline failed and the city is on an emergency status.

And of course, there's La Nina, currently forecast to be moderately strong through late winter 2012, which means a drier/warmer winter than normal. Which seems to be the new normal for us. What else can I say?

Stealth Project Update. I've mainly been working on my stealth project, which is now in the hands of an agent. If she decides to represent it, she'll "shop" it to publishers who might be interested. I've been keeping it secret, but I carelessly mentioned it in a talk I gave in Seguin, in the hearing of a newspaper reporter, and next thing I knew it was out there on the web and people were noticing. (That'll teach me!)

The book has the working title of Laura's Rose: A Novel. It's the true story of the crafting of the Little House books, which were written in collaboration by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane. Yes, the collaboration is a true fact and has been gradually seeping into the awareness of Laura's millions of fans over the past few years. I'm sure it comes as a shock to many, though, in the same way that it's a shock to learn that there never was a real Carolyn Keene. (I can say that, my dears, because I am--rather, I have been--one of a number of authors who worked under the pseudonym of Carolyn Keene. You knew that, didn't you?) But unlike Ms. Keene, there was a real Laura and a real Rose, and together they wrote the eight books you've loved since you were a child.

I'm writing Laura's Rose as a "nonfiction novel," or "creative nonfiction." That is, I'm staying as close as I can to the facts of the matter, drawn from Rose's journals, Laura's letters, and the good work of several biographers and researchers like the astonishing Nancy Cleaveland, who owns the website Pioneer Girl--all things Laura. But I'm telling it as story, creating scenes, dialogue, setting, flashbacks and so on--using the whole novelist's bag of tricks.

Meanwhile (while I'm waiting to hear from the agent), Bill and I are taking a few days to drive up to Mansfield MO to visit Rocky Ridge, where the Little House books were written. I've been there several times at different seasons of the year, doing research. This will be the first autumn visit, and I'm looking forward to seeing some fall foliage--something other than half-charred, drought-induced brown. And no, we are not taking the dogs or the cat. They've already been booked at a nearby doggie Hilton. This is a people trip. Back next Friday, if all goes as planned.

Reading note. The secret of patience is doing something else in the meanwhile.--Anonymous

 

Bill's Woodwright Shop, Books, and Other Matters

 
Bill has opened his woodwright shop for another fall season (through Thanksgiving). In the photo: a 15" spalted pecan platter that he made for me (you can't have this one!) and a pecan slab that he plans to work with. He thinks the slab is large enough to produce two 15" platters, plus perhaps a 12" bowl. Once he roughs out the pieces with a chain saw, he'll round them with a bandsaw, then turn them on his lathe. The pecan slab was harvested by a friend here in the Hill Country. I love knowing where the wood that created my platter came from, and thinking of it as a still-living thing that grows more beautiful all the time--thinking, too, of my husband's hands, shaping it. Very special. 

Book stuff. The Tale of Castle Cottage came out on Tuesday last week and sold out the first printing. Publishers are cutting their print-run estimates close these days, both for financial reasons (they don't want leftover books in the warehouse at the point when the mass market paperback comes out). And they're trying to guesstimate how many eBooks people (and libraries!) are going to buy--instead of print books. They low-balled this one and now they have to go back to print, which is a lot easier than it used to be, when printing was done with plates, instead of digital files. I'm told we'll have more books by September 19. Also very nice: the book is Numero Uno on the Baker and Tayler mystery best-seller list. I wonder if Beatrix would be pleased, or whether she would just shake her head in amusement at the whole thing. Miss Potter was never, ever self-impressed.

My stealth writing project. My Berkley editor has turned the novel down because it's not a mystery. I expected this, so I'm not terribly disappointed--just thought I ought (as a matter of courtesy, not as a contractual issue) to give her right of first refusal. Now that's done, I'll need to find an agent to shop it around. I have two on my current list: it's gone to the first one. In the meantime, I'm pushing forward, since the characters want their story told. And since I've had this project in mind for two decades, it's time I got on it.

Summer is still here: we've just passed our 83rd day of 100+ heat. Yesterday, in the shade on our back deck, it was 104. The leaves on our diciduous trees are turning and dropping, as if we'd had a frost, and our annual fall wildflowers--erygium, sunflowers, goldenrod--are simply gone. Even the broomweed that usually blooms in overgrazed pastures is gone. I walked through the north meadow this morning, marveling at the dryness of the soil. Much of the grass is dead (not dormant, but dead), so when we do get rain, the runoff and erosion is going to be substantial. If we don't get rain, the soil will blow away in the first good wind.

But the fall garden is gifting us with cucumbers, zucchini, yellow squash, and southern peas, and soon, with tomatoes and sweet potatoes. The Irish potatoes are coming up, pretty and green, and so is the lettuce, but a rude deer ate the tops off my ginger plants. I moved the plants inside the fence where the deer can't get to them. Gardening is always a matter of trial and error--and learning what not to do!

Reading Note: You can’t be optimistic about the state of the world — what you can be is open-minded. You’re going to look for solutions, and you’re going to make your own life mean something. You can no longer think that accumulating money or the biggest house is the answer.--Joan Dye Gussow

Blossom & Baked Beans

 

Meet Blossom, reaching for her morning carrot and ready to come right over the fence if she doesn't get it. She's a half-horn: longhorn mama, Limousine (oohlala!) papa. Big, brown, and sturdy, and a whole lotta cow. She and her mama (Texas) are busy clearing everything edible from this pasture, including the King Ranch bluestem, an invasive species brought from China by the Klebergs of King Ranch fame, back in the 1920s as a dryland cattle forage.

I used to hate the darn stuff--KRB--which crowds out our native South Plains grasses: bluestem, lovegrass, Indian grass, switchgrass. [Update on switchgrass. Chris posted a comment, below, with the link to an interesting NPR piece about the effects on the climate of substituting switchgrass for corn as a biofuel.] But the KBR roots go so deep, 20 feet or more, that this now wide-spread grass stands up to drought much better than the natives. We still have some live forage, where many of the farmers/ranchers across the state are having to buy hay. Or worse, sell off their cattle, especially where the wells are going dry. We're holding another pasture in reserve, but it has to be fenced, and that's not a job for days when the thermometer hits 108 in the shade. Here, so far this year, we've had about four inches of rain. Normally, by the end of August, we would have had 20 inches-plus. It's a reminder that we live on the 98th Meridian, the "fault line" between the hot, dry, desert West and the cooler, wetter, forested East. And then, of course, there's global warming...

Which brings me to baked beans. It's time to plant fall gardens here in Central Texas. Our first frost usually hits around Nov. 6, which means I should have about 70 days left in the frost-free season--except who knows, these days, whether it will be a "normal" season? (If you're curious about your first frost date, go here and put in your zip code.) I planted snap beans (soaked the seeds as usual) about 3 weeks ago, McCaslan, a variety that almost always does well here. I expected them to look like the beans in the photo above, which was taken just about a year ago.

But no beans. They didn't come up. I checked the soil temp one afternoon, when I was out there looking for beans. It was 138 degrees. Baked beans.

I went back indoors (where it was cool) and did some online research. I learned that beans, while heat tolerant as they are growing, do not like high soil temperatures when they're germinating. Heat kills. But with that first frost date looming, my planting window is closing. The soil isn't getting any cooler, but the season is getting shorter.

So five days ago, I replanted. Same variety, same bed, but this time, I didn't soak the beans. They're up this morning, looking green and cheerful. I don't know how they'll feel when they get a dose of our afternoon sun, but at least they've started on the journey that leads to our dinner table. And I have a bit of new information: soaked bean seed may not do as well in super-hot soil as dry beans. I say "may" because there are always so many variables out there in the garden. But every little bit of information helps.

The Great Summer Chicken Saga has come to its expected end, with about 75 pounds of delicious, home-grown chicken in my freezer and an equal amount in my partner's (Dolly's) freezer. Cost in $$: about $1.20 lb, counting the cost of the birds and their feed--not counting construction costs on the coop, which will house later generations of chickens. And not counting my labor. Really. We won't go there. If you'd like to read a recap, go to the Lipstick Chronicles, where I posted a narrative synopsis, with photos. Or read through the blog entries here for the past 10 weeks. The heat made the project so much more difficult: seriously, if I'd have known I was raising chickens in the hottest Texas summer ever, I think I would have put it off.

The writing desk. I'm working on another project, but it's not time to tell you about it yet. When I have some news, I'll pass it along. For now, I'll just say that I'm very excited about something--not a mystery, not one of my usual series books, but a one-off, a single title, something I've had in mind for over two decades. Or maybe "excited" isn't the right word. Maybe "obsessing" is closer to it. I'll tell you more as soon as I have solid information (that is, not just hopeful speculation).

Reading note: As one contrasts the civilization of the Great Plains with that of the eastern timberland, one sees what may be called an institutional fault (comparable to a geological fault) running from middle Texas to Illinois or Dakota, roughly following the ninety-eighth meridian . . . When people first crossed this line they did not immediately realize the imperceptible change that had taken place in their environment, nor, more is the tragedy, did they foresee the full consequences which that change was to bring in their own characters and in their modes of life.--Walter Prescott Webb

 

 

The Great Summer Chicken Saga

I'm guest-blogging over at The Lipstick Chronicles this week. Cluck on over to read the wrap-up of the Great Summer Chicken Saga.

I'll be back here again next week.

Chicken Project: Week 7

 

Happy chickens, enjoying the early morning sunshine--before it gets hot. To tell the truth, friends, if I'd've known that we were going to be experiencing the hottest summer on record here in the Hill Country, I would have waited a few months to get these guys. It's been a struggle to keep them cool, and to stay cool myself while I'm working with them. We built the coop about 40 yards from the house, so it's an 80-yard round trip. Don't snigger. If you hoofed this distance 8 or 9 times a day in temps up to 107, you'd count the steps, too.

The good part: with all that extra walking, I've lost 5 pounds (yay!) since this gang joined the family--which is interesting, because they've each gained 5 pounds. That's their weight this week, which means that some of them will be headed for the freezer in the next 8-10 days (the  others later). I'm not looking forward to The Day, but I am looking forward to enjoying food I've cared for and raised with attention and respect. For me, bottom line, that's what it's all about. As the Inuit say, "All our food is souls." Something to think about, seriously.

 

 
 

Garden Report. The tomatoes (Porters) are still producing--I have about seven pounds waiting to be sauced. The okra and Southern peas are coming on and a few melons are ripening, but that's about it. Time to think about fall, so I've started some tomato seeds: Cherokee Purple, from Susan Tweit; Brandywine, and Porter Improved (wondering if there's a difference). I've also taken a half-dozen slips from the Porters--rooting them in mini-greenhouses. Other years, I've cut the spring tomatoes back for a come-again fall crop. But it's so hot this year and the sun is so bright (the drought means that we get almost no cloud cover) that it might not be a good idea to reduce the foliage. So I won't be doing that.

Weather Report. We had a rain shower a couple of days ago, but not enough to make a difference. I began watering trees, but our #2 well has quit (Bill says it's probably the pump--he'll work on it when he gets back from New Mexico next week) so that put an end to the tree watering. Our Texas heat has spread to the Midwest, so lots more people are getting a little taste of it. Here, the drought makes the heat worse. In areas that were flooded, I'm sure the heat turns everything into a sauna. In every local TV newscast here, there are segments on the drought, the heat, the lake levels (dropping fast), and the grid (overworked, rolling blackouts threatened). Not cheerful news, true. But I'm glad to see the media paying attention. This extreme weather is not something we can afford to ignore. There's a lesson in it, if we'll just listen and learn. Do you think we will? (Personally, I'm not optimistic.)

Book Report. On a happier note, I'm heading into the final chapter of The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose--it's the wrap-up chapter, so it should go pretty easily. Then a bit of tidying up, with one-more-once through the whole text (which will probably end up with about 87,000 words), and it's off to NY. This book has taken fifteen days longer than usual: life has intruded in the form of garden, chickens, and this and that. I'm grateful to my editor for giving me a little extra time.

Reading Report. I haven't had a lot of time for reading lately (wonder why!). But a while back, I posted the reading list I compiled while I was working on An Extraordinary Year of Ordinary Days. I've been adding to it and will add other titles as soon as I finish the current book and have some time to update it. The list is heavy with books worth reading and thinking about--which, these days are the only kind of books worth spending my time on. I hope you're finding some time for reading this summer, and that there are some good books on your to-be-read stack!

Reading note: The generosity of the Earth allows us to feed all mankind; we know enough about ecology to keep the Earth a healthy place; there is enough room on the Earth, and there are enough materials, so that everybody can have adequate shelter; we are quite competent enough to produce sufficient supplies of necessities so that no one need live in misery. --E.F. Schumacher

Chicken Project Update: Week 6

 

My, my, how fast they're growing! Six weeks old, and the pullets (the girl chickens) weigh in at 4 lbs 3 oz on average, the cockerels (the boy chickens) at an average 4 lbs 10 oz. You can tell who's who by looking at their combs and wattles: the pale pink outfit belongs to the girls, the brighter combs and larger wattles belong to the boys. That's a girl in front and a boy in back. Other than these sex-linked features, there's no way to tell one bird from another, so there's way to name them, except collectively ("The Gang"). And since they're all destined for the table, I'm not eager to get attached to them. Naming brings you closer to the thing you name and makes it more difficult to part with it, when the time comes.

It's been a summer of paying attention to animals' needs. Our 12-year-old heeler, Toro, has a bladder infection. Our 5-year-old heeler is having seizures. Shadow, our black cat, got in a fight with a feral cat (she was defending her front porch) and developed an abcess. Knock on wood: the cows are staying healthy, although their pasture grass looks pretty dismal. And all the outdoor animals are stressed in this brutal heat and drought. The coyotes, coons, deer, turkeys--they all have to go farther for water. 

The trees are stressed, too. We've lost a big Spanish oak, an elm is showing severe signs of distress, and one of our large cypress trees is already turning October red. Many of the Ashe junipers are losing needles as well. A couple of days ago, I took the laser thermometer outdoors and took some soil readings. Soil surface temps in the sun: 145 degrees. We're not watering grass this year: water is too precious a resource to waste on a lawn. And if predictions hold true and La Nina comes back again in the fall, this disastrous drought may continue into 2012.

If this were a temporary situation, I'd be less worried. But the heat (and perhaps the drought, as well) is the "new normal," according to NOAA's latest 30-year temperature map. Take a look and see where your state stands when it comes to temperature increases over the past three decades. And then think what this could mean for our food supply. Most plants don't adapt to the heat any better than we do.

Reading note. People tend to focus on the here and now. The problem is that, once global warming is something that most people can feel in the course of their daily lives, it will be too late to prevent much larger, potentially catastrophic changes.--Elizabeth Kolbert, The New Yorker, April 25, 2005
So far this summer: 28 100+degree days in Austin.

Chicken Project Update: Week 5

 

Another week, another pound. Last week, these guys weighed two pounds, this week, three. And there are other payouts in addition to the healthful meat that will go into our freezer and the entertainment they provide. (Come and sit with me by the chicken pen some evening, and you'll see what I mean). I just trucked a wheelbarrow of chicken litter to the compost bin, and by the time I got there with it, it was already getting warm. Chicken litter, composted, is great for the garden.

From the garden: cantaloupe and watermelon this week, and plenty of Porter tomatoes. Those Porters  just keep on keeping on--a miracle, through this heat. I put in a dozen plants (grown from seed), and so far they've produce about a dozen pints of sauce for the freezer. They're still blooming and fruiting, amazingly.

The corn (Merit) is another story: all tassels and no ears. Heat stress, I'm sure. We'll already had 22 100+degree days this summer. Cooling off with this wonderful Edisto melon,  very sweet heirloom that does well, even in our heat and humidity. If you've guessed that it's a challenge to find the right veggie varieties for our Texas Hill Country climate, you're right! A lot of my gardening effort goes into choosing and trialing varieties that might do well here, and then learning to grow them even in the most difficult of situations. I remember my easy Midwestern gardens with such affection: plant seeds, watch them grow, weed the rows, and bring in the harvest. Or at least, that's the story that memory tells me.

From the writing desk. Too many distractions! When I can get to the book (the third Darling Dahlias), it goes well. And I'm making good progress, about 90% done, about 10,000 words to go. I really need to go back to the beginning and work through the whole book, picking up loose threads. There's a new character, Charlie Dickens, the editor of the Darling Dispatch, and I've been sidetracked with research (too much, probably) on small town newspapers in the 1930s. I tend to overdo the research, I'm afraid. A novel (and especially a mystery) can only carry so much setting detail. The story has to move along without getting bogged down. Darn it. Sometimes the bog is more interesting. 

Reading note. When writing a novel, that's pretty much entirely what life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.'--Neil Gaimon