Foundations

It doesn't look like much, but, to me, this patch of dirt has become a big part of my life in the past few weeks. After years of talking about urban gardening and saying that I'd love to try it someday, I finally picked up a shovel and started to prepare the garden plot in my backyard.

I recently realized that I have harbored a fear of gardening. I'm scared I won't be able to grow anything. I'm scared I will neglect my plants. I'm scared I'll spend time and money only to yield weeds and tasteless vegetables. I'm scared that gardening is too complex. Crop rotation? Cover crop? Caches? When to plant? Garden pests? Gardening is a world I know virtually nothing about.

And yet I have no more excuses not to try gardening. I have a 6'x10' garden plot of land in the backyard of the house I moved into in April. I have no homework (only until September!). And I have an increasing interest in getting my thumbs green. So I've officially started gardening.

I didn't want this experiment to be a showy performance, though. Urban gardening is quite trendy now (which is a great thing!), and I didn't want to take a handful of "before" pictures only to be reminded of my failure if I did not follow through with this experiment. In retrospect, I wish I had taken the time to chronicle the first stage of the garden. The five feet of weeds and overgrowth that dominated the small plot of land. The significant transformation that occurred after only about an hour of weeding. But, what's done is done, and so I begin chronicling the life of my garden in mid-aeration stage.

Sounds technical, right? I'm not actually sure what the method I'm using is called, but I do know that I am incredibly blessed to have re-connected with an old friend who is an excellent gardening. Last week she came over for dinner and gave me some pointers on how to prepare the soil. I had dug up all the weeds, but knew that I needed to show the plot some significant love before throwing seeds or starts in it. The problem was, I didn't know what to do! Thankfully, my friend shared with me a simple method of digging trenches and poking a pitchfork through the dirt in order to loosen up the dirt and make plenty of space for roots to sink in. I'm currently about halfway through this process (and very excited to visit my friend's garden tomorrow!).

As I've been digging in the dirt, I've encounted some pretty interesting finds. I had no idea that this little plot of land would turn into such an archeological dig. I can only imagine the events and situations that led to cigarette packs, nail polish, bits of garbage, and the metal part of a shovel to be buried up to a foot and a half in the ground. Did former residents bury these ideas purposefully? How long had they been in the ground? As disturbing as it was to find so much garbage in the garden, it was encouraging to come across a crop of potatoes. Although only halfway through the process, I've uncovered about 25 potatoes. They don't look too moldy or rotten, but based on the overgrowth, I'm sure they've been hanging out underground for at least a few years.

These small white roots give me hope that the garden will produce life. That seeds will sprout. That in a few months there may be leafy greens on my plate, and next summer there may be
raspberries - all grown in the backyard.

I'm trying not to have too many expectations for myself or the garden. After all, I have far too many interests, and may become tired of gardening tomorrow. But after spending a few hours back there, as well as perusing through books, chatting with gardening friends, visiting demonstration gardens down my street, and exploring how faith and gardening are intertwined, I am eager to continue this process. I find myself thinking and planning, peeking my head out the window to enjoy my progress, and becoming increasingly hopeful for the transformation that just may occur in my very own backyard.

Cinnamon rolls, cabbage patches, and lavendar

Inspired by my love of Washington, and an abrupt change to my summer travel plans, I am currently obsessed with day/weekend trips around my lovely state. What an amazing corner of the world - mountains, ocean, rivers, trees, and lakes. Delicious cups of coffee, homebaked goodies, and rows of flowers. Not to mention the other millions of nooks and crannies, both natural and man-made, just waiting to be explored.

Itching for another day of adventure, Kendra and I set off for an island. Scratching off any island that required ferry travel (day trip = budget trip), we settled for a drive up I-5 and west onto Whidbey Island. As we made the necessary stops for coffee, cash, and gas, little did we know what fantastic adventures would unfold before us throughout our escape from the city.

A roll by any other name:

Knead and Feed. Great name + long line = required breakfast/brunch/lunch pit stop. Walking in the front door, we were immediately in love. A view of the water, sweet aromas, weekenders breakfasting, the biggest cinnamon roll I'd ever seen. We nestled in and eventually decided which delicious-looking breakfast to order (with a side of cinnamon roll, of course).

What a delightful treat it was to spend two hours enjoying scrumptious food, hot coffee, people-watching, an ocean view, and conversation with a dear friend. Though we had only traveled two hours away, it felt like we were on vacation, traveling to new sites, enjoying new tastes, daydreaming about new opportunities.

The Patch

We somehow ended up at a viewpoint overlooking wheat fields. At this viewpoint I learned that there is a rain shadow on Whidbey Island. Note to self, no matter how delicious the cinnamon roll was, never move into the rain shadow! Turning around a bed, we saw a handpainted sign for Cabbage. Yes, friends, we were gazing across a cabbage patch. Hues of greens and purples wove together into a sea of leaves, roots, and spindly plants. Endless rows of bountiful cabbage created a beautiful vegetable patch. Now I just have to meet a cabbage farmer to understand how to cultivate cabbage...

A Taste of Provence

We followed signs to the lavendar farm. Why not, right? A lavendar labyrinth preceded row upon row of lavendar plant, being cultivated that afternoon. We walked around the farm, eventually ending up at a garage when lavendar was being distilled in large copper equipment. A pile of post-distilled lavendar lay steaming in a nearby tub. Kendra picked up some fresh lavendar to take home, as a reminder not only of our adventure, but of her time spent living in the south of France. Final Destination

After experiencing the sights, tastes, and smells of small-town island living, it was time to head to the water. A day of adventure just doesn't feel complete without a total submersion into God's beautiful and amazing creation. Although there were plently of other people enjoying the beach we settled upon, the roar of the waves drowned out background noise. For miles and miles we saw the wonder of the ocean. Endless. Powerful. Soothing. Rythmic. The waves crashed gently on the shore, eventually causing us to put our books down and nap in this peaceful and precious place. Far away from computers, jobs, and the many distractions that capture our attention back in the city. A chance to feel a little more whole.

From front door to front door, we were gone for only ten hours. And yet we had experienced so much. We had dined like queens, seen new sights, and re-filled our spirits in the presence of the ocean. What a blessing daytrips with great friends are. An opportunity to step outside your usual sphere and see things from a new perspective.

Here's to more amazing daytrips!

Water

I'm a novice camper, so was quite grateful to be invited on a camping trip with four other campers who have all the gear and know the ropes of camping. I know it's not that difficult, but I'm not the kind who instinctively can put a tent together, who enjoys working with fire, or who has a backpack filled with water and a tube that sends that water to my mouth when I drink from it. I was awed by all of the gear - the dehydrated food, the stove that folds up into a 10" circle, the headlamps - all of this equipment certainly made experience of camping a little easier and more convenient.

It was on a trip to purify water from the river that I suddenly remembered that for many people around the world, the "hardships" of camping are an everyday experience. I never think about water - where it comes from, what life would be like without it, if it's clean or not. I just turn on the faucet, put a glass underneath the stream, and enjoy. I don't have to worry about purifying it, I don't have to worry about water-born diseases, I don't have to worry about thirst, I don't have to worry about being vulnerable while walking miles to the nearest clean water source, I don't have to worry about anything relating to water.

But when we were camping, I did. Though the water looked beautifully clear and refreshing, I knew it wasn't safe for me to drink it. So I had to laboriously push water through a small purifying tube before I could drink it. My ever-weakening wrists did not appreciate the length of time I spent pumping the purifier. But there was no other choice. Pump, or go thirsty. And going thirsty is not a desirable option when you're hiking in July.

I came home Sunday afternoon, back to a world of water at my fingertips, no pumping required. But I hope to hold this small lesson and carry it with me as I remember the struggles that people around the world face daily. The Spilling Hope campaign my church hosts to raise money for wells in Uganda will certainly take on a new meaning for me after my brief water ephiphany.

Foodie Summer Day

8am: Chocolate croissant and coffee on a small table on the sidewalk outside of the Cowen Grocery cafe. Talk of future dreams, weekly updates, and, of course, chocolate, with a dear friend.

6pm: Phinney Farmer's Market. One flat of berries - half strawberry/half raspberry. Two quesadilla slices filled with beets and seasonal greens.

9pm: Molly Moon's ice cream. Samples? Theo Chocolate and Carrot Cake. Choice? Scout Mint.

Yum.

(Four)th of July

My four-year-old niece went on a photo shoot on the Fourth of July. I present to you her first art show.

Safari on a rug.

Color Study - Red.

Artist Quote: "I'm going to take a picture of dad's beer."

Shout out to grandma.

The Dollhouse.

Fleeing Subject.

Emotion.

Pinochle, Plastic, and Fleece.

We had a great Fourth of July - lots of food and family time (and rain made it a little extra-special for yours truly!). And, of course, our four-year-old keeping us on our toes :)

Strawberry Fields Forever

It's no secret that summer is my least favorite season. Glaring brightness in the sky. Sticky sunscreen film on my skin. Heat. Allergies. Guilty feelings when inside on a sunny day.

But there is one redeeming quality of summer.

Berry-picking.

Every year, my love for berry-picking grows. It doesn't matter what kind of berry, just as long as I'm in a field, with a bucket, alongside friends, picking the sweetness bounty of the earth (one in my mouth, five in the bucket).

I went to Bellingham with some friends, and we decided to pick our first berries of the season on Saturday afternoon. A perfect way to spend a pre-Fourth of July Saturday.

Since Whatcom county is chock-full of u-pick farms just outside of the city, it seemed like it would be simple to find a farm to visit. But after many phone calls, internet searches, and discussion, we realized that finding a farm to visit was not going to be such a simple task.

Why?

Because we were committed to picking at a farm that cares for the environment. And, shockingly enough, they are hard to come by in a county that appears to be environmentally-friendly.

I admit that I do not always buy organic fruits and vegetables. But this weekend I was determined to respect not only the earth, but farmers who were committed to caring for their land by not using pesticides or fertilizers to grow their berries.

Calling around to a few farms, we found some pretty low prices ("$1.25/pound - what a deal!"), but quickly realized that any price less that $3/pound certainly meant that the farm used conventional methods such as sprays, pesticides, fertilizers, etc. I don't know too much about farming methods - I just know that spraying chemicals on the plants or the soil is not so good for anyone or anything involved in the whole process.

The only farm that was open was about 15 minutes away, and didn't sound too promising (rain = bad weather = small crop = not many berries left when we wanted to pick), but we decided to check it out. I'd been to this farm before, and knew it was quite small. But we figured that the farmers could possibly direct us to another organic farm if they didn't have any berries left.

We arrived, picked up some baskets, and walked with the farmer out to the field. Wearing a bucket hat and round glasses, he told us about his strawberries. He said he was surprised that people were coming out of the fields with full baskets of berries. Apparently they were hiding quite well, available to those who were willing to search for them. He found a few good berries for us, and sent us on our way. About twenty other berry-pickers were enjoying the early afternoon on the farm. Some twin two-year-olds kept running back and forth between the strawberry patches where their mom and grandma were picking. I enjoyed munching on the pieces of heavenly goodness that were lying unsuspectingly underneath lush green leaves (which were unfortunately causing quite a rash on my arms!).

It was a perfect outing. For us, the environment, the farmer. Although I am on a budget, I was more than willing to pay more for these organic berries. Because I paid the cost to grow berries as they are meant to be grown. Whole. Natural. Delicious.

The end of the story? The berries found their way to Fourth of July dessert. Scones, whipping cream, and sliced strawberries. Just a little bit of heaven.

Why is it that...

...I always am blogging in my head, but don't have the discipline to pull posts together?

I am becoming increasingly scattered and frantic as I add more and more to my life (and my thoughts seem to multiple at an exponential rate). I mean, who goes to the bathroom and comes out with a new career idea? This girl. Often. (Yesterday at six pm I decided that I'm going to become a career counselor at a community college, naturally).

Why can't I quiet down and focus my thoughts? Why does my mind go bananas on a regular day? Poor time management? Too much on my plate?

I don't have the answers to the above questions. I think it's a combination of too many people to meet, too many hobbies to pursue, too many books to read, too many things to learn + too many movies to watch, too many blogs to read, too many things to consume + things I have to do (work, sleep, eat, breath, exercise) + multi-multi-multi-tasking = my challenge at achieveing a balanced, non-frantic life.

My pastor is always talking about developing a rule of life - habits that help us lead the kind of life God wants us to lead: balanced, giving, prayerful, hopeful, etc. Perhaps I should focused on developing such habits. There are definitely changes I could make to my life, but it's difficult to decide what to cut down on when most of them are so life-giving. It's a cruel irony when these life-giving activities begin to have the opposite effect when I try to do too many of them :)

Oh, well, I leave this post with no new revelations (probably because I'm simultaneously facebook-chatting with a friend and listening to my Band of Horses pandora station, thinking about the laundry in I have in the dryer and the grocery list I still haven't written for tomorrow), but with a bit of too-be-continued reflection.

The discipline of blogging/journaling/reflecting is one I want to improve on, so, score me for a blog post tonight.

One day at a time...