Goldfish Story

First, we'd like to congratulate Ned Lamont for his fantastic victory in the Connecticut Senate primary. This win is one of the most uplifting and hopeful political moments we have felt in many years. Of course, Lieberman is going to run as an Independent, and CNN said something like, "What's a centrist to do?" We intend not to let their mindless drivel dampen our happiness in the moment. Just for a second we feel like what it might be like to have our country back. Oh, it's a heady feeling for sure!

Now here's the goldfish post.

All gold

In 2004, when we finally retired and moved up to the peninsula, we bought a dozen very small "feeder" goldfish at the local pet store and added them to our little pond. We'd had a pond in Santa Cruz, and liked the presence of that flash of gold in the water. These dozen were the classic orange variety, but we do remember one fish had a bit of white and black markings. The rest were really non-descript. During the first summer here, the goldfish thrived. We were surprised by how quickly they grew, especially considering that we didn't add any food for them. We also don't filter the water in the pond, but water is pumped up to create a small waterfall, which keeps the water well aerated.

Getting big

In November 2004, we saw the first of many Great Blue herons in our yard. It was quite a sight to see such a large bird next to our tiny pond. Herons must be incredibly adept at spotting little backyard ponds containing fish, because they found ours very quickly. Needless to say the fish disappeared one by one. What the herons didn't eat the raccoons did. By December we could look into the pond and not see a single surviving goldfish. We figured that was the end of that.

Gold with dark tails

So, imagine our pleasant surprise when spring arrived and we found swimming about the pond another beautiful dozen goldfish. They were smaller than the ones the heron and raccoons had eaten, so we were certain that they were the offspring of the first generation. Their coloring was a bit different as well. A few had distinctive dark markings. They grew and thrived and by summer's end they were about four to six inches long. But by late fall they were all gone.

One completely dark

We were less surprised, but equally as pleased this past spring to notice several small goldfish again. The third generation. We've been watching them grow all summer. They hide under the lily pads, and only venture out when they sense that there is no danger. Lately I've been sitting on the bench next to the pond and photographing them. It takes a while for them to show up, but when they do, they are quite a sight. We're delighted to now have two dark fish with no orange markings at all. The pond has become a nice little experiment in goldfish genetics. Their markings, tail shape, and fins have been changing. On the other hand, the heron could have easily transported a few fish eggs and contributed to the gene pool. Or maybe these dark fish aren't goldfish at all. Either way, they are pretty, aren't they? They'll be gone by Thanksgiving.

I've already seen next year's crop. They're tiny and very cute.

The Fertile Naughtiness of the Natural World

Our good friend Grandmere Mimi sent us a link to a story that was on NPR Monday morning. It's a piece about why some people are killing and dying in Iraq. If I told you that it was reported that a shepherd was killed because his goat wasn't wearing a diaper, and goats are simply too sexy to be naked, would you believe me? Or if I said that three people were killed because of the provocative way their vegetables were displayed in the market, would that make sense? The celery and tomatoes were deemed too naughty by clerical edict. Would you think I was making all this up? I'm not. It's true, according to John Hendren, an NPR correspondent in Baghdad. Yet, even if all of these stories are crazily apocryphal, don't we suspect there may be a kernel of insane truth in their telling?
I can not understand the fear, only the perception of sensuality and sexuality in the natural world. The natural world is overwhelmingly, provocatively sensual. Think about what's it's like to pick berries. Stand right next to a bush or vine that's covered in delicious red or blue hanging fruits and just pluck them one by one. Most go into a waiting bucket, but a few always go straight into the mouth. Delicious, warm, sweet, and juicy. The immediacy of that pleasure is surely a tactile delight. Should we hide the berries? Put them in plain brown wrappers like Playboy at the newsstand?

I couldn't help but think about this when I went out on Monday to harvest our new potatoes. Digging for potatoes is quite a different story from picking berries, but I think it can be even more sensually provocative. When Roger planted the seed potatoes he covered them with straw to make harvesting easy. Imagine sitting on the sun-warmed earth. The potato plants are drying in the summer sun and have fallen over. I sit beside them and just dig my hand under the straw into the waiting lush soil. I feel around until I find them. Beautiful round, firm potatoes, growing there just beneath the surface. I pull food that will feed us over winter. Is there anything more liberating than abundance and bounty? Is there anything that conveys fertility more than reaching into the earth and being rewarded with food? Harvesting potatoes seems to me one of the perfect metaphors for earth's fecundity. A delivery of ripeness into waiting hands. I could easily see celebrating the moment, but certainly not dying for it. Could this really be what people die for in Iraq, noticing the fertile naughtiness of the natural world? It doesn't seem possible. Does it?

Harvest

We took a walk through the early north coast fog Sunday morning. There is a certain quiet that accompanies the fog, along with the cool sense of saltwater that envelops your senses. Things that are close appear far away and mysteriously indistinct, muffled and wrapped away, as if by a creeping web; while the spider webs themselves stand out, the gauzy air their defining backdrop. We love this kind of foggy walk. Our lungs draw in the sea-laden air, remembering something familiar billions of years old.
As we walk along quietly, we sometimes speak, saying things like, "let's harvest the beets this afternoon." or, "I think we should try to grow blueberries next year." It is a kind of zen conversation, an abbreviation of work and expectation, but is not a koan.
After the walk, we shopped, came home, had lunch, and went out into the greenhouse to harvest the oldest beets. We decided that we should harvest the greens first, blanch and freeze them. Roger grabbed the pruning shears for the job, I grabbed this*, a pair of Zyliss Multi-Purpose Shears that I had bought specifically for cutting food rather than pruning inedibles. We went to the greenhouse and began working along steadily. I gave him the big blue harvest bowl for the greens so he wouldn't have to get up and walk to my side of the garden bed. His back has been bothering him for weeks, and I could much more easily get up and bring the greens over to his side.

There is a precise moment in life when you realize that you have used something very, very sharp to cut your own skin. It's a sensation that brings you into your own body almost faster than anything else. There are some pleasures that work almost as quickly, but pain and fear mingled do an amazing job of focusing attention in an instant. I had grabbed the beautiful deep red stems of a beet for cutting. I was talking to Roger about whether we should also be pulling the beets at the moment and leaving them on top of the soil while we harvested the greens. I cut those stems and knew immediately that I had also deeply cut the tip of my middle finger on my left hand. Pain. I was up and out of the greenhouse running toward the house as fast as I could run. At first all Roger heard was my gasp. He thought I had been stung by one of the many wasps that live in the greenhouse. But I shouted as I left the building, "I just cut myself...bad."

He followed me into the house, took a good look at the wound, and said that it was a semi-serious cut. We both felt though that we could manage it here at home. So, with a lot of pressure, ice, and disastrously goofy talk, we put on a waterproof bandage, and an extra bandaid for additional pressure. The finger throbbed like hell for about an hour, but then quieted down.

After a while we laughed especially good and hard when we realized that I had cut myself with scissors, and I hadn't even been running. Really, I hate to hurt myself. It reminds me of how easily a momentary slip of attention can result in terrible injury. But, I'm glad to be your object lesson. Please be careful with sharp things.


*Info about the Zyliss Shears:
# Blades are made of extra-hardened steel to stay sharp longer
# Ergonomic handle design lets user tackle even tough jobs with minimal effort
# Cuts all types of foods. Slices through dough, trims vegetables, snips herbs, etc.
# Works well on non-food materials: paper, plastics, fabric, etc.
# For right or left-handed use

The Zyliss Multi-Purpose Shears have an ergonomic spring-assisted design that permits full hand force with minimal effort. The Shears will easily cut through all varieties of foods, even chicken bones, and all types of materials....including my poor finger.

august tomato report

here it is! the august tomato report for the great tomato race, sponsored, or initiated, by the nonpariel dr charles.

these are volunteer cherry tomatoes. we ate them last night in a salad. i have a soft spot for volunteers. our greenhouse has as many volunteer tomatoes as it has selected tomatoes grown from seed. well, i suppose the volunteers grow from seed too. outside we have volunteer potatoes and squash.

the closest to ripe. these are the same fruits pictured in last month's report.

if the weather holds and the creek don't rise, we will have a bumper crop.

these are outside. they were started in the greenhouse and transplanted out under the tunnel cloche pictured in this post. the plants grew fast and flowered quite early in their little plastic house. they were uncovered about a month ago and slowed down a bit.

the famous datil peppers of st. augustine florida! you can read more about them in last month's tomato report. one of three seedlings, which will all stay in the greenhouse.

Our Kayak Journey

By the time we arrived at this moment, we had already paddled along Kala Point Beach, around the point and a small driftwood-strewn inlet, and part way up Chimacum Creek.
Heading further up the creek, we were entertained by many Belted Kingfishers who squabbled, squawked, and swooped around us as they hunted in the rising tidal waters. Great Blue Herons scolded us and flew to ever higher branches along the creek.
We were really surprised to find crabs scuttling along the creek bed this far up. We turned around here and headed back to the bay.

Here we are approaching the mouth of the creek. We turn left, paddle along the pretty inlet, around the point, along the Kala Point beach, and then back to where we picked up the kayak.

There are no photographs of the bay parts of the journey (either coming or going) because I am not so easy on the open water. There was plenty of wind especially on the return trip, a little bit of rocking and rolling surf that had me slightly seasick, and I couldn't do anything but row and keep my eyes focused on things that wouldn't make it any worse! (Hey, this was my first time in a kayak!)

We really had a great time. Roger had a fine birthday, and we loved all of the well wishes from everyone. Thanks so much.

We'll be doing a tomato post on Sunday.

i'm so glad

i'm so glad, i'm glad, i'm glad, i'm glad

to be alive, tho it is a mixed deal. death is guaranteed, and suffering, tho not necessarily mine personally, seems ever present. the joy of family and friends, the wonder of the natural world, and the thrill of learning are just a few of the rewards of life which lend some balance to, or at least offer respite from, the unpleasant parts.
today is the 64th anniversary of my birth at stanford hospital in palo alto, ca. the attack on pearl harbor was nine months earlier (hmmmmm?) and the west coast inhabitants were still fearful of an attack on the mainland. the population of the united states was a bit under 135 million. none of this was any concern to me.

now the us population is a bit over 295 million and we are stuck in a war we started, which has gone on longer than our direct involvement in wwII. in any real view we are losing this war. our puppet government in iraq believes that they are truly in charge of their own country and they are at least ambivalent about our continued presence.

my birthday is not the other bookend of my life -- the one being birth and the other being death -- but it is a moment to consider what has happened between my birth and today. my own life has gone fairly well. there were some bumpy parts but it has smoothed out nicely. robin has assured me that she still needs me and will still feed me. her love and assurances are requited and returned. the bigger world also has had some bumpy parts, but unfortunately has most certainly not smoothed out.

somewhere in my youth during high school and then college when i was reading a lot of politics and history i formed the opinion that the human endeavor was not a sustainable enterprise. i have not changed that opinion. i have, fortunately for my sanity, found that many others share my opinion and yet carry on their lives decently and honestly. having learned of the struggles of people much wiser and more learned than myself to cope with the contradictions and inconsistencies, the cruelty and kindness, the nobility and depravity of human existence, what else can i do but my best to emulate them.

"what is real but compassion as we move from birth to death"

from a song called "rexroth's daughter" by greg brown

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friends offered the use of a kayak for my birthday. imagine us out on port townsend bay sometime this afternoon.

here is what i looked like last year, if you're curious. no haircut since then, but new glasses and new backdrop in the same location. i'm laughing in this years photo above because robin started singing happy birthday just as she got me in focus.

Cold Cache

Does this look like eight pounds of blueberries? It is. We picked them the other day at a place called FinnRiver. A really nice u-pick place for organic blueberries. They're delicious. We picked about the same amount last year, froze them, and they lasted us for about eight months. We supplemented our frozen berry supply with raspberries picked right in our yard, and blackberries we picked on some of our favorite hiking trails. This year's great cold cache freeze has begun. So far we've frozen the above-pictured blueberries, raspberries, broccoli, pesto, and zucchini soup. We're thinking about freezing beets. Haven't done it before, but read about it and thought we might give it a try. We really do eat what we freeze, and it's quite good. Have any of you ever frozen beets? What vegetables or fruit do you freeze? We're definitely looking for ideas.