Spring at Alder Eden

"In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt." 

                                 -Margaret Atwood

Spring is bursting at the seams here at Alder Eden. This is the name we have given our land, in honor of Arbor Eden, a community-centered farm run by an amazing couple who used to live on our road.  We also happen to have a lot of alder trees on our property. People are not usually excited by alder trees. They are generally the first tree to pop up after a disturbance, and they grow thickly, often shading out everything else. Alder is used for firewood and furniture-making, but it is not a wood that will last outside in the weather. That is actually one of the things I like about alder: It doesn't last forever; it decomposes and provides nutrients for other plants.  We have a a stand of alders in the center of our pasture, which, while beautiful, will have to come down soon before they start to shade my crops.

There is so much new life, and after the quiet of winter the birds make a stunning entrance. I don't know that I ever really appreciated spring like this before. Of course, I always welcome sun and warmth, but I never before had a connection to a piece of land that I belonged to, that I knew I would nurture and continue to connect with. I feel an almost maternal pride at the new weeds that pop up. And there are a lot of weeds! 

Cold Frame

After decades of hostile blackberry takeover, the reclamation of the land is something beautiful to witness. It's like war survivors rebuilding their shell-shocked city. I appreciate anything that's not a blackberry bramble. First it was yellow dock and borage. Then comfrey and nettle, bed straw, burdock, dandelions, and countless others, whose names I have not yet learned. And so many of these greens are edible. For about a week, my fingers had a constant, dull throb from harvesting stinging nettles to make tea, soup, scrambles, strifries. I added miner's lettuce, oxsalis, and violets to salads, and deep-fried dandelion blossoms to dip in some fresh nettle pesto. I also learned that the curling leaves of yellow dock, as well as the leaves of borage are edible. 

Fresh Salad

 The other night, I made a stirfry with yellow dock and borage leaves, and burdock root. I am a dedicated gardener, but there must be something so much more nourishing about foraging for wild plants that have come up without the help of my tended garden beds. This is another kind of gardening, practiced by the native peoples here, though it was not always recognized as gardening.  

Dandelion Fritters with Nettle Pesto

This first spring has also brought fresh energy for projects. We actually made it through the winter (with the help of a Mexican vacation)! Both Ryan and I have felt newly inspired, and I can finally look around and feel like we're accomplishing something. We hauled cedar limbs out of the woods from a tree that had fallen during the winter storms, and made rot-resistant garden fence posts.  

Ryan's Gate-Building Skills

The small plot I had been sheet-mulching since last summer, now contains rich soil.  I built a three-chamber compost bin from scrap pallets, where we put both our kitchen scraps and our human waste.  Yes, we save our shit.

Compost

We don't yet have indoor plumbing, but even if we did, I would be hesitant to poop into precious clean water. Instead we use a bucket and, instead of flushing, we add a handful of sawdust. When the bucket gets full, we dump it into the compost pile and cover it with straw. I created three sections in the composting area so there will always be one working chamber, and the center chamber contains dry, carbon-rich material, like straw and dead leaves. When one chamber gets full, I'll move to the other one. 

After two years, we will have created humanure, which we can use to mulch our plants and trees, and the cycle continues. The bucket doesn't stink at all, and it's really not that bad to empty the bucket once a week. The sawdust does an amazing job of removing odor. When I worked on a sailboat ten years ago I had to haul twenty buckets of solid and liquid waste (sans sawdust) and dump it into local sewage treatment plant processing tanks. That was gross. This is dreamy.

Enough about poop. We also have animals! This homestead has grown to twenty-eight souls. In addition to our three laying hens, Cricket, Pinchot, and Fraulein, we got ten more chicks, who are quickly outgrowing their box. A month and a half ago I bred my female rabbit, Trillium, to our new stud, Lord Bergamot, and they produced seven healthy baby bunnies. They are the cutest balls of fur to ever fit in your hand, and they are an instant cure for those afternoon blahs. 

 

 On Ryan's birthday we purchased two weaner pigs from a young couple who raised them on all-organic feed in Hood River. The pigs are a heritage breed called American Guinea Hog, known for their sweet dispositions and propensity to forage. So, Burdock and Borage joined us on the land and have been excellent tillers.

We created a roving paddock system, using a solar panel charger, which sends electric currents through two rings of wire, placed low to the ground, where their more sensitive snouts would hit. This has (mostly) kept them in. The paddock is easy enough to move every few weeks, so they always have access to fresh forage material and never have to stand in their own feces or muck. Joel Salatin calls this the pig savannah.

Most recently, we found a big, beautiful dog named Thelma.  She is 110 pounds of love muffin.  A Great White Pyrenees mix, she is a trained working dog, and her specialty is guarding chickens.  She has also taken a liking to the bunnies...

In two weeks, they cleared a large section of a terrace, where I then easily planted blueberries and raspberries. They really are sweet creatures. I often hang out in their paddock and rub their bellies and let them crawl on my lap. I imagine that it will be difficult to slaughter them in September, but I would rather love them now and honor their lives, rather than trying to protect myself from grief by becoming emotionally detached.  

Thelma

Many people have been surprised that we have named the pigs that we plan on eating.  It is such an odd logic to allow ourselves to name and love animals for pets, but not the ones that we will actually ingest.  I would rather eat something that has been well cared for, honored in life, and killed with respect.  Even with the movement for more sustainably-produced food, this respect is often still lacking. These are living creatures, and I will not pretend that I will not grieve for their loss. I also do not remove myself from the cycle of life and death, and I plan to wield the knife myself.

New life is what overwhelms right now.  

Ryan & Fraulein