Nuts, flakes, and crunchy granola

It all seemed so simple two years ago.. here we are with this beautiful property in a prime agricultural area. Three greenhouses (two of them with heating and fans and all that cool stuff) a shop with a loft and an apartment and a tractor shed, several acres of arable land, an orchard... heck, some farmer-type will want to lease the place, right? After all, it had been originally used as an herb farm... And the original owner said she'd help us, with all her contacts in the ag world, find suitable tenants. We could lease out the place for something close to the cost of our mortgage. What could go wrong?

Plenty.

The original owner did indeed find us some prospective tenants, who ran a farmer's market. Their grand idea was to convert the shop building into a home for themselves and their six children.

Home sweet home?

Well, we were foolish enough to actually consider the idea.

From the beginning, they balked at paying the rent we asked. They fought against signing a contract for the lease. They refused to agree to fix the aged septic system or test the well for bacteria yearly. They wanted a break on the rent so they could afford to "fix up" the shop. And on and on and on... And the original property owner said we weren't being fair to them, that we should just trust them...

After months of wrangling, concessions, stress and grief that I needn't describe in detail, but that involved lawyers and heated phone conversations, the deal was off. Phew.

And, several months later, we found out they lied to and ripped off the original property owner as well.

So there we were, trying to rent some greenhouses, a shop, some pasture space... Ads on Craigslist, ads in the local paper, fliers posted all over Clark and Mutnomah Counties, etc. etc. So what did we get?

• "Um...is it private, man? Like....really private? Like, can I park my trailer there?"

Translation- "Can I turn your property into a meth lab?"

• "I need some space for my horse and my daughter's horse. We'd like to rent your pasture."

Translation- We actually rented the pasture to this woman, who was consistently late with the rent. We found out when we called one day and her mother answered the phone that she was actually running a horse dealing operation and sending the poor critters to auction. Bye-bye.

• "Can I rent the shop for my auto repair business?"

Um-no thanks.

• "Can I park an RV on the property and live there with my whole family?"

Um-no thanks.

• "Why not?"

(Sigh...)

And the place appeals to art studio types. The first one had plans for some type of glass gallery under the stars...that idea faded quickly. The second actually did rent our small apartment for part-time usage (yay!- a sane person!) And now we are in negotiations with someone who wants to start a small art commune on the place, complete with teepee installations and a recording studio... we'll see where that goes.

Meanwhile, the lovingly-renovated greenhouses stand empty and forlorn. Doesn't anyone just want to raise some nice petunias or something?

Life and the Indigo Girls

Last night, I was at an Indigo Girls concert at Humphrey's by the Bay. It was my fourth IG concert at Humphrey's; kind of a summer ritual.

It was fifteen years ago that I first heard the Girls, at a summer concert at Oaks Amusement Park in Portland. It was beautiful as only summer in the Northwest can be; mild, green, light until late. I hadn't heard much of the Indigo Girls before this, and this was an ideal introduction- a concert in an old amusement park, complete with skating rink and kiddie rides, where the seating was blankets spread out upon the soft, green grass. I went home from that trip with a few tapes and an admiration for the work of the Girls that continues to this day. I've actually become a bigger fan as the years have gone by; it wasn't until five years or so ago that I really started collecting all of their albums.

I have found since then many times in my life where the lyrics of an Indigo Girls song melds with an incident in my life. The one that immediately comes to mind is when I first heard "Ozilline," from the Come on Now Social album. I had just lost my beloved dog Jet after a long illness, and I remember sitting in front of the speakers sobbing.

I had to put the dog down
before I hit the road
yeah, I watched that sweet old life
become a bag of bones

After that, it was a couple of years before I could listen to that song. To this day, I cannot listen to it without crying, and in concert, when Amy picks up the mandolin and Emily the banjo, and "Ozilline" is the next song on the setlist, the tears stream down my face. But today, I also realize the power and beauty of the song as an affirmation of the circle of life, of life's processes and ebb and flow.

When we bought our land in La Center, one of the first things I did was create an iMovie of the film and snapshots I had taken on that journey, with a soundtrack from the Girls.

Up on the watershed
standing at the fork in the road
you can stand there and agonize
'til your agony's your heaviest load
you'll never fly as the crow flies
get used to a country mile
when you're learning to face
the path at your pace
every choice is worth your while
"Watershed"

And, indeed, this was a watershed for us, filled with choices- the eventual move from San Diego County, where both Mike and I have spent most of our lives. And there was the physical presence of watersheds too- streams and rivers and waterfalls everywhere.

everywhere I turn
all the beauty just keeps shaking me
"World Falls"

And, lately, of course, the political climate and the hope for 2008...

What we get from your war walk
The ticker of the nation running down like a bad clock
I want the pendulum to swing again
So that all your mighty mandates were just spitting in the wind
"Pendulum Swinger"

And so it has gone, over the years. I hope there are many more concerts to come.

well I don't know where it all begins
and I don't know where it all will end
we're better off for all that we let in
"All That We Let In"

Choices, choices

If all goes well, and the housing market in San Diego doesn't crash, and our land values aren't blighted by a casino, and all the planets align and we appease the proper gods, then in about three years we will be building our own home on our land in La Center, WA.

Building a home is a monumental undertaking, and even with several years to prepare, making choices is difficult.

We know where we want our home to go, and that's about it. The rest is still up in the air- lots of ideas but many decisions yet to make. Many of those decisions involve how green we want our home to be. Others revolve around what our home will look like.

I'll skip the tedious recitations of square footage and bathroom components to look at the ecological implications.

Unfortunately (and unfairly, it seems) green building is not cheap. Even is an area like the Northwest, where green products are widely available through business such as the Environmental Home Center in Seattle and Environmental Building Supplies in Portland, building a truly green home is still considered a luxury for the upper class.

There are, of course, views to the contrary, and a lot depends on what your idea of "going green" is. Some practices- such as careful siting of the house and placement of windows to maximize passive solar capabilities- cost nothing extra. And some things- such as stone veneers rather than real stone- cost less.

But going the whole nine yards and being as green as you can- that'll cost ya. Recycled timbers? Much more than newly-harvested ones. Wood only from forests certified to use sustainable harvesting methods? Harder to find and more expensive. Plywood without harmful volatile compounds like formaldehyde? Yikes. Geothermal energy systems? Thousands of dollars more than conventional.

It shouldn't be that way- at least in my mind. Building green should be rewarded and be cheaper. In some ways there are rewards- such as tax breaks for using energy-efficient materials and technologies- but there aren't enough rewards yet for most people to consider all the available technologies to reduce our footprint on the planet.

Luckily, in many areas, interest in green building is growing. Hopefully, in a few years, the demand will lead to a drop in prices and an increase in available options...hopefully in time for building our house!

From the archives- La Center update

I originally had a blog on FunTrivia, where I am an editor and site administrator. FunTrivia will soon be discontinuing its blogs, and these are some that I wanted to keep for posterity.

La Center update- originally published Mar. 9, 2006

If you read my entry below, you know that I spent some time in January planting trees at our property in La Center, WA. Over the President's Day weekend, I got to visit my trees and see how they were doing.

I am glad to report that all had survived, although the Western hemlocks that didn't fit into the tree shelters had been pruned rather closely by the deer, and some of the trees had some frost damage (February had the coldest weather that the region had experienced in something like 70 years.)

You may have noted in the last entry on La Center that I stated "And nine trees were displaced when our new next-door neighbors decided that those trees might block their miniscule Portland view (view? All we see are clouds…)" Well, the weather was lovely this trip...hardly a cloud in sight. So here, for your edification and enjoyment, is an enlarged photo of that vaunted Portland view...

Ummm... that's it, between the trees. And remember, it's enlarged!

On the other hand, here is our view to the southeast:

Nicer, eh?
But back to the trees- here is some salal, an evergreen shrub related to wintergreen:

And a bigleaf maple:

And not far from our house, the Cedar Creek Grist Mill, still grindng grain the old-fashioned way...

I hope I can get back in the spring, when the deciduous trees have leafed out and I can really se the results of my labor!

From the archives- January in La Center

I originally had a blog on FunTrivia, where I am an editor and site administrator. FunTrivia will soon be discontinuing its blogs, and these are some that I wanted to keep for posterity.

January in La Center- originally published Feb. 16, 2006

Let's try this out here...this isn't about Jamul, a dusty little burg in the suburbs of southern CA, but about our property we recently purchased in La Center, WA. I wrote it awhile ago for some friends. Here's a picture of the property in October:

---

So there I was, face-down in the mud in the midst of pouring rain in 45 degree weather, soaking wet after neglecting to put my rain pants back on over my jeans (though I did have my REI rainjacket!)... and I was happy to be there!

The day before, we'd spent an hour or two in Vancouver in the title company office, finally signing the escrow papers we thought would have been behind us months ago. As we scribbled our signatures on document after document, Mike kept a tally on a scrap piece of paper of just how many times he had to write his name. It came out to 29 signatures and nine initials. We walked out of the office with a sheaf of papers, into a wind from the Gorge so strong it blew umbrellas inside-out.

Along the property line

So back to my sojourn in the mud...I have behind me 33 years of experience with the flora and fauna of southern California; though my heart is in the Northwest, my database is still stuck in the chaparral :>) I can tell a lemonade berry from a laurel sumac with my eyes closed, but differentiating between bigleaf maple and wild cherry in the winter? I have a lot to learn...

Some lessons have been easy.

Lesson #1. Himalayan blackberry is the enemy.

Even my previous trips to the Northwest had not taught me this lesson. I have now properly learned to curse the person who first had the idea of bringing this noxious weed to our shore, and all of his descendants unto eternity. Not only is blackberry thorny and aggressively invasive, it sends up tendrils to trip you, and it's impossible to kill. Blackberry faces flamethrowers, herbicides, and ravenous goats with a laugh, and comes back for more. sprouting from its vast underground network of rhizomes. We have a big job ahead of us with the blackberries...

Lesson #2. English holly and English ivy are the enemy too.

Forget the Christmas carol.

The holly and the ivy

When they are both full grown

Of all the trees that are in the wood

The holly bears the crown

Maybe in Jolly Olde England. Maybe they want to claim their expatriates?

The carol should be something like:

The holly and the ivy

We see them and we groan

The ivy kills trees in the wood

The holly- cut it down!

So much for lessons.

For months before the trip, I obsessed. I am good at that. I spent hours with my field guides and with websites. I can tell you more about our new property than I can about our place in Jamul. I know the soil type and what it grows, how deep the well is, what USDA climate zone it’s in and what likes that climate, what should grow there and what shouldn’t. I began to plan the reclamation of the place; creating a bit of wildlife heaven in the woods. I researched nurseries and ordered plants, and pondered the merits of various types of tree shelters and mulch mats.

Ferns in the forest in October

Once I touched down in Portland, it was off to Home Depot for a hoe and a shovel, planting stakes and gardening gloves.

“Clearing webs from a hovel,

Blistered hands on the handle of a shovel…”

The Indigo Girls, "Hammer and a Nail"

Well, our hovel was a one-room apartment inside the shop, and I didn’t have to clear any webs. The gloves kept the blisters away, but it certainly was true that I needed to tend the earth if I wanted a rose…or a Western red cedar. So, for the first two days before I drove to the airport to pick up Mike, I scouted the property, cursed mightily at the blackberries, and flagged spots for my new acquisitions.

"And then the rains came. They came down from the hills and up from the Sound. And it rained a sickness. And it rained a fear. And it rained an odor. And it rained a murder. And it rained dangers and pale eggs of the beast. Rain fell on the towns and the fields. It fell on the tractor sheds and the labyrinth of sloughs. Rain fell on toadstools and ferns and bridges… Rain poured for days, unceasing. Flooding occurred. The wells filled with reptiles. The basements filled with fossils. Mossy-haired lunatics roamed the dripping peninsulas. Moisture gleamed on the beak of the Raven. Ancient shamans, rained from their homes in dead tree trunks, clacked their clamshell teeth in the drowned doorways of forests. Rain hissed on the Freeway. It hissed at the prows of fishing boats. It ate the old warpaths, spilled on the huckleberries, ran in the ditches. Soaking. Spreading. Penetrating. And it rained an omen. And it rained a poison. And it rained a pigment. And it rained a seizure."

Tom Robbins, Another Roadside Attraction

I appreciate rain and cold. The first morning of my trip, it was a balmy 43 degrees or so, and the rain had let up for a bit. Perfect t-shirt weather…:>) I turned the soil in the upper pasture, digging planting holes for Western red cedar. In every spadeful, worms wriggled. The richness was astounding- back in Jamul, I would not even be able to dig such a shovel of soft dirt held together with a net of grass roots- you need a mattock to turn the soil, that or high explosives…No worm would have a chance. As I dug, I watched a hawk dive-bombing songbirds in the neighbor’s shrubbery, emerging with empty talons.

Rainy day and old plow

Monday was the day I picked up the trees. Burnt Ridge Nursery was 60 miles north, on the other side of Mt. St. Helens. The entire drive was a reminder of water. Rain fell, gently and constantly, almost the whole time. Small waterfalls coursed over the rock walls abutting the highway. I passed over one steel bridge after another- the Lewis River, the Cowlitz, the Toutle, the Coweeman- as they descended to join the Columbia River to the west.

The East Fork of the Lewis River at Lucia Falls

Burnt Ridge was run by an office full of longhair hippie-types and one very wet, wriggly Labrador. After picking up my carefully-packed and labeled, organic, healthy trees and shrubs, I drove back, and the planting began. Out came the seedlings I’d dreamed about for months- Western red cedar, Western hemlock, bigleaf maple, and, I must admit, a few non-natives- beech trees (the squirrels will not complain) and Japanese maples (with which I’ve had a love affair since I first met them in Portland many years ago.)

It seems so simple- just poke a hole in the ground, stick a tree in it, and let it grow. After all, anything should grow here…you’re surrounded by luxurious, verdant greenery. But it isn’t so simple.

Mama Tree can afford to produce millions of seedy offspring every year- they are of very low energetic cost to the tree. It doesn’t matter that the vast majority go down the gullets of squirrels and birds, or otherwise meet sad fates- over a tree’s lifespan of centuries, only one needs to grow and prosper for a replacement, and two survivors will mean a population boom!

I, on the other hand, have a much greater investment in having that one lonely seedling survive, and I need to hedge my bets. Just a bit. Let’s see here. We start by choosing the site carefully, then clearing it of all vegetation in a 2’ radius, down to the bare ground, so no grass roots compete with my seedling for nutrients. Then, when the seedling is in the ground, we place a 4’ x 4’ mulch mat over the seedling, to further block competing vegetation. Then, for our trees in the meadow, that stand like a beacon advertising “Fresh Eats” to the deer, a plastic tube called a “tree protector” goes over the seedling, both to keep away browsers and act as a miniature greenhouse.

Trees growing the old-fashoned way, on the property in October

Not all the trees got the premium protection plan. The hemlocks were too big for the shelters; we just had to hope the deer didn’t find them to be on the menu this year. And nine trees were displaced when our new next-door neighbors decided that those trees might block their miniscule Portland view (view? All we see are clouds…) and moved into the low-rent district near the shop building, where their hurried accommodations before we left for the airport consisted of holes in the ground, hope for their survival, and little more.

But back to me, in the mud. Not all the plants were trees- I had one big, thorny salmonberry that reminded me of a journey long ago to the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness, where I first tasted its berries. I pruned its prickly canes and found it a place of honor. Then there were small pots of salal, the wintergreen-family evergreen that can produce big crops of sweet berries. While our property had some thickets of Oregon grape, I hadn’t seen any salal, and we needed every recruit we could get in the “fight the blackberries while giving us other berries” campaign!

So there I was, on my stomach as a steady rain fell, just outside the dripline of an old Douglas fir, excavating planting holes with a trowel and carefully settling in my salal, with wishes that it would grow and prosper. Afterwards, it would be time to come in from the cold and wet, to shower, change, and set off to the airport, back to San Diego and sunshine, but dreaming of the next time I’d be able to see my trees, and maybe play in the mud some more.