Double Digging

This morning we helped our neighbor prepare for his winter garden. John has a 1/2 acre, which is a huge yard by Laguna Beach standards. His house is situated on the edge of the property, instead of in the middle, so the 1/2 acre looks and feels a lot larger. This summer we benefited from his surplus of swiss chard, heirloom tomatoes, Italian peppers, and pumpkins. He put the summer garden to bed in August--it's just too hot and dry in August and September to grow much.

Today we helped double-dig one of his five beds in anticipation of the beets, sweet peas, and winter salad greens that he'll plant in two weeks. Unlike the rich black dirt laced with fat earthworms (the presence of which indicate that the soil is very healthy) that is abundant in my home state of Minnesota, the soil here is hard clay. Over the past 10+ years, John has worked hard to soften and enrich his garden's soil. It is now a dry but nutrient-rich dirt. We dug rows and rows of six-inch trenches. With a pitchfork, we worked in bone meal (for calcium), chicken manure, steer manure, and compost. We covered the trenches with dirt and another layer of manure and compost. The earth was dry; had we waited until the rainy season in January to dig the trenches, we probably could have dug six inches deeper.

The Wrangler and I don't know much about gardening. I don't like working in the heat and sun, but there is nothing like a homegrown tomato. I'd also like to have pumpkins at some point. Pumpkins need a lot of room to run, but I've heard of city-folk who grow them in plastic kiddie pools. It's good to know it's possible, I suppose, but the kiddie pool pumpkin patch somehow lacks the charm of the country pumpkin patch that I'm envisioning.

I've never tended so much as a houseplant before, with the exception of an aloe plant that spiraled out of control and threatened to take over the living room. But lack of experience is no excuse. I'm going to have to know how to grow things on the ranch.

Somewhere, It Is Autumn

Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.

--Emily Bronte

New Baby

Just what I definitely do not need--another guitar. This weekend I played (if by "played" you mean "errantly plucked") a Baby Taylor, which is three-quarters the size of a full-sized guitar and is made of solid spruce or mahogany. Most three-quarter guitars are made of laminate, and you really can tell the difference. The wood version has surprising volume and a rich tone.

The Taylor catalog says that the Baby is the "type of guitar you can keep at the office." I worked at a firm where I wouldn't have been ostracized for strumming a few clumsy notes in between conference calls. After all, no one blinked an eye at the lawyer who kept his Segway in his office and would scoot down the hall to and from the elevator each day, or the secretary who wore an official firefighter uniform, including the hat, when it rained. People were free to go about their business there. I'm quite certain that my current co-workers are the sort who would object to midday maladroit musings on the Baby Taylor. Perhaps once I've improved...

Falling for Fall

Fall has arrived here in Laguna Beach! We're in the middle of a heat wave that is not due to break for another week and half. But I know that fall is here because the Laguna Nursery, famous among the locals for its elaborate seasonal decor, has brought out its giant pumpkins. Every year a few rowdy drunks tamper with the display and smash an artificial pumpkin or two. Thankfully, this does not discourage the Nursery.

Instead of my usual wallowing in heartache for the splendor that is autumn in my beloved New England, I've decided to proceed with fall, Southern California be damned. I've retrieved the fall decorations from the attic. I've replaced the light and bright linens and towels with warm and cozy colors. The winter bedding is coming out of storage, and we'll just have to blast the air conditioner at night when we tuck under the down comforter. (I like nature and all that, but I've never claimed to be an environmentalist.)

The cottage is awash with the *rather heavy* scent of decorative pine cones. Seriously, the smell is a bit overwhelming. Our eyes are watering, and it's hard to concentrate. The Wrangler is being a Very Good Sport and has been careful not to utter even the tiniest complaint. I suspect he greatly prefers this make-the-best-of things attitude over my usual moping. The Wrangler's favorite weather girl on Channel 5 forecasts temps in the 90s on Tuesday, the official first day of fall, but that's not going to stop me from making a nice pot of chili and a homemade apple pie.

Welcome, fall!

Little Ranch in the 'Burbs

The Wrangler and I spent the past week getting sort of serious about relocating the Rainy Day Ranch from the beach to the 'burbs. Yikes, right? Well, it's a little exciting! We've been checking out two equestrian communities located about 20 minutes inland. Smack in the middle of everything one associates with The O.C. (shopping malls, strip malls, chain restaurants, SUVs, and all the other trappings of Stepford living) are planned ranch communities with riding stables, acres and acres of trails, mature trees of the non-Palm variety, and spacious residential lots zoned to allow chickens and goats! It's hard to believe that the land in the picture posted above is just five minutes from a 20-movie stadium theater, Best Buy, Borders, and Home Depot.

We'd be trading the marine layer for ceaseless sun. Depending on who you are, this is a bummer (me) or a bonus (Wrangler). But we'd say goodbye to tourists and hello to easy freeway access shaving 20 minutes from the weekday commute. We'd probably miss the unique beach town shops and restaurants, but the unfortunate reality is that we love Target stores and Yogurtland. Most important, we'd be able to try our hand at keeping livestock without having to make huge lifestyle changes like finding new jobs and moving to the country. One of the communities apparently allows bison. No joke. Our friends have seen a resident on several occasions walking his leashed bison around the neighborhood. We don't have plans to keep bison--yet.

We're going to keep looking until we find the perfect place, so who knows what we'll end up doing. I'm still nervous about getting too settled. I have to hand it to the Wrangler, though. He found two places nearby that could scratch the itch for ranch life without actually having to move to one. That guy will do anything to stay here.

Entrepreneurial Spirit

It occurred to me recently that most of my friends have artistic side businesses in addition to their day jobs. When they leave the office, they are professional writers, musicians, photographers, glassblowers, painters, sculptors, bakers and chefs, restorers of old cars, illustrators, and jewelry designers. One friend has her own line of beauty products. Another has her greeting cards in upscale boutiques. Although many of these pursuits are very profitable, most of these businesses were started due to a need for a creative outlet, not extra income.

My artistic endeavors could never bring in money, and I haven't found anything for which I'd have enough passion to turn into a business. For now, I'm happy to try something for fun and then move on. This weekend I picked up an interesting book, Making Artisan Chocolates. I'm ordering some candy molds and cool packaging. I'm also trying another batch of layered soap. My first batch smelled like skunky beer. This time I'm using fancy organic glycerine with (you guessed it) goat's milk, instead of the cheap glycerine cubes I bought in a kit. Also on the to-do list is sewing mittens and stuffed animals made from old Fair Isle-patterned sweaters.

The cottage pretty much looks like a craft store threw up in it. Tables and desks are covered with supplies, and stacks of idea books threaten to topple over in every room. The Wrangler, who actually is a true artist and not a sloppy wannabe-artisan like I, never complains about my creative messes. In fact, he encourages them! Alas, he is not as accepting of my clothing-related messes.

Seeing Is Believing

I just got home from a party where I chatted with a couple who owns a successful brewery and has contemplated starting a creamery as well. I've already arranged for them to take my first litter of pygmy goat babies off my hands. This should please the Wrangler. On the way to the party, I had broken the news to him that the Rainy Day Ranch may end up with quite a few pygmy goats. After all, a goat doesn't produce milk until she has babies. I mentioned casually that we should plan for an eventual herd of about 12 goats. The Wrangler stated kindly but firmly that 12 goats sounds creepy, and two to four would be more manageable. This led to one minute of silent treatment (imposed by me and unnoticed by he). I don't want my baby goats going to just anybody. Who would we find to take them? I don't want them eaten or in the care of crazies.

The stars aligned, however. What are the chances of, just an hour later, running into a lovely couple who also dreams of artisan cheese? I will feel very confident entrusting them with my baby goats. To better understand my concerns, check out this adorable video. It is impossible to imagine that anyone who sees this will not jump immediately on the urban goat bandwagon.

Whatever Gets Your Goat

Urban chicken coops are so early-2009. I'm convinced that the next big thing is urban goats. Two years ago, Seattle famously passed an ordinance allowing residents to keep miniature goats as pets. It's not a new concept--it just needs to catch on.

The question is not "why would I get a goat?" The question really is "why wouldn't I get a goat?" Pygmy goat does are about two feet tall, weigh 35 to 60 pounds, and give about 1/2 a gallon of "extremely sweet and delicious" milk a day (so says the National Pygmy Goat Association, or NPGA). The NPGA also reports that pygmy milk is higher in calcium, phosphorus, potassium, and iron than milk from other breeds. Although goat's milk is not popular in the United States, more people drink goat's milk than cow's milk worldwide.

Pygmy goats are perfect for your urban yard--a modest 8' x 10' shed will house four adult pygmies. The four animals would need less than 1/2 an acre of fenced yard for grazing. Pygmies are peaceful, friendly, and quiet (with only an occasional, pleasant "baaa"). Neutered males (wethers) and does do not have the unpleasant smell associated with intact males.

After reading books like Goat Song and Farewell, My Subaru, which are in part love letters to the authors' goats, I simply can't wait to get my two pygmies. I have big plans for goat's milk products--homemade butter, cheese, ice cream, and soap. Of course the Wrangler suggested that I try some goat's milk first to see if I like it. Silly man. Even if I can't stand to drink a drop of goat's milk, I just know that I'll love my goats.