Kakahead

Here it is, almost August already, which in Michigan means that summer is on its way out.  This makes me cry in my noodles, because although I have Norwegian blood in my toenails, I love summer time!! I’d rather sweat than shiver any day of the week.  And these days, that means I can live outside and get mosquito bites so I can have the West Nile virus.   Isn’t that nice?  I’ve always wanted to visit Egypt…

Anyway, Michigan summers also mean there’s a lot of free food to be had in the woods and fields, and yes, even on the roadsides.  And no, by free food on the roadsides I don’t mean that I encourage people to steal from roadside veggie stands.  I’m talking about all the fruits and wild foods that sprout up around these parts.  Right now, the blackberries and dewberries are peaking out… and man are they yummy.

I’m amazed at how many people miss them.  Dunno about you, but when I go for walks, I keep my eyes peeled for snacks.  That’s because I’m a food addict and I really love to eat.  Once in awhile I find a half eaten McBarf burger or maybe half a bag of fries that someone kindly tossed out the car window.  I generally do not eat those.  Ok, I never eat those.  But I have become pretty good at locating the berry patches and fruit trees that live around these parts, and I make it a point to check on them occasionally to see what’s cooking.  Strawberries are usually first, but there usually aren’t too many of those in the wild.  Then come the black raspberries, then the red and yellow (yellow??  Yes, there are yellow ones too…) raspberries, and then the blueberries, and right now, as I said the blackberries.

The only problem with blackberry hunting is this:  if you hunt for blackberries in earnest, you’re gonna get stabbed.  Pretty much no likelihood that you’ll get away with no owies, unless of course you don’t want very many berries.  So there I was on Tuesday, after dropping off our “almost a niece” Besan at Uncle Mike’s house.  Since Besan was at Grand Valley and needed a ride from Grand Rapids to Montague, I happily volunteered to pick her up on my way home from work.  My “fee” was paid in the form of a big plastic yogurt  bucket.  So after I left Uncle Mike’s, there I was in my favorite “secret” blackberry patch; wearing my business-casual work clothes that I fondly refer to as my “uniform.”  As I climbed into the patch I commenced to getting stabbed and having my britches tugged on by blackberry vines.

I was in heaven.

I got about almost two quarts in a little less than an hour, but of course some of that time was spent traipsing about and munching.   The patch has an old railroad trestle that’s been converted into a bike trail bridge.  During a previous excursion, cyclists passed overhead and I heard one of them yell to his cohorts, “hey!  There’s a troll under the bridge!!”   I shouted back, “yes, and if you get too near me, I’ll eat you!!”  They chuckled, but didn’t stop.  Chickens!!

Berry picking just plain makes sense.  You get outside, free and very healthy snacks go ploonk in your pickin’ bucket, and (in spite of a few pokey-ouches) and for this berry picker at least, it sets the mind free for meditation.  When I’m out in one of my favorite patches, my mind is focused on just one task:  picking.  That gives my brain a much needed rest, and allows me to revisit the past when my Dad used to take advantage of our small size and send us into the thickets to get the big ones.  Of course, Dad was always so intent on making jelly every time he heard there were berries ripe.  So being the fine kids we were, the four of us soon learned that if we didn’t want to spend a whole day or two picking and cleaning wild fruits, we might just forget to tell Dad that we found any.

And as I said earlier, I’m often astounded at the lack of knowledge out there about these natural candies.   For example, I’ll offer friends and neighbors some berries.  Some dig in, and others say, “what the heck are those??”  Then I tell them, and they might ask something like, “are those washed??”  “Well, Mother Nature washes them every time it rains…”  After a few careful peeks into the bucket, several folks have shrugged and said, “no thanks.”

There’s only one logical response in that situation.  I tell them, “that’s ok, that’s more for me!”

And now for something completely different… those of you who remember Carmen Miranda… here’s a happy surprise. Those of you who have never heard of Carmen Miranda, here’s a happy surprise!

“Hand me that pitchfork, will you? I hate to do this while you’re here, but I gotta take care of something before I forget,” I said to my urban friend. He followed me to the far west side of the garden and saw the huge hulk in the distance. When we reached the immense carcass, my friend stood back as I plunged the tines of my pitch fork into it. I lifted a thick layer of skin off the beast, exposing its insides.  Warm, dank steam rose from within, and I smiled as we watched its innards wriggle about vigorously. My friend gasped with amazement and exclaimed, “Good God, it’s alive!”

Well, it’s not completely alive, but really a pile of dead things.  But, there are things living on the dead stuff.  The wriggly things are alive, but the dead stuff is dead. But that’s what makes it so grand. If the wriggly things that ate the dead stuff died, it wouldn’t be nearly as wonderful. Are you getting disgusted yet?? Before you toss your cookies, let me tell you I’m talking about turning a compost pile. But honestly now, if I mentioned compost in the first paragraph, would you have read this far?

Ok. Bear with me, and I’ll make the compost adventure as interesting as possible. At least, as interesting as a heap of rotting veggie matter can be. With all the hoopla about recycling, and the interest in homegrown vegetables, I just wanted to say a few words on my V to V Converter. Say what now?? Vegetable to Vegetable Converter. The compost pile.  You know… you take dead vegetables and recycle them into new ones.

Alright, I’ll quit speaking in code. Compost makes sense, even for folks with small yards. Obviously, it’s not really practical in a high rise apartment complex, but some maverick city folk are raising corn and such on rooftops, so you never know. Compost is primo fertilizer, and it’s “free.” The only cost is your time, and whatever you paid for the veggies and fruits from which the compost is made.

Find a nice spot with no trees or bushes in the immediate vicinity, and declare it Compost World. Trees and bushes love compost, so if you pile it on their tootsies, they’ll fill it with their rootsies. Try to find a place that gets some shade, because compost likes to be kept somewhat cool. If you can’t find shade, not to worry.  You can just add lots of fluffy stuff (like leaves) on top for insulation.  Wire fence all around it is kinda neat too. If space is a problem, you may want to buy or build a compost maker. Those even come with instructions!

I have a compost pile, size large, which didn’t come with instructions. The basic “cooking” compost pile is made of alternating layers of carbonaceous (brown) and nitrogenous (green) material. Ya, right. So what the heck is that, huh?  Carbonaceous stuff is just about any plant matter that is dead, brown, dried up, deceased, and not even remotely fresh or happy. Sawdust, leaves, pine needles, or straw are some examples. Put about six or more inches of that stuff down to start.  Cover with about six inches of nitrogenous stuff:  kitchen scraps like fruit and veggie waste, coffee grounds, and tea bags for example. We chuck that stuff in a bucket and dump it when it’s full. Also full of nitrogen are freshly picked weeds or grass clippings. And not to forget manure, but only that from vegetarian critters like moo cows or goat sheeps.  Some folks also use chicken manure with good result.  Aside from all that, you can throw in some eggshells for “lime.” Don’t use eggs, just the shell.

WARNING!! DANGER!! DO NOT USE MEAT OR DAIRY STUFF

OF ANY KIND IN YOUR COMPOST!

This is because:

A) It can breed disease that will literally make you sick, and

12) It might attract critters to your compost, and then THEY will get sick if they eat the rotten meat.  Now, fish are a slightly different story. Fish are good plant food, but put them straight in the ground. Six inches is a good depth, to keep the kitties from digging them up.  But please, no composting of fishies allowed.  Back to the pile, Gomer. Oops, sorry! Not punny.

Is it an absolute must to make the pile with layers? No, but layers of brown and green make chemical things happen.  The pile gets warm and steamy! This kicks off the compost process with a bang, hence the term “cooking.”  After it cools, the earthworms and other plant-crud eaters move in to wriggle about and chow down on the goodies.  Dead stuff comes alive with creepy-crawlies who are all in cahoots to party down on your yard and kitchen waste. All you have to do is make sure the sun doesn’t dry the pile out. The critters like to eat moist stuff, just like most of us prefer a little milk on our cereal. Moist is the key word here, soggy is bad. You may need to water it occasionally, but if the top layer is thick with brown stuff, it will probably be just fine.

You can let the pile sit, but you’ll hit pay dirt (ha ha… pay dirt… get it??) faster if you use a pitchfork to turn it once a week or so. Just stab the hulk with your pitch fork and toss it like a giant salad.  Top it off with more layers if you have the stuff, or just keep dumping your kitchen waste on the pile. When there’s some that’s all dark and crumbly (usually at the bottom of the pile), it’s ready to be fed to your plant friends. Water your plants first, then tell them to open wide for some food that will make them big and strong.  Then while they’re not looking, put a nice layer of compost on their toes.  Compost works best if you keep the living dead stuff alive (right, there he goes again). In other words, put some leaves or grass clippings on top of the compost to keep it moist. Dried compost just ain’t no good for nuttin’, Honey.

So there. I did it and I’m glad. I gave you the whole rotten story. Dead stuff that’s alive, HAH! Well, anyway, happy gardening. And may your garbage can swell less and less each week.

OK now for the video… I don’t have any livestock (except 2 cats and a dog); but if I did I’m sure Betty would help keep them out of mischief.

Hello Dust Flingers,

This is to inform none of you that all new banana recipes should be turned in to the Front Sniffing Room before 12:47 p.m. on Tuesday, August 72, 19127.

None of you may remember the hatchling song; the words of which were “stolen” by Gus Parbnackle during the second Coat Hanger Revolt of 1924.

This enjoyable malady has been renewed during the last 28 microseconds and is now sung to the tune of “Inna Gadda Da Vida”:

Guess who barfed on my shoes today
Do dah, do dah
Hatchlings shouldn’t act this way
Oh do dah day…

If you find it necessary to rekindle the spirit which is found to be both blue and wormy; please run directly to your neighbors and ask them to return the crescent wrench your uncle borrowed shortly before dinner last Wednesday morning.

In summary, I must remind you not to rub sandpaper inside your mucous membranes.  Fortunately, that practice has been abandoned long ago due to

the over abundance of spagetti in water fountains made by Mattel.

Thank you for being who  you are.  After all, if you weren’t you, you wouldn’t be.   That would be very confusing to you now wouldn’t it??

My toes look like morel mushrooms again!!

Happy Bozo Express,

Zibnick G. Amplegrane
a.k.a. “Monty the Moth Rancher”

Now you must understand that the following cartoon has a hatchling in it; but just for the halibut I threw in some Educated Fish. Very nice cartoon from 1937.

This post is appearing illegally in at Freshproducejournal.com. They never asked my permission to use it and “forgot” to credit me as the author. Sheesh.

Anyway, back to the story…

Obviously I’m in the wrong business.  Somebody somewhere is getting rich selling… garlic!?!?  That’s right folks.  Apparently Chinese garlic is being smuggled into Europe.  Recently a shipload of it arrived in Norway, and when a truck driver tried to cross the border into Sweden with 28 tons of garlic he got nabbed.  This route was chosen to avoid paying a duty on the imported garlic.

If I had known garlic was so doggoned valuable I would have smuggled some into Europe a long time ago.  I planted some in my garden many years ago and it grows like crazy.  Mind you I don’t have 28 tons… so maybe it’s not quite as valuable as gold.  However, smugglers only smuggle because there’s money to be made.

Very strange.

What I find rather sad though is the same sources that reported the attempted garlic smuggling also noted that China produces about 75% of the world’s garlic.  I mean, sheesh, isn’t there anything that doesn’t come from China these days?

Well of course there is, but not nearly enough of it.  Here in Michigan the produce is making its way into the farmers markets; and more and more of us are making a real effort to “think globally, but act locally.”  In other words, we are supporting our local growers.  Sometimes it costs a bit more but it all boils down to this:  what kind of world do we want to have?  Personally, I’m willing to pay a little more for local produce and other goods.  It just makes more sense to support my local human family members.  Much more earth friendly too when you don’t have to ship everything all over the place.

I’m also willing to get off my hiney and grow some food.  Keeps me off the streets; although this year I went a bit overboard.  I have been very busyREALLY busy in the garden this year.   The up side of course is we’re gonna get some very nice organically grown food. weeding and mulching, and I still have a ways to go to get the garden under control.  I have been lamenting to my beautiful girlfriend (wife) and friends, “this year I think I put in a retired person’s garden.”  Everyone knows what I mean pretty much instantly.  On the downside, I’m really

Maybe next year I’ll grow a few tons of garlic and load up my canoe and paddle over to Norway.  A good chunk of my bloodline is Norwegian, so maybe some of that Viking seamanship will magically whisk me across the ocean.  Sounds like there’s big money in garlic over there.  I’m much more likely to get my hands on garlic than gold.

Besides, gold doesn’t keep vampires away.

Well these folks seem to find garlic rather golden… this is an old video but the Gilroy Garlic Festival is still going strong…

Dear Boat Fingers,

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Thank,

Reeben Trazzlenat
Odlio Caves
Borpen, LI  00027

Everybody ready for the 28^th Annual Mulch Run?!?!?  I’m pretty excited.  Gonna get my refreshments (fill my water bottle), hop into the Chrysler Towne & Country Racing Van, grab a seat, hook up the trailer and GO!!!

And I always win.

Aaaahhhh summer time.  The garden is exploding, and the weeds are doing really well. Seems like the seeds I actually planted just got going, and all the weeds I didn’t plant (not intentionally anyway) are growing so fast I can barely tell the beets from the purslane.  Sure you can eat purslane, and I have.  Pretty good in salads and even cooked in Chicken Cockamamie.  But it volunteers itself all over the place along with lamb’s quarters and lots of other weedy greens; and if left unchecked the seeds I bought and spent so much time planting will be overrun.

Normal garden process at my house is:

1)  Pull up the garden waste from last year in late fall or early spring.  OK… usually early spring.

G)  Till the garden as soon as the mud from the snow melt is dried a bit.

27)  Let the ground dry a bit and also allow weeds to germinate.

*x)  Till again, then

4L)  Carefully plant the tomato, pepper, eggplant and marigold plants I adopted from the greenhouse; and finally

M#)  Make the rows and beds and plant, plant, plant the seeds.

I’ve learned the hard way that if I mulch too soon, the slugs stampede (albeit very slowly) into the garden and chow down at night and hide under the mulch during the day.  Not very funny.

So, I wait… then of course the weeds go nuts because hey, I work for a living and can’t always get motivated to put my hiney in the garden after a long day.  That, of course,  means I do “catch up” weeding and mulch as I go.

Last year I used hay for mulch.  Seemed to work pretty well but it was a bit expensive and I have this silly suspicion that’s what gave me all my wonderful weeds this year.  Straw works but it tends to rob nitrogen from the soil… not a good thing if you’re an old organic hippie like me who refuses to buy chemical fertilizer.  Hay actually adds some nitrogen, but again, there’s that weed thing.

So it’s back to basics this year.  For 28 years I’ve been gardening here… and have managed to turn sand into pretty nice soil.  Primary reason:  mulch runs.  I had a truck for awhile but switched to a trailer many moons ago and that will probably be what I use until I can’t chew my milkweed anymore.  Or something.

I cruise around the ‘burbs and “steal” their bags of grass clippings and leaves right out from under the suburbanite’s noses.  Most are very grateful I’m taking the stuff away from the curb.  Last year though, I had a strange encounter when I pulled up to a house that seemed to have the mother lode of leaves.  A grumpy old man came out to his porch and barked at me,

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?”

“I’m stealing your leaves,” I replied in an impish tone.

“WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO WITH THEM??!!??”

“Well I’m gonna use them in my garden, which means I’ll be eating them eventually.”

“OH, alright…”  he snorted.  He lowered the volume on the last retort as I found my head spinning with ideas on how a person could get into mischief with stolen leaves.

“I’m sorry to alarm you,” I said in a more apologetic tone.  “You want me to put them back?”

“No it’s OK,” he said as he went back inside.

Well, the first day of the 28^th Annual Mulch Run was this past Tuesday, and sure enough Mr. LeafGrouch had a nice pile of grass clippings all bagged up.  This time, I went up to the porch and rang the doorbell.

“Hey I was here last year… do you mind if I take your grass clippings?”  I smiled politely and tried not to snicker at his god awful black shorts with neon flowers all over them.

He was much more reserved this time… almost obliging.  “Yeah sure, I’ll have more on Friday.”

I took Friday off this week.  The 28^th Annual Mulch Run of 2010 continues.

And now for something completely different… my brother was sad there was no video this week, so I actually learned how to stream one from my very own collection!! Enjoy!!