Evening Diversions

There is an odd feel to the air tonight, to last night. A moon rose veiled by a smokey-thin red cloud cover - no fire, no smoke in sight. The wind howled lowly, constantly through the fir boughs and cottonwood branches, bending the birches across the river into one uniform, uncomfortable southwest angle. There is a jitter in the air, like the energizing O3 increase before a thunderstorm, but I don't sense that kind of storm. Typically my half amputated middle toe lets me know when a storm is coming... its true what they say... "I can feel it in my bones", in my case, my toe bone that's no longer there... but not tonight. Tonight its something different... and I like it.

New Comb

I checked the hive again yesterday. Not a lot new to muse over this week. The seventh bar has been built upon - new translucent pale-cream comb, so different from the brilliant yellow dandelion comb of the early spring. Still beautiful, just in a new way, a more peaceful, angelic way. I am noticing one anomaly that may prove difficult in the future: the bees built a double comb on the sixth topbar, knocking off the spacing ease of the first five. I almost destroyed comb between the sixth and seventh bar before I noticed that the seventh bar also has two combs... hmmmm... at least its straight comb, not wavily attached to multiple bars. I should still be able to remove and access future topbars... I hope.

Good Brood Capping The old combs are darkening from yellow to gold to swarthy sunflower to dazzling dirt. They are FULL of larva, capped brood, drone cells and new eggs. One thing is certain, Flower knows how to reproduce!



The final object of writing interest this evening: Garden salads. Yes, those greens I longed for for months, dreamed of during the long whiteness of winter, thought of which I would never tire... those greens. They are just beginning to overwhelm me. We have been eating salads every day since that first exhilirating salad last week, and the salad keeps on coming. I've given several bags of greens away, but they're reproducing like rabbits, or, well, bees. Tomorrow I am harvesting spinach and possibly turnip greens to freeze, then probably will be compelled to eat yet another salad for dinner. So many salads, so few salad permutations. Tonight I got creative with what was hiding in my kitchen... here's a blanket recipe for tonight's salad - a little different, a little more exciting:

Tonight's Thai Shrimp Salad

1 can coconut milk (though I think ideally coconut cream)
a couple Tblsp brown sugar
quartered button mushrooms
fish sauce to taste
Curry paste or a garlicky seasoning to taste

Bring to low boil, cook mushrooms. Add
Shrimp
Cook until shrimp are pink and add juice of
one lime
and a handful of bean thread noodles or rice noodles

Add to Salad:
Garden greens
thinly sliced Green Onion
thinly sliced onion or shallots
thinly sliced hot pepper (serrano in my case)
thinly sliced lemon grass (if you have it on hand)
peanuts or cashews
about one inch finely grated ginger
fresh mint leaves
fresh cilantro
water chestnuts

Basically anything in your kitchen that sounds good... :) Enjoy!

Images of Spring III

Indian paintbrush

One of the bees landed here, 100s of yards from the house

The neighbor's cherry trees

Images of Spring II

The Flowers, The River

My oldest daughter watches ruby throated hummingbirds dance in the young serviceberry blooms

She decides to reach for the highest flower and take a picture at the same time

Images of Spring

Dandelions in the Lawn

My daughter found these mushrooms growing in the manure pile

Borage from the strawberry patch


My hail-battered spinach

The perfect compliment to a spring salad... still waiting

Compost, Glorious Compost

Evening Gardens Love Compost

I have a love hate relationship with compost. It all began when I was just an itty-bitty, probably two or three years old. There was something magical about the compost pile... old egg shells, rotten vegetables that were there one day and gone the next, worms, and even the occasional squash plant on steroids - or, well, compost. It drew me in for a closer look. One evening I was drawn in a little too far, wanted to experience it a little too closely, and my brother found me in the middle of the pile with a half-composted orange peel hanging from my mouth. Needless to say, I was sicker than worth remembering that night.

Fast forward a few years... the memories of after-dinner clean ups, pink skies, maybe a mosquito or two... then -horrors!- the command, "Anna, go dump the compost". I would approach that container of kitchen waste (usually an old Schwan's Ice Cream bucket), and be utterly nauseated by the smell. Subconscious memories of my days as a compost eater would return with a vengeance and threaten to take hold again. But chores must be done, no matter how challenging. There was no excuse, and I would venture way out back to the pile only to be greeted with more of that smell. I vowed never to compost when I was a grown up.

Fast forward to adulthood. Living in various locales where composting wasn't really an option made me realize how wasteful it was to not. I slowly began considering the merits of the pile, despite the smell, and a quiet longing to compost began to take hold. When we finally arrived at this point in life, where such a thing is an option, I find compost almost magical again. No worries - I don't intend to dive in, but in a sense I am eating it once more. That lovely black dirt is slowly substituting for the local rocky "soil", and my vegetables love it. We can mix it up with rotted manure and plant our trees there - to great success. I can sprinkle it in the "dog spots" in the grass, throw down some seed and there we go! It has a multitude of uses for feeding our plants, and ultimately our family... now I just wish I had more!

My son Jaegar and a new cherry tree to be planted in... you guessed it!

serviceberry in the spring

After finishing the dishes and packing tomorrow's lunches, I was offered the rare chance to wander solo (well, not completely solo... my thrilled dog accompanied me) outside this evening. With the kids happily curled up with Daddy inside, I meandered down the trail to check on our lower river property. What beauty there is even now! At first glance, the woods appeared the same weary, bleak branches I've watched all winter. Then something catches the eye... like a haze or a faint smoke... a tinge of green that makes one look twice. Suddenly, the whole forest is speckled with tiny green buds... the most gentle green the woods will ever sport. But that's not all. Dusting the green buds and the bare branches is a mist of white snow so minimal it deceives the mind into thinking the forest is just a shade brighter, despite the swirling darkness of the evening clouds. Its a teasing preview to the white show of serviceberry and mock orange blooms to come... There is so much to be seen when I just look twice.

The river is running high now. The snow from the mountains obviously melted quickly during the recent warm days and has now created an angry brown force that threatens to take down any weakened tree daring too close to the banks. I'll keep my distance. I check the old rhubarb my dad gave me two years ago before the house was built. I planted it down near the river under some large cottonwoods that seemed stable and protecting. That rhubarb has been cultivated for probably 80 years - it came from my Norweigen great-grandparents' North Dakota farm - and now its finally growing free and wild in the woods... and it is thriving! I wasn't sure after something (a deer?) tore it up last summer right before I was going to put it in a pie, but now I know it is a survivor. Its amazing how life clings and comes back year after year.

I am awed by what I have seen this evening. I hope everyone has the chance to go outside solo and look twice...

The Promise of Spring

I Begin in April

I have to thank my friend Sarah for this foray into blogging. Actually, I have to thank Sarah for many inspirations - beekeeping, local Montana living, a partner in running. Its so comforting to have friends who hold dear the same things as me, who inspire me with their genuine kindness, encouragement and grace. These people are invaluable and add that sprinkle of happiness to the world -they make us better people.

It is late April. My cheeks still sport a slight pink tinge from my first sunburn of the season - Monday was actually high 70s hot! The sunburn is keeping me warm on this cold, low 30s SNOWY Montana spring Thursday. Yes, springtime is a fickle thing here in the Flathead. It teases us with its elusive warm sun... the nurseries and gardens are bustling on those rare days... only to find themselves lonely and windswept the next, possibly even with another dusting of snow. I can recall living in Southern California and longing for the inclement weather of my childhood, longing to long for the sun. Now - the longing is strong and pulsing and gets me as giddy as a schoolgirl at the prospect of another nice day. That's what makes life so wonderful, right? The longing, the anticipation, the appreciation for the new.

And new is coming! My spring garden was planted 10 days ago. Already mesclun, mustard, onions, garlic and radishs emerge. Every time its like a miracle - the miraculous emergence! I don't really believe it can happen, then - look kids! - there's a seedling! Somehow life begins again all on its own, and our collective breath is taken away. I look around outside the garden at the new irises and serviceberry leaves, the dandelions and lilacs and even the greening lawn, and I want to shout out in amazement, I want to drag anyone I can find outside and say, "Look! How can it be?! The green has actually returned!"

Ah, so much promise and optimism. It is a good time, and I am invigorated. Now, we finish the top bar bee hive and await our Monday arrival of bees, all the while checking in on the strawberry and asparagus transplants and the many new seedlings of this early Montana spring.