I've been away from my little acre these past several days and this will continue for several more. I'm tending to dogs and chickens, garden and home, land and heart where the forget-me-nots still bloom. I've been making space in big patches of quiet, drawing, journaling, reading, wild harvesting, cooking, witnessing, Being.
Today I'm making a farm ham for a friend who's visiting - and for me. I'm self-full like that. After all, this will position me for not having to cook much at all in the days ahead - short of fresh garden goodies.
This morning, when I checked my latest batch of yogurt I noticed it hadn't firmed up. There were a couple tablespoons worth of curd that had formed, but that's it. This has only happened once before and I used the mostly liquid yogurt for smoothies and such. Today I decided to reheat it to the boil to see what might happen.
Imagine my surprise when I checked the pot, just coming to the boil, to discover that almost two cups of tiny curd had made manifest. I strained it from the cooked whey, drank some and gave the rest to the dog with her breakfast.
I then tasted the curd. I was delighted! It was sweet and smooth and much like ricotta.
This experience was a light reminder of the perception of "failure" - be it large and disastrous or wee and delicious - there is always potential for light in the darkness ... it just may not be the light we anticipate.
Of Dawn dish detergent, hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. I must say that while I used less peroxide than the formula called for, it worked quite well. There were diluted apple cider vinegar wipe downs too. This should be it. Maybe another head-n-face wash tomorrow, but I'm not telling Halley until I must.
We're both relieved that the worst is behind us. For this chapter anyway. Peace.
I was all set to blog last night and then ... life happened ... life in the form of a comedy of errors.
Now, I had been in and out all day, and while I closed the slider, I did not latch it. Keep in mind that this is a solid wood door with heavy double glass panes. It's quite weighty.
I'm not really sure of the sequence of events, but the bottom line is my dog, sweet Halley Josephine, got the door open, liberated herself, all in pursuit of ... a skunk. Need I say more?
One blessing in this is that the skirmish took place over the patch of garden where I had just planted my baby salsa tomatoes and infant Italian basil, and through some protective miracle of Nature they were all just fine this morning. The mulch was strewn hither-n-yon, but the plants appeared untouched. I am truly baffled and immensely grateful.
Needless to say, she got one wash down last night and slept in the garage. This morning I went shopping which resulted in three more wash downs and serious hose-rinses. The little willful bitch was not at all pleased. Truth is, I was less pleased - of this I am certain. Yet, despite the fact that she is smelling quite a bit better now, and I'm feeling quite skunky, I love her. So much. So freakin' much.
And I can't shake this feeling that she's somehow channeling me from my teen years.
Yesterday I danced with blue sky, clouds, drizzle, sunshine, thunder, lightening, and more blue sky ... and repeat. I managed to get more tomatoes and basil into the earth and will make more room for the rest today. I made space for my chinese cabbage in between the buttercrunch lettuce that will be enjoyed with meals before the cabbage gets too large. I transplanted more sunflowers and calendula into the front yard garden. And I planted more lettuce seed, three kinds of mixes, in my shady garden. I harvested a couple quarts of strawberries, a handful of rhubarb (tip of the iceberg, that), and some motherwort before the first of the rains ever started.
Today I want to get the last of the new veggie beds prepped so I can get the rest of the tomatoes into the earth, along with my pepper plants, more basils, zucchini, cabbages, and the rest of my seedlings. I have more seeds to plant too. I'll have more strawberries to harvest and herbs as well, and I'll want to get at least 35 pounds of rhubarb harvested for my seasonal batch of rhubarb mead - but not today.
The blessing today is that original plans were shifted to lighten my load a bit, only to shift again, leaving me with a day on my little acre, without distractions (at least until The Boy comes home).
So now, in this lovely early morning, Jenny Wren sings to me a scolding song to finish my coffee and typing, and get to work in the gardens before the sun blazes me into the gardening pause.