Mini-Hoop Houses

The urge to garden got to me!  After weeks of reading through my seed catalogue until it was dog eared, and checking out Pinterest and Facebook for fresh ideas, I needed to get some dirt under my nails! 

After the torrential rains of Friday and Saturday, Sunday was a perfect day, balmy and bright, warm enough to work outside with just a light sweatshirt on.

Chuck and I got busy and made some mini hoop houses for our raised beds.

 Hoop houses are now trendy, as full sized greenhouses and as what we used to call cold frames back in the olden days, when I was a kid.



The Materials Assembled
 

 

Taking shape

 Using some PVC tubing, poly and scrap wood from the ongoing workshop project, we made covers for three of the beds.  In a couple of hours we turned the raised beds into little greenhouses, into which I have now planted Endive, Grand Rapids leaf lettuce, Kale and Peas. 

Adding the Poly
 

 

It's a bit early, I admit it.  However, there's a 50 50 chance by my estimation that we could get through the rest of winter without another freeze, so I think these little crops might work out, and soon we could be munching on some fresh greens.

And if not, well I had a marvellous time with my sleeves rolled up, in my gum boots, digging in the dirt with the sun on my back and Bogey chasing the odd stick I stopped to throw!

Garlic sprouting
 

A quick trip to the back garden yielded this great news - the garlic planted in October is all up now.  We can look forward to another (bigger) crop of garlic this year.  I am going to put more in this spring to see how it performs alongside the fall planted crop.

Where I am From Second Installment

I am from cheese from Stolting’s  Delicatessen,  from  Zest soap and  paper bags full of penny gob stoppers bought at Porter’s store with my weekly allowance.

I am from the AnJen Farm, with miles of white fences painted all summer long to earn a new saddle.

I am from the shade of the weeping willow tree, the yipping of the coyotes and the steamy heat of a barn full of cows in winter.

I am from heads bowed, eyes closed grace before dinner and Sunday night Disney, from Auntie Doris and the deVille’s and the family that lived on Kirkstall Road.

 

Me and Auntie Doris Oct 2014

 



I am from the Langley Flippers swim club and the Grovette school newspaper.

From catching colds if you went out with wet hair and eating all your dinner to save children from starving in far off lands.

I am from routine and rituals.

I'm from Manion Place and Shuniah School.  Standing in the kitchen in pajamas and bare feet on the cold floor with a glass of chocolate Nestle’s Quick before bed. Sometimes the strawberry flavor would trick me into begging for it, only to rediscover that I hated it.  Mom saying, ‘If I buy it, you have to drink it all before I buy the chocolate again”.

From the little calf named Bambi that we bought from auction.  Sickly from the start, we bottle fed it and kept it in an out-building near the house so we could nurse it easily.  I am from the heartbreak of Bambi’s death and from the poem I wrote about it. 

I am from cottages on lakes, black lab kisses, sunsuits and tobogganing. 

 

Without Words

Chance Is a Fine Thing!

Funny thing, chance.

After lunch with a friend a couple of weeks ago I went over to the vacuum store across the street from the restaurant we met at, to get some bags for my vac.  Entering the parking lot I noticed a music store in the same plaza, so I went in after I got my vac bags.

And I came out with a new piano book.  100 of the greatest pop songs.  Easy Piano.

So much fun! And not so easy.

I bought myself a second hand keyboard a few months ago to keep in the city for practicing my choir music with.  By which I mean plunking out notes, mostly with one finger.  Thank God we have very professional learning tracks to use for most of the practice.  But I missed being able to slowly go over certain passages with my piano which lives at my house, which I don't live at, as you know.  So I got this keyboard.

As it sits just a few feet from my desk, it has beckoned me on many occasions to come over and play.  Since the only music I had on hand at first was my choir music, I struggled along with some of the accompaniment but, let's be honest, that was way beyond my ability!

Over Christmas I downloaded some free sheet music Christmas carols and played around with them which was great.  By great, I mean it was simpler than the accompaniment, and it showed me that my brain could no longer communicate with each of my hands independently, which was a little depressing.  However, each practice showed improvement, which was encouraging.

But the new piano book has inspired me to make time for a regular piano practice, and I am really getting into it!!  I have three songs on the go, and two of them are really coming along, I just started working on the 3rd one yesterday. 

Despite the fact that the keyboard has some limitations - I run out of keys playing the bass clef and the keys need a lot more weight to depress them and keep them depressed - as a learning tool it has been excellent.

Ever heard that saying " Chance would be a fine thing"?

Well, it was.

Where I Am From

I came across a writing exercise this morning.  Called Where I am From, it directs your to fill in the blanks to create your own story about how you came to be you.  On a different day, I would probably complete it differently, and to that end I have downloaded the template and will revisit it again in the future. 

I added a few pictures and voila!


Where I Am From

I am from new shirts from Woodward’s dollar forty-nine day, from scotch mints tucked beneath the couch cushions.  Newborn kittens in the hayloft.

I am from the stucco and beam farmhouse with the sliding patio front door and wild pink flowered wallpaper in the kitchen.  From aromas as welcoming as stewing chicken or as repugnant as canning salmon.   Pipe smoke.

I am from music.   Mom singing in the kitchen, or the garden, or the barn.   Records.  Soundtracks from The King and I and My Fair Lady.  My piano. 

I am from paperwork and party lines and a home based business .  The dining room desk with it’s clutter.  Typing Dad’s correspondence on the clunky manual typewriter.  The mistakes never forgotten by the carbon copy.  The expectation that you would answer the telephone politely, in case it was a business call.  Take proper messages, written down. 

I am from the tall sweet grass in the field, where we would lay down and name the cloud shapes as they drifted past.  From the cool of the tree canopy at the back of our farm on hot summer days.  From the outdoor swimming pool where we trained most mornings at 6am. 

I am from overseas phone calls at Christmas and a family of giants.

From Edna and Jim and Jennifer.


I am from the bargain rack shoppers and the good night kisses.

I am from dogs and cattle and horses and chickens.  All with names, and personalities.  From parades around our side field where the parents would sit in their folding lawn chairs,  watching us kids circle the field, riding horses with flowers braided into manes and tails, towing dogs with painted toe nails and floral collars, pulling wagons with the littlest kids inside or maybe riding a bike with a playing card clothes-pegged to the spokes.

From “I will come up to tuck you in” and “you get as much out of something as you put into it”. 

I am from the bonnets and white gloves of Anglican Sunday School, the satin gowns and purple robes of Jobies.  From the pile of books on my bed borrowed from the book-mobile, where I discovered “The Religions of the World” which I read cover to cover while sick in bed.  I was about 11. 

I'm from pond skating in Port Arthur ON, by way of a red door in England near the train bridge and an apartment in Bombay with turkey’s on the balcony.  I am from spicy curries and rich beef stews made from our own animals that we raised and garden veggies that we produced.

I am from the ships engineer who was lost at sea; from the kind man who was illiterate but still tried to read to his eight children, substituting the words “apple cart” for any word he was unable to read; from the desperate young mother of four who died from infection from a self- induced abortion.

I am from home movies, flickering soundlessly in a dark basement, from letters from my grandfather to my father and from my father to me, from creased and bent black and white prints of my sister and me posing in the snow, and framed portraits of my parents through the years, side by side.