Produce and Sweat

My tomato ripening table has overflowed.

Our goal on Flat Top these days is staying cool, or at least properly timing our sweatier activities. But for the most part, any activity is sweaty. Too much information? Let's just say. ... Nope, anything I say will be too much information. Let's just confirm that it's been damn hot here.

The vegetable garden has officially won the race to wear me out. After the first few batches of pickles, the cucumbers got away from me. So far, I'm staying on top of the tomatoes and basil. The highlight so far was yesterday's homemade pizza, with kick-ass homemade sauce from my Juliet paste tomatoes and a few Black Krim thrown in for kicks. The Yukon Gold potatoes are like buried treasure; I love digging them up! I've also been a pesto machine; I freeze it and enjoy it all winter. And tomato salads of every kind -- for me, not Mason, of course. Tonight, though, Mason will get a debut of my first attempt at salsa. I expect great accolades!

Mason has been busy rebuilding the front porch, which was slowly rotting away. And now he's tackling the upper deck off the loft. If it involves a saw, he's pretty damn productive. He's also tackling Robert Caro's latest LBJ book, so there are lots of afternoons on the porch. (I just finished Robert Gates' memoir; now onto lighter fare ...)

Meanwhile, my main task every day has been watering. Watering. Watering. And watering some more. (Oh, and pissing and moaning about the deer, which have been exceptionally pesky this summer.) But the past few days have finally brought some relief from our extreme drought. Just now, we had a hell of a storm that dropped 2 inches of rain in about an hour.

What 2 inches in one hour look like.

Dog Days of Not Quite Summer

Sometimes, just before sunset, the whole forest glows in a wash of gold. I took this at 9 p.m.

It's become an almost embarrassing routine up here on Flat Top: Water plants, eat breakfast, do dishes, make bed, walk dog, take on the Project of the Day. Lunch, dishes, upstairs to read. OK maybe nap a bit. Then back to the projects till 6 p.m., when we walk Nick again. Shower, dinner, dishes and feet up with a cold beer. OK, maybe the cold beer starts a bit earlier. Never underestimate the value of a cold beer in the shower.

Don't judge too harshly. He was a labor of love.

The latest project was building a 5-foot-tall, moss-stuffed bear. He sits outside the guestroom, welcoming all who come see our corner of the world. As soon as I put his head on, I had great regret that my silly little project was just a bit too over the top. Then he grew on me, so he's here to stay, assuming he can weather the storms.

We broke up the routine the other day just slightly, adding a 3-foot-long rattlesnake to spice things up. I was watering the bear-adjacent plants, back and forth, back and forth over my little wooden "bridge" on my mulched pathway when I noticed something under the bridge. Yup. Mr. Rattler was curled up underneath, and we suspect he was taking a nap with a full belly, because he hardly moved when we gently removed the bridge and shot his ass. We also suspect he had a full belly, because our neighborhood chipmunk who lived nearby has not been seen since. A few days earlier, Mason and I had watched that chipmunk for at least an hour as he ran out to the bird feeder, stuffed his cheeks, and hopped back to his bear-adjacent hole in the ground. It was hot out and watching him for a good hour was the highlight of our day. Damn snake!

Native azalea Gregory Bald.

Well look at that. It's time for that second walk. Nick's staring at me with intent. Not sure where he hides his watch, but that boy knows the schedule. It's a grueling routine, but someone's gotta do it.

Farewell to a Fine Friend

We didn't let her see the sign that said "Cash for Junk Cars."

Pretty certain I saw some glistening in Mason's eyes today when we had to say goodbye to an old friend. Our 1992 Dodge truck hadn't run at all for a month or so. Last week, Mason made one last effort to rescue her, but it failed. So we made the call. On the bright side, we scored $200 for our pain and suffering. So, cheers, old truck! You had a very, very productive 10-year run with us. I suspect we won't replace you anytime soon, unless someone's got a really good deal for us.

In other news, after an exceptionally dry spring, it finally rained here today. All afternoon. Yup, you saw it coming: another nap! When I woke up, I whipped up some homemade beer cheese soup that could break all records for fat content.

I'm still not making any new friends, am I?

Just Hanging

The clematis finally took off this year. Yippee!

 So, over the weekend, we invited my former garden nursery colleagues to brave a full-moon bonfire in the backwoods of Flat Top. Three came. Three really cool people, who brought two more suckers, who are really cool people, too. And we had a lovely time.

While here, one asked us: So how do we spend our days? Under the influence of a few homebrews, I'm not sure I answered properly. But I can't tell you how easy it is to be a bum.

Today, for example: Lie in bed for a hour or so in the morning, reading the news on the smartphone and listening to NPR.  Then, homemade pancakes and breakfast tacos with spinach from the garden. Wash dishes, water the veggie garden and new grass-seed patches. Walk the dog. Then I launched into weeding the veggie garden, while Mason began all the prep work for bottling beer. Then we bottled beer. Made lunch, ate lunch and did lunch dishes. Hmmm, kinda tired by then, so up to the loft to lie down with a book and maybe, OK, yes, catch a little nap. Then it's up again to do some garden pruning and hand-watering plants with collected rainwater, while Mason worked on the tractor motor. Then Dog Walk No. 2, on which we brought loppers and trimmed up some of the trees leaning into our walking paths and roadway. Hot shower, "Jeopardy" -- don't call us at 7:30-8 p.m. -- then make dinner.

See? And we just repeat it the next day, and the next ...  Hmm, I'm not making any new friends with this post, am I?

A Scarlett Something Itoh peony. I need to write these names down.

I'm working on building a 6-foot bear like I had in Minnesota. It's a work in progress. Need more moss.

 

A Blur of Spring

Siberian Iris, my all-time favorite for spring.

A blur of springtime activity has sprung on Flat Top. Most important, everything’s green! Two days ago, I woke up and it was as if someone had popped open an umbrella of a million leaves overhead.  Gorgeous. And we’ve been graced with baptisia, iris and hardy geranium blooms, and my favorite: new plumes of needles on all of the conifers! Love me some conifers …

The former maple 5 feet from our cabin. I have an art project planned for that stump.

Mason woke up with a burst of energy that same day, and we launched into the last tree harvest for the season. We saved the hardest, or at least the most nerve-racking, for last: a 65-foot maple that was leaning over the cabin.

But first the 70-foot pine tree blocking its path to the ground had to go. And the pine’s first limb was way, way up there. So Mason tried to slingshot a golfball, tied to a “Twisted Mason Line,” aka string, over that lowest limb. But it wasn’t powerful enough to launch the ball high enough, so he just went with his manly brute strength: He flung it up there; it took a few throws (maybe 11). We use the string to tie to a stronger rope, which attaches to a steel cable, and then the Jeep (used to be the truck, but she died last month) puts tension on the cable, so that -- hopefully -- the tree falls away from the house.(They did.)

Before lunch, we had the pine down and cut up. By dinner time, the maple was down and sectioned, too. Phew. Several trees are still within striking distance of the cabin, but at least they aren’t leaning toward the place. And so ends the Winter 2016/17 firewood harvest.

Things are also hopping in the vegetable garden, with spinach, lettuce and arugula already on the dinner table. Each day starts with a list of my garden chores; I rarely get to all of them. One recent task was planting a ton of annual flower seeds, the frugal gardener’s best friend. Zinnias and cosmos, make my summer!

  

My pal Terry gave me all these irises. Above them is my wisteria.

 

A hardy geranium, called Espresso.

I've got columbine coming out of my ears.

Why We're Sore

One red oak plus two white oaks equal warmth next winter.

If you wonder how Mason stays so thin, the answer is genetics. But the photo above also explains it all, too. Yup, it's firewood season. And we're hurting for it.

Yesterday Mason took down three oak trees; the last one was pushing 70 feet tall, with a trunk at least 18 inches in diameter -- all the way toward the top. It came down with a serious earth-shaking thud.

Just getting the tree ready to come down is a chore: clearing small trees and brush so Mason has a clear path to flee once the tree starts falling, and getting a cable rigged high up so we can use Mason's trusty old truck to pull it in the direction we want it to fall. Once a tree is down, we have to clear off all the little branches and pile them up for backyard burning once they've dried a bit.

Then Mason hauls out two chainsaws and slices the trunks into 16-inch-long pieces. We stack them in a pile, so that when we've recovered from taking them down, we can then split and stack them all. When we're all done, we strip down and do the tick check: four on me yesterday, just two on Mason. Then we collapse with cold beers.

Oh, did I mention I did all that on a black-and-blue ankle? (No, not a drinking accident; just a spill off the front stairs while trying to hoist an inherited antique bookcase into the house.)

Yesterday's 6-hour haul should bring us close to what we need for next winter. We think. So the question is, as soon as we're done, what will be the next project?

Two of the trees we took down will give us more morning sunshine on the veggie garden, and make room for maybe four more fruit trees. That's my nectarine tree, above.

Apple blossoms!!! My espalier tree survived a winter attack by a root-chewing creature. Bunnies wiped out my first batch of spinach, and the deer are fat on all my blueberry blossoms.

Highway to Heaven

This stretch used to resemble the craters on Mars. Sweet, sweet gravel.

The one and only thing we wish we could change about living in the backwoods of Flat Top Mountain is the 2.5-mile-long dirt road leading to our house. Well, this week 0.75 miles of our wish list came true, and we are celebrating beyond belief. Just look at that photo above!! Spectacular.

Here's the story. We've been writing every government official possible for the past several months. We knew we were tilting at windmills, and indeed, the two officials who bothered to get back to us both let us know it was considered a private road and we were on our own. (Whatever happened to "No taxation without representation"?) It was up to the landowners on either side of the private road to fix it. At this point we should mention that one stretch had gotten so bad, that we took to dumping bags of quick-set concrete into potholes that were swallowing up our Jeep's front end.

For several weeks, we pursued an alleged process to request that the county take over the road. But after three weeks of un-returned phone calls, we had basically given up.

Then came last Monday. HOLY HEAVY EQUIPMENT!!! Apparently the wealthy landowner who owns both sides of the first stretch owned up that he was responsible for it. A dozer, a grader and truckloads of gravel later, WE COULD NOT BE HAPPIER!

Now, warning to all those considering a visit, you'll still do some rock-climbing to get here. But man, that first 0.75 mile is lovely.

Nick the Dog, loving the spring sunshine.

Mr. Daffodil says it's spring.