For two weeks already, we are in Maine. The Internet works only sporadically, and my mind is not on blogging.
Maine, this summer, has taught me these points:
1. At least once a day, I dip into the ocean – either for a swim or after the sauna. The water down-east used to be so cold, I would freeze to the bones in minutes. But global warming is real: Now I can stay much longer.
2. The French Commissaire Maigret, Georges Simenon’s master detective, describes a morning in Paris thus: “Maigret always loved wandering the streets, while Paris made its morning ablutions.” Ablution, of course, is a fancy word for a cold water gush.
3. On my birthday, at full moon, we kayaked at night to the seals’ rock. It was something to remember – the smooth ocean, the bright moon, the sleepy calls of water birds. I saw the other boat only by the silvery run of drops from the oars.
4. If you dream of owning a boat, forget the expensive stuff – the stinkers with motor. Get a kayak, used, if possible! Put your kayak in a river, a lake, the ocean. Hear the silence of Nature speak to you when you paddle by.
5. I see herons, eagles, cormorants and terns – and the ubiquitous seagulls; I hear loons and ospreys. And, so far, I met a fox, deer, seals, feral cats and lots of chipmunks and red squirrels. The most exciting meeting was a with a hummingbird moth – because I had never before seen one. And we have real hummingbirds, too; it’s inconceivable how they can survive this far in the north. I understand they drink birch sap in the spring. In August, they suck nectar from my phlox.
6. I think I might be finished soon with my Kneipp novel. But I have thought that before … Read More
Blog: On Health. On Writing. On Life. On Everything.
Composting Is Renewal of Life
July 4, 2010
Years ago, we moved into a house with a garden. The very next day I bought five composting bins. My husband declared that didn’t have my priorities right – with not a single cradle and box unpacked. I could not imagine what could be more important than starting composting.
You know what to throw in, and what not: No proteins – no fish, no meat, no cheeses. But all fruit and vegetable scraps can go in. Books (and better blogs than this) tell you how to layer kitchen refuse with garden clippings. My method is easier: Throw everything in, and let time do its business. With five bins, one is always ready with crumbly dark humus.
Another easy rule governs my gardening: No turning of the soil (except establishing a new bed). I don’t rake leaves in the fall; why would people take out of their garden what would nourish next years’ growth – and even pay to have this garden gold hauled away? The main point is to never ever step on the soil directly to not compress it. There are stepping stones all over my perennial beds and berry patches. That way, the soil bacteria have breathing room to do their good work.
Does my garden look tidy? Surely not. Some neighbors made sneaky remarks the first few seasons. They have long given up. Now everybody stands and stares and comments on the beautiful wild bloom of my garden. Because we don’t spray pesticides or herbicides, all kinds of fauna appear year-round: birds, skunks, raccoons, foxes, chipmunks, squirrels. Non-poisonous weeds I use in the kitchen – for instance the invasive wild vine that has more resveratrol in its leaves than red wine. Just be very aware that Nature can be fierce: deadly nightshade looks confusingly similar to the untrained eye. Know your stuff before you eat it! Read More