Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Ernie Thomas's Gloves


 This pair of wool gloves was knitted eighty or so years ago by Ernie Thomas, famous in my family, but dead before i was born:   a lumber jack, camp carpenter, and trapper, who (with his son Harlan, a Harisville area school teacher whom I actually did meet at my father’s funeral)  had, along with  my Grandfather) built a camp in the late nineteen twenties on the island people used to call Failing’s Island but we call Loon Island, close to  the North Shore of Lake Bonaparte. The camp has a big central fireplace to which they connected a big box stove for heating during the hunting and trapping seasons.
     One winter in the thirties or forties, Ernie Thomas fell through the ice as he was returning from running a trap line in the Bonaparte outlet to Mud Lake.  His body was never recovered.
 But we have the mittens and, for some reason, the moths have spared them completely.  Georgia says it is because we have not put them away.  I never use them.  Don’t want to wear them out. If we ever find Ernie Thomas, he will need them.

William's Way of Appearing

I will illustrate this post with an inappropriate photo because ... you will understand why:



       One dim morning as I came down from the loft, I thought I saw one of our yard cats curled up  on the deck just in front of the sliding door:  it was about cat size and grey-brown, but when I slid the door open, the cat did not jump up to get out of the way or into the house, as you would expect a cat to do;  it just lay there like a giant turd. Because that is what it was. A tightly curled, well-formed  sausage-cat of poop …   implying an animal big enough to eat a German Shepard.
           But I was  more or less  sure there was no such animal, at least not in my  neighborhood.  I was sure that the giant turd was  the work of my imaginary brother William. 
 Who else would go from yard to yard collecting dog shit, just to make a joke?
     So, by this sign  I knew William was back around again and that I would be seeing him soon, though not soon enough to clean the shit off the porch. The last I knew …I don’t know how long back … he was on the west coast wrangling animals, mostly  chickens, for those  period dramas where the streets are dirt and  ducks and chickens all in f flurry.
      I wonder what became of the Hollywood gig, or if his email about that was just another pile of shit.  Guess we will all find out when he shows his face here presently.     The Giant Turd happened two or three days ago.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Return to Wallnut Farm

I return to Wallnut Farm tomorrow. 
We built the house up on the hill in nineteen ninety .  This way up:


   You get a kind of a fish eye view up here.  Flying fish:
Lower Wallnut Farm, as seen from Upper Wallnut Farm:
From up here you can't see that there is at least one  cedar shingle missing from the roof I framed and shingled over the silo back then.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Hunting the Little Chicken mushroom.

 You have to speak their languages: 

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Getting Dry

Getting Dry

Our little house is cantilevered over the foundation of an early nineteenth century home on Pumpkin Hill, several hundred feet above Cayuga Lake.  The original farm extended from the lake over the hill to Payne Gulf, but the flat top of the hill at the center of it all has never had enough available water for a family with thirsty crops and livestock. During the early twentieth century, the hand-dug house-well was drilled down a hundred feet, but it  recharges slowly. The  fieldstone cistern in the old basement has tumbled and we now use it as a compost bin.

The single piece of slate that had covered the barn well was broken and tipped when we moved to the property, so we pulled it aside. I cleaned the well out and chipped a foot  deeper into the shale with a digging bar.

We built a deck over the well and installed a fountainhead over a six foot diameter basin excavated in the shale below it, and over a spillway below it, a somewhat larger and longer dug pond with a meandering outlet channel leading to a larger pond, then to larger one, long like a fingerlake.

I installed pumps in each pond, with hoses to circulate  water through the system. I figured that this would raise the moisture level of the surrounding soil for the Blueberries planted along the  banks.

I stocked the larger pond with native aquatic weeds that thrived, then with Crayfish that ate all the pond weed, then with Largemouth Bass which  ate all the Crayfish. I introduced Fathead minnows, which also thrived and  on which  the Bass grew large, spawning and spreading through the flowing brook to the lower pond..

Except for the high cost of pumping the system, this worked well enough during the normally wet years, Unfortunately, erratic is the new normal, and here on this glacier scraped hill, we don’t have the thick layer of clay needed to line a pond and hold water.  Ponds dug into shale loose water the same way they gain it: by trickle down.

A few years ago we had a very  dry summer  during which we lost most of the water and all the fish from our ponds. And this year we just enough water in the main pond for a few frogs. We frequently run the well dry watering our Tomato and Squash plots.

So this year I haven’t run the pumps at all. We do not take a lot of showers, or have a lawn.  I mulch heavily with straw. And this summer we installed  a five hundred fifty five gallon plastic water tank on the old front porch pad, where it is high enough so we can use it to water our upper level crop mounds by gravity feed. I am lining the  basin below the fountainhead with sheet plastic to prevent trickle down, and will eventually also line the next larger basin below that, giving us another thousand gallons that I can pump to the gravity feed tank.

Other than by increasing our water gathering and storage capacity, our most important adaptation to the dry conditions has been to concentrate on cultivating drought tolerant crops, especially volunteer Pears. Pears  are not native here, but they are tolerant of weather extremes, and of our thin, poorly drained, clay-laden soil, and after the Cayuga orchards were cut down by General Sullivan’s men, the Pears sprouted from the stumps, and invaded the landscape, coming up now through the Buckthorn which at first dominates abandoned farmland here. We have hundreds of naturalized Pear trees on our four acres, and I have grafted a dozen different varieties of cultivated Pears onto a hundred or more of them. I never water these trees.

Garlic is our favorite, our largest, and our most drought-resistant vegetable crop. We grow it (and Sunchokes and Asparagus) in mounds on orchard wet spots. Without mounding, there isn’t much soil at all, and the mounding both holds moisture and drains off the excess. Garlic does most of its growing in Spring and Fall when it needs no supplemental watering. This year, despite the dry summer and the fact that we didn’t irrigate the Garlic, we  have our best crop ever. We plant more and eat more Garlic every year. Maybe the Garlic diet protects us from dehydration, if not also from vampires. 

Despite their hardiness, his been a very bad one for our dear Pears, `not because of the drought, but because  of the violent hot and cold flashes this Spring. But given next year’s bumper Pear crop,  I plan to make a lot of Pear cider and drink it when I’m dry, even if it has gotten a bit hard. These are hard times.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Poor Orchard's Almanak: Companion Trees.


 

    My  poor orchard!  last year most of the fruiting was aborted  by heavy a  freeze shortly after pollination.  This year, most of it (other than the few Cherries we have) has already  been nipped in the bud by a heavy freeze just before the flowering began.  Only one in ten of my hundred or so trees that  are of bearing age on the grafted parts, have flowered this season.  The two or three that have flowered fully are on the slightly higher part of the orchard, probably because cold air flows down and the lower part of the orchard. Though well near the top of Pumpkin Hill,  our acres are mostly flat and poorly drained, whether of air, or of water.
  The wooded slopes of Pumpkin Hill are full of wild Pears and this year even there on the wild trees,the bloom , normally very intense along the edges of fields… has also  been about ten percent of normal. Hardly a festival.
          There are one or two trees on our lower section that  have bloomed well, including my favorite tree, flowering as lushly this year as any so far,  I suppose its companion Pine shields it on the North   When the seed Pears have grown up under the Pines, I don’t interfere too much with the pines.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Finger Farming



Finger Farming

   My old friend Alan Pike, no longer finger-farming with us, was the originator of that term; and as a matter of fact, I never heard   anyone else use it.   The closet to finger farming  I get with an internet search using that term,  is the Finger family farm on Facebook,  where you will find some monster tractor pics, and the possible impression that they are a family of seven or eight burly men who have gotten together to raise a small child and several thousand cows.  I don’t think the milking is done by hand on the Finger Family farm. but it is worth a visit for the picture of a cow trying to lick the person taking the picture.
    Finger-Farming in the better sense of the Alan Pike usage,  is farming with  one’s fingers, although Alan did of course use ordinary tools, and even used a borrowed tractor for a while,  but often did with his fingers what might have better done with an easily  available tool, often put more of his back and arms into the work than his fingers, and often used the term “finger-farming” in a general or analagos sense, as in “that’s just fucking finger-farming!” when some one tries to remove lug nuts with a bare hand and a rag, or  shovels snow off the deck with a spading fork. Not that anyone ever tried such a thing.

  On the other hand:  We have, and  Alan appreciated, the appropriate application of finger-farming: hand-breaking dirt-balls ( get them when they are exactly ripe and prime with moisture for busting), pulling weeds (after rain), pinching off suckers(cultivate typical guitar-picker’s thumb and index finger-nails for this, and  using the same fingers for flipping off Stink Bugs, and  flicking spiny little Mother-Buggers.