Winterizing the Quick Hoop

I woke this morning to a delightful snowfall here in central Connecticut; a quick dusting that delayed the school opening and gave a taste of winter.  I peeked at the garden and noticed that the quick hoop low tunnel covering my beds of winter greens was sagging under the weight of very little snow. The tunnel, constructed of 1/2" PVC electrical conduit hoops draped with agricultural row cover, needed an upgrade to survive heavier snows to come.

Ag row cover quick hoops sagging under the weight of wet snow. The sagging material between the hoops illustrates the need for ridge support. This photo is from spring 2016.

A trip to the hardware store fetched me a 100' coil of 1/4" poly clothes line and a 100' roll of 10' wide, 6 mil thick polyethylene sheeting. I removed the row cover and stored it for next season. I then ripped a scrap of pressure-treated 2x4 stud into two sturdy stakes with the table saw. I pounded these in on both ends of the low tunnel, then proceeded to string the clothes line across the tops of the PVC hoops to create a ridge beam, so to speak.  The clothes line instantly frays at the cut ends so I found it easiest to pre-melt the area to be cut with a lighter, then cut in the center of the melted area. I then sealed the ends with an additional torching.

Cutting the clothes line in the middle of a pre-torched section to limit fraying. The cutting tasks went super quick with my new $10 razor sharp Mora sheath knife!

Finished rope end.

I tied the line to the first stake with a bowline, then fastened it to each PVC conduit using a clove hitch. 

Bowline attachment to the first stake.

Adjustable clove hitch on top of each PVC hoop.

I adjusted all the clove hitches so there was no rope slack between the conduits and then tied the line to the second stake using a trucker's hitch for quick tightening. The idea with this design is to structurally integrate the stakes, conduit, and rope to form a continuous support for the cover so that the weight of snow will not pull down the cover and bend the hoops towards each other.  

Trucker's hitch connection to the second stake

The low tunnel with clothes line "ridge beam". The rope appears slack because of the uneven heights of the hoops, but it is actually quite taught between the hoops and stakes.

I rolled out and cut the poly sheeting to length; leaving it a few feet longer on each end of the tunnel to follow the rope to the stake.  I weighed down the edges with rocks and called it a day.  The whole project took about 30 minutes and that included some time to harvest arugula, spinach, and radishes before covering them up! On a whim, I also seeded a few rows with the last of the spinach seed.  They'll either rot over the winter or sprout into super early spring greens. 

The finished product sheltering the winter greens. To the left is the garlic bed mulched with leaves and to the right is a stand of oat and pea cover crop that will winter kill leaving a mulched bed for spring planting.

The quick hoop seems fairly sturdy though I will still have to be diligent in brushing off snow; no sense in pushing my luck. I'll harvest greens periodically throughout the winter and hopefully there will be an early spring flush of growth.  Until then, time for wood stoves, Nordic skiing, and planning for next year.  Only another couple of months before it's time to sow onions indoors and start grafting apples!

Musings on Education

 

Fixin' tractors with firewood and milk cartons.

 

I recently acquired a used BCS two-wheeled tractor and discovered some significant mechanical gremlins that went unreported by the seller (caveat emptor, eh?). I took a stab at the job rather than paying big bucks and waiting weeks for a small engine repair shop to perform the work and I am happy to report a successful outcome. The major work included repairing the power take-off transmission to address some worn gears and a fuel system overhaul (including a carburetor rebuild) to address a fuel starvation problem. Other work included general control cable adjustment and lubrication, repair of an electrical short circuit, engine valve adjustment, and replacing spark plugs and the air filter. All told, the project was fun, vastly informative, and very attainable with the help of online tutorials and a willingness to tinker.
 

What does small equipment repair have to do with education?

I have absolutely no formal training in small engine repair. I also have no formal training in any number of trades that are commonly employed around the home such as plumbing, carpentry, wiring, and painting. Heck, let’s even throw sewing in there for good measure. A homeowner faced with a need for these skills typically has two options - learn the skills or hire them out. I, being of frugal stock, typically (but not always) chose the former. I am fortunate to have a father who showed me how to change oil as a youngster, thus imparting the first lessons of mechanical literacy. The rest has been trial and error.

Again, what does this have to do with education?

Aside from one semester each of shop and home economics in middle school, my public education was completely bereft of trades topics. The trades are almost completely absent from the American curriculum even though they are essential to our daily lives. Grade schools focus nearly exclusively on math, history, science, writing, and reading and the obvious path preferred by society is for students to graduate high school on a college track to prepare them for a white collar career. This was my path and it has suited me relatively well but I feel that I missed a whole lot. Yes, I have a broad liberal arts training and can hold conversations on diverse topics in mixed company. But I get a bit anxious when I am faced with an ostensibly simple task such as replacing a water heater. I mean hell, I cloned my own DNA in biology lab, how hard can replacing a water heater be? Umm..yeah...screw up that 240 volt wiring and you can kill yourself pretty quick. Or flood the basement if the pipes aren’t soldered correctly.

So what, hire a contractor, right? What I’m getting at the education system displays an inherent bias that “smart” kids should only pursue academics and that everyone else is predestined for the seemingly less worthy world of trade work. For a high school student with good grades to even express an interest in the trades would bring the immediate scorn of guidance counselors, teachers, and peers. And unfortunately, the kids with less than exceptional grades are made to feel like they are not as worthy and their future successes will be limited. Except, trades are no second fiddle and require as much training and intelligence as academic work plus a whole lot more common sense! Plus, the trades offer the possibility of business ownership that is often absent from the white collar world. Recognizing that tradespeople work long hours in demanding conditions, I think that there is a lot of satisfaction and pride in the problem solving and craftsmanship that accompany these lines of work. And then there is the college educated office worker who shuffles through the workday alternating between boredom, apathy, expediency, and contempt. Sure, the trades have these attitudes too, but I just don’t see as much pride and satisfaction in the white collar folks. Certainly not as much common sense.

I think there may be a sizable percentage of high school and college age students that would be much happier if they were given a chance to explore alternatives paths. Perhaps some core classes such as introduction to trades, entrepreneurialism, basic accounting, and agriculture (one can be optimistic). The school system wants to develop specialists; I say let’s develop well rounded citizens literate in academics, arts, and trades. I once heard the concept that conflict between two people or groups arises from differences in skill sets. Or to quote Mark Twain, “it ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble, it’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” Expand literacy, bridge the gap between blue and white collar workers, build an educated and capable citizenry, and rebuild this democracy.

 

Keep tinkering on those tractors!

New Adventures

My wife and I recently purchased 6.8 acres of land in northern New Hampshire with the goal of building a home and homestead and moving there full time within five years. Oh, and do it all with cash out of pocket without a mortgage. Ambitious? Unrealistic? Sure, and perhaps, but I’m up for this challenge!

What are my motivations for wanting to leave a comfortable home, good paying job, and established social circle? Well, it’s complicated! First and foremost, I love spending time outdoors. In my twenties, I expressed this love by partaking in backcountry ski tours and backpacking trips into the wilds of New Hampshire, Vermont, and New York and motorcycle trips all over New England and beyond. Over time those adventures grew repetitious and I progressed into more home-centric pursuits of gardening, food preservation and preparation, and simple woodworking. Having children certainly ushered this transition! Now nine years into my garden experiment, my ambitions and space requirements have grown beyond my quarter-acre suburban parcel. I need some space to try things out! My wish list includes: growing most of my family’s annual supply of grain and dry beans, establishing a fruit, nut, and firewood orchard, raising a flock of sheep for meat and pasture mowing, raising chickens for eggs and meat, and expanding the kitchen garden to increase the percentage of fresh home-grown foods consumed by my family. Still being the adventurous outdoorsman at heart, I want to do all this within a short drive of some real mountains with hiking, skiing, hunting, and fishing opportunities. Hence the selection of the property merely minutes from the White Mountain National Forest and less than a 30 minute drive to some of New Hampshire’s most spectacular mountain playgrounds.

I have other motivations as well. I want to provide my children with a foundation of essential life skills, a respect for physical labor, and a reverence for nature. I’ll break down these three concepts a bit further. By essential life skills I mean skills that are universal and transferable such as growing and preparing food, using hand tools, making basic repairs to homes and equipment, and proficiency in social interactions, among others. I recognize that these skills can be taught in any setting, urban and rural alike; however, the nature of a working homestead should be conducive to these lessons. Socials interactions may or may not be more difficult in a rural setting; neighbors are few and far between but schools and community groups such as 4-H can fill that gap. We currently live in a neighborhood with many children but most times they are indoors behind a television set since outdoor play is constrained by busy roads, property boundaries, and ill-defined fears of "danger". As far as the universality and transferability of skills, cooking, building, and fixing are performed in all parts of the world and are the basis for higher skills. If my children want to specialize in something more esoteric like computer programming or high finance, fantastic, but they will at some point have learned how to pluck a chicken. Should the job market for esoteric skills crumble, I hope my children can fall back on basic skills for employment. When it comes to physical labor, my goal is not to make them love labor, but to have done it and therefore respect people that labor for their livelihood. Basically, I want them to know that labor and laborers are not beneath them.  Reverence for nature is a fairly straightforward but deep-reaching concept. It is easy for urban dwellers to champion movements to combat distant environmental degradations because they don’t directly see how their own resource-intensive lifestyles are the root of such degradations. Living in and among nature on a farm adjacent to forest could offer a more direct pathway to see how our actions influence nature. I would like to teach my children how to pursue a lifestyle that regenerates ecosystems.

My third motivation for the homestead is rather ambiguous so I’ll just throw out some thoughts in an attempt to define it. I foresee a decline in the American standard of living; in fact, this decline is well underway. Our nation is no longer the king of the heap with regards to manufacturing prosperity and we are moving towards a service economy with severe global competition. Globalization is forcing down wages, benefits, and the quality of goods while shifting wealth to multinational corporations. I foresee the power of sovereign nations diminishing in the face of consolidating corporate influence. Perhaps most significantly, I am concerned that the current growth economy model will falter as we tap out finite natural resources. How will our 401(k) plans fare if the Ponzi scheme that is Wall Street falls apart? Someone will still get rich but it won’t be you and me. We have the illusion of wealth in the form of new McMansion homes and shiny vehicles but I suspect much of this is supported by unending debt. We as a society have decided that convenience is paramount, so we willingly hand over cash to purchase items and services that we could easily produce or perform ourselves. When we hand over cash we relinquish control, and that is precisely how corporations have gained so much influence. So how do we regain control over our finances and government?  DO IT OURSELVES! By “it” I mean as much as possible; build our homes, grow our food, participate in government, so on and so forth. A man unburdened by debt and obligation is not easily manipulated. So to wrap up this thought, my homestead can be thought of an experiment in independence, or perhaps a long-term safety net for my family should the economy really start to slide. Now, I am not a doomsday prepper or anything like that, but I think having a piece of land that produces food, fuel, shelter, and recreation is as valid and diverse of an investment strategy as a mutual fund, if not more so. Trees continue to grow during floods, droughts, wars, bear markets, and the decline of civilizations. So why not invest in trees?

All of this is grand philosophy until I can pull it off!

Kindling the Spark

I enjoyed a wonderful parenting moment this weekend. My son Finn and I took advantage of a sunny February afternoon to hike in the woods and spend some time together after a busy work week. We drove to a nearby state-owned conservation land and began our trek at a lesser-frequented section of trail that is bestowed with interesting bedrock formations, stone walls, a relic truck body, and a sugarbush strung with sap collection lines. In other words, an area ripe for exploration by a four-year old, his dad, and their eager dog!
 

A snow storm two days prior had coated the forest with an inch or two of wet snow that was juxtaposed by temperatures nearing 50 degrees. We hiked with snowboots and light jackets and reveled in the warm sunshine on our cheeks. The first hour found us winding on and off the marked trail, climbing onto rock outcrops, and throwing snowballs for the dog to chase. We walked to the edge of a pond, marveled at the snow-covered beaver lodges, and turned back to retrace our footsteps to the car once the dog had a well deserved pondside drink.
 

I’ve noticed an interesting behavior with my son. In the presence of my wife, he often defers to her especially when faced with some sort of challenge. I suppose it is his instinct to turn to his mother for nurturing, which she instinctively provides. This is all good stuff, but I (perhaps too dogmatically at times) would like to see him at least attempt to struggle with challenges. Perhaps it is my fatherly instinct to prepare my son for the rigours of life. Anyway, when he and I are alone, on this hike for example, he is much more willing to take on a challenge. He walked nearly the entire 2 or 3 miles and only once asked to be carried over a particularly steep and slippery bit of trail. He never once complained about wet gloves or tiredness, and maintained his youthful inquisitiveness and sense of exploration throughout the hike. Without his safety net, he was far more willing to take risks.
 

The highlight of the walk occurred minutes from reaching the car when I pointed out a standing dead birch tree that was colonized with mushrooms. I asked Finn if he knew what the mushrooms were doing on the tree. “They’re eating the tree,” he correctly replied, recalling lessons from earlier hikes. (Such are the burdens of having a father with a degrees in biology and environmental science...no hike is safe from an impromptu science lesson). He then inquired why the mushrooms were eating the tree. I explained how all living beings, plants and animals alike, eventually die and the mushrooms eat dead things to return them to the soil. He chewed on this for a few seconds then astutely stated, “So mushrooms make the tree into little pieces of soil so that new trees can grow. And then those trees die and become new trees!” And within this 30-second bit of dialogue, my son intuitively grasped one of the fundamental cycles of life. We walked a few yards past the dead birch and he turned and quietly studied it for quite a bit longer as the revelation resonated in his brain.

As a parent of young children, my biggest hope is that I can at least instill a sense of wonderment, respect, and awareness of the natural world. After yesterday’s hike with Finn, I think I’m on the right track.

Reinvigorated

I need to write more. Not just blog posts, but in general. Writing skills, as with most abilities, develop and hone through repetition. I left an environmental consulting job for a more field-oriented position over a year ago and no longer do much technical writing. Writing was so central to that job that, in retrospect, “writer” would have been a more suitable job title than “senior project geologist”. There were aspects of technical writing that I enjoyed and despised, but one positive point was that the tedium of preparing technical reports pushed me into creative blog writing as an outlet to blow off intellectual steam. The desire to continue this blog, however, waned along with the work-related frustrations when I took the new position. However, I desire the challenges and rewards of creating, so thankfully I have this venue to reinvigorate that body of work. This blog is mostly for my own use; sure, I am satisfied if others read it, but its true purpose is my creative outlet. Writing in the public domain also challenges me to focus and refine my musings, unlike my sometimes rambling and intensely personal handwritten diary entries. So, here goes.

Vignettes of Mansfield

This post has been kicking around as draft for over two months.  Today has been the first real kick of summer; 80 degree temperatures, humidity, and a late-afternoon thunderstorm...perfect to reflect upon the recent cold months and one helluva ski adventure.  Plus, I don't think Marquis de Richmond would forgive me if I failed to publish this...

All the weeks of planning and anticipation smack us in the face as we step outside the warm cocoon of the truck, coffees drained, and the insistent cold instantly penetrates our clothing.  A creeping urgency overcomes us as we hustle to don ski boots and packs and make the first nervous uphill strides towards an icy, uncertain summit with the rising sun at our backs.  The first mile passes quickly and intensely as we struggle to build warmth against a stiff headwind; breath condensing and freezing on our beards until we resemble some sort of macabre ice beasts.

The urgency softens atop the first pitch as the grade mellows and the trail carries us into the relative shelter of the trees.  Grooving now, we progress in a steady rhythm of strides and contemplation, punctuated only by pleasant conversation and the occasional biting gust.  The aerobic furnace delights me, as I am only wearing a thin baselayer and a light fleece jacket in light of the minus single digit temperatures.  Only upon traversing an opening in the trees does the wind remind me of the relative human frailty in the teeth of a Vermont winter.  Nature, it has been said, is neither for you or against you, but entirely indifferent.  And intolerant of mistakes.

Marquis: illuminations in civil twilight.

We gain the summit of Mansfield and waste no time in seeking the refuge of the Octagon Lodge and a prime seat on a sunny south-facing bench.  After a rejuvenating hour of beard thawing, polypro drying, hot chocolate drinking, and snacking, we again suit up and venture into the maw.  We slink towards the summit of the Nose and are only momentarily baffled by an apparent discrepancy between the map and reality.  We gain the correct trail in short measure, weigh our options, and plunge into the Teardrop.  This short mile weighed on our minds during the ascent, for it is the test piece that can make or break our voyage.  The Teardrop, you see, plunges us down the west side of the mountain; two ridge lines and many miles from the truck, and guarantees us a rigorous ski home.  The descent, as it turns out, is but a brief Alpine interlude to a day of Nordic travel.  After a few quick bursts of adrenaline, "oh shit I'm not in my 20's anymore" moments, and hoots of exaltation, we come upon our next trail and the movie rolls into the next scene.

The Teardrop is familiar terrain, but new at the same time.  We visited these woods almost exactly eight years ago on a similar trip (different ascent), anchored by inadequate gear and meager skills but buoyed by boundless youthful enthusiasm.  The common denominator is timeless enthusiasm...for skiing, wilderness, and companionship.

Now...March 2014

And then...March 2006.  Same kid, same icicle, different perspective(s), plus Voltron.  Photo credit: Clarksie. 

Indulge me for a minute more as I wax nostalgic...because it's fun and I'm slowly aging and these things become really important.  Here are the protagonists, now and then, on Mt. Mansfield adventures...

Marquis and Woods Hippie, west flanks of Mansfield, 2006.

Woods Hippie and Marquis, en route to Mansfield, 2014.

Well that's enough reminiscing!  We survived the modern-era Mansfield adventure with 13+ miles under our belts that day.  After a celebratory pint and a well-deserved shower at our host's home (Mrs. Woods Hippie's aunt and uncle), we ventured even further north into the wilds of East Albany and proceeded to throw down the ski swagger with vengeance.  Not to brag (and by that I mean to totally brag), these old farts woke up before 5 AM, climbed and descended Vermont's highest peak, delighted in Vermont's finest brewery, and raged Vermont's finest IPA until the wee hours of the morning.  Then we woke up and raged a 14 kilometer Nordic ski while the Texan defiled himself in front of an obliging crowd (no photos...to protect the innocent...and by the way, these Woods Hippie posts are full of hidden meanings and inside jokes; you really must join me on these trips to get in on the action!). 

Mansfield from Morrisville.

The highlight of the East Albany adventure was Sunday morning, when we struck out from Jebediah's homestead in fresh powder on the light Nordic gear; true backcountry skiing in the sense that there are no set trails, no grooming, no snow-making; just pastureland and woods through which the intrepid explorer sets his own path.  There is no easy way to words to describe the experience of the blissful cross-country ski; where you simply close your eyes and traverse a field by feel and sound alone more than vision, navigating southward by the warmth of the sun on your cheek and the sensation of untrammeled snow beneath your skis.

These are the moments that carry us through what will undoubtedly be another long, hot summer.  But for now, we enjoy the lingering New England spring; our annual reward for surviving a winter for the records.  Spring, the eternal season of rejuvenation and redemption, but never far from our minds is the promise of unequaled adventure in the snowy north woods...

Be well,

Woods Hippie.

A poem about trees

Some images emerge with clarity from the fog of childhood

Stately hickory, maple, and ash casting shadows of reprieve

from the warm Connecticut summer

But, as the saying goes, these too shall pass

as the child kneels in a pile of woodchips

and vows to once again pierce the sky with the softening canopy

of bough and leaf

So, as the snows settle in and the soil freezes deep

the child, and the children of children

anticipate those warm Connecticut days

when three traveled apple trees will take root

and cast their first spindly shadows upon the world.

On Food and Religion

Any dedicated readers of this blog (all two of them, I fear) have likely gathered that I value food quite dearly.  More specifically, I value the concept of nutritious, whole, safe, right food.  Not just USDA-Certified Organic, which has become a marketing tool for a lucrative sector of international agribusiness, but local food grown by people who care about soil, body, and spirit.  To me, a sound interest in food is a gateway to health unparalleled by today's "advances" in medicine - the contrast of a proactive lifestyle vs. reactive treatment.  At least that's how I see things now, having been blessed (whether by genetics, lifestyle, or blind luck) with an existence free of medical issues.

My quest for sound food burns bright.  I want to spread the word, either by growing great produce for my wife and child, convincing my parents to adopt better eating habits, or blogging about gardens.  I can feel it; the intrinsic sureness that the power of community surrounding local agriculture is key to wrestling our economic, governmental, medical, and spiritual freedoms back from the exploitative corporate oligarchy that looms over us.  Our salvation from consumerist dystopia!

But then I take a step back and reflect on my passion for sound food and the words I use to describe it.  Blessings.  Freedom.  Salvation.  What separates me from the religious zealot who seeks to convert all to his mindset?  The proselytizer who is convinced that his absolute viewpoint is absolutely correct?  The power of God and the power of organic carrots...in the grand analysis....do the indifferent ears upon which the message fall even make a distinction?  Just more noise in a world where everyone is looking to sell their schtick?  I am not a religious man nor am I versed in theology, but I sometimes fear that my dedication to the food thing amounts to more than worshiping false idols.  Perhaps I should be focusing energies elsewhere...but where?  Nonetheless, I am guided (and reassured) by the sense that my passion is morally right despite the uncertainties of swimming upstream against the stiffening current of a consumer society that increasingly devalues such introspection.

To be clear, I use food as the centerpiece, but by no means the sole focus, of my philosophy.  My concepts of a wholesome lifestyle extend beyond simple nutrition.  Connections - to the earth, our bodies, minds, and fellow humans, are paramount and intertwined.  The religious man very likely holds the same values, with the obvious additions of the love a greater being and the promise of an afterlife.  Me, my anguish and dreams alike are rooted in the belief that this earthly existence is our one shot, so we better well make a damned good stab at it.  And if that means I must swim upstream, so be it.

The Wood Shuffle

The arrival of the autumn foliage means that it's time for the annual firewood shuffle. I have about four or five cords of seasoned wood that have been drying in the shelter of pine and hemlock trees on the north and northeast side of my property. I'm in the process of restacking this wood on pallets on my back patio so I'll have easy access to it through the hatchway door come winter. Last year I burned about 3 1/2 cords of wood and ran out by late March. I should have plenty on hand for this winter! 

The seasoning area beneath the trees will be occupied shortly with freshly split white oak, maple, and hickory that will constitute next season's fuel. The wood burning game means I'm always stocking (and stacking) wood for a season or two in the future. I quite pleased to note that I've scavenged all of this wood for free from family and friends who have had trees taken down for various reasons. I've yet to cut down a tree for the sake of firewood.  With all this wood, I only burned 3/4 of a tank of oil last winter.  Burning wood is a lot of work but it keeps the oil man away!

Speaking of splitting wood, I've switched over to the Fiskars X27 splitting axe. I've previously used a standard splitting maul from the hardware store. The Fiskars axe is lightweight and has a razor sharp edge to slice its way through wood rather than bludgeoning the log like a maul. I can swing this axe for hours with far less muscle soreness. The trick is to keep the edge very sharp; Fiskars offers a slick little sharpening tool. Of course, the largest logs require the traditional wedge and sledge technique to make smaller chunks that I can split with the axe. I save the gnarliest and knottiest pieces for the hydraulic woodsplitter.

Here's the equipment I'm using right now.  I use the maul to drive the wedge, but a long-handled sledgehammer is probably a better tool.  Stay safe and get yourself a pair of safety glasses and work boots, too!  The Fiskars axe is worth every penny.  I've split about 5 cords with mine and I've been very pleased.

A season's worth of heat = homeland security.

Now, allow me the opportunity to wax poetic on wood splitting for a bit. I love it. I really love splitting by hand rather than using a hydraulic splitter. Why? First and foremost, hand splitting is quiet…I can listen to the birds in between chops with the axe. Also, hand splitting is highly meditative; much like motorcycling and backcountry skiing, complete focus is needed to do the task well. Each piece of wood becomes a silent puzzle…I become the Log Whisperer and read the grain to determine which way it wants to split. I look for knots and other features that might influence the direction of the split. The swing of the axe is a calculated application of inertia and muscle. I can step back for a moment and admire the remaining color in my fall vegetable garden and watch the evening sunlight play on the pines that tower above my chopping block. A few hours of splitting settles me into a slow rhythm of physical labor that is eminently rewarding as I sweat out my frustrations and the pile of split wood grows. 

Gabby dog supervises the stacking operations with a tasty pine cone.

It ain't just choppin' wood, folks!

Chimney Sweep on the Cheap

Autumn is here, which means the first fire in the wood stove is only a few weeks away.  Although the forecast this week is for daytime temperatures in the 70s and 80s, the shortening days inevitably mean colder weather to come.  This winter will be the third season I've burned a wood stove at my home.  I decided to do a quick chimney sweep on the cheap to ensure trouble-free heating once the frost makes itself at home in central Connecticut.

Here's an easy method to sweep a stainless steel chimney using household materials and some vegetation.  You may have to modify this method to suit a masonry flue.  Disclaimer: Please hire a professional if your chimney is heavily fouled with creosote (and stop burning green wood, eh!).  Chimney fires are no joke.  This technique is for lightly to moderately fouled chimneys. And don't blame me if you fall off your roof!

Materials:

1. Rope, at least as long as your chimney plus a few extra feet
2. A branch from a tree or shrub that is big enough to scour the flue without getting stuck
3. An old tennis ball or similar sized object
4. Duct tape 
5. A buddy to call 911 if'n you do something stupid 

Step 1:  Remove the rain cap on the top of the chimney and the clean-out plug from the bottom of the chimney, if it is so equipped.  Enjoy the different perspective while standing on the roof.
 

Of course I somehow had to include the garden in this blog post!

Step 2:  Duct tape the tennis ball onto one end of the rope.  The ball acts as a weight to carry the string down the chimney.  Drop the ball and rope down the chimney (hold on the other end of the rope, duh!) and cut the rope a few feet longer.  Duct tape the branch onto the upper end of the rope.

Step 3:  Position the branch in the flue.  Have your buddy on the ground slowly pull the end of the rope with the tennis ball to draw the branch down the pipe.  A good amount of dry dust should come down with it.  Repeat the sweep a few more times.  Reassemble the chimney.

Appropriately enough, the branch I used was from a shrub called Lena's Broom.

If the branch comes out of the chimney coated with sticky tar-like substance, then you have a real creosote problem.  Creosote is formed when wood gases are not completely burned in the stove and then condense into tar on the cooler flue surfaces.  The best remedy for avoiding creosote is to burn properly seasoned hardwood instead of resinous softwoods such as pine, avoid slow smoldering fires, and use a stainless steel flue that will heat up faster than a masonry flue.

There are reasonably-priced DIY products if my dirtbag approach is not your style...

Woodheat.org has a ton of well-researched and FREE information on how to season and burn wood efficiently.  Check them out right now!  

The woodlot in all its glory.  Bonus points if you can spot the dog.

The sun sets on another suburban homestead project.

Can't wait for winter, but I love fall!

Cover Crops in the Fall Garden

I have three species of cover crop growing in my garden right now.  I like growing winter cover crops rather than just covering the garden with leaf mulch for several reasons:

• Grassy cover crops grow extensive root systems that protect the soil from erosion.
• The plants uptake soil nutrients that otherwise would be lost to leaching.
• They inhibit weeds.
• The tall cover grasses increase soil moisture by trapping snow and shading the soil.
• Legume species produce their own nitrogen fertilizer.
• Cover crops increase levels of organic material in the soil.
• They're cheaper and easier than hauling in manure or compost and serve the same functions.
• I like looking out my window in mid-winter and seeing plants in my garden!

 

A well-established bed of rye and vetch sown after the potatoes were harvested.

I've sown winter rye and hairy vetch in most areas where I've pulled out the summer vegetables.  Rye and vetch are the most winter hardy cover crops for New England and will grow until the deep cold of January and February.  Vigorous growth will resume in the spring.  The spring growth will produce an amazing amount of biomass from the rye, and the vetch (a legume) will increase the fertility of the soil through nitrogen fixation.  The rye/vetch mix will have to be mown and tilled under in the spring.  The major drawback of rye is that the residues will inhibit the growth of other plants for at least three weeks after tilling in the rye.

Rye and vetch sprouting beneath the fall lettuce patch.

The tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant were undersown with oats around mid-July to provide a living mulch.  I'll pull these veggies once the first frost hits, leaving behind a well-established oat cover crop. The oats will die over the winter and leave a nice mulch on the soil to protect against runoff during the spring rains.  I can either plant spring crops directly through the mulch or till it under.  Similarly, I planted rye and vetch beneath some of the fall veggies like lettuce to let the cover crops get a head start.  I typically plant the winter cover crops no later than the second week of September; any later and the tender young plants will not fare well against the early frosts.

Oats were sown beneath the tomatoes in mid-July.

Next year I will experiment with more mid-season undersown cover crops using legumes such as dwarf white clover.  The clover will act as a living mulch that should reduce the slug problems I had this year using leaf mulch beneath the plants. 

The Difference a Day Makes: An Overnight on the Twin Range

Johnny G. on the Bondcliff Trail hiking south to camp.

A few months ago, I was working on a project in the basement and glanced at my backpacking and camping gear sitting unused in a musty storage bin. "Geez, I haven't been on a proper backpacking trip in about three years, what a shame," I lamented to myself. Backpacking, you see, is one of my absolute favorite outdoor activities. Of all the outdoor sports, I consider backpacking to be the most "pure" because of the inherent simplicity of walking in the woods, the self-reliance of carrying your life necessities on your back, and the enhanced situational awareness of navigation, weather, body, and trail conditions. Of course, backpacking trips are the hardest to come by these days precisely because of the time needed to pull one off (such are the compromises of being a parent). That, and there are few people out there who are willing to subject themselves to such "recreation".

Johnny G. near the summit of Mt. Guyot.

So, much to my delight, a planned family day hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire morphed into an overnight excursion with my cousin Johnny G, a participant in one of the famed Bolton backcountry ski trips. The plan was simple; the family, Johnny, and I hiked the 2.8 miles to the Appalachian Mountain Club's Zealand Hut via the Zealand Trail. For those of you hiking with small children or, ahem, older folks, the hike to Zealand Hut is moderately difficult with rewarding views of mountain marshes, streams, waterfalls, and Zealand Notch. Not to mention, you can buy hot food and drink at the Zealand Hut and have yourself a proper sit-down potty break if the occasion calls for it. After lunch at the hut, Johnny and I parted ways with the family and continued another 5 miles along the Twin Range to the Guyot campsite on the southeast flank of Mt. Guyot.

I love hiking in the fog. I estimate that two out of three White Mountain hikes I've done in the last 3 years have been shrouded in mist…a testament to the stormy temperament of these mountains. Day 1 of the Twin Range expedition kept the foggy streak alive. The fog obscures the obvious vistas and forces us to look elsewhere for inspiration…those intricacies that go unseen on clear days when sweeping mountain views capture our attention. The movement of the wind, normally invisible to the human eye, is portrayed in swirling droplets that pass through the trees with a whisper. The scent of pine pitch, strangely resembling cotton candy, is somehow amplified by the mist. These sensations haunt and excite me, and they are worthy reasons to hit the trail on less than perfect weather days. I reflected on similar sentiments in my blog post about a hike on Mt. Moosilauke almost exactly one year ago.

Pemigewasset Wilderness.

As the family hiked back to the car for a comfortable evening of hot-tubbing and Web TV, Johnny and I forged through the fog, passing by the cloud-choked Zeacliff view, the imminently forgettable forested summit of Mt. Zealand (but one of New Hampshire's 48 peaks over 4,000 feet above sea level), and the rocky moonscape of Mt. Guyot. The trail gave us a nice blend of rocky, heart-thumping climbs and mellow ridge traverses, perfect for conversation, observation, and photography. And then there was the nerve-jangling rush of flight from a disturbed spruce grouse! As the day grew long in tooth and our legs weary, the trail brought us to the Guyot campsite. The friendly (half stoned) caretaker informed us that the tent platforms were full and offered us space in a crowded lean-to or an overflow tent site that was in the path of a water diversion ditch. Thanks, but no thanks. We elected to try our luck at a tent site on the ridge between Mounts Guyot and Bond…windier, but without the human commotion of the main campsites. After a quick dinner and beverage, we retired to the tent as daylight faded. That evening, the ridge was host to the tumultuous arrival of a cold front that evicted the fog from the mountains. The winds raced down the ridge from Guyot to Bond and onward, sounding like automobiles on a highway overpass. Our tent, sheltered by the thick evergreens, was not affected by the wind and offered us a unique vantage to the readjusting pressure gradients above us. 

Zeacliff, Day 1

We awoke just prior to sunrise over the Willard Range to the east. The clear, dry air of the cold front had swept the Whites free of the mists that defined the previous day. What a difference a day makes! We struck camp after a quick breakfast and gained the summit of Mt. Guyot around 8AM. We were gifted with sweeping views at every point of the compass…North and South Twin to the northwest, Mt. Lafayette and the Franconia Range to the west, Bond and West Bond to the south, and Mt. Washington and the Presidential Range to the east. Just as impressive was the sweeping view of the vast forested Pemigewasset Wilderness. And to top it all off, the valleys were filled with morning fog that hid any evidence of humanity, save for the towers on the summit of Mt. Washington! Wild!

Zeacliff, same vantage point, 24 hours later.

A few short hours of pleasant hiking brought us to Zeacliff, where our view of Zealand Notch had been rebuked by fog just 24 hours earlier. The Pemi Wilderness sprawled out beneath us, framed to the east by the rock walls and talus slopes of Whitewall Mountain and to the south by the imposing massif of Mt. Carrigain. We watched a raven ride a thermal, gaining thousands of feet of altitude in less than a minute with nary a wing flap. We stood on the cliff, spellbound by the panorama, too engaged in our surroundings to remember to take off our packs for a brief rest. The utter solitude was punctuated only by the distant roar of the many cascades that drain the steep mountainsides. Zeacliff was the exclamation point to a great hike and a fitting reward for our fogbound travels.

The Twin Range expedition was a quick hit of wilderness that stoked the flames of passion for outdoor adventure. I once again shouldered a pack of trusted camping gear and wandered into the woods in search of… 

Absolutely Nothing. 

Low tide?

That's right!  Nothing!  An interesting development in my outdoor experiences! In years past I put a lot of emphasis on these adventures to somehow find or define myself, or prove something to myself and others. I think that even the Moosilauke hike a year ago was in a similar vein…the tumultuous account of that trip was a reflection of a transitional time in my life. But now that parenthood has settled in and my perspectives have changed, I find myself asking far less of my outdoor trips. I simply want to get out and enjoy them. By stripping away such expectations of "meaning", I leave myself more receptive to serendipity, and I come out of the woods feeling refreshed, and CALM.  Calm - there's a term I would never use to describe myself when I was in my 20s!

So, despite my lack of expectation (or maybe because of it), the woods once again taught me a lesson. 

Thanks for a great hike, Johnny.

 

Safe travels, all!

 

 
Backpacking Resources
 
The essential White Mountain hiking guide:


Thinking about getting into backpacking? Great! Read this book first before you head to REI or EMS and spend a fortune to outfit yourself with the newest backpacking gear. (Better yet, click on the Amazon and eBay links to buy gear and support the Woods Hippie!) The authors take a humorous, yet no-nonsense approach to backpacking equipment and techniques. Even experienced trampers will find some useful nuggets of wisdom.

 
Search for backpacking gear on eBay:

Garden Successes and Failures

2013 was an interesting garden year here in central Connecticut.  A lingering and cold spring warmed into a very dry May that was classified as a moderate drought.  June brought heavy rains to the party, followed by a scorching July.  August was a blessing of a month; the warm days and cool nights enveloped us in the glorious remnants of summer while hinting at the splendor of the upcoming autumn.

Of course, the only thing normal about weather is that it is never normal, and we gardeners simply take it in stride and plant many varieties in the knowledge that some will fail and some will succeed.  So, I present to you, select garden successes and failures of 2013!

The Good

Delicious.

Eggplant!  Oh, the glorious eggplant!  This was the first year I grew the purple globes, and I was rewarded with two plants that just produced and produced some more.  The variety was Galine.  I'm growing these guys again next year.

Heirloom tomatoes...I grew Cherokee Purple and Pink Brandywine.  Cherokee wins hands-down for flavor, color and texture over any other variety that I have grown.  I will confidently state that one of my mid season Cherokees was the finest tomato I have ever eaten.  It totally ruined me in that I will never enjoy another store bought tomato for the rest of my life.  This tomato will be the garden dragon that I will chase for years to come.  Yup, that good.  Also, the Honeydrop Cherry tomatoes (not heirlooms) made a fine showing for the second season in a row with an endless supply of sweet orange/yellow fruits that were always eaten before they made it into the kitchen.


Snap beans, lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, and broccoli (finally!) produced very well this year.

The Bad (that's harsh...let's just say The Mediocre!)
The garlic crop came in early, small, and somewhat bland.  I can't complain because I received free seed last year.  I did make a sweet garlic braid, which I count as a success!

The Garlic Whisperer.

Spring-planted turnips performed very poorly, but the July planting made it to the table in fine fashion.  The rutabagas and cabbage took forever to get going, but the rains of June helped spur growth, and the results were quite tasty.

My first rutabaga.

I will not grow Cosmonaut Volkov tomatoes again.  The plants were slow to mature and prone to blight, and the fruits were somewhat bland with a weak red color.  That said, they were tastier than 95% of supermarket tomatoes, so it's all relative, folks.  But now I'm chasing that dragon, you see, and I have no room in my garden for this.  Life's too short to drink cheap beer and eat shitty tomatoes.

The Ugly
Peas, golden beets, and sweet corn were abject failures.  I made multiple plantings of each and experienced near total germination failures.  I understand the peas.  The poor seeds were subject to cold and rain and then total heat and drought.  By June, I mercifully pulled the few plants that grew and sowed a cover crop of buckwheat.  One or two plants produced peas.  Naturally, they were the sweetest and most tender peas I have ever grown...a pure tease of what could have been.

Rainbow chard...a pretty picture in the "ugly" paragraph.

I had a tough year for summer squash.  I ate exactly one patty pan squash and one zucchini before the plants fell prey to vine borers and powdery mildew.  Last year I was overrun with these fruits.  Funny how these things cycle from year to year.

My peppers all got worms before they ripened.  Oh well.  There is always next year.

The Take Home Message
I learned so much in the garden this year.  I tried growing eggplant, onion, leeks, parsnips, rutabaga, and turnips for the first time and got tasty harvests of each.  I finally beat the weeds by using hoeing techniques I read about in Eliot Coleman's essential garden book, The New Organic Grower.  I spent about 20 minutes a month weeding my 400 square foot garden, without having to bend over or pull a weed by hand.  I improved irrigation techniques and relieved a lot of drought stress that I believe my garden has suffered in years past.  I experimented with custom-made fertilizer mixtures that stemmed from a laboratory analysis of the nutrient content of my soil. I'm pretty excited for next year...I've expanded my garden by another 560 square feet and tilled in 750 square feet of my grandparents' backyard.  It's all growing a cover crop of rye and vetch right now and will be part of next year's grand experiment in gardening!  Stay tuned!

Some of it looks perfect.  Some of it looks funky.  But it's all organic and all tasty!

Garden Technology

I constructed some very simple garden tech this summer.  This equipment has really helped me out and has set the stage for next year's improvements.

My favorite tool this summer was a simple impulse sprinkler that I hose-clamped to a metal sign post.  I spent the money on an all-metal sprinkler because I was tired of breaking the crappy plastic ones.  The added height of the sign post allowed the sprinkler to cover more area with fewer moves.  That said, I found the effective watering radius to be about 15 feet.  I used a plastic rain gauge to accurately measure the amount of water I was putting on the garden.  I aimed for 1 inch of water every 4-5 days.  The rain gauge, of course, measured rain, so I was able to tailor my irrigation in consideration of the natural rainfall during a given 4 day period.

Next year I would like to hook up 3 or 4 of these in series to irrigate the whole garden with minimal effort.  The disadvantage of the impulse sprinklers is that there are water losses to evaporation, it is reliant on chlorinated tap water, and the plant leaves get wet and are more susceptible to fungal diseases.  I'm not (yet) willing to invest in a drip irrigation system, but I might be temped if I can increase the capacity of my rainwater storage system.

Which brings me to my next piece of garden tech, my rain barrel!  I've had a plastic 55-gallon barrel sitting in the garage for years, and I finally got around the constructing a rain catchment.  I used an electric drill with a hole-saw to make the cutouts for the spigot and overflow.  I used an electric jig saw to cut out the opening for the downspout.  I used simple PVC piping for the overflow.  I purchased a brass hose bib (spigot) from Home Depot and a plastic bulkhead fitting from Tractor Supply.  The bulkhead fitting is the key to a watertight connection since it has rubber gaskets that make a tight seal to the barrel and is threaded to accept the spigot.  Don't try threading the spigot directly into the plastic barrel or it will surely leak.  The debris screen is a colander that was sacraficed for the cause.  I assembled this in about 30 minutes.

  

I used the rain barrel mostly for field-washing vegetables from the garden (always followed by a tap water rinse in the kitchen), irrigating the blueberry bushes, washing out the compost bucket, and hand washing after yard work.  It would be easy enough to link together several barrels to increase my storage capacity so that I could experiment with a no-pressure drip irrigation system in the garden.

Click on the images below to link to Amazon if you want to buy some of the components and tools to build your own rain barrel.  Find the plastic drum locally, if you can.  The shipping will cost more than the barrel.  Just make sure the drum hasn't held toxic materials!!!

Rain Barrel Components

The last bit of garden tech is decidedly low tech.  My old pallet compost bin rotted away, so I made up a new one with four pallets and some baling wire.  Wiring the pallets together was much faster than using screws, and allows me the flexibility to easily open up the bin to shovel out compost.

What garden tech made your gardening easier and more fun this summer?  Please share your innovations!