Square-Foot Gardening

This year we started our first foray into "Square-Foot Gardening". (I suppose that here in South America it should be called "Square-Metre Gardening", but that just doesn't roll off the tongue as well.)

Following a good friend's suggestion, I had foregone purchasing a book (gulp) about the process and had instead visited the Square Foot Gardening website, read through all the info, and made my plan. Then I had to pull out my dictionary - the Spanish-English dictionary, that is - and look up all the words I might possibly need before making the trip to the vivero. I looked up 'peat moss', 'compost', 'soil', 'vermiculite', 'moisture-retention', 'weed-barrier', and so much more, jotting the words down in the little notebook I keep in my purse for vocabulary, braced myself with a dozen or more deep breaths, and off I went.

I walked through the entire store first, hoping to just find the things I was looking for without too much difficulty. And for the most part I was successful. I found the peat moss, compost, and garden soil, but still I needed help with choosing which variety of those would be best to purchase. The woman working the counter was helpful, allowing for my halting Spanish as I tried to explain what I needed, and guided me to the right items, telling me prices, too, since many things didn't have prices on them.

I got out my pen and turned my vocabulary list into a price list so I could report back to my Dear Man before purchasing.  Costs approved, we made our purchases a couple of days later.

My bale of peat moss - turba - We almost didn't go through with the project because of the cost of this one item.

My Dear Man had already constructed the ground-level frames we were going to use, so  now the whole family was ready to set to work.

Brown-Eyed Boy helps me lay the weed-barrier.

Two planters ready for the triple-mix.

Brown-Eyed Boy and Little Man mixing up the triple mix. (We altered the proportions slightly because of the cost of the turba, but it should be okay, don't you think?)

One planter filled with triple-mix under the approving eyes of our neighbours' dogs, Linda and Pongo.

(See the lemon on the right? A bumper crop of lemons on the tree this spring, then our landlord pruned it and it'll be a while before the new fruit is ready to pick!)

The first planter was string-divided into 9 sections, each roughly (you guessed it) one square foot in area. Each of the children was given a row of three sections to plant as they chose. All three went for plantas de frutilla (strawberry), and girasol (sunflower) for two sections, and their third sections were zanahorias (carrots), marones (peppers), and lechuga (lettuce). The seeds went in a couple of days after the planter was ready.

All of us were eager to see what would come up, and how quickly. With the exception of the frutillas, all were started from seeds, and we hoped that, living here where there are no pesky squirrels, we might have some nice results with the girasoles (unlike the attempt that My Girl and I made at 'building' a sunflower house several years ago).

Sadly, however, the leaf-cutter ants quickly discovered this new food source, and completely wiped out the leaves and buds from the frutillas as well as the early sprouts of the girasol in Brown-Eyed Boy's center square.

Early sprouts

Frutilla - a great harvest crop... for the leaf-cutter ants

See how those nasty ants have completely removed the leaves from the ends of the stalks, not to mention chewing away some of the stalks themselves? Nasty ants.

We decided that we weren't going to take the ant-attack lying down and went to the store to find ant killer of any kind, as long as it was POWERFUL! The single treatment we gave did the trick, and we haven't had such an attack since.

The frutillas made a come-back, and the later girasol sprouts not only survived, but thrived, although only in two sections; My Girl's girasol square is still completely empty as a continual reminder of the sad day when the ants were discovered.

All the initial prep and planting was done September 10 and 11, with the early sprouts and ant attack occurring in early October. Since then I've also planted my own planter with peppers, carrots, tomatoes, and lettuce, and the kids have added peppers, carrots, and lettuce (I think!) to theirs, filling in open sections where plants didn't come up.

Here's the progress so far:

Two tall sunflowers - the one on the left is Little Man's, the one in the centre section is Brown-Eyed Boy's. Behind them you can see the strawberry plants filling out nicely - all three of them!

My planter

 

A couple of pale berries that will be candidates for picking very soon!

Brown-Eyed Boy has been the most diligent of all three children in terms of watering, although even his efforts have been sporadic. We don't have a watering can, so we're using one of the plastic pots with holes in the bottom that the flowers from our front garden came in, which involves making multiple trips to the tap in order to water both planters. 

We hope to see some nice growth from the new sprouts (photos to come later) in the other crops, and to be able to pull fresh carrots, lettuce, peppers and tomatoes from the garden soon.

Longing For Home

Home. It is more than location.

I'm thinking of home these days past, wondering where it really is. 

Home is where my family is. My Dear Man, who is so dedicated to all of us. My Girl, who is now becoming a young woman with independent thoughts and maturing outlooks. Little Man, not so little, but still unaware of so much. And Brown Eyed Boy, whose charming nose crinkles make my heart glow.

Not just them, though. 

My parents, far, far away. Wherever they are is also home. In their familiar presence, with their familiar love.

My sisters, my brother. They, also, make home for me. Memories come when I'm with them more than when I'm in a specific place.

Home is where I share history with those around me. Friends. Neighbours. Brothers and sisters in Christ. Those who know me and love me anyway. Those whose presence makes me smile. Those who will embrace me when I need it, and not just when I ask for it. With those ones, too, is home.

A nomadic upbringing, never living more than five years in one location, having seven homes in four different provinces by the time I was 18. And another eight homes in the first 12 years of my marriage. Is it any wonder that 'home' isn't a place?

::

When I think of 'home', I think of this line from Steve Bell's song "Home" on his "Simple Songs" album.

"Home is anywhere He leads me."

 It's true. Anywhere with Jesus is home for me. And if I'm where He is leading me, there's no better place to be. 

::

You can listen to a short sample of that song. Click the link, scroll down, and click the play arrow beside "Home".

Preparing for Christmas without Sensory Cues

Christmas comes where there is no snow. Truly. 


I have to wrap my mind around that and work to begin preparing for Christ's arrival. 


That's what Advent is for, and here I'm finding that observing Advent is ever so much more personally necessary than it was in North America. Somehow the snow, dark evenings, cozy indoor times wearing sweaters, and snow gear all through the front hall became huge cues for me that Christmas was on its way. 


Not so here. There is no snow. The sun is still up at 9pm. Shorts and t-shirts are what we're wearing. And all the windows get opened once the air cools off in the evening (at least the ones with screens). None of those sensory cues are here for me to prepare my heart for Christmas. 


So we've started our annual Advent readings a couple of days late, but with much more longing than usual. Something has to remind us that we're about to celebrate the greatest gift of love!

What's in a Name?

For years I've wanted to be able to name our home. But it just isn't something that's commonly done in Canada. So, even if I did name it, the likelihood of the name ever coming into common use was pretty slim.

Then I moved to Uruguay.

People in Uruguay name their houses! Practically every home you see has the house name posted on the gate or on the lawn. In fact, the houses don't have numbers in most neighbourhoods of our city, just names. So when you get an address it sounds something like:

     Bay Street

     between Brunswick and Douro

     House: Talsma

     City

     Postal Code

(makes me a bit curious about mail delivery, but it seems to work)

The home we have rented already had a name: Yuchan. Yuchan is a variety of tree here that is growing in the front yard. But there was no sign, and we thought this might be my chance to name a house. 

Before long we had chosen a name.

When my Dear Man and our colleague went to work out the final rental agreement with the owner and the lawyer, they asked if we could choose our own name. The owner balked.

"You can't change a house's name! It's bad luck! It would be like changing the name of a ship or boat; it just isn't done!"

We thought that was the end of it, and I resigned myself to living in a place called "Yuchan".

And I tried not to be too disappointed.

Later that same day the two men met again with the owner about something else, and he brought up the naming question. "You go ahead and give it a name if you'd like," he said. "In all the years we've lived there we never even made a sign for it. It will be fine."

So, here we are, in a home we love, quirks and all, AND I was allowed to give it a name!

A couple of days later we realized that we needed to work fast: the telephone company was sending their workers to install our phone line and the address we'd given included the new name.

One of the teen-aged boys on our team got out his sautering iron and burned the name into a leftover piece of lumber that was in their yard. On our next trip to our house we set up the new house sign.

It is my prayer that everyone who enters our door will find refuge: a place of sanctuary and peace, welcome and safety:

Bienvenido a El Refugio

Welcome to The Refuge

50(5x2 + 6) + 5x17 + 5x5 = stress

The morning began the night before.


I stood in the living room, tears in my eyes, and sobbed to my Dear Man "It's not going to work!"


The reply came with a gentle hug. "You go to sleep. And imagine that while you're sleeping the packing elves will be hard at work."


So I did go to sleep, lying beside a tearful daughter, praying silent prayers of peace and comfort for a girl who is aching.


Wakefulness came early, just as sleep came late. The autumn sun wasn't yet risen when I returned to the living room.


Sure enough, the packing elves had been busy through the night. There were more bins sitting ready to go on the airplane with us. Unfortunately, the little piles of personal belongings seemed to be just as plentiful as they were the night before. And so the tears returned.


Another trip to the hardware store to purchase two more bins.


Another period of rearranging the binned items to keep the weights below the magical 50 pounds.


Loved Ones came to give last minute assistance and to give good-bye hugs; their help was like gold.


And by the time our scheduled departure came we were ready with our 10 allotted bags (2 each at 50 pounds) plus 6 extras (50 pounds each) and carry-ons (one carry-on of 17 pounds plus one personal item each - we quickly learned not to call those 'purses' for the sakes of our little boys!).


Let the travelling begin!

Temporary Lodgings

It was late August and we had nowhere to go. All we knew was that we had to be out of our home on the 15th of September and that there was no way we'd actually be leaving Canada until at least the end of that month. We had no place to live once we left Bay Street, and our home in Maldonado wasn't going to be ours until our support was at 100%. 

And it wasn't.

In the last week of August we put a note in our church's bulletin making people aware that we needed a temporary home for our family, that it would be at least for two weeks (probably more, but indefinite), and that we were willing to consider anything from a camper parked in someone's driveway to house-sitting for someone.

By the end of the afternoon we had received three offers of places to live, and a week later we knew where we would be.

Our temporary home has been provided by families from our church who have a large home with 3 apartments. Each apartment is fully equipped for a family, but the three units are joined by an additional kitchen: the Big Kitchen. Our apartment is the upper level of the original farmhouse on this 60 acre property, and, we are overwhelmed with the way God provided for us in this time of transition.

Our front door

We were originally told that our apartment wouldn't have appliances in the kitchen, and we were prepared to go downstairs and do our cooking in the Big Kitchen. But on the day my Dear Man began to move our belongings into the apartment, the owners told him that they had just arranged for a fridge, stove, and dishwasher to be installed before we moved in! 

Once again we were flooded with thankfulness. We had been ready to 'make do' camping in a driveway, and here we were going to be living in an apartment larger than the home we'd moved out of, with space for the kids to play, and fully equipped with all we could want - including living-room furniture brought in from the family room of one of the other homes.  

(And again we cry out a mighty thank you to the fellows who brought all those items up: the furniture from two floors below, and the appliances, including two trips for the fridge!)

The upper floor is ours - the first three windows on the left are the living room,  the next two are from our bedroom, and the last two are My Girl's room. The kitchen, bathrooms, sun room, and two more bedrooms are at the back of the house.

For five weeks now we have lived in this gift of a home. Little Man and Brown Eyed Boy have revelled in the spacious property: woods with a tree-fort, fields to play baseball in, and a ditch explore! 

A glimpse into the forest from the 'baseball field' that's next to the barn where The Ones I Love keep their bikes.

My Girl has also enjoyed the outdoors: soaring in the tire-swing that hangs from a large tree just across the driveway from out door, space in her bedroom (the room she chose because the colours were exactly the same as those in her old room and matched her hand-made quilt) to do her school work in peace, and a place to entertain friends.

It has truly been home, which is so much more than 'temporary lodgings' could ever be.

Last looks over our shoulders at a home that echoes with empty silence:

50 Bay St.

Home for nine years.

The home where we went from being a family of three to a family of five.

The home which saw hours of effort to make it all we wanted it to be.

The home whose colours were chosen with care.

The home that shows the mark of each occupant.

The home that saw love and laughter, tears and pain, joy and sorrow, prayer and rejoicing.

One chapter closes.

Another begins.

Changing Schedule

My Dear Man has just begun his change to an 80% work week, so he's going to be taking one full day (or 2 half days, I suppose) away from the office and spending it here at home. And while it would be fun to just enjoy his presence, we are going to have to learn to keep on with our things while he works.

His day at home is to consist of phone calls, emails, reading, errands, research, and whatever else is necessary to work on preparing for our departure for Maldonado. This is his new work. It's not a day off, not by any stretch of the imagination. There are so many things to look into before we'll be ready to leave, not the least of which is bringing our financial support up to the required level. His days here are going to be busy.

But we sure enjoyed this week's work at home day, when we got to share lunch with him, My Girl got to go along on an errand or two, and he was available to rehang the light I'd just repaired.

Lots of change ahead. And having my Dear Man around more is one of the good changes!

::

(Dear Man's last day at the office will be August 5. Then things are REALLY going to look different!)

Durability

After 19 years, our wedding gifts are beginning to wear out...

... but not our wedding vows.

A Recipe

Amy pointed out that I didn't actually share the cookie recipe from Sunday's story. Here it is, for those who are interested.

Creative Chocolate Cheesecake Cookies

Cream together:

1 cup cream cheese

1/2 cup butter

1 tsp. vanilla

Beat in:

2 eggs

Melt 3 squares semi-sweet bakers chocolate and stir into mixture.

Add:

1 cup sugar

2 cups flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

Drop by teaspoonful onto cookie sheet. Bake at 325 for 6-7 minutes. Cool on baking sheet, then remove with spatula.

Yield: 3 dozen cookies.

Try not to eat too many! :)

A Cake Story of Operatic Proportions?

Cake has been on my mind for various reasons the past couple of days. First, there was the fact that Little Man is about to turn 7 and, in preparation, I had the privilege of making the traditional family carrot cake with cream cheese icing yesterday.

All did not go well. The three layers of carrot cake turned out beautifully, but trouble reared its head when I started on the icing.

I placed the softened cream cheese and butter in the mixing bowl and began the mixer. So far so good. I added the vanilla. That also went well. But then came the fateful icing sugar. I was under the impression that we had some in a plastic container in the cupboard, so I started digging around. Lo and behold, there on the lazy susan was a clear container with lovely white powder. Full! I took my measuring cup, scooped out the first cup of powder, added it to the mixing bowl and continued to mix.

Immediately I realized that something was wrong. I've made this icing often enough (too often, probably) that I know the smooth texture that should result from adding the icing sugar. And that isn't what I got. Instead, the creamed butter and cream cheese began to clump up, developing the appearance and texture of butter cut into flour when making pastry.

Quickly I dipped a finger into the white powder in the plastic container and tasted. It wasn't icing sugar at all, but flour!

So now I had a cup of cream cheese, a half cup of butter, a teaspoon of vanilla, and a cup of flour in the mixing bowl. (I'm so thankful that I hadn't added all 3 1/2 cups of 'icing sugar' at once!) What could be done?

I'm not very experimental in the kitchen, so I went to the Internet and googled recipes with those ingredients. And what I got was a lot of recipes for cakes with cream cheese icing. It seems that flour isn't often mixed in with cream cheese.

My big sister wound up rescuing me through a cross-country phone call. C advised me to try for chocolate cream cheese cookies, looked up proportions of ingredients that would suit what I already had, and set me to work.

By the end of the evening I was left with one three-layer carrot cake with cream cheese icing (thanks to My Girl running out to the store to replenish the cream cheese and butter), and 3 dozen absolutely delicious cookies. Each little cookie tastes like a miniature chocolate cheese cake!

Oh that all my mistakes would turn out so wonderfully!

The second reason that I've been thinking about cakes is because one of the blogs that The Ones I Love and I enjoy visiting is Cake Wrecks, where we see everything from the beautiful to the atrocious. On that site I found a link to this You Tube video, which I watched late last night after salvaging the cream cheese mixture, and while I really should have been in bed sleeping in preparation for company today.

I shared the video with The Ones I Love at snack time today, and they (the non-adult ones) watched it several times with bigger and bigger smiles each time.

So I've embedded the video here, and hope you enjoy it. Take the time to watch to the very end - the finale is terrific. And if you want an additional view of the final product, you can watch the same video here. The resolution isn't as good, but it adds a few seconds at the end to give another angle. Enjoy!

Transformation

While I was in North Carolina, my backyard went from this:

to this:

Isn't that beautiful? (See me, in your mind's eye, smiling broadly?)

Dear Man and the rest of The Ones I Love worked hard to roto-til the backyard just before I left home, and then, while I was away they laid sod, put in pea gravel under the spider web, layered stone dust over the field stones that had been placed before I left, re-sanded the sand box, AND poured a new concrete floor in the garage. The concrete now extends several feet forward onto the driveway, the rest of which is gravel, so the children have a fantastic surface for ball bouncing, skipping, chalk, and more!

Here are a couple of the photos My Girl took of the process:

And one parting shot of the yard, just to leave you with a glowing impression of how wonderful my family is:

Heavy whiteness blankets the neighbourhood,

Muffles sound.

(Eight more inches fell overnight.)

::

The task of releasing us from the home has returned.

Strong arms and back cooperate to move the barrier that keeps us inside.

(One shovel broke two days ago to be replaced by three new ones.)

::

Groans of an oversized engine sound across the way.

Heavy equipment has come.

Boys race to windows, stand, watch.

Uncertainty hovers.

Excitement?

Disappointment?

Joy is mingled with sadness.

(4 hours for the front end loader and dump trucks to clear away the pile in the parking lot.)

We've had more snow so far this winter than in many previous ones. Above freezing temperatures this afternoon and evening combined with rain have cleared away several inches of height, but much remains. The roads tomorrow might not be safe to travel to visit family, but we'll wait and see. In the meantime we have a quiet evening ahead still, and the anticipation of Christmas morning worship with our church family.

Blessings to all, this Christmas eve. Peace and joy be yours tonight, tomorrow, and in days to come.

Twelve More

Twelve more inches of snow fell overnight. Dear Man was supposed to visit a job site an hour away this morning and has decided to spend time in the office instead...a definite indicator that things are bad out there.

Some photos to back up my story:

The snow has piled up 14 inches against the sliding door that leads from our dining room to the deck.


The same picnic table I showed yesterday, looking even sillier.

This snow is deep!

And pretty.

Keep warm and out of the wind, everyone.

(I hear that my dear ones in BC are experiencing unusually large amounts of snow, too. I hope you are staying cozy, too.)

Fields of Home

Twenty-two years have passed since Dear Man has called these Fields home; still they draw him. Spring planting, harvest time; they call him to return, to breathe air scented with dark soil or cut hay. Farm is in his blood, yet it is not his vocation.

The Day of Thanks saw him return, an observer of the age old process of releasing the fruits of labour from the Land. Change has come since his time on the farm, equipment has grown in tandem with the crops, a new generation has passed their childhood here. Now the Ones I Love try on this rural cloak, wrapping eager bodies in green and gold.

Fascination with the Land is ever in us. It pulls us to the Creator, immersing us in a multi-sensory experience:

see . . .

hear . . .

touch . . .

smell . . .

One last look at evening's sky. A Day of Thanks. Full. Complete.