Pea Fence

At Rural Ways, we will not be fooled: We know that winter isn't quite over yet. But, it was 70F today, and time for some gardening. Actually, peas are a good cold weather crop and they can go in the ground by about April 1st (no joke). So, today I installed the pea fence . . . tomorrow the (whirled) peas. BTW, see the soil? Nicely tilled, huh? By hand. Yeah, 1200 square feet, tilled by hand. I'm not smart, but I'm strong.

2,4-d

In one corner of The Homestead, we have a salt cedar shrub (Tamarix spp.)—an ugly invasive that I have cut and sprayed repeatedly. I recently asked one of the guys who maintains the city streets if he could come and grind it out with his stump grinder. He said that it would be best to make sure it is dead first, and recommended spraying it with 2,4-d. The herbicide 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid has been widely used against broadleaf weeds for at least 60 years, and should be as common as, well, weeds. Unfortunately, it is a little bit difficult to find. Almost everything at Home Depot is a glyphosate, like Round-Up. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Round-Up, but it isn’t 2,4-d. Fortunately, the Home Depot web-site includes links to the Material Safety Data Sheet (MSDS) for each of its products. After looking through a dozen of them, I found that Bayer Advanced is made of 2,4-d. I’ll try some tomorrow.

Talking About the Weather

This week marks the end of March and beginning of April. Every year at about this time, Rural Ways begins fitfully transitioning from winter to spring. We spend one day working in the garden and the next day huddled around the stove while a blizzard blows through. Last year, we engaged in public speculation for at least a month (here, here, and here). This year, we look set to do the same. After pruning the orchard, raking the garden, and doing more deer fencing, we welcomed another winter storm yesterday, and woke this morning to The Homestead covered in ice. Welcome, as they say, to spring in the Rockies.

View from a Truck Stop

When Rural Ways is at home in Parowan on a Saturday morning, we always go out to the TravelCenters of America truck stop near the freeway for a snack. Ellen and I drive the Chev over the highway, park by the feedlot, and walk across the five acre parking lot to the store. Besides truckers, what we mostly find there are people from Vegas and San Bernardino. It is one of the interesting things about having I-15 in the Parowan Valley: You park in a feedlot, in a valley with more sagebrush than people, get out of your vehicle and find yourself in suburban California, which, from what I can tell, is mostly about hip-hop clothing and tattoos. Anyway, inside the truck stop there is a little food court with some tables. Ellen and I grab a sleeve of crackers, a bottle of juice, and a diet Pepsi; give our money to Jennifer, who works every Saturday morning; and go sit at one of the tables. Along with the loud people from elsewhere there is always, at one of the other tables, a pair of old men—friends—sitting quietly. They are locals, with the same habit that we have. Every Saturday, they go to the truck stop, buy a pint of milk, and sit at the table together. They don't say anything, they just sit there. Occasionally one of the employees will come by and the men will ask after so-and-so's mother, but mostly they are quiet. After a while they get up and go out, leaving their chairs for truckers and families with sullen kids dressed like gangsters. Pretty soon, we, too, finish our snacks, cross the overpass, and return to southern Utah.

Alta, Utah

After a Mountain Man breakfast and a couple of shots from the flask, I wasn't sure Mark would be up for skiing. I needn't have worried. It turns out he's pretty good. We skied Wildcat for a while, and then took two laps through the Gunsite. After a run on Alf's it was time for a beer and some sausage in the parking lot. The next stop was Lone Star. Unfortunately, it was closed. Fortunately, Mark is a pretty good cook, too. We had fish tacos in Summit Park, an Argentine Malbec, and a little ibuprofen. Another good day on the crik.

Garden Starts

At Rural Ways we've started planting for the 2011 growing season. The problem that we frequently have with this process is a lack of space. The seeds are tiny, the germinants are small, but the seedlings can be large. Where shall we put them? They can't go outdoors because they would freeze, they can't go in the back room because they need sunlight, they can't go on the chairs because we need somewhere to sit. It seems like a good idea to start the garden from seed, but it is awkward to share one's living space with flats of tomatoes.

Meadowlark

Usually, about this time of year, the meadowlark returns. With its throaty call, the lark promises that spring is coming soon. This year, however, the song of the lark has remained absent. I realized this the other day when I awoke from a dream in which I watched a female meadowlark build her nest. Winter is, of course, not over, but we've had some days in the 50s, and the robins are settling in—I heard them scolding the cat yesterday as she wandered beneath one of their nesting shrubs. I think the lark should be back. But, if he is not perched on my fence post, where is he?

Cornell University calls the meadowlark a "bird of open country," which is probably why I like him so much. And what is more open than the Parowan Valley? So, Ellen and I went out to the Valley to find the lark this morning. We stopped to listen at some hay fields, empty but for the sagging wheel lines: There was nothing but the sound of a few crows. We went on to the unplowed country, full of sage and rabbit-brush: Nothing but crows. Does the meadowlark know something that I do not? Has spring been postponed?