Sow There

By Elaine Gray
and Heather Hacking
Gardening Fools

As promised last week, we’re ready to reveal the weird recipe that’s practically guaranteed to make you look like you know what you’re doing when it comes to roses.
To get the details, we went to people who really do know what they’re doing: Julie Matlin and Cindy Rogers.
Both Chico residents, Julie and Cindy are certified rosarians, which sounds really impressive.
Julie is president of Butte Rose Society and she and Cindy write the group’s newsletter. Julie’s camera-shy, so you’ll just have to imagine what she looks like.
As soon as we started talking with these two, we knew we were in over our heads. They know roses like Alan Greenspan knows the economy, like Carl Sagan knew stars, like the chihuahua knows tacos. We were dazed after 90 minutes of rapid-fire information.

Julie’s pristine little garden contains more than 100 rose bushes. She also makes room for vegetables, flowers like phlox paniculata and butterfly bush. And a dozen active daycare toddlers. And a big dog. And a rabbit. And a teenage daughter.
With gratitude to Julie and Cindy, here’s the definitive Sow There! guide to helping roses thrive. We’ll share more from these rose experts as the year unfolds and we catch our collective breath.

Why talk about roses now?
It’s the middle of a dry summer, and temperatures are routinely in the ’90s. Roses aren’t blooming as much as they did in spring, or are looking a little worse for wear.
Julie recommended the following organic recipe for perking up a rose that’s failing to perform to expectations. Think of it as Viagra for your roses.
Julie also hit us with a startling revelation: “You’re in charge of your rose bushes, they’re not in charge of you.” Wow. What a concept. We were sure it was the other way around.
That said, we should point out Julie is so good to her roses she gives them baths, reads them stories and tucks them in at night.

This recipe can be applied after the first blooms in April, and again now. We’ll call it …
Fumier de Vache è Poisson Surprise
(We thought cow poop and squished fish might sound more appetizing in French).
1 big bag steer manure (costs less than a buck)
1 small bottle fish emulsion
1 tablespoon to 1/4 cup epsom salts
1 pound alfalfa rabbit pellets from a feed or pet store
Cultivate lightly around your rose. Sprinkle a tablespoon to a quarter-cup epsom salts at the base of the plant. Use the smaller amount for newer or smaller roses; the larger amount for large, established plants.
Then sprinkle on a cup of alfalfa rabbit pellets. Follow that with two shovelsful of steer manure, taking care not to cover the crown of the plant. The crown is the knotty knob at the base of the plant, where it sticks out of the ground.
After the epsom salts, rabbit chow and steer manure, follow the directions on the fish emulsion, which should say something like, “Mix a tablespoon in a gallon of water.” If you like the smell of this stuff, you can dab a bit behind your ears, maybe in your cleavage.
Pour the emulsion mixture over the manure, rabbit pellets and epsom salts, letting it soak in. Finally, water well.
At this point, may we respectfully suggest a bath? Between the manure and the fish emulsion, you’re bound to be pretty ripe. But your roses will love you.
This regime is especially important for gardeners in areas of town with really poor soil. It’s so bad, we’ll call it dirt. That’s pretty much everything east of Notre Dame Boulevard, especially California Park, Chico Creek Estates and similar subdivisions, plus most of the whole Keefer Road area and Butte Creek Canyon.
Water, water, water
During the summer months, water is vital for roses. In a past issue of the Butte Rose Society newsletter, Rose Notes, we found some pearls of wisdom about watering.
Roses need to be watered consistently when the temperature reaches 85 degrees. During its first year, a rose needs to be watered every day. The second year, watering can be reduced to two to three times per week, and the third year, reduced further, to once or twice per week.

Julie waters her roses 3 1/2 gallons every other day. Cindy said her roses get five gallons of water once a week, if they’re lucky. We water ours whenever we get around to it, and we haven’t heard them squealing.
Julie said it’s OK to water roses overhead as long as the sun is not shining on them (because the leaves will burn) or it’s not late in the day (if they stay damp overnight, the leaves may be susceptible to powdery mildew and black spot, two ultra-common rose afflictions).
So basically, you can go outside in the pre-dawn hours and give your roses a shower if you’re so inclined. Personally, we have our hands full with our own morning beauty regimes.
The benefits of an occasional bath for roses include washing off spider mites and aphids, Cindy said.
But Julie warned that people who live north of town and other areas with particularly hard water might see grayish spots on their leaves if they water overhead much, because hard water has so many minerals.
In another issue of Rose Notes, we found a recipe for “Alfalfa Tea,” which can be applied to roses as a growth-stimulating potion, spring through fall.
Alfalfa contains small amounts of nitrogen, phosphorous and potassium, all of which feed the plant. Alfalfa also contains the hormone Tracontanol, a plant growth regulator.
While putting it on top of the soil and watering works, quicker results are realized when alfalfa is applied as a tea. Alfalfa should not be mixed in with soil when planting, because the heat it generates could damage roots.

Alfalfa Tea
Dump 10-12 cups of alfalfa meal or pellets into a 32-gallon plastic garbage can with a lid. If desired, toss in two cups epsom salts. Add water and stir.
Keep tightly covered, stirring occasionally. The concoction will start to smell in about three days, and will be ready for use in four or five days. In this heat, it will probably brew quickly.
Use a gallon of alfalfa tea on established rose bushes. Use a third that amount on miniature roses. And no fair feeding it to your mother-in-law.
When you’ve used the whole can of tea, fill it up with water again; one recipe of pellets is enough to make two batches.
Remember, it’s a tonic, not a substitute for watering. Reportedly, you’ll see greener growth and stronger stems within a week of application.

While our rosarians both occasionally use a timed-release chemical fertilizer like Osmocote, they favor organic amendments like alfalfa, animal manure and compost. Both rose wizards keep pet rabbits, and swear rabbit poop is nectar to roses.
Neither recommends commonly-available products. Julie, in fact, calls them “horribly dangerous.” (She may be exaggerating just a tad.)
“That stuff is potentially harmful to pets,” she insisted, “and there are plenty of roses that don’t like it either.”

Off with their heads!
All this tender loving care will be for naught, though, unless you also consistently remove spent blooms from your roses throughout the growing season. This process is known as “dead-heading,” but has nothing to do with Jerry Garcia, funny-tasting brownies or music that only sounds good if you’ve eaten those brownies.
If spent blooms aren’t removed, they form rose hips (the rose version of seeds), and the plant will stop producing flowers.
Invest in a good pair of shears (about $15-$30), because lousy ones damage your plants and break easily.
Always use bypass-type pruning shears, so named because the top blade bypasses the second, slicing the stem off. Avoid anvil-type pruning shears, which cut through a stem by crushing it between a blade and a flat surface.
Snip the spent bloom at a 45-degree angle, about a quarter-inch above the first pair of five-leaflet leaves.
A tiny bump at the base of that five-leaflet leaf, called a “bud eye,” will form a new stem and new flowers in short order.
If that bud eye happens to be facing toward the inside of the rose, go down to the second set of five-leaflet leaves or as far down as you must to find a bud eye facing toward the outside. That way, you’ll help your rose bush maintain a desirable vase shape.

Q&A
What are these holes in my rose bushes. Is something eating my plants? Can this hurt them? (See photo).
HERE’S THE DIRT: Cindy said these strange holes are made from leaf cutter bees. True to their name, the cut holes in leaves to line their nests. “It won’t hurt your roses. It just looks strange,” Cindy said.
One more thing

This week my sister and I wandered around the produce section of Safeway. Not far off in the distance, somewhere near Brussels sprouts, I heard the rumble of the automated misters.
This is now my most recent memory of thunderstorms.
Today, if there is even a hint of rain on the horizon, it’s news.
A few weeks ago, I woke up early and saw a few raindrops on rose leaves. I grabbed my phone to take a video. By the time I reached the office, another reporter had also posted a video.
Sadly, those raindrops weren’t steady enough to shake the grime from our car windshields.
Silly me. In my premature glee, I brought my raincoat to work. There was no additional rain, but I found ten bucks in the pocket.
Laura and I were lamenting at work about the drought, and the myriad of stories we could/should write. How about saving water in the home, to be good stewards of the resource?
My co-worker said she always saves water that runs in her sink, and hauls it outdoors to water plants.
Her long-time good stewardship made me feel pretty darn guilty. As a good child of the ’70s, I am trained to turn off the water when brushing my teeth. Yet, I wait for the water to warm before washing my face.
When I take a shower I usually get through all of the verses of whatever song I’m singing. If I’m having a particularly soulful time, I’ll sing and linger longer.
Laura must be a better person.
Perhaps my New Year’s fitness resolution could include an exercise regime of washing dishes, and carting the extra water outdoors. How many Belgium chocolate bars could I eat if I hauled away the water from a shower?
Maybe if I someday buy a house, I’ll plunk down some money for a gray-water system. Then I can sing in the shower and be as good of a person as Laura.

Drought for all seasons
San Jose Mercury News reporter Paul Rogers recently wrote about the “ridiculously resilient ridge” of high pressure off the West Coast. The RRR is holding back rainfall. (Read the story here: http://goo.gl/7R1Rb6).
More locally, there are stories about people who rely on water to earn their living and fish eggs dying on the edge of shrinking river beds.
So what can one urban person do, even if it doesn’t seem like much?
Pretty much, we can revert back to the mid 1970s, minus the large lapels and muscle cars.
In our gardens, we can let the lawns die. Do we use them for recreation? No. Most of us never play croquet and our kids are inside playing video games.
For spring gardening projects, we can dig up the dead lawn and plant a giant mound of bark. For flowers, how about drought-resistant lavender, yarrow, sage and any plant with “Mojave” in its name.
Bob Scoville at Glenn County Master Gardeners recently said he measured his drip irrigation system. He did some math and calculated the needs of the plant vs. what was dripping out. He was surprised he had been watering too much.
Laying on more mulch is also a good way to help plants retain the smaller volumes of water we might deliver.
Another math tip from eartheasy, Solutions for Sustainable Living, http://goo.gl/zrBK6v, recommends checking your water meter before leaving the home for a few hours.
If you return and see that water has been used, you probably have a leak. Either that or neighborhood children have borrowed your hose to build a slip-and-slide.
For indoor water saving, the above website recommends insulating your pipes so hot water arrives faster. The authors didn’t say it outright, but they discourage long, soulful singing in the shower.
Should we do all these things? When in doubt, just think “what would Laura do?”

One of my weekly rituals is a visit from editor Laurie Kavenaugh, who asks “for a tease” about what I’ll write for the Friday column. She prints the tease in Thursday’s newspaper.
Laurie is a plant-lover. If we didn’t need to check in once a week, I’m confident we’d talk about plants near the jugs of bad coffee in the lunch room.
This way, talking about our passion counts as work time.
Having someone to tease is helpful. Talking out loud helps to coordinate coherent thoughts. Although I’m trying to stop talking out loud when I’m alone and in public.
This week, ideas for a weekly garden chat were hard to put into words.
The only “gardening” I’ve completed recently is to add dozens of paper bookmarks to the Baker Creek seed catalog.
“It’s your turn to give me inspiration,” I told the tease temptress.
She and her husband have an ongoing disagreement about how many plants they should have in their yard, Laurie teased.
Her husband likes to keep things lush, or in Laurie’s view, like a jungle. There are so many plants, she can’t see where one begins and four others end.
It’s not her imagination that the yard is busy. People wander down the street and stop to tell her husband how lovely the yard is, which continues him for another six months on his mania.
“Does he just keep buying plants?” I asked.
Yes, Laurie continued. He buys spindly, last-leg plants from the “we’re about to die” plant rack, nurses them back to life, then crams them into the yard.
The watering takes a toll as well, and he’ll stand out with the hose until sunlight fades.
Laurie, on the other hand, would prefer things more neat and orderly, so that each plant could be appreciated on its own.
It makes sense that a gardener would like to see things grow. And if you really love gardening, you would love to see a lot of things grow.
I thought of my friend Richard. He began, most likely innocently, with a few potted plants. As one outgrew a container, he diligently divided. He would come across something dead and dying, nurture it, and it would grow …
Several years after Richard moved to a “new house,” I visited and could barely see the house. He had so many plants, you could barely see your feet when you walked down the “garden path.” Small children could have wandered in while playing hide-and-go-seek and emerged in time to attend college.
How do you know when something has become a problem in your life? When it begins to affect your relationships with others.
Apparently, Richard’s sweetie didn’t mind that he stood, contemplatively, for hours, holding a garden hose.
I had another friend, Kevin, who loved to rake. Fall was one of his favorite seasons. The wind came and he could rake again. Something about the monotony, and the movement, being outside, helped him to relax.
As for Laurie’s husband. She mentioned they have a perfectly good automatic watering system, but her hose-friendly husband doesn’t think it reaches all the plants as well as watering by hand.
“He probably just likes watering,” I teased Laurie.
“That’s his quiet, relaxation time.”
Yes, she said, making the point with her index finger.
“Stop your complaining,” I said. “He’s chilling out; it’s not hurting anything.”
“I have it,” I told Laurie. “I have your column topic for next week: Women who should stop complaining about their husbands’ perfectly acceptable quirks.”

Snow in the foothills was fun. Wearing warm scarves has been cozy. Freezing temps even had their charm, in that cold, wondrous way.
Yet, I’m glad the days are getting longer. If you look up into the trees you can see the buds of spring, sometimes a dull burgundy, sometimes brown or green.
I cover my eyes when the blood flows during action movies, and refuse to look when someone dislocates a finger.
For the same reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to check the frost damage in my yard. As each day passed with no rain, I knew I would be forced to drag the hose around the yard, and survey the frost damage.
Surprisingly, the yard did not look like the aftermath of the Three Mile Island disaster; most of the plants survived.
But what is dormant and what is dead?
Joe Connell, county farm adviser, said we won’t really know until spring. If the branches don’t come to life, it’ll be time to trim.

Armchair gardening
In the meantime, now’s a good time to begin to think about starting to get ready to put seeds into soil.
The catalog for the Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Co. has been next to the TV remote for several weeks. The seed worshipers sent me the big version of their catalog, because I’m a member of the media elite and will give them a shameless plug.
You can buy your own big catalog at http:// www.rareseeds.com, or order the free version.
The glossy booklet includes some highly romanticized prose about plants — the type of words I like to string together when inspired.
For example, the company’s founder, Jere Gettle, talks about the joys of eating the varieties of tomatoes that fortified Roman soldiers, or squash that sustained his ancestors through lean times.
The company also commissioned research on the nutrition value of different tomatoes. You can also simply leaf through the fantastically beautiful photographs and daydream about sunshine and dancing with butterflies.
In a few weeks — mid-January — you can get an early start with seeds in a windowsill or greenhouse.
If you order seeds soon, you’ll be ready.
We’re in a Mediterranean climate, which means plants native or renowned in Italy and Spain should do well.
Last spring, the Butte County Master Gardeners wrote an essay about the best tomato varieties for Butte County backyards. Read it here: http://goo.gl/Ycbvyu.
For our area, the writers suggest slicers including: Beaverlodge Slicer, Aussie, Dinner Plate, Giant Belgium, Aunt Ginney’s Purple, Marianna Peace, Good Old Fashion Red, Momotaro and Rainbow.
For cherry tomatoes, suggestions are: Sugar Lump, Isis Candy, Sun Gold, Black Cherry, White Currant, Sweet Million and Hundred Million.
For salsa: La Roma and San Marzano. For sauce: Amish Paste, Costoluto Genovese, San Marzano Ridorta and Red Pear.
The article includes an informative discussion about the difference between deteriminate and indeterminate tomatoes.

For more inane prattle, check out my blog at www.norcalblogs.com/sowthere. For feedback, send to P.O. Box 9, Chico CA 95927 or hhacking@chicoer.com.

I’m nearly out of cheerful, optimistic, silver-lined ways of viewing this past week of hard-hitting winter weather.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger (Nietzche). I surely hope that statement will prove true for some of those nearly-dead plants.

Like a good gardening soldier, I read the weather forecast and brought most of my potted plants indoors.

My living room looks like a ghetto version of the Rainforest Cafe. Bringing in a load of groceries is like swashbuckling through the brambles.

Good thing, though, because the plants outdoors are sad sights.

Leading up the arctic weather was an unusually warm autumn. In my yard, winter bulbs had already bolted.

To shield myself from pain, I only looked briefly in the yard. This was enough time to notice that the long, green leaves of freesia have become freeze-dried. I shudder to think what I’ll find when I lift off the sheets that cover the young lemon tree.

Life after death

This week I chatted with Joe Connell, farm adviser for the county. Our talk was primarily about agricultural crops.

Yet, Joe also keeps a garden and said many of his plants look like they have melted.

His advice was to be patient and see what provides new life next spring.

Many people will be tempted to get out there with a shovel and throw disappointments onto the compost pile.

But you just never know.

Joe said plants will have better luck if you start a regular water routine, perhaps once every two weeks. You can stop if it ever starts to rain.

Plants get doubly stressed when hit with both freezing temperatures and lack of natural moisture, he explained.

Now that I’m thinking about this, it is kind of fun to see something miraculously revive after being left for dead.

When I moved into my house 17 years ago, my friend Shelley had a pitiful looking ficus tree in an outdoor pot.

This wasn’t a house-warming gift, this was a challenge.

The ficus plant is funny — any change in environment can cause a rebellion, and the plant will drop the majority of its leaves. The change could be as simple as moving it to a new window.

I didn’t make much of an effort. Yet, it was easy to squirt the pot with a hose every once in a while, and over time it revived. I think I also gave the comeback kid a new pot and some fresh soil.

The ficus tree is now three feet tall and I might as well decorate it for Christmas; it’s already in the middle of the living room.

Reporter Larry Mitchell and I shared a shelf between our desks where we each tended a few house plants. When Larry retired, he left me a gift of a prayer plant.

The plant was not doing well, and I felt like it might very well be a test of my green thumb.

At one point, only a single nub stuck up from the soil.

Sure enough, I remembered to water it every once in a while and now it has four leaves. I can’t wait for Larry to visit the office so I can show off.

Of course, both of these surprises had little to do with any skill I possess, and more to do with the fighting spirit that plants possess — something we can all admire.

Maybe this will be the same with the plants in our yard.

In the meantime, we might as well go out and buy more bulbs. Next spring when some of our plants have stunted growth, at least we can all enjoy a multitude of bulbs from February to April.

Planning for my family holidays is always a little chaotic.
Who is hosting? What to bring? Who will drive?
Usually my mother, my sister and I drive down to my aunt’s house for the big extravaganza. Sometimes we spend the night.
But this year my mother really, really, really wanted me to give my sister a ride.
“Would you, could you, would you please,” my mother asked via voicemail and text.
When I did not immediately respond, the inquiries became more persistent and pleading.
The big deal, I learned, is that my mother is bringing her new beau to the holiday — his first encounter with our curious clan.
Apparently, riding in a car with my sister and I for several hours might cause irreparable harm to my mother’s budding romance.
“In other words, you’re afraid we’ll embarrass you,” my sister and I each said on separate occasions.

A tempting situation
My first impulse was to be impish. I could assure my mother I would drive separately, but may very well embarrass her once everyone arrives.
Children are embarrassed easily. So it was easy for my sister and I to make a list of how many times our parents had embarrassed us as children.
We laughed so hard, and I was at work, that I embarrassed myself by laughing too loud in the newsroom.
Upon thoughtful consideration we decided it was not appropriate to publish the list in my column.
Plus, this will also be the first time my boyfriend will be joining us for the holidays. I’m glad my mother is bringing her new beau, so she will tell the rest of the extended family to behave themselves.

Where to go, who to bring, now what food to share
As is the tradition in many families, each person is usually asked to bring a side dish.
A few people are on special diets, so my aunt decided to handle it all, Mom said.
For example, my sister, who is vegan, was assured that only vegan foods will be served. And nobody really likes turkey, so my mother said we’re having a tri-tip roast.
Instead of side dishes, Mom advised we bring something that can be added to appetizer table or tucked into my aunt’s cupboard for her to enjoy later.
Perhaps this is a further example of my mother not wanting to be embarrassed, this time by our choice of side dishes.
However, it’s really a relief.
I can easily go to the farmer’s market and pick out a bunch of locally-grown, yummy nuts in about four different flavors. I’m guessing my relatives won’t save any to be tucked away in the cupboard.
While I’m at it, it’ll be easy to pick out a few jars of flavored olives, and I know my family will love some Northern California cheese.

Other family traditions
As much as I’ve been poking fun at my family, I’m really glad they’re mine.
They’re funny and opinionated and have lots of love to share.
If we know of someone who would otherwise spend the holiday alone, we are encouraged to invite them to join us.
At some point during the meal, Uncle Lars will have us all hold hands. We go around the circle and each share some things for which we are most thankful.
Maybe this year my mother will share that she’s thankful nobody embarrassed her.

The clocks have returned to real time. Darkness falls while I’m still at work. From now until spring I can contemplate my future life plans under dim lamplight.
Meanwhile, I’ve been gathering leaves to make decoupage bookmarks as Christmas gifts.
My sister and I gathered leaves at our favorite walking spot, racing from tree to tree as colors caught our eyes. At one point we were stomping through a pile of brown, crunchy tree cover. We turned to one another smiling like our long-gone little sister selves.
“This is fun!” the 40-something-year-old siblings squealed.
Soon, my pile of leaves was strewn all over the living room rug, making the room resemble the back porch.

I did a few searches online and read up on decoupage, which is the glue you buy at Michael’s to stick things to paper. Decoupage glue can also be used to provide a shiny coat of sealant for things you’ve stuck to paper.
I think they teach this in third grade.
Making holiday gifts fits with my value system — dirt poor, anti-junky consumerism, bored when it’s too dark to garden, and allergic to the shopping mall.
This isn’t my first foray into crafty kid-land.
One year I made crochet washrags, which was more work than I realized. I found myself crocheting in inappropriate locations, such as restaurants and work meetings.

Years ago my sister and I crafted hand-made candles that smelled like crayons. We had fun, but I think there is still wax on the side of my stove.
While making fudge one year, I gained eight pounds, and vowed to let my relatives buy their own holiday treats.
Then there were the origami swan mobiles, made from recycled Christmas cards. Those monstrosities have been recycled again, and I still crack up when wondering how the gift recipients kept a straight face.
Yes, it’s the thoughts that count.

This year, maybe the leaf bookmarks will be beautiful.
If members of my family no longer read books, they can decoupage my gifts to the back of their Kindle readers.
The project is more of a hassle than I thought, and my skill level, sadly, is only at a second-grade level. But it’s fun to make gifts from something you literally find on the ground.

Up close, and in a cluster, the leaves are amazing — intricate in their subtle shading and shape.
And fleeting — I grabbed a bag on a recent walk and pressed them between two boxes filled with soup cans.
By the next day some of the colors had faded.
Now I’m covering the leaves with glue as soon as possible. I’m hoping by the time everything dries I don’t have a fat stack of faded brown bookmarks.
But my relatives will know.
Right?
They’ll know I was sending love from my heart, through my hands, to fading pieces of nature, to be pressed between a book in progress.
Or will they just think I’m cheap and should have bought them a gift card at a coffee house?
However it turns out, I can’t imagine my bookmarks could ever turn out as badly as the origami swan mobiles.

This week my sister asked me to take some items to a charity store. In the bag I found a jar I painted for her three years ago.
She said I had made her another jar that she liked better, and I could give this particular jar to someone else — perhaps the charity thrift store.
Hmmm. I wouldn’t want to deprive her of a bookmark made from fall leaves? Or would I?
Maybe she would prefer a gift card from a big-box store.
To read up on tips for using decoupage, here’s some links compiled on Storify: http://goo.gl/UGa45W.

My family heritage hails from Minnesota. It makes little sense that my Scandinavian ancestors left their homeland, traveled across the ocean, then built new fireplaces in a place with sub-zero winters.
Maybe it’s because winter sports are built into their DNA. My winter-ready relatives can’t wait to dig out their snow shoes, hockey pucks and ice-fishing paraphernalia.
This year we can pretend we’re in the Midwest at the ice skating rink at Terry Ashe Park in Paradise. We checked it out Saturday night as a reconnaissance run.
Upon arrival, a proud-looking young man was riding purposefully on the ice resurfacing machine. A throng of skaters shuffled from skate-to-skate along the outside boundary of the rink.
When the gates reopened, there was a rush of arms and legs reminiscent of Black Friday at Toys R Us.
For $10 for the whole day, including skates, this is a great bargain, http://www.paradiseprpd.com/IceRink.html.
An even better bargain was taking in the scene for free.
Children who first skated like newborn fawns became brave.
A couple in their late teens skated while clinging to one another. As they became comfortable on the ice, they still clung to one another.
The newest, or perhaps most fearful, of the skaters borrowed a metal balancing device that looks a lot like Gramma’s walker.
I searched the crowd for someone at my skating skill level. My bundled-up twin kept to the perimeter and moved as if she was made of glass.
Outside the rink, merchants made it easy to contribute to the local economy: warm cider, hot chocolate, and lemon slushies. My beau informed the lemonade man that in the Midwest vendors make big bucks on hot lemonade. The vendor didn’t seem very interested.
However, my co-worker Laura has a ginormous Meyer lemon tree in her backyard, which was planted before Meyers became “improved.”
This is no ordinary fruit, and if Laura had waited, the big, beautiful crop would have frozen.
Laura’s lemons have skin so smooth and so soft I’m surprised Italians haven’t used lemons to make gloves.

Hot lemonade
The juice of one (very juicy Meyer) lemon. Two tablespoons starthistle honey. Hot water.
Double yum.
Other variations include replacing the honey with simple sugar. Optional items include a dab of butter, a cinnamon stick, three whole cloves, a dash of ground ginger, or a combination of your favorites.

Keep the lemons coming
If you forgot to take precautions, the citrus in your backyard might be destined for the compost pile.
Yet, if you currently have a pile of lemons or other citrus in your garage, you can freeze the juice in ice cube trays. Or better yet, set the ice cube trays on your back porch tonight.
To make hot lemonade, use about two cubes of juice per serving.
The blog greenlitebites, http://goo.gl/RfE8Nu, suggests peeling and washing a whole lemon. When needed, grab the lemon and grate on some flavor.
You can also freeze bags of lemon zest (the grated rind).

Woulda, shoulda, coulda. As much is I hate to live in the land of regrets, if I had known the weather was going to be 70 degrees for the past two weeks, I would have done a few things differently.
For example, I would have squeezed in one more kayak trip. I should not have packed my spring-weather clothes in a cedar trunk. I really should water my lawn and I could have planted a boat-load of spinach seeds.
But who knew?
Several weeks ago the Handsome Woodsman and I attended a free workshop at Hodge’s Nursery, 9681 the Midway toward Durham.
Owner Ken Hodge holds workshops throughout the year, including almost every weekend from January through March. Future topics will include how to spray during the dormant season and pruning shade trees.

When we were at the nursery in late October, Ken had a table reserved for winter vegetables that could be planted then, and now.
When I talked to Ken Thursday, he suggested putting seeds of radishes in the ground anytime the weather isn’t miserable.
During the workshop, he also shared his time-tested recipe for raised-bed soil amendment.
We expect a lot from our small garden plots, he explained, and having superior soil will provide a better return.
For a raised bed of 6×6′ he adds a bag of Soil Booster, by GreenAll, amendment before each growing season — two bags if the area has been neglected for a while.
The mixture is 15 percent chicken manure and includes fir bark, composted mushroom soil, earthworm castings and volcanic pumice, among other choice ingredients.
He also likes to add Dr. Earth or Biosol as a top dressing.
Out in Durham, and many areas of Chico, the water tends to be “hard.” You’ll know if this is the case because “hard water” produces stains under your bathroom faucets.
Hard water can add to soil with high pH, which makes plants turn yellow. Ken said he adds Dr. Iron to fix this soil problem.
http://hodgesnursery.com.
Other fun, free adventures
You probably missed it, because the Farm City Celebration bus tour tickets sell out fast and the event can only handle 250 participants.
You can read about what you missed here: http://goo.gl/6lw6V0.
Yet, here’s the deal: You can visit a variety of farms in the county any month of the year. The Sierra Oro Farm Trail, www.sierraoro.org, has a listing of agri-businesses you can visit all by yourself or when urban friends come to town. Most sell food products, and according to most big-box stores, the official holiday shopping season has begun.
During the recent bus tour, for example, Glennda Morse of Morse Farms said you can call ahead and ask if someone will be around the day you want to visit, http://morsemandarinfarms.com.
I don’t know about you, but I’m much more likely to enjoy buying Christmas gifts when I’m traipsing around a farm, soaking in some of this 70-degree weather. The only thing that would make it better is to bring a friend who will take a picture of me holding my rubber chicken.
In the past, I’ve tried personalizing locally purchased gifts by finding a recipe on the local farm’s website, and tucking the food tips into the gift box.