Sustainable Saturday

Yesterday I indulged in my other obsession, which I'm going to share; hopefully it's not too far off-topic for you - I've come to realize a lot of sewists are also mad gardeners, or would like to be, given the space and soil.

Several community organizations in my neighborhood have organized what they're calling Sustainable Saturday - The West Philadelphia Local Food Series.  The third Saturday of every month is going to be a series of garden tours, workshops and presentations on growing and preparing local foods.  Yesterday was the first day, and if this is what it's like, count me in.

This was also tied in with our Saturday farmer's market, which goes from 10 a.m. -2 p.m.  At noon, I went to an hour-long workshop on "Creating an Urban Homestead" at a local urban farm.  The farmer talked about how his original plan was just to grow a couple of tomatoes and have a little chicken coop in his back yard, but somehow the plan spilled over into the empty lot next door, which he and his partner have squat-farmed for 3 years.  It's gotten big enough that they have a weekly farm stand. 

They also have chickens and a turkey (raccoon attack took out the turkey's siblings), and they used to have bees.  The bees weren't happy there so they gave them to a local urban beekeeping group which has hives set up in the Woodland Cemetery. 

They talked a lot about raising vegetables and poultry, and what can and can't be done in an urban setting (apparently nothing is impossible) and they emphasized the amount of work involved in that kind of operation.  Funny enough, both men admitted to eating a lot of pizza because once they're done their day jobs, and come home and work on the farm lot, they're too tired to cook their own produce and they sell it and give it away to the neighbors.

After that, there was another workshop at a local community garden on Sustainable/Edible Landscaping, which talked a lot about fruit trees in the city and ornamental plants that people use for landscaping that can actually be edible, or what plants can be swapped in for ornamental plants that have a similar look and feel but also provide food.  The presenter was a big fan of blueberry bushes, which grow pretty well in our area, are covered in white flowers in spring, and turn bright red in the fall.  I have 4 of them and they're the brightest thing in the yard come October.

Simultaneous presentations which I missed out on: Irrigating with Stormwater (I figure I've got that under control with 2 55-gallon rain barrels in the back, both full at the moment), and Foraging for Edible Plants, which I thought was intriguing but it was at the same time as the Urban Homestead workshop.  There was also a trolley tour of numerous community gardens and restaurants which serve local food.

Upcoming events, which have Mario intrigued as well, are mushroom growing and brewing your own beer.  We got a wine kit from a friend a while back and have yet to try it out, but I could also see a wall of beer bottles in the basement.  Why not?

It was great to see so many people show up at these workshops yesterday; like sewing, sometimes my sustainable living obsession makes me feel like I'm the only one out there, but apparently I am not.  The presenters also were very clear that all this is an experiment: if you don't know if it'll work in your yard, give it a shot.  What's the worst that can happen?  You'll either have a few dead plants, which you'll have at the end of every season anyway, or it might actually work.

The theory of try it, you might fall on your face or you might do something really cool is how I've always tackled sewing, so it's nice to see it applied to something else.

It happens every winter

I fall out of love with my house. I get discontent with my indoor hobbies. I get so antsy that even the cats avoid me.

I'll be better soon. The nights are finally above freezing and soon I'll be able to get outside.

When I bought my house, I was happy that it had a front garden and a decent sized back yard. Not that I had a clue what to do with dirt, but in my mind, a house had a yard. Knowing what to do with it would come later. And it did.

The garden used to be ornamental, then a few years ago, things began to shift. It became less about how it looked and more about what was in it. I grew a few tomatoes. I made my first batch of pesto from backyard basil.

It snowballed, and last year, it went over the top. (I think it was the garlic that did it). This past winter was rough; I'm sure I lost quite a few plants. That doesn't bother me anymore because a dead plant is just an opportunity to plant something new. The veggie seedling order has gone in to Natural Gardening Co. : 6 tomatoes (3 plum; 3 regular), 3 peppers (bell, ancho and sweet frying), a cucumber, a zucchini, 3 more strawberry plants. They will keep company with the lettuces I will pick up at the farmer's market, along with a few container-sized tomatoes and a thicket of basil. Somehow, I also have a load of seeds to plant. There will be salad growing in the cracks of the sidewalk at this point.

All this in addition to 4 blueberries, 1 red currant, 1 black currant, 1 gooseberry, 4 strawberry plants, a rosemary bush, perennial thyme and sage, potted mint and lemon balm, a bed of garlic and some self-seeded arugula that's already coming up. I'm also coveting a fig that's volunteered in Mario's sister's back yard, but I don't think I have the space.

I'm not sure when it all happened, but in 11 years I've gone from an apartment-dweller who killed house plants and couldn't cook very well (but who sewed adequately, if infrequently) to a homeowner who gets a little crazy if she can't dig in the dirt, who can make her own bread and cheese, who can preserve all the stuff grown in the back yard, and who makes all her own clothes.

Who am I, and where did I come from? I didn't grow up around people who did any of these things. Matter of fact, I grew up around people who were happy they didn't have to do these things anymore. Like all the women in my family, my mom was an adequate cook, but it all came from cans (and later, the freezer). She sewed with resentment and creative profanity. Her gardening consisted of a few angry rosebushes and some bedraggled petunias. (However, she raised beautiful African violets on the windowsills - indoors).

Maybe it was because she and my aunts were one generation removed from the Depression, or not even. Maybe progress to them meant not having to do those things anymore. I don't know, and they're no longer around to ask.

A co-worker told me the other day that with my skills, I'd have survived very well during the Great Depression. I don't think they're bad skills to have these days, either. And I love knowing just how little we need to purchase outside of our own home - with the way prices are these days, I'll work every Depression-era skill I can find.