I bought seven pale yellow primroses in four-inch pots, to plant on the path to the Johnny.
It was a triumph -- Andy and I moved it yesterday from in back of the barn. It had been sitting there for at least four years. "It was here when we bought the place," Andy said. And the Johnny has been used by itinerant workers who stayed in the bunkhouse. It was cleaned and emptied regularly by a company in Ventura, and that cost $50. A large tanker truck drove into the yard and a cheerful fellow hooked up a long hose and drained the Johnny -- that hardly took five minutes and he was gone to the next place.
All for the better sanitation of these lovely acres by the Ventura River. But it was too far from the bunkhouse to the barn. Our loyal and efficient workers deserved a sweeter moonlit path, should the need arise in the wee hours.
So we figured to move it in back of the bunkhouse, where you couldn't see it, but it was much closer.
Yesterday, we hitched the Johnny to the tractor with a rope and dragged it over. We had to manhandle it into position for the last twenty feet. That took some sweat and strain, but we were close to the finish and almost inspired at that point.
Andy and I were quite proud of getting it done with such dispatch. There it was, the Johnny in a better place. I wiped it down for cobwebs, and I thought we might burn sage to honor the Johnny's new home.
But it was at dinner that evening when I realized the proper and living benediction would be a primrose path. Not a metaphor, heck no. But real pale-yellow primroses glistening in the moonlight on a path from the bunk house door, around the side and then to the back to the Johnny.
So I drove to Wal-Mart on Saturday morning to buy the flowers. It was crowded when I got into the parking lot, I was listening to FM radio -- Live at the Metropolitan Opera from New York. The third act of Rigoletto was just beginning.
I heard the famous aria, La Donna E Mobile as I parked my car. What a thrilling song. The woman is fickle, the tenor cries. She tears your heart and fills your life with beauty but you can never trust her.
How true! But if we die of love, is there a better fate? Yes, leading me down the primrose path with pale yellow flowers.
Well, I guess I'm getting my metaphors mixed up, but it all seems to matter -- the bunkhouse and the loyal crew, the flowers that grace our lives, the determined teamwork between Andy and myself, and the fabulous music that beams across the continent on electronic waves -- live from New York City, connecting us to the wider world.
Serious Work. We actually do some serious horticultural work here at Love House Dahlias. We're not a big player in Ventura County which had more than $1.5 billion in farm sales last year, but we are a part of it, and we are generating real farm dollars. There's a future in this kind of work. I get pretty excited on many days because there is so much to do around here and so much to learn.
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Subscriptions and Signed Copies of the Frog Hospital Book. It used to be that you sent in $25 and did not get much more than my appreciation, but now you get a signed copy of the Frog Hospital book.
This book is a treasure that will still be worth reading ten years from now.
Send a check for $25 to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana Rd, Ventura CA 93001. Or go to the Frog Hospital blog and pay with PayPal.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog: Frog Hospital
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Rainfall plus news of sweet peas, dahlias, and horses
FARM NEWS
December rains make the Ventura River flow. December's unexpected rainfall has put a lot of water in the Ventura River. It's been dry so far into January, but the river is still flowing.
I was out there this morning to look -- the river is only 150 feet from the motor home where I live on this small farm. So I walked past the arena where the horses are ridden, then through the brush, and across the small round rocks, and I heard the river rushing.
It is such a sweet sound, clear and cold water pouring over the rocks like a mountain stream. Like a real river, which it is.
We are seven miles from the mouth, where the Pacific Ocean waves pound against sand bars, piling up sand to form a lagoon, ideal for pelicans.
I am often driving down to Ventura Point where this river meets the ocean.
A thousand years of rainfall have created a small point, jutting out from the smooth curve of the shoreline.
The point makes long cascading waves with curling tubes -- ideal for surfers seeking long rides.
I come to watch the surfers watch the waves. Surfers wait in their cars for good surf, watching the waves. Then they paddle out and wait and wait -- for the right wave.
This is a great teaching.
I'm going there -- to Ventura Point. I'm going in the next hour, after I finish this report.
Life and work is going well at the Farm. We planted about 8,000 sweet pea seedlings in seventy raised beds. That's a lot of sweet peas.
We cut river cane, which grows like a nuisance in the back of the farm -- but they make good stakes and we needed several hundred stakes, to string up the netting, to serve as a trellis for the sweet peas, climbing to the sky, all 8,000 seedlings in seventy raised beds.
It was a lot of work, but we had willing hands, even during those rainy days in December.
Now we are looking at the sweet peas all tucked in and about to grow as the days turn longer, to bloom and fill the air with sweet scent, to cut and harvest and sell these flowers at the market in March and April.
It's all a gamble. A lot of labor and expense goes into these flowers. A million things could go wrong -- bad weather, a plague of insects, plant viruses, or an invasion of hostile anti-sweet pea aliens from Mars -- all a great risk.
But a tidy profit is a possible outcome as well -- that's our hope.
After the sweet pea harvest, we will plant about 3,000 dahlia tubers. This is the Show, over 200 varieties.
It is the best and biggest spread of dahlias in Southern California. Get some for your garden -- go to Love House Dahlias and see the brilliant colors -- each variety of dahlia is lovingly portrayed on this website.
Horse News. We have a new horse. His name is Maverick, a gelding, 17-years-old, all white.
And very big, a cross between Arabian and Percheron. The Percheron (who, we hope, was the mother) is a draft horse, so that explains why Maverick is so big.
He's a friendly guy, but he gets "mouthy," as they say, wants to give you a little bite, like a love tap, only he has very big strong teeth.
He better not bite me. I told him this morning, "Maverick, if you bite me, I'm going to bite you back. And don't step on my foot neither."
Then I gave him a carrot.
Unsubscribe Anytime.
Subscriptions and Signed Copies of the Frog Hospital Book. It used to be that you sent in $25 and did not get much more than my appreciation, but now you get a signed copy of the Frog Hospital book.
This book is a treasure that will still be worth reading ten years from now.
Send a check for $25 to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana Rd, Ventura CA 93001. Or go to the Frog Hospital blog and pay with PayPal.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog: Frog Hospital
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
December rains make the Ventura River flow. December's unexpected rainfall has put a lot of water in the Ventura River. It's been dry so far into January, but the river is still flowing.
I was out there this morning to look -- the river is only 150 feet from the motor home where I live on this small farm. So I walked past the arena where the horses are ridden, then through the brush, and across the small round rocks, and I heard the river rushing.
It is such a sweet sound, clear and cold water pouring over the rocks like a mountain stream. Like a real river, which it is.
We are seven miles from the mouth, where the Pacific Ocean waves pound against sand bars, piling up sand to form a lagoon, ideal for pelicans.
I am often driving down to Ventura Point where this river meets the ocean.
A thousand years of rainfall have created a small point, jutting out from the smooth curve of the shoreline.
The point makes long cascading waves with curling tubes -- ideal for surfers seeking long rides.
I come to watch the surfers watch the waves. Surfers wait in their cars for good surf, watching the waves. Then they paddle out and wait and wait -- for the right wave.
This is a great teaching.
I'm going there -- to Ventura Point. I'm going in the next hour, after I finish this report.
Life and work is going well at the Farm. We planted about 8,000 sweet pea seedlings in seventy raised beds. That's a lot of sweet peas.
We cut river cane, which grows like a nuisance in the back of the farm -- but they make good stakes and we needed several hundred stakes, to string up the netting, to serve as a trellis for the sweet peas, climbing to the sky, all 8,000 seedlings in seventy raised beds.
It was a lot of work, but we had willing hands, even during those rainy days in December.
Now we are looking at the sweet peas all tucked in and about to grow as the days turn longer, to bloom and fill the air with sweet scent, to cut and harvest and sell these flowers at the market in March and April.
It's all a gamble. A lot of labor and expense goes into these flowers. A million things could go wrong -- bad weather, a plague of insects, plant viruses, or an invasion of hostile anti-sweet pea aliens from Mars -- all a great risk.
But a tidy profit is a possible outcome as well -- that's our hope.
After the sweet pea harvest, we will plant about 3,000 dahlia tubers. This is the Show, over 200 varieties.
It is the best and biggest spread of dahlias in Southern California. Get some for your garden -- go to Love House Dahlias and see the brilliant colors -- each variety of dahlia is lovingly portrayed on this website.
Horse News. We have a new horse. His name is Maverick, a gelding, 17-years-old, all white.
And very big, a cross between Arabian and Percheron. The Percheron (who, we hope, was the mother) is a draft horse, so that explains why Maverick is so big.
He's a friendly guy, but he gets "mouthy," as they say, wants to give you a little bite, like a love tap, only he has very big strong teeth.
He better not bite me. I told him this morning, "Maverick, if you bite me, I'm going to bite you back. And don't step on my foot neither."
Then I gave him a carrot.
Unsubscribe Anytime.
Subscriptions and Signed Copies of the Frog Hospital Book. It used to be that you sent in $25 and did not get much more than my appreciation, but now you get a signed copy of the Frog Hospital book.
This book is a treasure that will still be worth reading ten years from now.
Send a check for $25 to Fred Owens, 7922 Santa Ana Rd, Ventura CA 93001. Or go to the Frog Hospital blog and pay with PayPal.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
My blog: Frog Hospital
send mail to:
Fred Owens
7922 Santa Ana Rd
Ventura CA 93001
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Requiem for a Farmer
FARM NEWS from Fred Owens
Man dies in torch fire accident on farm
ELTOPIA, Wash. (AP) -- A man was killed in an accident on a farm near Eltopia.
The Franklin County sheriff's office says 75-year-old Everett D. Monk was cutting scrap metal in a field with a torch Saturday when his clothes caught fire. The Tri-City Herald reports he apparently died of burns.
A friend found the body.
That was the news story. Just those few words. It was in the paper last year, but I kept this file because I wanted to think about this man, 75-years-old, and his name was Everett D. Monk.
I thought of calling his people in Eltopia to find out about his life, but I didn't need to do that. I found I could read his whole life story from this news item.
He was out in the field cutting scrap metal with his torch in early December. It was cold out there in the sage brush country.
This was in eastern Washington, with low hills and no trees -- just wheat fields lying fallow in the winter sun.
This is where you could research it -- you can find things on the Internet. You could find what the weather was like in Eltopia on the day that Everett Monk died.
But it was almost surely sunny and cold -- that's the typical winter weather, and it's good working weather.
Everett Monk was 75, but he didn't want to sit around the house. He had been a working man all his life. He grew up on a farm and started doing serious chores every day since he was ten years old.
Starting work at the age of ten, driving the pickup around the ranch and handling tools.
So he worked every day for 65 years, until December of last year, and he wasn't going to just sit around in his easy chair on that last day.
He just wasn't used to that.
Instead he got dressed and went out. There was a "bone yard" -- a pile of rusted out implements and machinery -- but it was a good hundred yards from the house.
The bone yard was a little bit out of sight, and his family was gone to town. There's not that much to do in December on a farm. That's when you have the time to work on some projects -- like making modifications on a piece of farm equipment.
You can't just buy a hay baler and use it, but you need to adapt it to the special conditions of your own piece of land.
Everett Monk knew how to do that, and his welding tools were in the back of his pickup that cold and windy day.
I'm not sure about that -- was the wind blowing? Or was it calm?
Because he began cutting the scrap metal and working in a careful way.
Then the accident happened. Maybe it was calm and then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, and blew a spark from the torch to the sleeve of his jacket, and he may have been distracted by a sudden noise over the hill, and the spark settled on his coat sleeve and began to burn, and the wind picked up and he was on fire.
He was on fire. And he was shocked. Did he drop and roll on the ground, which is what you are supposed to do if your clothes catch on fire?
I could call the sheriff or the friend who found his body and ask them -- if he just fell down, or if there was evidence that he dropped and rolled on the ground.
But that doesn't really matter too much.
A friend found his body. Everett Monk was dead, after working on the farm all his life. He may have suffered in agony from his burns, or he may have gone quickly from the shock.
But it was over. Everett Monk, the farmer from Eltopia in eastern Washington, may he rest in peace.
He could have stayed in the house on that day in December. He could have just taken it easy, but he was used to working.
In Other News
Homicide in Los Angeles drops to lowest rate since 1967
price of onions in India
Happy New Year,
Peace and joy to you and all your loved ones in 2011
Unsubscribe Anytime.
Subscriptions and Signed Copies of the Frog Hospital Book. It used to be that you sent in $25 and did not get much more than my appreciation, but now you get a signed copy of the Frog Hospital book.
This book is a treasure that will still be worth reading ten years from now.
Send a check for $25 to Fred Owens, Box 1292, LaConner, WA 98257. Or go to the Frog Hospital blog and pay with PayPal.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
send mail to:
Fred Owens
Box 1292
LaConner WA 98257
Man dies in torch fire accident on farm
ELTOPIA, Wash. (AP) -- A man was killed in an accident on a farm near Eltopia.
The Franklin County sheriff's office says 75-year-old Everett D. Monk was cutting scrap metal in a field with a torch Saturday when his clothes caught fire. The Tri-City Herald reports he apparently died of burns.
A friend found the body.
That was the news story. Just those few words. It was in the paper last year, but I kept this file because I wanted to think about this man, 75-years-old, and his name was Everett D. Monk.
I thought of calling his people in Eltopia to find out about his life, but I didn't need to do that. I found I could read his whole life story from this news item.
He was out in the field cutting scrap metal with his torch in early December. It was cold out there in the sage brush country.
This was in eastern Washington, with low hills and no trees -- just wheat fields lying fallow in the winter sun.
This is where you could research it -- you can find things on the Internet. You could find what the weather was like in Eltopia on the day that Everett Monk died.
But it was almost surely sunny and cold -- that's the typical winter weather, and it's good working weather.
Everett Monk was 75, but he didn't want to sit around the house. He had been a working man all his life. He grew up on a farm and started doing serious chores every day since he was ten years old.
Starting work at the age of ten, driving the pickup around the ranch and handling tools.
So he worked every day for 65 years, until December of last year, and he wasn't going to just sit around in his easy chair on that last day.
He just wasn't used to that.
Instead he got dressed and went out. There was a "bone yard" -- a pile of rusted out implements and machinery -- but it was a good hundred yards from the house.
The bone yard was a little bit out of sight, and his family was gone to town. There's not that much to do in December on a farm. That's when you have the time to work on some projects -- like making modifications on a piece of farm equipment.
You can't just buy a hay baler and use it, but you need to adapt it to the special conditions of your own piece of land.
Everett Monk knew how to do that, and his welding tools were in the back of his pickup that cold and windy day.
I'm not sure about that -- was the wind blowing? Or was it calm?
Because he began cutting the scrap metal and working in a careful way.
Then the accident happened. Maybe it was calm and then, all of a sudden, the wind picked up, and blew a spark from the torch to the sleeve of his jacket, and he may have been distracted by a sudden noise over the hill, and the spark settled on his coat sleeve and began to burn, and the wind picked up and he was on fire.
He was on fire. And he was shocked. Did he drop and roll on the ground, which is what you are supposed to do if your clothes catch on fire?
I could call the sheriff or the friend who found his body and ask them -- if he just fell down, or if there was evidence that he dropped and rolled on the ground.
But that doesn't really matter too much.
A friend found his body. Everett Monk was dead, after working on the farm all his life. He may have suffered in agony from his burns, or he may have gone quickly from the shock.
But it was over. Everett Monk, the farmer from Eltopia in eastern Washington, may he rest in peace.
He could have stayed in the house on that day in December. He could have just taken it easy, but he was used to working.
In Other News
Homicide in Los Angeles drops to lowest rate since 1967
price of onions in India
Happy New Year,
Peace and joy to you and all your loved ones in 2011
Unsubscribe Anytime.
Subscriptions and Signed Copies of the Frog Hospital Book. It used to be that you sent in $25 and did not get much more than my appreciation, but now you get a signed copy of the Frog Hospital book.
This book is a treasure that will still be worth reading ten years from now.
Send a check for $25 to Fred Owens, Box 1292, LaConner, WA 98257. Or go to the Frog Hospital blog and pay with PayPal.
--
Fred Owens
cell: 360-739-0214
send mail to:
Fred Owens
Box 1292
LaConner WA 98257
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