The Truth about Straw Bales

I mentioned my dilemma about the straw bales. Did I have the right fertilizer? For that matter, did I have the right bales? We bought them from two different places last fall, and it seemed like one might have labeled the bales Straw when they were really Hay.

Hay? Straw? I’m a city girl, despite my green thumb and green attitude. I didn’t know straw from hay. So I did what a good virtual teacher does; I asked a student and her family for advice.

My students live all over Wisconsin, and several live on farms. I asked about the bales, describing the one set as looking straw-like and the other growing like a Chia Pet.

One of these things is not like the other.

One of these things is not like the other.

I learned that straw is what’s left over after the wheat is harvested and removed from the stalk, and hay is a grass. Yep, that’s it. I can extend this to say I learned not to buy a bale of “straw” at a grocery store. Uh-huh. This batch was left over from a fall display, so the store sold them off for a few bucks each. The rest are from a garden center. I know where I’ll go if I need a set of straw bales again.

Meanwhile, I took time to yank most of the growth from the hay bales. They’ll still work for planting; I just might have to weed them more often than not. And that’s alright. Weeding, after all, is therapeutic, too.

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The Kindness of Family

In the style of an old-fashioned neighborhood barn raising, my family dug holes and spread dirt and got sweaty and otherwise put themselves out so that I can play in the dirt again.

digging dandelions for bunny

digging dandelions for bunny food

Spreading soil and compost

Spreading soil and compost

In fact, it’s looking pretty darn good now. I filled one section with tomatoes already. Step by step, I’ll have a garden again.

And I’ll thank my family the best way I know how — with jars of the garden bounty, later on.

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Going Greener

I put No Impact Man on my wish list on Paperback Swap dot com quite a while ago. It came today, just in time for – no. Not just in time for anything, really. I’m eager to read it.

So far, I’m snickering as his dilemmas because I’ve face so many of the same. Paper or plastic? Today’s version is more likely to be “Is plastic okay?” because plastic bags cost the store so much less than paper. Dear darling Chuck gets paper bags when he shops. I bring my own. I don’t bug him about it – much.

Elevator vs. stairs: I don’t have to deal with nine floors like No Impact Man does. I deal with two flights in an old building, though, and that on top of major abdominal surgery followed by more medical issues that made walking difficult. Hence, the elevator, for a little longer.

Tissue vs. handkerchief: I still stick with tissue. It’s not the environmental choice, but it’s a more hygienic choice. Give me a little leeway there, green folks, because I still harbor the germ phobia from teaching in a classroom full of coughing and sneezing kids for many years.

And I’ve only just begun to read!

Meanwhile, I will keep on gardening for 3 minutes a day, and with the generosity of others, I might get the garden in. Soon. Maybe. Shh: don’t tell the neighborhood bunnies, but I’m planting lettuce. Soon.

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Three Minute Gardening

Dilemma du jour: straw bale fertilizer.

I bought fertilizer with the right ratio of nitrogen to phosphate to potash. I measured (well, pretty closely) the proper amount. I soaked the bales with my soaker hose every night, every other night adding fertilizer. So why is the fertilizer still sitting on top of the bales and not washing into the middle of each bale the way I expected it would?

Possible answers:

  • Maybe I bought the wrong fertilizer and inadvertently got the time-release kind.
  • Maybe I should be using a hose with nozzle so the water pressure washes the fertilizer down into the deep.
  • Maybe I’m just impatient and should settle down, turn off the hose, and blog instead.

Gardeners? Internet research gurus? Others? What’s going wrong? Or is nothing going wrong?

For now, I’m going to send out a Tweet asking for help. The Twitter-verse is usually good for gardening advice. TTFN – Ta-ta-for-now!

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Adventures on the Internet

A middle school student in our virtual school had a lesson blocked by his “net nanny” filter program. Why? The net nanny determined this lesson had a Mature Theme.

The lesson: Relationships Between Parallel and Perpendicular Lines.

My students must meet certain source requirements for their research, including print and online sources. I teach a lesson about recognizing reliable sources on the Internet. They always complain a little when I say, “No Wikipedia!” In addition, I don’t want my kiddos reading a conspiracy theory site and deciding that because it’s on the web, it must be true. So when I saw this on Facebook, I borrowed it.

“Quotes found on the Internet are not always accurate.”

— Abraham Lincoln

On another note, the closed captions on MeTV continue to entertain. In today’s episode, “blood pressure” became “blog pressure.” I can identify with the first phrase, but I don’t feel pressure to blog. I do it for fun. In fact, blogging is kind of like gardening: cheaper than therapy!

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Compost – it happens

Chuck wanted to know where to put the ashes when he cleaned out the fireplace. I told him to dump them in the small compost bin. He replied “The pretty, fake terra cotta, un-green plastic one?” Hah, my dear, it’s made from recycled materials AND I got it free in exchange for posting a review. That must be worth something in the O.K. household.

Anyway, it reminded me of some fun I had with La Petite when this compost bin was new. Here you are, folks, from a few years back – the new bin. 

I’m a garden geek. My son calls me a green freak. My daughter? You’ll see.

Husband tolerates and even supports my green proclivities. In fact, he brought home my first composter and later bought me a pitchfork to go with it. Lately I’ve been hinting that I need a second compost bin. “What’s wrong with this one?” he asked. “Nothing’s wrong with it; it’s full.”

That was in May. Luckily, compost compacts as it decomposes, making room for more. Now it’s August, and the bin is filled to the brim with organic matter. It needs stirring, and then I’d really like to leave it alone for a full year – a full twelve months or more. That means next spring I would not empty the bin and till it into the garden soil; I’d let it sit until the following spring instead, giving everything a better chance to decompose completely. But meanwhile, where would my kitchen scraps and yard waste go? Enter the new composter.


My new composter is smaller and cuter than my big beautiful bin. It has some nice features, too. This composter has a base and an insert to keep the solids off the bottom and let the liquids, the “compost tea,” drain off, and a spigot in front for collection. Compost tea makes a great fertilizer, I’ve been told.

When I want to empty the compost, I simply open the back. It stays open nicely, which will make it simple to shovel the rich soil enhancer into my wheelbarrow.


The holes in the sides have purpose: they allow air to circulate and speed up the process, and the holes are big enough that I can poke a broom handle or stick inside to aerate the compost itself. And last, I mentioned it’s somewhat smaller than my old one. It’s still a hefty size – big enough to fit a college senior inside. Yes, that’s La Petite, modeling the new composter for all of my lovely readers.

As soon as I decide where to place it, I’ll post more pictures! Then I’ll fill it with kitchen scraps and weeds and other organic goodies, and let the compost happen.

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Gardening in Three Minutes a Day

I’m still following the “Three Minutes a Day” philosophy in getting the garden ready to go – er, ready to grow. Three minutes are often all I can spare these days. Three minutes of time or three minutes of energy or three minutes of sunshine – until the weekend, that is. So I wonder. Does worry count? Thought? Decision making? Dilemma solving?

Dilemma Number One: weak, wimpy seedlings. I decided to try Miracle Grow potting soil this year, and the seedling came up faster. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing, though. Those tomatoes and peppers of any height (relatively speaking, of course) have weak, white, spindly stems. These plants need a lot of sun and a lot of fresh air. They’re too weak to stand up right now. What to do, what to do?

Dilemma Number Two: straw bale prep. I need to review the research, buy the necessary fertilizer, and set up my calendar for prepping the straw bales. Where is the best place to buy fertilizer?

Dilemma Number Three: I plan to move the mini-greenhouse shelves to the deck later this week. What shall I do with the grow light that’s hanging on the shelves now?

Dilemma Number Four: The mini greenhouse shelves are not big enough to hold all the seedlings. Which should go outside first: the weaker or the stronger?

Today’s three minutes happened twice. One: I put the seedlings outside to soak in some real sun and to toughen up in the light breeze. Two: I water the seedlings.

And on we go. So much to do, so little strength – I’m as weak as some of the seedlings. When they’re falling over instead of waving in the wind, I’m getting a little bit done and then sitting down to rest.

Somehow, no matter what the dilemma, the plots seem to take shape.

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Believing in a Future

Planting a garden means believing in a future.

Didn’t I post a quote like that in the recent past? I’ll search the archives. When I ran a quick search for “garden future quotes” I found everything but this one, so I’m unable to source it quite yet.

Meanwhile, back at the O.K. Chorale, I am sitting still and resting, stretching my legs as much as I can tolerate, and keeping calm. Mostly.

The big bunny still takes her responsibilities seriously in the role of service animal. I took a half day at work, stayed home for the morning, and even though I’d gotten up to feed her at the normal time, she came in a little later and made sure I was up. First she thumped, loudly, and then she scrabbled and scratched the blankets hanging down from the bed. I gave in and got up, and then she sat watching closely while I checked my blood pressure — so closely that I almost expected her to stick a paw in the cuff and check her own.

I’m discouraged from anything resembling physical effort. Bending, lifting, twisting, and straining are all on the “no-no” lists. That means digging in the dirt, spreading topsoil, carrying pots of seedlings out to the deck, or wrestling with a rain barrel are all outlawed. For now, that makes sense. I am stiff and sore, and I tire easily. I don’t know how long the remnants of last week’s hematoma (look it up, and trust me, it hurt) will get in my way.

On the bright side (there’s a little resilient thinking) Mother Nature has delivered rain for most of this week. The weather hasn’t encouraged garden work, so I miss it a little less. But as soon as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, I’m going to want to garden.

Gardening has always been an ingredient in my healing, a strong part of any recovery. Taking the time to start seeds indoors kept me looking forward after my hysterectomy. Now it’s May, and by the end of this month I hope to have my plants in the dirt.

That’s where the faith in the future really comes in. When it’s time to plant, and I’m looking around and envisioning the harvest, my belief in the future is at its strongest.

 

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Comfort Food away from home

When I came home from the hospital in January, Amigo asked me, “How was the hospital food?” I told him I’d been pleasantly surprised at the decent food choices and quality.

This time, I wasn’t expecting to be in the hospital. I certainly hadn’t expected to be laid out, on flat bed rest (no more than 30% raised at the head), and my right leg immobilized straight ahead. I needed comfort – and the hospital menu had some standard comfort foods.

Oatmeal. I had oatmeal for breakfast with a fresh fruit cup of diced cantaloupe and grapes. I managed to eat the fruit cup, but I needed to be fed (spoon fed!) the oatmeal and the cranberry juice given with a straw. All in all, it was still comfort food.

I was sitting up by lunch, so I had soup and salad. Chicken noodle soup, in fact, satisfied my comfort food craving perfectly. The salad was spinach with hard boiled eggs, bacon bits and a citrus dressing. This salad was tasty enough that I thought about making it myself when the spinach is ripe in June.

I’ll take that as a collection of very good signs. I was hungry, I fed myself. I enjoyed the meal. I thought ahead, ahead to going home, and ahead to the future.

Gardening, I’m told, means believing in a future, and I was looking to the future, That’s a comfort in more ways than one.

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The Varmints Return

I stockpiled cardboard boxes for use in my garden and under the rock garden.

I’ve been composting kitchen scraps all winter.

So what happens? A varmint slips into the O.K. Chorale’s backyard and explores (read: trashes) my resources.

Growl. That's me growling, not the critter.

Growl. That’s me growling, not the critter.

This one must have tiny hands, er, paws, to fit inside the holes in the compost bin and pull out strips of parchment paper. Given time, that parchment paper will decompose. Give it time, varmint!

The pizza boxes were easy to stack. The furry creature (I don’t think it’s feathered, really) just made a mess. It didn’t destroy anything. Maybe it doesn’t like cheese.

But anyway, back at the O.K. Chorale, temperatures have gone down to the level of Snow Flurries again. No outdoor work today! Growl.

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