after the rain

mysteries

Curtis came by today with wax cappings from this summer's honey extraction to melt down into solid chunks of beeswax. We postponed the project because the Decatur High students who were supposed to be here had exams, but Curtis pointed out an interesting phenomenon to me.

When he had placed the cappings in the tray, he left them out for the bees to clean up a little. Later, they were transformed from flakes into little pellets, the size of rabbit droppings (what else is that size?) Mystified by this change of form, Curtis kept an eye on the area where he left the tray out. Turns out, possums came to nibble on the wax, attracted by the tiny bit of honey still stuck to it. Then they spit it out in the form of little balls. So I guess that is how much beeswax a possum can stuff in its toothy little mouth at one time--a rabbit-dropping-sized amount.

salad days

I was a little late planting lettuce this year, so although we have plentiful kale, tatsoi, red and green mustards, we have only a few tiny mild lettuces to balance out these flavorful greens.

But on this warm day, everyone in the after school program wanted to make a salad. So we cut our greens, added plenty of the chickweed that grows happily among the salad mix (and out of the worm bin in the photo), added garlic, olive oil, a few easter egg radishes soaked in apple cider vinegar, and some goddess dressing. Oh yes, and don't forget soy sauce.

No one missed the lettuce. After scraping out the last leaves, they ran out to harvest more and do it all over again, ignoring the cranberry squash muffins on the table that we had just made with one of the last squashes of the season.

This group has been coming to the garden for a few years, and were in fact the ones that sowed the seeds for the greens they harvested today back in October. They can also find the chickweed, wood sorrel, and a couple other choice wild edibles when garden greens are scarce, or when they want to feed the chickens. Some among them have chosen coming to the garden over going to the mall. They've named the chickens and know where their crops are growing and what's ready to harvest.

Few of us belong to a geographical place anymore. We are so easily uprooted, moving for jobs, family, or just a change of scenery. Though this is supposed to be a community garden that belongs to the gardeners, more often than not, the gardeners end up belonging to the garden, an intimate artistry in which we shape and are shaped by a place.

As today's after school group explores the garden, naming its nooks and crannies, tasting its offerings, their experiences here change the way they see the world. Once they know what chickweed is, they begin to find it everywhere, not just where they met it. The world comes alive in a different way. Becoming more deeply rooted in one place, our branches reach farther.

bone ticklers

Rainy days--a chance to catch up.

The high school crew comes over on Wednesday and we build frames for bee hives so we'll be ready for the spring increase in the apiary.

This time last year we had three active hives. Through donations, ordering new bee packages in the mail (they arrive in a small screen box--3 pounds of worker bees and a queen, herself secluded in a tiny screened throne with a few attendants), and catching two swarms out of the alder tree (see photo), we were up to ten active hives over the summer. They survived Bee Camp, being inspected by groups of children nearly every day for two weeks. Through all of this, only the instructor got stung, and only once. The bees are very tolerant.

I've been stung twice by honey bees here, on the same day. Another kind of bee stung me that day as well, but I didn't see the culprit. I've been working with bees for almost three years now, and that's the only time I've been stung. I was in a bad mood, to put it mildly. I was not 'sending the bees love,' as I usually consciously do when working the hives. Bees are tuned in, ready to remind you be present in your actions.

Fortunately, my friend Plantain, Plantago major, grows abundantly in the garden. For each sting, I chewed a leaf, taped it on the sting for about 10 minutes, and was left with just a small itchy spot as opposed to the massive swelling I would have had in the absence of treatment. I thanked the bees for yanking me out of my funk.

This fall was hard on our apiary. We lost two hives to American Foul Brood, so named because of the stink of rotting flesh it produces as the bacteria breaks down the cells of the larvae in the hive. This spore-bearing bacteria can spread in the wind, so we must remove these hives and burn or bury them. The only other option is to treat with antibiotics, not in line with our organic practices.

We're not quite sure what happened to the five other hives we lost. We think two were queenless and just dwindled. Others were weakened and infested with wax moths and wax beetles, imported pests that feast on, yes, wax. What was left of the honey and bees and brood from these hives, we added to our strong hives. We're back down to 3.

Now we must clean out the equipment from the abandoned hives and continue to build new hives to prepare for a more organized year of beekeeping.

Observing the hives with a group of 4 and 5 year olds one day, a child exclaims "bees tickle your bones!" I ask for clarification. "You know, they tickle your bones." Oh. Do you mean from the vibrations of their buzzing? "Yes!" Of course. Add that to the list of benefits of having bees in the garden. They tickle your bones.

cockadoodledoo!

Sometimes a group of mothers and toddlers comes to the garden to watch the chickens. Everytime the rooster crows, they cheer. This starts a cycle of crowing and cheering that can go on for a suprisingly long time. Yesterday, a mother asks: Does the cheering make him crow? Another mother, with experience of growing up with chickens, says no, it's normal for a rooster to crow about 10 times, with encouragement or without.

Later, he starts crowing again. We count how many times. Twelve with no cheering. So it is.

cockadoodledoo?

The rooster made a noise I had never heard before--similar to the proud exclamation of a hen announcing an egg fresh-laid, but in the rooster's throatier voice, and a bit more commanding. Obviously, he has not just laid an egg. So what are you saying, rooster? I look over and the hens are all under the coop. He is still making this unusual call from within the protection of the inner pen. I follow his gaze--oh, a hawk. He joins his flock under the coop.

Later, he crows from the yard and the hens come out to scratch and peck.

It was about this time last year, in the flock's pre-rooster days, that one hen lost her head to a hawk. Good job, Mr. Rooster.

concentration

A change comes over a person when attention is focused on one thing.

Today in the garden we explored the compost up close, with a group of 4th and 5th graders. With 3 or 4 children gathered around a tray of compost fresh from the bins, armed with a magnifying glass and a spoon for closer inspections, initial "eww, gross!" comments faded and a look of intense concentration overcame each child. Exclamations of discoveries--"a centipede!" "a worm cocoon!" "what's this?"-- and a general settling down overcame the whole group.

Wandering bodies and minds and eyes gathered themselves to focus on this tiny universe. The group stopped looking at each other, too engrossed in this new way of seeing dirt to be distracted by anything.

The whole body changes at this point. Fidgeting ceases. Eyebrows crease. Worms are brought inches away from the face for observation. Squeamishness is forgotten. This is when questions start to bubble up, and real knowledge begins.

Back inside, we piece together a compost food chain after experiencing many of its links. The invisible ones--bacteria, nematodes, molds--are more easily understood in this context. Relationships are imagined.

Compost now is understood not as a pile of rotting stuff, but as an intricate community with a cast of characters, some of which have been be seen and touched. The compost taught about itself; all that was necessary was to provide the right tools and a little direction. Then the worms and the earwigs, the millipedes and centipedes, the snails and the pillbugs finish the job. They call on our focus and once they have it, our minds and imaginations are activated. We enter a learning dimension. This is my school.