Living Small in Austin TX

A few months into this, and I totally get why most working farms are not pretty.  Okay, I should clarify.  I think most farms are gorgeous, soul restorative places, but inevitably there are piles of broken down machinery, plastic feed buckets splattered with mud or pigshit or, most likely, both, and ramshackle outbuildings - and I'm not talking about picturesque weathered barns, but dubious looking repurposed "manufactured homes" with an old tarp thrown over the rusted out metal siding.  Functional?  yes.  Pretty?  No.

To the left here?  This sort of thing is not pretty.  And I have a lot of this sort of thing going on.  

On the other hand, form is certainly following function here, and that's something I can get behind.  This is the "gate" to our chicken run.  it gets moved around a lot, to allow them to forage on fresh wild greens and then allow grazed areas to recover.  What's not beautiful about happy chickens?  And not needing to weed?  And not throwing this old bungee cord into the landfill because there's a second life waiting for it here on the micro farm?

With time, I think my little backyard farm will be both functional and beautiful, but for now...mostly it's about quick fixes, like yesterday afternoon when I took advantage of a break in the rain to go out and check on my dear little hens, only to find the covered run of their coop completely flooded.  They couldn't get to their feed without standing in a deep puddle of cold, dirty water...so I shoveled in a makeshift island of mulch for them to stand on, dragged over a panel of the moldy and rapidly crumbling wood panelling I've been stripping off the back shed to create more of a shelter...not pretty at all, but the chickens sure appreciated it.

 

Repurposing some ugly stuff I found around the micro-farm.

Who thought planter boxes were a good idea in Central Texas?

A couple of these were kicking around our yard when we moved in, and I'll admit, my first thought was to...you know...stick a plant in them, but then it got to be about a zillion degrees.  You'd need to water anything in those boxes a hundred times a day and even then they'd croak.

There were also these heavy concrete bench supports hiding in the weeds behind the shed.  Hmmm, bulk trash day?

As much as I hate accumulating stuff, I can't bear to just throw it away.

So I got to deconstructing...

and reconstructing...

I actually really like how they look!  Kind of rustic and actually quite comfortable.  I dragged them to a sunny-in-the-morning spot and now have the perfect place to warm up with my coffee and plan my day.

 

Got to start somewhere...

I took a bunch of "before" photos the other day.  At 107 degrees, it's really too hot to get started on the "afters".  

Actually, that didn't stop Nate from planting a few beans.  They were doing alright, until he left for a business trip the day after transplanting them into a freshly prepared bed.  By noon that first day, the leaves were all shriveled up!  Was he really going to come home to find I'd killed his happly little seedlings?

Not if I could help it.  I moved aside the mulch to feel the soil and was surprised to find it moist and relatively cool.  Clearly the sun was just too strong for these babies.

Next year, I'll know better.  Next year, I'll let something tallish and spindly grow along the outside of the fence - a nursemaid, if you will.  Amaranth?  Milo?  Maybe just some pretty flowers to attract beneficials to the garden?

This year?  Old threadbare sheet, some chicken wire and a couple of clothespins to the rescue!  It's really not pretty, but those little seedlings are H-A-P-P-Y.

Dustin' off the virtual cobwebs...and building a potting table

Blogging took a bit of a backseat to moving.  The dust still hasn't quite settled here - full boxes sit untouched, artwork stacked against walls instead of hanging on them, daily chores abandoned in favor of unpacking, moving furniture about until it feels like it's in the right place, but it is definitely starting to feel like home.

Soooo, let the DIY-themed posts commence!

Every gardener needs an outdoor work bench or potting table, but I've...sob...never actually had one.  There was this gorgeous old paneled door leaning against the shed in the garden.  Look at that patina!  It was just begging to be incorporated into our outdoor decor.

Then, when I investigated further...

Pink!  

Now I was really torn - the other side was arguably more weathered, but then again...Pink!  And I love this little spot where the door handle once was - look at the shape of it!  I'd love to get hold of some of those original plates and restore the few remaining original doors inside my house - all but three of them have been replaced.  Judging from the state of this one, I suppose they needed to be.

Here's the final product.  

Nate is experimenting with egg cartons as seedling trays - he left eggshell halves in a few of them to see if that helps make transplanting any easier.  The legs are a couple of adjustable height pine sawhorses I purchased at IKEA a couple of years ago. Underneath there is plenty of room for...uh, my gallon jar collection.  We really could stand to drink less apple juice (blame it all on summer and the boy).  I'm determined to find a way to creatively re-use those jars.  Right now, I use them to transport hibiscus mint tea to potlucks.  The twice it's rained this summer, we've put our a variety of buckets and containers and then funneled the rainwater into these closeable (mosquito proof!) jars to use in the garden.  What I really want is a glass jar and bottle cutter, so I can turn the tops into cloches and the bottoms into...terrariums?  Glass stepping stones?  DIY gifties for everyone?!?!

And now, I am off to sample some local flavor at Live Oak Barbeque!

I'm sorry.

I kind of feel the need to apologize for the people who keep finding this blog when they are searching for instructions on how to install a clothesline.

On the other hand, it's a clothesline, people!

Back in the day your great-great granny just used to drape her laundry over a shrub.  Make it work.

Re-using.

It's time to bottle my kombucha.

I know there are numerous sources, both local and online to purchase empty swing top bottles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Really?  You gonna pay good money for empty bottles?

You crazy.  

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some kick back and relaxin' with a cold one to do.

 

Hello, pickle breath!

After procrastinating for months, I finally started my first batch of kombucha!  I've been waiting for the perfect wide mouthed gallon jar or crock, and well, it still hasn't materialized, but every time I walk past the spendy kombucha at the co-op it awakens the craving.  

Losing my patience, I improvised and cut the top off a plastic gallon jug.  I waited until my tea was room temperature before pouring it into the plastic and I'm not going to let the sun get to it, so here's to no weird toxins leaching into my brew this first time around.  

Still, I'm more than a bit "Ewww..." about the plastic so this weekend I'm going to go buy a gallon of pickles or something, so I will have a glass jar at the ready for batch number 2!

So, experienced brewers, how long do you think I should wait?  I really like the flavor of both Kosmic Kombucha and Buddha's Brew.  Does anyone know about how long either of those are fermented for?

How (not) to install a retractable clothesline in eleventy-million steps!

Unpack clothesline.

Put it aside, while you unpack more urgent items (legos, running shoes you never wear).

Forget where "aside" is.

Periodically come across "lost clothesline" while on other errands in toolshed.

Do a bunch of other stuff - meet new friends, go camping, eat good food, ride bikes, make love, read to your children, meditate, pet your dog, bake gluten-free cookies, etc.

On a beautiful January morning declare that you are going to install a retractable clothesline.

Find a suitable place to mount it.

If you can find a pencil, mark where you need to drill the holes.  If you don't have a pencil, just etch little marks with the screws.  Just find a pencil.  Pencils are handy.  Keep one in the toolshed.

Grab a couple of sturdy woodscrews.  Carefully use the drill to screw them into place.  Know where the drill is.

Take the housing of the retractable clothes line and hang it on the screws.  Unless the heads of the screws are too big for the holes on the housing of said clothesline, in which case, take a manual screwdriver (because you've probably already put the drill away) and laboriously unscrew the screws.

If there is a small child around, now is the perfect time to set them up with paints!

Back to the job at hand!  Hold the housing of the clothesline with one hand, hold the wood screw with the other, hold the...

You're smart with opposable thumbs.  Mount the clothesline to the exterior wall of the toolshed.

Wrap a bungee cord around the crepe myrtle on the other side of the yard.

Run the clothesline across the yard and hook to the bungee cord.  Pat yourself on the back for not having to dig a hole, pour concrete and mount a post for the other end of the clothesline, and for not nailing anything into that beautiful tree.

Catch that little boy with blue paint all over his hands!

Admire your work. 

Take a picture for your blog.

Go over and give it a tug.

Notice that the retractable-ness of the retractable clothesline doesn't seem to be working.  Any clothes you put on there are going to dip the whole line down towards the dirt patch that is your backyard.

Pull on it a bit.  Unhook it from the bungee cord and retract it.  Pull it again.

And again.  it might be like that seatbelt in the old car, the one that would sometimes not catch?  And then it would really work and you'd be pinned against the seat, afraid to exhale, because then you'd be pinned even more!

The painted one wants to go inside.  Set up the train track for him.  Do it wrong.  Do it just as instructed, but don't be surprised if you are still wrong. 

Sneak away to unload the washer and bung it all in the stupid dryer.

Your daughter isn't feeling well, and asks you to read to her.  You two don't get to do that nearly enough, and so you snuggle in and read The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate.

An hour or so later, go back outside. 

Attempt to open the housing and repair your cheap, Made in China, retractable clothesline, unless it's not made to be opened, ever.

In which case, take some strong scissors and cut the clothesline out.

Devise a plan.  It involves a leftover piece of 1 x 2 wood, the drill, the new saw.

Attempt to cut the wood in half with the saw.

Paint a train for the boy at his request.

Back to the saw.  Muddle through.  Perservere! 

Drill a hole big enough to thread the clothesline through, in the middle of each piece of wood. 

If the drilling doesn't seem to go as quickly as you'd like, do not lean harder. You are wearing closed toe shoes (despite the balmy 76 degrees), right?

Thread the clothesline through the holes.  You should have something resembling a very long garotte cord.

Find a good place to mount one end.

Find the right sized screws.

Unearth the drill again.

Wonder why the drill is taking so long to sink the screws.

Admire the freshly painted compost bin.

Lean into the drill as if you were a big burly man.

Watch, in slow motion, as the drill veers off to the left and implants itself into that opposable thumb you're so proud of.

Yelp like a pup, but don't drop the damned drill.

Catch a glimpse of painted boy v 2.0 scampering into the house.

Follow him.  Now.

Run a bath (sadly, this is not for you, but for that little blue boy).

Go back outside and put the tools away.  This job can wait until another day.  It's okay to focus on the stuff you're good at, like turning a heel on a handknitted sock.

Take the clothes out of the dryer and fold them.