Green Ethics; Black Thumbs – Part 2

A few months back I wrote a post about my adventures in patio gardening… This is an update on all of the seedlings that I so hopefully sowed.

 

The clothespin tells me what is planted in each pot. Helps me know what died before it sprouted.

I started seeing my seedlings from the second round of seeds almost a month after planting. They spent some time in my living room each day in June. (June in El Paso is the HOTTEST, DRIEST month ever!) You can see a few sticking up (the light spots on the dirt) and a leftover seedling from the previous round ( yellow pot with sad looking plant). I figured I had planted too deeply so I carefully exposed a lot of the tiny leaves from beneath the soil.

From the previous round of seeds, the one to survive, and even thrive, was my lovely Genovese Basil. Packed with spicy flavor and prolific! This plant has supplied me with basily-goodness for several months. Upon my discovery of Vegenaise (YUMMMY!), I began eating tomato-avocado-basil sandwiches weekly. This basil served me well during the hot hot months of summer.

Green!

Ahhh, morning coffee with the plants

I spent a few lovely, non-hot mornings sitting on the porch, soaking in my green patio. The basil is doing great, the lemon tree is photo-bombing from the left, and the basil seedlings are sprouting. I placed them close to the larger successful basil to give them something to aspire to. 🙂

The aspiration technique seemed to be working. For several months in the heat of summer, these guys grew and grew.

This yellow pot basil was one of the ones that I had to uncover. It seemed so very grateful and as soon as it got some sun, it grew like crazy!

Here it is only a week later, nestled in with some cilantro. We know my history with cilantro but I never seem to learn. Never Give Up! I stacked the pots because my patio is small but it also served to help retain moisture and made it easier to move everything around to follow the sun.

The little sage plants never did come up. Sage definitely doesn’t like the heat. They seemed to wilt beneath the surface. I think I’m still watering them in hopes of a random fall growth spurt.

So to recount – cilantro dies, sage doesn’t like heat, Genovese Basil is the shit and grows well, and the lemon tree is hanging in there.

The sad news is that last week we had a wind storm that knocked over my table, breaking my pretty yellow pots in the process. I was able to transplant the basils and they are possibly rallying. I guess their condition should be listed as “stable”. The big awesome basil has reached its peak and is now winding down. The base of the stems are browning but new little leaves are still appearing. I’m not sure how much longer that guy will be around.

I’m thinking of fall crops now… spinach, more basil, more sage, possibly cilantro (see, I’ll never learn) Any other ideas?

Also, its that time of the year when the hummingbirds are starting to fly by again. I need to get my feeder out and attract these great little guys. I so miss the hummingbirds that were a part of every morning in the Sonoran Desert. Maybe what I need is an ocotillo? They love those.

A List of Random Things You May or May Not Know About Me

• I only need about 10 minutes of Justified-watching before my southern accent comes on thicker than cold molasses.
• Speaking of Timothy Olyphant, can we all just agree that he should only ever wear a wife-beater (look it up!) or appear shirtless?
• If I were a water-molecule on a highway, I’d prefer to be run-over by an AquaTread tire…. the idea of shooting down the middle tread like a flume sounds fun.
• I’ve been named the VOOP… the official Voice-Of-Organ-Pipe. Call Organ Pipe Cactus NM and listen to the voice on the phone tree. That’s me!
• My toes are double-jointed….. freaked out my parents when I was young.
• I love those gross late-night surgery shows that are on Discovery Health.
• I guess you’ve already read how I have an odd belief that bodies are going to float up beneath me when I’m sitting in a body of water. No? Read it here….
• The first bottle of wine I ever opened was tough to get into but I managed to work the corkscrew. Upon showing my parents the fruits of my labor, they laughed and pointed out that it was a screw-top bottle….
• I love period-films but anything involving amputation scenes is unacceptable.
• Severe Roach Phobia
• I enjoy crosswords mainly because it involves placing letters in tiny neatly arranged boxes
• I can’t stand to watch, or be watched, people brushing their teeth. The beginning of Stranger Than Fiction was tough for me.
• If I ever have a child, I want it to be a girl so I can name her after my grandma. Little baby Evelyn… I’m sure I’ll regret my desire as soon as she hits her pre-teens.
• One year for Christmas I gave my father a box of bat-shit… he’s a gardener.
• And then one birthday, I received my father’s ponytail in the mail.
• I was a twirler… and was offered a scholarship for it.
• I’m the first born in my family  



my 1st birthday

• My favorite time of the year is Fall. I love the changing colors on the trees and plants; I love the crisp fall air; I love baking fall treats.
• I broke my foot but demanded a walking cast only because I was planning to visit Big Bend NP and wanted to be able to hike.
• I’ve recently discovered that most of my travels are to the same places as my grandparents. Very odd…
• I took, and taught, photography in college.
• I busted my tooth on my swingset in elementary school

see the pull-up bar on the left… it will forever have a dent from my tooth!

• I love architecture!
• I’ve been vegetarian for many years and am embarking on veganism.
• I was the last of 4 grandchildren to get a tattoo.
• I was pretty terrified of everything as a child. Sometime in high school that all changed and my life of adventure began.
• I’ve taken road trips my entire life; with my family as a child and with friends, or alone, as an adult.
• I’ve used the excuse “but I’m from out of town” several times after driving the wrong way down a one-way road.
• I’m named after my mother’s maiden name, and I share my middle name with her.
• There are 2 people in my family with my exact name – first and last – and spelled exactly the same.
• I have never mowed a lawn… and i hope that will remain true forever.
• I have eaten lichen.
• I’ve also eaten guinea pig, snails, and frog legs.
• I developed a pork allergy from a tick in the Appalachian Mountains. True story.
• I wish someone would invent some type of garbage disposal for the shower drain. Someone with long hair – go! Invent! Become a millionaire!
• My favorite movie is 50 First Dates…. followed closely by Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I think its partly because Hawaii is so relaxing, and partly because I’m a mushy romantic at heart.
• I have a huge girl-crush on Pink.

Alright, I feel like this post is becoming an exercise in narcissim, but please excuse me because I’m sick and bored on my couch.

Stalking the Wildest Asparagus

This’ll be a really short post. Just wanted to tell you internet folk about the time that C and I went in search of wild asparagus.

I guess it started my first year of working at Capitol Reef, when we got so very used to picking our own fruit off the freaking amazing orchards. This park likes to keep it a bit quiet but growing among the canyon walls are acres of apples, peaches, pears, quinces, mulberries, cherries, and apricots.

How easy the ranger makes it look!

We had so much fruit we had potlucks with all-fruit themes. So much fruit the deer were fat and happy. So much fruit that the orchard furrows literally run with apricot brandy (fermented apricot juice). So much fruit that the campground raccoons spent their nights rolling around the grounds, drunk on apricot brandy, drunkenly running into traffic!

So, the second season we were there, I guess we got a little cocky and went in search of the non-NPS sanctioned wild asparagus. A co-worker told us what area to look in, and with the advice “you’ll know asparagus when you see asparagus”, off we went.

Stalking the Wild Asparagus!

We walked a mile or so to the alleged asparagus location. It was an impromptu walk so I was in flip flops with no water, in the desert, in May. (Read: hot, uncomfortable, and a bit buggy). C and I wandered into an orchard that we’d never explored and split up, stalking for stalks.

Bolstered by our desire for amazing fresh (free) asparagus for dinner, we combed every inch of the weedy furrowed landscape. After 30 minutes or so, C found what she thought was the asparagus and called me over to consult. Since we should have known it when we saw it, I thought we should keep looking since we didn’t know what this was and only the wildest guessing was taking place. However, an hour later, seeing no other asparagus-esque foliage, we headed back to the original suspect and began the harvest.

We probably should have guessed that since it was 3 feet tall and brushy, it was a few years old. But, cocky and hungry, we tugged the thing out of the ground and walked home.

yummmmy, just like store-bought asparagus

After rinsing sand and grit off our crop, C “prepared” the stalks, which included sawing, yes sawing, the things down so they’d fit into the stock pot. Another clue that things weren’t right in asparagus-hunting world. Some of the asparagus was simply too tough to saw so we resorted to chewing it, and to general shenanigans. (Famous for our shenanigans, see our 70s party, or stay tuned for our international adventures)

All good asparagus needs to be gnawed on, right?

We managed to get a few measily stalks into our pot, steam them, and sit down for a lovely toddler-tall asparagus dinner. Perfect… yeah right. What really happened was we steamed the crap outta them hoping they’d soften up and after an hour, we were so invested in making this work that we vowed to eat them any damn way we could.

Here’s the mental image I want you to create: C and I sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on brushy tough steamed asparagus lightly seared with garlic and olive oil. We sucked as much asparagus-ness out of each stem before spitting the husks (they can only be described as “husks”) into the trash can. We spent the meal laughing at how ridiculous we, and the situation, were.

It was not a very filling meal, but it was free and we did it all by ourselves.

The next day we learned that our asparagus was possibly several years old, nobody could believe that we’d messed it up that bad, and the good week-old asparagus was in the DITCH next to the orchard. Thank you, coworkers, for leaving out that tidbit….

Where was YouTube when we needed it!

Running Away to the Mountains

I had a quick 3-days off last weekend and decided  I needed to run away to the mountains. I used to run away every weekend, driving until I was tired and then sleeping in the back on my car. (Learned that from a close friend who shares my name.) Now, I have responsibilities… named Lennox and Chicory…. and can’t run away last minute all the time.

I aimed my car east and headed 2 hours to Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Guadalupe Peak is the highest peak in Texas and visible for an hour or two away. The peak is located in an ancient underwater reef system that is responsible to world-class fossils and world-class caves. Carlsbad Caverns is also in this reef. The Guadalupes rise straight up out of the flat desert ground, creating a most amazing view from far down the highway.

One hour away and already taking my breath away

To the west of the mountains the park is all salt flats. It creates a very striking and blinding landscape to drive through.

Guadalupe Mountains rising thousands of feet above the salt flats. And yes, I’m photographing while driving. Kids, don’t try this at home.

Almost there! This is my favorite part of the drive… You get the best view of El Capitan rising straight to the sky over on the left.

I’ve never been to this campground and was delighted to find a great little walk-in tent section. The only thing I hate about camping in national parks is noisy families and slamming car doors…. This had none of that. I picked the only tent spot left, way in the back (read: quiet).

View from my tent….

more glorious view… not a person in sight!

The only thing wrong with this spot was the lack of any type of shade. It was late afternoon and the desert heat was getting up there. Luckily, being the outdoorsy chick that I am, I was prepared. I grabbed Lennox’s blanket out of my car, spread it down in front of the tent and spent the afternoon reading in the little shade that the tent provided. (I also listened to some Keith and the Girl…. I guess you can take the girl to the wilderness but you can’t take her away from Keith and the Girl!)

View from the other side of my campsite

As I lay outdoors, and stared at the bluest possible sky, watching fluffy white clouds drift by, I could feel my stress dissappating. This is what this weekend was all about… no trail warrior, no crazy adventure, just relaxing in nature and chilling the fuck out. Check!

And by “chilling” I mean escaping the dreaded 100s and 90s of El Paso. Thank you 88!

As I lay in my tent that first night, I stared up at the brilliant night sky. I was eager to see my old friend, the Milky Way. Haven’t seen her in a year or so. She comes out late so for the time being I settled for the rest of the universe. Saggitarius, Arcturus, and 3 shooting stars could be seen from my pillow. Just as the Milky Way was making her appearance, a storm moved in and I had to close up my rain fly. Lots of thunder and lightning, followed by a small bit of actual rain. I spent the rest of the night listening to the wind howl while covering my head from being pelted by my flapping tent. Not a restful night…

The next morning, after waking at 6am for a quick trip to the bathroom, moving campsites (shade!) and coffee-brewing, I fell back asleep until 9am. Its vacation and I can sleep as late as I want. As I napped, it rained again. There is nothing quite as soothing as napping in a tent while it rains. I highly recommend it.

After waking the second time, I stopped by the visitor center to say hi to the awesome rangers there and then hit the trail. I choose an easy 5-mile loop.

Perfect…. blue sky and an open trail stretching out before me.

The halfway point for the trail was an old ranch, Frijole Ranch, and was a superb stop. A spring brings water running through the yard, which is full of huge shade-bringing trees. The water, the breeze, and the trees created an intoxicating cool spot that I had to go lay in for a long while…

My view…

Frijole Ranch house… Sometimes open to the public, but not today.

Leaving the cool shade behind, I headed back out into the desert. The trail wound across arroyos and then up to the foot of the mountain. There wasn’t another human in sight. I wasn’t alone though. Two redtail hawks hung out with me for an hour or so. They were probably hunting but they were having fun in the breeze and every so often one would call out to another. Remember the opening credits for Northern Exposure… that awesome bird screech was a redtail. It is easily my favorite sound in the wilderness. (Young people, Northern Exposure was an awesome 90s show, featuring such lovely scenery as wild Alaska, and a wilder young John Corbett. Google it!)

One of the red-tails flying overhead…

Texas madrones stand out along the trail.

The last hour or so of my hike was a hurried one, as two amazing thunderstorms were converging overhead. Not only was I one of the taller things on the trail and therefore a lightning hazard (I have a history with lightning…..), but I really didn’t want to get caught out in the rain. I made it back to my tent just in time!

Just missed me!

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading in my tent and then laying on the table, watching the storms hover over the valley, dumping tons of much needed water onto the desert.

Hooray for shade, and for the rain, that made my afternoon fantastic

That evening, after a sketchy camp dinner that expired in 2008, I met up with a very cool ranger who took me hiking to a super-secret place. I got to see some amazing rock art (rock art is my passion and this ranger knew just where to take me. Most rock art sites are super-secret because too many dumbasses try to deface them.) We hiked out to a great view, and watched the clouds, light, and landscape create some amazingly beautiful scenery, we headed back for a late dinner, great conversation, great tunes, and possibly a bit too much wine. ( Ya’ll know me, I’m a cheap date. I kinda tripped my way back to my campsite…) That night, with red wine running through my veins, I yanked the rain fly off and just stared up at the night sky for one last evening. I fell into a deep sleep with the whole galaxy just overhead.

Perfect.

How to Execute a "Controlled-Slick Rock Slide"

*Disclaimer – any bitching or complaining that may occur below is real, however I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world!

As all good stories should start, this one begins with an invitation to a secret waterfall location. Now I’m a pretty competent hiker and I knew that going hiking with H would most likely test my abilities…. I had no idea.

This secret waterfall location was so super-secret that the waterfall itself was secret, and our quest (the TOP of said secret waterfall) was a secret upon a secret. (How many times can I use secret in one sentence… has it lost its meaning for you too?)

Most awesome secret waterfall spot… If Backpacker mag hasn’t found it yet, I’m sure it’ll happen soon. Our mission was to get to the top!

Of course I jumped at the chance to go on a super-secret location hike! H said that it’d be a few miles, maybe 6 or 7, and we’d be walking in water all the way there so I’d need river shoes. I actually had to BORROW Chaco sandals. (I can’t believe there was a time when I didn’t own a pair of Chacos.) Thanks to D, I had a pair of river sandals for the day that were super-comfy and would begin my lifelong love affair with Chacos.

Early in the morning, H and I packed up the car and headed over the mountain to a turn-off marked only by a “weirdly-shaped white splotched rock” which we actually drove by a few times before H saw it.

Super. Super. Secret.

From there we hiked a mile or so up the winding highway before leaving the blacktop and heading down, down, down into a canyon.

We pretty quickly reached the river that would be our guide for the next few hours. It was cool and inviting in the desert summer heat. Even with my walking stick, I slipped a few times on mossy rocks and uneven river bottoms. One time, I slipped on a moss-covered rock, fell on my ass and then slid down the long rock slide to a pool below… not on purpose. My yelp as I fell, and the accompanying scream of glee as I slid, startled H and he came rushing back to help me. I burst out laughing as I hit the pool, which seemed to calm H down.

The next few miles (hours) were serene. Cool breezes raced through the red-rocked canyon, carrying wildflower scents and bird trills along the river corridor. The cool ever-present water kept me refreshed as we walked beneath large cottonwoods. At some point, the water and a sandal strap conspired against me and rubbed my big toe raw. Digging through my daypack for a makeshift bandage (band-aids won’t work in the water!) I found an emergency tampon with a plastic wrapper. I figured that would work! The next few miles were hiked with a yellow and white tampon wrapper knotted around my big toe, foiling the sandal’s attempt at ruining my hike.

H and I engaged in that halting, stream-of-consciousness style conversation that is common amongst hiking companions. I learned a lot about him, and he about me. All in all, this was shaping up to be a fantastically lovely day.

As we were hiking, the rock strata around us was changing. We began to enter into the white Navajo layer (my favorite geological layer) that would later be the key to the Controlled Slick Rock Slide. The canyon walls began to fall away, widening out as the river grew narrower, deeper, and faster. We were nearing the top of the most awesome secret waterfall. Luckily the top of this tall fall was surrounded by rocks and there was little worry about being washed over the edge. There was however a great chance of getting stuck in large human-sized potholes. How do I know this?….

Look below! Seems like some hikers found the secret waterfall…

In order to see over the edge of the fall and get this shot, I had to cross some very large and deep potholes. Going down to get to this shot was easy, coming back I got stuck. Picture me boob-deep in a water-filled pothole that’s lined with slick moss that ensures I’ll never climb out.

H held on to my camera and daypack as I spent a half hour or so trying in vain to get the hell outta the hole. I tried climbing; I tried chimneying; I tried climbing onto H as he held onto some rocks for support. Nothing. Finally, using a combination of chimneying, jumping, grasping for H, and general anxiety-ridden strength, I got out. I was tired and ready for a serene walk back up the water to the car.

But no! H said the quickest way back was to climb straight up the side of the sloping Navajo sandstone. The car was straight above us “only 1,500 feet up or so”. (true story) As I gazed straight up the side of this sandstone wall, calculating the slope versus my borrowed sandals ability to cling to slickrock, I began to rationalize a 6 mile walk back in the river in the dark. Most of the slope was slick and straight up. We’d have to literally run up it to maintain enough speed and traction. All in all, this was not looking good. Luckily, there were some ridges that were a few inches wide to rest on higher up. If only I could reach them…

H took off running up the side of the canyon, leaving me to follow along. A few hundred feet up, I slowed down just enough to lose my footing and start sliding back. My first instinct was to lay flat out against the rock, like a lizard. This only worked to slow down the slide, not stop it.

So there I am, laying flat against hot white sandstone, solid ground a few hundred feet below, sliding (falling) uncontrollably. I looked up the wall, screaming for H as my fingers frantically scrambled for anything to grab. Even a quarter inch of protruding rock would have been welcomed. Nothing…

H comes running (falling) down the rock wall to me, grabbing my hands to stop me from gaining speed. As he grabs my hands, I realize all of this sliding down super-rough sandstone has pulled the front of my rapidly disappearing t-shirt up, up, up around my neck. I stopped sliding just as my bra began to go with the shirt! Once I quit moving and caught my breath, I began laughing at the absurdity of my situation…. abrasions on my stomach, bra and t-shirt dangerously up around my neck, my supervisor holding my arms in an attempt to keep me from plummeting into a canyon. This shit could only happen in Utah, and possibly only to me.

After I decided to sidestep my way to a less-steep section, clinging desperately to the wall, I was on my way up again. Some running, some climbing, sweating constantly. 1,000 feet in elevation later, I met up with H and stopped for a snack, surveying the trek below. H took a photo of me to commemorate my first lesson in “controlled slickrock sliding”.

You can’t see the abrasions on the right side of my face but trust me, they’re there! Check out the green trees down in the canyon. Only a few hours earlier they were offering us shade.

Only a few more feet to go and we’d be on the highway. This part was also extremely steep and had us literally clinging to plants to pull ourselves up. Of course, H was ahead of me. I watched as he reached his hand up to the lip of the highway to grab ahold and hoist himself out of this canyon. Just as his hand hit the tarmac, right on the yellow line, a car flew by. I’m surprised they didn’t wreck! Imagine driving on a road cut at the top of a ridge, thousands of feet drop away just inches from your tire, and seeing a dirty hand come up out of nowhere! Zombies!!

We did manage to get out of the canyon and onto the road, after looking both ways. The rest of our hike was back along the highway a half mile to the car. I decided if H could teach me a new trick, I’d teach him one too. He learned to finger-twirl my hiking stick like a baton as we walked back to the car. That night I surveyed the damage… abrasions on my stomach, knees, ankles, toes, elbows, face, forearms and fingers, and a sunburn. I washed the blood off the borrowed sandals and threw away my shirt due to the holes rubbed into it. Spoils of a great adventure.

It was a fantastic and terrifying adventure, but we set out to get to the top of the waterfall and we did (without loss of life or limb), so it was a success!

A year later I was driving along the road with my parents, who had heard the saga, and thought they’d like to see where this all took place. Right where my finger is lies the slope we came up…

Headlines from My Apartment; Part 2

Weather Recap: More Dust Flurries Whip Up During Semi-Annual Vaccumming

Neighborhood Watch: Dangerous Gas Cans Stored on Porch NO MORE!

Couple of the Moment “Chicaband”; Chicory and Hairband Offer Exclusive Interview on their New Infatuation

Multiple Empty Veganaise Containers May Point to Newly Discovered Favorite Condiment

Gardening Tips: Watch What I Do and DO THE OPPOSITE!
In Related Story, Seedlings Refuse to Emerge Until Conditions Improve

The 80’s Have Returned! 100% of Occupants Watching “Cheers” Re-runs and Reliving Childhood

Poll: How Many Times Will the Cat be Sprayed with Water Bottle Before She Finally Understands the Word “NO!”

Dog Discusses New Move to Vegetarianism, and as Usual, How Much He Hates the Cat

Green Ethics; Black Thumbs

Well, I was hoping to write a post about my kick-ass patio gardening skills. But alas, I don’t apparently have any. If you want to read about some wicked-sweet gardening, read this. As for my skills, I guess I can tell you what not to do and what has kinda worked for me. Here it goes…

A few years ago, I was living in the middle of nowhere and decided to try window herbs. It was a 2 hour drive to town and even I don’t love cilantro that much. I bought some basil and rosemary and kept them in the nursery pot on the windowsill. They did great! Lots of sun, none of the heat. I watered as they began to wilt. They supplied me and my roommate with plenty of yumminess. This is what you’d call “beginners luck” because it’d never be that simple again! After 6 months or so, the rosemary suddenly died and the basil had grown tall and shrub-like. I tossed them out before moving parks.

Over the next few years, I tried off and on with rosemary, cilantro, and basil. The basil always did well for a while, the rosemary lived a shorter life, and I became known as the cilantro-killer. In southern Arizona, I was killing cilantro like a serial killer while my neighbor complained about the massive quanitites of cilantro that grew WILD in her yard. One day I just said “fuck it, i give up. I’ll just take hers.” The rest of the year passed in great cilantro splendor. (i love cilantro in case you can’t tell.)

Fast forward to this winter, when I announce to the family that I’m going to try patio gardening. After all, I live in Sun City, what better place to garden, right?!  hmmmm. For Christmas, my brother sets me up with lots of seeds and a window tray. See here for more on my Green Christmas. I began my new year with big garden plans. True to my DIY-style and recycle ethics, I even looked into reusing some items from around the house.

We all have tons of used toilet paper rolls laying about, right? No, just me… fine. I took 30 of these, cut slits in the bottoms and turned them into mini-planters. The idea being they would hold in moisture but decay over time, leaving me with amazing herbs. Six toilet tubes fit into a strawberry container and the lid would act as a greenhouse. Fill with soil and seeds, water, and wait.

Bonus: you get to eat lots of strawberries!

The strawberry container has slits too so have something to catch the draining water!

Totally cute and totally didn’t work. My seeds sprouted, leaving me with super-cute tiny green things. I planted cilantro, basil, sage, oregano, thyme, rosemary, lettuce, spinach, and broccoli. They all sprouted however, when it came time to move them outdoors, they began to die. I took each of the tubes and planted them in larger planters. I guess the little roots just couldn’t make it through the tubes or out the slits? i don’t know what happened.

I also tried those peat seed starters that you can find at big box garden stores. Same story… lots of seedlings but they died after the peat holders dried out and became rock hard.

After taking a few weeks to mourn, I tried again. This time I said screw it to the seed starters and just planted them right into the pots. (Maybe seed starters are for sad cold people who live up north, not on the Mexican border where its currently 102 degrees.) This time around, things came up and did not die! Yay!!!!! I had enough spinach to sprinkle onto store-bought spinach for a salad. It made me feel good to contribute. The broccoli didn’t make it. I learned that lettuce REALLY doesn’t like the heat. The oregano and sage also didn’t like the heat but they gave it a valiant effort. The shining star here was the Genovese Basil. It came up thick and happy, and has supplied me with basily-yumminess for a few months now.

RIP cilantro…

To add to the growing collection of things that may die on my patio, my dad bought me a Dwarf Meyer Lemon Tree. I’ve been wanting one and he had one because of course, he is a gardening rockstar. So now I also have the lemon tree who we named “Midge” because my dad kept getting midgets and dwarves confused. She’s had many blossoms, and currently one golf-ball sized lemon is hanging out. I’m hoping to have at least one yellow awesome lemon in the fall.

I had read that in the desert, you sometimes need to shade your gardens with a sheet or something that lets some light through but doesn’t bake everything. So I found an old white bedsheet and nailed it the the lower half of the patio railing. This is the BEST THING EVER!
Here me now: it has lowered my electrical bill without lowering the amount of ambient light in the house, it keeps the direct sun off the garden, and it serves as a privacy barrier. I no longer have to see all of my neighbors that i’m blessed (sarcasm) with living next to.

I just planted some more basil, cilantro, and sage today. I’ll try to baby them and hope they come up.
They are happily tucked away inside the air conditioned living room, with lots of indirect sun. However, they are sharing space with a cat that likes to attack my plants. We will see who wins….

Tip 1 – stay away from Lime Basil… Genovese Basil grows bigger, doesn’t die as easily, and it tastes alot better.

Tip 2 – use it as it comes up. If you wait a long time to use the herbs, they may die and then you’ll be a sad herbless human.

Tip 3 – check the dates on your seed packages. They aren’t good forever. Poco Sobre Vida swears by online seed companies instead of big box stores. I haven’t tried this yet because why buy the fancy mushrooms if you know you can’t cook!

Tip 4 – if you live in an apartment, even if you don’t garden, go get a patio covering sheet right now!

Here’s my dad, back in the day, learning the secrets of gardening from his own dad. The secret to any good garden is a big ole’ bag of bullshit!

*This post is dedicated to my father, who passed NONE of his gardening genes down to me. Thanks dad.

3 Wild and Crazy Girls Decide to Throw a Party….

When you live in the middle of nowhere, you have to make your own fun, and oh hell yes, we have made our own fun! I have never partied quite as much as when I lived in a certain desert park. We threw parties for EVERYTHING! Hey, my neighbor bought a coconut bra! Jimmy Buffet Party! or Hey, its Thursday and we have extra beer. Karaoke! but my personal favorite was Hey, I lost a bet and now have to throw a kick ass party as payback. Why not make it my 29th birthday party and the theme will be 1978?!

Yes, I had a 70s basement party, complete with Tab, PBR, Disco, (fake) illegal party favors, and Hunter S. Thompson. One thing I’ll say about rangers… they know how to party.

So three wild and crazy girls set out to make this the best party of the season, or my payback on the bet wouldn’t work. D, C and I each had a role to play. D was in charge of decorations and awards. You can’t have a 70s party without a costume competition. She made Loser buttons for people who didn’t dress up. These buttons were modeled after official campaign buttons by the politicians who lost the presidential races in the 70s. (Um, sorry to those politician guys but none of you looked familiar. Losers)

C and I were in charge of food, music and learning 70s dance routines. Basically, we watched that episode of That 70s show where they all dance at a disco, over and over again until we had it down!

As I Googled 70s party food, much to my delight I discovered that all the hors dourves that my mother and grandmother had been serving for years was 70s food! I knew exactly how to make this stuff.  Now if only the liquor procurement had gone as easily. Being as we lived in Utah, we would have to look far and wide for a liquor selection. Luckily one of our neighbors was heading to Colorado and after some sweet talking, he brought back the makings for White Russians. (I love them, they are 70s, and I’ll probably never be able to drink them again. More on that later.)

Someone actually found Tab at a local store…. not that surprising in our neck of the woods. Some of the food on the grocery shelves was older than me!

Yeah, we were all stoked about the Tab. That stuff is horrible!

Now I must confess that the idea behind this party came a few months before when, at a thrift shop, C found an outfit that she couldn’t pass up, but couldn’t wear anywhere else…. I had a bridesmaid dress that would fit in and D decided she would come as Mrs. Robinson.

70s Bridesmaid, Mrs Robinson, and Disco Queen – the masterminds behind the party

The entire park pitched in to help decorate. We had Christmas lights, a disco ball, extra basement furniture, lava lamp, even a mirror to keep in the bathroom for the powdered sugar lines… There was easy cheese, pigs-n-blankets, Tab, White Russians, and more.

Once the sun went down, the disco ball was lit up and as the music blared, the strangest costumes began walking into my house.

C’s man showed up. Digging the chains and the shoes!

Smarmy Chuck brought Wonder Woman

Hunter S Thompson, Best Costume Award He stayed in character all night, shouting at bats, staring into the disco ball, spending way too much time with the lines in the bathroom….

The hippies did the Time Warp.

Disco Diva

We danced all night. The YMCA, the Hustle, and yes, C and I did our 70s Show routine. Awards were handed out for most authentic costume (Hunter ST), most original (Mrs. Robinson) and of course, the Loser buttons. Someone even got a Pet Rock for an award. C made me an awesome cake and there were birthday candles and singing. There was also lots of drinking. Everyone lives within walking distance so as long as people could walk up the stairs, they were free to go. For those of us living in my house, we drank a bit too much. I do remember perilously making my way up the stairs to mix 2 more jugs of White Russians… 1 for me, and 1 for C. I even found straws to make drinking from the jugs possible. This was NOT a good idea. This was the one and only time that I’ve ever blacked out from drinking. (It won’t be happening again. A few days later, someone told me that I’d run out of cream so the 2nd jug was just milky vodka…. ew.)

While I was blacked out, and God-knows where, the party took a turn. Hunter S Thompson started playing Broomtar (broomstick as guitar) to Sister Christian with Disco Diva clawing at his feet. Smarmy Chuck might have snorted some powdered sugar in the bathroom. Eventually Wonder Woman apprehended Hunter ST for trying to kill too many imaginary bats. Smarmy Chuck lost his Jeri Curl wig, and his chest hair. Some time later, Hunter would be seen wearing the wig and giving his best come hither looks for the camera. Yes, my neighbors were cool enough to capture all of this on camera for me so I wouldn’t miss a thing. I’m not posting those because I’m pretty sure everyone was pretty wasted.

In the morning, I awoke with a pretty bad hangover. Luckily, my friends had stayed after everyone else left and we danced (sweated) out most of our liquor. I made my way down the hall, I realized our house was now the scene of the Apocalypse. Blue sequins were everywhere, trash and cups littered the basement, dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and we still had a 12-pack of Tab to drink. But, I had paid back my lost wager, had a fantastic birthday party, and haven’t drank a White Russian since!

YiiiiMCA!

PS…. I’ve moved 7 times since this party and I STILL find those damned turquoise sequins around my house. I lovingly refer to them as Corree-sequins.

The cheapest, and hardest, spa therapy I’ve ever had… or How I Shrunk My Leather Boots

Sometimes you wanna hike trails, with a map, trail guide, and difficulty ratings. Other times you just wanna start walking across untrodden soil, letting the landscape tell you its own story. This post is about something in between…. something the park service calls “routes”. Those are my favorite.

A route is an unmaintained trail that enough people have walked and survived to pass on the information. I like these trails because I typically have it to myself, or may encounter a few people but they are cool hiker-types like myself.  🙂

One such hiking adventure started on a typical gorgeous morning living in the Waterpocket Fold. A friend, J, was visiting and we decided to hook up with another friend, R, for a day of route-hiking. We had a topo map (don’t worry mom, I was well-prepared) and recommendations from friends on the particular route we’d be walking. This route was a canyon that parralleled the highway. Hard to get lost, by hard to get out of. We kinda of knew where to park, and we kinda knew where we’d come out of the canyon but the 7 miles in between, not so sure.

Me and J hiking through the Waterpocket Fold. See, no trail here…. this is a route.

The first half of our journey was great, gorgeous and fun. We were completely entrenched in a rock canyon, with no way out but to walk east. Every now and then we’d find a game trail along the side of a ravine. It got a little sketchy but R was great at keeping me calm. (I freak out easy if the ground I’m walking on isn’t solid.) I guess I should mention that it was monsoon season so those 7 miles needed to be walked by noon. Catching yourself in a canyon during a rainstorm can be deadly and tourists die every year making this mistake. So yeah, I was a bit on edge.

Anyway…. we were seeing lots of birds, some deer, even scared some quail who couldn’t fly and just kept running ahead of us for a mile! After a few hours, it began to sprinkle but nothing to worry about. Just enough to make us walk faster. I guess I was moving a bit too fast because as I was about to leap over a giant mud puddle, I slipped and fell in! The falling in mud part wasn’t so bad, it was the getting stuck part that got me.  I had slipped into a puddle of wet betonite clay, the most slippery substance I’ve come across. My hiking boot and leg had been wedged down into the clay and I couldn’t get out! J began to freak out a bit, yelling for R who was lagging behind. All I heard from her was “oh no! OH NO!” and then she asked if I was ok. I was, I just wasn’t going anywhere. R came up behind me, grabbed the loops on my backpack and began tugging. With a great sucking sound, my leg and boot popped out. J, who had decided if I was laughing, life was ok, began taking photos… Here is my favorite…

This mud is spa-worthy. Afterwards, my leg was smooth and my pores never smaller!

and another….

and then this one…

I got chilly being stuck in a mud pit…. and it was raining… hence the rain poncho. Go Aggies!

The rest of the trip, my leg mud dried as we walked through the most beautiful canyon I’ve ever seen. (yeah, even you, Grand Canyon!) The mud flaked off my leg and my boot, leaving both tighter and firmer…. some people pay lots of money for that treatment! At the very end of the trail, in order to get back to the highway, we had to wade through a pretty nasty, agriculture run-offy river and then bushwack our way through tamarask. After reaching the highway and realizing we had no idea where the car was, J and I took off east while R took off west with the keys. Glad he found the car first and came to pick us up. Another part of route hiking are the unforeseen adventures!

After I got home and showered, I cleaned my boots and wrapped them in newspaper to dry out. A few days later, they were clean and gorgeous, and 2 sizes smaller! So I gave them to a friend and bought some new ones. At least they could live to see another trail on another day.

All in all, a great day. What I remember most when I look back on that hike is this…

Take the trail less traveled and you shall be rewarded

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