Urban Farm School

O wild west wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red

Pestilence stricken multitudes.

From “Ode to the West Wind” By Percy Bysshe Shelley

The blustery days of Fall are always a favorite. They are gentle reminders to us that the cold, wet, howling winter is around the corner. It wakes us up out of our autumnal slumber and beckons us to clean out our garden in preparation for it’s winter sleep. Last weekend’s strong west winds scattered multi-colored leaves all over our lawns and neighborhoods. This blanket of soft, crunchy, gloriously hued goodness is every bit as thrilling as that other much anticipated event, the first snowfall. But for now let’s think about what the Garden needs from us. Just like a good mother would put her child to bed, we as good gardeners should do the same. So, below we would like to offer some important points to remember as you tuck your veggie garden into bed for winter.

• Clean up all the dead dying vegetation. Don’t let anything rot in place. Even one tomato that rots in place can spread disease.
• Only compost healthy plant material. Cool weather crops tend to be healthier, whereas many warm weather vegetable vines and waste can harbor disease (especially tomato vines).
• If you are overwintering vegetables, clean up around their base. Cut any leaves or stems that are touching the soil. This will prevent slugs and other critters from finding their way on to your winter veggies.
• In the orchard remove all leaves and wasted fruit. These can harbor diseases like codling moth, apple maggot and a whole host of other evils.
• Pull those weeds one last time. This will give you a headstart in spring when other weeds will be demanding your attention.
• Mulch, Mulch, Mulch.
• Oh, and by the way, did we mention that you should mulch? You may want to start with a suppresion layer if you have a lot of weed problems. A suppression layer would be cardboard, newspaper or leaves. Next (or first if you didn’t do suppression layer) is to add organic material. Our favorite is manure (but not from horses). You could also use leaves or your own homemade compost. Use what’s available and as close as you can get it to the source. You want to know what you are putting on your garden. Why? Because basically you will be eating it in next years veggies!
• Have fun! Enjoy this season that we are offered as a time to wind down, and assess this year’s successes and failures. And of course, as only gardeners can understand, begin to dream about… next year’s garden!

Our morning began nestled in our Green Gable Room at the Green Cat B&B just north of Poulsbo. A wonderful little B&B full of charm and, you guessed it, green cats hosted by two semi-retired actors. Books and games everywhere, great accommodations with nooks and crannies to explore. Breakfast was lovely, a granola and yogurt to die for, quiche, fresh fruit, sausage, bread, too much to choose from. A stroll around the gardens before we continued our journey highlighted by driftwood benches and art created by a local, seemingly elusive, Vietnam Vet. And then we were off again!

Road Sign Philosophy . . .

Toree and I have decided that many of life lessons can be learned through signs on the side of the road if you take the time to READ them instead of read them. We found many on our meandering drive south to Bainbridge, SLOW DOWN, Stop & Grow, Only Love Exists, etc. It was an afternoon filled with insights, scenic sights, a garden and store, and shopping.

Bakeries and Ferries . . .

We love bakeries. Bakeries are wondrous, guilty pleasures for us both. I could eat bread until I popped and Toree loves the savory snacks, herb bread sticks were her find at the Bainbridge Bakery. A quaint little bakery surrounded by somewhat upscale kids and women’s stores in the downtown area. We walked around town, me trying to catch up with the long legs of Toree as we visited art galleries, fabric and clothing stores, and the waterfront. We ended up back at the bakery for split pea soup, salad greens, bread and iced teas before heading to the Ferry for Seattle.

We love ferries; isn’t there something magical about them? Hundreds of thousands of pounds of metal floating between shores in the Seattle area, daily lives of commute mixed with the thrill of tourists and their picture taking. It is an incredible thing putting yourself in someone else’s life for a moment. Ferry boat captains and island commuters surrounded us, reading, sleeping, and waiting for the 35 minutes to end, their destination reached, the commute coming to an end while we wandered the above and below decks in excitement. Prolonging the 2 ½ hour drive home as long as possible.

Like New Again . . .

Is it all things that are worn with use? Beautiful views, gardens, our children, our spouses – those everyday things that are truly special, magical, priceless that are worn with familiarity. Is that why the journey is so important, to open the eyes and the mind to possibility again, beauty, and the gasp when rounding a corner, savoring a perfect meal, laughing out loud at birds crossing a highway. Because the return home feels new again too, the same routine and rituals that are slightly polished and new, cherished, and apparent in their amazing ability to make us the luckiest women alive.

Our second day broke with an early morning beachcombing adventure for Toree, treasures for the kids, and not a soul on the beach. Clear skies and no wind again on the second leg or our journey. We had a forgettable breakfast other than the fact that EVERYONE in the restaurant stared at us throughout our meal; it was like we were in a strange movie or something.

The Coffee Shop Stop . . .

Coffee is a necessity for Toree, full-bodied, flavorful coffee and finding the perfect coffee is an adventure in itself. As we were driving out of Pacific Beach there sat the sweetest little coffee shop, red and turquoise (one of our very favourite color combinations) and an OPEN sign in the window. It was fabulous: pine floors, a great little doodad store, sweets, and best of all Wi-Fi for me and REALLY GOOD coffee for Toree. We spent awhile in comfort of the coffe shop plotting our next destination.

Bird-Smash Highway and other Adventures . . .

We headed north towards the Olympic National Rainforest and Indian Reservation after Reservation. Neither of us had realized how many reservations there were on the Olympic Peninsula. We found a cute little B&B on Bainbridge Island and so the end destination was set. We drove the most perfect highway I’ve ever been on, Moclips Hwy, 22 miles of trees, scenery, twisting turns and long straight-aways and not another soul. We saw two cars and about a million birds that all seemed to fly directly at the car (hence Bird-smash Highway). We headed north on 101 to Quinault and visited the Lodge (quaint, beautiful, with a stunning view of the lake, very quintessential 1930’s resort destination), the local Mercantile, “The Merc”, and the World’s Largest Spruce Tree. Think HUGE TREE and then times it by 10.

Driving . . .

We drove A LOT on day two, though many, many miles of the Olympic National Forest and many Indian Reservation Lands and to our great surprise you knew exactly when you entered Reservation Land because it was clear-cut to the very last tree. It flew in the face of all our preconceptions about native tribes and spoke volumes about the state of their economy. Toree read several quotes for our day on this part of the journey, one in particular talked about “being the river” in that we must all become part of the world around us, to know, comprehend, understand the effects of all things on one another, and the essential role that EVERYTHING plays. Did I mention that we drove A LOT on day 2?

We stopped to see a “Big Cedar Tree” not the World’s Largest but still massive and overwhelming in the history this tree had witnessed. And came around a corner and gasped in unison as Crescent Lake appeared before us, absolutely break-taking. We continued on 101 through Forks, Sappho, and through Port Angeles, a sweet little community on the water and we continued driving. Rounding the corner of the peninsula and headed south toward Poulsbo.

Coming to the End in Norway . . .

Poulsbo is a fantastic little town on the water with Norwegian flags, bakeries, restaurants, and chiming church clock tower. It is a wonderful place to stroll, peer, eat, and drink coffee. Dinner at Mor Mor (grandma in Norwegian) treated us to beet, greens, and goat cheeses salad, lobster ravioli, a French dip on traditional bread, very good, a little spendy, but good. A walk down the street took us to a fabulous bakery with the best counter help lad in bakery-land. Three full cases of traditional Scandinavian treats and no one waiting meant a full 30 minutes of contemplation on which treats we would take back with us to the B&B for dessert. Let’s just say we over did it.

We ended the evening with a relaxing soak in the hot tub under island stars on a cool but moisture-free, windless evening talking and talking and talking. A great end to a day full of driving.

So Toree and I have set out on a journey together in search of nothing but what the day may bring and where the miles may take us, away from husbands and children and our day to day rituals and responsibilities.

And so our journey began with a quote from a book that Toree is reading and the theme of the day was set: Embracing Aimlessness.

The Grandmother visit and other trips down Memory Lane . . .

Our first and only planned stop was to visit my 88 year-old grandmother, so we packed the car and headed north at 8:45am, the journey had begun! Breakfast at the TopHat Diner, my grandmother’s regular haunt when she was mobile, were plates of hashbrowns, eggs, toast, bacon and one very unhappy dry biscuit and gravy and a dismal cup of coffee for Toree. An incalculable measure of grease and butter accompanied our breakfasts as any diner breakfast should.

My grandmother feasted on her favourite: a giant pancake, sausage, egg, and coffee with Sweet and Low to add that “little bit of sweet.” A quick trip to the grocery and another down memory lane with a promise to send postcards from our journey and we headed out the door and north driving the old Westside Highway to where my family still lives and runs the farm in Winlock (also home of the World’s Largest Egg, a spectacle that brought such joy to Toree I thought she was going to cry as she was walking her own path down memory lane in my neck of the woods.)

It’s interesting the things that childhood places bring. Some are memories, good and bad, some vague just out of reach. Smells and tastes of the air and water. And multitudes of “it used to be” and “they used to” and “once I” surround each corner. It is an exercise that is exhausting, thrilling, depressing, and gratifying.

We meandered through the beauty of the river, pastures , and wooded hills picking up 25 cent ceramic pots and gardening gloves along the way, stopping for quiche at the Market Street Bakery in Chehalis and visiting antique, doodad, and junk stores throughout downtown. A quick cruise through Centralia and it was time for me to get out of the past so we headed north again along I-5.

The Friday Rush-hour Traffic Detour . . .

Our timing found Friday rush-hour traffic in Olympia so we headed west to Aberdeen and the beach before we got there. The call of the ocean had struck us both weeks before the journey had even begun and so it seemed that our destination had been chosen without being planned. We drove through some of the most idyllic places possible, passing an Organic Valley Co-op Farm along the way and passing through one-store towns like Rochester, Oakville, and Elma. The level of sadness and survival driving west on Highway 12 was evident everywhere, battered homes, closed stores and restaurants, and a look of decay. These towns boast lumber yards and mills which have been closing and down-sizing along with the other industries in the area: coal, cement, gravel. And then the December ‘07 flood hit. Forget Africa, these people are survivors.

When you think resort, think beachfront circa 1972 . . .

We came to Aberdeen in late afternoon, an industrial port town with two Wi-Fi spots and hunkered down to find a place to sleep. We decided on Pacific Beach, passing endless traffic as they turned to head south down the peninsula to Ocean Shores. We drove along the only winding, tree-lined and then clear-cut lined two-lane road dotted with increasingly smaller one-store towns until we reached The Sandpiper Resort, when you think resort, think beachfront circa 1972 and you have the place nailed. Our room, although fairly terrifying, was literally 30 feet from the beach and cheap for such a view and access. And the front desk lady was straight out of Asia meets Vegas, rhinestone glasses, a little hat at a slant, black pants, pink lipstick all packed into a 4’10” woman who was speaking English, we think. She handed us a key on a string, no deposit, no receipt, and use of the desk phone as none of the rooms have phones, television, or radios (FABULOUS!).

A quick walk on the beach (and a stinky green scum shoe fiasco) at sunset with no one around for miles, no wind, no rain, we couldn’t help but wondering, is this really the Washington Coast in October?

The Dinner to End all Dinners . . .

It’s the best meal either of has had in many moons. We were at Seabrook, a planned community of gorgeous Martha’s Vineyard type housing, community bicycles, and a developer with a vision of walkable communities, beachfront preservation, and high quality everything. We fell in love with the restaurant the moment we drove up, clean lines, huge windows, bright, with an open kitchen. Our menu choices included: dinner-plate sized bibb salad with vinegrette, razor clam chowder, salmon penne in lemon garlic cream sauce, fish and chips, chocolate turrine, blackberry cobbler, and French pressed coffee. Absolutely amazing doesn’t even come close to describing the meal we shared. A perfect meal with great service, friendly chefs, perfect portions for under $50 with tip. Tashtego. GO THERE!

The Road to Nowhere . . .

We chose to stay at Pacific Beach on a literal road to nowhere, it dead ends just a few miles north at the Quinault Indian Reservation, our day of embracing aimlessness, came to a close with a chat on the porch listening to the noise of energy, waves and waves and waves and what that vastness means inside the mind of everyone.