Pool House Chronicles II

That lampshade, my goodness.

I'm sorry for having been so derisive toward the bagel debris in Brooklyn.  Now that I'm acquainted with the phenomenon of bagels as a cultural touchstone I feel just terrible.  On many levels.  My heartfelt apologies.  And sympathies. 

Regarding the pool house on School House:  As of today we are officially in contract!  Trees have been ordered.  Tractors are being researched.  Tears are being shed. 

I am terribly homesick for my girlfriends and their little ones.  Tristan must be missing everyone, too, but is better at keeping his mind and hands occupied (thanks, LEGO).  It will be another long month before we see Iowa again, and our dear friends.  This long stretch of unrelenting winter mirrors my heart in the absence of people who love me.  But I am warmed by these photos of fun with our friends and birthdays in July..

 

And warmed also by the delivery of even more seeds, this time from Solstice Seeds, which as far as I can tell is just one lady and her garden in Vermont.  She has a great selection of obscure and heirloom vegetables, both local and foreign (I discovered her in a desperate search for Jaune du Poitou leeks).  Dinner at Food Studio tonight helped tremendously as well -- I'm not a rice person but drizzle lemongrass caramel all over it and I am all over it.  Hudson definitely has its comforts. 

And I don't think I've ever seen a single bagel here, in the street or elsewhere.

But there is no greater comfort than girlfriends... 

.. or having wipes front and center.

No Sleep In Brooklyn

Yesterday at the pool house on School House the problem tank was removed from the premises without incident or evidence of contamination.  It was such a relief.  And the sellers, whom had previously seemed to me to be nemeses invited us in for coffee and sent us home with cookies.  They couldn't have been more lovely.  I couldn't be more grateful, or ashamed.

Today I signed a real, honest-to-goodness sale contract and wrote a check with a number that barely fit into the little box.  Everything is so close to actually working out...!!!!  But it's hard to feel as ecstatic as I should, not just because of the big number in the little box, but because I had absolutely no sleep last night.  How do people sleep in Brooklyn?  It's so loud!!  And there are bagels everywhere.  What is that about?!  Bags and bags of bagels.  Bags broken, bagels strewn.  What is wrong with you people, seriously?

I wish I could think of something more positive to say, or remember the name of this beautiful flowering shrub at our house in Iowa...

 
I did meet a mostly-lovely Moroccan-Frenchman last night.  He's not the man I've wanted to meet, but he's probably the man I deserve. 

The Wonder of Whitman's and William Woys Weaver

Last week I waved as hope was leaving, but it's skulking around and peeking in the windows these past few days following an awkward Valentine's Day exchange at the pool house on School House.  Everyone seems awful and difficult when their intentions are filtered through lawyers and brokers.  Myself included, almost certainly.  In person and armed with an unwieldy box of chocolates we're vulnerable, a forgivable mess.  If this thing works out we'll owe everything to Whitman's.

I want to say something about the seeds and trees I'm ordering but I don't know where to begin.  I rediscovered the amazing Kitazawa Seed Company in Oakland and am so glad that I did.  And the seeds took all of one day to get to me, ONE DAY!!  From Oakland!!!  I can't wait to grow these delicious Hinona Kabu turnips again, or try the baby-sized Konasu eggplants (they are so cute!!).  We're hoping to grow the pink popcorn that Tristan had in his garden last year.  The seed is available from Victory Seeds, an incredible and impressively ethical seed source from which I also order a peculiar strain of Mortgage Lifter tomato with chartreuse foliage.  I've grown all kinds of unusual-foliaged tomatoes and the pale leaf strain of Mortgage Lifter is the only one thus far that actually produces delicious fruit.

Other seeds I'm excited about:  White tomatoes, which I have never grown before (unless you count the cherry Snow White), including White Wax, which was previously rather hard to find and heralded by William Woys Weaver, and Etoile Blanche d'Anvers, a little pleated French Belgian (excusez-moi)
tomato (from Sand Hill Preservation in Iowa, a company that only accepts orders via actual mail). 

Since the soil here seems more suited to growing roots than the loess of northwest Iowa I'm diving headlong into carrots and turnips and rampion.  These black turnips of Pardailhan have intrigued me for a long time and I've never grown them, UNTIL NOW.  Seed seems scarce, as it is for so many French vegetables I'd like to grow.  I have a source for the turnips, but not for the bellot carrots I'd like to try, or the Roscoff onions.  Come on French people!!  Help a gardener out.

doldrums

I'm ordering seeds and trees with no place to plant them.  The peppers have to be started somewhere, and I'm thinking this in my dining area is going to have to suffice.  The whole of Hudson is going to think I'm growing weed but really it's just yellow biquinho, charapita and ubatuba cambuci peppers.  And a couple dozen others but the aforementioned are totally new to me!  Thanks, Solana Seeds!

I'm a little in love and having to let go of the hope that the pool house on School House will ever be mine.  There is all manner of things wrong with it, even aside from how utterly, utterly ugly the "house" is.  But it feels just about perfect for us.  And instead of being thrilled that someone is finally trying to take it off his hands after two years, a certain seller is doing everything he can to dissuade and punish and make things as difficult as possible.  And according to my broker he's not at all atypical.  Which does nothing to assuage my general cynicism about humanity. 

Doldrums.  I'm totally enveloped.  Side two of Discouraged Ones.  The lavender and lime flavored chocolate from Verdigris this afternoon helped a little, though.  This helps, too…

no easy answers

Comfrey - fantastic almost-instant biodynamic fertilizer!

So I'm buying a farm, and when I tell people this I get asked questions like:

"What kind of farm?"
"Have you farmed before?"
"What are you going to grow?"

And I hate it.  I clam up!  Because there is no short, succinct answer that lends itself to casual conversation.  Except maybe to the second question, because the answer is "err, well.. no."  Because I am not a farmer.  And I am not interested in fooling anyone, least of all myself.  Frankly, these conversations would go much more smoothly if I were completely full of shit.

I don't know what makes a farmer.  I don't even know that I want to be one.  I have thus decided to remain forever a lowly gardener and to officially name my farm "the gardens of Iseult", but in French because even though I detest the pretension of presenting myself as something I'm not , I am all about the pretense of using French words to name things that aren't French and basically make everyone uncomfortable when they're trying to speak said words.  Sorry.  Nobody's perfect. 

Anyway, my gardens will grow a hugely diverse variety of things.  I'll have apple orchards and herb gardens, mushrooms and ducks, blueberries and asparagus.  I want to propogate rare dianthus and scented geraniums and alpine strawberries!  I can grow all the obscure chile peppers and wild Galapagos tomatoes I want!  Okay, there might actually be only one wild tomato from the Galapagos islands BUT I AM GROWING IT!  Because I've grown it before.  I've grown almost everything before (with the exception of mushrooms, blueberries and ducks).  I'm no expert, I just like to have my hands in the dirt.  When I have to condense my ideas into something concise I say that I want to pursue "diverse biodynamic agriculture".  It's true, but totally nebulous.  How do I explain without launching into my personal ethos and insufferable detail?  I'm only going to confuse people when I get all excited about the prospect of growing skirret and sea kale and the glories of goat manure.

I want to grow everything, basically.  And then eat it.  It's what makes me happy.  And I want my son to know that there are ways to live happily and ethically and still pay the bills.  It is worth the trouble and awkward conversations to do something meaningful.  Even if it's not ultimately "successful".  But people have to eat, right?  Growing food doesn't seem like such a leap of faith.  Then again, if I do end up having to truck food to Brooklyn after having worked so hard to make the smallest carbon footprint possible on the farm in our gardens… I don't even want to think about it.  Perfect intentions, right?  Maybe I can charge more for that.

It's so pretty, isn't it?  You should really never let Comfrey bloom if you're using it for biodynamic preparations, but I can't help it.