Green Fields

It clumps, quakes and waves. It can easily grow an inch a day. It perfectly hides snakes, birds weave it into their nests and it’s the basic energy source for many ecosystems. It’s mostly green, but under closer examination it’s often yellow, gray, blue, red and purple among other colors. It makes some people headachy and sick, while others are just fine napping in a tall field of it. So, what is “it” and why has “it” kept us too busy to post to our blog more regularly? It is GRASS!

We’re not talking about the lovely, clipped, nitrogen-green, front lawn stuff, but a hodge-podge of heirloom species that shoot up faster than the time-lapsed, green fur on a Chia Pet. It’s lovely when it’s freshly sprouted blades, but before you know it, you can be wading in an ocean of the stuff. Deep grass is a lovely image too, however, this time of year, grass grows abundantly, and after a rare, seven inches of rain in early May, well, it’s growing into an unmanageable jungle.

Armed with power weed-eaters, scythes and heavily gloved hands, we wage war daily with the green monster. We’re on a time critical mission: We must get the green grass down and away from buildings, before the searing summer sun bakes it into a golden, fire-rich kindling. We amass mounds of the stuff and load it into the compost bins. Sometimes, when feasible, we plow it under creating a rich, green compost to improve the soil. Managing grass definitely keeps us busy.

Now, we must be fair, not all of what we cut down and pull is grass. There’s a patchwork of other green lovelies that also crisp up with the daily rising temperature. Thistles, cockleburs and many other assorted weeds add to the battle. However, we just clump it all under the heading of “grass,” quake at how fast it grows and wave it good-bye for this season, knowing too well that it’ll return next year with the same determination, importance and loveliness.
(Photo: Zea species, aka Foxtails)

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May Fire

It’s the first of May, raining hard and there’s a fire burning brightly in the living room.

Currently, our only source of heat is a wood stove located centrally in the home. We have a fire, non-stop September through May. The cut-off date is determined by how well the house holds the day’s heat through the evening and into the cooler morning hours. Mid-May usually marks the beginning of constant 70+ degree days and 50ish degree nights, a comfortable range allowing us to close down the wood stove for the season.

Wood stoves (and less efficient fireplaces) are dirty business. While they’re great for the pocketbook, wood debris, soot and ashes provoke constant cleaning. The flue needs to be brushed several times a year ridding creosote in order to maintain a better, safer fire. Occasional smoke escaping in the room adds a different layer of cleaning complexity, however, there’s something pleasant about the scent of a lightly, wood smoke-scented home. And then, there’s the carbon footprint caused by burning wood, but we make exchanges by driving less, using less power, using organics and reducing our CO2 output overall.

Supplying wood for the stove is another level of business to attend to. As we strive to make our land more fire safe, as well as manage the forest, we have to thin. With a mixed woodland forest, we have ample black oak, tan oak, madrone and red cedar. The madrone and tan oak are especially oily, resinous and combustible, so we ardently remove them during our cleanup to become our staple fuel source. We cut, split, stack and season wood throughout the year and usually burn 4-5 cords (a cord of wood is 4x4x8ft) during the colder months.

Henry Ford said, “Chop your own wood and it will warm you twice.” I wonder how much firewood Ford really cut, split, stacked (“ricked,” my Dad’s term), lugged inside and burned? Yes, heating a home by woodstove is a bit more work than the nostalgic Ford hints, but it’s really not that bad - When you finally get to put your feet up, gaze at the dancing flames and doze off feeling all toasty and warm, well, it’s pretty special.
(Photo: Madrone firewood)

Blossoms Bower

Looking like a flock of white doves, the dogwood blossoms now bower over the soon-to-be shaded earth.

We’re blessed with extensive groves of Mountain Dogwoods (Cornus nuttallii) that form a lower canopy under the evergreens each summer. The trees range in size from small 3-4 foot high shrub-like bushes to 40-50 foot high "ancient" trees. An ancient tree is usually 40+ years old. The older trees are uncommon since they are susceptible to anthracnose, battle established trees for light and suffer limb-breaking snows in the winters.

While the trees favor moist areas, we find that the trees with the most blossoms are those that receive a healthy dose of sunshine. Sometimes you’ll see a large tree with only a single side branch with flowers. More than likely, that branch probably receives the only sunlight while the rest of the tree remains shaded by taller trees throughout the day.

The trees provide year-long interest - When summer draws to a close, the seemingly dead flower heads swell into bright red clusters of berries. The Stellar Jays and Flickers go wild over them. After gorging on the fruits, the birds spread the seeds through their droppings. In the autumn, the leaves turn beautiful shades of red, yellow, pink and bronze, proving that the West Coast has fall color too.
(Photo: Dogwood blossoms)

Sunshine Clothes

With the arrival of warmer weather we turn off the very-expensive-to-run electric dryer and exercise our arms by hanging our laundry outdoors.

I wore fresh, air-dried clothes as a kid. My mom never saw the shiny chrome of a dryer until about 1969, and even then it was used sparingly. Hanging laundry, as well as bringing it in, was a family chore. I learned early on how to prepare (wipe) the line, double up on clothes pins and the best way to shake out winkles. I also acquired a knack for hanging items in a specific order, so when taken down, folded and returned to the willow basket, there would be less effort once I was back in the house putting things away.

Today, those experiences continue to be of value. But now, there’s even more thought put into the task:

Line placement – Filtered sun is best as it lessens fading. Turning clothing inside out helps with this problem too.

Heavy loads – I don’t seem to remember my mom using these cool, little, dual-roller, plastic gizmos (the white thing in the photo) that you insert periodically to lift the bottom line to the upper one, thus preventing heavy, wet items from stretching to the the ground. I think we used wire coat hangers crafted in some weird manner to solve this.

Fabric Softener– I’ve never been a fan of anything more than eco-friendly laundry soap and some occasional beach, so I snub fabric softeners. However, if you’ve ever hung your clothes out, you know all too well the stiff and crisp nature laundry takes on. Usually, this can be removed with a quick snap of the item prior to folding, but towels seem to suffer the most. We cheat from time to time and gather the towels, before they turn into plywood, and throw them in the dryer for a couple of minutes. We’re experimenting with natural fabric softeners to reduce this issue and we'll report our findings in the future.

New learning aside, we still use wooden clothespins, a few of which have remained gainfully employed prior to 1969. Sunshine remains the same also, sort of, given all the climate change stuff going on. And, the smell of the finished product, well it’s still the same take-you-back-in-time scent that you just can’t find in a bottle…
(Photo: Drying work clothes)

Three's Company

Each spring, for a few brief days, and in only two secluded locations that we know of, an unusual and uncommon plant bursts into bloom at ShadowWoods. With such a scant and short display, it’s easy to miss this plant and even forget its existence.

Trillium, whose name conjures images of eerie toadstools, forest elves and magic potions, quickly sprouts and unfurls three leaves close to the ground which showcase a creamy-white blossom of three petals.

Its full name, Western Trillium (Trillium ovalum), is usually found in the California Coast Range in the moist redwood forests and is somewhat rare in the Sierra.

We wonder how our two growing areas, about 100 yards apart and sporting maybe half-dozen total plants, got started? How are they able to survive the colder winters here and continue the species? Perhaps there really are forest elves?
(Photo: Trillium ovalum)