Garden Oysters

Do you remember the buzz these two Berkeley kids created by selling a box of coffee grounds that will grow tasty mushrooms? When our box gave up its last oysters, I took the mycelium and inoculated our garden with it. This year, I'm being rewarded with some new oyster mushrooms!

Adding mushrooms to a raised bed garden is simple. do a little research and learn what sort of stuff your desired mushroom grows upon (oysters: oak, maple) and stuff some of the host material into the moist corners of your garden. Prep it well (make it good and wet, in most cases). Buy plugs, or look for living mycelia. Inoculate the host matter... and then wait. In a year or less you might have a new, renewable source of mushrooms!

BTW, did you notice how low effort this is?

Building a Floating Island

I've begun getting video.
http://vimeo.com/user7636532/building-a-floating-island

Get your diet localized!

I feel the local food movement is getting some legs. I just wrote an article for my friend Scott Horton's mag Permaculture Activist, musing over an idea that we could develop a strong food web of local production. Researching my topic I got to see some really great projects that people are up to these days.

Out of my own shared yard I just harvested chard, dandelion greens and chayote blossoms. I also gathered some oca, providing some carbohydrates. Oca is an oxalis that forms edible tubers. The strain I'm growing looks like fat, finger-sized grubs (or as Xena graciously calls them, "carrot-potatoes").

The tubers, or corms, grow right at the surface of the soil. I simply follow the fleshy stalks of the oxalis back to the crown, dig around a little and break off the corms, leaving the plant rooted. It's a nitrogen fixer, and is helping other plants in the beds to grow. Covering the soil with leaves is also important to help remind our cats that the beds are not litter boxes.

I tried to disguise the appearance of the oca by quartering the corms before I stir-fried them with the leaves and flowers. I didn't need to disguise their flavor; they taste like very moist potatoes. The chayote blossoms are supposedly edible as well, but I don't think they added anything to the stir fry. Raw, the flowers are sweet. Cooked, they are gritty.

One aspect of eating locally that I glossed over as I wrote is getting a balanced diet. If I surveyed my friends about food sources for potassium (for example), everyone would respond "Bananas." But bananas don't grow here (Christopher Shein is having some success growing bananas at the other end of Oakland, but not here). So, if I grew Jerusalem artichokes instead, what changes in food preparation are necessary? A banana is a peel and eat food. Jerusalem artichokes are dirty, rooty, and need cooking. To eat a local diet requires changes so we eat what in fact grows in our local bioclime.

I'm confident that sufficient calories, carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals can be grown locally, even (and especially!) within a city. I'm less sure about protein. I'm also fairly sure that eating a 100% local, nutritionally balanced diet requires getting used to unfamiliar foods.

A Permie Plant

The chayote is blooming!

It's true California is blessed with an amazing climate. But in my ignorance before embracing permaculture, I thought of winter as an off season. Now I'm enjoying finding crops that are winter crops, like tree tomatoes, fava beans and chayote.

We are using the "edge" of our deck to grow this monster vine. The root is down below next to the gate and fence. I protected it from children, pets, and watered it often and deeply. It took a year to get established well, growing from a spindly, sad little vine (like the sorriest cucumber you've ever grown) to its current glory.

This slim vine is very cold to the touch; on a hot day the effect is almost shocking. I would guess the plant has tapped into the water table and literally gallons of cool water are being transported through this stem every day to nourish all those leaves and developing squash.

I've been told that chayote is a perennial. If so, then this is a great example of permaculture design. I spent a fair amount of effort getting the plant established, it's growing in a margin (edge) adding value, and it offers a stacked function of providing food while enhancing the privacy of the deck.

Bare Earth Farming

Driving along Hwy 120 between Manteca and Oakdale these past months, I've been watching the corn and almond crops. Signs are posted clearly showing the corn is a Eureka hybrid, and a quick visit to their website suggests all their hybrid seeds are GMOs. Driving that stretch of road, it's like twenty miles of scraping my fingernails on a chalkboard.

The uniform, emerald green of 12-foot-tall corn, ears held close to stalks, gave way last week to fields stripped bare. The fields are now upon row of clay-colored dirt, with fragments of leaves blowing about. The signs are gone. A fine dust fills the air. Is the corn being processed into tortillas? Ethanol? I don't know.

The road and sky are dustier still as I pass the almond groves. Great columns of dirt fill the sky. I cannot see the machine inside the maelstrom, but it appears that it is designed to scrap the meager bit of grass off the ground, a sort of mechanized goat, leaving bare earth between the almond trees. I know grass steals nutrients from trees with shallow feeder roots... but what nutrients are in this soil? It's scarcely soil at all!

I am so glad to get back to my own garden. We're harvesting tomatoes like crazy, there are plenty of greens to saute, our tubers are tubering, fresh herbs jump out all over the place, squash and beans are over-ripening, the strawberries are giving up their last fruit of the year and there is no bare soil. There is no room for weeds, with everything growing all amongst each other, mutually supporting each other, nitrogen fixers next to nitrogen feeders, and the soil is so rich you almost want to eat it.

I admit there is currently no way a farmer could plant the way we have and create a harvestable crop; our garden is designed for frequent harvesting, allowing the plants to act as our larder, giving up their bounty in a near constant trickle. But I look at the soil going into the sky, and I look at the complete removal of biomatter from the field, and I look at the dead earth between the almond trees, and I wonder if even a little bit of intercropping would be beneficial?

How nutritious can those almonds possibly be? An almond tree in its natural environment is part of an entire guild of plants. Although I shudder to adopt a reductionist tactic, aren't there two or three plants that could be grown along with the almonds, sheltering the earth, supporting the health of the trees, and even offering additional income streams to the farmer?

If It Gets Easier, Am I Still Doing It Right?

When I wonder if I'm still following my calling (as it becomes easier, and familiar, I have to find a compass other than "is this the most uncomfortable, growth-filled thing I can be doing right now?"), I'll catalog activities over a couple of days and assess them.

Karl made an amazing barbecue over the fire pit for dinner. Much of the food was local. Then we had our weekly community meeting, but outside, around the fire. Hank took notes on his laptop, and we had illumination from fire, solar-power lights and regular electric-grid tied lights. Urban permaculture rating: people care, earth care, fair share, stacked functions, integrate, small slow solutions, use edges and margins, observe and interact, produce no waste... yeah, that one ranked pretty high.

At work I tried to explain PG&E's TOU (Time of Use) E7 rate to a client, and I measured how much sun shine falls on his roof. I quoted a 4kW system to another client. As much as Right Livelihood fits into urban permaculture, this activity fits: especially as I consider fair share, observing and interacting, planning to obtain a yield, catch and store energy, design from pattern to details, use edges (specifically, the "edge" of a roof and the sky, a place currently barren on most dwellings).

I helped Ingrid Severson install a rain catchment system at her cute cottage. She gave me coconut oil from the barrels we were converting and fed me. Earth care, people care, fair share, catch and store energy, apply self-regulation and accept feedback, small slow solutions, obtain a yield, use edges and value the marginal, creatively adapt to change... another multi-point score!

In no particular order: I also had a sauerkraut party. Not as much fun as the last, but it was spread over both Saturday and Sunday as people dropped in and out. I got invited to two presentations, but I already had plans. I also played, with family and housemates, a version of Sorry!® in which you hold 5 cards and plan your strategy. I comforted a child who was feeling hurt, chauffeured parents to collect their child from the YMCA, and shared our one car back and forth with my wife.

I courageously called a friend when I was feeling down and shared my sorrow, and she listened and I felt better and no longer stewed in my juices.

Well, how about that. So many delicious, delightful activities in my life in the last few days, and all of them supporting and supported by the dense interconnected web that is urban permaculture.

I suppose I'm still on the right path.

Checking the Decomposition of the Pee Pee Ponics Raised Bed.

The rich soil in the picture above is made of wood chips and urine.

Pee-pee ponics promises fertile soil from free resources, and it delivers. The wood chips were free, the urine is free, and the end result is beautiful. Why buy topsoil when you can make it so easily?

Imagine Sickos Saying They Have a Conscience

How could anyone not become a vegetarian if he/she is bothered about killing other living beings?

Fossil evidence suggests that among the reasons humans became, well, human, is that we began eating meat. Language might have been developed to help plan hunts (this is at odds with my own "instinct" of clamming up and pointing when I see a prey animal, which invariably results in everyone in the car looking at my finger instead of out the window at the beautiful 4' tall blue heron, but there you go). For thousands of years humans have domesticated animals for consumption of their meat, eggs, blood, skin, hair, fur and feathers. In the Garden of Eden, God gave all plants (save one) to Adam and Eve to eat; no mention of consuming animals occurs until much later. It is nearly impossible to eat a truly "vegan" diet: even plain rice has bug parts in it.

All of this avoids the question of whether eating meat is a crime, or part of the Natural Order.

Even if we got our big brains because we scored extra calories sucking marrow from dead animals, the past only creates the present; it does not define the present. We could give up our meat-eating ways. We could embrace them. To define our present, our selves, to make good choices about our present, we must be willing to confront hard choices and rise to the obligation and opportunity. Growth does not occur along the safe, easy path; the easy path leads to stagnation, unhealthy compromise, loss of autonomy, and a loss of connectedness.

Reading is hard; learning to read bothers children; should we let them skip over it? Marriage is hard; learning to be in a relationship bothers people; should we just toss out marriage? Raising children is hard; fighting the urge to send them back to God until they can be nicer is bothersome; should we just stop having children?

To avoid a difficult, potentially soul-rending task because you fear the outcome or have already made up your mind is unhealthy. Being filled with prejudgment is sick. To judge someone who has had the courage to risk growing is unkind.

More Clarity for Me About Eating Meat

Thank you, everyone who commented.

My guru has spent decades sifting wheat from chaff in spiritual teachings and scriptures. It is his opinion that there is a hierarchy of consciousness, and that while all life is precious, self-aware human life is very precious.

As I held the dying bird, I could feel some of what he must know; this living, breathing creature shares a measure of Everlasting Spirit. It's not wrong to take this life, but it is wrong to do so in a way that demeans all life or corrupts human consciousness. Eating meat should be an intentional choice and an act of reverence, even more than our thankfulness for the bounty of plants God has provided.

Owning Being a Meat Eater

I can't get a handle on what's going on inside me right now.

I killed a chicken today. I chopped her head off, and while her body went through its death spasms, I held her head until her light left. "Thank you, sweetie, bless you baby, thank you sweetie," I whispered to her, stroking her feathers, blood dripping down my wrist.

I'm a meat-eater now, and so I figure that I ought to have the fortitude to take the life of a creature that I will eat. I see this as part of un-making the diseased suburban lifestyle. Job specialization is wonderful, but being so divorced from our food supply that the slaughterer is the only one who ever sees meat as an animal is sick. Wrong. Worse than not knowing what kind of tree pickles grow on.

This chicken was the most loved one in the coop. She was the last one slaughtered. I am very honored to be the one that took her life. "I feel you definitely showed the most love, out of anyone today, for the chicken as you killed it," Betsy told me. That feels nice to hear.

I'm also very undone at the moment.

A Bit of Culture (Sauerkraut and Music!)

What an amazing afternoon.

I invited Neighbor Jan and Friend Franziska over to make sauerkraut. Jan brought friends who played violin, guitar and banjo. So while we made brine by massaging cabbage and salt, setting up our cabbage cultures, they made music. The weather was of course very cooperative.

"What can I do to help?" asked Crafty Girl.

"And me! And me!" echoed the others.

"Here, help me grate carrots."

"Okay."

The sun kissed us, a breeze cooled us, the music blessed us, and we chopped, salted, massaged, and packed. It was our own little "Super Bowl" of culture.

Hank brought some sauerkraut he'd already made. "Mm, love the caraway seeds," I said.

"It's believed they help with gas," he said.

Well, I suppose on Super Bowl Sunday, a little fart humor is appropriate, right?

Franziska used some crazy grater/slicer that made parts of me run and hide whenever I looked at it. But it was German-made, and we were slicing up 'kraut, so it's all good. I know you can go to the store and buy sauerkraut. But you can't go to the store and buy an afternoon like this one. This is the goal of urban permaculture: use everyone's skills together to make every moment a reflection of Heaven. I got to live there for a bit, today.

Fun in a House with No Water

We live in a house with no water (we're sort of practicing our habits of how life could be if a massive earthquake severed the water supply) but that didn't stop Liz from throwing an amazing birthday party for her daughter over at the common house! Phil, Liz and Betsy cooked. I thought, where else in the world could I take a break from installing some fresh plumbing and a water heater to feast upon freshly fried shrimp, homemade pesto pasta, and baked onion rings?

Steve is absolutely right: I am wealthy beyond any measure Midas ever knew. And even beyond that particular beyond, I feel the draw of even greater wealth, inexorably bearing down upon me.

I hold faith for this greater wealth, with trust, and a hope that Life is very, very long.

Loafing on Christmas

Permaculture Principle: The problem is the solution.

Application for our family: we never seem to get all the food shopping done. Last night, as an example, Nicholas and I lucked in to Berkeley Bowl's final four minutes. We got a surprisingly large amount of shopping done in those four minutes, but we are without some things typically considered essential. Shall we mope and whine that we don't have our "favorite?" The problem is we have time, but the stores are closed now. Well, what do we have? Time, flour and a recipe for the world-famous no-knead bread! Suddenly the gift of baking together in the kitchen is recaptured, and the tradition of having special food on the holiday is upheld.

We also found the parts for the pasta machine, so we'll be treating ourselves to fresh pasta later!

Off With Its Head?

We talked about the non-laying hens at dinner, and their imminent future as soup.

"Has anyone here killed anything larger than a rodent?"

"Not me." "Nope." "I had my cat put to sleep."

"I killed a snake once."

"How do you kill a chicken?"

"You swing it by its head."

"I did that once. I was a kid. All the drown-ups were drunk, and they thought it would be funny."

"You hang them by their feet and slit their throat and drain the blood out."

"You stick it in a cone and chop off its head."

"What if you miss?"

"You could just crush the head. That would do it."

"We could get them stoned first."

There were jokes made, at the chickens' expense. The next morning I realized that if I'm going to be part of killing a chicken or other animal, I need there to be a ritual honoring the gift the animal is giving us. When it really is time to make chicken soup, I'll be involved in the slaughter in some sort of shamanic capacity.

Non-Dairy Strawberry Banana Pudding Pie

My friend Stefaneener told me my idea for a strawberry, banana and kiwi pie sounded awful. So I thought about it a bit, and left out the kiwis. I used fructose and our bee's honey for sweetening (beyond the sweetness of the bananas, I mean), palm oil for shortening, and tapioca for starch.

Crust
Add 1/4 tsp salt to 1-1/4 cup flour (unbleached, all-purpose) and then cut in 1/2 cup palm oil, cubed and chilled. Popping the palm oil in the freezer for several minutes is sufficient to get it nice and hard. Continue cutting in the oil until you get pea-sized balls. Then add no more than 1/4 cup ice water, sprinkling about a teaspoon at a time onto the dough. Don't stir; it's sort of a folding motion, to moisten the whole mass. When it gets to the three or four big clump stage (there will be many smaller bits) collect it into a ball with as few motions as possible and refrigerate for about 4 hours.

The reason to handle the wet dough as little as possible is to make a crust that is so flaky and tender that you could fill it with a moose turd and people would come back for seconds.

Roll out your dough. You should see chunks of palm oil that aren't blended in. Bake it in a glass pie dish with a weight to hold down the middle of the crust for about 6 minutes at 450°F, then finish it off without the weight for another 8 minutes (or so. Keep an eye on it. A very thin crust will bake quickly). Let it cool.

Fruit
Slice four bananas thin. If you slice them laying flat, you end up with slices that are uneven. Here's how I slice bananas to compensate for their curve. Hold the banana curve-up and you can slice it so you get nice even pieces.

Make your slices about half this thickness. I was trying to make it easy to see what I was up to.

Reserve a small handful of slices for the pudding mixture and another set of slices to place on top of the pudding.

Slice most of a pint of strawberries.

Start with banana and lay alternating layers of fruit until you run out of strawberries. The banana layer on the bottom will glue everything to the crust.

Filling
Blend 2 tbsp tapioca pearls at very high until fine. Add 1/2 cup oatmeal (old fashioned or quick or even steel cut) and blend again until fine. Over medium heat, add water until you get a nice consistency that will pour down between your fruit layers (sorry I don't have an actual measurement for this). Add 1/2 tsp vanilla, 2 or 3 tbsp of honey, and a few very well mashed-up banana slices. Pour it over your pie. It'll start to set up immediately.

Proteins in the oatmeal and sugars in the honey will link up with the tapioca and banana starches to make a very fine binder for your fruit layers.

Place your last layer of bananas on top of all this.

Glaze
Blend 2 tsp tapioca pearls at high until fine. In a small saucepan, mix tapioca and 4 tsp fructose. Over medium heat whisk in 1/4 cup water, 1/4 cup orange juice and 1 tbsp lemon juice (I got to use a lemon from the our tree). Boil gently for a minute. If you boil longer, you'll notice a color change. That's okay; you're caramelizing it and the flavors will be more intense.

Pour or spoon the glaze on top of your pie. If you worked quickly enough your final banana layer hasn't oxidized. Arrange a few strawberries on top. Let it rest for about an hour before serving.

The only allergen left in this pie is the wheat. We have a community member who is sensitive, so I made her a trifle sort of thing by making all the layers and filling and glaze in a small glass bowl.