My Garden Grows

The bees stung me twice today. I cried both times. The sting itself is such a small pain, but as the stinger remains in, the burn grows and grows. A baking soda and water paste helps draw the heat, but as the swelling begins, the discomfort grows. And I know now that the swelling will continue for three days, so I think about fat and ugly knees that can hardly bend to get into the house, and I wonder if these still-ravenous bees are worth it.

They did not sting in anger. One was on the cloth I used as a pot holder as I brought them food; I absent-mindedly set it on my leg as I bent to pick up the empty pot, then stared, stupidly, at the defensive bee, stinger still in my knee. The next time I brought them food, I started to walk away, and a bee must have been in the hem of my shorts, and felt threatened.

Options? Get a haz-mat suit and get dressed and undressed the multiple times a day I need to check on them. Maybe even just have jeans at the ready, or maybe waterproof pants to pull on over shorts.

Eight stings so far does seem a bit unkind, but I’m trying to remember that the bees act on instinct, not purposeful malice.

Little things like that can plunge my spirits so quickly. Phil, male, stays on an even keel emotionally. I envy that at times.

As Phil and I continue to recover from the planting marathon, we find so many piddly things to do, but nothing seems terribly important. Phil continues to look at fencing options. We were fairly set on a mix of cattle panels and electric, but we do worry about the boys and their safety, if we run electric near their play areas. It’s hard to decide what is best.

Even something as simple as corner posts give me fits. I hate the idea of pressured treated lumber; I hate that it contains poisons and that it’s bad for the environment. But to spend, perhaps, twice as much on black locust or cedar or some other tough wood that doesn’t rot—we don’t have infinite money. It’s hard to know where the trade off is. Hard enough it brings tears to my eyes. What is the right thing to do?

Bits of my garden grow by the day. I harvested two softneck garlic heads today. I saved one and we ate one. I think it was a mild Inchelium Red, with red paper around each bulb. I also pulled most of the potato onions, and will let them cure.

I have also been on a seed harvesting journey these last few days. I left some of the peas to grow on the vine, and have saved them for next year. I didn’t really harvest much of anything to eat, which was a bummer, but I figure I didn’t lose much except my time, as long as I get back about the same number of seeds I planted. And the few I get are perfectly suited to my environment.

I have a bowl of kale seed, and am acquiring a bowl of spinach seed. I am thrilled about the former, and not so happy about the latter. Why gather it, if I don’t much like spinach? It feels too wasteful not to.

My herb seeds did not sprout, so I overseeded that bed with pumpkin and butternut squash seeds.

The tomato and pepper seeds I planted last weekend continue to grow fairly well. They had been outside, but chickens kept jumping up and pecking the baby seedlings, so I brought them inside and added them to my limited RV counter space. They aren’t getting much sun, but it is warm in there, and they will, at least, live until they are outside, not pecked to death.

I have one cheery nasturtium growing bravely near the electric box; I had planted many, but at least one survived the late frosts and the poor soil. It makes me smile, with its happy orange face.

We watched a movie last night about a man fighting to provide raw milk in Canada. This morning, Phil watched a brief movie about raw milk dairy.

Yet another thing we know nothing about, but need to figure out soon. Build a milking parlor, buy more equipment, hope it works for us.