While not directly gardening, per se...

This weekend I did some poor man's surveying of The Land using my feet and a Garmin GPS unit.

I wanted to mark the 2 immovable fence lines, a grove we want to be entirely on our property.  Plus, knowing where the 3 power poles and overhead wires were would be helpful.

I started by walking the fence-line, relatively uneventfully.

Once I started following the overhead line shadows, the cows sharing the field with me started to get interesting.

After the first turn in the wire, at the pole, the GPS track shows the "cow dance" I did in my effort to remain untrampled.

This was followed by them stalking me around the smaller glade, and then following me a few hundred yards back towards the first gate.

And I learned I don't like cows.  I wouldn't say it's an irrational fear; a phobia (which, strangely, seems to have no official medical nam). 

No, it's more just not liking their group dynamics.

We caution our children to avoid the herd mentality.  When faced with 3 dozen 800lbs hoofed steaks, you're looking at the herd mentality in it's most pure form.

You can dance around, swing you straw hat about, and holler "hyah!  hyah!" as much as you like, but the herd won't back down.

If you pick a single cow, though, make eye-contact, and try to run him down, you might stand a chance.  If you make him turn, his buddies might too, which then spreads into a stampede away from you.

If they don't go too far, though, they simply might follow you like large dumb puppies.  Unfortunately, a mass of cow following someone downhill tends to pick up speed, regardless of any aggressive tendencies.  That's not good when you're the leader of the pack, and only wearing boots, not hoofs.

To combat the "cow runs down hills" tendency of bovines in pursuit, simply walk a zig-zag line.  Like you would to avoid a bee.  As you tack back and forth, the whole mass can't adjust direction as quickly as the guy on two feet mocking them.  And the entire pile of steak comes to a halt.

Then they get distracted by the feed bin, and leave you alone completely.

Shortly after this adventure, I had a cheeseburger. It was what I needed to calm the cattle anxiety.

Back on the 22nd of April, Rebecca and I had what I refer to as our Earth Day Revelation.

It was the moment we decided it'd be both important and possible for us to simplify our lives and go from owning a lawn to owning some land.

Luckily we had the option to purchase some family land in Wythe County, Virginia.

A few weeks back, while at the beach, Rebecca handed me Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.  It'd recently been released in softback, and I'm cheap.  I also had not realized that Barnes & Noble filed it under "Cookbooks" when I went looking for it months ago. 

Cookbooks?  Really?

So, I started reading it.  And I see she's moved to a farm in southern Appalachia.  Wow, that's close to us here in Asheville, I have to imagine.  Then I notice her husband teaches at Emory & Henry, which I've passed scores of times on the way to Wytheville.

Then, she mentions being able to see Big Walker Mountain. 

Holy crap.  That's just down the road, with the tunnel that has the horrible construction going on, backing up traffic for miles.  On a clear day, we can probably see Big Walker Mountain from our plot.

Suddenly, this book-I-should-read-because-I-like-Pollan has become more than just another item in the cannon of self-sufficiency and locavoraciousness.

Instead, it's a fount of absolute local knowledge that will be useful to me. It's not just a story of someone, somewhere.  It's the story of a future neighbor in  the next county over.

Spending time in the area (just drove back this evening, in fact), I'd noticed that there's very few row crops, but craploads of raised-until-slaughter grass-fed cows.

The row crops that are visible (such as the corn surrounding my in-law's house) tend to be purely animal food, silage for the winter months.  Alfalfa, hay, human-inedible corn.

Sure, the neighbor kid raises chickens and sells the eggs at the hair salons in town, and the kindly old man up the cove produces honey from his handful of beehives.

But in general, I hadn't seen much other "farming" per se.

According to Kingsolver, though, there's plenty of actual micro-farming to be had in the hilly region on southwestern Virginia.  It's not all just tasty beef.

In fact, there's a wine festival annually because of the grape crops, and I've personally toured an apple orchard and a pick-your-own pumpkin (complete with high-pressure pumpkin cannon).

Sure, it's not zone 9 or something with more sun than sense, with multiple growing seasons.  But self-sustenance is not unheard-of along the New River Valley. 

Babs herself has documented the possibility.

I also verified that lightning bugs will indeed answer a flash of your car headlights.  It's freaky.

While at the beach, we enjoyed watching the moon grow full.

Then one night, the clouds rolled in. 

Crank the ISO down to 200, brace camera somewhere sturdy, and let the shutter stay open 20 seconds.

Spent a week down in the panhandle of Florida (that's my 3rd trip to Florida this year, for those of you keeping score at home; first to the beaches though).

I managed to mow the lawn the night before leaving, finishing up the front yard just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Last night, rounding the last corner to get home, Rebecca and I spot the house, and our first thought was...

Damn, time to mow the lawn again

Being gone for the week, I did not even get to enjoy the nicely manicured lawn.  (I have a bit of Hank Hill in me).

I can't let the whole yard go to flowers and such, as some expanse is needed for the kids and dogs to play.  But something that grows less tall would be awesome.

Anyone have thoughts on short-growing lawn substitutes?

Like my buddy Lance, I found myself with a wheelbarrow with a bogus wheel.

"Just inflate it" you might say.  Sure, except for the fact the the valve stem had dry-rotted completely out of the hub.

So, time to change a wheel!

1. Put the barrow in a nice working position.

I just flipped it over, like a turtle on its back.

I found a shady spot in the back yard.

2. Assemble the tools you'll need.

Really, for my wheelbarrow (which is probably very much like yours), the entire process involves removing and re-installing a pair of 1/2" nuts.

For this you can either use a crescent wrench, or a 1/2" socket and driver.  I decided to use my socket and driver.

My socket driver is about 18" long, and does not ratchet.

3. Double-check your replacement wheel.

Yes, that's right.  Not all wheels are created equal.  Here's what the wrong wheel might look like, perched on top of your barrow.

The problem is the original wheel has an elongated tube through which the axle runs.  In the first image with this article, you can see the 3" flanges sticking out on either side of the hub.

These flanges keep the wheel centered.  Wheels without them unfortunately can wander 3-inches off-center either left or right.

So, chances are, you need to go back to the store now.

4. Remove the axle bracket on one side.

Attached to the wooden handles, one each side, is a metal bracket that holds the ends of the axle.  You only need to remove one.

Each nut should be followed by a locking washer, which keeps things from slowly unscrewing themselves.

5. Remove the axle/wheel assembly.

After removing the axle bracked on one side, the entire axle/wheel assemble should slide right out.

6. Slip the axle out of the old wheel, into the new.

Without any effort, the axle should transfer from the old wheel to the new.

7. Re-install the axle/wheel assembly.

Slide the reassembled axle/wheel unit under the bracket you did not remove.

8. Reattach the axle bracket.

Replace the bracket you removed.  Make sure the locking washer goes on before the nut.

Use your crescent wrench or socket and driver to tighten the nuts.

9. Enjoy your new barrow.

Wheel something around.

Extra Notes

For my replacement wheel, I opted for an intentionally airless tire.  The tire is solid rubber, and never needs inflation, cannot suffer a traumatic puncture, nor can the non-existent valve-stem rot out.

Oh boy.

I may have gotten myself banned from future unsupervised trips to the Tractor Supply Company, but I finally found a weed flamer, in stock, locally.

It's one of those things I've wanted, but not enough to bother ordering it through Amazon.

But since I was at TSC anyhow, looking for a wheelbarrow wheel (more on that later), and it was just sitting there on the shelf...

Basically, your $50 buys you a kit with a hose, a hollow wand, a flaming tip, and a chemistry lab sparker.

Pick up a propane cylinder at any gas station or borrow the one from your grill.

Hook up the hoses, check for leaks, open the valves (only a little bit), and hit the sparker.

Even with the service valve on the cylinder only open a smidgen, and the control valve on the wand likewise, the flame shooting out of this thing is unreal. 

The sound that accompanies it is definitely comparable to a jet engine.  I only turned it up to "full" a few times in short bursts, for fear of disturbing the neighbors.

It's been a rainy day today, which was probably ideal for learning how to use this flame shooting device. 

Definitely keep the water hose nearby.

The idea is not to burn the weeds to a crisp, but to gently heat them until their water-filled cells burst.  Basically, you're causing frost-like damage using 50,000 BTUs. 

Awesome!

Of course, once you're done, you've got a massively-hot wand.  If you're like me, you have a garage/workshop with an asphalt floor.

Asphalt burns, I luckily recalled before it became important.  I found a few spare bricks to act as a trivet for my weed wand.

Hauling the 20lbs cylinder around the yard (the hose is only 10' long) might get old real quick.  I may have to bungee strap it to an old hand-truck.

This weekend, after dining sumptuously at Shoney's, I noticed the Sunday edition of the Roanoke Times had a nice article about the locavore movement as it applies to southwest Virginia.

The article reinforces the sentiments from Pollan and Salatin, particularly iterating the ideas involving small-scale slaughter operations.

I'd heard about limitations on poultry slaughter (under 1,000 birds annually), but the article did educate me about the peculiarities of a Catch-22 with rabbits.

Rabbit slaughter does not have to be inspected, but restaurants
cannot serve non-inspected rabbits.  (Sorry, June, I realize you think of rabbits only as pets).

The article also does discuss briefly the concepts of Community Support Agriculture and co-ops.

Tangentially, this weekend we were up in Wytheville (smack dab in the middle of southwest Virginia), and I spoke with some of the locals.  One in particular could not be classified as an "environmentalist" yet still was yearning for self-sustainability and independence. 

I think "green" concepts will touch everyone as they ultimately will translate into dollars spent each month. 

Regardless of our nation's independence on foreign oil or foods shipped long distances, for example, I can work towards my own independence of both of these things.  It helps the earth, but it also helps my bank account.

(In the photo, Rebecca ironically displays our "Local Food" sticker while modelling a Greenthumbr shirt, in front of our gas-guzzling SUV).

Remember the first entry about a pair of snails?

I never got around to deciding if I should free them or dispose of them.  So, they expired in the tupperware bug container.  Or so I thought.

Today, I knocked them out of the container into an empty plant pot.

About 20 minutes later, they're poking their eye-stalks over the edge.

That's about 3 weeks with no food or water, and they're still quite alive.  Perhaps just a little bit less moist'n'gooey.

Great, now I can't kill them.  If they're that willful to live, I had to set them free.

Run, little guys, run!

Rebecca picked up a Purple Queen at the Wytheville Garden Festival a while back.  Her mother had plucked off a bit, dropped it in water, and voila, she had herself a plant, too.

I decided to do similarly.  Already roots have appeared where I removed some leaves.  Quite nice.  The fine root hairs are invisible when the plant is removed from the water.

 

Today is the first day of No School, so that means I've got myself an 11-year-old running around the yard, finding things that only 11-year-olds can find.

Today he was digging in the sand from the not-yet-finished patio renovation, and came across this odd bug, just molted.

The little fella is just wiggling his back-end, like David Blaine in a straight-jacket.

Anyone have any idea what this is?  I've got him in a jar, to see if once he's done wiggling he becomes something more recognizable.