Goldenseal Garden

Day 258: Growing Goldenseal (Hydrastis canadensis) provides both a refreshing and beneficial tonic and a lesson in conservation. The tea made from the leaves takes a bit of getting used to, as it is somewhat acrid and earthy, but when chilled, a single swallow quenches thirst better than lemonade. I never sweeten my goldenseal tea, having become accustomed to and even enjoying the taste. The roots may also be used to make tea, but this is where the conservation lesson enters in. Each plant produces only two leaves. Admittedly, they're the size of a Big-Leaf Maple leaf, but you only get two per root. Obviously, harvesting the roots would be counter-productive in the strictest sense of the term. Likewise, if you were to pick all the leaves, the plants would be unable to photosynthesize and would die off. I began with two commercially-grown plants thirty years ago. This is my Goldenseal Garden today. As you can tell, they've multiplied over the years, and that's due to my harvesting practices. When they reach this stage, I cut my first batch of tea by scissoring off no more than one lobe from any given leaf, only taking what I require for brewing. I made two quarts yesterday, using about a dozen lobes.As the season progresses, I will trim the leaves which weren't used in the first round, cycling through all of them. As the end of the growing period approaches and the leaves begin to show faint signs of yellowing, I will take a second lobe if there are no uncut leaves available. This process allows the plant to complete its cycle and remain healthy. I never harvest the berries in the hopes that fallen seeds will generate more plants, although Hydrastis generally propagates clonally from the root rather than from seed. That said, I'm apparently doing it right. This year's Goldenseal crop is the best it's ever been.

Two Pine-Needle Baskets

Day 257: Pine-needle basketry is not easy on the fingers, so it's been slow going. I have yet to make the lids for these two (or at least for the taller one). They are both 3.5" in diameter and are worked in fern stitch (aka V stitch or wing stitch) except for wheat stitch on the base. Fern stitch is simply wheat stitch with a second diagonal stitch travelling the opposite direction. It's been twenty years or more since I did any pine-needle work, and my hands are not as strong as they used to be, but almost every day I put on a row or two. In between sessions, I wrap the pine needles in a damp towel and put them in the fridge to keep them supple.

Fledge Day

Day 256: For the last two hours, I have been sitting on the countertop with my feet in the kitchen sink watching a miracle happen. I fully expected the young Tree Swallows to fledge yesterday while I was gone, but they waited for me. This morning, I watched as each one of the SIX youngsters tumbled from the box and spread their wings in their first flight. SIX! But for rare exceptions, that is the maximum number of eggs Tachycineta bicolor lays in a clutch. I tried to capture the moment of fledging on video after the first four had launched themselves into a strange new world, but missed the crucial second as twice I fumbled for the record button on the camera while keeping my eyes on the bird in the doorway. More important to me was observing the moment of first flight. After the first three, I was surprised when a fourth head appeared in the opening, even more surprised when it vacated the house and a fifth little beak came into view. When the fifth one flew and a sixth appeared, I could hardly believe it. To the best of my knowledge, the previous record for the House of Chirp was four. The fledglings joined the parents in flight, returning to the doorway to offer chirps of encouragement to those still inside: "Look! I can do it! Flying is fun!" Of the lot, #4 was the most reluctant, taking a full half hour to decide to make the plunge. #5 was out the door ten minutes later, and #6 joined the family two minutes later. It's been a good day.

Proudly Representing...

Day 255: I am proud to be one of six uniformed personnel representing Mount Rainier National Park in Seattle's Pride Parade today, joined by another half dozen employees and their family members who will be on personal time. While the theme of Pride is specifically LGBTQIA+ rights, in my heart and soul, I am walking for everyone who is in any way marginalized. We should celebrate our differences, for only by examining them and exploring them can we progress toward global unity. It probably won't happen in my lifetime, but at least I'll have put my best foot forward.

Butterfly Magnet

Day 254: The Philadephus buds are just beginning to open, and already the Swallowtails are flocking in dozens to nectar at the blossoms. This highly fragrant type (Philadelphus lewisii) grows as a leggy cluster of trunks and may reach heights of 15' or more. It is native to the Northwest, as opposed to the popular shrub P. coronarius. Both are known commonly as "Mock Orange" for their heady scent. Mine towers above the garage roof, serving birds and butterflies alike. At peak bloom, its perfume fills the neighbourhood for a quarter mile radius, particularly on warm afternoons. Although the tree itself is not particularly lovely, the scent more than makes up for its shortfalls. Its ability to draw Swallowtails and Parnassians is a bonus.

Almost Time

Day 253: Any day now, the little ones will fly the coop, and the House of Chirp will have served its purpose through another season. The parents are still delivering food directly to wide gapes, not yet trying to tempt the youngsters from the safety of the nest. This year's parents have been more protective than in years past, apparently seeing me as a threat, dive-bombing me so close that I have been struck by a wing in passing, and cursing swallow swear-words from the telephone line any time I'm in the yard. I applaud their diligence, however it might inconvenience me if I need something from the garage. In the twenty-plus years the House of Chirp has been used, only one chick failed to thrive. That's a pretty good record. So while we're on the subject of nestlings, let me say it: there is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds.

A Good Ear

Day 252: When my sourdough starter died of causes unknown approximately a year ago, I was plunged into a period of existential crisis which lasted about six months. During that period, I could not turn out a decent loaf of bread. Oh, they were fine as far as taste was concerned, but invariably, the second rise would be weak and I would get very little oven spring. I blamed the weather. I blamed the cold. I blamed the yeast and the wheat crop and the flour mills. I tried waiting for a warm sunny day. I changed brands of flour and yeast. I bought a bread machine. But for the life of me, I could not figure out what was causing my loaves to be flat and dense. In over fifty years of bread-making on a ten-day schedule, I had had a few unresponsive doughs, but never such a long run of failures. "I think," I said to myself, "that I've lost my mojo."

I was lamenting the issue to a friend one day, and he offered me some of his sourdough starter. I am tempted to say I prefer sourdough over yeast breads, but the truth of it is that I simply prefer homemade bread regardless of the type. I took Ed up on his offer, and after doubling his starter a couple of times, I made a sourdough loaf. The results fell somewhat short of my expectations, but I could see there was hope. Then I started poking around for different recipes and came up with a high-hydration "artisan" loaf which required baking in a Dutch oven. It has now become my favourite version of sourdough.

This loaf should have the perfect "ear" typical of artisanal breads, i.e., it must be shallowly scored with a bread lame or sharp knife so that when oven spring occurs, it does not burst along the top or sides, but opens along the cut. It tends to get rather crisp along the edge and is inconvenient when slicing the bread, so after my loaves have cooled, I make a horizontal cut to prune the "ear" from the top of the loaf. You understand, of course, that this is for purely functional reasons. It has nothing to do with wanting to have a piece of fresh-baked sourdough lavished with butter for a nibbly-bite, nothing at all.