The Urban Farmer's Almanac

I am done with yellow squash.  In the last three weeks I have made
Squash pancakes
Squash muffins
Squash cookies
Squash quick bread
Squash risotto
Stuffed squash
Squash chips
Squash fritters
Squash sandwiches
BBQ’d squash
Grilled squash

Basically almost every meal has had  squash component and I don’t particularly like yellow squash.  I am declaring myself done with squash for awhile.  I have started handing out squash to any and all visitors to our house.  Yesterday a friend left town for a week and gave us the rest of their only lightly used CSA box.  Wouldn’t you know … there was plenty of yellow squash in it.

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is to stay out of the kitchen.

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Hannah just had her first professional pedicure and was much impressed with the experience.  Here she is reenacting it in the backyard with Robbie. Our herbs are  now established enough that its no problem to set a 4 year old loose on them so she can make an herbal soak for her feet.  At least it gets them clean, which is  rarity now that it is the season for running around barefoot.

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I’ve been meaning to mow the lawn for a few weeks (!) and after finally getting to it yesterday, I have to say that nature is much more pleasing when it is under control. Clean lines make for a less stressful natural environment. It took me a whole semester in grad school pondering urban farming to realize this simple truth. So I’m determined to cut back the surging mint plants because I know that when they’re not taking over the path, I’ll appreciate them more.

Installation detail; plant, dirt, frame, 2004, San Francisco, CA

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If there is one trait that characterizes Alicia and I it is decisive. Just last week our first flock (of 2) chickens met a violent end. Rather than dwell on it too much, this weekend, having the rare use of a car, I hit up Craigslist and found a few people selling off their extra chickens before the winter.

The first pair came from a family in Bothell with, I have to say, the McMansion of chicken houses. It was deluxe. I felt kind of bad for the two chickens we got from them; they’ve definitely taken a step down the socio-economic ladder.

The second pair were from a guy who up until the recent economic crisis was running a farm and hatching chicks. He had a couple nice chicken tractors in his back yard up in Everett, and had some good advice on taking care of the chickens. He grew up on a farm in Montana, so I kept my mouth shut and tried not to make a fool of myself (I certainly didn’t let on that a racoon or some other treacherous urban predator had gotten to our last flock of hens).

Hannah was excited to meet her new friends (“Daddy got new chickens!”) and she helped put sawdust in their coop, since she’s the only one who fits in there.

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