Category Archives: Tools of the Trade

She can spot ‘em

Green lacewing eggs

She flits and flies, tornadoeing or tiptoeing, most everywhere with a wave of insistent energy. Screeching to a halt (at times complete with sound effects) to alert the world of the wonders she’s found.

Whether these eggs have become more prevalent due to our watering and planting, or I simply am made aware of their existence more than I’d go looking myself, she finds them everywhere, all the time, and always with delight.

A caterpillar hunter turned green lacewing observer, who thankfully will still help squish harlequin beetles, is growing and growing all around me (as she often is running in circles.)

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Soil Blocks, Take 2

I’d always saved the plastic pots and trays from purchased transplants.

Save them. Wash them. Scrub them. Rinse them. Sanitize them. Dry them. Fill them. Sow them.

Then they’d break.

Recycle bin. And hope. Hope they’d actually be recycled.

I put the brakes on all that.

A cool night.

Down to 88° F! I almost need long sleeves. (You think I’m joking…)

I heard on the radio the other day that ~130 days per year here have a heat index over 90° F as the high. Somehow this both surprised me to learn (after 16 years here) as well as soothed me to know. (I did move here for sunshine, after all.)

I ordered a new toy, which I only discovered the name of after 10+ failed attempts at search terms to find it from witnessing one in a video.

And am experimenting… any favored soil blocker receptacles? Or tips for watering them without them crumbling?

Ten cauliflower sowed. Tens more to go.

More than those.

Pollinators aren’t only honey bees. Yes, we need to save the bees. But also these little flyers.

Can you spot them?

I don’t know their name. Nor do I immediately recall if this is quinoa or amaranth, only that it as an impulse grain purchase months ago now.

Months.

A few more months and perhaps my life will shift again. Stories told are being retold and adjusted. Unfolding as they are unearthed. And as such, perhaps the solid harvest shown, that recently appeared to be unraveling, may have been sown in cover crop and sold as orchard.

And perhaps, after these next few months, I’ll find my way away from mixed metaphors. Until then, I’ll dig into reality as often as I can, gulp from sweet sweet iced water in a jar reminiscent of pasta night years hence, and breathe.