oaktown hip hops

Yo!
You heard the 411 on the hop crisis?
Well, whether you have or not, for us malt liquor lovers, it's like, damn! Fo' shoe-a.
Luckily, my abode here in Oaktown be in a middle latitude on dis' orb and gots a hella mild climate. Means you can grow'em yo'self my peeps.

So somehow seeing into the future and anticipating the shortage of some hops for craft brewers, about this time last year, I bought a few hop rhizomes and planted them out front. Really, I bought them down at the Oak Barrel because they had some, I love growing things, and a town named Hopland is under two hours away so I figured they'd do at least alright. Anyway, they were planted in half barrels containing crappy soil that needed much amending and aerating. No worries. I read they don't do much their first year. Sure nuff, they went up about four feet reeeel slowly and then all the greenery died about November during our first almost frost.

This year, I looked at our garden space more closely and hatched a plan for hop production. I transplanted them into a patch that I used an acidic conditioner on (sulfur bits). Apparently, the new environs and second year of growth have coincided nicely, for we now have a few plants climbing. Getting them to grow is one challenge. Directing their growth is another. So, to push the learning even further, I put strings I tied to tomato cages at ground level and to a few rusty screws near our roofline (placed so fortuitously by a former tenant) for the Northern Brewer to climb, while the Cascade are being directed to go out horizontal above the cold frame and toward the street.

Looking out the bathroom window now involves a leafy view, particularly downward. The bines grow clockwise around the strings and haul themselves up rather nicely. And if you like watching things grow, these are fun. On that hottest day a few weeks back here in the bay area, one of them seemed to grow about eight inches. I couldn't believe my eyes, but it corresponded with it coming up over the gutter and finally onto the roof so it was easy to see its progress over the course of the day. It was amazing.
I love plants.

On closer inspection a few days later, I noticed that what I thought might be the developing cones, must indeed be. From a distance, it looked like the plants had blurry spots on them. I hauled myself up for a closer look and there they were in open flowering mode, fuzzy and hoppy. I went back inside and did a little happy dance feeling totally stoked at the prospect of a future hop harvest. I thought to myself sheee-iiiit damn! DIY rules! (followed by whispering to myself) Just don't fuck it up now.........

The little ladies in the neighborhood have been diggin' on the hops too. I guess it it still technically spring for a few more days and they might as well make the best of it. I welcome any thing that pleases them for there have been no pests of any kind so far. By the looks of these critters, I can probably count on aphids at least being out of the picture. Or can I? A horrid thought crossed my mind: we had some enormous garden pests last year, chiefly in the form of the North American bastard corn swiper. They better not return and like hops too!

Well, I'm off to go make a few bamboo stake booby traps and maybe a slingshot or two. So, remember, whatever you may consider doing in my yard, make sure you have explicit permission!

hints that spring is nearly here

Sometimes, here in sunny California, it can be a little confusing as to exactly when it's spring. Sure, you've got that whole equinox thingy and all, but well before that, spring has sprung. The plants know what's up. Some keep track of the temperature while some pay attention to the sun's rays. Some pay attention to neither. Or both. I try to make sense of it all, but it's the little clues of it's arrival, such as these flowers placed so lovingly into the hood of my car. When I see this, I know spring is near.

Another way of telling is by who visits. Think about it. You probably have a few relatives or friends who you only see at certain times of the year. A holiday perhaps. If this regularity can be counted on then you start thinking things like: "oh, hey, auntie so and so is coming to town, it must be (insert occasion here)." When it's Saint Nick, you think x-mas. The Great Pumpkin, Halloween right? And so on and so forth. Well, around here, before that big damn bunny makes his appearance we get a visit from Princess Cinderella and the Pink Princess Mariposa. Yes, spring is here when I find myself making lunch for these two.

Maybe you are a devout eater of what's in season. If that's the case you'd probably say spring is here when you're eating asparagus or something else fresh, green and newly emerged from the cold or recently frozen ground. Now, I love my asparagus and all, but to me nothing says the arrival of spring like eating peach pie. You heard it: P E A C H P I E. The filling for this baby was made back at the end of September and tucked away into the freezer. With the warming weather and trying to imagine what we can cram in the freezer that is the last of winter's goodness, it seems we shall need to make some space. The peachy goodness has got to go. Next up is a bag of Red Haven pie filling. When that one goes, there ain't no more warm peachiness until I feel the fuzz from this year's crop on my lips.

When I really know it's spring though, is when the light streams through the Tofuhenge just so. It will pierce through one of the bean curd windows and illuminate the center with a nice clean line. With high enough air quality in the kitchen the light will even shine through all the way to the pull-down panels on the ancient Wedgewood. Of course you have to have constructed your "henge" with the proper alignment for this to happen, but when it finally does, as far as I'm concerned spring is here.

Silly readers, and you thought tofu was just for eating!

Happy almost sprung..........