#chickens compost and blackberries

[oddlittlestories]

I genuinely think the answer to this is going back to community making. Not even necessarily selling, you know? Maybe my neighbor makes me some yarn and I make us both sweaters.

The issue is, I’m a sewist. And I have no idea how fabric is actually made, beyond a vague sense that it’s perhaps done on a loom.

Is it just easier to crochet or knit things than to attempt to make or source actual fabric?

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

[happy2bmyownboss]

Eclipse Gardening 2024 - Picture Overload!!!

[downtoearthmarkets]

A couple of weeks ago, we discussed the different methods of crop irrigation that farmers use and how climate change is affecting the volume of water needed to keep fields hydrated and healthy here in the northeast. Managing water use wisely by installing efficient irrigation systems is just one of many steps that farms can take to reduce their impact on the local ecology while increasing their profitability and productivity. This week, we’ll touch on the importance of protecting and improving soil health to the future of sustainable farming. Building healthy soil and preventing erosion Sustainable agriculture is often used interchangeably with the term ‘regenerative agriculture’ because of the focus on restoring degraded farmland back to its former vitality and biodiversity. Beginning in the early 1900s, traditional farming techniques underwent a rapid transformation as mechanization replaced animal and human labor. As a result of these changes, the use of artificial fertilizers and pesticides was introduced, farms grew larger, yields increased and free-range, pastured animals were confined to smaller areas or moved into feedlots. During his youth in the 1950s, my father worked as a part-time laborer on a small farm in the north of England where he witnessed firsthand many of these changes occurring in real-time. The farm horse named Kit that he had grown fond of and spoiled with carrots and apples was replaced by a Ferguson tractor, while ancient hedgerows filled with blackberry briars and bountiful plum and damson trees were removed to make it easier for the new tractor to plow the land. He recalls forking out chicken and cow manure from the back of the horse-drawn cart to naturally fertilize the fields and hand-harvesting potatoes amongst other “backbreaking work” that is now performed by machines instead of farmhands. While all this modernization has spiked farm efficiency and production, it has often come at the expense of the health of the farmland, livestock and environment. Regenerative agriculture aims to restore the land back to its former fertility by reintroducing many of the traditional farming techniques of my father’s youth. At its core, it centers on promoting and bolstering soil health as fundamental to a farm’s ability to thrive and prosper well into the future by adopting a range of methods including the following:

Crop rotation and diversity: Rather than planting the same crop in the same field year after year, which eventually depletes the soil of certain nutrients and can lead to pest infestations, farmers introduce a different type of crop each year or at multiyear intervals. They can also include intercropping which involves growing a mixture of crops in the same area.

Cover crops and perennials: Cover crops such as clover, rye, buckwheat, mustard and vetch are planted in fields during the off-season when the ground might otherwise be left bare. This helps protect and build soil health by replenishing nutrients and preventing erosion from extreme weather events that are becoming more frequent due to climate change. Perennial crops such as alfalfa and asparagus keep soil covered, suppress weed growth and maintain living roots in the ground year-round which hold soil in place and helps stabilize the areas in which they are planted.

No or limited use of chemicals: Crop rotation and planting cover crops will naturally reduce or eliminate the need for synthetic pesticides and fertilizers over time by protecting and boosting soil biology. Regenerative agriculture allows for the judicious use of chemicals only when needed, such as when restoring heavily depleted soil to its natural resilience.

Compost, animal and green manure: Farmers can increase the amount of organic matter in their soil and boost its fertility through the application of compost, animal manure and ‘green manuring’ their cover crops which entails plowing under the still-living, undecomposed plants into the ground where they slowly release fertilizing nutrients like nitrogen.

Reducing or eliminating tillage: Traditional plowing (aka tillage) prepares fields for planting and prevents weed growth by mechanically turning over the uppermost layer of soil. Unfortunately, plowing disrupts soil microbiology (bacteria, fungi and other organisms) which causes soil loss and releases carbon stored in the soil’s organic matter into the atmosphere as carbon dioxide, which we all know is a potent greenhouse gas. Alternatively, no-till or reduced-till methods involve inserting crop seeds directly into undisturbed soil, which reduces erosion and conserves soil health. 

Agroforestry: Agroforestry refers to the practice of incorporating trees into farmland, such as the plum and damson trees my father remembers in the old hedgerows. By cultivating trees and shrubs on their property and mixing them into their operations, farmers can provide shade and shelter that protect crops, livestock, and water resources, while also leveraging additional income from fruit, syrup, nut, or timber yields. Agroforestry promotes biodiversity on a farm and trees are, of course, critical to slowing the effects of climate change. Plus, trees promote soil health by preventing erosion, fixing nitrogen and supporting the growth of fungi and other soil microbes.

Unlike large, industrial farms that grow monoculture crops and factory farmed animals, the small, local farms that partner with Down to Earth farmers markets have long embraced many of these sustainable agricultural practices. From composting to pasturing livestock to crop diversification, our farms understand the importance of soil health and are invested in protecting the local ecosystems and communities in which they operate, while producing a range of healthy, nutrient dense foods. It’s a win-win for everyone!

[willoftrees]

got invited to an fb group by a local family friend of mine who also happens to be trans~ thing is, it's a group for relocating outside of US or even building communities within and well

it rly feelslike a bunch of chickens running around with their heads cut off, and an occasional fox tryna lure them in close for a cheap and easy meal gearing myself up for eventually explaining that we need a rollcall of hands, what they can offer, their locale, their capacity, and how able they are in taking care of the UNable and differently abled.

it's not about running anymore, cuz many of us don't have that option. it's time to band together an pool resources. got land? good! how much and what can you do with it? are you considering zoning laws in your area? do you wanna go natural or "play ball" with the system? for natural, can we do compost toilets, gray water, and on-site camping? How long? with out get audited if there are people on your land for "x" amount of time? what climate zone are you in, in terms of plants and horticulture? how long is the growing season? are greenhouses a possibility? can we grow livestock? are we practicing european farming and growing european foods, or are we practicing regernative agriculture and learning to grow native perennials? is having a natural ons and doing aquaculture an option? can we grow native edible funguses? how can we make sure we distribute food to the community? do we have volunteers? are the volunteers taken care of? do you have skills you can offer? are you willing to teach? what accommodations do you need to perform your task in our community? these are just the start of things we need to start working on and answering need to get started with organizing. about me: Audhd, ptsd, surivivor of childhood trauma and being groomed. born in cali and grew up in washington, then lived in texas and went to college for horticulture, think it's wrong we aren't raised to know foods growing around us and taught that only foods in stores are safe. We are part of this earth same as any bee or plant or fish or deer. I live with my partner and our dog, and our zucchini as well as 2 other roommates in a trailer in grays harbor. tho my partner and i sleep in our car. my partner and one of our roommates own property (about 6.5 acres in grays harbor) together and we were hoping to build a regenerative agriculture community that could live on site and steward the land for future generations - unfortunately, we niavely didn't anticipate zoning laws, plus other circumstances pushed us to make a decision and we have what we have now. We also have 2 hens and 1 rooster for eggs, hoping to increase our flock and diversify for meat and poultry, and are planning to build a goat stall. land also has a natural spring for fresh water but needs additional setting up (past owner started but never finished with some piping, neighbor says it needs a pump and ballast - his property is grandfathered and been using it a long time.) alternatively, for anyone to stay longer than 2 weeks we need a septic. We again were told the past owner had /something/ done, but the city is being dodgy and has not given us an inch of info since we bought the land. All we could find out is that there are 3 perc holes and there MAY be some type of thing that was dug that MAY be a tank, but no actually tank??? info is vague and super frustrating. There is a river within very close range as well that we have been told is excellt for salmon, but have not personally tried - however had much success with crawdads when in season.

currently it is just my partner and i doing work on the land, it's overrun with invasive scotch broom but we are slowly clearing it away, left are red alders, and douglas firs. We have lots of salal berries, some red huckleberry, salmonberries, invasive himilayan blackberries, invasive cutleaf blackberries, native trailing blackberries, costal strawberries and a few other fruit trees on our land. realistically, we likely won't meet our original vision, however as times move farward, i do think we can grow food as a community. If more spaces with our goal in mind can grow, we may be able to make grocery stores in our area OPTIONAL.

if we can show you how to eat something available instead of having to spend $$ on the store, then we are happy to help! There's more i wanted to say and discuss, but with covering so much as is and so much more to do and disguss - i think this is a good start. Basically, we need to pool resources and knowledge, willing and able participants. I don't personally care about money, as long as ppl are fed, medicated and sheltered, I think we can make it thru this.

[gemoluna]

For my birthday I want french toast and hot dogs and pokemon sitting cuties plush and mcfarlane halo posable figurines and mud daubers and bakugons and nintendo dsi xl and Numskull "The Stranger" Figure 10" 25cm Limited Edition Collectible Replica Statue - Official Destiny 2 Merchandise - Sci-Fi Video Game Figurine and water bottle and plastic sheets and tinfoil and perdue chicken nuggets and bucket of cement and metroid prime: hunters and pastel crayons and blackout curtains and portable oil heater and lego racers and Carvel flying saucers ice cream sangwich and metal gear solid HD collection for Xbox 360 and quiet air conditioner and grass and roof tilling and compact disc and poker night 2 and 1tb internal HDD and joytoy warhammer 40k Space Marine 2 Lieutenant Titus (1/18 Scale) and cat litter and spider beanie babbies and blue toat box and metro 2034 and warframe oberon prime access and lego technic throwbot and and newFUCKING ROOM and fangamer sans zipper jacket and rice crispys and 1x2 glass panel and wicker rocking chair and extension cable and Devil May Cry 4 special edition and herman miller chair and SD/miniSD to USB3 adapter and destiny 2 gamestop preorder bonus fidget spinner oh wait I have that nvm and fushigi stand and dark souls prepare to die edition and marshmallows and oven mittens and and club penguin premium membership and yugioh wall shadow and insulation foam and bevis and butthead do america and blackberry flip phone and compact disc any kind and rechargable batteries and sandisk 4gb sd card and wii classic controller and metal spoon and white grape juice and unreal tournament 2004 and compost and stone slate and razor mouse and ultrakill gabriel body pillow and domino's pizza gift card and thumbtacks and amethyst and container of plastic spoons and... umm idk I dont need much...

[intlaffair]

Snow!

Winter has come to my corner of the Pacific Northwest. The snow isn’t deep; only about 2 inches at most, but it got very cold. It has hovered in the teens this weekend, and with windchill at some points it has felt as low as -7.

And the wind sure has been gusting, whistling and moaning around the corners of the house. The snow was particularly dry, and rattled and pattered as the wind blew it against the windows. A nice sound to fall asleep to, when you’re curled up under the covers, possibly with a partner warm beside you, breathing slow and deep with her own slumber, and a cat curled up on your feet to keep them warm.

(Just look at this perfect little pumpernickel loaf of a foot warmer.)

The day when the snow was falling was the day the temp also dropped below zero, and I decided discretion was the better part of valor, and didn’t venture out at all.

Instead, I made stew with dumplings in the Dutch oven I got for Christmas (shout out to my mom) and watched some Star Wars (original trilogy) with the aforementioned partner.

But I love snow, and couldn’t let this round of it pass me by without going out into it, despite the fact that for several years running now I do not have a proper winter coat. So, undeterred by my sartorial lack of preparation for this sort of weather, I bundled up to the best of my ability and stepped out into sub-freezing weather.

I expected to only have the resilience to circle the block, more or less, but the wind had mostly subsided and the cold was not as intense as I had feared. With my layers and a scarf over my nose and mouth, and a beanie, I was fairly comfortable, and wound up walking a little over a mile and a half, following the loop of my shortest running route through the neighborhood.

The city calls the narrow street I live on, and others like it, alleys. I suppose that is accurate enough: they are skinny things, mostly passing the back or side yards of houses that front on a larger, named street, and split a block in half rather than demarcating the start of a new block. But the term alley conjures images of dinginess and darkness, trash-strewn asphalt between towering buildings that cut the sky into slender strips only just visible beyond their tops. These feel more like country lanes transplanted within city limits. When I traipse down them these unpaved passages, I pass lovingly tended garden plots and tangled blackberry brambles, even the odd chicken coop. I see compost heaps and fire pits. It feels entirely too bucolic for the title of alley.

Snow slows down human activity, but the birds and squirrels were busy. I passed a tree with so many puffed up little robins in it that they looked like funny little round fruit sprouting off the branches, and a squirrel looking well-plumped for winter raiding a bird feeder.

The robins would flutter away a bit when I first got close, but only so far as the nearest convenient fence top or roof. I crouched near a holly tree where many had congregated and watched for a few minutes, letting them grow accustomed to me and return to the work of gorging themselves on the bright red berries. I wandered on when the cold began to creep in at my toes and fingers.

By then, I had reached my usual turnaround point, and the wind was picking up. The chill was seeping up my arms and particularly my legs.

One last leaf, bright against the snow, caught my attention on the way home. By then, my battery was getting low and the siren call of a warm blanket, a soft cat, and a hot cup of tea was becoming stronger.

I like the way the clouds diffuse the light in winter, softening it and spreading it until it feels like it is coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, or how when the sun does break through more fully its shine is gilded with the faintest trace of pale silver. I like the contrast of green life poking through snow, or the stark patterns dead branches and vines form against that white canvas. I like how it can somehow make every outing feel like an achievement, a battle against the elements.

I like how the world looks so different, so close to a fairytale.

[turtlesandfrogs]

Today's project: building a three-bin composting set up.

First, we had to make a relatively level portion of ground backing up to the goat moat:

Then, set up the pallets, which we got for free, and screw them together:

Looks so gorgeous. Sigh. I love it. The bit of landscaping fabric is because there are blackberry roots under the back foot of the bins, so that will hopefully help keep them out. I'm also going to layer some cardboard there. I'm not covering the whole bottom because I want worms and other soil fauna to have easy access to the pile. It's a trade off.

Landscape fabric keeps the food scraps from falling between the slats. The black bin stores sawdust for balancing the carbon-nitrogen ratio. I also got it for free :D

Tip for new wood workers: pre-drilling prevents splitting when you put your screws in later. This is important when you'll be screwing near the edge of a piece, or if your wood is particularly prone to splitting.

Look at those slats. They easily slide up and out for when it's time to work the compost. This is definitely the nicest compost set up I've ever had, and the first one as an adult that wasn't just slapped together. Here's a diagram for anyone who hasn't seen a compost bin with this kind of front:

Again, not exact, and not to scale. Make sure you use sound, sturdy wood for the spacer and face (and realize I'm making up these names. There's probably an official chart somewhere on how to name pieces of wood, but I haven't seen it).

Now, let me say that for the average person or household, a set up like this is excessive- you do not need three bins. My 6 person family had one bin growing up (of course, a lot of kitchen scraps were thrown to the chickens...). I want 3 bins because I'm collecting kitchen scraps from two local eateries at the moment, and I want to scale up to three. I'm doing a mix of hot & cold composting, and I want to refine it a bit more to be on the hotter side. You might want a three bin system at a community garden, a small organic farm, or if you run a gardening business, or at a small apartment complex.

[specialbrewbutterbeer]

Turning My Back (Sirius Black x Reader)

Word count: 1135

TW: none

AN: I loved writing this and I reckon I could do a part 2 if anyone wants it? (Let me know please! And suggest anything you want!) But I'm in need of requests rn! So they're open and very welcome, as is any feedback!

REQUESTS (OPEN)

MASTERLIST

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These woods were cold and quiet. No amount of dappled sunlight and rich autumn colour would warm them today. The summer had turned weeks ago, all the heat in the air was faded and all the heat her cheeks had faded long before that.

Between the trees, sat an old cottage. It was well looked after, but moss and yellow lichen grew on the stones and leaves crowded on the doorstep. Even the slate tiles of the roof had tufts of long yellowing grass growing from between them.

This was where she lived. She lived quietly, unwilling to be disturbed by the chaos of the world, nor contribute to it. She liked it, her kitchen with it's old cast iron stove and table, small sitting room with a plush armchair and sheep's hide rug, and her bedroom, piled with quilts and books and comforting things. There was a fireplace, two sided, between the sitting and bedroom, that kept the whole place warm. The floor was flagstone and above were thick wooden beams. It was a small, cosy space. Nearby there was a small outhouse, behind the cottage and through a small crop of trees. In front of the house there was a small water pump. She never had to see another soul for months at a strech out there.

She stood in the kitchen, having just lit the stove and the smell of warm smoke hitting her nose. She leant back on the heels of her palms onto the big table that sat in the centre of the room. It was smooth from years of being worked on; kneading dough, chopping, stirring, reading, writing, eating.

She breathed in, a deep hearty breath of air that saturated her lungs.

She craned her neck and looked at the clock on the wall. The morning was still young. The windows were still misted with condensation and dew as she turned her attention to them. She gazed out at the forest floor, the leaf litter and grass that scattered it. The chickens were up, pecking and scratching for any insect or morsel they might find but they stuck close to their coop, and were quiet this morning.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, something about the morning felt different. The stagnant air and the silence didn't help.

She shook it off and went to work making her breakfast. She didn't feel like eating much, the strange feeling she had put her off, but with the work she had planned to fill her day, she needed something.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face and placed a slice of bread on to toast and some milk in a saucepan to heat up.

She rubbed her eyes as she waited, and stood over the stove, warming her hands over the hot top. Quickly the milk heated, and was poured into a thick ceramic mug, which she gripped her hands around keenly for the warmth. Soon the toast was done too, and with some butter and blackberry jam was enough to satisfy her.

She went through her day working, wrapped in a woollen shawl. By dusk, she was done. She crouched by the fireplace and scraped out the old ash into a tin bucket. Soon it was full and she took it out of the backdoor, pulling her shawl over her shoulder as it fell and a chill overcame her.

She emptied the ash onto the compost heap and turned to the woodshed. Once again she crouched and filled the bucket with split logs, making sure each was bone dry before she placed it with the others.

When she stood again, heading back to the house, she felt eyes looking at her. She didn't want to look over her shoulder and yet couldn't resist as she felt the tension rise up through her body and stiffen her spine.

When she did, she saw the eyes that she had felt upon her.

She didn't relax, though these eyes were familiar, the face they belonged to being one she had once known.

She blinked and turned her body toward the figure that stood far into the woods, looking back at her. She thought about stepping forward and meeting them but decided against it and instead tentatively turned back to the cottage.

She pushed the door open and looked back quickly. He hadn't moved. She left the door ajar as she slipped inside.

In knelt before the fireplace and arranged the firewood suitably. She struck the flint and lit some kindling, blowing gently on the glowing woodshavings to ignite a proper flame. This would have been easier had she used magic, but she had abandoned that many years ago. Soon the flame was beginning to creep up the sides of the logs and eat them up.

She heard leaves crunch underfoot outside, and the door creak open slowly.

Quickly she again stood and hurried into the kitchen, avoiding him. She reached the basin and leant over it, clutching at the side of it as if it were keeping her from drowning, as if she were going to be sick.

She heard the door close behind him, and his footsteps approach the doorway between the sitting room and this one.

She felt a pang of nervousness. She didn't want to see him. She had wanted to for such a long time, but she was so used to being alone now, never thinking about anyone but herself and her little home, the chickens in the yard and the goat.

The only thing that flickered before her eyes as she squeezed them shut and she held herself up on the basin, as her legs went to jelly, was that glimpse of him she'd seen out in the forest.

"You're not still shy are you?" He asked and she felt her body tense up even further. She turned, holding her breath and leant backward on the edge of the basin.

Now he was close she saw his scars, more tattoos than she remembered him having and everything about him changed.

Under his eyes were dark circles, under his coat his was skin and bone and his lips still were squewed into a small smile.

She shook her head at his question.

"I was shy when we first met." She felt her eyes fill with tears and her lungs begin to burn as she held her breath to keep them from falling down her face. "Not now."

He recognised that look in her eyes. That glistening, shiny gloss over them, that looked at him not tenderly, like they used to, but with fear and apprehension.

"I had to tell you myself." He started, not wanting to worry her anymore he didn't get closer, though he wanted to. "I was never a traitor. You've got to believe me."

[victorluvsalice]

We’ve made it to Tuesday Summer in the Chill Save, and this one’s an even heftier update than usual -- five posts! But then again, a lot happened, so let’s get started, shall we?

-->Smiler started out their day by trying to make some more robot components on the robotics bench (because you always need loads of computer chips and mechanisms for stuff) -- only to get zapped midway through their project. >.< And said zapping actually led them to pick up a Fear of Death, of all things! I guess electrocution IS one of the ways a vampire could actually die in this game. . .I sent them to weed the garden and take care of some cursed slime creatures while they waited out the Dazed moodlet.

-->Alice, meanwhile, had a Handiness boost going on thanks to the phase of the moon, so while Victor caught up on some sleep, I had her fix a bunch of broken wind turbines and then recycle the resultant trash piles! Gotta keep up on our production of bits and pieces, after all. :) Once the sun came up, I put her back into her human form, had her go ahead and publish her “Wonderland Tales” short story collection, and sent her out for a jog -- and was DEEPLY amused to see that one of her Athletic outfits was a “wolves howling at the moon” t-shirt. XD

-->Victor eventually got up and got straight into working on his new Juice Fizzing skill, collecting some pear juice he’d started before going to bed and plopping some blackberries into the machine. I had him go bond with his bees and collect more honey and beeswax while Alice returned and took care of the chickens, scattering feed and having a rare positive interaction with one of the hens. :p Seriously, these chickens are hard to impress!

-->And then I noticed the trashcan out front was getting grody (hell, the game told me that it had roaches), so I had Victor start sorting out recyclables and compostables to make it less icky. Bleh. On the plus side, good fertilizer there!

Yeah, lot going on on the old Valicer Farm! But hey, isn’t there a special event going on today?

[systlin]

Hello Plauntie, what would you do in case of a disaster situation without expecting a lot of gov help. Like how to provide for a small community, a lot of people are going to be out of work (non US) so small incomes might disappear. To be able to sustain a smallish community and depending how the pandemic goes, we are thinking of agriculture, animal husbandry, resources handling, the security for it, fuel reserves and energy alternatives when the grid is down. We might have 1 month or 2.

I’m in perhaps a better place than many for this, because I live in a place with very rich agricultural land, regular rain, and plenty of springs and rivers for water. People who live in cities or in more arid areas with poor soil would be harder hit. I can just plow some ground, and there’s deep rich black topsoil, five to six feet of it, the legacy of the tallgrass prairie that built some of the richest land on the planet. 

What I’d do? I’d plant wheat and corn and oats and beans and squash and vegetables. I’d keep maintaining a compost heap to give back to the soil what I took out of it. I’d get my water from springs or a sand point pump, and boil it before drinking it. I already grow soapwort, which you can clean yourself with, and I’d make soap with wood ash and whatever fat was to hand. 

This area is also rich with cattails and oak trees. Cattails provide more carbohydrate starch calories per acre than wheat. I’d dig and process the rhizomes into cattail flour, which is incidentally gluten free and safe for anyone with gluten intolerance. The river nearby is filled with water lilies; the tubers and seeds are edible and choice. Acorns are produced in massive abundance in the fall, and after processing to remove tannins are delicious. Acorn meal makes excellent crackers and porridge. 

Nettles grow rampant here. Nettle leaves, cooked, are delicious and nutritious. There’s a multitude of edible plants here; dandelion, lamb’s quarter, wild asparagus, wild blackberries and raspberries, mulberry, gooseberry, garlic mustard, wild horseradish, pepperweed (good pepper substitute if you can’t get it), chicory, wild grapes, wild rose hips, wild carrot...the list goes on. Walnut and hickory trees grow everywhere, and the nuts are oily and rich and delicious. 

Mushrooms! Morels in spring, oyster mushrooms on dead wood in summer, puffballs, honey mushrooms, chicken of the woods, chanterelles (uncommon but I’ve found them few rare times), lion’s mane, coral mushrooms. 

For livestock; chickens chickens CHICKENS. Chickens can be fed food scraps and can forage for themselves, and are fantastic for pest control. (Watch them around gardens; they’ll eat your vegetables as readily as weeds. They in turn provide on average an egg a day, and when you clean their coop compost their bedding and droppings into lovely rich compost that will go back onto the garden. When they stop laying, you get chicken for dinner, and stock from the bones. Save the feathers; they make good stuffing, and the flight feathers make good dusters. 

Goats are also good; they give milk and will eat almost anything, and take less room than, say, cows. Goats can be trained to pull carts. Their bedding and droppings also goes on the compost heap. Also, of course, if you have some males and females, you’ll get more goats, and goat is tasty. 

Bees. They’ll pollinate your crops, and produce honey and wax and propolis. 

Fuel reserves; to be honest, this is a trickier thing. If you’re thinking petrochemical fuel, it might be harder to get. In my area, weedy trees grow everywhere, and when it comes to fuel I’d go for wood. It can easily be gathered, stacked, and stored. 

I’d invest in a still, too. Hell, I already have. Anything with sugar in it or any sort of grain can be brewed into alcohol, which can be used to fuel engines converted to run on it, can be used to sterilize hands and instruments as needed, and of course can be drunk. 

Solar and wind and water are all good options. We’ve got an abundance of all three here. The most difficult thing would be the initial cost and batteries to store the power generated. 

Security? I’m honestly less worried about that, and I speak as someone who is a pro security person there. If people showed up desperate, I’d feed them, give them drink, give them a safe place if they needed it, and even welcome them to stay so long as they pitched in. 

[tinyshe]

Garden Report 21.02.02

Blooming: mini daffodils, hyacinths, various roses on south facing, dead nettle, camellias,  rhododendron, fruitless plum, yellow pompoms, some of the hedge berries (blackberries, blueberries, misc. Vaccinium/Gaylussacia), rosemary and drum roll please (!) those tenacious straw flowers I shoved into the hedge!

Pruning: roses, ferns, fruit trees and anybody else that looks like it needs a haircut or whacked back. I’m in the mood.

Harvesting: only rosemary as needed fresh but in a week? 2? or 3? pea pods from plants planted in the grow closet in Autumn! few lettuce leafs from closet as a snack, and Russian kale from grow box in veg patch that No One but me likes (even the chickens complain!).

Moving: all those small clipped twigs stored in a heap from this summer that are semi composted and loaded with worms -- they are now being shoveled into the aviary 1) for chicken’s digging pleasure in hunting worms and crawly bugs (exercise/hunting skills/enrichment); 2) soil is saturated to where straw does nothing but mats down and remains swishable wet to the point the girls can’t/won’t turn it; 3) keeps the girls up off the soaking wet soil and warmer healthier feet.

Miscellaneous notes: Need to get help again to finish fruit trees pruning and get some one lined up to spray the apples. I’m not sure I want to still and looking for alternatives. Got a handy dandy soil test kit but I have little faith in it no matter what the nurseryman said. When you ask where the expiration date or batch number is and are told ‘don’t worry about it’, I worry about it! My basket person is MIA so all those whips and splits I am going to turn into a fence of sorts by pounding holding post and stack the brush as compactly as I can, horizontally but traveling upward in small footprint as not to waste space. As they rot, I will tamp down, and each year add more (?) IDK. Sounds like a plan but will it work, be practical and accomplish my goal. Time will tell. Anxious to get Africa in order to do straw bale planting experiment of mushrooms.

[spamblog-w]

tbh I can XD

I adore sleeping in but we do have a garden and when I have to - I can wake up earlier

not that I dream about it, I hate this work, it's hard and in most cases useless, you do a lot and have basically nothing out of that, this is my family's garden and I wish I didn't have it - we always have too many apples and they rot before we pick them up then rot because we don't have ideas what to do with them anymore, we eat squash/cucurbit or however it's called all summer long as well as string beans until we can't anymore, carrots and tomatoes are so tiny and I hate that they smell and taste like the literal ground - they sometimes have to lay at home to get red because they fall as green often, snails eat everything (so no lettuce for example), it's always too dry or too wet for veggies - we water them few times a day when it's a hot summer, my neighbor tries to poison us and I have to check whatever he's doing at the time and his rotten plums fall onto my stuff grrr, potatoes will be eaten by beetles probably, I enjoy my chives though, pears are hard to bite and our cherries tree broke during thunderstorm, we used to have raspberries but blackberries are always attacked by ants, tree diseases are a pain in the ass, then there are cats (not mine) who will ruin everything because why not :)

obviously you need compost, you need to dig through the ground before you plant anything, you need to remember when to plant something, you need to cover it all before birds will eat it out, you need to sign where something grows, you need to pull weeds that grow faster/easier/better than anything else

everyone romanticises those stuff but when your back hurts in the evening, you have dirt under your nails, you find larvae/dead bugs and spiders crawling around constantly, you burn in the sun, mosquitos eat you alive, you have to kneel for hours, you ruin your clothes and then you go back the next morning and everything is fucked then you'll see how fun it is...

sorry - you can have a different opinion, some love gardening, some are more lucky at this probably too but I just can't stand it as I lived like this over 30 years but if you someone would have to survive then I guess I would be a bit helpful haha

*I know farming is about animals and I only had chickens but they're amazing and pretty easy to take care of compared, I adored it and recommend but you have to watch out for rats, foxes, martens and birds that hunt in the area, no idea about cows and wouldn't raise a pig nor bunnies to kill 'em later but if I had to choose then I would totally choose bunnies over pigs

[juliandevwhoreak]

Modern Arcana AU HCs Part 4: Muriel Edition

Modern Vesuvia is a sprawling Metropolis, busy with throngs people doing too many things. Getting coffee, going to work, sightseeing, shopping, living their busy lives.

It plays host to seemingly endless rush-hour traffic, packed and thriving shopping districts, exploding with life and activity, and bloated with modern conveniences, a network of glowing LED screens connecting each citizen to each other in perpetuity.

But as you drive south, the city seems to dwindle before your eyes; skyscrapers and plazas give way to trees and fields dotted here and there with little houses until it is just winding roads lined by tall trees, until four lanes become two, then become one, until tarmac is replaced by gravel, gravel replaced by dirt.

The hum of the city is now a faint murmur, deafened by the rustle of leaves and a breeze like warm breath on the back of your neck. Beyond the hills and trees, across a small but vivacious stream winding its way through the foliage is a cabin.

In this cabin is Muriel. If you’re lucky enough for him to consider you a friend (by which I mean, extremely lucky) he might make you a cup of tea he plucked and dried from his own garden and tell you a few things about himself.

He built his cabin from the ground up with nothing but his own two hands and it is a literal work of art. He constructed his own plumbing system and everything. He hasn’t bothered to figure out electricity, and instead prefers to live by the light of the sun or by the flicker of firelight.

He will tell you that he does not own the land he lives on, and neither does Vesuvia; the land gives herself to you and if you treat her right, offer her kindness, honor her in the right ways, your partnership yields abundance. He lives and will die by this philosophy. As such, his cucumbers and tomatoes are the biggest you’ve ever seen.

He grows his own food, and if he wants it, he builds it. If ever there is a supply he needs from the city, he’ll begrudgingly drive his lovingly restored pickup truck to the city and grump his way through errands until he can return home. 

Strict vegetarian. Could not imagine killing an animal for his own survival and gets a lot of his protein from eggies.

For income, he builds furniture and sells it through a few shops in the city. His craftsmanship is second to none and they fetch a decent sum.

He carved and lacquered a beautiful oak pendant for Asra in the shape of a nautilus shell. Asra stroked it reverently with his thumbs and suggested, “You could sell these pieces. I’ve a nook in the shop...” Muriel has been avoiding the profits from his merchandise in Asra’s shop for over a year now.

Does not have a social media presence at all. No Tweeters, no Facepages, no Instacram.

Refused to buy himself a phone until Asra bought him one. It was quite a compromise. Asra had a Blackberry picked out initially, then imagined Muriel’s large fingers clumsily punching the wrong tiny buttons, and defaulted to an ancient Nokia flip phone.

Muriel’s first text was to Asra. It read: “Is this thing working??? Can u hear me???”

He never quite got the hang of texting. His texts read more like letters.

“Dear Asra, hope u are doing well. I hope u like the fox I carved u and the tea leaves I dried. The mint came in really nice and full this spring. U are always welcome here at the cabin. Inanna misses u. Take care. Muriel.”

His chicken coop is built with care and every chicken luxury he can think of, and when the Spring storms come in, his cabin is overrun with clucking chickens. The storms scare them and he can’t abide having them outside. 

Of course he composts. He has his own “recipe” for composted fertilizer that he is very, very proud of.

Refuses to call it “living off the land.” He prefers, “living with the land.”

Has thought about keeping goats for the milk and entertainment. The inherent sweetness and silliness in their nature appeals to him but something about them... feels wrong.

Part 3: Nadia Edition can be found here.

Part 2: Lucio Edition can be found here.

Part 1: Asra Edition can be found here.

[seedingcommunity]

hello!

this past week has been one of getting final plants in the ground before its too hot. i went to a massive local nursery where most everything was $2.50 and picked out a few fig trees, blackberries, pollinator attractors.

I’m trying to create guilds around each tree, which usually involves the following:

-A central canopy tree

Celeste Fig

-Possibly a dwarf tree or shrub

-Assorted Blueberries

-Repellent plants to dispel pests

-Society garlic, marigolds

-Pollinator attractor plants

-TBD!

-Nitrogen fixer to add nitrogen to the soil

-Sunshine mimosa, perennial peanut

-Ground cover to keep in moisture and keep out weeds

-Sunshine mimosa, perennial peanut

I’m most excited about the mimosa and peanut; chickens love to eat the flowers and leaves, and as they do, they scratch the plants into the ground, adding organic matter and nitrogen, which the combine with their compost.

To further my soil/chicken improvement, I just made this black soldier fly larvae (BSFL) bin with about $10 of tubing, PVC, and a bucket from Lowe’s.

Black soldier flies are a native species of fly that are a boon to the home gardener and chicken keeper. The adults don’t eat, so don’t bother humans or their food, but they lay their eggs in a location where their voracious larvae can eat compost, then migrate a bit further away to pupate and hatch into the fly. 

 We can capture this by adding compost to a bin with holes at the top and a cardboard spot for the female to lay eggs, which hatch into the compost. The larvae eat meat, manure (of all types), and food scraps. Here is a video of them at work. It is pretty remarkable. The speed means that they convert waste to soil very quickly, aerating it as they go, and the compost never has that signature odor.

When they are ready to pupate, they circle the bin until they find the ramp tube, at which point they climb up and fall into my trap. These are essentially little pills of protein and nutrients, and chickens go crazy for them.

It’s a great way to add another compost source and chicken feed supplement for me, but there is also potential for it to be a significant, large-scale source of sustainable fodder for livestock, and is uniquely capable of processing humanure, pet manure, and rancid meat. The larvae is also edible to humans (provided they have had a clean diet), and can be made into a protein-packed powder.

[prairiesongserial]

10.2

John hustled after the woman with the basket, pushing the limits of his leg.  She was well ahead of him, but just close enough that every time John turned a corner, he could see her vanish down the next hall.  John pushed himself harder to catch up, but he never got any closer, the woman always disappearing around a corner just in time for him to see which way she had gone.

John didn’t know why it was so important to him.  Maybe it was the notion that wherever the basket woman was going, John might find something to do there.  In his experience, women carrying baskets often had plenty to do, and probably chores to spare.  John wasn’t up to doing chores, but here he was anyway, chasing them.  He hadn’t realized until now how sick he was getting of his bedroom.

John’s brow furrowed as he attempted to put his thoughts in order, and he was late in noticing that the woman was standing in the middle of a doorway, the light of the outdoors spilling in around her.  She was facing him, watching him approach with one hand cocked on her hip.  John hadn’t considered how obvious his cane had made him in the empty, echoing halls - now he was caught.

“Are you lost?” she called.

Why did everyone think he was lost? John grimaced and closed the distance between them.  

At least the woman didn’t look angry - just curious.  Her eyebrows were raised over brown eyes, her flaxen hair peeking out at the hairline from under a bright blue scarf, which was cinched in a knot at the base of her neck.  While she waited for John to respond, she switched her basket from one shoulder to the other.  It looked heavy, and she was short and slim.  Yet she didn’t seem to mind, lifting the basket without even a grimace.

“I’m following you,” John said.

“I noticed,” the woman said.  “I was hoping you had a good reason.”

John’s grimace deepened.

“The fresh air and exercise,” he said quietly. It sounded more like something Cody would say, quick-witted and easy-going, even when talking to a stranger.  Talking like him, even by accident, had John missing him.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so,” the woman said flatly, rolling her eyes.  “If you need exercise that badly, I’ll find something for you to do.”

John, silently happy, missed his chance to reply.  The woman had started off again, passing through the open door.  John hurried to keep pace.

The door opened onto the top of a slight hill.  A dirt path twisted down the hill, stretching only a dozen feet or so before it ended in the iron gate of a garden.  From where John stood, just high enough to see the lay of the land, the garden looked beautiful.  The corn and tomatoes weighed heavy on the plant, ready for the late summer harvest.  The garden seemed very, very far away.

John doubted he would have noticed a little hill like this before, but as he tracked the basket woman’s progress down the path, he realized he couldn’t follow.  Where he stood now was no higher than six feet above the level ground at the garden gate.  It was nothing.  John stood frozen in the doorway, his hand growing sweaty around the handle of his cane.  All he could think about was breaking his knee all over again and ending up back in his bedroom.

The woman paused before the gate, turning to watch.  John set his jaw, sure her face was soft with pity.  When he glanced over, however, the woman’s face was just as business-like as before.  Not disdainful, but calculating.

“My name’s Neta,” she said.  Her skirt just barely avoided scraping the ground as she backtracked a few steps to meet John where he was.  She held out her hand.

“Take it, please,” she said brusquely.

John took the hand gratefully, allowing himself to be pulled safely to the bottom of the hill.  He squeezed his eyes closed, aware of his sweaty palm against Neta’s, when suddenly he was at the bottom of the hill.  As soon as Neta was sure of John’s footing, she let go of his hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

John nodded, catching his breath.

“Good,” she said. She shifted the basket on her shoulder; John could see it was filled with cotton sacks, probably of compost, by the smell.  John frowned at her.  He didn’t know what to make of Neta.  He was sure she wasn’t a sister.  She covered as much skin as the sisters, but not with the black gowns and aprons that set the nuns apart.  Instead, she wore a button down shirt tucked into a long blue skirt.

“I’m John,” he said, extending his hand.  He was late to introduce himself - he should have given his name when Neta had given hers.

“Oh, no thank you,” Neta said, keeping her hands right where they were on the strap of the basket.  “I’m shomer negiah, so I don’t touch men.”

John frowned down at his hand, which still felt clammy from Neta helping him down the hill.  He looked back to Neta questioningly.

“Someone who needs help getting down a hill doesn’t count,” she said with the slightest shrug.  “Come on, this is getting heavy.  Are you still up for chores?”

John nodded.

Neta led John through the iron gate.  Up close, John was struck by the size of the garden.  It was huge, organized like a farm in miniature.  Some of the plant beds were fallow this year, some ready for the summer harvest, some biding their time with winter vegetables.  A garden this size might go very far toward feeding the whole convent - maybe with surplus.  Around the edges, the garden was protected by groves of berry bushes and fruit trees, some of which John didn’t recognize.  Depending on how deep those groves went, the sisters could do a tidy business with berry preserves.

A dozen chickens trotted up to meet them, pecking around Neta’s legs like dogs begging for breakfast.  One of them, a bay hen, passed between John’s legs to get to her.

“I know Josie fed you already,” Neta told them.  “I watched her do it.”

Stepping carefully through the chickens, Neta set her basket down next to the water pump.  She pumped some into her hand and splashed it up against her face.  John was jealous, more aware of the sweat at his hairline and neck seeing Neta so refreshed.  She motioned him impatiently over.

“Wash up, sit down for a minute, then we’ll talk farm chores,”  She said, rolling up her sleeves.  She passed him, gesturing to a wooden bench.  “I have to ask Josie if she has anything in particular for you to do.”

John grunted a reply.  He was tired.  He hadn’t walked this far before, and his leg was more than ready for a rest.  He hoped he would be able to get up again, after.

Neta walked away, one persistent chicken still following her.  She passed aproned sisters laboring in the fields, harvesting and weeding.  They looked hot, in their long black dresses.  Water must have been more plentiful on this side of the Mississippi, because often a sister would wander over to where John sat near the water pump and take a drink before wetting her arms up to the elbows, as well as her face and neck.  More than one of them gave John a curious look, and he politely looked away.

“You have the look of someone who hasn’t eaten breakfast,” said a woman’s voice.

John jerked his head up, not having realized he’d been fading in the heat.  A clay cup of water hovered before his nose.  The woman before him was also different from the sisters.  She didn’t cover her curly black hair; she kept it twisted up in a bun behind her head, though half of it had escaped and now bounced around her ears with every gesture.  She was plump, the sleeves of a conservative blue dress rolled up to show a tattoo of a black snake winding around her forearm.  The blue fabric was familiar - the pattern matched the scarf covering Neta’s hair.  

Neta stood behind the woman, arms crossed.

“I’m not getting him breakfast,” she said.  “Sister Mary Catherine is sick of seeing me in the kitchen.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” the woman said.  She sat next to John, pushing the cup into his hands; he finally took it.  “I’m Josie.  I was a novitiate here, until last year,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah, and now she’s my wife,” Neta said with a self-satisfied grin.

“This is Neta, who I assume you’ve met,” Josie said.  She then added, “My wife.”

“I’m John,” John said.  How did he explain himself succinctly?  Friday and Val had told the story of their travels all out of order, but they had at least known how to begin.  “I used to do this,” he said, finally.

“This?” asked Josie.

John took a sip of water.  It had an earthy taste, but it was good.  He gulped it down.

“This.  Grow things.”

“Then you can help me spread compost,” said Neta.  A look from Josie, and Neta added, “After you eat something.”

“Interesting,” Josie said.  She left it at that, leaving John on the bench with his clay cup.  He finished the water, then, without asking for permission, pumped himself a little more from the spout.  Neta was still watching him, tapping a finger against her arm.  He should have asked.  He put the cup down, ready to be yelled at.

“Josie’s not gonna ask, but I want to know why there’s men at the convent,” she said.  She leaned against the spout, staring.  “No one’s gonna tell us.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“Because if they were gonna tell us, they would have told us.  It’s been three weeks.” Neta paused.  “I guess it’s your own business, and I should leave it at that, huh?”

John set his jaw.  He had no idea what to say.

“Well, doesn’t matter.”  Neta stretched, catching Josie’s eye as she returned.  Josie held her apron up around her waist - it held a hunk of bread and more blackberries and figs than John could ever hope to eat.  Neta’s hand was first to Josie’s apron.  She took a large fig, rubbed it on her sleeve, and took a bite.

“Do other outsiders live here?” John said hopefully.  “Like...you.”

“Oh, we don’t really...live here,” Josie said.  She handed John a fig when he didn’t take one from her apron.  “I did when I was a novitiate, which is how I met Neta.  She’s the odd one out,” she said with a wink to her wife.  “See, we, or the convent, I mean, used to be completely cloistered, until a few years ago.  The convent needed someone from town to sell crafts and produce for us.  Neta came when we needed her, and during harvest and tilling season we needed her more, and then the garden needed to be expanded, which was a huge project, and we needed Neta every day.  By the time I left, the convent hadn’t been cloistered for a while, but since the sisters already knew Neta and me, she and I started coming in from town every day to work for wages.”

John followed the story with a frown.

“Which is why it’s very strange that you’re here,” Neta added.  “Because you aren’t the Jewish neighbor who goes to market for the convent, or her novitiate wife who left before making her vows.  And you’re men.”

“They aren’t all men,” Josie added.  “There was a woman with them, remember? On the short side.”

John ate his fruit, still frowning.  Josie and Neta wanted an explanation from him, which was just about the only thing he couldn’t give.  He had no idea why he was here, or under whose grace.  Val had definitely had something to do with it, but Val was a man, too, and apparently that was unusual, even if he was a priest.

What if Val had lied?  It occurred suddenly to John that it was a small blessing he had not figured out how to tell Neta and Josie where he’d come from, or what had happened to him on the river.  If the sisters knew what he and Cody were mixed up in, they might change their minds.

“I don’t remember how I got here,” John said carefully.  “I got hurt.”

Josie dumped a handful of blackberries into his palm, and he ate them. Josie and Neta both watched him, expecting him to say more.  John just kept eating blackberries.

“That’s it,” he said.  “I can help you with the compost.”

This was the right thing to say.  Neta wanted help with the compost more than she wanted an explanation.

“Well, let’s stop sitting around,” she said, straightening.  “Let me get you a shovel from the shed.”

10.1  || 10.3 

[thegreenwolf]

The Magic of Manure

Originally posted at my blog, A Sense of Natural Wonder, at http://www.thegreenwolf.com/the-magic-of-manure/

How’s that for a title?

So over the past couple of years, as I’ve been spending time on a farm on the coast where my art studio is, the level of manure I encounter on a daily basis has increased quite a bit. It started with a parrot, and then an appaloosa, and now here we are with three parrots, two horses, seven sheep, a llama, a quail, ten chickens, and one German shepherd. Most of these technically aren’t mine (except the chickens and the dog) but I get to take care of all of them on a daily basis.

While I get to do the fun things like feeding and exercising and letting the chickens out to play in the pasture, I also have to take care of the inevitable poop. Sometimes this is as simple as cleaning the newspaper out of a parrot cage. However, one of the messiest and most physically demanding tasks is mucking out the horse shelter, which generally involves taking a wheelbarrow or two of manure and old hay each day over to the orchard to be spread on the ground for the benefit of all the plants. Since there’s nothing new and fragile over there, and the grass is pretty hardy, it can age in situ and within a few months it’s a pretty decent fertilizer for the ground.

This makes it more efficient than hauling it to a composting area, and then spreading it out in the orchard. It also maximizes the amount of nutrients going to that particular land. See, since the farm is right on the coast, the soil is sandy. And in fact the orchard is on the berm of an old railroad that used to run all the way up the peninsula along what was the beach a century or so ago. When jetties were put in at the mouth of the river, they stopped the flow of sand along the coast, and it began to back up. This has since added several hundred yards of ground to the west side of the peninsula; pretty much everything west of the barn was covered in water not too long ago.

So the soil has barely had time to even think of a humus layer, let alone build an appreciable layer thereof. The native plants, like shore pine and common foxglove, have evolved to survive on poor soil, and are some of the first plants to move out onto new land once the grasses have had their say for a while. Putting manure on the ground, therefore, significantly speeds up the rate at which organic material accumulates; planting nitrogen-fixing plants like clover helps further.

You’d think I’d hate hauling manure; it’s literally a dirty job (but someone’s gotta do it) and this time of year when everything is soaked with rain the manure picked up out in the pasture is much heavier. But it’s nowhere near as smelly as you might imagine, and moving it around is good exercise. Moreover, I appreciate the effort I’m putting in to take this lovely compost-to-be that our horses have left behind–literally–and use it to improve the soil for cultivation purposes. Especially during winter, when temperatures are cooler, the manure can decay more slowly so that the nutrients aren’t all lost to rapid microbial activity.

The orchard, with fresh manure in the foreground and each row with an increasingly older layer. Notice how vigorously the grass is growing back the longer it’s been sitting there.

How is that not magic? It is literally creating food from waste! No human being could take a wand and wave it an accomplish the same. Yet like photosynthesis and the hydrological cycle, this complicated and necessary ritual goes unnoticed by the majority of people the majority of the time. No wonder I’ve run into so many pagans over the years who complain that the world lacks magic just because we can’t shoot fireballs out of our hands or physically shapeshift or stop a speeding bullet with our thoughts. I think they just aren’t looking hard enough.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve approached the concept of magic not as some supernatural force wherein we can make things happen beyond normal human abilities, but as the supremely complicated chemical reactions that are at the heart of how our precious, fragile, life-giving Earth functions at all levels. My world is absolutely full to bursting with magic, with the ancient solar-systemic forces that cause the Earth to rotate to this day, the transformation of sunlight into the sugars that fuel the entire food web via photosynthesis, and the replication of DNA in countless cells of a myriad of living creatures every moment.

If I were still the sort of pagan to put stock in spells and rites, I might make something of my daily efforts beyond this. And in fact sometimes I do think about things that are bothering me when I am scooping and cleaning the horses’ leavings; it’s a time when my mind wanders anyway. But I remember that time and effort transform all things, and so I can imagine that when I spread the muck over the ground and leave it to biodegrade, I also leave my worries there to be digested and turned into something more positive and fertile. This doesn’t actually remove the things I worry about from my life, and it doesn’t miraculously cure me of my anxiety. It’s a good mental exercise, and a reminder that in many cases I have the ability to bring forth good things out of an otherwise bad situation if I just put enough work and patience into it. But I don’t see it as some magical rite that changes anything outside my own head, though years ago I might have.

Today, there is magic enough in the manure itself, from the time that the horse’s intestines are drawing the last nutrients they can through their permeable membranes to feed hungry cells, to when flies lay the eggs carrying the next generation in the fresh piles, and finally when the whole mess is spread out by wheelbarrow and raked over sandy soil to be made into a buffet for all sorts of tiny creatures without whom the ecosystem would collapse. It is motion, and transformation, and the passing of life-force from one being to another.

Not only grass, but hawksbeard, trailing blackberry and other plants are already finding a place among what will nourish them for generations. The additional nutrients will also host a greater diversity of fungi, bacteria and other tiny beings, as well as insects and other small arthropods, plus the birds and other animals that eat them–and so on.

I am content with this sort of magic, natural and measurable and infinitely replicable–and not at all anthropocentric. Not that I’m entirely uninvolved; I find peace with the change I make in the world by moving nutrients from one place to another so that the second place may be more suitable for fruit and nut trees, and berry vines, and who knows what else? I experience awe and wonder at knowing, at least from a layperson’s view, how this cycle of decay and renewal works, and how it doesn’t even really need my participation to keep doing its thing twenty-four hours a day. I am bringing forth a more fertile micro-reality in accordance with my Will, though with the understanding that there are plenty of factors–weather, unhappy microbes, me having a cold and being unable to move manure that day–that could affect the outcome in spite of my best efforts.

And so, dear reader, there’s a good chance that while you finish this post, I am out on the land with a pitchfork and wheelbarrow, creating fertile magic with the help of microbes and manure.

Did you enjoy this blog post? Consider picking up a copy of my book, Nature Spirituality From the Ground Up! It’s a guide to connecting with your bioregion on both spiritual and practical levels.