Garden news

I have about 50 photos saved on the desk top because I was “going” to write a blog post.  See how far that got me?  I can’t believe it is already April and all of March went past with no post.  I am seriously derelict.

Of course, COVID-19 is in all the news, and I put myself into isolation 3 weeks ago.  Somehow, I haven’t had the need or desire to blog.  I think I am mourning my work.  I am certainly concerned about what is going to happen in the community I live it when this virus finally takes hold.  Aside from panic buying, a lot of people are really not taking this seriously, and I fear the spike when it finally comes.

We’ve actually sort of reached the place where when we hear or read comments or statements like “They can’t MAKE me stay home, it’s unconstitutional, me and my buddies are gonna get together anyway” and other opinions like that, my reaction is “Please, get together with all your buddies!  The more the merrier.”  Looks to me like they are bucking for a Darwin award.

Meanwhile, spring sprang most springily here, and we are inundated with gorgeous flowers.

In other news, we have sadly made the decision to remove the vineyard from the property.  This was not a light decision, not with the years of effort we put into establishing it.  But we had to do it.  First of all, of all the vines in the vineyard, over 40% were killed outright by the stress of being eaten to death by the Japanese beetle infestation.

Last year we only got 6 gallons of wine from the whole vineyard.  We had to do all the work, deploy the netting to keep the birds off, do the antifungal treatments of Bordeaux mixture.  And in addition we had tossed our principles out the window and were regularly spraying the vines with Sevin in an attempt to put a dent in the beetle population.  And so we have given up.

So here is the area where the vineyard used to be.  And the funeral pyre of the vines.

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Barcelona: Miscellany

I left you on the last post with a lovely street scene.  We were on our way back to our apartment and lunch.

We did not always eat out at a restaurant when we were hungry.  One of the nice things about the location of our apartment was that within a five minute walk there was a square that was surrounded by restaurants and bars, and a similar distance away there was a street with a farmer’s market and numerous other shops.  Along the way to either of these sites you walked past small supermarkets, bakeries, pharmacies, boutiques, a place where you could buy flooring, and numerous bars and restaurants.

Barcelona, like many other large European cities, does not believe in zoning ordinances or in separating residential areas from commercial ones.  What could be more convenient than walking two doors down from your place of residence to acquire what you need for dinner?   Is it REALLY more convenient to have to drive several miles to the shopping center or mall?   Okay, I could get on a soap box here, but I feel strongly that the idea of being able to shop where you live makes a LOT of sense.

So, the first day we were in Barcelona, right after we checked in to our apartment, we walked over to the farmer’s market and laid in a few supplies.  It was truly an amazing place, filled with stalls that sold everything from books to baked goods.

It seemed to be organized in sections.  The one you are looking at above was the produce section, but just around the corner was the fish market.  This is just one of the stalls.  There were several dozen different shops selling every kind of fish and seafood you could possibly think of.  Some I did not recognize…

There were several stalls that specialized in eggs.  This was my favorite.   She had quail eggs, hen eggs, duck eggs, emu eggs, ostrich eggs, every kind of egg you could think of.  And it was so beautifully arranged.

This was Jim’s favorite stall, selling all sorts of olives and pickles.

Well, maybe not his favorite.  He liked the cheese and sausage spot too.   We bought some fruit and a few veggies, cheese and sausage. Down the street in the dairy store we found amazing yogurt, and further along there was a bakery where we acquired a baguette.  We were set for in house meals.

The produce stalls at this market did not suffer from the problem we find at our supermarkets, where the apples and tomatoes get bruised from being picked up and put down.  No one touches the produce except the proprietor.   You tell them what they want, they pick it up and package it for you.   You get lots of extra points and approval if you have your own shopping bag, like a proper European.

One of the places we came across on line while we were planning our trip was the Bodega E. Marin.

It doesn’t look like much, but the place is lined from floor to ceiling with wine and spirits.   That little table to the right in the doorway?  We witnessed a couple of workmen who were on their way to work who stopped off and bought a bit of grappa and an espresso, then drank their beverages at that little shelf before picking up their tool bags and heading off to their job.

This establishment is run by a gentleman who goes out to the wineries in the region and buys barrels of wine.  He brings them back to his shop and sells wine straight out of the barrel.   You can bring your own bottle, or he will sell you one.  This is what some of the collection of barrels looks like.

This whole idea intrigued us, as you can well imagine, and so we visited Bodega E. Marin and sampled some wine and bought a bottle to take aboard the ship when we started our cruise.   This transaction was complicated by the fact that the gentleman who owns the bodega is fluent in Catalan, has a little Spanish and no English, while I am fluent in English, have a decent Spanish, and no Catalan.   However, with good will, pointing, and baby Spanish we were able to complete our transaction.

This is a shot of Jim waiting while the proprietor pulls the wine we chose from the barrel.  Note the espresso machine on the right.

This is his tap arrangement.  All those barrels of wine are connected to this by tubing.

It was a LOT of fun to buy wine this way.  We got 1.5 liters of quite good wine, a bottle, and a glass of wine (we had to buy the glass we tasted) for slightly less than 5 Euros, which worked out to about $6 American with the exchange rate.  Pretty good deal, and we participated in a unique Barcelona experience.

Barcelona has rather unique experiences everywhere.  Down at the beach there are people who do sand sculptures.   They earn a little money by accepting donations from passersby, just like buskers.   Here is a real fire breathing dragon.  Yes, I put money in his box!

Public art is every where.   This is a large sculpture in a square paying homage to Miró, another very famous artist who lived in Barcelona.

And along the beachfront, a huge sculpture of a fish.   No purpose except to be really cool.

After enjoying some bread and cheese and fruit at our apartment, we ventured out again to explore the Old City.  This is a section of narrow streets that are completely dedicated to pedestrians.   You could easily lose your way in this maze of narrow twisting streets.

This was the scene outside one of the little bars that were all over this section of the city.   The man who owned the place was dancing an impromptu flamenco.  I loved the sign.

Part of the reason we wanted to explore this part of Barcelona was because this was where there is a section of the original Roman wall that enclosed the city way back before there was a Spain or Barcelona…

We found it.  There was also a section near a square, and we were fascinated by the way the city grew up around the wall and incorporated it.   You can see the old arches of the city gates within the structure of the wall.

For a second, look at a couple of pictures in this post and note the wonderful granite and basalt stones that the streets of the Old Quarter are made of.  I had reason to discover on this trip that stone is harder than kneecaps.   I missed a curb that afternoon, after successfully negotiating Park Güell and all the walking to and fro.

When I fell, I heard my lovely new camera smack against the pavement.  When I looked up from the shocking fall, I found myself surrounded by concerned residents and tourists.  I was asked in at least four languages if I needed an ambulance.

I reassured everyone that I was not in need of transport to a hospital, and with great concern tried to see if the camera was broken or not.

“We can buy cameras everywhere.   I’m pretty sure they are for sale in Barcelona,” my loving spouse told me with a certain amount of asperity.  “How are YOU?”

“Oh, I’m okay, I think,” was my response.   “My knee hurts, though.”  It quickly became evident that my knee was progressing expeditiously from “hurt” to “agonizing.”   We started walking towards the metro so we could go home, immediately shelving all ideas of stopping for a drink.   Within moments my massage therapist training kicked in, though, and I told Jim I thought I ought to try to get some ice on my knee PDQ.  Where to get ice?

We came across a bar, and my thought was that a bar serving drinks was going to have ice available.   As soon as I crossed the threshold, though, I knew that establishment was not going to be able to help me.  They were slammed, full of people wanting their afternoon refreshment.  The waiters were rushing about madly.  We left the place without bothering them.  Right next door was one of the small restaurants that were everywhere in Barcelona.   They had no customers at all.

We went in.   I was doing very well with my high school spanish until I tried to excavate the operative word for what it was I needed from the depths of my memory.   The proprietress really wanted to know what it was I was in need of, but the shock and pain of my injury caused the word for ice (hielo) to disappear from my mind.   I was floundering, near to tears by this time.   All I could think of to do was pull up my pants leg and show her my knee.

Well!   That was the perfect thing to do.   “Sientese!” she commanded,  adding “Usted necesita hielo!”   Yep, I did!   She bustled around the bar and brought me ice immediately, along with some napkins to mop up the melt water.   Once she got me settled, and I was apologizing for the mess, I was ordered to “No te preocupa.” (Don’t worry)   A rapid fire series of orders were issued to her husband, who disappeared for a short while and returned with a chunk of very cold ice from their deep freeze, which was probably located in a different building entirely.

Eventually, I decided that I really needed a mojito, so we ordered a couple.   They were excellent!  Meanwhile, the restaurant filled with customers, which made me very happy to see how their kindness and generosity was being rewarded by the universe.

After enjoying our drinks, we expressed our gratitude profusely to our generous hostess, who brushed it off as of course it was the right thing to do.  So we made our way home on the metro, and I was extremely grateful for the Barcelonan custom of youngsters giving their seats up to their elders.   I really needed to sit.  The 61 stairs up to the apartment were  a real purgatory, and while I rested Jim went off to buy more ice from the little supermarket across the street.

After the cruise, when we got home, after I had limped me way through Malaga, Gibraltar, Funchal and our cruise, I went off to the doctor and found out that my fall had actually fractured my knee cap, and bruised the meniscus and joint capsule as well.   No wonder it hurt so much for so long.

I’m fine now.   But I don’t recommend the personal experience of finding out just how hard stone paving is in relation to tissue and bone.

 

 

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Vineyard Update 2014

Another year has passed in the vineyard.   We are in the crush, which of course is not nearly as intense here as it is in Bordeaux or Napa County.   It hardly seems fair to compare our 64 vine vineyard to the thousands of acres that exist in the major wine producing areas of the world.

Still, we get an inkling of the size of the job by doing our little wine production here.   

We have already picked the Marechal foch and Baco noir rows.  This morning we picked the Chambourcin and the Concord grapes.   We have only two vines of Concords.  The last row left is the Cynthiana, also referred to as Norton.   They are not quite ready yet.

Below is the page that Jim has been keeping to record grape production in the vineyard.

When we first started making wine, we meticulously kept the varieties separated, which became a huge pain in the neck when it was time to rack and press.   Rarely did we get amounts of juice and wine that were easily divisible by 5 gallons, which is the size of the carboys we age our wine in.   So we wound up with say, 10 gallons of Marechal foch, 5 gallons of Marechal foch/Baco noir mix, 5 gallons of Baco noir, 5 gallons of Baco noir/Chambourcin mix, etc.   It did not take us long to decide that this was not worth the trouble, so now we just mix all the grapes together and produce what we call “The House Blend”.   Of course it is different every year, because every year we get different quantities of each variety of grape. 

We are not trying to win any contests or sell our wine, so we don’t really care that it is not reproducible.  It winds up being quite drinkable, and that is really what matters to us.

Anyway, the numbers tell the tale every year.   The Chambourcin grapes are not worth the row space.   

It isn’t just the numbers, though.   The health of the vines is another issue. 

Compare these two shots:    Marechal foch row is first, Chambourcin row is second.

Here’s a closer comparison.   This is one vine.   Marechal foch first, Chambourcin second.

Now look at the individual bunches.   Again, Marechal foch first, Chambourcin second.   

As you can see, the Chambourcin bunches are quite a bit longer, but not so full of grapes.  They also are quite irregular in terms of production. The one on the left in the shot has been culled all year because this variety is very susceptible to black rot.  The main way you control this fungus in the organic vineyard is to check the rows every few days and remove any grapes that are showing signs of infection.

This is tedious and time consuming, and results in bunches like you see above.

Another problem with the Chambourcin is those very long bunches.   The stems wind themselves around the paddles of the stemmer/crusher and jam it.  They also lay themselves out along the screen and prevent the grapes from dropping through into the hopper, which makes processing them messy and frustrating.

One last shot, showing the black rot fungus infecting the Chambourcin leaf.   The first image is a Marechal foch leaf.

 

The upshot of all this is a decision to remove the Chambourcin vines and replace them with Marechal foch.   We have done a lot of studying on the subject and have decided that what we are going to do is cut off the vines we are removing, leaving the root stock behind.   Then we will graft Marechal foch canes to the root stock.   Since the roots are old and strong, we will get quick vine growth and be able to anticipate full production of Marechal foch in about two years, rather than the four years it would take if we started with new vines.   

This is according to the experts…. wish us luck

Meanwhile, we have a fermentation vat with about 37.5 gallons of must bubbling away in the dining room.  It smells like a winery  in here!

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I’m going crazy

I have been meaning to get a post up for several weeks now, but events keep intervening.

The main event has been a series of trips to visit my Primary Care Physician for what amounts to upkeep and maintenance.   All the usual tests have been run, I’ve been poked and mashed and sampled.   

Since I am an official Cholesterol Unbeliever, I really don’t care what my numbers are.   Unfortunately, my PCP is not so enlightened.  I am not obese, I am not sedentary, I don’t smoke, I don’t drink to excess, I don’t eat a lot of processed foods and the only time I feel a lot of stress is when my doctor is telling me I’m going to have a stroke if I don’t take the liver killing drugs being flacked by the pharmaceutical industry.   

So I was not particularly amused by her telling me that “at least” I wasn’t diabetic.   My response was “Of course I am not diabetic.”   Oh, and my bone density is above normal.   What a  big surprise (not).   I need a different PCP, one who doesn’t treat me like a moron just because I bother to do some research.

What was accomplished was a diagnosis of a UTI, which I was pretty sure I had one of.  So I took the recommended antibiotic and promptly got a vaginal bacterial infection since the antibiotic killed all the good bacteria in there and allowed the other residents to take over.   When that is treated, I intend to utilize a bunch of yogurt to repopulate the area and hopefully all this BS will be over.

Meanwhile, my beautiful dog Ruby went out and stuck her head in a bunch of poison ivy, which I did not know until I petted her assiduously and then worked hard, got hot, swept the sweaty hair out of my eyes and then transferred urushiol to my pillow.   So I have a poison ivy outbreak that includes most of my forehead, the area to the left of my mouth, several patches in various and sundry spots including the back of my right shoulder and under my left breast.   

Ruby was not happy to have her whole body shampooed including her ears and face.   I have washed just about everything in my bed and most of my clothing and it seems that perhaps the outbreak has stopped spreading.   

My dear husband’s soothing comment was “It’s a good thing you aren’t trying to get a date for the prom right now.”

I refrained from murdering him.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we have put 30 pints of beef broth into the food room.   Since the freezers are almost full of meat, fruit, veggies and sundry other items amongst which are the hickory blanks from which chair spindles are carved, we decided to can the broth.   

We’ve been picking vegetables on a daily basis.  This is a representative sampling.   

Sometimes there are more beans, sometimes less cucumbers.   Sometimes we find a giant cucumber that was growing in the alternate universe and got heavy enough to drop back into this dimension.

At any rate, the other day we had 36 pints of tomato puree to can, and right now we have another 7 gallons of tomato simmering down on the stove, which will end up making another 30 pints of puree (approximately).  The food room is almost as full as our freezers.

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The labyrinth has been a joy to me in the midst of all this craziness and hard work.   I had a couple of people come to walk it a week ago.  What a nice interlude, to show them the labyrinth, walk it, talk to them, show them The Havens and receive all their admiration.   

It was looking quite spiffy for them, as the Naked Ladies I planted out there a couple of years ago have decided that conditions are good.

My good blog friend Daisyfae has a daughter who lives in Turkey.   When she mentioned that this young lady was coming home for a visit, I made so bold as to ask if it was possible for her to bring me a rock from that country.  The answer was a resounding YES, and so this rather fine specimen of dolomitic limestone from the Bornova Flysch Zone, which is where Izmir lies geologically.

It arrived accompanied by a box of fine dried Turkish figs, which are all gone now and were much enjoyed.

It is so nice to have international friends!

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We picked grapes too, the Marechal foch row was ready first

It had a lot of really nice bunches on it.

Then a few days ago the Baco noir grapes joined their friends in the fermentation vat.   It’s about time to pick the Chamborcin as well.

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I have to leave you here….   a client awaits my attentions.

 

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How to Grow Grapes: “And it’s cryin’ time…”

This is the perfect example of why we grow more than one variety of grapes in our vineyard.

On Monday we picked the Marechal foch grapes.  We got 112 pounds of fruit of that row, which made 13 gallons of crush.   That is merrily perking away over in the dining room in the middle of the heat of ferment.   Millions of little yeasts are over there making more yeasts and fantasizing about taking over the world.

Today we picked the Baco noir row.   Or I should say, we picked at it.   A different variety, at a different stage of development when the early August rains hit us.   We got over a foot of rain in a week and a half.   The Baco noir grapes were in a growth phase, still putting on juice.   So the fruit split, and then proceeded to rot.   This is what the row looked like almost all the way along.

We left most of the bunches on the vines.   I imagine that the robins and grackles are going to be having a big party in about half an hour when they figure out what has been left for them.

We wound up with 22.1 pounds of grapes off a row that had set every bit as much fruit as the Marechal foch.   It crushed to 2.5 gallons.  It took longer to clean the equipment after crushing than did to actually run the grapes through the stemmer/crusher.

It is SO depressing.

However, all is not lost.   The Cynthiana grapes, which are colloquially referred to as Nortons and make a wonderful wine, look like this:

There aren’t a lot of grapes on the Nortons since the vines are only 3 years old.   But we will likely get more fruit and juice than we did from this days harvest.

The Chambourcin row is looking spectacular.  We will be picking them in a week or so.   They are still making sugar.

These vines are just loaded with grapes and we anticipate getting more fruit and juice than we did from the Marechal foch.

Last year, it was so hot and dry we got a total of 135 pounds of grapes from all four rows.

This year, we got tons of rain at the wrong time.   A truth of the Universe is that you cannot un-fall the rain.   Once the water is on the ground, the plants take it up, and then nature takes its course.

Sigh.

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