Tall Clover Farm

The Day Boz Re-Purposed the Stoop

Boz & Gracie

Tom

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June 25, 2013

12

Boz and the stoop in drier times

Bulldogs Will Be Bulldogs…

There is a fine line between lazy and smart; doing less to get more is called efficiency is it not? So I like to think of my compadres Boz and Gracie as masterful behavioral psychologists, furry little savants always finding ways to have me do more for them on a daily basis. Lazy or Smart, you decide. As an example, you may recall the story of their morning routine. Now I’d like to share the new rainy day routine, that is new as of yesterday and hopefully short-lived.

I took the 5:45 a.m. ferry into Seattle to make sure I would have enough time to make a 7:30 a.m. dentist appointment. The crossing is the easy part, Seattle traffic is the challenge. Commuters were braving a real gully-washer that morning, not the gentle daylong moisturizing mist we usually enjoy. One thing was for sure, as a man without a raincoat or umbrella, my dousing was imminent.

In summer, the stoop is used for afternoon sun bathing.

Hours later I returned to the island and a gentler weather pattern. I grabbed my purchased mainland provisions,including a 25-pound bag of sugar (it’s jam-making season) and other sundries from the car, and headed for the back door (my entrance of choice). Up two stairs to the stoop, and I was already calling Boz and Gracie as I pushed the mudroom door open.

Both squeezed through the kitchen dog door (like toothpaste through a tube) to the mudroom where I was now standing. Bulldog butts a wagging, sloppy snorts a welcoming, Boz and Gracie were excited to see me, but came no closer. At that moment, my nose picked up the powerful force field that kept them at bay: the poo on my shoe.

Exasperated, I set my supplies down, and turned to look behind me. It was all too clear what Boz had done. (Gracie is too much a lady for this exploit.) Off to do his business, Boz must have exited the mudroom dog door during the morning torrent, only to find the makings of water world before him. No problem for the wily pooch. He turned around on the covered stoop and backed up its edge like a dump truck in reverse (beep, beep, beep), and proceeded to unload his cargo on the step below, all before wedging his way back through the dog door to the coziness of his favorite sofa. Dry, relieved, and back inside, Boz resumed his nap, his mission accomplished while mine within seconds of my return home.

There is a silver lining though, while my porch and shoes needed immediate attention, two back molars should be good for decades to come and jam making is on the kitchen agenda.

Boz doesn’t mind getting wet if it’s on his terms.

Oh and I do have another funny story about gassy bulldogs and dinner guests, but I’ll save that indignity for another day.

The Kindness of Strangers 101

Vashon Living

Tom

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June 20, 2013

14

Mt Rainier and Point Robinson Lighthouse on a clear day.

Have I mentioned I live on an island? Make no mistake, the little marker in the middle of Puget Sound where I live is very special to me, and I feel the journey to make it here was half the gift. Sometimes I gush enthusiastically about Vashon, others times I merely savor the moment with my mouth shut like I’m enjoying a rich creamy caramel all to myself.

Not everyone swoons over “The Rock,” a less than complimentary term I suspect a bored teen coined one day when his or her parents wouldn’t let them attend a party or concert in Seattle. A place can be a prison for some, and a sanctuary for others. Peering over the fence at geezer-dom, I fall in the second camp. Seattle was a fine fling in my twenties, thirties and even forties; the city lavished me with fine entertainment, amazing restaurants and vibrant city living, but now I get my jollies from keeping bees, planting pumpkins, chopping wood, making pickles, shooting the breeze and bothering bulldogs. As my friend Leslie says, “Edgy is just not sustainable.”

I like where I live, I like the folks I call my friends and neighbors. I enjoy the kindness of strangers and tellers of tales, so I thought I’d share a note from a friend who had her day brighten by stranger and in turn she brightened mine. Hopefully this sweet little story Rondi shared will do the same for yours.

In Rondi’s words…

One of life’s little sunshine moments: I’m doing my usual 3-mile walk back from Vashon town, busy Friday afternoon, lots of traffic on the highway. Ahead of me in the distance, shuffling along on the edge of the tarmac, is an elderly man with a walker. This seems unusual, as if he is determined to exercise, no matter what. It seems like a long hard way for someone like him to get anywhere. I come up next to him and ask if he needs anything, if all is well. He doesn’t seem very strong or particularly well off, financially speaking. Soul-wise, he’s in great shape–because he immediately gives me a big smile, fumbles inside his old vest and pulls out a crumpled packet of chamomile tea. Because, he says, someone like me just needs a present “for being so pretty.

I’m drinking that cup of tea now and spreading the love!

And on a side note, Rondi is a wonderful photographer, writer and greeting card creator. In fact, Boz, Gracie and my truck grace one of her original cards: Bullish for Biscuits!

Check out more of Rondi Lightmark’s cards.

Bee Sequel: Deluxe Apartment in the Sky

Beekeeping

Tom

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June 18, 2013

15

Open House: New Top Bar Beehive

In my first Bee Movie, Gone With the Swarm, half of the beehive was homeless, six and half pounds of buzzing bees dangling from a pencil-thin grapevine while scout bees searched for a new place to live. Before you could say, “Pass the honey, Honey” we (meaning my friend Heidi) captured the bees in a swarm bucket. And that is where we left off.

The bucketful of bees weighed close to seven pounds, which is an attention-getting number as swarms go. When David returned from Eastern Washington, he brought over a top bar beehive to house the large swarm, which was resting quietly in a cool shady place.

David sets up the new high bar hive, making sure it’s level.

When I saw the size and stateliness of his homemade bee condo, I had to start singing “The Jeffersons” theme song, “Oh we’re movin’ on up…to the Eastside…to a deluxe apartment in the sky.” (Did I mention, I live alone?)

As the video shows, the top bar hive is quite a bee pad, a roomy horizontal wood palace replete with a viewing window and easy access for the beekeeper and the bees. David removed the lid from the bucket and turned it upside down over the open hive. After a couple shakes, the bees dropped en masse to the awaiting hive box. The frame slats were placed over them and the metal roof returned, all was well in my world of bees (for once).

Several of the top bar slats have empty honeycomb attached to encourage the bees to stay put.

At the front of the hive, David placed temporary grills, wide enough to allow worker bees to go about their business but too narrow to allow the queen bee to escape. In a day or two, the grills will be removed when the bees have settled in.

Some beehive. David made it out of recycled bamboo flooring planks.

For now it’s business as usual, the bees feverishly collecting nectar and pollen, the orchard a delightful backdrop for their comings and goings. The original hive is about ten feet away and equally busy as a honeybee’s favorite forage reaches full bloom: Blackberry brambles!

Tom’s Bee Movie: Gone With the Swarm

Beekeeping

Tom

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June 13, 2013

20

This Hive Ain’t Big Enough for the Two of Us…

Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola are safe; my film-making skills are B-movie all the way, or in this case Bee movie. Grab some popcorn, sit back and enjoy a minute or four of Gone With the Swarm, an action-packed epic tale shot on location on Vashon Island, Washington with a cast of thousands and a cameo appearance by the old queen bee. (No drones were injured in the making of this movie.)

Bee Dazzling: What a Swarm of Bees Looks Like

Beekeeping

Tom

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June 12, 2013

32

Bee Dazzling: What a Swarm of Bees Looks Like

The calm after the storm; the swarm has landed. Earlier an explosion of high flying, darting bees commandeered the orchard’s airspace.

When Bees Split the Hive

I am a man awed by nature, the steadfast magic around me that continues to seep into my psyche leaving me delighted, gobsmacked and feeling like there are more questions than answers in this world. Yesterday, nature proved inspiring and dazzling and inexplicable once again, as my bees swarmed, leaving the old queen to exit the hive in search of a new home, while the new queen stayed put, undoubtedly measuring for new carpets and drapes.The bees getting organized; assembling to protect the queen, and perhaps reconsidering their choice of a tender young grape vine as a temporary outpost. (You’re looking at 6.75 pounds of bees.)

My friend Jon was visiting, trying not to wince after his first sip of sweet tea, when he said, “What going on down there? Looks like there’s some giant swarm of flies going crazy.” I turned to look, and immediately recognized that flight pattern: bees, thousands of bees creating a spectacular show over the treetops in my orchard. The hive was beginning to swarm.

The closer we got, the greater the frenzied buzz. (This should have been our clue to step away from the orchard.) Like a wild fire out of control, golden embers dotted the sky in frantic dances. The bees flew free and fast in patterns only nature and they could translate and understand. The usually gentle bees let us know we weren’t invited to this party, so we backed away and watched the best show in town from a safer distance.

My whirling wildfire was now turning into a concentrated winged cyclone, as the bees circled in closer and closer, moving as one unit around the orchard. Within an hour, the bees began to land on my grape arbor, forming a sculptural moving mass of golden brown bees. The worker bees began to locate the queen via her powerful pheromone presence, and created a living and layered fortress around her.

This photo speaks for itself.

An hour later the orchard was serene, the frantic activity a mere memory with the original resident hive foraging about their business. The departing bees calmly amassed on a couple sinewy grape vines, resting and planning their next move. While scout bees were out looking for the perfect new home, about 20,000 bees swayed in the wind in temporary housing.

I called my beekeeper pals David and Heidi for guidance. David was at a WSU Beekeeping seminar, but Heidi was happy to help when she returned to the island from her day job in Seattle. PR professional by day, Superhero beekeeper in her off hours. I watched, I listened, I learned and I thanked. Heidi suited up, somehow still remaining cute as a bug’s ear. I always look like a walking talking marshmallow or cotton swab in my bee suit.

Heidi trims the vine to remove obstacles for relocation.

After trimming off a few in-the-way vines, she gently lifted an empty 5-gallon bucket up and under the entire swarm, carefully coaxing in a majority of bees as if moving mashed potatoes into a bowl. With one or two brisk shakes of the vine, the remaining bees dropped into the thoroughly vented bucket, filling it completely. The lid was snapped on top and we waited for the straddlers to may their way into the bucket through the side portals.

I’ll take a 5-gallon bucket of bees to go, please.

Gracie took one for the team, her deafness and curiosity about food-grade buckets did not serve her well that day. She sauntered in for a closer look when I wasn’t looking, and met the sharp end of a dutiful bee. I moved her away quickly, and she’s fine now. Boz kept his distance, resting up under the apple tree too exhausted to budge after a day of awesome dog adventures and milk bones. (Had this been a deer or squirrel roundup, he would have been all over it.)

Gracie ponders what’s for dinner, while Boz can barely keep his eyes open. (Countin’ bees, before sawin’ z’s.)

Heidi took the bees back to her and David’s place where they will set them up in a top-bar hive and then return them to my place, because as the beekeeper saying goes, two hives are better than one.

Thank you Heidi and David. You two bee dazzle me with your knowledge, generous natures and sweet as honey dispositions!

Video of the Event: When Bees Swarm

Corn Relish: Too Good Not to Make

Recipes

Tom

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June 5, 2013

23

Homemade Corn Relish: Sun Rays in a Jar

Corn is king in my side-dish kingdom. Chewy, sweet, creamy, golden and flavorful, what’s not to like? You can bake it, grill it, roast it, grind it and eat it right off of the cob, but today I’m going to honor this native grain as an indispensable condiment. (Move over ketchup and mustard.) Corn relish is my absolute favorite savory thing to make and preserve, next to my sweet-sour pickles.

Corn relish celebrates summer using a medley of garden greats from fresh sweet corn to onions to roasted peppers. The recipe acts as a framework. Add what you like, and spice it up as you see fit, or as hot as your taste buds can tolerate.

So what do you do with corn relish? Everything! I add it to soups, salads, and stir fry; and mix it in a batter for fritters, hush puppies, cornbread and pancakes. I enjoy it naked on a spoon. (For clarification, the relish is unadulterated; I’m fully clothed.) I tuck it in quesadillas and spoon it on brats. Corn relish can stand alone or enhance another recipe or dish.

Easy to make and can, corn relish takes minimal cooking time and brings together the flavors of summer to be unleashed all year and in any dish you so choose. (Tip: Here’s a video on how I remove the kernels from the cob.)

Corn Relish Recipe

Print recipe

Serves

7-8 pints

I adapted this corn relish recipe from an old Betty Crocker Cookbook, and it has become my favorite savoy side dish/condiment to make (and eat for that matter).

Ingredients

10-12 Ears corn
1 cup sugar
3 Tablespoons flour
1 heaped tablespoon Kosher salt
1/2 Teaspoon ground tumeric
2 Teaspoons mustard (dry or Dijon-type)
3 Cups white vinegar ((5-6% acidity))
3 onions (finely chopped)
3-4 sweet peppers (roasted (optional) , and chopped)

Directions

Step 1
Boil water, add ears of corn, cook until tender about 3-5 minutes
Step 2
Cool corn, and then slice from the cob, reserve corn kernels in a stock pot or dutch oven. Mince peppers and onions, and add to corn.
Step 3
Mix sugar, flour, salt, mustard and turmeric, add vinegar.
Step 4
Heat mixture to a simmer, whisk until fully incorporated.
Step 5
Add mixture to corn and stir and heat to simmer.
Step 6
Cook for 15 -20 minutes until relish thickens.
Step 7
Add mixture to sterilized jars, leaving 1/4 head space and seal and process in water bath for 15 minutes.
Step 8
Cool, and test lids by making sure they are tight and inverted in the middle.

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As my favorite vegetable, corn and I go way back. As a young child, I recall a friend of my parents saying, “Corn? No thank you. In Italy, corn is what we feed to the pigs.” This first grader thought, “Those are some really lucky pigs.” (Oh well, at least I’m in good company.)

Greenhouse Construction Update: Supervisors Found Sleeping on the Job

Gardening

Tom

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May 31, 2013

22

Greenhouse Construction Update: Supervisors Found Sleeping on the Job

Boz found sleeping on the job

I joked with a friend this week, that it took Noah less time to build an ark then it has taken me to erect a greenhouse. The good news is my time building this ginormous plant hangar is coming to an end. Today I hope to finish up the end walls and add the sliding doors. My fingers are crossed and my attention is focused (well, at least until the first distraction comes my way.) And while I hate to tell tales out of school, I do have a bone to pick with my helpers Boz and Gracie; they have been found sleeping on the job almost every day, occasionally lifting an eyelid or two to make sure that at least I was still on the job.

In the Greenhouse With Boz and Gracie

After a stroll around the property, a couple barks at annoying deer (perceived or otherwise), and a quick biffy break in the high grass, Boz and Gracie assume their responsibilities as my overseers for the reminder of the day, only taking breaks for lunch, napping and barking at invisible varmints. Bulldog chameleon: Gracie goes into full stealth mode, using camouflage to blend into her surroundings while she tracks my every move (with her eyes closed). Boz has a casual, laissez-faire attitude, surveying all on his drop cloth viewing station, but gently intervening should I start slacking in my duties. Ruh-row, apparently I’m slacking. Make that really slacking. (Uh, Boz, I believe you are a safety hazard at this point.) A tale of two workers: I saw boards and Boz saws ZZZZ’s. And on a side note, my new glasses arrived. The old wad-o-tape ones are now reserved for yard work and construction projects. (Purchased from coastal.com) To be honest, I do take a fair share of coffee breaks throughout the day. (A reluctant confession brought on by a serious case of stink-eye from two indignant in-house supervisors.)

Warn and Welcome: Old Bell for a New Gate

Home Sweet Home

Tom

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May 24, 2013

17

Warn and Welcome: Old Bell for a New Gate

Saved by the Bell…

My elegant early warning system; more of a ga-long, ga-long, than a ding-dong, ding-dong.

My kitchen nook and home office are one in the same. I face south toward the cottonwoods and a large moss-covered maple pondering the start of my day and the words for this very blog. Just outside my window, a relatively new fenced-in area keeps Boz and Gracie out of the way of indifferent UPS and FedEx drivers and off of the limbs of dear neighbors who walk with a cane or visitors who find no charm in cheeky bulldogs.

Mom’s mystery bell, not sure of its origin or purpose…cowbell, perhaps?

For some reason, I rarely hear when a visitor opens and walks through the gate, up the stairs, through my mudroom to the interior kitchen door, which is usually open. Trouble is by the time they reach that point, I’m usually trapped in the nook sporting boxers and a spaghetti-stained t-shirt, or standing at the stove singing along to Merle Haggard or Aretha Franklin. Not a pretty sight for the uninitiated (or initiated for that matter).

I must have mentioned to my mother how I don’t hear approaching visitors, because this week she sent me a handsome solution to being caught off guard: a bell for my garden gate. What looks to be a cow bell, enjoys a wonderful patina and hand-hammered pedigree. Two hooks later and the bell was tested for sound. Whether opened gently or with purpose, the gate now shares the action audibly in the form of a bass-based clunk, a ga-long of sorts. Success. I am now safe from impromptu scrutiny and remarks about by sartorial choices, or lack there of, and my visitors from being bowled over by two beefy bulldogs. Thanks Mom!

Thanks for the visit; oh, and please, don’t forget to close the gate.

And just in case you want to hear what to bell sounds like, click image below.

I’ll Take Garden Potpourri for $200, Alex

Gardening

Tom

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May 18, 2013

35

Rose Pink Flamingo shows off its flower power.

I’m a secret fan of Jeopardy. I watch intently when time allows, and blurt out the answers (yes, Alex in the form of a question) milliseconds before the contestants can pop a thumb on that big old buzzer button. From my sofa, I’m a Jeopardy champion, although I must admit the final Jeopardy question can often leave me penniless and crestfallen. (French Philosophers of the twentieth century should never be a category.)

Anyway, I digress. It’s the end of the week and I believe this post could easily be a Jeopardy category: I’ll take Tom’s Garden Potpourri for $200, Alex. Here’s a look at what’s sprouting up this week at Tall Clover (the pretty stuff at least).A wonderful neighbor dropped off a dozen of her opulent rainbow eggs. Dazzled by the gradation of colors, I then proceeded to play with my food, and arrange them by color. (Seemed a much better use of my time than weeding the front beds.) Now that it’s May, I thought perhaps I should roll up the Christmas lights on my branch fence. And should all go well, I may just put them away in the barn come June. Figs are my friends, and these two babies are outcroppings from a White Genoa Fig, one I procured from Holly Park Nursery in my old Seattle neighborhood near Rainier Valley. First rose of the season, Madame Alfred Carriere has it all: a heady fragrance, thornless canes, undeniable beauty and disease resistance. Yes, indeed, the spider (in the lower frame) has excellent taste in home sites.

fields plowed branch fence

Front field mowed √
Branch fence weeded √
Garden rototilled √
Vegetable garden planted…uh, perhaps this week.

I always say gardening is a process not a destination, and patience paves the way. After nine years of TLC, this dreamy lilac finally bloomed from the cutting I planted. Its fragrance so intoxicating I was almost compelled to tether it to my nose (…well, almost). Sometimes, moving sales are worth further investigation. This honest two-seater is just the place to have morning coffee, noontime tea, and evening cider.

And as a man who believes you should work hard and take plenty of breaks, the hammock still holds a dear place in our hearts (speaking for Box and Gracie, of course).

Bird in the House, Beauty in Hand

Home Sweet Home

Tom

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May 11, 2013

10

A feathered friend finds an elegant perch.

Bird on a Wire…

Yesterday, I came in to feed the dogs and ferret through the fridge for the last gulp of sweet tea. After refueling both beast and man, I heard the faintest of flutters, the light dusting of the walls and windows in the living room. Upon investigation, I discovered a wee winged one scouring the ceiling and repeatedly trying to break through the plaster’s cloudy hue to reach the great outdoors. (Perhaps my ceiling paint color “Coastal Sky” was too literally realized.)

I sat down and remained still, waiting for it to land on a sill or perch on one of the dusty knickknacks so well-represented in the room. As if tethered by light fishing line, the little warbler circled the old gas chandelier in the center of the room, failing to recognize freedom through any of three open doors mere feet away. Though I must say, my living room ceiling enjoyed a more appealing blue color then did the sky that day.

I finally stood up and urged the bird the remain calm. (Did I mention I live alone.) After a short breather on the chandelier, it made its move toward a closed window. The impact, painful to watch, didn’t seem to cause injury to the bird, but did give me enough time to rushed over, gently cupped it with my hands, and save it from itself and the jaws of a curious bulldog. (Boz’s mantra: if it moves, it’s food.) I took three steps to the porch and opened my palms. The wee warbler darted off to the woods. Freedom was enjoyed by all. Boz and Gracie returned to snoozing on the lawn, and I to working under a more authentic color of coastal sky. Though on this day I may have to take an old proverb to task. While a bird in the hand is truly a magical thing, a bird in the bush is even better.