Blogs for 2013

I celebrated my 38^th birthday on Sunday with a host plant sale and lepidopterology party.  I know –38, practically mid-life.  Time to tone down the wild/party girl craziness!

My friend, knowing of my personal blog titled “The Butterfly Effect,” invited me to the Machine Project’s event, Los Angeles: City Of Butterflies — Host Plant Sale & Lepidopterology Party. We stepped inside the small storefront, recently transformed into a serene garden shop from the Machine Project’s odd and oft-disturbing 99-cent store (artfully altered boxes of hair dye or cleaning solutions featuring crazy clowns or vampire-eyes).  A bright, colorful butterfly chart greeted us, as did Ann Hadlock, the host and believer in all things butterfly, bio-diverse and eco-earth-saving, and larval. Ann introduced us to plants we could buy to create our own butterfly-corner in our gardens, describing how each one is a host to a different species.

I felt like a little girl on a field trip, learning how butterflies have sensors in their feet that they use to “taste” the plant and know whether it’s the right one on which to lay eggs, so the caterpillar will have food to munch and grow, cocoon, and become another beautiful butterfly.  I bought a small Deerweed (Acmispon glaber), on sale from The Theodore Payne Foundation, co-host of the City of Butterflies event. It will live in a container on my front stoop, soaking in the full sun it needs to slowly grow into a host for the Bramble Hairstreak, Avalon Hairstreak, Acmon Blue and Silvery Blue butterflies.

Why butterflies for my birthday outing?

Madeleine L’engle introduced me to the chaos theory and concept of “The Butterfly Effect” in her book, A Stone for a Pillow: “If a butterfly winging over the fields around Crosswicks should be hurt, the effect would be felt in galaxies thousands of light years away. The interrelationship of all Creation is sensitive in a way we are just beginning to understand. If a butterfly is hurt, we are hurt. If the bell tolls, it tolls for us.”

As the Fractal Foundation notes about the Chaos Theory: “This effect grants the power to cause a hurricane in China to a butterfly flapping its wings in New Mexico. It may take a very long time, but the connection is real. If the butterfly had not flapped its wings at just the right point in space/time, the hurricane would not have happened. A more rigorous way to express this is that small changes in the initial conditions lead to drastic changes in the results.” –FractalFoundation.org

I love the connectedness the butterfly effect reminds me of – that even a small action on my part may make a wildly important change in the world. Offering a hand to someone who needs it, a meal to someone who is hungry, directions to a befuddled tourist, or planting a packet of seeds so that the butterflies don’t die off.

And that is Ann Hadlock’s goal, to grow more space for butterflies to flourish, so they can nourish the balance of our ecosystem. Working with Alan Sonfist, an environmental artist who is the creative mind behind an indigenous forest in NYC: “Time Landscapes,” in Greenwich Village, Ann was inspired to ask the question: What can people do to create biodiversity locally?

“Butterflies are the perfect ambassador,” she told us. “Everybody loves them.”

Ann is in the middle of making a documentary to introduce more people to the world of her bio-ambassadors.  She is also advocating to turn a 90-acre landfill in L.A.’s Griffith Park into a pollinator and native plant sanctuary.

Growing up in Oregon, we spent at least one week at a family camp on the northern coast of Oregon – a place of mildewing cabins, lines of campers and tents, a small lake that seemed huge and teeming with potential dangers and discoveries, and the cold coastline, where one only dips a foot in to feel the freezing water.  A quiet kid who liked to read, I took breaks from my books to bundle in a sweatshirt and walk the beach, to scan the shoreline for shiny agates and smooth shells. One summer surprised me with daily discoveries of butterflies and ladybugs on the wet sand, near the breaking waves. Concerned they wouldn’t survive, I picked them up ever-so-gently, placed them on a paper plate, and returned with them to our small camper, determined that they should be my pets.

I don’t remember how long they lived indoors, but I doubt it was more than a day. I may have blocked the memory of their death, knowing I had a hand in their demise. But now, when I see butterflies, I’m reminded of their fragility as well as their power, and the connectedness and responsibility we have toward each other.

“Recognizing the chaotic, fractal nature of our world can give us new insight, power, and wisdom. For example, by understanding the complex, chaotic dynamics of the atmosphere, a balloon pilot can “steer” a balloon to a desired location. By understanding that our ecosystems, our social systems, and our economic systems are interconnected, we can hope to avoid actions which may end up being detrimental to our long-term well-being.” ~FractalFoundation.org

Follow Ann Hadlock’s work here, visit the Theodore Payne Foundation to find out about wildflowers and native plants here, and consider planting a butterfly garden in part of your world. You never know what the flutter of a wing will do.

I grew up star-gazing, bundling up in blankets to watch the Leonid meteor shower on a clear November night, trying to name each shooting star in alphabetical order before I was silenced, surrounded by too many streaking stars to keep count.  I always wanted to see my home, planet Earth, from space. Even though, while reading L’engle and Lewis’ time and space trilogies, I longed to live on another planet, a career as a rocket scientist seemed out of reach. I was never really keen on science, numbers, or math.  Or, for that matter, eating freeze-dried food meal after meal.

But we’re living in the future!  NASA is going to grow greens on the moon, in the scientific hopes that space-dwellers can get their greens locally.  According to the salt, NPR’s foodie blog, NASA “plans to grow cress, turnips and basil on the moon. And to protect the plants from the harsh cosmic radiation and the moon’s lack of atmosphere, NASA researchers will be sending them off inside a seriously high-tech terrarium.”

The terrarium is approximately the size of a coffee canister, and until it makes its way to the moon in 2015, the agency is testing the growth process. Using your kids.  In addition to NASA’s lab testing process, they hope classrooms across the country will join in the fun, sparking kids’ imaginations as they grow greens in their own containers, and imagine grazing on local salads and gazing back at their home planet.

You may not be able to eat moon turnips any time soon, but you can join the challenge to grow your own on earth!  NASA’s Website lists how to get involved, and if you’re a teacher, some ideas for lesson plans.  And if you’d rather try your green-thumb at growing turnips in a regular container, check out the guide on SFGate – you can harvest the turnip greens as soon as the plants are 4 to 6 inches tall, and the turnips when the roots are 2 – 3 inches in diameter.

If dreaming of space-gardening makes you want to be more adventurous in eating, how about a new recipe?  The Old Farmer’s Almanac features a turnip crème brulee.  If you try it, or decide to join the NASA challenge – you must tell me how it tastes, and send photos of your space garden: @RebeccaSnavely and @TheCityFarm.

(Photo: Turnips – LamberJules.com, Earth Viewed from Moon – The Guardian)

My mom’s green thumb made our DIY holiday decorating easy: go out to the garden with a pair of shears, cut a variety of greens and berries, de-spider, and arrange in vase. Done.

The smell of indoor evergreens is one of my favorite parts of Christmas. Living in a wee studio apartment, I’m limited, but inspired by adding green where I can, like this tree-in-a-wine-crate from Inspiration & Design.

Sunset Magazine’s December issue features “Gift Wrap From the Garden,” a gorgeous way to use your garden greens to add a bit of personality to your gift-giving.  The piece highlights Midnight Blossom, a Seattle floral shop, and the magic they create there.  Besides adding bits of your garden to your gifts, there are suggestions for unique wreaths made of willow tips, eucalyptus, and tillandsias, for a centerpiece or to hang on a wall or door. And I love the look of little jars of dusty miller foliage and berries to place settings.

If you don’t have a garden full of wintry greens, go for wandering walk. NPR featured a site that maps all the places to forage for food in your area; perhaps you can find some low-hanging / growing greens to spruce up your dinner party, too!  It makes for a lovely late fall / early winter outing: your favorite hat, warm gloves, and boots on, a bright wool scarf wound around your neck, your cheeks aglow from the wintry wind. The fact that your eyes are bright with the focus of the hunt and that you’re carrying a pair of shears won’t scare a soul, I’m sure.

Check out Sunset Magazine and Midnight Blossom for inspiration.  What garden greens will you bring inside for your holiday décor?  Tweet your photos to us @RebeccaSnavely and @TheCityFarm!

(Photo credits:  Inspiration & Design, Sunset Magazine)

With Thanksgiving on Thursday, I paused to wonder just where some of those traditional foods hail from, how they’re grown, what it takes to get them from farm to table to MY BELLY.  And realized I often have no idea where the food I’m eating comes from.

I housesit for friends who posted a small “mindfulness reminder” image on their refrigerator. It reminds you to begin with an empty plate, recognizing it will be filled with precious food. Some of the next steps include contemplating your food: This plate of food, so fragrant and appetizing, also contains much suffering. Then, beginning to eat: With the first taste, I promise to offer joy. With the second, I promise to help relieve the suffering of others. With the third, I promise to see others’ joy as my own. With the fourth, I promise to learn the way of non-attachment and equanimity. (From Thich Nhat Hanh, Present Moment, Wonderful Moment)

Such basic steps slow you down, and remind you that food comes from a specific place and often a specific someone, and that it nourishes both body AND soul, especially on a day like Thanksgiving, set aside to gather with loved ones. An added bonus is the extra enjoyment and savoring of the taste of your food, as this New York Times piece reminds us.

The cranberry is one of the three native fruits to North America, introduced to the European settlers by the Native Americans. According to cranberries.org, the name was derived from the similarity of the spring blossoms to a Sandhill crane. Mariners carried the berries on board to prevent scurvy on their sea voyages.

Does your scurvy-free Thanksgiving table feature fresh, chunky cranberries, or do they still jiggle slightly, showing the rings of the can, having just slithered out onto the plate? Though, according to The Farmer’s Almanac, cranberries “favor acidic soil …. [and] also like sand, which is why they call places like Cape Cod, Massachusetts, home,” it is possible to grow your own!  A ground-cover plant, a small, personal crop of cranberries doesn’t require the bogs often seen for mass production, but they do like a cool climate. And they’re rarely grown from seed, so if you’re not one to wait long, choose a 3-year-old cutting that will yield a crop right away. Check out GardeningBlog.net for tips on replacing your soil with the kind cranberries will thrive in.

Even if you don’t choose to plant your own, that’s no reason not to know where it hailed from. You don’t have to get as detailed as the “Portlandia” chicken episode and visit your nearby bog, but, in accordance with a day of giving thanks, and honoring the journey your food takes to your table, it’s not a bad thing to know how your cranberry grows.

For today, meet Cranberry Bob. Modern Farmer interviewed this cranberry farmer from Vermont, to learn more about Bob’s bogs. A family business, his wife and three kids all help pack the berries, and they deliver them around the state, exhausting themselves by the end of the holiday season, having produced over 20,000 pounds of cranberries. (The story features a recipe for a Winter Pudding with Caramalized Cranberries that you might want to add to your holiday menu.)

What’s your favorite way to prepare cranberries?  Do you practice mindfulness at meals?  Have you noticed a difference in dining when you do?  Leave us a note here, or on Twitter – @RebeccaSnavely and @TheCityFarm.

Happy Thanksgiving!

(Photo: Modern Farmer)

I was buckling into my seat, bound for Kosovo. It was the morning of my 30^th birthday, and I was going to live for three months in a foreign country, where I didn’t speak the language or have the ability to digest their local foods, made almost entirely of gluten. I was THRILLED.  I was living my wanderlust dream.  My seat-mate decided takeoff was the perfect time to talk potatoes.

“I bet you guessed the potato originated Ireland?” he chuckled. I murmured that, indeed, I had NEVER given passing thought about where the potato originated, and looked more closely for my escape route, the one the flight attendant promised me would be lit in case of emergency. It was not lit.

We flew 9 hours to Heathrow together, the Potato Man and I. I learned that the potato actually originated in Peru, indigenous to the Andes, which PotatoGoodness.com confirms. The Inca Indians cultivated potatoes around 8,000 BC to 5,000 BC, and only in the 1500s were they introduced to Europe. Sir Walter Raleigh introduced them to Ireland in 1589.

I wish I hadn’t been so absorbed with the launch of my 30s, that I hadn’t simply been envisioning my seat-mate as Mr. Potato Head, and popping out his mouth so he’d leave me in silence. That I might have paid closer attention to what the Potato Man had to say, and why he so badly wanted to say it. People who are passionate about what might seem mundane often reveal fascinating lessons in conversation, gems of wisdom even they didn’t know they had.

Take the potato, for instance. There is an International Potato Center blog that highlights potato farms all over the world that are helping to ease hunger. There are debates on cold storage, and, of course, Monsanto’s role in genetically modifying the vegetable.  When a disease swept over the potato crop in 1840s Ireland, they experienced what is known as the Irish Potato Famine, destroying families and communities. Understanding Evolution over at Berkeley reminds us that “because Ireland was so dependent on the potato, one in eight Irish people died of starvation in three years during the Irish potato famine.” The site discusses the dangers of a crop with a low genetic variation that can lead to such disaster.

Check out this episode of Al Jazeera’s “earthrise,” and travel with Russell Beard to Peru, where “a meeting of old knowledge and new science is safeguarding the future of the world’s favorite vegetable,” see the world’s largest collection of potatoes, and witness a local festival celebrating the potato in the Sacred Valley of the Andes.

And a typical American eats 127 pounds of them each year or about one spud per day, according to The Saturday Evening Post.

So. The Solanum tuberosum. It’s NOT as boring a subject as I first thought my potato-prattling seat-mate to be. And they taste far yummier straight from your backyard than the store shelf. Will you plant potatoes in your garden?  If you live where the ground freezes, the Farmer’s Almanac recommends you plant the seeds zero to two weeks after the last spring frost. Organic Gardening offers seven ways to plant your potatoes, from hilled rows in the ground to containers and grow bags.

How will you grow yours?  How will you prepare them for Thanksgiving? And, will you pay more attention to the mudane story-teller buckled up beside you on your next flight? Tell us in the comments or on Twitter: @TheCityFarm and @RebeccaSnavely.

(Photo: Mr. Potato Head slims down, c/o TIME;  Growing Red, White & Blue Potatoes – Saturday Evening Post)

It was New York in the fall, colorful leaves beginning to drift down to the sidewalks. We had just walked under the gingko tree outside my friend’s Brooklyn row house. It was like the scene in the movie “Clue,” when Mrs. White enters the manse, sniffs the air, and, as her host Wadsworth had been tracking dog poo around on his shoes, she checks her own. I sniffed my friends’ apartment, grabbed the handrail of the stairs, and carefully lifted a boot.  The smell wafted upwards, the smushed ginkgo seed pods clung to my sole, and reeeeeeked.

Why, then, would you plant a ginkgo? According to the elegantly entitled HuffPo article “Ginkgo Trees that ‘Smell like Vomit,’” “unlike most tree species common in the U.S., the ginkgo is dioecious, meaning trees are male or female. Female ginkgoes produce the troublesome seeds, which are covered in a fleshy coating that contains butyric acid, also found in rancid butter.”

You might be wondering, why would I plant a “rancid butter” tree in my backyard? Because you could plant it along your NEIGHBOR’S fence, in honor of their dog that won’t stop barking!

I KID!  But ginkgos are gorgeous, and the stench only lasts so long in the fall season, whereas the tree itself is a living fossil which dates back over 270 million years ago. Native to China, the tree is so hardy it withstands smog and atomic bombs:  Four ginkgo trees withstood the atomic bombs in Hiroshima, Japan, and still stand today.  You’ve got to give this tree props, and possibly a place in your yard.  If you can’t stand the smell, plant the male, as the city of Santa Monica has done.  But if you can handle a little stinkin’ nature, the female tree is truly beautiful.

Houzz.com has some helpful tips for choosing where to plant your Ginkgo. As they grow over 100 feet, it’s wise to consider where you’ll want this ancient tree to set down its roots. Don’t count it out if you don’t have a yard: Big Plant Nursery notes that they do very well in a pot or container.

What do you think? Will you take a chance on a ginkgo?  Tell us, or share photos with us on Twitter: @TheCityFarm & @RebeccaSnavely.

(Photo credit: Ginkgo & row house by Rebecca Snavely, yellow fall ginkgo by John Hagan.)