Bubbas and Rednecks can be a lot more nuanced... at times.

© 2012 Joshua Stark

The Mallard of Discontent, Chad Love, posted a little piece about a friend of his, a very talented Bubba-type person, complete with music video.  It's not a joke post, it is a great comment on just how ridiculous stereotypes can be, but only obliquely (it's really just a hat-tip to a talented friend).  It bit me, though, in a good way.  It got me thinking about my family, and it got my writing juices going a little bit.  I started to write a comment to his post, but realized I'd gone way off on a tangent and would look like a crazy person, so I figured it'd go better here at my blog, where I'm already known to be crazy and off-focus.  What I wrote:

Bubbas and rednecks, indeed. Working class intellectuals.  My people, I swear.  It made me think about my life and the weird nexus in which I find myself.  At one time, I tried to write poetry and short prose about my family to my then-newborn niece, Dakota, who that morning had been dancing to the rhythms of frying bacon.  I was sitting at a Cafe' in Davis, California, after having heard an interview of Steve Earle by Teri Gross.  I was writing about my Dad's work in the oil fields after getting his EBT M.A. in philosophy of religion; my Mom living in Sunset migrant camp, her skinny little body holding their house down by the tent pole in a wind storm, and me (and sisters) still going back to the migrant camps in Lake County, following the pears, saving money for grad school. I was trying to write a poem giving the feel and rhythm of my Dad and me hunting, walking tiny steps on RR track ties so as not to be loud in the gravel, and walking back in the door at home, skunked, taking those very same, tiny, awkward steps and cackling like fools.  That was also the first time I ever saw a water ouzel.  I knew what it was immediately, just like I know, by smell, the different possible leaks that can spring out of a car.  I also wanted a story about visiting Aunt Carol and Uncle Gerald who lived in one of Merle Haggard's old houses in Bakersfield, and then visiting cousin Burr and Jeri-K: Burr, the card-carrying socialist middle school teacher who married Jeri-K when she was fourteen, and who've been happily married for thirty years; whose eldest daughter is the Dean of Education in Arvin, and youngest got her degree in biology and political science at CSU, Bakersfield, and looks to break into environmental advocacy.  That, or fashion design.

Bubbas and rednecks.  Last year, I high-centered the Prius trying to get it up on a levee where I hunt pheasants.  Earlier, I'd run across a friend in a corn field, a friend I learned had lost half a finger in a pipe threader that year (and yes, we picked on him a bit).  His name?  Bubba.  I kid you not.  Bubba, you know: the Filipino-Mexican-American guy who rode steers as a kid.  I got picked on by a cousin for making a rat-killer out of a chef's knife, an old broom handle and a couple of zip-ties.  My author-friend Hank said, "oh yeah, I forgot you are a redneck" when I said that, after my board meeting with a salmon habitat advocacy group, I was taking the kids to "Mamaw an' Papaw's" house and I could meet up with him to hunt snipe and pick nettles.  I tied flies from my dog's fur.

I also put that same dog to rest after thirteen years and still miss her so very much, a border collie/golden retriever mix who could out-hunt most purebreds.  She could point on quail and retrieve with the softest mouth, and run down cottontails.  She also taught me that both gophers and tules are edible, and if the yellowjackets get after your food, you move your bowl of food to a different place, then eat it. 

She was a working-class intellectual.

(Here's a short list of some online Bubbas and Rednecks you might like to read:
Mallard of Discontent
Querencia
Suburban Bushwacker
The Rasch Chronicles 
A Hippo on the Lawn 
Please, let me know of any I'm missing) 

A New Year

© 2012 Joshua Stark

When your life revolves around outside activities, the number version of a year doesn't always apply.

Yesterday, Phoebe, Ruben and I re-began our plantings.  About a month ago, when it looked like we wouldn't get any Winter, Phoebe and I put seeds in the ground.  Nothing fancy, just some root veggies and broccoli, the idea being that they would pop up by the time of the next rain; but what came first was maybe ten days of freezing mornings, so no luck.

Now, with February flying by, we buckled down.  On Sunday, I purchased flats of cabbage, bok choy, onions, leeks, and collard greens, and two days ago we put down our first three rows.  Phoebe, being five, can do a lot more now, and was carefully planting and patting down with me.  Even Ruben, who'd been fussy that morning, was downright chipper and well-behaved (crazy for a sixteen-month old).

I'm nervous as heck that the menace that was the slug will return in force now that we no longer can turn them into eggs (via duck ducts).  I've got some old oyster shells lying around from our time with the birds, and I may pulverize them even more, and sprinkle them around the plants, but I must do something, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. 

Further afield, the greens are in full force on the Delta.  In fact, if you get out there right now, you may find some amazing mustard greens with just-about-flowering tips.  They look like broccoli raab, and they taste wonderful.  Another couple of weeks and it'll be bitter-city out there among the mustard, although I've noticed that the radishes have yet to flower so much.

To me, really, February is the New Year.  Last year's hunting seasons end at the end of January, and planting for early varieties begins now.  Waterfowl are in full force on the Delta, decked to the nines in their mating plumage.  Fishing changes, and we start to gear up for some pre-spawn action in March and look for big storm runoff to set our catfish spots afire.  The days even start to feel a bit longer.  Although we only really get cooped up when storms pass through, it still gives me a sense of cabin fever knowing that everything is going to start to pop really soon.

Lordy, I wouldn't stand a chance living in a Northern clime.

A crummy picture of my first planted bed this year... The Sun is just too bright here in California.

The Ducks are leaving us - what will we get next?

© 2011 Joshua Stark

We've decided to give the ducks to Phillip Farms in Lodi.  They stopped laying about six months ago, and after a conversation with the decisionmaker in these matters (hint:  she is four years old), we will send them off, take a little time to be with Irma (our old dog), and then think about a new pet (probably a cat or a dog; I refuse to take in something that won't also benefit the house, and if we won't eat the rabbits, then we won't raise the rabbits... and, who are we kidding?  We won't eat the rabbits).

Considering the squirrel and rat problem created by the gigantic walnut tree, I've thought about a four-pet commando team:  A ferret (under-house), a cat (yard, water-heater room, shed), an owl (nighttime tree-rats), and a martin (daytime squirrels).  Whaddaya think?

More seriously, if we do look for a dog, it'll have to be happy-go-lucky, and medium build (no smaller than ~20lbs., no bigger than ~40lbs.)  Also, I won't buy a dog.  And, it needs to hunt.  And love kids.

So, if you know of any kind of rescue group for some hunting dog breeds, or if you know of a good pound, let us know. 

And yes, the ducks are actually going someplace to really live on a farm.  This may be the first time that's ever happened.

Microclimates

© 2011 Joshua Stark

You may have noticed that I've put up a list of what's in season right now for foraging, hunting and fishing.  Homesteaders should most definitely understand their local conditions and learn to recognize the bounty of their region's wild plants, fish and game.  This list is a general description, information I'm gathering from friends and the news.  Your neighborhood, I can almost guarantee, is going to be slightly different from the list. 

One reason for this difference is microclimates: ecological niches that so dramatically shift light patterns, temperatures, humidity, etc., that they effectively create climatic conditions different from the surrounding area.  In California, microclimates can be extreme (due to the wildly varying topography, ocean influences, and other factors), but for practical purposes, a microclimate can be as small as the length of a wall.

More intensive gardening, especially in small spaces, can be greatly enhanced by understanding light and shadow patterns and windbreaks on your property, and matching plants and watering regimens to these patterns, rather than relying on the general assumptions of seed company descriptions.  And this eye toward recognizing the influences of geography, direction, wind, and moisture can also help your local foraging efforts. 

Recognizing niches that vary growing conditions in your neighborhood may lead to pleasant surprises, usually by extending "shoulder" seasons - the weeks on either end of a particular plant's harvest time.  Greens, berries, and root veggies are all especially affected by microclimates because they tend to be low-growing and hardy plants, able to survive in wildly varying conditions (the same characteristics that also make them pests, at times). 

If it is at all helpful to you, come back from time to time and see what is in season, or will be, soon.  Definitely use the list while keeping an eye out in your own neck of the woods, especially during the shoulder seasons.  You may find a treat.

Lands on the Margin is back! kinda...

© 2011 Joshua Stark

Last year, I stopped posting to my third blog, "Lands on the Margin", because I couldn't juggle all of the ideas I'd had, and something had to give.  However, I didn't give up on the concept, and I kept the links to the blog live, just in case.  I believed the theory was sound.

Earlier this year, I decided to revive the Lands on the Margin concept a bit, as a component of Agrarianista.  In California, the added bonus from the wild seems a natural extension of agrarianism, even of the urban variety, because we are blessed with such a rich diversity of plant life.

So, I've begun a project that combines the earlier blog with a couple of new pages here at Agrarianista around LOTM (that's "Lands On The Margin"):  A page explaining marginal lands (with links to the older blog, gear recommendations, and useful plants), and a small (soon to be growing) list of Useful Plants of California's Edgelands, with suggestions on identifying and gathering, and a couple of recipes or tips on how to use them.

The old LOTM blog will be used to post the newest entries to these or other related pages I create, so if you are interested in some information about California's bounteous edgelands, please follow the LOTM blog, too!

As always, I'm interested in getting feedback on these pages, so shoot away here (or at the relevant page, itself).

Water, water, everywhere...

© 2011 Joshua Stark

I sit in my kitchen on this cold and blustery June day here in the wilds of the Sacramento metropolitan area.  Last week, the mountain passes over the Sierra Nevada were closed due to white-out conditions, and the snow level dropped to 4,000 ft.  Thankfully, this last storm only saw snow to 8,000 feet, so maybe we are making progress?

Regardless, we get dry days on the days I work, or the days I've spent at home caring for family (a bad flu, oddly enough striking only the females, blew through here last week).  Then, when it looks like I might get a day off to fish or (gasp!) to garden, here comes another storm.  Nor are these storms only in the sense of a person unaccustomed to them:  Last week, we found ourselves, for the first time, in a 'tornado watch' zone, as the tail-end of a system took on that familiar and ominous J-hook over our house.  Luckily, nothing formed, but still, it was June 1st. 

We typically get around 19 inches of rain in Sacramento, and also typically, it all falls between late October and early May, and this is no exaggeration.  But here we are, stuck indoors on a Sunday in June, expecting another downpour, soon, as well as thunderstorms tomorrow. 

I should get out and at least get 'caught up':  Empty the duck pond, dump any standing water, clean up the walnuts (now being dropped by squirrels).  I should even put in the newest attempt at duck-proofing the raised beds (a huge bamboo trellis).  But, I must admit I'm pretty beat down by this weather, and the continual catch-up I have to do, making no real progress, is dampening my spirits more than the rains.

How do I get out of these doldrums?

Edible Plants of the Marginal Lands: Wild radishes on the margin (and durn near everywhere else!)

© 2011 Joshua Stark

I've known for a couple of years that wild radishes have edible leaves and seed-pods, and last year I even stumbled upon a ready crop of seeds.  By the time I could return, however, they'd already become woody and worthless for eating - in California's Central Valley, the shift from Winter to Spring to Summer takes about four days (this year is far different, by the way).

This year, then, I was ready for them, and sure enough, I've found seed-pods that were ready.  Ripe (for lack of  a better word) wild radish seedpods are translucent green, long and skinny and bean-looking, and stick straight up along the plant.  Of course, the best way to test if they are ready is to eat one:  it should taste exactly like a particularly peppery radish from the store, except that I've not yet found a wild radish to be bitter. 

Not knowing what to do with them, I pickled them refrigerator-style:  Half vinegar, half water, a little sugar - sort-of the encortido version of radishes.  I'll let you know tomorrow how it works. 

I'm really hoping they work because we love radishes, we have a hard time growing them (our radishes are always extraordinarily bitter), and wild radishes are everywhere around here, as ubiquitous as wild mustard and fennel.

If you live around here, any vacant lot, road's edge or fallowed field will likely hold wild radishes.  They can grow from a few inches to three or four feet tall, and are often found in fields with wild mustards - the yellow flowers are mustard, and the white or lavendar flowers are radishes. 

Again with the quick comments

© 2011 Joshua Stark

Man-oh-man, it is hard to get back on the blogging horse.  I'm trying, though.

A quick update on my urban agrarian "stuff" (that's my articulate English for you right now):

Last week, we lost a duck.  Our first loss, she was found lying in the duck run, not a scratch on her.  Not naming them doesn't make it any easier - and, our 4-year old daughter named her posthumously, anyway.  So, we said good-bye to Sarah.  I still miss her.

Just prior to that, our dog, Irma, suffered what I was sure to be a life-ending stroke - but which the vet described as "old-dog vestibular syndrome."  Basically, they get extremely dizzy for a couple of weeks, but get better.  the sweetheart is slowly recovering.

I've built a first iteration of a fence for the raised beds, which the two remaining ducks quickly overcame.  I will now build something more robust - more river reed!  Working with round pieces, though free, is more cumbersome than working with flat or squared pieces.  Perhaps I should split the reed... I knew I wrote in this blog for a reason (that just came to me)!

And last Saturday, we bought a used Toyota Prius, which will save us a significant amount of gas money.  It was also fun to calculate our new carbon footprint over at coolcalifornia.org.

La Lucha es La Gloria

© 2011 Joshua Stark

It's funny, I found myself particularly reflective this past week, and then, reading Hank's post on resetting yourself, it occurred to me:  for California hunters, the New Year takes place on the first Monday after the last Sunday of January.

California hunters' year doesn't end with December.  Many seasonal hunts are still going strong during January, when the Pacific flyway is awash in waterfowl, coveys of quail and chukars explode at the snow line or across the Valley or deserts, and rabbits and squirrels search out foodstuffs during breaks in the storms.

For us, the end of January signals the end of the year, when hunters (except those kooky pig hunters) put up their guns.  This is our time for reflection.

For me, the last day of the season perfectly summed up my last year.

My cousin and I met two friends at the Yolo check station, paid our entrance fees, and, because my cousin had drawn fifth in the reservation lottery, we were able to pick a decent blind.  We drove out, set up the blind (well, I didn't do much, since I've a hole in my waders, dear Liza), and checked the clock.

One hour and forty-five minutes to shoot time...5:15 AM for those of you who don't read your clock by "shoot time".

By the time we were able to shoot, we experienced a mild drizzle and a nice, calm period of about fifteen minutes.  When the clock struck, we were in a solid rain with a north-heading wind.

Over the course of the day, we'd experience just about every weather pattern the California Valley could throw at us, from rain to misty drizzle with high fog, a South and then a North wind, clearing and sun with calm.  We sat in that blind and watched a very good number of ducks all day long.  We cracked jokes, talked only a little politics, and waxed profound on shot shells.

I shot the absolute worst day of my life, with no hyperbole.  My shells piled up, miss after miss, while my comrades were taking duck after duck.

For some of the time, I experienced mild hypothermia, I'm sure.  Other times, I shot way too early, or tucked my head too deep into my gun.  Each time I missed, I became more and more frustrated with my shooting.

The day ended, and I had one beautiful greenwing teal hen to show for 19 shots. 

It will go down as one of the happiest days of my life.

I had a great time, a powerful time.  I saw white pelicans, ibises, avocets, swans.  I watched some good shooting.  I spent a day with a cousin I love and good hunting buddies.  After some groups around us took off for the day, it was even nice and calm.

The waning day was the best.  The Sun had cleared some of the clouds, but there were still powerful storms moving around us, especially to the East over the Sierra.  Pintails were working our decoys, and when they would pass across the sky and bank, their beautiful browns and tans and white across their perfectly sculpted bodies were simply awe inspiring. 

That is the perfect analogy for my last year in one great day.  I worked part-time for just over half the year, limping along like professional hypothermia, and then I was laid off, and didn't get a job until last week.  It was a bare-bones year, and became worse during the last half.

But family and friends pitched in a great deal.  And last September, our baby boy was born.

During the last half of the year then, I was able to spend time with my newborn and my daughter, help my wife (I hope) in nighttime feedings and diapers and just being there.

Was I always as positive-sounding when it was happening?  Far from it; but, neither was I positive when missing those shots last Sunday. 

Last Sunday, and last year (my Chinese year, by the way) were two of the toughest.  And I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Mending fences

© 2010 Joshua Stark

If you are looking for Frost, or writing of his caliber, I'm sorry for the disillusionment.  Last night, while sitting with my family through a particularly fierce storm, a tremendous crack-boom! echoed through our little cottage. 

This calculation occurs frequently in our synapses:  Rain + wind + 100 ft. redwood + crack-boom! =...?

In this case, Rain = 1.5 inches in less than a day, wind = 30 mph gusts.

Crack-boom! = 

For accuracy's sake, please note that the ducks are five feet tall...

 These were two separate branches, in reality each about 15-20 feet long.  The branches tore through the fence, and broke off our neighbors' gutter.

So, no duck hunting on this bright, shiny morning.  Instead, I'll be out mending fences.  On Monday, I'll be talking to the city officials about the possibility of removing a 100 foot-tall redwood.  If I get the go-ahead, I'll put it up on Craigslist's "free" section, if you are interested...

A different kind of harvest

© 2010 Joshua Stark

Since I moved my 'Lands on the Margin' concept over here to Agrarianista, I feel more free to talk about my other passions, my outdoor life.  As I've said, California is blessed with a huge variety of climates and conditions, from which has arisen a vast diversity of plant life.  It has also, therefore, been blessed with a vast diversity of animal life, which, though greatly impacted by urban sprawl and industrial agriculture, it still provides in abundance.

Ever since I can remember, I've been fascinated by animal life.  As a kid, we used to always play "animal", pretending to be one or another sort of creature (almost always ending, by the way, in one of us being a badger or a wolverine, those symbols of the utter wild in the West).  I also birdwatched, and we took a spotlight out on the 'back roads' looking for nighttime creatures.  I've had a deep and intimate relationship with one Olaus Murie, but until about 6 years ago, I had no idea he was a founding father of the environmental movement - to me, he (along with my Dad) was the man who taught me how to track.  I fished, too.  And, I hunted.

I didn't know just how big an impact hunting would have on my life when I was a child.  I was just attracted to it the same way a cat has to get that little string you jiggle in front of her.  With my friends, I hunted from the day I got my first BB gun.  When I got older, I thought about the ethics of hunting and death, and I decided that not only was it okay to hunt, to me it was actually morally preferable to other ways of living (if you are interested in my ethical philosophy, take a look at my other active blog, "Ethics and the Environment").

Today, much of my professional life and my personal choices are due to my outdoor experiences.  And California has blessed me with an abundance of outdoor choices, from kayaking and birdwatching, to telemark, mountain climbing (should I so choose to try these things), hunting and fishing. 

More generally, hunting and fishing are grand traditions in a homesteading, agrarian life, and I see no reason why living inside city limits should change that.  Within 30 minutes of my door, I can hunt anything from rabbits and doves to deer.  Oftentimes, in places like California, foraging, hunting, and fishing actually can provide quite a consistent meal, more efficiently turning the local Sun, water and soil into something to sustain us.  In fact, in light of the constraints on animal husbandry that city life brings, hunting and fishing may be the only ways to directly acquire meat.

And so it is Fall here in California (regardless of the high today of 75 degrees), and that means hunting seasons.  Expect some conversations to follow about game, should some of my hunting friends get lucky enough to want to share...

If you have any questions or comments about hunting and how it might fit into urban homesteading and urban agrarianism, please let me know!

If you are a waterfowl hunter, click on this image to be given the shakes.