MANAGER"S SPECIAL

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (7/24/2012)



Manager’s Specials are often chancy. I bought a Manager’s Special filet of salmon at the supermarket. I took it home into the kitchen along with seven packages of groceries just as meine Űberfrau was getting everything on the table for our evening dinner. It became one of our occasional arsenic hours. Gretchen’s bling snapped, crackled, and popped.

She said, “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I’m getting dinner on the table? Besides, that fish stinks. What on earth possessed you to pay good money for that? Get it out of here. Take it back.”

Gretchen’s noble nose is a fine smeller. Although my eyesight is holding firm, my ears and nose have lost acuity as well as my tongue. Even extra sharp, aged, Vermont cheddar cheese seems mild nowadays. I didn’t know the fish stunk and dutifully returned it the next day, getting a refund. On return, she admonished me, “Always smell the fish before you buy it.”

Such a thing as smelling the fish isn't always easy with commercial nurseries because, most of the time, a gardener doesn’t find out that a plant stinks until a year or so after it’s planted, and then it’s too late to get a refund. The chances are if the gardener returns the stinky plant, he or she will get a lecture on too much or too little water, too much or too little fertilizer, wrong kind of fertilizer, wrong microclimate, neglect, et ad nauseam et ridiculum. This means that the gardener is either guilty or stupid for ineptly caring for a stinky plant. Smart gardeners do research on a plant’s stinkability before laying down their good money. In terms of horticulture, smelling the fish means checking out the plant for zone 5. While commercial nurseries may dispense reliable information, it’s important to remember Caveat Emptor (Let the buyer beware!). As our late President Ronald Reagan said, “Trust and verify.”  Even citizens want to know whether or not a politician's tax returns stink.

One caution: what works in another clime doesn’t mean that it will work in Flagstaff. A favorite tree of my childhood was the California sycamore. I did the research, and the likelihood of its surviving a Flagstaff winter is next to nil, so I’ll just have to drive down 89A in Oak Creek Canyon to Sedona to get a whiff of yesteryear’s tree plus having lunch. It’s important to know when you can’t do something. I can still dance the fox trot, but forget the flamenco. I tried it once and got a headache.


Anyone who has spent a year in the high country knows that hardiness is required of both humans and plants not only to survive but also prevail.

Generally speaking, there are three kinds of plants that do well in the high country: noxious weeds, natives, and adaptables. Noxious weeds stink and should be eliminated. They tend to prosper in adverse conditions. Some weeds are beautiful, taking some gardeners in, such as the Dalmatian toadflax (Linaria dalmatica.) Like a lot of beauties, they mess things up. It’s best to check out a noxious weed list with pictures on the internet. See: http://cals.arizona.edu/pubs/natresources/az1482.pdf.

A few natives aren’t always comely. Newcomers sometimes mistake them for weeds. However, many of them are quite beautiful, and since they’re native, they’re hardy. An excellent resource is Busco and Morin’s Native Plants for High-Elevation Gardens. The longer I’ve lived in Flagstaff, the more I’ve gone native. It’s just smart gardening.

The next are the adaptables, non-native plants that will thrive in Flagstaff but won’t overwhelm the natives and screw up the flora of the high country. Oregon grape holly (Mahonia aquifolium) is a good example of an adaptable. I’ve had mine for eight years. They’re very attractive year around and haven’t tried to take over the garden.

Three good resources to find plants that don’t stink in the high country are: http://davesgarden.com/guides/pf/zipbyzip.php?zip=86004, http://cals.arizona.edu/pubs/garden/az/1256.pdf., and http://cals.arizona.edu/pubs/garden/az1255.pdf.

Of course, there are no guarantees in gardening but research helps in smart gardening, and smart gardening is more likely to produce successful gardening. Ask veteran gardeners.  Check with county extension.  Smell that plant. Sniff around the Internet.

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith along with Freddi Steele edits Gardening Etcetera for the Arizona Daily Sun in which this article appeared on 9/8/2012.  He emails at stpauls@npgcable.com.

MARRIAGES IN NEPAL

Chheten Tamang



My sister in Nepal had a traditional wedding. She was promised in marriage to Mingmar, a boy in our village. He was rich and a hard worker who owned lots of land. He was a farmer who grew potatoes, barley, buckwheat, and vegetables. His family had fifty yaks.



My father had 35 yaks. My parents wanted their daughter and their grandchildren to be nearby in their old age. They wanted family members around them, especially when they were too old to take care of themselves.



My parents and the boy’s parents sat on the floor around a fire pit drinking rice beer. At first my sister, Sondin, said “No.” She didn’t like this 24 year old young man. I think she had her own boyfriend. My sister cried, and I was upset because I didn’t like arranged marriages.



Both families agreed on a wedding date which was to be five months later. The man’s family has to buy the dress by custom. It was Korean material, silk Tibetan style chuba. They also had to buy a set of pure gold earrings. They were very heavy.



Both families prepared the food. It was rice, rice buckwheat bread, Tibetan tea, curried potatoes, and fried yak meat. There was no wedding cake, but they had many bottles of raksi which is a distilled rice beer. It is called chang wine. It is not so strong.



My sister wasn’t happy. She couldn’t marry the boy she loved, and she had to marry the guy she didn’t know. She didn’t want to go to bed with him, and she hit him with a spatula. There was no honeymoon, only miserable time.



The unhappiness lasted about a year. Then she began to trust the opinions of her parents and the lamas. All of my relatives in the village approved. After a year she decided to accept my mother’s wishes. My father did not have any say so in the matter. He just watched and herded his yaks.



My sister and her husband now have three children, and they are in a boarding school in Kathmandu. They are planning to build a small hotel for tourists.



My other sister, the youngest, is named Tshering. She objected and married the boy she loved. She did not listen to anybody, especially her mother. Her husband, Pasang, was lazy and drunk and did not provide for my sister and their two boys. In addition to the little money her husband made she depended on relatives for clothing, shelter, and food. She was unhappy, and both of them drank a lot.



My sister had bad headaches, and when I was visiting, I took her to the hospital in Kathmandu. The doctors found that a bone in her back was cracked and begun to rot. The doctors gave her medicines to cure the rot.



Her son, Chimbel, his body began to swell. He had fevers and cried at night. I told my sister to take him to the hospital in Kathmandu. He didn’t get any better so they took him to the holy man, Rinpoche, to seek his blessing. He threw the dice. He told the boy his fortune.

Then he told them to buy white rice flour and water buffalo milk and red tika powder. Then my sister sprinkled them all around the pool of water surrounding the Budhanilkantha (Vishnu lying down). Next she wiped the powder from the Buddha and swathed her son with the powder. The boy stopped crying right away. Her son’s swelling went down. Then they went home, and the boy is fine.



I first met my husband, Wayne, when he was looking for my cousin. He had met my cousin the year before. He had taken photographs of my younger brother and sister, and he was giving them pictures. My brother brought him to our house to meet my mother. We offered him a cup of tea. He gave us his email address, but we didn’t know what to do with it.



He came back many times and asked me to marry him. We went to Katmandhu to get married. It was for love.

Chheten Tamang is a learner at The Literacy Center where Loni Crowe and Dana Prom Smith are her tutors, teaching her to read and write. Although she speaks several languages, she never learned to read and write. Dana Prom Smith along with Freddi Steele as his associate edits GARDENING ETCETERA for the Arizona Daily Sun and emails at stpauls@npgcable.com. This article appeared in the AZDS 7/21/2012.

NATURE UNDER THE LEAVES

Freddi Steele

Every fall my neighbors’ towering Lombardi poplars and quaking aspens shed thousands of leaves, golden streamers of the past summer. Before long mobs of these crispy botanical chips skitter over the asphalt, nestling against my perimeter butterfly bushes and forming silvery skirts around them. During the winter when a foot or two of snow compresses them, or the subfreezing nights harden them, I wonder what happens under the leaves – what new life is beginning there. This spring I decided to find out.


In April after most threats of frigid temperatures have passed, I performed the ritual of spring cleanup, curious about what surprises of nature awaited. Light on my feet and always wearing gloves, not because of an aversion to dirt or icky things, but because of what biting, pinching, or stinging denizen I might startle, I gently peeled back the sheets. The top stratum was dry and crunchy, having been exposed to the elements for several months. Arachnids inhabited this section, particularly immature harvestman (also known as daddy long-legs) and grass spiders, not yet full-size, and vagabonds without webs. Overwintering ladybugs were also found here, along with their alligator-shaped larvae on the hunt for aphids coating the upper stories of irises and salsify. The layer of leaves hugging the ground was decomposed, and in some sections skeletonized into transparent, leaf-shaped silhouettes. This zone was the most exciting as mobile flashes of rust and steel – young centipedes up to an inch long – scurried for deep cover to the butterfly bushes. Other creatures including earwigs and red wrigglers darted, dashed, or slithered every which way to escape my invasion. Somehow they all had shared space under the leaves. It is also here that I expected to encounter the shyest of the shy – black widow spiderlings cloaked in their youthful white and orange stripes. Another good reason for the gloves.


Under leaves falling next to their source plants, other fauna awaited my visit. Dozens of shiny black ants, approximately 3/8 of an inch long, raced away as I removed deposits of lambs’ ears turned to matted fluff over the winter. Sometimes this natural batting insulated an ant colony, which boiled out of the ground as the adults carried off their brood, and just as quickly vanished into the ground. As I ripped up the abundant shoots under the wild roses, I discovered something otherworldly causing me to leap back in alarm. It was a delicate 1-1/2 inch long organic shell, with concentric rings traced around the abdomen - the molt of a hornet, perhaps from the one that had been buzzing me and the flowering white yarrow for the last week or so. Tiny green and yellow crab spiders, also known as flower spiders, rappelled around the wild rose canes out of harm’s way, alternatingly flexing their “claws” and tucking into petite green and yellow spheres underneath the roses’ bright green growth. They were undoubtedly waiting for flowers to bloom in order to ambush pollinators. Other insects sighted nearby and given a wide berth, included a paper wasp resting on its new nest at ankle level, and a red velvet ant evading the commotion caused by myself and the budding naturalists next door.


Spring happened a lot faster than my spring cleanup efforts. Grasses grew up to six inches a week, overtaking my efforts to have a beautiful and interesting landscape. I sped up my yard work, gently shaking the litter to return its residents to their origins before hauling it to the backyard compost bins. Only bindweed, dalmatian toadflax, and cheat grass were exempted from composting because of their tendency to outgrow and overwhelm native flora.


The shelter provided by the decomposing leaves of our high country’s deciduous trees acts as a nursery for immature insects and spiders. Often beneficial, and usually later found in the garden, these creatures require surroundings that mitigate our temperature extremes and provide protection from predators until they can appear in the open with a fighting chance. Given all that happens under the leaves we may not look at that yard debris in quite the same way.

Freddi Steele is a Master Gardener and a former naturalist with the National Park Service. This article was published in the column GARDENING ETCETERA in the Arizona Daily Sun 7/7/12.  Dana Prom Smith edits GARDENING ETCETERA. His email address is stpauls@npgcable.com.

POLYMORPHIC GARDENING

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (6/17/2012)


One of our many recent presidential candidates has been described as “a narrow parenthesis of a man.” In contrast, Russ Wiedman is a polymorphous man, a man of many sides, a man of various roads traveled, a man of incomplete sentences and dangling participles. Perhaps, Robert Frost said it best, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ― / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.”

The key to his character is something he loves, the drums of west Africa and their polyrhythms. It’s not just one beat, but several all playing off one another in a tympanic harmony. The result is an auditory feast of many courses.


His brain may be too quick for his tongue with words tumbling off his tongue. Whatever he is, Russ is a polymorphic man, and one of his morphemes is gardening. As a matter of fact, one might say that Russ is an extreme gardener in that with few exceptions he eats only what he grows or catches, such as the fish he catches in Lake Powell.

He tried gardening out-of-doors and was reasonably successful at it, selling much of his produce to local markets and restaurants, but he found that it was inefficient, requiring too much water and time. So, using one of his other morphemes, he built a green house attached to the house he had already built for himself, and such a spectacular house it is. For the most part using material that others had cast off, he built a beautiful home with massive, polished pine logs the centerpiece.


A truly western house, it is furnished with hand wrought rugs and paintings and glass-encased chiffoniers filled with fine china. Some would say eclectic, but it’s more polymorphous with a theme holding it all together. Save for the fine china, the glue holding it together is that everything is made by hand. Russ is a hands-on kind of guy.

Obviously intelligent with bright, crystalline blue eyes, always on the lookout, he is quick to point out that he tried college and grew bored and dropped out. The reason is simple, he learns through his hands. Conventional education is eyes only. Out of the five senses, his primary sense is tactile. First, he feels things, and then he sees them, but it is almost as though he feels with his eyes, caressing the world around him with his optic nerves.


But back to his greenhouse. It takes up almost one side of his house, and it’s so efficient that it heats up the whole of his house in the cold days of winter. Always taking a road “less traveled by,” his garden has a difference, encompassing vegetables from around the world, such as perilla, a mainstay herb in Japanese cuisine and used throughout Asia. Rather than neat little rows of plants, his plots are set amidst wandering footpaths, bordered with rocks, something likes trails in the wilderness.

That dreary phrase, carbon footprint, was never spoken in our conversation, but Russ’ house and greenhouse are embodiments of living well while leaving few traces, much like moccasins on the forest’s floor. And that living well is part and parcel of a life “less traveled by.” Using his wits he has traveled to nearly all of the world’s outposts. He did not learn by reading about something or some place, he learned hands-on always leaving few traces of his presence.


After listening to Russ, I wondered what held it all together, other than his hands by which he also earns his bread. He made it very clear that he was not religious in the conventional sense of the word. I asked him if he had a sense of the Other, a Presence abiding. “Oh, yes,” he replied, “kind of spiritual.” Rather than being a scattered eclectic, his life is held together by a Presence abiding in all the polymorphs of life, a Presence best appreciated through hands and eyes with no clear distinctions between the physical and spiritual. For him life is, to use Rudolph Otto’s phrase, “A tremendously enchanting mystery.”

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith edits Gardening Etcetera for the Arizona Daily Sun and emails at stpauls@npgcable.com.
Photographs of house are courtsey of Jim DeBusk and Russ Wiedman.

THE GARDEN OPTIMIST: TULIPS AND DEER

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D.
(6/24/12)

Dear Garden Optimist:

Hello! My name is Louella Kardashian. My hubby, Longfellow, and I moved to Flagstaff from Phoenix to get back to nature. We wanted to get away from the concrete, asphalt, crime, and smog. He’s been talking about returning to the “forest primeval” for years.

Anyhoo, Longfellow made oodles of money in the low fashion industry, as he says, “givin’ ‘em what they want.” So when we wanted to get away from it all, we could afford it. We built a beautiful rustic, 4,000 foot log cabin with granite countertops, copper basins, plank flooring with Navajo rugs, central air conditioning, and with the same anti-intruder system that’s used in the White House. We built right next to the National Forest, you know, wanting the feeling of being close to nature. Just an old rusty fence and a few strands of barbed wire separated us from Longfellow’s “forest primeval.”

I had my gardener plant tulip bulbs, 400 of them right from Holland, along the drive leading up to our house. I’d waited all winter long for that lovely row of tulips to burst forth with new life in the spring. Well, wouldn’t you know, I went out with my coffee mug in hand, and they had all been mowed down, right down to the ground. Who would be mean enough do such a thing? My heart sank. Tell me, what am I to do? I’m losing my optimism and zest for life.



Dear Sunken Heart:

I’m sorry about your heart. Nature struck back. The elk and the deer mowed them down. Just think, you were feeding the elk and the deer, your friends and brothers. I’m surprised they didn’t send you a thank you note. Besides, just what made you think that nature wanted to be close to you, just a strand of rusty barbed wire away? Nature just might like some privacy, too, like being left alone.

Here’s some ancient advice! In about 400 A.D. Saint Ambrose wrote from Milan to Saint Augustine after Saint Augustine had moved to Rome: “When I go to Rome, I fast of Saturday, but here I do not. Follow the custom of whatever church you attend.” When in Rome, do as the Romans. When in the forest, do as the forest. If you don’t see tulips in the forest, it’s smart not to plant tulips.

If you want to bolster your optimism and charge up your zest for life, don’t fight the laws of nature, like Sisyphus pushing a rock uphill or Icarus flying too close to the sun. Sisyphus’ rock kept rolling back down, and the sun melted the wax on Icarus’ wings. Don’t plant flowers and vegetables just because you like them. Plant what the forest likes. Don’t be a city slicker. Fit in! It’s not a heavy idea.



Dear Garden Optimist:

I’m not at all happy with your reply. I’m sensitive, and you hurt my feelings because you really didn’t deal with my pain. You seemed to dismiss it. Besides, I miss my camellias, gardenias, and azaleas. Longfellow’s just as happy as a pig in a sty. He sits out there next to that nasty old rusty barbed wire fence breathing in fresh air. He smoked clouds making bunches of money. He still coughs a lot. Says it’s good for his health breathing in fresh air.

I don’t care what you say. I’m going to plant the tulips again. Those deer and elk aren’t going to get the best of me, not Louella Kardashian. I’m going to show them.



Dear Unhappy and Hurt:

I hate to rain on your parade, but the deer and the elk are going to win. I’ve heard from the shrinks that one of the best tests for insanity is repeating an action that failed the first time all the while expecting success by repeating the failure. Forcing your will on nature isn’t the way to garden. Nein über Alles nonsense.  There's no place for hubris in gardening.  Welcome to the high country. Cooperating with God is a smart policy. God is speaking to you through the elk and deer.

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith edits GARDENING ETCETERA for the Arizona Daily Sun and emails at stpauls@npgcable.com.

ACTUALIZING THE POTENTIAL: Kale

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D.


After my father died when I was eleven, I fell into a deep funk for several years. As I look back on those days, I realize that I felt I’d lost my identity. Although my mother was powerfully supportive, I thought of myself as an outsider without a place. My grades in school suffered. After one of many conferences with various teachers, my mother drove me home. At a stop sign she turned to me, took my hand, and said softly, “Dana, just for once instead of “potential” I’d like to hear the word “actual.”



The word “potential” refers to something that doesn’t exist, but what a devastating thing it is to hear that someone doesn’t have any potential. As with the word “mystery,” it is meant to covey something, but the substance is unknown. Mystery is a rather elegant word for saying: “I don’t know,” while potential means, “I hope he’s got it in him.”

Whatever it is, gardens are jammed packed with mystery, both potential and actual. Winter is the dormant potential, and spring, summer, and fall are the actualities. Planting seeds is an act of potentiality. When we see them sprout, it’s an actuality. All of it is, of course, a mystery. To be sure, the botanists have explained the mechanics, but no one has explained the mystery of the miracle when a potential becomes an actual.



One of the great actualities are hardy leaf vegetables, especially kale. If anyone knows what’s good for them, it would be kale. Happily, Flagstaff is an ideal place to grow kale because it is a cool season vegetable. Too often, we hear from nay- sayers about the onerous difficulties of gardening in Flagstaff. Well, kale proves them wrong.



Kale is a powerfully nutritious vegetable which should not be boiled but rather steamed to keep its nutritional values. It comes in two forms, the European and the Russo-Siberian. The familiar Tuscan or Dinosaur kale with its long narrow leaves and Scotch kale with its fluffy leaves are the most common varieties of the European kale (Brassica oleracea) which is thought to have originated in Greece in about the 4th century B.C. They come in three colors, green, purple, and red. The Russo-Siberian kale (Brassica napa) with its broad red leaf is thought to have originated in northern Europe and northern Asia. It was brought to North American by Russian traders in the 19th century. Both are hardy, but the Russo-Siberian, given its origins, is the hardiest, sometimes surviving temperatures as low as 0° F. For several years, I had a Russian kale that survived three winters and finally succumbed in a winter with little snow, but each year it was the first fresh vegetable in my garden as in early May. Kale can be grown in all the states, including Alaska.



There is no dispute about the great nutritional and cancer fighting qualities of kale, but there is about taste and texture which, oddly, improve after the first frost. Foodies and no less an authority as Dr. Andrew Weil favor the Tuscan kale whereas many others favor the Russo-Siberian kales for their sweetness, milder flavor, and tenderness. De gustibus non est disputandum. It’s probably the particular kind of gastric juices flowing through a person’s mouth at any given time. The French do not use kale, but then there’s no figuring the French.



Growing kale is easy and produces a tastier vegetable than the kale found in grocery stores because it is freshly plucked. The soil should be friable and composted, and the seeds should be planted ¼ to ½ inch deep and an inch apart, thinned eventually to 8 to 12 inches apart. Watch for aphids.



Of the cabbage family, it doesn’t form a head and thus can be picked very early for salads. It is probably most frequently used in soups or sautéed as a side dish although it does very well with cheese and eggs in frittatas. A very good recipe using kale is Above the Rim Tuscan Soup, which is available at http://oldfartskitchen.blogspot.com.

Another miracle, transforming a potential into an actual, is when kale is cooked and eaten. Good gardening and good eating.

Copyright (c) Dana Prom Smith 2012

This article was published 6/16/2012 in the Arizona Daily Sun.

THE ANSWER MAN: EXOTIC MEYER LEMON

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (5/12/12)



Question: My name is Fordyce P. Van Dusen. Recently, I moved to a horticulturally correct part of the state where the bent is expelling “invasive exotics.” One morning a woman with goggles, leather apron, work boots, and elbow length welder’s gloves appeared in my front yard pulling out my beautiful scotch thistles. Thunderstruck, I demanded to know what she was doing, and she replied, “What you should’ve done yourself. Pulling out invasive exotics.”

I’m a bit heterodoxical. My wife, Consuelo, calls me oppositional and anally retentive which is far better than anally explosive as is she. I want to express my individuality; however, I don’t want to give offense unnecessarily. What I’d really like to do is plant some non-native, foreign, exotic plants without bringing the wrath of the horticulturally correct down on my head. Can you help me?

Answer: I understand your problem. First let me say that since “invasive exotics” are a scourge and plague, you must forgive the horticultural correct their Torquemadian ways. As to your problem, from my back deck I can spy two deck-bound plastic palm trees. Another fellow, Bob Kratz, keeps his inside, bringing it outside during Aurilla’s great Christmas parties. Another was potted in reaction to the efforts of a horticultural code enforcement officer from his HOA. Jim Gore wanted something unique to set him apart from the ordinary. In a previous life in Big Bear, California, he planted his whole front yard in plastic flowers. He is a person of considerable accomplishment, a stevedore, a ski instructor, a biker, a car nut, and a contractor. His potted plastic palm works for him, and it might for you.

Question: No! I don’t want to shilly-shally around with plastic plants. I want to make a statement with something that’s alive.

Answer: I’ve an answer for you. A friend of mine, Alex Martinez, was born and raised in Tucson and misses his citrus trees. He, too, is a considerable person, a naval officer and school superintendent. So he developed a moveable citrus grove in his house using dwarf varieties placed strategically in sunny niches. He has several citrus trees, as well as two figs. He moves them outside when the weather is temperate and brings them back inside when it’s cold. Now, he’s investigating the feasibility of establishing a citrus grove on an island in the Bering Sea. He’s an indefatigable, type-A, personality, pushing boundaries.

The citrus trees are exotic, but not invasive. Unlike exotic invasives, if left to themselves, citrus trees will perish in our climate. Invasives thrive with neglect as weed warriors know.

Question: O.K., then let’s go for it.

Answer: First, you must have sunny niches in your house as well as your wife’s permission, a chancy affair. Then, you can buy dwarf varieties from commercial nurseries only in Arizona which has rigid laws forbidding the importation of citrus trees.

Meine Űberfrau was so impressed with Alex Martinez’s moveable citrus grove that she gave me a dwarf Meyer lemon for my birthday. Originally from China, it’s probably a cross between a mandarin orange and a lemon. We have it in the dining room next to a sliding glass door near her geraniums. I have plans for a Satsuma mandarin orange in a sun-splashed bathtub in the upstairs bathroom next to her Boston fern and a tangerine in the front window. She suggested I should exercise self-control and moderation. Next an avocado.

When growing citrous exotics in containers, specific care is required. First, the soil should be slightly sandy and acidic, moist but not wet. They should be watered 2 or 3 times a week and everyday in the summer but never left in standing water. The ideal temperature is about 77°F. but not lower than 55°F. lest they go dormant. Heavy nitrogen feeders, they need a slow release, organic fertilizer with a ratio of 2-1-1- or 3-1-1. Their blossoms effuse elegant aromas.

The Spanish say, “Living well is the best revenge.” Yours could be giving freshly-picked, plump, juicy, non-invasive, exotic, home-grown Meyer lemons to the horticulturally correct during a winter’s blizzard. That is, if you care to share them.

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

This article appearaed in the Arizona Daily Sun 6/9/2012.

CANNED SQUIRREL

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (5/21/2012)

Coon Dog Charles and Napoleon V. Quick were members of the second church I served in an Appalachian village on the Ohio River across from Kentucky. Napoleon had an odd gait which resulted from drinking bad moonshine. He hobbled, dragging his left leg at a hustling pace. Coon Dog often teased him, telling him that he looked like he had the green apple quick step.



Napoleon and Coon Dog regularly crossed the Ohio River in a skiff with their beagles on hunting expeditions. Mostly after rabbit and squirrel, they were often so successful that Napoleon canned the squirrel in mason jars. It was an odd sight, bluish purple squirrel body parts encased in mason jars, lining the window sill of his one room cabin along side his canned beets and tomatoes. Coon Dog and Napoleon ate what they killed and grew. Nothing was commercially processed.



Home-grown vegetables, particularly the leafy ones, like lettuce and Swiss chard, offer the same experience. Cool season vegetables, they’re easily grown in Flagstaff. Surprisingly, the leafy ones are often the hardiest, tolerating frost. A slothful gardener, I seldom dig in the last of my Swiss chard in the fall. Sure enough, about half of the neglected Swiss chard is up and growing in April. In addition to the pleasures of hanging out on a crisp, bright fall day with a glass of Chardonnay and some tasties, sloth offers the rewards of early vegetables.



Appetites are whetted as much by our noses and eyes as they are by our tongues. A wise chef grows beautiful and colorful vegetables. Beginning with lettuce, there are many colorful varieties. Three of the most charming are Lollo Rosso, Forellenschluss, and black seeded Simpson. They make a great salad with the slightly bitter, nutty flavor of the dark red Lollo Rosso, the smooth buttery flavor of the speckled, maroon spotted Forellenschluss, and the tender sweetness of crinkly, bright green leaves of the heirloom black seeded Simpson. With a complex of colors, textures, and flavors, these lettuces make for a splendid salad. They also offer a cosmopolitan touch with the Italian Lollo Rosso, the Austrian Forellenschluss, and the American black seeded Simpson, first introduced in Brooklyn over a hundred years ago by a Mr. Simpson.



The Lollo Rosso and the black seeded Simpson are loose leaf. Also, the Forellenschluss which means the speckled back of a trout is a romaine or cos type of lettuce. Cos is the Greek island in the Mediterranean and the original home of romaine lettuces. Since all three never head, they can be picked regularly.



The seeds are best planted only ¼ of an inch deep in nutritious, friable soil. They can be planted throughout the growing season into late summer. The soil should be kept moist but not wet with regularly light watering.



Much of what can be said of lettuce can be said of Swiss chard which comes in many textures and colors, too. The basic color is a light green with many cultivars in various colors, such as Vulcan. It is considered the second most nutritious vegetable after spinach.



A member of the beet family, its seeds look like beet seeds which resemble Grape-Nuts. They should be planted ½ to ¾ inches deep in nutritious well-composted soil which should be kept moist but not dripping wet.



Swiss chard comes in three types, the white stemmed, the colorful (red, pink, yellow, orange, and mixed), and the perpetual or perpetual spinach. Swiss chard is grown exclusively for the leaves, the puny roots being inedible, but the leaves are wonderful. They are broad and can be used in a variety of ways. They add color, texture, and nutrition to soups and stews. An egg plant and Swiss chard lasagna is a delight as is a frittata with eggs, cheese, and Swiss chard. Since their leaves are a bit studier than lettuce, they do well as wraps.



While one may not savor canned squirrel, lettuce and Swiss chard are delights to the eye and tongue. What’s more, they’re easily grown in the high country, keeping us in touch with the earth and our origins.

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith edits Gardening Etcetera, blogs at http://highcountrygardening.blogspot.com, and emails at stpauls@npgcable.com.

EATING THE WEED

Tam Nguyen

My tutor at The Literacy Center, Dana Smith, showed me his vegetable garden: the snap beans, the Swiss chard, and the lettuces. He leaned over to pull some weeds, and I told him, “No! No! No! It’s not a weed. It’s a vegetable. It’s also good for herbal medicine.” Then I asked him let me pull them up so I could keep them for me. He laughed hard and said, “Have at it.” I did not know what he meant, but I think he meant I could pick them. At least, he didn’t stop me and let me pick them anyway. I brought them home, and I made a soup.

The weed was amaranth. He thought amaranth was a weed because he did not sow the seeds, but amaranth grows like a wild plant in the tropical areas with rich soils. I washed off all the dirt from the roots, cut them up as small pieces. I mashed a couple of shrimp and stirred them with olive oil, black pepper, and a green onion. Then I poured water in the pot and boiled them. When the liquid got boiling, I put all the amaranth in and add some salt for taste. It also have a simple way to cook as a steam vegetable and serves with fish sauces. Or I also fried them.


For this soup, I can eat it alone or serve it with steamed white rice. Amaranth is very rich nutrition. Instead of eating the red meat, we can eat the amaranth. That was the way my Dad told us when we had meals. With a big family of seven kids, my Dad and Mom could not afford a red meat because it was so expensive. But another side, it was a smart way for vegetarian. It has enough nutrition and easy way to get food because amaranth growth all over our gardens in highland Vietnam. It is good for body and skeletal systems. Also, if someone has diarrhea, they should not eat amaranth. Make it worse. Live a simple life!

Amaranth also has been known as not withering so it can be used as dried flowers. The flowers are beautiful. Its leaves are oval, hairy, and pointed at the tip. So amaranth can be used for food and nutrition because it tastes good. Also, it can be used to decorate because of the shapes and colors of the flowers.

When amaranth is immature, we can cook with all of the plant, but when it is mature and has flowers, we can use the leaves to cook but not the stems because they are stringy and hard to chew.

I learn how to use amaranth from my Dad. It would help a lot for health because amaranth stores big amounts of calcium and a lot of cellulose. It’s also good for balancing elimination. With amaranth, we can use all of the body, leaves, stalk, root, and even the seeds. It depends on what period of time of amaranth. When they are still young, we cooked them. When they turn old, we collect the seeds.


The way to collect them very interesting because their seeds are as tiny as grain of sand. When they dried out, outside of seeds have a stuff around to protect the seeds. Separating the seeds and stuffs, we pull them in the water and seeds heavier get down the bottom of water, the stuff softer and lighter then they floating on top of water. Just took them off, by the time we did it, we wash the seed, too. There are some dirty, or some kind of hairs of small insect stuck there. We wash them and dehydrate them. Ready for using.

Sometimes I also play with flowers of amaranth, too. It looks alike the elephant’s nose with all the movement and flexible for me. I also use it for decorated with mix boutique flowers. I had a good memory about my family and eating the weed for health.

I come back to my tutor for thank you because he let me pick them up and save a room for amaranth growth.

Tam Nguyen is a student at NAU and The Literacy Center. She recently spoke at NAU’s Global Learning Symposium where she won a competitive award. Dana Prom Smith edits Gardening Etcetera for the Arizona Daily Sun in which this article appeared on May 19, 2012.  His email address is stpauls@npgcable.com.

CHIC SNAPS AT EIGHTY-FIVE

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (4/25/12)



Several days after turning 85 last April 7, I was fiddling around with my resumé, thinking I might apply for a job teaching writing when meine Űberfrau interrupted my reveries, “Do you really want to go back to work?” I quoted Andrés Segovia in reply, “I will have eternity to rest.”



Always with the last word, she added, “Do you really want some 35 year old administrator telling you how to teach writing?” No, I don’t, so I went back to my obituary. An obituary is pretty much the same thing as a résumé only a résumé is a narrative of hope while an obituary is one of ironies.



One of the ironies as we grow older is that we believe less and less but deeper and deeper. We shed things that aren’t worth carrying around anymore. As they say, travel light. This applies as much to mental luggage as it does to stuff. William of Occam, a fourteenth century English philosopher, said it well, “entities are not to be multiplied beyond necessity.” In other words, keep it as simple as possible.



A remaining simplicity is elegance. So much of life is tawdry, boring, and ordinary that a touch of elegance and grace is a brightness that makes life a delight. Snap beans are a delight and are easy to grow in Flagstaff. The fancy ones are just as easy to grow as the same-olds, so why grow ordinary? It costs about a dollar more a packet to upgrade from coach to first-class.



One of the fanciest is the aristocratic wax bean, Beurre de Rocquencourt, butter of Rocquencourt, a town in France known for its high quality vegetables. Introduced into France about 1840 from Algeria, it was known as Haricot d’Alger.



With a delectable buttery taste, the pods can either be eaten raw right off the bush or lightly poached and should be picked when no larger than a pencil. When cooked, they don’t wimp out but retain their snap. The more they’re picked, the more they produce. When dried, the seeds or black beans can be used in soup or as refried beans.



The next classy snap bean is the Maxibel, a dark green filet, a genuine haricot vert with mottled seeds. With an exquisite flavor, it’s tender with a firm texture. Its pods are about 7 inches long. In addition to be a delight to the eye, it is a delight to the tongue. These beans are long, slim, and elegant. Blanched, thrown with butter and slivered almonds and strewn uncut across a plate, they add a touch of class.



The Maxi is another green filet, only the Maxi is a teepee type bean. The beans grow on the top of the bush so that they’re easier to pick. About an inch shorter than the Maxibel, they have the same exquisite flavor and are elegant addition to a plate. If unavailable locally, these three beans can be obtained from www.gourmetseed.com.



Finally, the Comtesse de Chambord, an elfin bean. Its four inch sweet and tender, small pods can be eaten raw. Too delicate for commercial production, it can be home-grown in a protected location, well-staked, possibly in a container. The bush is only 8 to 12 inches high. With a rich and nutty taste, these beans would add a touch of class to any meal. The seeds can be ordered from www.twowingsfarm.com.



Growing bush beans is easy. The seeds should be planted about an inch and a half deep and about six to eight inches apart in full or partial sun. The soil should be friable, rich in organic matter with good drainage and should be kept moist but not wet. A commercial fertilizer of 10-20-10 is best because phosphorus, the P in the NPK acronym, aids in the growth of the beans. The bush grows to be about two feet tall. The best planting time is when the temperature of the soil is a consistent 65°F., about the middle of May in the high country. They can be planted every two weeks ensuring a supply of beans throughout the summer. Chic jardinage! Bon appétit!

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith edits Gardening Etcetera for the Arizona Daily Sun. His email address is stpauls@npgcable.com and his blog is http://highcountrygardener.blogspot.com.

UGARITIC AND GARDENS

The Rev. Dana Prom Smith, S.T.D., Ph.D. (3/11/2012)

When deciding on my doctoral program at the University of Chicago, I first thought of the poetry of the Old Testament. Of all the languages I’d learned, Hebrew was my favorite, relatively simple grammar with a small vocabulary. However, I also needed Ugaritic, the language of the Canaanites.

So I went to the third floor of the Oriental Institute, a great gloomy gothic pile of grey granite stones, to meet the Ugaritic professor, a dusty gnome-like creature hovering in the corner of a large room filled with tables covered with clay tablets. He said that his Ugaritic classes were at 6:30 in the morning four days a week, meaning a 4:30 rise for me. I asked how I might learn it on my own. He replied that the entire Ugaritic language was on the tables in the room and that he was compiling the dictionary. The only grammar was written in German and published in Cairo. He offered me an Urgaritic tablet. He said: “You have it upside down.” I thanked him and left and studied literature and theology.

Urgaritic was written in cuneiform, wedge-shaped straight lines impressed into clay tablets. Beginning in Sumer about 3000 B.C., cuneiform was originally pictorial and then became more symbolically abstract.

Written language was first developed for commercial use. At the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, Sumer was on the Silk Road, a commercial center trading goods from Kathmandu to Istabul. The trading was so active that symbols were developed to keep track of the commerce. Symbols or words for “three” “bags,” and “barley” were written down on clay tablets.

A subtle shift took place in the human mind. The merchant no longer needed three bags of barley to think about trading them for silk and pearls. All he needed were clay tablets impressed with abstract symbols. Thus began the human journey into what would become “virtual reality,” an odd way of saying “simulated reality” which makes it no reality at all. It is an experience entirely with oneself, a kind of psychic solipsism, a world of pixels and particles.

As time passed, written words were no longer connected to living things, such as plants, animals, and people. Today, our lives are almost entirely spent in the abstract, dealing not with the living but with human artifices and dead ones at that.

As a boy, I body surfed and played in the rain. Watching the sky at night, encased in a mummy bag, while backpacking in the High Sierra, I felt enfolded by the stunning beauty of the sky. The sky at 12,000 feet is immediate. Even in the Army tracking criminals and saboteurs in the Alaskan wilderness, I felt at one with the wild until I let my guard down once and someone tried to slit my throat while I was surveiling a military site. Thin-faced, his front teeth were steel.

Now, it’s gardening, running my hands through the soil, tending to seeds coming to life, caressing the leaves, pruning and shaping the living, and feeling the slap of branches. It’s smelling, seeing, touching, hearing, and tasting life.

Our solidarity with nature is rooted in the belief that God formed us from the dust of the earth (Gen. 2:7) through the process of evolution. When a young man, my physician, peering at me over his half-glasses, said with a quizzical smile, “It doesn’t matter how much you know, you’re still 99% animal.” We have developed what Timothy Egan calls: “a nature-deficit disorder.” “Millions of people have decoupled themselves from nature.”

Gardening is a going home, coupling once again with our origins. In 1929 Walter Lippman wrote an essay entitled, “The Acids of Modernity.” That title could be applied to the present. The more alienated we become from the earth, the more spiritually acidic we become as though we’ve lost our identity, orphans searching for our lost parents. We speak today of rootedness. There is no better place to set down our roots than in the earth and with what it produces.

After the soil was turned for the White House Kitchen Garden, Michelle Obama said, “Let’s plant.”

Copyright © Dana Prom Smith 2012

Dana Prom Smith, editor of GARDENING ETCETERA, can be emailed at stpauls@npgcable.com.  This article appeared in the April 21, 2012, edition of the Arizona Daily Sun.

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