Rebecca Mastey's Blog

Kickin’ It Old School

I was an old school gal today. The disposable diapers were no where to be seen, so Eli sported cloth diapers for much of the morning. My hairbrush was gone, so I had to use a baby comb. My moisturizer was MIA, so it was just a slather of Aquaphor. Couldn’t find the wipes, so Eli’s soiled little butt went into the sink. (This is a charming way to start the morning, by the way.)

Then, we didn’t have laundry detergent. Of course, this just adds to the mysterious disappearance of the diapers, hair brush, moisturizer and wipes. Is there some evil, hobo gnome wandering through the house, taking every useful hygiene item he can find?

The laundry detergent could at least be cured. I didn’t particularly feel like trekking to the store, at 8AM, in the cold, with the cranky, naked baby and the hungry/tired/obnoxious preschoolers. So, we did it old school and made our own detergent.

It worked surprisingly well. I may make a habit of doing it, since soap and baking soda are undeniably cheaper than bottled detergents. Or I may just do it until I decide to shell out the cash for “real” detergent. Either way, it was kind of fun in that Little House on the Prairie kind of way.

Cherry Cuttings

We’ve had two sour cherry trees growing in our backyard for God only knows how long. These trees produced a steady stream of sour cherries year after year, until, about two years ago, the flood turned to a trickle. One of the trees rotted out at the trunk, leaving a nice, large hole and the other “lost its scion,” sending it into a bizarre, uncontrolled growth pattern.

Although we have several maple saplings lying around (in the gutters), I’m not particularly up to the task of grafting. So, I’m trying my hand at the simple, cheap route of rooting a few cuttings. We’re not overly optimistic that this will work. Cherries, by nature, are not particularly good candidates for rooting. These cherries, in particular, are even worse candidates. They are old, nearly-fruitless and possibly contaminated with a whole host of diseases and pestilences. Oh, and I didn’t collect the cuttings until after the tree had been felled.

Despite that, it costs next to nothing to try propagating new trees by cutting. I have a small container of rooting hormone, that I used to root a few “lucky bamboo” shoots, a roll of paper towels and a container for rooting. All I need is a rooting medium. I think some sphganum peat moss would work well, so I’ll pick up a bag at Wal-mart.

First, after Dad cut down the trees, I collected some promising new-growth branches. These were tender, thin and snapped when bent. If they bend, they’re too old. If they crack or split, they’re too young. I collected about 15 snappable sections, and may head out to collect a few more.

Next, I brought them inside. I stripped the leaves from the lower one-third, although, in most cases, there were only leaves on the end. If there were off-shoot twigs, I cut the section above these. New-growth doesn’t typically have it’s own small branches, so those sections were most likely from last season. I cut the base of each at a 45 degree angle.

After they were prepped, I rolled each branch in a small, moist paper towel. These are currently sitting in a large container, waiting to be planted. The next step will be to dip each cutting in the rooting hormone, then plant it in the medium. Half the cutting must be covered in the medium to have a possible chance of rooting.

I may go back out and collect a few more cuttings. While my “lucky bamboo” rooted quite well-out of four cuttings, I only had one fail and that was from disease-cherries are notoriously bad rooters. I’m just as notoriously bad at propagation. I’ll consider myself lucky if one in twenty takes root.

Aquaponic Gardenening Experiment

If you’re familiar with hydroponic gardening, aquaponic gardening will make perfect sense. But, in case you’re not, let me try to explain. From EtymOnline.com

Hydroponics uses a growing medium, such as pea gravel or loose moss, instead of soil. Nutrients are carried by a steady drip or intermittent stream of water to the roots. One of the main drawbacks of hydroponics is the necessity of including water soluble plant nutrients.

Aquaponics solves this problem by using fish. Yes, you read right. Your hydroponically planted vegetation is hooked up to a fish tank, where the nutrients [read: biological waste] from the fish nourishes them. It’s very similar to dumping cow manure on a farm field. The added bonus, of course, is that the plant roots and planting medium act as a filter for the fish’s water. You have to keep an eye on a variety of potentially fish killing factors, including pH and ammonia.

On Saturday, The Husband and I began our experiment. We purchased a large, clear Rubbermaid container, some PVC and tubing and 13 tiny fish (12 Comets and 1 bottom-feeder to prevent dirty walls). On Sunday, we hit up a nursery to get a water-garden pump-not a filter, the plants should do that-, some pea gravel, aquatic plants-to help until the herbs are established-, and a few containers of plants. Since we weren’t following any particular guideline, the assembly took nearly the entire day and I still don’t have all the plants in.

However, most of the herbs seem to be doing OK. Their roots are staying moist and they haven’t dropped all their leaves [yet]. The fish, although a bit crowded right now, are swimming happily and all still alive. I’m sure after I write this, half of them will float to the top.

Once I have the other plants in, I’ll post some pictures of the set-up. If this first round, with clearance nursery plants and tiny tiny fish, goes well, we’ll expand to a second container for strawberries and give 6 of the Comets a bit more space.

With the right set-up, and a fairly large investment, you can use “food fish” like carp in the system to raise some organic, mercury-free fish fry and the vegetables to go with them.

To read more about aquaponics, take a gander at these resources

Aquaponics.com

BackyardAquaponics.com

Foxtail as an Edible

Foxtail is a cultivated grain in many parts of the world

Every fall, we mow down the quarter-acre garden plot. And, every fall, without fail, this plot is riddled with tall, thin, wheat-like weeds known as Foxtail. These “weeds” are nearly impossible to kill. Each stalk contains dozens of tiny seeds which spread in the air, through animals or survive mowing. On the off change that we successfully eliminate all the plants on our property, the neighbor’s back-yard, berm and garden are still riddled with the hardy, fast-growing plant.

It wasn’t until I caught my 5-year-old daughter munching on the end, and I called the Agricultural Extension to make sure it wasn’t poisonous, that I thought of using Foxtail as more than mow-deck fodder.

Foxtail grass, which is scientifically referred to as Setaria, is a primitive grain. It grows in wet or moderate conditions and is often found on the outskirts of farm-fields or gardens. You can recognize Foxtail, before it flowers, as a tall grass. The stalks are peppered with long, thin, flat leaves that alternate sides. After flowering, the stem is topped with a single, spiky shaft that hold dozens of tiny seeds. Early in the year, the flower and seeds are green. In the fall, they turn to a golden hue.

Foxtail's height depends on the soil.

Don’t eat the entire head. Although the spikes surrounding the seeds aren’t toxic, they are known to cause oral lesions in livestock. They’re also rigid, tough and not terribly appetizing. The leaves are sharp and should be handled carefully (and probably shouldn’t be eaten). The root system is deep, thick and prolific, so you probably won’t be able to pull a tall plant. This is also why it’s nearly impossible to kill them: unlike other weeds, Setaria grow from the well-established roots, not from the top of the plant. If you cut or mow it, it will just grow back.

While Westerners consider Foxtail a weed, it’s cultivated in Eastern countries as a grain, much like wheat. The seeds within the flower are edible in any stage, but, like other grains, the best time for harvest is once the seeds dry and turn color. To harvest, cut the flower from the stem and carry in a container or bag without holes, like a paper bag or plastic box.

Once you’ve harvested the dry seeds, you have two choices: fire or time. James A. Duke, author of Handbook of Edible Weeds, suggests the burning method. Light the heads on fire-they burn quickly- and collect the seeds after the chafe has burned away. Some seeds may become charred, but don’t throw them away. You can either use them as the other seeds or, as Duke suggests, make a coffee-type beverage from them.

Personally, I prefer time. Place the flowers in a dry area, on newspaper or in a container. With time, the seeds will just fall off the flowers. Harvest the remaining seeds by gently rubbing the flower, taking care to avoid dislodging any of the spikes.

What can you do with your harvested seeds? After you wash and dry them, you can eat them as-is, although some varieties are extremely bitter, hard and not entirely appetizing. You can use a mortar and pessel, or a grain mill, to grind the seeds into a flour. Or, like other millets, you can boil them to create a thick porridge.

Old Navy Weekly Coupons for October 8th

This week was particularly disappointing because I found the $75 off $100 purchase and $50 off $100 purchase coupons…just a few minutes too late. To give you a clue of where to look in the future, the $75 off coupon appeared when you clicked on the two outer mugs in the lower left-hand pane. The $50 off coupon came after dropping the “magazine” from the lower right-hand corner into the birthday cake bag.

Here are the other three I have found so far.

10% off any in store purchase
Drag the crown from the model in the purple shirt (left) to man in the white-and-yellow striped polo (center).

15% off entire purchase when you buy the item of the week
Click on the 15 candle on top of the cake (right).

Name a Modelquin and get 25% off your in-store purchase
Click on the boy in the red shirt and the boy in the orange shirt.

Indiana

I’ve never been to Indiana before. OK, so I have “been” there, if you count going through the corner to get to the Warren Dunes. Indiana was supposed to be just a pass-through on my trip. I realized half-way through that I hate driving on highways, no matter how sparsely populated, so it’s become the end-point.

At this exact moment, I’m in or near a town named “Mishawaka”. I stopped here for their wonderful Holiday Inn Express [read: I was tired of driving]. It is a pretty nice hotel, though. It’s a sizable room, with a sizable bed and it’s smoking-permitted. We’ll add the allowance of smoking to the “the things I love about Indiana” list. It was also on the cheap, considering the amenities. Internet, cable, toiletries, coffee/tea/coffee maker, breakfast, microwave, refrigerator, blow dryer, iron/ironing board and there’s supposedly a pool somewhere. I can go with this.

Back to Indiana. I’ve learned a few things about the state so far, some of which piss me off to no end and others that I adore. I’ll start with the negatives, so we can end on a good note.

1. They are morally opposed to giving warning. I drove 8 miles on a highway without a single speed limit sign and the roads weren’t marked ahead of time and didn’t have lights to illuminate the marker.
2. I drove down some pretty crazy streets. Headless horseman kind of creepy, overgrown with trees and completely dark.
3. It’s more desolate than northwest McHenry county, and that’s hard to do. Anytime you see a sign that says “next rest stop in 55 miles” you know you’re in trouble.
4. My phone (and therefore GPS) don’t work for miles and miles.
5. The toll booth system makes no sense and has no explanation. This ties in with #1.

On the positive side

1. I passed a dozen or so discount cigar stores. That’s just cool.
2. It’s quiet and quaint. I passed through a town with a giant steer on a restaurant sign.
3. There’s a grocery store whose name is written in Halloween style spooky letter. Martin’s? I can’t remember.
4. The rest stops provided useful information, like maps that are readable by non-Navy seals.
5. The toll booth attendants were nice. They said “hello” and “good-bye” and “thanks for visiting Indiana”.
6. Gas is cheap.
7. There’s non-commercial things to see. I have a half-dozen brochures on Mennonites and Amish and farmer’s markets and nature preserves. This ties in with #4.
8. Their on-ramp off-ramp system makes a whole lot more sense than Illinois’. On and off. No crazy loops that end up on the same highway going the other way.

Old Navy Coupons for October 1st

All the “big” coupons are gone, but little ones still remain! Visit Old Navy Weekly and try these steps to find which ones are there. Don’t click Make My Coupon until you’ve tried them all. You can only get one.

Also, don’t forget to send a coupon to a Facebook friend after you’ve decided.

$10 off $50+

Click on the large yellow star in the lower right-hand corner. Earlier today, Old Navy sent out an alert text to give the answer: RITA.

10% off any in-store purchase when you buy a sweater

Click on the zipper of Eva’s right boot.

15% off any in-store purchase

Move Heather’s blue necklace to the neck of the green Cardi Coat on the right-hand side, under Letters to the Editor.

20% off any in-store purchase

Move the four movable stars onto the bright yellow 4 at the top of the page. Two stars are at the bottom, on either side of the model’s caption. One is next to the bright blue Cardi Coats! banner at the top. The other is next to WEAR IT.

Happy hunting!

Family Resemblence

It’s in times of crisis that you come to the stunning, and sometimes shocking, realization of which parent you are most like. The shock doesn’t just come from the knowledge that you are in many ways a carbon copy of your parentage. It gives new insight into a person that you believed you knew better than anyone else.

This struck me this evening as I sat in a room of my parents’ house, caught up in a cleaning frenzy I hadn’t experienced since the “nesting period” during my ninth month of pregnancy. As I cleaned the unbelievable mess my three girls had left in boxes, bags, backpacks, toy suit cases and, of course, under the bed, I noticed the bed frame was missing four bolts. I began tinkering with it, trying to reassemble the pieces and find where the tiny-but-necessary little pieces had run off to.

My Dad came in when he heard the sound of metal clanging and my grumbling – peppered, again of course, with a long stream of curses – and asked, “What are you doing?”

The question was not, “Why the hell are you doing this at 9:30 at night?” It wasn’t even inflected with a confused tone. It’s a well known fact that when I am stressed, I shut down for a certain length of time before occupying myself with whatever I find most productive. At times it’s writing, at other times it’s mowing the lawn. In this case, I had to have that room clean.

You may be wondering, as you read this, why I feel this response is unique. Most people have the same response, to one degree or another. The old adage “get your mind off it” is best served by an incredibly involved mental task or a completely brainless physical one. I’ve seen it in my husband as he occupies himself with sweeping the kitchen floor, and my mother introduced me to the idea of baking bread – mostly for the violent kneading sessions – when upset. My response is so single minded in its manic-obsessive-compulsive intensity that I seem to believe the rest of the world stands still. A car could crash through the front door and I’d never be the wiser.

So, it was no surprise to him to find me kneeling near a broken object which had never concerned me in the past, with an upturned bed to one side and a pile of filled garbage bags to the other. What surprised me, though, was his reaction to my answer. “Fixing this thing,” I said. “I was picking up all the shit in here. The frame is missing the bolts.”

“Yeah, it’s never had them. I’ve been meaning to fix that.”

My father is a master procrastinator. When he sets his mind to doing something, it gets done right away, but there’s a mile long list of things he’s been meaning to do since my parents bought that house in 1989. (Tangent: I can’t believe my parents have lived in that house for 20 years. Wow.) If he knows something needs to get done, but doesn’t want to do it, it is immediately shuffled into the “I’ve been meaning to do that” list.

Instead of leaving it at that, he left the room and returned with two clamps. He began fiddling with the frame, trying to fit them together. Two flimsy little clamps aren’t going to hold up against the beating my children can give the bed. At best, it will stay together for a day. “I don’t think that’s going to work, Dad.”

“You’re right. Damn, I hoped it would. Ah…yes, I’ve got an idea!”

I left the room for a minute – I can’t go 20 minutes during a stress-session without nicotine, another trait I inherited from my father – and came back to see him half-kneeling-half-lying on the floor, surrounded by nuts, bolts, washers and tools.

And then, like a scene in a bad film noir, with smoke snaking around my face, I realized the culprit of my madness. The secret psychosis I grappled with for years; the need to rearrange furniture at 2AM; the force behind my desire to disassemble, clean, fix and reassemble any broken object in sight; the trait that so often drove my mother to insist I just get a “good night’s sleep” and “finish it in the morning.” It all made sense as I watched my Dad sit on the floor, forcing too-small screws into uncooperative holes.

He was stressed. My bursts of industriousness towards seemingly meaningless objects aren’t my stress responses. They’re my father’s stress responses and he taught me how to use them for good instead of evil.

I have always known that I inherited many of my Dad’s traits. From time to time, I find myself standing the way he stands, a cigarette loosely held between two fingers, head slightly to the side, arm outstretched like my German blood is trying desperately to be Italian. When people who know him well meet me, they often comment on how much I remind them of him, and they aren’t referring to the physical resemblence, which is tenuous at best. Despite my best internal efforts to convince myself I take more after my perpetually available, always helpful, long struggling and eternally forgiving mother, I can no longer deny it.

At 9:30, when he’s usually arguing with someone who is wrong on the internet or gluing little plastic pieces to bigger plastic pieces that will eventually turn into a model ship to put up with his other model ships before starting the process all over again with new little plastic pieces (Tangent: Yes, all you hobby model-builders out there confuse the hell out of me.), he’s fixing a bed frame that had been neatly filed as “I’ve been meaning to do that” for close to a year.

Maybe we secretly keep a long list of things to get around to one of these days just so we have something to do when the obsessive boughts of productivity come around. There’s no reason to waste a perfectly good psychotic episode on chores you already plan to do on Saturday afternoon. Besides, it’s hard to trim trees at night. It’s dangerous and the neighbors frown on hearing chain saws while they try to sleep.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what the driving force is. He did it because he was stressed. My stress didn’t cause his, but he empathized, internalized and decided to take up the meaningless task that I had suddenly found important. He’s my Dad, the Master Procrastinator and Assembler of Little Plastic Pieces, and, while he can’t put a band-aid on the boo-boo or take me out for ice cream, he can fix the stupid metal bed frame that’s pissing me off.

Because he’s my Dad, just as bad as I am with the emotional-interpersonal thing, and fixing that god-damned bed frame meant more to me than anything he could say.