Left Coast Cowboys

Photo by Flickrite Kelly Sue DeConnick

If you are familiar with this San Francisco favorite, you know there is no definitive recipe other than starting with the catch of the day — whatever that may be. And tomatoes. Then you could add sausage. Or not. And serve it on rice. Or spaghetti. Or as a soup. In other words, Cioppino is a grab-bag, just like this post. I’m hoping, if I throw in all the bits and pieces, nuggets and chunks I’ve been collecting over the past few days, it will all turn out beautiful and tasty. We’ll see.

First up: I’m having a blast with the Wine Country Wildflowers field guide I told you about in yesterday’s post. That’s the one that wisely categorizes things by color. I see a blue flower and I just flip to the blue chapter and scan through the glossy pictures until I find a match. The book also wisely puts the common name in big bold letters and the Latin names in little subordinate italics. Don’t get me wrong, I love Latin. Took years of it. But it just seems to take the fun out of flowers. Say I told you I had some nice stands of Liliacae, Mimmulus guttatus and Cynoglossum grande. You might yawn. If I told you they were Diogenes Lantern, Sticky Monkey Flower and Hound’s Tongue. Well, now you’ve got the picture.

Behold the Hound's Tongue. Named, I'm assuming, for the leaves.

See the resemblance?

Yes, I’m forming a Chapter of The Campaign for Real Plant Names. And I’m appointing myself President. Consider Henderson’s Shooting Star. I don’t know who Henderson is, but I love his flower. Apparently so did California Natives. They roasted the leaves and roots for dinner.

My wildflower book calls this "a perky little charmer". Its other name is just as descriptive: Mosquito Bills.

Thus ends the teaching portion of our program and we move to the question period. Where I ask the questions and, hopefully, you give me answers. You’ve probably guessed that the topic is going to be my misadventures with vegetables. So Question One: how do you tell when carrots are ready for harvest? Do I dig them up to check? If they aren’t ready, do I replant them? How do carrots feel about this?

I uncovered a little bit just for a peek. They aren't very orange. Not ready?

Similar question with Fava Beans, which I’m growing, not for beans, but as a nitrogen fixer and green manure. All my gardening books say they’ve “fixed” when the nodules on the roots turn pink. So, I pulled one up. Not ready.

I quickly replanted it, but I think my Fava will like this as little as the carrot did. There must be a better way.

Next question: how does anyone grow bulbs outdoors? Mine are dug up and chomped down by varmints as soon as I put them in the ground. That’s with a fenced raised bed covered with netting. And two terriers on patrol.

The remains of the feast.

Okay, bored with showing my ignorance. How about a quick check of this week’s highlights at Two Terrier Vineyards?

John the Baptist found the tracks of a Bobcat and a baby Bobcat. So I guess Bob the Bobcat will have to be rechristened Roberta. I rushed to take a picture of the track, but two terriers stomped all over the site before I could focus.

Cats walk with retracted claws. So I think this is the right print. It was the only one without toenail marks.

The Barn Swallows are getting set to build nests in the eaves of the barn. One little bird dude decided there was an evil interloper living in my wing mirrors.

I had to park 100 yards away before this little guy decided we were out of his personal space.

On a culinary note, I finally tried the American Bison meat that Sonoma Market has been pushing. Yeah, yeah, lower cholesterol, less fat. But what got me to buy was their great new slogan. And I’m always a sucker for a good tagline.

Buffalo: The Meat Americans were meant to eat.

The verdict: delicious! Especially when served with Sonoma produce (obviously not my own.)

So that’s it. Everything’s in the pot and hopefully coalesced into some sort of post.

Now be vewy, vewy quiet. We're hunting varmints.

I won’t say we’ve done everything right here at Two Terrier Vineyards. But we were blessed to be able to get hold of the ecological version of a blank slate. Then careful budgeting and perhaps a lack of ambition kept us from making irreparable mistakes. Our idea of landscaping was not so much planting things as building stuff out of the thousands of rocks that covered the property. Luckily, by the time we got done having retaining walls, stairs, a bocce court, an amphitheater and other things built, we had learned enough about this unique plot of land mostly to leave well enough alone. One of the exciting things about our land is that it’s never been developed, so it’s never been exposed to the meddling of traditional landscapers. In fact, the area was the scene of a pretty devastating fire about thirty years ago and, in the aftermath, was covered with an almost impenetrable covering of mesquite and weeds. That kept out most of the invasive species that people around here have traditionally planted. Things like Eucalyptus, Himalayan Blackberry and non-native grasses. Not that we didn’t plant some non-natives like Rhone grapes, olives and lavender, but at least they aren’t invasive. In fact, it’s hard enough to keep them healthy that there’s no fear they are going to crowd out the locals.

I thought this Houndstongue was an invasive species, but John assures me this is one of the good guys.

Our main “landscaping” has involved cutting back brush and Mesquite just for accessibility. And to keep the whole place from going up like a torch during California’s dry summer since typical California scrub plants have more oil content than the Exxon Valdez. Once we cleared the Mesquite, it was amazing how many California natives rushed in to occupy the space and how fast. I can modestly say that Two Terrier Vineyards is almost like a California Native Botanical Garden. We’ve got Checker Lilies and native Lupines, at least five different types of native Oaks, Madrones, Manzanitas and some wonderful hardy native grasses. Not that it hasn’t been a battle. I tell you, going native is a constant struggle, not the least against our own ignorance.

The pristine native creek -- with redwoods -- that we need to protect.

Case in point: Andy loved the look of the mustard that covers fallow vineyards throughout Napa and Sonoma and asked our vineyard manager to plant some. Which brought our trails guy, John the Baptist, to the point of a massive coronary. Seems mustard is not native and is very invasive. We should have planted some sort of native Lupine to put nitrogen back in the soil. Or at least Fava beans which don’t spread and crowd out the natives. So the next chore here is to plow under the mustard before it gets a foothold.

Our particular concern is protecting the unique ecosystem that is our seasonal creek. That would be the REAL creek, not the glorified drainage ditch that I told you about here. In the former, we have a gully deep enough and, until we bought the land, remote enough that it is home to a stand of 500 year old Redwoods that are vestiges of the Redwood forests that used to cover Sonoma when it was wetter, junglier and dinosaurs roamed the Earth. John the Baptist has impressed on us the urgency of keeping this area pristine. And we’re heeding his warning. Since mustard and other invasives wash down toward that creek, this called for desperate measures.

John the Baptist has morphed from gentle forest spirit to fiery Old Testament Prophet scorching the unworthy with the Lord’s fire. In 2010, that translates to a propane fueled flame-thrower thingy that’s smiting the interlopers before they can invade the pristine wilderness. Don’t like Biblical imagery? How about Johnny Storm from the Fantastic Four? Flame on, Johnny, flame on!

John the Baptist smiting weeds with the Lord's Fury.

Think that’s the end of it? Not hardly. We had straw bales brought in for flood control a few years ago. Seems, if you don’t specify a certain kind, you get bales filled with seeds, especially of the invasive kind. So a particularly invasive thistle seed has been leaching out of those bales and working its way down the hill. Now, luckily, to be stopped by John and his fiery weapon of destruction.

Landscaping, to misquote Pat Benatar, is a battlefield. Luckily, we’ve got John the Baptist and his crew doing the Lord’s Work.

There, I’m just going to say it: I got an F in Spanish 1B this Fall Term. Now I’m going to explain. With more enthusiasm than foresight, I signed up for both HTML Programming and Spanish 1B last fall, completely ignoring the fact that Fall Term runs right through grape harvest and winemaking season. By midterm, it was clear I wasn’t going to make it through the courses. I’d had missed too many classes when called away by “winemaking emergencies”.

No problem. City College of San Francisco is nothing if not wired. You can manage the whole administrative side of your enrollment on-line. So I fired up the website after harvest one day and withdrew from HTML Programming. No such luck with Spanish. The little “withdraw” option button that was supposed to be there wasn’t. I tried on and off for a week or so to withdraw, but the button never appeared. Not at any time. Not in any browser.

Finally, I emailed the professor, told him of my issue and asked if he could withdraw me from the course. “Sorry” was the answer. “You’ve missed by one day the window to take a Withdraw. Now I’ll have to give you an F. Unless you come in and take the Final.”

Well, let’s see. A ton or so of grapes potentially rotting on the vine? Or an F in Community College? The decision was made easier when I was told I could see the Dean of Students and petition for a retroactive Withdraw. Little did I know that our Governator’s severe budget cuts to California colleges have ensured that the Dean seems to have no regular office hours any more. Maybe we don’t even have a Dean. Maybe he’s been replaced with an iPhone App. In any case, he’s uninterested in my plight. He’s not answering my phone calls and emails.

So, I let it drop. Really, it’s not as if that F will keep me from graduate school. As for learning Spanish, I signed up to retake the course this Spring Term. No harm, no foul.

Lucy promises to make me really hit the books hard this semester.

Until Andy made a joke in front of my mother about my big failing grade. Mom, who proudly watched me make my way through years of school with mostly As, is ready to bring the whole California system of higher education crashing down over this. Her daughter with an F? Unacceptable! Worse yet, she’s worrying herself sick about it.

“You need to be concerned about this F. What if they find out about it? You know they can find out anything on the Internets. I bet I could just look up your name and that F would be there.”

“Well, Mom. Who are “they”? My friends? They’re already laughing about it. Future employers? I’m self employed and I won’t fire myself. My seasonal vineyard workers? They already know my Spanish is crap.”

“Well, it’s on your permanent record now. Someone could find out about it and publish it.”

“Okay, when Barack calls me to defend the next endangered Democratic Senate seat, I’ll practice full disclosure. I’ll tell him all about the F. And about the sex tape I didn’t make. There will be no surprises at the Oval office. We’ll take a page out of George Bush’s playbook. I’ll chalk it up to youthful hijinks. And I’ll say I’ve found Jesus now.”

But still Mom’s got me worried. I mean, this has screwed up my grade point average, which I should tell you — modestly [blushes] — was 4.0 before this unfortunate incident. In fact, it should be noted that I had As in both courses at Midterm before I dropped out. I swear on a stack of Bibles, I’m not smoking or taking drugs. Just in case you thought I’d suddenly become a juvenile delinquent a few decades too late.

In fact, I’m headed to my first class tonight in do-over Spanish 1B. I promise to study hard. Don’t judge me harshly InterWebs.

Even Oscar's pitching in to keep the family from any more shame.

We always knew it would come to this. After 25 years of living in the same San Francisco Victorian and slowly redoing it room by room, we knew we’d eventually reach the point where we were back at the start, redoing the first room we redid. That would be the kitchen, which was barely functional when we moved in lo these many years ago.

We’d been in the place a month when we took sledge-hammers to the walls, gutted it and redid it. Not that we ended up with a dream kitchen. We were cash-strapped newlyweds, so we had one decorating mantra: “As Cheap As Possible.” Yes, our kitchen has long been the showroom for Home Depot’s cheapest assortment of everything circa 1985. Didn’t matter that it was a Victorian; Mexican tile was cheaper, so that’s what went on the floors. I would have liked white painted cabinets, but faux oak pressboard was on sale and the budget didn’t extend to paint. When we got a joblot of left-over tile, we thought we’d won the lottery. And Andy installed it all. The result: a somewhat functional kitchen, in theory, which was always, in reality, non-functional because of our enthusiastic, but uninformed do-it-yourself ethic. We know better now. And we have professional help in the form of our carpenter friend Dino, who will act as General Contractor. Andy is still Chief Architect, so I leave it to you, as the progress of our remodel unfolds on these electronic pages, if we’ve learned much of anything in the intervening decades.

So on The Eve of Destruction, I’ll go through what lessons we have taken to heart:

Be careful with tile. It seemed like a good (cheap) idea at the time. In reality, that grout got crusted with food and grunge immediately and was impossible to clean. There is a reason granite is popular.

That may have been because we mixed the grout ourselves and didn't know what we were doing. The new stovetop? That was purchased a few years ago and will remain in the new kitchen.

A center island with a faucet? Nice in theory. For us, it never really worked out well. Maybe because our kitchen is so small, the island caused us to scoot around the kitchen sideways and notice whenever we put on a few pounds.

I'll have one faucet and sink in the new kitchen. When I'm so decrepit that I can't walk across a small kitchen with a kettle of water, well, that's when I'll get Meals on Wheels.

The false beams? They were sourced from a scrap lumber yard and are not really structural.

File under: What Were We Thinking

The refrigerator is the real lesson learned. We bought a huge, deep one back in the day — because it was cheap and on sale. It only served to facilitate our “Condiment Alzheimers”. Either we truly have no short-term memory of condiment purchases or we live in fear that we will run out of salad dressing, cornichons, grated parmesan, jam and mustard. That’s why we have three containers of each at any one time lurking in the deep recesses of our refrigerator. Yes, we are hoarding condiments for the Apocalypse.

The new Fridge will be half the size and depth of this one. No more frightening "Condiment Graveyard".

You think I’m kidding about our Condiment Alzheimers? This is the refrigerator door AFTER a clean-out:

Calling all my friends? Need condiments? I'm having a "Going Out of Business Sale".

Here’s what I’ll be most glad to see the back of: those damned Mexican tiles. We couldn’t afford the sealant so they immediately sucked in all the dirt that we and pets tracked into the kitchen. It went downhill after that.

Here Lucy gratefully surveys the beginning of the removal of the tiles.

So let the Sledgehammering begin! And to all my friends and neighbors, I’m calling in all my dinner favors in the next months.

Parting shot: I know mixing a kitchen remodel with one of the great protest songs of the Sixties is going from the ridiculous to the sublime, but, for no other reason than I think Barry McGuire should get more airplay, here’s The Eve of Destruction.

?

It’s pouring down with the most intense tropical storm imaginable, so while I wait to find out if my snorkel trip is going to be cancelled or rescheduled, it’s a good time for a review. So here’s a recap of important things I’ve learned on this vacation:

Chill out! Eddie says the Mayan shamen assure him the world won't end in 2012.

1) Stop worrying about 2012.

Anyone who’s seen the trailer for the disaster movie is no doubt aware that the Mayan Long Count calendar ends in 2012. According to certain Hollywood producers, that means floods, planetary misalignment and a world of hurt for John Cusack. Well, my guide at the Mayan ruins of Lamanai is part Maya and he says he’s talked to contemporary Mayan shamen. They all concur that the end of the calendar just signifies the end of a religious cycle and the start of another. No calamities are predicted.

2) Speaking of the Maya, they were the fittest people in the world.

While the average Mayan must have been about 5 feet, the steps on their pyramids would be a long stretch even for an NBA player. Add that to all the canoeing the Mayans did up and down the river and these guys must have been solid muscle with lungs that never quit.

Are you as fit as a Mayan? Probably not. Bet they didn't need no steenkin' rope to race up their pyramids. And they did it in steamy jungle humidity.

3) Time is relative.

Belize Time is measured in Belize Minutes, which can be as long or as short as you want them to be. This can be useful, say, in the case of happy hour.

4) The Jaguar is the King of the Jungle, at least in this Hemisphere.

Males can weigh up to 350 lbs and grow to six feet long, excluding the tail. Only the lion and tiger are larger. The Jaguar is also the world’s largest spotted cat. While most big cats kill by severing the vertibrae in the neck, the Jaguar goes right for a head-bite and cracks the skull of its prey. Ouch. It’s believed this technique developed when much of the Jaguar’s diet came from turtles. It still hasn’t been explained to me what this magnificent animal has to do with a British luxury car.

Don't mess with the Jaguar. It has one of the strongest bites of any big cat. Photo: MarcusObal, Wikipedia.

5) It doesn’t matter if it rains on your Belize vacation.

You are going to be wet even in the dry season. Wet with sweat that is, the minute you get 50 yards off the beach and back into steamy tropical weather. Since we’re here at the tail-end of the rainy season, we’ve had drenching downpours every day. They last about ten minutes, then the sun is so hot it completely dries you out. Until you are drenched with sweat again. You really start to look forward to the rain.

6) It is possible to create country-wide support for environmentalism.

Somehow the Belizeans managed to do it. And it’s not just government policy. Every tour-guide preaches respect for Belize’s environment, there’s hardly a speck of trash to be seen anywhere (unlike most of the Caribbean which has always featured large landfills just outside of tourist areas), and many environmental programs are community, rather than government, sponsored. One such program is the Community Baboon Sanctuary which started as a joint grassroots project between landowners and communities. Only after self-policing conservation policies were enacted and innovative programs such as the building of “baboon bridges” to let the animals safely cross roadways did the government step in and make it official. And you’ve got to love a country where the Audubon Society is one of the power brokers.

All the good stuff is near the surface in Belize. No need to be certified.

7) Snorkelers are at no disadvantage in Belize

Sure you can’t snorkel the Blue Hole, but I’m questioning how much fun it is to spend a whole dive getting down to a huge pressure zone only to turn right around and start the slow process of ascending and decompressing. Many of the best coral formations are in areas less than 30 feet deep. If you are snorkeling on the surface, you can see everything the divers can see. Probably better. So who needs to strap on all the equipment and fuss with regulators. Plus, you get to stay well above the nurse sharks.

8 ) Nurse Sharks, harmless? Depends how you define that term.

Everyone around here always says that the abundant nurse sharks are harmless. And there don’t seem to be any attacks or bites that I’ve heard about. Still, the nurse shark feeds on crustaceans and shellfish and has jaws strong enough to crush them. So while nurse sharks are said to be safe “unless provoked”, I’m not going to test at which stage a nurse shark might feel provoked.

9) Ambergris Caye claims to be La Isla Bonita of Madonna video fame.

The lyrics do mention a tropical island and San Pedro, which is the only town on the Caye. So Ambergris has as good a claim to it as anyplace. However, I’ve been all through the town (there are only about four streets) and haven’t once seen anyone in a red flamenco dress or any little mermaid boys cavorting off the beach.

You can see and feel the storms coming here. They are fast, somewhat scary, but usually short-lived.

10) Belize is the Best!

I’ve been to my share of Caribbean destinations: the Windward Islands of St. Lucia, St. Vincent and Grenada; the Leeward Islands of Anguilla, St. Barth’s, St. Martin & Antigua; as well as the Cayman Islands. I’d have to say Belize is my favorite Caribbean destination, edging out my former favorite, Grenada.  Both Grenada and Belize have some of the same high scores on my Caribbeo Meter: lots of varied terrain, nice beaches, interesting culture, friendly people and lack of high-rise hotels and mass tourism. Both countries let you experience everything from the beach to rainforests to traditional cutlures. On our last trip to Belize, we stayed mostly in an eco-lodge up in the jungle highlands (the excellent Lodge at Chaa Creek) with a short few days jaunt down to the beaches. This time, we parked ourselves on the Caye and I made a day trip to the jungle. In a country the size of New Hampshire, seeing everything is pretty easy. Belize has also edged ahead of Grenada due to their commitment to eco-tourism and environmental stewardship. And the friendliness of Grenadans notwithstanding, I think the Belizeans have them beat in their constantly upbeat and friendly attitudes. Then there are all those Mayan ruins.

Go Belize. And go to Belize!