Fever-Induced Ramblings. And Fava Beans.

Still suffering from what must be the worst flu ever — headache, earache, sore throat, fever and chills — so this post will be short and nonsensical. Then padded out with lots of pictures.

I’m basing my planting schedule on the progress of the Fava Beans I’ve planted in my three raised beds. My plan was to harvest some and plow some under as green fertilizer after they’ve fixed nitrogen back into the soil. This is especially important in the middle bed where I was growing corn which is what farmers call a “heavy feeder”. That means corn sucks all the nutrients out of the soil. So here’s where I need Fava Magic the most. You can guess which bed the foxes decided to raid. My gardening books says I can tell if my Favas have fixed their nitrogen by “scraping the root nodules and looking for pink”.

Don't know about you, but I don't see any nodules, let alone any pink.

The foxes stole all the Fava Beans out of the planter where I really needed them. Guess I'll just liberally douse it with that "compost tea" I picked up at Santa Cruz Hydroponics.

I planted one lonely tomato in that middle bed just to feel I'd done something.

Meanwhile, on the part of the property that doesn’t rely on my intervention, things are going just fine, thank you very much. Makes me feel extraneous.

The Redbuds are in bloom!

And so is the one varietal that is determined to be the Two Terriers High Achiever: the Mourvedre.

Then there are the Fox Terriers, who haven’t done a thing to harass those garden-thieving foxes. 

But the Fence Lizards better watch out!

In fact, Oscar and Lucy are getting decidedly wolf-y and pack-y.

Which makes me think of Rudyard Kipling’s Hunting Song of the Seeonee Pack, the song Mowgli’s wolf brothers sang as they stalked through the jungle.

As the dawn was breaking the Wolf Pack yelled
           Once, twice and again!
       Feet in the jungle that leave no mark!

       Eyes that can see in the dark--the dark!
       Tongue--give tongue to it!  Hark!  O hark!
           Once, twice and again!

Except Oscar and Lucy have never caught anything. Or killed anything. Or hunted anything successfully…other than squeeky toys.

In fact, this is Oscar’s idea of hunting:

Sitting at the table hoping someone will serve him a full Cowboy Breakfast.