Jungles and Tornadoes, or just another Spring day in Oklahoma

Rock me, baby!

I was moping around yesterday morning, feeling sorry for my spoiled self.  It was overcast, threatening rain and tornadoes; and the storms, real and predicted, were the ruling topic of the weekend.  I call myself spoiled because I've played outside every weekend of this year, as if I have no responsibilities other than to hop on rocks.

Know anyone that would like a friendly rat?

My playground friends and I had been storm tracking on the weather sites - News9, weather.com, NOAA, newsok, etc.  The weekend forecast was being analyzed and broken down by hourly increments.  Would we have time to go somewhere to play?  Would we have time to come back and grab the furries and load them up in the car and try to outrun the storms?  (Not that I am recommending this, but I don't know what shelter might allow me to bring the 3 dogs, 2 cats, a rat, and a duck that are currently living at my house.)  The chances kept dropping like the barometric pressure.

I drowned my sorrows in my coffee mug at The Red Cup.  I looked prepared for the day in my new, one-size-too-big-but-they-had-every-size-but-mine-and-I-wanted-the-red-ones rain boots, with my "cranky" socks with a big hole in the heel.  My jeans were rolled up and my gray hoodie was going to keep me cozy and warm.  Too warm - it was steamy-muggy.  I might have looked prepared on the outside, but on the inside I was fighting it.  Why couldn't this stuff happen on a weekday?

Before

After

Friends rolled in and out of the Cup while I sulked.  One cheery friend pedaled over on her bicycle.  Her camping trip for the weekend had been cancelled, but she said that she was already "making lemonade" out of her now-free day.  Darn cheery people on a gray day.  Didn't she know that the sun gods were supposed to bail me out, like they usually do?  They were there last weekend when I did my first outdoor climbing trip at Quartz Mountain; even as we could see the rain streak past, but it didn't see us on the side of the granite wall.  They've been there on numerous trips to hike in the Wichitas.  Maybe those are only mountain sun gods.  Guess I need to make Facebook friends with the other sun gods and "like" their banal posts about what they are eating or where they have checked in. 


The topic of conversation makes a turn like a hook-echo and suddenly we're discussing gardens and yardwork.  One friend tells us about the jungle in her backyard that is getting so bad that she fears it might swallow her 3 1/2-year old child.  She said that the worse it gets, the more she tries to ignore it.  All it does is inspire her to work harder on beautifying the front yard (which is gorgeous, by the way).  We start planning a progressive garden gnome party, and suddenly my day brightens.

Before

Definitely "Before"

One machete, two weed-eaters, three friends, and four hours later the jungle has been tamed.  She really wasn't kidding.  This jungle could have easily sucked up a small child into its vortex - maybe even a couple of adults.  She had only mentioned how the grass was up to her son's shoulders.  What she failed to mention was the forest of volunteer trees wrapped in vines and hairy vetch.

During

While we worked, the wind gusted around us and the clouds blew past.  Occasionally, I would wonder what time the bad weather was supposed to hit.  The various weather experts had different opinions, even on the same sites.  I figured that we would hear the tornado sirens if it got really bad.  We continued to hack away until the jungle became a backyard again.

After

After

By the time we were done, seeds were already being planted in the mind to make a community garden.  The soil was rich from the vetch and other plants, and new compost was already being formed with the growth that was removed.  The former raised-bed hoophouse would make a great chicken coop (don't tell the city!).  The used-to-be jungle now had mulberry trees that could breathe again, with the vines cut and unwound from their trunks and branches.  Some pecan and oak trees remained to provide a green barrier from the sounds of the car wash on the other side of the fence.  There were several park benches that were spared from the dump when a mega-chain store axed the deli area.  The yard is now ready for summer dance parties.  I might even invite the sun gods.

Needless to say, four hours with a machete was all I needed to bring me out of a tornado-induced slump.  Or, maybe, it was the company of friends with nothing better to do on a stormy day than to organize an impromptu help-a-neighbor event.  It wouldn't have happened without the threat of violent weather.  Thank you, Oklahoma, for bringing me this gray day with some great people.  Looks like we made lemonade, after all.

Saving the mulberries, one twisty vine at a time

Water brought to you by Clouds, Current made extra fast by the courtesy of Wind, and Happy Toes made possible by Sunshine.

After

P.S. - In case you were worried, the sun gods and I kissed and made up.  I thanked the cloud and rain gods for filling the river, the wind gods for pushing my kayak downstream, and the sun gods for forgiving me for losing faith, just because I couldn't see them for a day.  All is right with the world again!

Abundance

 

Rob, Blair, Cynthia, and Doug unrolling and staking.

I had the honor of sharing in the Spring farming make-ready at Organic Gardens in El Reno last Sunday. The farm is situated among beautiful rolling pastures and wooden barns that are slowly returning to nature. By the time I arrived, there was already a small army of people busily preparing the beds for whatever our barbarous Oklahoma weather might bring. Last year, we had record-breaking low temps in the winter, and broke numerous heat records in the summer - including more than 60 days with temps in the triple-digits. We had a serious drought that tested the resilience of people and plants. Another farmer mentioned to me recently that he had heard that a mild winter, like what we just experienced, might mean a mild summer. Based on the extremes we had last year, I believe that it makes sense.

Rob and Cynthia make a great team

Mardel looks over her little green children

Last summer, Organic Gardens had several hundred tomato plants that combined only produced 20 pounds of tomatoes . This year, they are trying some new things and incorporating knowledge from the other side of the earth - Israel. Why Israel? Because this hot, dry country exports 85% of the food they produce. They have figured out how to grow food in an otherwise unfavorable climate. Mardel, the owner of Organic Gardens, along with her son, John, and John's girlfriend, Stephanie, are constantly making adjustments in order to maximize their results - much like the temperature and humidity "brain" in the greenhouse that is constantly taking readings and adjusting fans, flaps, vents, and water. The family calls upon the wisdom of their fellow farmers for ways to reduce heating costs in the winter, how to protect tender plants from the wind and heat, and how to turn one town's pollution (oyster shells) into another town's gold.

John explaining how the "brain" of the greenhouse works

PVC lettuce tubes line the tables.

As Ron put it, every work day should include knowledge sharing. This was definitely John's forte' and he rocked it. There is no detail overlooked on the farm. The design, the sustainability, and the footprint on this earth are considered in meticulous detail. Almost all of the materials inside the greenhouse are recycled. The wood was salvaged from construction sites. The metal legs for the tables were also recycled, as well as functional because the mice can't climb the slick metal, so they can't tear through the seedlings like children opening presents on Christmas morning. There are plans for additional insulation, thermal heating that involves 55-gallon drums of water, a compost pile to generate heat in the winter, and more improvements to the watering system that save labor and water. There is no resistance to change here. Ideas are volleyed around on the spot and collaboration makes anything possible. My mind was overwhelmed and only caught a fraction of what was being discussed. I am poorly over-simplifying and paraphrasing the discussions, but I know that I want to keep coming back and soaking up a little more each time.

Rene and Doug cleaning up the beds from last season

Our job on this day was to prepare the beds for mostly tomatoes and sweet potatoes. Let me tell you what this does NOT include. There was no hoeing. There was no plowing. There was no roto-tilling. There was no weeding. The only tools used were a few hammers and mallets and a pair of scissors. A couple of weeks ago, horse manure from a Piedmont farm was spread directly over the weeds and the last of the winter crop of pea greens. Today, we added bags of leaves, wood mulch, and coffee grounds on top of the manure. Three rows of drip tape were unfurled down the length of each bed. Then, weed fabric with a loose enough weave to allow water penetration was rolled out on top of the organic matter. It was a blustery day, to put it gently, so the whole process required the coordination of many hands in such a way that the wind was not allowed to spoil the work.

Work crew surveying their progress

Ann and Michael spreading nitrogen-rich compost

Somehow, in between leaf fights, tackling, and efforts that required nothing less than Sumo-wrestler sounds; we still managed to stake down all of the beds so that the recipe ingredients could cook up a moist, fluffy ground - rich in earthworms. The weed fabric will provide warmth on the cooler days and shade in the warmer months. Small holes will be made in order to plant the crops, while keeping the undesired plants out. In between the beds, we left a very small gap. Just enough space to plant giant sunflowers and okra that will serve dual-purpose as shade and wind blocks. The flower heads can later be dried and sold at the farmer's market as bird feeders, and the okra can be sold and shared.

Sally thinks the weed fabric makes a great hideout

With all of the volunteers we had that day, we were also able to go ahead and pull up the weed fabric and drip tape from last year's beds, salvaging and recycling every bit. We had plenty of help from Sally, the resident cat, as well as a salamander or two that helped Blair invent some new dance moves for her birthday party that evening. John later remarked that we had accomplished three to four weekends worth of work in that one day. 

Stephanie and Mardel working together under the approval of Sally the Cat

 

Just a tad bit on the windy side

Tricia pauses long enough for a photo op

It wasn't all work, though. The day also included a tour of the greenhouse and everyone got to pick out some plant starts to take home, as well as a windowsill lettuce tube and giant tulips the color of lemon meringue. Lunch was a combination of contributions from everyone. There was quiche made with eggs from Doug's farm, homemade wheat bread, salad freshly-picked, homemade pickles and peppers, peanut butter chocolate chip brownies, and more. When the work was done for the day, we were treated to the house specialty - margaritas.

Ron brings a wealth of experience

All participants agreed that we'd like to come back in two weeks and do the same preparation on the north beds. A community had been created in those few hours, and I believe that we all feel a personal bond with the farm and each other. We left smelling oh-so-organic and anticipating the food-futures that we are helping to create.  

Do you know where your food comes from?

Nature's own pest control

Taking the Plunge

The alarm clock went off and I giggled as I reached to turn it off. Not my usual morning attitude, for sure! But, this morning was different. It's a Saturday. It's 40-something degrees outside with a windchill in the 30s. The sun is on hiatus. It's a perfect day for Park Tavern's 15th Annual Polar Bear Plunge!

Twenty-four hours earlier, the plunge seed was planted. Why not? It has been an amazingly warm winter, so far. What better year to do this? Besides, the day before was almost 70 degrees. By lunchtime, my mind was made up - I was going to do this, regardless of whether or not I could get anyone to go with me. Fortunately, I have LOTS of crazy friends, so by morning we had a lovely party of four.  

When we rolled into Medicine Park a little before noon, the Park Tavern was not yet open and Bath Lake was quiet with just a couple of fishermen and some Canada geese. We stopped in at Mrs. Chadwick's Bakery and shared coffee, a buttery cinnamon roll, and a melty-delicious coffee cake. Mrs. Chadwick told us about her first experience with the plunge just a year earlier. She and her husband were getting ready to open the bakery and were busy painting and hammering. Suddenly, the street outside was mobbed with crowds of people in crazy hats and bathrobes, all marching north. They put down their hammer and paintbrush in time to witness their first plunge. 

We met veteran-plunger, Savannah - the mayor's daughter. In her hoodie and braces, Savannah told us about her first plunge two years ago. She said that she was in such shock when she hit the water that someone had to help push her to the steps to climb out. She warned her young companions that they shouldn't jump, because she was afraid that they would drown someone else in their panic. I wanted her to stop talking. Does the mayor take the plunge? Negatory. We decided it should be a requirement for the job.

By now, the Park Tavern was open and filling up. This is the meeting spot before and after the plunge. We got beers and t-shirts commemorating the event. I asked the woman selling the shirts if she had ever jumped. Looking guilty, she confessed that she has failed to jump for 15 years in a row. I decided that the onlookers who believe that we are out of our minds are every bit a part of the event as the plungers. The excitement and adrenaline that they create definitely helps us forget the cold. The giggle I woke up with stayed with me all day, as well as the Billy Joel song, You May Be Right.

At 2:00, "Santa" leads the motley brigade of bathrobes, biker boots, swim rings, and marching band hats (almost everyone in town owns one, since the owner of the Park Tavern ordered 100 one year for the town residents to wear for caroling). The parade travels through town to Bath Lake. Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick were enthusiastically waving and giving us the thumbs-up from the bakery window when we passed. We crossed the bridge to the rock island and waited for the signal. When Santa jumps in, the rest follow suit, like lemmings. This is Santa's annual bath. Many years, the lake is covered in ice that has to be broken before the plunge. Last year, the plunge was delayed for a few weeks, because the ice was too thick. One plunger who told us this was her 10th jump, described the first five as miserable because of the ice. Why she continued to jump each year was beyond me!

So, how was it? I am not a fan of cold. I dread winter each year. I count down til Spring. And, I jumped in that water like it was summer. So did everyone else. Maybe it was the group mentality, or the adrenaline rush, or the beer - but, for some reason, it wasn't nearly as cold as I expected. Although, my cheeks were seriously sore from the smile that stayed on my face. It was a most amazing experience - "cleansing," as one friend put it.

Afterwards, we stripped out of wet clothes in the parking lot; struggled to put dry clothes over our frozen, wet skin; and headed back to the tavern. It was 2:32. We drove an hour and a half each way for a 32-minute event (including time to change clothes). That's right. And, I can't wait to do it again. Back at the tavern, the band Soul Survivor was entertaining the crowd while sandwiches and venison chili were being served. I felt like one of the locals. We had been initiated.

At the end of the day, there was one brave person that stood out in my mind. It wasn't even one of the plungers - that doesn't take bravery, just an affinity for adventure. It was Mrs. Chadwick. She greeted us that morning with her bald head hidden under her hat, and a smile that couldn't be hidden - even behind her face mask that she had adorned with a small paper mustache. (As long as she has to wear a mask, she said, she might as well have some fun with it.) She couldn't be at the water's edge this year, because she is undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. Newspaper clippings are hung on the wall behind the counter - featuring residents of the small town. We were warned that the town reporter would be in the front row taking pictures of the plungers. She promised us that she would save the pictures for us if we made the paper. Her excitement for us was contagious, and we had to stop in the bakery for high-fives afterwards. Next year, when her hair grows back and she has conquered cancer, I think she can surely dominate the 16th Annual Polar Bear Plunge. We'll be back to take the plunge with her and cheer her on.

Tasting Oklahoma

Whole wheat, pecan pancakes and PrimaCafe coffee start this morning off.  Some days it is Wagon Creek Creamery's non-fat Greek yogurt with honey and granola.  Or, I saute' some rosemary potatoes with onions and peppers and scrambled eggs.  I still haven't outgrown my peanut butter and honey lunches.  Dinner is often a colorful array of veggies - roasted or steamed - with pasta or chicken.  Peaches and apples (with peanut butter!) make a delicious snack this time of year.  Why am I making you hungry with all this discussion of food?  Because, these foods all have one thing in common - they are from Oklahoma.  Besides, if you know me, you know that I LOVE food!

An article in the paper the other day about the recent listeria deaths from cantaloupe stated that, "it's virtually impossible to sit down and eat a meal and eat food that hasn't come from all over the world."  Nonsense!  We just experienced the hottest summer in the history of Oklahoma (second hottest in the history of the nation), and our farmers persevered and continued to grow and harvest what they could.  While my garden seemed to burn (like many things I attempt to cook), the farmers' markets never failed me.

Let me explain what I mean by "farmers' market".   I don't mean the new Sunflower Farmers Market grocery store in Oklahoma City.  I don't mean the so-called "farmers' market" downtown that sells products from Texas, California, Florida, Mexico, Guatemala, and other foreign places.  When I say "farmers' market", I mean only those markets that sell only Oklahoma products.  Specifically, I mean the Friday Midtown Market (Urban Agrarian) by St. Anthony's, the Saturday market at OSU-OKC, and the Sunday Fresh Foods market (Urban Agrarian) in front of Cheever's (or the Urban Agrarian and Earth Elements new location at SW 2nd and Ellison when the weather is uncooperative).  There may be others, but you might have to do a little searching to be sure you are buying Oklahoma products.  A seller at OSU-OKC also tipped me off to the Bixby produce.  Bixby has a produce wholesaler that resells produce from Oklahoma as well as other states.  So, just a fair warning - if it says it's from Bixby, it may not have been grown in Bixby!  The Oklahoma Food Coop is another fantastic place to get your Oklahoma-local products (not just food - there are also various items like laundry detergent, artwork, wool yarn, etc.).
 

What about when items aren't in season?  My freezer is full of chopped onions, peppers, and zucchini as well as peeled and sliced peaches, steamed spinach and kale, and sliced patty pan squash.  I used to get overzealous at the farmers' market, only to end up feeding my compost bin more than I fed myself.  Since then, I've learned some valuable tricks to waste less and eat more.  One of my favorite people, Bob Waldrop, has got a fantastic blog with pure genius ideas on a plethora of subjects surrounding sustainability. 

I couldn't end this topic of discussion without promoting a garden of your own.  Nothing can beat the satisfaction of walking out to your garden in bare feet and snipping a few herbs or picking a few peppers to toss into whatever you're cooking at the moment.  Those rosemary potatoes I mentioned earlier? That rosemary, by some miracle, survived the summer drought in my neglected flowerbed (yes, I mix edibles with my flowers in the front yard) and continued to grow.  When the temperatures finally dropped back into the double-digits, I was amazed to discover that not only my rosemary, but also the oregano, sweet potatoes, basil, cilantro, and chives have all survived some serious heat, drought, and neglect.  I won't mention all of the other things that weren't so lucky.  I definitely have wholehearted respect for our Oklahomie farmers working long, hard days to give us food that is healthy and safe for us to eat.  It's a year-round effort, with no guarantees that Mother Nature won't spoil their bounty.

Is your mouth watering for some whole-wheat pecan pancakes now?  I'll share the recipe, right off the bag of GO Organic whole wheat flour from Fairview, OK, I bought at the OSU-OKC market, with the local options in parentheses:

John's Farm -- Favorite Family Recipe

Whole Wheat Pancakes

3/4 to 1 cup whole wheat flour (GO Organic, Fairview, OK)

2 t. baking powder

1/2 t. salt

2 T. honey (George's Apiary, Noble, OK)

1 T. oil (substitute applesauce from Earth Elements, OKC, OK)

1 cup buttermilk, or milk (Braum's!)

1 large egg (this week it is Bourlons Hilltop Farm, Sparks, OK)

Optional ingredients: blueberries, strawberries, 1 cup well-cooked rice, or 1/2 cup chopped nuts (I chose pecans from Peach Crest Farms, Stratford, OK)

For more recipes and local food ideas, check out one of my other favorite blogs by one of my other favorite people, Tricia Dameron.

Happy, healthy eating!

Gone Noodlin'

It has become a rite of passage - to be considered an Okie, you must attend the Okie Noodling Tournament in Pauls Valley.  Noodling, for those of you too northern to know, is the sport of catching fish sans hook and bait - just two bare hands and two lungs of breath.  Initiation begins when you double-park your truck on the grass and start the tailgating.  Break out the coolers of beer, jean cut-off shorts for men and women alike, and release the tats for all to see. 

July 9th was the 12th annual Okie Noodling Tournament, and my official induction as an Okie after almost 36 years here.  Mercury reaching 109 didn't stop thousands from flocking to the park for a day-long festival for all ages.  After passing the moon-bounce and Indian taco stands, we set up our shade tent and camp chairs for an afternoon of full-on, people-watching entertainment.

Bands played on one stage throughout the afternoon, while trucks rolled in with their hand-caught treasures.  The fish were hauled out for official weigh-in, with the biggest going in a tank on the main stage.  Others went into a trailer with clear sides for all to watch demonstrations on the finer points of noodling.  Who knew that you could wear your ball cap underwater while you grabbed a catfish out of his hole?

There was limitless entertainment when it came to apparel.  The obvious choice was any combination of red-white-and-blue, camo, overalls, and questionable t-shirt screenprints.  I was slightly disappointed in the lack of mullets and rat-tails, though there were a few (real and fake) spotted.  Professional film crews were busy capturing the details for the unfortunate ones who are unable to attend in person.

I am proud to now be able to say that I've been noodling.  Even though it was only in a large water tank in the back of a pickup, I still reached in the murky water and grabbed a HUGE catfish by his lower jaw and pulled him into the air.  The Redneck Wars team that rightfully caught the fish in the river claim that he was about 25 pounds, but I swear he was at least 60.

New friends are made over t's and teeth

Now that I had that under my belt, I am onto my next quest - being crowned Noodling Queen.  It appears that there were only two contestants for the sash and crown.  I don't recall seeing any information anywhere on how to get my name added, but I will be back next year and I will be prepared.  I bought a bump-it, cut off a pair of jeans short enough for my pockets to hang out, and scoured the internet for a confederate flag bikini.  Reigning Noodling Queen - look out!  Your days are numbered.

Lil trophy for his lil catch

When the last pickup rolled up to the weigh-in station, the awards began.  There are cash prizes up to $1000 for the top noodling teams.  Categories include total pounds of fish caught, biggest fish, biggest catch by a female and by a minor, and smallest catch.  The humble man who hauled his 7-lb catch to the weigh-in (biggest catch of the day was 60 lbs, for comparison) actually stuck around to receive his tiny trophy and pose for a picture for me - grinning the whole time.

Pauls Valley has come a long way since the first Noodling Tournament 12 years ago when just 50 people attended.  This year, there were over 6,000 who sweated it out in Wacker Park.  While the beer is abundant and the teeth few, it is a crazy and peaceful experience - unless you are a catfish.  Needless to say, I'm "hooked".

Winning catch weighing in at 60 whopping pounds!