Monday, August 22, 2016

Woodshed DIY Resources


August DIY Update: 
Woodsheds Again

In the Western states, our summer dry season is approaching its end. (Sometimes in a fiery burst of heat. Our sympathy to the folks currently threatened by active wild fires; we're feeling very lucky NOT to be fighting big wildfires yet in the Okanogan County this year, for once.)

Our wood shed - already stocked
with about 1 winter's supply
for our rocket mass heater
If you need a woodshed, or a bigger or better woodshed, to hold all that lovely wood you've harvested and split this spring, it would be a REALLY good end-of-August project for this week.

Properly dried and stored fire wood can provide more than double the same heating energy as damp or green wood. (Soaking-wet wood can act as a fire extinguisher, meaning dry wood is infinitely more effective as a heating fuel.)

A good woodshed is not just storage out of the rain – it's a clever wood-drying machine. The shape and structure promote great ventilation, often using slatted sides or racks, and sometimes featuring dividers so you can run two years' supply side-by-side with ventilation between each row. Good wood sheds keep not just rain but groundwater and evaporating moisture from remaining anywhere near your precious fuel stores. 

A good wood shed should be so well-ventilated it's almost windy inside. If your climate is very humid and foggy, you might need to consider a design with some heating function to dry the air - perhaps an enclosed shed whose metal or clear plastic roof helps it functions like a solar dehydrator, or a storage attached to your heated space such as a mud-room, lean-to, or the back corner of a shop or barn. 
(In most climates, these heated spaces are not necessary to achieve dry wood, and the risk of bringing wood-eating bugs into a large wooden building may outweigh the convenience and drying speed associated with heated spaces.) 

Common structures that can double as wood-drying storage include a well-ventilated greenhouse, barn, daylight basement, or a temporary fabric structure such as a canopy tent or suspended rain-fly tarp. 

Bad ideas for wood sheds include almost all tarped-over woodpiles on the ground.  Unfortunately, these often act more as moisture-trapping mushroom farms than as dry storage. Basements are another location that may be useable for storing already-dried wood, but may be too damp or lack the necessary ventilation for a reasonably fast initial drying and curing process.

If you would not leave books or linens in your wood storage, for fear of damp and mold, consider improving it.
Assembling a 24-foot-wide bow shed carport
(yes, it's taller than our 24x36 cabin)

We are also in the middle of building an extra-big carport, using the largest approved size of “bow-truss” from some university extension service barn plans we found online. 

The main motive for this project is actually ice-free access to our vehicles while Ernie recovers from an elective surgery this fall.  But I'm definitely looking forward to stacking a little bit of extra firewood in here for convenient access this winter.  (and possibly to creating an entryway/greenhouse....)



Here are some great resources for building an inexpensive, spacious woodshed:

Simple shed roof with tilt-up walls:

A bow-shed greenhouse much like ours (this company does sell plans and accessories, but similar plans are also available elsewhere for free).

Barn construction details for those with loftier ambitions - MANY designs and details free to download from North Dakota extension service, well-adapted for snow and wind loads:

Many barn and shed (and other ag building) plans from Tennesee extension service– try #6100 for a nice simple shed, or #6298 for a gothic-arch bow-shed, greenhouse, or carport:

If you already have a woodshed you love, please send a picture, or share pictures or links in the comments below.

Thanks for reading!
Yours,
Erica and Ernie

Countdown to the New Normal

If our bodies made logical sense, we would be robots.

A lot has happened since I wrote the posts for May - including some lovely professional opportunities, re-connecting with old friends and colleagues, and making new memories.

But in the last couple of months, the excitement about bringing out The Book has been overshadowed by health concerns.  We have two relatively urgent medical upheavals in our lives right now. (Along with the usual number of chronic concerns, if there is such a thing as "usual number" of those.)

One is the news that Ernie's mother Peggy has had a serious downturn in her longstanding battle with cancer. The other is that after trying a lot of alternatives, we finally have been referred to an excellent surgeon, who says there is a very good chance of a successful below-the-knee amputation for Ernie.  This is a HUGE decision, but it's one that Ernie has already researched, and made up his mind a few years ago was the next logical step to move forward.

(The weeks between organizing Peggy's hospice care, and going to meet this new surgeon and find out what was possible for Ernie, have been a VERY difficult time to stay focused on work tasks.  But now I seem to be back in the saddle for logistics and follow-through.)

If Ernie's insurance gives the green light for this surgery, we need to allow for a year to 18 months of post-surgery recovery and adaptation.  After that, we get to discover our "new normal." 
  We can look forward to possible reductions in pain (currently between 7-10 pain level most days), and significant reduction in the infections he's been experiencing the past year and a half. 
  I hope we can enjoy a lot more water-sports (many amputees are active kayakers, sailors, and swimmers), and better options for bicycling again.  Most travel should become significantly less painful and risky, as well, though we may need to be stricter in our criteria for ADA-accessible destinations.

We have also been warned to expect that construction, especially lifting, twisting, and balance-type activities, are extremely difficult after any leg amputation. The prosthetic socket represents sort of a bendy break in the lower leg, which is a weak point under sideways stresses such as torque, bending, or shear (unstable as well as very uncomfortable).  The surgeon and prosthetist we talked to have worked with a number of drywallers, builders, firefighters, and fishermen, and these folks rarely return to the same work after an amputation.  (The longest example the surgeon has seen lasted about 2 years at drywalling, and that was a guy who was highly motivated to keep supporting his family.  It was just extremely difficult to do that kind of work.)
  The most successful people in adapting to life after amputation are good "outside the box" thinkers, who can find new ways to perform familiar tasks now that their body has a new shape and new limits.  We all agreed that Ernie is very likely to remain well above average activity levels; he is intrinsically highly motivated, and highly adaptable.

You can imagine this involves a lot of discussion about our work and life together.  We may be sending me alone to honor some existing commitments, and identifying and cancelling those optional things that have to give way to higher priorities. 

Ernie wants to "support me" in going ahead and doing things without him, things that might take my mind off all this, like fire fighting, book signing, and scheduled events where I get to shine as a featured expert. 
However, I find fame is a poor substitute for creative partnership.  Performing under the limelight doesn't come naturally to me when my heart's priorities are on what's going on back home.



I've resumed mutually-supportive dates with two of our local friends, and phone check-ins with a couple of family members.  A few regular people who ask me how it's going once a week, and especially those who don't mind taking the time to discuss detailed work logistics, family concerns, and other problems, are much appreciated.

We had a lovely "angel visit" from our friend Tyler this weekend, who helped with construction (see next post) as well as prep and playing with natural plasters and goat cheese.

I'm currently organizing my chore lists, so I can delegate somewhat in case of offers from other angels with time to spare.

Yours,
Erica (and Ernie) Wisner

Sunday, May 22, 2016

All the Pretty, Amazing Mothers (part 4 of 4)

Among my earliest memories is a beloved and familiar voice singing a lullaby in my childhood bedroom.  The warm coverlet with its broad plaid stripes in shades of brown, orange, gold, and green.  Darkness obscuring the shapes in the wallpaper.  And the mellow, sweet voice, familiar and unforgettable:

"Way out yonder, in the meadow,
All the pretty little horses...
Dapples and greys, pintos and bays,
all the pretty little horses!
When you wake, you shall have
All the pretty little horses..."

I'm sure there was a "go to sleep" in there somewhere, but it was lost among all the pretty horses.

With a godmother like Mary Ann, it would have been difficult to avoid going horse crazy.  She was in her teens when I was born, and I remember a later visit to Portland where she carefully offered me a selection of her almost-best model horses.  I probably still have the grey appaloosa, with the same broken foot that it had when she gave it to me, and its beautifully detailed conformation. Appaloosas were always her favorite.  I preferred bays as a child (to the point where my parents got me a Lone Ranger Silver horse toy with articulated legs, but repainted it brown with a black mane and tail for me).  I had a Grizzly Adams donkey whose muzzle I shaved after it became apparent to me that real horse-kind had velvety muzzles, not fuzzy hairy ones.

When I was about 10, Mary Ann was instrumental in setting me up with a skilled, pragmatic, and foxy riding trainer called Christina Traunweiser.  Some years my parents would pay for lessons, some years I would work for them.  The process of mucking out stalls every weekend in my formative years means a shovel is still the tool I know best (aside from paper and pencil).

Mary Anne teaching a horse and rider
Unlike Mary Anne, I eventually got over the "I want a pony" feeling.  I know exactly how much work a horse is, and unless I achieve a rare state of rural life and surplus income (or have work suitable for a horse or mule to earn its keep), I am more than content to share the pleasures of other people's horses.

Mary Ann finally got her ponies when she married Craig Stevens, and now teaches classical equitation in Snohomish, WA.  (I delight in hearing stories of my nieces, and my mother, getting a riding lesson from Mary Ann on their visits.)

The music continued too. I loved singing together at family gatherings, and Mary Ann and my dad were definitely ringleaders in that regard.

And although glittery pink ballgowns were not really her style, she did play "dress you up for the ball" one school-shopping trip when we blew our budget on a formal dress jacket instead of the expected jeans.  I wore it to a variety of dances and formal occasions for years.

....

Wicked Evil Stepmother
Kacy claims to be our W.E.S., but she is not very good at it. She married my father at a time when all of us kids were lining up to get married, and just so happened to have ten years as a professional wedding planner under her belt.  And she's a highly skilled photographer.

(Since she doesn't love being in front of the camera very much, I was just going to represent her with a casual selection of her work.  But someone caught her on her way to ride bikes with my Dad for his birthday last month - something he used to do daily, but she hasn't done since getting hit by a car at age 13... a pretty special birthday treat for him.  I'll let Facebook decide how long it's available to show here.)

For our brief attempt at being commercial chocolateurs, she took sumptuous process shots, jazzed up our table with bronze chiffon and sparkle lights, and then presented us with matching chocolate-themed aprons to wear at the event.

But my most wicked-favorite thing about Kacy (besides how much she and my dad care for each other), is her sense of humor.

She and Ernie are closer in age than either is to their spouse, and they can make each other laugh like few people I know.  As a result, Kacy has gotten some truly charming photos of Ernie. Most other photographers capture dramatic tension, rugged intensity, self-criticism, or just a stern thousand-yard stare.  But with Kacy around, you get to see in pictures some of the genuine fondness and delight he usually reserves for trusted family.

Kacy has that rare combination of creative genius, organizational planning ability, and deep loyalty.

All in all, catastrophically mis-cast in the "wicked evil stepmother" role.

...

My mother-in-law and mother-out-law (not sure which is which) are very different from each other, but both are fun to be with.

Peggy enjoying Ernie and Erica's wedding
Peggy Myers is spunky, full of curiosity and enthusiasm, a stalwart Believer (though the church may vary, the faith remains strong).  I love hearing her pronounce her delight in a new discovery, a charming shop, or a clever gardening trick: "I just think that's neat!"  Peggy loves trying new restaurants, finding a tea shop we can share, learning more about local businesses, getting involved with neighbors, and introducing friends to each other. She has remained close friends with neighbors from our former shared address in Portland, and is probably the single most reliable person to give us a call and say "How was your day?"
 
Jeanine and Tai,
a rescued Arab horse.

Jeanine Wisner is enjoying retirement on her one-horse ranch, after a career as a small-business accountant, commercial fishing, and a memorable sojourn in Japan.

We definitely took advantage of her accounting advice early in the business setup.

It's nice to have someone right within walking distance for the occasional "girl chat." Sometimes with cream puffs, white wine, or a hot cup of tea. Sometimes with deep forays into social mores, politics, or the right relationship between humans and the rest of life on Earth.

When we're not being profound, we like cooking treats for each other (she makes wicked fried chicken; Ernie has perfected a honey-shrimp recipe that was one of her favorites at a Chinese restaurant; and I seem to be most popular lately for those cream puffs.) And swapping fiction novels for some mental R&R.
...


My sisters and sister-in-law are amazing mothers, too.  As are many of our cousins and friends.

I continue to admire every gal who manages to wear the "mother" hat and be herself at the same time.  It's not easy to be the focus of someone's fantasies, physical needs, and developing personality 24/7.  Raising children is a collaborative art, with the parents, the child, extended family, and the larger society all playing a role.


Some writers have started wishing "happy mother's day" to men, especially those with the courage and stamina to take on the critically important, early-childhood parenting that remains a bastion of feminine influences and expectations.  Most mothers do not have the police called on them when they sit on a park bench supervising their child's play, for example.  Fathers, uncles, aunts, in-laws, grandparents, and friendly neighbors who participate in raising healthy children, alongside those iconic mothers young and old, create a richer life for the family and our future.

Keep it up.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Grandmothers' Secret Lives (Moms part 3 of 4)

When I say "grandma," what comes to mind?

Extra-emphatic smile lines and grey hair?  The world's best babysitter, baking cookies, knitting booties, tending colic?  "You drive like a grandma," implying excessive caution, or perhaps the terror of failing eyesight and reflexes?
A few people will have specific memories of meddling mentors, mother surrogates, or creative elders sweeping in like a fairy godmother.

I do have vivid memories of knitting and sewing projects with both my grandmothers, both for fun, and for events like weddings and school plays.

I also have is something that many people my age didn't.  Our hallway wall sported portraits of my grandmother Mary in a lab coat, my great-grandmother with a superb horse.  Grandma Enid's name once listed at #6 on the top-ten list for welding yardage in her Swan Island ship-yard.

Seeing those examples before I was old enough to read meant that I grew up without certain mental barriers, with a wider field to imagine my own future.

There was no sense that women couldn't, or shouldn't, or weren't capable, of ANYTHING.  The unspoken assumptions that stopped many friends from considering a career in the sciences, or the trades, didn't seem to affect me in the same way.

The lab coat didn't stop GrandMary from being elegant when she wanted to be, either.
This image first appeared on my brother's blog,
in his 2016 post entitled "Lady Science."
https://rwillritter.wordpress.com/
The other thing I remember about that hallway is that while Grandmary looks attentively elegant in her pearls, the expression is almost bored compared with the lab picture.  In her lab coat, she is not looking at the camera - she is handling some test tubes in a rack, and smiling to herself.

The intrinsic pleasure of challenging work, done well, seems like a critical value to absorb in childhood (or as soon as possible thereafter).

I don't have a photo of Grandma Enid in her welding gear, but I have vivid mental pictures from her stories.  Stunts like driving off a feckless teen admirer by shocking him with her welding stinger, if possible while he was standing in a puddle; racing across the logs in the parking lot for the carpool home; swapping jobs with some of the bigger welders and squeezing into interior spaces that were more accessible to her small frame, until the supervisors insisted that everyone do their fair share of all types of assignments. 

Her talent for writing great stories made all her other careers come alive: being a 19-year-old high-production welder. A gifted seamstress whose family managed to publish her wedding banns on 2 weeks' notice, compelling her to come up with a wedding dress in the middle of what she thought was a normal 2-week visit home.  Being a student of home architecture and a resourceful homemaker (she had to be, raising 4 children in 27 different homes while Grandpa's career on hydropower plants took them all over the Western USA).
She even wrote evocatively about the embarrassment of being a rural cousin bathing in a bucket during the Dust Bowl (it wiped out their indoor plumbing when the well filled with mud), and about the hallmarks of widowhood.

Through all the stories, there run threads of humor, resilience, and the pluck to make the best of any situation.  It was my privilege to spend a couple of Grandma Enid's final years in close contact, as a part-time caregiver, and she is one of the most intimate ancestors in my personal pantheon.


Mycology, welding, and throwing convention to the winds.  My great-grandmother Nan was known for bypassing the hounds on a fox-hunt, and for starting a successful business after the family fortunes tanked in 1929.  My great-great-grandmother accompanied her missionary husband to the Dakotas, figured out how to pluck chickens in kid opera gloves, and walked through a blizzard to give birth to her first child.

My lady ancestors always set their own definition for "ladylike."

My forefathers had their own creative quirks, but that's a story for another time.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Thank You, Mom (Part 2 of 4)

This is for my first-and-always mother, Eleanor. 


I have plenty of second-hand anecdotes and fragments of my early life, including snow bunnies and snow dolphins, mountain walks identifying iconic Northwest plants, and little sailboats made of Tupperware with clay mast-steps and leaf or paper sails in the rare California rains.

The earliest memory that I clearly recall is her absence.

While she was giving birth to my next sister, at home, I was sent to the neighbors across the way for the night.  It may have been my first night away from home (surely at 2 years old, there would not have been many sleep-overs yet? Unless you count being born, myself, in a hospital).

I know this is my first memory, not my mother's, because I remember something she never knew: not fear, nor just separation or strangeness, but CANDY.

These well-intentioned neighbors had an ENORMOUS jar of COLORFUL candy - I believe it was something like Jelly Bellies.  Throughout the night, I seem to remember being allowed to choose one more candy from the jar a COUNTLESS number of times.  Countless as only unforseen abundance can be to a pre-literate child - a candy jar taller than oneself, like a magical apparition to a child accustomed to firm, healthful, and thrifty limits.

I don't know if I actually fell asleep.  But regardless of the fussing and screaming that I'm sure they put up with, they would probably be pleased to know that the glow of hindsight they are remembered for their kindness and generosity (with CANDY!).

In later years, I have given up sugar and candy.  And I have discovered and begun appreciate a number of things about my mother that were not obvious to a child's perspective.  

A few highlights that I've been appreciating lately:

Brilliance: anyone who knows my mother will tell you she's highly intelligent.  This intelligence lends itself to practical problem-solving, prudent planning, and an endless creative study of the world.

My mother is an avid student of languages, literature, and education in its original Greek sense: how to draw forth the best in people.

I had the luxury of being raised by an expert in child development and adolescent psychology, and later getting to "talk shop" around the table.

I think she would have been a darn good natural mother without all that the extra book work, but the combination of practice and theory made her both an excellent teacher and an excellent mother.


Although I'm sure I was occasionally sullen, I feel like I somehow missed my "rebel" phase due in part to her savvy and respectful handling of potential discord.  Somehow it got into my head as early as 16 that my privileges came with responsibilities, and it would be... ill mannered? dishonorable? disloyal? to sneak out without permission after being trusted with the car keys and a room near the back door.  I remember shocking my cousins at a lakeside vacation by letting my aunt know we were going for a midnight swim.  It hadn't occurred to me that they would NOT inform their guardians about such things, or have their consent; and it hadn't occurred to them that I would need to be told not to "tell."

So many families seem to have a merry war between the generations; but somehow I felt like my mom and I were always on the same side.

In addition to speaking three or four languages well enough to be certified to teach them at the high school level, my mother routinely picks up another language, either for teaching, or for travel.  After taking her translation abilities for granted in childhood, I didn't study these languages with her beyond a few months' dabbling. To my chagrin, at 22 years old, I finally realized I might one day want to travel without my mother along as a translator. 

My mother also studied how to bring out the best in herself: to find a peaceful center from which to ride out life's troubles.  God knows there were many hurts, and I know more of them now, despite both my parents' relative success in shielding us from them early on.  I remember her practising stretches from aikido class, and showing me how to find lines of force, or do rolls on the living room carpet.  She taught me a number of meditation and comfort techniques that I still use today: massage or back-scratches, melting oneself from the toes all the way up to the head, imagining one's 'house of the soul', poetry and prayers, counting one's blessings.

My mother was young, and has always remained beautiful.  I was born when she was 21 years old.  It's strange to think of myself as "older than my mother," though of course in another sense that will never happen.  But now that 21-year-olds seem young to me, I notice a number of remarkable ways my mother was mature for her age.
- the courage to set her own path: perhaps not surprising in a child whose family marched her up the glacier-peaked Cascades at age 12, she knew in her teens that she wanted both a career and a family, and undertook both with great success.  When she married my Catholic father, the bishops had their hands full dickering over her conversion.  She always held authorities to a higher standard of integrity, with the same gentle firmness with which she confessed her "disappointment" in our childish ill deeds.
- the grace to be an excellent mother, and to accept help from others, after her own parents' untimely deaths.  Her father died suddenly when she was 13; her mother died at 59 before my brother was born.  Even before Grandmary passed away, my mother was on firmly friendly terms with my father's mother Enid, and I remember her later treating her as "Mom," a mentor and confidante.  They remained steadfast friends, if a bit more circumspect, even after my parent's divorce 24 years later. 
- the brilliance and perseverance to complete a Stanford bachelor's degree in 3 years, and follow up with a Masters while raising 4 children;
- and the practical sensibility to fix a garden gate, mend or sew as needed, and generally apply her gifts in a spirit of generous service.

The Spider Says: But was she a "perfect" mother?  Nobody is, of course.
If I had to pick a tragic flaw in my mother, it might be her self-imposed standards of excellence.

There is no cost to tickle a happy baby; it's emotionally rewarding and politically correct.  My mother can coo at babies with the best of them, but hand her a fussy one, and not only will she take it - she will most likely change the diaper or find the pinching pin, rather than just hand it back.

Being a diaper-changer in a cooing world can get exhausting.  If she can't be at her best, with enough energy to help, my mother will withdraw for some quiet time to herself.  It's usually healthy self-preservation, unless it's not.

When my parents divorced, I realized that I could not remember hearing them fight or argue through most of my childhood.  And I suddenly realized that might not be such a good thing as I had imagined it to be.  Maybe someone had tacitly turned a blind eye, or given up on some things, somewhere.  Maybe some of those things were important enough to fight for.

I remember actively seeking out other families who could indulge in a good loud fight without threatening their relationship, to see how they did it.  (They did it in various ways, not necessarily any healthier than my parent's intense "discussions." But I did learn there are ways to fight fair, and am gradually learning to practice them in my own marriage.)


I'm grateful to have absorbed the practice of lifelong learning, of delight in words and ideas, and the pragmatism to cope with whatever life throws at you (while doing your best to provide fairness and decency for others).

And I'm extremely grateful that my own parents are still around for weekly phone chats and visits, so that I can enjoy the beloved sound of my mother's voice, or the imprompetu intimacy of a walk in the rain.

So happy Mother's Day, Mom. 
A virtual walk in the woods, with May flowers, especially for you.



Thursday, April 21, 2016

Spring and Tides

We're pointed toward the ocean this month.  Seeing the waves and abundant shore life is some compensation for missing part of garden season back home.

We are musing on a couple different science topics.
Animated real-time global conditions at earth.nullschool.net
One is coastal changes.  Ernie is still passionate about the massive changes that are happening, and likely to increase, along our beautiful coastlines.  It's not just a question of who gets beachfront property; the coast is always eroding, but even a small change in sea levels could massively change the current coastlines, affecting agriculture, fisheries, harbors, tides and currents, and the weather.

While the weatherman may not be able to tell you months in advance which particular spring day will be fair for your wedding, you used to have pretty good confidence in which month to plant peas vs. beans, or use a tide chart to time your way through a tight spot, and know when and where to expect tuna, salmon, or crab season.  Changing ocean currents sometimes move fish runs hundreds or thousands of miles off course (if the fish are surviving at all, which we devoutly hope they are).

In the face of all this change, reclaiming predictability is pretty attractive.  I think that's part of what drove our ancestors to make a religion out of calendars in the first place - Stonehenge, the Celtic sun-mazes, Mayan temples, the Egyptian pyramids, built on carefully-surveyed celestial axes and bearing enduring witness to the passage of the seasons as well as the ambitions of mortal man.

This is not the first time change has confronted us.  Our ancestors lived through ice ages, droughts, floods, fire, and plague; what's a few breadbaskets turning into fjords compared to historic miseries?  But you can see where there is a very strong human resistance to change, and a craving for predictability and reliable rules for dealing with complex things like weather, growing conditions, and morality.


One of the most popular, and misunderstood, elements in nature are the effects of the moon and tides on the living, breathing Earth.  (By which I mean the biosphere: the plants, animals, soils, swamps, reefs, and skintillions of tiny unseen beings who make up the growing, living, dying, feeling skin of this blue planet.)

Many people understand the tides as caused by the moon pulling on the earth.  That's somewhat true (both moon and sun affect tides).  But I think we assume the timing is simpler than it actually is, because we are used to relying on the moon and sun as the main cog-wheels of our calendar.

The waxing and waning of the moon is a great way to set rendezvous and festival dates in low-tech societies, because everyone can synchronize their schedule without a watch alarm.  Rendezvous are not just for wild parties or philosophical societies: the longer "day" can be used for coordinated work like plowing, haying, and harvest home.  Some almanacs or systems such as biodynamics give ever-more-complex ways to organize the growing calendar, defining certain days and even hours as "seed days," "root times," and fallow times. 

Having a schedule that reminds you what kinds of activities you might need to do this week, and helps you pick a time to do them, is very useful, especially in a situation where your normal instincts about weather can lead to undue optimism and early planting. 

However, I get a little twitchy when people justify these schedules because of the "tides" or the "pull of the moon." The majority of calendars reflect the waning and waxing light, and basically ignore the tidal forces.  (The full moon and new moon are both aligned with the sun to produce higher and lower tides, compared with the out-of-alignment quarter moons). 
It's conceivable that the moonlight may affect some types of plants.

But what really prickles me is that this simplified "explanation" for lunar influence, "just like it pulls the tides," ignores how complex and rich a pattern the tides actually are.  The tides are different from one place to another, even from one side of an island to another.

If you don't have any idea of the full complexity of the tides, which after all are basically just sloshing water, how much more are you likely to mis-understand the intricate forces that coax many different kinds of plants to their best growth?

People with woo-woo garden theories nevertheless often have spectactular gardens, possibly due to caring enough to pay close attention to their plants.  "Listening" and "talking" to plants, whether there is any scientific basis for it or not, seems to open the mind up to notice what's needed and support the plants in a timely way.  Sceptics who don't garden are not well-positioned to offer advice.  But it's still annoying to be quoted pseudo-scientific justifications for folk practices, whether they work or not.  There's been a lot of bad science done around biodynamics, in particular: biased studies or compilations that only list favorable outcomes; claiming statistical significance by growing large numbers of seedlings at the same time, but without controlling for other variables like weather or temperature, or by comparison to any other years.  Bad science doesn't disprove a pet theory, but it doesn't prove it either, and it often grates on science-minded ears as an annoying waste of time.

I am not a biology buff, and my garden is far from exemplary. 
But I have been learning about the tides, and it's fascinating.

If you look at tide tables, the most extreme tides are generally at the new moon, when moon and sun's pull line up.  These will be the "spring" tides, both highest and lowest tides.  The full moon has relatively regular tides. During the quarters in between you can get uneven tides where one low or high will be different than the other for that day. 

You can look up tides for different coastal areas here: http://tidesandcurrents.noaa.gov/tide_predictions.html?gid=132  (they can be off by several hours for places under the same moon phase, due to differences in the shape of the bays and basins and coastline.)

The tides don't actually race around the world keeping up with the moon - water waves simply can't move that fast, they would have to go over a thousand miles an hour.  Instead, it's more like a dancer spinning plates, where repeated motions create a sloshing effect.  If you want to play around with this, the easiest (and most fun) way is to sit or lie in the bathtub, then rhythmically flap one hand back and forth in place.  Sometimes nothing much happens.  Sometimes if you hit the right rhythm, the whole tub starts sloshing water out both ends.  If you shift position (sit up, or lie down), the rhythms change.  Your body is like the coastline and undersea shapes that define the basins, or "bathyscape."  Your flapping hand is like the regular pull of sun and moon, working the waters into a sloshing rhythm.

The ocean tides get nudged into circular currents, or sloshing extremes, or pivot points of near-perfect stillness, based on the shapes of the continents and ocean basins.  Some areas, like Alaska or New Zealand, have extreme tides.  Some, like the Gulf of Mexico and the Mediterranean, have almost none (that's part of why hurricane storm surges are so devastating in the Gulf, their coast is not adapted to sloshing water). 















http://www.hhi.hr/en/projects/viewproject/11


The tides have patterns, and the patterns tend to mostly repeat with the lunar cycles, but they are a complex dance.  The tides don't simply 'wax and wane' like the Moon's light.  The ocean does get pulled by the moon, but it doesn't bulge at full moon and shrink during the new moon.  There's always the same amount of water, and it returns roughly to its own level one way or another. 
You can have big influences due to current weather (storm tides), undersea earthquakes, or big ice-sheet or land slides even.  "Tidal waves" are more often called "tsunami" now by scientists: these are seismic-driven waves due to earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, or big land-slides, with no tidal influence involved.  However, tsunami are big and broad, and they drop and flood into harbors like a very fast and extreme tide, rather than being a surface-level curling wave like wind-driven fetch.  Storm waves batter and froth; "tidal waves" can funnel into certain harbors like a tidal bore, as if the ocean had changed its mind about where to allow a shoreline.

The tides are wild and mysterious, and hard to predict without a chart.  Those charts are based on years and years of experience, records going back centuries for many ports.  But once you are tuned into your local tides, you may be able to use your own observations to take a guess at the current tide based on the time of day and phase of the moon.   I feel pretty good if I can get within an hour or two this way - that's close enough to schedule a harvesting trip or keep me out of trouble on a coastal hike.  The tide charts are way more reliable, but it's worth trying to learn the local patterns if you're interested, in case you are ever caught without a current chart.

If the tides don't line up from one coast to another, I don't imagine that all plants will respond the same way to the "lunar pull" across continents and climate zones.  Or for that matter, that they would respond more strongly to "lunar pull" than to the sun's stronger pull, or the Earth's even stronger gravitational pull.  If I had to guess, I would imagine that the plant feels a very slight fluctuation in the earth's effective gravity.
 If you're just talking about upward 'pull,' the sun has 175 times more pull than the moon.  And they are both pulling on us at all times, sometimes up and sometimes down.  It's just relatively the same across all the earth.  The daily small difference in pull, as our side of the Earth turns toward or away from the sun, is about 44% as much as the moon's difference in pull.
http://hyperphysics.phy-astr.gsu.edu/hbase/tide.html.


The strongest pull would be when the moon is closest, and when it's lined up near or exactly opposite the sun, at the same time: 'supermoons'.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supermoon

Factors like temperature have a much more measurable effect on plant growth (and insect and fish maturation - to the point where hatcheries and stream volunteers talk about "degree-days" to maturity).  Weather affects temperature.  Some animals definitely can feel and respond to barometric pressure, as do some types of plants (Ernie has a "weather leg" that pains him with pressure changes, and he recalls some type of orchid that opens and closes with changes in the barometric pressure).

Some flowers called "moonflowers" are just round and white; a few of these (and others) bloom mainly at night.  A very few are said to bloom mainly during the full moon.  However, there's a good argument to be made that this behavior could evolve to attract specialized night-flying pollinators, like the more common night-blooming behavior.  Some pollinators may be particularly active or accurate in finding the flowers with more moonlight.  The idea that it's moonlight, rather than some kind of gravitational pull, that sets the cues for this dance would be reinforced if the plants could be mis-cued by artificial light, or by variations in day length.  There are a handful of such species I found mentioned online (on a less-than-impressive eHow post , or the more ordinary evening- and night-blooming flowers listed here on Ava's Flowers http://blog.avasflowers.net/flowers-that-bloom-in-the-moonlight).  All three of those said to bloom best in the full moon (datura inoxia, one of several plants commonly called "moonflower;" night-blooming jasmine or cestrum nocturnum, and night scented stock (Matthiola longipetala) are tropical or subtropical plants, which prefer roughly 6- to-12-hour days with warm or hot temperatures.  The last one is a desert plant blooming mainly in spring and fall (12-hour days).

I'm impressed by serious gardeners in any case - and these plants appear to have a lot of strict requirements besides the lavishly regular lunar cycle. 

However, one thing that excellent gardeners often share, and I fall short, is a reliable sense of time and time management.  If gardeners sometimes build mystical stories around their all-important calendar or almanac, a little poetry to get the juices flowing and help you stick to your plan, there's nothing wrong with that (unless it makes you less open to reliable, proven methods that might be of more help).  So if a lunar planting, weeding, sprouting, and rooting cycle is working for you, keep doing it. 

 Lunar cycles are a good predictor of changes in animal activity levels (including humans), possibly due to availability of nocturnal light and enhanced twilight.  This light/activity connection, which also affects a LOT of nocturnal pollinators, could be one reason why some very successful gardening methods and guides have used the moon.  Full moons have been used historically for extended work hours during harvest, and for festivals where participants might travel and celebrate longer together without fear of being caught in the dark o the way home.

Many gardeners are women, or live with women; our menstrual cycles famously synchronize with the moon.  It is worth tracking our own cycles. Any given woman may feel more productive in certain lunar phases than others - though I would expect this to vary person to person.
I have had some difficult years when somehow EVERY heavy-lifting workshop and over half our air-travel dates managed to line up with the wrong "time of the month."
While some ancient cultures put taboos on menstruating women participating in certain activities (cooking, handling sacred items, etc), these may be related to harmonious concentration, intense arguments, or the possibility of blood stains attracting scavengers.  In the modern context, menstruation cycles can usually be managed, they're just an extra burden to bear while working on a time-sensitive project.

However, there's one more reason why lunar cycles might be a popular element in garden planning guides and almanacs.
The moon has strong mythological connotations, and has been part of both calendars and legends for longer than we can remember.  It's attractive; it's sexy; it's mysterious; it's a little risque.  And in the world of marketing, sex sells.  A calendar that marks out the full moon, or gives poetic lunar instructions for getting through the tasks of the week, might simply be more interesting.

I'd rather take my poetry at full throttle, with moon and flowers fleshed out in beauty, scents, strong feelings, and layered symbolism reflecting my human needs and longings.  And I'd rather let my science explanations stand or fall on their own merits, humble as science should be, proven or disproven by results over time.

If the moonflower likes moonlight best, so be it.  If it's happy with a 12-hour daylight cycle, a little evening coolth, and maybe a grow-light boost when I want to party out of season, then we can have fun together that way too.

And if planting your seeds on Monday and Tuesday this week, but not until Thursday or Friday of next week, works for you, then do it.

I find that my seeds get planted "now" or not at all.  There are enough challenges in semi-arid gardening while working out-of-town gigs; I don't need a mystical schedule to tell me I'm doing it wrong.
From what I've seen, plants grow very well for people who pay attention to their individual needs and their common routines (like water, temperature, sun and shade).  They can also grow well for people who believe in all kinds of moons and fairies, as long as they also get out in the garden regularly and give the plans good physical care.

But for those who, like me, are juggling too many interests and obligations to regularize our garden time, there's a risk that a demanding garden schedule could become an excuse not to plant anything at all.

If you don't have any of those challenges, and you see some difference between Tuesday's and Thursday's plants despite perfect control of water and temperature, then you have the luxury of refining your methods on your own terms.  I have had a few personal experiences with "talking to plants," or more specifically asking permission and listening for an answer, that take the edge off my skepticism about this whole sort of thing.  But I'm still 

I'm a sailor in training, and an incurable science geek.  Being 'in tune with nature' feels good in any case, but it matters even more if you're surfing the tides in and out of harbors, and trying to keep track of wind and current effects on your course.  Sailors can get pretty picky about the accuracy of their nature-based information.

I've been learning boatloads of this stuff lately.  It's amazing.

Yours,
Erica W

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Final 24 hours on Kickstarter.

All the Goodies!

It is hard to keep straight all these Kickstarter reward packages.
What is everyone else doing?

The most popular reward level is $35.  At that level, you get:

"The Book"

+ the "Fire Starter Rewards"

FireStarter rewards - now with pictures!
In other words, you get:
  • - The Rocket Mass Heater Builder's Guide, paperback first edition
  • - The Art of Fire ebook
  • - Fire Science DVD, streaming version
  • - Care and Feeding of Rocket Mass Heaters micro-doc
  • - Builder's Guide to Mud ebook
  • - 3 mini-stoves under $3 ebook
  • - 3 mini-stoves under $10 ebook
  • - Simple Shelter ebook
  • - Teeny Tiny Mass Heater Plans
  • - A new DIY project each month for 2016 (8 projects from May to December)
  • - Recipes for Ernie's fabulous chocolate truffles

More than double the value of the book.

A lot of folks are upgrading to the $50+ levels, to get the stretch goal bonus items for serious builders (Bitter Lessons eBook and Innovators' Cookbook).  Or maybe they are just stretching toward Shrimp, Fish, a Fat Rabbit, Mysterious Manifolds, Rocket Wood Cook Stoves, and

Rocket Wood Cook Stoves and Heaters: The Cleanest, Greenest, Most Elegant Wood Burning Stoves in the World

Delivering all these new goodies is going to keep us busy from now til Christmas.

Don't wait.
 Click here for the Kickstarter: http://kck.st/229WnXq

You should read Update #12.

Modular (!) Rocket Mass Heater
by Abrahamsson





Thanks for reading,
Erica W

Seeking builder or owner information for the double-rocket Plancha Kitchen
P.S: If you know the owners or builder of this beautiful rocket kitchen island, please help us find them.  Rumor says it's in Brazil.