The Bar None is becoming a hill haven. One of the lessons learned from last year is that raised beds are almost always preferred, at least for the tender and early transplants. It is also old fashioned. Because of the amount of manual labor required to build a single bed. Twenty feet long by five feet wide. I have a bunch of them. I could use the tiller but prefer to be less disruptive to the communities of beneficial microorganisms existing down in the realm of fat eyeless earthworms. Their tunnels nature’s soil drainage system, perfected over a very long time.
Another benefit of raised beds is weed control. Much easier to extract a spindly root than something substantial and firmly anchored. My new neighbor Billy came by and asked to use my tiller on Sunday. We loaded it up and took it down the street. The previous owners had used black tarp for weed control and it worked like a boss. Their individual plants the only thing poking through designated slits, the rest of the garden looking lacking though. Billy agreed.
I need the soil. Beneath my nails. In the cracks of my desiccated fingers. In my nose and even my socks somehow. I’m compelled to be intimate in my work. That is the beauty of the Bar None. I’m seeing things on a much more microscopic level. Starting everything from seed this year. Our bees pollinate our plants. And give us honey. Our plants’ quality and production benefit from the pollination. And sated by collected rain water only. Filling bellies and larders. Garden scraps to our freest of range chickens. And the worms after a rain providing a delicate treat, popping out of the ground, the classic battle the worm has never won. Our chickens give us eggs. And meat. Self sufficiency, all with best organic practices. The cycle of life in true and real glory.
With no city services.
Say hello to my little friend! I keep my 3-Tooth Cultivator close at hand, easily loosening soil, perfect for bed preparation. Work it up, rake it up, shape it up, level it up, plant it!
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