How I'm Protecting Basil from Slugs without Chemicals

We love our basil, strawberries, and other tender, green, leafy things. So do the slugs and smails! I am having good luck with the copper tape you can buy at the nursery in the pest control section: just wrap it around the flower pot so no slimy critters can cross. I think the tape cost about $7 for 15 feet, so that will get costly if you have large pots to line.

So, I looked in the plumbing secion. I wanted something copper and round to place around the stem of my plants, and I found copper plumber's tape, which costs $3 for 10 feet on amazon, and you use much less.

I just cut off a piece about 6 inches long, fashioned it into a circle, tied it together with garden twine, and set it on the soil around the bast of my plant.

We'll see how this works over the season, but I feel clever and hopeful.

How do you protect your garden from slimy pests?

What's happening in the garden in May?

We are anticipating a bumper crop this year. The garden is growing and looking healthy. We do have a slug problem, I just need to go on some midnight slug hunting trips. Come by for a meal or some tomatoes.

Cherokee purple, Tye Dye, and a zucchini plant are all setting fruit in barrel number one.

This is the Eight-Ball zucchini. I pulled out the roma tomato that was in this barrel, and now it is taking over. We'll probably be harvesting the first zucchini in 2 weeks or so. I should really learn how to cook the squash blossoms, because aren't those everyone's favorite part of the squash season?

Yoghurt love

Yogurt is not something I've ever thought much about. I enjoy it, from time to time, with granola and berries or on top of something spicy instead of sour cream. I usually have a plain, whole-milk yogurt on hand; the baby likes it and it's useful and tasty.

But all that changed recently when I met Noosa Yoghurt. It is thick but velvety, sweet and tangy, indulgent but healthful. It is perfect, flavorful, and impossibly delicious. My husband and I were enjoying the mango flavor for a late-night snack and wondering how it could possibly be made better. It is too good to sully with granola and fruit. We thought for a moment, smacking our lips and licking our spoons. "This would be so good in a crepe," I said. And the next day we did just that.

Noosa Yoghurt Crepe 

Mix up your favorite crepe batter and cook up some crepes.
Spread with Noosa yoghurt.
Fold in half, then in quarters.
Eat while still hot.

The humble artichoke

I can't eat an artichoke without remembering this passage from Jeanette Winterson's The Powerbook:

The artichoke arrived and I began to peel it away, fold by fold, layer by layer, dipping it. There is no secret about eating artichoke, or what the act resembles. Nothing else gives itself up so satisfyingly towards its centre. Nothing else promises and rewards. The tiny hairs are part of the pleasure.What should I have eaten?
Beetroot, I suppose.

A friend once warned me never to consider taking as a lover anyone who disliked either artichokes or champagne. That was good advice, but better advice might have been never to order artichokes or champagne with someone who should not be your lover.

Happy May Day!

A Very Long Birth Story

One year ago today my labor started. It was a Monday evening. I was in the bathtub reading a book, my belly high out of the water, feeling you kick and squirm. Any moment now. The tabby cat sat on the edge of the tub. My belly was tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. I read my book, a magical story about a snow child in the Alaskan winter. You kicked. Your daddy entered the bathroom, kissed me, touched my hair, dripped water on my belly. "I think it's starting," I said.

I knew the moment you were conceived. I felt it. A tiny lightening strike deep inside. There was nothing else it could be. We didn't mean to make a baby, but our love was big and powerful from the very beginning. It was cosmic and unstoppable. We talked about you. We said, "If we do bring a baby back from Thailand, would that be so bad?" The moon was new; we were learning to scuba dive, spending the days underwater or in a boat, napping in the afternoon, then in the evening walking to an open air restaurant called Fishy's, drinking Thai beer and smoking, eating curry or noodles, then falling into bed and falling in love all over again. It's no wonder we made you. We couldn't help it.

Why write your birth story?

I'm writing my birth story. It's almost finished, and I'm really excited about sharing it here. I read a lot of birth stories while I was pregnant and deciding where to deliver (home, hospital, or birth center), and then after I decided to birth at home, I read a lot of homebirth stories. I found the stories so poignant and sacred, such a beautiful glimpse into other families' most intimate moments.

But I was totally unprepared for my days-long labor and non-emergent transfer to the hospital. Since he was born I've felt disappointed that he wasn't born at home. I wanted the empowering, transformative birth experience that is described in so many birth stories; but by the time he was born I was just glad it was over. His birth felt anti-climactic. Is that weird to say? I thought, "It could've been worse." And tried to be glad that it wasn't. I wasn't scared, cut open, bullied, separated from my baby, or anything else that happens in hospitals. I grieved the loss of my homebirth, but since my hospital birth was "just fine," I couldn't give myself permission to mourn.

Part of me felt I wimped out by going to the hospital for the pitocin and epidural. Maybe he would've been born on Friday morning anyway, even if I hadn't gone to the hospital.  I've let all that go. In my baby's eleventh month, I joined a birth story writing group, so I've been doing a lot of thinking, remembering, and writing about our birth. His birthday was on a Saturday this year. On Tuesday night, I thought, "This time last year, my labor was starting." And for the rest of the week, as I worked at the hospital, shopped, cleaned house, and prepped food for the birthday party, I thought, "this time last year, I was in labor." It was such a long time. So many days. All in all, labor lasted about 84 hours. If I can do that, I can do anything.

I was fantasizing about getting pregnant again and having a perfect homebirth. I could labor in the tub, walk around in the garden, and give birth in our marriage bed. But then I felt it and believed it: my birth was perfect. It was long and painful, but it demonstrates my strength and determination. It is a testament of love for my child. And just like that, I found a new sense of peace, respect, and honor for myself.

And that, ladies, is why you should write your birth stories.

The essence of the rose is the thorn.