Thursday, December 25, 2014

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Buen Camino

We've heard from Kary!

"Well no duh, you all live like five minutes away from each other, right?"

Yes, we do, but for those who don't know, my brother, who has never even flown before, is currently in Spain on the Camino de Santiago, (The Way of Saint James), with himself, a journal and whomever he meets along the way. I know a lot of people do this pilgrimage alone, but I can't imagine tramping around Europe on my own, let alone 40 days and 40 nights of it. (No, he did not do that on purpose.)

My hat is off to him. And, before you ask, yes, I'm jealous but he already knows that. So far his adventure has been, how shall I say this, memorable.

His flights were supposed to go from Fresno, to Denver, to Chicago, to Paris; unfortunately Chicago was shut down that day and he ended up having to spend the night in Colorado. Thankfully a college buddy of his lives in Denver and was able to put him up for the night, so it wasn't a totally loss.

Because Kary was willing to wait, he got bumped up to first class on his flight from Colorado to New York. From there he caught a plane to Spain. Not even out of the country and he's already had a less than desired travel experience. But the tale doesn't end there, oh no.

Once in Spain he had to travel north to the start of the Camino, (remember he was originally landing in Paris). He solved this problem through a series of buses, which was great, until he got off the bus without his backpack. Unfortunately before he could reboard, the bus has took off, he chased it for 25 minutes before finally giving up.

He's somewhere in Spain, still not on the Camino, and his backpack with all his stuff in it is gone. I cannot speak for my brother, personally I would have been panicking like crazy. Eventually Kary decided the only thing he could do was continue to make his way up north, and caught a bus for his next stop. There, waiting for him at the next bus station on a bench was his backpack with everything in it.For those of you who haven't heard it before, this is what I call a 10 Cent Miracle. The Camino has lots of them, heck, getting stranded in the one city that had a college friend available to put him up for the night falls into this category too. 

Now he is actually on the Camino, and has been packing in the miles to try to make up for the delays. I don't know what else the next month holds but so far it's been one heck of an adventure. And I for one can't wait to hear the next chapter of this story.

Buen Camino my brother.

vaya con Dios

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Feeble Tribute

I lived in the same house my whole childhood, moving was never a topic that came up. Things were pretty routine day in and day out, don’t get me wrong, life would happen and things would come up, but things still managed to stay mostly the same.

Then came college, I can’t say I’ve really stayed in “one place” since then. Location wise I haven’t moved a lot, but job wise one look at my resume tightly squeezed onto a page with little margin and the tale is told.

But there is one place I was at, a place that was both work and home for over a year. In fact I was there longer than I was at Cal Poly. It was a place of hard lessons and renewal, an imperfect place of quirks, a place I left tired bec
ause I’d given all I had at the time, and I'd do it again for a place I still love; Mount Hermon.

Those who have worked there be it one summer, 20 summers, or work there all the time, you know what I’m talking about. It gets under your skin and into your blood. Any camper or conference attendee could tell you, there’s something about it that makes you come back. It may not always a perfect experience but the nostalgia lingers because at its core it is a good, peaceful place where God resides.  

Today part of that bedrock of the MH I know and loved was shifted with the passing of Roger Williams. For those who have no idea who that is, he was the director during my two year stint at the Herm. As auditorium host and later IT/AV intern I had the privilege of working with him fairly often, especially in the summer. He was a kind, wise, down to earth man who loved his God, his family, and horribly corny jokes that drove me mad. I didn’t see him much in the last four years since I returned to the Central Valley. But I followed his battle with cancer through his wife Rachel’s Facebook posts and updates from friends that are still in the area. (FYI never underestimate the Christian “grapevine”.)  

When I was an intern when I’d turn on Conference Drive I’d inevitably start singing the chorus of Jack Pearson’s “Mount Hermon Home”.  For those who had the privilege to cross paths with Roger a piece of that home has vanished to a more permanent residence.

To the Williams friends and family my thoughts and prayers are with you. To my extended Mount Hermon family my thoughts and prayers are with you as well.


If there’s anything I (or the hundreds of others who will be offering the same thing), can do to help just give a holler. 

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Sandy Labor

Labor Day weekend arrived and the Alvernaz's youth scattered for a weekend of fun. The gorgeous girls, (and Dominic) traveled to Cold Springs to hang out with friends, enjoy the forest and Pine Crest Lake. Meanwhile the other three brothers headed up to Point Reyes for the 33rd Annual Sand Sculpture Contest at Drakes Beach. (Which brother had it better, you decide.)

The boys came in second out of 26 teams with their Transformer Buried in the Sand. First place was swept away by a sculpture referencing the earthquake in Napa Valley. Timely to say the least. 

For those who would like an overview here is an interesting article on the competition. Sadly they don't have any pictures of the first place sculpture, so I'm still not sure what it looks like. Also the picture of Joey isn't good at all, but it does have some other pictures. 

And now, what you have all been waiting for but didn't know until this moment, Casey's 7 minute recap of their success.  


The San Joaquin Sand Fleas next competition on the books is October 19, 2014 in Carmel. (For more info see the Carmel by-the-Sea events page.)  

We hope to see you there. 

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Menagerie

Amilia Suzanous in her natural habitat.
Suzi’s time at the zoo is almost up. Despite my noble ambition I have not kept up with her adventures as I intended. Fear not I have one more post before the Amilia Suzanous is seen no more.

Most of her time is spent in the “petting zoo” area. They no longer have the one eyed pony that I remember, but there’s an assortment of rabbits, a guinea pig, a hen and an actual pig that likes to nibble on your shoes that you can pet all for the crazy cost of $1. (Come on people the zoo itself is like $3. Talk about a cheap entertainment.)

Working at the zoo is never boring; first there are the other volunteers, mostly high school students looking to get volunteer hours, with a smattering of adults who just like working at the zoo. Then there are the employees, many of whom apparently double dip and also work at the Fresno zoo. The two groups have created a summer camaraderie of good natured teasing and messing with each other that comes with youthful high spirits and hours of working together.

In addition to the petting zoo Suzi has cleaned cages, measured meals, fed animals, dredged bathrooms (I don’t think they didn’t realize what they were unleashing), and gotten muddy head-to-toe transplanting flowers. She did however resist the urge to startle patrons and clearly announced her presence in the tall stems whenever anyone got close.

There was even an incident where a woman was escorted off the premises, like I said, never a dull moment.

But the best part of Suzi working at the zoo, are the stories she tells about the animals as you take the tour. Each cage has a tale to go with it.  For example the tortoises are surprisingly picky and will snub their food if it’s not the vegetable of their choice.

Melon, the eyes say it all.
Melon, one of the emu’s has a creepy way of coming up behind you and looking over your shoulder while cleaning the cage.

And of course the UC Merced mascot Boomer (a bobcat) resides at the zoo. (UCM is my current employer ergo this important to know.)

If you want a personalized tour that includes names and stories of the animals, or just want to watch a small pig try to eat your toes, take this Monday/Tuesday off and visit Suzi at the Merced Zoo.




Sunday, July 20, 2014

Peeves and Puzzles

Apparently I have some snarkiness that needs to be expressed. 

He vs She

My education taught me to understand the universal he. He doesn’t always simply mean male; it can be a universal term for anyone breathing. I understand this may frustrate people in today’s society, however it made sense to me as a child, she requires an extra letter and if you're going to use both he and she that’s an extra five-six letters. Who wants to write more than they have to?

As you (authors) tend to make it clear when addressing a specific sex, please stop insulting my intelligence, I am fully capable of comprehending when you use he in a universal inclusive sense without feeling offended. Switching between the two makes you come across as associating characteristics with gender, or as trying too hard.


Coloring Books
-          By Heidi

When they include giant crayons with coloring books that have details? How are you supposed to use that monstrosity to color say, buttons on a coat, and stay within the lines?


Childhood Rhymes

It’s funny what sticks with you from childhood. Thanks to the rhyme “step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back” I still avoid cracks when I walk. Not because I think I’ll break Mom’s back, but because it’s become a game to try to avoid cracks as much as possible without altering my stride. Sadly, this game periodically turns into a compulsion that becomes an unpleasant nuisance to someone used to scanning the ground for weeds when they walk.

Descent


If you are from South America you are of Hispanic descent. If your ancestors were from Spain you are of Hispanic descent. However, if you’re ancestors were from Portugal or North Africa, you are simply considered white. What? 

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Suzi, Zoo Exhibit A

Ladies and Gentlemen you can now see the one and only Suzanne Alvernaz at the zoo! I kid you not folks this rare popular attraction is at the Merced Zoo two days a week. Don’t miss this opportunity to see her in her natural habitat.

Horribly photo manipulation I know. All I had were
Paint and Publisher, & refining was taking too long.
This an altered picture.
In case you missed that...
Seriously though, my little sister is at the zoo. She’s volunteering their part time this summer. She says she’s an “animal janitor.” But I know it hasn't been all stinky, here’s the tidbits I know; she’s fed hissing cockroaches (fun…not), the miniature foxes like to run up the sides of their cage (apparently this can be a startling if you’re not expecting it), and one of the monkey’s broke a hip.

But the best thing so far was when she cemented this blog post. Last night sh was talking to a friend and said, “you can come see me at the zoo!” I’d already been thinking of using that line for this post but when she said it, the tiny thought that might be “mean” evaporated. Of course she instantly started laughing and protesting “that’s not what I mean”, but we all know the truth.


I’m hoping to get some more good stories out of her this summer. If I do I will post them here for your entertainment and enjoyment. If you’re looking for something to do you should pop in and say hi. She’s there  in the afternoon on Tuesday and Wednesday. 

After all it’s not every day you personally know a zoo specimen. 

Thursday, May 29, 2014

The Challenge Continues

The plot thickens
It's my fourth summer gardening, assuming I'm counting right. Summer #1 was The Experiment or The Small Patch; summer #2 The Hose, summer #3 The Weed* Patch, and now summer #4 Legit. Ok not really but I can't give everything away at once.

My first summer I tried a little sprinkler, but it didn't work quite right so I switched to flooding small ditches. It worked alright but took a long time and didn't cover things well.

The next summer I think is when I got a perforated hose from ACE thinking I'd be able to wind it around the plants and it would work great. I don't really remember much of this summer, except this might be the year Leila helped me with some of the cultivating.

Last summer I used the hose again, but this time I decided to a) expand the garden; b) switch up where I planted things, c) plant things I'd never grown before and were completely foreign, d) try to make some sort of rows or mounds or something depending on the plant.

What I learned, broccoli is surprisingly hearty, lettuce grows ok but get's bitter when too big and the arugula or whatever that was grows like a weed. Spreads like a weed to, but boy does that stuff survive. End result up close the garden looked like a patch of weeds. (Aunt Judy maintains it looked good from the road.)

Which brings us to this year. The main problem with past years is my watering techniques left much to be desired. On the other hand, why spend money on a whim that won't be kept up. But this year I decided it was time, it was time to invest and do this gardening thing right. So I headed to Hilmar Lumber (on a free flower Wed of course) and asked how much 120ish feet of drip line would be.

Of course everyone assumed it was for my Dad, but I proudly said, nope it's for my garden. I then spent a long time debating the best way to set things up and connect everything, but in the end settled for a basic drip line, hose, faucet version. (Let's just say my alternate version included pvc and valves. Someday...) The most trying part was making holes and inserting the drippers. Your thumbs get sore after a while. But I endured and with a little help from my sister Heidi, everything got put together.

But that wasn't the only change, oh no. I also decided to expand the garden making it the biggest it's ever been. (In case you didn't notice in first picture.) Meaning, I was back in hardpan with a shovel. But why quit when you're ahead? I also decided to make four long rows so everything could be neat and orderly. And so I could know exactly where everything was.

How does my garden grow
In the past I've tried seed starters in the house. They don't work for me. If plants do grow they tend to be wimpy when I plant them and die anyway. I have more luck going straight to the soil and this year's my best ever for seeds actually growing.

It's amazing how much better a little order and organization can make things. I mean;

1) I know what's where.
2) It's almost impossible to flood the garden washing seeds every which way and creating more weeds.
3) The row's created looser soil even in the hardpan areas. (Although as Aunt Judy pointed out, the carrots may need more sand, we'll see.)


4) The drip is keeping the soil from drying like cement.
5) It's easier to tell a weed from a plant.

Anyway, that's why this year's garden is Legit or The Year of the Drip Line. So far we've done a pretty good job keeping the weeds down too. The dry rows definitely cut down on the "weed carefully" areas which helps A LOT.

Now, the next thing I need to learn is to actually eat what I grow...

To me the garden is an ironic mystery. I have no idea how I've been consistent enough to do this for four years straight. Every year when it's time to shovel I seriously doubt a garden will be planted. And yet somehow, every year it gets done. I wonder how long this strange trend will run. I suppose only time will tell.

If you're in the area, and want some garden fresh something feel free to stop by. If you're unsure which house is mine, just look for the garden out back. At the rate it's growing you can't miss it.

*By weed I mean a plant growing where you don't want it. Not the grass that's not a lawn nonsense.


Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Work Musings

People are always talking about how much things have changed in the last 20 or so years, and what kids these days don't remember, like life before cell phones, or internet.

Here's one for you, licking stamps.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Sentinel

I have this friend that I tend to be a little over protective of sometimes. Let me backtrack, I have been known to be over protective in general, but with this friend it tends to take on a life of its own. I usually don’t even realize it, but recently it was pointed out to me and I’ve been trying to figure out why. Why am I so protective of this friend? I’m not that over the top with my own siblings.

I think part of it is that my friend doesn’t react or resent this personality quirk as much as my siblings. But is that it? My friend is smart, generally has a good head on their shoulders, and is conscientious. But for all their smarts, every now and then my friend does something that leaves you going "why"?

A picture of a city. 
Recently my friend attended an educational conference in a large, well known city. Two days prior to the event they finally booked a hotel room that was reasonable in a mediocre part of town. Instead of dealing with traffic and parking, my friend decided to take the light rail into the city, attend the first several sessions their luggage, and then check into the hotel. And this is where our tale begins.

The first round of the conference ended, and my friend is walking to their hotel, with their luggage to check in. Along the way a friendly, homeless man asks if my friend would buy him a hamburger. My friend, who loves hamburgers, and believes in helping others, said ok and they started to walk to get a hamburger. Along the way the gentleman changed his mind and asked if my friend would give him money to get a room for the night at a hostel. Apparently the gentlemen was recently released from the hospital where he'd been staying due to some broken ribs he obtained when someone decided to go on a rampage with a hammer in the middle of the night.

The crux was the hostel was in a not so nice part of town and this chap did not want to take my friend there. My friend doesn't like to give cash, and was torn. It’s about this time I got a phone call and heard the whole story.

The agreement they came to was he’d go get a room and in 10 minutes return with a receipt and key to show he’d actually gotten a room, and left his Special K granola bar as collateral. So my friend waiting with their luggage, decided to call and share this unusual experience with me. They proceed to tell me that they were open to helping this chap because of the blessing I’d given them when they were still figuring out where to stay.  I told my friend they’re the only person I know that makes me want to not bless them. That made them laugh, we chatted a bit more and then got off the phone.

I told my mom and sisters this story and Mom in her wisdom all but shouted, if he doesn't return, “Don’t eat the granola bar.” I laughed but after considering who we were talking about, called my friend to stress this piece of wisdom, ‘causing them to laugh again.

You’d think the story was over, but no. Apparently, the chap returned, but the hostel was full and he needed to return in an hour. Next call from my friend, they’re at a park, with their luggage, hanging out with the dude and was rather at a loss of what to do.

At this point I told my friend, it was time to make their ado’s as gracefully as possible and go check into their hotel. As Mom said, because right now they're homeless too.

I think its times like these that occasionally make me over the top with my friend. Like I said they are really smart, but there are moments where their common sense seems to shut off, and they end up in scrapes that leave you going, really?

But I learned something else from this escapade. First, my friend’s guardian angel must be on overtime a lot. I can’t imagine what that time card would look like. Secondly, even in the midst of this chaos, my friend was protected. From the peace I had two nights before they got to the city, to the friendly homeless chap that had my friend’s back and didn’t let them go to an area he thought was sketchy.

It’s a reminder that my worrying, while sometimes making my friend more cautious, doesn’t change anything. Ultimately, I am not in control. That there’s Someone who’s guiding and protecting my friend way better than I ever could. Maybe in future I’ll be able to trust that; staying calmer and less likely to develop an ulcer… 


Beyond that, what else can I say; God Loves Leila.





Sunday, April 13, 2014

Hotbeds: 'tis the Season

I was recently trying to explain hotbeds to a young friend of mine and realized about an hour later that I did a horrible job. So I decided an explanatory blog post might be in order. I don't know if you'll ever see this, but M, this one's for you.
Spreading Cotton Trash

For those of you who frequent this regularly, and have heard me go on about hotbeds before, you might want to skip this one. For those of you who have no clue what I'm referencing, the farmers daughter in me is delighted to 'splain.

In case you didn't catch it, it's hotbed season. A hotbed is basically a temporary greenhouse we create each year to grow the shoots for planting. Here's how it works:

First a level bed is scraped into the dirt.

Sweet Potato "Cobblestone" 
Then cotton trash is spread on the bed and covered with more dirt. This is the insulation that helps keep things humid.

Next sweet potatoes kept from the previous harvest, known as seed, are laid down. Once a bed has been laid it ends up looking like a cobblestone, or brick road and another layer of soil is applied covering the potatoes.

Finally, bent metal rods are placed over the beds and covered with plastic. On one end the plastic is covered with dirt, on the other it's held down by sandbags. This allows the bed to be opened for watering and air movement.

The tricky thing is you don't want the hotbed to get too hot or two cold. Sweet potatoes are susceptible to freezing temperatures, however if things get too hot you can actually burn the plants and that's not good either.

Inside View
Which is why mid Sunday mornings find us opening the beds. My Dad doesn't have his guys work on Sunday which means it's up to us. Some years we've had to open and close more than others. The best is when you hear, "ends and windows" because it means less work.

To uncover the hotbeds you pull the sandbags off and roll the plastic placing a sandbag on top of the rolled plastic at the each end of the bed and two in the middle. This helps keep the plastic in place if a breeze kicks up. May I just add if you roll right, you feel it in your forearms!

To close them you take the sandbags off, flip up the plastic, cross to the other side of the bed, pull the plastic down to the ground, plant your foot on it and drag a sandbag on top. Usually about mid season you only have to place a sandbag other rod.

Over the years various friends have participated in joy of opening the hotbeds. As a kid it was especially great because that meant less work. Now that there are 4 adult children hotbeds have gotten less miserable and time consuming; what use to take an hour plus now takes about 45 minutes on a slow day.

Covered Hotbed
Hotbeds are also the reason we now go to Saturday night church because no longer does my Father have to worry about when to open the beds or them frying before we can get out there. (If you're used to attending service on Sunday, you find yourself going "No church? What am I gonna do?" But that's an entirely different conversation....)

Around 11ish on a Sunday all of us kids who are in town gather to help out. Doesn't matter how old you are, or what your normal job is, Sunday's, during hotbeds, mean helping out on the farm. 'Cause that's what families do.

I'll leave you with this brilliant "Irish blessing".


May the frost never afflict your spuds. 
May the leaves of your cabbage always be free from worms.
May the crows never pick your haystack.
If you inherit a donkey, may she be in foal. 


Oh and in case you're wondering, doesn't matter he's almost 60, when it comes to covering or uncovering hotbeds, Dad hands down, kicks our butts.






Saturday, March 29, 2014

Battle Fields and Ice Cream: Iconic American Satuday

One week ago Knights Ferry had their Civil War reenactment. A friend told me about it so I could pass it along to my brothers. Turns out being in a Civil War reenactment was on a bucket list somewhere, so on Saturday Domi and Joey “joined up”. There weren’t any spare muskets, so they ended up as Confederate marines on cannon duty.  Not what they wanted but as Joey said, it made the experience authentic since that’s probably how things would have actually happened.

My sisters Suzi and Mary, Sophie, the above mentioned friend, and I showed up for the afternoon viewing. I must admit, battle field wise the terrain was much cooler than the flat open field of Fresno. Unfortunately because of the terrain and the covered bridge, (which we thought would make the battle way more “authentic" if they blew it up), we didn’t see our brothers or even know where they were until after it was all said and done.

After the battle we headed back to the rebel camp to find the boys and figure out what we wanted to do next. Sophie told us about an ice cream shop a short walk away in Knight’s Ferry, which finally gets us to the point of this entire blog. Since we’d been sitting in the sun, it was after 5 pm and no one had dinner we decided ice cream sounded great.

The ice cream shop was AWESOME! I got a wild blackberry Sunday, which was great except that it was served in a hot dog holder. I’ve never had ice cream served in a paper hot dog holder. Granted it was coated paper, but the sides aren’t high all the way around and it’s loaded with ice cream, hot fudge, nuts, two cherries and whip cream, it tends to drip. Thankfully there was no room inside the shop to eat, so we trooped outside, sat on the steps, and ate.
 As we sat there we watched an assortment of people drive or walk by. Some were still in costume so you knew they were civil war redactors, others I’d guess were locals, and then of course there were the park rangers. It hit me that for those 5-10 minutes, we were living the classic all American summer (or spring) evening.

Ice cream, porch steps, making observations as the traffic goes by. This may sound like no big deal to you, but when you grow up in the country you might eat ice cream you get from the freezer outside, but the most traffic you’re gonna get is the dog chasing a rabbit, or an occasional tractor going by. As a kid I always thought it would be cool to be able to walk or ride my bike to the store, get a scoop of ice cream and just hang out sitting on a curb, watching people as I ate. Last Saturday I got to do that, and this time my ice cream didn’t land in the dirt..


But you know the best part? My Sunday was $5.00 even. I cannot tell you how happy that made me. Everything there was exact change.  Got to love classic ‘murica.  

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Best Medicine

When you're fighting a cold there's nothing like "Afternoon Tea" at work.


Thank you Emily for this afternoon's inspiration. 

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

And the earth says, "ah" as it drinks it's fill.

I knew I should have spread those wildflower seeds yesterday.



































I suppose the only solution is to pray it rains tomorrow.


Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Roses are Red and Violets are Blue...

I was recently chatting with a friend and they asked me what I thought was the most depressing way to spend Valentines Day. I wasn't quite sure what they were getting at, so I thought for a minute then said "breaking up with someone?" That took them by surprise, made them laugh a little, then agree that would be the most depressing way to spend the day. But that wasn't quite their point.They were going for the spending it alone vote, which I completely missed.

Growing up Valentines Day wasn't a big thing. We were home schooled, and exchanging valentines day cards with your siblings somehow just isn't the same. There was never any party, but Mom would get the sweetheart candies, and Dad would get us girls chocolate. (One year our candy came with Looney Tune key chains. Mine was Tasmanian Devil, not quite sure what he was trying to say with that one.)

Ok, maybe I'll redact my previous statement; getting chocolate when my brothers got nothing made me feel special and a tad smug, but beyond that it wasn't a big deal. My parents never went out or anything, then again they rarely get to go to dinner for their anniversary.

The conversation progressed and my friend made a comment saying anyone in a relationship should go out, I kinda went "I guess that makes sense." But does it?

What I mean is, it's a great excuse to spend time with whomever you're in a relationship with. It's a great excuse to lavish gifts on them to show your affection, but the day itself, a day celebrated by dozens of others, shouldn't be the defining day of a relationship. Believe it or not, they need multiple days and moments to flourish, grow, be healthy, [whatever word you want insert here]. Don't get so caught up in one day you miss the other 300+, whether you're married, dating or single.

Ok, I'm gonna get off this convoluted thought train. Don't worry, next post, whenever it happens, will be back to the normal realm of topics, whatever those might be. In the mean time, I'm going to look forward to the after Valentines Day sales and the copious amounts of chocolate I can already taste.






Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Pondering's from Work

Man was not made to sit in front of a computer all day.

If you are on a computer, get up and move.

The end.


PS What did office employees do before Facebook, email, youtube and the rest of the internet? I mean if the phone didn't ring, and the paperwork was caught up, what did they do? 

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Lifeblood

Almond - ah-muh nd,
noun 

1. the nutlike kernel of the fruit of either two trees, Prunus dulcis (sweet almond) or P. dulicis amara (bitter almond) which grow in warm temperate regiouns. 

2. the tree itself 


January is almost gone and I have posted nothing in this fabulous new year. “Fabulous?” I hear you ask, a raised eyebrow emphasizing the question mark. “Fabulous.” I reply flatly.  The new year is a time for new beginnings and hope. Granted I don’t always think this, some years it seems to be more of a reminder of never ending drudgery and time passing by waaay to swiftly. Not this year. Can’t say why exactly, but I think events on New Year’s Day helped keep my perspective from being cynical.

Pruning
For most people New Years Day is a time for recuperating. When they finally stumble out of bed they lurch to the couch, turn on the TV to enjoy the Rose Parade or countless hours of college football. A typical New Years Day and exactly how I started mine. But it didn’t end there, instead it turned into something more for two reasons; 1) the Rose Bowl was only on cable so we couldn’t watch it; 2) I’d gotten a tempting invitation the night before and I decided to accept it.

The invitation I received was to help finish planting an orchard. Okay, okay, I didn’t really help, I more hung out, but by the end I was helping a little...

While grazing the buffet New Year’s Eve, I exchanged pleasantries with our neighbor Steve Moeller. During the conversation and he invited me to come out to the orchard they were planting and take pictures. Unbeknownst to him, (or myself until that minute), I have decided to accumulate a collection of farm life photo’s and this was the perfect opportunity.

Trees packed in sawdust
New Year’s Day, after watching the Rose Parade with my little sister’s I decided to head out to the orchard and hang out with the Moeller clan. I made just in time to watch them plant the last row of trees. It’s a fascinating process and I learned quite a bit.

First off, orchard planting is a family, all hands on deck, affair; from Uncle Delmar all the way down to young master Stevie.
Planting 2014 style

Secondly, the orchard has two different types of trees Nonpareil and Carmel. Two varieties are necessary for cross pollination. Each variety blooms and is harvested at slightly different times. Nonpareil are the almonds usually what you buy in the store and serve on your table, Carmel are usually used for baking and found in things like chocolate almond candy bars.
Planting old school

The young trees are packed in saw dust to keep them from drying out. Back in the day planting an orchard meant manually digging a hole for each tree. Thankfully these days there are machines that make things a little easier. As you can see in the picture, it’s not so much a hole that’s dug as a trough that’s created for a tree to be planted in. (The pvc was to mark where the next the next tree was to be planted).

Packing down and pruning
After planting, the trees need to be packed down and pruned so they look like sticks in the ground. I’m not sure why they’re pruned like this, but I think the more branches there are the more nutrients go to those limbs and less to making the trunk and roots strong. It allows the farmer’s to shape the tree’s growth. I was to afraid of my destructive skills to pick up some shears and prune, but I greatly enjoyed walking along chatting in the warm sun shine.  

The last step to planting an orchard is to put milk cartons around the trunks so rabbits don’t eat them. That’s what I did (hence no pictures). It’s always been a dream of mine to do that, so when I got the chance I took it. I must admit, it was strange to be tramping through the dirt, barefoot in January, but it was so awesome. I really cannot state enough how alive one can feel working outside. Don’t get me wrong, farming is hard work, in this case I didn’t have to do any of it, and yet when I was out there, I was still a part of the family, I was accepted and belonged. And because of that I will always have a vested interest in that orchard.

My New Years Day was spent planting an orchard. Frankly, I don’t think there’s a better way to celebrate a fresh start and the hope of a new year.