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Sage Hill, Strawberry Scones, farewell
I’m pausing in Calgary after an exhausting and exhilarating ten days in Saskatchewan. It was my second Sage Hill Writing Experience – a poetry colloquium a few Springs back was my introduction, but the summer writing program was a first, and an impressive one. Over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to have experience of other adult residential writing programs for comparison – the Banff Wired and Spring Writing Studios, and the Arvon Foundation courses in the UK. They all have their strengths, but the choice of faculty is always central. This year’s Sage Hill had a stellar cast:
L-R: Ken Babstock, poetry; Spider Robinson, science fiction; John Vaillant, nonfiction; Kimmy Beach & John Gould for introductory poetry & fiction; Helen Humphreys, fiction workshop; Lawrence Hill, fiction colloquium (=manuscript development).I’d been dazzled, before coming to the workshop, by Vaillant’s The Tiger, and am looking forward to catching up with The Golden Spruce. There were seven of us in his workshop group, and we worked well and hard over what we swiftly realized was far too little time. Most of us were wrangling book-length projects, an impossible burden to lay upon a workshop group that had at most about 24 hours to read and comment on our work. We all managed to dredge some shareable sections for discussions, and the insights were phenomenal. John shared generously of his experience with writing and publishing, and led us all through what can – in a memoir-heavy field – be some very tricky emotional territory, with wit and sensitivity.
The week had its challenges: a lightning strike left us without internet access for two anxious days; the ticks were more active than they should have been, and the mosquitoes rapacious after a humid summer; there were a couple of brief interruptions in power and water supplies. And I think by the end of our time we were dizzy from too much sugar from all the creamy desserts and cornucopian platters of fresh cookies that appeared immediately after each meal. We were tired from too much dancing and singing, and too much time spent in the lounge lit only by our electronic devices.
But we were treated and fed extremely well. We had a couple of excellent thunderstorms and a tornado warning to further dazzle our views over the Qu’Appelle Valley, and lots of prairie sunshine. I spotted a few varmints in the grass, and we were endlessly circled and swooped by swallows, finches, hawks and the odd hummingbird. We took lots of pictures.
So it was with mixed feelings that I headed out of town yesterday morning, pausing at what a local described, on his way to his car, as “the best thing that ever happened to Lumsden” – the Fourth & James Bakery. We’d stopped there on previous visits to town. Doesn’t look like much at first glance, but the baking is first class, featuring such marvels as quinoa chocolate cupcakes for the gluten-intolerant, and fruit scones for the locavores (these ones featured strawberries from “just over the hill” – I’d missed the Prairie Cherry scones that were vanishing from the pastry case on a previous visit). Long may they reign.
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Mason bees in the summer
By now all my Blue Orchard Mason Bees (Osmia lignaria) are finished: this year’s adults have gone to the great flower garden in the sky and the next generation is tucked up in its nesting tubes waiting for spring.It seemed to me there were not as many this year as in previous years, perhaps because of the cool damp spring, and perhaps because I removed the popular block-style bee homes. These were a quick fix for the first couple of years, when I began trying to attract the bees to my garden, but I was persuaded that it would be better to switch to cleanable versions. These were pretty much impossible to clean because as soon as a tube was vacated, someone else came and filled it up again. I tried putting the house under a cardboard box with a hole in it, the theory being they’d leave and be unable to find their way back, but I was also told the tubes can provide homes to parasitic wasps and other insects with different life cycles than the mason bees, so you never know who might be sleeping in there when you dunk it in bleach solution (as I’d been advised to do).
I kept my tube home (made from a plastic pipe with an angled front to provide some protection from rain) up on the fence, adding fresh tubes rolled out of advertising flyers, and moved my Hutchings Bee Condo to the woodpile where it would be protected from the elements.
I’d read that the houses were best positioned on an east-facing wall where sunlight could warm them, but my bees seemed perfectly happy to populate the west-facing, shaded condo next door to the Bombus (bumblebee) house (where a tribe of feisty Bombus vosnesenskii have settled in for the season)
but a gratifying number of tubes have been filled and I’m going to look after these guys for next year.
Given the handy viewing panes that cover the laying tubes in a Hutchings Bee Condo, I’ve been peeking every so often to see how things are progressing and was fascinated to see the eggs had mostly hatched and the larvae were busy pupating.
They’ll live in their cocoons until next spring. I missed the boat last year, but this year I’ll be joining the many other gardeners who wash the cocoons in the winter – some use water, some use water and bleach, and some use sand – to free them of mold, bee turds and mites (Krombein’s Hairy-Footed Mite is the enemy of this wild bee; a different sort of mite from the one that plagues honeybees).
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Time of the stinking rose – with rust
I was looking forward to my garlic crop this year: I’d followed farmer Ray’s advice (plant deep, mulch well) and my plants seemed to be thriving. They also appeared to be rust-free, which surprised me since I’d had rust the last couple of years, and we’d heard at a recent GTUF talk by Linda Gilkeson that our area has been infected by a new strain of rust which affects garlic, leeks and other members of the allium family, and that “rust-resistant” leeks are not resistant to this one. So last Sunday, there were the first tell-tale spots, and I decided to go ahead and pull it anyway, as it was only a couple of weeks away from harvest.At a potluck last weekend, Kate had been demonstrating how to harvest, peel,
and braid garlic:
Even hardneck garlic can be braided, if it’s done when the garlic is fresh from the ground, as it takes a bit of time for the neck to dry and stiffen. The idea is to place the bulbs, as far as possible, so they aren’t touching. After braiding the garlic should be hung in a dry, airy place out of the sun for at least two weeks to cure for long storage. Any damaged bulbs – or ones where too much of the protective wrapping was removed, can be eaten fresh, without curing. I’ll try curing the insect-damaged ones, but those I clipped with my digging fork (the hazards of deep planting in compacted soil!) will be most welcome in a bowl of delicious garlic soup.
I found rust spots (as well as insect damage – slugs, leatherjackets and wireworm run rampant in my beds which are next to grass) on the stems and bulbs of some of mine, even where it wasn’t showing in the leaves. Fingers crossed for my winter leeks, which are growing in a raised bed nearby.
To reduce the spread of garlic rust, infected leaves should be snipped off – whether live or harvested plants – and disposed of in the garbage, not composted. Rust won’t affect the taste of the garlic and in most cases won’t reach the bulb,
but if it does it looks unsightly and garlic producers can’t sell it. If you let it go, it will affect the size of the bulb and eventually cause it to rot. It’s a particular hazard in community gardens where it can spread quickly from bed to bed, so community gardeners need to have agreements in place to control it. I saw this lot in a James Bay garden last year and suspect all the garlic there will be infected this year.
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.






























