Almost-Silent Spring
Are you familiar with the concept of "Food Noise?" It's that persistent and intrusive fixation about food. What am I going to make for dinner in 14 hours? When can I eat again? Am I hungry now? How about now? There are probably more people sensitive to food noise than not, especially in a culture where food and late-stage capitalism are in abundance. It's been widely reported that GLP-1's have the magical power to silence food noise. Ruminating thoughts about next meals and last night's leftovers are —poof—gone. This, of course, does not come without a dark side. Food noise has given us many gifts, and not just trends like cronuts and truffled lobster macaroni and cheese served in a wheel of Parmigano Reggiano. Food noise has given us proscuitto with ripe melon, coffee cake, and potato chips in tuna fish sandwiches.
This isn't going to be a polemic on food noise or weight loss drugs, but this phenomenon has been on my mind ever since Jason from the San Juan County Noxious Weed Board came out to my property and spent more than 3 hours disrupting the proliferation of tansy ragwort with a targeted application of an herbicide called Milestone. And like that—poof— In the last 4 weeks, the ragwort noise, and my weeding obsession, is blissfully muffled. I spent the last ten months in hypervigilance, futilely trolling ragwort, dreaming about ragwort, writing about ragwort. Though by no means eradicated, it has been moderately contained, and I am getting used to the quiet.
With the weed noise (momentarily) gone, I've had the space to to notice the budding fruit trees, the emergence of perennials like rhubarb and lovage, and a patch of anemic peony I found under a blackberry thicket last summer.
Azaela and Peony emerging after the blackberry occupation.
There has been so much rain the last few weeks. The area I've designated as the "food garden" is still mostly submerged in water, but Gillian build two raised beds out of dead material, and we've been layering them with cardboard, compost, and potting soil.
But there is no point in starting a garden if you don't have good fencing, and my friend Michael "helped me" rebuild 2 gates that were long ago destroyed by the neighbor's cows.
A couple of weeks ago, I saw more of Moran State Park when Sarah Thompson visited than I have since I arrived. I forgot to take pictures on the spectacular 4.5 mile hike, but trust me. Better yet, come out and walk it yourself.
It's too easy to rationalize never leaving the property because there are several lifetimes worth of work to do any time of day, any time of year. And yet, things move slow around here. I've scattered clover over an old burn pile and I'm waiting for it to take on new life.
Because plants are expensive and I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm trying to get the most out of what is already growing here, like the rhubarb I found last spring. One of my dreams is to have a huge rhubarb patch, or patches, and I transplanted some in the fall to a quiet, sunny corner. I think it was a fail, so I transplanted more to another spot, hoping for a huge rhubarb harvest in 2027.
Second attempt at transplanting rhubarb, and last fall's chives making an appearance.
The apricot trees blossomed first, followed by peach, Asian pears, and one plum tree. The other plum, cherry, and apple trees are still a few days or weeks out. Nettles are popping up, tulips and irises, and so many Spanish bluebells. The grass is growing. And the tansy ragwort that escaped Jason's spray nozzle are plotting their revenge.
