NH Outside: Self reliance Archives

Northfield, New Hampshire has been my home for 40 years. Five years ago I moved into a new home, but stayed in the same town.

Each move requires adjustment to new surroundings and a pulling away from the old. Pulling away from the old takes longer than adjusting to the new, because you usually have strong feelings invested there. The old place fit me like my skin after I’d lived there for 35 years. I felt I knew every blade of grass (most of it of the crabgrass variety), so I had mixed feelings about moving.

Although I've lived in urban or small-town environments, teaching and raising children for most of my adult life, I still have strong memories of other places I've lived. For example, the way I live now is heavily influenced by what I did as a youngster growing up on a farm in the Great Plains, where the principal activity was making things grow.

Our rural farm had 40 acres for growing things to sell and sustain ourselves. I learned to grow garden crops as well as orchard and vineyard products. We had a farm stand for the various vegetables and a pick-your-own arrangement for the orchard and grape vines. Planting, pruning, harvesting and general care of the livestock were skills I learned early on the farm. Like most boys, I didn't always enjoy what were, in retrospect, a lot of good life skills.

As I began my retirement, I made a conscious choice to go back to my rural roots. I wasn't inclined to return to the flatlands of Kansas. I wanted to stay in Northfield, so I began looking for land on which to build my dream house.

Neighbors were wondering if they had put me off somehow, but I assured them that now the children were grown, I wanted a place where I could apply some of the long-unused skills that were such a part of my early life. Simply stated, I wanted to play in the dirt and become more intimate with the seasonal changes.

I moved into my new place in the spring of 2005.The brand-new home was surrounded by a thin layer of topsoil in the front yard and some pretty rough stuff in the back and side yards. I must say that I worked harder those first two years than I ever did on the farm as a boy, because everything needed to done at once.

There was lawn to seed, wildlife-attracting shrubs to set in place, vegetable and flower gardens to plant, and piles of rocks to organize. I started saving table scraps and yard rakings and began to compost in earnest. With a strong back and planning, I brought order to the chaos. My wife worried that I'd have a heart attack, but I assured her that a broken finger was more likely. Actually, my muscle tone improved dramatically and I lost a few pounds of city fat. The amazing thing is that all those long-dormant skills developed in the fields of my youth came flooding back.

I took the UNH Cooperative Extension Community Tree Steward training, which helped me deal with the shrub planting I had in mind. I contacted the State Forest Nursery for a list of seedlings appropriate for my site and for sale at a reasonable price.

As soon as I let them know I was a Tree Steward, they asked me if I would like to volunteer when they sorted the plants in the spring, and I agreed. One side benefit of that ongoing relationship has been lots of expert advice and a pretty good selection of undersized but healthy plants for free.

As I prepare to launch into my fifth spring I’m beginning to feel a new sense of place, an attachment to this small space in the world and to what I have done here. When I pull into the driveway, I see a creation I have planned and shaped. As an encroacher on the woods around me, I 'm fulfilling a responsibility to make the land benefit not only me and my own aesthetic tastes, but the mammals, birds, snakes, amphibians, insects and other creatures who also have an attachment to this place.

By Bill Dawson, Community Tree Steward

Drawing by Mary West, UNH Cooperative Extension

I know of no one who likes grey squirrels. They take over bird feeders, live in attics, and are considered an all-around pest.

But once in a while, a pest becomes an individual, a sympathetic individual, who captures your heart. Enter Stumpy the Squirrel.

Two years ago, shortly after I retired from high-school biology teaching, Stumpy appeared at my bird feeders with the other squirrels, eating my expensive “sunflower chips” and causing anxiety in my feather-lined heart. On second glance though, I noticed he was different, an apparent target of bullying. What was going on here?

Stumpy was missing half of his long, furry, squirrel tail. What had happened to him? He didn't seem to be the worse for wear, so I put him in my Oh, there's Stumpy file as the only gray squirrel I could distinguish from the rest of the horde. A squirrel I could use perhaps as an indicator for how long they stay in the same place and perhaps even how long they live.

Last fall, when I again had time to observe my backyard, there was Stumpy, now frolicking with his pals: fat, happy, and eating his share and more of the gold-plated sunflower chips. Winter three was coming up. I knew that one squirrel does not a population make, but Stumpy could still serve as a pretty good indicator about local grey squirrel life. In fact, life seemed not too bad in my back yard: great food, plenty of places for nests, friends to play with. But what about sex, I wondered? Was Stumpy ignored by the girls because of his tail? (Or the boys? I’d assumed Stumpy was a male, but I don’t really know.)

By midwinter, Stumpy's fur appeared a little less thick and full. He wasn’t frisky, but lethargic. There must be something wrong with him. With binoculars, I saw him close up, and what a sight! He had a patch on his right side that had no fur, with one big, red open sore on the skin.

What had happened? It was 15 degrees. I figured that might be the end of Stumpy. But how would I know? Do a squirrel inventory every day? Stumpy didn’t show up on a regular basis. I went searching for information.

A local veterinarian told me Stumpy might be suffering from mange, a mite infection. Or he might be biting and irritating an itchy spot. As winter is stressful on all wildlife, Stumpy’s tail problem, possible mange, or even feeding on contaminated bird feed could all have contributed to his appearance.

Following the habits of grey squirrels may not seem exciting, but I did want to see how Stumpy fared. I set up a blog to record my Stumpy watch. In response, a college friend suggested I trap him and take him to a recovery center. Hmmm, not sure about that one.

When I showed Stumpy’s picture to my next door neighbor, his comment was, “Oughta be shot for eating my bird seed.” Not what I really wanted to hear. Our four-year-old granddaughter followed Stumpy and wanted to make him into a princess.

As the winter wore on, Stumpy appeared, though not regularly. When I did see him, his skin looked better, and his appetite was great. As squirrels aren’t herd animals, his solitary appearances didn’t seem abnormal.

Perched on a tree branch during a January snowstorm, Stumpy looked shocked at having to go through 12 inches of snow to the birdfeeders. Instead, he went back up his tree making noises whose meaning I could only imagine.

On a sunny but cold March day, Stumpy sat on his branch again, with his injury facing the sun, seeming to just enjoy the warmth. I startled him and he ran around the back of the tree and disappeared. I could see his naked skin and his injury were still there, but he seemed none the worse for it.

Now it’s May. The trees have leafed out, the grass is up, and I continue to see Stumpy at the feeder every couple of days. Amazingly, most of his fur has grown back, except for a small spot, and he looks fat and happy. But a number of other squirrels, including a red squirrel, now seem to be afflicted with the same skin condition.

What I’d taken for granted, the presence of grey squirrels just outside my window, has turned me, an experienced science teacher, into to a humble observer. It’s given me the awareness that my condo backyard is not just as a grassy knoll mowed all summer by noisy machines, but an inspiring and thought-provoking corner of our planet with its own secrets and mysteries.


By Suzy Martin, Master Gardener and Community Tree Steward

Vegetable gardening is back in fashion. The desire for locally grown produce, combined with economic pressures, has inspired homeowners to dig up their yards. Already, seed companies are reporting shortages of popular seed varieties. Fortunately I bought seeds in February, and my plants are growing nicely under lights in the basement.

All this enthusiasm about gardening reminds of the huge garden behind our house when I was growing up in New York State. We owned the 50-foot-wide lot behind our suburban house, and it was devoted entirely to food production. Although the family Victory Garden seemed to be in decline by the time I came along, I remember the apple and cherry trees, the asparagus and strawberry beds, the path down the middle with the rows of vegetable beds on either side, and an old chicken coop.

My father was a county extension agent in New York State, so he knew what he was doing. I suppose he was under lots of pressure to “teach by doing” and felt he had to have a showcase Victory Garden. Lucky for us-lots of fruits and vegetables. My older brothers were more involved in the work. I especially remember my father’s fantastic tomatoes that he raised from seed. I have tried to carry on his legacy, but with dismal results compared with his shoulder-high jungle of tomato bushes loaded with beautiful fruit.

The need for food during both World Wars I and II inspired the idea of backyard vegetable gardens. Home gardening also provided a way for everyone to help the war effort. My sister-in-law, who grew up in Virginia, told me that her dad borrowed a horse and plow to till up their yard for a garden. Although he was a civil engineer, who knew nothing about gardening, she remembers they grew lots of vegetables.

I’ve read that USDA estimated that during World War II, Americans planted 20 million garden plots that produced as much as 10 million pounds of fruit and vegetables a year - more than 40 percent the fresh vegetables cosumed in the United States at that time. In 1943, American families bought 315,000 pressure cookers for canning vegetables.

Round III of the victory garden movement came just after the oil embargo in the mid 1970s. The TV show Crockett’s Victory Garden aired in 1974 at WGBH, Boston’s public television station. The 75’ x 75’ garden was dug just outside the studio in ground that was like concrete - a former flood plain full of construction rubble and most recently a parking lot. Crews removed rocks and brought in tons of topsoil, built raised beds built and erected a greenhouse. Jim Crockett’s gardens were incredible. A garden writer, Jim proved to be a natural on TV, and the show was an instant hit. He probably taught more people how to garden and grow their own food than anyone since.

Victory Garden round IV is poised to happen this summer, responding to economic pressures, a desire for greater local self-reliance, and concerns about food safety. The White House lawn now sports a vegetable garden. Unlike Mr. Crockett’s parking-lot garden, the White House lawn probably has excellent, well-drained soil that will be tested and corrected for any problems: texture, organic material, pH, nutrient deficiencies. There is plenty of sun at the site, access to plenty of water, and no shortage of labor for weeding, watering, and monitoring for pests.

New gardeners, take heart! There’s a real element of beginner’s luck in gardening. New gardens are the naturally the “first rotation” of crops. Insects may not find the new site, and diseases have not contaminated the soil with spores that move on to the next season. Deer may take a couple of years to zero in on a new garden, and the woodchucks may be slow to locate the new food source.

If you are among the seven million Americans predicted to start their first vegetable gardens this season, take it from an old hand: Start small and build on your success.

Begin with the easy crops: green beans, lettuce, broccoli, summer squash /zucchini, a few herbs, and of course, a few tomatoes. Look to experienced gardeners for help preparing your ground, selecting varieties to grow, and dealing with garden-maintenance questions you can’t answer.

You can always call the toll-free UNH Cooperative Extension Family, Home & Garden Center Info Line, Monday through Friday from 9:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. Trained volunteer staff, many of them gardeners themselves, will help you find answers to even your thorniest questions.
Happy gardening!

By Anne Krantz, Master Gardener and Community Tree Steward

From the south-facing windows of my house I can see two apple trees. They sit on the northern slope of a small mountain in central New Hampshire, closely surrounded on three sides by oaks, maples, black birches, poplars, pines and all sorts of undergrowth busily filling up the mountain. The only open space for sunlight and air movement is between the trees and the house, an area of about half an acre. The apple trees stand as vanguards between the cleared, civilized world and the dark, mysterious forest stretching out behind them.

The house was built circa 1790 when George Washington was in politics and apple trees were planted as part of a homestead. My apples could have known the virgin chestnut trees that are built into the house. Maybe they were planted during the Civil War when the land parcel was 80 acres, not 10 as now. The mountain was cleared of forest then and the apple trees shared the acres with blueberries and sheep.

The apple trees are grafted; their trunks sport a distinct line about 12 inches up from the ground that looks like a soft blouse on a person whose belt is too tight. Above the graft, the trunks are textured with worm and flicker holes and the scars of lost branches.

When we arrived here 23 years ago, the trees were completely buried in the woods. We cleared a small area for a back yard but gave the old trees little attention. We kept assuming they would die or fall over from leaning towards the sun. Fifteen years ago, after we hired a professional who pruned them and cut away a few surrounding trees, the apple trees began to produce fruit.

Throughout the years these trees have offered us continual entertainment and wonderment. The ground beneath them is covered with mosses and lichens. The shadows cast upon the soft patches of greens, russets and snow can almost lull away the blues of winter. When the branches glaze over with ice from some bitter onslaught of weather, they shine silver in the morning sun, and in the evening they can become pink and purple, reflecting the sun through the mature forest that protects them from wind.

The apple trees seem to bloom best in the meanest years. When they bloom, they brighten the entire back yard. Then the petals drop to the ground, and it looks as if someone sprinkled pink rings around the trees. The sweet smell and bright pinks of the blossoms arrive as gifts after a long, sterile winter.

The shade of these trees makes a good place to sit from a dog’s point of view. The area is soft and shaded, and you can watch the house and yard, and see all the way down the driveway to the road. All kinds of critters take advantage of these trees. Bees especially like the flowers of the apple trees. You can hear their excited rumble from the middle of the yard on a spring day. Over the years we have watched horses, turkeys, deer and grouse graze on the apples that have fallen to the ground. Birds court, nest, eat bugs and buds. Orioles, scarlet tanagers, blue birds and cardinals visit in the early spring, attracted because we have these grand old trees. Chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, blue jays and titmouses that stay all year, frolic through them.

There was a good crop of small apples this year, russet globes suspended among the branches and leaves. One morning we saw a lot of small branches on the ground around the larger apple tree. The next day the first branches were turning brown on the ground and there were more added to the debris. We also saw broken branches all though the tree and the apples were gone!

Investigation revealed bear scat on the ground. A small bear had come to feast on the apple crop. I would have loved to watch the bear climb up into the tree and snuggle in its cradle of branches, pulling those sweet red treats to its mouth. Those large paws snapping branches inward perform a sort of natural pruning.

My UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener training manual reminds me to prune them, but I feel that would hurt these mature ladies who know better than I what they need to face more decades. During Master Gardener training, when I asked the Cooperative Extension fruit specialist what I could do to help my apple trees, he suggested, in the interest of maximizing home fruit production, cutting them down and planting new trees.

I prefer the assisted-living approach. These trees have been providing for the inhabitants of this slope for more than three times my time on this earth. They’ve survived droughts, floods, blizzards, and the hurricane of 1936, which took most of the trees of the state. They survived the barn burning down some 100 years ago.

To whoever planted them and all those who’ve lived here since then, thank you for not eliminating these apple trees. I’d lose a lot from the days in my office, back porch, dining room and kitchen without those trees in my back yard.

By Stephania Pearce, Master Gardener

10/04/06

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.