SLM AT HOME | Secretary of the Interior

The Omnivore's Cornicopia

On Tuesday night, the Webster Film Series screened Food, Inc. as the final installment of this year's Human Rights Film Series. The woman who introduced the film stated that the programmers left that movie for last -- prior screenings included King Korn, A Civil Action, Blue Gold: World Water Wars, and Manon of Spring -- because it's such a fantastic documentary, and the industrialization of our food supply is one of our most immediate and pressing concerns.

For me, realizing that most of the beef that ends up in fast-food burgers is washed with ammonia because processors just assume high levels of e. coli (a problem caused by overcrowding cattle, as well as feeding them corn, which they cannot digest), convinced me that yes, this is an emergency. What compensated for sufferng through dry heaves -- and wet eyes -- during the factory farm and slaughterhouse sequences was footage of renegade farmer Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm. According to Salatin, a cow will shed most of the e.coli in its gut in a week or so once you put it back out to pasture and allow it to eat grass. So why are we pumping cattlle full of antibiotics, which only serves to breed resistant strains of e. coli? Why are we still feeding them corn? Sure, corn is cheap; but I can't imagine that grass isn't! The answer is that all of these practices are subsidized, the result of lobbying by the processed food industry. Michael Pollan and Eric Schlosser, who also appear in the film, make that point repeatedly. And that we can change that by supporting small, family farms like Salatin's, growing our own gardens, and being as conscious as possible about what we buy and stick in our mouths.

Though Food, Inc. screened one night only (it caused a lot of controversy when it opened in St. Louis, thanks to a critical chapter on Monsanto, so perhaps the run was cut short?), the good news is that Salatin will be here Monday October 5 to deliver a lecture, titled "Ballet in the Pasture," at Webster's Grand Gynmasium (if you can't go, check out Jean Ponzi's recent interview with Salatin on KDHX's Earthworms.) Interestingly enough, St. Louis seems to be the point of constellation for this issue right now, perhaps because we are hosting Farm Aid this Sunday at the Verizon Ampitheater. Related to that event: the Farm Meets Fork Farm Aid benefit October 2, the Farmer Cook-Off at Taste of St. Louis and HOMEGROWN Urban Country Fair at the Tower Grove Famer's Market October 3.

As for the future of industrial iceberg lettuce -- I'd like to echo the sentiments expressed in  this edition of Ben Katchor's Hotel & Farm. --Stefene Russell

Affordable Soil Tests; Cold Frames = 12-month Gardening

Soil profile courtesy of soils.usda.gov

Any master gardener will tell you: test your soil before you plant! Until you know what nutrients (or eek - heavy metals) are lurking in your dirt, it's a waste of money to invest in starts, or even seeds. In germ-phobic societies like ours, we forget that dirt (well, actually I should say soil) is not something to be scrubbed off the surface of the earth but a living ecosystem; a teaspoon of healthy soil contains (cue Carl Sagan voice) billions of organisms. But until we discover how to create a human-nemotode psychic uplink, the only way of knowing what (or who?) is in your dirt is a soil test. Soil tests can be a little pricey, and the process of collecting soil samples is straightforward but a little inconvenient. We can't fix the latter, but the former is less of a problem than you might think; the wonderful Homegrown Evolution reports that UMASS offers soil tests for under $10. Though you can get a free PH test from the Kemper Center for Home Gardening or Missouri Ag, that won't tell you anything about what nutrients are present and accounted for or what you need to remediate. Things change from year to year as well, depending on how well you mulch and compost, and what you plant in the ground. As Homegrown Evolution says, longstanding gardeners get into the routine of "test the soil, amend according to the recommendations and grow. Lather, rinse, repeat."

Another great tip from Homegrown Evolution: Franchi Seeds. Looking at the lovely greens they offer makes me want to set up a forty-foot-long raised bed just for lettuces. In fact, their pretty greens are the reason why I may be trottin' down to Home Depot (and the ReStore) this weekend to get supplies for cold frames, so that we can have fresh greens in the dead of winter. Cold Frames are as easy to build as a raised bed (well, unless you decide to go the expensive but even simpler route and buy a prefab raised bed frame!). See below for a quick video primer on building your own cold frames. --Stefene Russell

More Than Skin Deep

Listening to a podcast of “Speaking of Faith” on NPR, I hear the late poet and philosopher John O’Donohue say—in an Irish brogue that could add lilt and meaning to the White Pages—“It makes a huge difference when you wake in the morning and come out of your house, whether you believe you are walking into dead geographical location, which is used to get to a destination, or whether you are emerging into a landscape that’s just as alive as you, but in a totally different form.” Later, he remarks that urban planning in poor areas “has doubly impoverished the poor by the ugliness which surrounds them. It’s understandable that it is so difficult to reach and sustain gentleness there.”

Ugliness is something you have to tense yourself to ignore; it’s a sort of visual violence, a sign of apathy or desecration or punishment. We harden ourselves against it—and in doing so, we harden yourself against the people around us. That’s the exact opposite of the response we have if we’re surrounded by beauty; we relax and open ourselves to it, soak it up, draw it inside us. Beauty lets us be sensitive; it promises no harm will come if we let down our guard.

So when we step outside and see roses climbing up a stone wall, or water bubbling through rocks, it’s not a frivolous pleasure. When we weep over the death of an oak tree that’s shaded our house for a century, it’s not silly. When we plant an urban garden, cheerfully breaking our nails, straining our back, and caking our knees with dirt, it’s not romantic nonsense.

Beauty opens and connects us. Ugliness shuts us down, and breaks us into pieces.

--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer

The New Terrarium

VivaTerra's recycled glass terrariums.

This summer, we got a little dose of 1970s nostalgia with the return of the maxidress. Now there's another 70s staple popping up everywhere: the Terrarium. Llike many trends, this one's better the second time around; the 21st century terrarium is tabletop-sized (rather than three feet tall, or meant to be a conversation starter in a conversation pit) and made of glass, rather than translucent plastic, which quickly gets scratched and dirty-looking. In fact, the new terrariums are probably far closer to the ones cultivated in Victorian conservatories, rather than Earth Day in a bottle.  If you're handy, you can make your own, or shops like Anthropologie offer stylish ready-made ones. Just be sure to leave some room in there for your pet rock, since that trend'll inevitably see a renaissance too. --Stefene Russell

Reburbia

Been keeping an eye on the Dwell/Inhabitat "Reburbia" contest, specifically the projects that include lots of sprouting things; of course, if the suburbs are going to lower their energy consuption, growing  food onsite is an easy way to do that, so a lot of these projects do include sprouting things, and not in the form of lawns and/or hostas, as sweet as, er, hostas can be. One standout to me is Brian Alessi's Regenerative Suburban Median. It's not as cool-looking as the Airbias, but it's tiny and feasible, and I see great beauty in that. Of course, ideally one would plant stuff in subdivision medians right now while continuing to scan the horizion for suburban airships. What was that old Casey Kasem used to say about keeping your on the ground, but keep reaching for the stars? Right on. --Stefene Russell

Bravery Begins at Home

 I thought it was so simple. We’d plop a round fountain in the center of our patio and feel like we were in Rome. Then I had lunch with Laura Lynne Dyer. Laura Lynne just happens to be a landscape designer, so I casually asked her where one shops for fountains. Her head tilted, and she listened for a minute to my babbling.

“The thing about a central focus is, it breaks up your seating,” she remarked. “You find you now have sides, or areas. Which can be fine, if your space is big enough. The trick with a fountain, though, is seasonality; it’s shut off for five months a year. So if it’s dead center, you’re detouring around this covered blob all winter, as you cross from the house to the garage.”

Mmm. That doesn’t happen in Rome.

“I’ve designed this cover in my head that’s like an artificial tree, with pine needles in looped rings,” she confides. “You could even decorate it for the holidays! I swear, one of these days I’m going to find a manufacturer for it. It came to me because I was thinking, ‘How do you make something disappear naturally? You put a tree there.”

 I was already imagining it covered in popcorn and berry garland for the birds. But she was still brainstorming. “Walk the space, and watch each other. The tricky thing is scale,” she said. “If you have a large space, your fountain has to be proportioned for that.”

I gulped, thinking of money. “Align your budget with what’s most important,” she suggested. “If you’re going to change something around in a few years, get it at Wal-Mart. But if your eye is going to land on something every day of every year for the forseeable future, it’s worth a huge chunk of your budget.

“Of course, there are also ways to make it feel larger, by raising it or surrounding it with flowers,” she added. “And don’t forget the splash factor; if you’re sitting right next to it, you’re going to get splashed, but you can regulate that by getting a different pump.” It was 98 with a heat index of 120. Splashes sounded just fine.

“A fountain’s great for the birds,” she continued. “But you can have algae issues, to you can put just a little tiny bit of bleach in it.” And how do I stop the dog from drinking out of it? She smiled. “You let the dog drink out of it. I’m talking just a drop of bleach every once in a while; it will diffuse in the water.” Then she frowned. “How level is your patio?” I thought guiltily of the two lumpy seams of concrete that intersected in the middle, leaving one quadrant sunken. Hadn’t factored that in. “You can shim it,” she assured me. “Or build a frame base out of stone, or build a stone border and put sand in it to create a base.

“You really need some color, too, if you’ve got all that concrete,” she continued. “And privacy on the open end of the patio—maybe a hedge of boxwood or hollies? Nothing too oppressive—there’s a delicate balance between cozy and claustrophobic.”

By the time we finished lunch, I’d described the entire patio, including my prized little clay pots of herbs along the wall of the house. “That could be an amateur announcement,” she warned with a grin. “If you design a space yourself, there are certain things you can do—I’m actually working on a book about this—that immediately announce you’re an amateur. Lots of tiny little pots is one of them; try a few big planters, or a raised bed. Small stepping stones are another amateur announcement; if they’re big enough that it takes you and your husband to carry them, it’ll look like a pro did the job. And if you do a path from the patio into the garden, use a larger flagstone at every point of transition: anywhere you land or begin or change direction. That allows your body to readjust.”

By the end of lunch, I was more interested in getting my mind to readjust. Plopping down a fountain wasn’t as simple as it looked. The subtleties intrigued me--and the timidity of my own thinking annoyed me. That cliché about “thinking big” was true; I hadn’t dared, not with my little flower pots or the little round stepping stones or the fountain itself. I'd been tinkering, ever so tentatively, around the edges, but not envisioning any changes dramatic enough to make a compelling difference.

Yikes. If I can't have fun in my own back yard, where can I?

--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer

Fountain of Wisdom

"I care more about our house than you do!" I wailed at my husband.

"That's not exactly true," he said.

We didn't even need to continue the conversation; we'd recited this play's lines so many times before. The director's notes would point out that the heroine's world is a domestic one--she works in the world, but subconsciously, she's convinced that if she keeps her home beautiful and harmonious and orderly, she will have a refuge from the world's evils and ward off some sort of danger she's never bothered to articulate. Also, she just plain enjoys a weekend project.

The hero, by contrast, throws his heart into his work in the world (you'd think this play was set in the '50s, wouldn't you?) and thinks their home is just fine already. He has grown wary, after 15 years of marriage, because each completed project seems to inspire three fresh ones. There is no end to his wife's enthusiasm, so his solution is to splash water at the first glimmering of an idea about home improvement.

The play gets rehearsed over and over again precisely because it has no resolution. But a few weeks ago, confronted with a bed of ivy and weeds and a concrete patio that used to be a basketball half-court and has no more charm than that, I decided to try once more.

Tentatively, I brought up the subject. Instantly, I felt the resistance, like a poltergeist's chill settling over the 95-degree heat.

"What would get you interested?" I finally asked.

"I am interested," he said, then saw my expression and started laughing. "Babe, I really am. The problem is, it's never finished. If I thought we could do one thing and be done with it, I'd be ready to go. But once we do something with the patio, you'll start thinking about what to plant by the fences" (rhododendron and false spotted St. John's Wort, I'd already decided) "and how to reorganize the garage..."

I conceded his point, and we made a contractual agreement: this summer, just the patio.
I went downstairs not really believing it would work. But the next day, he told me he'd had an idea: What about a circular fountain in the center of the patio?

Everything fell into place. I'd been toying with a fountain by the wall, a fountain in the ivy, a hose splashing the dog because it'd be easier and cheaper than either one ... but I'd never thought dramatically enough to stick a fountain dead center.

"It's brilliant," I said, half jealous. "How'd you think of it?"

"I stole it from the Alhambra."

Ah, it's good to have a historian around. I think too small (that domestic curse). Hadn't dreamed of going to Spanish Muslim palaces for inspiration.

So now we're looking for a round fountain, if anyone has any ideas of where to find one short of stealing it from Spain. We may not be able to afford anything grand, but I'm already happy. We're planning it together, I'm not nagging, it's 50-50, we've reached a solid compromise and drawn firm boundaries around the task.

Maybe something more Spanish along the fence, to complement the fountain?

--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer 

Protecting Your Plants From Bugs ... With Other Plants

Seed-sowing season is drawing to a close, and even if you started your garden a bit late, you may have the beginnings of what will become beautiful peppers, eggplants, tomatoes and whatnot. Which means it's now the season to get vigilant about bugs. 

Rather than spraying down your food plants with nasty chemicals, you may want to try growing some of the aromatic plants suggested by P. Allen Smith for natural pest control. I love the way artemesia looks, but it's VERY important to note, as this article does, that it gives off a toxin, so it's more of a flower-border sort of plant. Not every gardener is crazy about marigolds or sunflowers, but I've had luck with lavender in very sunny spots, and hyssop; both those plants offer the bonus of attracting lots of pollinators to your garden, too. --Stefene Russell

Missouri's Own Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds Expanding to West Coast

My absolutely favorite seed company, hands down, is Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. Jere and Emily Gettle and their staff are the nicest folks in the world, their seeds always germinate (or if they have low-germinating seeds, they'll label the package as such). I also  love their quirky seed pacakging and carefully written catalogs, their recreated historical village, and the fact that they are so darn young and yet have made a committment to something bigger than themselves.

So far, they've operated out of tiny Mansfield, Mo., but they've done so well lately that they are expanding and opening another location in Petaluma, Ca. -- where, apparently, the bulk of their mail-order business comes from. (Can you think of a better place to grow plants than a town called petal-uma?) They have purchased the historic Sonoma County National Bank Building and are renovating it and outfitting it as a garden store. Which makes me want to plan a trip to Petaluma later this year -- that's what kind of seed geek I am! --Stefene Russell

Victory Redefined

Most fads, I sit out. But this year, inspired by a big grassy yard and a little economic uncertainty, I am determined to plant a vegetable garden. And so, apparently, is everyone else--including the First Lady. The White House is to have its first veggie garden, a fact I find almost as reassuring as the President's graceful message to the Iranian people and perfect pronunciation of the Arabic salutation. Why are homespun common sense and respectful courtesy so hard to come by? Because they require a little extra effort?

I'm cheerfully looking forward to the backbreaking work of double-digging this garden (and the dark ale and heating pad that will follow). I used to despise the phrase "no pain, no gain"; it seemed so breezily smug. But when I look back on everything I've loved about making a home and a life, it's the sweat equity that makes me smile. A few clicks to order something online? Dissolved. Cursing over a sewing machine to make heavy velvet drapes just the right color? A triumph still vivid.

What's so great about middle age is that now I can start these projects knowing I'm going to screw up, knowing I'm going to be frustrated 10 minutes in and sore afterward. I'll kill some seedlings, forget to water, screw up the distance between the carrots and the garlic. Plant too much in early exuberance, forget what I've read and stick the acid-tripping rhododendron next to the alkaline lettuce. It's OK. Because, like the new White House garden, home projects are as much about symbolism and values as they are about results. You're throwing your energy into something that matters to you. And that's a lot more rewarding than a couple clicks.

--Jeannette Cooperman, staff writer