The Tangled Nest

Overwashed: Rethinking the Daily Shower

June 26th, 2011

Americans are overwashed. Really. We take more frequent showers than any other people anywhere on earth, and across all of human time. Recently, I decided to think twice about the impulse to jump out of bed and into the shower practically every day. I mean–why? It’s not like I’m actually dirty. My hair might be flat and sort of ucky, but I can wash it in the sink. This takes less water, and much less time–lightening and simplifying my life on multiple levels. It also allows my skin to retain its natural oils– free from the daily dousing of hot water and soap, my skin is much softer and moister, and I need less lotion.

Think you need a shower to “wake up?” I always thought so, but try this:

–Pat your head and face gently all over on awakening.

–Give your hair a quick wash in the sink with Trader Joe’s Tea Tree Tingle Shampoo. It’s paraben- free, and really does tingle–not just during the shampooing, but for a long while after. I just love this stuff. You could also add a couple drops of tea tree oil to your usual shampoo. If your kids are in summer camp or a school with lice issues, this will also help deter nits!

–Dry brush your skin every morning. This feels so good and invigorating, and allows the skin to exfoliate, while maintaining its natural moisture content. There are also benefits to the lymphatic system, muscular health, and the nervous system from dry brushing! They say it even decreases cellulite…

Feeling funky? Maybe all you need is a PTA Bath. When I was in fifth grade, we visited my dad’s family in Iowa. One day my mom said, “Lyanda, you should take a shower today,” and Gramma Carrie, who raised five children in poverty in rural Iowa, said, “Oh, she just needs a PTA bath.” We raised our eyebrows, and my cute little gramma shocked us by saying nonchalantly, “Pussy, tits, and armpits.” Ha! But that’s often plenty…

Lately, seeing the rampant media images from refugee camps across the globe–victims of natural, environmental, and political tragedy, living in waterless tents–I’ve realized more than ever how lightly I take the privilege of ready access to cheap, clean water. On a recent trip to Ethiopia, Tom took this amazing photo of a man carrying his day’s water from the river near Debre Birhan.

This isn’t about guilt–it’s about living our lives simply, beautifully, intentionally. We just don’t have to do what we always thought we had to do by rote. I’m not fanatic about fewer showers–if I’m gross, or sweaty, or smelly, or just really want a shower, I have one, gratefully. But fewer is better in lots of ways, and I’ve come to really enjoy the simplicity of non-shower days.

Rest in Peace Gramma Carrie Andrena Peterson Haupt, 1911-2001.

Thanks to Flickr users NeilsPhotogrpahy and stevedepolo.

→ 21 CommentsTags: energy use

Squirrel Stories?

June 23rd, 2011

Love ‘em? Hate ‘em? Tame ‘em? Eat ‘em? Cuteness to the limit? Vermin? I know you have squirrel stories. I’m researching squirrels for my next book, and would love to be inspired by your experiences. Share your stories here, or if you prefer privacy, email to: urbanwild@thetanglednest.com.

Many many thanks.

→ 20 CommentsTags: urban nature

Baby Crows In Our Midst

June 21st, 2011

One of the Crow Questions I hear most often is, “Why do I never see baby crows?” In truth, it is likely that we have all seen plenty of baby crows–but we are misled by the human tendency to conflate “baby-ness” with small-ness. A few crows will jump from the nest before they are grown, and cannot yet fly. Such precocious chicks are quickly hidden beneath a shrubbery by their parents, and we seldom see them, though occasionally we might run across one of these fat, round, wide-eyed little fluffballs. Normally though, when a baby crow leaves the nest, it is about the same size as its adult parent, and now that it’s mid-June, we are in the peak of Baby Crow Season–they are everywhere. Physcially, you can recognize baby crows by: their bills, which have fleshy grayish-pink “gape” left at the base; their feathers, which are a dull matte brown-black, rather than the iridescent purple-black of the adult crow; their eyes, which are typically gray-blue, rather than dark amber as in adults; and perhaps their tails, which may be a bit stubby.

But the best way to tell a baby crow is by its behavior! Baby crows are not “dumb,” they possess all the native intelligence of their species. But they are naive. They sit quietly, looking slowly all around. They are approachable, and believe that just about anything–a bicycle, a giant cat with a bell, a raccoon, an SUV, you or me–is a strange, wondrous, and probably even a friendly thing. They have hesitant take-offs and rather bad landings. They look “sweet.” They are loud, begging for food from their parents with an annoying “waaaaaaaahhh” call. If you see a crow, and you instinctively think of it as a “baby,” you’re probably right. Watch for them–they are all around us, and they are super-fun to observe.

An aside: Ornithologists and even hard-core birders do not call young crows “babies.” “Humans have babies, birds have young,” we are told. True, true, but I believe it is a harmless colloquialism, and comes so naturally to our tongues implying, I think, an easy empathy that is one of our own species’ loveliest qualities. Still, if you want to be orno-hip, you can call these babies “hatch-year” birds through the fall, after which it becomes harder to identify them.

The other day I was riding my bike through the neighborhood, and saw a crow in the middle of the street. I rode up within two feet of her, and she looked up at me, wide-eyed, turning her head from side to side. The adult bird was on the wire above me, and just gave me a brief vocal scolding. I looked up and said, “What a lovely chick you have,” (then looked quickly around to see if there was anyone who might see that I am a Crazy Talking to Birds Lady). I stayed with the chick for several minutes, until she slowly walked to the sidewalk. Her parent was quite open-minded about my presence, though if we are calm and unassuming, crow adults will often let us watch their young in peace. (But not always–see my earlier post about crow scolding and dive-bombing during this season of fledglings.)

By fall, most young-of-the-year will have grown their first adult flight feathers–their wings and tails will be shiny and new, but their backs and heads will still be a dull matte brown.

Enjoy the season of young wild creatures in our midst, and Happy Solstice!

Thanks to Flickr users Joshua and Lepak pix for the lovely photos.

→ 11 CommentsTags: crows, seasons

Soporific Salads and Lettuce Opium: One from the Archives

June 9th, 2011

Well, one thing growing in this cold Seattle spring is lettuce! Last night while picking a head of Romaine for the dinner salad, I saw the familiar “milk” rising from the cut. Such amazing organisms, the plants among us–full of life and secrets. I decided that as long as my photographer-husband is on a little hiatus (sampling ginger-garlic crickets in Vietnam!), it would be the perfect time to pull this old post, which I quite like, from the early Tangled Nest archives. Enjoy.

Remember when the Flopsy Bunnies ate so much of Mr. McGregor’s lettuce that they fell into a deep sleep? Mr. McGregor was able to pick them right up, put them in a gunny sack and take them home, where Mrs. McGregor vowed to cut off their heads, skin them, and use them to line her coat.

bunnies2

“It is said that eating too much lettuce is soporific,” Beatrix Potter wrote.

I used to think that Potter’s sleep-inducing lettuce was a plot device, but the milky sap released by cut salad greens is indeed known to calm the nervous system, and to possess a mildly soporific, sometimes euphoric effect. Lettuce is actually named for this sap. Lactuca, the genus name for both wild and domestic lettuces, is rooted in the Latin lact-, milk, and though our garden varieties were bred by modern agriculturalists to have less of this bitter substance, plenty of it is still released when we cut into the base of most lettuce heads. Lettuce sap contains the chemical Lactucarium, a non-narcotic sedative and analgesic, structurally similar to opium, but not nearly as strong.

: “Lettuce milk” released from freshly-cut romaine. This year I planted Bullet Green from Territorial Seed Company. It’s super-sweet and beautiful–I think it’s the best romaine I’ve ever grown.

In ancient Greece, guests were served lettuce soup at the end of a meal to help usher them into dreamland. Turning this notion of hospitality on its head, the Roman Emperor Domitian was known to torture his guests, who were forbidden to fall asleep in his presence, by serving them heaps of lettuce at the beginning of state dinners (Domitian was assassinated in the year 96–”perhaps justly,” writes Jack Staub in 75 Exciting Vegetables). And of course throughout Europe salads are still traditionally served at the end of a meal, an homage to lettuce’s sedative properties.

There have been modern scientific studies concluding that the sleep-inducing qualities of lettuce is simply superstition, but I am somewhat more inclined to believe centuries of cross-cultural medicinal usage above a sterile lab result.

(A Beatrix Potter aside: I am a fan. I have heard her dismissed as “Too Cutesie,” which is a terrible midsreading. Yes, those bunnies are pretty darn adorable, but no cuter than a real passel of sleeping baby rabbits. Potter’s animals are perfectly wild beneath their ill-fitting clothes, and her reading of the human-wild relationship is wry, biting, and clear-sighted: “Don’t go into Mr. McGregor’s garden. Your father had an accident there. He was put into a pie by Mrs. McGregor.”)

→ 4 CommentsTags: Uncategorized

A Mending Morning: Set up Your Sewing Basket

May 31st, 2011

I love hand-sewing, and I always have–ever since I was a little girl. I also love mending. It makes such good sense, imparts calm, gives you a pleasant sense of accomplishment, and is something nice to do for your family. That said, it’s been a mystery why, these past few months, the family “to-mend” pile has been growing high while I avoid it like the plague. Last week Claire said, “Mom, you still haven’t fixed my winter coat, and now it’s almost June.” It’s true. There’s a ripped seem under the arm, a cinch to stitch up, but three months after discovering the tear, the stitches haven’t happened. Why? Deciding to break through the mysterious mending ennui and just do it, I pulled out my handsewing box, and I think I discovered the psychological culprit.

The box was a mess. I couldn’t find anything I wanted, and every time I tried to pick out a needle, or pin, or my beautiful little crane-shaped embroidery scissors, they would be attached to everything else in the box by a multi-colored tangle of thread. Stressful. So in the spirit of “tidiness breeds inspiration” I took five minutes and cleaned it up. Entropy is a physical law, so it is normal that a handsewing box will collect things over time that belong elsewhere: bobbins for the machine, elastic, bits of ribbon, ends of cloth, and many many spools of thread–all of these have their proper place in the sewing area, but a good mending basket should have just the essentials. The weirdest thing I found in my cluttered box was this group of five flicker feathers. Where did they come from? You know it’s time to clean up your basket when pieces of animal start turning up.

The tidy box looks so inviting! I was actually thrilled when Tom came to me this morning with pants that needed a button. Of course it won’t stay this perfect, but I DO plan to spend a few minutes every month to put it back in good stead.

My sewing basket is a plastic fishing tackle box I got at a yard sale for 25 cents when I was in college (new with the tags on–no fish-egg slime). It’s perfect. It holds an assorment of needles and pins, a few basic thread colors (yes, in our house magenta is a “basic”– and sometimes it’s fun to mend in a contrasting thread color), a tape measure, chalk and a fabric pen for marking, a stash of safety pins, a small collection of buttons (more buttons live in a big button jar by the sewing machine), my good embroidery scissors and fabric shears, snaps and hooks-and-eyes, tape measure, seam ripper, and thimble.

Years ago I was sitting in my great-aunt Irene’s living room in Iowa, both of us with sewing in our laps. She said, “I don’t know how you sew without a thimble, Lyanda. If you start, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without one.” I have tried and tried, but I cannot sew nimbly with a thimble on my finger. I do, however, use it frequently for pressing needles through thick fabric.

My three favorite things in the box:

1) The seam ripper. It’s useful of course, but what I really like is that I’ve had this same little orange plastic seam ripper since my junior high home economics class. That happens sometimes.

2) The little crane-shaped embroidery scissors. They are beautiful and incredibly sharp. They delight me every time I use them.

3) My pin cushion. It was made by my mother when she was a Brownie, and is filled with sawdust that sometimes escapes.

I encourage everyone to make up a little box or jar to keep mending supplies at-the-ready. You don’t need all the stuff in my box, just a little thread, scissors, pins and needles, all kept in one place–a canning jar or basket or cardboard box. That’s all it takes to set yourself up for a lovely, calming,
practical art. Think of all the things we can save from the out-box with just a little bit of care and thread.

For inspiration and how-to, see my previous Pretty Patching post. Also Craftzine’s Mending Month recap from a few years back.

→ 10 CommentsTags: craft, DIY, sewing

Big Chicken, Little Chicken

May 25th, 2011

A pick-me-up pic for a gray Seattle day:

Two Buff Orpingtons. I love how Marigold looks entirely put out by the indignity of a chick standing on her back.

→ 7 CommentsTags: chickens

Kitchen Table Seedlings: Watering from the Bottom-Up

May 18th, 2011

Wow. It is a cold cold cold spring here in Seattle. Record cold and dark. Nearly 200 days of sub-70 degrees in a row. Only five days since January 1 without rain. Today is finally sunny, but there was a light frostiness on the ground this morning. All of us have been getting crabby, and drinking too much coffee, and despairing over our stunted little gardens. Everyone is also confused about our indoor seed starts–with overnight lows of 40-ish, we’re hesitant to plant out the little ones growing on the kitchen table. Here at The Tangled Nest, we’ve started the hardening off process, but until last night have still been bringing them in every evening. Which makes me very glad about the simplified seed-start watering system we tried this year–instead of lots of reused containers of varying shapes and sizes, covered with bits of plastic (power to that process–very DIY, and of course we support it in theory!), we decided to go more uniform. We took an awl and poked about five holes in dozens of little dixie cups (the plain, unwaxed paper kind), planted those with seeds, then placed them all in seed trays without drain holes, or rimmed baking sheets. Here they are, over a month ago:

To water, we just use a pitcher to fill the trays with about 1/2 an inch at a time, and the little dixie cup seed pots suck the water up. In the past, I misted seeds until I got tendinitis; this is SO much easier, and such a time saver. Since it’s still so cold out, we are continuing to start plants indoors that we would normally put straight in the ground, and I’ll keep using this method.

Meanwhile, the extra-cold spring garden is what it is. At least, talking to all the other Seattle gardeners, I know we’re not alone. The peas, which are supposed to cover up the bicycle trellis I only sort of like, are a full six inches shorter than they were this date last year.

The broccoli, which is supposed to be done about now, so I can plant the tomatoes in its place, looks like this:

Even the spinach is sort of sitting there:

Still, signs of spring abound, and enliven us:

Bleeding hearts--one of my favorites.

The columnar apples are a little late in blooming, but look lovely.

How are you all coping with the cold spring?

→ 11 CommentsTags: garden, seasons

Kelly and Erik From Root Simple: Bees, Bread, And Radical Home Economics

May 4th, 2011

A guest post from Tom:

In a perfect storm of mismatched calendars, Lyanda was doing a reading in Portland this week while Kelly and Erik of the blog Root Simple (formerly Homegrown Evolution) were in the Seattle area, doing events in support of their great new book Making It: Radical Home Ec for a Post-Consumer World. Then they literally passed each other on their respective trains as Lyanda came home and Kelly and Erik headed south to Portland.

Erik and Kelly check out our garden.

But while Kelly and Erik were in town, Claire and I were lucky enough to have them as house guests, and we had an opportunity to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at Bakery Nouveau and talk about their new book, their blog, and our mutual affection for chickens, gardens, crusty breads, and bikes.

Their new book Making It refines the tinkering, post-consumer, urban homesteading experiments from their blog, laying out projects in clear, practical step-by step instructions intended as an introduction to “the old home arts.” The chapters move step-wise, from “Day to Day” projects like homemade tooth powder and herbal infusions, to “Week to Week” projects involving cooking, washing, and mending, and on to projects relevant to a monthly, seasonal, or annual time frame. Like making sauerkraut, or soap. Saving seeds. Brewing beer. (Slaughtering chickens! Gasp!) And finally, their special new passion, beekeeping.

Some of the Root Simple bees.

Erik showed up in a sweatshirt from his beekeeping club, Backwards Beekeepers, and we talked for a while about the quirky characters in the beekeeping scene, and the idea that it may in fact be the practices of modern beekeepers that are at least partly responsible for the epidemic of colony collapse disorder. The book opens with the story of them getting their bees (which you can also see in this video), and closes with a 25-page section introducing beekeeping. “Backwards beekeepers,” it says, “manage bees as little as possible,” and Kelly and Erik have become advocates for this approach, and active members in the 600-strong LA-area club. They raise feral bees, don’t spray them with chemicals, allow them to build their own combs, and simply “let bees be bees,” an approach which is radically different from the heavily managed, chemically-dependent, honey-production-focused beekeeping that they say is the norm.

I wish I’d had time to dig deeper into the bees with them, but Amtrak awaited–it was time to buzz down to the train station and send them off to Portland, so that pleasure will have to wait till next time.

Meanwhile, I’m poking through Making It, trying to figure out which of their many great projects will be the first I try – we’re overdue for a proper compost bin (page 230), and their section on soaps (148-162) has projects that range from super-easy to fairly complicated, but all look tempting. And I love the idea of homemade peppermints! (Page 134)

Follow Erik and Kelly’s blog Root Simple, and pick up your own copy of the book at your local bookseller or on Amazon.

→ 2 CommentsTags: bees, books, food, urban farming

Crow Planet Giveaway Winner

April 27th, 2011

Congratulations to “kat,” who helped celebrate the paperback release of Crow Planet by winning our giveaway! The book is in the mail.

I hope you’ll join me at one of my upcoming readings at two of the northwest’s most fabled bookshops:

Powell’s (Burnside), Portland, Monday May 2, 7:30 p.m.

Elliott Bay Bookstore, Seattle, Monday, May 23, 7 p.m.

I’m giving a new talk, possibly including some current work, so even if you’ve heard me speak before, I think there will be plenty to interest you. Of course, I’ll still bring my Crow Call!

→ 2 CommentsTags: books, crows

Celebrating the Egg Moon (and a simple Huevos Rancheros recipe)

April 23rd, 2011

Dear me, I meant to write this post for this month’s full moon, but since we are getting ready to dye eggs for Easter today, I suppose this is just as well:

In colonial America, the full moons of early spring were called Egg Moons. The longer days and increased light of the season stimulated the pituitary glands of the hens in the chicken yard, and as the hours of sunlight increased, so did egg laying. Those of us with chickens in the backyard know this cycle well. Though our first-year hens may lay every day during the winter, by year two or so the eggs gathered in the dark months dwindles. Then, just as we feel our own spirits rising with the light and green of spring, we watch the hens’ natural response to the season spill forth from their little coop.

Whether you have your own chickens, or purchase eggs from a small, local farm (apart from the artificiality of the bright-light-all-day-and-night corporate agriculture system), it feels delightful to be part of this rhythm.

Eggs are one of the most compactly nutritious foods available to humans, and eggs from backyard chickens–content with just a bit of space and a small coop–have been a staple for families in temperate climates around the world for thousands of years. It is no wonder eggs, symbols of wholeness, completeness, and new life, are celebrated this time of year.

The best way to celebrate eggs is by eating them. Skillet-poached Huevos Rancheros is one of our favorite quick meals. You can do it right, of course: soak your beans and make homemade salsa. But I’m going to give you the busy weeknight straight-from-the-pantry version.

Simple Skillet-Poached Huevos Rancheros

You need:

1 15 ounce can of black beans, rinsed
1 15 ounce jar or tub of salsa (much of the seasoning/flavor will come from the salsa, so make sure it’s one you love)
4 beautiful eggs

Pour the beans and salsa into a skillet (we actually use a wok, which works great), and bring to a simmer. One at a time, crack each egg into a small dish, make a little well in the simmering beans with a big spoon, and slip the egg in.

Simmer covered until the yolks are cooked as you like them–about five minutes or so, for slightly runny yolks. Serve with warmed tortillas and your favorite condiments: avacado, shredded cheese, yogurt/sour cream, cilantro, goat cheese…

Enjoy!

And for more on full moons and food, have a look at Jessica Prentice’s lovely book, Full Moon Feast.

→ 3 CommentsTags: chickens, recipes, seasons