I couldn't waste the week lazing around with a whole two-acre microfarm to fix up, and I managed to keep myself fairly busy. Let's start out with a summary that should make all my motorcycle buddies groan, especially Jack. I wrote a poem about the week:
My "Vacation" from "Work"
Slaving away under noonday sun
Sawing up planks—I've just begun.
Building raised beds for our vegetables green,
The finest raised beds that you ever have seen.
Fifteen low squares each four feet by four.
Please, dear wife, don't ask for any more!
Fill them up with dirt and I'm still not done:
I have to build a fence for the chickens and their run.
Fifty feet long and six feet high,
Neighbor dogs can't see them and the chickens can't fly.
I worked and toiled and sweated like a man,
But I lost five pounds and I gained a nice tan!
I also got to dig a trench that became a nice asparagus bed. It was a productive week.
Click to enlarge |
It was daytime, so it's hard to see the little yellow flame |
Biochar is homemade charcoal. You powder it up and mix it with your garden soil and it encourages the growth of beneficial microorganisms. It also sequesters carbon, permanently. Good stuff. I had four nice bags of sawdust from a neighbor's woodworking project I had saved all winter so I could make another batch. I managed to burn up a lot of scrap wood, and the barrel of biochar turned out nicely. Lots of nice fluffy charcoal that wouldn't need to be crushed into powder. I hosed down the contents of the barrel until I was sure everything was nice and wet, then turned in for the night. This was my first project for the week, and it took all day. I have several pictures on the previous posts, but here's one showing the gases escaping and burning off.
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Chickens and some scrap wood |
1 comment:
Instead of iambic pentameter you could have sat by your charcoal burner and made a traditional plate of Spaghetti Carbonara (Charcoal Makers Spaghetti) and kept one eye open all night checking on how the charcoal was burning, as they once used to. But then the literary world would have lost one of it's own. The charcoal makers' loss is the literary world's gain.
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