Two-Lane Bloggin'Behind the Scenes at Two-Lane Livin' Magazine

About the time I forget she exists, a large manilla envelope arrives in the mail. The minute I see the hand-written addressing, I smile to myself, “The Bee Lady.” Brenda Koch, from Tallmansville, WV, has been writing a quarterly column on bees for more than three years now. She called, on day out of the blue, explained that she had committed to writing the column for another quarterly publication that never made it off the ground, and asked if we were interested.

We talked for more than an hour. She’s a beekeeper, a honey and wax product producer who wants to share her knowledge. As new beekeepers ourselves, were we interested in her column? Of course we were. Hers is the only quarterly column we publish.

The Bee Lady does not have a computer. We don’t communicate by email, I don’t “see” her on facebook, she doesn’t tweet. And to be honest, I think we’ve only spoken on the phone once since she started writing for us. I’m not even sure where Tallmansville is. We’ve never met in person, and I don’t even have a photo of her to post with this entry. In my mind, I picture her about my age, with long hair and mud boots in a bee suit.

Since she’s not online, and not nearby, and quarterly — she has a tendency to fade in my mind. We run her column, then one, and another months pass by. And then, there she is, a manilla envelope in the mailbox.

Her columns come as copied pages, paper-clipped on the upper left hand corner, the original handwritten in all capital letters on wide-ruled paper. I try my best not to insert typing errors in her column as I enter it into the computer. Sometimes I do, and then don’t catch them in editing. I admit now that any typographical errors or spelling errors in her column are my mistakes, not hers.

Brenda is the first in our “Meet the Columnist” series, because that manilla envelope arrived in the mail today. The next installment from The Bee Lady will appear in our March issue. If you’ve been enjoying our quarterly column on bees, feel free to send her a letter or card (by snail mail of course) to: B. Koch, HC 36, Box 184, Tallmansville, WV 26237.

Like anyone else, I get a case of the blues now and then. Also like anyone else, I have the benefit of people in my life who make it a point to develop and create those blues for me. As much as I appreciate their efforts and attention to my life, I’m afraid the blues just can’t compete with an unseasonably warm day.

Most often, this time of year, I tend to dread the trips outside to check on the chickens, collecting eggs, feeding and putting the hens up at night.  Mud, cold wind, grey skies – not on my list of favorite things. Imagine my surprise today when I opened the door to sunshine and a warm breeze.

Our honey bees were already active, raiding the chicken feeders and buzzing around the porch. I’ve long-since learned the bees have little interest in me, as long as I’m not doused in perfume and cosmetics.

Even in mid-winter, our garden needs attention after the way we abandoned it in the fall of last year. So, I tossed my coat and hat on the roof of the chicken pen, and wandered out that way, with Daisy Dewdrop on my heels. Both the chickens and the bees seemed interested in what I was doing, clearing weeds and moving dirt. Both likely hoping I would uncover something for them to eat.

It didn’t take Daisy long to find the rabbit hiding among the high grasses, and if you know beagles, you know the chase was on. Since she can run up to 24 miles and hour (we’ve chased her in a car before) I tied on her leash and did my best to keep up. It frustrated her, me holding her back, but didn’t keep her from following the trail through the prickly Autumn Olive bushes, which scratched my arms. When she lost the trail (at the same spot she always does), I led her back to the house. Along the way, she stopped at the edge of the lake to get something to drink, and I took time to lift my face to the sun.

I don’t claim to have all the answers. I only claim to be constantly in search of them, and I’m often eager to share any I’ve discovered. One of the main truths I’ve found is if you can find joy in sunshine and warm breezes, it’s easier to survive the mean and nasties of the world.

Sure, I may seem crazy, offering buzzing honey bees warm greetings. Even more crazy still to think they’ve come to know me, know the sound of my voice, my scent. Crazier still to think they are my friends – but I have yet to be stung by any of our honey bees.

I know the wild ducks on our lake better than I know most people. I know who has mated who, which side of the lake they prefer to eat breakfast, and lunch, and dinner. I can sing to my chickens and they’ll sing back to me.

It’s difficult, among these friends, to be haunted by the pettiness of a few people. To bees, beagles, ducks and chickens, the words of men and women are meaningless. Tell a chicken someone hurt your feelings, and they’ll squat, poop and move on. Frankly, I think that’s good advice.

If animals and insects have food, shelter and water – they’re happy. Humans are the only beings who believe – for some reason – they need (or deserve) more. We’re the only ones who torture ourselves (and others) to achieve far beyond what we truly need.  We spend lifetimes making ourselves (and others) miserable simply because we want.

Part of simplifying our lives has taught me though – we make ourselves (and others) miserable only if we want to. And while there are those who obviously want to share their misery with us, I have to remember, that is not what we want. People don’t believe it. Because they want that misery and to share it, they assume we want the same.

But the bees know better, the hens know better, the ducks, the beagle and the sunshine knows better.

In many ways, we wanted to find the simple joys in life, like the blessings of an unseasonably warm day.

I mentioned yesterday that I have fallen in love with certain tomatoes, which I consider as staples in our garden. There are two, specifically, that I feel I just can’t do without.

Brandywine (Lycopersicon esculentum)

As far as I’m concerned, Brandywine are some of the most beautiful tomatoes grown. More pink than red, they are considered to be “the benchmark” for real tomato flavor.

Brandywine have leaves that look more like a potato plant’s than a tomato. Once, I gave six plants to a neighbor, who pulled them up from her tomato bed and tossed them, thinking I had given her the wrong thing…. (Alas!)

We love them sliced, with salt (or sugar) and they make an awesome tomato sandwich. Two years ago, we had such an abundance, that they were used to make our pizza sauce — which turned out especially sweet and tangy.

Dating back to Amish Country near Philadelphia in 1889, the fruit grows deep pink and plump, up to one pound.

Twice I have tried the Amana Orange tomato seed, referred to as the “Yellow Brandywine.” They germinated well, but I had a more challenging time getting them to survive the transition from seed tray to garden bed. In all, I had one plant survive, which produced about 8 tomatoes – but they were really, really good as well.

Black Krim (Lycopersicon lycopersicum)

I just wasn’t sure about “purple” tomatoes until I tasted one. They are amazing, with an earthy, almost smoky flavor. The Black Krim is a Russian heirloom that originated in Krim, a Crimean town on the Black Sea. The baseball sized fruits are dark, purple/black.

Black Krim is known to be one of the most reliable of the “black” tomatoes, and our seeds have always germinated and sprouted well.

I like them sliced, but the Black Krim have become the “secret ingredient” in our home-made ketchup, which is more like a tangy barbecue sauce than ketchup. They darken as they cook, so my ketchup actually looks like tar in a jar.

Sure, I have other favorite tomatoes — Money Maker, Mortgage Lifter, Red Oxheart to name a few. But the Brandywine and Black Krim will always be mainstays in our garden.

Quietly, they’ve been spread across the country through the postal system, delivered to mailboxes of people who grab them tightly and carry them into the house to ponder over and learn, preparing for action in the coming spring…. Seed catalogs.

I’ve come to learn that gardeners all have their own preferred sources of seed. Some rely only one seed saved over from years before, while others faithfully get theirs at the neighborhood feed store where they’ve gotten it for years. Some swear by one company, some by another. Some prefer hybrid, others prefer heirloom. Frank and I prefer to work with heirloom seed, and try to save over our own seed, but at the same time, like to try something new each year. And although we have gotten seed from various sources, we’ve come down to one catalog for the bulk of our supply — Seeds of Change.

Seeds of Change offers 100% certified organic seed, and offers a variety of heirloom varieties. We’ve had success with germination, growth, etc — all the great things you expect from seeds. I’m sure such success and satisfaction would come from ordering from any organic seed supplier, but we also happen to like the seed bags that come with Seeds of Change seeds. They’re resealable zip lock bags. For some reason, that did it for us.

And I’ve made use of them. I managed, over the years, to save brandywine tomato seeds from the garden in my bright yellow resealable bag their grand-seedlings came in.  For some reason, I take pride in that fact.

This year’s study of the seed catalog includes a little more strategy than previous years. Last year’s Great Garden Failure depleted our seed storage in two ways — first, we got no harvest from the seeds that grew, and thus – likewise didn’t have any seed to save over.

Not to say we don’t have any seed. I have a minute supply of original seed generations, and a stout supply of seed from the second generation. However, to keep things growing as they should for many generations, I feel the need to order more from the original source each year to keep my seed line strong.

I feel especially determined about this with my tomatoes. I want my Brandywine and Black Krim to sprout, grow, produce, slice, taste and cook the same in ten years as they do this year.

I’ve gone through the catalog once with a fat magic marker, circling what I consider the basics of our garden, plus an interesting squash or grain or two. As I did so, the name of the company was not lost on me. “Seeds of Change.” What promise, what hope, what possibilities come with each order, in each yellow resealable bag.

The Great Garden Failure will always be tied to a year we’d rather forget – for many reasons. The garden was not all that we lost last year. But in browsing through the seed catalog, these seeds of change, we cannot help but imagine smiling over a plate of steamed spaghetti squash, tossed in herbs and warmed butter. You can almost taste the sweetness of that honeydew melon, feel the juice run down your chin. You can see the swirls in the top of a pot of tomato paste, and smell it’s earthy steam.

Ah, what a change can come from a pack of seed.

That is part of planning a garden. Planning the garden is planning your spring, summer and fall. It is planning your stock pile for next winter, and planning your seeds of change for next year — and the year after that, and the year after that, and so on.

The Seeds of Change catalog has come with its promises of a healthy, bountiful future. And so the planning and study continues – we won’t have to order for a few weeks yet.

“Spent hours in the sun in the garden plot, clearing out the what-ifs, if-onlys, weeds & tomato stakes of 2011 – reviewing the waste of seed, space, energy & time… After last year’s great garden failure, I didn’t know if I’d be trying again. But I will. Why? Because in the end, I need that time in the sun in the garden plot.”

Since I hope to revive my blogging by writing about our garden this year, I suppose the above recent facebook post is a good a way to start as any. I finished the garden season last year defeated, with no harvest to speak of since spring leaf lettuce, and minimal amounts of canning done only due to the generosity of other successful gardeners.

I can sincerely say that our third-year garden, for which I had the highest hopes, was a complete waste from the moment the leaf lettuce bolted. Saddled with a fledgling business, Frank’s ailing father, an early spring break away for me to help my mother — all could have been worked around , maybe.

Then came the wind storm. It flattened tomato stakes and bean poles. During the repair work, we discovered another problem, one which we did not diagnose soon enough — stink bugs.

Within a small amount of time, the battle was lost. The new rototiller sat quiet, beneath a wash tub cover. In August, Frank’s father’s health took a down turn, and by September when he died, we had long given up on the garden. If there ever were any edible peppers among the tall grasses, the deer ate them.

I often found my groove in the garden in my past years, but not last year. Heading into this past winter, I had no thoughts or desires for a garden. Time previously spent canning or drying and saving seed for the future was time spent — with other thoughts. Past dreams to be a regular vendor at the farmer’s market were quiet and faded, seed trays and gardening tools were tossed haphazardly into the outbuilding some time in late November before the holidays.

Bah.

But in January, the days were unseasonably warm, and when the seed catalog came, I half-heartedly paged through. But it sparked….. something. And the next unseasonably warm day, when I went out to feed the hens, I wandered on inside the garden’s fence. Tomato stakes teetered askew, mammoth sunflower stalks bent over, picked empty by the local birds. Tall grasses had flourished and gone to seed, fallen over under snow, and now matted the entire garden floor.

It was a sorry, sorry sight.

And while Daisy sniffed among the matted grass for ground moles and field mice, I began clearing stakes and strings and cages. While I hope to have a great garden and grand harvest this year, as we have known in the past, I have also come to realize — a gardener gardens to garden. We do it to dig in the soil, to smell the earth, to soak the sun, to work our muscles, to clear our minds.

The harvest is not the only reward.