Progress: A Composter and a Refreshed Garden

New Year and Spring always get all the "fresh start" glory. But for me, Fall feels so full of hope! There is so much to look forward to.

Over Labor Day weekend, Ryan and I buckled down and got to work. We mowed, edged, trimmed the hackberry trees at the fence line, and got all of the un-fun stuff out of the way. Then it was time to focus on the garden.

A few weeks ago, I began what I imagined would be a quick, simple, and adorable compost bin building project. (Rose-colored glasses, anyone?) It only took a few twists of his arm to convince Ryan into driving around the city and loading up a truck full of free pallets. Then I armed myself with a crowbar and hammer and was excited to get to work.

The lumber is ok. The labor is crazy difficult.

That's when I learned that taking apart wooden pallets is not for the faint of heart. Or arm strength.

Ryan patiently showed me the best way to approach the situation, but I whined my way through it. I even recruited our all-too-kind neighbor, who enjoyed the opportunity to sling a heavy hammer at something for a while.

Pinterest makes it look so easy. "Build THIS shelf out of pallets! How about this chair? Pallets! Free! Just take them apart and voila! Something awesome." Don't be fooled.

If you decide to take on a pallet project, lured by the free-ness of the wood and the promise of DIY furniture just around the bend; be warned. It's not easy. And also, not all of the wood is in the best shape. But it's free, and I have to say I was happy to put in a little extra elbow grease to get us an almost-free compost bin.

After a couple of weekends spent taking some of the pallets apart, and then learning to use the circular saw, I devised a plan to build a compost bin. (Note: this began as a three-bin composting system and quickly morphed into the much more do-able single bin.)

Final touch: paint on the saying, "A Rind is a Terrible Thing to Waste"

With about 10 feet of hardware mesh ($15) and a bunch of deck nails that I had on hand, I built a passable version of what I really wanted. I was inspired by this beautiful three-bin composter. The "door" on the front can be completely picked up and removed so that we can easily turn the compost with a pitchfork or shovel.

We moved the bin to its new home in the back of the garden, and left a little space next to it for tomato cages and the wheelbarrow. It's a little bit charming, don't you think?

Meanwhile, we had a lot of other preparation to do to ready the beds for fall planting. I took a solo trip Sunday morning out to the Natural Gardener to walk the labyrinth and get pine straw and turkey compost. There's something very meditative about shoveling hot turkey manure. Or maybe that was the labyrinth.

By Monday, we were up with the dawn and turning over the dirt in all the beds. We dressed them with fresh compost and topped them all with pine straw to keep the cats out. The garden began looking like herself again!

The beds are primed and ready (almost!) to plant. 

In a week or two, after the hot turkey compost has settled and the weather has cooled ever so slightly, it will be time to plant. Here's what we plan to start from seed (direct sow):

• Shelling peas
• Snap peas
• Swiss chard
• Arugula
• Spinach
• Kale
• Lettuce
• Dill
• Bok Choi (tatsoi)
• Carrots
• Turnips
• Kohlrabi 
• Parsnips

When it's time for transplants, we'll get broccoli and cabbage. It feels so good to be in the garden again! Are you ready to plant a fall/winter garden?

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Heirlooms (Tomatoes and Otherwise)

Hand-made. Home-grown. Timeless. Lasting. Sentimental. Simple. Treasured.

I used to be the type of person who loved trinkets, doo-dads, and held on to random stuff with blatant disregard for space constraints (my dear husband might argue I'm still a little like that, but I've gotten much better). I'd make thoughtless purchases because items were cheap and they fit into my current craze. My life held a lot of meaningless clutter.

Oh, am I so glad I've grown up.

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These days, I seek out hand-crafted objects, and put thought into the things I buy and bring into our home. Is it something we need? Is it produced in a thoughtful way? Is it going to last?

Ryan has always encouraged more simple living. Our decor at home has become a pretty nice (we think, that is) combination of both our styles. He's a fan of modern lines and clean, simple silhouettes. I like a warm and inviting color palette and a more homey feel. They come together surprisingly well.

But we both honor an appreciation for those things that are built to last, now more than ever before.

This all started with a Pin on Pinterest. I wanted a table just like that, and I also wanted to learn some woodworking and fit in some quality time with my dad. Badda bing, badda boom, we started planning via text message.

My dad is a master with all things building-related. He has a great set of tools and has made beautiful pieces my whole life. I have a small step-stool with hearts carved as handles that he made when I was a tot. He built our kitchen table growing up, and soon after, a hutch. And as a graduation gift from college, he made me a butcher block for the kitchen, which you can see in my "slow home" tour at Re-Nest. He also brought over the 10 power tools we needed to cut a space for our dishwasher to be installed. All this to say, the man knows what he's doing and holds himself to very exacting standards. Must be where I get my perfectionist tendencies (which only show themselves in particular circumstances, how funny is that?!).

The new dining table, ready for her inaugural meal!

So we started planning. A few weekends ago, we set to work to build the table top out of reclaimed pine he'd had for close to ten years. The wood began, weathered and worn. As he taught me how to use the different tools in the shop, from the planer to the joiner and the biscuit cutter to the router, we worked to take this old pine and turn it into something new—something that I will treasure for many, many years.

As I started this project, I kept emphasizing to my dad, "I want it to look old and imperfect." But as we built, I realized that this craftsmanship—all the effort we were putting into it—deserved to look more perfect than I'd thought. Initially I wanted it to look just like the picture, and then suddenly I was so proud of its unique grain, its routed corners, its... general heft...

It wasn't until I saw the final piece, which we handled with latex gloves until I got it sealed, that I realized this wasn't going to be something that we use until we find a nice $400 dining table in some catalog. This table began to mean a lot more to me than that. Ryan and I began to imagine, years down the line, our kids doing their homework at the table. I envisioned Thanksgiving dinner being served to our families around this table. We came up with ideas to update the legs, so that the table top would always fit into our decor. It took me three weeks to decide on how to stain it. (That part of the project wound up being most expensive as I kept changing my mind—since my dad had the wood, I spent a total of $65 to build this, which includes the four different stains I bought and tested but didn't even use.)

This very simple tabletop, which took 12 hours of shop time and another weekend of finishing time, went from a project I took on with my dad to this big life metaphor that maybe, as this blog post illustrates, my brain wasn't ready to process just yet.

So yes. It's a simple table and we'll dine on it tonight. We'll welcome guests at our hand-crafted table, and serve them a home-cooked meal that we grew in our backyard.

That's what Sustainable Diet is all about, after all. 

You see, it's so much more than a table. It is an heirloom, a treasure, a mindful and timeless piece that I look forward to sharing meals at with family and friends. It's a table that we'll make memories at, and as each nick in the wood begins to show, we're excited to leave it be... so that this table will have its own stories to tell.

My dad has already heard from me that building this with him was so very meaningful and special for me. It's been a great learning process, and I look forward to more building in my future. In fact, we already have plans for a bench to go along one side of this table. It'll be a metaphor, too. :) Lucky blog readers.

Have you ever built a piece that made you feel this way? Or anything close to it, since I realize I've nearly written a novel about six pieces of wood glued together...

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snap cracker pop

A couple of weeks ago, on a whim (now really, does that surprise you?), I made crackers. Just your basic, run-of-the-mill, flour and water and salt crackers.

Let me tell you something....they were a smash hit. Probably one of the easiest recipes I've ever thrown together, it resulted in snappy, salty snacks that were tons better than their store-bought counterparts. And that's not all: at the cost of, oh, fifty cents, I made a batch of fresh crackers that would have cost (for organic and sea-salted, which is what I made at home) upwards of $2 or even $3.

This simple money-saving recipe is totally worth the 15 minutes. I can't wait to branch out into whole wheat, parmesan, cracked pepper... the possibilities are endless.

Where did this idea stem from? You guessed it... How to Cook Everything--thank you Mark Bittman. Here's a short adaptation of the recipe, but I recommend just going out and purchasing your own copy of this magnificent book. With all the publicity I'm shelling out, I ought to be getting free copies in the mail on a daily basis. ;)

Crackers, adapted from How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman

Makes 4 servings, takes about 15 minutes

1 C all purpose flour, plus more as needed
1/2 tsp salt
2 tablespoons butter or neutral oil
1/4 cup water, plus more as needed

Heat the oven to 400. Lightly dust 2 baking sheets with flour or put a baking stone in the oven. Put the flour, salt, and butter/oil in the food processor. Pulse until the flour and butter are combined. Add the water; continue to add water a teaspoon at a time until the mixture holds together but is not sticky.

Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface until 1/4" or thinner (I rolled mine almost paper-thin), adding flour as needed. Score lightly with a sharp knife if you want to break the crackers into nice squares or rectangles later on.

Use a spatula, pastry blade, or peel to transfer the dough to the prepared baking sheets or stone. Sprinkle with sea salt or cracked pepper if desired. Bake until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Cool on a rack; serve warm or at room temp, or store in a tin for up to a couple of days. (But trust me, they won't last that long.)

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