Just the other day, I was reading one of my favorite homesteading blogs, NorthWest Edible Life. Erica posted about Being Everyone – drooling over the pretty close up pictures and seemingly no-fail efforts of other homesteaders and green livers. I can soooo relate. I read other blogs, then look at my wilting cucumber vines, missing walls, and garage siding that’s been waiting for almost 2 years to get finished, and think “I suck at this homesteading thing.”
Our living fences experiment is one of those projects that really, really makes me wonder if I can actually do this homesteading thing. After all, we’re talking about a woman who, just a few years ago, couldn’t keep houseplants alive. I haven’t updated our experiment because, well…I thought I had completely bumbled the project.
I planted six osage orange trees along the outside line of my garden fence. Of the six, only a few ever came out of dormancy. No big deal, right? I followed the directions from the nursery to a “t.” No big deal if all of them didn’t wake up – especially since we weren’t even sure the trees would grow in a hot, humid southern climate. I counted myself lucky that any of them started sprouting. That is, until the cat, a few bees, and my teenagers came along.
I realized my first mistake was not properly mulching around the plants when I put them in. First, the cat mistook the bare dirt circles as a wonderful gesture on the part of her humans to offer outdoor litter boxes. Oreo, that beloved pain in the neck feline o’ mine caused one little struggling sapling to turn brown and wither. Hmm…knock out one of the few plants that woke up from dormancy. Apparently, osage orange plants aren’t cat pee-hardy.
My no-mulch failure was further evidenced by the grass and weeds that almost immediately started to battle my little horseapple babies for the same space. Bermuda grass almost immediately grew back over the little bare dirt wells around each tree. I tried in vain to pull the stuff up, turn the dirt over, anything I could think of, short of spraying something that could potentially damage my little plants – no luck. Eventually, I ceded the battle and resigned myself to simply weedeating around the trees, to keep the boys from accidentally mowing over my living fence protigies.
Enter the bees and said teenage boys. I was weedeating around the trees and fence line one day earlier this summer. I was being sooo careful to make sure I kept clear of the tender little sprouts. Just as one of the boys called out “Mom!” in typically ill-timed teenagease, I spotted a yellow jacket buzzing around in front of me. Whether it was the boy’s call, the sight of my arch nemesis (I’m deathly allergic to bees stings) who knows? But the end result was a jerk and a jump – naturally, in just the right direction to chop down not one, but TWO of my three remaining bare root tree babies.
I nearly cried. I felt like a homesteading idiot. If I had paid more attention, done more reading, had a clue what I was doing, I wouldn’t have needed to get a weedeater anywhere near my little darlings. This is where Erica’s post struck a chord the other day. I have done that “I suck compared to everyone else” guilt trip on myself – and those horseapple trees are but one shining example.
BUT…
There is hope, even for us less-than-perfect, unworthy, no pretty close-up picture type homesteaders. Sometimes, Mother Nature has her own way of counter-acting us bumblers.
I walked outside yesterday to snap a few pictures around the farm – mostly to document our garage-soon-to-be-barn project. (More on that later this week.) I’ve had to support my ONE remaining osage orange/horseapple tree with a brick, since it seems determined to grow at a weird angle. I was adjusting the brick and checking to make sure it wasn’t rubbing the tender bark off, when I spotted leaves peeking out of the well next to my solitary survivor. Little tiny green leaves, sticking up from one of the once-thought-slaughtered saplings.
Holy kaw! You mean it didn’t die after all? So I checked the next one…OMG! It was sprouting a bunch of little leaves. I checked the next well…more little leaves! Even one of the bare roots I thought didn’t wake up (and intentionally lopped off with the weedeater) was sprouting leaves!! Hot damn! The little buggars are comin’ back – in spite of my murderous slip of the weedeater!
Woo hoo! Granted, these little guys are barely more than 2 inches tall (compared to almost 2 feet tall for the formerly sole survivor) but I don’t care. They’re alive! Maybe, just maybe, I’m doing something right after all. Or at least, not terribly wrong to the point that Mother Nature can’t fix it.
So, while I’ll still drool over Erica’s fruit trees, and fluffy leafy veggies, I don’t feel quite so much like a failure…today. Tomorrow, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.








