How does your garden grow

July is in full swing, and by this, I mean the Tour de France. In the Ragfield world, July is synonymous with long hours spent in front of the TV watching our favorite cyclists ride approximately 3,500 kilometers around the entire country of France over 21 days in July. Just watching this race unfold is exhausting, but when its over, summer seems to lose its flair.

Last Sunday, Rob and I rode Big Red (our tandem bike) out to Pontious Farm in White Heath. Its a pick your own blueberry farm, and as you might imagine, going there was my idea. For some reason I had thought it was only 15 miles away from our house, but it was actually closer to 20, thus making for a near 40-mile round trip. For Rob, this is nothing. For me, let’s just say I wished I would have eaten a bigger breakfast. Nonetheless, we made it there and back. I was in Blueberry Heaven at that farm. Seriously, if you live anywhere in proximity, go there. The family who runs the farm is so nice and very laid back. I don't think they are certified organic (its my understanding that it is quite pricey to get this certification) but they farm organically nonetheless. If they are out working in the fields when you are ready to pay for your purchase, they use the honor system—there’s a scale for you to weigh your sack of blueberries and a wooden box for you to put your money into.

The blueberries are coming in a little late this year as a result of aberrant weather, but there were still plenty for us to pick. We must have gotten close to 2 pounds, and the whole thing only cost $2.63. I still can’t believe it. A measly little pint of blueberries can run you $6 at the grocery store or the farmer’s market and those aren’t even organic. I loved walking along row after endless row of blueberry bushes, searching for the purplish-blue ripe fruits among the leaves and little green berries. I felt like the monkeys, when I used to watch them painstakingly forage in the Capulin trees, searching out the tiny fruits that were just right. I would count how many fruits they got—sometimes in 1 full minute of foraging, they would find only 1 little berry. To me, all the berries looked the same, but they must have known what they were looking for, because they were sure picky about it. Of course, the howlers generally preferred unripe fruit, so for them, they were looking for green berries among green leaves—a task whose difficulty I only appreciated after our blueberry picking adventure. If all else fails and I never manage to finish my PhD, I think I’d like to start my own blueberry farm. I’d have to figure out some way to deal with the Japanese beetles though. At the moment, dealing with Japanese beetles seems a much more daunting task than writing my dissertation, so I’ll try to stick with that.

Yesterday I had a surprise visit from Amy and the girls, who were en route from P-town to Indy. It was really great to see the 3 of them. Bryn and Shay were both so sweet. And Amy, I maintain that you are one of the coolest people I know!

A few of you have requested garden updates. I took a couple pictures this morning and will post them with one from May 31st just for comparison.

May Garden:

July Garden:

Back then, the garden was neat and orderly. Now it is a veritable jungle. On one of the cucumber vines alone, I counted 20 tiny little cucumbers. I didn’t count the cucumbers on the other 3 vines. The zucchini pretty much overtook the garden. I actually pulled out 3 plants today. I watch them with trepidation, wondering if I can set up a roadside stand to try to get rid of all that they produce. The tomatoes have become gargantuan. I bought the largest tomato cages that the hardware store had—they have long since surpassed that and now the ever-growing branches are drooping back down to the ground. Does anyone who reads my blog know how to can tomatoes? I think I’m going to have to figure that out, but I really need someone who knows what they’re doing to show me. If anyone is interested, I would love to have you over; I can pay you in produce, that is for sure.

Okay, back to work. Thanks for reading!

The Ragfields' Fourth of July

There is a 5K race in town every year on the 4th of July, but I’ve never actually run it. Between trips to Nicaragua and various running injuries, its just never worked out. I didn’t really plan on running it this year either. In fact, I hadn’t been giving much thought to anything other than the diets of the North and South Group monkeys (which by the way, do differ despite the fact that these two groups overlapped for practically their entire home range). At any rate, July 4th dawned cool and rainy, which was a nice respite from endless days of blistering hot. The nice weather sealed the deal for me, and I decided to go for it. Besides, Rob was already planning on running the race and I began to realize that I would feel left out if I stayed on the sidelines. I put on my 4th of July outfit (red shorts with a white stripe and a blue tank top—I actually wear this all the time, but July 4th is really the only day it makes any sense), and we ran over to Assembly Hall to do the race.

The nice weather had proved to be a lure for over 500 people. I’d never expected it to be so big. I ended up stuck way too far back from the start line, and when the race actually began, I swear it took 5 seconds for me to even begin moving (note: it probably actually didn’t take that long). Even so, I was moving at a snail’s pace for that first stretch up Fourth Street. When we turned onto Florida, I was able to move a little bit more quickly, but still weaving around a lot of slower runners. Even though it wasn’t all that hot and I moving sort of slowly, I began to feel really dehydrated. I wondered if I looked like Lance Armstrong did during that fateful time trial some years ago in the Tour de France. It was a relief when I saw a bunch of volunteers from the running club handing out water. I grabbed a cup and sloshed some water around in my mouth (its hard to actually drink when you’re running as fast as you can), which made me feel a lot better. I was still working to dodge slower people in front of me, but I was nearing a pace that seemed about right to me. It wasn’t until I turned onto Lincoln Avenue (maybe about a mile into the race?) that I actually felt like I was running unencumbered.

The race went along the same route as the 4th of July parade, which would begin a couple of hours later. Spectators and carnival-food vendors were already staking out their territories along the parade route. Maybe some of them cheered for us; I’m not quite sure. The only thing I was aware of was the stench of popcorn, fried things, and grilled meat, which made me throw up a little bit in my mouth.

The race course was an out an back, so just ahead of the turn-around point, I was able to see the fast runners, including Rob, heading back to the finish. I hit the turn-around at 10:20. (I never saw any mile markers along the course, so it was difficult to judge my pace. Rob assured me though, that there were indeed mile markers). In my heat-addled mind, I began calculating and it seemed to me that I was on world-record pace. This rallied me enough so that I could cheer a couple of friends I met heading out to the turn-around point after I was already on my way back.

I had been hoping to have an easier time on the way back, since I reasoned that the wind would be at my back, but it actually felt worse not to have a breeze. I lost a little bit of time, but managed to hold onto it and crossed the finish line in 21.15. I was on cloud 9. For those who recall, the last time I did a 5K, I finished in 21.59, and previous to that, I had never believed I could do it in under 22. I was still elated until I caught up with Rob at the finish line and he eventually told me that his GPS read 3.0 miles—a full 1/10th of a mile too short. Damn. No wonder everybody posts such fast times at this race every year. Seriously, you can check out the results online. Pretty much everybody who does this race is local, and a lot of them are really fast. It always makes me wonder where these people are for the other 364 days of the year because I don’t know very many of them. Rob said that I should stick around for the awards ceremony (“You might have gotten an award: you’re in the old-lady division now”), but I was not interested. Besides, I was afraid I had taken more than my fair share of the post-race watermelon and I should get out of there before eating any more. He decided to stay while I went on home to shower. I ran the 1.25 miles home carrying 3 empty plastic water bottles (I couldn’t bear to throw them in a trash can when they could be recycled) and our race t-shirts (which we had stashed under a tree during the race). I must have looked kind of comical to the throngs of people awaiting the parade, but at least I didn’t have too far to go.

As soon as I had gotten cleaned up, Rob came home with two “Third Place Age-Group Finisher” medals—one for each of us. Nice.
We then took off on Big Red—our tandem bike—to ride with the Champaign County Bikes in the parade. We were a bit late, so it took us a while to find the Champaign County Bikes in the staging area, but eventually it all worked out. During our search for the other cyclists, we saw a wide range of parade floats and participants: everything from marching bands, karate groups, shriners, Champaign County Republicans, and citizens for equal marriage rights (ie, gay marriage). It was pretty fun riding Big Red in the parade, especially because we had just run on this same route just moments ago.

After the parade, we came back home briefly and then it was time for the next phase of the festivities: the 32nd Annual Vermont Avenue 4th of July Block Party. Seriously. For the last 32 years, the same dear couple has hosted a block party for the entire neighborhood. I know this house is supposed to be temporary for us, but I can’t help but love it here. This is the kind of real, old-fashioned neighborhood that I didn’t even know existed anymore!

Soon after the block party wound down, it was time for the final phase of the 4th of July festivities: the fireworks. The fireworks have always been very close to where our house is now; unfortunately, they’ve recently been moved over to Parkland College (close to where we used to live). We hopped back on Big Red and rode over to a park in our old neighborhood to watch the fireworks. It was lovely. We were far enough away from Parkland that there weren’t throngs of people, but close enough that we still got a great view of the whole thing. The best part was that we were on our bike, so we didn’t have to worry about parking and all that. When the show was over, we rode back home, where we managed to get about 6 hours of sleep before our next adventure: Rob’s triathlon at Mattoon Beach. You can read about that on his blog; he did a really nice job of writing about it. Thanks for reading!

Dog-sitting

For the first time ever, I dog-sat last weekend. People, don’t start getting excited and planning to board your dogs at “Camp Ragfield”: this is not something I plan to do regularly, as I emphatically maintain that I am not a dog person. But I do make exception for one 8-pound mini-pinscher/Chihuahua named Ravage who belongs to my friend Derek.

The whole thing went pretty well: no mishaps. Ravage was as good as gold the whole time. He is a perfect lap dog, so whenever I was sitting, he would invariably curl up on my lap to cuddle with me. Ravage also has an expansive repertoire of tricks. At one point he even began doing his tricks unprompted, which I found hilarious. I assume he had a craving for a T-R-E-A-T and thought I would give him one if he performed all of his tricks for me. (His strategy worked).

Melissa and Ravage on the way to the park.

Rob also did a bike race this weekend. It was a “crit” or criterium race. On his blog, Rob said this was his least favorite kind of bike race, and it is my least favorite kind of bike race for him to do. These races are typically a 1 mile loop that is repeated for a zillion laps at extremely high speeds. With 40 or so riders zooming around tight corners at a million miles an hour, this is a recipe for disaster indeed. Thankfully Rob managed to stay upright this time (he’s crashed at crits before), but he had a difficult race despite the air-tight strategy of Team Wildcard (his cycling team). Early on in the race, a rider directly in front of Rob had a tire pop and then crashed. Rob stayed on his bike, but he had to come to a screeching halt and ended up getting separated from the lead pack. He really did make a heroic effort to bridge back to the fast group, but he just couldn’t do it on his own. He passed everybody that had gotten cut off from the lead group as a result of the crash, and he ended up totally by himself for the remainder of the race. I felt really terrible for him because I knew how hard it must be, to be completely on your own without anybody to work with you, in a race as tough as this. On the bright side, however, all those tight corners were a lot safer when he was by himself instead of pack of other cyclists. Unfortunately, the race officials made a mistake in the final results and placed Rob much farther down in the standings than he belonged. When we finally got to talk to a race official about this, I was just this side of ripping off her head, but Rob very calmly and diplomatically explained the mistake that had been made. The race officials did in fact agree that a mistake had been made, and they (eventually) corrected the error. Oh well, better luck next time I guess.

Rob and Iris 2, pre-race

Rob is in the red/orange WildCard jersey and red socks

Rob, alone on the chase

One more thing: the baby cardinals are gone. The nest is completely empty. I had a very bad feeling about this, but then I checked a website that my vet friend Dr. C sent to me, and it says that cardinals fledge in 9 to 11 days. The first I noticed the babies was June 22, and the birds disappeared by June 29… I am hoping that they had hatched a couple days earlier and now they’ve gone on to the big, big world, but I guess I’ll never really know for sure. Thanks for reading.

The mother bird returned!

I tip-toed out to the nest this morning, and the mother bird was there! For the moment I am going to stop worrying about those cardinal babies.

Last night after Rob and I got home from our Tuesday night run with the running club, I made him go out and check on the nest. He's taller, so he could get a better look. He took this video clip of the baby birds while he was out there.




Thanks to Nana & Grampy and to Dr. C for their expert advice on the baby cardinals.

Got to run.

Where is the mother bird?

At the beginning of June, I found a speckled egg, crushed and on the ground out by the peony bushes. When I looked up into the tree, I saw a female cardinal sitting on a rather shabby-looking nest. Sometime over the weekend, the remaining eggs hatched. I could see little fuzzy chirping things in the nest. But I didn’t see the mother bird. She’s been there pretty much constantly for a month, and now I haven’t seen her at all for about 2 days. I am getting really worried about the baby birds. I just tiptoed out to see if the mother had returned, and one of the babies stretched out its neck and opened its beak. The other baby was just sort of lying there without moving, but it was still breathing. I don’t know what to do for them, other than hope the mother bird returns very soon. I don’t want to be one of those people who messes with wildlife and makes the situation worse. I suppose it could also be that a predator bird ate the real cardinal eggs and laid its own eggs there for the unknowing mother cardinal to raise. I sent a message to Nana and Grampy (bird authorities) and my friend Crissy who is a vet, to see if there is anything I can do for the birds if the mother does not return.



At any rate. Last weekend was the summer solstice. Of all the solstices (okay, there are only 2), this one is my least favorite. I prefer the winter solstice, even though it is the shortest day of the year, and in my past life it was typically wrought with some tragedy of Dunlap Love. At least with the winter solstice, the days will be getting longer and the end of the cold and dark will be coming soon. But with the summer solstice, you are just being hurled back into shorter days and the reminder that winter is just around the corner. I’m not ready for this yet—my blood has not even completely thawed from last winter!

Rob did a triathlon over the solstice weekend, and we went to go stay with Aimee and Dr. Y. They moved away about a month ago, and seriously, life has not been the same without them here. They’re not too far away, but still. Not close enough to see every day, or even once a week. It was really, really good to see them and the kids again.

On Saturday morning, Rob did his triathlon. About 5 years ago, Rob was one of the biggest names in the tri-state area of triathlons. An ensuing knee injury put a halt to his budding triathlon career, but he definitely made his comeback last weekend. He did really well in the swim, bike, and run, and he ended up finishing faster than any of his previous sprint tri’s at that location. All of this was pretty spectacular, especially considering that he’s only swum twice since January (the Tuesday and Thursday before the race). Maybe he’ll blog about it on his website, you never know.

Pre-race



Swim

Cara and John also came over, so we had a bit of a reunion on Saturday after the race. It was so much fun. The guys did whatever it is they do, and Cara and Aimee and I busied ourselves around town. Much to my joy, we went to the Trader Joe’s. I got a bag of wild arugula—only $1.99.

It hasn’t been all fun and games though. I managed to finish a draft of a results chapter on activity patterns and now am about knee-deep (okay, ankle deep) in the results on diet. Speaking of which, I need to get back to work.

Thanks for reading!

Home sweet home

Rob and I made it back from our San Francisco adventure around 11:30pm last night. For me, the trip home had started at 5:30am, so it was a long day indeed. The biggest calamity was that one of the airlines (United? American? Its hard to say) had decided to search the suitcase that the Dahon (folding bike) was in. They couldn't get it back in there properly (it is very difficult) so they did a half-ass job and couldn't get the suitcase to close. To remedy this, they duct-taped it, but because they had packed it so poorly, one of the spokes poked through the suitcase and essentially ruined it.

When we got home, the house was still standing and everything was okay. I don't know if our neighbors had been watering our garden, or if we've just continued to have an excessive amount of rain, but seriously, everything out there is about knee or waist high. The cucumbers and squash even have flowers on them. Aside from all the weeds that have sprouted up, it looks amazing.

Oh, and to answer a few questions that people (John) have left in the comments. About the captions on the photos. It does not seem that blogger actually allows you to make captions. I just go to the "compose" mode when I'm writing the post, and from there I can center and italicize the text. It only works when the photos are centered; ie, if you put them on the right or left side of the post, there's no way to make a caption under it. And about the chronology. If Rob's sometimes non-chronological posts are confusing, you can always check with mine; I can't imagine that I would ever write something out of order. Of course, if you are just looking at it now, you will have to scroll to the bottom, since Blogger puts most recent posts at the top.

Anyway, this post is boring me, and I've got a list of things to do today that include: laundry, grocery shopping, mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, returning emails and phone calls, oh and writing my dissertation.

Thanks for reading!

The Ragfields in San Francisco: Day 7

Rob got home safely last night from his ride up Mount Tam and decided that Italian food sounded good. I made the executive decision that if we were going to eat Italian in San Francisco, we might as well go to Little Italy. We took a bus up there and wandered around just a little bit before deciding on which place to eat. I ended up getting something really good: a basil tagliatelle in pesto sauce. Nice. I had hoped for some authentic Italian gelato for dessert but it was way too cold out for that. We ended up finding a sweet shop and getting a bit of chocolate to go. It was neat being in “Little Italy.” There were actually a lot of people speaking Italian, which reminded of Nico ☺

Today was our last day in San Francisco, so we knew we had to make the most of it. I had extreme apprehension that Rob was going to convince me to ride my bike somewhere and I would be miserable all day and possibly end up killed. Just thinking about getting on a bike again in this city made me have a panic attack, so we decided to travel by bus and foot today instead.

First, we had breakfast at a place called Café Mason, and then we took the bus over to the Haight-Ashbury district (ie, the Hippie District). We walked around in Buena Vista Park (the entrance had some flowers arranged in a peace sign) for a while and then wandered on up to Golden Gate Park.

Buena Vista Park

Windmill at the west end of Golden Gate Park

After some more wandering, we took a different bus to the ocean—which as you might imagine, was pretty much the highlight of my trip.

Pacific Ocean, Cliff House is to the right

Meli-- airborne and running into the ocean

We finally came back to the Union Station area to have a really great, really late lunch at a place I had seen on Mission Street called The Organic Coffee Company. This place was so fantastic I am going to be dreaming about it for weeks. I had a hummus sandwich that also had avocado on it, which was amazing.

Our time in San Francisco was drawing to a close. Several guidebooks as well as our next door neighbors had told us that a visit to San Francisco would not be complete without an ice-cream treat from the Ghirardelli’s at Fisherman’s Wharf. I was ready to pass on it, but Rob thought we might as well go. To let our lunch settle, we wandered in a few stores downtown and then took a bus up to Ghirardelli’s. The ice cream shop had a huge line out front. We thought, well, we’ve come this far… so we got in the line and tried to decide what to get.

Everything was ridiculously expensive and I do mean absolutely ridiculous. I ended up deciding on a vanilla shake that had some Ghirardelli dark chocolate and raspberry blended up with it. Rob got a chocolate ice cream in a chocolate-dipped waffle cone. It was good, but honestly, probably not worth the ridiculous price that we paid for it. Plus, I am pretty sure that even though I hadn’t been diabetic before, this thing sent me into a diabetic coma, and moreover, my skinny jeans are never going to fit me now. Waaaay too decadent for someone like me. Rich food just tends to make me feel awful. I seriously need to run about 3 marathons to work this thing off. Since we ate the ice cream probably around 4:30 or 5pm, that is probably going to suffice for our dinner.

Rob, waiting for his ice cream. This place was also kind of like a chocolate museum.

Fountain in front of Ghirardelli Square

At any rate, we are just about packed up and ready to go. Although part of me is definitely eager to get back to my real life and get away from the constant busyness and bustle of this city, I am sad to be leaving San Francisco. Already I am planning on coming back next year with Rob for WWDC.

Thanks for reading!