Surrounding Sounds

As the Great Marvel occurs, the sounds so change also. The Great Marvel is the onset of winter rains. As citizens of a Mediterranean climate, this should be as monumental as it is for the other living beings around us. Simultaneously, the sounds of winter set in. Are you listening?

Humans are very visual, but we have other senses that would be good to emphasize. Let’s call this next week “Sound Awareness Week.” This will have particular meaning for those who can’t hear at all or hear well: for those of you, perhaps your gift this next week is to help more people describe what they are hearing, a two-for-one kind of experience. For those of you who are already acutely aware of sound…there is always more to explore!

Background, Seasonless Sounds: Rural and Urban

Everywhere you go, there are always a few noises no matter what season. Airplanes: more so on weekends with recreational aircraft. Roaring motorcycles: replete with accentuating noise apparatus, illegal, but unenforced! Barking domestic dogs, a seemingly Universal human mishap: some dog owners can’t seem to hear their own hounds (or don’t care)!

Seasonless Urban Noises

As many readers are situated in urban or near-urban areas, let’s first sift through the background sounds that a realtor once told me (mistakenly) that I would ‘get used to’ so that one day I ‘won’t even notice.’ Traffic: the hum or revving of engines, the squealing of tires. Car stereos played so loudly as to accelerate deafness. Sirens. Fighting domestic cats. Crows, hundreds of crows cawing. Pigeons cooing. The mechanical noises of Boardwalk rides and the accompanying screaming.

Uniquely Rural Noises, All Year Round

A few birds and coyotes sing the same all year round. Dark eyed junco, spotted towhee, Stellars and California scrub jay, great horned owl…all birds that seem to go on and on with similar calls all year round. Many other birds clearly vary their songs more seasonally. Coyotes yap and chortle-howl most any time during the year.

Winter Noises

Think about those prior non-seasonal noises, review them and visit them in your mental soundscape…then think about what you are hearing these days that’s different than say a month ago.

The three big noises that mean winter most to me: rainfall, wind, and waves.

Rain

The many sounds of rain make me smile whenever I stop long enough to enjoy them. The sound of urban rain – on pavement, bouncing off cars, pouring off of roofs, rushing down storm drains. In the City, its like you are part of a giant cement fountain where all of the water is guided this way and that, popping out here and there by design.

In the country, you can enjoy the very varied sound of rain hitting different plant communities. Grassland rain is very quiet as millions of grass blades expertly catch and lower raindrops, springing back for the next one, dancing on and on, up and down. Conifer forest rain is quiet at first, too: needles delicately capture the oncoming rains. After a bit, the sound changes as the needles let loose big droplets that clamor as they pass down through the canopy and onto the ground. Waxy leaved plant communities, oak and madrone forests and chaparral have particularly rattly-noisy rain sounds. Raindrops pop when they hit those leaves, spattering and spraying with more noise still. Rain on the ocean, in lagoons and estuaries, and on ponds has the most soothing sound, where you can really get a sense of the minute changes in rainfall intensity and duration.

Wind

City and country wind sounds are different, too; either way, the wind noise is significantly heightened with the onset of winter storms. Tuning into wind noises in either place, you can visualize zephyrs and gust fronts as they pass by, come towards you, or after they retreat.

In the City, wind makes varied and unique high whistling noises as it passes through wires; there are wires everywhere in the City. If you live near a tree that catches the wind, you come to know its song. Palm trees rattle and bark. Conifers roar with different pitches. Bare branches of the many street trees also sing songs.

In the Country, the ridge top forests are often talking through the winter. Depending on the wind direction, each ridge and forest type has its own distant hum-roar-swoosh. If you are in the forest when its windy, you get to hear the groan and sometimes pop of trees swaying. Leafy evergreen live oaks make a noise in the wind that makes you wonder if its raining.

Waves

Big wave events are common around the Bay through the winter, and those waves make big noises. Besides bird song, listening for the waves is what most frequently brings me back to the moment. When I catch the wave noise and pause, I try to pick out individual waves even from far away. I try to follow that wave as its crashing progresses directionally. Then, I listen for the crescendo or the lulls of the varying sets. I pay attention to my breath to compare the tempo. Sometimes, I think I can feel the waves through the ground, perhaps the big noise reverberating into the ridges and terraces. After a particularly long lull, I pick up the spray off of the first big wave before the subsequent waves drown out that higher note. I’m thinking of late that long sets of big waves make tones like singing: listen for the notes, am I right?

Other Winter Noises

There are a few other winter noises that are unique to the city or countryside.

In the City, the sound of traffic changes as rolling tires are louder, making wet and splashing noises. The Boardwalk makes less noise.

In the Country, the ephemeral streams start their chorus. Post-storm waterfalls sing. Under the redwoods in the mountains, you can hear the flute-like call of the varied thrush, a winter denizen. In orchards and in riparian forests, you might hear the distinct whiney ‘weeent’ of the red-bellied sapsucker, another species only around in the rainy season.

Now Listen!

Its over to you…check it out…report back on the onset of uniquely winter sounds. Tell me, tell your family, tell your friends what’s all that noise about? Compare notes.

-this originally posted by Bruce Bratton in his outstanding weekly blog BrattonOnline.com – check it out, donate…and read it!

Good Roach Stewards: Shifting Baselines

“Shifting baselines” is a term used to illustrate how humans acculturate to reduced wildlife, thinking that what they experience is normal and good. “Good enough” is perhaps a better term. Too many people measure success by saying ‘good enough!’ With species diversity in general and wildlife population health specifically, ‘good enough’ for some people is probably not what most people deserve and ‘shifting baselines’ is the problem at hand for large areas of Santa Cruz County.

Current Baseline: Shift Happened

Fifteen thousand years ago, a combination of poor human stewardship and climate change created a mass extinction event in California. Dire wolf, mastodon, mammoth, lion and other big cats, camel and horse relatives, the California turkey, a flightless duck in the lagoon at Laguna Creek, ground sloth, short-faced bear, and a host of other critters disappeared in a very short period of time. We don’t miss those species – they aren’t part of our cultural memory. But, we do seem to reminisce about beaver, gray wolf, tule elk, the California grizzly, badger and pronghorn…species that disappeared from the Central Coast more recently. Well, I’m not sure how many people really think about those species and ‘miss’ them. I do. The miracle recovery of some whale species seems to excite people, but those same people generally don’t consider the vastly reduced numbers of those species. In sum, our current wildlife situation is what is known as ‘depauperate’ – much reduced from historical numbers. And yet, most people think that what occurs today is ‘normal’ and they don’t much think about the opportunities to recover wildlife to more healthy populations on at least public lands in the Central Coast. Our experience of our “biological baseline” is greatly different than humans 15,000 years ago.

What will future generations of humans come to think of as normal? Will they one day realize that California is down to three species of wildlife, all cockroaches, and form some sort of cultural pride to recover the last remaining wild species? This is the trajectory we are moving towards because no one seems to care about the situation with the Central Coast’s wildlife, right now. If they did, local parks managers would hear about it and politicians would hold them accountable.

Parks Manager Responsibility

Whether we are thinking about State Parks or land managed by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), the officials in charge of more than 20% of Santa Cruz County have a responsibility to monitor the impact of their management choices and to maintain wildlife populations for future generations. Specifically, all State Parks are required to have a General Plan and, in those plans, to outline how they will manage responsibly to maintain healthy wildlife populations. Similarly, the BLM is required to manage Cotoni Coast Dairies first and foremost for conservation, which requires wildlife surveys be conducted that can inform the agency’s management of livestock, ecosystems, and recreation.

Cotoni Coast Dairies: A Singularly Special Opportunity

What makes BLM’s management of Cotoni Coast Dairies a grandly special opportunity is that the property has not yet been opened to the public, so BLM can collect wildlife data before recreational activities begin to impact species. The wildlife of all other parks has already been negatively impacted by recreational use and so we can’t as easily understand how to improve the management of recreation in those places. Perhaps trail use on the trails BLM has already built will have no impact on wildlife – that would be extremely unusual! Chances are good that recreational use will negatively affect wildlife even hundreds of feet away from the trails. We won’t know how significant those effects will be unless data are collected before recreational use of the trails. And, we won’t learn which species are impacted by what numbers, timing and types of recreational use: those things would be very relevant to BLM and other regional parks managers in order to accomplish their mandates.

Illustration compliments of Steven DeCinzo

On the Other Hand: ‘Good Enough!’

Here’s some of the things I’ve heard about biological baselines to inform land management in Santa Cruz County. Mostly, land managers say that they have enough information to make good decisions. This is important for them to say because they are required to use the best available science. If they say that they don’t have sufficient science, they are admitting fault and might be held liable, so they can’t say anything but that they have enough science already.

When pressed, they say something akin to “Just look! Habitat!” You dare not suggest species are a better measure of management success because they have a world of arguments against that approach. Their argument goes…if you have a grassland, you have done all you can to protect grassland species…a redwood forest! Violà! Redwood forest species all taken care of! If the species aren’t there, they say something like “well, that’s beyond our control” or “they’ll show up some day.” In short…some vague habitat description and a map of the presence of said habitat is ‘good enough.’ The fact is that species are much more sensitive to management of those habitats than manager’s broad brush would suggest. The problem is…any more refined monitoring might be either expensive and/or could hold managers accountable.

Accountability

What if you had rare wildlife species on the land you managed, what would you do? Might you consult with the agency that is responsible for recovering those species? The California Department of Fish and Wildlife has good wildlife biologists, and they have survey protocols that are useful in documenting a species’ presence/abundance. Same with the US Fish and Wildlife Service and the National Marine Fisheries Service.

Would you want to make the public aware of the conservation work you are performing, and how successful it has been? Would you be worried about negative publicity?

Do you think lands managers feel accountable about more than their conservation mandates? Do you think that they feel accountable to certain recreational user groups? How would you know which type of accountability they feel more concerned about?

Your Role

I hope that you have joined a pro-wildlife advocacy group. Working together, we can make sure that the wildlife our children’s children experience is more diverse, and more plentiful, than what we experience now. The alternative is bleak: children fascinated by the last species, raising cockroaches in cages and hoping that their offspring might live in the impoverished ecology resulting from a world of shifting baselines. I don’t think that is good enough.

– this article published in Bruce Bratton’s fabulous weekly blog BrattonOnline.com Sign up at that site to get the alert that it is out and then enjoy some quality time reflecting on news that matters…as well as excellent film/media reviews.

Season’s End

Now newts arise from dry grassland tunnels wetted by fresh winter rain,

ecstatic, star-guided, stretching towards far away ponds.

Now dust washes from every needle and leaf.

Wind gusts. Torrents. Then blue sky.

Nights dominate – deep rest, many dreams.

Now owl hoots with raindrop percussion –

raindrops, millions, each with its own tone.

Sharp snares – bouncing splashes explode from waxy madrone leaves.

Muffled droplets sink silently through softened turf.

The Molino Community Orchard, so loved…now prepared for a resting winter

Crop fields tilled and rested.

Brown, crumbly, bared soil,

winter seeds, absorbing.

2 Dog Farm’s dryfarmed butternut squash, culls, got tilled in this week

Now the rumbling, crashing, hissing roar,

musical hum of waves.

Reverberating waves echoing notes like distant Tuvan throat singing.

Now the wind howls.

Centipedes, pill bugs, beetles,

burrow deeper into the wetting duff.

Leaves shake loose, settle, sheltering myriad ground critters.

White, yellow, brown…fine fungal roots spawn through the complex of soil and leaflitter salad,

buttons, parasols push and unfold.

Banana slugs slither trailing tracks, silver mucous crossing leaves, clearing algae off dank windows, slime traversing the furry, rough bark plates of redwoods.

Sun rises after storm.

Vast glittering sparkles shine and twinkle across the landscape.

Celebration of rain,

so begins a new season of growth.

So begins the long dark wet muddy winter.

The last of Molino Creek Farm’s dryfarmed tomatoes have been tilled in.

This is Fall

The short days and chill nights have arrived, and there is much more about Nature’s Fall to take a moment to appreciate.

Mediterranean Fall

Mediterranean fall is the transition between the hot, dry season and the cool, wet season. We must thank the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada, and a variety of other factors for the lack of summer rainfall in much of California, including right here on the Central Coast. Mediterranean spots are very rare on Planet Earth, and their unique climates make for very interesting, species-diverse places. The “rainfall season” starts October 1st. If you manage property, your target date to be prepared for significant rain is October 15: if you are prepared by that date, you will almost always be in time for the first big storm.

Now is Dry

The rain-carrying wintertime storms are starting to sneak our way, but we aren’t quite there. Meanwhile, it is the driest time of year. The tiny rains we’ve seen so far have only wet the soil surface; the soil is bone dry as deep as it goes over most of our landscape. The last significant rains were from a storm that ended on May 3rd and, prior to that, a wetter storm on March 21st!

To Wet Things

The first significant rain is one inch of precipitation, which usually wets the soil enough that it won’t dry out again until Spring. Although there are many soil types across our region, one of the dominant ones is sandy loam. Each inch of rain saturates about 1 foot of soil. I count the inches and imagine the soil getting saturated deeper and deeper, eventually pouring through to the bedrock and recharging the water table, raising the level of groundwater, feeding the springs, streams, and rivers.

When it Keeps Raining

If we are fortunate enough to have a rainy winter, the rain brings so much life. First comes the petrichor, the smell of the newly soaked ground, a chemical that has been shown to be akin to cedar scent, but you know it when you smell it. Fungus gatherers delight in the seasonal parade of edible treats from boletes to oyster mushrooms to chanterelles (and many more). The mosses and lichens brighten, coating and dangling from every limb of every tree. The dust settles and the seeds produced last Spring start to germinate, the golden hills blushing with green.

Fall Bugs

The dry summer means few biting insects, but there are lots of other interesting insects around in Fall. Over the summer, dragonflies went through metamorphosis in streams and ponds and now the young adults are hunting in the uplands, far from their watery birthing places. Watch for them in meadows, over farms, and even in towns. They are gobbling up flying insects, including the rafts of flying ants that came out when it rained a bit a week or so ago.

Ants!

Each of the first rains triggers some insect or another to explode. This last rain produced millions of flying ants on the North Coast. The air was thick with them as they floated on the breeze, more like tiny butterflies than the bees that they are closely related to. One of these early rains will also trigger termites to fly. Both ants and termites nurture winged males and females that disperse to new territories. Different species seem to prefer to take wing with different cues.

Rain Beetles

Another insect flies with the first rains: rain beetles. These are extremely hard to see, but especially rewarding. Many of us celebrate the season’s first significant storm by going outside and getting soaking wet. Rain beetles are no exception. The male beetles make a loud humming-buzz as they seem to float around during the first big storm of the season, right at dusk, and always near chaparral with manzanitas and pines.

Pests

The first rain obliterates the very annoying canyon flies but also sets in motion the birthing of the season’s first mosquitoes. Canyon flies, aka ‘face flies,’ are the miniature flies that invade your eyes and ears and somehow make it into your throats, hack hack! They like the dry summer and even that last small rain made them disappear. However, whenever the soil gets wet, the soil-borne mosquitoes will hatch.

Newts and Salamanders Ahoy!

The first big storm also brings out amphibians. And here’s something you can do to help. I believe we are all pretty attuned to the first big rainfall, either by following the weather report or relying on a friend that does. As the forecast settles on the first storm of the season, stock up on your groceries and cancel your evening appointments. You’ll be safer and the critters that move around for the first deluge won’t die under your vehicle’s tires. Newts and salamanders await the first big rain and then they move around at night. They’ve been holed up in some burrow complex, pacing back and forth all summer eating beetles and grubs along a set of tunnels they have become quite familiar with. The night with the downpour means that they can move out of that familiar territory towards their breeding pools. And, move they do: in mass, across roads, in straight lines to their favorite pond.

First Flush

The first few rains also set loose a host of pollutants that have been concentrating during the dry season. Another reason to not drive on those first few nights of the Big Rain is that the roads are particularly slippery due to the concentration of oils that have leaked out of cars and plastered themselves to the roadways. After making the roadway treacherously slippery, those vehicle fluids then wash into the streams and rivers and flow out to the ocean. I have a habit of looking at the water flowing down the sides of roads in the City of Santa Cruz during the first rains and noting the continuous normally iridescent, oil sheen that is destined to the San Lorenzo and our precious Bay….so sad. If it is your job or you have any means of cleaning up the roads or other pollutant areas for that first flush of rain, I wish you luck in preparing for that, which is right around the corner. This also means you must pay attention if you have made any bare soil by gardening or farming- sediment loss is soil loss, and soils are a non-renewable resources, taking a long, long time to create.

-this column appeared in Bruce Bratton’s blog BrattonOnline.com, a place you should bookmark for the best coverage of local, regional, and international news.

Rest Impending

The sun grows distant, already so far South, days so brief. Rain has moistened everywhere. Fall is sweeping the farm, triggering bright leaf colors, tree-by-tree, each evening stroll revealing new tones in new places.

The ground blushes newly green from the previous expanse of dark brown soil or gray aged thatch. Millions of seeds germinated on the much-anticipated first significant rainfall this past week. Pairs of many-patterned leaves unfurl from different types of flower seeds while single first grass leaves poke straight up.

More wetting storms are approaching, pushing southward from the distant northern horizon. Beautiful clouds appear, sometimes a skyfull of feathery patterns, other times ominous heavy gray huge pillows. Layers of clouds above oceanward fog are often accentuated by sparkling orange pulses in between them at sunset.

Muffled Song

As the winter approaches, birds become more quiet, their songs more concise. Bird-eating hawks swoop and wheel, frightening seed- and seedling-fattened flocks. Silent spells with no song signals hawk. The consistent whispered squeaks and chirps suggest hawk absence as groups of quail, sparrows, and juncos slowly emerge from cover, pecking up thousands of tasty sprouts; their favorites are abundant: clovers, filaree, medic, lupine, poppy, wild lettuce, and dock. Full bills, filling tummies, hunger satisfied peaceful birds prepare for long stormy wet nights. Each evening at sundown, flocks huddle together in dense clusters surrounded by protective thick tree or shrub canopies. They have already negotiated safe roost locations and even their individual places in the rows along branches. There are a few squabbles at dusk in the roost locations as some on the edges realize disadvantages of their relegated positions. By dark, they have become politely quiet and still.

Tree nest woven over compost-strewn soil makes for cozy beds for the coming winter

Tucking in the Trees

As orchard leaves begin to fall, we prepare tree beds for the long slumber. Last weekend, Community Orchardists hauled and spread the final compost and then the last windrows of dried hay. Energetic tree keepers filled and then hauled bucket after bucket scattering compost/worm castings in the understory of each tree. Following them, skilled pitchfork wielding orchardists pitched, piled, and sculpted neat circular hay nests surrounding young trees. Winter snacks and cozy blankets for our tree friends.

Stone fruit fall color

Nodding Off, Colorfully

As the trees approach their sleep, leaves brighten then drop. Cherry tree leaves are turning orange-to-red, starting on the sunnier sides of each tree and day by day progressing onto the northern side of the canopy. Apricot, aprium, plums and pluots echo those cherry leaf reds but tend more orange to yellow. Apple tree fall color extends well into winter, slowly unfolding many shades of yellow through February in an extended fall. Most leaf colors change fast and fall quickly, splashing rings of color bright in circles on the ground beneath brief spells of brightness dancing across the orchard among the high held branches.

The place of deer beds and rustling

The Rustling

We were unable to mow every corner of the farm and in some places the dried grass and wildflowers formed thick dry swards. Deer paths wend into these stands. Following these wildlife trails, we find hidden clusters of mashed down straw – cozy deer beds. The breezes sing high schwews on the ridges with more of a full, wooing noise in the nearer conifers, but these tall dry grassy areas make scratchy, rustling noises in the winds at the onset of each storm. The deer thank us for leaving them some dense cover to shield them from the chilly gales through the dark nights.

Fuji apples held ripe while leaves change color

The Last of the Fruit

Tomato vines whither after rain; winter squash vines long spent, fruit curing; later season apples grow sweeter and crispier with the cool nights. We feel lucky again to find a ripe tomato among the melting vines. Weeds will soon occlude the deliquescent reddish fruit and then all will be tilled and cover cropped.

Molino Creek Farm’s wilting dry farmed tomatoes, slain by rain

Two Dog Farm is boxing and curing the bountiful dry farmed winter squash crop, and colorful squash still brighten the fields.

2 Dog Farm’s last dry farmed winter squash, waiting to be gathered.

Fuji apples are the last bigger harvest in the orchard. We will gather the last of the apples over the next week and press the last of the culls into the final cider of the season. Much of the orchard has had a final mowing, the harrow scratching in bell beans is close at hand.

Emerging New Tree Characteristics: a dance between species

Sunsets and Quickening Evenings

The sun speeds quickly towards the west and evenings pass suddenly to night. One moment, the beautiful array at sunset tinges the hills and the next moment colors wash and fade to gray, stars winking into sight until the night sky reveals vast constellations. There is a moment in this transition to night when my attention is drawn to the silhouettes of trees, revealing new characteristics of long familiar friends. Brushy oaks dance on the edge of regal, posturing clusters of redwoods. Then they disappear, overcome by the majesty of night.

simultaneously published at Molino Creek Farm’s website

Rein of Seeds

Of all the phenomenon of Fall, seeds rein. Just as humans become silent around the table as they dig in, mouths full of the bounty, so have the non-human animals across the fields and forests surrounding Molino Creek Farm. A pale blue scrub jay appears on a high perch, its beak pried wide, holding a huge acorn. It dives to a patch of grass, furtively glancing about to assure no one is watching, and buries the acorn, no pause and it’s off for the next. Our normally squawky friends are quite busy with their oak harvest, back and forth, planting hundreds each day. It is not a great acorn crop year, so the competition is high.

The tiny goldfinches disperse like confetti in small flocks, alighting in field margins or scrubby areas to harvest the oil-rich seeds of thistles, prickly lettuce, and tarplants. Their songs, too, are muted, chatter replaced by dainty beak-seed-cracking.

Just one of the many nice views on the road into Molino Creek Farm

Redwoods

Fall in the wooded canyon means redwoods shedding needle-branches and a rain of seeds from newly opened, small cones. Recent gusts broke loose short sections of the outermost branches from redwood trees. Thin-stemmed branch tips are mostly needles, which are regularly shed this time of year and carpet trails and roads. Even ‘evergreen’ trees shed needles at regular intervals, each species with its own season. And so, the forest floor transforms from last year’s now dark duff to a light, red-brown coating of fresh redwood litter. Walking our Molino Creek Canyon trail now creates a crunchy, crackly sound. On a recent walk, I glanced down to appreciate the redwood fall and saw many redwood seeds sprinkled between the scattered needle branches. A heavy breeze swayed the trees back and forth over me and in all directions, and the air was suddenly filled with redwood seeds, bigger than dust and thickly moving like sheets of drizzle.

Madrone

A beautiful element of our woodlands is the flesh-smooth orange-barked madrone, becoming bedecked with ripening fruit, held high in the canopies. Presented in diffuse clusters just above their large oval shiny dark green leaves, the ripening madrone berries are changing from hard and green to fleshy and bright orange-red. Band tailed pigeons and other birds are feasting, sometimes knocking the ripe fruit to the ground where mammals gobble them up. When I am lucky enough to find a grounded, deeper red fruit, I also pop it in my mouth, reveling in the sweetness, near strawberry flavor.

Walnut

The prominent black walnuts, the signature trees of the farm, are turning lemon yellow and dropping ripe nuts with a plunking noise to the ground. The 2” fleshy globes roll about a bit after dropping from the trees, settling in the grass or, more evidently, on road surfaces. The sound of tires used to be the scritch of gravel but is now accentuated with the resonance of the rubber drum when a run-over tough walnut pops and gets crushed into the road. Ravens and juncos line the roadside fence awaiting the freshly exposed juicy, oily, tasty nutmeat that is announced by the tire drum “poing.”

One day, we’ll make olive oil again, but it will take a lot of catch-up maintenance

Pome Pome, Pome-Pome!

The fruit that we eat (and drink) is rolling off the trees in delicious piles and buckets and boxes and carts. We are more than 2,000 pounds into the 4,000 pound harvest, down from last year. Nothing goes to waste. There are very rare instances when someone doesn’t pick up a really gooey apple from the orchard floor. Hygiene is in high swing with the worst orchard trash heading to the weed suppression wildlife feast buffet. The deer, rabbits, quail and coyotes take turns at the castings: nothing lasts more than a few days. The last tractor bucket of culled apples, 200+ pounds, was mopped up in 2 days, down to bare earth.

That leaves 3 other types of apples: sale apples, take home apples, and cider apples. The most common harvester and sorter vocalization is ‘awww!’ as they realize the rarity of the perfect fruit, the choice apple that is sent to market. That’s one in 8 this year, due to the uncontrolled apple scab of the moist spring. The other 8 apples are 30:70 take home apples versus cider apples. The take home apples are sent in boxes, buckets, and bags to the growingly extensive community orchardists; they have the most minor blemishes and there are hundreds of them. Our working bee network has been making their own juice, drying them, stewing apple (-quince) sauce, and just plain enjoying the crisp diversity of flavors from the many varieties we grow. The cider apples have a few more blemishes or even some signs of worms…the latter making work for the cider pressing party as chattering, smiling clean up crews prepare the fruit for a better juicing.

Juice!

The cider pressing last Saturday attracted 30 or so of our network, new and old pressers, taking the 500 pounds (or more) to 30 (or more) gallons of nectar – delicious juice. Much of this will become hard cider for future gatherings; many enjoyed diverse ciders from prior pressings. Most abundant fruit of this year’s press, Fuji, but also Mutsu which makes famously fine flavored juice. Mixed in here and there were true cider apples, varieties that are just starting to produce after 8 years in the ground. The cider apples add bitterness or sourness or tartness and overall complexity to the juice from what would otherwise be plainer if produced only from table apples.

The Community Orchardists sponsored a recent squeezing of fresh juice for the Pacific School in Davenport, our neighborhood! Bob Brunie schlogged the equipment and demonstrated the process to the schoolkids, some of whom were returnees and they enjoyed it a whole lot..

Bob Brunie shows off Molino Creek Farm’s Cidering Process to Pacific School kids, photo compilments of Mike Eaton

The falls’ fruit produces juice, brewed into all seasons’ mirth. With toiling gladness, we renew the stocks annually. Cycles of production and consumption – foundational in nature – quench more than mere bodily thirst, leading to deeper appreciation of Earth.

-this post also shared via Molino Creek Farm’s website, same time, same author