Ever since I moved to Bonafide Farm, I’ve wanted to grow hops. But the infrastructure always stopped me. Hops are vines (actually, botanically they are bines) that will grow 20′ or more, and need trellises that I just didn’t have the energy to conceive and build.

But in mid-April I was down in Nelson County, which is now regionally acclaimed for its breweries (Devil’s Backbone, Blue Mountain, etc.) enjoying a post-hike flight at Wild Wolf with some friends. A sign at a shop across the patio advertised hop rhizomes. I couldn’t resist. Turns out I had discovered HomebrewZ!, a delightful little shop stocking all your homebrew essentials.

A very lovely woman sold me her last seven Cascade rhizomes and instructed me to “go across the way” to speak with another woman who would impart all the secrets of hops culture to this neophyte. I got the skinny from this sage and rejoined my friends and our dogs on the patio.

The rhizomes,which are nothing more than 3-4″ twigs, languished in a paper bag until I could do a little research and make a trip to the hardware store for supplies. Then my friend Simon and I spent an evening hauling forest topsoil and compost to the site of an old berry patch by the south side of the garage. Once we had the soil nice and juicy (hops are heavy feeders with an extensive root system), I mounted the ladder, drill in hand.

Right up under the eaves I installed two stainless steel eye-bolts. Then I ran 3/8″ sisal rope from them down to dog tie-outs that I’d screwed in to the growing bed. And this was the extent of my trellis system. One of the best things I have learned from living here is that sometimes things work out best when I am just pushed to react to what a situation demands, instead of obsessively planning to the point of inaction.

I arranged the rhizomes in the soil around each tie-out, covered them over, and hoped for the best.

A few weeks passed with no change. Just as I began to worry that I’d gotten some dead rhizomes, tiny leaves appeared. And then there were more. I made chicken wire cages to keep the chickens from eating the hops, and in a few days more sprouts appeared. And then I went away to the beach for eight days, and when I returned my little hop babies had found their ropes and started to twine. So precocious!

Unfortunately the pasture was fast overtaking this nice, rich new bed, so last weekend I dug out all the weeds, laid down newspaper, and piled mulch on top. This will keep the weed pressure off my hops so they can grow to their max. That’s my Celeste fig next to them, which came through this winter without any intervention from me and is on its way to becoming a beautiful asset.

I found another little snake in the mulch. This is the second “mulch snake” I’ve encountered.

I placed him next to the growing hops. I figured twiney things belonged together.

I am very excited to see what my hops do. Maybe someday I’ll be making a Bonafide Brew with my own homegrown hops! And if not, hops are a wonderful herbal sedative often used to induce sleep. A girl can dream…

I stepped out on the front porch early this morning and what should I see but Cora, my once-scalped Wheaten Ameraucana hen, strutting across the front yard. That’s weird, I thought. Maybe I shut up the coop last night before she had a chance to get inside? But then, oh crap, I realized, I had totally forgotten to close the coop at sunset.

Cue the sick sinking feeling I was describing in yesterday’s post. Visions of a chicken massacre scene ran through my head, all red blood and multicolored feathers spattered in the coop. My entire flock dead and either dragged into the woods by the fox or eaten where they fell by the marauding raccoon or dog or whatever.

But just then the rest of the flock came strutting around the corner of the house, where I assume they had been enjoying their first uncooped sunrise. I did a quick, heart-in-throat scan, and found only one black chicken to be missing: Lilac.

I quickly recalculated the damage potential in my head. Losing Lilac would be, well, a loss, but she was one of my two oldest hens and her laying days were shorter than those of the younger birds. And then I remembered one important thing about Lilac: she’s my most consistent layer.

I ran to the coop, steeling myself for a possibly messy scene. But there was Lilac, hunkered in the nesting box, working on laying today’s egg. I have never been more relieved to see a hen on the nest.

All’s well that ends well, but I definitely messed up. I really lucked out last night that no birds were killed. I need to be a more vigilant chicken keeper, and I’m setting a daily close-the-coop phone alarm today!

Much of March and April was devoted to building a rock wall around the front and road-facing side of the house. I’d grown tired of hacking turf out of the unedged beds, and the bed on the side of the house that faces the road was too steep to hold water on the plants in it. As you can see below, within the stone wall, it wasn’t a good look. Last summer I’d gotten some quotes to build a nice stone retaining wall around this end of the house and around the front, with a flagstone front walk and stairs. The quotes ranged from $8,000-$18,000, which just wasn’t in the budget at this time in my life.

So I started pulling rocks out of piles in the woods and used the tractor to get them near the house. Some of these rocks were the foundation of the house I tore down to build mine, and others no doubt came from clearing the pastures way back when. All winter long I played around with the rocks, moving them many times until I got them arranged in a line I liked and that would almost double the depth of the bed on this front corner of the house.

I had really low expectations for this project, as I think rock-edged beds can be pretty stupid looking. And I know that a proper rock wall is dug into the ground for stability and protection against frost heave. But I made peace with the idea that this didn’t have to be a perfectly permanent solution, and I figured that if I used rocks that were as large as I could handle the installation would appear more like a rock wall and less like a line of rocks, which is exactly what it looked like below, during the head-scratching phase of this project.

I’d been having trouble with runoff from the downspout in the above photo. Every time it rained, water ran down the bed and pooled near a maple tree in the yard, messing up its mulch ring and eroding the bank. So I figured that I’d take care of this issue by burying a drainage pipe under the bed I was expanding. It was easy to dig it in and hide its opening at the inside edge of the new wall. The bottom of the pipe is dotted with quarter-sized holes that let water escape as it flows away from the downspout.

Then I went back to the woods for more rocks, some of which took every ounce of my strength and willpower to budge into the tractor bucket. I don’t remember how many trips it took, but there are 173 rocks in this installation and many are not insignificantly sized.

I spent days fiddling with rocks, turning each this way and that, trying my best to fit them into a wall-like configuration. Of course this week coincided with our freak 90-degree April heat wave. Let’s just say I got tan and back to my summer weight during this heavy-labor boot camp!

Up next, the wall continues…

The bluebird nestlings were peeking out of the nest box entrance hole when I approached today. They’re fully feathered and there are at least four babies in the very crowded box. I hope I can get an accurate count to see if all five eggs made it to fledglings—a 100% success rate!—but at this stage the birds are easily spooked and I don’t want to scare any out of the box while its open.

It won’t be too much longer until they fledge into this beautiful blooming spring outside their nest box. The tree with the white blooms is a hawthorne planted as part of the new forest installation.

I’ll have to keep an eye on Tuck in the next few days to make sure he doesn’t encounter a fledgling in the grass.

Recent creatures found around the farm:

A little snake making its home in the newly mulched front garden.

Tuck dug this mole out of the ground near the chicken coop. I was too proud of his hunting skills to be mad about the holes in the yard.

Periodical cicada nymphs discovered whilst digging in the garden. This is the year Brood II of the 17-year cicadas will emerge as soon as soil temperatures hit 64 degrees. They hatched from eggs laid when I was in high school, which makes me feel old! I need to get some netting up soon to protect my smallest trees and woody ornamentals. For more on the periodical cicadas in Virginia, click here.

Tuesday morning it rained harder than I’ve heard it rain in a long time. By midday, though, the skies were clear. So I headed out to walk up a mountain at Mint Springs Valley Park. I figured I owed Tucker an outing as he’d been inside all day Monday while I attended my master gardener class.

The rain was still pouring down the mountain, turning the trails into creeks. It made for beautiful but very muddy hiking. I have many times swum in the lake at Mint Springs, which has a nice sandy beach and is ringed by mountain ranges. But this was my first time on the trails at the park.

There were a couple of old homestead chimneys along the path.

And the lime green evidence of spring just starting to appear.

I was hiking along the ridgetop and was clobbered by a fragrance memory as I entered a grove of pines. For a minute I was zapped more than a decade back to college and hiking in the pine forests of Mount Lemmon near Tucson, Arizona.

Looking southwest over Greenwood toward Nelson County.

First tick of the season, crawling in the waistband of my jeans. It hadn’t bitten me yet, but definitely signaled the insect misery of the summer to come.

Super happy flying trail dog

The upper lake at the end of the hike. In all we did a few miles up, and then down, the Little Yellow Mountain. The trails aren’t extensive at Mint Springs, but they travel through a nice variety of topography and best of all, I was the only person on them.

As I was leaving the park I saw this blazing barn in an old apple orchard. I ditched the car, jumped out,

scrambled across a creek on this handy fallen tree,

and got a few photos right before the sun ducked behind the mountain and the whole scene went dead.

of the season. Up before sunrise yesterday for a very cold walk. It was six degrees here at 6:30 a.m. the previous morning. Winter has finally arrived, and I am straying from the wood stove only to fill the bird feeders and defrost the chicken water.

The neatest thing was seeing all the fox tracks in the snow. I haven’t seen a fox in ages and thought they’d ceded the yard to Tucker in their canine turf war. However, they left tons of evidence that they are very much still in residence. Here’s where they went under the chicken coop.

And poked around the clean out door, no doubt sniffing the delicious dinner sleepily roosting just out of reach.

And failing to gain entry, they hopped into the little run behind the coop to try their luck with that side!

But I have the nicest, tightest coop in the East, thanks to my dad and a heatwave construction blitz, so the fox had to look elsewhere for its meal.

It’s eighteen degrees and snowing again now, and looking downright wintery outside. It’s hard to believe that just a few days ago Tucker and I were enjoying 72-degree days and the sunrise at the beach!