Southern California Homestead stories

Almost August
As August nears, the weather is heating up, and heat-loving plants are thriving. For those less fond of the sun, I’ve added shade. This year, I tried a second succession planting of beets with shade, and it’s working well so far. My parsnips are also growing strong with no signs of bolting.
It’s fruit preservation season, but my freeze dryer broke down. No worries—we’re canning and freezing instead. My shelves are filling up, and my freezers are packed (we have 4). This week, we added 12 quarts of cherry pie filling to the shelves and froze blueberries, lychee, dragon fruit, mangosteen, and rambutan. I was also able to start a new batch of peach scrap vinegar.
June bugs are after my peaches, as usual, but we’ve picked all the ripe ones, and they’ll leave the green ones alone. Our plums are nearly ready, and today we’re harvesting the last of our oranges.
In the herb garden, we’re making pesto from our basil and enjoying purple basil tea—a delicious summer treat I highly recommend.
Most of my rose hips are ready to pick, but I’m leaving them on as long as possible, hoping to fix the freeze dryer soon. The issue is with the pump. Still, the rose hips are beautiful and abundant this year, which makes me thrilled.

Another Homestead Story
Over the years, I’ve learned to take life as it comes. Each August, the online “Everything Counts” food preservation challenge reminds me that this phrase applies just as well to gardening.
I grow using permaculture principles and chaos gardening, a method distinct from conventional approaches. I avoid insecticides and herbicides, choosing instead to work with nature rather than forcing it to bend to my will. The trade-off is unpredictability—it’s impossible to know exactly how much we’ll harvest. But I’ve adapted. I no longer cry when a plant dies in the garden. I might mutter a curse if it’s due to my own mistake or the cats’ mischief, but I’ve learned to let go. Instead, I celebrate our successes. This year, for the first time, I grew enough berries to freeze-dry some for later. My black tea and coffee plants are thriving, too, even if they’re not yet ready for harvest.
There’s irony in gardening, and I’ve come to appreciate it. This year, I tried the Three Sisters method—corn, beans, and squash grown together. Only one bean plant climbed a cornstalk as planned; three others latched onto sturdy weeds instead. Meanwhile, rats are nibbling my corn. On the flip side, collard greens are sprouting where I planted sorghum, defying their cold-season reputation. A volunteer broccoli (another cold-season crop), parsnips, and beets have popped up unexpectedly. It’s puzzling, but I’m not complaining—fresh greens are rare this time of year. And while aphids and powdery mildew are killing the cucumbers in my raised beds, self-seeded cucumbers thriving between the beds are doing just fine.
Change is part of the cycle. With our kids leaving home, our need for produce has decreased. This shift frees me to focus on my passion—herbs—and to experiment with grains. I can skip growing tomatoes and peppers, which only the kids enjoyed. Needing less space also means I can leave sweet potatoes in the ground, harvesting them as needed. Left undisturbed, they’ll become perennials, sprouting again when temperatures rise.
I take a relaxed approach to gardening. While we actively manage the rat population, I don’t dwell on lost produce. In life, you lose some, you gain some.
I’ve been gardening since childhood, but my formal training is limited to a few classes. I’m still learning, and I suspect I always will. Every time I think I’ve mastered it, Mother Nature throws a curveball. I’ve removed trees to plant better ones, watched a banana palm regrow after being cut down (a lesson in resilience), and battled the relentless spread of blackberries that seem determined to take over the world. Gardening never gets dull. It’s a masterclass in life, color, art, and compassion—a chaotic blend of sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. It stimulates the senses, heals the mind, and soothes the body. It brings peace, clarity, and a reminder to slow down, think, and simply be.
Gardening inspires me to improve, to push the boundaries of what’s possible. It grounds me when I want to escape and supports me when I’m weak. It shows me that life is full of possibilities—if I just take the time to look.