Anna-Maria Galante

Hi Rick,
I am a former shop instructor who would like to learn these precise skills to pass on, and put them to use on my own property, or any others I come to inhabit.
I have sent you a purple mooseage.

How did it all turn out, J Anders?

Paul, I am so impressed that you did this. I am considering contributing the $25 on my next paycheque. I would consider being a SEPPER, but with all the Trump weirdness crossing the border may have to wait.

Joseph Lofthouse wrote:"Garbage in. Garbage out."

YES! I knew I wasn't alone in this. Thank you.

You folks all get it. Bless your hearts for sharing. Happy Mother's Day!

I'm going to try to improve on these efforts this year.
Yes, it's made of plastic. I wish this unit had a donut hole for compost, like the really expensive ones. It's self-watering, sort of. I lined it with newspaper and paper shreddings under the soil. Maybe this year it will become a tower of self-contained semi-invasive, prolific nutrition. The not-raised bed below did allow radicchio to self-sow a few plants ... but it has been cold. I may move them to the tower of power.

https://youtube.com/shorts/8B9AfLcBAQ8?feature=share

So the grapes come from California. I'm helping to press because someday I might do this with grapes we actually grew. Or blueberries. Or something nifty like haskap. It is very hard to convince my dad that other fruit makes good-tasting toxic gick. But he wants someone to take over the pressing. So I am learning. This involved pulling out the stems by hand. Quality stem removal. We're convinced it improves the flavour. My dad is not convinced.

Looking forward to pear blossoms on my dad's tree.
Here are the pies we've been making in the fall. I know. Aluminum. Tenderflake. But no-spray pears, and maple syrup instead of sugar ... and custard powder. Not perfect, but we do what we can. And what we can't, we can. (Or freeze.) Not laughing at my own joke. Honest. Pear with me. Oh geez.

I hear you on all of the above. I think the entire 123-trailer park might fit into 3 acres ... it still is a nice little community. None of the mini-homes have wheels, but my parents, and everybody else, called them trailers. Even the annoying experiences are now bathed in the light of nostalgia and the myth of the golden age.

There's a line in the great Jimmy Buffett song, "Son of a Son of Sailor," that goes "I'm glad I don't live in a trailer."
I used to sing that song with great gusto, until I actually lived in a trailer.
It has now been over five years since I lived in said trailer, and I actually miss it. Like a lot.
I feel like, somehow, I got off track, that it was my gateway to permaculture, the rat race sucked me out of it, and I need to get back.
Are there any other trailer park permaculturists, or ex-trailer park permaculturists out there?