This post should have been published weeks ago, but life got in the way. No colorful leaves remain now, but everything else is timely.
The garden is a blackened mess waiting for transfer to the compost pile. The only colorful foliage left is on the beeches, which light up the otherwise drab forest like lanterns. Rather than being depressing, for me this time of year is the time to take stock of the season’s successes and look forward to a rest of a few months.
Turtle Paradise has grown and changed immensely during the past year. Progress has been made and goals have been achieved! Recent walks around the property have reminded me how lucky I am to live here and how resilient Mother Nature is if we just give her a chance. For the most part, I'm also happy with the writing I've gotten done. Here are my assessments of Turtle Paradise, both the blog and the place.
The purpose of Turtle Paradise (the blog) was to be a photographic showcase of what I have accomplished on my land, and a collection of practical tips to help other busy, non-wealthy people become more self-sufficient without killing themselves with work. I hoped to provide an easy-to-follow roadmap to guide readers in simplifying their lives and making their gardens more beautiful and environmentally friendly.
After almost five years of writing Turtle Paradise, the how-to aspect has worn a little thin, and my hat is off to anyone who can pump out articles year after year focused on the nitty gritty of gardening, etc. Though there are successful “how-to” Substacks, I've found that my most practical writing falls flat. It seems like my readers are mostly other writers looking for something good to read, not an instructional manual.
Writing longer, more abstract pieces presents challenges as well. Stepping back and writing about larger issues like how my efforts fit into the bigger picture of climate change, the biodiversity crisis, and social breakdown is extremely time consuming. If it seems that every second post is some sort of update, you're not wrong. Sometimes this is the only type of post I can muster. Here's my technique: Choose a photo, write an extended blurb, string blurbs together.
Writing for me is as much about having an outlet to preserve mental health as garnering subscribers, although having more readers would be wonderful. The move to Substack about a year and a half ago brought an influx of subscribers and much more engagement, but I now feel barraged by advice on getting more readers, maintaining discipline, publishing regularly, etc. I mainly try to ignore it all to prevent writing turning into drudgery.
While I understand the need to spend time on marketing strategies, especially for those trying to make a living from writing, it is easy to get sucked into the logistics at the expense of the writing itself. I’m extremely lucky to be able to write as a hobby without needing to worry about bringing in money. I hope in the next year to escape the “how do I attract more subscribers” trap, and simply focus on saying what I want to say.
What I feel I need to double down on moving forward (as if there is any other way we can move!) is exploring working within constraints. It's not only the practitioner’s ideas and the plans of Mother Nature that influence a garden or landscape, but the dictates of the built environment, and unforeseen chance events that life throws at you. Here on the farm, the lane, the house, and the barn were of course already in place when I arrived, and had been for over a century and a half. The sites appropriate for the garden and orchard were mostly predetermined. Learning to utilize and maximize what was already here has been a major ambition, and to do so while dealing with life's crises.
There was no plan in place when I moved to this property 23 years ago beyond a desire for a large vegetable garden and perennial beds. Over the years the entire operation has evolved, both in physical space and in my mind. The fact that I'm wary of ‘designs,’ and shy away from using that word, is a result of this gradual evolution of the landscape that I merely attempt to guide.
If there is a main theme that runs through all my writing it is this: We need to give up the need for control. Viewing the world as a collection of malaligned chess pieces that we will rearrange with the intent of fixing things is an extension of the mindset that delivered us to our current environmental breakdown. We need to transform our relationship to the chessboard (or better yet chuck the chess metaphor entirely.)
A little background on my use of the word ‘permaculture’: In the years before beginning the grand experiment at Turtle Paradise, I read a book by Bill Mollison that I checked out from my local public library in Brattleboro, Vermont. I'm not even sure of the name of it. Reading that book (it might have been two) constitutes all the instruction I've had in permaculture. I mention this not as a confession of my lack of training, but as evidence of how simple permaculture is.
For years after the move to the farm I wouldn't use the word, but I always thought of what I did as permaculture, though on social media these days I don't recognize what's discussed under the term as having anything in common with my practices. At this point I wonder how the project would have developed had I never read that book — quite possibly exactly the same way as it did. I'm considering jettisoning the term entirely, and to be honest the only reason I haven't done so is because using it and other related tag phrases increases site traffic.
Here's a quick rundown of changes in the past year. The most stunning advances have taken place on the Savanna, where all the trees have grown noticeably, and the pawpaws seem to be everywhere. The mix of taller trees and brushy undergrowth makes for shadier, secluded paths that slowly reveal their secrets as they wind through the former cornfield. We saw a record number of box turtles there in the spring, a good indication that we're doing something right.
We now have many pawpaw sprouts in the strip between the pasture and woods. With the renaissance of the pawpaw in full swing, I'm imagining much of our grassy areas covered in pawpaw groves. They grow very quickly, aren't susceptible to any diseases I know of, and need no pruning or fertilizing. That's my kind of tree.
The most exciting development of the season: dung beetles! Suddenly, more than five years after ending use of chemical wormers, the pasture is crawling with them. It's possible they have been present for quite a while, and their numbers have finally risen to the point that I noticed them. Most are tiny poop dwellers that won't hold still for a photo, but I saved the one pictured below from the stock tank and I assume it was on its way to the feast.
The fertility of the pastures exploded this year with the heavy manure applications finally paying off. It's a mixed blessing, however, since horses do better on poor forage and suffer a variety of ills from gorging on lush clovers and grasses. In the spring, the gelding developed mild laminitis, but now shows no signs of pain and is as naughty as ever. Being used to less productive pastures, I didn't do enough to limit access, but I will adjust accordingly next year.
It's not only the dung beetles that scurry when I stomp around the paddocks kicking manure piles. Centipedes, spiders, flies and gnats, the occasional butterfly, and all manner of other unidentified creepy crawlies emerge and quickly disappear when exposed. The sheer amount of life I've witnessed under turds this year has astounded me. Piles of poop are biodiversity hot spots that leave behind oases of fecundity, of which— contrary to vegan wishes — we need many more. I'm looking forward to a new year absolutely full of shit, and wish the same to all my readers.
I have to write a few christmas cards today and I'm wondering I can borrow your salutation? "I'm looking forward to a new year absolutely full of shit, and wish [you] the same." Ha. Congratulations on five years of turtle paradise! I really had no idea. I fit squarely into the demographic you mentioned: "readers who are mostly other writers looking for something good to read" and haven't been disappointed. Along with the permacultural tips and tricks I've enjoyed the poetry. "The beeches which light up the forest like lanterns" is a very pretty phrase I want you to know. You are a keen observer. Your photos are quite lovely. I did not know that horses do better on poor forage, and I will try to follow your good advice on how not to be discouraged about the substack mutual admiration society notifications which keep coming in encouraging my maximum production and engagement. I too am scaling back. My new year's resolution about my own writing is: less fretting, more fun. Best wishes to you and yours for the holidays!
It’s all poop... and death, for good soil.