More mini updates

Once again, I've got nothing big to share this week, so instead I'm bringing you an assortment of little mini updates from our ecofrugal world. It's along the same line as my quick fixes posts, but these run the gamut from successful projects to unsuccessful ones to ideas that are still at the planning stage.

Update #1: Darn, still not so tough

Remember a year ago, when I was disappointed to discover a hole in one of Brian's Darn Tough socks? And how I decided that it wasn't worth using the alleged lifetime guarantee when I could just darn the hole and be done with it? Well, I now have confirmation that this incident was more than just a fluke. Last time I hung them on the line, I discovered that a second pair of Darn Tough socks had also developed a hole, this time toward the front. Once again, I was able to darn it without difficulty, but it confirmed my decision not to bother buying this brand again, warranty or no warranty.

Update #2: A DIY lipstick case

I don't normally wear a lot of makeup. Most days, it's just a swipe of white nail pencil (or my new favorite substitute, grease pencil) under each fingernail and a spot of concealer as needed to cover any blemishes. I keep both of these in a cosmetic case in my purse, along with such other everyday carry necessities as hand sanitizer, lotion, Band-Aids, and a mini sewing kit. Unfortunately, the cap on the concealer tube isn't very secure. Occasionally, it comes off as it rattles around in there and I end up with concealer smeared all over my other necessaries. And eventually, it ends up getting cracked and won't go back on the tube at all unless I wrap it with clear tape.

To fix this problem, I decided to invest in a little lipstick case. These are easy to find for $10 or less on Amazon, but it's much harder to get one at a reasonable price secondhand. And when I searched for tutorials on how to make one from scratch, they all seemed to require skills I didn't have, like crochet or metalworking. So I decided to make up my own design: a simple envelope made of felt. I just wrapped the felt around the tube to gauge the size, leaving a little overlap to make a closure flap. Then I cut it to size, sewed the ends shut, and added snaps to hole the top flap down. It's not very elegant or very sturdy, but it should be sufficient to protect the tube or, at the very least, keep its lid on.

Update #3: An unsuccessful wallet repair

Remember the new wallet I was so pleased to find for $5 at the thrift store last July? Well, within about a month, the metal discs that support the clasp on the front flap (one on the inside, one on the outside) fell off. Now, technically, the wallet is still usable without it: the clasp on the flap can still be closed even if there's nothing but fabric behind it. But it looked kind of odd, and I feared the fabric would wear out pretty quickly.

In theory, it should have been easy to reattach the metal pieces with a couple of small screws. Unfortunately, they'd have to be very small screws, smaller than anything we have in the shop, and searches at both Home Depot and Michael's turned up nothing of the appropriate size. So I hunted around for something else I could use to secure the discs in place, and I hit on the idea of using some toothpicks. I could fit one end pretty securely into the outer metal piece, then thread it through the holes in the cloth flap and the inner metal disc, and hold it all down with hot glue.

Well, that was the theory, anyway. Unfortunately, it didn't work very well in practice. The glue leaked out around the edges of the metal, and the metal tip of the glue gun heated the discs up so much that I burned my hand while trying to press them into place. Also, I couldn't manage to clip off the ends of the toothpicks neatly, so there was still a small, jagged end poking through. And after all that, the glue only held up for a week or two before the discs started coming loose again.

So, for now, I'm just keeping the metal pieces with the wallet, with only the clasp to hold them into place. I'm hoping that someone at the next Repair Cafe, which is coming up in November, will have the right size screws to fix it properly, or at least a better way to do it improperly.

Update #4: Finally, the right ground cover?

Ever since we bought this house, I've been trying to find a suitable ground cover to replace our front lawn. I didn't want to use anything invasive, like English ivy or Japanese pachysandra, but so far, all the more sedate plants I've tried—from Dutch white clover to creeping thyme to the native barren strawberry—have been unable to compete with the crabgrass. And every time I tried searching lists of native ground covers, I found the same old recommendations I'd already considered and deemed unsuitable. None of them could stand up to all the conditions in our yard: clay soil, afternoon sun, and occasional foot traffic.

Until last month, that is, when I stumbled across a native plant directory called Planoot. I searched for plants native to our area that were perennial, low-growing, and clay-friendly, and I came across an unfamiliar plant that goes by two different colorful names: frog fruit or turkey tangle. It's suitable for clay, likes full or partial sun, and grows to just 6 inches in height, and according to the directory, it "spreads vigorously as a low, trailing groundcover." Native Backyards was even more enthusiastic, calling it "my favorite native ground cover" thanks to its fast growth, low maintenance, and appeal for humans and native pollinators alike.

After a quick consultation with Brian, I searched out and ordered five frog fruit plants from a seller on Etsy. They were supposed to arrive last weekend, but the package appears to be held up in Texas. Once it arrives, we'll put the plants in the ground and see how well they live up to the hype.

Update #5: Middle-hanging fruit, maybe

This month, New Jersey became the ninth state to officially legalize balcony solar. Unlike large-scale solar setups that can power a whole house, these are miniature arrays that plug into a wall outlet and provide a smidgen of energy for internal use. They're easy to install, and crucially, they don't require an interconnection agreement with your electric utility, since little or none of the energy they produce will ever make its way onto the grid.

During a webinar I attended about this new law, I learned about a nonprofit called Bright Saver that's supposedly selling these mini solar arrays at cost in states where they're legal. If you sign up for a $29 yearly membership, you can either get a kit with a single 180-watt panel, an inverter, and a power cord for just $285 or pay $414 for a larger two-panel version. (You can also pay $499 for the smaller kit without signing up for a membership, but it's not clear why anyone would, since you can cancel when the year is up.) 

This was a better deal than I could find anywhere else, and it seemed like a great way to dip our toes into solar panel usage without a big commitment of time or money. It wouldn't reduce our home's carbon footprint, since we already use community solar for all our electricity, but it could still save us a little something on our energy bills each month. According to my back-of-the-envelope calculations, which I needn't go into here, it looked like it could pay for itself in just a few years, much faster than a full rooftop array (which we can't get right now, anyway, because our electric usage is too small). It seemed like a perfect example of the kind of middle-hanging fruit I've been looking for to make our life more ecofrugal in modest but meaningful ways.

More intriguingly still, Bright Saver says balcony solar is just the first clean-energy project it plans to tackle. There are plans in the works to help members save on home battery systems, insurance, and crucially for us, heat pumps. By joining now, we might eventually be able to get one for much less than the $24,000 after rebates that local installers have been quoting us.

This got me excited enough to plunk down $29 on a membership, but as I was preparing to place my order for the mini solar array, I hesitated. A small, suspicious voice in the back of my head whispered, "How do I know this is for real? If it sounds too good to be true, doesn't that usually mean it is?"

Further research did nothing to ease my mind. I could not find one single review from someone who actually owned Bright Saver's solar panels and could confirm they worked well. I found positive reviews, but they were either from "professional" sources who were simply repeating the info from Bright Saver's website or from folks on Reddit who had pre-ordered them and were expecting to receive them in August, only to have the shipment delayed until September and now October. I found myself wondering if the company might just take my money, promise shipment in a month (and then another month, and then another), and eventually disappear. Or maybe they would send me something that looked to the untrained eye like a solar panel, but when plugged in it would do nothing. I have no actual evidence that Bright Saver is anything but a legitimate company—but I also have no proof that it is one.

So, for now, my policy is to watch and wait. If and when Bright Saver says they are actually ready to start shipping out the solar panels, then I'll place an order. If it arrives and we plug it in and confirm it's working as claimed, great. If it doesn't, then we'll cancel the credit card charge before the bill comes due. And if the panels never become available on the site at all, at least I'm only out $29 instead of $443.

Honeyberry netting 2.0 (and a new honeyberry treat)

Last week, we discovered that the honeyberries on our bushes were just starting to get a little bit of color. They weren't ripe yet, but we knew our backyard birds wouldn't wait until they were to start helping themselves. If we wanted to save the berries for human consumption, we'd have to get our honeyberry netting tents up pronto.

This year, however, Brian wanted to try to improve on our original teepee design. Rather than covering each bush separately, he wanted to put up three frames—one at each end, plus an extra one for support in the middle—and cover the entire row with one giant piece of netting. This way, we'd be able to duck under the netting and work our way along the row, picking berries off each bush in turn, rather than wriggling into and out of the tents one at a time. He also believed it would be easier to set up one big tent than to put up and take down a bunch of individual frames and cover each one. I was a bit more skeptical, since I feared one big piece of netting would be more unwieldy to work with than several small ones. But since he was the one doing most of the work, I figured it couldn't hurt to try it his way.

Fortunately, we didn't have to buy any new materials for this project. We already had a big roll of bird netting that we'd scavenged off the curb on bulk trash day, and we had the six lengths of PVC pipe that we'd used to make our two original berry tents. To make the third frame for the middle, Brian dug into his stash and pulled out the narrower PVC pipe that we'd used for our very first garden trellis before figuring out we needed something sturdier. For nearly 20 years, he'd been holding on to this just in case we could use it one day, and now that day had come.

Brian then did a little experimenting to figure out the best way to arrange the pipe frames for his new design. He set up the first frame in roughly the same place it would go to cover just the one bush at the near end of the row, but skewed a bit more toward the outside and with the front legs a bit closer together. This made the whole frame taller to create as much vertical space as possible under the netting. He set up the second frame in a mirrored position at the other end of the row. Then he played around with the pieces of narrower pipe to figure out the best arrangement for the central trellis before cutting them to size. As he'd done with the first set of trellises, he drilled holes in the ends of the pipes to thread the string through, making it easier to tie them together.

Then came the tricky part: deploying the netting. We got out the big roll and worked in tandem to unspool it, with me in charge of holding the loose end down while he rolled it out across the yard in front of the bushes. When he'd unrolled enough to cover the entire row, we picked up the loose end and draped it over the trellis at the near end, making sure it reached all the way to the ground on all sides with room to spare. Then I held that piece in place while Brian lifted the unrolled netting over the middle trellis and finally over the end one, all while it remained attached to the roll. Only when we had the whole thing in place and were sure it reached down to the ground on both ends did he cut it off. Because the bird netting was only 7 feet wide, it took two lengths of it to cover the row of frames fully: one for the rear side, one for the front. We clipped the two pieces together with binder clips to make sure they wouldn't separate and leave a gap in the middle.

Next we needed a way to secure the netting in place. With the mini-tents, we'd simply draped the netting over each set of poles and held it down with rocks, but for this big tent, we wanted something to hold it in place at the top of each frame so it wouldn't sag too much. I suggested rubber bands, and as it happened, Brian had a whole bunch of them out in the shed that he'd recently discovered just sitting in our back yard near the fence. (His best guess was that some critter had dragged them in there and left them, though he had no idea why.) They turned out not to be very good rubber bands, as several of them broke while we were trying to wrap them over the ends of the poles, but eventually we managed to get one in place on the top of each frame.

That took care of the top of the frames, but we still needed something to hold the netting down at ground level. In fact, we got a vivid demonstration of why this was necessary, as two birds managed to get under the netting during the brief time it was unsecured and were flapping around in a panic trying to escape. After shooing them out, we made sure they wouldn't get back in by covering the netting with rocks. Luckily, we had plenty of these, because we'd hauled away several buckets that my parents didn't want during my Mother's Day patio cleanup. They even gave us several slate flagstones they were no longer using, allowing Brian to replace the one he'd scavenged from his backyard rain channel to repair the damaged path in our front yard. On the western end of the honeyberry hedge, we tucked the edge of the netting under these slate pavers to secure it; on the north side, Brian shoved it under the big concrete blocks lining the fence. Along the other two sides, we used the biggest rocks out of the collection we'd hauled home from my parents' place, one every 8 inches or so. 

This new, all-in-one honeyberry tent is a bit harder to get into than the old, individual tents. Since it's all one big piece of netting with no openings, you have to remove all the rocks along a stretch about eight feet long to give you enough slack in the net to squeeze under. But once you're in, you can move about pretty freely, crawling from bush to bush to harvest from each of them in turn. Occasionally one of the binder clips will come loose if you jostle around too much under there, but it's easy to clip it back on after you exit. Eventually, we'd like to replace this array  with some sort of more permanent structure that will require less setup work each year and be easier on our aging backs and knees. But on the whole, this design is probably a bit easier to set up and use than the single-bush teepees, and it won't take up much more room in the shed during the off-season.

Safe under their new protective cover, the honeyberries are ripening rapidly. Most of the ones nearest the house have turned a lovely deep blue, and we've already gathered about a cup of fully ripe ones. To celebrate the harvest, Brian decided to try something new: honeyberry ice cream. Here's his improvised recipe:

Mash 1/2 cup honeyberries with 3 Tbsp sugar and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Let it sit awhile to get juicy. Add 2 Tbsp soy milk and mix thoroughly. Stir together with 1/2 cup Country Crock Dairy-Free Whipping Cream (our current favorite now that Trader Joe's vegan whipping cream has been discontinued) and chill for several hours. Churn it to soft-serve consistency in an ice cream maker and transfer to the freezer to set fully. 

The finished product has a vivid pink color and a powerful fruity flavor—a bit too powerful for Brian's taste, in fact. He's thinking of reducing the amount of fruit next time and possibly increasing the amount of vanilla to counterbalance the acidity of the berries. But speaking for myself, I think it's lovely just the way it is.

Hell strip purgatory

For the second week in a row, I must apologize for being late with this blog entry. This time it's because we were away for the weekend visiting our friends in Virginia, and after driving home and unpacking, I didn't have the energy to tackle it. (I'm starting to think I should just switch to updating the blog on Monday every week, rather than over the weekend. We've been a lot busier in retirement than we expected to be, but the weekends seem to be even busier than the weekdays. Or at least, they're more likely to be busy for whole days at a time.)

Anyway, remember how we decided last summer to tear out the grass from our hell strip, that narrow sliver of turf between the road and the sidewalk, and replace it with some native wildflowers? And how we put in a bunch of seeds last fall and were just waiting for spring to see what came up? Well, spring is now here, and the answer is officially, "Not much." Here's how the hell strip looked as of last week: just a long patch of lightly mulched dirt with a few rogue tufts of grass and weeds. There were a few surviving salvia plants down at the far end, and the one yarrow we put in next to the street sign was actually looking pretty healthy. (Yarrow, as far as I can tell, is literally impossible to kill.) But none of the stuff we'd started from seed appeared to have germinated at all.

Disappointed but not deterred, Brian spent an hour or so last Thursday clearing out the patch. He didn't want to till the whole thing up for fear of disturbing any flowers that might still decide to germinate, so he sat on the sidewalk and painstakingly pulled out the weeds by hand. That got it back to its baseline state of a bare bed with a thin covering of mulch, which looks dull but at least reasonably neat. Then he put in a few rudbeckia seedlings (black-eyed Susans) that he'd started over the winter, using our new seed snail method. 

However, these are so tiny that he's not that confident they're going to survive, so we're on the lookout for additional plants that might be suitable for this difficult area. They need to meet several fairly stringent criteria:

• Perennial and low-maintenance
• Small enough to fit in a one-foot strip of dirt
• Tolerant of full sun and clay soil
• Able to withstand some exposure to road salt
• Unappetizing to deer

It's a tough order to fill, but I've found a few possible candidates, including catmint, creeping thyme, and something called antennaria (commonly known as pussy-toes). And if we can't find any of those, well, we can always fill in the whole thing with yarrow. We'll have to go out there with the string trimmer to beat it back occasionally, but that's less work than mowing.

In the meantime, I can offer one update on a project that's been resolved a bit more satisfactorily. Around the same time we finished planting out the hell strip last fall, we also had to fix several other things in our yard that got damaged by our neighbor's sewer-line repair. We were able to put most of it to rights, but we couldn't repair our flagstone path because that area of the yard was still torn up—and it stayed torn throughout the winter and most of the spring. But this month, our neighbor finally managed to get the sunken area filled in and planted with clover seed. This covered up the new sewer access that the workers had put in, but Brian went back in and uncovered it so that in case they ever need it again, they won't have to rip up the yard to find it. To make the pipe a bit more sightly, he constructed a hex-shaped wooden frame for it, then carefully fitted in the flagstones around it. So now we have a direct path from the street to our door again, and soon enough we should have some nice green clover to fill in the area around the stones. Based on how well it's coming up so far, we expect this area will be fully filled in a lot quicker than the hell strip will.

Our new asparagus bed

First of all, I apologize for being a bit late with this week's blog entry. But as you'll soon see, there's a good reason for it. 

For several years, our asparagus crop has been steadily shrinking. In fact, checking over my posts, I see that it's been ten years since we last celebrated the May 1 Gardeners' Holiday as the Age of Asparagus, largely because there just hasn't been enough asparagus to celebrate. For the past couple of years, we've harvested barely enough for one meal. And so far this year, we've had no spears at all big enough to pick. Our mature plants have produced only tiny, spindly fronds, and as far as we can tell, none of the ten new asparagus crowns we added to the bed last year have put up any shoots at all.

In light of this, I suggested maybe we it was time to do what we considered doing last year: dig up the entire asparagus bed and start over from scratch. Brian agreed that might be a good idea, but he wondered whether we should consider starting over in a different location. In the first place, our current asparagus patch had never been all that productive, and in the second place, it was likely to get torn up at some spot to put in the condenser for a heat pump system when we finally got around to installing one. So if we had to put in a whole new bed, why not put it in a new location where we'd know it wouldn't be disturbed?

Well, it was a nice idea in theory, but there was one obvious problem: asparagus likes a well-drained, even sandy soil. The current asparagus bed has the only soil on our property with even a little bit of sand in it. If the asparagus plants didn't like that, they'd really hate the heavy clay in the rest of our yard. The only way around this that we could think of would be to build a raised bed and fill it with a more asparagus-friendly soil mixture.

I knew this was possible, because I'd recently seen a GrowVeg video that discussed the advantages of planting asparagus in raised beds. However, it didn't go into much detail about how to construct one. Digging a little deeper, I found this article at Garden Betty, which talked more about how to build the bed and how to plant and tend the asparagus for optimal growth. (One thing it recommended was a phosphorus-rich organic fertilizer, something we'd never used on our current asparagus patch, which might explain its lackluster production.) But it also called attention to one key point: asparagus crowns are only available for sale in stores for a short period in the springtime. So, if we really wanted to do this, we'd have to do it as soon as possible.

Since I already had my monthly Citizens' Climate Lobby meeting to attend in Somerville on Saturday, we decided to combine that trip with a visit to the Belle Mead Co-Op for asparagus crowns and bulk soil. That gave us just a few days to plan out the location and design for the new raised bed. We decided the best spot for it would be the area in front of the shed, which is relatively level and gets sunlight for most of the day. In that location, we'd have room for a 4-foot square bed without blocking off our access to the shed, the main garden, or the cherry bushes. After a little tinkering, Brian determined that he could build a 4-foot square frame roughly 17 inches deep entirely out of reclaimed materials: two large boards we'd recently scavenged off the curb and a bunch of narrower pieces trimmed off from the stack of wood pallets stored in the shed. He started constructing it on Friday and had it finished by Saturday morning, just in time for our trip to the Co-Op. 

We'd already called the Co-Op ahead of time and found that they had several varieties of asparagus in stock, including the highly recommended Jersey Knight and Millennium varieties. We planned to get one 10-pack of each, allowing us to plant eight of each variety in our 4-by-4 bed with a few to spare. When we got there, we found that there were two different bundles of Millennium crowns available: one-year old crowns for $10 or two-year-old ones for $20. We decided to spend the extra $10 in hopes that we'd be able to harvest at least a little asparagus from our new bed next year. 

Next on our shopping list was soil. Garden Betty recommended using a "well-draining soil" and amending it with 2 inches of "well-aged compost." To simplify things, we opted for the Co-Op's blended topsoil, which has compost and sand already mixed in. The Co-Op's website suggested amending this mixture for raised beds with a bagged product called Bumper Crop, so we added a couple of bags of that to our order, along with one bag of an organic fertilizer called Bulb-Tone that Garden Betty recommended. The total came to $129, probably the most we'd spent on any garden project since we bought our fruit trees 13 years ago, but like them, this is a long-term investment.

Loading the half-yard of topsoil we'd purchased was a lot more work than we expected. We've bought bulk compost and mulch from the Co-Op enough times to have the drill pretty well down: Dump out our half-yard into our two big trash barrels, muscle those into the car, then shovel up the rest into bags and load those. But the topsoil was much denser than either mulch or compost, and the filled barrels were far too heavy for us to lift or even drag. We had to shovel about half the dirt out of them before we could get them into the car, and even then it took all our combined strength. And although we filled the bags only about halfway full, they were still too heavy for me to lift more than an inch or two. Brian had to heave them all into the car, and then, with still more difficulty, heave them back out again. To haul them down to the back yard, we dragged out the wheelbarrow and the ramp we hadn't used since our patio project in 2013, but even hefting the bags up into the wheelbarrow was a challenge. By the time we'd finished shifting everything, we didn't have the energy to do more than change clothes, eat supper, and collapse on the couch to watch Critical Role.

On Sunday afternoon, we began preparing the bed for planting. First, we toted the frame Brian had built down to the spot we'd picked for it in the yard (popping one side loose in the process, which he had to reattach). We carefully adjusted it until we were satisfied, then set a brick at each corner to marked out its exact position. After that, we moved the frame out of the way so Brian could go all the way around the edges of the square with our King of Spades, cutting a line to mark the boundaries of the new bed. He then used the same tool to score horizontal and vertical lines across the bed, dividing the sod into squares. We removed these squares one at a time, whacking each one with a trowel to shake the clods of dirt loose from the grass roots so none of it would go to waste before dumping the grass into a bucket bound for the compost bin. 

When all the sod had been turfed up, we shifted the frame back into place. It wasn't quite level, so we scooted it over just a bit and Brian dug the hole a bit deeper along one edge to get it situated securely. Then he made one more adjustment to the frame: stapling a layer of cardboard to the inside so that none of our precious soil would escape through the cracks. On this cardboard layer, he used a Sharpie to mark three lines at the center of each side of the bed, at 8, 5, and 2 inches below the top edge. The first mark showed the level to which we'd need to fill the bed before placing the crowns; the second showed the level to which we should pile additional dirt on top of them; and the third showed how much more dirt we'd need to add later in the season, once the spears had started to sprout. The remaining two inches would be for a layer of mulch on top to protect the plants during the winter. He also marked off one-foot lengths along the top edges of the bed as a guide to help us place the asparagus crowns.

That, once again, proved to be all the work we could handle for one day, so it wasn't until this morning that we started actually filling up the beds (which is also why this blog entry was delayed). Since we weren't sure our half-yard of soil would be quite enough to fill them to the level needed, we started by adding a layer of sticks, as recommended in this other GrowVeg video. Aside from adding bulk, they'll help the soil in the bed drain more easily, and they'll break down over time to release their nutrients into the soil. On top of that, we began adding the actual dirt—first shoveling it out of the big bins until they were light enough to tip out, then dumping in about five bags' worth on top of that until we'd nearly reached the first mark. Then we dumped in one of the two bags of Bumper Crop and, following the instructions on the package, worked it into the soil to a depth of about six inches.

Once we'd reached this point, we were ready to start the actual planting. First, on Garden Betty's advice, we soaked the asparagus crowns in a bucket of water for about 15 minutes to rehydrate them. While they were soaking, we opened up the package of Bulb-Tone, sprinkled three cups of it across the soil surface, and lightly worked it in with our fingers. Then we carefully laid out the asparagus crowns according to Brian's guidelines, one per square foot, with the two-year-old Millennium crowns toward the front of the bed and the younger Jersey Knight crowns in back. 

Finally, we topped up the bed to Brian's second level marker with a mixture of soil and some more of the Bumper Crop and gave the freshly planted asparagus a good watering. Our sources said it would need 1 to 2 inches of water every week for its first couple of years, which Brian worked out to be 10 to 20 gallons—about five full watering cans' worth. However, we found the soil was looking pretty well saturated after three cans full, so we decided to leave it at that and top it off later.

After learning how much water the plants would need, Brian decided to add one more thing to the new asparagus patch: a rain gauge. The standard design for this is simply a plastic bottle with the top cut off and inverted to funnel rainwater into the opening, with lines marked on the outside to show how many inches of rain you've had. Sources like Wikihow suggest adding pebbles to the bottom to keep it from tipping over, but Brian decided to get a little fancier and use some of the colorful marbles we'd both saved from our childhood. He did a little measuring to figure out how much water the marbles would displace and adjusted the marks on the side accordingly. The new rain gauge now sits on a corner of the bed, so we can see at a glance how much water the plants have had and calculate how much they still need.

Although it was a lot of work, I'm extremely pleased with our new asparagus bed. I like the fact that Brian built it himself. I like the fact that he used only salvaged materials. I like the fact that we assembled it together (even if he did most of the literal heavy lifting). And I like the fact that, having planted it once, we can expect to continue harvesting asparagus from it from the next 15 to 20 years. Granted, at around $3 per pound for in-season asparagus, it will need to produce 43 pounds to pay for all the material that went into it, but that's less than three ounces per plant per year. I think we can hope to at least break even, and one thing we can be sure of is that any asparagus we do get will be far fresher than anything we could buy at the store. And if asparagus proves to be one of the commodities that skyrockets in price due to tariffs or global instability, we'll be at least somewhat insulated from the shock.

Taming the hell strip, part 2

So, I realize there's not much to see in this photo. But there's a lot more going on below the surface. 

Remember how, four months back, Brian first embarked on his project to transform our hell strip (the narrow sliver of land between the sidewalk and street) from a ragged patch of weeds to an actual planting bed? At that time, we planted about one-third of it and assumed the rest would have to wait until spring. But on further consideration, Brian thought it would make more sense to plant seeds now, in the fall, rather than start seedlings indoors and transplant them in springtime. That way, they'd get a head start on germination, the same way the weeds do, and they wouldn't have to deal with transplant shock. 

Last weekend, we started the process. Brian used our King of Spades shovel to chop up the turf into blocks, which I turned over and whacked with a trowel to knock as much dirt off the roots as possible before dumping the top layer into a bucket destined for the compost bin. Then, while Brian went to empty the buckets and fetch his supplies, I set to work with the trowel excavating a narrow channel running along the edge of the road. When he returned, he set down one of the two-by-fours he'd brought into this channel, forming a boundary for the bed. (The main reason he had to do this is that there's a curb cut along that stretch of sidewalk, so he couldn't rely on the curb to form a boundary. But the two-by-fours will also form an extra barrier to keep the plants from impinging on the sidewalk and make the bed look more defined.) 

We then worked together to dig out a similar channel along the other side, next to the sidewalk, and fill it in with a second two-by-four. After that, Brian had to get out his big tape measure and measure the exact distance from the end of this section to the end of the bed, right at the property line, and go inside to cut the boards to the right length. Actually, he had to break one of them up into two smaller pieces, because there's a sewer access pipe right at the edge of the sidewalk. So he fitted two shorter pieces around it, one on either side, and capped the whole area off with a short piece at the end.

At this point, we had a nice, empty planting bed, but we weren't quite ready to plant in it. We'd used up all the free mulch we got last summer, and Brian didn't think it would be a good idea to put the seeds in without a layer of mulch to protect them. We could have used leaves, as we do in some of our other beds, but he wasn't confident they'd stay put in such an exposed area. And by that point, it was getting a bit late in the day to run out to the store and buy some. So we left the bed empty until we had a chance to pick some up at Lowe's (along with a few other things I'll tell you about shortly).

Yesterday, with mulch in hand, we were ready to finish the job. We had three kinds of seeds to plant: salvia, which we already have some of in the first part of the bed; rudbeckia, or black-eyed Susans, which we'd picked up a couple of packets of at Ocean State Job Lot; and golden ragwort, a native plant that we got a small packet of as a freebie at a town fair. It combines low-growing foliage with tall flower spikes that bloom in April and May, making it a good complement to the salvia and rudbeckia, which bloom from midsummer into fall. And all three are supposed to be reasonably deer resistant, a key requirement if we want the plants to survive in an area where deer stroll right up the street browsing on anything they can reach. (It's less clear how the new flowers will fare against groundhogs, but we'll have to wait and see.)

To ensure a good mix of the three varieties throughout the bed, I worked out a staggered arrangement for planting them: ragwort on the near side of the bed, then salvia about four inches along on the opposite side, then back to the near side for rudbeckia, then across to the other for another ragwort, and so on. Brian marked up a ruler with pieces of masking tape to indicate the lengthwise spacing, then placed the roll of masking tape on the ground at one end to mark the spot where his seeds would go. He added a small pinch of seeds in the circle formed by the tape, moved it to the next spot, added a pinch of seeds there, and continued the pattern along the whole length of the bed. My job was to scoot along beside him, handing him the packets of seeds in the correct order, so he wouldn't have to juggle all three. He had to be pretty sparing with his pinches—no more than three or four seeds at a time—to make the ragwort and salvia seeds last the whole length of the bed, but he managed it with a tiny bit to spare. I sprinkled the remaining ragwort and rudbeckia seeds in amongst the existing salvia plants in the older portion of the bed so everything would eventually have the same mix of flowers. Once that was done, we covered everything up with a nice layer of mulch to protect the seeds from wind and hungry birds (and, equally important, make it clear that the hell strip is now a planting bed and not merely a bare patch of ground). Then, as a finishing touch, I took one of the phone line insulators from the edges of our other flowerbed and set it over top of the sewer pipe opening. Besides looking nicer, this will keep the pipe from getting covered up by mulch, so it will be easy to locate.

All told, yesterday's portion of the job took about an hour, and we had lovely weather for it. Then, not content to rest on his laurels (or ragworts), Brian went on to tackle a couple of other jobs that needed doing in the front yard. To put this in context, I need to go back a month or so. One morning in early October, Brian and I noticed a lot of hustle and bustle going on in our next-door neighbor's yard, which turned out to be a bunch of workers attempting to unclog a blocked sewer line. They eventually worked out that to do the job properly, they'd have to dig up and replace the entire line, all the way out to the curb. And although it was technically his sewer line, a good portion of it was on our property. (Apparently these two lots used to be one larger lot, which would explain that unused curb cut in the middle of our curb.) To get at the pipe, they'd have to tear out the hedge on that side of our yard and rip up the underlying ground.

Unfortunately, we were about to head off to Virginia for a weekend with friends, so we couldn't stick around to supervise this process. We told him to do whatever he needed to do and not worry about replacing our hedge, which wasn't in such great shape anyway. And the workers took us at our word, because when we returned home, one whole side of our yard was missing. There was just a big crater in the ground, surrounded by caution tape and plastic sheeting.

Over the next couple of days, the workers filled in the hole, leaving a huge patch of bare dirt, and cleared away the plastic. At that point, it became apparent that a lot more than just the hedge was missing. The excavation had torn up part of the slate flagstone path that led from our front door to the street, and at least three stones were completely gone. It had also damaged our raspberry trellis, shearing off the lines and ripping out both the U-post at the near end and the anchor stake we'd secured it to. Brian was able to find the post, but it was too badly bent to reuse, and one of the three turnbuckles attached to it was missing. And, since the lost post had also been one corner of the invisible deer fence around our front flowerbed, that was damaged as well.

Luckily, none of this damage is terribly difficult or costly to repair. We were able to pick up a new U-post and another turnbuckle for about $26 at Lowe's, and we already had one additional anchor post left from the set of four we'd bought to stake our plum tree in 2020. After finishing up the hell strip on Saturday, Brian drove the new U-post into the spot where the old one had been, and I held the trellis wires in place while he tightened them up. He secured the new anchor into an undisturbed patch of ground a little farther back from where the old one had been and fastened another length of cable, which we still had left over from last time, around the anchor and up to the top of the post. We also had some of the fishing line we'd used for the deer fence left, so fixing that was a simple matter of tying a piece to the new post.

As for the flagstones, Brian wants to hold off on replacing those until the disturbed patch of dirt in the yard has fully settled. By the time that happens, the ground may be frozen, so it's possible it will have to wait until spring. But whenever we're ready, we have a couple of extra flagstones in the back yard, half buried next to the clothesline, that we can unearth and add to the damaged end of the path. And for the third, Brian thinks he can cannibalize one from the rainwater channel he added to the side slope in our backyard last year. If we find that the channel doesn't work so well without it, we can always replace it with one of the leftover tiles from our downstairs bathroom renovation.

Gardeners' Holidays 2025: Summer Harvest

Although the summer solstice is sometimes referred to as Midsummer, this term only makes sense if you think of summer as the six months between the spring and fall equinoxes. The real midpoint of summer falls right around now, at the beginning of August. It's a time when the garden is normally at its peak, cranking out a huge variety of veggies. But sadly, this year's weird weather (including a week of blistering heat followed by pounding rain) doesn't seem to have agreed with our plants. In the past week, we've harvested only:

• 5 cucumbers (one of our old Boston Pickling cukes and four South Winds, our new variety)
• 4 Premio tomatoes, 4 San Marzano tomatoes, and 14 Sun Gold cherry tomatoes
• 7 ounces of bush cherries 
• 1 zucchini 

That's not bad, but it's a lot less than we got last year or the year before. The cucumbers are doing all right, but the tomatoes, peppers, and zucchini have all been a bit sluggish. Worst of all, the plums, which according to their normal two-year cycle should be producing a bumper crop right now, have yielded hardly anything. The Golden Gage plums haven't ripened yet, so there's still a chance of a decent harvest there, but Brian has already picked the Opal tree clean and collected only 9.5 pounds in total—less than one-third of our 2023 harvest and one-fifth of what we got in 2021. And the Mount Royal has done even worse, producing not a single plum that survived to full ripeness. 

More worrying still, the tree itself is looking rather peaky. Its branches, even after two years of diligent pruning, are still heavily infected with black knot, and its leaves have come in small, thin, and riddled with tiny holes. The most likely culprit, apparently, is a fungal infection called shot hole disease. To deal with it, sources recommend removing and destroying every bit of infected foliage, then giving it a dose of fungicide in late fall. Unfortunately, there's pretty much no part of the tree that isn't affected, and the other two trees seem to have it to some extent as well. So to follow this advice properly, we'd have to strip all three trees bare, which is hardly practical. Probably the best we can do is rake up and burn all the leaves in the fall, spray all the trees with our usual copper fungicide, and cross our fingers.

However, there are some plants in our yard that are absolutely loving this weather: the weeds. Between personal travel, business travel, and hazardous weather conditions, Brian and I haven't been able to spend much time in the garden over the past few weeks, and the crabgrass and mugwort took advantage of the lull to invade every planting bed in the yard—flowers, herbs, asparagus—while growing to nearly waist height in the open areas. Brian spent most of yesterday out there with the mower and the string trimmer just beating them back, then we both spent some time on the ground carefully hand-weeding the areas that couldn't be mowed. Brian even put up a new barrier around the flowerbed, using some big pieces of 4-by-four lumber he had sitting out back, to make it harder for the weeds to retake the territory in future. (The phone line insulators that previously marked out the boundaries of the bed went on top.)

So, on the one hand, we don't have much of a harvest to celebrate for this particular Gardeners' Holiday. But we can at least celebrate a temporary victory over the weeds. We can't claim to have defeated them, but at least they're not at risk of eating the house, and that's more than we could say two days ago.

Taming the hell strip

Ever since we bought this house, Brian and I have been trying to reduce the amount of grass on the property—particularly in the little boxed-in front yard. We added the three plum trees, each with its own little island of mulch. We created a bed of day lilies along the cinder block wall. We made several attempts to get a ground cover established in the other portions of the yard, with varying degrees of success. And last month, Brian announced that he'd like to remove the grass from an area I'd never really thought about before: the narrow slice of turf between the sidewalk and street, which is apparently even more of a nuisance to keep mowed than the rest of the yard.

He wasn't quite sure what he wanted on this little sliver of land, aside from "not grass," so I offered to do a little research. I learned, first of all, that this narrow plot is commonly known as the "hell strip," and second, that it's a tricky area to landscape. Plants need to be narrow enough that they won't impinge on the sidewalk and tough enough to survive with very little soil underfoot. And in our yard, they face the additional challenges of heavy clay soil, full afternoon sun, and hungry deer and groundhogs. After consulting several sources online to see what could stand up to this environment, I proposed a mixture of salvia and rudbeckia (Black-Eyed Susans), with maybe a few little thyme plants to fill in the gaps. We already had salvia seeds from our planter project, so we bought a packet of rudbeckia seeds (as well as one of English lavender, which happened to catch Brian's eye), and I figured we'd plant them in the spring.

But this weekend, Brian decided he didn't want to wait that long. With an extra free day from the holiday weekend, he wanted to tackle a project he could see through from start to finish. He started sketching out some plans on Friday, and on Saturday morning he was out there turfing out the sod from the hell strip. He didn't do the whole thing, just a 12-foot section starting at the edge of the driveway. Then he disappeared into the shop and emerged with a small, odd-shaped bracket he'd built out of some pressure-treated 2-by-4 lumber he had leftover from the planter project. This little lopsided trapezoid was just the right size to fill in the angle formed by the driveway apron, turning the rest of the hellstrip into an even rectangle.

Next to that, he began laying out a small paved area that would serve as a landing pad for our trash and recycling bins. We didn't have any groundcloth to keep weeds out, but we had some heavy paper leaf bags that had proved equally effective at weed suppression in our garden paths. Laid flat, the bag was exactly wide enough to fill in the strip. Brian then began covering it with the last of the pavers leftover from our patio project, which had spent the last several years stashed in the shed. After filling in the cracks with fine sand from a bag we acquired so long ago we've forgotten what it was originally for, he boxed in the remainder of the strip with more lengths of 2-by-4 and filled it up with topsoil. (He didn't nail these pieces together, so whenever he wants to expand the hellstrip planting, he can simply remove the end piece and add more boards to extend the frame.)

By the end of Saturday, he had the entire strip neatly laid out and already looking much better than it had before. However, we knew that if we simply left it like this, it wouldn't stay nice-looking for long. The "grass" (which in our yard really means a mixture of crabgrass and other lawn weeds) would re-colonize the nicely-laid-out bed in short order if we didn't get something else in there. We didn't have time to start a bunch of salvia, lavender, and Black-Eyed Susans indoors, and if we sowed the seeds directly in the midsummer heat, they might not survive. So we decided to stop by the same nursery where we'd bought the plants for our large planters last spring and grab a few deer-tolerant plants to serve as place holders for the rest of the season.

Unfortunately, the nursery was closed, presumably on account of the holiday weekend. We tried the nearby Home Depot, but the only suitable plants we found there were a few salvias, which we already had at home. So we switched to Plan B: digging up and transplanting some of the salvia from our planters, along with any other plants we could scavenge from our flowerbeds. We found one large echinacea that had somehow seeded itself in our herb bed, as well as several smaller ones scattered closer to their parent plants. We also divided off several sections from our largest yarrow plant, since multiple sources had recommended yarrow as a suitable plant for hellstrips. However, the plant was so huge and floppy that we quickly realized the pieces extracted from it would never manage to stand upright on their own. Brian planted a couple of them next to the street sign at one end of the strip with a wire cage around them for support, hoping that once they're in full sun they'll eventually take on a more upright posture. The rest of the bed got filled in with a mixture of salvia and echnicacea and covered with a layer of wood-chip mulch. (We got this free from a neighbor of ours who got a large delivery of wood chips from a tree service and generously offered up the leftovers on Freecycle.)

This newly planted area doesn't exactly look polished, but between the paved area and the layer of mulch, it's fairly neat. Come next spring, we'll start a bunch of echnicea, salvia, and maybe lavender and plant the area more fully. But for now, it's a decided improvement on the "grass" we had there before.

The planter project

Last month, when I told you about our new patio set, I mentioned that we'd been able to haul it home because we'd already rented a truck to tote lumber for the laundry room and for another project that I promised to tell you about later. Well, that time has come. Allow me to present our new outdoor planter.

The background on this: When we moved into our house, there were several barriers between our property and our next-door neighbor's. Our driveway was lined with a couple of hefty concrete road barriers, and our neighbor had some large evergreen bushes and an aging picket fence along the side of his yard. The bushes covered up the gaps in the picket fence and softened the industrial forms of the crumbling concrete barriers, so taken as a whole it didn't look too bad. But a few years ago, our neighbor cut down those shrubs, and their absence exposed the full extent of the fence's battered condition—not to mention the ugliness of the concrete barriers on our side.

So, around that time, Brian started noodling with ideas for ways to replace those concrete blocks with something more attractive that would also be tall enough to conceal the fence. He considered putting up a new fence, then toyed with the idea of planter boxes with attached trellises for climbing vines. But eventually he settled on the idea of a couple of plain, trellis-free planter boxes that he could build out of two-by-fours. He spent several months sketching out different designs until he settled on one he was satisfied with: a long, deep V shape formed by stacked two-by-fours mounted on three sets of crossed legs. Then, after hauling home the lumber, he spent much of the past two weekends sawing all the boards to the proper length and assembling the pieces that could be assembled indoors. And finally, today, he had a few free hours with decent weather to put it all together.

Mind you, when I say "decent," I don't mean "pleasant." As of 10 am, the thunderstorms that the weather forecast has been consistently and inaccurately predicting all week still had not materialized. But in their place we had blazing sun, heavy humidity, and temperatures that were already into the upper eighties. When I wasn't helping Brian with the parts of the job that required an extra pair of hands, I was bringing him cold drinks and dishes of salty pickles and cherry tomatoes to keep his electrolyte balance up. And even with all that, he didn't attempt to assemble more than one of the two planters he had planned. But that's enough to show you how it was done.

He started by lining up all the cut pieces in the driveway, like this:

Then he attached the leg pieces together and connected them with long two-by-fours that would form the tops of the the planter's two sides, like this:

Then he unfolded it again and started attaching additional two-by fours to  complete the sides. Once they were all in place, the frame was much heavier, so we had to work together to fold the two sides into place. To hold them that way while he worked on attaching the end pieces, Brian applied a couple of clamps and pushed the legs into a set of little foot brackets he'd made for them. (Later, he plans to remove the end pieces and turn these into the feet of the second planter.)

He ran into a slight complication when he tried to insert the bottom piece. According to his design, there should have been just enough room to slide one intact two-by four into the V of the crossed legs. But since the boards he was using weren't perfect (some wider than others, some slightly warped), there wasn't. So, rather than try to shave down the side of one of the two-by-fours, he simply slid it in with its shorter edge facing up. That left a bit of a gap in the bottom, but since we're filling up the bottom with rocks for drainage anyway (or, to be more accurate, chunks of the old concrete barriers), it shouldn't matter.

I helped hold the end pieces while he drilled the pilot holes and screwed them into place. Then, working together, we flipped the now very heavy planter upside down so Brian could attach the feet. And finally, we got it back upright and maneuvered it into the spot where he wanted it. That was when he discovered one final complication: since our driveway is neither level nor flat, one end of the planter was floating nearly an inch off the ground. He had to shim it up with a couple of the boards stripped from of our old patio set. Some additional, smaller shims were needed to stabilize the planter from side to side.

This project took up the entire morning and about an hour of the afternoon, but we managed to get it done before the long-promised thunderstorms finally hit. Of course, "done" doesn't mean completely done, because we still have to assemble the whole second planter and fill them both up with dirt and plants. (I've been doing some research on suitable perennials to keep in an outdoor container year-round, but we haven't made any firm decisions yet.) But already, even this single planter sitting there empty looks much better than the dilapidated fence behind it.

Quick updates

On this blog, I tend to focus on what's new and different in our ecofrugal life. This makes sense, but it has a downside: you hear the beginnings of a lot of stories without hearing the endings. I tell you that I've tried a new homemade conditioner, but I don't think to tell you that it turned out not to work all that well with everyday use. I tell you that we've added a strawberry bed to our garden, but I don't remember to follow up and tell you whether we got any actual strawberries out of it. 

So for this week's blog entry, instead of telling you what's new, I'm going to fill you in on the latest updates to some older stories. I'll start with the most recent stories and work my way backwards, so we're going from the smallest updates to the biggest ones.

Update #1: Potato plants

Last summer, when we got our new rain barrel, I mentioned that Brian was planning to use the old one to grow potatoes. We'd tried before to grow them in five-gallon buckets, but the results were disappointing. Brian thought that a bigger vessel, with plenty of room for the stems and tubers to form, might give us a better crop.

It's too early to say yet what our harvest will look like, but the plants themselves are flourishing in their new home. The stems have already reached the top of the barrel and are loaded with lush green foliage. They just recently flowered, as well. Brian snipped off the flowers because apparently you get more potato production that way, but I got a picture of them first. The trimmed-off blooms are now in the bud vase in our kitchen, so we've already gotten some benefit out of the plants regardless of how the potato crop turns out.

Update #2: Garden paths

Over the years we've had our garden, we've struggled to find a suitable covering for the paths between the beds. I thought I'd hit on the perfect solution with the leftover stone dust from our patio project, but within a year, weeds (and a few stray vegetable plants) were forcing their way through it. So, last winter, I decided to try a new approach: covering the paths with leaves. Using all the leaves we raked up in our own yard, as well as a bag or two of our neighbor's that we scavenged from the curb, we managed to cover all the paths a couple of inches deep.

This approach has been a moderate success. The blanket of leaves hasn't managed to suppress weeds entirely, but we're getting far fewer of them, and the ones that do pop up are easier to remove because they're rooted in loose, leafy soil rather than solid clay. (I'm only bothering to do this with the tall weeds, like crabgrass and dandelions. Ground-hugging weeds like barren strawberries, I figure, can just get walked on. If they pop up in the garden beds themselves, I'll yank them, but otherwise, they can stay where they are.) And since the leaves cost us nothing, we can simply keep replenishing them year after year.

Update #3: Strawberry bed

Last year was our first attempt at growing strawberries. Our new seed supplier offered seeds for the small Alpine variety, and we decided on a whim to add a packet to our order. The plants grew faster than we expected, and we actually managed to get a small handful of fruit off them that first year. But this year, they have really come into their own. The plants are flourishing, and we have already harvested 6 cups of tiny red and white fruits. (They're supposed to be red and yellow, but it's a very pale yellow. Alongside our honeyberries, which ripen around the same time, they make a very patriotic-looking fruit salad.) 

These little berries aren't as plump and juicy as regular strawberries. Their flavor is more concentrated, with a sort of floral undertone to it. They also don't keep nearly as well, which explains why you don't tend to see them in stores. We have to eat them up within a day or two of picking or they turn into mush. This means we can't use really use them in recipes, since we only get a cup or so of berries with each picking, and we can't save them up to get enough for a fruit crisp or a batch of jam. But eating them fresh every day (by themselves or in salads) is certainly no hardship.

So, all in all, I'd consider this experiment a success. The question now is, how long can we keep it going? According to the seed packet, these plants will only remain productive for about two years. But other sources on Alpine strawberries recommend dividing the plants "every four or five years" to keep production high and prevent overcrowding. That suggests that we should be able to expect them to last another couple of years at least. I guess we'll keep an eye on them next spring, and if it looks like they're not coming up, we can pick up a few strawberry plants of the more conventional type to replace them.

Update #4: Homemade deodorant

Over the years, I've tried various alternatives to commercial deodorant in an attempt to avoid both animal testing and excess packaging. Plain baking soda, vinegar, rubbing alcohol, and peroxide didn't work very well; milk of magnesia did but turned out to have an undesirable laxative side effect. The best of the bunch was alcohol-based hand sanitizer; it wasn't strong enough to keep me fresh as a daisy on hot summer days, but it was good enough for light activity in mild weather. 

However, this sanitizer deodorant had a few drawbacks. It still produced some plastic waste; the bottle was recyclable, but the pump top wasn't. Also, annoyingly, the pump was never able to extract all the sanitizer from the bottle, and it also made it impossible to turn the bottle upside down to get the last drops. And it became difficult to obtain during the pandemic, though I was able to get by with a homemade version made from rubbing alcohol and aloe vera gel.

So when I came across a recipe for another homemade deodorant with just three ingredients—one part baking soda, two parts cornstarch, and three parts coconut oil—I thought it was worth a try. True, straight baking soda hadn't worked that well for me, but neither had straight rubbing alcohol, yet the alcohol-based gel worked fine. In any case, it wouldn't cost much to mix up a small batch and test it out.

Well, as it turns out, this baking soda mixture works at least as well as the hand sanitizer. Like the sanitizer, it doesn't always last all day, but it's no big deal to reapply it. It also produces no plastic waste whatsoever, and it's easy to get every last drop of it out of the container. And it's cheap—less than 25 cents for that initial batch (6 tablespoons total), which has already kept me going for a few weeks and is nowhere near running out. Can't get much more ecofrugal than that!

Update #5: Patio furniture

Back in 2013, we furnished our DIY patio with a cheap patio set from IKEA. At $120 for a table and four chairs, it was a much better deal than anything available at Home Depot or Lowe's, where outdoor furniture sets started at around $500. We refinished it once in 2014, but after that we decided to just live with the weathered look.

After 11 years of use, though, the furniture was starting to have problems with more than just its appearance. The pieces had become rickety, wobbling noticeably when we sat down, and tightening the bolts didn't solve the problem. We finally concluded that we were going to need a replacement.

The obvious place to look for one was Craigslist, which we now prefer to IKEA for home furnishings. But there was a snag: unlike IKEA furniture, pieces on Craigslist come fully assembled. How would we fit a whole patio set into our little Honda Fit?

The answer: we didn't. We already knew we'd have to rent a truck at some point to haul home the lumber for our laundry room renovation (which, yes, is still in progress) and for another project that Brian wants to do outdoors (more on that one in a future post). So, once we'd booked the truck for that, we took advantage of the opportunity to haul home a $135 patio set from Craigslist as well. We were still able to get the truck back by the end of the day, so the rental fee was the same; all it cost us was a little extra for gas.

Our new patio set is superior in almost every way to our old one. The glass-topped table is larger and includes a center hole where we can add a patio umbrella, should we ever feel the need for one. The chairs, with their woven plastic seats, are quite comfortable even with no added cushions. And both table and chairs are made of materials that should stand up better to the elements than our old wooden pieces. The previous owner had already kept them outdoors for several summers, and the table during the winters as well, and they're all still in good shape. So, given the same treatment, this new set should serve us for many years to come.