The Garden Dirt: Getting Ready for the World

Did you know May is unschooling month?

While it may seem counterintuitive to dedicate something as restrictive as a month to the free-form hippie spin that is unschooling, there's a good reason to spend a little time talking about it. And that is because, almost nobody knows what exactly unschooling is. We who school in the unfashion find ourselves describing what unschooling isn't as often, if not more. Does an unschooled student use workbooks? Have to do things she doesn't want to do?  Tend to her personal hygiene? Consider the feelings of others? Or are the little drop-outs all feral id, abandoning promising projects to hone Minecraft skills, only taking a break to go swear at elderly people in public?

The answer, of course, is D) All of the above, except for swearing at old people in public. Because some things should be done only in private.

The term "unschooling" is so undefined that it becomes a blank screen onto which people project their best or worst assumptions. Most discussions on educational styles tend to describe their merits and faults, because these styles have been defined for many years, by the pedagogical . Unschooling is...un. It's hard to say what it is. Each of us is making it up as we go along.

And that's kind of the point.

This is where I usually insert a garden metaphor. For this family, unschooling is much like hardening off.

Wait, what?

Here, on this very blog, I have covered how to germinate seeds, but I haven't gotten to what to do with them before putting them outside.

In order to have your tender little sprouts all ready to grow in the big bright outdoors, they will need to be hardened off, or exposed to the sunlight in small, indirect doses, in order to acclimate them to full-time sunshine gradually. Otherwise, the sun's rays will bleach them white and kill them within an afternoon. Not that that ever happened to me or anything.

A good way to start is on cloudy days, or in the shade, letting about-to-be-transplants be uncovered for only a couple of hours at a time, for a couple of days. The rest of the time, they should be indoors, or under cover.

These barrel halves let light through to the salad seedlings hiding under them.

Increase their time in the sun in the days to come, and in about a week, the world won't be such a lethal place to the delicate plantlings. If you are successful at the art of knowing when to shelter them, and when to expose them, they will be as strong and healthy as they need to be for the rest of their days. They become tough and sure, strong from within and tempered from without.

This is where I usually insert a learning metaphor. I think hardening off needs to happen to people too, to help them grow in the world. Only, instead of UV radiation, we must learn to weather the opinions, criticism, and scrutiny of others. I feel we flourish when we find a small but adequate space in our mind, where our intuition calls the shots, and we come to care very little about what the people around us think of us.

 This can be accomplished in school too.

You see, I wouldn't be anythingschooling if I let the words and thoughts of those close to me influence me very much. Years ago, our decision to stray from conventional public school for everyone all the time solicited many an unsolicited opinion. Not feeling like slaying misconceptions about unschooling, I would say we had decided to home school a kid or two, and suddenly it was story time. Some of the people in my life felt the fact that they would choose differently for their family was relevant to what my family was doing. It really wasn't. I knew it and that was good enough. I thanked them for their advice and made my plans anyway.

Like most mothers, what I've taught my kids has largely been about treating others with respect. It's what we parents do: tell them to share, use their words, solve their problems, and treat others as they would like to be treated. All of that still stands. Nevertheless, along this little path, I've unlearned preoccupation with what others think about my decisions. Such concerns are unimportant, often inaccurate, and ultimately completely impossible to resolve.

 How can you please everyone? There are songs about how impossible that is.

The process of raising these people, whateverschooling we're using, has been a gradual process of finding what motivates and going with that. I have come to trust that thing inside that tells me what to do next, more completely than the notions of somebody who is not living my life. I have come to trust us to define these things for ourselves as we go along. So, even though George, working his way through a science workbook, looks very schooly, or Henry's clarineting literally happens at a school; unschoolings are afoot. Being an autodidact doesn't mean you can't elect to use resources at your disposal to learn things and have experiences of your choosing.

 Unschoolers can, and often do, choose to be taught.

My  self-led learners are also expected to practice delayed gratification and impulse control out the a. Ain't nothing school about that.That's just the natural result of living in a big messy house full of animals. Obligation, responsibility, and concern for others get a daily workout.

There is no shortage of reasons why you will not get what you want as soon as you want it in our home. So go outside and play.You've been HARDENED OFF!

 See? Our fence is just like the one on the BU background!

These Little Gem Lettuces are ready for the big time. All acclimated and everything, my once-sprouts are now standing on their own in the sun. The soil under them is a vast place for deep roots, the sun above shines intensely at times, the sky brings wind and rain; and they're ready for all of it. Those bright leaves know what's up. Inherently perfect (even when the bugs show up later this summer) this whole robust arrangement has had the right mix of tough love and tender care, and will tick through the clock of its life, inspiring many a photograph, I'm sure.

Kind of like these people I'm growing, except I won't eat them.
Probably.

The Garden Dirt: Potatoes: A Personal Voyage

Even the potatoes know what time it is.

This has become a familiar March sight: Potatoes, telling me they are ready to spring into action. That they want to nestle into the earth and convert sunlight and the elements into soft starchy spuds of all colors. Yes, once again, I will be nervous, muddy and tired, but most likely rewarded beyond measure.

Harvesting and eating potatoes from my garden kickstarts an ego trip like no other. Impressively heavy, and substantially filling, they do what a salad can't: convince you that you really could feed yourself from a sunny patch of dirt.

I started collecting these little babies last fall, from the CSA we joined. All the littlest spuds, and some of the biguns went into a paper sleeping bag for the winter. I love to peek at them for the first time months later, surprised by the length and forceful nature of their vines. It's as though they're saying, "It's time to get going again, Lassie!"

 Don't all potatoes have an Irish accent? They do in my wee head.

Credit where it's due, I first heard "It's time to get going again." from Neil DeGrasse Tyson, as he kicked off the recently revived televised spacetime odyssey, Cosmos. Of course, he wasn't talking 'taters, he was picking up where this guy left off.

He and his wife wrote the original TV series, back when I was a little kid. Then, he was just a weird guy in a turtleneck, who wasn't The Electric Company, much to my dismay. Now, he is Carl Sagan, and he will always have a special place in our family's collective heart.

In making Cosmos: A Personal Voyage, Carl sought to discuss everything that is or was or will be. Not bad for thirteen episodes of a show from the eighties.  It dances brightly from spectacular space photos to lively earthy snapshots of city street life on the coast of the Mediterranean. Watched all over the world for decades, Cosmos spoke the universal language of all of us, and what we know about our world; sharing all the knowledge and always making a case for learning more.

I find this beautiful, sure, but also very useful. Compiling and sharing knowledge isn't just a noble pursuit for future humans, it's how I go about trying to be more successful at the stuff I try to do, more of the time. Which brings me back to my paper bag of potatoes. I grew them wrong for the first few years, charmed by online claims that they do well in vertical situations. Plant them in a barrel! In a cardboard box! In a straw-filled mesh cylinder! In a cowboy hat! Well, that may work for some zones, and some varieties of potatoes, but I found, year after year, that my potato production was paltry, and was happening at or just above the roots. No golden rosy purple orbs growing all the way up the vine.

Surely, Carl Sagan has something helpful to say on the matter.

 "It seems to me what is called for is an exquisite balance between two conflicting needs: the most skeptical scrutiny of all hypotheses that are served up to us and at the same time a great openness to new ideas."

Bingo. For whatever reason, I needed to ignore what worked for so many others and find out what worked for me. So, I dispensed with the gimmicky containers and returned to the ground under my feet, digging up a wide deep loose bed, edged with big stones.

More online digging got me thinking that I should also adjust the soil pH. Spuds love soil that has more than your average amount of free floating hydrogen ions. (aka alkaline, or basic) Where I live the soil is notoriously acidic.(aka the opposite of alkaline) Blueberries, azaleas, and rhododendrons love it, but it's bad news for potatoes.   There are a few ways to amend acidic soil. I went with bone meal, mixed in with the soil in which the potatoes were planted, and to any soil mounded on the vines throughout the growing season.

mmmm, boney

What happened next was nothing short of scientific.

 Only twice as many taters as before, that's what. So, I repeated the successful method last year and had an even higher yield. I was able to feed my family and had even some extras to sell at the farmer's market. I guess I sort of figured out this little corner of the cosmos.

I've encountered these truths before, so there must be something to them: That it's your job to learn from your mistakes when something isn't working; and that there is probably a path to success as you define it, as long as you're skeptical and open, humble and hard-working. This view makes mistakes into lessons. The story of your path becomes a helpful map for people you'll never meet; as long as you share it, and as long as they know when to ignore it and forge their own way.

 Stay tuned to the BU Facebook page to see how we're going about things this year. I'll be planting my potatoes today and will post pictures of our grand new set-up!

The Garden Dirt: The Selfish Side of Sharing

Sharing doesn't just help others, it can help you, which you're not supposed to care about if you're a good sharer, but I can't help myself.

Let me tell you about some garlic.

My beloved Spanish Roja arrived, years ago,  in the form of one bulb from Territorial Seed Co. I planted it in October, was delighted by its early vigorous green spears in January, and moved by its spicy dirt smell when I harvested it in August.

The cloves from the largest couple of bulbs from that year went back into the soil a few months later, and the following year, I had a larger crop, of larger bulbs.

 How exciting! This has gone on for years now, with each subsequent generation bringing consistently large, robust, delicious, bulbs.
 

Just when I thought I had really gotten the hang of this garlic-growing thing, I suddenly lost this year's crop to some disease.

My internet-based diagnosis is white rot. This saddened me, not just because I would miss eating Spanish Roja, but because I found myself garlickless, with nothing to plant this October. I guess I could buy a new variety, maybe two. The shopper in me can totally roll with this tragedy, but the gritty survivalist cheapskate in me gets cranky at the thought of losing my line; my fine giant friend who could wondrously reincarnate, better than ever, year after year.

It felt like we had such a good thing going. But hang in there, because this story has a happy ending. It takes place here, in what I refer to as "Vecino* Garden."

 *Vecino is how you say "neighbor" in Spanish. Our neighbors know what we mean when we say it, and my kids are learning.

It's the spot of lawn closest to our neighbors. I do most of the work and they are allowed to eat what grows there. We have some of their favorites: Raspberries, strawberries, and sugar snap peas.

One thing I decided to plant here last fall is ajo. A who? Ah-ho. It's how you say "garlic" if you're our neighbors.

I put it in because I wanted the kids to see something growing there over the winter. A few weeks ago, I invited them to pull out the bulbs and shake away the soil. The crop was small, but healthy, thanks to being far from the fungal bed.When I described garlic to the kids, I got blank looks which quickly evaporated, leaving only disinterest. This was not sweet or ready to eat now. They were reluctant to pester their mom with it, so I got to have it back! I plan to plant every clove.

 What a nice lady I am, right? I planted a garden for the neighbor kids. So patient. So generous.

Hardly! I have a thick streak of grumpy old man to me. Years ago, the sight of these very neighbor children, wandering through our property, snapping the blooms off the tulips and hanging from my magnolia tree, made me shout "Get off my lawn!" in botched Spanish. Not to be territorial, but I was growing food and they were destructive to it.

So, I had a fair reason to enforce a border, but I still didn't feel good about waging a war on it. Eventually, I realized that these children were not going anywhere. They were very soon going to be teenagers, with childhood memories of the forbidden garden next door and the mean lady who wouldn't share.

As much as they had annoyed me, I couldn't forget that they are also healthy and smart. Thus, they crave a connection with the natural world around them. They are like my children. And my children are far easier to get along with when engaged rather than thwarted. Truly believing that nature benefits a person as they grow up, I couldn't deny that I wanted that for them too. So, I asked what they wanted grown in their garden and made sure their parents knew they had my permission to be there and eat whatever ripened.  When I work in rest of the yard, they hang out there, eating and asking questions. They have learned to respect the plants in their garden and no longer deflower everything in sight, since they know some flowers eventually become berries.

Our little neighbors have lived here for five years now, and my kids call them friends. We haven't had much more garden damage at their hands. That might be because they've grown up a little, but I prefer to believe it's because I cultivated a compromise in that little spot of grass we share, along with three bulbs of garlic that grew far far away from the fungus-ridden spot which claimed the rest of my crop.

Here's what I have learned in Vecino Garden: Sharing is necessary for survival.You have to share because you don't know what will happen next. When life deals you troublesome tots and white rot, operating with a little generosity can turn vecinos into amigos and save your bulbs.

The Garden Dirt: Growing Home

It started, as so many good things start, with a bean, a cup of wet dirt, and a warm windowsill.

I always wanted to grow food, and I didn't even know it. When I was a kid, I did know that I loved sprouting pinto beans from our kitchen pantry, and growing them into leggy vines in my bedroom. Not only did I marvel at the magic act of germination, I got the strangest feeling from having a green living thing in my window. It felt like I was home in a way I had never experienced before. I used to open my window on sunny days, and lean on the window sill, with the leaves of my bean plant in my peripheral vision, listening to the radio; pretending that I was a grown lady, with her own apartment and a plant on her windowsill, naturally.

Here I am now, with many windowsills, a whole house, a big family, and a massive yard; and I still do the same thing: find a unique sense of home by tending little sprouts. Even before attempting this whole homeo-schooling thing, getting the kids involved in gardening early was a must. How else to get stuff done than to keep the little hands busy?

All you have to do is just break everything down into tiny one or two step tasks, commit to a set up and clean up time, and figure out where to store everything in the meantime. And when you do that, please make a blog about it so I can read it and figure out how to do it myself.

 Chicken observer: optional

Just jesting. I'm actually starting to get the hang of this growing little growers thing. It starts, as many good things start, with a box of dirt. I use one of our large recycling bins, but anything waterproof with a tight-fitting lid would work. The box of dirt is handy for a couple of reasons. It makes a nice spot to fill containers without worrying about a mess. Later, when you need to transplant seedlings, or if something dies and you need to empty the container, you'll be glad to have a place to work, or dump your dirt. Unless they're looking infected with something, all the roots, stems, and leaves of fail plants can also go in there.

Now that you've got the dirt, decide in what you will plant your seeds. Please, believe me when I say, you can start a seed in anything. Paper towels, boots, ice cream containers, yogurt cups, egg shells, your ear, you name it. Different plants have different needs, but, keep in mind, planting in a small container usually means you'll need to transplant to a bigger container soon.

 Yes, a walnut shell.

What to plant? That's up to you. At this time of year, most gardeners are planting onions, leeks, broccoli, hard greens, radishes and carrots, to name just a few. Read the seed packet for how deep to plant whichever seeds you choose. Cover with a little dirt, and water gently until the soil feels lightly, but evenly, moist. As they say, "like a wrung-out sponge." After that, it needs a few days somewhere warm and draft-free. We have a cabinet above our oven that is just the spot. When you see sprouts, set them in a sunny window, and water as needed. What next? Well, sheesh! It's only January!

Here, George uses a salt shaker from our table top, rinsed out well and filled with water, to rain on his carrot seeds.

The last thing you'll need is patience, and a keen ability to harvest the process, if there is no fruit. Playing in the dirt is good for kids, and somewhat difficult for some who like to keep their hands clean.

Seeds require dexterity, and operating an eye dropper or shakerful of water demands an advanced understanding of hydromechanics. Most of all, kids love to work on something that they can tell is important. Letting them try their hand at horticulture lets them see what they're capable of, which cultivates real confidence, regardless of the result.

A few Septembers ago, when I had a new baby on my lap and was staring wistfully out the window at a winter garden that wasn't getting planted, a young Thomas came to me, in need of something to do. I figured I would plug two problems into each other, in hopes of a synergistic solution. I gave him a packet of radish seeds, pointing through the window to the bed, saying, "Sprinkle these all around that dirt and poke each one down with a stick." He dutifully ran out in his little raincoat, grabbed a stick, plunked all of the radish seeds in one dense wet clump, stabbed it repeatedly, and looked up at me through the window, beaming proudly.We didn't grow more than two radishes that winter, but I think I planted a gardener.

The Garden Dirt: Happy Summer!

Today is the first day of summer, and the longest day of the year. It is fitting that today was the first day Backyard University students could enjoy the season's first strawberries. Mathberries, if you're nerdy.

These came out of Mathberry Tower, but they didn't look this ready-to-eat when I picked them. I used to leave berries to ripen in the sun, all the way, until they were dark and sweet and ready, and...already invaded upon by some other critter! It never failed. I'd have my eye on a berry as it ripened, and as soon as I went to pick it, I'd find a hole full of pill bugs, already taking their share.

So, now I pick them when they're still a little greenish-white. Overall, the berry has to have a good reddish tone going on, but not more than that, or it emits the tantalizing smell of eat me to the tiny world of theiving arthro- and pseudo- pods that lie waiting in the shadows. I am no match for that dark army. They feast at night, when I am snoring. I am like a cartoon antagonist, bumbling to tuba music.

After picking, lightly brush away any dirt, leaves, etc. stuck to the berry, and set in a windowsill to ripen, turning every day. Do not wash them! Leaving the berries dry is important them getting ripe without rotting.

You'll know when it's ready to eat by the color, and even though sun-ripened all the way would be ideal, it still beats grocery store produce. Sometimes, we cut the tops off of them and freeze them, collecting them in a sealable bag in the freezer. This makes our little trickle of strawberries into an actual usable portion, good for making jam, syrup, or adding to pancake batter.

Have a long and lovely summer day!

The Garden Dirt: Dreams of Mycelium

You've met Thomas. Here's something you might not know about him, he hates mushrooms. Always has. If you feel the same way, he's going to sit next to you and pitch freestyle origami airships at me while I tell you of our Mushroom Saga. I will try not to choke up, for it is a tale of hope and disappointment and more hope, and beeswax.

Last year, around this time, Geza built this stellar box of cow poop.

Think that's gross? Let me tell you a little secret: Everything good comes from poop. The endless flow of matter, through its cycle of growth and decay, is a constant riveting sci-fi romance ambigram, in which poop is the main character.

But, here's what's disappointing about this box of poop: It looked like this a year later.


It was supposed to be overflowing with lots of freaky shaggy mane mushrooms for us to eat! Ouch! Okay, except Thomas. Thomas was not disappointed. If you ask him, this tale of failure is a happy one. Case closed. If you ask me, it did not fruit* because we let it get too dry.

*"To fruit" is what you call making mushrooms. Now, go forth and think of mushrooms as fruit.

I used this kit. I'm sure it's a great kit, with lots of fungal potential, but we screwed it up somehow. In a case such as this, my expert advice, seasoned by years of experience, is to rake it up and use it for something else.

I felt knocked down, humbled, yet ready to give it another go. Most of us still love mushrooms, and to grow mushrooms would at least earn us honorary family membership in some sort of elf or fairy organization, which can't be a bad thing. Even Thomas can get on board with that. We will bring intentional fungus to Backyard University!

Most of the stuff we mail order for the garden comes from one place, Territorial Seed Company, mainly because they're fairly close to us. I ordered a new mushroom kit from them. The log kind this time. What does that mean? The first kit was mycelium* riding on some sawdust. It was supposed to go into the soil and bloom ' shrooms everywhere. You saw how that went. This kit has the mycelium embedded into small wooden dowels, in a corkscrew groove up the side.


*Mycelium is something like roots for a fungus, sort of. It's threadlike and is usually not seen, when there is fruiting fungus about, because it's embedded in some sort of substrate. That means covered in dirt or growing in/consuming a chunk of wood in most cases. In our case, we will be watching for it at the end of the logs. From what I've read, when the ends of your logs turn white, you've got a good mycelium growth going on inside and fruiting is hopefully right around the corner.

After choosing and preparing your log,, these little babies go into the drilled holes.

We went with alder, scavenged by friends, mostly. They break down the fastest, but they're so easy to find around here. I used beeswax to plug up the holes, otherwise the dowels would have slid right out of whichever side of the log faces down. Of course, if you drill a small enough hole, the dowel has to be hammered into place, so sealing isn't considered necessary.

I relied heavily on internet sources for information on how best to do this project. That little pamphlet that came with the kit is infinitely losable. There is abundance of advice on how to select and prepare a log, but, if you ask me, the tricky part is the beeswax. There's very little online about how to seal these holes up. The best advice I came across was, "Try not to start a fire". Will do, but I'd like to go one step better. Due to endless rain, this was happening in our kitchen, so we couldn't go slinging wax about all willy nilly.

I was afraid the wax being too hot might kill some of the fungus on the dowels, so I tried to let softened wax cool a little first by dipping my finger into it (once it's cooled enough to do that without pain). This amount of wax was perfect for closing up one hole. After rolling it off of my finger tip and into a little blob, it was quite easy to press into the space above the dowels. From what I've read, sealing wax will also work for this, but does sealing wax smell like honey? Does it give you many opportunities to say "beeswax", as in "mind your own.."? " Mind your own sealing wax?" There's a reason that never took off as a wildly popular English expression.

The mushroom kit came with three varieties, Pearl Oyster, Shittake, and Reishi.

In order to keep my logs straight, I carved a P, S, R into the sides and dripped wax on them, so that the grooves wouldn't be vulnerable to other, uninvited fungi.

Yes, I know you're a fun guy, but I just don't want you hanging around my Shittake, so beat it.

To seal the ends or not? This is hotly debated by would-be backyard mycologists the world over. Any part of the wood that isn't covered by intact bark or sealing wax is vulnerable to other fungi entry. Since the mycelium we're trying to cultivate needs to be the only fungus eating that log, we have to keep other stuff out. However, the biggest problem with getting mushroom logs to fruit is the log drying out. A log is sort of like a bundle of straws. The ends are where moisture enters and exits most readily. Sealing them up would greatly hinder the logs' ability to deliver moisture to its center. I'm leaving them open for now, and hoping all the other fun guys out there keep their distance.

If you ever decide to grow something in your yard, start with the south side. If you live in the US, that's going to be the the sunniest spot, most of the time. Now, guess where the shadiest spot is? North side! The north side of Backyard University is a shady netherworld, populated by mosses and ferns and occasionally, resentful anemic weeds. In short, prime mushroom garden spot.


This picture fills my heart with optimism. In life, some hopes go unrealized. Some efforts fall short. Perhaps, next year, Thomas' dreams will come true and I'll have to photograph logs that grew nothing but orange slime mold. But if that day comes, I will already have another kit and I will already be on the lookout for more cheap beeswax. For intentional fungi shall come to Backyard University! Our souls are inoculated with spores of hope and it's damp in there.

Introductions and Frequently Answered Questions

Welcome, come in. Take off your shoes, but watch out for the Legos on the floor. In case we haven't met before, we're the Laszlo family. We're a little big, and have a variety of interests and pursuits. This blog's mission is to organize and present our activities in a way that might be useful to others.

First, a roll-call of the humans:

This is Rebekah. I mean, I am Rebekah.

I am the wife and mom in these parts. I do most of the blogging and masterminding.

Then there's Geza. He is many things: Dad, husband, mathematician, wordsmith.

Anytime I need ideas I go to him. His intellect is mighty, his wit is devastating, and his kindness is legendary. He also manages all of the house and kid stuff while I spend time on the computer, so his contribution to what you see here may be indirect, but it is essential.

Back in 1998, Henry came along and suddenly Geza and I were this upstanding unit of society, a nuclear family. That was something! Henry is interested in rocking the clarinet, making movies, volunteering, and hanging out with his friends. The laughs never stop when you're hanging out with Henry.

Then there's Thomas. You may know him from his blog Awesome 9000000000000 . His personality really comes through there, so it's a good way to get to know him. He doesn't mention how much he enjoys ice cream on his blog, but he certainly makes his stance on figgy pudding known. (That's an inside joke, and you'll have to check his blog out to get it.)Thomas keeps it interesting. He's smart, brave, thoughtful, and standing right next to me, reading every word I write.

George was named after his wonderful grandfather. He spends his day doing math, collecting calculators and organizing things. He loves a good knock-knock joke and makes the best Play-doh cookies in town. As you may have guessed, he takes after his dad quite a bit. He's also an avid reader, writer and artist.

Mae is the girl. Let's just get that out of the way.

We had three boys and everyone was on about having a girl, so we went and had one. And I have to say, I see what all the fuss was about! She's awesome. Her favorite activities are chicken-watching, drumming, playing the piano, and asking for stuff.

Here's where I think about the aspects of our family life that fit into labels.

The Muddy Kitchen: If we're doing something in the kitchen, this is where you'll find it. We don't eat meat, so we might be a good resource for someone looking to introduce family-friendly meatless meals. Going meatless was a happy, gradual choice for us and we love the food we make here.

Tails and Tidings: In another post, I will introduce our delightful menagerie. Our pets include dogs, cats, a hamster, a pig, a goat and four chickens. For now. They grace us with their charming personalities and provide us with non-stop antics and learning opportunities.

The Garden Dirt: That pretty much says it! We grow food, herbs, pasture, and maintain what's left of the landscaping put in by the previous owner.

Brain Storms: This label will help you find school activities. You could call us homeschoolers, or unschoolers, at times. I prefer to think we're an eccentric broad-minded bunch with a lot of time on our hands.

Goes to Market: When our local farmer's market is in season, we are avid supporters. This summer, we plan to work at the community table, as usual. Next year, who knows? Maybe we'll have a booth of our own.