Chicken Sniffen

For once, internet discussion boards trump the experts.

The coop is located a mere 10-15 feet from my large kitchen window, which is always open.  There is a low-grade but persistent odor that hangs around no matter how much I attempt to clean (and to be perfectly honest, I'm not so on top of the cleaning mostly).  The only thing that has helped has been deep bedding in the pen, which makes a mess and prompts the girls to lay their eggs UNDER the coop.  At first I thought that strategy was pretty daft, until I realized that I am the primary predator of their eggs, and that's the hardest place for me to reach them.  Score one for the chickens.

If you check the multitude of chicken keeping handbooks and guides, everyone just says if you keep it clean enough, there won't be a smell.  Well, shucks.  I chalk this up to backyard chicken "experts" being more concerned with gaining converts than with solving practical problems.  They don't smell!  They're easy to care for!  They're not noisy! (I believe we have discussed that last point before)

Maybe all that is true if you live on an acre and houses are spread out.  But we're tightly packed here, so there is a low, low, low threshold for unacceptable odors and noise.  Just sayin'.

Here's the other thing:  for most of the year, it's pretty damp here.  It's humid.  The soil is clay and drains poorly.  And keeping chickens un-smelly largely depends on a dry environment.  They usually wind up walking around in a pen of wet clay, which is basically wet chicken poop.  No amount of cleaning will correct that (they have a wire bottom cage, by the way, so most of their waste drops to the ground below).

Exasperated, I hit the discussion boards, and guess what, smelly pens are a common problem!  Most people complain about it in the summer months, which is basically year round here.  The most reasonable solution seemed to be applying a layer of lime to the ground, to neutralize the urea.  After confirming my hydrated garden lime in the garage was too caustic, I found a 60lb bag of agricultural "Ag lime" at the garden center.  I hauled it home and sprinkled a light dusting - like a nice light coating of new snow - to all the bare earth.  I also sprinkled in the dog run, for good measure.

This is what I can tell you:  two days later, and I can't detect ANY smell, even standing next to the pen.  Also, despite trying to eat it, the hens are not dead.

Score one for me.

Tomatoes

I think I've finally got a handle on tomatoes. Been pulling in an armload of Romas and a bowl of the cherries every evening (the picture is of today's cherry tomato harvest and a few days' of Romas). Starting from seed is still hit or miss, so this time around I bought healthy looking plants from the local garden center.

Here are the things that, anecdotally, seem to help:

DAILY water

Lots of compost

Plenty of well drained soil (I have a 1 ft high raised bed that was loosened up 1 foot deep underneath when I installed it)

Grow during winter months

Calcium supplementation, either added to soil or as a foliar spray

Occasional addition of coffee grounds to soil

This seems to be working for me, anyway. I think compost and a steady water supply are probably the most important factors. Incidentally, I used no other fertilizers aside from the amendments mentioned above.

Your feedback is appreciated! It seems like would-be gardeners are often frustrated by growing tomatoes in Hawaii. In the future I will try to post a more comprehensive and evidence-based guide. Good luck!

Weeknight Spanakopita

It has been a long-standing tradition in our family to serve spinach pie (spanakopita, the kind with buttery layers of filo dough surrounding a spinach and cheese filling) at Thanksgiving.  My husband’s Nana was from Albania, although she had immigrated to Greece as a child, and it was always difficult to tell which of her culinary and cultural traditions originated from Albania, and which came from Greece.  In any case, she would always make large batches of spinach pie and bring them to holiday celebrations.
By the time it occurred to anyone to get her recipes, her dementia had progressed too far for her to pass them on.  She invited us over to her kitchen to make the dish with her, but unfortunately that never came to pass.  When Nana was finally too ill to cook herself, I vowed to take up the mantle.  I found the closest recipe I could in a cookbook, and it took years of tweaking (less onions!  no onions!  more cheese! less spinach!) but I finally got, well, close enough to satisfy the boys.  This left me with a recipe that is more or less mine, hastily typed out on a piece of paper and shoved in one of our overflowing recipe binders.  Someday, that carelessness is going to bite me in the butt. 
If you have never had spanakopita, I command you to proceed post-haste to a Greek restaurant and order yourself some.  It is one of the best things ever.  Sadly, it is also time consuming to make at home and not very healthy.  The dish is created by layering ultra thin filo pastry sheets (you can buy these pre-made in the freezer section of any large grocery store – even Nana didn’t make her own) in a pan, gently spreading melted butter on each tissue-thin layer with a pastry brush. The dough itself is very picky – it must be removed from the packaging right before use, or it will dry out too quickly and become unworkable.  It also cannot get too damp (a problem here in humid Hawaii) or it starts to stick together, at which point you’re better off ordering a pizza for dinner.
For all of the above reasons, I normally only make spanakopita once a year, around Thanksgiving, grumbling about working with the pastry and how much work this is for something that gets eaten so fast, while DH just rolls his eyes because he knows I love the attention.  Seriously, master spanakopita and bring it fresh to a party – your reputation for being a culinary genius will be secured forever.  Then you can breezily tell your friends it’s no big deal, that you just have to layer the delicate pastry piece by piece, keeping it covered with a damp towel, working quickly but gently etc. etc. etc. while they stare at you in awe.
Our other obstacle to everyday spanakopita is getting the correct feta cheese.  This issue is probably more specific to our family.  Most folks would be content with any good quality feta, although I encourage you to at least use sheep’s milk.  The feta we use is Bulgarian.  In Massachusetts, we would obtain this from a specific shop in Arlington, but as we’ve relocated three times since, we have had to search it out each time.  The only source of Bulgarian feta I have found in Honolulu is at the India Market on Beretania Street near University, where it comes in plastic tubs.  Fortunately, I am often in the area for work. 
If you decide to seek out Bulgarian feta, I should warn you that the product by itself is very much an acquired taste.  The first time I had it, I was certain it had gone bad.  The family assured me that it hadn’t, and that I’d get used to that.  It’s true – now American feta tastes like cardboard to me, and even the stronger French fetas just don’t seem quite right.  The flavor mellows considerably once it’s cooked in the dish, I promise, and I think that extra sourness is what makes our family recipe so special.  I have never encountered wrinkled noses when anyone, child or adult (and my son brought it to share with his Kindergarten class last year), tasted the finished product.  So trust me.
I was content with making spinach pie a yearly special occasion kind of thing, except my son just absolutely LOVES the stuff.  It’s hard to say no to a kid that’s begging for green vegetables.  Still, with a cup of butter, it does not exactly qualify as a healthy dietary staple.  I’m not against butter, but it might as well be dessert at that point (although we do that too; I make a killer Baklava).  I have been wondering if substituting with olive oil would be a possibility.

Malabar spinach grows on the trellis

I recently had the opportunity to finally test my theory.  I’d managed to stock up on filo and feta, and my Malabar spinach (a perennial vine and a good constant source of greens) had begun to jump its area into the next box.  I took my daughter out for a harvest and picked the young leaves while she chattered away and “helped”.  (“I’m picking a baby leaf!  Am I picking the smallest leaf?”)  As a bonus, we discovered several ripe cherry tomatoes.  This was definitely positive reinforcement for her to help me in the garden, as the only thing better than finding ripe cherry tomatoes and strawberries would be having a candy bar plant bearing chocolates and mints.  We tossed in a few sweet potato leaves and some chard as well.  On the way back in the house, I grabbed a handful of dill from my pot by the front door.
I used a Misto pump to spritz on olive oil between layers.  This made my work go much faster and more easily.  The quick progress also minimized my problems working with the filo as it was exposed to the environment.  In the recipe, I describe how to work with filo under most conditions.  However, I will tell you that in my local climate, I usually do NOT cover the pastry with a damp towel as it ends up getting sticky before I am done.  You will have to experiment to see what works where you live.
The end product came out crispy and tasty.  It certainly was not the decadent melt-in-your-mouth treat that a good spanakopita normally is, but that was not the goal here.  The greens were a bit overwhelming (I blame the addition of the chard which is a bit on the mature side) but that did not bother me.  What was surprising is that it didn’t bother the kids either.  My son gratefully chowed it (after MUCH anticipation) and took a second helping; he’s still talking about how great the leftovers are going to be in his lunch.  But the real shocker was that my greens-hating daughter polished hers off too, although I’m not ruling out 100% that some didn’t make it into the dog when I wasn’t looking, and there was that lingering promise of ice cream afterward.  (The night before, she had rejected a perfectly good caramelized onion, pepper, goat cheese and mozarella pizza, opting to skip the ice cream altogether rather than finish her dinner.  Really.  When I was a kid I recall choking down canned peas, green beans and corn.  I didn’t even realize you could get vegetables any way other than in a can until I was a teenager.  She doesn’t realize how good she has it.)

Healthier Spanakopita

• 1/2 lb. fresh spinach
• 1/2 lb. feta cheese, preferably sheep’s milk
• 2 tsp dried or 2 tbsp fresh chopped dill
• 3 eggs
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 package of filo pastry sheets
• Olive oil

Wash and drain spinach.  Place in large pot or pan over medium high heat.  Allow to cook about three minutes, until completely wilted.  Remove from heat and allow to cool completely.  Squeeze as much water as possible from the cooled spinach (a potato ricer is excellent for this).  Set aside.
Lightly beat eggs in a medium bowl.  Add dill, salt and feta.  Break up feta with fork if necessary and stir to combine.  Add to drained spinach and combine.
Prepare the pastry:
Heat oven to 350F.  Spray a 13x10x2 pan with olive oil.  Remove thawed filo pastry from refrigerator and open package.  Cut the block of filo in half vertically (to fit your pan), then tightly wrap and return half the pastry to the refrigerator for another use.  Cover the filo with wax paper, and cover this with a damp kitchen towel.  Remove sheets one at a time and cover remaining pastry with wax paper and towel.
Lay the pastry sheet in the pan and spritz with olive oil.  Repeat until half the pastry is used (about 10 sheets).  Spoon spinach mixture onto pastry, spreading evenly. Continue to layer remaining filo pastry on top of spinach mixture, tucking the pastry in around the edges.  Spritz top generously with olive oil. Score the top half of the pastry with a sharp knife, cutting through to the spinach layer but not any deeper.
Bake for 35 minutes until crispy and slightly brown on top. Allow to cool slightly, cut through full thickness of pie along score marks, and serve.

BONUS RECIPE:  Lemon Rice Soup (goes great with the spanakopita)

You can make this while the pie is baking.

• 6 cups vegetable or chicken broth
• 1/2 cup uncooked rice
• 2-3 eggs
• Juice of 1 lemon
• Freshly ground black pepper, optional

Bring the broth to a boil.  Add the rice and simmer for 20 minutes or until tender.  Beat eggs in a medium bowl.  Carefully add the hot broth, 1/2 cup at a time, to the eggs, until doubled or tripled in volume, then add the egg mixture back to the soup and stir.  DO NOT allow the soup to boil once the eggs are added.  Stir in fresh lemon juice and serve, topped with freshly ground black pepper if desired.

Sweet Potato Redux

Two years ago, I attempted to grow sweet potatoes. The details are fuzzy, but I remember I had my very first 3x6 raised bed to plant, and I was excited to grow sweet potatoes in half of it.

And baby, did they ever grow. I took cuttings from a nursery plant and stuck them in the ground. They looked like they were going to die within the hour. But then, miraculously, they survived and started putting out new leaves.

They grew, and grew, and then grew some more. The vines crawled out of the box and into the adjacent flower bed / herb garden. I cut them back. Every week.

And they grew some more. Getting bored with cutting back the vines, I started to accept their habits and trained some into a nearby mock orange. It became difficult to determine where sweet potato vine ended and bush began. Occasionally I would redirect them when they threatened to take over the sage or the nasturtium, but mostly I let them grow. My Achilles heel when it comes to gardening is vines, and I was too tender hearted to hold them back.

Then came the whiteflies. They set up shop on the undersides of the leaves, so that when I disturbed the vines, little white clouds would billow up from them. My tough-as-nails sweet potatoes did not suffer, but unfortunately the whiteflies used them as a strategic base from which to launch an assault on my surrounding ornamentals and vegetables.

So when the time finally came after six months to dig up my harvest, I was relieved. Oh, it was bittersweet. I do love vines, and they lent a lush and bountiful aura to my garden. They shouted, "I'm growing vegetables! And they're thriving, dammit!" Since they've been gone, it has never been quite the same.

Occasionally before I harvested, I would eagerly scratch aside some dirt looking for the "tubers". I tried not to worry when I didn't find any. Surely they were just a bit deeper. But when the Big Day came, I dug up several impressively long taproots measuring 2 or 3 feet in length, but no tubers. I kept following the roots down, hoping the sweet potatoes were just a little beyond my trowel. When I came to grips with the lack of "real" potatoes, I tried convincing myself that these non-tuberous roots were edible sweet potato goodness. However, when I cut them open they were milky white and decidedly not yummy inside.

I had no idea what had gone wrong, but I knew I had just wasted six months of precious garden space and maintenance for nothing. I gave up.

Until this fall. The school garden that I help manage does this incredible sweet potato and taro garden with the fourth graders. The cuttings were sourced from a local farm and consisted of two different heritage varieties. The school's sweet potatoes are robust and relatively free of pests (despite whiteflies being present in the area).

I began to wonder if I had spent all that time growing an ornamental variety of sweet potato. Last week I decided to get back on that horse, after almost two years, and try again. As I was cleaning up the school beds on a Sunday afternoon, several vines broke free. Instead of throwing them in the compost, I brought them home.

I trimmed the last 12 inches from the vine tips, then stripped the leaves from these cuttings except for two or three at the terminal end. Then I stored the cuttings in fresh water until I was ready to plant (they will keep a couple days like this - they get all wilty but are still viable).

Meanwhile, I stripped the leaves from the rest of the vines. I discarded stems and yucky leaves by feeding them to the chickens. Then I washed my big bowl of remaining leaves.

I heated my cast iron skillet on medium until it was good and hot, then added olive oil and salt to the pan. I threw in the leaves and sautéed them until wilted -just a couple minutes. They were like baby spinach, but so much better. I can't believe I had all that good food in my garden two years ago, and I was just throwing it in the compost week after week!

After lunch, I planted my cuttings in loose soil about six inches apart, burying the stems up to the terminal leaves. They can be planted vertically or at an angle. The soil needs to be kept consistently moist until new roots are established and the vines begin to grow.

This time, I don't care if I get tubers as long as I can enjoy those greens. Whiteflies, stay away!

Aloha Aina!

Popcorn, from Seed to Movie Night

There has been a lot of press lately about so called “Frankencorn”, the genetically modified crop brought to us by the biotech industry.  Many are justifiably concerned about the unintended consequences and the possible environmental impact.  Consumers, for their part, seem to be worried about the health effects of GMO corn, which produces BT, and organic pesticide in use for decades.

These are of course important questions, but I can't help but find it ironic that we are worrying so much about this, yet the ingredients that go into microwave popcorn go largely ignored.   As a child of the eighties, I can still remember popping corn with the air popper, and melting butter on the stove top.  This movie night tradition was challenged with the advent of the microwave.  Our first machine was a hulking monstrosity, controlled with a dial.  It seems quaint now, but at the time it was miraculous.

Soon after the microwave, came microwave popcorn.  Ahh, that smell!  It was intoxicating.  And the convenience of the bag was revolutionary.  If you didn't pour it into a bowl, the mess was completely contained and easily disposed of.  It's no surprise that this novelty muscled aside its boring and messy competition in no time.

That signature buttery aroma is due to a substance called diacetyl, which has been linked to an otherwise rare lung disease in factory workers who are chronically exposed to it over the course of decades.  Although no risk has been shown to affect the average popcorn consumer (there is one case of an obsessive consumer developing "popcorn lung"), many manufacturers pulled it from their products (or have they?) when the problem came to light.  Most have also removed the trans-fats, once an industry standard, when the health risks associated with them made national news.

In any case, as in many processed foods, the ingredients list on a box of microwave popcorn still reads like a science lab experiment.  I more or less vowed off the stuff years ago.  I discovered you can still buy it the old fashioned way – really!  (There will usually be one jar or bag tucked in at the edge of a massive assortment of sizes, flavors, low sugar, low fat, low sodium etc etc microwave popcorn)   My husband likes to pop it on the stove top, but I have learned how to reproduce the convenience of microwave corn using nothing more than a plain paper lunch bag. 

Growing Popcorn

About a year ago, perhaps, I began to wonder if we could grow our own popcorn.  At the time, I had never even grown  sweet corn.  Honestly, I didn’t even know how corn was made into popcorn.  Did you just grow the regular kind and let it dry or something?  Not really, it turns out  There are several varieties of corn frequently used as popcorn.  They are higher in starch and much more similar in composition to field corn than sweet corn.  After doing some reading, I settled on Tom Thumb, a dwarf variety that would work well in my small 3x6 bed.  The name “thumb” comes, I presume, from the size of the ears, which are an adorable 3-4 inches in length.  Popcorn seeds are pretty much impossible to find in the stores around here, so I ordered mine from an akamai online supplier that is quickly becoming one of my favorite sources of seed – High Mowing Organic Seeds.  You can see what they carry here.


Once I had my seed, I prepared a bed.  In this picture you see pole beans growing up a trellis at the north end of the bed. Beans and corn are reportedly good pals when grown together.  Actually, this picture is a bit of a cheat because this is the bed where I planted the sweet corn later on – you can see my maturing popcorn plants at the right side of the image.  The planting method  I used is the same.

Corn grows fast and needs to be well fed and watered.  This bed has been reworked with lots of compost, chicken manure and whatever else I had.  Greater than 90% of my gardening problems stem from lack of water, so the time and effort involved in drip irrigation set to a timer has been worth it.  These systems are highly customizable and can be reconfigured as needed.

For my corn, I ran two lines of 1/4” poly tubing down each side of the box, then connected a line of 1/4” soaker hose between the two wherever I planned to put a row.   Individual drippers would work even better, but I was too lazy for that.


This next technique was adapted from the book Cubed Foot Gardening by Christopher Bird.  I cut the bottom out of some of the cheap 4 inch plastic pots that seedlings come in (I just knew I was saving them for a reason).  I dug a hole about three inches deep for each plant, then sank the pot into the hole  with the cut side down.  I filled in the dirt around the pot but left the inside empty.  This created a well for each plant.

The recommendations for row spacing on seed packets does not apply when you are planting in a raised bed.  These are intended  to allow space to walk between rows and to account for the compaction of the dirt.  None of this applies in a system like this, which is great because it means more room for plants!

For raised beds, I take the plant spacing recommendation for the mature plant and arrange my first row of seeds according to that.  For the next row, I stagger the formation so that the seed is equal in distance from the other seeds in every direction (so on the diagonal with the plants in the next row; see picture).  When using the pots like this, I measure from the center of each hole to the next to determine spacing, as that will ultimately be the distance between seeds.

I buried the seeds at the depth recommended on the packet and threw an extra in each hole as insurance, since I wouldn't be thinning them later.  This proved unnecessary as almost every single seed germinated (I simply snipped the weaker plant at the base when they were a few inches tall). 

When the young plants were about nine inches high total, I carefully removed the pots and filled in the soil around them, essentially burying them an extra 3 inches deep.   The buried part of the plant would now form additional roots and provide a nice, strong anchor in the case of a heavy windstorm.

My corn plants grew amazingly fast. On some days, it seemed that I would head off to work and return home in the evening to plants that were an inch or two taller.  Many of them ended up as tall as me or higher, despite Tom Thumb being a dwarf variety that is only supposed to reach about three feet in height. When I removed the pots, I side dressed the plants with blood meal, and they were planted, as previously noted, in rich soil.  The extra nitrogen isn't supposed to hinder seed production, but maybe this is why my corn plants were so tall.

In the photo above, you can see the tassel forming on the “female” flower of the plant.  Each tassel, if pollinated, will correspond to one kernel of corn.  The male flower, below, blooms at the top of the plant.  Corn is wind-pollinated, so as the wind knocks the plants around, pollen goes everywhere and hopefully falls to the female flowers below.  Several corn plants in close proximity are needed to ensure adequate pollination and nice, full ears. Another note while we are on the subject of pollination:  if you plan to plant another variety of corn in your garden, you will want it separated from the popcorn in either time or space to prevent cross-pollination and contamination.  You can either stagger your crops so that they flower a minimum of two weeks apart, or keep them at least 100 feet away from each other.




The usual recommendation to ensure good pollination is a minimum of four rows, or a block of plants like I have here.  It probably wasn’t necessary, but when I was out in the garden I’d mess around with the corn plants, waving them around and scattering the pollen.  Even if it didn't help, it was fun to watch the magic fairy dust billow around the plants.  I had expected the flowers to fade after they had done their thing, but they didn't (and to think, I grew up in the Midwest). 
  
The tassel will turn a lovely red as the kernels are developing beneath the husk.  It takes several more weeks for popcorn to be ready for harvest (sweet corn would be picked around this point).  Reading around, I discovered it was generally agreed that popcorn should be allowed to dry on the plant for as long as possible.  In parts of the world with a shorter growing season, the fall rains will often cause the plant to start rotting before it has fully dried.  I started my popcorn in late winter, and so it was maturing in the midst of a hot, dry summer.  My plants were nearly completely brown by the time I was forced (by bugs, not moisture) to go ahead and harvest.  When I peeled back the husks, I found these insanely cute little ears of hard, round kernels, much more reminiscent of maize than of sweet corn:



This is more or less the product of the contents of a 3x6 bed.  Each plant yielded 2-4 ears (although the 3rd and 4th would be substantially smaller). 
The next step is to let them dry until ready to pop.  The drier the ears, the easier it is to shell them (I hear you can also pop the corn right on the ear, but they take up a lot more space in storage).  When I first harvested, I tried shelling a few ears by twisting them and then scraping off the kernels with my thumb.  Not too difficult, but would definitely result in a sore thumb after I got through the bowl.

I found several descriptions of how to make a homemade corn sheller on the internet.  Take an old board, cut a hole somewhat larger than the largest ear of corn in it, then drive four nails (at 12, 3, 6 and 9 o'clock positions) at an angle so that the points protrude about an inch or so into the circle.  The ear of corn is shoved through the hole, and the nails loosen the seed from the cob.

The trickiest part of the entire process was getting the kernels dry to the correct point.  The only way to know for sure is to test pop a few kernels in the microwave or on the stove top.  I found this post at The Frugal Life to be most helpful in determining when my corn was ready for storage.

Popping Popcorn

Finally, the moment we have been waiting for!  My faithful assistant was on hand to help pop the corn.  I will describe the microwave method here.
You will need:

• 1/2 cup dried popcorn kernels
• 1 lunch size paper bag
• stapler (optional)
• butter
• salt (preferably popcorn salt)

Put 1/2 cup kernels in paper bag.  Lay bag flat and fold the end over three times, 1/2 inch per fold.  At this point, you can staple each corner of the bag to hold it closed.  So long as the staples are at least a few inches apart, and you only use two, it should be OK.  I did this for years without ever having a problem.  However, I take no responsibility if you burn down your house, blow up the microwave or electrocute yourself, so if in doubt, don't do it.  I have dropped this habit over the last few years because the bag seems to stay shut just fine without the staples.

Place your bag in the microwave, with the fold facing down.  You can now set the popcorn button on your microwave if you have one, or just microwave on high until it sounds done.  The technique is the same as for pre-packaged popcorn.  I find that my ears and nose are the most reliable indicators of done- ness.  I try to wait until the popping slows to once every second or two, but if there is even a hint of burning smell, it's outta there.  The next steps are buttering and salting, but I think you can handle that.  Bon appetit!

The final product!

When a Hen gets Broody

What do you get when you're lazy about egg collection for just one day? A broody hen, that's what.

According to Raising Chickens for Dummies by Willis and Ludlow, if a hen has around ten eggs in her nest she may start sitting in the nesting box all day, only leaving to eat and drink. All four of my layers insist on using the same box, so it doesn't take much forgetfulness to get a pile that large.

At first I thought one of my girls was sick, but she looks healthy enough, and will fluff up and look decidedly unhappy when I reach under her to collect the (nicely warmed) eggs. She is also making a new sound, a low cluck-cluck-cluck. And she stopped laying. Most interesting is that while my laying hens will crouch low to the ground in response to human touch (a friend told me this is mating behavior and she's "hoping you're a rooster"), I confirmed with this girl today that she has stopped doing this.

The bad news? Apparently there isn't much you can do except collect eggs promptly until she gives up. The good news is that this should happen in around 21 days, when a normal clutch would have hatched, and then she will start laying again.

According to Willis and Ludlow, the drive to brood is hormonal, and attempts to discourage nesting are ineffective and inhumane.

Grack. Teenagers!

Container Gardening: Thinking Outside the Pot

I gave him a face lift, too.

As a mother of young children back in Utah, I was seized with the inspiration one day to put a sandbox in the backyard. I envisioned parenting bliss, perhaps relaxing and reading a book in the shade while the kids happily whiled away the hours in creative play.  It sort of turned out like that, except for the relaxing part, the bliss, and the book.  I found one of those ubiquitous backyard plastic turtle sandboxes on Craigslist for five bucks, filled it with a few bags of sand from the box store, and set them loose at it.
No doubt, the sandbox kept the kids entertained for hours and hours.  They ate sand, buried my gardening tools in the sand, shampooed with sand, threw sand out of the box and imported all manner of yard things into the box (rocks, water, grass, you name it).  My daughter actually pooped sand into her diaper on a few occasions.  Sand found its way into parts of my home I could never have imagined.
The kids were not the only ones who adored their sandbox.  The neighborhood cats did, too, despite my constant harping about leaving the lid on when we went inside.
So you would think when we moved to Hawaii, getting rid of the sandbox would have been a no-brainer.  If the kids wanted to play in the sand, they could go to the dang beach.  Except Mommy doesn’t always want to go to the beach; sometimes Mommy wants to stay home and get things done.  The value of backyard entertainment is not to be underestimated, so I freecycled the sand and packed the turtle for a trip for a trans-Pacific journey.
We didn’t see him again for four months, when we finally had a yard once more.  He was decidedly worse for the wear – missing an eye and his green fading after years in the sun.  He did not immediately get pressed into service as a sandbox again – I remember my husband washing rocks (don’t ask) in it at one point, and we stored all kinds of random things in it off and on while doing various projects, but mostly it took up space.  I finally determined that we needed to get some sand or send Mr. Turtle along to a new life. 

Here he is enjoying his new habitat.

A few more bags of play sand and we were back in business, but while the local cats no longer bothered it, as Stitch seems to have discouraged them from entering the back yard, all the sand somehow made its way out of the box and into the lawn.  Every last bit.
Thus, one day while I was mixing potting medium in Mr. Turtle, I recalled seeing his doppelganger at the elementary school growing some herbs, and an idea was born.  I lugged him out to the front yard, where I had been thinking of creating a small children’s garden, drilled some holes in the bottom for drainage, and hooked him up to the irrigation system (I coiled 1/4” soaker hose in a spiral around the surface and connected it to the main line).  I let the kids choose what to grow – sunflowers, carrots (“half-long variety), zinnias, marigolds, cosmos and more marigolds – and after setting some guidelines according to plant height, let them sow the seeds.  Granted, it was a little hard to let go and allow my daughter to stuff delicate marigold and cosmo seeds two inches into the soil, but enough germinated to create a lush little butterfly paradise on Mr. Turtle’s back. 
Some hints:
As this container is shallow and wide, it is extra vulnerable to both drying out and flooding.  Holes in the bottom are essential, as is good watering, but the real secret is in the potting medium.  I make my own blend of compost, sometimes dirt, vermiculite (if I can get it cheap) and coconut coir, a sustainable alternative to peat that is sold in solid bricks, and is delightful to reconstitute.  Generally I try to make the vermiculite and or coir at least half the mix, if not more – I can always top dress with compost later, and the ability of these materials to hold moisture without becoming soggy is invaluable.
For ANY container gardening in the hotter parts of Hawaii, I’m a firm believer in installing a drip irrigation system.  It’s worth the investment of time and money up front, and they really are not difficult to install, even for a novice.  For much of the year, containers dry out incredibly fast here and need to be watered once, if not twice, daily.  No normal person should have the time or desire to be standing there watering plants every day, especially if they are like me and not only have potted plants everywhere, but a job and a life.
I also had to veto some items from the kids’ wish list, such as tomatoes, that would need deeper roots than this container can provide space for. (Tomatoes can compensate by sending roots laterally, but that would have choked out the other plants)
Finally, regular fertilizing will help the plants thrive.  Admittedly I’m lazy about this step and suffer the expected results, but potted plants can’t send their roots deeper into the ground to seek out nutrients – they depend on YOU to sustain them. 
I harbor a grudge against gardening gurus who tout container gardening as low-maintenance.  While they have minimal to no weeds and can bring your garden into areas where it would otherwise not be possible, the above factors really need to be considered.  But with a little creativity and planning, the possibilities for a delightful and whimsical container garden are endless.