Have you heard about Slow Food Nation? Planned for over Labor Day weekend in San Francisco, it’s a mega-gathering of people interested in a food system that is “good, clean and fair.”

There are gardens, farms and even fishing fleets to tour, all kinds of food to taste, featured restaurants, classes, rock concerts, advocacy training, an open air dinner for 500 and a gathering for youth in the slow foods movement.

Some events, such as hikes and photo exhibits are free. Many are buy-as-you-eat extravaganzas (including one featuring organic, source-verified fast food). Others, like the all day tour of Marin County creameries, are fairly expensive ($139, and already sold out). Whether you want to meet artisan goat cheese makers or the folks who run a teaching garden to train K-12 teachers in garden-based learning, this is the place and time.

I’m a fan of slow food. Who can really argue with the notion that it’s important to preserve and promote local and traditional food products, along with their lore and preparation? I’d like to go to Slow Food Nation. I think I could learn a lot and meet a lot of people who are doing great things. Maybe, I’d find just the right fit for my next career endeavor. For me, part of the point of travel, is inspiration.

Then again, it’s not cheap to get to San Francisco, or to stay there. And I don’t like crowds. They make me want to run away, in fact; which would sort of defeat the very act of going. And, well, it’ll be the heart of harvest season here.

What do you think — should I go? Are you going? If you are (or wish you were), what part of the event would be a must-see/must-taste for you?

I have to admit it: I’m very proud of myself. After weeks of putting it off, I finally emptied my compost tumbler.

I used the compost to sidedress the poor plants in the boulevard. (It’s the only kindness they get. I don’t feed them and I rarely water. Surprisingly, they do alright.)

Now, I’m not going to brag about my compost. (Though it did have a lovely dark, crumbly texture.) And I won’t go on and on about the how cool composting is. (Even though turning yard waste and kitchen scraps into a rich, organic soil improver seems like a modern miracle to me.)

Instead, I’m going to whine about how it seems like such a hassle to actually use the darn stuff. I can turn the compost. No problem. I can keep it moist. But it takes me forever to dig the darn stuff out of the composter and get it in the garden where it can do some good.

Do you get right on it when your compost is ready? When your compost is calling, do you answer on the first ring? Or do you take your own sweet time to do something with the stuff?

A dead language for living plants? Puh-lease. I just want to plant stuff and watch it grow. I don’t need to know Latin to know how to water. Gardeners who rattle off the scientific names are just showing off, right?

(I know, Minnesota nice and Minnesota stubborn often go hand in hand.)

Last weekend, I was flipping through a course catalog for the Minnesota Landscape Arboredum. Tucked between the cooking and the flower arranging classes were two courses in Latin, a inside look at the naming conventions of plants and plant families.

Through Latin, I could learn about the plant world’s family tree (no pun intended)? It was not as juicy as decoding the genealogy of the Windsor family, but I was still intrigued — and a little worried that I’m going off the deep end. Seriously, what kind of garden nerd takes Latin for fun?

Is Latin really the language of gardening? Do good gardeners need to know both the common and the Latin names? Would you take a class in Latin?

It was an act of desperation, really. No food in the house, and a hungry stomach got me to go hyperlocal. I went to the garden, pulled an onion and stalk of garlic, found a pepper and rustled through the weeds till I found some pea pods that were hidden enough to escape the deer. I sauteed the veggies together and threw them over pasta, and had a handful of black raspberries for dessert. Viola! A veritable backyard bonzana!

The truth: I might have just hopped in the car and gotten a burger and fries if hadn’t been 15 miles to the nearest Burger King, and I hadn’t looked like the gardening bride of Godzilla. But this was pretty good, and good for me, and the planet, too. With a little more planning, I might be able to do better. And now I’m eager to try.

Have you ever eaten a whole meal that you grew, bartered for, bought locally, or could at least source with just a regional map? What was on the menu?

At long (way too long) last, the chickens will make their move from giant dog crates in the garage to the spiffy new “Coop DeVille” barely 30 feet away. The special order siding was delivered and installed, and I’m pretty delighted with the overall effect. It’s different from the house siding, but the stained cedar trim ties it in to the style of the house. From the chickens’ point of view, the best part might be the 6′ fenced yards on either side of the coop, so they can scratch for bugs and leaves without risking their relative safety, since the neighborhood has resident fox, coyote, skunk and exuberant domestic dogs.

There’s a little bit of finish work to do inside today before the pullets bed down for the night. I have to paint their roost ladder and make some progress on the nest boxes. No one has started laying eggs yet, but it could happen any day. In fact, I ordered egg collection baskets yesterday so we’ll be ready.

Above is the big yard. The fenced area on the other side is smaller, but big enough to alternate with this one, or we can open both areas at once. Inside, there are several bars for the hens to roost on at night, two feeders, a five-gallon waterer and a space for six nestboxes.

Trouble gets the honor of being the first to explore her new digs.

Rhoda, Vera and Rosie are among the first to discover the roost bar against the back wall of the coop. Soon all the chickens were playing follow the leader.

The rest of the crew checks out the bedding of pine shavings and straw. They flung it this way and that, nestled into it, and tried their best to scatter it. It didn’t go very far — a new benefit of four solid walls.