This post is about putting up a bluebird house, and rehabbing my Home Depot bee hotel for another year of use. Continue reading G24-008: The (blue) birds and the (mason) bees.
This post is about putting up a bluebird house, and rehabbing my Home Depot bee hotel for another year of use. Continue reading G24-008: The (blue) birds and the (mason) bees.
This year I’m doing a small test of whether chitting (sprouting) potatoes makes much difference. The raised garden bed above is planted with gold and red potatoes. Flags mark the rows where chitted potatoes were planted. Between the flags are rows of un-chitted potatoes. I’ll dig them up around mid-June and (maybe) see whether or how much chitting improved my yield.
And that’s why I plant my Irish potatoes on St. Patrick’s day. That sounds like folklore, but it’s not. In climate Zone 7, March 17 is just about four weeks before our expected last frost date. That’s commonly-recommended time to get potatoes, peas, and a few other cool-weather crops into the ground.
Instead, the folklore in this process is chitting, that is, sprouting the potatoes before planting them. Everybody tells you to chit your potatoes. But when you look carefully, nobody tests whether or not chitting makes much difference.
In theory, sprouting the potatoes before planting gives you a jump-start on the growing season. This matters — particularly in the South — as potatoes really do not like the heat. And it’s not just that the mid-summer heat kills them. It’s that once soil temperatures reach a certain level, they stop producing anything useful, and all you get is a few small, knobby potatoes.
In practice, chitting potatoes has all the earmarks of gardening folklore. It seems reasonable but a) commercial potato growers don’t chit, b) there’s little-to-no systematic evidence that chitting increases yields, and c) how-to-chit advice is all over the map — warm/cold, dark/light, short period/months — as if it didn’t really matter. That’s all laid out in Post G24-002.
One thing I’ve learned is that much frequently-repeated gardening advice is simply folklore. It’s something that made some sense to somebody somewhere, and then got mindlessly repeated without ever being tested. Some of it may be true. Most of it is not. For example, many commonly-cited methods for frost protection do nothing, including covering plants with plastic sheeting or thin floating row cover. But a mason jar provides excellent frost protection, Post G22-006.
This year I decided to do a little controlled trial of chitting. I bought two bags of organic potatoes at the grocery store, and randomized the potatoes into chit and no-chit groups. The no-chits went into the fridge for a month, the chits stayed out to sprout.
You don’t get a lot of “statistical power” out of the resulting 60-odd potato plants. But this little trial ought to be enough to tell me whether or not chitting has some profound impact on my potato yields (Post G24-002, Addendum).
I’ve now put those potatoes into the ground in as even a fashion as possible, to try to eliminate any difference between the chit and no-chit groups in terms of location, water, nutrients, and sunlight. To do that, I inter-planted the chit and no-chit potatoes, using surveyor’s flags to mark the rows with chitted potatoes. That’s as close as I can get to growing the two groups of potatoes under identical conditions.
If chitting matters greatly, it should show up as a “statistically significant” difference in yield, when I dig these up in June or so. In other words, a difference in yield so great that it is unlikely to have arisen merely by chance. But I’ve already done the math to show that any small difference between the chit and no-chit groups will be indistinguishable from random variation.
There’s only so much you can learn from a small bed of potatoes.
After four years of growing potatoes with varying rates of success, I think I finally understand what I should be doing, in Zone 7. So I thought I’d take a minute to lay out my rules for growing potatoes in a warm climate like that of Virginia.
To grow potatoes, in your back-yard garden, in Virginia:
My advice for growing potatoes in Virginia mostly focuses on the main drawback of this climate, for potatoes: The heat. The list of top potato-growing states should give you a clue that the South is not a great place for growing potatoes.
Source: Potatopro.com
Here’s the reasoning behind my rules:
Rule 1 — buy organic potatoes at the grocery store — is based on the understanding that non-organic potatoes are typically sprayed with the potent herbicide chlorpropham (reference) to inhibit sprouting. That permanently damages the ability of the potato to grow. You can’t use that chemical on organic potatoes (see Post G22-004). Which is why, if you want to plant grocery-store potatoes, you should buy organic potatoes.
Rule 2 — buy gold potatoes. Potatoes come in short-season, medium-season and main-season (long-season) varieties. In Virginia, if you want your potatoes to finish before the heat of mid-summer, you want short-season potatoes. Based on my observation, the gold potatoes from the grocery store are short-season potatoes. They sprout sooner, come up quicker, and are ready sooner than the other commonly available varieties. (And, the Yukon Gold variety is, in fact, a short-season potato.) By the same reasoning, you should avoid russets (Post G23-035), as those are all main-season (long-season) potatoes that take about five months from planting to harvest. In Virginia, the heat will kill them before they are mature.
3: Chit? Well, that’s what I’m testing this year, but chitting is consistent with getting the biggest head-start on growing that you can.
4: Plant them early. Same logic. You want them to grow while its cool, and you want them to be as big as they are going to get before the heat of summer arrives. Sooner is preferred to later.
5: Light-colored mulch. The point of this is that, after the potatoes produce green above-ground sprouts, you want to keep the soil as cool as possible, for as long as possible. That’s because potatoes will not set new tubers once the soil is sufficiently warm, and they will produce few, small, knobby tubers if they are trying to set and grow tubers in very warm soil.
Rule 6: Everything else is standard. You can get the rest of the advice you need on potato-growing anywhere. Everything else is standard. Depending on your soil conditions, you’ll want to add fertilizer (particularly potassium). Weed and water. “Hill” them once the shoots are well up, to ensure that the base of the plant is covered with soil (or opaque mulch). Most people say you should nip off the flowers before they produce seeds (berries). Dig up potatoes at any time, but for maximum yield, let the foliage droop and die back before you harvest.
In any case, you can get the rest of the advice you need anywhere. It’s not as if I have any special insight into that. My only value added here is in (finally) figuring out that heat is the enemy of this crop, in Virginia, and for best results, you should plan every aspect of planting and harvest with that in mind.
I just got back from a trip to Los Angeles. A business trip of sorts.
All other aspects aside, LA provided a stark reminder of just how long cars last, and how many miles they can travel, in the right climate.
That was just one of several observations suggesting that our current civilization is doomed by climate change.
Move north and build a bunker, like the rich folks are doing. That, if you plan on being alive 30 years from now. I’m beginning to think that’s the only sensible response to global warming that remains.
If nothing else, read this to understand why it makes sense that the Federal government seems to be pushing too hard to change the U.S. auto fleet. They aren’t aiming for conditions today. They’re aiming for conditions two decades from now, when half of today’s new cars will still be on the road. If people today weren’t a little put out by it, the Feds wouldn’t be doing their job.
I wasn’t prepared for the social aspects of being in a crowd in an airport. I rarely fly, and I’d forgotten what it was like. In hindsight, putting it together logically:
So there I sat, a Prius-driving, EV-purchasing eco-nerd, trapped in the middle of a crowd whose principal pastime was, in effect, bragging about how much they added to global warming for their amusement. I.e., who among us had recently taken the most exotic vacation or series of vacations. And then giving each other oohs and ahhs for feedback.
The prize went to the elderly British couple behind me, who lovingly recited their recent adventures. They had just flown into LA via Hawaii, after a brief trip to New Zealand. And were now flying across the U.S., prior to flying across the Atlantic, for a brief stay at home, before their next jolly little jaunt. Footloose and carefree, they were the most eco-heedless, old people with all the time and money in the world.
After choking down the FOMO that naturally arises from being forced to listen to that, I did something else I rarely do: I put on headphones and listened to music full-blast, just to drown out the conversations.
That seemed preferable to losing it in a full Jesus-vs-money-changers-at-the-temple scene. That would have been completely inappropriate. After all, what is an airport, if not a temple for those who worship the benefits high consumption of fossil fuels.
If nothing else, hunkering down with headphones, rather than causing a scene, maybe gave me a little more sympathy for those with mild autism. But maybe it’s just condescending to say so.
Sometimes I feel as if I’m not quite as tightly wrapped as I used to be.
In my last post, I figured that this quick trip for two would add about 1.2 tons of C02 to my household carbon footprint this year.
I was prepared for that. Went into it with my eyes open. Where I’d guess that the average person in that crowd didn’t give it a passing thought.
The issue isn’t the gas mileage of airplanes versus other modes of transport. Modern jets get somewhere in the range of 80 to 120 passenger-miles per gallon (per the medium-haul table in this Wikipedia article).
The issue is simply the travel distance. Any way we’d have chosen to travel, we’d have generated quite a bit of C02. Two people in a Prius would have generated about a ton. Two people in a small EV, at the U.S. average generating mix, would have generated about 0.4 tons.
Anyway, my plan was to come home, and see if I could identify some sort of carbon offset that offered true additionality. That is, that would actually reduce global carbon emissions in proportion to the money I paid for it.
Meanwhile, the airline’s attempts at greenwashing got under my skin. I don’t know how many time we heard about how careful they would be about recycling the trash generated on board. All the while, I’m trying to do the arithmetic about a couple of ounces of plastic and paper my wife and I plausibly generated, versus the appreciable fraction of a ton of fuel that we burned, getting from A to B and back again.
I’m clearly not their target audience. I was hamstrung by my ability (and willingness) to do simple arithmetic. Whereas they were targeting people with a willing suspension of disbelief. I just couldn’t get with the message that dealing with our used Kleenexes in an environmentally-sensitive fashion turned this whole excursion into a bit of simple harmless fun.
In any case, after marinating in that milieu for a while, pondering my place in the universe, while frying my eardrums with Jimmy Buffet, I came to the conclusion above.
Better to save my money. Give it to my kids so they can build a better bunker.
Source: U.S. Congressional Budget Office.
That’s probably a bad choice of metaphor, given the topic. But what I mean to convey is that U.S. air travel accounts for less than 4% of U.S. net greenhouse gas emissions. It’s 10% of transportation emissions, which in turn are just under 40% of total U.S. emissions.
Instead, what got me into a truly dark mood about the future was a few things that really hit home in my brief visit to LA.
Now, in terms of the physical environment and the people, it couldn’t have been a nicer trip. Mild temperature, beautiful landscaping, and uniformly friendly people. That’s mostly what I take back from this trip.
But, to get that:
In that city alone, millions of people have invested their life savings in property that only functions in that car-centric way.
We visited the Getty Villa, a museum situated on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Coast. As it turned out, the easiest way to get there and back was to take the bus. (Cell reception is so spotty that it’s all-but-impossible to hail an Uber from that location). So we did, and we were pleasantly surprised with how nice the buses were, and how nice the bus drivers were, as we asked for directions on what to do next.
And, really, how nice all the drivers were. Both my wife and I noted that in all the traveling we did in LA, we did not hear a car horn honk, even once. And that drivers seemed to be quite cautious and courteous around pedestrians. I can attest that both habits are absent in typical traffic in the DC suburbs.
What really drove it home was driving around with my wife’s cousin. The idea of driving ten miles to hit up a nice restaurant didn’t phase her a bit. That’s just business-as-usual there. She was driving a beautiful nearly-new near-SUV (a “crossover”). We got to talking, and this thing that appeared to be a nearly-new car had 135K miles on the odometer. And not a speck of rust or blemish on the car’s finish. That’s what can happen, in a place that rarely rains. Cars can last a long time.
But I also noted that the mix of traditional, hybrid, and electric cars on the streets looked absolutely no different from the DC suburbs. If anything, I noted a lower proportion of hybrids and electrics there than I see around town in Vienna VA. Which would make sense, if what you’re looking at is generally older, but nice-looking, stock of vehicles.
In the U.S., we look to California to take the lead on all things environmental, at least in so far as they pertain to cars. That’s why CARB — the California Air Resources Board — has such a nation-wide reach. Any U.S. region that chronically violates EPA air pollution standards can adopt CARB rules as a way of not having to gin up its own plan to try to get air pollution levels below the health-based EPA standards.
Anyway, what really matters for C02 emissions is housing and transport. LA — and all the cities like it — are locked into a bunch of long-lived investments (the housing stock) that requires massive amounts of vehicle travel, using a fleet of long-lived vehicles. Basically, using the vehicles that might have made sense two or three decades ago, but are now just a dead weight as we try to preserve the livability of the planet.
Admittedly, with the generally nice weather, the buildings don’t consume anywhere as much energy per square foot as buildings on the East Coast do.
But the cars? Cars just keep getting more reliable and longer-lived. I’m guessing that most of the cars I saw on the road this past week will still be drive-able a decade from now. And that a quarter of them will still be drive-able two decades from now.
And nothing is going to change that. There’s no to wean that area off fossil fuels. At least not over any time span I’m capable of imagining.
To be clear, the DC ‘burbs are largely in the same situation. But the scale of it here isn’t nearly as obvious as it is in the flat, low-rise terrain of L.A. Plus, here, cars will eventually rust out, buildings rot, and most of the construction is fairly new. So while the DC ‘burbs feel ephemeral, to my eye, in L.A., it seem like the shabby post-WWII low-rise buildings that fill the blocks now would likely be there forever. L.A. is a timeless sprawl, whereas DC feels like this is just a passing phase.
Source: Ultimately, Dante’s Inferno. The image is off YouTube.
People who don’t want to adapt to the new reality often point to the fact that most of the truly horrific changes from global warming are predicted to be a half-century or more in the future. Things like the shutdown of the Gulf Stream, or the dust-bowlification of the interior of the North American continent.
But you lose sight of low long it will take us to change. If every new car sold in LA were magically made into an EV, given how long cars last, you’d still have a big presence of gas-burning vehicles two decades from now. And the houses? Nothing is going to change the fact that L.A. consists of low-density housing as far as the eye can see. Every house with a natural gas furnace is likely to be burning natural gas for heat for the rest of this century.
That’s set in stone. Or wood and steel and pavement. Or, ultimately, by zoning and property rights. And every year where the majority of new cars are old-fashioned gas powered vehicles is another year where that’s set in stone.
Not to mention that, from the standpoint of a human lifetime, your fossil-fuel emissions today are very close to permanent. About half the C02 you emit today will still be in the atmosphere warming the climate 200 years from now. Even out to a time horizon of a millennium, something like a third of the C02 you emit today will still be around, warming the climate. And that assumes that the current natural “sinks” for C02 — like the oceans, which currently absorb C02 — continue to function. Which they won’t. At some point, if we get the planet hot enough, Nature as a whole turns from a C02 sink to its own C02 source.
It’s not clear that it’s even worth trying to explain the disinformation that is spread about how long-lived our C02 emissions are. But let me just tackle one actual fact that gets misstated all the time.
You’ll read that, on average, every year, Nature absorbs about half of our annual C02 emissions. That’s both correct and incorrect. It’s correct in that every year, we emit about 10 gigatons of atmospheric carbon, and on average, every year, nature absorbs about five. But those figures are completely unrelated to each other.
On average, per year, Nature absorbs five gigatons a year out of the ~150 gigatons of excess carbon we’ve built up in the atmosphere since the start of the industrial revolution. It’s that excess amount that (e.g.) drives C02 into solution in the ocean.
And, completely unrelated, we still manage to emit another 10 gigatons of carbon each year.
Nature would absorb 5 gigatons if we emitted zero. Nature would absorb 5 if we emitted 100. (On average, it varies quite a bit across years.) And, purely by chance, right now, the amount Nature absorbs each year works out mathematically to be half of what we emit each year. But there’s no cause-and-effect. That’s just two unrelated numbers.
The problem with that sound bite (Nature absorbs half) is that it makes it sound like all we have to do is cut back a bit, and Nature will clean up our mess. Instead, when you do the detailed modeling — how quickly the various natural sinks are filling up, and so on — if we successfully got onto a path of zero C02 emissions by, say, mid-century — at best, it will take literal millennia for atmospheric C02 to return to the pre-industrial level.
There are other commonly-spread canards in this area, but that’s the only one that even knowledgeable people misstate, in a way that minimizes the problem. From the standpoint of a human lifetime, our C02 emissions are more-or-less permanent. It’s not that half of what you emitted, last year, got re-absorbed. It’s that a few percent of the cumulative total excess emissions got re-absorbed by Nature last year. That long “tail” of the C02 we emit today is just one of the many reasons why most people who have an accurate grasp of the underlying science tend to be more than a bit freaked out about the problem of global warming.
The lyrics that I borrowed for the title of this post are more than a half-century old (reference). By all appearances, if you live in L.A., you’re going to live that same 1960s L.A. lifestyle now and for the indefinite future.
For however long this relic of the past lasts.
Even with one foot in the grave, I’m not about to start jet-setting. It’s just not who I am. But I think I’m done with trying to go the extra mile with reducing my carbon footprint.
So maybe I’ll look around for some carbon offsets that plausibly have true additionality. But these days, I have to view that as a form of amusement, instead of anything of practical value. I think most of us are now on the right path, but collectively, it’s going to take us far too long to get there.
I hate flying. And yet, my wife and I will soon be taking a flight on a Boeing 737-Max-9, from Virginia to the West Coast and back.
To get in the right mood for the flight, I’m going to calculate just how much this adds to my carbon footprint for the year. And then start on the path to doing some penance for it. If that’s even feasible. Continue reading Post #1953: Penance for flying?
In the prior post, I finally tracked down and read the Commonwealth of Virginia’s plans for fully de-carbonizing its electrical grid by mid-century. It boils down to replacing the existing natural-gas fired electrical capacity with a combination of wind, solar, and … great big batteries. You need the batteries because solar and wind are intermittent power sources.
That’s my reading of the law.
Literally, the law calls for the construction of “energy storage” facilities. While there are ways of storing electrical energy other than batteries, practically speaking, I’m pretty sure that means batteries of some type.
Source: Wikipedia
For example, Dominion (Virginia’s main electric utility) already owns the largest pumped-storage facility in the world, the Bath County Pumped Storage Station (shown above, per Wikipedia). That site stores energy by using electricity to pump water uphill from one reservoir to another, and then generates electricity as needed by allowing that water to flow downhill through generating turbines.
Sites suitable for pumped-storage facilities are few and far between. And other alternatives to batteries tend to be grossly inefficient (e.g., converting electricity to hydrogen, and back again). So it’s not beyond reason to expect that most of the energy storage that is required to be in the pipeline by 2035 will be battery-based storage of some sort.
The point of this post is to ask whether that seems even remotely feasible and plausible.
And, surprisingly — to me at least — the answer is yes. Yes, it does seem feasible to produce the required battery-based storage in that timeframe. Producing and installing (my guess for) the amount of battery capacity required to be in the works by 2035 would be the equivalent of adding grid-connected battery capacity required for manufacturing 400,000 Chevy-Bolt-size electric vehicles. That much, over the course of more than a decade. Where Virginia’s current stock of EVs is about 56,000 registered EVs.
Roughly speaking, on a per-year basis, those grid-based batteries will add as much to the demand for batteries as the current manufacture of EVs does. Given the rapid growth in EVs, and concomitant expansion of world battery manufacturing capacity, filling that amount of demand, in that timeframe, seems completely feasible to me.
That involves some serious guesswork on my part, due to the way the law was written (next section). But if that’s anywhere in the ballpark, then yeah, then Virginia’s path toward a carbon-free grid isn’t outlandish at all.
1. By December 31, 2035, each Phase I Utility shall petition the Commission for necessary approvals to construct or acquire 400 megawatts of energy storage capacity. ... 2. By December 31, 2035, each Phase II Utility shall petition the Commission for necessary approvals to construct or acquire 2,700 megawatts of energy storage capacity.
Source: Commonwealth of Virginia statute, emphasis mine.
Virginia law appears to call for our public utilities to build or buy at least 3,100 megawatts of electrical storage capacity as part of this process.
Those of you who are well-versed on the difference between energy and power will have already spotted the problem. Megawatts is not a measure of electrical storage capacity. So the law is written oddly, or possibly incorrectly, no matter how you slice it.
Power is a rate of energy flow per unit of time. In particular, for electricity, the watt is a unit of power, not an amount of energy. The electrical unit of energy is the watt-hour.
E.g., the brightness of an old-fashioned incandescent light was determined by its wattage. But the amount of energy it used was based on its wattage, times the amount of time it was turned on, or total watt-hours used to light it.
When in doubt, just remember that you pay your public utility for the energy you use. And in Virginia, we pay about 12.5 cents per thousand watt-hours. (A.k.a. kilowatt-hours. Or KWH.)
Returning to the Bath County pumped storage facility referenced above, it has a peak power output of 3,000 megawatts, and a total storage of 24,000 megawatt-hours. Doing the math, if it starts out full, that facility can run at full power for eight hours before all the water has been drained from the upper reservoir.
But if that pumped-storage facility had been built with an upper reservoir ten times that size, or one-tenth that size, it would still produce 3,000 megawatts. But under those scenarios, the total energy storage could be anything from 1,200 to 120,000 megawatt-hours.
In other word, the section of Virginia statute that specifies the energy storage requirements does not actually specify an amount of energy storage. It specifies the (instantaneous) amount of power that those facilities must provide (megawatts).
I don’t know whether that’s a mistake, or whether they actually had something in mind. The nomenclature — megawatts — is what is used to size power plants. But that makes sense. Power plants produce electrical power, by transforming something else (coal, gas, sunlight, wind) into electricity. The assumption with gas and coal-fire plants is that they could produce that power for an indefinitely long period of time.
By contrast, electrical storage facilities don’t produce power, they simply store and release it. Telling me the amount of (instantanous) power they can release says nothing about how much energy they can store. It says nothing about how long they can keep up that power flow. Unlike gas and coal-fired power plants, there’s an expectation that they can only keep up that rate of power release for a relatively short period of time.
Beyond this confusion between units of power and units of energy, something about the energy storage part of the statute still does not quite add up. Per the U.S. Energy Information Agency, Virginia’s grid has a peak summertime output of about 30,000 megawatts (reference). So the Commonwealth seems to be requiring that new energy storage facilities have to be able to supply about 10% of peak load. Which, along with the existing Bath pumped-storage facility, would mean that total storage capacity would be able to supply 20% of peak summertime load. But for no more than eight hours (the amount of time that the existing Bath facility can run flat-out at 3000 megawatts.)
By contrast, the fossil-fuel-fired equipment that must be retired by 2045/2050 accounts for about 65% of current generating capacity, as of 2020. Acknowledging that nighttime demand is below peak daytime time, it still seems like a breezeless summer night would still result in more electricity demand than the Virginia grid could produce.
So they’re cutting it pretty close, that’s all I’m saying. Sure, we’re on a multi-state grid. Sure power can flow in from out-of-state. But if we’re having still and sultry summer nights, it’s a pretty good bet that all our neighboring states are as well.
I guess I should take the 3,100 as a minimum. Nothing bars out electric utilities from producing more than that.
So let me assume a storage capacity, since the law does not actually specify one. And let me do that by patterning the new facilities on the characteristics of the existing Bath pumped-storage facility.
Let me then assume that the 3,100 megawatts of “storage” means that the new storage facilities have to match the existing Bath facility, and produce at that rate of power for eight hours. That would require about 25,000 megawatt-hours’ worth of battery capacity.
My Chevy Bolt, by contrast, has about 60 KWH of battery storage. Doing the arithmetic, and rounding, that’s enough battery capacity to manufacture 400,000 Chevy Bolts.
Virginia already has about 56,000 EVs registered in-state (reference). So that would be enough battery capacity to produce a seven-fold increase in EVs on the road, in Virginia, in a more-than-decade timespan.
Absent some huge unforseen bottleneck in the current ramp-up in battery production, that seems completely feasible. Not cheap. But clearly feasible.
It’s fashionable to say that we aren’t doing anything about global warming.
While I would agree that we aren’t doing enough, and we aren’t doing it fast enough, the planned conversion of the electrical grid to carbon-free electricity (in just under half the U.S. states) is an example of a material change that is in the works.
Source: National Conference of State Legislatures.
There’s pretty clearly a red-state/blue-state divide in plans for a carbon-free grid. And it’s possible that the next time Republicans take power in Virginia, or nationally, they’ll put a stop to grid de-carbonization. In exactly the same way that they killed the Obama Clean Power Plan. That was a set of EPA rules that would require all states to have some plan in place for reducing the C02 emissions from their electrical grids. In effect, it was a national plan for decarbonizing the grid, with states given the freedom to implement those reduction targets as they saw fit. Republicans did their best to block it, and Republicans eventually successfully killed it once Trump took power (reference).
When you look at the details, the statement that we are unwilling to do anything about global warming is not true. In the U.S., in terms of Federal and state policies that could matter, Republicans are unwilling to do anything about it.
I have to admit, at first blush, Virginia’s plans for decarbonizing its grid seem kind of nuts. But when I looked in detail, well, it’s not so nutty after all. In the grand scheme of things, what’s nutty is all the states — in white and brown above — that have absolutely no plans, whatsoever, to address this issue.
And if so, can Virginia copy them?
The short answer is, yes and no.
Yes, they seem to have a carbon-free electrical grid. They are the only state in the U.S. to be able to make that claim.
But not, we can’t copy them. They are the gateway for hydroelectric power generated in Quebec to enter the U.S. And they have significant hydroelectric power generated within the state.
They’ve done other things as well. But hydroelectric power is the backbone of Vermont’s carbon-free grid. And that’s not going to help Virginia meet its 2045 goal of having its own carbon-free electrical grid.
Instead, weirdly enough, near as I can tell, without explicitly saying so, Virginia has made a big bet on batteries as the backbone of our system. In 2020, our legislature laid out an explicit path for converting our generation to wind and solar. But unlike hydroelectric, those are intermittent sources — they require something to store the energy. Rationally, the same legislation requires construction of specific amounts of “energy storage facilities” to match.
The legislation doesn’t spell it out, but near as I can tell, with current technology, the only thing on the table with the potential to store that much energy is batteries. Big batteries, for sure. At least, at the scale and distribution required for an entire state’s electrical grid.
I guess the takeaway is this: I thought I was taking a big step by buying an EV. Running my car off batteries seemed like a real leap forward. But, as it turns out, twenty years from now, Virginia’s entire electrical grid is going to be running off batteries, half the time.
Or, at least, that’s how I read the plan, as laid out in Commonwealth of Virginia statute, Section 56-585.5. Generation of electricity from renewable and zero carbon sources
Continue reading Post #1952: Does Vermont really have a carbon-free electrical grid?
The title of this post is my wife’s comment, when I announced last spring that I was going to plant a few loofah/luffa/loofa gourds at the edge of my garden.
Her grandmother was a master gardener. I have come to see the wisdom of her decision.
Planting them once produced all I will need for quite some time. So I don’t see any reason to plant them again this year.
You can find YouTube videos on this, so there’s little point in rehashing the basics. You peel them, de-seed them, and (optionally) bleach them. Or, if not bleach, give them a good soap and water wash.
Lesson 1: You don’t need many loofah plants. The yield above was from a couple of loofah plants that I pruned heavily over the course of the summer. I pinched off flowers and fruit every time I walked past it. I’m sure I could have had several multiples of this if I’d let the plants procreate at will.
Lesson 2: De-seeding them completely is a game of diminishing returns. I let these sit on my back porch over the winter, so all of those are light and dry. On this rainy March day, the skins mostly came off fairly easily, in one piece, as shown below. Peeling these took maybe a minute per gourd.
Beating the seeds out of all of them, by contrast, took the better part of half an hour. I was determined to get as many whole, uncut, seed-free loofahs as I could. Which meant a lot of beating on gourds that had just a few seeds left in them. It might have gone faster if I had better technique, but basically I just beat a couple of gourds together until I stopped hearing seeds fall out into the box below.
The result is a small mixed pile of cut and uncut gourds, stuffed into a bucket, ready for bleaching.
The strength of household chlorine bleach falls over time. Even if stored properly, the longer it is stored, the weaker it gets. As a result, to know how much bleach to add to anything, you have to factor in how old your bleach is.
Clorox (r) helpfully tells you how to decode their manufacturing date codes, on this web page. The Clorox bleach above was made on the 140th day of 2020, so it’s just under four years old now. The no-name bleach in the second bottle likely follows the same Julian-date standard, so it was probably made on the 211th day of 2014. It’s now close to ten years old.
Then you need a firm estimate of how quickly the bleach degrades. Here, Clorox is less than helpful, and just says that you need to replace your bleach every year. Almost as if their main concern were selling bleach, instead of your well-being.
Many seemingly-reputable internet sources quote “20% per year” degradation of the available chlorine in household bleach. That is a reasonable match for more technical sources, which seem to show something over a two-year half-life for low-concentration sodium hypochlorite stored at room temperature.
That’s surely an approximation, because bleach degrades much faster when warm, among other things. So “20% per year” embodies some assumption about the storage temperature for the bleach. But it’s just about all I have to go on. So that’ll have to do.
Based on that, my bottle of four-year-old Clorox is at roughly (0.8^4 =~) 40% strength, and my 10-year-old bleach should be around (0.8^10 =~) 10% strength. But to a close approximation, all that means is that, for bleaching these loofahs, I need to use (e.g.) ten times the recommended concentration, if I’m using that ten-year-old bleach.
The most common recommendation that I find is to bleach badly stained loofahs for an hour, using a 1:10 solution of household bleach to water. Judging from more technical work, that combination, done at room temperature, ought to get even the worst-stained loofahs white without significantly reducing their strength.
The recommended 1:10 bleach/water solution for loofah bleaching is VASTLY stronger than what you would use on laundry. Household bleach varies modestly in original strength, but the directions suggest at most one cup bleach for a 16-gallon laundry load, or a 1:256 bleach/water solution for laundry.
The bottom line is that if I follow common internet advice and (apparently) approved industrial practice, I should just pour my 10-year-old bleach directly on the loofahs, then make up any difference with the four-year-old bleach diluted approximately 1:2.5.
Let that sit for an hour. Then drain, rinse, and dry.
Results? Well, they’re definitely better-looking than they were. These are tan rather than white, and the remaining seeds show up as black blotches. Some of the darkest patches didn’t bleach out. But I’m not going to bother to redo, other than than to dig out the stray seeds. They are usable as-is, which is all that I require.
At least I had a practical purpose in mind for the loofahs.
I also planted a couple of birdhouse gourds. As with the loofahs, after they’d set a few gourds, I started pinching off flowers and fruit whenever I spotted them. I still ended up with more than I could plausibly use. These are almost dry now, so doing something with them (or tossing them out) is on my agenda.
This is one of those old-guy, life-is-like-a-roll-of-toilet-paper posts. About gardening, yet.
If you actually have things to do, just move along, there’s nothing here for you.
Today’s topics are ginger, spinach, tomatoes, and garlic.
… you’ll love sprouting ginger.
I decided on a whim to try growing ginger this year. Apparently, it can be done in Zone 7, you just have to start them in the winter and grow them as housplants until mid-summer.
On the plus side, yes, you can sprout grocery-store ginger root. There’s mine, above.
On the down side, I planted this particular piece of root just shy of one month ago.
On the other plus side, the internet correctly warned me that this was a slow and piecemeal process.
This is interestingly unlike anything else I’ve ever grown. Usually, you plant a bunch of fill-in-the-blank, and then, however long it takes them to sprout, you get a bunch of sprouted fill-in-the-blank. All at the same time. Not so with ginger. Each piece of root proceeds according to its own timetable.
On the other down side, this means I have to run an electrical heat mat for months. I’m only running this at six watts, by using a lamp dimmer in the circuit. But it runs all the time, so that by the time these are done sprouting (say, three months total?), that’ll be about 13 KWH, or enough electricity to drive may be 65 miles. That’s rounding error, in the grand scheme of things, I guess. But I’d rather avoid it if I could.
In hindsight, I ought to have started these around New Year’s Day. Or not at all. But now that something has sprouted, I’m going to keep going.
Source: Clipart library.com
Yes, I yam.
My wife is particularly fond of fresh spinach. But I’ve never had the least luck growing it.
Maybe that’s because I didn’t know what I was doing. So this year, I actually read the directions.
Turns out, spinach seeds like being in the cold, wet ground. Far more than I would have guessed. You should sow spinach seeds four to eight weeks before your expected last frost of the spring.
Or, in my case, the eight week limit was a couple of weeks ago. So today I planted a few short rows of spinach. I’m sure this is vastly earlier than I have ever planted spinach in the past. Maybe I’ll actually get a decent yield this year.
Yep, sure is. In Zone 7, it’s time to start short-season (a.k.a. cold-tolerant) tomatoes, indoors, if you grow them. Varieties like 4th of July or Early Girl, and more exotic ones that promise to produce tomatoes in a hurry.
After trying out various approaches to growing tomatoes, I’ve now settled down to growing some short-season (cold-tolerant) ones, and some regular-season ones. (I’ve given up on heat-tolerant or late-season tomatoes, because all of those that I have grown have tasted just like bland grocery-store tomatoes.)
Cold-tolerant or short-season tomatoes can go out in the garden as soon as all danger of frost is past. They can tolerate the cool nights that we’re still having in early spring. By contrast, regular-season tomatoes have to wait another month or so, beyond that, until the nights have warmed up.
Anyway, in my area, we’re now about six weeks before our nominal last frost date of April 22. So it’s time to get my early-season tomato plants started, indoors. A week or so to germinate, five weeks or so to grow, then out into the garden they will go.
I was more than happy with the short-season (cold-tolerant) tomatoes I planted the past couple of years, so this is just a re-run. I just set up six starts each of:
Transplanted into the garden on or about my last frost date (April 22), I find that the 4th of July is true to its name, and has consistently given me its first tomato on that date, plus or minus a week. Glacier and Moskovitch come in a few days later. But for a truly early tomato, Quedlinburger Furhe Libe takes the prize in my garden, consistently beating 4th of July by a week or so.
These all yield decent-tasting golf-ball-sized tomatoes. They keep on yielding through the summer. And the deer leave them alone, at least once the plants have a bit of size on them. What’s not to like?
It’s hard to think about the 4th of July right now, when we’re still having freezing nights. But there’s a solid and logical chain between starting those seeds today and eating tomatoes out of the garden in early summer.
Sometimes I wish the rest of my life had been that linear.
And then there’s the garlic I planted last fall.
I’ve tried growing garlic in prior years. I’ve never gotten much yield. But then again, I never did it right.
Among the things I didn’t know were that you really shouldn’t use grocery-store garlic for planting. That’s for two reasons. First, it’s all “soft-neck” garlic, which is both bland and does not grow well in the hot and humid Virginia climate. (Though it does keep well, which is why you find it in the industrial food chain.) Instead, I want to grow hard-neck garlic, which I can’t get in the stores here, and has to be bought from a supplier of some sort. Second, “culinary grade” garlic is the puny stuff. They reserve the biggest heads, with the biggest cloves, to be “seed grade” garlic. And it is well-documented that if you plant bigger cloves, you’ll harvest bigger heads of garlic. Which is precisely why they save the big stuff for use as seed.
The final thing I didn’t know is that garlic may benefit from the addition of a modest amount of sulfur to your soil. That’s covered in Post G23-067.
Last fall, I decided to do it correctly. Just for a change.
I bought three varieties of seed-grade hard-neck garlic from Snickers Run Farm, a Northern Virginia garlic farm. Their product was, by a longshot, the burliest heads of true garlic I’ve ever seen. (N.B, elephant garlic is not actually garlic.) I added a modest amount of a sulfur-containing fertilizer (Espoma Holly Tone) to the soil, along with compost and mulch. And I planted in the late fall, when it was already pretty cold, though in hindsight, I probably should have planted later.
By-the-book, start to finish.
Based on prior experience, I didn’t expect much. I figured half of them would survive. So … rational or not, I planted quite a lot of it. (Plus, I had to buy quite a bit of seed garlic to justify the shipping cost, which didn’t exactly help temper my decision-making.)
I looked that bed over today, and my only thought was, what on earth was I thinking. Because, as of today, I have a 32-square-foot bed chock-a-block with garlic plants that seem very happy to be here.
Based on various estimates of typical yield, this should give me somewhere around 8 pounds of garlic, if it all comes to fruition. That, where the recommended planting is about one pound, per adult, per year.
Luckily, garlic goes great with tomatoes. And, I suspect, will go with pretty much everything I’m going to cook from June onwards, this year.
This post walks through the process of replacing the “non-replaceable” battery inside a cheap cylindrical dashcam, like the one pictured above.
It’s not hard to do. I did two identical cameras. The second one took about 20 minutes. Both repairs were successful.
You don’t even have to read this post to figure it out. You can get the gist of the steps by scrolling through the pictures below.
If I learned anything from this, it’s that if I ever buy another dashcam, I’m going to be sure it’s the type that uses a capacitor instead of a battery.
Continue reading Post #1951: Replacing the battery in a cheap cylindrical dashcam.