Post #1962: Fire drill

 

I happened to glance at the fire extinguisher in my garage today.  As shown above, it has lost pressure, and the needle on the gauge is no longer in the green zone.

Question 1:  This means (choose one):

  1. It’s time to get it recharged.
  2. It’s time to throw it away.
  3. It’s time to fertilize my garden.

Continue reading Post #1962: Fire drill

Post G24-012: Gang aft a-gley. Shutting down the Great Potato Chit-Off.

 

I think the takeaway is that I obviously want to chit my potatoes.

Sometimes, you do your best to set up an experiment, but Nature intervenes in ways that you didn’t anticipate.  This isn’t my first failed garden experiment.   But it’s a pretty spectacular fail, in a way that ends up being informative. Continue reading Post G24-012: Gang aft a-gley. Shutting down the Great Potato Chit-Off.

Post G24-010: Growing ginger in Virginia? This needs a rethink.

 

Update 6/25/2024:

The standard advice for growing ginger runs something like this:  Ginger is a tropical plant with a ten-month growing season in its native climate.  Therefore, if you are in a temperate, non-tropical climate, you should start your ginger plants ten months before your expected first fall frost. 

Which, in my climate (Virginia, USDA zone 7) means starting ginger in … January?  And then growing your ginger as a house plant for some months, until it can survive outside?

Yep, that’s the standard advice.  I did that, as shown below.  And I think that’s bad advice. Continue reading Post G24-010: Growing ginger in Virginia? This needs a rethink.

Post #1961: I just did my taxes, and some potentially helpful advice on the Virginia 2023 tax rebate checks.

 

I did my Federal and state income taxes yesterday.

This post is a bit of a potpourri regarding filing taxes in the modern world.


1:  Embracing full tax ignorance, or, you say it, I pay it.

Source:  Calculated from U.S. Treasury, Monthly Treasury Statement.

Back when I ran my own small business, I understood my taxes because I did them in my own spreadsheet.  That evolved from doing my business accounts in Excel.  It just seemed easier to build a Form 1040 onto those than to figure out how to move all my business financial data into somebody else’s system.

As a side-effect, a) I knew where every number came from, b) I knew how the taxes were calculated.  For example, I could calculate my true marginal tax rate (including income tax, self-employment tax, and Medicare tax, and so on) by jiggling the income number by a dollar and seeing how that affected the taxes owed.

This year, using Turbotax, I finally reached total tax ignorance.  The Turbotax software talks to my financial institutions.  This provides the dollar figures that populate various IRS forms (e.g., 1099-INT for interest earned.).  Got a W2 this year?  Chances are, Turbotax already has it in its database, so you don’t even have to type in the dollar amounts.  Turbotax then chats with the IRS to tell them how much it thinks I owe.  Assuming the IRS agrees, the IRS software talks to my bank and withdraws the agreed-upon amount from my account.

I’m starting to wonder why I’m involved in this process at all.  I have no choice but to pay my taxes.  At this point, I have no clue where the numbers come from or how the calculations work.  I don’t even have to know any of the dollar amounts.  The software just magically generates a number that it says I owe to Uncle Sam.   And so long as it’s ballpark, who am I to argue with it, or with the IRS?

My fate is in the hands of Skynet.

Is this how most people go through life?

2:  A potentially helpful note on handling last year’s Virginia state tax rebate.

Source:  Pew charitable trusts.

Helpful note is in red, at the end of this section.

I, like most Virginians, got an IRS Form 1099-G from from the Commonwealth.

And, like most Virginians, I had no clue what I was supposed to do with it.  I was completely flummoxed by the bafflegab that accompanied it.

Virginia told me “This is important tax information … a negligence penalty or other sanction may be imposed … “.  But that’s it.  On-line explanations were lacking.  The instructions in Turbotax were unclear.  All I knew is that once I entered the information, Turbotax showed that my tax forms were in error.  But I didn’t know why.

Turns out, Virginia was not alone.  A whole lot of states issued tax refunds for the 2022 tax year.  And that’s not a coincidence.  It is the flip side of the big Federal deficit that year.  Because a big chunk of what the Feds did is ship money to the States, in various forms, mid-2021, in their attempt to keep the economy from tanking.  That’s why, above, collectively, the “rainy day funds” (cumulative budget surpluses) of the states swelled in 2022.  And those states then shipped money to their citizens in 2023, labeled as refund of 2022 taxes.

All of the tax guidance for dealing with this was ludicrously ambiguous.  Even the guidance within Turbotax itself was not enough to lead me to the correct way to enter and deal with this.

Let me try to explain it, because it has two significant parts.  But it all boils down doing proper cash accounting of your tax payments and refunds.  You account for your state tax payments and refunds in the year that you receive them (cash accounting), and not by tax year (the tax year for which they were actually due.)

In the pre-Trump era, the rule for dealing with a state tax refund was simple and logical.

If you used the standard deduction in Year 1, just ignore any state tax refund in Year 2. State taxes paid in Year 1 didn’t affect your Federal return, so the refund doesn’t either.

But if you itemized your deductions in Year 1, and one of those itemized deductions was for state taxes paid in Year 1, then you have to balance your books in the event of a state tax refund.   And it’s pretty obvious what you had to do.  If you subtracted your state tax payments from taxable income in Year 1, then you have to add any refund to your taxable income in Year 2.

The logic is that, in the long run, you only get to deduct the net amount that you actually paid in state taxes.  As a result, the tax instructions were an unambiguous if-then statement.  If you itemized in Year 1 (and took off your state taxes as an itemized deduction), then you have to add any state tax refund to your taxable income in Year 2.

Post-Trump, there’s a $10K cap on the state and local tax deduction.  And this is why the resulting tax advice is no longer obvious and clear.  Then simple if-then gets replaced by a more complicated set of logic.  Everything is conditional on hitting that $10K threshold.

If you itemized deductions in Year 1, and the state tax deduction mattered in Year 1, then you have to deal with the state tax refund, in some fashion, in Year 2.  This boils down to having the state and local taxes line, on last year’s tax return, at or near that $10K threshold.

If you were below the $10K threshold last year, and you itemized, then the logic is the same as in the pre-Trump era.  Yep, you’re going to owe taxes on your state tax refund paid in 2023.  One way or the other.

If you exceeded the $10K threshold last year, by more than your state tax refund, then your state tax refund will not affect this year’s taxes.  That’s because your actual payments, net of the refund, would still have exceeded the maximum allowable $10K.

The only tricky part is that Turbotax wouldn’t let me just skate by, because, apparently there’s some further twist to the law that allows you to spread the state tax refund over several years of tax reporting, if that’s to your advantage.  In any case, after several attempts at fussing with the state and local tax worksheet in Turbotax, I finally clicked the right box that said, just reduce my state and local taxes paid this year by the full amount of the state tax refund I received this year.  And that finally cleared the error.

It was weirdly complicated, in that, no matter what box I checked, my Federal taxes remained the same.  And the default under Turbotax was to spread the Virginia $400 tax rebate over several years.  But in fact, I could net out the full $400 this year, and be done with it, without paying any more tax.  So a) Turbotax flagged this as an error under its defaults, and b) I had to override the default manually, to clear that, even though c) I owed the same amount of taxes this year, regardless.  The Turbotax default minimized current-year taxes for all taxpayers.  But it did not minimize future-year taxes for all taxpayers.  If you’re well above the $10K threshold, check the box that tells Turbotax to subtract the full value of the rebate from this year’s state and local taxes paid.

Or do what I did, which was to keep checking and unchecking boxes on the state and local tax worksheet until the error message went away.  Then figure out why it went away, after-the-fact.


Don’t forget to thank an economist if you still have a job.

 

Source:  Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis.

If you listen to nothing but right-wing media, you’re supposed to recall — and be incredibly angry about — the big Federal budget deficit that occurred during the pandemic.  But you’re supposed to forget — right down the old memory hole — that much of that deficit was incurred because Uncle Sam sent big checks to (nearly) every taxpayer.  (It goes without saying that you’re supposed to forget which budget was passed under which President.)

It was, arguably, the last truly egalitarian act that you’re ever likely to see from your Federal government.  Anyone who had managed to file a tax return in the prior year, and was still breathing, got the same fat check(s).  The only exception was for the well-to-do, who got squat, at least for some of the rounds of rebates.  It was the sole exception you’re ever likely to see, in your lifetime, to the rule that the rich get richer.

As a side note, that policy demonstrates what every economist knows, but nobody is willing to acknowledge these days.  The rich have an exceptionally low marginal propensity to consume out of current income.  Or, in plain language, if you want to prop up spending in the economy, the last thing you want to do is give more money to the wealthy.  That’s because they won’t spend it, they’ll save it.  If you want to boost current spending, give money to the middle and lower classes.

The other thing you’re supposed to forget about that deficit is what it accomplished.  When the pandemic hit, people panicked, and (God forbid!) stopped spending every penny they earned.  This resulted in the unprecedented spike in the U.S. savings rate in 2000 (above), which, as night follows day, immediately began to tip the economy into a recession.  Because money you save is money you don’t spend, and one person’s spending is another person’s income.  The next Great Depression was avoided by the expedient of just mailing out money.  Repeatedly.  Until people started spending it.

Source:  McKinsey.

Sure, it seems crude and expensive.  Unless you are smart enough to compare it to the alternative, which was the total collapse of the economy.  And it worked.  The same scenario played out in more-or-less every civilized nation on earth.  U.S. pandemic emergency fiscal policy was middle-of-the-road, in terms of overall size.  The result was a short, sharp recession followed by immediate recover.

Next time you see an economist, thank them.  Or, in the words of the patron saint of reactionary economics, Saint Milton, “We are all Keynesians now”.  As evidenced by the near-universal adoption of strong stimulus measures in response to the pandemic-induced decrease in spending.

Post G24-009: Chipping/shredding vines and green twigs.

 

This post shows you how to build a little purpose-made sawbuck for use in chopping up vines and green twigs.  That, plus an electric hedge clipper, and you can efficiently chop vines and similar material into pieces just a few inches long, suitable for composting.

The results aren’t “shredded”, but you control the size of the pieces.  If you want shorter pieces, it just takes more passes with the hedge clipper. Continue reading Post G24-009: Chipping/shredding vines and green twigs.

Post G24-007: The Great Potato Chit-Off, 2024, and my rules for planting potatoes in the South.

 

 

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.


I detest gardening by folklore.

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 potatoesThat’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.


My advice for growing potatoes in Virginia: Heat is the enemy.

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:

  1. Buy organic potatoes at the grocery store.
  2. Buy gold potatoes, maybe red potatoes, but never russet potatoes.
  3. Chit them, maybe.
  4. Plant them as early as you reasonably can.
  5. After they sprout, add a light-colored mulch to keep the soil cool.
  6. Otherwise, follow standard potato-growing advice.

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.

Post G24-006: “My grandmother grew loofahs … once.”

 

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.


Loofah processing

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 half-life of bleach.

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.


Next up

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.