Labor day has passed which has triggered memories of last winter. We would wait for local news about the ferry running again, which was sometimes delivered with a knock at the door from good neighbor and long term deckhand, JD. We have been exchanging food and needed supplies since summer and as good things usually lead to good things have developed a friendship. After five days, stuck on the island, we would leave just to well, leave. The words stuck, trapped, imprisoned, just didn't convey the joy of hanging out at home, reading in front of a fire, while adding to the coziness were our cats and a dog (that thinks he's a cat) curled up around my legs to the point that I was a cripple when I would get up due to lack of movement.
Cold temperatures will return as they do causing the garden to look sad and neglected. I know all things need time to replenish, hibernate and have some down time, leaving me with chores such as doing seed inventories, creating a new garden calendar and seeing what is needed for the coming year. In addition, there are a gazillion different composts that can be ordered for specific plants I will be taking on. Last fall, we used a local farmer's manure and about a year's worth of our own compost from kitchen scraps. We have two compost deposits. A portable one in the garage and one outside in a box that Ed Wood (yes, that really is his name) built for us.
It's hard to remember when I fell in love with gardening. I know, I wanted to be in nature from the time I was 15 years old. This was a dream not a given since I lived in an upper flat in a Detroit suburb far from anything that looked like nature except for the beautiful Dutch Elm trees that lined the streets. However, my late teens saw these same trees die from an invasive beetle or maybe some virus... but we knew it as Dutch Elm disease. As each tree was chopped and removed, my heart would break a little more. It didn't seem like anyone was paying attention or suffering from this horrible malady, but that might not be true. It just felt so personal.
As soon as I could, I got out of Detroit and drove until the water stopped me to the greenest of green cities, Seattle. I remember my first few days walking around in awe, not believing what I was seeing, not only were there vines covering the cement walls of the freeways, but there wasn't any garbage on the highways. Who were these people? How did I get so lucky to live among them? Wow there were other people that cared as much as I did about nature.
Soon after, I met Theresa through my dear friend, Patti Allen. The first time I put something in the ground was a tomato plant in Theresa's garden. And her garden? It must be what garden's look like in garden heaven. She lives in the Methow Valley which is at the foot of the Cascade Mountains. The gateway to the Cascades in Winthrop, Washington. Her acreage sits in the hills about five miles outside of town, up a winding dirt road through a grove of trees. As you come into the clearing, her house sits in the valley, the garden 500 feet from the back patio. It is enclosed by a wrought iron fence. When I first walked through the gate, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. I had never gardened before, but my dream was always to have a farm and this looked like a farm to me.
Theresa has one rule when you come to visit her, you have to work in the garden. I know this sounds like penance to some of you city zealots, but for me, it was like saying, "You can eat ice cream all day long." I promptly sat on the ground, with spade in hand and began digging according to the dictates of Theresa. After about an hour, covered in dirt, loving it just like a pig in well, you know....Theresa, with a huge smile said, "Kate, if anyone should have a garden you should".
What is it about a garden that I love so much? Why does this seem so important? Where did this come from? My heritage is half Irish and half Romanian. I know the Romanians were mostly farmers. Were my people? They too lived in the mountains, actually, Transylvania. Big farming country where they still have wagons with wooden wheels, drawn by horses. The Irish had such a hard time with the food shortages, droughts and famine. Maybe I carry the fear of "lack of food" in my genetic code.
What I do know is that once I began to get serious and begin planting, something in me fundamentally changed. I'm different because of the experience of planting, nurturing, caring, pining, adding compost to the soil, hoping this will be the perfect mixture and that this year's crops will be better, bigger, tastier and more resilient.
And I'm never happy unless I continue to expand the garden. I could put a row of bushes there, sunflowers here, a pathway would be nice. How about an archway where the beans can grow and dangle, not only adding color but sustenance. The artist in me awakens. No, it has nothing to do with writing or singing but a beautiful collaboration between me and Mother Earth.
But I am leaving the most important thing out. And that is my family. My husband, Joe, our beautiful cats and the dog Little B, who is just sure he should be helping by digging in the garden, though he forgets to put something in the hole. We even let our box turtle, Howie (short for Howette when discovering he was a she), live in the greenhouse during the summer. We have to make sure to keep the door closed since "Turtle's are faster than you would think" said the rabbit at the finish line.
My husband too, has a passion for the garden. We can be out there for hours, toiling away, not speaking but loving the fact that we are out there together, sharing hard work, passion and excitement. We both get excited when anything grows. We never get over it. We can talk about the most mundane subjects; did you see how well the kale is doing; the green peppers need some help; was that a deer print in our corn; did you see the dead mouse; boy those cats sure are good mousers - they do keep the cucumbers healthy!
Joe and I are privileged to be part of this incredible Eco-system. We have become just as woo woo as I once was when a hippie (who am I kidding, I never stopped being one), and now call this planet we live on Mother Earth.
We want to share our what the British call "shiny bits". As gardening becomes the focus of our conversation with others. It has replaced music, sports, design, food, fashion, fitness, reading, and popular entertainment. Now, when someone is telling me about some exciting game and how it went into overtime, my eyes glaze over as I think about the deliciousness of those little yellow watermelons that grow on the vine in September. Like the melons and everything else we grow, our appetites expand, curiosity is fired, inspiration becomes a part of daily life. All convey a conviction and point of view that turns us on.
I read somewhere that gardening is sexier, smarter, cooler and more interesting by far than music, sports, design, food, fashion, fitness, reading, or popular entertainment. It's more creative, more dimensional, more engaging and deeper than any of those things. Gardening is the real deal, the last, best refuge from vulgarity and a dumbed down culture. Would I sound like a zealot if I put an amen at the end of that?
So yes, the garden will soon be closed, but our imaginations are not. We need to remember that vegetables have become the new "gold" as many go without enough to eat. I do hope that at least my family, can carry gardening and vegetables as the metaphor for everything important and valuable in our short and fruitful lives.
Cold temperatures will return as they do causing the garden to look sad and neglected. I know all things need time to replenish, hibernate and have some down time, leaving me with chores such as doing seed inventories, creating a new garden calendar and seeing what is needed for the coming year. In addition, there are a gazillion different composts that can be ordered for specific plants I will be taking on. Last fall, we used a local farmer's manure and about a year's worth of our own compost from kitchen scraps. We have two compost deposits. A portable one in the garage and one outside in a box that Ed Wood (yes, that really is his name) built for us.
It's hard to remember when I fell in love with gardening. I know, I wanted to be in nature from the time I was 15 years old. This was a dream not a given since I lived in an upper flat in a Detroit suburb far from anything that looked like nature except for the beautiful Dutch Elm trees that lined the streets. However, my late teens saw these same trees die from an invasive beetle or maybe some virus... but we knew it as Dutch Elm disease. As each tree was chopped and removed, my heart would break a little more. It didn't seem like anyone was paying attention or suffering from this horrible malady, but that might not be true. It just felt so personal.
As soon as I could, I got out of Detroit and drove until the water stopped me to the greenest of green cities, Seattle. I remember my first few days walking around in awe, not believing what I was seeing, not only were there vines covering the cement walls of the freeways, but there wasn't any garbage on the highways. Who were these people? How did I get so lucky to live among them? Wow there were other people that cared as much as I did about nature.
Soon after, I met Theresa through my dear friend, Patti Allen. The first time I put something in the ground was a tomato plant in Theresa's garden. And her garden? It must be what garden's look like in garden heaven. She lives in the Methow Valley which is at the foot of the Cascade Mountains. The gateway to the Cascades in Winthrop, Washington. Her acreage sits in the hills about five miles outside of town, up a winding dirt road through a grove of trees. As you come into the clearing, her house sits in the valley, the garden 500 feet from the back patio. It is enclosed by a wrought iron fence. When I first walked through the gate, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. I had never gardened before, but my dream was always to have a farm and this looked like a farm to me.
Theresa has one rule when you come to visit her, you have to work in the garden. I know this sounds like penance to some of you city zealots, but for me, it was like saying, "You can eat ice cream all day long." I promptly sat on the ground, with spade in hand and began digging according to the dictates of Theresa. After about an hour, covered in dirt, loving it just like a pig in well, you know....Theresa, with a huge smile said, "Kate, if anyone should have a garden you should".
What is it about a garden that I love so much? Why does this seem so important? Where did this come from? My heritage is half Irish and half Romanian. I know the Romanians were mostly farmers. Were my people? They too lived in the mountains, actually, Transylvania. Big farming country where they still have wagons with wooden wheels, drawn by horses. The Irish had such a hard time with the food shortages, droughts and famine. Maybe I carry the fear of "lack of food" in my genetic code.
What I do know is that once I began to get serious and begin planting, something in me fundamentally changed. I'm different because of the experience of planting, nurturing, caring, pining, adding compost to the soil, hoping this will be the perfect mixture and that this year's crops will be better, bigger, tastier and more resilient.
And I'm never happy unless I continue to expand the garden. I could put a row of bushes there, sunflowers here, a pathway would be nice. How about an archway where the beans can grow and dangle, not only adding color but sustenance. The artist in me awakens. No, it has nothing to do with writing or singing but a beautiful collaboration between me and Mother Earth.
But I am leaving the most important thing out. And that is my family. My husband, Joe, our beautiful cats and the dog Little B, who is just sure he should be helping by digging in the garden, though he forgets to put something in the hole. We even let our box turtle, Howie (short for Howette when discovering he was a she), live in the greenhouse during the summer. We have to make sure to keep the door closed since "Turtle's are faster than you would think" said the rabbit at the finish line.
My husband too, has a passion for the garden. We can be out there for hours, toiling away, not speaking but loving the fact that we are out there together, sharing hard work, passion and excitement. We both get excited when anything grows. We never get over it. We can talk about the most mundane subjects; did you see how well the kale is doing; the green peppers need some help; was that a deer print in our corn; did you see the dead mouse; boy those cats sure are good mousers - they do keep the cucumbers healthy!
Joe and I are privileged to be part of this incredible Eco-system. We have become just as woo woo as I once was when a hippie (who am I kidding, I never stopped being one), and now call this planet we live on Mother Earth.
We want to share our what the British call "shiny bits". As gardening becomes the focus of our conversation with others. It has replaced music, sports, design, food, fashion, fitness, reading, and popular entertainment. Now, when someone is telling me about some exciting game and how it went into overtime, my eyes glaze over as I think about the deliciousness of those little yellow watermelons that grow on the vine in September. Like the melons and everything else we grow, our appetites expand, curiosity is fired, inspiration becomes a part of daily life. All convey a conviction and point of view that turns us on.
I read somewhere that gardening is sexier, smarter, cooler and more interesting by far than music, sports, design, food, fashion, fitness, reading, or popular entertainment. It's more creative, more dimensional, more engaging and deeper than any of those things. Gardening is the real deal, the last, best refuge from vulgarity and a dumbed down culture. Would I sound like a zealot if I put an amen at the end of that?
So yes, the garden will soon be closed, but our imaginations are not. We need to remember that vegetables have become the new "gold" as many go without enough to eat. I do hope that at least my family, can carry gardening and vegetables as the metaphor for everything important and valuable in our short and fruitful lives.
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