When we last tuned in to Salty Besos...

The Sandburg School Garden was forthcoming, Ella’s very first ballet recital was imminent and the back half of our garden was pure quack grass. 

Today, the Sandburg School Garden is firmly installed, complete with raised cedar beds, rich black soil and hand painted signs.  Read the press we got on the event here: http://madisoncommons.org/?q=node/1282

It turned out to be a great day.  The weather cooperated, we had about 40 people show up and it was a tremendous success in terms of community building.  Two families who live nearby but who have never volunteered with the school before came out to help with the garden, just because they thought a school garden was a great idea.  Every new parent we engage is a success. 

Last week during my regular volunteer time at Jay’s school, his kindergarten class came out to the garden and together we planted radish, zucchini and broccoli seeds.  We talked about the differences in the seeds (what size are they?  Are they all the same color?  What shape are they?) and we talked about what the seeds would need to grow (right answers: water, sunlight, and soil.  Wrong answers: boogers.  I can get them outside, but I can’t make them not be kindergarteners.) 

The day after we installed the school garden, Ella had her very first ballet recital.  I caught it on video, but it was from very far away and we were prohibited from using flash photography, so most of my pictures from her actual performance are pretty bad.  To save some space on my blog, I will help you recreate the photographs I captured from her dance recital.  Do this.  Put both hands over your eyes and then rub them vigorously back and forth.  There.  This is what our pictures look like and now I don’t have to load them online.

I can tell you she danced beautifully and Chris and I are tremendously proud.  I cried through the entire thing, as I watched my little girl up on stage in front of hundreds of people like it wasn’t a thing.  She nailed every step and was graceful and beautiful and lovely and totally rocked her sweat pants while the other girls in her class wore leotards and matching tutus.  She never got stage fright and never faltered and I was so incredibly proud of her.  

When we enrolled her in classes at the YMCA two months ago, we did it almost on a whim.  Classes were inexpensive, we thought she’d enjoy them, it would give Chris a small break, etc.  What I didn’t realize is that Ella had come to think of herself as a real life ballerina.  Over the last few weeks, I’ve seen her quietly practicing her dance moves in the mirror or performing her ballet stretches, but it never really registered to me that she was taking it seriously.  We even missed a few classes, because we were out of town or because- once- Chris even forgot.  But we received a notice a few weeks ago announcing the recital and decided that we should probably go. We hoped she would go up on stage, but I didn’t have expectations beyond that. 

So I was not at all surprised when five minutes before her class was set to take the stage, I heard her erupt from the other side of the auditorium.  I followed the sobs, sprinting over to try to quell the tears.   I knew exactly what happened.  Clearly, she had developed a case of stage fright as the reality of the performance sunk in and she was frightened.  Through her tears, I could make out, “I… I… I…”

I held her tight and stroked her hair.  “It’s ok. sweetie.  It’s ok.  What’s wrong?  Are you scared?  You don’t have to go on stage if you don’t want to.  It’s o.k.”

Her cries continued, “I… I… I… MISSED MY SHOW!”

I was dumbfounded. 

Then it dawned on me that her teacher, Ms. Ari, who has multiple classes, had led a group on stage that included many of the same girls from Ella’s dance class.  Ella had assumed that Ms. Ari had simply decided that on performance day Ella didn’t make the cut.  She was completely crushed. 

Ms. Ari speed walked over to assure her and us that no, Ella was still slated for her performance.  Ella’s cries turned into tiny hiccups and then to a calm smile.  She took Ms. Ari’s hand and went back to the line of dancers.  Then Ms. Ari led the tiny ballerinas on stage and they danced their hearts out. 

Then it was my time to sob.  I was so proud of her.

Here is the lovely Ella with her teacher, Ms. Ari, post performance:

In other updates, our garden is still mostly quack grass.  Eh.  You can only do so much. 

This weekend will see the tilling up of the quack grass, the creation of a trellis and the planting of companion plants (Borage!  Marigolds!  Thyme!) and the planting of broccoli and potatoes.  Check back soon for pictures.

More Gardening!

Today we filled the raised beds with compost and top soil, mulched the space between the beds, and found the strawberries. In addition to pulling the weeds that were covering the patch, we discovered several strawberry plants had crept out into the surrounding area, so I dug them up and carted them back to the strawberry patch, where I told them they would be very happy. Very happy. Why would anyone want to leave? I did sort of feel like Kathy Bates in Misery. Only without the sledge hammer or creepy fanaticism over an injured novelist...

Anyway. We still have a lot of work to do. Across from the raised beds, where there is grass now, we will till up the ground, spread compost and plant corn, beans and squash. The raspberries need weeding, and we have to sow seeds in the raised beds. Then, we have another entire garden plot to plan, prepare and plant. The plot that adjoins our current one (I was standing in it to take this picture) is now ours (!) giving us one long plot.



I am giddy with garden possibilities. More tomatoes! Carrots! Beets! Spinach! Broccoli! Potatoes! Swiss Chard! Hooray! Also, more tilling, weeding and watering. Okay by me.

In other news, we think Jack may have Roseola and we have a condo showing tomorrow. Double shit. I’ve come to loathe showings. Granted, in theory every time we have a showing there is a possibility that we could sell the condo. But in reality, we spend hours organizing, cleaning, scrubbing, and detailing. We get stressed out, are liable to snap at the kids, and run around like chickens with our heads cut off as we try to prevent the kids from undoing all of the work we just did. We breathlessly dash out of the condo just before the scheduled showing and then… nothing. So, I have come to temper my expectations when we get a request for a showing. But we still clean and prep the condo till it shines. This time we are a bit hamstrung , though, as Jack has a fever of 103 and is only comfortable when nestled in my arms. Trust me, I’m not complaining about having to hold him, but, it does make it even harder for us to get the condo show ready. Since he has been fussy and lethargic but has no other symptoms, we suspect Roseola. Both Jay and Ella had it right about this age. We’ll watch for the tell tale rash in a few days.

Here’s hoping for an offer on the condo, fast healing for Jack and more superb gardening weather.

Seven minute post

Here is today’s stream of consciousness. I need coffee. The garden is calling. Today I will mulch it and weed the strawberries. I need coffee. Garden. Coffee. Oh! That’s it! Coffee beans make great mulch! Maybe I can just sit in the garden and drink coffee for the next two weeks. Grind. Pour. Drink. Mulch. Repeat.

In case you cruised over to the blog to find out how we are doing aside from the garden... um, I dunno? I think we’re fine. As in, Chris has not broken my concentration on the garden to tell me otherwise. Last I heard, Jack is crawling. Fast. Ella is enjoying ballet classes and says that she’d like to be a ballerina when she grows up. And a hunter. And a butterfly. Jay and I are planning to install a new school garden at his school this weekend. (See? Gardening again. Sick. It’s just sick.)

Time! Seven minutes! Follow me to the garden.

Garden!

Spring makes my feet itch for getting in the dirt. That sounds gross. Let me try that again. Come spring, I can’t wait to dig my toes in the dirt and get started in the garden. I love to break ground with my hoe, I love to plant seeds, I love the fresh air, I love the excitement of planning a whole new year of gardening. I could go on and on about gardening (I usually do to anyone I can corner in the months of February through June) but, since I am trying a new trick- seven minute blog entries- I will give you a picture, which is worth a thousand words, which would take way more than my allotted seven minutes to describe.

This year we are trying raised beds in the garden. I have always been unenthusiastic about raised beds, because they take up valuable real estate and cost money, but I know that many folks prefer them. Recently, I realized something. Raised beds- get this- RAISE the beds. I know. Stunning. Now I don’t have to bend down so far to plant seeds and pull weeds. Our soil is so clay-like that root vegetables were having a tough time. and the kids were constantly stepping on plants, because they couldn't differentiate between the crops and the weeds.

This is still a work in progress. On the right side of the picture we have to weed and prepare the soil for planting corn, beans and squash.

We have raspberries in the back on the right, strawberries in the back on the left. Sandbox in the foreground, raised beds built by yours truly in the middle. Now we have to find and haul about 60 cubic feet of compost. More pictures to follow (hopefully none with me splayed out on the couch from carting 60 cubic feet of compost).

I love bullet points

• It’s as if I don’t have to organize my thoughts or even be particularly concise because there is this small circle at the beginning of my sentence and this is all the organization and consision I need (I made that word up, but I kind of like it, so let’s roll with it). Looks like I could be in the military .


• I finally did get the sand box done and the pictures are in my camera. But I can not show them to you. Because my camera is broken. It is … clogged with sand. I wish I were making that up.
  
  God, the irony.


• We are going to Alaska in three days. I have not mentioned this before on the blog because I have not thought about the trip since I booked the tickets two months ago. It is not that I am not excited. I just can’t think past dinner.


• Does anyone know a good acupuncturist? How do you tell the quacks from the nonquacks? Do they help make stabbing, shooting pain running down the entire back of your right leg go away? How much would it cost for just the stabbing pain to go away? Is shooting pain more or less expensive to treat than stabbing pain? Can needles even make stabbing pain go away? Does it work like a double negative in Algebra? When, if ever, does self administration with a knitting needle make sense? Do I send myself the bill? Will I have good magazines in my waiting room?


• This is what I devolve into at 4 pm on a work day.


• It is raining here, again. Good for the (now) sixty plus tomato plants that are taking up residence in our no-till plot. We had twenty plants in already, but were given an entire flat of tomato plants yesterday for free and, well, we love our Friday night pizza tradition.

  We were also given celeriac. Which I assumed was the misguided giver's poor attempt to spell "celery". It wasn't. I planted four plants before it dawned on me that maaaaaaaybe this person didn't have such a precarious grasp of spelling. Maybe there IS such a thing as "celeriac". And maybe it is not just a word that sounds like a treatment for a mental disorder.

  I just hope it doesn’t taste like ass, because it is taking up precious real estate from my beloved tomatoes.
  
  Also, we discovered asparagus in our plot! This new section was plowed into garden plots just this spring. Prior to that it had been a neglected baseball field. After I fenced off our plot this year, I noticed asparagus growing along the chicken wire. Woohoo! I noticed it too late for us to harvest this year, but next year we’ll have some fresh asparagus.

• I'd like a couple of book suggestions for the trip.

• I will probably not read the books.

• I will probably get them, pack them, feel guilty about hauling them to Alaska and allowing them to replace other things in my suitcase (like Children's Tylenol), intend to read them as soon as the kids fall asleep, try to get the kids to fall asleep, fall asleep myself, wake up to see the kids using them as hats, confiscate them, shove them into my suitcase, forget about them, haul them home and wonder why I even thought I should bring them along in the first place because I never have time to read at home, let alone when I am on a trip with two kids who are bouncing off the walls from all of the excitement and no place to settle them down in, and then leave them in my half unpacked suitcase until Chris decides he has had enough and unpacks everything for me and puts my suitcase away, neatly placing the books on my dresser.

• So do you have any good book recommendations?

  
  

Project Sandbox

We're making a sandbox. Which really means the kids are tearing up the house and fighting while I swear under my breath from the realization that all of my freaking hardware is wrong, wrong, wrong, and I am way over my head with this stupid project. Ohhh, but it was going to be so EASY. Easy. Yes. "Easy."

Just a little project, probably wrapped up before nap time. Heck, probably done before my second cup of coffee this morning. I'll just get some 2X4s, and screw them together, take it to the garden, fill it with sand and we're in business. Piece of cake.

Has anyone seen my drill bit? Jay, put the box of screws down. Why doesn't this end match up to this other end? Why won't these screws tighten down anymore?

Who thought this dumb, stupid project was even a good idea?! Has anyone seen my drill bit? Jay, put that down, you'll break that! Ella, leave that alone! HEY YOU GUYS! No wood screws up the nose!

Has anyone seen my drill bit? Jay stop chasing your sister with the screwdriver!

How is one side a full two inches shorter than the other? It's a freaking box. Four sides. How can this be so hard?

Has anyone seen my drill bit? Ella, DON'T TOUCH THE DRILL. Jay, close the toolbox. Now. NOW!

HAS. ANYONE. SEEN. MY. FREAKING. DRILL BIT?!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

Somehow, I suspect him:

Well, that hypothesis didn't pan out.

While I found a moderate correlation between when I post on my blog and the day of the week, it was not statistically significant. Therefore I must reject the null hypothesis and accept that I am erratic as all get out and probably cannot be relied on for escapism during your workday. You are better off with that cartoon hamster thing that runs around its wheel. Or puppies.

Now that I have sufficiently lowered your expectations, I will proceed with a post. Probably followed shortly with another one. Because you know. Erratic.

And also, I love you! Don't leave meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! O.k.? I’ll post more, I promise! Just don’t leave me! I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed you.

Chris is gone this weekend, getting his fix of outdoors and peeing in the woods. Or whatever. That leaves me with the kiddos, which thus far has been easy street, as Chris’ mom has taken them for most of today. I spent the time enjoying a long run with Kodi and working in the garden. We are in the no-till section of our community garden this year, which didn’t make it into the national headlines for some reason, but it’s a really freaking big deal.

Our garden has been tilled every single year since time began (and some of our gardeners were there to see it happen), and what that means is: no raspberries, rhubarb or garlic. It means not being able to plant in fall for those crops that actually do well in cold weather. It means knowing that whatever you plant this year won’t grow back again next spring. It means throwing money down year after year for a new batch of annuals and pulling in your harvest madly before the big tractor comes through and plows everything under. It means not caring about the quality of your soil, because you’re probably just going to get reassigned next year.

Humph.

We worked to have the community garden’s till policy changed last year and starting this spring we were finally given plots that will not be tilled regularly. I’ve spent a lot of time this year planting strawberries and raspberries and gleefully telling everyone I know that we have a no-till plot this year. We have a no-till plot this year.

We have a no-till plot this year.

Hey, guess what? We have a no-till plot this year.

So, as every year, I have been completely absorbed in gardening these past few weeks. I put in eight rows of potatoes (including blue potatoes. Did you know there are such things as blue potatoes? Well, they’re real. And that brings the number of blue foods found in the natural world up to three, by my count: berries, corn and potatoes. Generally, though, if it’s blue, it probably doesn’t belong in your mouth- I’m talking to you, Cool Ranch Doritos), two rows of lettuce, two rows of spinach, four rows of peas, fifteen tomato plants (we'll undoubtedly get more), and several broccoli, kale and cabbage plants. We planted sunflowers all along the border of the plot. The berries line the back edge of the garden and this year we’ll plant a few lilies, just because they are so pretty.

But the best part of the garden is the bench. Chris built it with scrap wood he found a few years ago, and marvelous as it is, it has been sitting on our deck, not getting much use, for way too long. I hauled it out to the garden, and oh, my.

Oh my.

Every garden should have such a bench. A place to sit and ponder the world. A place to enjoy the richness of the garden and of life. A place to park your tired toucass after a hard day shoveling compost. A garden bench makes the world just a little bit better. And this bench, built by Chris, inspired by Aldo Leopold, and planted in our garden along with our strawberries and sunflowers makes the world a lot better.
Here are some pics from yesterday in the garden. Though not much to look at yet, hope is already sprouting and the radishes are right behind it.

The bench:


The Ella:

She likes to eat dirt.


She likes to make dirt soup in a cup.


And stir it up and with muddy sticks.


He likes to dig in the dirt. And talk to earth worms.

Did I mention that we have a no-till plot this year?

It’s Friday afternoon

And I am waiting for a program to install on my computer, so I figure it might be a good time to snap out a quick update to the blog. Hey, the LAST time I posted was on Friday. I wonder if there is a relationship there? I'll run a bivariate analysis and let you know next Friday. In the meantime, here is a bullet pointed list of what’s been happening:

• I went to see my doctor today to get tested for asthma.

• I can not spell asthma, but have been rescued by the ever diligent and well intentioned spell checker. Turns out there is no ass in asthma. It only feels like mah ass is about to collapse.

• I have finished every single one of my runs for the last several weeks in a wheezy, winded kind of a way. This is an embarrassing display of weak sauce that I do not like others to know about. But I am posting it on my blog because… hmmm. I do not know. That’s enough of that.

• Ella pooped in the potty chair yesterday. We were all, “Yay! What a big girl! Is this the beginning of potty training?” And also, “Oh, what happened to my little BAAAAAAAAAAAABY?!”

• Then she pooped on the carpet and on my Lands End tote bag. And we concluded that it was just a big day for pooping and the potty was probably just in the way.

• Jay did not break a single thing today. That I know of. Yet.

• We got into our community garden plot for the first time two days ago. We have already planted a few black raspberries and strawberry plants, broccoli, kale, and of course, the beloved brussel sprouts, which will have a cage around them this year, because, well, you know.

• Jay informed me the other day that he'd like to learn how to stop peeing, because it takes so much time. Huh. I guess that would be a time saver.

• Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand we’re done. Photoshop has finally finished installing and now I can start making fake pictures of people doing objectionable things and post them all over the internet. Or just remove some red eye.

• Tis the weekend, and I am heading out. Tomorrow is a two hour yogathon, which I figure I can get through wheezing or otherwise.• Have a good weekend!

Five minute post

Five minute posts are fun because they are total streams of consciousness without a thought or care for grammar or punctuation or structure or logic. The day has once again gotten the best of me, and I find myself with five minutes at the end of the day to collect my thoughts. They are pretty scattered, so this is a difficult job.

The weekend:

We went up north this weekend and spent the night at a bed and breakfast in Bayfield, Wisconsin, on Lake Superior. We went cross country skiing and snowshoeing and enjoyed the beautiful snow that covered the town.

Today:

I started today as the sole employee of the organization and it feels weird and sad. But, I continue to hold out hope that we will turn things around. I am keeping my head down and my feet moving. We’ll get there.

Tonight:

Tonight is my first community garden meeting of the year, and I will face the guilt that comes with over-committing myself and then not making good on promises. It keeps me humble.

Tomorrow:
Who can think that far ahead? Really.

Spring in January

I bought plants for the office last night. Amazing how a blooming plant can make life so much better. I am a big fan of live plants indoors and consider houseplants to be an office supply, so when my local greenhouse posted “50 percent off houseplants today” I made a quick turn into the parking lot. Now the office is draping with lush green vivacity and the smell of spring. Happy, happy.

Garden and wild food report

My fingers are stained purple and I have thorns in my thighs, but we have managed to pick enough blackberries to make 25 pints of jam. Now we turn to our garden to begin harvesting the tomatoes that will be made into pizza sauce, salsa and juice to have throughout the rest of the year. It’s been a cool summer and although it’s September, we’ve only gotten a few ripe tomatoes out of the garden so far. We’re hoping that the El Nino taking place will mean a warm dry autumn, allowing us to extend the growing season and get bunches of tomatoes out of the garden after all.

Someone nicked one of our pumpkins last week, so we’re down one. Bah. However, they’ll be cheap and plentiful come October when they’re at the farmer’s market, so we can stock up then. I’m trying not to focus on the negative. Maybe someone really needed that big, beautiful deep orange pumpkin. Or maybe they were just a piss ant.

Anywho.

We’ve been picking wild cherries, plums and currents for jams and eating fresh. They aren’t as big as the commercial varieties, but they are tastier and more fun to eat. We’ve been seeing apples on trees around town and are due for a trip to an apple orchard to pick a bunch. Jay especially likes wild cherries, and will pick a branch clean if given the chance.

All this talk about food is making me hungry. I’m going to see what I can harvest from the refrigerator.

Two down, one to go

Ella’s third (and final) first year birthday party is planned for this weekend, up at the Schultz farm in Clintonville. First she had her “just me and the grandparents birthday party” because not all of the grandparents would be in town on the big day. Then she had the “actual day” birthday celebration because, well, just because. You have to. It was complete with a pink elephant cake (pic above) and frilly party dress. Next comes her “get down with our best friends” party, which will feature all a girl could want: good friends, a dirt cake and hay rides. This one will be a joint party, since Ella and Sofie’s birthdays are only nine days apart.

Mostly that’s what’s going on around here. Planning for, putting on and recovering from birthday parties. That and gardening. We pulled a couple rows of potatoes this week and harvested our first eggplant. Chris made an awesome eggplant parmasean (how do you spell it? The spell check keeps trying to replace it with “ptarmigan”. I don’t eat ptarmigan. Not even baked with mozzarella cheese). I continue my efforts to leave parts of the garden untilled this year and I have hopes of planting garlic in the fall.

It's the other side of midnight,so I’m going to load some pictures and call it a night.

Here, at random, is some stuff I found on my camera.

Say it with me, "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww"

Ella basking in a post-hike high

Ella enjoying a berry, berry good dessert

Making goat cheese over the sink

Peanut Butter Brain

It’s Monday. My brain is sticky. I just can’t seem to concentrate today. I haven’t run all weekend and I haven’t come up with a single good idea all day. Getting out of bed was my first bad idea. Followed by getting dressed, putting on my work face and getting on the bus to stare blankly at a computer screen for hours. All very, very bad ideas. Let’s take a moment to breathe.

When I find myself stuck in a mental quagmire, I make a list. Lists help me get organized. Here is my list for today:

1. Make to-do list
2. Do stuff on to-do list
3. Cross stuff off of to-do list
4. Have a chocolate bar
5. Have another chocolate bar, maybe with almonds or something

I am one of those people who write stuff on their to-do list simply to have the thrill of crossing it off and feeling accomplished. Like that whole chocolate bar thing. I did that around 10:00 am today. But I’m all about celebrating successes. Now that my day has some order, I am regaining some mental clarity.

This weekend I went to a community garden meeting to push the issue of creating no till areas in our garden so that we can do crazy things like grow garlic and plant a late crop of potatoes. I also somehow got roped into assuming more of a leadership role at the garden. This role was confirmed when a fellow gardener, who has taken on the role of garden vigilante, spent the night at the garden to keep a lookout for garden thieves. He called me at midnight to report that armed with his flashlight, he had chased six guys out of the garden.

Welcome to Wisconsin, where the thieves don’t steal cars. They steal cabbages.

Yesterday we had both sets of parents over for dinner. We roasted one of our chickens from the farm, mashed potatoes plucked from our garden and cooked up zucchini from our neighbor. The meal was topped off with homemade rhubarb pie and fresh whipped cream. As we sat down to dinner, Chris enthusiastically told everyone the stories behind each of the items at the table. It was really cool to be able to tie everything back to someone we knew.

We finished the night by heading out to the Memorial Union for ice cream from the Dairy Science School at the University. On the way back to the car we found ourselves drawn in to a drumming circle at the end of State Street. Jay, who regularly gets sent to his room for banging on buckets and pot lids, could not believe his good luck. A whole group of grown ups raising a ruckus, and encouraging him to join in! He bounced and bopped to the undeniable, unstoppable booty shaking rhythms. They smiled as he shook tambourines and rain sticks, maracas and measuring spoons. They laughed as he beat on bongo drums and metal bowls and empty water bottles, thumped trash cans and wooden boxes. They even let him take the lead. All the while Jay, who obviously could not believe his good fortune, kept looking over at me as if to ask, “Is this REALLY o.k., Mom?” He was exhilarated. It was exhilarating to watch him.

And yet I am so glad those bongo drums stayed at the end of State Street.

Faith restored.

I sulked yesterday. I fumed. I designed elaborate garden protection systems involving moats and innocent looking bunnies equipped with lasers and razor sharp bunny teeth, strategically positioned among the pumpkins. I checked and rechecked the rows of beets, carrots and potatoes. I eyed every passerby with suspicion as they strolled past the garden.

And then I let go.

They were brussel sprouts. We’ll buy some at the farmers market this year instead of getting them out of the garden. We won’t go hungry. I probably won’t even die from a vitamin deficiency today. I was just mad. And hurt. And feeling victimized. And mad. Yes. Really, really mad.

But, as Michelle pointed out, “for every one that tries to take your faith in people away, there are a hundred in the wings ready to restore it”. True enough.

I left the garden yesterday with a bag full of produce. Green peppers and zucchini, cucumbers and yellow crook neck squash. All gifts from a kind gardener in a neighboring plot who had extra and wanted to share. We talked about garden thieves and how disappointing and upsetting it is to see your harvest plundered, and we laughed about how he, now in his late sixties has chased big young guys out of his garden and down the path, hollering after them and shaking his shovel. We swapped favorite weird recipes. Mine: Pickled beets, onions, and cheddar cheese on a Ritz cracker. His: Peanut butter and bacon. Shudder. We talked about the weather, the bugs and the weeds. About kids these days, zucchini recipes and how to take care of a good shovel (rub oil on the blade at the end of every gardening season).

Every time he looked down at his watch, he’d say, “Well, I oughta get going. But, seeing as yer out here, how’s about you take another zucchini?” We’d load another one or two into the bag and get on to talking about something else.

I left with my bag heavy but my heart light.

On my way home, I started to remember all of the gifts and kindesses that I have received from others over the years. The packet of carrot seeds from a fellow bus rider who I had talked to about fall planting. Two beautiful heads of lettuce from a neighboring gardener a few weeks ago. A bag of rhubarb. Kids clothes. The return of my checkbook found in the parking lot of the farmer’s market. The return of my wallet. Twice. And then the unbelievable kindness of my friends and family. That list is endless.

In sheer weight, I brought home more yesterday than what was taken out of our garden. But on another level, I was given way more than what was taken away.

Thank you.

A letter to the garden thief

To whoever stole the brussel sprouts out of my garden,

I understand that we take certain risks by growing our food in a community garden plot. Maybe because I was not actively standing in my garden plot at the exact moment you came into it, you may have thought they were fair game. Maybe you needed the food more than my family does. Maybe you thought they wouldn’t be missed.

I’ll tell you this. You didn’t have to be such an asshole about it.

You hacked off the top of all of my brussel sprout plants, just as their little round heads were finally making their appearance along the stalks. I bought those plants from a garden store in May, one of the few splurges I made on the garden this year. Mostly we planted from seed, started indoors, with a lot of planning, optimism and good thoughts sent out to the universe, just for good measure. I have been watching these brussel sprouts gradually come into their own over the last few months.

Maybe you have, too.

They moved from tiny, scrappy little seedlings, into taller, robust, thick stemmed plants the color of emeralds. I would inspect them almost daily and say nice things to them, encouraging them to grow strong, and asking for their blessing as I fed my family with them in the future. I weeded around their thick leaves. I watched them for damage and I watered and worried about them as any good garden mother would do.

Since growing my own garden, Brussel Sprouts have become my favorite. I love the way they taste, steamed and with a pat of butter. I love the way they grow, all quirky and side ways. I love how comical the stalk looks all full of little green balls growing up its sides. You know, I didn’t know how Brussel Sprouts grew until I grew them myself and watched the heads pop out from the sides of the stalks. I was so surprised when I finally found out how they grew that for days I talked about it to just about everyone. It became apparent that I don’t get out much.

This year we planted eight of those magical plants, and I had plans of freezing them and saving them for the coming year. You see, while I enjoy working in the garden, our garden is not a hobby. We use it as a real life way to produce our own food, and as much of it, as possible. We freeze and can and preserve our garden harvest and use it throughout the rest of the year to help decrease our grocery bill. Maybe you needed them more than we did. But probably not.

I don’t know how to end this letter. Just know that those brussel sprouts will be missed, and by stealing every single one of them you have pillaged my garden as well as my faith in others. Also know that karma is a boomerang and that brussel sprouts give you the farts.

Love,
Me

Waiting for the bus

Twenty minutes. That’s how much time I have to belt out a quick post before my bus blows past me. I am amazed that in the post graduation world, there continue to be time constraints and stress. Whoodda thunk?

Today I will go to the garden and see how things are faring. No doubt we will have eleventeen hundred radishes the size of ogres waiting to be pulled.

Let me tell you something.

I hate radishes.

And yet, every year, I carefully plant them in neat little rows and get so excited when they emerge from the ground, each its very own little miracle. Radishes are the gardener’s ego snack. They are a sure bet. They are fast growers and need little effort. They also, incidentally, taste like ass.

Today I will pull all of them out of the garden, like I should have done weeks ago, to make room for something slightly more edible. I’ll also check the potatoes, which have been decimated by the Colorado potato beetle (Grr, smash, rar) and speak sweetly and encouragingly to my beloved tomato plants.

All one hundred and seven of them.

It’s kinda like that lady that had octoplets. Only with tomato plants, and I didn’t, like, actually carry them in my belly. Hmmm. Nothing like that lady, actually. Except in the freakish too much of a good thing kind of way.