“Today was lonely. Usually I have many visitors, but today…no one came to visit. I am quite the wonderful host. I am very friendly; almost 700 friends are connected to me. Although, my best friend is Mr. Des M. River, you can stand, bounce, jump, ride, and sit on me. Even your dog poops on me and I don’t get angry. There used to be coal mining around here, but that stopped a long time ago. So, that can’t be it.  I offer a great view. You can see Highway 210 bridge from my front porch. Maybe no one can hear me because I stand 13 stories tall and am 2,530’ long? Or, maybe people are afraid of heights?”

Hey, Mister?

“Yes?”

“Maybe it isn't you! Maybe it's the party upstairs dropping water all over us.”

High Trestle Trail and Bridge, Madrid, Iowa

Crossing the bridge on bikes, in the middle of a rainstorm, with nowhere to go except through it or ahead of it. Pure misery.

There is no turning back now!

On a different, less dark, day. Absolutely beautiful!

  

Hwy 270, I believe

Whoever said, “Best things come to those who wait,” was clearly NOT a gardener.

I do not remember seeing him actually planting onions, garlic, beets, radishes, celery, or carrots. All I remember is holding his hand while he led me through a fully grown, healthy, vegetable garden. My Grandpa’s rule of thumb of when to plant a garden was just after Mother’s Day weekend (I also don’t remember this, but my Grandma reminded me.)

Well, it is June. We are closer to Father’s Day now than to Mother’s Day. And, the 2013 garden has yet to be planted. (Can you sense my angst?)

Same time last year, just about the entire State of Iowa experienced drought conditions. With 90-degree heat waves, farmers found their crops growing substantially faster than usual (some managed to get two cycles of crops in one summer because of the hot, sunny spring, summer, and fall.)

This spring is a complete reversal from last year and a distinct divergence from the norm. Instead of drought conditions, we are swimming. Similar to 2008 and 2010, the State of Iowa is experiencing flooding conditions once again. Labeled as the wettest Spring on record, the ground is saturated and the worms are growing fins (I kid) and, yours truly is antsy. Similar to “Are we there yet? How much longer? I have to go to the bathroom? I’m thirsty.” I am even annoying myself. However, after constant reassurance and some research, it seems not all is lost.

According to Renee’s Garden, many wonderful foods can be planted late spring/early summer:

.cucumbers .beans .edamame .summer .winter squashes .pumpkins .melons .beets .carrots .chard .scallions .salad mix .braising mix .mild mustards .stir-fry mix or .any of mesclun blends .basil .marjoram .chives .oregano .thyme .sage

And, apparently, there is some benefit to planting a garden in the late spring/early summer. Garden pests typically found in the spring, cabbage worms and squash vine borers, are less of a problem late in the season (though the other day, I accidentally dug up a disgusting grub—man, those suckers are gross! Thank goodness, I was wearing gloves!) And, the ground is warmer, so fear of frost is nil to none.

With this new information, my only recourse is to wait...patiently...with my head resting on my hand...peering longingly at an empty lot...with puppy eyes...sighing...

Instead of the garden, here are a few pictures of crab apple trees from Water Works Park, Des Moines, Iowa.

2013 Water Works Park, Des Moines, Iowa

Crab Apple Trees

My ABCs of Gardening

(as I have learned them so far…I have a story or experience for every one listed below)

Always wear sunscreen on your ears and and lower back. (like I mentioned..this comes from experience)

Bees are our friends; if you move slowly, you two can work together.

Corn is beautiful to watch grow.

Develop your planting plan before digging the first hole.

Eat all your vegetables; otherwise, share with your neighbors.  

Fertilize. Fertilize. Fertilize.

Gloves protect your hands but not your manicure.

Hats protect the back of your neck from getting sunburned.

Identify weeds and their value (e.g., butterflies and moths love milkweeds and broccoli.)

Keep your garden hose coiled and organized (this is crucial too, not only for your success, but for your safety…trust me).

Listen to the birds every once in a while; they have a story to tell.

Mulching with (untreated) grass clippings is key to reducing unwanted vegetation around your plant.

Never stop trying new things; you might be surprised what flourishes in your garden.

Oregano, cilantro, and chives (oh my!) need pruning; otherwise, if they get too leggy or seed, they lose their flavor.

Peace exists in a garden.   

Quit before your back goes out.

Rain storms can be heartbreaking.

Spacing is key when it comes to pepper plants, unless you want only hot peppers.

Tilling the soil before planting is vital; it should crumble in your hands.

Utilize every corner of space.

Voluminous tomato bushes are a sign you’re doing a good job.

Worms are our friends (so long as you don’t have to touch them, see G)

Xeriscaping is usually not needed in Iowa (exception: Summer 2012)

You have all you need in your garden.

Zucchini and squash like to vine under corn for protection (at first, it’s annoying, but then after I thought about it, it’s actually  cool symbiosis in action).

 

Blood Doesn’t Drip From Petals

I recently read a blog titled Gardening is stupid. Do this instead…, I was thisclose to leaving him a nasty comment or two explaining why he is completing wrong, “You don’t know what you’re missing? Why do you leave your raspberries on the branch to rot? I have grown approximately 20 tomato plants and not one was squandered to a greedy chipmunk.” (I am sure raccoons,  rabbits, and probably even chipmunks have taken a tomato or two, but plenty remained for me to enjoy.)

But then I stopped. Delete. Delete. Delete. Until the comment box was empty again.

I treasure gardening; a new found passion discovered in recent years. I find absolute, constant peace when hunched over a fresh hole planting strawberries. Joy in watching, week by week, the tomato plants greeting each other with their branches, corn sprouting in model fashion, peppers throwing underground root parties (the hot ones are more aggressive in the meet ‘n’ greet than the mild peppers), and the squash tangling with the fencing. I cannot think of a better way to spend an afternoon than weeding (I know, I know. I have lost a few of you with that one…I mean, really, who likes weeding? Admittedly, I do.) Clearly, I am the extreme opposite of DesMoinesIsNotBoring.

Then it hit me. Rather than rattling off at someone for his opinion with furrowed brow, I should accept…no, embrace…his differing opinion. Especially in today’s age of rage reaching unfathomable heights—Aurora movie theater, Gabby Giffords, Newtown School, and, of course the Boston Marathon.

Perhaps, acceptance is what is needed now more than ever. If we accept (distinct from tolerate) people—for who they really are, who they want to be, what ails them emotionally or physically, what angers them, what they treasure—our eyes might stop filling with tears or hearts solidifying with incredulity. Maybe if heinous acts of violence will stop, then we can feel safe. Too hopeful? Maybe, but don’t we have to start somewhere?

When news broke of the Newtown shootings, I sank on my couch, stunned, and watched the coverage with red, swollen eyes. (Maybe you did too?) When news broke of the Boston Marathon, I clinched my teeth and cried. Just pissed, I vowed to never go into a crowd, stadium, football game, movie theater, or any place with crowds of people. Is no place safe?

My thoughts drifted to the beautiful wall of sunflowers we grew in our garden last summer. Reaching approximately 15’ tall, they towered over me. I wandered in between the rows getting lost, taking pictures, and moving methodically so as not to disturb the bees. What I would give to feel that security and safety of the sunflowers rather than watching news coverage of the bomb blasts creating blood-stained streets. In the safe solitude that only a patch of dirt can offer, I just want to get my hands black and be away from the danger. Blood doesn’t drip from petals; anger doesn’t grow in roots.

Then, I discovered a recent Facebook post by Diary of a Mad Dispatcher in response to the Boston Marathon tragedy, “…Not everyone knows this, but today is a holiday in Massachusetts. It is Patriots' Day. Bostonians by nature are overly patriotic. I think it has a lot to do with the historic roots of our fair city. Today a coward, or maybe even a group of cowards, decided that they would try to destroy that beauty. They have no idea you cannot destroy that kind of beauty. History is embedded to the core of that city. You may crack the pavement, you may injure us physically, you may strike fear for today, but you will NOT destroy our spirit. We will pull ourselves back up, we will be better than ever. We will not live in fear, we will fight back. We are Bostonians, we are Americans and we will not hide like the cowards you are.” 

And a sense of community came over me.

Maybe seeking refuge under a community of sunflowers and hiding from crowds is not the answer. As the Mad Dispatcher indicated, even if someone attempts to destroy our beauty, it will not be destroyed. “We will not live in fear.”

I take my fingers off the keys. I breathe.

Instead of responding angrily with DesMoinesIsNotBoring blog post, I simply acknowledge his opinion, then embrace his opinion. His experience is different than mine yet that does not make his opinion any less than mine. Perhaps, if we embrace our differences as well as our similarities, we will hurt less, bleed less. And, I will not only continue to garden, but maybe I’ll even share our veggies with DesMoinesIsNotBoring. I grow it; he enjoys it.

It’s a start anyway.

Harvest late last summer

To the City of Boston, Boston Marathon Runners, and family and friends, my heart breaks for you. 

May you find your own peace among the sunflowers again.

My peace. Someone noted that it looks like the sunflower is winking at you.

Happy bees.

They hover over me; protecting me.

Waiting for Spring

In the two weeks since my last post, there have been three snowstorms (or seventeen…I can’t remember, I’ve lost count) and I was blessed with a serious case of bronchitis (which pretty much brought me to my knees). Towards the end of my five-day hiatus from civilization (no one wanted to be around a coughing, wheezing, breathless woman), I cleaned the house from top to bottom.

Another Snow Day AFTER I posted about Spring coming 

Albeit slowly, I put a few clean cups away, then sat and rested. Then a few dirty soup bowls would go in the washer, then I sat and sipped tea. Move a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. Then, naptime.  You get the picture.

If I sat, he laid on me. Rusty was my constant nurse.

Thankfully towards the end of my five-day hiatus, there was one bright and sunny day, about 50-degrees. I placed my chair just inside the storm door. I did not want to sit in the breeze necessarily, albeit slight, but I did want to feel the warmth of the sun. Fearful I would have a coughing fit, I breathed slowly. The cool, fresh air was a nice reprieve from my recent closed-up, uncirculated, stale indoor air.

I needed a foot rest too. 

The temperature could have been 80-degrees outside, the sun felt strong. I actually perspired a little. I welcomed it, though, it was lovely to breathe “clean” air. In this moment of gratification, I open my eyes to see if Rusty was enjoying this moment too. Lo and behold, he was and then some!

He had climbed his way over my resting containers, chomping on the dried flowers and grasses that I failed to throw away at the end of last summer. The shame. Here, I am cleaning my house from floor to ceiling, trying to scrub the germs that caused my miserable state, and I have a pile of containers—12 to be exact—just sitting there. Rotting. Or, are they?  

After looking at them for a few minutes and thinking of all the work it is going to be (and, inevitably how tired I will be after cleaning it up), I realized a few things. First, I do not have to clean the planet in one day, let alone my house. I can take my time and do what I can. Second, this sight should not be shameful, but exciting. I realize that Spring is around the corner and soon I will have containers cleaned and filled with new soil and seed. Oh! The possibilities!

My patio faces west, so it gets sun. Lots of sun. And, if this summer is anything like last summer, whatever I plant will need be tolerant of dry, hot, sunny conditions and likely need water every day. I do not care, though, I am going to fill every last one with herbs, tomatoes, peppers, a flower or two, and if I can find one, a tall ornamental grass. If you have any recommendations, I’m all ears!

I will fill every container until my heart’s content. My lungs, on the other hand, will just have to catch-up.

TWELVE CONTAINERS! I'm so excited. Apparently, Rusty is too. Though he does like eating the foliage as is.

Signs of Spring I Refuse to Ignore

The other day while leaving my work parking ramp, I noticed a gaggle of birds half on the street, half on the sidewalk pecking at remnants of some carcass. As I drove away, I looked a little closer and noticed a robin among the herd. I remember thinking, well, if that is a robin, that means Spring!

Granted there is still quite a bit of snow on the ground from last week’s storm and more snow on the way. Yet, you will not hear me complain for two reasons…last summer’s drought created extreme conditions, making it difficult to grow vegetables or feed livestock. We need the moisture. All the moisture we can get.

State of Iowa Capitol and grounds

Yet, I refuse to ignore the signs of Spring (and, in fact, I hope with the upcoming snow storms and Spring rains, the upcoming weeks will be wet, muddy, and green!)

A sign of Spring…the dying wind.  You know that particular type of wind that is painful to breathe when it blows. The kind that makes your nose so numb, raw, and red that it splinters with a touch. A few weeks ago that wind was in the city with sound and fury. Fast forward to today, that sound and fury has signified nothing. Do not get me wrong, I do not mind the wind and it serves a vital role to the health of our planet. Acting like a fan, it helps circulate oxygen through the atmosphere, blows away air pollutants, dusts off tree branches, allows sunlight to shine in dark places, and carries pollen from one plant to the next. Even still, today that cold, biting wind is calming down a bit, hopefully moving east. This sign of Spring allows me to feel my nose again. 

A sign of Spring…rising temperatures. Several weeks ago, I would balk at mid-30s temperature; however, today I am downright giddy at the suggestion. The birds recognize it too. They have resumed their morning chatter. Walking or running errands over lunch is now within the realm of possibility. Scarves are wrapped looser around necks and, every now and then, my hair can be free rather than matted down and trapped inside a winter's cap. 

A sign of Spring…the days are longer. According to The Old Farmer’s Almanac the first official day of Spring begins on the “…the vernal equinox at 7:02 A.M. (EDT) on March 20, 2013 in the Northern Hemisphere.” (EXACTLY TWO WEEKS FROM TODAY!). The OFA defines “equinox” to mean “equal night…” where “…days and nights are approximately equal everywhere and the Sun rises and sets due east and west.” I believe it. I am no longer driving home after work in the dark. A small, subtle, yet nice welcome transition to Spring.

Dave Deegan, an Environmental Protection Agency blogger, wrote that (beginning) Spring might not be the prettiest time of year, “…it is at least a sign that winter is losing its grip and spring will come.” I agree; the transition from Winter to Spring is not pretty. The snow has lost its initial pearly-white shimmer as it trickles down storm drains. My car is perpetually dirty. Salt, sand, and brine are tracked into my house daily. Tree branches are leafless. The grass is either brown or invisible. The cornfields are quiet. My windows are still shut. My skin pale. Things are, for now, colorless. Or, maybe stuck in this opaque, greyish, brown middle. Yet, soon, very soon, this period will end and Spring will be here. I just know it. I refuse to ignore the signs. 

A walk-through the Des Moines Botanical Center

The other day over lunch, I took a walk to the Des Moines Botanical Center.

 
    

When is Home home?

On a Tuesday years ago, my family and I left Nevada, drove to Iowa, arrived on a Saturday. Although it was my first visit to the state, I started college that following Monday. During our cross country trip, we joked about the Midwest, the corn, pigs, farms, flat land; the typical joke one makes who has never lived in the Midwest or spent a significant amount of time here. Little did I know, I was on my way home.

“Aren’t you from Nevada?” Yes.

“Why would you want to live in Iowa?” Because it's beautiful.

“If I had the chance, I would leave.” Yeah, but you’d be back.

I have fielded these questions now for almost two decades. Once known as Jessica Montana from Nevada who lives in Iowa, I am now called an Iowan. I used to laugh at the former statement; in fact, take pride in having so many states in my salutation. As for the latter, I responded with an emphatic, “No! No I’m not!"

Though, now, I don’t know if I would object.

When is home home?

Last week, I went to lunch with two colleagues. While walking to one of our favorite restaurants, we spied a purple flower, perhaps considered a weed to most. Low to the ground, each flower was about two inches in diameter and a matching purple center. A colleague said, I think it's chicory. The three of us took a minute and collectively said, that's pretty. Huh? Interesting. A simple walk to a restaurant revealed beauty along a sidewalk.

Fast forward to later in the afternoon, a thunderstorm was rolling into downtown Des Moines. I checked the radar online; deep purples, bright reds, fiery oranges and yellows moved across the screen. Weather reports revealed the storm moving fast, west to east, with 70 mile per hour winds. In locations where it hit first, rain poured sideways.

A group of colleagues gathered near the windows to watch the storm move past our building. As we watched the gray anvil clouds move in, I said, “Gosh, it’s nice to see clouds.” A colleague responded, “Oh, that’s right. You’re from Nevada; you’re probably not used to clouds?” Immediately, another colleague answered for me, “Yeah, but she’s acclimated to Iowa by now.”

Josh Gates wrote, “Travel does not exist without home....If we never return to the place we started, we would just be wandering, lost. Home is a reflecting surface, a place to measure our growth and enrich us after being infused with the outside world.” See Destination Truth: Memoirs of a Monster Hunter.

The windows my colleagues and I stood in front of were my reflecting surface. Standing there, as if lightening struck in my brain...my home is simply the place I find beauty that fills my heart. It is not defined to the borders of a state...Montana, Nevada, or Iowa. It is not the length of employment, home ownership, number of years spent in one spot, friends, or bank accounts. And, I definitely hope it is not bright, shiny objects that catch my eye. Squirrel! Well, maybe some days it is. Yet, on most days, it is noticing the beauty of weeds decorate a sidewalk or thunder clouds swell over a downtown skyline. 

Maya Angelou wrote, “I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.” 
Years ago, I moved to Iowa. Little did I know, I would find my home here. Once my family and I poked at the corn growing along I-80; however, now I revel in knowing that the neighborhood raccoons peel back the husk to check if the kernels are ripe for eating. Beautiful!

When is home home...for you?

You guessed it...it's Chicory!

Nibble. Nibble. Said the raccoons.

Other Favorites…

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”
― James Baldwin,Giovanni's Room

“Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.” ― Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose

“She didn't belong anywhere and she never really belonged to anyone. And everyone else belonged somewhere and to someone. People thought she was too wonderful. But she only wanted to belong to someone. People always thought she was too wonderful to belong to them or that something too wonderful would hurt too much to lose. And that's why she liked him-- because he just thought she was crazy.”
― C. JoyBell C.

"She was still hugging the cat. "Poor slob," she said, tickling his head, "poor slob without a name. It's a little inconvenient, his not having a name. But I haven't any right to give him one: he'll have to wait until he belongs to somebody. We just sort of took up by the river one day, we don't belong to each other: he's an independent, and so am I. I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together. I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. But I know what it's like." She smiled, and let the cat drop to the floor. "It's like Tiffany's," she said.
[...]
It calms me down right away, the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there, not with those kind men in their nice suits, and that lovely smell of silver and alligator wallets. If I could find a real-life place that made me feel like Tiffany's, then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name.”
― Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's

Small Herb Garden

Cilantro on the left, Basil on the right!

So Close to Blooming

Happy Earth Day!

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. Rethink Earth Day!
Planting is just around the corner! So excited!
PS...I'm posting this via phone (test run), so we'll see how it goes!
Take care!