gardening

Happy Father’s Day

Deb Zuroski, , , , 3 Comments
Alyssum 2021

There are voluntary tomato plants growing in both containers of sweet alyssum. We rescued the alyssum from the $1 clearance rack at our local big box DIY store. There were six little, near-dead, plants in the container but we thought it was worth risking a dollar and offering some loving attention. We were right; their tiny white blossoms are gorgeous. I’m not sure how we also got blessed with three enthusiastic tomato plants but we’ll welcome them, too.

Early this spring, my daughter said she wanted to turn our front yard into a free-share garden. She says that gardening brings communities together. I’m not entirely sure where she discovered that since she’s not previously been an enthusiastic outdoor gardener (though she has an abundant plant collection in her room) but I learn from her daily so I agreed to give it a try. 

First, in May, we removed the grass from a 36-foot section of yard next to our sidewalk. We seeded a mix of perennial and annual wildflowers, just to see what would happen. It looked a little messy for a few weeks but then the flowers started to come in. And they are amazing.

After that, we began removing grass from the sloping part of our lawn next to the public sidewalk. That wasn’t so hard but the weather has been difficult so we’ve mostly worked at dusk. We planted tomatoes, basil, catnip (because OF COURSE), and heirloom amaranth, which is also called love-lies-bleeding. We’ve been joking that we’re like the elves from The Elves and the Shoemaker. Only, instead of shoes, every morning our neighbors wake up to new plants in our front yard.

Chickweed 2021

We have more work to do. Our mail carrier walks to each house, often through the yards but he hasn’t quite decided whether the wildflowers are plants or weeds. We added a stepping stone to guide him around the wildflowers but we still regularly see his footprints mashing down the flowers. Decorative fencing is our next strategy, which, I’m hoping, will also discourage the neighborhood dogs from running through. 

We also need to finish caging the tomatoes so they don’t escape (Attack of the killer tomatoes!).  Up next: transplanting some peppers this week. No hot ones, just sweet green and red. I would not want a kid to pick and eat a hot pepper accidentally. 

Already the community aspect has started. I was outside, doing a little weeding, when two neighbors stopped by to talk about the garden. My girl was right again — gardening brings communities together. One neighbor asked for details about the wildflowers which gave us the idea to add some labels with the plants’ familiar names. 

To all of you grey clouds getting ready to rain on our garden (see what I did there?!), we don’t care if the birds, deer, chipmunks, squirrels, and rabbits enjoy some (or even all) of the harvest. The point of the garden is to feed the community, in body and spirit, and that includes the four-legged community (and good bugs, not harmful ones).

Most of our plants are from our local farmers market, which helps our small farmers. They are so enthusiastic about the plants that it’s a great way to work on that community building my daughter told me about. We make our own compost but we buy worm castings ($5 for a 10 pound bag) from the farmers, too. And this year, we’ve committed (to ourselves) that we’ll grow from seed over the winter too. 

Ultimately, we want to eliminate the grass from the front yard entirely. It serves no useful purpose. A clover/fescue mix would encourage bees and feed the many rabbits in the neighborhood. But we’re a two woman team here so we’ll do it a square at a time.

Mustard 2021

I’ve been learning a lot from growers on social media who are as determined as we are not to use pesticides. We’re going to hang some ladybug bags as soon as they arrive. The ladybugs will help reduce aphid populations that are already nibbling away at our plants. Supposedly, they’ll help to reduce black flies too. I haven’t seen that in action but if we can substitute ladybugs for black flies, sign me up!

You might be asking in what way this is a Father’s Day post. A fair question. My husband, father of my kids, did not like to garden at all. In fact, one time, he bought a bunch of fast-growing trees to add privacy to our property line. Guess who he signed up to plant all of those trees while she was 7 months pregnant? And yes, I did it and they grew really tall, within a few years.

My father, on the other hand, was an enthusiastic, very traditional gardener. He planted the same flowers and vegetables year after year. I still have an irrational hatred of petunias and their sticky residue. UGH. My daughter likes them though so I’m trying to learn. 

As I’ve said before, I did not have the kind of father that so many of you talk about on social media. I had the kind of father that all of you are glad you didn’t have. So, while I don’t wish to honor him on Father’s Day, I will acknowledge that he taught me how not to garden. 

My daughter and I are teaching each other how to do it well. 

Happy Father’s Day to all the great fathers spending time with their families today. And to Ken, who really wanted to be here.

Asteroideae 2021
Happy Father’s Day

Ivy and Avocados

Deb Zuroski, , , , , 2 Comments

Our house is very old, a double-walled brick monstrosity built in the 19th century. It’s wonderful, with its wavy windows and hardwood floors with visible nail heads. 

The house is painted and there’s only one place to see the color of the bricks, a single exposed kitchen wall. The bricks there are deeply red and pink and reddish brown. They are different sizes too and you can see where the bricklayers used mortar to even things out. Sometimes, when I walk through the rooms, I think about how many feet have trod those floors, how many voices have been absorbed into the walls, how many people have lived and died here, how many teenagers have forgotten that the third step from the bottom squeaks at about 120 dB.

There are many, many inconveniences that come with an older house. It was originally heated only with fireplaces, which means that it’s cold year-around, except in my attic bedroom which is freezing all winter and hotter than a glass kiln from May until November. The electricity was added in the early 1900s and outlets must have been quite a luxury because there are only like 10 in the whole house. As the house shifts and groans through the seasons, the doors stop fitting properly into their door frames. Several of the door knobs only work occasionally which might keep you in or out of a room without warning. On top of all that, the basement walls are limestone and they weep like a grandmother who has buried all her children.

Our house also comes with an extraordinary abundance of bricks. When we first moved in, I was going to plant a vegetable garden in the back. It was terribly overgrown but I like to dig in the dirt so I was ready for the challenge. Two weeks after we moved in, I pushed my way through the weeds, armed with gloves and tools, and discovered, after significant clearing, a brick patio under all that overgrowth. I felt as though I had unearthed ancient treasure. 

It’s still there, years later, but it hasn’t been the treasure I was expecting. It quickly becomes overgrown every year by the encroaching ivy that some evil, evil gardener planted. The ivy grows under the bricks and then pushes up between them, destabilizing the patio and destroying my confidence. Each spring, I roll up my sleeves and give myself a pep talk:  “This is the year, dearest; this is YOUR year. You are going to conquer that ivy. You are smarter than that ivy; you are better than that ivy. You have opposable thumbs. GO. GO. GO.”  

Unfortunately, this isn’t going to be my year for conquering the ivy but we have decided, at least, to embrace that extraordinary brick abundance, currently tucked in every conceivable hiding place. They line some of the garden beds; the Hostas push their way through every year (so do all the weeds, I assure you). They are stacked against the fence and the outside walls of the house. They’re piled in the weedy back and under the deck. They’re everywhere you want to be, just like Visa but without the purchase options. So you think you want to add tulip bulbs to that garden bed? How much do you want to move the 30 bricks stacked there?

What are we planning to do with all those bricks, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you! We’re building a dry-laid container garden. And, oh, what a task it has turned out to be. The weeds! The tree roots! Leveling the ground! The weight of the bricks! We have blisters on our blisters but we’re finally, as of yesterday evening, at the point where we can see the future image of our completed container, which is something of a reward in itself. 

I’ve been working on some new poetry. The poems are kind of a spoof of pop culture poems. When I get stuck, as all writers do, I’ll take a break from one project and move to another. Recently, I’ve been focused on food-based poetry, an unexplored poetic theme, in my opinion. Here is a poem I wrote on Saturday: 

It’s That Simple

Life is an avocado
Don’t bake it
Slice it and
Smear it on some toast

I have no idea what that means but I laugh every single time I read it (so embarrassing to laugh at one’s own writing).

Find a moment of joy today and savor it. 

Much love. Stay safe.

Ivy and Avocados

Monday Playlist

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

I listen to music while I’m writing. Since I write for six or so hours a day, that’s a lot of music. This morning, my Spotify playlist selected “September,” a song you can’t listen to without getting a mood boost, even if you’re already in a good mood as I usually am. There’s nothing better than sitting down at the computer and fighting with my characters while listening to Earth, Wind, and Fire. 

As I’ve said before, I no longer experience that late Sunday dread that used to ruin half the weekend. Monday is, as it should be, just another day marking the Earth’s rotation around the sun. This particular Monday is cloudy and springtime-warm. My windows are open and birdsong intermingles with the music. 

While out to do the shopping last week, I took some baked treats to my son’s apartment and put them on the porch, wrapped in Clorox wipes. He came to the door and for just a moment, he stood there, while I stood in the street, and we talked — not close enough but almost too close for safety. 

In the early days of quarantine, there was a frantic feel to shopping. Many people were over-buying, their voices shrill with fear. Last week, it was different. The shelves are mostly still empty and there are only a few people in the store. Costco limits the number of customers now so I waited by a cone they used to mark proper distancing until I was offered a sanitized cart. 

In the refrigerated section, a very confused man was trying to select a container of milk from the cooler while his unmasked partner berated him from behind the cart. “The one with the BLUE label, Bill.” She coughed into shared air space several times while I watched from a safe distance, waiting for my turn to get milk with the blue label. She saw me watching her and coughed into her elbow.  

“OH MY GOD, Bill, what’s the problem?” She looked at me. I think she wanted to bond over her shopping partner’s stupidity but I was — and still am — totally team-confused-guy. Not getting the response she wanted from me, she walked around the cart, coughed onto the glass cooler door and picked out a bottle of milk, while making tsk noises at her poor partner. 

“Oh,” he said. “I couldn’t tell which one was the blue label.” I’m still wondering if he’s colorblind or if he didn’t realize that he was in the cooler section where there are ONLY blue-labeled bottles. Did she confuse him by insisting that he get a bottle with the BLUE label when there was no other choice available to him? 

Although her cough was decidedly smoker-ish, with an abundance of caution, once they had passed, I selected my blue-labeled milk from a different cooler. 

Leonard Cohen, “Who by Fire,” just started playing. He was once described by Scott Simon on NPR as having “a growl of a singing voice that seems to simmer and grumble up through the chords, almost like an earthquake.” Isn’t that lovely? 

The rain has started, quieting the birdsong but creating its own accompaniment to my playlist. The sound also reminds me that there’s a clog in one of the gutters. I can hear the splash of water overflowing onto the patio. Either I need to borrow the neighbor’s 30-foot ladder or call someone to clean out the gutters. I hate to put the neighbors to additional risk, which is the only reason I’m not automatically doing it myself. I’ll have to enter their house to get the ladder because they’ve reached the point where it’s too heavy for them to move. I know this because I borrowed the ladder last spring to clear away the ivy growing up our back wall.

Back to the shopping:  They have a table on their porch where I’ll leave food treats (she loves cookies but doesn’t bake much anymore) but when they see me, they insist on opening the door to come out and talk. Inevitably, their older spaniel bolts out the door and drops on his back for a belly scritch. He’s a cutie but I feel like I should stay back to keep them safe. 

When I do their shopping, they’re supposed to text me the list (she’s an enthusiastic texter) and sometimes they do. She’ll text me, out of nowhere, something like “white flour no hurry,” which makes me laugh. It reminds me so much of text conversations with Ken. He used to text a single word and allow the recipient to build the meaning.  

Anyway, last week she insisted on giving me a handwritten list, wrapped in a clorox wipe. Have you ever shopped for someone else?  I used to get a list from my mother-in-law but I’ve fallen out of practice. Last week, I made the mistake of accepting the list without review but of course there were questions: 

  • 2 pizzas. You know exactly what to do with that if you’re shopping for your own family but what kind of pizza does your 90-year-old neighbor like? “No pepperoni” was the texted answer. Turns out there wasn’t much selection left, just lots of pepperoni (stuffed crust, extra cheese, etc) or the last two vegetarian pizzas that weren’t on a cauliflower crust. 
  • 2 apples. First, apples don’t seem to be a big quarantine staple. The store had an abundance of Fuji, Red Delicious, Macintosh, Granny Smith, Yellow Delicious, Kante, and Gala. “Gala,” she answered after a lengthy delay. 
  • Small dog bisc. I almost bought Milk Bone without asking which would have been a big mistake since she wanted no-dye biscuits which I took to mean no red and green Milk Bones. Even so, I definitely got the wrong brand but she texted that Busby is enjoying his new treat.

She says that she too is enjoying her new food experiences. Her poor, long-suffering husband — who she is definitely going to murder before quarantine ends — was apparently in a food-buying rut. Regarding the flour situation: although there’s no flour at our Giant Eagle (Well, that’s not entirely true. You can still buy Quinoa flour. Hehe.), Costco offers a 25 pound bag for about $6; she took 10 pounds of it off my hands. 

That huge bag in my pantry makes me hear my mom’s voice in my head — “Add bay leaves,” she’d say. “They’ll keep the bugs out.” We’ll probably use it all before summer but I’ve already added bay leaves just to be safe. The food shortages have been interesting to watch — I know, I know. Everyone is saying that it’s a distribution problem, not a food shortage problem. You say toMAYto; I say toMAHto. Whatever the reason, the end result for the consumer is lack of product on store shelves.

Anyway, the first week or so of quarantine, there was no ice cream in the store. The next time I shopped, there was no bread, no jelly, no eggs, no packaged luncheon meat/cheese, no frozen dinners, no flour or yeast. Now, there’s no pizza, no fresh lettuce, no meat or chicken, no flour, six packets of yeast(!), very little dairy, but they have ice cream.

Cars lined up to receive fresh produce, frozen food and dry goods from Greater Pittsburgh Community Food Bank April 6, 2020. Photo Credit: KDKA

If you’re poor, the distribution problem can be life-threatening. Our food pantries and food banks are amazing but it can be hard to connect to people who don’t have access to a vehicle to wait in an hours-long car line for food. I’ve been thinking about the woman I’ve talked about before, the one who showed up as we were cleaning up a food bank distribution years ago. She was late because she had to borrow $2 so she could buy a gallon of gas in order to drive to our distribution site. How is she managing now? Even if her situation has (hopefully) improved, there are many whose situations went from precarious to catastrophic.

Spotify has now served up some Aretha Franklin, “I Say a Little Prayer,” a solid way to end this particular post. If you live in a walking neighborhood, like I do, I encourage you to take a walk around. It’s okay. You’re allowed to go for walks. Look at the empty storefronts of the little businesses in your community — the pizza shop, the movie theater, the diner, the consignment store, the neighborhood bar or coffee shop.

Look at the signs on the doors; as I’ve said before, some will not recover. Believe me; these places are, for some, their family business, their lifelong dream. They’re going to try to be there when this is over.

Those small business owners are losing sleep, just like the furloughed workers. They’re wondering whether they can continue to pay the bills while there’s no money coming in. That cruise line, that airline, that major hotel chain — they’ll be okay. But your neighborhood is going to be forever changed by the loss of the businesses that define it. 

Please be patient. 

Wear a mask if you’re going to encounter other people.

Stay home. Stay safe.

Monday Playlist

Isolation Birthday

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Send help. We’re baking too much. Our neighbors can only eat so many baked goods. We’re in isolation: I can’t go out and buy larger pants!

Seriously, though, we (when I say “we,” I really mean my daughter; my only job here is taster) … anyway, “we” have made macarons with blackberry compote for the filling , banana bread, and chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies just in the last 5 DAYS. That’s in addition to all of the delicious savory dishes we’ve been making. I made a pot roast with lots of root veggies. She made stuffed pork chops. I grilled a flank steak. She made spicy baked chicken (with lots of garlic). It’s been fun and one of our biggest successes in all of this has been learning to cook smaller so we don’t have a lot of leftovers.

We’ve spent a few evenings playing scribble.io, an online version of Pictionary that allows you to create a private group. Since one of the family lives in an apartment, we can’t be together physically but that hasn’t stopped us! Because we’re also a gaming family, we put on our gaming headsets, create a group call on discord, and set up a private group on scribble.io. For at least an hour, we talk, tease, connect, and draw (some of us — me actually — quite badly).

If you are struggling to connect with family or friends, I recommend trying an online group game/tabletop simulator. Physical distancing may be a hellscape but technology does enable social connection in a variety of healthy ways beyond skype calls. Let’s all acknowledge here that Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok are not included on any list of healthy ways to connect.

This is the first time we’re going to mark a birthday without being together physically. I KNOW that many people are struggling with loss and distance. Missing a birthday together is part of my personal grief. It doesn’t dismiss the devastation felt by the first responders and health workers who encounter the virus and counsel the families and transport the sick and dying. It doesn’t devalue the grief and loneliness of the isolated, especially those who are alone and elderly. It doesn’t reduce the struggle, as real and relevant as anyone’s grief, of our extroverted friends who find ALONENESS as difficult as some find togetherness. Most of us are struggling. As some Twitter-stein said, “It’s okay not to be okay right now.”

So, what will we do to celebrate the 14th year since my son’s birth? I think we’ll have a meal he likes and a treat of his choice that we can make at home and for the rest, we’ll see. There will be no stress, though, no virus talk, no discussion of risk models and vaccines.

We’ve been taking more family walks, looking for good rocks, bird feathers, acorns, blossoms, and other hidden treasures. On Friday, we were walking our three dogs down a less frequented path in the neighborhood when we discovered a bird trapped by a fallen snow fence. I would have taken a picture except that I held all three dogs’ leashes while my daughter released the bird and the dogs tried desperately to .. er, help?

After I finish writing this afternoon, we’ll probably take another walk and then I’m going to work on my new backyard project. I’m dry-laying a brick raised bed garden. There are approximately sixteen gazillion (just an estimate) bricks all over our backyard from some long-ago project of a previous owner. (He also left approximately one and a half gazillion golf balls). After some planning (and stalling), yesterday, I broke ground, hauled a small fraction of those bricks (I’m hoping that I hauled the heavy portion yesterday and that all the other bricks are lighter), and then, started the work of removing roots and digging trenches. It’s great fun. I have an extra hoe if you’d like to come over and try it at a safe distance. In fact, just to be sure we’re appropriately distancing, I’ll stand inside the house and watch, while you’re digging.

Stay safe. Stay home.

Isolation Birthday