Sometimes there is a "recipe". If I am feeling disconnected from my roots, I visit my grandmother. Her voice, the food she prepares for me (somehow she is always making my favorite German foods when I need her to be). One bite of Grandma's rhubarb kuchen and I'm transported to my most happy place. The farm, open windows, the summer breeze that back then always kept the farm house plenty cool. Taffy pulls, dandelion wine, taming barn cats and corn on the cob. The only consistent home I knew for many many years. Transported back in time, not via the flux capacitor, but a bite of rhubarb kuchen.
Tombstone Pepperoni pizza and Fresca? My mom's Thursday night bowling league in Webster. Allowed to stay up past my bedtime, the cheers of local bowling heros, falling asleep across two plastic bucket seats on the highly polished hard wood.
Mogan David red wine with 7-Up in a tiny but heavy silver chalice? Christmas Eve at dinner.
The salty, beefy goodness of beef jerky or the quirky sweet & salty treat of peanuts in Pepsi (yup that's right...peanuts IN Pepsi)? Childhood every other weekend rituals with my Dad Mario.
The feeling of packed dirt under my fingernails and a fine layer of black dirt dust over my entire body is like a security blanket. No matter where I am, those familiar sensations ground me to my childhood home and my grandparents. The act of growing food & flowers taps into an inner peace saved only for the acts of hard work and producing something important. Like clean food for my family and flowers to brighten days.
The David Wattier Memorial Garden was born last year in tribute to my Grandpa Wattier who passed away in April 2012.
This year the David Wattier Memorial Garden began indoors in early April, on a sick day, with David Wattier's great grandson's little pre schooler hands tilling the soil of egg cartons. It was to be the first year we started our own seedlings using all organic seeds. The 23 windows in our office have been begging for the opportunity to double as a greenhouse and winter had firmly dug in it's heels. Liam and I were home contagious, but not sick enough to burn a day sleeping.
And so we began:
When Liam saw the pink birthday table cloth make it's second appearance in a week, he was so excited. He had no idea why, but surely it meant some kind of party was about to happen.
And when I placed the egg cartons we'd been saving out in front of him, his enthusiasm did not diminish, but he did need a moment to contemplate what kind of party this could be.
He had been eyeballing this box on my sewing desk for weeks, always asking what I was putting in it. Could he open it? What's it for mommy? When he realized this was to be the center piece of our weird egg carton and pink plastic floor party he was all about it.
His wonderful preschool grows their own food in a garden next to the building and the kids get to work in it every day, so upon opening the box, he understood that we were about to have a planting party. He recognized the tomatoes first and quickly declared they were all his to plant.
April and May blizzards continued but the 120 seedlings flourish under east facing windows and grow lights in our office.
We waited.
And while we waited, we reveled in all things spring. Spring flowers, spring birdies, spring mud, spring blizzards.
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| poor strawberries |
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| We had so many new birds in our backyard this year! I've been trying to attract a variety of birdies since we moved in and this spring...success! |
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And then, right after the Cinco de Mayo blizzard, the sun came out and beckoned us to bring those babies out into the garden so she could help them grow big and strong. That was how Liam told the story anyway. I liked it.
And into the ground they went. The ground, some buckets, some old soup cans, old flower pots. Turns out 120 seedlings is...a lot.
Here is what we planted:
Summer squash, zucchini, cucumbers, about 4 varieties of tomatoes, cilantro, Serrano peppers, jalapeno peppers, habanero peppers, "hot" peppers, chives, lavender, dill, spinach, arugula, scallions, garlic, carrots, sunflowers and beans,
The 2013 David Wattier Memorial Garden was on track to be the healthiest, most fruitful garden thus far in our gardening career. All natural, all organic, homegrown, food for my family.
Until... well...let's just say what I knew about chemicals was next to nothing. I read the label. Shouldn't the label say it's not safe near gardens on the OUTSIDE, rather than on page 10 of the insert? And now I know about "drift". How come "drift" never came up all those summer days in the garden with Grandpa?
When I called the number on the back of the weed killer, which was never intended for the gardens, but the walking paths around them, I was told by the nice lady that none of my garden plants were not salvageable. None. Even if they didn't die, any fruits they produced for the rest of the season would not be edible.
I kept it together while speaking to her, but when I called my husband, who was waiting for me at Annika's softball game, all I managed to get out was "something bad happened" and the rest was drowned in tears. Poor Brandon was panicked, he couldn't understand a word I was saying and it is so unlike me to break down so utterly and completely. He listened through tearful heaves and heard words like "Ortho...weeds...toxic...unsafe...garden..." and said "The garden? You killed the garden? That's all?" And then a soft laugh, "Oh baby I'm sorry."
So, here we are 2 months later with a much smaller version of the David Wattier Memorial Garden. Actually, it could be called the David Wattier Salsa Garden. All in pots because the soil is no good until next season. I'm over the loss of the first garden, I've taken note of the silver lining, the opportunity to learn something about giving up control, grieving and moving on, patience and hard work.
Things are coming along quite nicely.
Under the owl's watchful eye.
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| I love this little Dalia. There is something about her all bloomed in bright yellow color, but speckled in dirt that feels good to me. |
Unbelievably, summer is winding down. How can that be? School starts in just 16 days, but there is still lots of time in the garden. And then lots of time harvesting and canning. I'm not wishing away these last days of summer though.
The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
Alfred Austin
