Not a Trivial Pursuit

Some things you don't have to work to remember...some things you know you will never forget. The welling up of tears will subside, the raw woundedness will scab over, but the memory in my mind's eye will remain fresh even as the event itself disappears over the horizon of time.  I cannot write about this week yet; it is too immediate and the vignettes too raw; time will judge and mingle the sweet with the harsh; today we can only reach and strive and hope the light at the end of the tunnel is gentle.

In the midst of this week, there is Valentine's Day, something I've regarded as a Trivial Pursuit in other years, a time for the kids to construct inventive boxes, for the folks in flower shops to stress, and a boon to restaurants at midweek. Our Tarkio HyVee meat case was nearly bereft of steak this Valentine's Eve and the stuffed chicken breasts were entirely gone.  Not everyone is eating out this Tuesday night; some folks...like Blake and me...will have steak and salad....especially those...like Blake and me...foregoing potatoes and chocolate...because they've been Valentines so long....

This year I'll be especially grateful for our humble table even as we skip the 'loaf  of bread' and go directly to the 'jug o'wine and thou'. God willing, I won't distinguish this Valentine's meal from any of the other February 14 repasts I don't remember because next year there will be another, and another, and another to come.  This year, I will thank my husband specifically for being both pillar and pillow: strong and solid and reliant, yet able to absorb all the pummeling and heartache and tears. Valentine's Day will just give me more reason to tell him, in case the steaks and chocolates over the years didn't get the message across.

Maybe next year I'll be frivolous and buy him a giant bag of Cherry Mash....or Peppermint Bonbons.  Maybe next year he won't feel guilty about eating them!   We can hope....

Post Super Bowl Post

Roll out those glazed, dazed, crazed days of springtime

Those days of phone calls and emails and sun

Roll out those glazed,dazed, crazed days of springtime

It’s still winter, but those days will come!

Head's up!  It's February!  The Super Bowl is over, thus paving the way for the most welcome words of the winter, "Pitchers and Catchers report!" Baseball, beckoning us all with visions of green grass and sunshine.

February!  This week we will look for the very first tender tomato to unfurl, pushing up through the chilly potting mix into the artificially long days under the high intensity lamps.

 By next week, it will be time to sweep the winter's debris from the seeder, time to plant the early vegetables like broccoli, cauliflower, and cabbage.  These hardy seedlings don't mind a week of cloudy days; they need no coddling, just an assurance that wee mousies and opportunistic sparrows leave them be. This is a week we relish getting those boxes from FedEx, anxious to plug the little cuttings into their new homes, water them in, and watch the hanging basket lines fill row by row and bay by bay.  We breathe deep the welcome scent of spring, a sneak preview of April: the combination of water falling on soil.  Even in February, the winter sun can raise a sweat; farewell to itchy dry skin and hello to the cuts and scrapes of cheap plastic pots and hanging basket wires.  Aveeno lotion and over the knuckle Bandaids are our sponsors.

The frame of "number 16" February 1, 2016

February and there's an unfinished greenhouse.  It's not the first time we've looked at our prospective spring business and said 'Whoops!'  The heavy snow forecast for last weekend lent extra urgency to the business of finishing the frame and getting all the tools under cover.  The doors are in; the endwalls wait for exhaust fans and vents; the heaters will arrive this week.  There is still lots of work to do, but getting this far in the middle of winter leaves us optimistic.  More than once in the past, the last heater is still being wired as the first plants are being wheeled into one of these 'overflow' greenhouses!

Smoothing the ground for an overflow greenhouse January 2006

Rarely do we escape into March without a few snow days.  While the disruption can be anything from inconsequential to a considerable hardship, the first snow day is always kinda fun. The kids react as if it were the first day of summer vacation; helping the adults is still a novelty and not the drag it will be when the days are warm and they want to play outdoors.  Some of my favorite winter memories are snowdays with the grandchildren at work and at play in the largely vacant greenhouse.

With the work comes the worry.  Up til now, bad weather meant no more than bad roads.  Now, there are plants to keep warm and wind brings the constant risk of electrical outage and damage to the layers of plastic that constitute the roofs of the greenhouses.  The alarm system, aka the "little man", the computer generated voice on the other end of the unwelcome nighttime phone call, is that guy you don't want to talk to.   We just picked up a small but mighty piece of electronics to repair that vital part of our safety net: the generator.

The greenhouse, like the farm, is built on a bedrock of immutable seasonal truths: rain and snow, day length, frostfree dates. To believe greenhouse production is immune from the vagaries of weather is to be disappointed.  A sunny February or March can cut a week at least from scheduled production time blessing us all with the upturned faces and sweet fragrance of adorable pansies.  Dull cloudy cold days mean the propane truck comes to call more than once a week and we water sparingly to protect new and fragile roots from nasty rots and fungi.  Who says people are the only victims of Seasonal Affective Disorder? 

But the vagaries of the business extend beyond the weather.  February is the first time some customers call us with their plans for the coming spring.  Some, especially those landscaping for their own clients, won't call us with their orders until late in the month. It does no good to tell these folks that flowers must be grown and some kinds take two full months to grow to salable size; they are at the mercy of their clients and doing the best they can.  From year to year, we don't really know what we are going to grow in our greenhouses, a situation that makes us flexible...and gives us indigestion too.  Small businesses all: Thy middle name must be Nimble.

I think I planted our first tomato seedlings in spring of 1979 in a homemade greenhouse we later moved to Tarkio.  We didn't use a stick of treated lumber, and the structure it pretty well melted after just a few years.  My first tomato seedlings didn't fare any better; we went to church one cool and cloudy Sunday and left the door closed to keep the little plants warm.  Yeah, that's right: the sun came out while we were at church; the greenhouse did its greenhouse gas thing; and the tiny tomatoes wilted and cooked.  I was a sad earth mother, but learned a vital lesson about greenhouse growing: don't rely on fallible humanity for climate control.  

 The cyclical nature of growing makes it easy to wax nostalgic.  We commemorated in photos nearly every greenhouse we ever built; there are plenty of pictures of our kids from toddler to teen, at work with their parents...like a sundial, we record only the smiling hours. 

There are even more pictures of the next generation! There's little Aaron helping pick up fall pansies;

Little Lizzie and Abbie splashing about in their rubber boots;

 Gabe lugging four hanging baskets like a big kid; 

and Josh, who doesn't need any help picking out pots.

Speaking of seasonal.  Let's not forget the holiday at the end of this week.  I went searching my scrapbooks and found the delivery note for a single rose to Julie Renken, 401 Conley, Columbia from Blake way back in 1977.  One flower nearly four decades ago....acres of flowers now!  Happy Valentine's Day, dear!

Heart Warming

This is the Valentine I'm sending to the love of my life this Valentine's Day.  He knows how much I care...because I let him use MY phone last week when his was 'home alone' in the car in the Eppley Field parking lot.  'When you care enough to send the very best,' you know....

After all the miles,

Kids and dogs,

Sports,

And projects that got out of hand

Here's to you!

My Valentine!!

A Fine Romance

Two whisper thin young women were offering Valentine's advice this morning on the news talk show I watch while I crunch my cereal and gulp that first cup of coffee.

In their defense, their suggestions did not lean too heavily on commerce and cash. Sure, anyone desperately seeking a date or a mate was going to fork over cash: these ladies advocated dinner, flowers, the whole shebang. But for those "already committed", Valentine's day could culminate in an evening of board games, or a home cooked gourmet meal, or a movie, or a candle and massage, or any number of fairly unimaginative and trite notions of romance.

Am I bitter? Cynical? I don't love Valentine's day as an event or a cause celebre'. Yes, it was fun in grade school to make Valentine's mailboxes; but then I was the kind of kid that liked art projects. I even liked the little folded Valentines and divvying them up among my classmates. I'm part of the baby boom, so my grade school classes way exceeded the current fetish for small numbers. Which Valentine was appropriate for the girls in the class and which would not be too silly for the boys? We had solid notions about the difference between the sexes even in the lower grades, so any hint of sentiment was verboten for the males. Some kids signed their Valentines; some didn't. It was ritual after the exchange of cards to attempt to decipher the scratches on the backs of the card or fronts of the envelopes. I never sent candy, but adored getting the little conversation hearts. Inedible, yes; full of signs and intimations, you bet.

Perhaps I would have been more impressed by a duo of blue haired matrons or balding geezers with hearing aids. Let's ask them about romance and longevity. What do you name the relationship that exists for a half century? After work and children and leisure and pain and loss, after routine and habit is the rule and youth and energy a memory, what do you call the partnership, the bond that remains? Bubble bath and candles seem trivial, if not ridiculous. Is the idea of Valentine's day even viable or appealing? Should it be?

Outside of flowers, outside of steak, I suspect this old house will have to come up with a different construct for romance. Don't get me wrong; I love a good romantic setting! A table for two, a grand piano, a chanteuse? Two glasses, two chairs, a view? A long night on the road with the ball game on the radio? The Pacific from the Cliff House, Irish music at O'Malley's, an open air supper in Hawaii, a starry evening in the combine: there's a hint of conspiracy, separation, distinctiveness, contrariness in the notion of romance. 'Birds do it, bees do it; even educated fleas do it', but we humans want to be one and onlies, even if we're heading to a romantic resort dreamt up by a focus group. Romance is in the eyes of the beholders. Whether its a lukewarm mocha from Starbucks in May, a melted Dairy Queen Blizzard in August, or taking the trash out without being asked, a heart warming gift is the one that says 'This I did just for you'. Does anyone really get a Lexus with a big red bow? Or a diamond something in a remote snowy cottage? In the long run, I'd rather have the sidewalks scooped and the socks put in laundry basket. Flowers will never be a cliche' in this house; an occasional juicy steak out will build up brownie points.....

So, let's cede the Valentines Day battleground to the folks still on the front lines. There is such a thing as too much chocolate. There is life between PajamaGrams and Kay Jewelers....lots and lots of life. Nothing wrong with hearts and flowers, but spread 'em out through the year. Why limit it to a single day? Same goes for Victoria's Secret and Vermont Teddy Bears.....no, never mind, its never time for a Vermont Teddy Bear.. ...

Before I even saw the sweet things hawking the perfect Valentines, I awoke to the strains of Trisha Yearwood in my head:

'There's nothin' at the five and dime that I really need..

Your love is the only thing that means a thing to me....

Give me all your loving, throw the presents in the creek,

Give me all your loving, and I'll be tickled pink...'

Now there's a romantic notion!!