Apocalypse Garden

How someone who is all thumbs, came to have a green thumb.

I have an ‘apocalypse’ garden. I am not a gardener during normal times. I barely keep my lawn mowed. In fact, at one time, I hoped the native yarrow would take over my acre of land and I would just let it be. Never to be mowed again.

No such luck.

When I moved into this house fifteen years ago, there was asparagus popping up willy nilly throughout the back lawn along with oregano. The previous owners must have had a garden and these were the wild residuals. When I would go to mow, I’d stop and break off the tips of the asparagus and marvel at the gastronomic delight of eating something, that I normally like store-bought anyway, fresh.

As for the oregano, I’d mow it down and wait for the intoxicatingly pungent fragrance to reach my nostrils. Mowing over the oregano was one of the reasons I liked to mow at all. I learned too late that I should not have been mowing over the asparagus. I should have replanted the asparagus in its own bed. If I had done so, I would be living high on the hog on asparagus right about now. In hindsight, I committed an atrocity by violently cutting down the rogue asparagus stalks.

They died out and never came back.

My ‘apocalypse’ garden is a ‘raised’ garden, but because my carpentry skills consist of using the wrong size nails for whatever project I undertake and thereby end up splitting whatever slab of wood I’ve chosen, I considered other options. I really wanted to go with the “hay bale” solution. I even posted a video on the efficacy and utilitarian benefits of taking the hay bale route.

A few people perfunctorily “Liked” it.

I liked the idea that the hay would become both mulch and compost. I liked the idea that there may not be as many weeds I’d have to tend. I liked that it involved no carpentry skills. Multiple wins, as you can see.

But then I learned you could not find bales of hay that were not contaminated by pesticides. Even the ones that are deemed to be “organic” are questionable. And even though the nihilist in me thinks that the ship has sailed in terms of my body dodging inorganic chemicals I decided to consider another solution.

My new solution was to just plant a garden at ground level. Just like the pilgrims did.

Because, by the time I started getting motivated to do all of this, the snow was fading off Wedge Mountain. And, even though I know next to nothing about gardening, the one thing I had gleaned by catching snippets of conversations from avid gardeners who lived in my valley it was the local sage-like adage that you want to start planting your garden the moment snow disappears from Wedge Mountain. And not a day later.

So, I started digging up a patch of my patchy, not-so-well-tended lawn.

That was when my neighbor came over to see what I was up to. This is my “super” neighbor. You know the expression “good fences make good neighbors”? We operate under the opposite assumption in my neighborhood. Fences are the exception, not the rule.

When he saw me flailing with tools putting a roof on my garden shed, he came over and offered advice and his nail gun. When he saw me monkeying around trying to replace the boards on my back deck, he came over and offered advice and let me use his nail gun. In the winter, if I haven’t taken my snowblower to my driveway by mid-morning, he’ll come over with his tractor and plow my drive. When the pandemic hit town, he showed up a couple of times with boxes of potatoes, onions and apples his church had been passing out to their members.

As he approached, I figured he was going to offer me advice and a nail gun even though there wasn’t a hammer or bit of lumber in sight.

I’m just kidding. I figured he was going to offer some mechanical assistance to the digging up of my yard for my hoped-for garden with his always-at-the-ready John Deere tractor. With his tractor, he could complete the task in a minute. I had already been out in the hot sun for a half hour with very little progress made.

I think I mentioned to him that I had thought about a raised bed but, in my usual haste, I had settled for your every day back-breaking garden.

Without skipping a beat, he says, “Hey! I have this twenty foot plastic culvert that’s about four foot in diameter I could cut into separate raised beds for you.” I thought, no carpentry skills or nail gun necessary! And then I thought, and it’s free! And that is how I procured my raised bed apocalypse garden.

I planted arugula and chamomile because gardening friends offered starter plants.

I planted carrots because I like putting them in smoothies.

I planted cauliflower because I use it for this simple-to-make “casserole”.

I planted zucchini because no one fucks up zucchini and you always have too much.

I planted Swiss chard for no apparent reason.

And I planted asparagus for old time’s sake. I failed to read the packaging however and I didn’t realize it takes multiple seasons for asparagus to take hold.

But that’s okay. I’ve discovered growing a garden is gratifying. And not having to bend over to tend it is even more gratifying.

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This is small sampling of my sister Pam’s writing. I should have her do a Guest Column or two.

Tale of a Tomato

I decided to check my star tomato, an over achiever of the cherry variety (which is all my little garden can handle). It has been showing off for days, deepening from salmon to rose to the edge of crimson. I have been carefully considering my timing: hoping to grab it at its peak but before the birds - beloved though they are - beat me to it.

This seemed like the right moment. Making an unnecessarily dramatic production and admiring its glossy symmetry I slipped it from its perch and popped it in my mouth. It was worth waiting for. Firm, but juicy, it tasted of sunshine and rich loam, warm breezes and blue skies.  It tasted exactly like a tomato should taste, but seldom does. It was something of a quiet revelation.

There are others on their way from green to succulent. I am looking forward to them.

The tomato in question. See? What did I tell you?

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Also, I happen to think that Sue Bird is the greatest - okay I’ll qualify it - female point guard to ever play the game. She is the All Time assists leader in the WNBA and we don’t know the half of what she has done while playing in Europe the other half of each season for the last 19 seasons.

Her defining moment came at the age of 37 in the Conference final against the Phoenix Mercury as well as against her best friend AND arch nemesis, Diana Taurasi. It was a game for the ages. After being mugged at mid court at the end of the third quarter without a foul being called and with her team being behind on the scoreboard, Sue caught fire in the 4th quarter and single-handedly blew away the Mercury with back-to-back-to-back-to-back three pointers.

She has shepherded the Seattle Storm to 3 WNBA Championships - I saw one in-person at KeyArena - and has won 4 Gold Medals at the Olympics. Now, after coming out about her relationship with one of the greatest female soccer players to ever play the game, Megan Rapinoe, she has found her voice and has begun to make it heard, along with the rest of the WNBA, in regards to Black Live Matters and, in particular, Breonna Taylor - the young black woman murdered in her own home by overzealous men in blue. The E60 ESPN special on Sue Bird is brief but impactful and highly recommended.

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