Nadine Galinsky Feldman, Author | Reflections on books, midlife, and more…

It’s a Jungle Out There

May 062013

A sleek little ground cover made a soft carpet between other plants. Another plant looked like carrot tops, with delicate filigree leaves. “Those are weeds,” my landscaper told me one day as we walked through the garden. I hadn’t done the planting, and I’m still learning my Pacific Northwest plants, so I had no idea.

Because I know a little something (emphasis on “little”) about herbs, my first question was, “Can we eat it?” After all, Emerson once said, “What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.” Growing up, dandelions were considered undesirable, but many herbalists list dandelions as their favorite for their medicinal properties. So, any green growing thing fascinates me, and I don’t want to pull it out until I’m sure it serves no purpose.

It didn’t help that our neighbor had sued the City over work we had done in the yard (long story). It didn’t exactly make me want to run out back to weed the garden. By the time I knew I had to get my work done regardless of the parade of people scrutinizing and photographing my yard, Spring had arrived, and the weeds had grown like…well, weeds.

“But they’re so pretty!” I said, to which my landscaper responded with a laugh. Well, yes, of course they are. They are survivors. They can grow in lovely round mounds, just like my lavender. They can hide under plants that are wanted and loved. If the plant is prickly, they snuggle in really close.

Turns out, though, that they don’t know when to quit. That cute little ground cover? Before I knew it, the plants had grown a foot high and were threatening to take over the garden, choking everything else out. That pretty plant with the leaves that looked like carrot tops, that I wondered if it was edible? Well, it fit the description of poison hemlock. In fact, if that’s the case, it’s a darn good thing I was wearing gloves when I pulled it up.

You would think that I would have learned my lesson when I first started gardening three years ago, and cabbage worms destroyed my broccoli. I couldn’t kill them because I thought they were cute. When I realized that they weren’t willing to share the broccoli, I toughened up and went on a rampage. With the weeds, too, pretty or not, they had to go. Well, most of them, anyway. There’s one that I’ve grown fond of, because it creates an uninviting property barrier that pleases me. Emerson was right. Sometimes we just have to discover the virtue to a weed.

It’s a jungle out there in the garden, where only the strong survive. Being nice doesn’t cut it. I guess it’s the same whether dealing with a worm, a weed, or an intrusive neighbor.

Potting Up

gardening 4 Responses »

Apr 292013

My first plantings…spending the days outside, nights indoors until the frost danger passes.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, tomatoes are a challenge to grow. The Holy Grail, my hairdresser advises me. Kimberly has had a knack for accuracy in the year or so since I met her at an olive oil tasting, so when she says something, I believe her.

Of course, I also like a challenge. Back in the day, I was one of those women who sought out men who were just that, and the more emotionally unavailable they were, the better. If life gets too easy, I get nervous. A long time ago I learned to break off those relationships in favor of healthier ones, but apparently I still need to beat my head against the wall now and then…so why not grow something that some people say I can’t?

The problem here (with tomatoes, not men) is a lack of heat. We have to coax, cajole, and sometimes trick the plants in order to get fruit from them. Summer disappears at times before it arrives, keeping the fruit from turning red. While I don’t mind the occasional fried green tomato, I like mine fully ripened, thank you.

This year I grew them from seed, which helped me get through the dark, moody winter days. As the seedlings started to sprout and grow, I learned how to “pot up” the plants before setting them outside. That means I keep putting the plants in larger and deeper pots as they grow. I set them deep into the new pots and trim off the bottom leaves, burying most of the stem. This allows them to form long, substantial root systems.

Setting down roots is not my forte. Growing up, our family moved around from town to town due to job changes and transfers. Even in Houston, where I lived for 30 years, I found myself repeating the pattern, moving into new neighborhoods and apartments when changing jobs. I lived in one house for nearly ten years, but other than that, I’ve lived the life of the proverbial rolling stone. When hubby and I settled down and married, we satisfied our restless spirits and itchy feet through travel. Now that we live in the type of place we always wanted to travel to, we travel less. It’s good for the garden for me to be home, but at times I still yearn for the vagabond life.

When I arrived in Port Townsend a year ago, I planted the seed of myself here. Like a good tomato plant, I grew toward the light and started the process of growing my roots. I didn’t grow into my new home as soon as I expected…but little by little, I am getting to know people and am finding my way.

On a daily basis, I’m consulting gardening books and online resources. These tomato plants, grown from seed, are my precious children. Some of them have died along the way, and I have grieved every loss. Still, I now have so many thriving plants that I’m not sure where I’m going to put them all. As I’ve gotten to know some people better, I’ve learned that not every seed of friendship will grow, either. Some will thrive, some will not. Some will grow slower than others.

Later plantings, just starting to spend some time outdoors.

It’s too soon to tell if my efforts in tomato growing will pay off. Next week I’m going to a class taught by a local expert, but unpredictable weather wreaks havoc here, as it does with any garden anywhere. It’s possible that I will go to all this trouble and not get a single tomato. Still, I’ve increased the odds, and my life is better for having taken the chance. Planting a garden means I’m willing to take a risk. Moving cross-country means taking a risk with new people, new situations, new culture.

As I help my tomatoes build their root system, I am also building my own. It takes time, patience, and some finesse. I will do my best to create sturdy plants, and in doing so, increase my own sturdiness.

This little guy was planted early but is taking his sweet time…but I hung in there, and he’s starting to grow. Who knows why the same seed grown in the same place acts so differently?

All Points of View

travel 2 Responses »

Apr 222013

I toss a pair of black convertible pants, caked with dust, into the laundry. I clean my fingernails and smooth out the chips and snags with an emery board. I put fresh bandages on the backs of my heels to soften the sting of blisters. I dampen my curls to remove all trace of “hat head.” This can mean just one thing.

Hiking season has begun.

We took off on a whim after yet another round of personal legal hassles in a week defined by bombs and blasts. Yet again, we are faced with a terror attack, and yet again, another community suffers the blows of what appears to be an industrial accident. From Boston to West, Texas, we were shaken as a nation. I feel weary, and everyone I speak with does, too. These events bring up sorrow, but also the increasingly bitter rhetoric of political sides screaming ever louder.

There is nothing like a big-shouldered mountaintop to carry one’s burdens, so we piled into the car, packs and poles in tow, and drove to the Methow Valley on the eastern side of the Northern Cascade Mountains.

View in the Northern Cascades

Highway 20, also known as the Northern Cascades Highway, is closed during the winter and just opened a few weeks ago. At the highest points of the drive, remnants of the 35 feet of snow that covered the road remain. Many trails will have to wait until July or August, but on the eastern side, in the Methow Valley, most of the trails are sunny and dry.

On our first hike of the season, we took a simple stroll on a trail outside Sun Mountain Lodge. Though we had 360 degree vistas to admire, I found myself fascinated by the flowers at our feet. It was hard to know where to look. Every plant finds its own way to survive in this tough, dry terrain that could just as easily be West Texas as Washington State.

On Saturday, we took a hike at Pipestone Canyon. We’d never heard of it, but our kind host Dan at The Chewuch Inn in Winthrop recommended it to us. Though the hike is not well marked, it happened that an organized footrace was taking place that day, so we took advantage of the flags that the organizers had put out to direct the runners. The first few miles were ho-hum, but we discovered that by hanging in there, our patience was rewarded with views both looking down into the canyon and looking up from its floor. The treasures of green, glacier-formed valleys, snow-covered mountaintops, and rocklike canyon formations reminiscent of Sedona gave generously of themselves, and we took in their splendor as they fed nectar to our parched spirits.

In the summertime, rattlesnakes slither and sun themselves. Pipestone Canyon has the largest concentration of rattlers in Washington State, we’re told. It made me extra careful when I had to make a potty stop on the path! This being springtime, though, we didn’t see any such critters.

Tiny flowers draping the mountaintop at Sun Mountain Lodge

We humans have fought and disagreed since the beginning of time. Whether or not one believes in an actual Cain and Abel, we can agree that we will fight, often passionately and to the death, for what we believe in.

We can also climb to the mountaintop and look around us at the exquisite, boundless beauty of God’s earth. It overflows in its abundance and gives us perspective. Along the path, we greet strangers with smiles. We come across yet another patch filled with wildflowers. On the way home, new snow blankets trees in a living postcard.

From the craggy peaks to the smallest flower, we see all points of view. It’s easy to see, after all, that a mountain’s nature is to be a mountain, as a flower’s is to be a flower, and a snake’s to be a snake. We can’t change the snake, but we can look to stay out of its path.

Worth a three-mile walk to get to see this? I think so!

The view from mile 7 (or so).

A late winter wonderland near Washington Pass in the Northern Cascades

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