moving

Potting Up

April 29, 2013 by admin

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

Hardening Off

April 18, 2012 by admin

Living in a new home has meant a new garden and a new gardening climate. From Texas to the Pacific Northwest, I’m now dealing with fewer temperature extremes, but I’m also working with cooler weather and a different rain pattern. I now own a stack of books to help me get started, and I’ve been quizzing master gardeners at every opportunity.

While fertilizing and composting the raised beds in my backyard (complete with deer fence, thanks to the sellers of the house), I’ve been growing seeds indoors under a grow light. In Texas, I just stuck my seeds in the beds, so this is a new experience.

So, too, is the term “hardening off.”

Basically, hardening off means I take my seedlings outdoors for a period of time and get them used to being outside, then bring them in. Each day I extend their time outdoors until they are ready to go into the ground and endure the elements.

I started hardening off my broccoli and onion seedlings. One day I kept them out a little too long, and my onions got droopy. I brought them in, frantic that I had pushed them too far, too fast. I was more careful the next day. Fast forward another four or five days, and they were hardy enough to stay out all day long. As of Sunday, they now have their place in the garden bed.

I’m feeling a bit like those onions. Each day brings new surprises and affirmation that moving to Washington was the right thing for us. Still, even a happy move, one born from choice and options, requires adjustment. I’m still tired from the move. I’m living in a lovely house that doesn’t quite feel like mine yet. Routines are changing, and I suspect that life is going to make many new twists and turns. I haven’t quite “landed” yet. Like the onions, I have gotten droopy from expecting too much, too fast.

Yesterday I began this year’s incarnation of the Colorado Cleanse, which I did on my own last year. The Colorado Cleanse is a two-week detox program that is gentle and safe, and is based on Ayurvedic principles. Through a non-allergenic diet, herbs, gentle yoga, breathwork, and meditation, the body and mind can embrace rejuvenation.

This time around, I am working with an online group rather than doing the cleanse on my own. For the next few weeks, my calendar is quiet. Friday, I get a much-needed massage. I’ve slowed the pace so that I will focus on one room per day, hanging pictures and finding places to put things. I’m looking forward to pulling back, turning inward, and adjusting to my new home. I’m also looking forward to the day when I feel fully planted here, but I know it’s going to take a little while.

The plants teach me so much of what I need to know about living. I wouldn’t dream of pushing those fragile little seedlings into the world before they’re ready. By waiting just a few days, the plants were much hardier, and they are now thriving outside. With the cleanse, with rest, and with giving myself time to explore my new home gently, I too am hardening off so that I can grow and bloom in my new life.

Getting Settled In

April 11, 2012 by admin

Hi, all,

I just wanted to say a quick “hello” to everyone who reads this blog. I took a hiatus I hadn’t planned to take — apparently I thought that moving was no big deal. I was wrong.

The good news is that we are getting settled in, and I’ve even hosted my first houseguests! The furniture looks great in the house, and I’m making progress on getting the garden set up. Spring has arrived here in breathtaking fashion, and every day we fall more and more in love with our new hometown.

However, there is still much unpacking to be done, and I am a bit tired and bruised from the work. So, I’m going to make it short and sweet today by sharing some photos from last week’s overnight trip to Victoria, B.C. Enjoy!

I’ll be back tomorrow with my weekly blog recommendation,

From left: my sister Val, honorary sister Joanne, sister Amy, and me. It was an all-girl trip!

Flowers are exploding everywhere in Victoria!

One of three rainbows I saw last week. God is showing off!

I know that clearing clutter is good for one’s soul. In fact, I’ve never shied away from cleaning out a drawer or a bookshelf or anything else that feels overly crowded. That said, though, living in a house where everything is tidy and put away doesn’t feel natural, either. All I have asked of my family is to keep things down to a dull roar. These days, though, we’re trying to sell a house, so the dishes are put away, the pillows are fluffed, and my workspace is organized such that I can gather my work and put it away on short notice.

Milkweed: Food for Monarchs Migrating to Mexico

As people come and poke their heads into my closets (something I don’t like to think much about), they come away with their judgments. Mostly, they don’t like the front of the house, which has little “curb appeal.” We have a flat roof, and some time ago I started calling the house my “big brown box.” When I first saw it, I was a little put off, too, so I understand, though I liked the inside. When hubby first saw the house, he thought the staircase butted up against the front door. It doesn’t, but I have had my own experiences of mentally expanding, shrinking, or otherwise distorting a house’s actual appearance.

We put in other offers on other homes, but they all fell through. In the meantime, the price of the big brown box had gone down, and hubby said, “Let’s go see it again.” This time he was hooked. I suspect that this house is working its magic again even now, on some prospective buyer who needs to see what else is available before realizing that this house is the right one.

Come inside. Come into the sunroom, where we eat our breakfast and lunch, and where hubby works. The windows look out onto the garden, which is currently filled with lettuces, spinach, broccoli, and Swiss chard in a variety of colors. In the summer, butterflies, bees, and birds find food and sustenance from growing vegetables and native plants, most of which survived a horrific drought this past summer. A neighbor cat, though not particularly friendly, likes to hide in the garden to shade himself, peeking out at the world from underneath the tomatoes. He doesn’t let me pet him, though we do have conversations from time to time from a distance. A squirrel sits on the top of the fence, clutching a cherry tomato in its paws. A friend tells me how I can get rid of the squirrels, but I laugh with delight; there is plenty of food to share.

That’s just one room. Throughout, natural light abounds in this cheerful home. While living here, I have traveled the world, seeing the wonders of Costa Rica, France, The Netherlands, Switzerland, Canada, and more — and at the end of every trip, no matter how beautiful, I couldn’t wait to get back to this place. It is cozy, large enough to be comfortable, but not overwhelming. Love has lived here: love of spouse, love of work, love of life. Here we have grieved losses, but we have also felt immense joy.

We learned about ourselves here. At 51, I realized that I love to garden, and I was delighted that even in this time of my life, I can still make such new discoveries about myself. Hubby wrote plays, and I wrote books. We walked to museums and to events at nearby Rice University. We enjoyed neighborhood restaurants where, in the midst of a large city, the waitstaff actually remembers who we are. We watched proudly as hubby’s children became full-fledged adults, now living on their own.

The people who lived here before us stayed for about forty years and raised their family. When I came inside the house, I could feel thick, happy memories in the walls. I still feel them, and we have added our own.

We leave because something else calls to us, a new phase of life in another place. We won’t miss Houston’s heat or traffic. We long to live among mountains and to be able to walk to the store, the movie theater, our favorite restaurants. There are many reasons to leave, fewer to stay. We will leave some close friends behind and family, and there is sadness in that. And we will leave this home, our big brown box, our treasure.

I am always cautious about spirituality vs. superstition, trying to straddle the line between faith and foolishness. I don’t expect God to provide me a good parking spot or make me a best-selling author. This week, though, I have had the nagging feeling that there’s something I need to do here before the house will sell, and that’s a feeling I always pay attention to. I’m not sure what that something is, but one thing I know to do is to say “thank you” to this big brown box for being the sanctuary I have longed for home to be. If I can do nothing else, I can be grateful for every moment I have spent here, and I hope that the next people who live here will feel the same.

Here’s the listing, with photos, of the big brown box! If you know anyone in the Houston area who’s looking…