The Summer Day

With August quickly coming to a close, and summer right along with it, I can think of no better way to acknowledge it than by sharing the beautiful words of the late Mary Oliver:

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
this grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

And so it surely is!

Our Summer Traditions

When August rolls around in our neck of the woods, that can only mean two things: our annual Spiedie Fest and Balloon Rally, and the opening of the Cider Mill!

For anyone who hasn't heard me talk about spiedies before (like I have every August for the last 6 years), they are a local cuisine supposedly created right here in old Broome County, New York, and for which we are famous. They consist of cut-up chunks of beef, chicken or pork that are marinated in a secret sauce and then grilled and served on a bun. You can purchase bottles of your own spiedie sauce to try your hand at making them at home but you are sworn to secrecy as to the ingredients inside. So Every year we have a whole festival devoted to spiedies and our other passion, hot air balloons. From Friday to Sunday you can enjoy good food (everything under the sun and then some), music, rides, crafts, Meet-and-Greets with your favorite characters from TV (this year it was someone from Big Brother) and, at dawn and at dusk, the release of the hot air balloons to ride the air gracefully over the countryside. It doesn't matter how many times you see them up there, it never ceases to take your breath away. We may come home hot and tired from walking around all day, but just the sight of the balloons is worth it.

Our other summer tradition is the opening of the Cider Mill, a place dedicated to all things apple. You can watch them make the apple cider from scratch as well as watching them make yummy donuts to go along with the cider. There are cookies, jams, jellies, local cheeses and spreads, candy apples (or course) and their latest treat, an ice-cold apple slushy! I had my first one this year and I can honestly say it was a thirst quencher for sure without all the sweetness of sugar-added slushies. 

I love annual traditions, don't you? Those things we wait all year long to celebrate when the right season comes along? I don't mean the really big ones like Christmas or Easter, but those small, local traditions that say "hometown" when you think of them. I'd be so disappointed if August rolled around without our spiedie fest or the opening of the Cider Mill for the season. Soon the outside of the Cider Mill building will be surrounded by baskets of freshly picked apples of every variety for every cooking and baking need, along with other local produce like pumpkins, squash, gourds, potatoes and the like. I like to think of it as summer's last hurrah before the official start of harvest season. It just all feels like home.

And so it is. 

Fair Season

Our annual county fair just wrapped up this past weekend. Unfortunately, other commitments kept me from attending this year but the state fair is just around the corner and I'm sure it will make up for what I missed. Still, there is something about coming together as a community to share what you have accomplished and be rewarded for all of your hard work. A blue ribbon is just the outer sign of living your passion.

My favorite part of the fair has always been the display of produce, flowers, homemade goodies like jams, jellies, breads, and some good, old-fashioned root beer right out of the barrel! With apple season coming up shortly, there is nothing like a slice of freshly baked apple pie to win over my heart. To me, every woman who slaves in a hot kitchen at this time of year to produce this gem of a dessert deserves a blue ribbon!

Whenever I attend an event like this, I am always struck by the pride that you see on the faces of the folks who are sharing their life's work with the world. How many of us can say that we do the same thing? I know that we all have to take care of our families, keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, but we should never lose sight of making sure we find the time to do what we love, what brings us not only happiness but also a sense of pride in ourselves and out talents. Whether it's painting a picture, knitting a sweater, making bird houses or baking a pie, we all need something that we can point at and announce: "I did that!"

This week I was able to harvest my first handful of basil from the pot in front of my window. There is nothing like the taste of something you grew yourself. It may not be a huge harvest to others, but it is to me. Under less-than-perfect conditions, I grew something that I can eat. I did that, and I bow to those who do it on a much grander scale with love and pride in a job well done. 

And so it is. 

Wisdom and Wilting

To say that I miss full-out gardening the way I used to do it is like saying a 5 year old would miss Christmas if you took it away from him. I miss those early, misty mornings in the garden before the heat of the day when weeding was less of a chore, when I could spend time watching the progress - or lack of it - that my little green friends had made, when I communed with Mother Earth and my animal relations, the birds, insects, squirrels, and, yes, even the woodchuck that ate my sunflower plants. I miss picking that first tomato, or that first bunch of fresh basil. Yes, I have truly missed it all ... that is, until this week.

We have just come out of a three-day heat wave where the temperatures were in the 90's and the heat index reached 110! Looking out of my window from the safety of my air-conditioned apartment at the folks up and down the street trying to mow, weed and water without wilting themselves, I was content not to have to be out there with them. I was happy with my little tabletop fairy garden, my pots of basil and lavender, and my bamboo plant. As my mother always used to say: "Be careful what you wish for."

Life is what it is. It's no use to wail, " but that wasn't supposed to happen to me," because the reality is that it did and you're still here. When I was in my 40's, I couldn't conceive of not being able to get out and work in my garden, my sanctuary from the rest of the world. I had the idea that I would garden and live simply, and contentedly, for the rest of my life. Most of that has come true for me. I do live simply and contentedly, but my gardening is restricted to what I can grow indoors. So be it. It's either a curse or a blessing. Perspective is everything.

So while the rest of the neighborhood was weeding and whacking away under the brutal sun, I was inside slicing the yummy organic tomatoes I bought at the store, and picking a few leaves from my little pot of basil in front of the window. I am content, I am happy, and most of all, I'm not wilting!

And so it is. 

It Was A Very Good Year

I just read an article the other day about why the price of avocados has gone up so drastically recently. It seems that two reasons came into play at the same time. First, we get the majority of our avocados from Mexico and their growing season ended a few weeks ago. It will pick up again soon. The second reason is because California had a bad growing season owing to all the rain. 

Everything has their own growing season and some years are better for one thing while not so good for another. For instance, because of all the rain we had here in the northeast this spring and early summer, our strawberry crop was a bit on the short side. However, I am hearing from the apple growers that it will be a very good apple season for the same reason. To everything there is a season, and some seasons are better than others.

We all have our own growing seasons. Some years we will be sailing along, living life to the fullest and reaping our own personal inner harvest. Then we'll get hit with a storm season, with setbacks both personally and globally. Then our harvest, like this year's strawberries, are on the short side. The trick to weathering the ups and downs of a challenging growing season is to let go of what we can't do anything about, and see what else there is to harvest in its place. In other words, pick what wants to be grown instead of what you planted that didn't.

Our local apple cider mill and bakery will be opening its doors for the season on August 1st and I, for one, will be right behind them when they do. I love all things apple, and my first taste of freshly squeezed apple cider, and the first bite of my beloved Cortland apples fresh off the tree are worth the wait. While I'm there I'll check out the rest of the fresh, local produce for sale to see what had a good season and what didn't. Either way, it's all good!

And so it is. 

Making The Tough Choices

I've had this plant for over 14 years. I have no idea what kind of a plant it is. Up until yesterday it was growing in a large ceramic planter where it had lived out the majority of its life ever since I rescued it from an empty cubicle in the office where I was working at the time. We had just suffered our first round of layoffs in 2004 as the business started to slow down and the owner of the plant was one of the first casualties. She was so upset over being let go that she just threw her stuff in a box and marched out in tears. I don't know if she just forgot the plant, or if she just didn't have room for it at home and had to make the tough choice to leave it behind. Of course, being the plant lover that I am, I could not handle seeing the poor thing sitting all alone with no one to take care of it, so I marched right over and moved it to my desk where it lived until, after yet another round of layoffs, the company merged with another one in 2006 and the entire office was let go. So my little adopted plant  came home with me. 

Over the years she outgrew several pots. I tried my best to find out what kind of a plant it was but was never successful. She just kept growing and growing, and I just kept re-potting and re-potting into larger and larger pots. A few years ago she started to lose her bottom leaves while her top ones kept growing larger and larger. The problem was that the ones she lost on the bottom exposed her spindly stem that also kept growing taller and could not hold the weight on top. I kept tying it up to pieces of wood and plant stakes but finally, after all these years, it was obvious that this could not go on. I would need a plant stake the size of a broomstick to keep it from falling over and snapping in half as more and more bottom leaves died while the top leaves just kept growing and the whole thing got taller and taller. I finally had to make the tough choice to cut it down and see if I could re-root it. After all these years, and moving it from not one but two homes, I thought we would just grow old together. In my mind I kept seeing it start to root so that I could replant it and keep it going, but in my heart I knew that the chance of that happening on a plant this old was not great. It was like pulling the plug on a friend. Sometimes you just have to make the tough choices.

The funny thing was that from the moment I put it in the water, the leaves started opening up wider and the color became greener and more vivid. I swear it almost looked happy. Could it be that there was still some life left in the old girl? My heart gave a little lurch of happiness. It may only be a temporary thing, but then again maybe not. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and praying for her to pull through.

Sometimes we have to make tough choices, the kind we wish we didn't have to make but know deep down inside that it has to be done. It may be a decision to move away from friends and family, or quit a job and go out on our own, or finally cut the apron strings and let our little birds grow up and fly on their own. Whatever it is, it takes courage and a whole lot of faith to follow your gut and do what must be done, but when we do, sometimes, like today, things look a whole lot greener!

Ad so it is. 

The Sweet Tastes of Life

(Please enjoy this post from last summer while Flower Bear takes a much needed week off for some rest and time with family. Have a wonderful July 4th and we'll see you next week).

Nothing says summer to me more than my first bite of my first peach of the season. On Saturday my daughter, granddaughter, and I went to the local farmers market where I bought my first local peaches of the season, along with some beautiful squash, cucumbers and mushrooms. There is something about a trip to the market that feeds my soul and speaks to my heart. It must be the memories of those years working my own gardens, knowing that all that backbreaking effort would be worth it when I picked that first tomato, harvested the lettuce and tied up my beautiful herbs to dry. Like the juice from that peach as it ran down my chin when I took that first bite, the fruits of the labor are well worth all the blood, sweat and tears.

Sometimes the biggest rewards come from the things that most people don't see as huge endeavors. Gardening isn't up there with creating a new source of energy, or writing a best-seller, or winning an election, but there is something about partnering with Creator and Mother Nature to be a part of the creation process. Anyone can go to the grocery store and buy a peach or a tomato. It takes someone who loves the feel of dirt in their hands, the sweet sound of birds overhead and bees buzzing nearby, and the warmth of the sun on your face to be willing to get down and dirty just to experience the sweet taste of a self-grown life. That, my friends, is how life is supposed to taste.

I feel no shame in admitting that I have an acute case of garden-envy this year, but I can get a little bit of that sweet feeling back when I visit the farmers market and talk to the people that put in the work that produced these works of art. I can smell, and touch, and taste, and know that the real riches in life are the ones we grow ourselves.

And so it is.