SLIPPERY SLOPE

Who didn’t see this coming?

A month ago my husband gifted me with a small greenhouse.  Basically he was bored out of his tree waiting for spring to get here so this all started out as a make work project for him ... which he has turned over to me so that I too can make more work.

I’m not complaining, mind you.  I actually think of it as my ‘playhouse’.  It has quickly become my favorite place to hang out – so toasty warm, so many green babies, so full of potential.

You must understand; this is not a commercial enterprise.  I think it was built out of sympathy for the dog, who last spring could not stand and stare out of the picture window for a full month because there were multiple shelves full of plants in his way.  Building a greenhouse gave the man something to do, gave the dog his window back, and gave the woman the opportunity to increase her plant addiction by about 1000%.

Win.  Win.   Win.

Of course I realized the danger immediately.  I told myself that I would not change my planting habits just because I had a little more space.  There would only be tomatoes and peppers and giant pumpkins for the grandkids, plus a few planter fillers just to see what would grow for me.  Just like when I was limited to my picture window.

But with only these few things it looked bare in there so I thought I would branch out a little bit.  I planted watermelons and cantaloupe and morning glories so I could enjoy them for a longer season.  I happened to have a couple seed packets from last year so I thought I should plant them too – columbines and nemophilia and asters and phlox.  Then I realized I always use lobelia in my deck planters so I should start some of that too.

About that time I remembered that I had stored a bunch of begonia tubers in the crawl space so I hauled them out.  They were starting to sprout so they needed dirt to grow in too.  I went to town and bought another bag.  And since I had more dirt and a stack of bigger pots I decided to see if I could ‘hurry up’ some dahlia tubers as well.  Are any of you familiar with the meaning of being on a ‘slippery slope’?

By this time I have moved the seedling trays in and out of the watering trays so many times that the labels don’t match up with the plants.  Luckily I have been keeping a journal of what is planted on which day so I will likely be able to figure it all out at some point.  Don’t tell my kids – they all harbour a deep resentment for me as a keeper of records.  Not one of their baby books gets past their first tooth, but here I am, noting germination times for Four O’clocks.

I am at the point where I have to stop planting more seeds.  All the babies will need to be transplanted to bigger trays so I will soon be running out of room.  The greenhouse that looked pretty big in the Quonset and then just the right size once it was settled in the back yard, now seems a smidge smallish in the harsh light of my addiction.

I’m thinking we will need to install hooks on the rafters so I can start my hanging planters.  And yesterday I was struck with the inspiration to fill one of my deck planters with dirt and plant some super early lettuce and radishes – you know, just to see what happens.  I can set it outside during the day and just keep them in where it’s warmer at night.

Once a person has lost their footing on a slippery slope, they just keep rolling down the hill ...

I’m going to need a bale of peat moss before I can go any farther.

But on a happier note, the dog is enjoying his unrestricted view.

SERENDIPITY

Many years ago I attended a seminar that had to do with recognizing personality traits unique to each individual and learning to use them to the best advantage.   So much of the discussion of those two days has stuck with me and proved useful in understanding the human dynamics of so many situations. 

I wish I had saved the course literature to refer back to but suffice it to say that we covered an in-depth look at the kinds of personality differences humans have and how we need them all: leaders, followers, speakers, listeners, dreamers, doers, observers, modifiers.

The whole experience was very interesting, but with me being a typical human what stands out in my memory the clearest after all these years is what I learned about me.  There were people there who were natural born leaders.  There were master negotiators.  There were people who excelled at efficiency and others who felt most comfortable as simple ‘worker bees’.  My super power seemed to be that I always saw the big picture.  In a room of maybe fifty of us I was one of only two people whose perspective was from farther back than everyone else’s. 

Up until that point in my life I had looked upon this as a personality flaw.  While other people can see life issues in black and white, my perspective always seemed to be from back far enough all I saw were shades of grey.  I was cursed to see both sides of any argument and know that seldom was neither of them was completely right.  Just ask my eldest son who spent his youth railing at this defect of mine only to realize in adulthood that he is similarly afflicted.

A much shorter way to explain this would have been to remind Sesame Street watchers of 30 years ago about a song they sang - “where you put your eyes”.  Given just a tail, an ear, a foot, and a trunk no one could figure out what was in front of them until they moved way back and saw it was an elephant.  I always see the whole elephant.

Yesterday’s elephant was serendipity. 

It’s one of my favorite words: serendipity, when good things just fall into place through no planning what-so-ever.

I happened to be in a neighboring town yesterday.  It’s not that I wanted to be there, there was just no way around it.  My brand new car had an engineering defect and had to have warranty work done so I got to spend an entire afternoon killing time there when I would much rather have been at home doing yard work.  The appointment had been made weeks in advance and I had only randomly picked yesterday because a previous appointment for that afternoon had been moved to another day.

I was told when I dropped the car off that I probably had 4 hours to kill.  I had nothing to shop for but I very slowly strolled through all the stores they had to offer.  After what I felt had been a very long time I checked my phone and discovered I still had 2 ½ to go.  A short debate took place in my head: I had two choices – a very long walk to Timmie’s for a calorie free coffee or a slightly shorter walk to DQ for a much less healthy choice of treat.  The ice cream won.

As I approached the building I noticed a woman just seating herself in the front sunroom part of the restaurant and thought to myself that looked like a nice place to sit.  So, after buying my oreo blizzard I made my way there too.  Although I hadn’t planned to sit with her I was happy to accept her invitation – the time would go by much faster with conversation.

And what a conversation it was.  I suppose that given our similar ages and rural life experiences it only stood to reason we would have a lot in common, but it went much deeper than that.  We began with telling each other of our families but the subject matter led to much more personal and poignant revelations, not the usual topics that one would discuss with strangers but were setbacks and crises we had both experienced.  Our time together was a good thing.

Serendipity.  My car appointment could have been any day, but it was yesterday.  Her income tax appointment could have been any day, but it was yesterday.  I could have shopped longer, or decided that coffee was better for me than ice cream.  Would I have chosen the sunroom if I hadn’t seen her sitting down as I walked up?

People whose view of the world is close up would likely call it a coincidence that we were at the same place at the same time. 

My perspective is from farther back; so many unrelated things had to fall into place for that conversation to take place it can only be called Serendipity.

SCRATCHING THAT SPRING ITCH

The winter boots have been stowed away downstairs and my trusty old rubber boots have their first mile on them for 2019.  Well, possibly more than a mile – I’ve wandered the yard numerous times these past few days looking for anything green.  I have this itch to go out and play in the dirt.  I’m all ready to  garden.  The Christmas lights are all packed away and Mother Nature needs to get busy providing any color other than ‘dirty snow’ gray and ‘last year’s lawn’ brown.

Of course it’s way too early to actually garden.  The snow isn’t completely gone yet and there is only cold mud, not warm dirt.  And yet I, and many others, are infected with this persistent condition I have named Spring Itch.  Not the kind of itch that affects your skin, mind you, but the kind that won’t leave your soul alone.

It’s not a life or death thing.  At least I don’t think anyone has ever died of the condition.

But neither is it a mild disease that can be ignored.  The symptoms start as early as January and are probably brought on by the lack of sunlight experienced at that time of the year.  The way to ‘scratch that itch’ in January and February is to pour over seed and nursery catalogues until you’ve worn out the pages.  One must be careful with this remedy though.  Just as prescription painkillers lead to opioid addiction, so too can placing a ‘small’ order lead to a VISA bill your husband must never see.

 This action is no cure though.  The itch continues to fester and as the daylight lengthens out in March those of us infected turn to store-bought dirt and plastic gardens placed on any horizontal surface close to a window.  We tell ourselves we ‘will only plant a few tomatoes and peppers’ but then go into some sort of trance and end the day with several trays of watermelons, giant pumpkins and five kinds of flowers – just because the seeds were there.  By the end of the day we find ourselves amazed that we’ve jumped the gun yet again and try to console ourselves that it will take a week or two for these babies to germinate. 

Which, of course is a lie.  And when the first pumpkin seed erupts an instant plant out of the dirt in less than four days you rejoice over the miracle – even though you know keeping it healthy and strong until it can safely put outside will be next to impossible.

It’s April now and we are up to the wandering-the-yard stage of the disease.  I have managed to find two green things out there ... soapwort and dianthus, coming out of the last snow banks hardy and strong.  Well, actually, there is a third and even more hardy plant out there, but quack grass doesn’t count.

So far I’ve checked my tulips seventeen times in the last two days ... nada.  I’ve paced out where I want my brand new greenhouse to be placed.  I am told that the strawberries came through the winter with flying colors but it’s so muddy over there I will take his word for it.  My umpteenth effort to get hollyhocks to survive is still unproven, but I visit their bed several times a day just in case there’s something to see. 

I long to clean off the asparagus patch so I can commence waiting for it too.

There are some who say that sunshine is the cure for this condition.  It is true that the more time a person spends outside the less anxious they are.  Truth to tell, I am never more at peace with myself than about the middle of June: the transplanting is done, the potatoes are all popping out of the ground, strawberries and lettuce are ready to eat.  That’s the only time of the year when the itch has been sufficiently scratched.  The next stage takes a nasty turn.

During the next three months another condition called ‘exhaustion’ sets in. When a person is up to their armpits in beans to can, raspberries to jam, weeds to pull, potatoes to dig, cucumbers to pickle, and tomatoes to deal with they mistakenly feel cured of ever wanting to plant anything ever again.  This is simply just another stage of the original condition – a kind of faux remission that never lasts past New Year’s day.

Trust me, I know.

It’s been two hours - I wonder if my hollyhocks are up yet?  I should go check.

GUIDANCE FROM ABOVE

We’ve been gone.  After spending the whole winter at home we decided  we should take a road trip before the growing season tied us down for the next five or six months.  Besides, the Albertan grandsons had a week off school and their dad had a home improvement project that grandpa could come help with.  Grandpa is not good at just sitting and visiting but give him a fence to build or a bathroom to renovate and he’s happy.  Just ask the Australian family – they know they have to keep him busy or he’ll go home.

And, since we were driving all the way to Alberta, I thought it would be nice to drop in on my sister and brother in Calgary, and then on to have lunch with a nephew in Bowden ... you know, since he was ‘on the way’ to our final destination.  You’ve got to make it count when you finally get these two country bumpkins off the farm.

It meant for a lot of miles.  Not that we haven’t travelled farther, but mostly on our adventures we let an airline take over for the major miles.  This time it was all on us – the aforementioned country bumpkins. 

It’s not that we don’t go places; it’s just that they tend to be much the same places, over and over again.  Most common destination – our home town, a whole seven miles away.  The next most likely destination – the closest of the grandchildren, an hour’s drive - an all rural route.   From there on we do branch out to slightly more urban trips for doctor, dentist, and eye appointments but on a much less regular basis. 

A few weeks ago there was a news story about how SGI was saying that drivers were not tested on how to properly use the merge lane because rural driver’s tests didn’t have merge lanes available to be tested on: that’s the world we come from.  We know how to drive on loose gravel.  We are experienced at watching for wildlife.   We know which back roads take to avoid being stuck behind a combine for five more miles: these are the things that keep city drivers in their cities.  Merge lanes and off ramps and multiple turning lanes and heavy traffic are what makes us think twice about striking off on big adventures.

But ... enter modern technology.  Thank goodness.

Our car has quite a few bells and whistles.  Put it in reverse and it immediately shows a bird’s eye view of the whole area.  It’s kind of freaky because there is no camera dangled above the vehicle and it can’t be a satellite feed because it even shows the inside of the garage with the door closed.  Never-the-less, you can see yourself driving out of the yard.  And, if you missed seeing something on the screen it will buzz your butt to tell you “look again”.  Likewise, it doesn’t want you leaving your highway lane unless you signal, gently tugging the steering wheel back into proper alignment.  It’s hardly going to be an adjustment when we get our first driverless car – they’ve been easing us in that direction for years.

The very best thing it has, though, is GPS.  Tell her where you want to go and she will take you there.  No paper maps sprawled out over the dash.  No second guessing where you should have turned.  No ‘in the wrong lane to turn’ or ‘disappearing lane’ panic attacks. 

So calming for a person’s nerves.  So good for overall trip enjoyment.  So helpful for sustaining a marriage.

As this comforting, knowledgeable, trustworthy voice, with her corresponding split screen view of what to expect calmly led us through traffic in unfamiliar cities we decided that she definitely was our friend and therefore rated a name.  I offered a few suggestions but none of them seemed to fit.

By this time we were winding our way through Saskatoon on our journey home.  The farmer beside me made an observation that our GPS friend was sure smart and thought maybe we should just call her Smarty-pants, but then decided that this was too disrespectful for someone who meant so much to us.

No t long afterward though, he told me he had thought of the perfect name: Angel.  Full name: Guardian Angel.  She watches over us.  She guides us.  She looks down us from above.  Her voice comes to us from the heavens.  Need I say more?

Makes me want to download Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky for our next road trip.

SPRINGING

The other day I took my mother-in-law for a doctor’s appointment.  In a few months this lady will celebrate her 99^th birthday, although if you met her at the grocery store or the post office you would not guess that she is that old.  I only mention her age to point out how many springs she has welcomed in her life ... and how even after nearly a century’s worth the thrill has not worn off.

Her very words as we left the clinic were “Just smell that air!  Doesn’t it smell good?”  I agreed whole-heartedly; it sure did.  March doesn’t look all that pretty with its dirty snow and muddy yards, but the air hints at warmth, and awakening, and potential.  Soon there will be geese flying overhead, gophers popping up in the ditches, robins looking for nest construction materials: in this symphony of prairie life we are hearing the first soft notes of rebirth.

Google’s morning meme today – the legal First Day of Spring – drilled down into all kinds of technical information on what that means.  Today is also called the Vernal Equinox – vernal for ‘spring’ and ‘equinox’ because today there are ‘equal’ parts of daylight and darkness.  I had known that part, but had not realized that this is true for the whole planet, from the Arctic to the Antarctic and all latitudes in between.  That’s kind of cool.  Today is also when the sun’s center crosses Earth’s celestial equator from south to north due to the wobble of our axis which is the whole reason we get seasons to begin with. 

Okay, enough with the nerd stuff – I promise there will be no quiz on this.  I just thought I would give the scientific explanation of what’s going on.

Much more importantly is how we respond.  Not on the intellectual level, although of course farmers are finalizing their seeding plans and home owners are making sure their sump pumps are set up and ready to roll, but on the spiritual level – where our spirits are lifted by warmth, our mood brightened by the sunshine, our souls rejuvenated with fresh air – the kind that doesn’t hurt our faces.

There are so many things on my ‘to do’ list! 

I can’t wait to hang laundry out on the clothes line to dry!  I love that no fossil fuels are being burned.  I love that I’m saving money as well as the planet.  And I love love love the smell Mother Nature permeates those clothes with.  Win.  Win.  Win.

The dog and I are very excited about going for real walks down a real road, out in the fresh air and sunshine.  The winter is too cold and slippery for that to happen, and right now the muddy roads hold me back, but soon, very soon, this going to happen.

There are already green blades of grass where the sun has warmed up small nooks and crannies of soil.  Nothing repairs the freezer burn on the human psyche like the colour green.  Dandelions will soon follow; they are much easier to tolerate when they are the only flowers out there.

I’m even looking forward to cleaning up the ‘dog residue’ scattered all over the yard.  Whatever was left over from last fall’s hunting season was gifted to the dog.  He and his buddy have spent the winter chewing on these bones, displaying their trophies on the front lawn, and burying their precious treasures.  Between these lawnmower hazards and the usual stinky stuff dogs leave behind, I will have a full day’s job cleaning up.  It’s not a very nice job but an entire day of worthwhile work, as long as it’s outdoors, is something I look forward to.

Best of all, though, is when it’s finally dry enough and warm enough to go out and play in the dirt.  It’s what we all live for.

I guess I think of ‘Spring’ not as a noun, but as a verb.  I have a lot of ‘Springing’ I want to do.  Thank goodness Mother Nature has finally opened that door ....

HOPE AFTER HIBERNATION

I poked my nose outside a while ago.  There was this strange glowing ball in the sky I wanted to take a closer look at.  I only had to step out onto the deck so I decided I could risk doing this little venture in two layers of clothing – unlike the six or seven it would have needed two weeks ago.

Much to my surprise, once I had cleared the shadow of the roof awning, there was this curious sensation.  It was vaguely familiar.  Wherever the light touched my skin, and even through my clothing, I felt ... I think the word is ‘warm’.  I stretched out my arms and lifted my face to the light.  Yes, that definitely felt ... warm.  It had been so long I wasn’t sure it wasn’t a fantasy.

Feeling no need to hurry back inside this time, before hypothermia set in, I took the time to look around.  The place needed some work: dog bones littered the deck, blankets used for a hay ride on Boxing Day were strewn over the wicker chairs, a derelict Christmas tree leaned against the edge of the deck accompanied by a couple shovels.  Obviously it had been too cold to deal with any of this stuff for months.  The barbeque also was out of place – the result of my desire to use it one night last week.  I had dared the extremes for a bbq steak, but I had to pull it out of the wind to get enough heat built up for cooking.

It’s been quite the long haul, this winter has.

This afternoon though, it felt different.  I stood there, mere runners on my feet and a simple bunnyhug for a jacket, and yet I was unworried about losing body parts to frost bite.  How long has it been since I was afforded such luxury, I wondered?

The dog eyed me suspiciously – what was I up to?  Was I going to feed him?  Was I going to give him grief over hauling that deer hide up to the house?  Or, was he weighing the odds of me remembering what it was like to go for an actual down-the-road walk?  He gave his tail a tentative, half-hearted wag and waited for further cues from my body language.  Can’t say he looked all that surprised when I dusted off a cushion and sat down in my favourite deck chair.  Can’t say he looked all that disappointed either.  He was just happy to have one of his humans outside with him.  We spend lots of hours out on this deck together surveying our kingdom – he does it year round, I keep my surveying to the months with no snow.

On a day like today, with the warmth seeping into both body and mind, a tiny flame of hope was ignited.  Or maybe it was inspiration .  Or possibly an awakening of passions and possibilities.  An almost atrophied part of my brain kicked into gear.  What was I going to plant this year?

Which flowers would attract the most hummingbirds?  Was I going for a certain colour scheme this summer?  What would I fill my big new flower bed with?  How had the strawberries weathered the winter?  So glad we bedded everything down with straw last fall!  Had the deer left the apple trees alone?  How long would it be before we could eat fresh asparagus? 

The thoughts, once started, spilled through my brain.

Over in the quonset sits an almost finished hobby greenhouse.  A few nights ago I spent all my insomniac hours virtually towing it around the yard looking for the perfect place for it.  It couldn’t be put down in our flood plain.  It had to be close to both a power and water source and somewhere that was full sun but out of the wind.  I think I have it figured out ... now to get it there! 

Is this how a bear feels when it staggers out of hibernation, I wondered?  Disoriented and unfocussed until the sunshine seeps in and reminds it of who it is and what it wants?

By this time the afternoon sun was leaning into the west.  Almost suppertime.  It occurred to me that the reason most bears wake up is because they’re hungry.  It was time to leave my sunbeam and go take care of job. 

But the weatherman says that tomorrow is going to be a good deck sitting day too ....

MY HAPPY PLACE

There was a woman sitting at the next table to us, eating alone, playing on her phone from time to time, and it occurred to me several times during our three hour lunch, was she listening in on this convoluted, caring, crazy conversation my friend and I were having?  And if so, what was she thinking?  Was she shocked at some of the topics we covered?  Did she identify with some of our life observations?  Did she wish she was seated somewhere else?  And if so, was that farther away, or right at our table so she could join in?

My friend and I try to meet for lunch to ‘catch up’ once or twice a year.  We live over a hundred miles apart and even though we’re both retired we still lead busy lives, it isn’t as easy to get together as one would think.  This date we had on Friday was almost a full year since the last time and we both made a vow not to let it go that long again.  We absolutely do each other a world of good.

Long before we met through our work lives our personal lives had taken very similar paths.  We both married very young and found ourselves as single moms in our early twenties.  We responded to this Life curveball with the same kind of determination born of devastation; we stepped up to the plate and provided for our kids and rebuilt our lives.  We both remarried and had more kids but that kind of impact on our life experience was and is still indelible. 

I have other friends, some with more experience and some with less.  All of them contribute to who I am, but this friend and me?  Well, I guess we are just on the same page.  We understand the same things the same way.  That’s not to say that our conversations are dull - just ask the gal at the next table to us.  We talked and laughed for three straight hours.  The waitress nearly gave up on us; it took us half an hour to remember we needed to order food.   

Imagine!  Women forgetting to order food.

Our range of topics was all over the place.  What were our plans for the week?  The summer?  The year?  How were our families doing?  We touched on health issues, and home life.  There were memories of our work years and the people we knew in common.  We talked of the long term plans one has to make in retirement to make sure that the money lasts as long as we do.  We also spoke of the things that bring us dissatisfaction and grief, and yet after a short pause in the conversation she gestured to the full dining room around us and said “Look at this.  Women need women.”  She was right; the tables were full, and probably 90% of the crowd was female.  To the casual observer the place was a restaurant, but within its walls there were countless therapy taking place.  Coffee and confessions.  Cream soup and condolences.  Sandwiches and spirit lifting.  Lemon pie and laughter.

Time ticked by on us.  About the two and a quarter hour mark, when we both knew we would have to wrap up our visit soon, I was reminded of a presentation we had been a part of during our work days.  It had been aimed at helping us deal with stress and encouraged us all to identify our personal ‘happy place’ so that when the going got tough on any given day we had a place to retreat to, even if only in our imaginations.

I smiled across the table and said “This is my happy place.”  She knew exactly what I meant.

It’s not that it’s my only happy place.  I also love my yard and gardens.  I love the time I spend with my grandchildren and I have some actual blood related sisters whom I cherish dearly.  In fact, my life is full of blessings.

But, as I drove home later that day - my soul up-lifted, my heart light and happy, my consciousness reset to a fresh level of possibilities - that as far as happy places go, there was no doubt that lunch with this friend was a ten out of ten.