*%#! Bunnies

First, here's my amazing trellis that I forgot to post a picture of in my last post:

See the beautiful peas and beans making their way up the trellis? Here's a close-up from a few weeks ago:

Now, here is what's left of my peas and beans after the friggin' bunnies feasted:

I'm a peaceful vegetarian, but I found myself screaming at a baby bunny unlucky enough to be in my garden when I got there. My friend and fellow gardener counted 26 bunnies on the way to his garden the other night. Where's a coyote when you need one?

Gardening Angels

There’s so much craziness in the world. Ever since the Marathon bombing, it’s hard to feel safe anywhere anymore. I think that’s partly why I’m so into my garden this year. I feel so peaceful there. Eliot and Astrid gave me three angel statues for Mother’s Day. I had been looking for a buddha, but they’re crazy expensive. When I unwrapped the angels, my first thought was “huh,” but now I love them. I feel like they’re my guardian angels looking after my garden.

I read Mel Bartholomew’s Square Foot Gardening and decided to build some raised beds and a trellis for my garden this year. Both items required very stressful visits to Home Depot. I hate Home Depot. It’s so intimidating and it takes an act of God to get someone to help you. I researched online to figure out the wood I needed, but once there, I couldn’t find that exact size in the store. A worker was walking by, so I told him I was building raised beds and needed 2"x10"x12'. He pointed to where the lumber was. I loaded the lumber onto the special lumber cart, then went to stand in line to get it cut into specific lengths (two 4' and two 2') by the same worker guy. After, I went back to the lumber aisle to get brackets and overheard this couple who started walking down the aisle, then the woman said, “Oh, wrong aisle.” The guy asked “Why?” And she answered, “That’s treated wood. We want untreated for our garden.” Shit! I said, “Excuse me, I overheard you talking. Did I just get the wrong wood for my raised beds?” The woman said, “Well, that’s treated wood—you can see the greenish color—so the arsenic in the wood will leach into the soil and then into your vegetables.” It's green! How did I not notice that I had green wood? I said, “But I told the guy that it was for raised beds and this is what he told me to get.” She explained that a lot of people use treated wood because it lasts longer, but it’s not as good for the garden. Her husband assured me that even though they cut it, I don’t have to buy it. So I followed them to the untreated wood aisle, found the size I wanted and stood in the cutting line again. When it was my turn, I explained the situation to the guy. He said, “You should use treated wood. That’s what people use. It lasts longer.” I explained that I was in a community garden and they wanted us to use untreated wood and I didn’t understand that I had gotten the wrong thing before. He didn’t answer, but made a show of putting the old lumber in a pile and, not as carefully as before, cutting the new lumber.

When I got home I did some research online about pressure treated lumber and found that they don’t use arsenic in it anymore, but I couldn’t find out what made it look green. Also, I don’t trust “acceptable levels” of anything. I’m glad I got the untreated lumber. It makes me feel better, like eating organic strawberries. They cost a lot more, but I’d rather not think about pesticides while I’m eating.

The trellis trip wasn’t as stressful, but almost. I had to find electrical conduit, which Mel said they could cut into 4' lengths, but Home Depot didn’t. Luckily I found some 5' lengths and bought those. Then I needed connectors, which I again had found online, but in the store, there were dozens of various kinds, and I had to search, because of course there was no one to help. Then I had seen the rebar by the lumber, and nylon netting was in the garden section, so I pushed my cart with the conduit sliding out every few feet the entire length of the store. But once I got it all in my garden, it was so easy to put together (with Eliot's help!). I’m so impressed with it. The raised beds look a little like Homer Simpson put them together, but the trellis looks great.

Follow Your Bliss

So Astrid was the honorary bat girl at Fenway Park last Friday. It was Neighborhood Night and the Red Sox were looking for Fenway affiliations to honor in their pre-game ceremony. They asked the Fenway Civic Association for an 8- to 12-year-old girl and Marie—someone we know from the Victory Garden and who’s very active in the community—suggested Astrid. We weren’t given a lot of details, just that she’d be on the field at some point and we’d get free tickets. We had planned to take Astrid to a game this year anyway, since she’s never been to one, and after living in the Fenway her whole life, she should know what all the fuss is about. At first when we told Astrid, she thought she was going to be Batgirl, the comic book superhero; she was a little disappointed when we told her it was about baseball. By the time Friday came, though, she started to get excited about it. We got there and met the bat boy, a 9-year-old named Owen, who was there with a whole entourage of family members, some of whom had their own tickets, but got to tag along with us. A Red Sox ambassador gave us special wristbands and took us all down to the field, where we watched batting practice for awhile. Owen, who had a baseball, was getting autographs from some of the players. Astrid asked one of them for an autograph, too, and when he saw she didn’t have anything to write on, he held up a finger and walked away. Several minutes later, he came back with a baseball for her. I thought that was so nice! I remembered his name, Lavarnway; turns out, he was the catcher. Then after awhile, the ambassador said he was going to take Astrid and Owen to the dugout, where the real bat boy was going to show them the bats or something. They were just sitting there when the players finished their batting practice. Most of them just walked past the kids. Then there was all this commotion and David Ortiz, the only player I recognized, was walking up. People were yelling to him, and Owen’s mom kept calling, “Big Papi, can you sign an autograph for my son!” He turned around and signed Owen’s ball, jersey, and a book that his grandfather had given him, then Astrid’s ball. He stood in front of the kids, talking to a reporter. Astrid was sitting behind him, yawning. I wish I got a picture of that! Then we went on a tour of  the Hall of Fame stuff—vintage jerseys, Babe Ruth and the curse, etc. The ambassador guy paused before the 2004 jersey and asked, “And everyone remembers what happened in 2004, right?” Astrid answered, “I was born!” After the tour, we were taken to the green room to wait until it was time to go onto the field for the ceremony. Astrid and Owen were announced, Wally the Green Monster kissed Astrid’s hand and ruffled Owen’s hair, pictures were snapped and it was over. We went to our seats in the Grandstand and watched the game.  After a couple innings, we were starving and walked around until we found the “Healthy Options” booth, where they had veggie burgers and veggie franks, tucked into a corner. Astrid had been talking pretty much nonstop about getting cotton candy. She wanted blue and we could only find pink, of course, so we walked around some more until we found a booth with the desired color for sale, then made our way back to our seats. She ate a few handfuls, then gave the bag to me, saying, “I don’t like cotton candy. Can I have some popcorn?” We made it until the seventh inning, when we couldn’t handle the freezing “spring” weather anymore and it was way past her bedtime.

The next day we did some errands, one of which was trying to buy handkerchiefs. In an effort to be green and not use Kleenex, we’ve been using handkerchiefs that were Eliot’s dad’s and my dad’s. They were starting to get worn out, but we didn’t know where to find new ones. We tried Marshall’s, thinking they could be in the Men’s Accessories section, which happens to be right across from the Kid’s section. A display of Monster High flip flops caught Astrid’s eye. She tried on a couple pairs, but they didn’t seem to have her size. She was devastated, then we noticed a few errant pairs in the next aisle. In her size! She tried them on, and every fiber of her being lit up. “Mama, can I get them? Will you buy them for me and I’ll pay you back? Oh, please!” I said yes, and she went bananas. “Thank you! You’re the best! I love these!” She carried them to the counter and was so excited that the cashier let her scan the price. She took them home and we cut the tags off. She counted out the money ($7) and thanked me about a hundred times, then put them on and wore them the entire rest of the weekend. We told her she couldn’t wear them to school this morning, but she made Eliot promise he would bring them to after-school so she could wear them home. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy about something. It was so funny. Being on the field at a Red Sox game and getting Big Papi’s autograph—eh, no big deal. But Monster High flip flops—whoo-hoo!

Household Tip #1

When there's just a little dish soap left, put it upside down in a cup. The cup keeps the bottle balanced and allows you to use every last drop. Eliot thinks I'm brilliant!

Marathon Madness

The following is a post from guest blogger, Astrid Wilder, on the events of Marathon Monday.

Yesterday started out like any other day. But I didn’t know that it would be the worst day of my life. “Hurry up in the bathroom. You’ve been in there for at least half an hour. I want to see the marathon,” Dad called. When we were all ready, we went outside. We were just a few blocks away from where the marathon ended. “I think we should ask someone what’s going on,” I said. “It seems like something’s up.”

“You’re right,” my dad said. “What’s going on?” my dad asked some people who were standing there looking worried.

“There was an explosion,” they said.

“Let’s go home,” I said.

“Good idea,” Dad said. We ran into the Victory Gardens. “Do you know what happened?” my dad asked some other people.

“There was an explosion,” they said.

We walked down Peterborough to El Pelon. Some people were talking, “There were two bombs. If there are more, evacuate.”

We walked home and I e-mailed everyone whose e-mail I knew. I felt so happy when my friend, Mallory, said she was fine. She lives near where the bombing took place, too. My dad turned on the TV. He looked at every news channel. The roads were blocked off so my mom couldn’t get home. When my mom finally got home really late, we looked at all of our e-mails and texts. Then I called my Grandma in Chicago. She kept on saying “Thank goodness you are safe.” When we were done with everything and I was going to bed, I thought, “You’re right, Grandma. Thank goodness me and my family and friends are safe.” I smiled and fell asleep.

Today I did this drawing because the world needs to have love, happiness, and peace.  This picture is of someone who wants to stop hate. Hate is something everyone despises. Nobody likes to be bullied, right? So if you are mean to people, or even one person, remember the golden rule: treat people the way you would like to be treated. The world is full of violence. But always remember there are good people in the world, too.

The End

The Twists and Turns Your Life Will Take

My nephew is being confirmed this Sunday and Astrid had some questions about it. I said, “Well, you know what baptism is, right?” “Yes, they sprinkle holy water on the baby and the parents promise that the baby will be Catholic.” “Right, so confirmation is when the baby gets older, and he or she makes that promise for himself or herself.” “Were you confirmed?” “Yes, when I was in sixth grade, but the problem is that in sixth grade, I wasn’t old enough to really know how I felt about things, so I was confirmed, but then when I went to college and started thinking differently, I decided I didn’t want to be Catholic anymore.” Astrid agreed with that, “Yeah, in sixth grade, you don’t know the twists and turns your life will take.” Then she asked how I stopped being Catholic. “Well, I just stopped going to church.” She giggled, “that’s all there is to it? I thought there was a contract or something.” I giggled, too, and explained that although coming to a decision about your spirituality can be a complex process, the execution can be fairly straightforward. It’s much more complicated to break your lease.

Time to Myself

I was putting Astrid to bed and she wanted me to stay with her, as always. Then she said, “You can go. You have two jobs: you’re my mom and you have your work work, so you should have some time to yourself.” What the? Where did she come up with that? But of course, when I asked, “You mean it’s ok if I go out of the room?”, she smiled sheepishly and said “uh-uh.” She meant I could sit on the floor with my computer.

Speaking of time to myself, the Gardener’s Gathering was wonderful this year. When we walked up to the registration desk, the woman behind the desk said, “Astrid, would you like a name tag, too?” She was someone from the Fenway Garden Society, and we must have been introduced at some point, but it was a little strange someone knowing us that I couldn’t place. Usually it’s the other way around; I recognize people who have no idea who I am. Anyway, Astrid and Eliot went to a lecture on the history of community gardens in Boston, then went home so Astrid could have a playdate with Abby. I stayed for the whole day; for the first time, I went to three workshops: raised beds, worm composting, and companion planting.  It felt good to be in the company of gardeners, and also to be doing something for me. I’m always working or doing errands or too exhausted to do anything.