They Do Indeed Grow Up

Ramona (far right) as Mole in "Wind in the Willows" at the end of June.  

Back in July, Warren and I flew west to spend time with my sons and their families. It was the first time we had been out in Portland and Vancouver (WA, not BC) since 2021 and, with the exception of Ben, who flew back in 2023 when I was hospitalized and again in 2024 with Orlando, I had not seen the Pacific NW contingent for four long years.

And that was when the reality of Ramona, who I last saw as a little girl, hit me: she grew up.

Oh, don't get me wrong. At just 13, Ramona is a teenager, not an adult. But what I mean by "she grew up" is that she was no longer the elementary-age girl who talked and giggled and shared Lego creations and her favorite books (MS level, for the most part) and was, basically, still a little girl back in 2021. And even though I had seen photos over the years, and talked on the phone occasionally with Ramona, it had not sunk in that she was no longer that little girl. 

Nope, nope, nope. Ramona grew up. So much so, in fact, that it took the two of us a few days to figure out how to talk with one another. We finally found a topic that worked for us both: writing, especially writing poetry. She is passionate about the creative writing track at her school, Vancouver School of Arts and Academics, and it was a joy to talk with my new-to-me granddaughter about writing.

Yesterday that same reality that children grow up hit me in the face again. We attended a reception for longtime friend Marilyn, who just turned 91. Marilyn was Ben's preschool teacher for 9 months when we first moved back to Delaware; my connections with her go back even farther (her oldest child was a year behind me in high school). We arrived, signed in, stood looking at the people in attendance, talked with a few, including one whose son had run around with my Sam during their middle school ages ("How did our boys get to be 35, April? How?") and then a young man walked up to me to welcome me and introduce himself. 

"I'm Marilyn's grandson, Beau."

Oh. My. God. Beau. 

"Beau! I'm sorry. I last saw you when you were...maybe three?" I held out my right hand and lowered it from his probable height close to six feet down to nearer my knees, bending my knees to move my hand down. 

Beau smiled and bent his knees down too. Then we both stood back up, laughing a bit.

"Yeah, I know. I grew up."

He and I then had a wonderful short conversation about who he has become, what his life holds, and such. He has a deep commitment to family and taking care of people (a father with health issues, his aging grandmother, a job that involves assisting someone with dementia). I told him that I admired his values and then said, "Let me speak as an elder to you, which I am." We both grinned. "Save some time for yourself."

Beau lit up. "I know! I have learned that when I don't, I get worn down and sad."

We then talked about where Warren and I lived (because I told him that Marilyn and I mail postcards to one another, even though we live about five blocks apart) and he lit up again. "I love your neighborhood," he said, adding that he really loved the diversity of homes in our part of town, then making a disparaging comment about homes in new subdivisions looking all the same.

I cracked up. Telling him that I was a retired lawyer who did a lot of zoning and development law in my day, I explained to him that when developers submit their plans, they spell out in the plan the pattern of facades on the houses, typically either a 3-house or 4-house pattern: a stone veneer facade, a brick veneer facade, a clapboard facade, repeat. 

"Next time you are thinking about it, Beau, drive through one of our local subdivisions and count the facade types. You'll see the pattern really fast." 

He grinned and nodded his head. "I will, I will!"

We finished talking, Warren and I talked with a few others, including the Ancient Birthday Girl (Marilyn's term, not mine), we sampled some of the pies made by a friend (the key lime was superb), and then left. As we walked away, I reflected on meeting and talking with Beau, then thought back to July and Ramona.

Children grow up. Indeed they do.

And that is a thing of wonder.

Indeed It Came

While not a major storm, it did indeed snow last night. Let's just say I am glad we got the garden down. This was the view out our bedroom window this morning:

It is unlikely we"ll be eating outside until, oh, maybe next spring:

Table for one? Or two? Or...none? 

Winter poses its own issues: colder (need more heat inside) and slipperier (need more caution outside) being two of the top ones. It was winter when I took the spectacular fall that left my wrist in pieces, after all. 

But, for me, winter's gifts outweigh its disadvantages. They always have. I savor the quiet outside (snow is a great silencer). I relish the early evenings and the warmth of our living room: literally and figuratively. 

I love winter. 

Yes, I know we are still about six weeks from the official start of winter. Here in central Ohio, after the next few wintry days, we are supposed to have weather back in the 50s, proper fall temperatures. Many trees are still holding onto their leaves, although certainly this snow interlude will hurry that process along. I will deeply appreciate those autumn days when they return, trust me. 

But for now, I am savoring the touch of snow and the hint of what is to come:

It's all good. 

This Year's Gardens: Last Chapter

The garden is down.

The garden is officially down and 2025 outside is done, done, done.

We have had a few "light frost" nights and for those we brought some potted plants in from the deck and covered the larger planters and the vegetables. But Sunday is bringing rain changing to snow and temperatures down in the 20s.

The vegetable garden covered

No amount of covering is going to stave off temperatures in the 20s. In short, the 2025 gardening season is over. 

I tackled taking down the vegetable garden.  We had already taken down the Hej Garden back in August, so at least that was out of the way. Given all of the demands on our schedules this fall, and given my currently working through depression, I thought throwing myself into some basic outdoor work would do me good. And it did. I worked an hour and a half on Thursday and two hours on Friday, with good results both emotionally and garden-wise.

I started on the wild jungle of tomatoes. Originally, I had planted three (3!) larger tomato plants and four (4!) cherry tomato plants. Easy, right? Way less than in recent years, right? What I did not count on was all the "other" factors that impacted the garden: my hospitalization in June, for example. Nor did I expect the cherry tomatoes to go hog wild and grow up and over and around EVERYTHING. The three larger tomatoes, in the front row, became lost in the cherry vines. Even with both careful pruning and wholesale hacking on my part, the cherry tomatoes took over everything they could, going all the way over to the garage wall in their exuberance. So I knew before starting that I had a bit of a chore ahead of me.

"A bit of a chore." There's an understatement.

I also knew before wading into the garden that there were still cherries ripening and coming on, so I took along our dishpan to put them in. It filled up:

I also knew this project would generate a lot of yard waste and I was not mistaken on that front either:

The first of two containers

At the end of the Thursday afternoon session, I figured I was about halfway through the tomatoes with the peppers and basil yet to go. I had been at Justice Bus from 9:00 to 2:00 that day already, so I was pleased I had enough energy to get even that far. I also knew I wanted to finish it off on Friday, and so set my sights on getting an early start.

At 7:45 the next morning, I went outside and surveyed the scene. What if I start on the peppers first? I had planted 14 plants back in May, 13 of which were still intact. (The 14th? I had stepped on it way back in the late spring.)  As I had with the first attack on the tomatoes, I made sure to pick all the remaining peppers from the vines. Let's just say there were a lot. A. LOT.

Peppers! 

Plant by plant, I picked and pulled. The stakes piled up. So did the yard waste.

But I finished the peppers and yanked the basil. That left the remaining tomatoes. Again, I gathered many of them, red and green. (An aside: Why the green ones? Two reasons: (1) some of them will ripen inside, and (2) I may (may) make green tomato relish again this year. Maybe. We'll see.)

There were a lot of tomato vines: 

What made me smile the most was coming across several vines still putting out blossoms, letting me know that hope springs eternal even in a tomato plant:

Blossoms on the tomato vines

By the end of the two hours, I had completely filled both yard waste containers. In fact, there was some plants, mostly the basil (which died earlier, even covered; basil does NOT like cold temperatures) that I will go out later today and bag up. While I out there working, I took down the wind chimes and, of course, brought in the ceramics from Ben and Sam long long ago.

The chimes on the deck waiting to go inside

The ceramics ready to move inside

(In case you are wondering or remembering, the pottery fish that got broken back in June after a storm has been gracing our kitchen table ever since.) 

Next week, after the initial cold blast is over, I will go back out and rake things around. The zinnias and the agastache I will leave until the early spring, but everything else is gone gone gone.

All that is left to bag up

Over the next few days, I will look through my gardening notebook and make some notes following up from my earlier decision to rein in the gardens and just do the kitchen garden in 2026. Things to think about, things to remember, things to swirl around in my mind. I have peppers to cut and freeze. I have to make a decision about the green tomato relish. 

And I will enjoy every last bite of every last ripe tomato, grateful for the very last tomatoes until next summer's garden. 

P.S. After I wrote the above words, I went outside and finished bagging the vines, basil, and miscellaneous stalks, filling a yard waste bag. I then brought in the remaining gardening and summer items on and around our deck: the watering can, two stray pots, the deck chimes (not to be confused with the wind chimes), and such. I carried them down to the basement, making multiple trips. There are four pots of flowers we are wintering over inside, so I made room for those and brought them in; the other four pots (two LARGE deck planters make up half of that) will stay outside and end their season in a few days. The bees are gone; I have not seen one, despite the sunshine or warmth of the day, for over a week. As I type these words, Warren just mowed the backyard one last time. 

Time for winter.