Storing Up the Fruits of the Earth

The morning after we got back from our trip to Mayo,  I walked into the garden and picked...

54 tomatoes.

I love tomatoes, but even I cannot eat 54 before they start going bad.

Milk prices have dropped, hence the milk jug! 

Some went to my friend, Tonya. Some went to my stepson, David, who came over yesterday to help Warren move machinery and stayed for supper. Some went into the fresh salsa I made for said supper. But there were still a lot of tomatoes left.

A. Lot.

As gardens turn bountiful, I have been laying up the fruits of the earth. I no longer can, but I freeze produce. The zucchinis from Dad's garden, the pesto I made from our basil, the tomatoes I just picked, the watermelon I bought (99¢ at Aldi—how could I not buy it?), the strawberries from the same source: I spent last evening and this morning cleaning and cutting and bagging and trotting up and down the basement steps.

I was recently (two weeks ago, but who's counting?) diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes, which runs heavily in my family. My family physician and I knew it has been lurking on the horizon; a second A1C confirmed it. When she and I talked about managing the disease, and talked about my diet, I told her I knew where my weak points are. "Carbs and dessert, Pat, carbs and dessert."

And indeed, those are going to be my hot buttons as I remake my diet and remake my lifestyle. Hence the freezer. Warren doesn't eat watermelon. Or fresh tomatoes. I can eat them, but in limited quantities at any one time. So into the freezer the diced watermelon went (to be bagged later):

The same with the tomatoes. Those stacked quart bags cooling their heels will reappear this winter on a homemade pizza:

There are more tomatoes ripening as I speak. We have just started sweet corn season. There will be more food preparation sessions, and those freezer shelves will fill.

My grandmother Nelson, food influence that she was in my life, grew up in Appalachian Kentucky in the early part of this century, without electricity or running water in her early years (and indeed some of her adult years: the farm she and my grandfather had when I was a child had lights, but no running water). Food was a valuable resource and not to be wasted, even without modern conveniences. She was a prodigious gardener and canned everything she could get her hands on. In her later years, when canning became harder, she turned to the freezer. After her death, my parents threw out bags of frozen food that had been in that freezer for eight or ten years, as well as canned  goods that had been on the shelf even longer.

I thought of my grandmother as I chopped and diced and bagged. We were not close; she was not close to anyone. But I think even she would give me a nod of approval and a measured out smile for my efforts.

Of Books And Bees

We are just back from a quarterly trip to Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. I always liken it to going to the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. The trip to the Emerald City was a pilgrimage for Dorothy and company, and the trip to Rochester is always a pilgrimage for me.

Pilgrimages are hard. They change you in fundamental ways. What Dorothy found in her sojourn in Oz was strengths within herself that she never knew existed. What I find from my pilgrimages to Mayo are new ways to hold my remaining days in my hands and examine what time means.

And I find books.

Rochester is a town of Little Free Libraries. There are several within easy walking distance of the hotel we always stay at (right on the edge of the main Mayo campus, our favorite, the 5th Avenue Inn and Suites, is a little worn but clean and priced just right). I have never mapped out the library locations, but I know that if I set out from the hotel and stroll the closest neighborhoods, I will come across some.

And I did:

(The bottom one is the saddest LFL in the world. It had only a few worn children's books in it, all slid over on their sides.)

Between the Rochester LFLs and the one we inspected while in on a walk in Madison (visiting family for two days before heading to Rochester) and my dear sister-in-law Margaret gifting me a copy of Hillbilly Elegy that she had picked up for free at the UW Madison library, my trip was rich in books:

And in bees.

One of the many things I love about Rochester is its neighborhoods and the ones on my walking route this time were abloom in every imaginable way: front gardens, side gardens, hanging baskets, more window planters than I have seen since my childhood, and terraced retaining walls. Bees were everywhere, including this one in (what else?) the bee balm:

My absolute favorite planting, however, one I hope to recreate in a space in my own, was this:

No bees in it when I was there, but Queen Anne's Lace and milkweed? Absolutely perfect.

When we drive to Rochester, we turn on US52 from I-90 and come into the city from the south. There is a moment, as you take the Rochester exit and turns towards the city, when you can see the core downtown, including the shining towers of Mayo Clinic, off at a distance, floating on the horizon. When Warren turned on that exit this trip, I looked north, saw the city, and said, softly, "Emerald City."

Wizards, quests, bees, and books. If that isn't Oz, I don't know what is.

Books, Books, Books

Me, reading. (Well, in another life, maybe.) 

Best line from a friend in a recent email: "I gotta tell you, April, 'And in other news, I have been tracking my reading for 2018 and I am on book #124 for the year' made me laugh out loud. What an inspiration! I have knocked out quite a few books this year, but I think the total is less than 20."

Well, no matter what the total, books and more books are the order of the day.

So what have I read since last time I posted? All of these:
124. Wonderland: Poems by Matthew Dickman (WOW WOW WOW! Yeah, I was way impressed—can you tell?)
125. Modern American Memoirs, edited by Annie Dillard and Cort Conley (brought out in 1992, this books captures a wide range of 20th century memoirs; I added several titles to my "To Read" list on the strength of the excerpts I read here)
126. King Me by Roger Reeves (strong poetry by yet another young poet; as I read new poetry, I am reminded of something I heard long ago, that we are taught the poetry our literature teachers were raised on, and as a result the school curriculum is always running one or two generations behind the real world; I read young poets so I am not locked into that past)
127. The Day The Angels Fell by Shawn Smucker (I first discovered Shawn in a blog somewhere and he caught my attention because he wrote about writing and job loss; this was his first YA novel; his second, continuing the story, just came out)
128. Warlight by Michael Ondaatje (Ondaatje recently was in the news  when The English Patient was named the "most popular" Man Booker prize novel of all time; his acceptance speech is a worthwhile read in and of itself. Truth? Warlight is even better)
129. The Dip by Seth Godin (I keep a quote by Seth Godin on my refrigerator—"Speaking up is a choice. And, yes, standing on the sidelines is a choice."—and I looked him up only to learn that Godin is a business writer who has popped off a lot of little books; that quote wasn't in this one)
130. The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After by Clemantine Wamariya and Elizabeth Weil (Clemantime Wamariya was six years old when the Rwandan massacres began and her entire life was upended; this is a fierce, moving, heartrending, and stunning memoir)
131. Nothing's Too Small To Make A Difference by Wanda Urbanska and Frank Levering (Wanda Urbanska had a television show on PBS called Simple Living with Wanda Urbanska which I never saw; my introduction to her and her husband Frank  came years ago in Simple Living: One Couple's Search For a Better Life, a book I still return to from time to time when I am trying to take a step (big or small) back from the hurly-burly)
132. Advice For Future Corpses* *And Those Who Love Them: A Practical Perspective on Death and Dying by Sallie Tisdale (a book about dying, death, and grief; I loved this book, period)
133. Zen and Gone by Emily France (an engaging and poignant YA novel by a young writer I was unfamiliar with but will follow now; reading it on the heels of Sallie Tisdale was especially interesting as both authors practice Buddhism and Buddhist thought is interwoven through each book)
134. Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata (Murata is a best-selling Japanese author and after reading this book, her first novel translated to English, I can see why)
135. Buttermilk Graffiti: A Chef's Journey to Discover America's New Melting-Pot Cuisine by Edward Lee (if you read cookbooks for the story rather than the recipes, which is how I read them, this is a provocative one to read; Lee, a Korean-American chef raised in New York and cooking in Louisville, Kentucky, trips around the United States examining ways that immigrants bring their foods to this country and how the traditional food translates into new food in a new setting)
136. Love War Stories by Ivelisse Rodriguez (Rodriguez gives us a collection of short stories set in  Puerto Rican communities both in Puerto Rico and in the United States)

And that is where I am now.

Small Moments

We took down a large tree earlier this year, one that had been planted by Warren's parents soon after they moved into this house in 1964. It had been dying from the ground up, foot by foot, yard by yard, over the last several years, and it was time for it to come down.

In its place, we planted a redbud (Cercis canadensis), a tree we are both fond of. I paid for the tree, telling Warren that after I die, I wanted him to have a visible reminder from me of our love and the home we made together. The tree that came down had a large base, now a mulched bed, so we planted some bright yellow coreopsis nearby to fill it out.

We wanted to add more perennials to the bed, and yesterday we came home with five plants. Two of them are Echibeckia, which I had never seen before and which turn out to be a cross between a coneflower (Echinacea) and Rudbeckia, a native plant family that includes Black-eyed Susans. We also bought three large, feathery purple plants: Agastache Blue Fortune, also known as Mountain Mint, also known as Hyssop. We didn't buy Agastache because it is native (although that it is a huge plus in its favor) or because of its spiky beauty (Agastache is Greek for "many spikes"). We bought it because Warren pointed out at the nursery that the plants were covered in bees. My eyes widened. This was clearly the plant for us.

It was hot yesterday and we parked the plants on the backside of the garage until this morning, when it was cool. (6:30 a.m. we were out there, folks.) Warren dug, I pulled the plants from their tight pots and set them in the holes. We had both the Echibeckias in as well as one of the Blue Fortunes, when Warren stopped shoveling.

The first bee in the Agastache

"Look," he said. "A bee is here already."

I had turned to pick up the next Blue Fortune, and turned back to look. Indeed. There was a bumble bee, already busying itself on the blossoms. I looked at Warren.

"I have tears in my eyes, just seeing that," I said. "Oh, Warren."

The flowers are in. The bees have already found their way to them.

And life is good.

Acquiring a Teacher

Vijay Gupta, from his website 

When we were in Chicago in June at the national conference of the League of American Orchestras, the keynote opening speaker was Vijay Gupta, an extraordinary individual by any measurement. His topic was social justice in the music world, and he spoke at length about his ideas of what that means and what it looks like and about Street Symphony, an organization he helped found that works alongside and with the Los Angeles Skid Row community.

I was blown away by Gupta. (So were  a lot of others in attendance, judging by the faces around me and the comments afterwards, including those from Warren.) I was so rapt that I didn't take notes, just listened. I was so impressed that I jettisoned one interesting sounding breakout session the next day to attend one with him. (And was blown away again.) And I was so moved by what he had to say that, when walking to a session following the opening keynote address, I saw Gupta and League CEO Jesse Rosen exit a side room, I cut Rosen off mid-sentence, saying "I'm sorry, but this is more important," and thanked Gupta for what he said. (He was wonderfully gracious, thanked me for my kind words, and, the next day, when I walked into the breakout session, smiled broadly and said "Hello again!")

In short, Gupta's vision and philosophy and engagement in the world outside the concert hall made a huge impression on me. Warren and I have talked about it at length in relationship to the Symphony and the community engagement work he does with and through the orchestra. I have thought about Gupta's comments in relationship to the Legal Clinic and our community of clients.

Gupta's vision has caused me to reflect on the population we serve at Legal Clinic: not only who we serve but also how we serve them. When we come together each month, we are engaging in what Gupta calls "radical mutuality" and "radical intimacy." I think of not only the clients we serve, but other members of our community who come not for legal advice but for a warm meal and some social contact. We strive to treat everyone who comes through our door with dignity and respect, knowing that for many clients just opening that door is a huge and often intimidating leap of trust. Gupta understands—deeply and passionately—that those "others," those denizens of Skid Row in his case, those clients we work with in ours, are us. They. Are. Us. It is not about Gupta "dissipating" his considerable musical talent on the "musical equivalent of a soup kitchen or legal clinic," as someone said to me. It is not about our volunteers squandering their time and talent on "those people." It is about creating safe space—a sanctuary—and all coming together in that space.

The Talmud directs me to acquire a teacher, and if at age 62, I have acquired a 30-year-old wunderkind as my teacher, well, isn't that great?

June Finances

So here I am at the midway point of the year, looking at the groceries and household costs for June.

The happy couple

Ouch. June hurt. But it was pricier for the very best of reasons: we hosted a family wedding (my nephew and his bride) in our backyard on the very last day of the month. While we did not buy food for the wedding (the groom and bride did most of that), we did make and bring food to the family cookout the night before and hosted four house guests over part of the weekend, buying extra food to have on hand for them. I also bought some ingredients for making pesto, as the basil is going great guns in the garden this year. And some of that expense was the result of my apparently forgetting every math skill I ever acquired and miscalculating how many pounds of potatoes I needed to make potato salad for the aforementioned cookout. How many pounds of potatoes did I buy? A lot. How many? A. Lot. A small line item, in some ways, but I probably could have spent $6.00 total on potatoes instead of, ummm, about $15.00. 

So what are the June numbers? On groceries (food items): $247.19. Yeah, you read it right. Non-food household items (such as dish soap) were another $23.60, for a grand total of $270.29.

Ugh. I'm aiming at $175.00 combined food/household items per month. Clearly, I overshot that mark. However, the saving grace is that when I average the six months of 2018, my monthly average is $177.19, darn close to the $175.00 per month I have targeted. So I'm comfortable that I can come in around the $175.00 mark by the time I finish the year.

Because I am also committed to as little food waste as possible, I will be storing (carefully) or donating some of the excess to one of our local community players, a local church whose mission is feeding the hungry of our city. Those potatoes are NOT going to waste!

Eating out? $39.80 I can account for, and probably $80.00, estimated, overall. We had a trip to Chicago early in the month for the national conference of the League of American Orchestras. Conference included some stunning sessions on social justice, a couple of which left me reexamining my own commitment and my own work, both paid and unpaid. (Social justice and symphonic music? Absolutely.) The eating out figure includes our road trip expenditures coming and going. (In fact, the grocery figure above includes the trip to the Jewel-Osco in the neighborhood where we stay when in Chicago.) What the $39.80 does not include are two meals downtown during the conference. My guess is that for the two of us, they cost about $40.00 total, so the overall eating out cost is $80.00, not $40.00. Minus the conference, our eating out costs would have been $25.30, which is much more like it.

July holds a trip to Mayo Clinic, one which will stretch over a few days (the trip, not my Mayo appointment). We will be joining family and friends for much of it, and, of course, packing our meals for the trip up, so I'm hoping the overall impact is not too great on the food front. Given what we spent in June, I'm not sure we need to buy very much in July, other than perishables.

So that was June and the first half of 2018. Let's see what July holds.

A magical evening for all