Weeding on Wednesday

We spent the first weekday evening in our garden tonight. A few more weeds have been dispatched. Truth be told, it was lovely to be outside in the slanting sunlight prying and pulling and shaking dirt from roots, taking care to leave all the worms behind-- and there are lots of worms vagabonding all through the soil, which I hear is a good sign. As the air cooled, we worked and chatted about our day, and a little more dark brown earth emerged from beneath the low sagey canopy. It was a minor accomplishment, but with an unexpected bonus: the chance to spend some time together away from the distractions that often preoccupy us separately on an ordinary evening.

Tuesday With Tony

The doorbell rang not too long ago, and, being the closest to it, I went to answer. The dog was busy chewing on a bone-- it's rainy here, and that is her replacement for an evening walk; we figure it's stimulating and good for her teeth-- so I alone opened the door with only a half-hearted bark to warn whoever was on the other side that we have a dog.

There stood a well-scrubbed young man in a gaudy lime and white windbreaker over shirt and tie. No vagabond he: pressed slacks and that tell-tale salesman's smile completed the look, and he took a deep breath before plunging into his spiel. As with any kind of in-person marketer, tele- or door-to-door, if I wanted to avoid being rude, I had to patiently wait my turn to speak before I could politely turn him down. Riveted to my own welcome mat, I made a conscious choice to be present to this other human being and to do my best to listen to his story.

He was from Charlotte where, according to him, jobs are tough to come by right now. In fact, the only thing he really misses is the cole slaw and pulled pork. His mama taught him some common courtesy, though, so before we continued, he introduced himself, asked my name, and held out his hand. I opened the screen door to shake Tony's hand, and after that we chattered amiably for a few minutes before Tony got down to business.  He was selling magazines in the hopes of opening his own barber shop, but if I had no interest in a subscription for myself, then I could send it to our troops in Afghanistan.

Short of asking him to wait while I stepped inside to google his organization, I had to make a judgment call on the spot. The dog burfed from the living room; Tony smiled; I shrugged. So many questions ran through my mind. "Tony," I said, "I'm going to trust you. If this is a scam, then it's on you." I gave him thirty-five bucks and noted that he was courteous and professional on his customer satisfaction sheet. I hope they enjoy The Sporting News in Kandahar.

Make-do Monday

I've noticed that Monday evening is very busy at my local grocers. Like me, many of my neighbors must put off that chore in favor of enjoying their weekend. I wonder if, like me, too, they consider the grocery store optional on most days. We almost always have enough food in the pantry, freezer, and fridge that in a pinch, or if I can't find parking in the tiny grocery store lot, I can make a decent meal from our home ingredients.

Tonight, after one unsuccessful lap of the lot and a near collision with a vagabond shopping cart, it will be a chipotle-buttermilk corn chowder with tossed salad for dinner, and tomorrow Isabel will be forced to make do with no egg in her breakfast, and Heidi will have to have an apple instead of an orange for lunch. I think we'll be fine.

Sunny Sunday

That garden is going to take lot of work. In two and a half hours, we cleared maybe a quarter of it, found some chard and carrots, and became closely acquainted with ground ivy, creeping buttercup, and mugwort, pretty nice names for a bunch of invasive weeds. I also found loads of tiny acorns, each with a pale green filament extended hopefully into the soil. I was sorry to disappoint them, but I gave them a vagabond's chance to put down roots somewhere else, tossing them into the bags bound for the county mulch pile.

Their source was a big oak tree about 20 feet south of the plot. We began to fall into its shadow at about 2 pm. The gardener next to us said that's a good thing; the afternoon shade will keep everything from searing in the heat come August. Sounds reasonable to me. It was hard to shake the feeling that we didn't really know what we were doing, mostly because we didn't, and although I was totally done-in at the end, the hoe and the rake didn't feel quite so foreign as I replaced them neatly in the shed.

And then I came home and took a nap.

Satisfying Saturday

I had a good day today. I woke up at 7, an hour and a half later than usual. I did a little reading, made breakfast, and showered before heading out to the community garden. We were not disappointed there. The place was bustling-- it was the spring membership meeting and clean up day, and everyone walked about with purpose and cheer. Within thirty minutes we were the custodians of Plot 47. Vagabond weeds had set up camp on the abandoned 15 x 20 rectangle-- it was solid green-- but it also had a hose, a compost bin, a few tomato cages, a huge rosemary shrub, some scrawny leeks, and several plants of bolting kale. It's partially shaded and located in one of the four corners of the garden, adjacent to the fence that runs along the road I take to work. I'll be right there twice a day on weekdays. Dogs are welcome in the garden, but there's also a dog park right next door. It's all good, especially since we haven't lifted a finger, yet. We couldn't stay at the garden, because I had already made arrangements to go into school to do some packing and pitching. It took less than hour for me to fill a large rolling trash bin and a full sized recycling can, but my storage closet is packed up. Next we turned to my actual classroom. Seven boxes down in there, probably 50 to go. I'm optimistic. The day was still young, so we got the dog and headed for a nearby state park. Three and a half miles was just the right ramble through washes and woods on this cool spring afternoon. Next up a quiet evening at home, and tomorrow morning the gardening gloves go on.

Urban Farmer

I like the place where we live. Sure, there are definitely times when I wish we had more room for guests, but there's space enough for the two of us and our pets. A few years ago we were shopping for something bigger: property values were high, our home equity was burning a hole in our pockets, and sub-prime mortgages were too easy to qualify for. But nothing we liked worked out, and after a few months of unsuccessful house hunting, we sat down and had a heart to heart. We decided that although this place is not perfect, anything more would be somewhat wasteful... the phrase "carbon footprint" actually came up.

After making the conscious choice to stay here, we decided to spend some time and money on making this place as close to what we want as possible. We re-did our kitchen, and we have a budget for some other improvement projects. We've worked at using our storage space more efficiently, and we're engaged in a one day at a time struggle with materialism: there's a lot of junk that needs to go. Sadly, we still haven't resolved the dilemma of where to keep our bikes-- poor vagabonds, they spent the winter outside, but I am going to take them for maintenance and tune-ups next week.

One thing we'll never be able to add to our townhouse-style condo is a garden. There is no outdoor space for growing much more than a few hostas and hydrangeas, plus I don't think the owners association would be too keen on what I have in mind. One of my interests is buying food as fresh and local as I can, and so I have it in my head that I'd like to grow herbs and vegetables and flowers and maybe even keep bees someday.

Fortunately, our county has a number of community gardens; unfortunately, there is a long waiting list for one. I put my name on it two years ago, and I haven't heard a word since. Until today! This evening I received an email, not that I had actually gotten a plot yet, but that I might get one this season. I practically jumped for joy at the prospect. Spring is here and this could be good.

Swinging

We knew this day was coming. Our school has been undergoing renovation since the beginning of the year. This extensive project is being conducted in phases and requires teachers to completely pack up our classrooms and move to a "swing space" for 4-6 weeks. Our instructions are to separate our materials into what can go into storage and what we will need in our temporary space. Oh yes, and we have to teach, too. School doesn't get out around here for another eleven weeks.

My team's area is phase four. Back in September we had high hopes that the construction would fall behind schedule and our move would coincide with the end of school. No such luck-- we found out today that our rooms must be empty two weeks from tomorrow. As the year has progressed, we have heard our colleagues in earlier phases complain about the inconvenience, the poor planning and communication, and the fact that we are expected to do most of this on our own time, without compensation.

I have dreaded the day when I would have to pack everything up. I've been in my classroom sixteen years, longer than I've ever actually lived anywhere in my life. I have a lot of stuff, too-- mostly books, but plenty of other things I've collected over my teaching career as well. So, how surprised was I, as I sat in the meeting this afternoon going over the logistics of our move, to feel a little vagabond smile sneaking across my face?

Turns out that I'm kind of excited to be forced to go through everything and pare way down, and being in another part of the building for a few weeks will be novel and fun. Plus the room I'm moving to is huge-- literally twice the size of the one I have now, and when I took a quick walk-through this afternoon, I could only see the possibilities.