Grandma's Garden Farewells

Today was the last day of school.  

I gave the kindergarten teachers their end of year, for their personal libraries, gift book.  They each had Caps for Sale; this year they received The Lorax.  One is moving back home to raise her baby-due-in-December closer to her family.  That was a hard goodbye for me.

She's the one on the left. The one on the right left last year.  They were joyous.

The kindergarteners were acting like the first graders they will be.  They waited politely until I arrived at the garden gate, they lined up without prompting to take a turn or three on the umbrella's handle, and they dove right into the storage bin to find what I'd hidden away.  A little mischief is welcomed; invading my personal space demands a conversation.  

I settled them down with white paper plates and markers, then proceeded to give away the painted ceramic pots to any and all who wanted them.  My usual friends stopped by to talk about their summer plans and to hug me.  The hugs were the most important part of the visits.

Some are moving away.  Omaha, Nebraska felt very far to the Garden Leader whose family was relocating.  

Some are going next door to middle school, often without their best friends who've been switched to another school amidst the District's round of school closures.  

There were tears.  There were reassurances - I won't let you feel lonely! I'll defend you! There was excitement about starting a new chapter.  Miss Stella is thrilled that she will exist in a world with scholars taller than she.  

I signed yearbooks and t-shirts and sweaters I'm not sure were parentally approved for Sharpie signatures.  Every plant in the garden has been adopted and is not living in a new home.  Only the tomato bush and the mandarin orange tree remain, both with ripening fruits.  

It's a good thing summer school runs through June.  

Garden Leaders

They come in all shapes and sizes, from kindergarten through fifth grade.  They show up and learn and help and sometimes they find treasures.  

One of them found a ripe tomato hidden under the leaves, resting on the soil, just begging to be sliced and eaten and shared with friends.  

They organized the loading of the painted pots onto the playground monitor's three tiered cart (oops.... she thought it was lost and gone forever) and gathered friends to navigate it over the bumpy grass, up and over the edge of the paved walk, up to the door near the staff mailboxes.

I chose the three in the front, who joined me in putting a pot in each cubby, right on top of the cards with flowers on one side and A snapdragon for you from Grandma's Gardeners sticker on the other.

It was a lovely way to spend a sunny morning.  

It's impossible to be sad while being hugged by little ones; I get so much more than I give.  

A Delightful Surprise

The BEYOND! t-shirts were a big hit as smocks in Grandma's Garden last week.  So that others could use them, I asked the scholars to take them off before they left. 

Two girls ran away, laughing, with their smocks over their t-shirts.  

I didn't notice that, but the other scholars did.  I looked out over the playgroound for the miscreants, to no avail.  I shrugged it off.  They've been sitting in my garage for 15 years; I have 2 huge boxes still there; the girls were laughing and that's always my goal; and I couldn't remember who they wtere, anyway.

A few minutes later, they came back, slightly abashed.  T  They couldn't return the smocks; they had removed their original t-shirts. Nudity is not encouraged on our campus.  I reminded them that they had misbehaved and that I was not thrilled with them..... but they could keep the BEYOND! shirts.

There were doctors and surgery and more doctors this week, so Thursday was my first day back in the garden.  While I was setting up the day's project, the two naughty third graders suddenly appeared before me.  

We're sorry we took the shirts, Grandma.  We're really sorry.

They came on their own.  They were properly abashed.  Their faces were really sorry, as they met me eye to eye, confident and diffident at the same time.  

I almost cried.  Instead, I told them that I was proud of them.  Everyone makes mistakes and does dumb things and I know that I did  (pause for a painful memory or two to flash across my brain) and the fact that they took responsibility for their actions and came back to repair the damage impressed me a whole lot more than their absconding (yes, I said absconding) with the t-shirts had depressed me.  

No, they didn't want to stay and paint. We shook hands and they went on their way.

It was a good day in Grandma's Garden.

Painting Pots

Once again, Rillito Nursery provided the fun.  This time it was box after box after box of 2" ceramic pots and another box of 4" pots.  After a quick stop at Dollar Tree for paper plates and Harbor Freight for two 20 packs of tiny brushes, I was off to Grandma's Garden.  

I've had a 12 pack of acrylic paints in my car for a week or two.  I don't remember buying them but I'm glad I had them.  This is why.

         

 

Some of the pots were quite detailed.

  

But mostly it was about the smiles.

The seed which started in her red SOLO cup is now big enough to be transplanted into a 4" pot.

One of these scholars wondered if I had a bird house to paint.... and it just so happed that I did.  He was happy to share the chore of painting, 

but he took it home for himself.

Senorita in the Garden

She's been a regular in Grandma's Garden since she was in kindergarten.

She's taken on more and more tasks as the years have gone by; now she's the one offering assistance. 

Watching her teach her classmates - supervising the creation of just the right number of holes of just the right depth in just the right size pot - makes my heart sing.

She was the only one interested in filling the big black container with soil, refusing offers to use the hose or join a friend.  She chose one of the three varieties of carrots from our storage bin, and I left her with the packet and instructions - 3 seeds in each evenly spaced hole around the edge and one in the middle - and went on to other things.  

Soon she was by my side, a few round seeds in her palm, the left overs.  We went back to admire her work.  We used the trowels to cover her treasures with a fine dusting of soil, moved the container to the corner, next to the other carrot container, and watered it thoroughly.  

But before we got it settled in, she said I could take her picture, and asked if I could send it to her mom, even though she didn't know the new phone number.  Not to worry, Senorita.  A printed copy of this post will be in your hands this afternoon.    

A Moment in the Garden

I was just biding time until the kindergarten's whistle blew.  I was admiring the worm the boys dug up in the yes, you can dig there raised bed when I felt a presence at my side.  That's not unusual; my arms are often found embracing someone in the garden, often for no reason at all.

But this was different. She was a 4th grader.  She was the only big kid and she was not happy.  I sat back on the bench, and so did she.  She agreed with my assessment of her face - she was sad.  Four classmates decided to say bad things about her mother.

I didn't ask what they said.  Instead, I asked her what she hoped would happen.  Her English wasn't adequate for all of her feelings; she's an Afghani refugee still picking up the pieces, one by one.  I gleaned most of my information from short questions using small words. Did she want them to leave her alone or to be her friends?  Did she want an apology or just to be respected?  

We agreed that they were not the kind of people whose words should be able to hurt her heart.  They weren't kind.  

The whistle blew and I hustled the little ones out of the garden, leaving her alone with her thoughts in the most peaceful place on the playground.  She watched me walk over to the swings where her assailants were slowly swaying.  She watched me put my hands on my hips, look over at the garden, then begin my chat.

What did we dooooooo? didn't get very far with me, nor did It wasn't me.  Their faces said it all - they were miscreants and they'd been found out..  I talked about kindness and the Prince family ethos.  I asked them to look in their hearts and see if they found the person who'd been so mean, or if their hearts were telling them that I'm sorry might not be the worst outcome here.

I left them swinging.  The Assistant Principal stopped me as I walked between the soccer goals.  Was everything okay?  Did he need to talk to those girls?  I assured him that their chastisement had been sufficient, but that the lonely kid in the garden could probably use a hug.

I turned and watched it unfold - his tall and lanky frame loping across the grass, ready to offer succor where it was needed, while the Mean Girls, sure he was coming to them, watched the attention switch from their behavior to the one who had been wronged.  

I went on to read Bear Despair to eager 5 and 6 year old faces, too young to taunt and hurt one another.

Finding The Happy

We found gigantic radishes in the garden on Thursday.  

T

They popped out of the soil all at once, all of a sudden, solving the problem of how will we know if they're ready?

They were very tasty and there were so many of them and Grandma Suzi said they could eat as many as they wanted and that led to some hilarity.

They were too fast for a great picture.

Friday morning, I won three games at mahjongg, a rare and wonderful occurrence to start the day. Taos Bubbe and I had a lovely lunch at Teaspoon, catching up on our lives since November.  I've seen Little Cuter more often than my college roommate who lives across town.  Sometimes life really does get in the way.

The waiter said Welcome back! when I joined Taos Bubbe at the table.  I'd been there twice before, with Amster and various parts of her entourage.  Amster always pays, and she tips very well, so it wouldn't surprise me if he remembered her, but all the rest of us?  

After a few days of cogitating, it hit me that I was older than everyone at all the pushed together tables we occupied, in one case by 70 years.  The rest of them were in their 50's and 40's and 20's, and I was certainly the only one with grey hair.   

Of course he wouldn't forget Grandma.... or Great Grandma.

Friday afternoon, Little Cuter and SIR's Indiana Hoosiers and their Heisman Trophy winning quarterback (who turned down Yale for Cal then UofA) trampled the Oregon Ducks in the Peach Bowl.  That puts them in the national championship game next week.  TBG summed it up best - it just makes me happy to watch it, any and every minute.

That night UofA basketball proved to the nation that they are the team to beat this year.  True, they are boys, and their attention wanders at times.  But there are 8 potential starters and nobody seems to mind coming in off the bench.  They are big and strong and not afraid to assert themselves, they are well coached, and they tell reporters that they really like one another.  

That this game was accessible to our multi-channel-and-still-not-enough cable package was an extra added bonus. Smiles came easily.

After I spent Saturday afternoon filling new plastic containers with the Xmas-When-You're-Going-Out-Of-Town decorations, Dr. K and Not-Kathy came over to watch the Bears.  Like Taos Bubbe, too much time had passed since we watched sports together.  We ate, we talked, we sat outside, then went in to watch Dr. K's Bears put on a performance for the ages.  That won them the right to move on to the next round in the gazillion team NFL playoffs.  

With that and the Wildcats and my new clear storage containers I went to sleep happy.

Big Cuter's 49'ers get to move on, too.  They filled Sunday afternoon with texts and phone calls and exclamations of surprise and delight between TBG and his boy who was playing catch with his boy and a Nerf football.  What goes around comes around, and I went to sleep happy again.

And now it's Monday and I'm trying to hold on to the happy.  I'm trying not to panic a friend writes that she's signing up for more ICE watch shifts.  I omit her name to protect the social justice warrior from governmental retaliation as I try to hang on to the happy.  

I watch my Senator sue the Navy and my heart breaks for him as TBG turns from the talking heads back to a football game.

The happy is hard to find these days.  I'm going to pick up an old Robert Crais book and lose myself in a fictional somebody else's problems, problems which are certain to be resolved in a way that will leave me happy.  

If I have to orchestrate the joy, I will.

A Beautiful Day In The Garden

Once again, there was no running water in Grandma's Garden.  

This is some of the Bucket Brigade.

After several years, our Dollar Store watering cans are on their last legs.

This gardener figured out a way to save every drop .

Yes, he was very proud of himself.

Our produce is producing prodigiously this year, mostly because I didn't allow any tastes until the plants were settled and growing new leaves.  Now we have so much lettuce that there's a full leaf for anyone who wants a taste.  The butter lettuce was a big hit, but only one scholar wanted to eat the one big leaf on the who-knows-what lettuce hovering over the oregano.

 There were great differences of opinion on the garlic chives - spicy, awful, garlic-y, mmmmm good, NO!  The chocolate mint is a big hit, with easy to pick individual leaves spreading out in a tire masquerading as a flower bed.  

The onion bulbs are beginning to sprout scallions, both in the garden and in the cups the scholars took home a few weeks ago.  The radishes and carrots are sending up pretty little true leaves, the precursors to the greenery that will let us know that the veggie is growing nicely.

It's hot and it's dirty and I love every minute of it.

The Further Adventures of Miss Stella, Garden Leader

Over the last week or so, ever since we planted the raised beds, I am greeted with watered plants and a raked footpath when I open the garden gate .  Mr. Guy, the landscaper, told me he'd been watering every morning in case the supply line was cut again.  I assumed he raked as a favor.  After all, everyone loves our garden.

Today, though, the truth was revealed.  Unbeknownst to me, my enthusiastic 5th grader has upgraded herself to my assistant.  It's working out quite well.

Miss Stella called out to me as she approached the gate, annoucing her presence with panache.  She swept into the space, a force of nature, carefully eyeing her surroundings.  I was busy handing out seeds and rescuing the hose from overly invested eight year olds.  When I looked up, I was stunned.

Watering cans were being filled, tools were being gathered, ollas were being filled, and two newbies were raking in the restricted area.  Still sorta speechless, I asked them why they were in there.  Stella told us to rake this, Miss.

By that point, Miss Stella had my full attention.  

Let me give you my report.  Janet and I watered all your plants and raked this morning. We showed Mr. Playground Monitor my Garden Leader card and told him we had permission to go in and he said okay.

Mr. P.M. is not a man to allow unusual activity when he is in charge.  That she got away with this without my talking to him first is remarkable.  That she took a friend in with her pushes this close to a miracle.

I'm playing mahjong tomorrow morning.  I won't be in the garden, but I'm not worried.  Apparently, I have a capable assistant.

We Planted

There has been lettuce in the standing garden outside the gate for a few weeks.  The oregano is a new addition.  The tiny clay ollas I made and thought were useless are now passsively irrigating our produce.

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For scholars who are just walking by, Would you like a bite of lettuce? is a powerful inducement to stop and have a taste.  I now have enough plants to allow us to denude one or two and still have more to feed us tomorrow.  The oregano is there to balance the blandness of the buttercrunch; it tastes like pizza is my favorite comment.

We filled the two new raised beds with ollas and veggie starts.  Celery and basil and dill and a tomato plant here

spinach and dill and some petunias and a snapdragon in the other bed (which I forgot to photograph...sigh).

This raised bed has lots of something coming up..... I have no idea what it will turn out to be.  There didn't seem to be any leaves punching through the soil on the right edge, so we placed four onion bulbs and a sprig of dill to round out the planting.  I would add ollas but I'm afraid to dislodge the roots of those hardy suckers who survived a Tucson summer, a dry monsoon, and an unusually warm fall without any human intervention.  We'll be hand watering this area.

The painted tire that Mr. Guy rolled in for us last year is now home for the chocolate mint plant and several onion bulbs.  Mint has a tendency to take over; this one is totally contained.  Even if it sent roots down into the ground below, the soil is so dense and unforgiving that those roots will either die or turn around and rejoin their compatriots in the fresh, amended soil.

There is still more work to be done.  This old raised bed is a favorite spot for digging and making mud tunnels and looking for worms and buried treasure.  

Behind it is the second new raised bed and the older bed's twin.  Those are not plants back there.  They are Dollar Store scarecrow-on-a-stick faces.  Rearranging them is something else that makes the kiddos smile.  Today they are facing one another, kissing.

The best part of the garden, though, is our mandarin orange tree.  It has recovered from its near death experience when the irrigation was shut off all summer long and is now covered in lots of little white flowers-soon-to-be-oranges, like the one right here.

We can hardly wait.

Elementary Therapy

It's impossible to be sad when little ones are hugging you.  I've proven that over and over.  Squealing kindergarteners holding onto my legs cures just abou every pain in my heart.  Today, the mediumm ones proved that they, too, are a balm for the soul. 

Eating the fruit brought by a friend, sitting in the shade, on the bench they had placed themselves (Really? We can decidet? Really?) we talked about friendship.  Nothing very profound. No advice. Just them opening a window into their lives.... as they ate pineapple and apple slices slathered in hot sauce.

I didn't understand it, and I didn't want to share it, and they were okay with that.

I looked across the garden at the Littlest Kid being tended to by the current guardian of the hose.  I looked across at kids who are trying to learn English, asking for a trowel from the trug.  

What is wrong with this picture?  Absolutely nothing.  It's beautiful, it's natural, and it's not extraordinary on this campus.  

I don't understand how anyone could find fault with this.
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Filling My Soul

I went to Grandma's Garden today.  It was only in the high nineties, versus the triple digits we're promised for the rest of the week. The kiddos were glad to see me, happily occupying themselves by pulling out the weeds which have completely covered the ground. It rained yesterday and the dirt was forgiving, easily releasing the roots,  to everyone's delight. 

The Most Wonderful Social Worker dropped by to tell me the SNAP-Ed folks had dropped off an irrigation system.  After losing their funding they are closing up shop, distributing goodies from their storage to those they know and love. 

The Perfect Principal thanked me for walking the littlest kiddo across the playground while rubbing his back and murmuring soothing nonsense about why he couldn't play with the hose. 

The high achievers are planning a unit on garden to table produce; their teacher asked if I had any ideas as she guided a line of scholars I'd watched grow over the years up the stairs.  I told her about the unused hydroponic systems languishing in the far end of the farthest hallway as she disappeared onto the 2nd floor. 

After 90 minutes,  I was exhausted. 

As always,  I'm in awe of those who do it all day. I'm grateful that they make me feel like family. 

Sweltering in the Garden

We huddled under the umbrella, seeking shelter from the sun.  

The soil itself is just too hot to support new life.  We can't plant any of the seeds Rillito Nursery donated.

The weeds which had overgrown the ground have been trampled and smooshed by little feet.  Broken and despairing, they succumbed to the sun and the lack of water.  They are now remnants of their former selves, lying there, pale and yellow.

The gardeners noticed a new hole at the edge of one of the big, please-don't-jump-on-that, rocks.  Being children, they were curious and their curiosity led to poking their feet around the edges, which led to kicking loose dirt in its direction, which was headed toward poking a stick inside to see what was in there.

Remembering that Poison Control in Arizona calmed my reptilian qualms by pointing out that 99% of snake bite cases are the result of drunken young men with pointed sticks, I stepped into the conversation, explained that it was some beast's home and that they might not welcome our intrusion.  

Yes, it might be a lizard, but it might be a snake.

That put an end to that adventure.

We moved on to watering our citrus tree, and sending seeds home in Solo cups filled with soil, and standing under the hose.  The principal came by to say hello, smiling at the soaking wet students as they ran to line up.

It was a lovely day.  Thanks for being here to read this so that I can remember it.  The Burrow is a two way street.

Grandma's Garden

I promised that the garden would be open today.  I wrote it in chalk on the outer wall.  I could not disappoint them.  The triple digits registering on the thermometer could not deter me.

If only I had remembered to bring my water bottle.

I met the kindergarteners in the cafeteria, exchanged hugs and high fives with the third grade as they came in, and walked back to the garden.  By the time I had opened the umbrella and used the key to turn on the water, in came the third grade garden leaders, with some friends in tow.

What can we do?  That's a good question given that the soil is much too hot to host new life.  The weeds are deeply entrenched; not a great first project of the year.  But I remembered that the Much Adored Principal asked me that morning if my water was on.  They are so hot out there.  Did she mind if they got wet?  No... with a smile... Actions have consequences.   

With approved water play in mind, the garden leader on the left if filling watering cans for the girls who are using foam brushes to paint the bricks.

Don't ask me why they love this, but they do.  

The gardener who saved the marigold seeds last year wanted a real job.  I sent her into The Forbidden Zone to collect the rest of the watering cans and arrange them along the fence, spacing them as she pleased.

By the time the 5th grade arrived, I was hot and dirty and thirsty and very happy.  Once they determined that there was nothing to be done in the way of gardening, they took up the chant.  

Wet us! Wet us! 

Everyone looking for a soaking gathered outside the garden gate, behind which the hose and nozzle with its twelve settings and I held court.  Did they remember the rules?  

No complaining about being wet.  

No asking the nurse for dry clothing.  

And so began the deluge.  Varying the setting from shower to mist, I waved my magic wand.  The social worker strolled over to say hello; I stopped watering and began hugging her.  The wet ones begged for more.  Hang on.  I need my hug. 

After years on our Kind Campus, they understand the power of a hug and the value of friendship.  They waited, respectfully.    

We weren't long and the shower continued until their whistle blew and then they were gone. 

I picked up some random trowels and turned off the water.  I closed the umbrella.  I took a look behind me as I closed the gate.

The weeds were still there.  The beds were bare of anything but one stubborn something.

But it felt a lot fuller than when I arrived.  It's good to be back.

What Is That?

I didn't realize that construction skills would be necessary when I began Grandma's Garden.  

Today I struggled with the waterproof, 100 gallon, storage chest with cushion.  They sent me eight screws; I could only find use for six of them.  This might have concerned me, but they were the last parts in the instructions and after arguing with the clip in plastic sides for about an hour I wasn't interested in continuing the conversation.

I was dealing with attaching the hinge when kindergarten arrived.  I wasn't my usual welcoming self, so most of them stayed on the playground.  There were a lot of first and second graders who tried to help me solve the problem, which was resolved when the third graders entered the picture.

I was sitting on the old bench, admiring my work.  

What's that?

Hmmmmm, thought I.  

What does it look like?

Silence.  Bewildered looks. I started to laugh.  It wasn't disguised.  It was obvbiously a box.  It didn't occur to me that they were really asking how we'd be using it.

I had some fun suggesting that it was a banana peel.... a third grader.... and by then we were all laughing pretty hard, and continued to laugh as others came through the gate and wondered just like they did.  

Each group eventually got around to what would be stored and why were there screws lying on the bottom (cf paragraph 2) and what would we do with the bench that was chained to the fence and what was that cushion all about?

It was all about this:

The Second Half (and more)

The Kansas City Chiefs may not have as deep a bench as the 49'ers' but they do have Patrick Mahomes.

San Francisco kicked a field goal.  KC scored a touchdown.  The last man drafted took is team into overtime, but lost to a once in a generation talent.

It's hard to feel too sad.

*****

Queen T went all out in the decor for their first Super Bowl Party.  There were babies and sports fans and many, many balloons.  And there was this:

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I'd say she wins for creative presentation.

*****

The sun was shining and the air was crisp and clean after some night time  rain.  There's still snow on the Pusch Ridge, even on the west facing slopes.  Long sleeves keep me warm enough, though sometimes a long cotton scarf needs to wrap around my neck for perfect comfort.

Tomorrow morning, Taos Bubbe and I will be doing yoga outside at Tohono Chul Botanical Garden.

Yes, I'm reveling in being outdoors in February without special equipment.

*****

Grandma's Garden is fecund.

Radishes.  Lettuces.  Scallions.  

We had salad on the fly, harvested from our garden and our buckets and cut with Grandma's garden shears into tiny pieces so everyone could have a taste.

We also introduced those new to the garden to scallions, and their super power - extreme bad breath.

It was a good day.

Harvesting Our Bounty

It's been a long time coming.  

The hard frost in early January

killed our just ready to ripen tomatoes.  I've been pointing out the frozen remains to everyone who wonders where the snacks are hiding.  Frozen too were our basil, both the purple and the sweet; the lemon grass we were used to sucking on; and the bell pepper which was slowly moving from flower to fruit.

But today, after what seemed like forever, all of this happened.

This scholar was very precise in her planting, adhering to the depth and distance recommendations. That is a serious carrot.  That radish is not misshapen.  She was rightfully proud.

Those who were less persnickety about seed placement created this messy root system and laughably unhappy carrots.

Intertwined was not the only physical difference which was (quite excitedly) brought to my attention.  These three carrots, 

from three different hanging buckets, led to inquiries about location, access to sunlight, competition from other seedlings in the same bucket, and precision in following the sowing directions.

Those were their questions, not mine.  They looked to one another for answers before they asked me what I thought.  

They shared their produce, taking a taste even though they knew they didn't like it, but relishing the challenge I posed:  Have you ever tasted a radish you grew yourself, from seed?

It was a wonderful day to be a big kid in Grandma's Garden..... especially to be a 70-something big kid.

The Big Kids in Grandma's Garden

An entirely new set of boys were in the garden today.  They found an empy 5 gallon pot that, apparently, required an immediate infusion of soil from the digging bed.  No one was quite sure what they were going to do once it was full.  They were purposeful and polite.  I let them be. 

We decided to fill the new raised gardens with the remains of last summer's soil delivery.  It was a dirty job (Oh no! You're dirty and you're working in the garden.  What a surprise!) so the boys in the back kept their hands clean for eating garden grown lettuce.  

These three were relentless.  Discovering the most efficient method of transferring the soil from the pallet on the ground to the bed above, breaking the clods in the bed so the roots could move unimpeded, needing no adult presence except when the compliments became too infrequent.  

This scholar was determined to have the surface present an even face to its public.

She approached it from every angle.

Do we think they are having any fun at all?