What is my seed starting mix?

 

Living in a small Midwestern city like I do, I'm grateful that our community has a locally owned greenhouse and nursery. I don't just try to support it, I pilgrimage there as soon as they open their doors (usually late January-early February) for the season. I breathe in the smells of dirt and liquid fertilizer, which in late winter in Iowa is basically the smell of Hope with a capital H, for those of us that struggle with dark winter days. 

I am a particular fan of their seed starting mix, a special blend that is light, fluffy, moist, and just right for germinating all the things I like to grow in my garden-- annual flowers like zinnia, marigold, calendula, sunflowers, and amaranth; and vegetables like tomatoes, peppers, zucchini and cucumbers.

This year I wasn't as successful starting seed as I usually am, though I'm not blaming my local nursery's bags of soil-- they are only one factor in the complex and tiny miracle of unfolding new plant life. So many things I did wrong this year-- I tried to use up older packages of seed that wouldn't germinate; I started some seeds too late, and others too early. I tried to grow some seeds that I have yet to conquer successfully (Bells of Ireland, Nigella) when I was too distracted by work stress; I failed to grow some stupidly easy plants because of the same distractions; I discovered too far into the game that my lighting timer wasn't working properly, denying them the light my veggies and flowers needed to truly thrive. 

It's weird to be writing about seed starting right now, as we are well past the seed starting stage, well past spring and into high summer. But this year has been weird. We've had March days in the 90s (Fahrenheit) and June frosts. The plants and I have had multiple trips out to the patio, back into the screen porch. We've had weeks of nothing but rain, but are now verging on drought in Iowa. Up and down. Back and forth. Forward and backward. Start and stop and give up for this week, try again next week. Even now, that hot weather seems here to stay for awhile, the garden is upside down. The chrysanthemums are too early. The cucumbers, running late. 

It's been that way emerging from the pandemic, as well. Vaccines have been very much progress. My strong reaction to them (hives) was not. I have been eager to get out, see people, do things. I often come home from these first-in-a-long-time activities a sweet and sour pickle of attitude-- delighted to be out of the house, full of vinegar about the how exhausting humans (including myself) can be sometimes. I thought I had missed them. I return from their company not so sure.

So I put the mask back on and flew to Georgia to see my sister. We hiked the Appalachian Trail to Preacher's Rock on Big Cedar Mountain. It was beautiful but I was out of shape and clumsy, skinning my knee falling on the steeper switchbacks. It was embarrassing and yet how could it be any other way, after more than a year of eating and drinking my feelings, and trying to get a grip on a new managerial position from the sofa? 

We ate lunch out and had midday margaritas. We went for walks. We shopped for anything and nothing. We talked. We talked a lot. The topics weren't necessarily important-- we talked about kitchen cupboards and plants and running shoes and dogs. But the talking is the medicine. It is a way to be with our ancestors. It is a way to straighten our girl crowns. It is a part of my seed-starting mix. 

Since coming back from that trip I've been able to distinguish a few maddeningly conflicting truths about seed-starting. I know that the same seeds that failed to grow carefully planted in the shelter of my house in March are springing up in random places in June from seeds that were accidentally strewn last fall while cleaning up the garden. While my carrot seeds were too old this year, I know scientists have resurrected a date palm seed from Biblical times, and I myself have grown hollyhock seeds that were at least a decade old. While March is long gone and it is too late to start peas and spinach, there is still time for planting sunflower seeds and another crop of basil or dill. We are always simultaneously out of time, just in time, too early, too late. We grow amazing things with planning and care and also by marvelous accident and benign neglect. It's how the beautiful weeds wind their way through through our carefully planted rows, both pushing stem and leaf upwards toward the sunlight. 

Things I have been doing: 

Binge-watching Home Town. I fell back in love with the fantasy of reviving an old house in an hour. 

Making whoopie pies. They are good straight from the fridge with a glass of milk. 

Planning to carve out a small craft room in our basement. Lighting and waterproofing come first!

Cleaning the bathroom supply closet. 

Can we find a better word than 'staycation,' please?

I've never been that crazy about portmanteau words, and out of all of them, 'staycation' is one of the most annoying. I mean, for most people, if you are not at work, aren't you on vacation?

I took a week and half of vacation, but stayed in town. Current family finances are tight, so it seemed better to stay home than to make thing more stressful by adding travel expenses to the equation. Instead we hosted some of our kids over the Independence Day holiday/weekend, and then I spent a week doing nothing much really.

I don't feel the least bit sorry for myself. It was the first time since I was in junior high, when I was too old to be babysat and too young to have a job, that I had something like those long and lazy summer vacation days. I got caught up on my sleep and my laundry. I picked berries and made pies. I walked at the local botanical center, and around my neighborhood, and at parks.

It is high summer on the prairie. It's one of the most beautiful things about living in Iowa.

I also worked in my own garden. We expanded the front yard perennial beds a bit, and I spent a day transplanting hostas, mulching, adding pavers and river rock, and building a very short retaining wall.  That deck you see in the background in the photo below is on the short list for next projects around here, but we'll wait until at least fall to start. 

Together, Tom and I cooked up an idea for a discarded floor lamp he found. It's out in the backyard right now, scaring the bunnies and amusing the neighbors. It's intended to be yard art, but it's not quite done yet. I'll write more about it later when we've arrived at its final state. It's still in the middle of the creative process. And there tends to be a lot of middle to my creative processes. Messy middles. We'll see what happens. 

One of the fortunate things about my job is a very generous vacation policy, but for the most part I haven't always taken advantage of that. When I do, it's because family is visiting for the holidays, or we're leaving town for a destination trip of some sort or another. What vacation time I do take, I tend to spend on engagement. 

Engagement is great. It's how you meet new people, discover new places and experiences, embrace the breadth and depth of your relationships both local and distant. I love that part of vacation. 

This, however, was a vacation of disengagement. I stayed home. I slept in. I read books and let my bare feet get dirty in the vegetable garden and I didn't always comb my hair. I took walks alone. I thought about people in my life, some of them pretty hard, and I wrote some, too. 

All of this was deeply calming in a way I didn't expect, but suspect I deeply needed. Vacation so often implies the expectation of a strong "woo-hoo!" factor, knocking things off the bucket list, fulfilling a dream itinerary in a dream location, seizing that day or weekend or week and stuffing every last bit you can into it. 

Instead, this vacation seemed more like an act of self-care, of stepping off to the side of life for a bit to let my own thoughts bubble up to the surface. I'm surprised how long and calm and beautiful the vacation seemed, and yet I have very little to report from the experience. No woo-hoo, anyway. Maybe more along the lines of a-ha. We'll see what comes out of that messy creative middle, as well. 

I still don't have any better word to replace the annoying "staycation." I just know I'd enjoy more of them, more often. 

Postcard from Galena, Illinois

I'm weirdly untraveled in the area of the Midwest where I grew up--Iowa and surrounding states. My childhood experience didn't include much travel at all, and then I lived elsewhere--Seattle and Detroit--for most of my adult life. So in many ways I'm more familiar with the Pacific Northwest and Michigan than the place that's supposed to be home. 

Like I said. Weird. But also, I've discovered, a fun and unique perspective. I get to be a tourist and make discoveries in a place that has already long been home to me. Best of both worlds. 

Tom and I had planned a long summer weekend trip away months before July, but I'd set aside the vacation days and almost completely forgot about it. And then my aunt passed away, and I just didn't have any enthusiasm for anything for awhile. I didn't realize that we'd forgotten to make reservations until the week before. 

Oops. Since Galena, Illinois is a huge tourist destination, that was nearly a deal-breaking oversight. I lucked out with a room at a local B&B, though, and it turned out to be a happy accident. It was uncharacteristic of my usual over-planning self, though. 

To me the best part of vacation is not the destination so much as it is just being pried away from my usual routines and obligations. I need that, because I get too attached to them. And even though I'm as big of a homebody as anyone, sometimes I just want to get gone, you know? Besides, if I never get outside my own city limits and never hit the highways, I miss stuff like this: 

Yep. That's a plastic life-sized skeleton torso (with eyeballs) mounted to the back of a semi-cab. I have no idea. Mascot? Warning? Joke?

Galena, Illinois is a river town that used to be a major steamboat port before the railroad expanded west, and now has a large downtown historic district, boutiques, restaurants, B&Bs, wineries....in other words, a touristy tourist trap tricked out in Victorian-era gingerbread trim. 

Which I don't mind if you see it for what it is, eyes open. Also, tourist trap or not, I'm a huge history geek. It doesn't matter where I go, I'm gonna pry some history lesson out of it. And Galena's are pretty good as history lessons go. It includes a former home of a U.S. President, Ulysses S. Grant. 

I'm a reader of presidential biography, I'm always keenly interested in visiting presidential historic sites, and this one was one I honestly didn't know about. Grant lived in many states over his lifetime, and this home in Galena was gifted to him by the community after he became a civilian again, post-Civil War. His family lived in it for only a very short time before he became President, and afterwards returned only rarely. 

I liked Grant's taste in chairs. The green velvet armchair was so beloved it traveled with him on tours. 

The day we toured the Grant home was broiling hot and humid, the house was only open on guided tours, timed every 15 minutes, and packed full every group. I was annoyed that we were pushed along, and annoyed at having to look at everything over the shoulders of other tour group members. I'm arrogant enough to not want to be one of the unwashed masses, and unwilling to admit that I'm just as unwashed as the next person. Sigh. Also, I just don't like crowds. 

We took a selfie while we waited for our turn at the guided tour. We bought hats in downtown Galena because it was so hot. Our children were not amused by this development as shared on social media. We, however, thought we were stinkin' adorable. 

One of the saving graces of the downtown area on this hot weekend was Galena Brewing Company. 

I wish I could say the same for the rest of the restaurants and bars in the area. They were high-priced, mediocre mostly, and getting away with it because, well, lots of tourists packed in a small town with few choices. 

If the eats weren't the best, I could have easily spent an entire afternoon photographing all the architectural interest.

There is a lovely city park on the Galena River, named after their presidential citizen. 

With a restored Victorian fountain....

And a pedestrian bridge over the river to the downtown area. 

The historic neighborhoods were intensely pretty

Our B&B ended up being a perfect choice, even if it was last minute. I had a serious case of garden envy. 

The breakfasts there were large and excellent, and made up a great deal for the less-than-great restaurant situation elsewhere. (Readers can find the B&B's website here.)

Did any of my readers and friends take get-away weekends this summer? Where? What are some favorite places in your area? 

Battlefield and Homestead: October Trip

In my last blog post I mentioned that instead of confronting the end of the outdoor/exterior house work season head-on, I put my paintbrushes down and left town.

That I did. Twice. I was feeling restless and burnt out, and even though my time was running out, I knew things weren't going to go well if I kept plugging away at it without a break. The book festival weekend wasn't quite enough for me, so I also headed south to my Dad's house in Missouri to get some fall hiking in, and to honor an anniversary of sorts. My sister Dyan met us there so we could all get some family time in.

Last year, we'd run an inaugural 5-mile race hosted by Wilson's Creek National Battlefield, in Republic, Missouri. We were so proud to do it together. And finish!

On the one-year anniversary we returned, to do some hiking and appreciate the history of this place. It saw the first Civil War fighting west of the Mississippi, and the death during combat of the first Union general, Brigadier General Nathaniel Lyon. I even wore the same shoes:

Dyan, Dad and I have developed the tradition of always bringing my Grandad's (my Dad's father, who passed away in 1996) favorite candies on our hiking expeditions. These are the Official Walter Millsaps Memorial Chick O' Sticks: 

The battlefield is a quiet place, beautiful in autumn. It's hard to believe that 535 men gave their lives here over 150 years ago. And that the Ray family, whose farm is pictured below, turned their home into a field hospital to tend to the wounded and dying.

Another day, we visited the Nathan Boone Homestead, a Missouri State Historic Site. Nathaniel was the youngest son of Daniel Boone, and the cabin and barn are preserved in an attempt to give visitors an idea what life was like when Missouri was a frontier state in the 1830s. Every year, they have a festival encampment, which includes 19th century re-enactors dressed as frontiersman, tradesmen, and soldiers, and craft demonstrations.

For some reason I've always been fascinated by stone chimneys, and Nathan Boone Homestead's are beautiful. 

I loved the underside of the porch awning, as well. 

The beautiful frontier garden was wrapped up for the year: 

The long weekend also featured a fish-fry with okra and hush puppies, large mugs of coffee, reclining deep into the cushions of my dad's big leather sofa, and watching a John Wayne movie. In other words, it was nearly perfect.

Both trips were mental health imperatives. Now that my soul's been fed and my travel itch scratched, I'm beginning to take up some small indoor projects in advance of the holidays. I'll be back with a few of them soon!

Late Summer Pleasures

It seems poignant to me that I'm writing this blog post on the night before the first day of the school year. Between making up quite a few snow days this spring and our school district dialing back the start date a whole week in the fall, summer seemed especially short. And now it's gone.

Because of that and a jam-packed schedule, we didn't go on the Big Summer Vacation. I had mixed feelings about it. Because time seems to be slipping away especially fast and my boys becoming men, it felt like a lost opportunity. On the other hand, having a week off at home (let's avoid the word "staycation," shall we?) to sleep in, wear pajama pants, go barefoot, pick tomatoes, and eat ice cream for supper because we felt like it was rare and precious down time for our family.

Which is not to say we did no traveling at all. We journeyed to the local parks. We hung out at the local community pool. We took walks around the neighborhood.

We also did a few short road trips. We visited a zoo. I also learned that uber-agricultural Iowa has six national wildlife refuges. Six. How had I not been to a single one?

So one day, we visited the Neal Smith National Wildlife Refuge. One of the things I love about August in Iowa is the prairie. It is at its sunshine blazing glory-most-high, stretching up to a hot and pale blue heaven.

It smells grassy, dusty, and a little like baked bread. And then there are the flowers.

Neal Smith National Wildlife Refuge has as a goal the preservation and reintroduction of native tallgrass prairie. It's a place where you can almost, almost squint your eyes and imagine the land before there was a single powerline, building, fencerow, or plowed field.

I am glad that in the decision not to travel far, we instead found a local gem. I know we'll be back.

But by the time you're reading this, the backpacks and lunchboxes will already have been out the door for the beginning of the school year, and I've got to think about what I can reasonably get accomplished before I have to wrap up outside work for the year. Last year it was Nov. 10, and I wonder how far I can push it this year. Last year it was too rainy the first half of the summer, and most of the work happened in the late summer and fall. It looks like that will be the case this year as well. The kids' summer may be over, but mine isn't yet. I'm actually glad that I've got a few more weeks to soak up the sun on my back, even if I'm up a ladder when it happens.

How's the rest of your summer wrapping up?

The Flea Market, What Cheer Iowa

Back in 2012, my sister Dyan, my friend Kristy, and I went to the flea market in What Cheer, Iowa (don't you just love that name?). We had such a great time that when my sister decided to get away for the weekend this month, she came to see me, get some sister time, and return to the flea. I mean, how can you not like a place where you can get pickled people heads?

The 2012 What Cheer Flea Market

Last year we spent hours and hours there, and this year? Not as long, though I can't say we've lost our enthusiasm. I think that first trip we'd sized up the Keokuk County Fair Grounds, and this time we knew the lay of the land. There's a lot of territory to cover, and it's best to pace yourself. We did a better job this time. 

I'll share the bring-homes in another post coming soon, but this is the window shopping post. Ready? Here we go!

I liked this assemblage of vintage items. This seller had a real eye for grouping things together in an attractive way. But I have no idea what I'd do with a cast iron horse head. Do you?

Not just a set of cooties, but a COMPLETE set of cooties, I'll have you know.

There are days when I wish had wee ones again, and this little scooter is one of them. Rooster!

I have absolutely no idea why it reminds me of a cartoon, but doesn't this pitcher set look like something Wilma Flintstone would use? 

On the same table we saw these awesome tiki glasses. They are the only thing I think I regret leaving behind.

I've also been resisting the temptation to buy a vintage typewriter for a long time. I almost didn't make it that day. Here's why:

It came with a carrying case and an instructional method book. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-Ching!

As a recovering chair addict, I'm proud of myself for leaving these mid-mod beauties behind (I do not need another chair...I do not need another chair....I do not need another chair....). They look suspiciously like Heywood Wakefield, but they are not. I believe the label was from the Jasper Chair Company, Indiana? The seats were nasty dirty and moldy and the wood covered in bird guano, but I think that they would have cleaned up very well. 

This mantel set, vase and candlesticks, caught our eye, and so did the swanky bar glass set behind it. 

If you're in the Midwest and interested in attending, the flea market meets three times a year, and the next one is in August. You can get more info on the What Cheer Flea Market here. Definitely worth the visit. 

What are the favorite fleas in your area?

Running an 8K: That Wasn't On the List

No, this didn't turn into a personal fitness blog. But last weekend, I did something out of character. I ran an 8K. That's almost 5 miles. All at once, without stopping.

Don't worry. I haven't completely lost my usual sense of self. I did follow it up with Mexican food and fruit cobbler with ice cream.

After my sister and I ran that 5K on the Fourth of July, we were looking for another good family run. And not far from my dad's house near Springfield, Mo., is the Wilson's Creek National Battlefield.

Wilson's Creek National Battlefield. Public domain photo, National Park Service

The park's nonprofit foundation was organizing a fundraising race on Oct. 19, and it seemed like a great thing to do on a visit to dad's house.

All we had to do was run the battlefield, an honor considering what had happened here before. On that August day over a century and a half ago, 17,000 of our countrymen fought in the beginnings of a war that would consume our nation until Lee's surrender at Appomattox in 1865. One of those soldiers was my great-great-great grandfather, Joseph Young, who fought with the Missouri State Guard and alongside the Confederacy.

So we had family, we had history, we had sisterhood, and we had a new physical challenge, which Dad decided to join. How could we not?

Despite the solemnity of the history there, the battlefield is gorgeous in the fall. The morning was cold, and Team Millsaps drank a lot of coffee. Then Dyan and I proceeded to go to the bathroom sixteen-hundred-and-eleventy times before the starting gun.

Only the starting gun wasn't a gun, but a civil war cannon. Let me repeat that: We started our run to the firing of a Civil War cannon. History geek me could hardly stand the coolness.

I just wanted to finish in under an hour; and I did, at 57:44:8. It's only my third competitive race ever, so I don't feel like I can call myself a runner yet. When do you start owning that label?

This was the inaugural event, and the organizers gave all the runners a participation medal. Y'all can say what you want about participation medals and the decline of American competitiveness. I'm ridiculously proud of that thing. I wanted to wear it to work on Monday, but stopped myself. I may, however, wear it on those days when I need to borrow a little awesome.

More than the medal and the pride of being part of such a great first event, I treasure running with my dad and my sister. We added another personal layer of family history to this particular place, and to our time together. It will always be special.

You can learn more about the Battle of Wilson's Creek at this link. 

The Bloody Hill Run was sponsored the the Wilson's Creek National Battlefield Foundation, and you can find out more about their efforts to preserve our nation's history here. 

Spring Break: From Midwest to Pacific Northwest

Years ago, I lived in Seattle for five years. One of the best things to happen during my time there was the birth of my oldest son, Grant. But we left when he was six weeks old, and never returned. He's 18 this year, and a senior. I told him I'd take him anywhere in the continental U.S. for a graduation present-- and he chose the city of his birth:

Grant on a boat tour of Elliott Bay, Seattle skyline in the background

The trip ended up being not only a gift to him, but to myself as well. Salt air and gulls and bookstores and coffee--I didn't realize how much I missed my beautiful city until I walked through it again on the first day there. Am I silly that I cried a little, just from the familiar smell? 

Me 'n' Rachel, the Pike Place Market mascot. She looks like she's giving me a stinkeye sideways look for leaning on her.  But from where I come from, people are comfortable with livestock. Even bronze ones. 

We had great conversations over great food: 

I think I walked about four miles a day every day we were there. It still probably wasn't enough to work off the pastry, and the lattes, and the seafood, and......

I found out what I'd suspected all along: I really enjoy the company of my oldest son. And I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother. 

As landlocked as we are where we live now, it was refreshing to see the water in a big, big way: 

This is the USCGC Healy, a U.S. Coast Guard icebreaker, Port of Seattle.

It was fun showing Grant my old favorites: 

They don't do fish and chips quite right anywhere else. Eighteen years was a long time to wait for a fix!

Being a tourist in a town you used to live in is a blessing mostly. You're familiar with the landscape. But it can also be frustrating. Grant and I both were tempted by all the market produce:

Fresh artichokes! 

And felt sad not to have a kitchen to cook in. Pike Place Market vendors still have personality to spare: 

I wanted to load my arms with bunches of flowers, too. The flower stalls were a sight for winter weary eyes. 

Seattle in March is still rainy, cloudy, and chill, and mountain hiking not really accessible without a lot of equipment we didn't have and couldn't pack on an airplane without a huge hassle, so it was strictly urban tourism "this time." I say "this time" because we were talking about "next time" on the plane ride back, so maybe next time we'll plan for a time of year when Mt. Rainier and the Cascades will be "out." 

Instead we found ourselves some culture. This famed self-portrait was visiting the Seattle Art Museum on loan from the Kenwood House collection in London: 

A Wikimedia commons public domain image.

We found that independent bookstores still thrive in Seattle (thank goodness): 

The Globe Bookstore in Pioneer Square

We dug the nineteenth and early twentieth century architecture: 

And discovered some new things, like this gated private park on 2nd Avenue, east of Occidental Park:

I should say "new to us" in this case. The garden has been there since 1978. I never knew it was there when I lived here! 

We also loved the Chihuly Glass and Garden museum at the Seattle Center, a new attraction: 

And we did what all "must" do here, a trip to the top of the Space Needle: 

The views are spectacular. 

We spent the last morning on the University of Washington campus. We were a little too early to catch the Japanese cherry trees blooming on the Quad, but I found myself just as fascinated by their twisted, mossy forms. 

We also ate lunch with a friend and former co-worker of mine. It is very reassuring to find that despite nearly full grown babies, a (few) gray hairs, and eighteen years gone by, we still laugh together at just the right moments in conversation. 

The trip gave Grant a first adult look at the place he was born, something I still, at 45, don't have (I was born in San Antonio and left as a baby, never to return). He left here a newborn and returned a young man. I'm glad to have this time to spend with him, and glad to give him the experience. He's off to Europe on a school trip in June; I hope this trip with Mom serves as a good training course. I know the time left to parent him is dwindling as he goes off to college next fall. I'll cherish this trip the rest of my life. 

Did you "spring break?" Where, and what did you do?