Tag: gardening

Posted on

Chasing Deer and Surgeons

I didn’t want the dream to end. I was in Europe staring at pastries behind a glass window. However, each pastry, unlike the scrumptious eclairs shown below, was placed apart from each other (a good six inches I would guess) with a number in front of it.

I gathered one had to order the desired pastry by number only and then sit down in chairs that were lined up as if one were in the waiting room of a doctor’s office rather than a beautiful cafe. Was this a pandemic-related dream? The six inches (or six feet in real life) seemed plausible. And sitting in a doctor’s office (or at least wanting to) nibbling a sweet treat seemed to be entirely credible given the last eight weeks.

Lynn had hernia surgery in the beginning of May. It was supposed to be a routine outpatient procedure with little post-op complications. Except no one could be there with him. He would have to be dropped off at the hospital and I would have to wait for a phone call from the surgeon. What’s this have to do with deer you ask? (Note the title of this essay.) Nothing, except that up until this weekend, they were always pretty well behaved on our property.

Lynn had delayed having the surgery because he wasn’t in any pain. Plus, once we had started the ball rolling on this semi-elective “event,” we were told the procedure had to be postponed until a surgeon was available and everyone was vaccinated! We were okay with that. After all we have known each other a very long time (42 years actually) and agree on the important stuff. Besides, we love just being by ourselves. We also love cooking and growing our own food. We did hope, however, that the hernia (derived from the Latin word “rupture”) wouldn’t do just that before the operation was scheduled.  

He was not good with anesthesia, albeit the last surgery he had was 28 years ago.  He had been running through Penn Station trying to catch a Long Island Railroad train to get home to me. But he slipped, missed a step on the stairs to the platform, and fractured his ankle.  Did he miss me that much to justify sprinting for the train?  Perhaps.  But in actuality, I was on bed rest for a pregnancy that could go bad at any given moment. He wanted to get home as soon as he could for both of us; everyone was on edge.

So, he, going into this new surgery, which had been delayed because of COVID, made us uneasy.  Could I tell him I was more scared than nervous?

He wouldn’t wear a coat on the day of the procedure. “More stuff to carry,” he said.  “Wear casual clothes” they told him.  After being home since March 2020 what else was there to wear except sweatpants and a t-shirt?   

“At least take a phone charger,” I said to him.

“No,” he countered.

I dropped him off at the hospital early (6:45 AM) but as mentioned, couldn’t go inside.  He went in on his own and it reminded me of the first day we sent our son to preschool many years ago. Neither of them ever looked back at me or even waved.  

I drove home and stared out our kitchen window.  We have a lot of property and woods so I waited for our “resident” deer to come down the hill to give me a sign that everything would be okay.  But they just walked right up to their usual spot – eating the grass and a dandelion or two for good measure. Thinking back on them now, I’m quite happy with their restraint.

They say most couples don’t talk about sex, death and money.  Pretty funny since we talk about all three of those “taboo” topics frequently – sex and money more than death. Should death be at the top of my list to think about today, though?

I tried to read but since we had been up most of the night worrying about the outcome, my eyes refused to focus.  I walked the rooms in our very large house and felt the quiet.  Was I prepared for him not to return?  I wasn’t.  But knew instantly how it would feel if he didn’t come home. I summoned up an old metaphor thinking that the “silence was deafening.”  I wanted to shout, “Yes, it is!”

I busied myself, texting our children, not revealing my fear.  And then the doctor called. “He did okay,” he said.  “Sorry there was a delay.” Turns out, this surgeon had not one but a few emergencies to deal with that Monday morning.  I compared it to waiting on the tarmac at JFK.  One is anxious for the flight to be airborne, for the trip or vacation to commence. Or, in this case, for the operation to be successfully completed and most importantly, for the patient to have a “smooth landing.”

I’m not religious and I don’t pray but I did look at the “bamboo” on our property which a local chef told me was actually Japanese knotweed. Their sturdy brown and green stalks were pushing through the soil up towards the sky. The chef told me that “their tender shoots are edible.”  Suddenly, I, too, felt I was living up to a particular word that the New York Times had written about in describing certain feelings one has encountered in the past year. The word is “languishing,” which made me think; instead of my current state of inactivity, perhaps I should be outside chopping up some stalks and then brewing them into some sort of medicinal beverage to help him recover?

Finally, 12 hours later, I drove back to the hospital to pick him up.  He was wheeled out in a wheelchair and looked even grayer than the t-shirt he was wearing.  I helped him into the car and reached over to fasten his seat belt. I realized it was exactly the same way I used to buckle in our children when they were young. 

“My phone is almost dead,” he said.

I didn’t want to say, “I told you so,” followed by “why didn’t you take the charger?”

Since then, he has been recovering slowly. No pain, but swelling was the primary culprit. He, who has always been the “lifter” of things in our relationship – whether it be bags of topsoil for our never ending gardening adventures or more and more lumber and moulding for house repairs – suddenly stopped lifting.

I would “grow” muscles I thought! I’d wheel out trash cans, carry out recycling bins, lawn furniture and even table saws! (Yes, we do in fact, have multiple saws.) Luckily, the deer decided not to invade our garden until he had healed sufficiently enough to help me try and remedy the problem.

If you recall my last post, I wrote fondly of the new fence we were planning to install because our old one was not only falling apart, but it was rusting and ugly. What we didn’t take into account when putting up our nicer, albeit shorter fence, was that deer can jump quite high to feast on whatever they think is tasty in your average vegetable garden.

We have lived in the Red House for 11 years and this is the first time we had deer be so bold. Around 8:45 on Friday night, we were alerted by a neighbor that a deer was in our garden. It was too dark by then to see what was consumed but in the morning we assessed the damage. Most of the tomato plants were gone, broccoli and Swiss chard, too. A rose bush that our daughter gave us a few years ago (and had a plethora of red roses blooming) was eaten down to the bottom. Ditto for the daylilies and the Stella d’Oro’s.

The lettuce was left mostly intact as were our peas and beans and anything that was squash-related. To say we were furious is an understatement. We decided we had to make our “pretty” fence ugly again by making it higher.

This is the fence that the deer could easily jump over.

And here’s the deer walking around the back of our driveway “pretending” she doesn’t see all the goodness growing inside the garden gate!

But first I went back to the farm down the road in hopes that there would be some vegetables to purchase. I was in luck when not only were there vegetables left but now everything was half price! So for $24, I managed to get new tomato plants, more broccoli, lettuce and Swiss chard. And I bought some Hungarian wax peppers to plant, too. And since I was not particularly confident we would pull off recreating the wheel (I mean fence), I bought some tomato plants that just needed to be replanted into bigger containers that I could grow on the deck.

When I got home, we hauled out the old fence we had unceremoniously rolled up, tying the rolls closed with duct tape. We thought maybe we could just unroll all the old stuff and attach it to the new fence. Our goal was to achieve some height. I mean, really, how high can a deer jump? According to at least four videos we watched, apparently six feet is the magic number. So, we had to make sure the “new” but soon-to-be-ugly fence was higher than that.

And then there was soap. In the past, we, too, had wasted money on bottles of deer “repellent,” dried blood in various forms, and other useless products we were sucked into buying.

Anything that has a powerful “scent” we were told would also aid in keeping them away. So after the greenhouse, I stopped at the supermarket and bought three bars of Irish Spring. Lynn cut them into thirds, drilled a hole in them, and hung them around the “key” areas of the garden.

At this point, for the first time ever, I really started to rethink the garden. After all, we support many local farmers in the area and there are numerous Amish farms within a five minute drive of our house. Couldn’t we just buy ALL our produce from them this summer? There is, however, a certain satisfaction to growing your own food and making something that’s edible and healthy. Plus, what would I write about and photograph if I didn’t have that one perfect tomato or zucchini or celery to brag about?

This, unfortunately, is how we had to add height. Attaching the old fence to the top of the new fence with some wire.

And then we realized we didn’t have enough “old” fence to finish the project. Why that is I don’t know since the dimensions of the new fence and the old fence were basically the same. Which is why at 5 p.m. we got in the car and made the trip to the big box store to look at our fencing options. This item, like lumber, had gone up in price as well. $72 later we headed home with a roll of fencing and finished the job nearly eight hours after we had started it.

My arms were scratched (and bleeding) from constantly hitting a thorny raspberry bush that I kept bumping into as we tried to unwrap the new fence. Why the deer don’t eat these berries is a mystery but they don’t. One of my legs was also dripping with blood since the sharp end of the fence roll kept hitting my leg as Lynn kept trying to measure (and cut) each section we needed. Besides all this, we were also hot, tired and sunburned.

When we were done that evening and I went back into the kitchen, I remembered when he finally came home from surgery that day. He hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours and was hungry! I had planned ahead. There was bread from the bakery, chicken cutlets, salad, even a Guinness-spiked pot roast! He wanted something “simple” so I quickly made him our “jet lag” dish – a ham and cheese omelet with fresh chives from our garden.

“Drink some water,” I implored him as I, myself, sipped a glass of wine, sorry he couldn’t join me.

I started to clean up the kitchen and begged him to sit down but he just wanted to stand and watch me. Apparently, when he was coming out of the anesthesia, he thought the attending female nurse was me and started to stroke her hair. I laughed and was humbled by that innocent, affectionate gesture. And then right before we turned the kitchen lights off, he looked at the stove and said, “you put the burners on the wrong way.”

And that’s why as long as I’m living in the Red House, I will never give up my garden. Even if everything I’m eating tastes a little bit like Irish Spring.

Posted on

A Mohawk Valley Spring: A New Fence Project

Normally by this time of the year we would be planning a summer vacation and perhaps even a fall trip. However, since we, like the rest of the world, have been sheltering in place and avoiding people like the plague – oh wait, COVID is very much like a plague, our planning sessions are only in our “Dreams.”

While I do like the Irish band, The Cranberries, who perform that song so beautifully, we are extremely fortunate to have very green fields behind our Red House. This, luckily, reminds me of Ireland without having to travel there.

However, as everyone knows, being an “armchair traveler” as well as watching as many travel shows as possible (including StanleyTucci’s show “Searching for Italy” which nearly had me weeping), still doesn’t fill the void of not being able to travel. I miss the thrill of getting on a plane or in a car and having a new adventure. I miss seeing new buildings, visiting museums and above all trying different food!

I have overcompensated for this lack of travel by cooking and baking. Homemade gravlax with some chopped red onions, dill and capers? Yes, please! How about a Yukon Gold potato and goat cheese tart in a puff pastry crust? Absolutely!

I spent most of March promoting my new book, Get In The Car: A Food and Travel Memoir. This entailed pouring through old CD’s, revisiting photo albums and searching through my iCloud account for photographs I could use to advertise the book. The challenge was to find the one or two photographs that would accurately portray what the book was about. More often than not, I simply couldn’t decide which photograph to use so would post a few of the ones I thought worked best on social media.

Besides photographs, we also have a lot of great posters that Lynn and I have collected on our many travels. Promoting the chapter about Vienna, all I needed was to take a photograph of the detailed drawing of the “Post Sparkasse” that is hanging in my dining room. And if you are thinking about Paris, so am I. And London and Venice, too! (You know it’s gotten pretty bad when “House Hunters International” becomes your favorite show to watch on TV. )

By the way, all of these photographs were shot by me. I find looking at photographs (and being a decent photographer) helps me when I’m writing. Not only can I visualize the scene I want to put my characters in, but it helps them interact and “talk” to each other. I’m particularly fond of the night shot I managed to capture of the Eiffel Tower on one of our trips to Paris.

If you look at it closely though, the area seems pretty desolate. Lynn and I had just finished dinner and were attracted by the lights of the Tower so we walked towards it. We ended up in a neighborhood we weren’t that familiar with and since two out of the three times we’ve been to Paris there has been a bombing (1986 and 2017 but not 2003), we quickly walked away. Since Paris is still in “lockdown” until the end of the month, I can only assume that these days much of Paris looks like the scene above.

But gearing up for spring, attention must be paid to the garden and specifically the fence. Back in 2010, we put up what we thought would be a temporary enclosure with the assistance of my father. He claimed since he was a “helper” and most importantly, definitely not the “handy type,” that surely the garden fence should have been on the “National Register of Historic Places.” I actually thought that was pretty funny!

Not so funny though is 11 years later, how truly awful the fence looks. Constructed originally just to keep the deer and the rabbits from eating our vegetables and flowers, I’m amazed it actually didn’t fall down (in spite of Dad’s help) because of our very cold and snowy winters.

Here’s what this “beauty” looks like today- rusted gate hinges and all.

Hiring someone to install a new fence wasn’t even a conversation Lynn and I had. We thought we’d order some of that “no dig” fencing, get a really strong rubber mallet, pound it into the ground and hope it would work. We also hoped it would last as long, if not longer, than the first one.

Of course we gave ourselves a “deadline” to do this project. We have about four weeks or so not only to get the garden into shape (weeding, pruning, raking, etc.), but also get all the vegetables and herbs I had purchased from a CSA farm share I bought in January planted.

To take my mind off all this work and to try out a new kitchen “toy” I had purchased earlier in the year (but never used), I decided to take my dehydrator out for a “test run.” This came about because I love chives, especially dried ones. I found myself getting angrier and angrier every time I had to shell out $5 (or more) on a small bottle of chives just so that I could have scrambled eggs with chives! It must be a European thing, I know, but it just makes a potentially shitty day so much better if you at least have the illusion of a “fancy” breakfast in the morning.

These gorgeous goldenrod-colored eggs are from one of my favorite farmers – Jones Family Farm. We’ve known Peter and Suzie Jones since we bought the house and I’m so honored to be able to not only purchase healthy food from them but am humbled by their back-breaking work.

But first, the barrel that the chives had been growing in for probably 20 years before we got here finally collapsed and we had to get a new one. After much heavy lifting, more splinters in our hands that we care to mention, plus the fact that the new bucket had a “Jack Daniel’s” sticker stapled on the side, should have given me a hint. Yes, the wood did in fact smell like whiskey! Would my chives become whiskey-laced, too? (The answer to that is no.)

I thought for sure when we replanted the chives into their new “home” that they would rebel. Would they “kick the bucket” by dying? (They didn’t, they cooperated.) Which is why even a mere two weeks after lifting up the entire chive “hedge” (really it was so heavy it looked like it was a small hedge) and dumping it into its new Jack Daniel’s “digs,” it began to grow profusely.

So a few days ago I decided to read the manual for the dehydrator not realizing that I would need between six to ten hours to “dry” said chives before they could be properly stored. (Don’t you just hate when you read a recipe and realize whatever you are thinking of making is going to take you 2-3 days?) I actually didn’t think it would work. And now I also know why dried herbs cost so much! The drying time alone has got to be a money loser. Here’s my new toy and the progression of the drying process. As you can see, two large racks in the dehydrator yielded less than half of a small glass jar when all was said and done.

I will definitely cut the chives smaller next time and experiment a bit with drying other herbs, too. But since I have an abundance of chives and time, I relish not having to spend money on herbs I can dry myself.

Meanwhile, it’s been raining so our fence installation project is on hold. I did manage to rake up some dead grass and leaves as well as the remains of last year’s various vegetables. And I am very happy to see the tulips that I planted in a variety of colors are blooming!

I needed a lunch break after all this activity and when I looked outside, who did I see but Mr. Bunny! I’m actually not sure if he is a boy or girl bunny but I like to call “it” Mister just for fun. And where is he sitting? Right in front of the fence gate we are about to remove and replace. I will mention that Mr. Bunny seems to be a lot fatter than he was last year. And his little nose was pointing in the direction of the part of the garden he particularly likes to try and get into – where lots of good things to eat like lettuce and broccoli and sometimes, carrots, too, will be planted.

I tried to photograph him but he is very quick to run away. And like many rabbits you see in illustrated children’s books, he has the most adorable white bottom! And most importantly, he has a tremendous hop! Speaking of children’s books, I started perusing my bookshelves for something new to read. (I have also started to compare my “volumes” with all the talking heads I see nightly on TV but tune out to what they are saying just to see what books they have behind them on their shelves.) I picked up an old copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book The First Four Years and truthfully, even though I was an advanced reader at a young age, I wondered how I got through it.

“For it was June, the roses were in bloom over the prairie lands, and lovers were abroad in the still, sweet evenings which were so quiet after the winds had hushed at sunset.” Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote.

Reading this sentence now, I can see the roses blooming across the prairie and appreciate the winds lessening at sunset, but did I at the age of ten? (The book though written in the late 1940’s wasn’t published until 1971.)

On that note, it would be lovely to be “abroad” – using the word as in visiting a foreign country rather than in the context of lovers walking over a wide area. Hopefully, at least by the end of this year we will be able to at least “hop away” for a while so that we, like “Mr. Bunny,” can see some different pastures.

Until our next “Let’s Go” adventure.

My new book Get In The Car: A Food and Travel Memoir is available on Amazon.

Posted on

Some Milestone Memories

Just a few weeks ago here in the Mohawk Valley we thought spring was upon us. The tulips were blooming and the bamboo started to grow back as well. Then we woke up one morning to snow.

It gave me time to reflect on how life takes unexpected turns and weather even more so. Since we have been sheltering in place like millions of people all over the world during this pandemic, Lynn and I have spent a lot of time together. Luckily, we never run out of things to talk about – mostly we discuss places we’ve traveled to with a couple of foodie meal reminiscences thrown in for good measure. It’s precisely because we have traveled so much that I’ve come to realize how many memories we have shared together.

“I spoke to you first,” my husband Lynn said to me at dinner the other night. “You know, I kept seeing you on the elevator but you ignored me.”

I had to laugh when he said this to me. I had heard the story before but now that we have been home together every single day and night (except for the occasional trip to the supermarket, liquor store or pharmacy), I actually had time to think about way back when. Full confession: I don’t remember seeing him on an elevator! I don’t think this makes me a terrible person or bad wife, it just means I remember things differently.

For example, I remember the day we met at a dorm party. It was October 6, 1979 and I even remember what I was wearing (white jeans, light blue top). But it makes me wonder, on the day we “officially” met, could we have ever envisioned 41 years later that we would be sheltering in place in a Big Red House a mere 75 miles from where it all started? Highly unlikely.

Want to see what I looked like back then? Yes, I did in fact prefer to wear peasant skirts and a BLOUSE!

Prior to our purchasing the Red House, we used to spend a lot of time in California; January after the holidays (our Christmas gift to each other) and again in September/October for our anniversary and hopefully also timing it with “crush” if we were in Northern California. Who wouldn’t want to look at beautiful vineyards filled with grapes, drink copious amounts of wine and drive the coast – especially with views like this?

If we weren’t in California, then we were in Europe. Often we even took the kids. The first and only time we have been to Berlin we took them with us. If I went back to Berlin now and revisited the Brandenburg Gate, I would probably wonder where they had wandered off to.

Lynn and I have also been fortunate to have traveled to Paris many times. But to this day, even if it’s just the two of us in Paris, I still think of Nicholas skateboarding in front of the Eiffel Tower!

And Rachel? Could she have posed for a picture any prettier than in Monet’s garden in Giverny?

During this pandemic, I started to think about all the family trips for other families that may never happen. What about first dates and chance encounters that are missed? Remember the scene in Back to the Future where Michael J. Fox (playing the character Marty McFly) realizes that if his parents don’t meet and you know, kiss big time, he, himself, would not have been born. And remember how he then spends a good part of the movie watching himself slowly fade away on a photograph he’s holding in his hand? That’s how I kind of feel these days about memories that aren’t happening.

Would our life together have been different if we had never gone to California? This picture of us (one of my favorites actually) wouldn’t exist. Would we understand and appreciate farm to table cooking and good wine as much?

What if we had never traveled with our kids? Rachel never would have been standing on a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

And what about smooching the Blarney Stone? There wouldn’t be a photograph of the four of us standing on the ramparts of the Blarney Castle in Ireland. (P.S. I didn’t kiss the rock, I just looked at it.)

These past few weeks I’ve started to think not only of trips we’ve made together but of birthdays we celebrated too.

Here’s the cake that I made for Rachel’s birthday 10 years ago!

That was the cake for the “family” party. She also had a sweet 16 and celebrated with some of her girlfriends with a limo ride and dinner at a popular restaurant in NYC. She’s so beautiful here in her dress!

How many of these milestone events now during our “stay at home” order will have to be spent at home and not celebrated according to plan? Will these celebrations ever be made up or will we just do something on a smaller scale or ignore them totally and move on?

One of my nieces, Daniella, shared some of her thoughts with me about not having the sweet 16 party she was supposed to have. She wrote, “I really wanted to go to school for my birthday to see my friends and everything but school got canceled 3 days before. And then we found out on my birthday that the restaurant was closed…so everyone came over for pizza that night. I was supposed to have a party and that never happened. And we were supposed to see a Broadway play and that’s been postponed. ”

She also mentioned other friends whose parties keep getting pushed back and knows friends who have “just sat at home on their birthday.” She told me she really “did luck out” with the small gathering she was able to have in her honor.

I think that’s a really good attitude to have these days.

This Memorial Day weekend is bittersweet. Usually by this time of year I’m struggling with the stress of what we call the “end of the school year finish line.” But since I’m working from home these days, the finish line is a lot easier. Normally, Lynn and I have already mapped out summer vacation plans or at least a road trip or two. This year we were thinking about going back to Nova Scotia – an area we haven’t visited in 30 years. We were also thinking about a repeat visit to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater in Pennsylvania on the way to Nashville.

Then there is Lake Superior. It’s the only one of the “Great Lakes” we haven’t seen together. And when I get an idea in my head about doing something or going somewhere, eventually I make it happen. Apparently, that won’t be the case this summer.

It’s probably the traveling part that I miss the most coupled with the knowledge going forward that there may be no travels whatsoever for us anytime soon. Does this mean we will simply be “camping” forever at the Red House?

I think this is actually okay. We’ve managed to finally catch up on some overdue home projects. After all, it’s been a little less than a year since we permanently moved up to the Mohawk Valley. And yes, believe it or not, there is still one box that hasn’t been unpacked because it’s filled with pictures and some art work that either needs to be framed and/or hung on a wall.

There has also been quite a bit of gardening. I even bought myself a new pair of gardening gloves which I found particularly charming in that they bizarrely had my paternal grandmother’s name stitched on the side.

I realize that this sheltering in place has not only compromised our lifestyle but made us redefine family and home. Now we spend days deliberately and carefully avoiding any contact with anyone. There are signs taped on the floor of one of the few stores we frequent – directing us where to stand and which direction to walk. And always reminding us to “social distance” and remain six feet apart.

Meanwhile, the deer on our property obviously aren’t following the “rules,” they are congregating in larger groups than we’ve seen before.

But I have to think that this pandemic has compromised so many memories. So much of our childhood and young adulthood relies on certain milestones – whether it be a sweet 16 or school graduation. To make matters even worse, it’s the elderly parents and grandparents who can’t celebrate these milestones with us. I’ve seen pictures of people waving to their parents and grandparents through a window. This saddens me. What about those folks who are deemed too “vulnerable” to even go outside to shop or take a simple walk in case they are exposed to the virus? What memories will they have other than of being stuck at home?

Pictures, of course, help immensely in trying to remember how life had been. But you can’t take a photograph of an important milestone if the milestone doesn’t happen.

I mean, look at sweet Nicholas when he won a plaque for competing in a karate tournament on Long Island!

Or Rachel on her first trip to France when I asked her to turn around so I could photograph her in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles!

Meanwhile, as we prepare for the summer months, it’s good to spend time outside; gardening (as mentioned) helps immensely. Most of the vegetables are planted and I’m working on a new planter box filled with herbs as well.

This is a photograph I took of a mural painted on a hotel room wall in St. Paul de Vence one summer when we were traveling through the south of France. It’s quite lovely isn’t it? Sigh, I do miss that life.

There’s a lot of time for reflection these days. Lynn and I have been lucky. We don’t know anyone personally who has gotten sick or died from COVID-19. We do know many people who have lost their jobs and are struggling with meager unemployment checks and countless bills to pay. We have tried to help our local farmers by purchasing CSA shares and shopping at their small farm stands when we can. We have tried to limit our online shopping, choosing instead to support local butchers and bakers and liquor stores. We play a lot of Scrabble. We have watched more TV than we normally do but we try to limit the amount of news we watch because it’s just too depressing. We have repeatedly cleaned the house and organized drawers and thought of even more projects to do both inside and outside our home.

Actually, like my niece Daniella wrote, I think we did “luck out.” And while I miss our travel life , I’m okay with this new “normal. ”

Until our next “Let’s Go” adventure.

Posted on

Adjusting

It’s been nearly seven weeks (but who’s counting!) since we moved permanently to the Red House. It has taken some time to get used to the fact that now, for the first time, we have no “home” to go back to on Long Island. That means we no longer lose half a Sunday (inevitably a beautiful Sunday afternoon) to get to Long Island so one, or both of us, could go to work Monday morning. Yeah!

I will still be working on Long Island and this week was the start of my Monday morning commute (much better than Sunday afternoons!) I will be staying with my parents (Thanks Mom and Dad!) 1-2 nights a week. Since I’ve been doing this “commute” nearly every weekend for 9 years, it’s actually pretty easy. Now it’s just different days of the week!

In the meantime, we are still hanging pictures (we have a lot of pictures). We even have frames that don’t have pictures!

Plus we’ve already started moving pictures around that we hung up a few years ago and decided we wanted something else in their place.

Although I do like the top drawing by my Uncle John, I prefer the drawing our daughter Rachel made of the Eiffel Tower juxtaposed with Edvard Munch’s The Scream. In her rendition, the “screamer” is in miniature form and floating on a cloud. (She was very young when she did that picture, so rule out any extracurricular party drugs, please.)

Closets? What Closets?

Trying to find room for everything (mostly clothes) in a house that has ONE walk-in closet downstairs (for coats originally but now housing all of Lynn’s hammers and drills and screwdrivers and nails, etc., etc.) is nearly impossible. There is also a small closet in the master bathroom but eventually it will be made into a linen closet.

That means, we have clothes stuck on rolling racks that are more suited for fashion shows. Meaning they should only be holding a couple of designer outfits and not the shirts and pants and dresses and coats we’ve hung on them.

We already broke one such rack when it crumbled from the weight of too many sweaters and jeans. Just look at it!

Garden Update

In the midst of all the unpacking and arranging and rearranging, I’ve tried to tend to the garden and am happy to report that for the first time in many years, I have zucchini! They are still little but I have hope they won’t be eaten by birds or insects or a bunny if he or she manages to get inside the fence.

We also have peas growing quite well, broad beans that are doing okay, and tomatoes that are coming along quite nicely.

Then there’s the lettuce. When our son Nicholas came up to visit, he thinks the lettuce we grow is the best he’s ever had. Glad he likes it and the simple salads I make too!

And look at all the flowers.! We have day lily’s in a brilliant orange, and Stella D’Oro ones in a gorgeous yellow. I really love flowers and those growing in the garden right now not only add a welcome splash of color against all the green fields but they just bring the garden to life.

I’ve also put up what Lynn refers to as the “cemetery fence” and since he has a sense of humor, he will start humming an appropriate cemetery “dirge,” usually something along the lines of Elton John’s “Funeral for a Friend.”

This is due to the fact that the last three summers I planted roses, the deer have taken it upon themselves to eat them – thorns at all. I was tired of spending the money (rose bushes are expensive!) and taking the time to plant them, only to have the deer “help themselves” so to speak.

As you can see, the deer love to wander not only on the back 4+ acres, but in the front lot, too close to the street for their own good which makes me very nervous for them and the drivers! We have a lot of big trucks (think milk!) and RV’s and campers that roll up and down the steep street especially since there are a lot of farms further north and a very desirable campground about 15 minutes from us.

A New Neighbor

In the meantime, we’ve finally learned the name of an elderly neighbor (Helen) who I would always wave to coming up from Long Island because she was usually sitting on her porch (at least in the summer). Helen told us she had been a dressmaker in the day when there were not one (!) but at least four dress shops in town. (Now we have zero.) She also said she had lived in her current home for about 20 years since she had taken care of her mother-in-law. She is now by herself but even in the winter I see her with a little shovel pushing the snow off the sidewalk onto the street.

“Do you know how old I am,” she asked us as we were walking into town to partake in the town’s annual cheese festival.” I hesitated thinking she was probably in her 90’s but before I could answer she blurted out, “I’m 89!” Followed by “do you want to see the inside of my house?”

We did not but assured her it was kind of her to invite us in. In the meantime, she pointed out the three garages she had (at least one of which she rented out) and the fact that no one could “do” stucco anymore. “See those cracks on the side of my house?” she asked. “That was from the earthquake.” I looked at Lynn but didn’t say a word.

As it turns out, he later told me that there was in fact an earthquake in upstate New York, sometime in the early 1980’s. He says he remembers “feeling it,” when he was living in Rome, New York. I had already moved from Syracuse and was working in New York City, where the only rumbling I was experiencing was from the subway.

Little Falls Cheese Festival

Although this has been an ongoing event for the last five years, it was only our third time attending the festival. The city shuts down a good chunk of Main Street so vendors can set up booths selling anything and everything cheese-related plus other items, too.

Luckily, the weather cooperated so the turnout was nice. We bought some cheese (how couldn’t we?) and visited with people we knew from nearby farmer’s markets.

This year’s winners included (once again) great goat cheese from Jones Family Farm.

As well as a new guy out of Troy, New York, (R&G Cheese Makers) making some pretty amazing mozzarella. (Little to no salt plus lots of flavors = a very good product.)

And last but not least a goat cheese from Cochran Farm 1790 that is appropriately called “Mohawk Mist” which was pretty darn good.

Best of all, after all this cheese and meeting new neighbors, it’s lovely to be able to walk along the pathway by the Eric Canal (yes, that Erie Canal). It’s very peaceful by the water and being able to spend time outdoors on a beautiful sunny day is a gift.

Until our next “Let’s Go” adventure.

Posted on

Moving

On June 27, 2019, we moved permanently up to what I affectionately call “The Red House.” I spent nine years writing about the home renovation project and now it’s time for me to write about something else. (You can check out previous posts about The Red House renovation on http://theredhouseproject.eathappy.net/). Hopefully this blog will also capture your attention and be a fun read.

We hired the same movers that we used the last time we moved. Three years prior, three guys showed up, two of whom were from Hungary. I was horrified that the truck they drove had some really ugly graffiti scrawled on it – not even funky graffiti!

This time around, three weeks before we were scheduled to move, I received an early morning phone call from the sales guy. “Could we possibly move the weekend before?” he inquired. I told him “no,” and then asked why? Seems there’s lots and lots of traffic on Thursdays in and out of the city. I reminded him we were not going in or out of the city. We were moving from Long Island to upstate New York and avoiding the city at all costs. I further reminded him I had booked his services 3 months in advance (April to be precise) because they had done a good job in the past and June 27 was the only day I could reasonably move. He said he would talk to his dispatcher and get back to me.

By the time I got into my office, I was seething. Obviously, he had received a more lucrative gig on that particular Thursday than a measly house move with a 4 hour there, 4 hour back commute and he just wanted the bigger sale. I sent him a not-so-kind letter indicating that I knew this was in fact the case and if they were going to cancel on me, I needed to know ASAP so I could hire a different mover.

When all was said and done they didn’t cancel. There was some hemming and hawing about talking to the “dispatcher.” And that was that.

This time one guy showed up around 9:15 a.m. and said the truck was about an hour behind since they had to leave Brooklyn and could only take local streets to get to us. I said I understood and he began taking things apart and carrying them down to the driveway. He was Russian but spoke English with only a slight accent and talked to me about working as a photographer in between moving gigs.

About an hour later, two other guys (one Russian who barely spoke English and the other American) showed up in a rented truck that was bright yellow and surprisingly clean.

We had done quite a good job of packing up plates and glasses, books and pictures and taking them up to the house ourselves so the sole box they had to carry was the TV! We had even managed to put all of our clothes (still on hangers no less) into our luggage! All I can say is I’m really glad we have so many suitcases!

If you’re wondering why we have so many suitcases (eight to be precise), it’s because one year we decided to train travel between London and Paris rather than fly or rent a car. Since I will splurge on restaurants and decent hotels but not on cabs or car service, I knew we would be schlepping luggage up and down subway stairs. I needed a suitcase that could hold enough clothes for a week that I could carry up and down a flight of stairs without asking Lynn for help. Hence, I kept buying suitcases in different sizes until I found the perfect one (hint: it’s the purple one.)

Besides the luggage, we decided to keep only a few pieces of furniture since the Red House was pretty much furnished already (we did keep our living room set and our bedroom furniture.) Therefore, I thought this was surely an easy peasy move. Then there was the piano.

We had debated whether to even take the piano with us but the fact is it was more difficult to try and sell it then to take it with us. Factor in that no one played the piano (except our son Nicholas) and that was usually only on Christmas…it did seem dumb to take it with us.

The movers saved taking the piano down the stairs as their last item. It had made it up the staircase, surely it would make it down, right? Three guys, much grunting and a baseball size hole in one wall when they misjudged the turn and finally the piano was out of the house and onto the truck.

The movers left at 11:30 a.m. We stopped to get gas and a sandwich for the road and followed them about 1/2 an hour later. Of course there was traffic all the way up. 1. It was the start of summer vacation (myself included) and 2. There was no 2. There was just a lot of traffic.

Around 3:45 p.m., we were still on the road with nearly an hour to go when I got a phone call from one of the movers to say they had JUST reached the Thruway in Yonkers and it had taken them nearly 4 hours and 15 minutes just to get to that point! Yikes I thought. He then said Google maps said they would be at our house by 6:10 p.m. but he would call to let me know.

We arrived at the Red House, briefly started putting some stuff away and because I am ALWAYS THINKING ABOUT FOOD, I got back in the car and drove down to the supermarket to pick up some steaks thinking we could always throw a steak on the grill no matter how late it got.

Then we sat and waited.

It’s lovely we have a decent deck with pretty flowers and bamboo to look at when we’re passing the time especially since we obviously didn’t want to start happy hour BEFORE THE MOVERS SHOWED UP. At 6:45 p.m. I called the movers and asked them where they were – 20 minutes I was told.

Let me preface this by saying I showed the movers a picture of the Red House since everyone simply drives by it. There are two reasons for this. 1. We live right next to a community field so you come upon the Red House suddenly. 2. We live halfway up a pretty steep grade so the inclination (for any driver I would think) is to keep on going to make sure your vehicle makes it up the hill.

At 7:10 p.m., we saw the yellow truck whiz on by. Lynn and I stood up from our comfy chairs on the deck and started to wave. We heard the truck stop and slowly back down the slope and finally, pull into the driveway. One of the movers said, “I’m glad you showed me a picture of the Red House!”

An hour later they had unloaded the truck, put all the furniture where we wanted it and were back on the road. They had started before 9 a.m. this morning and were facing easily a 5 or 6 hour drive back to Brooklyn. We tipped the two guys generously (case in point: the lead guy had already advised me when we were still on Long Island what his minimum acceptable tip would be for this long trip so we upped it). I also gave them a couple more bottles of water and a container of bakery brownies I had picked up when I went to get the steaks for dinner. They were appreciative of all the goodies and the tip. We were finally moved and I did not envy their 16 hour day. Did I mention it was the hottest day of the year to date?

As the steaks grilled, we opened a bottle of wine and other than a quiet “cheers,” we were actually speechless.

And that’s the beginning of our “Let’s Go” adventure.

Here we are a week later (July 2019) still smiling!

Photo: Nicholas Parish