Friday, 13 March 2015
It started out well, with me getting Montana Mary’s birthday presents wrapped and sent. At my request, Allan took a few photos of the garden just out the front door….
Hmm. That might not be the spectacular Leo after all, as the petals don’t look fringy enough. Here is Leo in the past.
We did a little weeding and I planted some California and other poppy seeds at the Ilwaco post office.
Port of Ilwaco
We took up where we left off yesterday, planting seeds (me) and weeding (Allan) along Howerton Way at the port.
For the first time, I seeded California poppies in red shades and Legion of Honor poppies into the river rock (which blissfully for us does not have landscape fabric underneath) by the Powell Gallery.
I weeded the small garden on the south side of the Port office, noticed it needed a couple of bags of mulch, and added to the day the dream of getting said bags at Dennis Co in Long Beach and applying it at the end of the day. (This did not happen…it was only a dream.)
After planting some poppies in the westernmost beds, which had some coming up already, while Allan used to pick to hammer four santolinas into the river rock bed that does have landscape fabric underneath (by the old Harbor Lights motel), we planted a couple more santolinas at the boatyard…
and then we were on our way to Long Beach with one drive around the block because I’d seen some narcissi deadheads in an Ilwaco planter.
Long Beach
We tried to deadhead at the Depot on the way only to find the little restaurant getting a new roof. It looked like there might be ladders on top of my alliums. I felt philosophically sad, and we drove on. After some deadheading at the welcome sign, I left Allan weeding Fifth Street Park while I walked around grooming the planters and street trees.
First thing when I get back after my trip to Sylvia Beach Hotel (which starts tomorrow) will be to plant sweet peas along where Allan is weeding out those bad alliums and some shotweed.
As I walked around the planters, I felt the time stress level mounting; we really hoped to be done by five thirty to allow time at home for paperwork, packing, and blogging, and some telly. Here is some work stream of consciousness: must be out of my mind scheduling such a long trip to Sylvia Beach during almost spring work season…so what if 60th birthday…will love it when I get there but so behind on work…wish could weed beach approach garden and berms…still have not done the damn big pop out! but Allan says he will do it when he returns (he’s coming back four days before I do)…bless his heart.
The owner of the smoke shop says a Thai restaurant is indeed opening very soon. Better weed a little harder under that tree in front…I went back and did so… . Also she told me her cute little dog loves to patrol for snails around the base of the planter. I offered him a job, but he already has one as mascot of the shop.
Heading back north now…lugging my bucket, my ho mi and clippers. I get rid of some weeds along the way in the garbage cans.
I paused Fifth Street park, where Allan was making great progress, and told him that I would do the two block to the north, as far as the stoplight and back, and that we would end the day by driving to the last two blocks of planters that are north of the light. My legs hurt too much to walk that far. I told him I hoped to be back to the park by four thirty so we could finish and get home early.
The tulip foliage is looking so healthy this year compared to previous years when it was spotted and battered with rain.
The afternoon turned to misery when I found the tree garden by Long Beach Tavern absolutely thick with chickweed. I filled my bucket and had to call Allan for help dealing with the debris.
As I walked on, I hoped I would not run into any more chickweed messes. My lower back was all wonky from carrying a heavy bucket and I had a sudden brainstorm. I need an upright shopping cart, bucket sized, with a holder for all my hand tools. I must make this happen. I wonder if I have my mom’s old one anywhere around. A wheelbarrow is too wide and blocks the sidewalk, but a little cart….must have…or maybe I could use a rolling walker with a seat for the bucket!
I cannot kill a snail (except discreetly with sluggo). I threw them behind the wall in a weedy area. And looked over the other side of the wall at a park which we so need to weed and clip but we don’t have time…
I found another chickweed nightmare under another tree, and then a third chickweed nightmare in the planter by gazebo park, and called Allan to tell him I would not be back to the park by five. He had already started to work his way north along a line of planters to meet me.
All day much stream of consciousness about too many jobs…should quit Long Beach…private jobs the most lucrative…but Long Beach is my right livelihood, my life’s mission…my legs hurt…too old…knowledge is worth a lot…must get little shopping cart. …a big cold 20 mph wind had come up and was making work a battle… Crossing a street with cars waiting, remembering a younger woman, a regular at the coffee shop I used to frequent, laughingly telling me I looked like a red faced old drunk when I was working in the wind. Remembering that other woman telling me (while she tugged at and fidgeted with her tight uncomfortable outfit) that I shouldn’t be allowed to work in public because I looked like a homeless hobo. And recalling my mother asking me “Why does Long Beach hire you, with the way you look?” And wondering why I get completely stymied for a response to the astonishing things people say.
At-home gardeners, especially women, often write about the shabby, comfortable old clothes that they put on for a day in the garden (except for Katharine White, who was renowned for going out in her work dresses and heels the moment she got home from the New Yorker). There is a reason why people prefer to garden in old, soft, comfy clothes: because it is COMFORTABLE. Pretty much any couture would be beat to hell by the end of one of our workdays. I am not going to change wearing the most comfortable layers of clothes possible for getting through a long day nor will I apply any potions other than sunscreen and soothing hand lotion or lip balm.
Would any of those women who critiqued me to my face dare to question an old fisherman or male farmer about his personal style? No. They would not. (Except for maybe a husband or son.) I’ve never been comfortable being defined by gender expectations. If I were younger I would adopt the wonderful new term Non-Binary or Genderfluid (which wouldn’t even be a thing were it not for rigid gender expectations).
Still, knowing that I’ve been judged and found wanting, my will to live today was getting seriously sapped by the horrible windy stream of consciousness, critical voices in my memory, and increasing age-related physical pains that were making me hobble in front of the cars with my bucket and my work clothes and imagine those people judging me, too. (I used to move fast enough to get out of their vision quickly.) It was not being a good day. Here’s something new and fresh instead:
Allan and I met up and went back to the van, and I was able to admire his work.
The next half hour was a frenzy of grooming the two north blocks of trees (only two trees there, thankfully) and planters (fewer per those two blocks than the other blocks). Then home to do the work spreadsheet and back and blog…Usually my back is not a problem but it hurt enough when I sat down to make me yowl loudly…and finally at ten PM there will be dinner and telly.
Leaving tomorrow for Sylvia Beach Hotel with no worries about blogging as I am over ten days ahead. Scared because might have to cross the big bridge to Astoria in wind and heavy rain. Hoping to survive to turn 60 on the 17th. Hope to come back with some sort of enlightenment that I always seek by reading the room journals. And maybe some brilliant thoughts about what to do about work.
P.S. Two days later, typing this from my phone: I’m at the SBH and all is well, even though I haven’t found complete enlightenment yet.
Seeing you and Allan crossing the streets in your COMFORTABLE clothes brings me great joy. It means that true artists are at work! What you do is demanding but very much appreciated by us.
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You bring a tear to me jaded old eye, dear Betsy!!
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That wheeled shopping cart is a brilliant idea. I bought an old one at the Vintage Market during the Northwest Flower and Garden Show, to lug my purchases around in. They work great, and will save your back lots of misery.
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I actually have my mom’s old one; I thought maybe we’d given it away but Allan says it is in his workshop. Haven’t assessed its condition yet.
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I really prefer to avoid platitudes and cliches, but this says it well and is just a gentle reminder (to myself, as well) from a friend who loves you just the way you are:
“Do what you want to do, say what you want to say, because those who matter don’t mind, and those who do mind don’t matter.”
Incidentally, most folks think this is a Dr. Seuss (Theodor Geisel) quote, but found some interesting background on it here:
http://quoteinvestigator.com/2012/12/04/those-who-mind/
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Thanks, my dear old friend.
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Also thanks for the cool quote investigator site. Very handy.
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How rude of that woman to say you looked like a drunk! you both do so much work in all kinds of weather and need to be as warm and comfortable as possible.
many of us sympathetic gardeners are in old clothes with red faces (I have rosacea).
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Thank you, pretty I sure I have it, too.
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‘Comfortable’ is my only style guide.
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Thanks, Mr. T.
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Love your blog and your “comfortable clothes”. Wave when you go thru
Rockaway Beach on your trip.
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Have been there and back again; I always find Rockaway Beach a delight to pass through.
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How dare people judge you! I feel like coming over there and slapping them! At the age of fifty, I no longer give a hoot what anyone thinks of the way I dress when I’m out or even when they visit me at home. Be proud of what you do and who you and Allan are Skylar and know that you bring this middle aged Western Australian a heck of a lot of joy each time I read your blog 😘
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Love you, Cathy!!!
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