Past Is Prologue, Part Two

 Memory--both bane and blessing!  When Shane was first lost to me, the times I was impatient, crabby, or unkind came flooding back. In that First Worst Week I stapled the pages of my journal closed so I would be unable to go back into my past and review the times I had been less than my best self. And by “less than my best self” I might be referring to the time I told him he “was just lucky I was such an F-ing saint.” Except I didn’t say it as “F-ing.” And I might have “said” it at top volume—sounding more like a Shakespearean fishwife than a saint. Which, even at that time, the incongruity made me laugh. Do Saints go around proclaiming their Sainthood at top volume? With swearing? Probably not.

I experienced the common compulsion to Deify my lost love. The annoyances fell away. Shane was the Saint, a unicorn, a man above men. When my husband was stripped from my life, any of the imperfections became unimportant—all that mattered was his essence: his love, his humor, his gentle spirit. The fact that he insisted on folding the towels “wrong” no longer mattered.

 

Except—it kind of does. In keeping the memory of those little “quirks” about Shane, he gets to live on—more fully fleshed out than just a saint. The kids and I keep his “Shane-isms” alive in our conversations. We tell stories, we make jokes. We threaten to delay a loved one’s imminent departure by changing the oil or rotating the tires on their car, “real quick, won’t take but a minute.” 

Summer 1978

Seven years ...and love survives at the cellular level. Even as we shed our past, dissolve and transform, we carry the DNA of love into our future. Love is both energy and matter—it never ends, no matter how many years have passed.

Past Is Prologue, Part One

“Outside in the porch swing with my first cup of tea. The morning is cool, as it should be in June, and the swing rocks slowly. It seems a day of infinite possibilities—a day when a boy on a motorcycle might kiss a girl on a horse. A long, glorious summer day that will give way to a short summer night, a night of stars and kisses, whispered promises and scraps of poems.

For me, this is a month loaded with events and memories. Events that are celebrated but missing some of their zest. My birthday. Father’s Day, a bittersweet day--three beautiful young men a testament to our love’s immortality. Shane’s birthday at the end of this month, a day that has been traditionally celebrated with a huge German chocolate cake—his favorite. Memories are both blessing and curse.”  

I wrote that seven years ago, that First Worst June. Seven years—how can that be? Seven years since that January morning when Shane went out for gasoline and never returned. It is both forever ago and just yesterday. 

When I was a kid, I believed the prevailing wisdom that our bodies completely renew themselves every seven years—that all of our cells are gradually replaced over that time and we are a “new” person.  It seems so cruel to me now, to think that none of the surface of my skin bears Shane’s touch, no pat on my shoulder, no warm embrace. There is only the memory of that touch, and the tears spill. 

Time heals—yet seems the cruelest of chrysalises—a carapace that protects as we transform—but we still have to dissolve from who we were. Our future self begins to shape itself inside of the walls of Time. That process is both horrific and beautiful.

Weather Talk

 

Lake Chelan

Last weekend was all birthday shenanigans with friends and we ventured to Lake Chelan in search of the elusive sun.

We were sitting around the fire the first night --an assortment of friends, including a new friend who had recently arrived from Texas. The talk, as it often does, turned to the weather. Texas friend asked when he could expect summer to arrive and without hesitation, the two of the native Pacific North Westerners answered “July fifth!”

 

Unless July fifth falls on a weekend, I added. Then you can expect summer to arrive the following Monday.

I think he thought we were joking, but weather rules are a Thing. Everyone knows that in the Pacific Northwest—specifically eastern Lewis County—summer does not reliably arrive until after the first week in July. Odds are, July 4th will be a bit rainy, but as soon as we get it behinds us—full bloom summer. Unless July 5th falls on a weekend. If it does, the weather could remain rainy, but NO MATTER WHAT-- the sun is guaranteed to come out on the first Monday after the 4th of July holiday. IT’S A RULE. NO RAIN AFTER JULY 5. EVERYONE KNOWS THAT.

Oh, sure—sometimes Mother Nature forgets and summer arrives off-schedule. Take last summer, for example, when we experienced a phenomenal heat wave in June, with temperatures over the 110* mark for multiple days. Glaciers melted, rivers raged and ice cubes were the new currency. 

This year, we’ve had MayVember weather—instead of sun and heat, we’ve had rain and more rain--cold rain that made opening day of Gardening Season seem unattainable, and sunshine seem like it was something we don’t do anymore...

But my weather app on my phone promises that by the time you are reading this, summer should actually act like summer. Break out the sunblock!

"Je Suis Prest"

"I am ready" 
(for you non-Outlander fans)

Unintended Consequences

 The other day at lunch break, my co-workers and I were sitting around the table, chatting and chewing, and one of them asked me if I ever had a difficult time coming up with ideas to fill this space. Yes, I said, and swallowed. Because manners.

 I went on to explain that in the beginning, Over My Garden Gate was mostly a place where I could vent my frustration over elk damage, report all the various methods I had employed—and their failure rate. Spoiler alert: it was 100%. Eventually, OMGG became a saga of my desire to build a fence and all the steps it took to achieve it—approximately 862, if memory serves.

Anyway, in June of 2019 I finally achieved a fence! And, with the exception of two “break-ins”, I’ve been “elk free” ever since!

I’ve also been out of easy source material to compla—uh, out of ides of what to write about. The Law of Unintended Consequences has sneaked up behind me and taken a bite out of my hide. According to the internet—who would, of course, never lie to me—"The Law of Unintended Consequences occurs when an impulsive, emotional decision is made that unintentionally creates more problems than it solves. ( -Mark Manson.)

While my decision to build a fence was clearly an emotional one, I disagree that it created MORE problems than it solved. It did, however, help create a deficit of complaints, AKA Garden Gate Topics. Am I in fact, now complaining about not having enough to complain about? Yes, it would appear so.

Thankfully, there is still the weather. And this May and June have been the Best Ever. For complaining about. Because seriously, this is getting ridiculous. And I happen to live next to my own Personal Joneses, who don’t believe in letting a little rain stop them from getting work done. So now I have two complaints.

Things will probably work out, even with the Unintended Consequences Thing.

Tool Envy

 

“Work smarter, not harder,” they said, and boy, were they right.

Recently, I decided I needed 10 yards of cedar chips for landscaping and, before I had moved more than a teaspoon or two, I decided I needed 10 MORE yards. The nice people at Packwood Prospecting were cleaning up their materials yard and brought me 12 yards for the same price. Excellent! Now I have 22 yards of cedar chips to move into multiple locations and a teaspoon to do it with. I’m sure everything will proceed smoothly.

Last time I had 10 yards of landscaping materials delivered it was 10 yards of “bark dust” for top dressing my flower beds. I worked out a very clever method of stabbing the top of the bark pile with my four-pronged pitchfork and “cracking” it into the scoop shovel I had thoughtfully positioned below. Stab! Crack! Scoop! Dump it in the cute little tractor wagon--with a dump bed! -- I pull behind my lawnmower. Works like a charm...

...For bark dust, not so much for cedar chips. I was reduced to hand scooping the chips into a five-gallon bucket. It was not as much fun as it sounds. 22 yards of cedar chips suddenly seems like a LOT.

Fortunately, my friend Robin stopped by for a visit and suggested I borrow his 10-tine mulch fork—a tool made specifically for picking up loose materials. 

10 tines! Not four! And ergonomic handle with a D end for easy gripping and enhanced leverage! And it comes in a sunny yellow color! I developed a huge case of tool envy and have been plotting ever since then on procuring one of those 10-tined beauties for myself.

And the mulch fork works really well with the “bark dust” I have left. Because yes, I ordered 22 yards of cedar chips before I had exhausted my pile of “dust.” And I still have most of a 10 yard pile of chips procured from the county a couple of seasons back when they were chipping up downed tree limps.

Clearly, I REALLY NEED A 10-tined mulch fork ...

WANT

 

Goodbye MayVember

 Goodbye to May—which at times seemed more reminiscent of November than of May—and hello June! Goodbye to hail, sleet, and snow—-although to be fair I don’t remember if we actually had sleet/snow in May, but boy, it sure felt like we did.

I finally planted my flowerpots on the 25th of May---the latest ever. Now I am free to battle the slugs for my plants and lament my petunia choices every time it rains. In other words—-business as usual.

 

I have twice relocated my garage toad to the front flower bed. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to live in his little clay Toad House, surrounded by flowers, but apparently he derives some perverse pleasure out of appearing unexpectedly indoors. Yes, that screeching noise came from me.

Garage Toad

Garden Toad

 

My straw bale garden is busily composting away. I have yet to plant any peas, carrots, beans, or anything by seed. My tomato starts are cozily tucked into the bales, and the pepper plants that have survived the slugs are starting to look like they might recover. I don’t have to plant any cilantro or dill as they have both self-propagated—the cilantro at a prolific, nearly noxious-weed rate. This year I have one pumpkin plant—so far—so the neighborhood should be relatively safe. I only planted one hill of zucchini. Time will tell if I can keep the number of drive-by veggie drops to a minimum.

 

As is my way, I have started a new project—before completing my last project. One of my garden sheds from last year is still without its roofing shingles, but I didn’t let that stop me from ordering two loads of cedar chips from Packwood Prospecting and putting in a play area for the grandkids—the landscaping of which will probably be completed in three to five years, or 18 new projects later, whichever comes first.

Welcome Back to Packwood

 Welcome to Packwood! Its that time of year again, so here’s your refresher:

 Memorial Day kicks off Visitors’ Season* in our tiny mountain town, high in the Washington Cascades. Please enjoy your visit. For your elucidation, I have put together a list of guidelines that will make your stay more pleasant--for me.

The Rules Governing Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

 

The Rules Governing Visitors and Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Don’t be like Elk.

3) Please enjoy the spontaneous elk parades that will take place at random intervals. Elk will wander out into the highway so that you can stop and enjoy their majesty. Please do.

4) Please watch for elk that will dash out in front of oncoming vehicles. There is almost always more than one. It is not considered a parade.

5) No, the Elk are not trucked in by the Disney Company. They do not talk.

6) No, you should not try to pet them.

7) Or feed them. If you really want to feed elk, I suggest you buy an alfalfa truck and park it, fully loaded, in town. This is the traditional way of feeding elk. Google it.

Saved you the Google search. You're welcome.

 

8) Do not let them have your IPA. Elk are terrible drunks.  

9) Yes, you can take one home with you. In fact, every visitor is allowed to take home six elk, each. Per visit. Did I say allowed? I meant REQUIRED.

10) Please do not allow the elk to drive. Actually, don’t allow them in your vehicle as elk are terrible back seat drivers as well, and have been known to chew on the upholstery.

11) U-Haul trucks are available in town to transport your elk. Yes. That’s why they’re there.

12) Once you take the elk, they are yours. DO NOT TRY TO RETURN YOUR USED ELK.

The Rules Governing Locals, Elk and Visitors 

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Visitors are learning the rules. Please back me up on these rules. Especially the six elk—each, thing. I really think it might work.

3) Deer Season starts early September. Permit required. Limit one.

4) Elk Season starts early November. Permit required. Limit one. Personally, I am campaigning to increase the limit. I’m thinking a half-dozen should be good.

5) Visitors’ Season* starts May 26. Please remember that no permits for visitors will be issued.