Of Greenhouses and Gardening

For those of you who have been checking my blog in vain the past several months, here is a post for you! And there was much rejoicing . . . yaaaaay! My apologies. I know it's been awhile. However, I have begun a blog for the Montana Natural History Center, and I try to post there once a week or so. So, if you want to read about birds I'm interested in or see pictures of flowers from some of my and Greg's hikes, it's a great place to go.

From last Saturday's hike up Woods Gulch: larches bursting into their spring green finery . . . one of the most beautiful sights in the world.

However, I really do want to be updating this a bit more. I may get a new computer soon, and that will probably inspire me to update more often (at least for awhile!). It's May! Greg and I have been doing lots of work in our greenhouse and garden, and I would love to share a few (dozen) pictures with you. Last summer, Greg decided to build a greenhouse. Greg got 4x4 posts for the foundation . . .



. . . and bought 2x4s and plywood from Home Resource, a local non-profit that collects and sells reusable building materials. WE LOVE THIS PLACE. (Especially when it was still in walking distance. However, they needed more space, so they've moved to the west side of town (fairly close to my old apartment, actually), so it's no longer convenient to walk there.)



We had old windows in our garage, left over from when the previous owners replaced the windows in the house. We also bought a couple of extras from Home Resource . . .



. . . as well as a door, which Greg framed in.



We bought some asphalt shingles from Home Resource, and Greg built an insulated roof with a hinge on the lower third, so that we can prop it open on warm, sunny days to let the heat escape. With the help of some friends, we lifted the very heavy roof in place and screwed it in. Almost winter-ready . . .



. . . it just needed some walls, so Greg spent a couple of days in the fall putting up the plywood:



We really loved the look of this new little building, especially in the gorgeous fall sunshine!



So we let it sit all winter, waiting, and then March rolled around and we started to get inspired. We started some seeds, putting them upstairs in our guest bedroom with a heater and a mini-greenhouse made out of wire coat hangers and bubble wrap. But we really wanted to put them out in the greenhouse. It was time to beef it up even more--by adding insulation. Again, we turned to Home Resource for a solution, and found it. They were selling a bunch of flooring material from a climbing gym--thick, poofy stuff that would work perfectly as insulation, and was only 15 cents a square foot. Not bad.



Greg cut it to fit between the studs, and covered it up with another layer of plywood. Perfect! At this point, it's probably better insulated than most of the walls of our house (yet another project to complete before next winter . . . )



After putting in the interior walls, we spent some time putting up long, narrow shelves for our wine bottles, which we filled with water in order to help retain heat in the greenhouse at night. We found a free bookshelf in an alley (alley-walking has got to be one of the most useful activities!), which was perfect for holding plants, tools, and other miscellaneous. We bought a couple of fluorescent light bulbs (2 for $4) from Ace Hardware, and set up a little growing station in our greenhouse. Check out our little plantlings!



We used all of our old egg cartons as seed starters--they're a perfect size, and when we transplanted the seedlings to bigger pots, we just stuck the egg carton sections right in there with the plants. Here's a lovely little cherry tomato:



and some little broccoli plants springing up:



and a cucumber unfurling itself from the earth:



Watching them every day, they don't seem to grow very fast. But when I look at pictures over the past few weeks, it's amazing how much they are growing! The ones in the foreground are garbanzo beans. We planted a few dried garbanzo beans and lentils--just ones we bought from the store!--and they promptly sprouted and started growing like crazy. Amazing.



After a few weeks in the greenhouse, we transplanted a few plants into larger pots; within the next couple of weeks, we had transplanted all of the plants. Happy plants!



In between greenhouse improvements, we've also been readying the garden for spring. We dug all the leaf cover into the soil (and are now spending several minutes a day pulling up maple seedlings from the garden), and planted many of our cold-weather seeds: lettuce, spinach, beets, kale, carrots, and peas.





Spring is also a time to plant fruit trees, and we simply couldn't resist buying an apricot tree and this amazing little cherry tree, with four, count them, FOUR, types of branches grafted onto the trunk: Bing, Rainier, Lapins, and Tieton. Just imagine the cherries we'll be eating in a few years.

. .

Ah, spring in Montana. Just because we're planting seeds in the garden doesn't mean we're past the snow stage. Here's March going out like a (cold, wet, snowy) lion:



And yet the warm days are creeping in. We spent a day working out our watering system (Ace Hardware supplied us with hoses, multi-ended spigots, etc.) and laying out the hoses.



That day was even warm and sunny enough to hang our laundry out to dry!



We opened the windows, which Basil loved. He also loves munching tulip leaves. Trust me, he's not contemplating the beauty of these flowers. He just wants to munch them. Little punk.



Our Egyptian walking onions are growing fabulously (below right), and our garlic is getting a good start, too (below left).



We added Moroccan mint (an unexpected, wonderful find at the Bellingham Farmer's Market!) to our herb garden, and we can't wait to make some Moroccan mint tea. Pressing the leaves releases a fragrance that transports me back to Morocco and the gallons of mint tea I drank there. Apparently Moroccan mint is a type of spearmint (rather than peppermint) -- a little bit more subtle, not to mention utterly delicious. Mmm.



I must say, the longer I live in this house, the more fond I become of our little yard. Especially in the sunshine. It holds light and color in such a magical way. Isn't it beautiful?






With our yard looking so beautiful, we figured we'd better continue the improvements on the greenhouse--but this time, we decided to work on the exterior. Last fall, Greg was alley-walking (what did I tell you??) and walked past a woman who was ripping cedar shingles off of a building. Since she was just going to throw them away, he asked if he could have them, and took home a carload of these wonderful cedar shingles. They sat protected in the greenhouse all winter, and just this past weekend, we took the time to put them on the greenhouse.



I sorted the shingles by size and condition, while Greg nailed them up. I'm not sure who had the more challenging task!



Looking good!! (Oh, yes, and the greenhouse, too!)



From the front: all finished! (Yes, that's duct tape on the window. A few of the elderly windows cracked during the construction of the greenhouse. Greg and I are trying to gear ourselves up for replacing the glass . . . which is not going to be a fun task. In the meantime, the duct tape is doing its job.)



View of the side and back:



Doesn't it look wonderful? The greenhouse suddenly looks like it's been there for years. I am thinking of painting the door a bright red. What do you think?



A few other garden delights: Cherry blossom!! This was our first one . . . we had four total, three from the Bing branch and one from the Lapins branch. If we're lucky, we may get to sample four cherries this summer! We are hoping the recent record-low temperatures (22 and 24 degrees two nights last week) didn't ruin our chances for a tiny taste of cherry sweetness this summer.



Another delight was our tulips. Last fall we planted upwards of 100 bulbs of various types, and they have been blooming like crazy. There are some lovely pink and white striped ones in front of the greenhouse, as well as some deep pink and purple and yellow ones to the side:



The most striking ones, however, may be our orange and red-yellow beauties:





Happy happy spring, everyone!

Repeat the Sounding Joy!

Tuesday night. Again. Tuesday nights, Greg teaches down in Hamilton and I have the house to myself. On Tuesday nights I do things like talk to Linds for two hours, hands-free set in use, while walking around the house, cleaning up, organizing. I eat crackers and cheese for supper, or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich, or a quesadilla (yes, I know there's a theme here!). I blog. I enjoy this space; it is good for me. But I am always glad to see him when I get home from work on Wednesday afternoon.

Basil is sitting on my lap, purring. How do cats know? They wait until you're doing something that requires mobility, or until you are just about ready to stand up and go into the other room--and bam, they leap in their elegant fluid way onto your lap, walk in a circle or three, and start purring. It's the purring that does it. I can't resist it, especially when it's Basil. He is not always affectionate, so when he is, I feel compelled to stay sitting, to be slightly inconvenienced in order to enjoy his cuddly company. He is still esconced in his "cone of shame," and will be for another couple of weeks, unfortunately. I do hope we can take it off before we leave for Iowa . . . and Morocco . . . and Egypt. Fingers crossed.

It is cold outside. -3 degrees, to be exact. It is also very clear, and if I look outside I can see Orion hanging above the eastern mountains. Inside I am cozy. The Christmas tree lights shine gently in the corner; another string outlines the window behind me. It is what they call "the Christmas season," yet I am not quite feeling it yet. It is Advent, one of my very favorite seasons of the church year, and yet my life feels too hurried to enjoy it, to slow down and recognize that it is here.

In church on Sunday we lit two blue candles, one for hope, one for peace. Blue banners hung from the ceiling, and Pastor Jean wore a blue stole over her robe. All this to help us remember what season we are in. I want to feel it, to let it sink in.

At work yesterday, I listened to Christmas music, to try to get myself into the mood. As I write that, I wonder--what does that mean? What is this "mood" of Christmas that I'm seeking? What I mean by that is that I am wanting to feel that my life is slowing down enough for me to see it clearly. I want to take time to walk outside and see Orion glimmering in the black December sky. I want to see the beauty around me, the depths of the world around me, to sense the magic, the mystery of this season. That's it, right there: I want the magic of it. The magic of people loving one another. The magic of snow falling on the trees and houses and past the streetlights. The magic of walking with the man I love through the snow, past houses with cozy yellow light spilling from their windows. The magic of feeling that there is love in the world, that all the world is loved, that there is a loving God who wraps this world--with all its hurts and happinesses--in her arms.

That is the magic that I'm seeking.

As I listened to all my favorite Christmas songs playing--O Holy Night, music from the Nutcracker, the Hallelujah chorus--I felt just a little bit of that magic swelling around me. I looked out my window at the mountains, their tops dusted with snow, gleaming brightly in the sunshine. I listened to the words of "Joy to the World," another favorite. And four words played themselves over and over in my mind: "Repeat the sounding joy!"

Repeat the sounding joy. Hearing it reminds me of that line from Garden State: "Good luck exploring the infinite abyss!" Reminds me that THIS is what we're meant to do: explore the infinite (and beautiful, and terrifying, and dazzling) abyss . . . and remember that we also need to repeat, and repeat, and repeat again the sounding joy.

. . . the echoes of joy sounding in the starlight and the brilliant cold air, in the snowflakes, in the purring of kitties and the comfort of down slippers. In the glow of the Christmas lights, in bear hugs, in letters from friends on the other side of the world. In the voices of friends and the songs of angels--

repeat the sounding joy.

Tuesday Evening

A nearly full moon shines brightly in the sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, and the air is chill in a very December-y type of way. I left work late tonight--we had a party for our volunteers, so it was not a bad sort of late night--and, at 6:30, the sun was completely down (and had been down for quite a while), the moon was high and bright, and the sky was dazzlingly dark. I realized that I don't often go out at night, now. I usually come home from work in mid-afternoon, and promptly change into comfy clothes . . . or even pajamas, depending on the day. It's the time of year to curl up in a blanket and read a book, or watch a movie, or cook something warm and delicious in the kitchen, or snuggle with my husband and/or my cat and/or my kitty.

I almost went for a walk when I got home--I was so tempted by the clear cold air and the moonlight and the darkness--but my wonderful Basil-cat needed some love and attention. Over Thanksgiving we discovered a nickel-sized scabby sore above his left eye, and we took him to the vet, who sedated him, scraped the sore in order to do some tests on it, stuck the poor little guy in one of those ridiculous and humiliating neck cones, and gave us some drugs to give him twice a day. He hates the cone. I can't laugh at him, can't even take a picture of him, because he is so horribly sad and confused about why he has to wear this dreadful plastic THING that he can't see around, can't scratch around, can't clean himself around. He mopes around the house and ends up curling up in hidden places, unless I can coax him onto my lap . . . and then he cuddles against me and purrs and purrs and purrs. At least we're getting plenty of cuddle time. He has to wear the darned thing for the next ten days, until we finish with the medication, and I do so hope that by then the sore (whatever it is) will be healed and he will be back to his usual confident, Dude-like self. I wish I could explain to him that it's for his own good, and that he hasn't done anything to deserve it, and that he's a GOOD kitty . . . and maybe he understands, at least a little.

I have been reading blog updates from my dear friend Rachel, who returned recently from several months in Africa--Kenya, Uganda, Congo. I love reading about her travels. I am reminded of what a different place she is in her life, a place between places, a place where she's seeking to find her place. And on a purely geographical level, I have found my place here in Missoula, Montana, amidst mountains and rivers and wild landscapes, and I am content.

But on another level, a meaning-in-life level, I think I'm just as much at an in-between place as Rach is. I enjoy my job; it's great to work for a non-profit and a cause I deeply believe in. I love my husband and I love being married, love sharing my life, with all its fun and challenges and seekings, with my wonderful Greg. I love my little house, my cats, my homey yellow kitchen, my garden. Yet I feel that there is more I should be doing. Is this one of those feelings that everyone has? Do we all feel that we're not quite doing enough, that we could be doing so much more? Or have some people actually found their niche, their calling?

I spoke tonight with one of the volunteers, a woman with whom I've had some wonderful conversations, someone with whom I could be friends. She is a writer, too. She spoke about wanting to write more, to discuss writing together, to push ourselves into disciplined creativity, and our conversation reminded me that this is a big part of what is missing in my life right now. The writing. The putting pen to paper, the typing of words on a screen, the formation of ideas onto a page. This writing ability, once which I like to think I've explored and honed and bettered over the years, is a gift, and right now it feels like a gift I'm not using. Sitting here tonight, typing this little post, feels good. It feels like I'm thinking about my life. It feels like I'm processing. It feels like I'm journaling, at least, if not creating something particularly structured. And those are all things that I want to be feeling. Writing has always helped me to slow down my life, to examine it, to hold it in my hands, look at it, and truly see it--in ways that I don't when I'm not writing.

So here is my challenge to myself. To write. To see. To feel. To explore, examine, imagine. And I wish myself luck . . . and a whole lot of new-found discipline.

Holland Lake Overlook

I am hiking with two friends to a high lookout in the Swan Valley. It is steep--4 miles and 4,000+ feet . . . and my lungs and legs tire quickly of the up, up, up, the constant incline that rarely gives us relief. It is a perfect August day, bright and blue and warm, and the sun pours its golden morning light on us as we push our feet, our legs, our bodies forward--and upward.

I get frustrated sometimes, while hiking. I get frustrated when my body doesn't work as well as I want it to, when it tires, when blisters form, when my breath comes short and my legs ache. I get angry at silly things. I start thinking things like, "I didn't know this was going to be such a steep trail! I hate this constant up up up! It's dumb! What's the point? I'm not sure I would have done this if I'd known exactly what was involved!" . . . etc.

I find myself complaining, getting grumpy. Because I am with other people, I try (sort of) to be positive. I pause occasionally to look around me--there's meadowrue, seed pods dangling. I glance at clumps of fireweed, the brightness of goldenrod, the beautiful mottled green of the mountain stretching above me. But then I notice the trail switching back and forth across the face, a continuous upward climb with no level space in sight. This mountain seems to get higher with each turn, each switchback--and we are no closer to the top. Or so it seems.

Grumpy me.

I know better--I know the view will probably be nice; indeed, as I look out over the valley behind me, and the backs of the Mission Mountains, I am in awe of the beauty. We are high. Holland Lake glimmers blue and green below us, and Seeley Lake comes into view as we trudge ever higher. In the shade of a Ponderosa pine we come across a patch of fresh huckleberries and wortleberries, and their bright juicyness surprises my tongue, lightens my senses.

Up, up, up.

We pause at a switchback so I can strip off my sock and apply a bandaid and moleskin to my blister, which is already the size of a quarter and filled with fluid. Ouch. I walk gingerly, doing my best to keep from rubbing my left heel any more than possible. We are in the sun now, on an exposed south-facing slope, and the sweat trickles down my face and my back.

There is a sudden sharp turn and there, just above us, is the roof of a dilapidated fire cabin--the cabin that sits on top of the ridge, the cabin that marks the end of our trek. We are nearly there. I limp up the suddenly rocky slope--I can see the top of the ridge--I crest the ridge--and there, before me, stretched out like an infinite banner, is wilderness.

I see mountain after mountain reaching to the horizon. I can see miles upon miles into pure wilderness: rocky slopes, alpine lakes, subalpine larches, far-off ridges dark with distance, a few patches of snow. My eyes are dazzled by green and brown, grey and white, and the oh-so-blue of sky. I turn, slowly, and see the Missions stretching out behind me, the whole vast landscape laid out before me like a feast. My eyes drink it up greedily, all 360 glorious degrees of it. Aching legs and blistered heels are forgotten as I gaze at the bright world around me. The breeze cools my face, the sun beats down on my hair, and I bask in the light and wind dancing around me.

Oh, beautiful, wonderful, wild Montana. I feel contentment pour into me like water: I could stay here forever. I could stay here forever.

Wintry Fun

Ah, yes, time for another post. Yikes, this is long due!!

So Greg's birthday was at the beginning of January, and what better way to celebrate than to drive up to Chief Joseph Pass for a celebratory ski? The weather was stunning--freezing cold (as in, -5 degrees) and gorgeous blue skies and sunshine. We skied in the late afternoon as the sun was going down, and its rays lit the snow-laden trees with brilliant light.



There's a lot of snow up there!



Look closely--there are TWO poles here!



Is this heaven? . . . no, it's Montana. Ahhh.



Posing for the camera . . .



Sadly, our 3 liters of water were undrinkable, as the water in the drinking tube froze solid. Greg tried, though!



The requisite self-portrait.



We haven't had much snow lately, but in late December and early January it was nice to snuggle up indoors and watch the snow fly outside:



My street, just before Christmas.



This is back up at Chief Joseph Pass--we took Beth and Britta and their aunt Darla up to ski there, and were blessed with another glorious sunny day!



Still lots of snow up there.



Britta and Darla basking in the sunshine . . . and taking pictures, of course!



We've also had fun contra dancing lately. The last Missoula dance was a black-and-white themed one, so we went to the costume store to buy appropriate garb for Greg. The galabeeyah was perfect!



Last weekend Greg and I headed over to Bozeman for the Wintergreen contra dance festival. Once again, the theme of the dance was black-and-white . . . a black-and-white inaugural ball, graced by President Obama himself! Of course I had to get a picture.



And Greg and I were resplendent in our costumes--he was told by several dancers that he was the belle of the ball! And he was, oh, he was.



This coming weekend promises more fun--we're heading over to Spokane for Greg's dad's retirement party. Bill and Becky are also celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary, so it will be a fun, full weekend!

In the meantime, the job searching continues. Wish me luck! Right now I'm writing skits for a children's radio show and doing a little babysitting, but insha'allah something more consistent will make its way to me soon. Insha'allah. Cheers to the possibilities!

It's that time . . . for an update!

So many good updates! The most exciting one is that I defended my thesis last Friday, and I am now a Master of Science! And there was much rejoicing. :) I do have a few small changes to make, but besides that, I am finished. After 3 1/2 years of working, I have gotten my degree. I feel good!



I also have a lovely little Christmas tree, plucked from the hills just outside of Hamilton, MT. As my roommate said, it makes our living room look like Christmas. Greg and I decorated it with ornaments from my childhood, as well as a few origami creations. It looks beautiful.






Thanksgiving was lovely--besides finding lovely little Christmas trees we went hiking to the beautiful Blodgett Canyon overlook, which was wild and mysterious in mist and snow, and we of course ate a perfectly decadent dinner, put together by 10 talented cooks. Mmm, good!







The other night, we had an artistic evening, making origami (it's a miracle we even succeeded in finishing any of the pieces, since the book we were using was not particularly useful in showing ALL the necessary steps) and fingerpainting exuberantly on large pieces of cardboard. It was good to have some creative release.






So, good things are happening. I'm looking for a steadyish job, though I'm managing to pick up a few random things here and there, and hey, I can always donate plasma! We're waiting for a good snowfall here, too--I and my friends are itching to get out on our skis! This weekend looks to be promising . . .

Christmas blessings to everyone!