Grieving Gardener

Minutes before the 1st Annual Girls Garden Party–

As I look out on the park that is our beloved Winterpast, her beauty brings tears to my eyes. HHH has done everything humanly possible to bring her back to life. From planting roses with a pick ax to carefully observing Miracle Grow Monday’s and Super-Thrive Saturdays, the fruit of our labor is here to enjoy all summer long.

Five springs ago, I became a widow with a new house. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, but cancer broke apart the best laid plans. Moving in 17 days after death knocked on the door, I didn’t know if it would be possible for me to continue. 1/2 acre of intense gardening was staring me in the face. Broken sprinkler pipes and lost emitters forced me to venture into the garden and begin.

And so, I started gardening while I finished moving in. I unpacked boxes. I purged physically and mentally. I tried new things like dating. I began to live my very own life and haven’t slowed down since. The transformation into a new life came through Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior. Of course, there was also a lot of very hard work. If you are on the path of widowhood, you understand. If you haven’t experienced it, I hope you never do.

Throughout the last five springs, I carefully planted seeds of friendships throughout my little town. In about 30 minutes, they will arrive to enjoy the garden at our 1st Annual Spring-Fling Girl-Only Garden party. Just add food and laughter and you have a party. I love each and every one of them as the sisters they’ve become.

The grocery deli didn’t let me down with the most beautiful meat, cheese, and fruit platters I could have imagined. The produce manager personally selected the fruit, even including a Picasso Melon. (If you haven’t tried one, you must.) With chips, fresh cherries, and ice cream sandwiches for desert, no one should go away hungry.

When I think of the lonely widow of 2020, the changes are shocking. I prayed for friends, Jesus took the wheel and I met them at a Bible Study. The neighborhood has provided the best neighbors I could imagine. Miss Carson City has become such a sweet friend having known our home long before I came along for Winterpast previously belonged to her parents.

I’m so thankful for this lovely home that has cocooned me when I didn’t know how I could continue to breathe. She will forever keep all the secrets of one newly single woman and her crazy dog. She will also keep the confidence of a happily married newlywed couple as HHH and I find our way on our own path.

In a few minutes they’ll arrive. Around 20 of my Ride-Or-Dies. Those that couldn’t make it are here in spirit, missing the party because of prior commitments or distance.

It wasn’t just luck that brought me this far. I’m no more deserving of the blessings I’ve received since April 8, 2020 than the next widow. I’m just a 68-year-old bride having the time of her life while writing the next chapter with my groom.

Grief hits like a car crash and cuts like a knife. There is nothing to be done but to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. Journal along the way. As springs pass, one after the next, you’ll soon be amazed at how far you’ve come.

Tomorrow — Come Party in the Garden

The Zephyr winds of the desert carry many things with them. So long ago, they carried away the ashes of my late husband. As they ripped across the desert, as they do so often, the roar on that lonely mountain top silenced my wails. Widow’s grief. Widow’s fog. Widowhood. The worst. The only kind of grief I know is the one unique to me. I’m the first to say I couldn’t imagine the depth of your own loss, because I’m still trying to figure out the depth of mine.

There’s another type of grief I’ve been witnessing since May 12th. The loss of the adult child of my Harvest Sister. She’s everything you find in a bountiful harvest of life. Smart. Beautiful. Witty. Charming. Wise. Brilliance packed in a mother. A mentor. A helper. And now, a grieving mom.

Life doesn’t make sense sometimes. Why does one parent enjoy 70-year-old grown children and another lose their 24-year-old-son? Without the “Why” answered, my sweet friend has her faith and family to help her regroup and take her next steps. For now, she’s just practicing breathing in and out, taking things one minute at a time.

She wasn’t the kind of mom that meddled or helicoptered. She was the kind of mom that rode the rollercoaster of life WITH her child while allowing him to grow up to be a special man. She was and will be forever more HIS mom and so proud that he was HER son. Two peas in a pod.

In the last month, I’ve gotten to know learn a lot about him. In 24 years, he lived more than most do in a lifetime, all thanks to his parents love and support. She was there to wish him well as he left to travel Europe. She hugged him close as they were surrounded by hula dancers in Hawaii. Every picture of them showed their connection. That love that only a mom and child share. After all, we grew our children right next to our hearts.

In preschool, under her watchful eye, he found his one true love. A woman that would remain his best friend for 20 years. He married this girl at 5, only to divorce her in 2nd Grade, but the friendship remained true. They held each others secrets for 20 years, each other’s Ride-Or-Die until he did.

WE honored his life last Saturday. Before the memorial service, a young woman dressed in a black sundress entered the church. Holding a beautiful vase of flowers, she was having a hard time with her tears. She kept assuring her girlfriend that she was fine although it was obvious she was anything but as she stood at the memorial tribute in the back.

As the appointed greeter, I lost track of her until she was in front of me, talking to the town’s florist.

“He was quite a young man. How did you know him.”

Our eyes met briefly. Before she could answer, all I could say was, “I already know.” Because, for some strange reason, I did. Never having met, I knew she lived in Las Vegas and was the most important woman in HIS life. His mom had already shared their story in bible study. The strangest thing was, I was correct and immediately, we hugged and cried.

Lovely doesn’t even begin to explain this young woman. During the service, she had the courage to speak to over 100 guests about her young marriage and lifelong friendship. While full of grief, she shared just a glimpse into the kind of rare relationship that makes life beautiful. Through her and the other events of the day, I left feeling close to this young man that left our world far too young.

Death. None of us will escape. Although we would hope everyone will follow the “proper and expected” order, some slip in line sooner than we can accept.

Grief. A nasty journey for anyone. Not something we can navigate for the person traveling through it. Sometimes, words get in the way. Just listen. Give Space. Hold a hand. Give a hug. Take phone calls at 2 AM. Repeat as many times as humanly possible.

I met a young man last week. An extraordinary young man. Someone that lived many lifetimes in one. A man who rocked soft eyes and an awesome beard. I met a young man created and loved by my friend and her husband. I’m so glad I had that chance.

Dedicated to Taylor Ray Smith and Miss Daria.

More tomorrow.

Sometimes finding just the right garden addition takes patience and trial and error. With the gardens of Winterpast marching towards full bloom, HHH and I decided we needed a new fountain. After an unsuccessful attempt to convert the old fountain to solar, we were both ready for something new.

Off we went to the hardware store after doing some research to find they did sell fountains. Now, if I were in charge of marketing, I’d make sure the fountains were front and center at the beginning of the year. Not our store.

The fountains were tucked away on the highest shelves, accessible to customers only by forklift. After asking several associates, we finally found them on the back aisle in the garden section. There sat the three tier fountain pictured above, beautiful in every way except one. Solar? No.

Sitting on the same shelf was a fountain of another style. The same height, this fountain was rock-like, with man-made moss “growing” on the front. Having LED lighting, it caught our eye. Something so different might just be great for Winterpast. So, we took it home.

After taking it out of the box and trying it, it was obvious it was wrong for Winterpast. What were we thinking buying something with fake mold????? Really???? A shared Senior Moment.

Boxed up, we returned it to Lowe’s. In the mean time, HHH found a SOLAR fountain online. Although almost twice the cost, it was already solar complete with a battery back-up. Our fountain could run day or night, powered by the sun!! It even came with LED lighting. Completing the Amazon order, we waited three days until the huge box arrived.

Cheap doesn’t even begin to cover it. A huge returnable disappointment sat in the back yard. Thin resin, the minute a Zephyr wind roared through, it would blow over and crack. Nope. It wouldn’t do. We boxed it up and returned it to Amazon.

It was obvious that we had the right idea in the beginning. The beautiful fountain on the top shelf of the hardware store’s garden center was the one. HHH destroyed the box as soon as he could to be sure there were no more heavy returns.

Luckily, this fountain is everything we wanted, except that it’s not solar. We can deal with that. It has soft LED lights that glow in the evening. With three large bowls, our finches are coming in for regular drinks and baths. The sound of falling water is soothing as we sit and enjoy Winterpast every evening after dinner. We finally found the right one. We just had to try a few other options first.

Whatever you do today, Don’t Settle. Make choices that fit you. If it means a few returns, then return you will. When you find just the right choice, you’ll know.

To my readers —

Girls just want to have fun, so I’m off on a spring fling. June is packed full of adventure. I’ll return June 18th to tell you all about it. As always, enjoy the archives until I return.

More tomorrow.

Walmart is a hidden treasure of stories of life. It seems that every time we shop there are small dramas unfolding around us in micro-lessons. The other day was no exception.

As HHH and I hurried into the store, hand in hand and discussing our gardening, a young man walked just behind us singing a song of woe to his mother. His loud words carried and stopped our conversation.

“24 sucks, MOM. It sucks. I’m tired of everything that comes with 24. It’s not fair.”

HHH and I, both smiling by that time, had to interject ourselves into their conversation. Here was a healthy, handsome young man with the world at his fingertips. Life was too much at level 24. With his world starting to unfold, already, it was more than he could deal with. Overwhelmed. At 24.

“Try 70,” HHH quipped.

“Well, I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. Your generation lived dreams that I can’t even begin to understand. You guys lived in the perfect time.”

How true. What an observant young man.

We were lucky enough to live in a golden age. Those a little older than us, even more so. By 24, I was the mom of a little boy. I owned my second house and a new car. I wasn’t working outside the home, but was proud to be a HOME MAKER. Weekends were spent with family and friends relaxing and life was truly beautiful.

If we wanted to camp, we got out the tent and went camping. We could afford to eat at nice restaurants once in a while. The air was cleaner back then. Gas was cheap. Life was good. We looked forward sending our kids to school where they would learn about reading, writing, and arithmetic, while enjoying normal activities after school.

During our childhood, nobody rode their bike with a helmet. We all suffered through skinned knees and normal bumps and bruises. If we misbehaved at school, we’d get twice the trouble once we went home. Our teachers were called “Sir” and “Ma’am”, as were our neighbors. Many days, we were seen but not heard. Both HHH and I grew up feral without helicopter parents monitoring our every move.

This young man had valid points. To be 24 in this day and age must be terrifying. The difference is that when we were 24, we just took off and lived. Most of my friends struck out on their own at 18. Now days, that would be difficult to do. With sky high rent, gas and food prices, it just isn’t possible anymore.

Of course, as an old crone, I would find a way to make things work if I were 24 again. A certain resourcefulness has been lost through the years. And, I was not nearly as resourceful as my parents, who at 22 faced a world war while they tended to a Japanese pig farm in the absence of the real farmers relocated to Manzanar.

And their parents were even more resilient, traveling through Ellis Island from Russia. They left everything they’d known behind to start life in the New World. Farming in America! What a grand dream they lived, writing their lives in a new language.

Every generation faces their own challenges. One foot in front of the other. Slow and steady win the race.

Our exchange with this young man while exchanging knowing glances from his sweet mom was heart-felt and real. It made me hold HHH’s hand just a little tighter. Times are tough for older people, too. The future is unchartered for us all.

Would HHH and I trade places with the young man as he had wished?????????

Absolutely not. Every age has it’s own unique beauty and wonder.

24?

Been there, done that. Wouldn’t change our ages even if we could.

More tomorrow.

Sometimes the best laid plans go awry. Just when you think you have everything figured out, something like cholangiocarcinoma can throw a wrench in the works. Cancer is definitely something that can make it necessary to start all over again.

In my first days of widowhood, the goal was to breathe through the day while completing tasks written down the night before. First on my list was always “Get Dressed”. With widow’s brain fog fresh and intense, if it wasn’t written down, it might not happen.

Every day, I experienced setbacks, triumphs, shattered goals, and one reset after another. Grief does that to those left picking up the pieces. Reset I did. Each day I’d adjust my course until my head hit the pillow. And so it went for a very long time.

Growing up, my mother would always remind me to try again if I didn’t succeed the first time. How many times she insisted we rip out imperfect seams in our 4-H sewing projects. She made sure to inspire us to never give up, but keep trying. “Girls, you can always do better. Don’t let life get you down. Try again.”

Setbacks are just part of life. Best laid plans go awry. Employment changes. A move becomes necessary. A spouse dies. The list is endless, but one outcome is the same every time. It’s becomes necessary to start over. Pick yourself up. Dust yourself off. Begin on a new path. Keep going, one foot in front of the other. Never stay stuck.

Loss means something different to each one of us. The end of a dream requires that we take time to assess whether or not the dream was realistic and attainable. One thing about life is certain. Days are numbered for each of us. We each have a finite number of days to finish what we start out to do. At some point, we’ll all face failure. It’s called life.

Starting over is challenging and takes a bit of courage. You need to summon up inner strength, faith, hope, and inner fortitude to take the first step. But, once you take the first step, the next one is a bit easier. Staying stuck in one spot will leave you to face the same problem again and again.

Always believe that life will return to a new normal and you will survive. Have confidence in your own resourcefulness, and survival abilities. Along the way, God is always there to carry you when you can no longer take steps on your own. I know. There were plenty of days, he carried me quite a ways down the path of widowhood.

Loss and failure shouldn’t be the end, but an opportunity to grow and learn. Don’t be afraid to keep going. Take your time on your new journey for there’s a brand new adventure waiting for you just around the corner.

Everyone lives out their own unique story every day. Teaching 3rd graders over a decade, I always loved it when students would tell me they had nothing to write about. After a few gentle questions, mental sparks would fly as they’d realize they DID have important things to say. EVERY living person has a story to tell with a future that remains unwritten.

The first things necessary to record your thoughts are the right tools. Try writing with both pen and pencil. Try many different kinds until you find just the right fit. If you are like me, your preference might be a keyboard. Again, there are many different types available. You need to find the most comfortable for you.

Journals come in all shapes and sizes with paper in a variety of textures. Lined or unlined? Walmart usually has a pretty good selection of quality journals. Amazon is my go-to place for writing supplies. Along with blogging online, I love recording my thoughts in paper journals. Old School.

For me, the time of day is crucial. For years, I wrote at 4:30 am. I’d wake up with great topics in my head. After feeding Ollie and getting myself a cup of coffee, I’d be ready to start the day with my blog entry. For many years, I began writing long before the sun came up.

Now, a newly wed bride of eight months, I find late afternoon is the most relaxing time to put thoughts into words. I love the afternoon sun as it travels west. Looking out at the beauty of the gardens of Winterpast, the words tumble onto the screen. Oliver still snuggles at my feet, waiting for me to finish and give him his dinner as HHH catches up on the news of the day. It works well for our new family.

Something magical happens when I put pen to paper. I open up, breathe easier, and find my own truths in a place of honesty. As I write about my current life, visions of the future appear before my eyes. Writing from the heart gives a place for unexpected insights to grow. After a few months, you can look back on your own journey and plan your next moves.

It takes courage to be a writer. Sharing your own words creates vulnerability. Stay on course and own each sentence. Your life is yours and yours alone to share, not belonging to parents, children, or friends. It’s unique property and yours to share or keep private. You are the only one that can write the story of your life.

When you begin writing, be it journal or blog, write every single day. Don’t miss. Don’t put it off. Any good habit begins with repetition. Tell the truth. Don’t edit. Don’t hold back. Don’t change your voice to be perfect. Write as you talk. Write truth from your heart.

If you have trouble starting, begin with introductory questions during the first week. Answer any of these questions. Who are you are this moment? What do you hope to gain by journaling? When did you first realize you had something you needed to write down? Where do you find yourself in life? How did you end up where you are now? Why do you want to share? These questions are only examples of how to begin. Once you get started, you’ll find your own original questions that need answering.

Some days, the words fly out of my fingers onto the screen. Other days, I have nothing to say and need to work to find my words. On those days, I have googled “Journaling ideas for the month of X”. It’s not cheating but research. By reading journal topics, new ideas come to mind.

Remember to choose the place you write. Pick the perfect instruments for you to capture the story of your life as it unfolds. There’s no one but you to critique your story, spelling, or punctuation. In fact, you can also record your story if talking feels more comfortable.

April 8, 2020, I experienced a serious blast to the heart leaving me with embedded shrapnel in my soul. Writing helped find deep wounds as I began the healing process. The more I’ve written, the more completely I’ve healed. My medicine is words. A brilliant 5th grader once began her “A+” assignment with the words, “Writing is life.” A true writer can be any age.

Whatever you do today, think about your life story. What parts must you tell once more in your life? Get some paper. Get some ink. And please, please, please, just tell the story.

More tomorrow.

As the days continue to lengthen, my Hubba-Hubba-Hubby and I spend more and more time in the sun. From early morning until dusk, we are micro managing the gardens. HHH never forgets his big straw hat. I’m lucky to remember sunglasses with UV protection. At this point, there is a strong resemblance to a plump raccoon.

Being children of the 1900’s, there was no such thing as Sun Screen when we were growing up. In fact, quite the opposite. Although neither of us grew up coastal children, we both enjoyed tanning in the summer. On hot summer days I’d slather on the baby oil and and sunbathe while listening to my transistor radio. 150 miles from any coastline, the Beach Boys would remind me that California Girls were something special.

Once a grown woman, tanning was limited while teaching full time and farming on the side. On many trips to Hawaii, I was accompanied by the farmer who sported the tan pictured above. We’d just laugh it off and go on our merry way.

Before I became a wife, last October, I decided to step up my game. It would please my new husband if I would manicure these large Germanic hands. Such a small thing, I decided it was time to have nice nails, especially while wearing such a beautiful symbol of our love.

My wedding ring was created with gardening in mind. We both asked the jeweler to make it failsafe, although that seemed silly in September. Gardening season was almost over. There’d be a wedding, honeymoon, travel, and then, winter. For 8 months, I’ve faithfully attended to my nails.

Then, my toes needed some touch up for the spring cruise making it necessary to book more appointments. Pampered relaxation is lovely, but also time consuming when there are so many fun things to do in the garden.

Spring came and gardening began in earnest. Since March, my farmer’s feet have become an embarrassment. It’s too late to turn back now. Although none of these are mine, all of them could be. My legs are that dark while my feet remain that white.

The picture explains perfectly why there is no need to continue with a pedicure. I only wish the picture would explain how to fix the mess before our upcoming cruise on the love boat. I’ve been googling the problem and found exfoliation might help a bit.

Along with the ghostly-white feet, I’m also experiencing the problem of Gardener’s hands. While my wedding ring has stayed in one piece, sunshine, tilling the soil, and constant watering have taken their toil on my skin. So far, there hasn’t been a hand lotion strong enough to combat Gardener’s hands. HHH’s are even worse, but then, he’s a guy.

Farmer’s tans are no joke. Wearing t-shirts and shorts every single day leaves a wide swath of very white skin somewhere in the middle. All of this needs to blend, and soon.

As you begin your own gardening adventures this summer, perhaps sun screen wouldn’t be a bad idea. HHH and I are so proud of the beautiful tans we have, we’ll forego the lotions for now. At least we’re a matched set.

As the sunny days intensify, remember to check on your pets. Little white dogs like Oliver are prone to sunburn. Be sure your pets have plenty of shade and cool clean water to drink. Heat stroke in pets and humans can be deadly. If the cement is too hot for you to walk barefoot, it’s hot for pets, too.

If you have any suggestions for severe farmer’s tan or gardener’s hands, please drop us a line. HHH and I would love to hear your suggestions. Until then, Happy Gardening!

More tomorrow.

Growing a beautiful garden has consumed our every waking hour here at Winterpast. As the spring days are winding to an end, HHH and I have found many ways to make the gardens more beautiful. In the light of day, the roses are blooming in stunning colors. The choke-cherry tree has changed from green to rust, as it does every year. Colorful birds are bathing in the new fountain.

It’s at night that Winterpast turns into a magical fairyland. In the 1900’s, such a transformation would have required trenching, electrical plumbing, and extra breakers. In 2024, solar power has made things so much easier.

Last year, I found my first set of solar lights at our local Grocery Outlet. Little hanging light bulbs now adorn most of our trees. With a soft yellow glow, they accent the height of the trees. Uplighting was necessary to show off their trunks. The local hardware store offers solar lighting with an adjustable power bank attached to the light and stake.

Even Dollar Tree offers solar lighting. At $1.25, small staked solar lights can be crafted into many projects. Just Google “Projects with Dollar Tree Solar Lighting” to see amazing uses for these cute little lights.

Into our second year of ambient lighting, I’ve learned to choose lighting with a soft yellowish cast, as opposed to very bright lighting with a whitish-blue cast. The softer the lighting, the more romantic a look for the yard.

When re-using solar lighting, remember to change the batteries once a year. Not until a knowledgeable repair man shared this did I learn solar lighting had batteries. The main thing to remember is to replace them with the same kind of rechargeable batteries.

Along with decorative lighting, our fountains now run powered by the sun. Replacing electric pumps with solar ones is as easy as going to Amazon. There are all sizes of solar pumps available, some with battery backup. These pumps allow gardeners to place fountains throughout the garden without unsightly wires. Truly ingenious little creations.

With water fountains and evening lighting, Winterpast continues to grow into the showpiece she was always meant to be. Every evening, HHH and I marvel at nature’s beauty. With birds, bees, butterflies, and two honeymooners adding to the magic, we are blessed to call this little slice of heaven home.

More on Monday.

‘Tis the season for Farmer’s Markets! The one in our town begins this Saturday and I can hardly wait. Just the thought of a little country gathering of backyard farmers selling their surplus warms my heart. If only these lovely products came from an organic garden grown by anyone in the area.

Farmer’s Market’s, organic food, and lady bugs are all very romantic ideas. They take us back to simpler times of small town goodness when Mary might’ve had enough apricots to bake an extra 25 pies to sell. Look carefully at the photo above and there are some tell tale signs to watch for when visiting your first sale of the season.

1. Please notice that all the crops pictured above don’t take the same number of days and temperatures to ripen all at once. Mixed winter and summer crops. Perfectly wrapped bundles of summer herbs. This farmer has many farm hands and a huge cold storage barn to pick, clean, size, and store all this produce.
2. No scars on the produce. Although this group isn’t the most perfect, it’s pretty close. Our broccoli is just starting to head and in no way resembles the perfect heads of cauliflower, uniform and perfectly white.
3. There is absolutely no dirt present on any of the vegetable roots. Not sure how they pulled that off. Maybe hydroponically grown???? That makes this operation even more expensive and labor intensive.
4. No visible signs of pest damage. Many pesticides sold in hardware stores are not available for commercial use. If you do find the perfect gardener with amazing fruits and vegetables, ask them to name the chemicals used. If they mention “Sevin”, walk away.

Although tempting, the evidence above doesn’t point to food grown in a small garden just outside town. It was more likely purchased from Costco for resale.

Now, I’d be all over this stand. If you’re wondering where the person is that grew all this, they’ve probably run home to water the vegetables they have growing for next week’s products.

Dirty roots, untrimmed produce. Beautiful. With this much to sell, their “garden” is more than hobby size. They run a nice sized farm with lots of help. This is what your Farmer’s Market fruits and vegetables should look like. Carrots, cabbage, and celery DO grow at the same time of year. The bell peppers don’t and are hard to store. (Probably purchased elsewhere.) It’s up to you to KNOW your growing season to make the best purchases. Freshly picked food IS worth the extra money.

In 2022, when things were beginning to return to normal, our town re-opened our version of a farmer’s market. Over the moon with excitement, I wondered what would be featured? Local onions and garlic grown an hour to the south? Fresh cheese produced 30 minutes to the east? Not familiar with the local growing season at the time, I thought of the Central Valley of California.

Strawberries, apricots, and peaches might be ready in June. Too late for lettuce. Tomatoes wouldn’t even be red yet. With fruits and vegetables dancing through my thoughts, I grabbed a little extra cash, ready to fill the frig with freshness.

Oy. Vey.

When I arrived, the lack of tables was the first thing that hit me. I remember four little tables. One lady was selling her eggs. At least there was something identifiably fresh. I bought one dozen for $4.

At the next booth, a woman had been up all night baking tiny little loaves of fresh banana nut bread. She also sold precious bouquets of lavender. Too cute to pass up, I bought one of each.

The third table was exactly what I feared. The sign read “Stanko’s Locally Grown Farm Fresh Organic Fruits and Vegetables”. His table was swarming with unsuspecting customers buying everything from apples to watermelons. His produce was tired. June 1 doesn’t see fresh apples in our little town. Heck, apricots are early and they aren’t ready for another three weeks. Watermelons are ready long after July 4th has come and gone.

I observed the professional boxes. Red and ripe tomatoes were way past their prime. No sun spots or blemishes on any, they had survived many other farmer’s markets on the way to ours. Everything on this table was as tired as the heavy man with the cane taking money.

The worst part of all was that I KNEW this farm name from decades of life in the Central Valley. A shady guy with a reputation in his own town, this overweight swindler was there to make a fast buck. And, it was working.

“Hi there! Wow! Tomatoes! How did you get them to grow so quickly?” I asked with a smile.

“Well, we’re from Central California.”

True enough. Except that tomatoes are not ripe in Central California on June 1. I suspect his came straight from Mexico.

“Wow, you must have quite the crew.”

Nope. Just me and my boy. We stay busy growing everything you see here,” he replied, with a smile smoother than the skin on his un-farmer-like hands.

And with that, another little old lady handed him $20 and told him to keep the change.

Be careful at Farmer’s Markets. Organic corn has worms. Tomatoes are often scarred and misshapen. The best fruits and vegetables don’t grow in uniform size and shape. The very best food is picked from the tree or bush and eaten within an hour.

With all that being said, HHH and I are applying for a table this year. With enough food to feed an army, we’ll be donating some and putting proceeds from the rest towards Cruise #2, already in the works.

Whatever you do today, research Farmer’s Markets in your area. In our area, there’s a market every day of the week. We plan to visit each one and decide which little town has the most authentic. Forget about taking those fruit and vegetable pills. Fresh is best!

More tomorrow.

After spending too much time listening to the current news from New York City, it’s refreshing to unplug and drive west across the desert. Every eight weeks, Oliver goes to see his friend Sam who handles his grooming needs.

Oliver has known Sam since he was four months old. After years of suffering through his craziness, she now looks forward to their time together. How she gets him to stand still for a shave is beyond me, but she does. Oliver enjoys having the run of the place, meeting all kinds of new friends.

Driving 40 minutes across the desert on the loneliest highway in the world is a treat. It reminds me how lucky I am to live in such a vast and gorgeous place. I wonder how those New Yorker’s would ever survive in the wild, wild west. They’d most likely die outside their concrete jungle just as I wouldn’t survive if transplanted there. Just the thought of life without an endless cobalt blue sky and puffy white clouds is a sad one.

Every trip west is different. On the bigger highway, we travel along the Truckee River. Now in the midst of the spring run off, the river is full. Reflecting the brilliant sky and bordered by fresh green cottonwood trees, it’s a lovely sight to behold. The problem with that route involves heavy traffic. Not much time to enjoy the sights unless your lucky enough to be the passenger.

The southern route travels right into the capital of Nevada. HHH and I were discussing this just the other day. With most of the population centered in Las Vegas, one would assume it’s the capital. Wrong-o. This causes dismay during major elections when the vote of a major city overrules the inhabitants of all rural areas combined.

In Nevada, law-makers meet every odd year limiting legislative nonsense. Heaven knows Americans could all live with a few less rules and regs. It works nicely here in the Wild, Wild West.

While Oliver got pampered, I visited the nicest grocery store in the area. Our town has a population of almost 25,000 people, not big enough to have a REAL grocery store. Just a Walmart and a Raley’s, both marginal. To walk through aisle after aisle of real bargains, I took time to enjoy the lower prices and fully stocked shelves.

Of course, a day wouldn’t be complete without buying a plant or three. White chrysanthemums advertised as a Memorial Day special — 2 for $10.

After suffering through high prices at our local hardware store, I knew I needed three to complete my dream of a moon garden. These gardens are full of white flowers that look lovely by moonlight.

As it turns out, the mums were discounted 3/$10. The deal of the day and more plants for Winterpast.

Soon, by text I learned that Sir Oliver was waiting for his ride home. As always, he’s soft and cuddly after grooming. He always wears the best cologne and this time, came home with a patriotic bow tie. All dressed up and still waiting for Wookie, he’ll need to settle for HHH and me a little while longer.

Whatever you do today, consider taking a drive. Get out in the fresh air and be grateful to be a part of such a beautiful world. It’s a great day to be alive!

More tomorrow.