February Gardening

We spoke of gardens today at lunch.

And February gardening in the North Country means CATALOGS!! 

So I came home ready to dig into the 28-30 seed and plants catalogs that had begun to arrive earlier in the month.

My winter borders are really lovely, covered with snow and sometimes ice. Creating sculptures and skeletons and tremendous shadows in the sunlight.  The little crabapples have clung to their branches and the juniper bushes get clipped regularly for indoor winter arrangements.  Knowledge from the past assures me that the 20 varieties of hostas, and the showy peonies, are just waiting for the disappearance of snow and the softening of the soil.

But the vegetable garden sits empty. Waiting for the fresh compost that's been cooking all winter, and the edge of the rototiller, on holiday in the barn.

There are new varieties of heirloom tomatoes that I'm going to try, And the organic beans and peppers and cucumbers I ordered each year are available.  How many different varieties of eggplant will my family tolerate, and how many raised beds can I dedicate to the Viking Reds, Yukon Golds and Swedish Peanut Fingerlings? Where am I'm going to plant the Kale and do I really want to grow carrots again?

In the middle of February I'm encouraged that I'm receiving more catalogs with options to order heirloom varieties and certified organic seeds. A change from just the biggest of everything is the best.

So "visions of sugarplums" don't dance in my head,  but packages of seeds, and bulbs, the smell of freshly tilled soil, the sprouting rows of garlic and onions, that were planted last fall,  and trowels and spades, float through my daydreams this midwinter day.

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

I'm cleaning out closets and drawers.

Jump start on spring cleaning, I guess.  And I came across two letters from my Grandmother dated 1963.

The first was dated June 13, 1963; Dear Ruth, Ev and the girls.

The second dated July 10, 1963; My dear family!

She and her sister, Doris had set sail from NYC across the Atlantic to their homeland of Norway.

I remember "seeing them off" with my parents, visiting their berth, saying goodbye, wishing them bon voyage, and waving frantically from the pier,  not being able to identify those two among all the people lined up by the ship rail as it slowly slipped from view.\

The first was a newsy note about arriving in Norway, "Well, here I am, once again back in Norway- everything seems so strange for me-So different from home, but it seems good to see it again"  She briefly tells about calm seas, no one sick, and not missing a meal, with the current thought about "gaining 5 pounds"!!  She tells about the big celebrations with their families in different parts of the country and hiking up mountains still covered with snow and ice and descending to valleys all "green and covered with flowers- some contrast", and visiting a village all bombed out during the war but rebuilt.  And then she ended with hopes that everyone was well and assumptions that my sisters and I were looking forward to summer vacation.

My mother must have written her back because the second letter was the appreciation of receiving a letter from the States and knowing some of what was going on with all of us back home.  There was more information about her visits with their brothers, parties, concerns that my mom must have had about small pox shots (which they received aboard ship), and the tired feeling one gets with this "life of traveling" but not to worry, they were getting "used to it"!

The letters were not long but she managed to give a newsy, interesting report of her trip back "home".  And an awareness of her family in the States, and their activities.  She made me remember that my Dad was still going to college for advanced degrees in 1963,  I was a freshman in high school, he was doing graduated work at Brown.  I admire his focus and dedication.  And he was interested in purchasing a baby grand...he did "gigs" in high school and after his WWII service, to supplement his income.   My grandmother was interested in "helping"with the purchase of the piano.  One that is still in the family, occasionally played at the Inn.

Communicating through long hand on stationary seems to be a lost art these days.  Phone calls, tweets, and text messages are great....but they're gone and they're short.  Please Nordberg children don't stop calling!  I love hearing your voice and catching up on your lives now that we live so far from each other.

But the sweetness of seeing my grandmothers handwriting, the yellowed stationary, and the memories  which were, at the time,  just rehearsals of everyday life, were revisited  fifty four years later in a small rural upstate community, far from Norway or Mount Kisco, New York.

I'm sticking them back in the dresser drawer for my grand daughter to find twenty years from now.

But first I have to tell her the "stories of her great great grandmother from Norway" and then write letters of my own.