In Other, Non-Gardening News

When I was around 5 years old, a hurricane hit Long Island while my family was vacationing out there. A few days into the vacation, we began hearing that a storm was approaching New England, and that Long Island would be hit pretty hard. Evacuations were issued for the eastern part of the island, especially Montauk point and the Hamptons, where my family was. Knowing that the family house was constructed of solid, 4-foot cement walls was reassuring - my family stayed to weather the storm. My siblings, their friends, a pair of cousins, an aunt and uncle all totaled about 14 people crammed into the house for the hurricane. My mom at some point reminded my dad that there was a family from our church upstate staying in a trailer home near Montauk, which would probably be the hardest hit by the storm. She coaxed my father and his brother-in-law to drive out to Montauk to search for Linda Hefner and her four very young daughters to make sure that they had shelter during the storm. My father describes it as a war-torn ghost town. Those who hadn't found refuge from the storm were running about the trailer park, securing their lawn furniture and packing up their cars for the mass exodus from the point. "Linda! Linda Hefner! Linda Hefner!"My dad and uncle made their way around the Hither Hills Campground, calling out for the woman and asking everyone of her whereabouts. "Linda Hefner!" A voice called out to them amid the whipping wind and the crashing ocean waves. "I'm Linda! Over here!" My father and uncle ran towards the voice, which called back, "Were you looking for Linda Heffer?" I'm Linda Heffer!" "Not Heffer, Hef-ner-" Realizing that Linda Hefner had likely found shelter, he turned to the strange woman and asked her if she had a safe place to stay during the hurricane. "No! It's just me and my four sons! We have no other place to go, we were just going to stay here and see how bad the storm got..." With that, my father and uncle told Linda and her four sons that they would be taking them back to the cement fortress, where they would be out of harm's way. She thanked them for their generosity, and they drove back to East Hampton. My mother, waiting for Linda Hefner and her four girls, laughs when she remembers seeing a strange woman and her four very young sons, running up the stairs, drenched. "It's nice to meet you! I'm Linda Heffer!"

My family spent close to 3 days, waiting for the effects of the storm to subside, with these total strangers. My mother says that the entirety of the hurricane, the smallest of the Heffer children followed her around, asking her, "I can list all of the animals in the animal kingdom - would you like them listed fastest to slowest? Or slowest to fastest?" After the final rainstorm, my father and uncle returned Linda and her sons to their trailer home, or what was left of it. Hither Hills had been turned upside-down, and Linda Heffer was now staring at the reality of what the gales had done to her trailer home. She made a phone call and found shelter with family, but she and my mother corresponded for some time afterward. There are some home videos of my family during the storm, and every time I look at them I can't help but be proud of my family for being incredibly flexible during a very odd situation. Hurricane Bob cost a few million dollars in damages, made a few hundred people homeless, and killed about 20 people in the end, a toll that might have been five people higher had my dad not said, "I don't care who you are - get in the van!"

I tell this story now, because Sunday was a very odd day. I was working in the ICU, and as the day went on, the sky started looking more and more foreboding. I haven't lived through many bad storms, but just one glance and you could tell that there was something brewing. The news came on a patient's TV around 2pm that said a tornado had been sighted just north of Minneapolis. North of Minneapolis, that's where I live! Having just moved here, I don't know the geography that well, but I know enough to make me nervous. I had left my poor little dog in the foyer, surrounded on three sides by glass. As soon as I clocked out, I raced home to survey the damage. Not a single twig on my property was bent, and Margie greeted me happily. There was, however, a large amount of debris - insulation, siding, shingles, wood - all strewn about the yard. From what I could tell, none of this debris was from any house in the neighborhood. I picked up the yard and went inside to check the news. As everyone knows by now, I watched the footage of what was left of North Minneapolis. A tornado had ripped through dozens of homes, killed a man, injured several and made more than 200 people completely homeless.

I should mention now that Ted was on a business trip, and was due to arrive home within the hour. A thought struck me at this point: Ted and I have three spare rooms, why wouldn't we open up our home to someone who had been affected by this disaster? I made up my mind that I would call the Catholic Charities of North Minneapolis to see if they needed to relocated anyone affected by the storm. "You called a mens' shelter," the man on the other end of the phone told me. "If you wanna help people, just stay out of North Minneapolis and let the police do their work." He was right - I should just send a monetary donation to the Red Cross or something. I got a phone call about 30 minutes later. "Are you the lady who called about the house before?" I asked him if he needed any help, and he said, "Well, I have this father and son who are looking for a place, they've been pre-approved by our organization to receive charity, so we know they're safe to have at your home. I'll give Edward your contact information." And with that, he hung up, and my phone rang almost immediately. "Hi! This is Edward! What are you kind folks willing to offer me?" I told him we could make him dinner, give him a warm home to sleep in, a bed, a shower. "You folks got cable TV?" I laughed and said yes, and that he and his son would be more than welcome to stay for the night. He gave me his address and wished me luck because "All the streets done be blocked off by trees!"

Ted arrived home, exhausted from a weekend's worth of traveling. "I don't want to talk to anyone, I just want to go to bed," he managed to get out before throwing his duffel bag into the foyer. I told him about the tornado, and he said that he'd heard something about a storm while his plane was circling, waiting to land. "North Minneapolis is a rough part of town - ton of crime, it's a really dangerous area there," he told me. I figured it was now or never- "Listen, uh, I kind of offered to let a few people who don't have a place to stay tonight use a room, just for the night, you don't have to stay awake or anything, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to pick them up right now..." After a few "You what's?!" and "What were you thinking's?!" and definitely one or two "This is going to be a disaster's," Ted finally told me that he wasn't going to let me drive into North Minneapolis alone, not to mention pick up some strange men by myself. We drove to the address, over live power lines, navigating carefully around a minefield of branches, twisted wooden construction and cars with mailboxes sitting on top of them to find Edward and his son.

Byront stood on the porch, and called out to his dad as we approached. "Dad! Dad! They's here!" He shouted, from the doorway of the only house left standing on the entire block. A tree was resting against the house, but no apparent structural damage had pervaded this tiny two-bedroom home. We introduced ourselves, made small-talk, and helped Edward and Byront, a thirteen-year old cross-eyed kid, gather their belongings together and get to the car. As I drove through the rubble, they pointed at some structures - "That was Kenny's house! Oh, man! There's a tree right through that truck!" We drove on towards Brooklyn Park. I told them that I was going to make a nice, hot meal, and they insisted that we stop at McDonald's instead. I acquiesced, and they ordered two of everything off the dollar menu - the most money I've ever spent on fast food in my life. I couldn't even remember what McDonald's served, and as I thought about my selection, Byront hopped out of the car. "The kid's got the ADHD - can't sit still for a second!" As Byront did laps around the drive-thru lane, we ordered, paid, and drove home. As an afterthought, Edward said, "Yeah, I dunno what I woulda done without you kind folks. We was gonna stay with my stepson, but his wife don't like us comin' over, so she called him up - he work for the charity, he the guy you spoke to on the phone - and she made him call you folks back. She don't like us comin' over so she made sure we has a place to go."

Pulling up to the house, Byront screamed out, "Wow! You guys rich! You guys rich! How much a house like this costed you?" I told him that we had gotten it for a really great price, and he said, "NO- but how much a house like this costed you?!" I said, "Well, around two sixty-five," at which he replied, "Wow! Two thousand six-hundred fifty dollars! That's a lotta money!

Inside the house, Edward kept muttering, "Wow, a house like this, make you wanna dream!" I took their "bags", which were two plastic grocery sacks, full of holes and dripping with some foul-smelling liquid. I gathered his and Byront's clothes, and started a wash load. Edward took off his black sweatshirt, and I threw that in the laundry. As I unpacked the rest of his bag, a large piece of cardboard drifted out of the bag. "What's that?" I asked him. "Oh, it's nothing, I'll just take that from you," Edward said. "No, really, what is that?" He blushed, and opened it up. Homeless, any change you can spare for a poor man, it read. "Where do you use a sign like that?" I asked him. "Well, I stand at the corner where Route 94 exits for the University," he said, proudly. "That's my corner!" It was at that moment that I realized that I had just, unwittingly, invited a pair of homeless dudes into my house for the evening. There was really no turning back at this point, so I laughed and threw Ted an 'oh-my-GOD-what-was-I-thinking' grimace.

Byront sat at the computer for the majority of the evening, playing You-Tube videos of gangsta rap, and dancing in our family room to the Motha-F-In This and the Motha-F-In That latest hits of today, while the window panes rattled away. "Yo neighbors gonna look ova and see a little black boy dancin in yo house, they's gonna be like, 'uh-oh!'" Edward said. Byront kept asking for chocolate milk, and all I had were chocolate Ensures from when I exercise. I mixed them up with some cold milk, and he gulped it down as though he had been in the desert for months. Edward helped me take the clothes out of the dryer when they were done. His black sweatshirt, to my surprise, was actually a light grey color. "This look nice- this probably the first time it ever been washed!" "How long have you had that sweatshirt, Edward?" "Ah, it's going on four years, I think," he said offhandedly. That was the point where I handed out the towels and showed them to the showers with the nice Dove soap and the clean socks and pajamas.

We showed Edward to the bedroom downstairs, and he opened the door and peered in. "Ah-ah, no way am I staying in that room," he said, backing out. "What's the problem?" "Right there," he said, pointing to the sliding door in the bedroom. "Black people - we's afraid of the dark." And as though that wasn't ridiculous enough, he continued, "Bigfoot! The Bigfoot gonna come and get you in the dark! Naw, no way I stay in that room. Bigfoot gonna come." I wish I could say that the man were kidding, but he was just about as serious as a person could get. "Alrighty, well you can share the room upstairs with Byront." Ted was showing Byront his room for the evening, when he ran up to the windows, exclaiming, "Dad! Dad! Look! Check this out!" And using the crank feature, began opening and closing, opening and closing the windows. "This is so cool!"

The night passed uneventfully, and I woke up early to make pancakes for Byront and bring him to school. Edward tagged along, and wanted me to drop him off at his house to pick up a few things. Ted accompanied me, and eventually Edward directed us to drop him off at the exit ramp off Rt. 94. "I'll stay here for the day 'till Byront gets outta school, then I go pick him up." He whipped out his cardboard sign and stepped out of the car, and out of our lives. "Thanks again, you mighty kind people!" He grinned his toothless grin, and walked down the block. Ted and I headed home, with a mixture of confusion, sadness, relief and hilarity - the tornado had, indeed, touched down in Brooklyn Park, manifesting itself as a pair of pungent, discarded homeless dudes, just looking for some cable TV.

I found a human head!

I dug from 1130am yesterday until about 7pm, clearing out the areas of grass, heaving it into a wheelbarrow, then piling it in a corner of the backyard. Needless to say, I can barely tilt my neck forward to look at my shoes, and bending at the waist is completely out of the question. I overdid it, I really did. But all that needs to happen now is the rental of a tiller, and then we're in business. I think my tomatoes are about to march themselves down the the Depot, rent a truck and till it themselves. They're ready - they barely fit in their little container anymore.

My new next-door neighbor has a tiller that he said he'd let me borrow if I needed it. However, I'm in sort of a pickle with that. Ted and I borrowed his ladder once and returned it, and he was very nice about it. That being said, I don't want to be "those neighbors". You know the kind, don't want to pay for their own drill bits, so they're always over in your garage, drilling holes in things and leaving their sawdust on your floor for your dog to track into your house. What I should have done is borrowed the ladder from a DIFFERENT neighbor, then borrowed the tiller from the guy next-door. How was I supposed to know that the ladder guy would also end up being the tiller guy?? I know if I go over there and say, "Hey, can we borrow that great tiller of yours?" He will happily lend it to me - but then we become THOSE neighbors. "Those irresponsible kids who moved next-door and are always coming over here and borrowing things!" I can see it now: Woman, 24, Tarred and Feathered for Borrowing Too Often. So do I pay the extra $50 to rent some tiller off Craigslist from a man named Jim? Or do I swallow my pride and go next-door?

At any rate, I found a human head while digging yesterday. I saw a fleshy thing in the soil, and a shiver went down my spine. I can see it now: Woman, 24, Finds Human Head in New Yard, Sues Township and Makes Millions. I jammed my trowel into the dirt, spraying soil across the grass. "Who cares if there are rocks in the grass - there is a HUMAN HEAD!!!" Well, after I finally resurrected my treasure, I confirmed my suspicions. R.I.P. Ken, your head must have been ripped from your body during a child's casual play, nobody gave any thought to your diginity... Well, maybe the grubworm curled around your ear did.

The Dirt

I begin this blog by explaining that I should be good at this. As a wee child, I toddled around the overflowing garden in my parents' backyard, expertly designed and cared for by two people with wildly green thumbs. My mom would sit for hours in the garden, painstakingly pulling weeds as her father had done before her. My father, with his degree in Botany, carefully tending to his plants as only someone who knows the kingdom, phylum, genus and species of them would. So I should have this gardening thing in my genes.

Ted (my fiancee) and I purchased our first home back in March, complete with nearly an acre of property and very beautifully landscaped front and back lawns. Surprisingly, however, the previous owners never planted a vegetable garden. Ted and I said that our first big project outside would be to pick a nice, sunny plot, and establish our tomato plants for the enjoyment of our friends and family (but most of all, us).

I have a lot to live up to. As any good Genoese girl should, I began with the basil, and pre-planted several varieties of tomatoes as well. Not only do Ted and I love to cook, we could definitely use the outdoor time and the added health benefits of garden-fresh vegetables. With Ted's gluten allergy, we don't often eat out, so finding inventive and fresh things to cook at home becomes challenging. Not to mention, I spend the most money at the grocery store on produce, and will surely save some money and time by just walking into the backyard for my greens.

So far, so good, right? I will endeavor to explain the layout of our backyard, and eventually I'll post some photos on here so it will make some sense to everyone. The entire backyard is fenced-in, and it is inclusive of the rear of the garage and two sides of the house. It is very flat directly off of the back deck, and there is a dual patio area behind the garage. Part of the patio has some stone slabs and is very flat, and sits directly under a large pergola. The second area of the patio is a wooden boxed-in area of red landscaping stones, part of which stairways down into the rest of the yard. The other portion is an un-usable area - about 11 feet by 6 feet, more landscaping stones contained by wood railroad ties. Perfect location for a garden, right? Just get rid of the stones, and there you'll have some dirt contained by the railroad ties, right?

As it turns out, professional landscapers must have put this particular rocky oasis in my yard. The first layer of rocks was easy enough to move over to another area which already had rocks on it. The second layer was a weed barrier, that each time I attempted to pull it up, would shred and disappear below the dirt again. Once I hauled the weed barrier out, the layer below was black dirt, with more landscaping stones. Ted and I then had to sift through the dirt to get the red stones out, then left it for a few days. When we returned, the entire area seemed to have become cement. What probably happened is the landscapers used one of those soil compacter/leveling tools, only remedied by a commercial tiller.

This is the point where Ted and I were faced with a decision: move to another location in the backyard and replace all of the red stones and shredded up weed barrier, or turn over all of the cemented black dirt and hope that it doesn't, somehow, magically cement itself again and become impermeable to water. Well, we chose secret option number 3- work through this disaster patch of landscaping hell AND branch forth into another area of the lawn. That way, when we get this tilled, we'll have normal soil from the rest of the lawn to intermix with this questionable area of clay plant-killer.

Today, I will be attempting to remove grass from another 11 by 6 foot area of the lawn. We have more than 100 plants to get into this space, so we realized that the initial area wouldn't be quite big enough. You know that expression, "Go big, or go home"? Well, I'm already home, so that pretty much leaves me with my 100+ plants and some quality time with my shovel.

Stay tuned for updates on my gardening fiasco...