Dark Winters and Seeds

 I received an email a few days ago from Seed Savers (SSE).  This is what I read:

How are you doing? If you were able to plant seeds this year, were they for food, or beauty, or both? Did your garden, whether a large plot or a small community space or a windowsill, bring you peace, joy, and nourishment? Did you save any seeds, or share them? I would love to hear about your experiences this year, and how you are finding ways to connect to the seeds and to the people around you.

Instantly I was transported back in time to earlier this year, when in Michigan, lottery tickets and alcohol were essential items, and seeds were considered non-essential items by our governor.  Right then and there I was grateful I am a seed saver.  I laughed at the idiocy which made me want to cry, and I planted my rebellious garden with a quiet gratefulness that I had learned about SSE nearly 20 years ago.

I grew up on my grandparents' farm, born the same year SSE came into existence.  Now and again I find pictures of gardens past on the farm, but it was a dwindling farm by the time I was around.  My grandparents were in their 50s when I was born, and ten years earlier they had fallen victim to the destruction of the dairy farmer the State of Michigan so strongly desired.  When I was a kid, we had pigs and beef cattle, Polled Herefords for those who care.  On the land that wasn't pasture Grandpa grew hay, wheat, corn, and Maple Arrow soybeans (the last few years.)   And of course, there was The Garden.

I tried to mark the estimated location of The Garden, but if you look closely, you can still see the marks.

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In my mind I can still see it.  Pear trees on the fence line.  The barbed wire twisted into the trunk of one of the trees from one of the tornadoes that went through.  Green peppers.  Eggplant.  Tomatoes.  Chucking rotten tomatoes over the fence line towards the tower line.  Beets.  Green beans... the never-ending row of green beans.  The rhubarb we got from Uncle Norman, beautiful large plants.

I was about 10 years old when I wanted to be a farmer like my grandpa, and he told me there was no future in farming.  I believed him even while it hurt to hear that, but knowing my grandpa, I'm sure it hurt him to say it.  He was an old-type farmer, where 80 acres was enough until government got involved.  He was right.  Just a couple years later when I was 12, the State of Michigan began another major assault on rural Michigan.  I remember 7th grade well because everyone talked about taxes doubling and tripling overnight.  The two major topics among my classmates were taxes and the Richmond Community Schools trying to kill busing for parochial school students (of which I was one.)  (That was also the same year U2's The Joshua Tree came out.  Just sayin'.)

   

Rural area in the 1980s, folks.  Even the kids understood more than most politicians today.

We never saved seeds.  I only remember hearing my grandpa say, "You can't save seeds," and I remember Grandma said it was too hard to grow tomato plants from seed.  Years later, after I had learned otherwise, I asked Grandpa why he always said "you couldn't save seed" because I was.  He looked at me with that look I knew so well ("how dumb can you be"), and said, "It was all hybrid seed."  (Diane Ott Whealy does an excellent job in her book  Gathering: Memoir of a Seed Saver talking about the issues in the 70s and 80s.)

The garden on the septic field, 1976.  Even at a year old you knew where I would be! 

In the last few years, as I have been trying to rebuild any knowledge of what my family would have traditionally grown, my mom has been some help.  With her help, I know that one great-grandma grew Victor tomatoes and some peas of some sort.  (The seeds she saved were probably thrown out after her death.)  The other great-grandpa favored Burpee's Stringless green beans, which were grown until no one could get seed any longer.  (I remember Blue Lake something-or-the-other.  One number was OK, the other not.)  My grandpa, however, gave me the most clues to figure out what seeds would have been grown.  He told me, when I asked what varieties we grew back when, that he didn't remember but Ferry Morse was good seed.  ("Well, it used to be," he said.)  Thanks to Internet Archive a few years ago, I found a whole collection of Ferry Morse catalogues.  They were from Detroit originally -- and our farms were all just north of there.  (Erin Twp, Clinton Twp, Sterling Twp, Lenox Twp.  Don't ask what they look like now.)   But anyway, thanks to those catalogues and the descriptions, I was able to figure out the Victor tomato.  It's something, anyway.  

So what about "dark winters"?  Well, 20-some minutes ago, while I write this, Michigan is "Pausing", not in lockdown.  Not yet.  We have a vindictive governor.  Give her time.  That said, other than screwing up my son's ability to take Woodshop 2 in high school and the economic issues, I'm not too worried about a "long, dark winter."  I find winters are way too short to do what I need to, and it won't be long before I'm starting seeds in the house.  (I stocked up on what I needed for when seed-starting supplies are deemed "non-essential" again.)  Besides, Internet Archive has many more seed catalogues.  So many old catalogues, so little time.  Last year I got into trouble with the Isbell Seeds catalogues from Jackson, MI, and found a kick-tail tomato called Golden Colossal.  If you are reading this, you really need to check out a tomato so popular it lasted 30 years in the catalogues...

Take it from someone who is expendable.  Don't fear a long, dark winter -- read a seed catalogue!

2020's garden in June.  From 80 acres to less than one, between two gas companies.  It proved that 2020 wasn't all bad!

There is no United States of America

 There is nothing quite like being slapped into reality.   Silly me, I believed that it was still possible for a nobody like Abraham Lincoln to be elected president.  I believed that the so-called Land of Opportunity was still that.   If I am self-depreciating enough, I will admit that I actually believed, oh, that there was still justice in this country, even a little bit.

Yeah, I'm dumb.

The court update with my parents, about their grandson (my half-nephew) who has abused them and threatened to kill them is this:  my parents were coerced into signing papers they didn't understand so they are at fault.  MDHHS -- that brilliant bastion of complete stupidity who answers to no one -- claims my dad has early onset dementia, because the nephew's psychiatrist says so -- because the 11 year old boy said so.  If my dad does, then how can they coerce him into an admission that isn't true?

Oh, and the overall goal, besides taking all the money CPS can from my parents, is to put the grandson back in.  Yes, the same one who threatened to kill them, and who held my dad hostage while my mom almost died in the hospital.

The referee, the lawyers, CPS and MDHHS, are all more concerned with making money and getting on the golf course than solving the problem of a child so horribly abused that he never should have been placed with his grandparents.  Except the State of Michigan was more concerned with getting the kids out of the system, and so their facilitator lied -- and was paid a $10,000 bonus.  $5,000 per child.  The Brockitt case was worth $20,000.

As some of you know, my mom almost died in January.  She is not able to walk very well, and frankly, I have been in the middle ground of my parents, as my mom is in denial about what she is and isn't able to do.  She is unable to do very little, and I can't see how she will be able to stay on her own once my dad dies of the stress of this situation.  (No one seems to recall his heart problems, or that his grandson attempted to kill him.)   There are days I don't understand how she can be home at all. 

But hey, there's a lot of people who need to make their money and hurry up to get out onto the golf course.   Maybe we should hang the lawyers, judges, social workers and others who can't be bothered with their jobs.....  but they make too much money.   Must be nice to consistently replace an abuser into the same home, and not be held liable for breaking the law, eh Samantha?  The law says an abuser cannot be placed back into the home.  Must be nice to be able to watch elder abuse occur and not be named as accessory when you refused to stop it, eh Keith? 

"Cut the telephone line and the story's the same."

"Live Free and Die" Memorial Day 2020 under occupation

"It's "Live Free or Die", not 'Live free AND die'," said Michigan Governor Whitmer at one of her coronavirus briefings.  SNL parodied it, and that is all that is out there now.

This post began as a commentary on the ridiculousness of her statement and comparing what she is doing to the book 1984.  Instead, I will let these timeless words, written by a Canadian soldier during the war to end all wars, say what needs to be said in indictment of Gretchen Whitmer.

We also received word that Bluewater gets to build compressor behind us "but we should be proud" that we lost.  We should be proud that a corporation can destroy our homes and lives, that we should be afraid and live in fear of a virus....  I don't recognize America, do you?  Would the soldiers, who lie sleeping in their graves from WWI and WWII -- would they?  What would they say to us, who hand away without thought, what they gave their lives for?   Not all wars are fought with artillery, and we must be willing to keep faith with those who fought for our futures.

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow,

Between the crosses, row on row,

  That mark our place; and in the sky

   The larks, still singing bravely, fly

Scarce heard among the guns below.

We are the Dead.  Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

  Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you, from failing hands we throw

  The torch; be yours to hold it high.

  If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

~John McCrae, 1872-1918

Crazy House, Part 2...

One serious note:  As I make fun of my house, let it be known that I love my little house, and I am fighting tooth and nail to keep it sane in a world where it no longer fits.  This house and I have an unusual relationship.  I get annoyed at the idiosyncrasies from past residents, and it drips water on my head when no one is around, with no sign of a leak anywhere.  

I started this post last May.  That says a lot.

On with the fun and craziness of this house because who can't use a little fun and crazy of this sort right now with the governor  -- I mean virus -- running loose.

My house is a never-ending source of amusement for those with a strange sense of humor.  I hope the biggest thing to come out of the kitchen redo is that we get rid of the ant hill, and maybe one of the places mice like to come in.  After 20 years of living with them, I'm ready for a "Richmond Divorce"  (from the mice and ants, not the house.) Yes, I have lived here longer than anywhere else in my life, surpassing my beloved Bates Road.

Before I enter the fun and crazy, a little background...  I found a house plan, courtesy Internet Archive, from Modern Home Plans ca 1955, which is the closest I have yet found for my house.

Look at that linen closet!  In my dreams...

A few differences:  the plan has stairs for a basement ; no laundry room; kitchen and dining are flipped; and the bedrooms are larger in this plan.  Also, the closet is next to the bathtub, whereas ours is in a row with it. 

My attempt at drawing our house layout.  2 squares = 1 ft

Classic ranch-style, I believe.  It had a one-car garage at a point, where the plan I found had a car port.  I don't know my garage sizes, but I assume a 14 ft wide garage is a one-car.  I don't have enough experience with garages to know.

Not a bad house at all, but certainly not standard to today's standards.  We hit 1400 sq ft because of the garage, but we lose a bit to the furnace and everything that would be in a basement, if we had one.  Originally it didn't have a furnace but a heat pump outside, which explains a few things that never made sense.

I have always thought the pantry in the hallway was a nice touch. 
It took me years to realize it was supposed to be a pantry.

This shows the current layout of the kitchen and laundry.    The washer and dryer are 9" off the wall due to the sagging floor and the way the dryer vent comes through the floor.  All of the appliances are in the same spot, helping cause the sagging floor.  The rest of the floor issue involves an old leak which rotted the joist and cracked it, conveniently where all four appliances meet.  This is what really is setting off the "kitchen redo." We should have fixed the floor sooner, but we couldn't find anyone willing to help.   We were even told leveling the floor couldn't be done.  Thank God for friends who say, "Oh, I've seen worse than this before..."  We couldn't have made it this far without that kind of encouragement.  I can understand now why people buy a house and completely tear it apart.

Family

I received the news Friday morning that my Uncle Howard passed away.  Uncle Howard was my grandma's brother, so my great-uncle.  To my kids, he was a great-great uncle, a rare creature indeed to many.  To see my kids' reactions to the news would have destroyed anyone's idea that a great-great uncle isn't really family. 

Uncle Howard had three children and a grandson, all of whom he loved very much.  But that big old heart of his had room in it, and he loved his sister's family also.  Grandma died in 2009 and Grandpa in 2012, and he said to a niece, "Well, someone has to watch out for you kids now."  Last March, he stood at the gravesite with a cane as his niece was buried.   A man of great faith, he was not afraid to fight for what he thought was right.  That included singing hymns in church loudly, with the words he remembered as a kid. 

As we mourn, we laugh, however.  Uncle Howard was the king of mis-pronunciation.  His ability to butcher words brought the same look to his sister and wife's faces, and numerous bouts of laughter to the rest of us.  My favorite of all has to be when he went to the gastroenterologist and pronounced it "castrologist."  I couldn't resist and asked my cousin last night if anyone was going to contact the "castrologist" and let him know. 

I wrote back in August 2018 of my frustration with so-called professional genealogists and the one who tried to tell me my family wasn't my family.  Well, some of us had DNA done for the fun of it.  Uncle Howard was one.  When I did it, the closest matches which were found for me were in this order:  my half-brother and his kids, then Uncle Howard.  The service didn't know we were related or how and says he's my first cousin.  I think it hilarious.  Take that as a warning, you by-the-book-the-records-are-never-wrong people.  You never know when your great-uncle is your first cousin! 



        

Update and apologies

I want to apologize to the couple of people who watch the blog.  My intention for 2020 was to be a more active blogger.  If I had any idea what was coming my way, I would have just shut it down completely.  I may still.

This has been my 2020 thus far:

~My mom went into the hospital January 17th.  She had two bacterial infections in her leg (likely from being kicked by the grandson they adopted 8 years ago), pneumonia, fluid in lungs and around heart, and was in full septic shock.  13 days in ICU, 2 days on the floor from hell, then a month in rehab (at a wonderful place).

~ On top of that, said grandson became more and more violent.  My parents have been abused all along without getting the help they have needed, and this time was no different.  The day came where my dad was held hostage in the house by an 11 year old.  When he was supposed to pick him up from juvie a few days later, my dad could not for his own safety and that of his granddaughter, who was also being abused by her brother.  (He hit her in the neck the day of the hostage situation.)

~Now CPS and Michigan Dept of Health and Human Services are involved.  It is a flaming joke.  No, I cannot call it a joke.  Those departments are complete and utter travesties of justice.  My parents are put into the position of having to say they abused the grandson in order to get funding, for him to not be able to beat them up.  There is now a court case and trial, as my parents didn't want to perjure themselves.  (Funny, that.)

This is the short version.  I don't have it in me to relieve this in detail.

April 1st begins the kitchen project.  Only the last few days have I been HOME to clean out the kitchen and begin to get ready for completely evacuating the kitchen and laundry room.  I still have furniture to haul out (stove, fridge, washer and dryer must go somewhere) and all sorts of fun stuff to figure out in between doctor's appointments.  (Don't ask why my dad isn't capable, but he isn't.) 

As the Barenaked Ladies sang, "Pinch me."

Guess it wouldn't be horrible to live another 20 years with pipes in walls and freezing, the washer perched on a 2x4, and the largest galley kitchen in the world.