Tools to make the first tray of garden seedlings. Kale went in on Feb. 3.
I’ve been chatting it up with some neighbors on social media. There was consensus we hunkered down inside our homes for most of January because of snow and freezing ambient temperatures. There is hope for a break in winter and we’d just as soon move into spring. Personal productivity lags in winter. It’s time to step up the pace.
The idea of a “week” still resonates. Monday means start of the week, Friday is for closing down activities, Saturday is to perform a number of small household tasks, plus help our child with their small business. Sunday remains a day of rest, sort of. It’s not the same as when I worked full time. Then I knew that Friday usually meant casual clothes, voluntary trips to the office, and time to pursue my writing and family life.
I walked about the garden. The green I saw from the kitchen was collards that had been eaten more than I could tell from a distance. I had no interest in picking through the leaves, especially with a freezer full already available. I suppose the cruciferous vegetable-eating insects that survive the cold don’t have a lot to choose from in winter.
On Saturday I planted the first seeds for the garden and put the tray on a heating pad under a grow lamp. They are mostly last year’s seeds and that should not be a problem for kale. Kale is one of the vegetables I have mastered growing. It was something to see the tools lined up and ready to start. I worked with the garage door open for the fresh air and because we seem to be exiting the Iowa deep freeze.
Before the contractor installed the driveway we parked on the chip and seal road. We specified a concrete driveway, although in retrospect, today I’d install asphalt. Concrete held up over 30 years and is good for many more. The asphalt just looks better and its dark color absorbs heat from the sun, benefits I hadn’t considered in 1993. Rain is forecast, so the concrete cracks will soon be showing themselves again. It’s just a thing in the life of a septuagenarian who lived in the same place for more than 30 years.
In the end, our home suited me as a writer. In a rural subdivision we are far from city life, yet there are enough people around to help in case of an emergency. The state park is a three minute walk with its five-mile hiking trail. Because of the lakes, there is an abundance of waterfowl. I believe we’ve seen specimens of every bird native to Iowa here. We also see most kinds of mammals, a snake or two, and amphibious creatures at certain times of the year. There is a lot of inspiration in that.
As home construction began I made at least weekly trips to observe progress. One time I parked on the street and walked over to the high wall that had been dug for the foundation. I sat on the edge and had a moment’s quiet while I looked over the footings toward the lake. I felt then this would be our home base for many years to come.
I left on and returned from a lot of trips on our driveway. Other family members did too. Travel is mostly finished except for errands and visits to immediate family.
As I begin year three of my eighth decade on Earth there is a lot to do. I have a reasonable rasher of good health, a secure home, plenty of good food to eat, and enough of a pension that finances get tight yet we make ends meet. Importantly, my ability to think remains reasonably sound, as far as I can tell. I do forget things now and then. It seems like more than I did, but not enough to worry. All of this, combined with seven decades of experience, and there is plenty of material for writing.
Writing table.
The challenge of aging, especially in America, becomes dealing with isolation. I wrote about this before. Being a writer requires a balance between isolation and being with people, so writing is a natural occupation for a septuagenarian. The scales tip toward the isolation side as we age. Without the continuous commotion of being at events or with other people, I’ve been able to discover myself in a way that was unexpected. At some point, I’ll know who I am and be ready for a new debut in society. If anyone will have me, that is.
The recent winter storm brought me indoors. For a while, I need that. I’ll also be ready for spring and trips to the vendors that support my garden. There is a lot of catching up to do. For now, I’m feeling isolation and coping with it by writing. It is the one thing I know how to do that works.
We got a dusting of snow last night, enough to use the electric snow blower on the driveway after sunrise. The forecast next week is for rain after ambient temperatures dip well below freezing this weekend. Is this the end of winter? I doubt it. I hope not.
In two weeks I begin planting seeds in indoor trays for the garden. This year I bought all nursery-started onions, so the first seeds into soil mix will be varieties of kale. Kale is a mainstay of our kitchen and the early start brings an early crop. After kale, I follow a time-tested, weekly procession of seedling starts that continues until the first week in May when I plant squash. I learned and developed this process while working for area vegetable farmers.
While I’m ready for spring, I’m not ready for winter to end. So much remains undone. I nudged my autobiography along, but have not had the long writing spells needed to finish the work this year. Based on feedback from a reader, I returned to part one for some revisions. I could easily spend another year there while part two remains in infancy. Partly this is a process of learning how to write. In part, I want to declare the work finished. The present obstacle is boxes and boxes of artifacts needing review and disposition before finalizing the narrative. I need external prompts to generate the narrative.
I began to dream during the blizzard. They have been dreams about travel, and topics I can’t remember. I don’t think much about dreams, they have little significance to me. I do notice the change in sleep patterns. For the most part, I’m sleeping through the night for a solid five or six hours.
I stand at the dining room window and look at the snow-covered garden. I have the plan about half worked out. Garlic is in the ground and I left space for a covered row on the west side of that plot. Tomatoes are planned with a return to my previous fencing method to keep deer from jumping it and eating tender seedlings. The next task is picking a spot for cruciferous vegetables. If I keep looking at the space, a plan for the rest will emerge.
Like much of my eighth decade of living, time goes too quickly. Part of me wants to apply discipline to get things quickly done. Part of me wants to take it easy, something I was unable to do much during my working years. Somehow I’ll find a balance as I understand what it means to age in America during a time of political turbulence. There is no universal understanding. We do the best we can.
Saturday the snow stopped and I blew the driveway for the fifth or sixth time this week. Yes, that’s right, I can’t remember how many times. The work went quickly and with the snow finished for now, all I’ll have to deal with is wind-blown drifts.
Attire is a thing during a blizzard. For outdoors work, I donned my Star Wars Mos Eisley t-shirt, my Chicago Bulls sweat shirt from when Michael Jordan was playing, relatively new Levis blue jeans and J.C. Penney rubberized boots, a scarf Mother knitted me while I served in the military, a stocking cap from that same era, and a Carhartt jacket bought on sale when I worked at the home, farm, and auto supply store before the coronavirus pandemic. Working together, it all kept me warm as the snow flew around my electric snow blower. I did feel a bit like a walking logo store, yet I’m not going to get rid of serviceable clothing.
Sunday started with ambient outdoor temperatures below minus ten degrees Fahrenheit. With no reason to go outdoors, I kept the garage door closed while we regulated indoors temperatures. The new furnace worked well and the space heater took the chill off my downstairs work room. There was a two-hour planning session with our child and the rest of the day is for planning the beginning of the year for me. In a stable environment, what the weather does is less of a worry than running out of time.
We take days like these in stride. Without a paying job, what the weather does has less impact. The blizzard provided a reason to stay indoors and work on long delayed projects. Later today I must venture to town to lead our precinct caucus. The blizzard will keep all but the most devoted from participating. Some years it is like that, blizzard or not.
Driveway covered with snow a few hours after clearing it. Jan. 9, 2024.
A blizzard is welcome these days, especially when one works from home. They remove most temptation to leave the property and go to town. We become isolated as much as is possible in the time of broadband access and mobile telephones. Diet changes based on what is in the pantry and freezer. Like most modern middle class families we keep a lot of extra food on hand, so we are ready to survive, come what may.
Is there gasoline for the generator? Check. Is there enough store-bought bread? Check. Is the snow blower positioned near the garage door with extension cords? Check. Is there extra drinking water in case the well goes down? Check.
Wednesday morning I made ramen my own way. I bought a 24-package box of Maruchan brand ramen noodle soup. After looking at available options, I picked soy sauce flavor, hoping it was vegetarian. It wasn’t. One of the ingredients in the flavoring packet was “beef extract,” whatever that is. I discarded the packet and made my own with one cup tomato juice, and a combination of white miso paste, vegetarian worcerstershire sauce, and home made hot sauce. It was surprisingly sweet and delicious.
My neighbor came over to help clear the end of the driveway where the plow pushed snow from the street. The two of us made quick work of it and decided we didn’t need further exercise for the day. We are both retired and need daily exercise for health reasons. The blizzard broke up the routine of trail walking.
I recently read a book titled, Blizzard by Phil Stong, written in 1955. The story is of a farm family in southeastern Iowa during a blizzard. So many neighbors and friends stopped by during the storm, it seemed very communal. I suppose that’s the way it was on a farm back in the pre-internet days. For the most part, today it’s the two of us alone in the house making do.
On day two of the storm I drove across the lakes to Costco and wore a mask indoors. There were others doing so, although very few customers were inside. Staff was talking about who would be released first to go home. The risk of contracting the coronavirus seemed minimal. I wore a mask anyway.
The car radio was filled to the max with commercials promoting 45 and Nikki Haley, but no one else. Absent adequate and recent publicly released polling it’s hard to say who will win the Republican caucus vote. It will be one of those two, I believe. Of course, the Democrats are not voting for president on caucus day.
More storms are lining up the rest of the week and we shouldn’t have to go out until they finish. For now, it’s a matter of getting the mail and seeing whether delivery trucks make it through. It’s the newest version of Iowa winter during a blizzard.
On my 72nd birthday I reviewed last year. There was not much on my calendar. As I withdraw into whatever it is occupies my days, what remained were political events, home owners association business, trips to visit our child and my sister in law, and medical appointments. I gardened, took photographs, and went grocery shopping, yet those things don’t go on the calendar as they are assumed.
Nothing stood out and I’m okay with that.
I keep my birthday hidden for the most part. It coincides with the birthday of the State of Iowa, where I live. Celebrate that instead of one more year of an aging septuagenarian. We’ll be better for it.
If I’m granted one more year, I hope to do some good in society. While I let go of things from my past, may there be new adventures ahead. No New Year’s Resolutions, just hope for a better future.
Right now, all I can think about is snow falling on apple trees.
It was 2:30 p.m. by the time I took my daily walk along the lake trail. Many people were out as the ambient temperature approached 50 degrees Fahrenheit. It was a wholly different community in the afternoon compared to morning.
A large flock of geese swims on the lake. I don’t know why they linger. Ice had formed on parts of the surface, and waterfowl took to standing on it in groups. If it remains this warm, I’m not sure they will migrate further south. The lake has plenty in it to nourish them.
I was told by someone close to me I get a bit grouchy during winter. The warm weather encourages me to get outdoors, although communing with geese and other waterfowl doesn’t seem to relieve the condition. Breathing outdoors air is good for us, and the stench from nearby hog lots has mostly been absent. When spring comes farmers will spread manure on their fields and we locals will notice. This is part of living in Iowa, although anymore, grouchiness is endemic to living in the United States. We should treasure those among us who can resist this.
While checking the mail toward sunset, my neighbors were outdoors with their small children in the warm air hanging colored lights on a tree for the holidays. While walking back to the house, I remembered when our child was little. I said “hello” and minded my own business. Those early family memories are precious and fleeting. I didn’t want to intrude.
And so it is, we are living a life and then all of a sudden realize it is shorter than we thought it would be. My reaction to winter is to nestle into my writing room, turn on the space heater, and try to make progress on my autobiography. I also avoid thinking about my ultimate death and return to dust. Except for the manure spreading farmers, I look forward to spring. So it goes.
Yesterday I updated my profile picture across much of my internet presence. The 2011 image I had been using was taken in our garden by my spouse. That I’m now choosing a selfie is a sign of the times, the meaning of which is to be determined. Eventually the new image will be propagated throughout my accounts. I felt it was time for a change. An indoor shot in lieu of a garden image is indicative only of the season in which it was taken. The books in the background? Don’t make too much of those as it was a setting of convenience. In December it’s time to move most activities indoors and I spend a lot of each day in my writing room where there are shelved books.
The more impactful change is deactivating my X account on Nov. 22 after 15 years on the platform. That, combined with becoming more active on Threads decreased my personal mental tension almost immediately. I’ll miss certain people and accounts from X, yet the clean break will serve me longer term. So far, so good with Threads. There is so much more positive engagement on Threads it’s hard to believe that vibe will persist. In any case, there’s no going back to X.
I think the myth of the “big account” sustains X. That is, folks there feel like all the key players for their conversations remain. Likewise Threads in particular, but other new microblogging sites as well, have a paucity of news accounts. Some great news and commentary folk from X are moving or setting up accounts on other microblogging platforms, yet don’t post a lot. X is not dead, but gonna die, I predict, once news and political accounts abandon it. For now, I have newspaper subscriptions to get news when I need it. If I get desperate, there is always radio and cable television to backstop me.
As the year winds down, it’s time for budgeting as well as determining if this life in Big Grove Township is sustainable. Living on a fixed income has been challenging. I hope we can make it this way for a long while. Sadly, in American society, life is more often about financial numbers than fulfilling our wants and needs. This blog is an attempt to change that.
The Thursday before Ash Wednesday is celebrated as Weiberfastnacht in the German Rhineland. It is a day when women assert their dominance by cutting off the neckties of men they encounter. Some of us long recognized that women should be in charge of society, and not only on “Silly Thursday” as today is known. Helau! to those who celebrate.
We had a dusting of snow overnight in Big Grove Township. It was lightly falling when I looked out the pre-dawn window and is expected to continue into tonight. It may be a proper blizzard and a good day to get indoors work done. I’m writing today about my return from Mainz and the work I did at an apartment at Five Points.
When I returned to Iowa from Germany I stayed at Mother’s house for a week or so, and then found an apartment at Five Points in Northwest Davenport. I was settling into my new place by Nov. 11, 1979.
We called it Five Points because it was the intersection of Division Street, West Locust Street and Hickory Grove Road. From the intersection there were five directions one could go. All five led to distinctly different parts of the city. There is another five points located in the city’s poorer district, although it is not well known among the majority white population.
Hickory Grove Road used to be a wagon trail before the arrival of paved roads. Follow it northwest and it intersects with U.S. Highway 6, not far from the place Jack Kerouac wrote about in On the Road.
“The sun was going down, I walked, after a few cold beers, to the edge of town, and it was a long walk,” Kerouac wrote. “All the men were driving home from work, wearing railroad hats, baseball hats, all kinds of hats, just like after work in any town anywhere. One of them gave me a ride up the hill and left me at a lonely crossroads at the edge of the prairie. It was beautiful there.” For me, it was a place to stay while I figured out my future. I wasn’t sure which direction I would go.
Excerpt from an autobiography in progress, Feb. 16, 2023.
I have living memory of that apartment at Five Points. While I was in Europe, a number of friends from high school had gotten married and I missed all of their weddings. Now that I was back, I ordered wedding gifts from a mail order catalogue so I could visit with them individually, present the gift, and get caught up on our lives.
The UPS delivery person was a high school classmate. He attended elementary school at Saint Vincent’s where since 1895, the Catholic Church had cared for children as an orphanage and school. My friend said he could get me a job at UPS if I wanted. If I had taken him up on the offer, I would likely have earned far more than I did during my worklife. I thanked him and declined. He ended up retiring early and moving to Florida.
I wrapped all the gifts and contacted my friends by telephone to set up dates. It wasn’t like being at their wedding, yet it was something positive. If I had stayed in Davenport, I would have attended their weddings and maybe closed in on one of my own. Marriage had not been a priority for me while in the military or as I returned to Iowa.
I don’t celebrate carnival any longer, except on social media. I used to join friends to attend the annual Rose Monday Parade in Mainz near the thousand-year-old Saint Martin’s Cathedral. It was a big deal, with hundreds of thousands of people in attendance. I note the date of my settling in at Five Points was the same as the beginning of the carnival season in Germany. A coincidence, I suppose… although maybe not.
As snow falls in Big Grove Township, we are bunkered in with provisions. I don’t plan to wear a necktie, yet if we get into a celebratory mood, I would. Happy Weiberfastnacht to those who celebrate… and Helau!
On day two of my five-day retreat I feel the first day was a success.
Dinner was tacos using leftover filling with some added hot sauce. I made the sauce using older hot pepper sauces and salsas in the refrigerator and pantry. I also found a jar of “hot vinegar” to add. The pot simmered all day until it reduced in volume by a third. Next I strained out the larger solids and blended them into a paste to store and use separately. The main hot sauce has excellent flavor and displaces any need to buy commercial products well into gardening season. Thumbs way up!
I made a loaf of bread yesterday and it turned out dense. I added too many extras like bulgur wheat, oat bran, and mystery flour, and the yeast wouldn’t rise. I started over this morning with straight all purpose flour and the King Arthur Flour basic recipe. We’ll see how this goes, fingers crossed. If I’m successful, I’ll have a better starting point for using up all the flour-like things in our pantry.
A modest investment in an electric snow blower proved to be wise. I’m of an age where I shouldn’t be out shoveling snow in extreme cold. The electric snow blower is easy and fast. There hasn’t been a lot of snow during this blizzard so I blew the driveway only once. Limited snow is forecast today yet the wind will be continuous, creating drifts. I may go outdoors to shovel the front steps when ambient temperatures get to one degree around 3 p.m. We’ll see.
Organizing was important on day one. I checked the website for used book donations at the public library, and they are pickier than they have been. They recommend books published within the last ten years. Whoever wrote that standard doesn’t understand books. I divided the current culled books into two piles, one for the library used book sale and one to be donated to Goodwill which doesn’t have any criteria on their website. Another hundred books will go out the door once the blizzard relents.
The dining room table is cleared so I brought up my files on medical stuff. They accumulated over the years and I plan to go through them before my spouse returns. Getting that done during these days would be nice.
Overnight we dropped to minus ten degrees. I set the thermostat on 60 and got out the third wool blanket for the bed. My nose was a little cold yet every thing else stayed warm.
I called a friend and we talked about an hour. We have been working on politics together for a long time. I reflected on my favorite political events. Here is a short list of memories revisited:
Stuffing envelopes for the 1964 Lyndon B. Johnson campaign in Davenport.
George McGovern rally at Old Capitol in Iowa City before the 1972 general election.
Standing for Ted Kennedy during the 1980 presidential caucus in Davenport.
Crossing a street in Des Moines when a van load of apparent preachers, including the Rev. Jesse Jackson, whizzed by in 1984.
Taking our child into the polling booth with me to vote for Bill Clinton.
Our family attending the 2004 Iowa caucus and standing for John Kerry.
Meeting Barack Obama at the Tom Harkin 2006 Steak Fry near Indianola.
Dave Loebsack’s 2006 campaign.
Being precinct secretary at the 2008 Iowa caucuses.
Seemingly endless Hillary Clinton events in 2016, including getting a selfie with her.
Elizabeth Warren event in Tipton, Iowa in April 2020.
Leading the 2020 precinct caucus and the ensuing reporting snafu..
All these memories are important. I expect to work each of them and more into my autobiography. In addition to politics, there are multiple thematic subjects to include and I haven’t decided how to approach them. This retreat is providing some ideas.
Today is about holiday baking. Bread, an applesauce cake, and at least one batch of cookies are in the works. I donned a stocking cap from the merch store of the Twitch stream I follow and am styling multiple layers this morning. It appears the worst of this blizzard’s cold weather is behind us. The new process of working in the kitchen before arriving at my workspace continues to deliver results. By 10 a.m., I got a lot done.
Journey Home 
You must be logged in to post a comment.