Rob's Blooming Good Idea
Willa Cather wrote that winter hangs on too long in country towns-- "until it is stale and shabby,old and sullen." Which pretty sums up the mood around here, although yesterday's 29 degrees sure felt balmy. March makes me completely manic. One minute I'm sure I'll build an addition to my kitchen, get a Newfoundland puppy, twelve bantam hens, a milk goat and a weave-your-own-underwear ap for my iPhone, the next I'm selling everything and buying a very small sailboat to live on all by myself. Luckily, the planning commission, and one very wise commissioner, has tossed me (and maybe you?) a life line. Rob Goldberg has suggested creating a downtown community garden in the lot between the fire hall and the eagle foundation and is holding a meeting tonight at 7pm (Weds) at the library to see if he can get 30 people who are interested. He mentioned fine reasons for it on the radio last night- growing your own food is healthy for you and the planet and may be even more necessary as fuel prices rise-- but he didn't note how much such a garden would beautify downtown and how nice it would be for locals and visitors alike to walk through it on their way to and from the post office and see what amazing flowers, fruits and vegetables grow there. (The visitor's center crew and chamber of commerce should be all over this idea.) I have been short of garden space for a potato patch for a long time, but last fall purchased a bag of heirloom Tlingit seed potatoes from Klukwan. Wouldn't a bed of those be a pretty, practical and educational addition to the garden? I could plant some nasturtiums in the corners of it to brighten it up, too. There's that, and the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear scare in Japan has me thinking about community and place and what we all mean to each other and how we are all connected as a human family- from this small town to the whole planet.- After donating to Red Cross disaster relief, and prayer, it seems to me that planting a public garden is a proper response to such a tragedy. It is an outward symbol of hope and faith that things which fall down do, and will, rise up again, and that today's ice covered vacant lots will be tomorrow's (or at least May's) gardens.