May 26, 2021
The Ashbury household held
fast to a time-honored tradition this past weekend. It was the Victoria Day
weekend here, so named to honor Queen Victoria, the second longest reigning British
monarch (she was the longest, until Sept 9, 2015 when she was surpassed
by our current queen).
We tend to call this holiday weekend
“The May two four weekend” for two reasons. The first is because the designated
day to celebrate Queen Victoria is on her birthday which was May 24th—or,
since it’s a legislated holiday, the closest Monday before the 24th.
And the second reason is what I have in the past referred to as one of the most
sacred of all Canadian things: beer.
Yes, seriously. Beer. The most
common large pack of beer sold here is 24 bottles in a case. That case is
nicknamed the two four. Cases are 6 packs, 12 packs and 24 packs. In Canadian-speak,
that’s a six, a twelve, and a two four.
But beer is not the tradition
we upheld this past weekend here at our house. It was that other great annual event,
garden planting. As a rule in these parts, one doesn’t plant their garden until
this weekend when legend proclaims all danger of frost is past. And it usually
is, but not always, as the good folks in part of the Canadian province of
Alberta have discovered in the last week.
Some of our neighbors upheld yet
one more tradition of the weekend: fireworks. Each night, Friday to Monday in
this little neighborhood in our small town, we were treated to the sound of
fireworks being set off. We didn’t run outside to see them, but we could hear
them well enough, and of course, so could the dogs. But all of the dogs living
here now are small dogs, and they don’t seem to be concerned one bit about the
pyrotechnics. Our last large dog, Rochie, was terrified of them. When they occurred,
he would immediately seek me out and then try to hide under me. A fond memory
and yes, another story for another day.
David and our daughter began their
weekend project of gardening with a trip to a couple of local garden centers,
considered essential businesses, for supplies. Jennifer had her eye on the
flowers and David, of course, on the veggies. I may address the state of our flower
gardens here at the Ashbury’s in a later essay.
The only veggie seeds David
purchased this year were for green beans. He also bought some green bean
plants, and both seeds and plants were of the bush variety and not “string-pole”
sort. He also purchased swiss chard plants, cucumber plants, and several
varieties of tomatoes. No one, apparently, had any squash plants. They hadn’t
come in yet. But over the next few weeks he’ll try again.
As some of you may recall from
last year, David had been planning on building one more raised table garden
this year, in order to plant potatoes. Now, there’s something you likely already
know about my dear husband, as I have hinted at it over the years. He tends to
be…frugal. Very frugal. Some might even say cheap. Not me, of
course. I would never say that. But others have, and so, by the way, has
he. In fact, he’s very proud of that trait.
I don’t know if you’re aware,
but the price of lumber has skyrocketed over the last year. As well, we are still
under a “stay-at-home” state-of-emergency order. And while the grocery stores and
the nurseries are open, the lumber yards are not. One can still order lumber
and either have it delivered or pick it up curbside. But that means there’s one
thing you can’t do and that is pick each individual piece of wood yourself.
David likes to buy only the
wood that he can see, as not all two-by-fours (there are those numbers again)
are created equal. For that reason, as well as the fact that the wood is
several times pricier than it was last year, he chose not to build a
raised bed for the potatoes in 2021.
He decided to repurpose an old
plastic storage tote that had been living in the basement, instead.
Beige, with holes about a half
inch in diameter along the sides, this tote looks like it’s been through a few
wars. And now it’s going to be a spud garden. The tote is 48 inches long, 22
inches wide and about 18 inches deep. He should be able to do most of what
needs doing to tend the potato plants, even if it isn’t raised to a height of four
feet off the ground. Potatoes aren’t particularly labor intensive.
No, the plain yet sturdy potato
doesn’t need a lot of fussing. You have to keep hilling the dirt around them to
make a mound and maybe pluck a few weeds, and you need to water them some, and
that’s about it.
Shortly after he filled the
new potato garden with dirt and planted the seed potatoes he’d purchased, he
discovered that one more improvisation was required. And after a search, he located
what had once been someone else’s wooden, slatted piece of fencing, purchased
for a dollar at a yard sale a couple of years ago. And this he laid over the
top of the spud garden to keep Bella Dog out of what she believed to be her brand
new, earthy dog bed that her grandpa had made just for her. It’s
sufficient to keep the dog out and to allow the sun in.
David has been looking forward
to being a potato farmer. Over the winter he’d spent a lot of time watching YouTube
videos on how to do just that. Last year’s last-minute impulse planting of a
few potatoes out of the kitchen supply wasn’t a resounding success, but there
were some potatoes grown.
The deed has been done, the
plants—and spuds—are in the earth, and now all that’s left is to water, weed,
and hope Mother Nature treats our endeavors kindly.
The first two are a given. The
last, only time will tell.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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