July 28, 2021

Our table gardens are, for the most part, doing quite well this year. We’ve already eaten some tomatoes, and my, goodness, the green beans are so vibrant and good! I continue to be amazed at how well everything seems to be growing.

Last year, you may recall, we planted some Swiss Chard, but it didn’t do well. Swiss Chard is a leafy green, which resembles spinach in that it cooks down substantially, and it’s eaten the same way as you’d eat cooked spinach. In the Ashbury household that translates to simmering it, and then adding a bit of butter, and then salt. I also add vinegar to my helping, but David doesn’t. There are actually two other green veggies that I grew up putting vinegar on—cooked cabbage, and Brussels sprouts.

And sometimes, I’ll relive my childhood and put some vinegar on crispy, pan-fried potatoes, but that’s another story.

This year, we again planted some Swiss chard in one of the table gardens, and those plants began to die, just like last year. After some research we determined that the garden wasn’t draining well enough for the chard, so we took out the few plants we had, bought 4 more, and put them all in window boxes and hanging pots that we had in storage.

That proved to work. We’ve already had a small meal of that wonderful leafy goodness. It really is one of my favorite veggies. We’ll have some more within the next couple of weeks. I’m thinking of serving it a different way—simmered rather than sauteed, then chopped up and added to mashed potatoes. My friend’s mother used to serve spinach that way, because it was the only way her kids would eat it. So I’m going to try that just because I love both chard and potatoes. I predict there will be no vinegar involved in that meal.

We’ve also enjoyed one feeding of the green beans. But in the last couple of weeks, we had a fair bit of rain, and then some good sun. This resulted in a lot of beans being ready at the same time, so last Friday, David decided he would pick all of them. It was a good idea, because we don’t want them getting old, and we do want more green bean production. Our experience is that as long as you keep picking those green beans, the plants will keep producing them for you to pick.

David really enjoyed the task, as it was an affirmation of his hard work. He brought me that good-sized bowl, and I decided, since we wouldn’t be eating them immediately, to freeze them instead. It didn’t take long to process the beans, and we ended up with two meals worth in the freezer.

We’ve also visited our local farmer and purchased our first “dozen” ears of corn. The word dozen is in quotation marks because the man never gives us exactly 12 ears, it’s usually anywhere from 13 to 16, depending.

A very quick aside, here: For the best corn on the cob, have the water boiling with a dash of sugar, never salt (salt turns the corn’s natural sugar to starch); put the ears in the boiling water and as soon as it comes back to the boil count down 3 minutes only, and it will be wonderfully sweet and good to eat. You’re welcome

On this first visit to our local farmer, when David told him to keep the change, the man put another ear in the bag. We cooked up the entire 14 ears, and we ate 3 between us. The rest of the corn was stripped off the ears, then bagged in one cup allotments, and placed in the freezer. That method of freezing corn works quite well for us. I can tell you that we ate the last of the corn that, in September of 2019 we froze that way, in mid-January of 2021. And it tasted as fresh as it had when we froze it.

Those three veggies that we’re growing—tomatoes, green beans, and Swiss Chard—make up the bulk of what we’ve planted this year. The green peppers didn’t do well last year, and they don’t usually for us, so we passed. The squash? Well, that’s a weird thing, let me tell you. According to David, our problem is that we have all male plants. Maybe he’s right; maybe he’s not. I have chosen to accept his word on the subject and leave it at that.

We will, however, be having a few cucumbers, provided all the flowers out there produce the veggie. So that’s good.

Many of you know from your own experience that there’s nothing better than homegrown, and homemade. Therefore, for some of the vegetables we don’t grow ourselves, we’re thinking of making a run to the farmers’ market closer to the fall, so that we can get a few veggies to process for the freezer—since our new freezer is, after all, more than twice the size of our old one.

And it may not surprise anyone when I add this codicil to that plan: provided, of course, that we don’t fill the freezer before then.

Trust me, that’s more than possible.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

 

 July 21, 2021

Do you recall the “Mother Goose” nursery rhyme titled “Monday’s child?”  Here it is:

Monday’s child is fair of face,

Tuesday’s child is full of grace.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe,

Thursday’s child has far to go.

Friday’s child is loving and giving,

Saturday’s child works hard for a living.

And the child born on the Sabbath day

Is bonny and blithe, good and gay.

 

I have to wonder if that nursery rhyme is a case of life imitating art.  I was born on a Wednesday, 67 years ago today. For the first part of my life, I was indeed “full of woe”. There were reasons for that, added to which was the fact that I seemed to be naturally inclined that way. While I didn’t know it at the time, I thought “half empty” was the only way the glass could be. But I eventually got over it, for the most part. Not that I no longer feel down, and sometimes even with little provocation. And not that troubles no longer come my way. I still feel down from time to time and hard stuff still manages to find me, occasionally, but I learned to deliberately think lighter, kinder, more positive thoughts, and to focus on my own reactions to the troubles rather than the troubles themselves—and the combination of those two actions have, for the most part put paid to being “full of woe”.

I checked a calendar for the year in which my husband was born, and I’m not surprised to discover he was born on a Saturday. One of the many fine traits that he has possessed for all the years that I have known him, has been his solid work ethic. Having become a retiree hasn’t actually changed that propensity within him, and sadly, that has made life a challenge for him now. Because he has COPD, he doesn’t have much stamina. It hurts to see his frustration, because he wants to be busy, physically. He wants to start a task and get it done. Let’s go! Time’s a wasting! There’s work he wants to do around the place, if only he could do the work around the place. But he can’t, because along with stamina being lacking, so is his physical strength. Any task he takes on takes him a lot longer than he ever imagined it would, and there are times when that reality really upsets him. I’m trying to get him to see that while he can’t cure COPD or getting older, he can cure his frustration. But all I can do is show him how that works for me. He has to choose whether or not he’ll tackle those feelings. He has to choose to be positive.

Of all the changes wrought by aging, by far the most difficult to deal with is the change in what we are physically capable of doing, day to day. Though I don’t have breathing problems, I, too, can only do a fraction of what I used to be able to accomplish in a day. Not that many years ago I would spend two to three hours and manage to clean my entire house. Now, I can manage a couple of tasks in that time—if I’m lucky.  It means one has to adjust one’s expectations, and for some people that can be a hard step to take. Neither of the two of us have tended to be lazy in our lives, with the codicil that of course there were always the odd days that simply cried out for that degree of relaxation.

It's hard knowing we’re as good right now as we’re ever going to be again. But that is life, and maybe it’s time to realize that having worked hard all our lives, we have earned the right to slow down, even if that isn’t what we want to do.

I’ve often noted in these essays that getting older is not for the faint of heart. It really isn’t. But even with the adjustments and the added aches and pains, I still choose to believe it’s better than the alternative.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

 

 

 

 July 14, 2021

Today, Wednesday July 14, is our 49^th wedding anniversary. And they all said it wouldn’t last!

Seriously, they did say that. Every single one of them, especially our families.

And really, who could blame them? Because 49 years ago today, I was 1 week shy of my 18^th birthday, while David was a much older man of 19 years and 8 months. My mother had to sign her consent to the marriage, right there on the marriage licence! And she did, of course. I won’t say she was happy to have done so. The truth is that at the time of my wedding I was nearly four months pregnant with our first child.

Yet, she did sign her permission, and that was her decision. I got married in mauve, no white wedding dress for me. And that was her decision, too.

It was a decision that, at the time, didn’t surprise me. Not even a visit from our parish priest (we’re Anglican, aka Episcopalian), who told her that the old custom of a white wedding dress being for virgin brides only was passé and he was perfectly fine with my wearing a white wedding dress, even being pregnant.

My mother, however, once she made up her mind, never changed it. And if she ever discovered at a later date that what she’d thought was fact turned out not to be true? Well, she never apologized for any mistake she ever made.

So a mauve dress for me it was, a ghastly color on me that I have not worn since. Looking back, I recall being more than slightly miffed, and to be perfectly honest, my mother did tell me I could wear white if I really wanted to. She also said if that were the case, she would not attend the wedding. Of course, I cared more about my mother’s presence than I did about the color of my dress. So being perfectly honest, that was my choice, too.

Thinking back on that long ago tussle between us, at the age I am now just makes me sad for the opportunities we missed, because one of us was rather unyielding and that was the last thing the other of us needed at that time, or ever, really. I learn lessons well and can tell you with great pride that I have a much better relationship with my daughter than my mother had with me.

Sometimes, David and I are asked what the secret to a long-lasting marriage is. And our answers vary, depending on the year, the mood we’re in at the time, and even on the person who’s doing the asking.

I know that of several of the young couples that started out married life within a few years of our having married—our friends, in those days—none remained together. In one tragic case, one of my longest friends became a widow far too young. But the others? I don’t know why they parted ways. They had all been our close friends in the early 70s, but life saw to that not carrying forward into the 80s or 90s. Life, and the fact that we were all not quite fully mature factored into our not remaining close. As time carried on, we all grew up (well, I can think of a couple of people who really didn’t), and matured, and changed and not unexpectedly, we all grew apart.

David and I had plenty of “life” happen to us, as well. There are times when, looking back, I’m really not certain I can say how it was that we actually managed to stay together. Likely sheer stubbornness played a role, for the both of us.

Despite the fact that I’m currently writing my 67^th title, and that all the stories I have written have been in the genre of romance, the truth is that love isn’t a blooming flower that smells sweet forever. It’s not all sunshine and unicorns and hot, sexy nights. Not all goodness and light and soft music playing in the background. There is muck and mire to be trod through, and ordinary everyday living of life, day after day after day.

Those exciting, thrilling feelings you have in the beginning, when you first fall in love? Those don’t last forever, because if they did, it would mean that your love wasn’t growing with you. Like everything else that is alive, without growth your love would stagnate and eventually wither away.

Love is a noun, but if you’re doing it right, it’s mostly a verb. To love someone isn’t just to sense or feel an emotion within. It’s the act of doing loving things, and often when that really is the last thing you feel like doing.

To love someone requires for you to have a servant’s heart. It means you need to care more about the state of your union than you do about getting your own way. Compromise is not a dirty word, and especially not when it comes to marriage.

To love requires you to give with no expectation of receiving anything back. To love means to find peace and contentment and satisfaction in the giving, and to understand that those senses are reward enough.

To love someone truly, and to be loved in turn, is to find a kind of comfort in being together, and after this many years, to comparing aches and pains and then laughing about them.

Building a marriage and keeping it together requires more work than most people are capable of doing, and more patience than most people believe they have.

But if you can manage to work hard and cultivate that patience, I promise you that it’s absolutely worth it.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

 

 July 7, 2021

I began to plan this week’s Wednesday’s Words the day after I’d penned and posted last week’s essay. You see, the day after June 30^th was July 1^st. Canada Day. Thinking of the day, and it’s meaning, my heart and mind were on the gruesome discoveries that had rocked our nation over the past month.

Adding to my sense of tragedy was the announcement on June 30^th of the latest discovery of 182 unmarked graves found near Cranbrook, British Columbia; this number is added to the 215 found near Kamloops (also in British Columbia) and 751 that were found in Saskatchewan. All of these graves are located at or near the sites of former Residential schools.

What was the residential school system in Canada? First established in the 1860s, it was a horrible creation born out the same kind of arrogance that gave birth to the mission mindset of the 1600s. Believing their religion meant that their society, mores, and every other aspect of being to be superior to the lifestyle of Indigenous peoples, the government of Canada, beginning in the 1860s (Canada was created in 1867) decided to commission “schools” for Indigenous children. These schools were run by the churches. In the early years of this institution, children were forcefully taken from their families, and their communities and then placed into these schools where, quite bluntly the goal was to “erase their own race and make them white”. They would be beaten and abused for speaking their native languages, or attempting to live according to their own cultural traditions.

Survivors of this system have testified of horrendous abuse in every form—physical, emotional, psychological and sexual.

When I first heard of the existence this abhorrent system, it was in high school, and while there was no mention at that time in Canadian teaching about the “abuse” that in hindsight seems to be the true purpose of this system, abuse doled out by the people running these facilities, the entire concept in my teenage mind had been abusive and abhorrent. Even without knowing about the beatings and the rapes, to me, forcibly taking children from their families was an unthinkable evil.

How dare they believe they had the right to steal those children? How dare they have the right to steal mothers and fathers from those children?

I believe there’s a natural law in the universe that few people in those days knew existed—and judging from what I’ve witnessed in my life, even fewer do, today. I’ll express it like this: if you have to harm another to prove you’re superior, all you’re really proving is that in fact, you are not.

The Ktunaxa Nation within Canada is made up of four bands of Indigenous peoples, and it was one of these bands that made the latest discovery on June 30^th of 182 unmarked graves. As one can understand, after news of this discovery became known, a furor erupted, and most people, me included, immediately assumed the worst. I assumed that here was yet another example of the egregious treatment handed out on behalf of our government, in our names, by those running the residential school system.

The band itself issued a news release cautioning this rush to judgement. Before the St. Eugene residential school came into being (1912-1970) there had been a hospital adjacent to the established cemetery, where these graves were discovered. In their release, the band asked for patience while an extensive investigation is conducted. Their release included this, which I have copied and pasted from their release: 

Graves were traditionally marked with wooden crosses and this practice continues to this day in many Indigenous communities across Canada. Wooden crosses can deteriorate over time due to erosion or fire which can result in an unmarked grave.

You can read the entire news release here: https://www.aqam.net/sites/default/files/20210630%20-%20aqam%20media%20Release%20-%20Statement%20on%20discovery%20of%20unmarked%20graves.pdf

I repent the existence of the Residential School system, as it was deployed, and mourn the damage done to the Indigenous nations and also the loss of any and all lives because of it. I am grateful for the stance taken by the ʔaq ̓ am band, and I agree completely with the sentiment of their news release.

It's easy and popular in this day and age to rush to judgement. I’ve seen that in the last five years far more than I ever believed I would. And I know that that action might serve to fill some with a sense of moral superiority which can be a very intoxicating emotion. But isn’t that the root of the situation to begin with? Wasn’t it a sense of superiority, of misguided belief in a sort of divine right, that caused self-righteous men to conceive of such a thing as the residential school system in the first place?

We need to know all the facts before we can truly know what happened and how those graves came to be. I pray that the coming weeks and months will bring knowledge, understanding, and with those two treasures, a desire for and implementation of healing change.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com