The Magnificent Willows of Western New York

For centuries, poets, writers and philosophers have been inspired by weeping willow trees. So have I.

I love all trees. Horse chestnuts, hackberries, hickories and hornbeams. Oak trees, pine trees, palm trees, even family trees. But my favorite of all the arboreal sentinels, the evocative one that brings back childhood memories of summer picnics, warm breezes, and first kisses under its lovely, curtain-like fronds, is salix babylonica, commonly known as the weeping willow.

For centuries, poets, writers and philosophers have been inspired by willow trees, as have I. [1] William Makepeace Thackeray, a 19th poet and author of Vanity Fair, wrote an ode about its appeal as a trysting place for lovers, entitled “The Willow-Tree.”

Once to the willow-tree
A maid came fearful,
Pale seemed her cheek to be,
Her blue eye tearful;
Soon as she saw the tree,
Her step moved fleeter,
No one was there—ah me!
No one to meet her!

Many a romance has begun in the willow’s hidden bower. All photos © Moxie Gardiner.

But it isn’t love alone that this unusual looking tree evokes. The tiny, cascading leaves are thought to resemble falling tears, and so the tree is sometimes associated with melancholy and sadness, even death. Unsurprisingly, specimens can be found in Buffalo’s Forest Lawn and other cemeteries. There is also the tragic story of some 300 soldiers who died of illness during the War of 1812 in a place not far from Buffalo’s Delaware Park, and buried in shallow graves. A Dr. Daniel Chapin, who lived nearby, is said to have later reburied the men and marked the spot with willow trees.[2]

Willows thrive on the banks of rivers and ponds like this one near the Buffalo History Museum’s Japanese Garden.

Today, weeping willows can be found throughout Buffalo’s beautifully landscaped park system. Intrigued by the mysteries of the weeping willow, I am always on the lookout for one, and was therefore overjoyed to discover two enormous specimens swaying over Hoyt Lake on a recent visit to Delaware Park. I assumed, based on their size, that they had to be hundreds of years old. But after some research I have since learned that weeping willows grow rapidly, and unfortunately, only live for about 65 years.

Which begged the question why, if they are so comparatively short-lived, have I seen so many willow trees throughout the parks, meadows, cemeteries, and along the waterways of Western New York?

This past year, I planted my very own weeping willow by the pond for further inspiration.

It turns out that this part of the state provides the ideal habitat for weeping willows, thanks to its proximity to the Great Lakes and plenty of lake-effect moisture. These trees love damp environments and can consume up to 100 gallons of water a day, so I expect they will be a feature of the Western New York landscape for many centuries to come.

Does the weeping willow have the same emotional impact on you that it has on me? What memories does it conjure—happiness, sadness, or fond memories of secret dalliances under its enchanting boughs? Please share your thoughts in the comments, below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

[1]  His poem also inspired a chapter in my novel, Virgin Snow.

[2] For more information about this tragic event, see 300 bodies in Delaware Park: The War of 1812 | Features | buffalospree.com

While My Garden Gently Sleeps

It is right about this time of year—the end of February—that I start to get the garden itch.

It is right about this time of year—the end of February—that I start to get the garden itch. The days are still short and cold, and I find myself no longer appreciating the stark beauty of winter’s muted palette. I yearn for bright green things, and trips to the botanical garden and the occasional orchid show are helpful, but not sufficient.

This month’s blog is for my gardener friends who feel the same sense of longing and restless anticipation when they see their plots and raised beds under a blanket of snow, and the time for planting seems so far away. This year, my husband and I decided to try something different to overcome the February blues.

Only a gardener knows the joy of watching a seed turn into a tiny plant. All photos © Moxie Gardiner.

Usually we follow the advice of the Old Farmer’s Almanac and our local extension service and begin planting seeds indoors in mid-February or early March (here in the mid-Atlantic the last frost date is May 1st). Sound guidance that has worked, for the most part, for the past 20 years.

Each shelf has its own grow light, allowing for multiple trays in a small space.

But this winter, we decided, we needed to see green and growing things much earlier, and began our 2024 garden season in January. An additional benefit, we reasoned, would be that by the time spring rolled around, the seedlings would be much more mature than those we’ve put in the ground in the past.

At the end of December, we went through our inventory of leftover seeds from the past couple of years, ordered new seeds and planted—in January–those we expected to take a long time to germinate and grow to a healthy size. We also planted seeds for vegetables that prefer cooler weather, and for perennial flowers that typically take their sweet time growing to a transplantable size.

More than enough hot pepper plants, just in case we lose a few….

This approach, of course, is not without its risks. Some of the downsides of sowing seeds indoors too early, are weak and spindly seedlings from insufficient light, plants that are root bound from being potted too long, insect infestations resulting from overcrowding, and—when it’s time to finally put the mature plants in the ground—transplant shock.

To mitigate these dangers, we’ve invested in heating mats, grow lights, seed-starting mix, and many bags of potting soil. And the investment we hope will really pay off was completed last fall when we turned our screened porch into a giant cold frame (complete with removable, corrugated plastic polycarbonate sheets blocking all the screens). This will allow us to harden off hundreds of seedlings long before being transplanted outside.

Cool weather plants like cabbage, leeks and lettuce are already hardening off on the “cold frame” porch.

By February 1st, we had leeks, shallots, onions, Swiss chard, lettuce, cabbage, eggplant, and all kinds of peppers growing well and big enough to repot. Eight different types of flower seedlings joined them under the grow lights. Over the next couple of weeks, we will begin to plants seeds for our tender summer annuals like tomatoes, squash, and herbs. Our philosophy is, if we plant a lot and only 50 percent survive, we’re still well ahead of the game.

Cosmos and zinnia flowers flank a row of healthy eggplant seedlings.

It remains to be seen how well this new strategy will work. But even if many of these young plants do not survive until growing season, we will have had months of enjoying the sight of these emerald green little darlings while our garden sleeps and is replenished by winter rains and snow. That is victory enough.

Are you a gardener? Do you have any tips for getting through the winter months without the garden blues? If so, please share in the comments below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices chair yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Everything You Wanted to Know About the Infant of Prague

So ubiquitous was the Infant of Prague statue in West Side homes that as a child, I assumed every house in the world had one.

Some readers (mostly non-Catholics) have expressed curiosity about the references in my recent novel, Virgin Snow, to a type of statue known as “the Infant of Prague.” In the story, one of the characters decides to open a shop in her garage where she will create and sell beautiful garments for people to dress their statues, which represent Jesus as a child.

This scene was inspired by an actual Infant of Prague shop operated for years by a woman named Lena in a store front on Buffalo’s West Side. Many was the day that I walked by the window to check out Lena’s new garments, which changed in both color and style along with the Catholic liturgical seasons.

The crown on the head of the statue symbolizes Christ as king. All photos by Moxie Gardiner

So ubiquitous was the Infant of Prague statue in West Side homes that as a child, I assumed every house in the world had one. It did not occur to me that others might not, until I actually went to Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, for a conference. I was traveling with a colleague who asked if we could stop in one of the souvenir shops as we walked back toward our hotel at the end of the day. She said she was hoping to find a small statue made famous by the city. “You mean the Infant of Prague, right?” I asked. She looked at me strangely.

“No,” she said. “I want to buy a statue of the Golem of Prague.” Now I looked at her strangely, as I had never heard of the Golem. So we walked to the Christmas Market on Wenceslas Square (it was early December) and, over a glass of hot Glühwein, we began to tell each other what we knew of these religious figures and their history.

As she began to ask questions, I very quickly realized that despite the number of times I had seen the statue I was familiar with, I didn’t know much about the Infant of Prague. “Why do they call it an infant?” she asked after I described the statue. I didn’t have a very good answer. “Why fancy robes? Why a crown? And what,” she asked finally, “did Jesus have to do with Prague?”

I had my own questions for her about the Golem, a mythical man created out of clay. “He is an important part of Jewish legend,” she said. “But he’s not as elegant as your little king.”

The globe symbolizes Christ’s worldly domain.

Years later, while doing research for my novel, I found answers to many of my friend’s questions. No, the Infant of Prague is not a baby, but a representation of Christ as a child. No, the statue does not have its origins in Prague. According to the website of “The League of the Miraculous Infant Jesus of Prague,” the statue was a royal wedding gift given by a Spanish Princess to her Austrian royal cousin in the 1500s, and later donated to a group of Carmelite friars in Prague. The robes, crown and miniature globe symbolize the “world-wide kingship” of the Christ Child.[1]

Green signifies “ordinary” days in the liturgical calendar. Note, however, the fine gold brocade.

According to that website, many miracles have occurred through “intercession to the Divine Infant.” During one conflict, it says, all the children of the city were taken to the Church for protection, and by praying to the Infant, they were all saved.

I have since learned that there is a similar story about the Golem. [2]  A certain Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague in the 1500s was said to have made a powerful living creature out of mud which he called the Golem, a kind of combination man-monster whose purpose was to defend the Jewish community from violent attacks. Since that time, the Golem has been a popular figure with both Jews and non-Jews. According to several websites, plays, novels, movies, musicals and even a ballet have drawn on the tale of the Golem, including Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Today, a visitor to Prague can even take a “Golem tour” by exploring various locations in the Jewish Quarter.

When I think back to my visit to Prague, I’ll always remember our mutual surprise when my friend and I discovered we were talking about two different religious statues, and then learning how different the two were—one of the Christ child dressed as a king, the other of a towering man made of clay. What strikes me now though, is their similarities. People of many religious traditions who have felt powerless and persecuted at times throughout history understandably turn to the divine or the mystical for salvation, represented by symbols such as these.

I am curious to know how many of my readers had religious statues in their homes while growing up, or were told stories and legends that embraced the sacred, the mystical or the divine. I would also love to know if religion still plays an important role in your life. Please share your comments, below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices chair yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

[1] For much more information on the history of the Infant of Prague go to: https://www.ewtn.com/catholicism/library/history-of-the-infant-jesus-of-prague-1329

[2] For additional info on the Golem go to: https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/golem/

A Letter of Gratitude to Those Who Read Books

You are the ones who will have the wisdom, the vocabulary, the critical reasoning and the empathy to make the world a better place.

Where would writers be without readers?

Nothing makes me smile more than a bookstore full of happy readers.

After the first of the New Year, I will begin in earnest to write my second novel. Today, as I contemplate the energy, creativity and mental stamina it will require to write another 100,000 words, the thing that propels me forward is the possibility that someone out there will read the book and hopefully get something out of it.

But I know that reading 100,000 words requires a lot of energy too. Unlike passively watching a TV show or movie, laughing at Instagram reels, or listening to a podcast while we apply our nail polish—reading is an active pursuit. It requires you to sit down, focus and commit precious time to immersing yourself in another world.

So many good books, so little time….

According to recent polls, the average American adult spends an average of just 15-20 minutes a day reading. Some of that time is spent perusing emails, texts, news headlines and social media feeds, rather than reading books. Many who spend a good part of their day reading for work or school turn to other forms of entertainment for relaxation.

One Gallup poll confirmed that Americans are reading an average of three fewer books a year (roughly a dozen per year) than they did five years ago. The decline is not because fewer Americans are reading, but because those who do—especially college graduates, women and older Americans—are reading less.

This development caught my attention because these three groups form the target audience for my novels. Expecting these folks to not only buy my books, but to sit down and read them when so many other things are competing for their attention, is a big ask. All I can do is remind my potential readers of the many benefits of reading books for entertainment, information, self-improvement and enjoyment—and hope for the best.

The Bookworm in East Aurora dedicates and entire section of the store to local authors

A major benefit, I would argue, is that reading books introduces people to new words and improves vocabulary better than any other medium. Books help us improve our concentration and cognitive skills like critical thinking, reasoning and analysis. Reading is brain exercise that requires vision and imagination. It may even help prevent Alzheimer’s in our later years.

As I close out my first year as a published author, a big THANK YOU to all my readers.

A book is also a good friend to have if you’re lonely, stressed or even depressed. Studies have found that a nighttime routine of reading a book can help you sleep longer and better.

A good book also creates empathy. Diving into a novel about an unfamiliar group or culture can create understanding and connections. I hope, for example, that by reading Virgin Snow, people who did not grow up in Buffalo during that time and place will gain some insight into what life was like then, and why some of us turned out the way we did.

To those who still read a good book or two every month, I salute you. To those in Book Clubs who take the time to digest and discuss the books that they read–you have my deepest respect. You are the ones who will have the wisdom, the vocabulary, the critical reasoning and the empathy to make the world a better place. Yes, reading is good for you, but what you learn from reading is good for the rest of us too. And I for one, don’t know what I’d do without you, dear readers.

So thank you.

Do you read books? And if so, what kinds of books do you like to read? What benefits does reading provide you that I haven’t mentioned above? Please share your thoughts in the comments, below.

Did you buy a copy of Virgin Snow? If so, check to see if you made the gallery of readers at the Virgin Snow tab above, or search on the link below.

Virgin Snow, A Novel

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and enjoys a good online Zumba routine at home on winter evenings. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

“Snow Sausages,” a Christmas Story of Love and Loss, December 1968

Family traditions are an important element of the Christmas holiday season, and the old West Side of Buffalo had some unique ones.

My recently published novel, Virgin Snow, includes the following vignette, which I have learned over the course of several book-signings and discussions has struck a chord with many readers. This story of a family holding onto its Christmas Eve rituals, while coping with a recent tragedy, is something I too have experienced, although much later in life. I share it here to remind us all that the holiday season, while joyful, can also be a time of sorrow for some, and there is no better time than Christmas to hold our loved ones close.

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On Christmas Eve, Cosi McCarthy and her older sister, Little Ange, dragged a half-frozen pine tree out of the trunk of their father’s old Ford Falcon, up the linoleum-covered stairs, and into their apartment, leaving a trail of melting snow and pine needles in their wake. Cosi was thrilled when her mother, Big Ange, said they could stay up past midnight to welcome Jesus’ birthday, grill some meat, and “break the fast” they had all been observing during Advent. At dinner, they had the traditional “feast of the seven fishes,” though all they could afford was pasta with canned clam sauce. “Seven clams on each plate,” said Big Ange. “Close enough,”

As the hour approached, neighbors began to drag out their charcoal grills. Later, after attending midnight mass, they would return to cook spicy Italian sausages to signal an end to the six-week fast. Cosi knew her parents, like others in the neighborhood, usually observed this ritual long after the children were in bed. This Christmas Eve, the first without her husband, Big Ange would let the girls participate.

Cosi decorated the tree with her mother while her little brother Nino slept, and Little Ange stood in the driveway, attempting to light the charcoal briquettes in the rusting grill. The snow was falling in big wet flakes, making the charcoal difficult to light.

“This is effing stupid, Mama” called Little Ange several times from the driveway.

Cosi, in her nightgown, winter coat, and rubber boots, came out with an umbrella. She held it over her sister while Little Ange squirted more lighter fluid and tried again. Before long, the coals were burning brightly. Big Ange came down with a string of sausages, bought earlier that day from Zarcone’s, then went back up to fry onions and green peppers while the girls stood under the umbrella and watched the meat sizzle.

The night seemed magical to Cosi. The softly falling snow, the companionable heat of the coals, and the delightful aroma wafting from the grill, wrapped her in a warm cocoon of love, neighborhood, and family. She stepped outside the umbrella, closed her eyes and let the flakes tickle her cheeks.

“Hey,” said Little Ange, looking at her watch. “It’s Christmas. Wanna smoke a joint to celebrate?”

“Are you crazy?” Cosi hissed.

Their mother appeared out of nowhere, holding a plate of warm rolls filled with the fried vegetables. Little Ange shot her sister a warning but Cosi knew better than to say anything. The snow slowed to a few flakes and Big Ange stuck the string of sausages with a long fork and neatly cut off two for each of them, nestling them carefully in the buns. She had also brought down three small glasses of Whiskey Sours, topped with maraschino cherries, and stood silently for a moment, looking at the glowing briquettes. She handed Cosi the plate of sausages, turned her face to the dark sky, and held up her glass.

“Salud,” said Big Ange, “and Merry Christmas, Johnny, wherever you are. Our little Cositina, you will be proud to know, is on her way to becoming a nun. Little Ange is, well, what you’d expect. Nino is doing OK and I am making a little money. We’re trying our best down here, so if you do see God, please ask him to make next year a better one for the McCarthy family.”

Little Ange drank her Whiskey Sour in one gulp, handed Cosi her sausages, and walked down the snowy street to smoke her Christmas joint.

Excerpted from the novel, “Virgin Snow” by Moxie Gardiner, NFB Publishing, copyright 2023. All rights reserved.

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Do you have memories of a Christmas like this one, or family rituals you would like to share? If so, please do so in the comments below.    

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and enjoys a good Zumba routine on winter evenings . Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Whatever Happened to Beggar’s Night?

I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities.

Long ago, deep in a West Side neighborhood where every house, on every block, was home to a passel of children, Beggar’s Night (October 30th) was something to behold. Legions of small monsters, ghosts, and superheroes knocked on the doors of neighbors, sometimes blocks away, in search of candy. Those of us who lived there at that time brought large brown shopping bags to collect our loot, and didn’t come home until the bag was getting too heavy to carry.

Little kids dressing up for Halloween
We loved Trick-or-Treating on Beggar’s Night.

A little research suggests that the tradition started back in the late 1930s when city fathers wanted to give the younger children a safer alternative to the hell-raising and vandalizing that was a significant part of Halloween at that time. No one ever told us this was the plan, so we happily went out trick-or-treating both nights, usually in homemade costumes made by our very thrifty and clever mom.

It seems that nowadays Beggar’s Night, for the most part, has gone the way of Michaelmas and Festivus—a holiday still celebrated, but only by a devoted few. In Buffalo, two communities—Kaisertown and Lovejoy—still carry on the tradition with gusto. They even have their own Facebook page providing updates on some of the best places to get candy. Beggar’s Night is also still a very big thing in Central Ohio, with the Mid-Ohio Regional Planning Commission organizing Beggar’s Night activities for the region.

Pinocchio costume
Apples used to be a special treat on Halloween.

As a now mature adult, I have to wonder why the holiday is no longer popular in more Buffalo communities, especially if the whole idea is to have a separate, safer night for the younger children. Maybe it’s because communities are no longer experiencing the rowdyism that used to be the hallmark of Halloween. Or, perhaps homeowners got tired of answering the door and shelling out candy two nights in a row.

Homemade Halloween costumes
Mom made our costumes back then.

Or maybe it’s because Halloween night itself is now big business, and no longer just for kids. Adults are expected to shell out over $4 billion for costumes this year and 32% of them will either go to a Halloween party or throw one of their own. Even pets are getting in on the act, with Americans expecting to spend some $700 million on costumes for their fur babies.

This year I will be trick-or-treating for the first time in a long time, now that I have a four-year-old in my life. I will be curious to see how kid-friendly Halloween is these days, and determine for myself whether or not Beggar’s Night should regain its rightful place in the list of US holidays to be celebrated.

Did you celebrate Beggar’s Night in your neighborhood? Please share your stories in the comments below!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

The Power of Childhood Memories

It is possible to step back into a childlike state of wonder, if and when we choose to do so.

Glen Park was a great place for a family outing. My cousin Jimmy took me on the scary rides.

One of my happiest memories as a small child growing up in Buffalo was our family’s summer trips to Glen Park in suburban Williamsville, NY. At the time, Glen Park was not the quiet green space it is today. It was a small amusement park, with kiddie rides and carnival games, and if memory serves me right, a miniature zoo with real goats clambering over the rocks near the park’s waterfall!

My favorite ride was the carousel. The sound of the organ music was the first thing you heard upon entering the park, and when you turned the corner and saw the lights, the colors, and the life-sized animals chasing each other as the whole, wild menagerie went round and round, you were mesmerized. My brothers and I would run to get in line, impatiently waiting for the gate to open, so we could grab the biggest, most realistic-looking horse. Even Mom and Dad would join us on the ride, holding the smallest of us secure in the saddle, while the rest of us bobbed confidently up and down.

The Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum in North Tonawanda, New York. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.

Imagine my delight then, when I discovered the Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum this summer in North Tonawanda, a small city located halfway between Buffalo and Niagara Falls. One of the first things you see upon entering the museum is the spectacular “1916 Allan Herschell Number 1 Special Carrousel.” Little did I know before visiting that North Tonawanda was once one of the largest carousel-producing cities in the US. (Fun fact: you can spell “carousel” several ways.)

Who can forget the day you were finally tall enough to ride the rides by yourself?

I came to ride the “horses,” but decided first to check out the museum itself, to learn, I hoped, a bit more about how these marvelous merry-go-rounds are made. I visited the carving floor and the painting room and learned about the skills that carvers had to develop during their journey from apprentice to master.

But as I made my way through the museum, I was surprised to discover how instrumental Herschell’s factories were in the growth of the American amusement industry at the turn of the century. They produced all kinds of “kiddie” rides, from small roller coasters to miniature trains to bumper cars, and the factories were among the largest producers of automatic organ music in the country. Some of the rides made by the Herschell companies found their way into another one of my favorite amusement parks—Crystal Beach—just across the river in Ontario, Canada.

I did not realize until I visited the museum how those early amusement park experiences—with all the joy and excitement they inspired—could have a similar effect on me as an adult today. Most of us have scores of memorable experiences throughout our lives, especially when we’ve reached a certain age. Why then, do childhood memories hold such a special place in our temporal lobes? Why are these memories so predominant that they tend to blot out the negative experiences that most assuredly occurred during those tender years?

The Little Dipper was one of the rides that made its way to Crystal Beach, along with the “Dodgem,” later known as bumper cars.
What would a carousel be without melodious organ music as accompaniment?

I have been reminded of this phenomenon from the comments I’ve received about my recently published novel, Virgin Snow, and some of the blogs I’ve written. Many people who grew up in Buffalo remember their childhood as “the very best of times.” A great deal of psychological research confirms that we recall more positive than negative memories as we age, and that this so-called “positivity bias” has beneficial effects on our personal well-being and even our behavior towards others.[1]

That might explain why, even though I was the only customer in the museum that afternoon, I paid my wooden token and took a spin, alone, on the carousel. I rode King Billy, the biggest and baddest white horse, closed my eyes, and was transported back to a summer evening in Glen Park when my feet barely touched the stirrups. For five glorious minutes I was there, and felt those old feelings again.

I left the museum with a smile on my face, a bounce in my step, and a magnet for the refrigerator that features a photo of the carousel. It serves as a reminder to me that it is possible to step back into a childlike state of wonder, if and when we choose to do so, and that memories are not only good for us, but good for those we share them with.

What are some of your favorite childhood memories, of amusement parks or other things? Please share in the comments below.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

[1] For an interesting analysis of positivity bias see Our Memories Become More Positive With Age | Psychology Today

Why I Wrote a “Love Letter” to Buffalo

I wanted to begin a narrative that would trace the city’s arc from the first warning signs of a collapsing economy to its eventual rebirth and revitalization.

People who know that I worked in Washington, DC for many years have asked me, “Why write a book about Buffalo? Why not write about some of the things you must have witnessed—the political intrigue, scandals, or behind-the scenes shenanigans—in our Capital City?”

My answer to that is always the same: I don’t find that stuff interesting.

The truth is, I find Buffalo, and the people of Buffalo, fascinating. Why? Because it’s real. It’s the kind of town where families put down roots and stay for generations, where they know their neighbors as well as they know their own families.

Three generations of Buffalonians.

It is the kind of city that produces people who are tough and resilient. Buffalonians know how to bounce back from heartbreaking losses (Scott Norwood’s missed field goal in Superbowl XXV, anyone?) and economic ups and downs. They know how to deal quickly and efficiently with the kind of snow that would make a Washingtonian crawl back under the covers and weep. They are also unfailingly kind and generous people who are ready to step up and support a friend, a neighbor, even a stranger, in time of need.

I am proud to have been born and raised in Buffalo. And I am proud to call myself a West Sider. So my new novel, Virgin Snow, is my love letter, of sorts, to a place and a people I love.

Pretty much every Buffalonian knows what this man is doing to get rid of the ice in front of his storm drain.

With the perspective of watching Buffalo’s evolution for many decades, I wanted to begin a narrative that would trace the city’s arc from the time it saw its first warning signs of a collapsing economy to its darkest days when the city lost half its population, to its eventual rebirth and revitalization. With any luck, Virgin Snow is the first in a trilogy that follows that evolution full circle.

Yes, the book is intense in places, and it looks unblinkingly at some of the mistakes we’ve made here in the past. But if you love something, you love it warts and all. You take the good with the bad, the ups with the downs, the prettiness with the grittiness. That’s how I feel about Buffalo, and that’s the kind of book I wanted to write.

How do you feel about Buffalo? Do you live in Buffalo now? Are you part of the great Buffalo diaspora who moved during the late ‘70s and ‘80s? Or, are you a returnee who has recently come back home? I love hearing your stories, so please leave me your comments, below.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Beyond the Library: The Quiet Evolution of Literary Buffalo

When visiting the city earlier this month, I learned that over the past half-century, Buffalo has become quite the literary town.

The central Buffalo & Erie County Public Library in downtown Buffalo. A total of 37 libraries and bookmobile services serve the greater Buffalo area today.

When I was a young lass, spending a few quiet hours in the small library on West Ferry Street in search of good fiction to read, I often looked for books set in my hometown of Buffalo, or anywhere, frankly, that vaguely resembled my beloved rust belt city. I wanted to read about the type of people I knew, the places I was familiar with, experiences that made sense to me.

What I usually found was–nada, nothing, zip, zilch.

The dearth of good writing about Buffalo back in the day must have been noted by a woman named Debora Ott, who in 1975 founded a literary movement she called “Just Buffalo.” In the beginning, she invited well-known authors and poets from other places to come to Buffalo to participate in readings.

Just Buffalo Literary Center’s colorful logo. Photo courtesy of Just Buffalo Literary Center.

Over the years, the organization branched out and became the Just Buffalo Literary Center, offering writing workshops, a literary magazine, poetry readings in its Silo City series, and a lecture series called BABEL which brings authors of worldwide renown to Buffalo. Now, some 50 years after its inception, Just Buffalo can claim credit for either hosting or participating in over 2,000 literary events.

Dog Ears Bookstore and Café in South Buffalo has a hometown atmosphere, a selection of local books, and as I can personally attest, great coffee and scones!

When visiting the city earlier this month, I learned that over the past half-century, Buffalo has become quite the literary town. Curious about the “LIT CITY” banners I saw hanging from street lamps downtown, I learned that Buffalo’s Mayor Byron Brown designated a section in the heart of the city as “The Literary Corridor of Buffalo.” The banners honor poets, novelists, and playwrights with connections to the town, including famous names such as Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Lucille Clifton, and Joyce Carol Oates. But alas, few if any of these authors wrote about Buffalo itself.

FITZ Books & Waffles downtown sells books that “reveal hidden histories and motivate us to be agents of change.” They also serve waffles at all times during open hours!

It was not until 1999, when Lauren Belfer published her novel, City of Light, that the first remarkable (in my humble opinion) work of fiction set in Buffalo, met with national and international acclaim.[1] Belfer is now recognized as one of the “LIT CIY” greats and is honored with a banner that hangs among those featuring other literary giants with a local connection.

Black Rock Books stocks a wide array of titles with emphasis on “literary fiction, underrepresented voices, and educational justice.“

Since publication of Belfer’s book, thanks to changes in the publishing industry, a number of good books about Buffalo—both fiction and non-fiction—are now available on bookshelves.[2]

What has truly gladdened my heart, however, is the fact that Buffalo now has a thriving home-grown book publishing industry,[3] along with 10 independent bookstores and an annual day established by the city government to celebrate them. It seems Buffalo has become not only a mecca for writers, but for readers as well.

Talking Leaves Books in Elmwood Village not only offers books, but a “safe and welcoming place for readers and writers to meet and engage with the ideas contained in them.”  

 

A visit to several Buffalo bookshops confirmed that local authors have pride of place on their shelves. I am truly honored that my newly published book, Virgin Snow, will soon be among them.

Toni Morrison once famously said, “If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, you must be the one to write it.” From childhood on, I always wanted to read a book about a girl growing up on Buffalo’s West Side who loved the city but like many, eventually had to leave it. I never did find a book like that, so I followed Ms. Morrison’s advice.

And now, there is such a book.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

Alice, Ever After Books, a woman-owned business, seeks to “inspire readers, old and young, beyond the pages of a book with classes, events, and community gatherings.“

[1] Belfer’s book, set in Buffalo during its gilded age, is a wonderful example of historical fiction at its best. For more about Belfer and her books check out https://laurenbelfer.com/books/city-of-light/

[2] Some of my other favorite books about or set in Buffalo include City On the Edge by Mark Goldman, Right Here, Right Now: The Buffalo Anthology, edited by Jody K. Biehl, and Big Russ and Me: Father and Son: Lessons of Life by Tim Russert.

[3] Mark Pogodzinski at NFB (aka No Frills Buffalo) Publishing, which published Virgin Snow, is one of several regional publishers in Buffalo willing to work with debut authors.

Wax Lips, Licorice Sticks and an Homage to the Corner Store

One of the things I miss most when I return to Buffalo is the family-owned corner store.

My grandparents owned one of these wonderful stores before I was born.

One of the things I miss most when I return to Buffalo is something that is almost impossible to find—the once-ubiquitous, family-owned corner store.

I remember the delightful smell of these homey establishments, their worn wood floors emanating the aromas of the goods inside, their painted screen doors (with an ad for Sunbeam bread!) letting in the fresh summer air.

Many corner stores were multigenerational, family-run affairs, like this one established by Florence and Frank Ganci in 1926. Photo courtesy of the Ganci Family.

They were usually owned by industrious people who lived above them, behind them or somewhere nearby. You would often find the whole family busy sorting and stacking behind the scenes, while the owner worked the counter and knew every kid in the neighborhood.

Behind the counter lay boxes of penny candy and other small treats.  Around the room, deep chests were filled with cold beverages and popsicles, and shelves were lined with an assortment of groceries meant for neighborhood mothers with little ones in tow.

Nothing evokes memories of shopping with my Grandma like marinated olives, rosemary and…

My first memories of going to a corner store on the West Side are with my Sicilian grandmother. At the time, many of the stores specialized in food that made the first- and second-generation Sicilians in our neighborhood feel at home.

Fresh garlic!!

While Grandma would stand at the counter ordering freshly butchered meat (including tripe or pig’s feet—ugh), I would watch the live babbaluci (snails) climb up the sides of the large barrels from which they were sold. I knew that if I behaved, she would reward me with a small box of torrone, a sweet white nougat treat, that forever imprinted the association of “corner store” and “candy” in my brain.

Remember the excitement of opening your Mallo Cup and finding a 25 point coin?

Once I was old enough to walk to school alone, I would stop at Mantione’s on the corner of 14th and Hampshire with the nickel or dime I had earned for returning glass bottles.

I would stand in front of the counter debating which treasures I should buy—a pair of ruby red wax lips (that were utterly tasteless), a licorice stick (I preferred red, which isn’t really “licorice”), a pretzel from the cannister, a candy necklace, Nik-L-Nips in little wax bottles, or one of the large assortment of hard, soft and chewy candies, like peach stones and maple creams. The prefrontal cortex of my 8-year old brain agonized over this decision for 15 minutes while Mr. Mantione waited patiently behind the counter.

How I loved those caramel creams (notice several are missing)!

Fast-forward to teenaged summers at the Massachusetts Ave swimming pool and frequent stops at Ganci’s Grocery, a store and “super deli” right across from the pool. No longer a hesitant decision-maker, I would stride up to the counter, past the bottles of LaStrella bleach and bars of Fels-Naptha soap, and order a baloney bomber from Mr. Ganci, his son Frank or daughter Cathy, before running over to the pool. If I had enough money, I’d buy a chocolate-covered frozen banana for dessert (which would be devoured before I re-crossed the street).

Ganci’s Super Deli had the best bombers and ribs in town back in the ’70s. Photo courtesy of Rick Ganci.

They were hardly the healthy snacks parents buy and children are encouraged to eat today. But it wasn’t really about the food back then. It was all about the experience of learning to count your money (and your change, if there was any), making choices, interacting with adults in an environment outside the home, and enjoying whatever you bought with the little cash you had. It can truthfully be said that we did a lot of growing up in those stores.   

I still like to patronize family-run grocery stores, but they are harder and harder to find. On the West Side back in the day, most kids could look out their bedroom window and see a neighborhood store down the street. Now they are a novelty—like Guercio’s on Grant Street—and run by a family’s second, third or fourth generation.

What could be a more welcome sight in the aftermath of a blizzard, than to see the lights ablaze in Guercio’s, your friendly neighborhood store? Photo courtesy of the Guercio family.

Whenever I go back to Buffalo, I still like to pay Guercio’s a visit. The food, the smells, the colorful produce, all transport me back to those trips with Grandma. The only thing missing is the barrel of babbalucci. I’m quite sure the snails are happier.

Do you have a memory of a favorite store from your childhood? How old were you when you were finally able to go there on your own? Please share your stories with me and my readers. We’d love to hear from you!

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.