Gardening - Moxie Gardiner

Why Chautauqua is the Summer Camp that Soothes the Soul

The people who visit the Chautauqua Institution are there to seek solace, and turn their minds away from a troubled world.

Although I grew up in Buffalo, I was only vaguely familiar with the Chautauqua Institution and the world- renowned summer gathering that happens less than 90 minutes south of my hometown. Until recently that is. Now that I have gone to “CHQ” as it’s known, for two years in a row, I think I may be hooked forever.

*Lewis Miller, one of the early founders of the Chautauqua Movement and father-in-law of Thomas Edison, built this cottage as the family’s summer residence.* (All photos © Moxie Gardiner)

The Chautauqua Institution celebrated its 150th birthday last year, an idea born of necessity. Three similar American institutions—the camp meeting, the Lyceum, and the American Sunday School—had all declined in popularity by the start of the Civil War. Archivist and historian Jon Schmitz argues that after that terrible conflict had ended, many were searching for ways to cobble the country back together, and the Chautauqua Movement was born. Chautauqua, he says, was “a growing country’s admission of its need for education, culture, and moral improvement. In other words, it was a perfect American expression of what America wasn’t.”[1]

*Authors’ Hour is a popular part of the writing program at CHQ.*

Over the years, CHQ went through many evolutions, and at times was on the brink of collapse, particularly after the stock market crash of 1929. But donors who believed in its mission raised enough money for the Institution to survive. Today CHQ is thriving, offering a slate of recreational activities, cultural events, lectures, classes, and celebrity speakers to over 100,000 visitors during its summer program.

Last year I came for a day to do an Authors’ Hour reading. This year I stayed a week, primarily to attend a writer’s workshop, but learned while I was on campus, that CHQ offered many other things of interest to me. I went on nature tours with the Bird, Tree and Garden Club and visited a number of the 119 named gardens on the grounds. I toured several historical sights and took a ride on the steamboat, The Chautauqua Belle. I swam in Chautauqua Lake, went “forest bathing,” and listened to symphonies from the privacy of my hotel balcony.

*There are a number of rain gardens on the Chautauqua grounds. A naturalist explains their purpose to our group.*

I talked to a number of other visitors and learned that they came back year after year, and for many different reasons. Some liked the focus on religion and theology. Others liked to discuss contemporary issues. My sister, a writer who is currently focused on historical places in Western New York, came to investigate its well preserved buildings and its archives.

*The Chautauqua Belle is an authentic steam wheeler, one of five left in the US.*

As one of the early founders, Methodist Minister John Vincent understood, “It is one thing to attract people by offering them what they want, but Chautauqua keeps people coming back because it gives them what they need.[2] I wasn’t sure I understood what that meant until I fully immersed myself in the Chautauqua experience. What I learned is that with time, opportunity, and the encouragement of others, I was able to give my creativity and intellectual curiosity free reign. I was always on the go and learned a great deal, but at the same time, oddly enough, I was at peace.

*George Saunders, far left, best-selling author of* Lincoln at the Bardo, *answers questions about an opera based on his book.*

With few exceptions, the people who visit the Chautauqua Institution are there to seek solace, and turn their minds away from a troubled world. If Chautauqua was created to heal the wounds of war and the divide that existed among Americans at that time, then perhaps, more than ever, it is the kind of place we Americans really need today.

There is great value in slowing down and thinking deeply, in having conversations with a diverse set of people, and in learning new things at every age. I think we need more summer camps like this in our country.

Do you? Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.

*The Chautauqua Osprey, created completely from recycled plastics, is a symbol of Chautauqua’s commitment to a healthy environment.*

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, and she is currently working on Book Two in the trilogy.

[1] From the booklet, CHAUTAUQUAWhat? A Short History of a Place and an Idea, page 3, by Jon Schmitz. Published in 2024 for the Institution’s 150^th anniversary.

[2] Same booklet. Page 20.

For more information on the Chautauqua Institutions see https://www.chq.org/.

The Never-Ending Life of the Veggie Garden

I prefer not to think of the end of the summer growing season as the “death” of our vegetable garden, but as a transition into something new and different.

*The last tenacious tomatoes clinging to the vine. All photos © Moxie Gardiner.*

Not long ago, I read a book called “A Farm Dies Once a Year” by Arlo Crawford. It’s a wonderful story about farming and family in south central Pennsylvania, not all that far from where I live now. I enjoyed the book and while I appreciate the cleverness of the title, I prefer not to think of the end of the summer growing season as the “death” of our vegetable garden, but as a transition into something new and different.

*Colorful hot peppers will spice up our fall pots of chili.*

Yes, the summer residents are leaving—the sun-kissed tomatoes, the sizzling hot peppers, the voluptuous eggplant and the cool cucumbers. All but the last of the berries are gone, the peaches have swum in their last cobbler and the apples have been squirreled away, awaiting their turn to be tucked under a lattice crust. The last of the overgrown zucchini will be made into a sweet bread and the yellow squash into a savory casserole. Many of these plants have already begun to go to seed, sprinkling the ground with next year’s volunteers.

*Beautiful autumn-hued sunflowers brighten the fall garden.*

October though, is the time when fall vegetables begin to shine. Pumpkin vines are covering every last bit of space between the raised beds, sending last bursts of energy to what looks like giant basketballs scattered across the grass. The cabbages are finally happy, after limping along during a hot, dry summer, and the beets and carrots and other root vegetables are substantial enough now to grace a soup or stew on a blustery autumn day. The sunflowers are still hanging in there, but I noticed the last of the bees are leaving and the birds are hovering, waiting to feast on sunflower seeds.

*The Swiss chard really enjoys the cooler weather.*

We will soon be digging up the sweet potatoes to store for the winter, joining the leeks, potatoes, onions, garlic and turnips in our cool basement bins. This was a spectacular year for butternut squash in our little corner of the world, and I can hardly wait to make my favorite spicy butternut-pumpkin soup in the months ahead.

It is also time to scatter seeds for vegetables that are hardy enough to winter over in Zone 7a. Several types of lettuce (which will survive the winter in a cold frame), mustard greens, and collards have already come up, covering the soil with an emerald blanket. The Swiss chard, spinach and celery are all mature enough now to survive even a heavy frost.

*The mustard greens are seedlings now, but should be ready for Thanksgiving dinner.*

In January, we will peruse the seed catalogues and dust off our seed trays, grow lights and bags of potting soil, and begin planting the new arrivals. We’ll nurture them along in the basement until spring, when the strongest of them can withstand the variations in temperature and begin providing us with nutritious produce as early as April.

True, one could choose to think of the vegetable garden as dying every year, but I prefer not to think of life—any life—that way. It is simply life in a different form. Whether it is a rotting tree that feeds the plants and insects that surround it with nutrients, or the acorns that fall from the mighty oaks to feed the squirrels and grow tiny saplings—life is a never-ending cycle. Old life begets new life, and new life starts the wheel turning again. So goes the life of a garden, and so go you and I.

Do you have a vegetable garden? If so, has it taught you any philosophical lessons about the cycle of life, like it has me? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section below.

*The lettuce seedlings have just begun to sprout, and will grace our table throughout the winter months.*

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 in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. Virgin Snow is the first novel in what she hopes will be a trilogy. She is currently working on Book Two.

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 1^st). 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 1^st, 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.

The Most Prestigious Club You Probably Never Heard Of

*The imposing Charlotte Mulligan, founder of The Twentieth Century Club of Buffalo.*

Tucked away a discrete distance from busy Delaware Avenue, and a stone’s throw from the famous Wilcox Mansion where Theodore Roosevelt was sworn in as President after the assassination of William McKinley, lies a stately Italian Renaissance-style structure that I suspect few people in Buffalo have ever noticed, let alone visited. It is the home of The Twentieth Century Club of Buffalo (or TCC), so named by its founder in 1894 to herald the arrival of a new century.[1]

What is interesting about the TCC, apart from its somewhat low profile, is that it is an all-womens’ organization, the second-oldest of its kind in the country. One might imagine that a club for women established in fin de siècle America — a time when floor-length dresses and lace mittens were still de rigueur — would be where the gentler sex gathered primarily to play cards and attend social events.

But what made this club unique and caused a stir at the time was that its founder, Charlotte Mulligan, a formidable woman of many accomplishments educated at Buffalo Seminary and president of the school’s Graduates Association, believed that women should be as well-informed and accomplished as men. Her vision was to establish a gathering place that provided the educated women of Buffalo with a wide range of literary, artistic, and musical pursuits after graduation.

*The beautiful dining room, with its impressive columns and domed ceiling, has a stage for guest speakers.*

*I was treated to lunch in the South Loggia, bathed in the light of multi-colored glass windows.*

I had the good fortune recently to have lunch at the TCC as a guest of its First Vice President/President-elect, Janice Worobec. In addition to sharing a brief history of the club, Janice offered me a tour of the elegant facility, still imbued with its nineteenth century charm and now on the National Register of Historic Places. Unlike many of the mansions on Delaware Ave, the building still boasts its original façade, mission, and tenant though the club has changed. “While keeping many traditions, members are cognizant that social clubs such as ours must evolve in order to remain relevant in today’s world,” explained Janice. She describes today’s members as “eclectic.”

Over the years, the 128-year-old Club has hosted an impressive list of speakers and notables, including First Ladies, foreign ministers, and royalty. It sponsored a number of social events associated with the 1901 Pan American Exposition and entertained visitors ranging from Vice President (at the time) Theodore Roosevelt, to Booker T. Washington and a Chinese Minister. During the two world wars, TCC members assisted the Red Cross with everything from first aid classes to surgical supplies, and invited speakers like the Vicomtesse de Rancougne to give a talk about her experiences at the front, and Randolph Churchill (son of Winston) to speak on “Europe Today.”

*The TCC library.*
(*All blog photos by Moxie Gardiner.*)

For me, as a writer and gardener, my lunchtime visit held two aspects of particular interest—the literature program and the garden. Since the Club’s inception, the Literary Committee has invited a wide array of impressive lecturers, including Robert Frost who offered thoughts on poetry, Thorton Wilder who gave a presentation on “Motion Pictures and Literature,” and many others, including such luminaries as Clifton Fadiman, Lillian Hellman, and Margaret Bourke-White. The Club also boasts a lending library established in 1896 which contains books from Charlotte Mulligan’s personal collection, a few first editions, and books on a wide array of topics befitting the scope of its members’ interests.

The garden, on the other hand, was not part of Ms. Mulligan’s original vision but was conceived when buildings behind the Club on Franklin Street were conveniently demolished. A garden committee was formed and to this day its members donate the plantings for an annual display that changes from fall to spring. The day I visited in early fall, this hidden bower was awash with colorful chrysanthemums, autumn joy sedum, coleus, and geraniums, accompanied by the cheerful sounds of a splashing fountain.

*The club’s motto, Facta Probant, i.e., “Let Deeds Tell,” is seen here on the archway to the right.*

Since its inception, the Club has suffered fires, financial difficulties, and a Supreme Court challenge over its all-woman membership policy in 1988, but it has endured. Is an all-womens’ club an anachronism in today’s world? That is not for me to judge. But I know that a club that promotes literature and the arts in Buffalo is not an idea past its time. I hope it will prosper well into the next century.

Are you a member of The Twentieth Century Club of Buffalo or one similar to it? What do you like best about yours? Or maybe you’re not a fan of clubs, but in favor of promoting literature and the arts? I’d love to hear 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. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

_{[1] To commemorate its 125^th Anniversary in 2019, the Twentieth Century Club published an updated chronology and history of the club, which was of great help in informing this blog.}

The Fruits (and Veggies) of Our Labor

There are few things in life more rewarding than growing your own food—harvesting, cooking, and eating it being the exceptions. Yet these elemental skills are sadly diminishing in our modern world, where processed and packaged food is inexpensive to buy or quick and easy to prepare. Even those aware of the health risks associated with “fast” foods must often rely on large supermarket chains for their fresh produce, much of it flown in or shipped from around the world, its provenance unknown. For many years, I was one of these people.

At the beginning of the pandemic, however, I, like many, wanted to try my hand at growing more of my own food. I had grown flowers and vegetables as a hobby years for years, but in the winter of 2020, I decided to try to increase the size and scale of our garden, and grow enough produce to sustain our needs in that department all year round. As “mostly” vegetarians (with occasional supplemental protein from dairy and canned fish), this seemed like a doable goal for us, as long as we had enough canning jars and freezer space. We knew we could get milk, yogurt, and cheese from a local dairy, and eggs from a neighbor who raises chickens. And of course, we would still need to rely on the grocery store for coffee, tea, flour, sugar, condiments, and other basic staples, but the goal was to reduce the number of trips.

*Our seedlings thrive in a sunny window in late winter and early spring.* *All photos by Moxie Gardiner.*

Inspired by a wonderful book by Barbara Kingsolver[1], we decided to try to grow enough varieties of fruits and vegetables to continually harvest fresh produce from March until November, and then dip into our larder for canned and frozen produce from December through February. That first year, the winter was mild enough that we were harvesting greens like mustard, Swiss chard, spinach, and collards through those months too. As soon as the temperatures began to warm in spring, we planted herbs in pots, along with a “salad bar” of lettuces and mixed greens, that thrived on our deck in the cooler months.

There were some spectacular failures, of course, but we learned. Plant garlic in October, not in spring. Be careful where you plant horseradish because it will multiply and take over the garden. Figure out how to deal with hornworms, cabbage moth caterpillars, flea beetles, and slugs or they will destroy your young plants faster than the deer, rabbits, and raccoons.

*Tomatillos were a new experiment this year.*

We also learned that August is the month when we will truly see the fruits of our labor, and we need to be prepared for it. After several months of warm, sunny weather, everything needs to be harvested at once. Corn, peppers, eggplant, basil, onions, cucumbers, tomatillos, okra, potatoes, beans, cabbage, carrots, beets, turnips, and tomatoes are all ripe for the picking. The challenge becomes how to deal with all this fresh food before it spoils.

We eat well at this time of year, no question, but it is not possible to consume enough to keep up with August’s bounty. So we spend time each morning talking about what needs to be used that day, what we might want to swap or give away, and what we need to preserve or freeze and save for winter. And like any good offspring of a Sicilian grandmother, my first priority is always the tomatoes.

We order a dozen different varieties of tomato seed (there are always some that do poorly) in late fall and plant them in seed trays under grow lights on the first of March. The seedlings are ready to go into the ground around mid-May, and the first cherry tomatoes are ready to harvest in mid-July. By August, all twelve varieties are producing, and we are inundated with tomatoes. I swap some peppers and tomatoes with neighbors, thus supplementing what we grow with what we do not. This year I got figs, Persian cucumbers, amaranth, and purple grape tomatoes, in exchange.

*We grow different varieties of tomatoes that range from small and sweet to large and meaty*. *They come in different colors too.*

*How convenient it is for peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes to be ready at the same time!*

August and September meals are centered around what comes fresh out of the garden that day. We go to our list of favorite recipes and decide whether to prepare salsa, gazpacho, salsa verde (with tomatillos), ratatouille, chili, okra gumbo, eggplant parmesan, tomato-vegetable juice, caprese salad, tomato & cucumber salad, or even simple tomato & mayo sandwiches.

Whatever doesn’t make it quickly to the plate or pot, we try to freeze or can. Tomato basil soup, vegetable soup, pizza sauce, and my favorite—Italian sauce like grandma used to make—are all good options for cold-weather dinners. Sometimes we simply freeze tomatoes whole to be used in future dishes. Many other vegetables, once cleaned and diced, also freeze well. One of our favorite new freezer techniques is to prepare pesto (we grow plenty of basil), freeze it in ice cube trays, and then throw all the frozen cubes in a baggie until its time to pull out one or two and make a nice pasta with pesto on a winter’s night.

Is it possible to eat the food you grow and preserve, year round? We think the answer is yes. We’ve been through three growing seasons since March 2020. Each year we learn something new (and still make mistakes!) and the harvest gets better. On less than an acre of land, we now grow and enjoy 40 different kinds of vegetables and 10 types of fruit.

Plus there are other benefits to consider: we know our produce is not only fresh but grown organically and pesticide free. There are fewer shopping trips (and stops at the gas station!) and we also have a new hobby that gives us plenty of exercise, fresh air, and healthy food. What could be better than that?

*Tours of the garden are available at a reasonable sum!*

Do you grow your own food and/or try to eat locally? Do you have any tips or techniques to pass along? I would love to hear from you in the comments below.

[1] For a wonderful book on “A Year of Food Life,” read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, published by HarperCollins in 2007.

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.

The Open Hearts and Gardens of Western New York

*During the month of July, nearly 100 gardens in the greater Buffalo-Niagara region are open to visitors.*
*_{All photos by Moxie Gardiner}*

The front of the house was very pretty, the flower border a vivid mix of colors and textures. I was admiring the understated, whimsical touches that added visual interest, while I waited for my sister who went ahead to scope out the back yard. She reappeared, motioning excitedly. “Come on,” she said, “the yard is going to blow you away.”

She was right. I walked down a shaded alleyway, chock-a-block with hostas, ferns, and other shade-loving plants, that opened onto a winding path through something akin to a magic forest. I was immediately reminded of one of my favorite books as a child—A Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Each twist in the path revealed a new surprise: a Koi pond here, miniature shrubs there, and a kaleidoscopic mix of flowers tucked in everywhere.

*“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles”* –Frances Hodgson Burnett.

My sister and I were embarked on our annual sojourn through the stunning gardens of Western New York. Last year I wrote about Buffalo’s internationally known Garden Walk, a free tour of some 400 homes in the densely-packed neighborhoods of the older part of the city, and the awe I felt as a fellow horticulturalist and former Buffalonian, seeing how these marvelous bits of heaven had transformed once-blighted areas.

*What could be more relaxing* *than sitting amidst this loveliness and watching the sunset over Lake Erie?*

This year, however, we decided to explore gardens in the greater Buffalo-Niagara region, focusing on small towns like Clarence, Eden, Hamburg, and Lake View. Every Thursday and Friday throughout the month of July, some 100 additional homeowners outside the city open their properties to visitors.

These tours, while just as rewarding as Buffalo’s Garden Walk, had a very different vibe. The properties were much larger on the whole, and the landscapes more extensive. In some gardens, we were the only visitors. We had room to maneuver and the owners had time to stroll with us and answer our questions.

Gardening on a large property requires a whole different skill set. On a small property, it is possible to (somewhat affordably) pack in a lot of colorful annuals amongst the perennials for a big splash of wall-to-wall color. In these larger plots, the growers must figure out how fill up the space without spending a fortune. Some chose to have a unifying theme or a central feature like a pond to build around, while others create a series of mini-gardens, each with their own individual identity. I was consistently impressed with the artistry, creativity, and uniqueness of each garden I visited (as well as the homeowner’s ability to somehow keep out the deer and rabbits).

*“Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.”* *– Luther Burbank*

What all the gardens had in common, however, was the warm and hospitable welcome we received from the people who owned them. They were only too happy to answer our questions and offer suggestions. Many provided bottled water and other nourishment for visitors on these free tours, which made me wonder, what makes gardeners some of the most generous, openhearted people on the planet?

*This passionflower was* *a crowd favorite.*

I recently read an article entitled, Do You Have the Personality Traits of a Gardener?[1] It listed as desirable attributes: appreciation of nature, patience, drive, creativity, curiosity, hope, expectation, and kindness. Throughout my tours of these private spaces and visits with those who tended them, I found all of these qualities in evidence. But I believe the article missed the most important trait—humility.

All gardeners quickly learn that no matter how many tips and tricks you learn, or how much money you spend, you will always encounter failures, and at times, disastrous ones. Mother Nature is an independent woman who refuses to be controlled, so we have to learn to work with the good and the bad she has to offer. We learn and adapt, and adapt again.

*He who plants a garden plants happiness. – Chinese proverb*

We have all been humbled at one time or another, and so when we, hand-in-hand with Mother Nature, achieve a measure of success, we want to celebrate, and if we are lucky, inspire the next generation of openhearted gardeners who will experience the joys and sorrows of a beautiful garden, and share it with others.

Are you a gardener? Do you have a favorite garden that inspires you, or better yet, brings you joy or peace? Please share your stories in the comments below!

*“When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden.” – Minnie Aumonier*

[1] To find out if you’ve got what it takes to be a gardener, see https://theheartygarden.com/gardening-personality-traits/.

For more information on the gardens and to plan your trip for next year, check out

https://www.gardensbuffaloniagara.com/open-gardens-buffalo

The Bodacious Gardens of Buffalo

When I was growing up on the West Side, little did I know that my crowded, urban neighborhood would one day host the biggest, most beautiful Garden Walk in America.

*Typical West Side lawns, back in the day.*

Long ago, when childhood meanderings were confined to exploring my city block, I knew every crack in the sidewalk, every pothole in the street, and every inch of what might be called grass on our pallet-sized lawn. I also knew which tiny West Side backyards hosted vegetable gardens, brimming with tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant, so Sicilian families could make their Sunday spaghetti sauce from scratch. But finding a flower garden in this urban hardscape was a rare and astonishing treat.

*Just one section of the Annual Buffalo Garden Walk, this showing the West Side ‘hood where I grew up. Note the number of houses on just this section of the tour alone.*

Though raised as a city girl, today I am interested in all things gardening, and everywhere I travel I seek out gardens, looking for tips and tricks to improve my own. So imagine my surprise when I went on my first Buffalo Garden Walk a few years ago, through the same crowded city streets of my youth, and found house after house with flowers spilling out of window boxes, former lawns, driveway strips, and sidewalk borders in a dizzying array of colors, shapes, and sizes—plots as healthy and beautiful as any found behind an English cottage or along Monet’s pond in France. Now in its 27^th year, Buffalo’s Garden Walk showcases more than 300 gardens on the West Side, and attracts some 65,000 visitors over a two-day period.

*Who would have imagined then, a front lawn could look like this?*

For those of you not from Buffalo, who know little about the city beyond its massive snowfalls and spicy chicken wings, it might surprise you to learn that Buffalo is now known for its greenspaces and gardens. Realizing this, I went to the Garden Walk this year with two questions in mind: why are flower gardens so unexpectedly lush and green in this cold weather (USDA Zone 6) urban environment, and what can I learn from Buffalo gardeners to improve my own?[1]

*The two-day Buffalo Garden Walk attracts thousands of visitors from around the country.*

Why are these gardens thriving? Well, here are my theories. As a northern city, Buffalo’s long summer days provide flowering plants with more daylight growing hours. Chilly temperatures in Buffalo last well into spring, allowing bad bugs and plant pathogens to remain dormant for longer periods. Summer temperatures, typically between 70-80 degrees, are ideal for most plants, especially annuals. Buffalo also has very good natural soil, typically fine to fine-loamy till, inherited from long ago glacial deposits, and its location, lying on the windward side of Lake Erie and the Niagara River, provides gardens with plenty of natural moisture throughout the year. Finally, after long, tough winters, Buffalo gardeners strive to make the most of their short growing season by devoting extraordinary time and energy to their gardens when warm weather finally arrives.

I now live in the mid-Atlantic region, an area with shorter, milder winters and hot, humid summers. What if anything did I learn from the Buffalo Garden Walk that I could apply to my own gardens?

*A clever integration of lawn and stepping stones.*

*Note the use of old household objects to create garden art.*

Recognize that gardens crowded into small spaces have high impact and give a visual impression of lushness and vitality. Make the most of any decent patch of soil you own.
Be unafraid of incorporating unusual things in your garden design for added interest. I loved the “recycled household objects” that were artistic elements in many of Buffalo’s gardens.
Make sure the hard structures surrounding your garden complement its beauty. This includes everything from garden sheds to stepping stones.
Use Milorganite (a product made from recycled wastewater) to deter deer, rabbits, and voles. It is organic and apparently highly effective.
Try the aesthetically and aromatically pleasing cocoa shell mulch many Buffalo gardeners use, both to suppress weeds and provide beneficial nutrients to the soil (just make sure your dogs don’t eat it).

Perhaps the most important lesson I took from the garden walk this year is that nothing transforms a neighborhood like beautiful gardens. Not only do they enhance the structural and architectural beauty of the old homes on the West Side (many built in the 1800s), they signal that this is again a neighborhood where people take pride in their homes and community. You can’t put a price on that.

*Even the smallest front lawn can* *be transformed into a thing of beauty*.

Have you ever gone on the Buffalo Garden Walk? What was your experience like? Do you have garden walks in your new hometown and how do they compare? I would love to hear from you!

[1] For a wonderful reference book on Buffalo’s gardens see Buffalo-Style Gardens by Jim Charlier and Sally Cunningham.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener 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.

Who Speaks for the Trees?

I lived through one of our nation’s most devastating tree pandemics–Dutch Elm Disease–and I hope I never witness another.

*I admit to being a lifelong tree hugger.*
*Photo by Betty Wrightson.*

When I was a young child in Buffalo, and the boundaries of my playtime world were defined by our city block, I developed an intimate relationship with all the trees that lined the curb and shaded our small backyard. Springtime meant the maple trees we climbed would release the “helicopters” that we’d split and wear on our noses. Fragrant lilacs would usher in Mother’s Day, and the blossoms on the cherry tree near the neighbor’s garage were the heralds of summer pies and pit-spitting contests.

I miss those days, so this spring I visited the National Arboretum in Washington, DC, specifically to see the “Grove of Trees” and find the state tree of New York. After some searching I located a majestic sugar maple in a section of the grove where other maple varieties stood, and was instantly transported back to the old West Side and the beloved tree of my childhood.

*A beautiful sugar maple specimen in full leaf at the National Arboretum.*

Buffalo was once called the City of Trees. Like Washington, DC, it was carefully planned with a system of interconnected parks and parkways that planners hoped would counterbalance the rapidly expanding (and polluting) industries along the city’s waterfront. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Buffalo’s forestry division planted more than 300,000 trees in parks and along city streets.

Then disaster struck. First it was a pathogen known as Chestnut Blight that spread up and down the east coast at a rate of 24 miles a year. By the time I appeared on the scene, nearly all the mature American chestnut trees in Buffalo were dead. Not long after, Dutch Elm Disease began attacking the beautiful vase-shaped elm trees that lined the city’s most prestigious avenues, and by 1977, most of Buffalo’s American elms were doomed.[1]

*The Japanese Zelkova, a member of the elm family, is a tougher urban tree now used for residential shade and street plantings.*

That, sadly, was not the end of the tree tragedies. Today, ash trees are under assault from the emerald ash borer and pine trees from pine wilt. A recent study suggests that nearly 25% of all tree deaths in the eastern US forests over the past 30 years were the result of insects and pathogens brought over from foreign countries. The economic losses from tree diseases are estimated to be higher than those from insects and fire combined.[2]

Having now lived through my first human pandemic, I began to wonder—who is looking out for our trees? Who is working on ways to prevent the next great American tree “pandemic”?

*Scientists working on behalf of the National Arboretum and US Forest Service are dedicating their research to saving America’s trees.*

Dr. Seuss invented a character called “the Lorax” who “speaks for the trees,” and in doing my research for this blog I found there are many real life “Loraxes.” There are forest pathologists and tree epidemiologists and research plant pathologists whose life’s work is to figure out how and why trees get sick and die. A quick look at the resumes of the scientists who work at the US National Arboretum, for example, gives a sense of the scope and importance of their work.[3]

*Nothing says springtime quite like these beautiful flowering Fringe trees.*

Much more interesting to me though, are recent findings that trees not only look out for themselves but for each other. According to a German forester by the name of Peter Wohlleben in his wonderful book, The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate, trees “talk” to each other (through electrical impulses) and they form communities. His research suggests that when planted alone and away from others, trees become weakened and more susceptible to disease. In a forest, where parent trees live with their offspring and nurture each other, they are stronger. Haven’t we learned that we are more resilient when we work together to solve problems?

*I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree*.
Joyce Kilmer

Thankfully there are many who are aware of the dangers to our trees and are willing to step up. The American Chestnut Research and Restoration Project, for example, has set a goal of growing 10,000 blight-resistant American chestnuts trees over the next five years. Buffalo’s own Green Fund provides money for the WNY CommunitTREE Steward Project to educate residents on how to care for their own city trees.

Let’s hope that one day, scientists, conservationists, and citizens alike will learn from the trees themselves, and working together, avert the next great American tree tragedy.

Are you concerned about our trees? Do you have a favorite tree story? I would love to hear from you in the comments below!

[1] For an interesting scientific perspective on these diseases, see https://www.srs.fs.usda.gov/pubs/ja/ja_schlarbaum002.htm

[2] For more information see https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2020/05/deadly-imports-one-us-forest-25-tree-deaths-caused-foreign-pests-and-disease

[3] See https://www.usna.usda.gov/science/our-scientists/

Strawberry Backs and Blackberry Fingers

As an inner city child, one of the things I looked forward to every summer was a trip to the countryside to pick berries.

As an inner city child, one of the things I looked forward to every summer was a trip to the countryside to pick berries. It was a simple, tactile pleasure enjoyed by my parents and their parents before them, each generation hunting and gathering in much the same way.

*We always had a contest among us kids to see who could find the biggest, juiciest strawberries.*
*All photos © Moxie Gardiner*.

Every June, we would make our annual trek to a strawberry patch in Brant, NY, not far from our cottage in Angola. We would spend hours going up and down the rows with our flimsy little wooden crates, looking for the biggest, juiciest strawberries. The aroma was heavenly—you could smell the warm strawberries as soon as you got out of the car—and no one seemed to mind if you popped one or two (or a dozen) in your mouth as you worked along the rows.

The sun warmed your back and turned it as red as the strawberries, particularly if you went picking in your bathing suit after a day at the beach. But on the farms not far from Lake Erie, there always seemed to be a nice, cool breeze to keep you going. That and visions of delights yet to come: strawberry shortcake, strawberry milkshakes, strawberries on ice cream, strawberries on cereal, and later, as we grew older, strawberry daiquiris! For the adults, “strawberry back” had a different meaning, after a few hours bending over the low-growing plants.

“*You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet/ Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it/ Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for/ Picking.”*
(All quotes are from Seamus Heaney’s poem “Blackberry-Picking”)

As summer wore on, the strawberry-gathering ritual was replaced by blackberry picking, a far more perilous adventure that took us to the wild places. While strawberries are a cultivated crop, blackberries and black raspberries, at least those of my youth, grew on steep hillsides and along country roads.

“*Then red ones inked up and that hunger*/ *Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots*“

Black raspberries are small and easier to pick, but the larger, plumper, tastier blackberries are protected by nasty thorns. You have to really love blackberries to go after those babies.

Our fingers got scratched and pricked and sometimes we ended up with poison ivy, but when we found a good patch full of ripe berries, we gathered and ate until our stomachs ached. Once found, their location became a jealously guarded secret, much like the wild gardoon patches in the heart of the city.

“*Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.*
*Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills*
*We trekked and picked until the cans were full,*“

“Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.”

One of my favorite Irish poets, Seamus Heaney, wrote about blackberry picking as a metaphor for childhood enthusiasms and disappointments. Like every Holy Grail of youth, the poem speaks to how once tasted, one will go to any lengths to obtain the succulent wild berries, and how, like so many fruits of summer and childhood, are far too quickly gone.

“*I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair*
*That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.*
*Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.*“

As I began to write this blog, I wondered, how many children, especially those living in cities today, are able to experience the fleeting joy of berry picking? I see from a quick online search that trips to pick-your-own strawberry farms are recommended as a healthy, outdoor activity for families with small children during this pandemic. However, I found no such encouragement for blackberry picking. Too much trouble, I suppose, in these days of triple-washed, packaged fruit, and in fairness, with encroaching development, wild blackberry patches are fewer and harder to find. But you can only truly know the deliciousness of a blackberry, I firmly believe, if you have, at least once, gone to the trouble of picking your own.

As an adult, I still enjoy harvesting berries, and unlike poor youthful Seamus, I’ve learned to eat only what I am able, and quickly freeze or preserve the rest as sauces, jams and jellies.

This preservation strikes me as a metaphor for life as well. Capture what you can of the “essence” of summer—and of youth—without trying to cling to something that cannot stay.

Do you have fond memories of berry-picking? Write to me and tell me your stories! I look forward to hearing from you.

Small Victories

Back in 1943, nearly every yard on the West Side of Buffalo, no matter the size, became what was then called a Victory Garden. My mother and father both recall the vibrant, productive gardens that filled these small spaces, and remember doing what they could to contribute, though they were only small children when World War II broke out. Families across the country worked together to do their part by growing fresh fruit and vegetables on their own plot of land to support the war effort and supplement the rationed food supply.

My parents remember West Side gardens filled with everything from tomatoes and peppers to raspberry bushes, grapevines, and fruit trees. Some families planted gardens in empty lots, on rooftops, even in pots and sacks on front porches. People bought pressure cookers to can whatever produce they did not need to eat immediately, thus ensuring a ready supply of vitamin-packed fruits and veggies throughout the Buffalo winter.

*Herbs do very nicely in pots. Here we hav*e a mix of rosemary, oregano, thyme and chives. *All photos are copyright by Moxie Gardiner.*

The Victory Garden movement actually began during World War I, when the government declared that the “Prevention of widespread starvation is the peacetime obligation of the United States. … The War Garden of 1918 must become the Victory Garden of 1919.” The idea was heralded again during World War II when US home, school, and community gardens produced an estimated 40 percent of the country’s fresh vegetables from something like 20 million Victory Gardens.

Now, as word spreads of possible long term disruptions in the food supply as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, people are talking about them again, this time as Victory Over the Virus gardens. Using quarantine time to start an edible garden has apparently caught on.

*This large window box has been producing a continuous mix of salad greens since early March.*

“Like every seed company, we’ve had a huge uptick in sales,” said Nate Kleinman, in a recent New York Times article. “People seem to be preparing for some serious disruptions in the food supply. I’m not alone in feeling concerned with how this may go down,” he said.[1]

But many novices will likely learn, as they did in 1943, that growing an edible garden is more challenging than it seems. At our annual “Grow It Eat It” community event each year, Master Gardeners are often asked, “How do I get started? How much space will I need? What are easy crops to grow? What if I don’t have a yard? Can I grow food in containers?

This year, one of my responsibilities was to teach an Urban Gardening class on growing fruits, vegetables, and herbs in containers. Sadly, the class was cancelled, like so many things this spring, so I decided to use this blog to pass along a few tips for those who have small yards, or no yards, and want to try their hand at growing their own food.

*When the weather warms, I will plant tomatoes in this bed ringed with different types of garlic.*

For those who have a small yard, or have never cultivated the soil in their yard, raised beds are a great option. I have raised beds in two sizes: 4’x4’ and 4’x8’. Most hardware stores will cut 8 foot boards to the size you need. It is then a fairly simple matter of fastening the corners and filling the bed with a good mix of compost and garden soil sold in bags at the same stores.

*I’ve planted carrots, spinach, beets,*
*turnips and swiss chard in this 4’x4′ bed.*

To make the most of each raised bed, I plant things that are great “companion” plants. For example, my strawberry plants seem to love the peppers I plant with them each summer. In other beds, I plant a combination of root vegetables (like beets and carrots) with shallow rooted leafy greens (like spinach and swiss chard). Garlic and onions form the perimeter of many of my raised beds, not only because they are very compatible with plants like tomatoes and potatoes, but also because they ward off many pests.

If your growing space is limited to a deck or balcony, you can still grow edibles in a variety of containers. The key is to focus on plants that are appropriate for the size of your pots. Herbs do wonderfully well in pots and window boxes, as do all types of greens. Potatoes, beets, carrots and other root vegetable are easily grown in half whiskey barrels and even tomatoes (varieties like Bushsteak, Roma or Red Cherry do best) can be grown in large pots, provided they get at least six hours of full sun.

*Shallow rooted plants like swiss chard do well in a small window box.*

The most important elements of success, of course, are sunlight, water, and the right kind of growing medium. Regular garden soil is much too heavy for pots, and potting soils often do not have enough nutrients. The internet is chock full of information about the type of supplements each different fruit or vegetable requires. For example, instead of throwing my coffee grounds in the trash, I toss them on the soil of all my acid loving plants (like blueberries and tomatoes).

*Once these strawberries bloom, I will add hot peppers to this raised bed.*

There is an old adage, that “Gardening adds years to your life and life to your years.” If you have never planted an edible garden before, why not try it now? The important thing is to get started soon. Many types of vegetable seeds should be planted just after the last frost date in your area, if your garden is to reach full maturity this summer.

Edible gardening is not only an enjoyable pastime and hobby, it may become a necessity in the months to come. Are you planning your own “Victory Garden” this year? Please let my readers know in the comments below what you are planting and your tips for gardening success.

[1] See “Food Anxiety Brings Back Victory Gardens,” Tejal Rao, New York Times, March 25, 2020

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