Category: Traveling

What is More Precious than a Lifelong Friend?

I was overlooking an essential ingredient in a long and happy life—the love and support of friends.

What a joy to reconnect with friends from elementary school!

Last January 1st, when I realized that I would (if lucky) complete my seventh decade of life this year, I began to contemplate, as many who have reached this ripe old age are wont do, what it has all meant. Considering the arc of one’s own life is not an easy task, so I decided to reflect first on those things that are and have been most important to me, to try to determine if I have developed the right values and led a worthy life.

I have had the great good fortune to have the world’s best husband and two loving sons and a daughter-in-law. I have a large and fun-loving extended family and several doting pets. I was given a number of amazing career opportunities, have traveled the world, and am in relatively good health. At this stage of my life, I am very much in tune with the natural world and enjoy the harmonies of the stars, the seas, and the four seasons. All of these things have been important to me, and have contributed to my longevity. But I realized, as I thought long and hard about it, that I was overlooking an essential ingredient in a long and happy life—the love and support of friends.

My college friends and I found this mountain retreat a far cry from our Buffalo State dormitory!


I have to admit—I haven’t always been the best of friends. There were years when I was so focused on being a good daughter, sister, wife, and mother, on my career, my community, and social obligations, I neglected my friendships. Sure, I’d send a yearly birthday or Christmas card, and catch up via an occasional lunch or dinner. But as I grew older, I learned that there were pivotal events in the lives of my friends that I had completely missed. Thinking about it now makes me very sad.

So, when making my New Year’s Resolutions for 2024, I resolved to make it “The Year of Reconnecting With Old Friends.”

What better place to celebrate a milestone birthday than Italy with a limoncello spritz!


I made a lifelong friend on the first day of kindergarten. We were four years old. As our mothers walked us to school, they said, “You girls hold hands,” and metaphorically speaking, over all these years, we’ve never let go. This year, I asked my first “BFF” as they say today, if she would like to travel to Italy to celebrate our 70th birthdays together. She said yes, and on the day we were making our way through a crushing crowd of thousands at St. Peter’s Square in Rome, we locked arms so we wouldn’t get separated. Oh, how it brought me right back to that fall day, 65 years ago.

Visiting a Monet art exhibit with my artist friend.


Another friend, whom I met as a teenager, once begged her family to let me live with them at a particularly difficult time in my life. They welcomed me in and I never forgot their kindness, or hers. I invited her to come stay with me the week before our mutual birthdays this year, and treated her to all the things I knew she enjoyed in life—art, nature, good food. We sat on my porch and reminisced, and I was pleasantly surprised by the things she remembered that I had forgotten.

Trip to the Big Apple with a friend from the Bronx.


And that, I realized, is the very best thing about reconnecting with old friends. They help fill in the blanks of your personal narrative, your life’s story. Your friends are the people who knew you from the time you were silly, stupid and immature until you grew older and (somewhat) wiser. These are friends who made me laugh until I cried, and at times, cried with me until I laughed. I am fortunate to still have friends from every stage of my life—schoolmates, neighbors, work colleagues, and fellow writers, readers, and travelers. They are the ones who show up to celebrate my successes, and grieve with me my losses. In some ways, they are the people who know me better than I know myself.

Cruising the Danube with one of my favorite traveling buddies.


This year I honored these friendships in every way I could think of, from group lunches to reunion picnics, book club gatherings, mountain retreats, and trips abroad. And in each case my old friends embraced me with open arms, rekindling connections that are more priceless to me than any birthday gift I could possibly imagine.

Nothing like reconnecting with a friend who knows how to bake a cake like this!


Yesterday, my yoga instructor asked us to think about, “Who you really are. Get rid of the traditional labels and think about the real you. And if you are not now the real you, think of who you want the real you to be.”

I’ve thought about that a lot since she said it. I know now who I want to be, and I hope I’ve earned the right to be called “a true friend.” If I indeed merit that sobriquet, then I know I have lived a worthy life.

Do you have a lifelong friend or friends? What have they meant to you and how have they shaped your life? Have you made it a priority to reconnect with them? I look forward to hearing 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 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.

The Tragedy and the Beauty of Eastern Europe

A trip through Eastern Europe reminds us of how lucky we Americans really are.

Beautiful Budapest, Hungary at night. All photos copyright Moxie Gardiner.

I have just returned from a river cruise through five countries in Eastern Europe: Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria and Romania. Admittedly, these countries are probably not the destinations of most Americans traveling to Europe. Of those who do choose to sail the beautiful Danube River, most probably head northwest from Budapest to enjoy seeing the castles and vineyards of southern Germany, and the strudels and waltzes of Austria, which are familiar to many people through popular music and culture. Think The Sound of Music movie, and Strauss’ The Blue Danube Waltz. I decided to go in the opposite direction.

Nana hosting us for lunch in her pretty
Croatian home.

I confess that up until recently, I had been guilty of the temptation to see popular places. I’ve traveled extensively through Western Europe, where I am familiar with the languages and the culture of the European Union. EU countries have made it easy to cross borders and most are members of the Eurozone, using a single monetary unit—the euro.

Not so in Eastern Europe, where only one of the five countries I visited (Croatia) is a Eurozone member that uses the euro in its financial transactions. The other four still use the same currency[1] they have been using for well over a century (although most merchants are happy to take your American dollars or euros). Each country we visited has its own language and two (Serbia and Bulgaria) even use a different alphabet (Cyrillic), making it a challenge to read a street sign or a map.

We were quite surprised when the Crown Prince and Princess of Serbia came out to greet us.

I realize now, however, that overlooking these countries in the past was a mistake. First, they have a long and fascinating history. Our traveling group toured several archeological sites, and learned about the various cultures that were thriving along the Danube many thousands of years ago, some predating the building of the pyramids in Egypt. Because of their strategic location, these countries were fought over many times, and became part of several empires–the Roman, Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman, and Russian– all of which which influenced their cultures.

Belogradchik Rocks in Bulgaria, with the Balkan Mountains in the distance.

Second, Europe’s East is as beautiful as any other region I have seen on that continent—topographically diverse, and gifted with both fertile soil and scenic landscapes. From the snow-capped mountains of Romania to the golden sands of Bulgaria’s Black Sea beaches, Eastern Europe has a lot to offer. As our ship glided down the Danube, we passed by modern cities, small picturesque towns, wooded hillsides, and spectacular gorges.

Bucharest, Romania is now a vibrant, modern city.

Third, the capital cities we visited—Budapest, Belgrade, and Bucharest—seem to be thriving. One guide in Bucharest told me unemployment is less than one percent, and they are eager for young Romanians, who have moved away to work in other European countries, to return now that there is so much more opportunity back home.

Everyone we met on our journey was warm and friendly, from the royal family in Serbia to the kindly Croatian woman who hosted lunch for a small group of us in her village home.

Buildings on the streets of Vukovar, Croatia still show remnants of the shelling during the “homeland war.”

Yet for all the positives one can list about this part of Europe, it is impossible to ignore the scars of more than a century of conflict, foreign occupation, and the crippling effects of a communist economic system. In each country we saw memorials to the dead who fought in two horrific world wars, which were followed by Soviet occupation, the dissolution of Yugoslavia, and afterwards the conflict in the Balkans they refer to as the “Homeland Wars.” Crumbling Soviet-era buildings still dot the landscape, although they are largely abandoned and covered with graffiti.

That said, it is all the more important, I believe, to visit these countries, to celebrate their resilience and ability to move forward after such adversity, especially as yet another conflict in neighboring Ukraine threatens the tranquility of the European continent. Traveling reminds me once again how fortunate I have been to have lived at a time, and in a country, where we have been blessed with relative peace and prosperity. A trip through Eastern Europe reminds us of how lucky we Americans really are.

Remains of a town on the banks of the Danube 9,000 years ago at the Lepenski Vir archeological site. For more information on the site visit: https://www.serbia.com/visit-serbia/cultural-attractions/archaeological-sites/lepenski-vir-the-oldest-urban-settlement-in-europe/

Have you ever traveled to any of the countries in Eastern Europe? Or, perhaps you have lived there and can offer your own views on this part of the world. Please share your thoughts in the comment section 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 those interested in details, the currency in each of these countries is as follows: Hungary (the forint), Serbia (the dinar), Bulgaria (the lev) and Romania (the lei).

Why Buffalonians Will Always Love Spring Break

As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Imagine, if you will, that it is late March or early April in Buffalo, and daytime temperatures are still hovering in the 30s as they have for the past five months or so. A thick gray blanket of cloud continues to obscure the sun and there are very few green things poking through the half-frozen mud. You are tired of brushing snow from your windshield and avoiding ice wherever you walk. You long to be warm again, feel the sun on your face, and to be shed of the three layers of winter clothing that make you look ten pounds heavier than you actually are.

The hotel was nice enough, considering the price. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.

At least, that’s how I felt when I was a freshman at Buffalo State College and first learned about something called “spring break.” The school was sponsoring a bus trip down to Daytona Beach, Florida the week before Easter, and the price included a shared hotel room. Once I determined that I’d get a couple hundred dollars back from my tax return—enough to cover both bus and room—I called several girlfriends and signed us up.

There was, I’ll admit, always a bit of craziness around the pool.

Having never traveled such a long distance from Buffalo in my life, I failed to ask a few pertinent questions like, how long will the bus trip take (24 hours with stops) how many bathrooms will there be on the bus (one), and how many people to a hotel room (four).  Small matters, it might seem, when you are young and adventurous, until the bus begins to smell of vomit after six hours of non-stop drinking, and your girlfriends want to invite new “friends” to spend the night in your hotel room.

There was a band at every hotel, entertaining us for free! Thought I’d died and gone to heaven….

At the time, I thought spring break was a new and novel idea, but have since found out that the concept has been around for a long time. The Greeks and Romans, if you want to go back that far, were the first to invent the spring bacchanalia, which included wine, sex, and various forms of debauchery to celebrate the arrival of the vernal equinox. But spring break, in its current form, is attributed to a swimming coach at Colgate University (a fellow New Yorker) who wanted his swim team to get some early spring training back in the 1930s. The idea apparently caught on and many northern college swim teams began making the annual trek to warmer climes.

Now spring break is an annual tradition enjoyed by students in many countries and is considered by some to be one of the more memorable collegiate experiences. For Americans, Florida is no longer the primary destination. The Bahamas, Hawaii, Mexico and Arizona are among the top trending travel destinations for spring break 2023. Florida apparently makes up only 18% of overall bookings.

The tire blew to smithereens, which created a bit of excitement.
But after chilling out for several hours, we were back on the road again….

With one or two exceptions, (like the time our Blue Bird bus blew a tire and went skidding off the road into the North Carolina wilderness), my spring break experiences were fairly tame by modern standards. We partied, of course, listened to bands, played volleyball, and went swimming in the ocean. But my favorite thing to do was catch fish and bring them to a local restaurant, where the kitchen would clean and prepare your fish and serve it with sides for about $5. All very innocent, as I said.

Motorbikes of all kinds ply the hard packed sands of Daytona Beach.

How then, has spring break taken such a bad turn in recent years? According to recent articles, on South Padre Island, police report an average of 25 arrests per day during the typical spring break week. In Panama City, where the spring break season extends through March and into April, there were almost 700 arrests in the first few weeks of March alone. In Miami, multiple weekends of violence have left two people dead, hundreds arrested and dozens of guns confiscated by law enforcement officers. Whatever happened to drinking a few beers and nuzzling under a palm tree?

Me and my catch of the day (the fish, that is).

It is a shame that what was once a rite of passage for college kids—where getting too sunburned was your greatest concern—has in some places become dangerous and potentially deadly. I hate to be one of these people who talk about how things were so much better back in the day, but in this case I think they might have been.

That said, I don’t think it will matter much to Buffalonians. As long as there are long, snowy months in Buffalo, there will be always be snowbirds of every age winging their way to the Land of Sunshine.

Did you ever participate in spring break? What was it like for your generation? I would love to hear your stories.

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.

Where Next? The Tyranny of Too Many Choices

How might you choose among the following travel destinations if you had unlimited time and money?

Usually at this time of year, I begin to dream about where I might go on my next big vacation. This West Side girl needs to get herself back out into the big wide world! The problem is, there are too many places I’d like to go and not enough time to see them all (I’m not getting any younger), so how do I choose?

As always, I’ve organized my options into five buckets, but this year I’m soliciting advice. How might you choose among the following if you had unlimited time and money? (I don’t have either one, but heck, we’re dreaming here.)

Riding bikes along a canal is a scenic, easy going, and affordable option.

An Active Vacation: I try to stay fit so active vacations—where I get a sufficient amount of exercise every day—are always at the top of my list. I’ve investigated opportunities for bicycle trips across Europe, scenic walks on old pilgrimage routes, and heart-pumping hikes through national parks ranging from Alaska to Chile. But I’m thinking this year, why not do something local, like a bike ride along the Erie Canal from Buffalo to Rochester? Its attraction? It’s mostly flat (and affordable).

An Ancestry Vacation: Like many who have delved into genealogy or spit into a tube and had their DNA tested, I’ve found that I have distant relatives all over the place, to include far-away lands like Turkey and Egypt. I have recently learned, though, that ten generations of one line of my family hail from lovely Switzerland, home of the Alps, edelweiss, Lindt chocolate, Lake Lucerne, and the Bernina Express railway. Previous visits to distant relatives in other foreign countries have led to surprisingly warm and welcoming receptions, so why not explore one’s roots in a place of stunning beauty?

Oh, to visit family in the majestic Alps of Switzerland!

A Somewhere-I’ve-Never-Been-Before Vacation: Yes, I am one of those people addicted to the new and different, so going to places I’ve never been is always a thrill. There are several islands in the Mediterranean Sea, for example, like Elba (where Napoleon was exiled), Corsica (a French island with white sand beaches), and Sardinia (home to a herd of albino donkeys) that I’ve never set foot upon. Another option I like is visiting small countries not usually on the list of tourist hot spots, like the Baltic countries of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. Finally, I’ve never been anywhere in the Middle East so Egypt and Jordan rise to the top of this list for obvious historical and cultural reasons.

Who doesn’t love to walk among the world’s most exotic animals?

A Wildlife Vacation: I can never get too much of the natural world, and I’d rather travel 1,000 miles to see an exotic bird or mammal than a foreign country’s Hard Rock Café. The photo safari experience I had in Africa’s Serengeti was one of the highlights of my life, but I hear that Costa Rica, a place not as far geographically speaking, has more than its fair share of gorgeous flora and fauna. Furthermore, it costs far less than traveling to Africa, and the flight is shorter and easier on the old bod.

One of the benefits of working in a national park is access to beautiful, unspoiled places that tourists seldom get a chance to see.

A Working Vacation: Hold on now. I’m not talking about having your phone glued to your ear and the office calling you 24/7. I’m talking about volunteering somewhere, like a state or national park, that depends on free labor to supplement the work of their limited full-time staff. I had a wonderful vacation in Rocky Mountain National Park one year, working with park rangers on controlling the spread of invasive species. Although some of the day was spent working, I got to enjoy the park and see parts of it I wouldn’t have otherwise. Another bonus: volunteers receive free admission to the park on the days they work, and may receive free camping or other accommodations depending on the project and its duration. I’d love to work in one of the Southwest national parks like White Sands, Carlsbad Caverns, or Big Bend (but preferably not in the summer!).

So, friends help me out here. If you had to choose, where would you go? 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. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

How to Eat Pasta and Lose 10 Pounds

When I first saw the brochure for “A Walking Tour of Tuscany and the Italian Riviera” I danced my version of the Tarantella around the living room. To visit the land of Michelangelo and da Vinci, see the beautiful cities of Florence and Siena, eat great food, drink delicious wine, and get a little exercise in the bargain? What a dream! I watched “Under the Tuscan Sun” for the fourth time and packed my bags, eager for this exciting adventure.

The lovely Tuscan landscape. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.

Little did I know that this would not be a “walk” through these lovely regions of Italy, but a series of daily, fairly rigorous, four- to six-mile hikes that would have me clambering over boulders, huffing and puffing up winding hillsides and clinging to rock walls on the steep route down, all while trying to pause long enough to admire the spectacular views (and catch my breath).   

My fellow travelers came well prepared.

The folks in the group I was with were of “a certain age” and very fit, with more than one septuagenarian leaving me in the dust as we went over hill and dale together. They had obviously done more research on the many famous hiking trails in these two regions, equipped as these retirees were with trekking poles, Camelbaks, and other serious hiking gear.

Do you remember the expression, “all roads lead to Rome”?
I wished I had those trekking poles on this stretch.

We traveled on perhaps the best known of all the hiking trails in Tuscany, the Via Francigena, (the ancient pilgrimage route from Canterbury, England to Rome). Unlike hiking the more famous Camino de Santiago, we saw few people and no pilgrims (that I could tell) on this trail.

To the left and right of us was a bucolic landscape that must have looked very similar to when Sigeric the Serious (you gotta love that name), Archbishop of Canterbury, made his trek from England to Rome and back again in the year 990. The small towns and abbeys along the route prospered thereafter, thanks to the sore feet of many a weary traveler.

The foundation of the original Benedictine monastery at Sant’ Antimo dates to the time of Charlemagne. 

Our hikes along the Ligurian Coast (sometimes known as the Italian Riviera for its sandy beaches, clear waters, and chic hotels), though equally beautiful, were no walk in the park either.

Hiking along the Ligurian coast.

The first hike was from Santa Margherita Ligure to Portofino, playground of the rich and famous. We hugged the coast for half a mile with sunlight reflecting off the crystalline sea, found ourselves on a leafy path called the Passeggiato dei Baci (Walk of Kisses), took a quick tour of Portofino (too expensive for my West Sides tastes) and climbed the winding path to the lighthouse.  

Portofino, viewed from the lighthouse trail.
“Tough stairs and inclines” in the Cinque Terre.

That was challenging enough, but on the second-to-last day of the trip, we were to make the toughest trek yet, hiking the fourth and final section of The Blue Trail, the Sentiero Azzurro, which connects the five main villages of the Cinque Terre. The final section from Vernazza to Monterosso al Mare is billed as “challenging… with some tough stairs and inclines.” Tough? Challenging? There were several places where I feared for my life (being mostly worried about getting knocked off the narrow path by the hordes of tourists coming the other way). Fortunately, I didn’t injure my knee until the very last kilometer, and got a round of applause when I finally limped into the restaurant in Monterosso where the rest of the group was already halfway through lunch.

It was a rough, nearly vertical scramble, but this view of the Cinque Terre was worth it.

Rather than hike on the very last day, I opted for a full body massage in the hotel spa. It was possibly the best decision I made on the entire trip (if not in my entire life).

One of many pasta dishes I thoroughly enjoyed.

My Fitbit gave me a final tally at the end of the trip: 88 miles and 206,000 steps. Did I lose 10 pounds? Nah, but I easily could have, burning as I did an average of 3000 calories a day. I did lose some weight, and would have lost more if I hadn’t made a separate goal of trying a different gelato flavor in every small town I visited.

It would be criminal to pass up a place with a sign that reads “Gelato World Champion.”

Would I do it again? My goodness, yes! I jumped out of bed every morning, even on the days when I knew the trek would be hard. Would I try to do a better job of balancing intake (food) and outgo (exercise)? Doubtful. When in Italy, it is important to establish one’s priorities at the very outset. While experiencing a region known for outstanding food and wine, living la dolce vita (a sweet life of self-indulgence) was at the top of my list (even if only for a few days–sigh).

The Walk of Kisses. Only in Italy!

Now that the world is open to travel again, do you have a dream destination? Would you rather have an “active” vacation like this, or one of ease and relaxation? 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. 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 Wondrous World of Weird Museums

Do you believe in the “usefulness of useless knowledge”?

Did you know that the kazoo is the only musical instrument originally made in America? Are you aware that war reporter Ernie Pyle once noted that the Zippo Lighter is “the most coveted thing on the battlefield”? Or that Peter Cooper, founder of the Cooper Union in New York City and the oldest presidential candidate in history (he was 85) now has a landfill Superfund site in western New York named after him?

Everything you ever wanted to know about kazoos is right there on the wall. All photos by Moxie Gardiner.

Welcome to the world of odd facts and intriguing curiosities, a world that I, as a writer, love to explore. I enjoy learning obscure details, so much so that I have made a practice of visiting small, eclectic, and often overlooked museums all over the world.

It is true that I have explored the many halls of the Smithsonian; the great museums of London, New York, and Madrid; and the historic homes of many US presidents. But how many can say they have learned the fascinating factoids mentioned above in several quirky museums just outside of Buffalo?

The Kazoo Factory: the place where every metal kazoo in the world is made.

The Kazoo Factory and Gift Shop in the small town of Eden, NY, for example, established in 1907, has a wall of kazoo trivia right next to the 18 punch presses used to make kazoos of all shapes and sizes (it is the only metal kazoo factory in the world). Not only did I learn that there are some 15,000 kazoo bands in the United States, I was gobsmacked to find that a kazoo was used in Leonard Bernstein’s famous theater number composed for the dedication of the Kennedy Center!

Just south of Eden lies the small town of Langford, NY, home of the Langford Steam and Mechanical Exhibit,  which showcases rail cars, tractors, and gas and steam engines from Buffalo’s industrial past. I was most intrigued by the wheel from the Peter Cooper Glue Factory of nearby Gowanda, NY which led me to do more research on Cooper and his mixed legacy.

It is impossible to drive by the Langford Steam and Mechanical Exhibit without stopping to take a look. The flywheel from the Peter Cooper Glue Factory is front and center.
The Zippo Lighter museum has lots to offer the casual visitor as well as the collector.

Continuing south, just below New York state’s southern border with Pennsylvania, is Bradford, home of the Zippo Lighter Factory and Museum.  Unlike the more modest museums mentioned above, the Zippo Museum had the glamour and pizzazz (and gift shop) of a Hard Rock Café. Nonetheless, it was filled with well-curated displays and minutiae about the history of these lighters. Not only did I learn the role Zippo Lighters played on the battlefield, but also in classic movies, rock and roll (ever hear of the Zippo Encore Moment?) and Nascar races. I also got to see the famous Zippo clinic, where any malfunctioning Zippo lighter is fixed for free.

No matter what the condition of your lighter, Zippo will fix it for free in its clinic.
Who hasn’t witnessed a sea of Zippo lighters calling for an encore from a favorite band?

Yes, I am writer who revels in unusual details, but why, I asked myself, would others be attracted to these museums? Well, I have a few theories:

  • Museums like this appeal to our sense of whimsy, that is, our more childlike and playful nature. I had a lot of fun making my first kazoo (almost as much fun as the entire day I spent in the Strong National Museum of Play in Rochester, NY, as an adult!).
  • These museums provide an unusual perspective on history, allowing our creative brains to make connections among things seemingly unrelated (World War II and Zippo lighters, for example).
  • They are a mecca for collectors, hobbyists, and dealers. I read about a man in Scotland who owns over a 1,000 different Zippo lighters. I feel certain he has been to Bradford.
  • They are fodder for trivia buffs and those with insatiable intellectual curiosity, and
  • They are run and operated by people who are invariably welcoming and enthused about entertaining visitors. Their pride in their artifacts and displays is quite contagious, making for a very personal and enjoyable experience.
Who wouldn’t have fun making their own kazoo?

I am a fan of Abraham Flexner, author of a wonderful article that first appeared in Harper’s magazine in 1939 called the “Usefulness of Useless Knowledge,” recently republished as a book. In it, Flexner asks whether “our conception of what is useful [knowledge] may not have become too narrow to be adequate to the roaming and capricious possibilities of the human spirit.” Indeed. For those of us with roaming and capricious spirits, no knowledge is ever useless, or ever enough.

Do you have a fondness for the odd and unusual? Do you have a quirky little museum you’d like to recommend? Please share in the comments below!

Next on my list of places to visit are the Jello Museum in Le Roy, NY, the Lilydale Museum of Spiritualism in Lilydale, NY, and the Penn Brad Oil Museum, south of Bradford, PA.

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.

I Got Slimed by a Whale (and Loved It)

I have been fascinated by whales since I read the Classics Illustrated comic book version of Moby Dick in the fourth grade. (I was rooting for the whale.) But for most of my life, wherever I went hoping to observe one of these magnificent marine mammals, they managed to elude me.

I went on a whale watching trip off the coast of Nova Scotia once, and saw—nothing. A similar experience in Alaska gave me a brief glimpse of a couple of humpbacks off in the distance, too far away to even snap a decent photo. I ventured off to Hawaii, Maine, Cape Cod, and British Columbia, hoping to hear the siren song of a whale, only to leave disappointed. “You can’t expect wild creatures to perform on cue,” the captains of the whale-watching tour ships would say.

A friendly whale comes to say hello. Photo courtesy of B. Dadam. All other photos are copyright by Moxie Gardiner.

Imagine my euphoria then, when a whale came up to my Zodiac boat off the coast of Baja California Sur earlier this month, and allowed me to touch it, pat its head, and run my hand gently over its barnacles. It was a moment of pure bliss.

Allow me to explain. Every year between the months of January and April, over 20,000 California gray whales make the 5,000-mile journey from the frigid waters of the Bering Sea to the warm waters of Magdalena Bay off the coast of Mexico, to frolic, mate, and give birth to their young. Think of it as a kind of Mexican resort for whales.

The barnacles on gray whales are host-specific, and not found on other whale species.

Some fifty years ago, fishermen in the small “panga” boats that ply these waters began to notice that the whales seemed to enjoy interacting with people. I had heard tales of friendly whales from a friend at the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration, but figured the chance of a face-to-face encounter with a whale was unlikely, given my past experience. Nonetheless, I was willing to try.

I did have a moment of introspection, however, before I signed up for this trip, sponsored by Washington & Lee University. Why, I asked myself, is the idea of a personal encounter with this wild, almost mythical creature so alluring? Is talking to the whales even the right thing to do? Wouldn’t this interaction make whales more trusting of people, when, given the dubious history of whaling, trust is perhaps not well-deserved?

When the opportunity to go on a National Geographic Expedition ship to commune with the whales arose, I could not pass it up. Not only was there a chance I would see a whale up close and personal, but I would also have the opportunity to discuss the whales and the behaviors I was observing with NatGeo photographers, naturalists, and undersea experts. I could learn some photography tips to boot.

The whales would spy hop, raising their rostrum slowly out of the water, as if to sniff the air.

I was not disappointed. The very first morning we went out in the pangas, we saw our first gray whales—lots of them. We saw whales showing off, “spy hopping” and doing their “Great White shark imitation,” and several came right alongside the boat. I reached for one, but missed by inches. I was elated, thinking that was as close as I would come.

Over the next several days we saw dozens of whales, to include mother whales with their darling, 2,000-pound newborn babies. The mothers were protective of their little ones, however, and kept their distance from our boats, much to our disappointment.

A tail of a whale.
Although a passable imitation of a Great White shark, this whale is actually showing us part of its tail.

On the last trip of the last day, however, we headed out in Zodiac boats and hit the jackpot. A very friendly whale decided to hang out with us for quite a while.

She came up underneath our boat and gently rubbed her head along the bottom of it (she could have easily upended us, but she didn’t). She surfaced, deliberately poking her rostrum (nose) out of the water so we could touch her, and as I reached I nearly fell out of the boat. I ran my hand lovingly along her skin, which felt for the most part like a wet eggplant (as the NatGeo guides like to say) except for the barnacles. I lingered as long as I could. Connecting so intimately with this awe-inspiring cetacean was the thrill of a lifetime.

Her skin felt like a smooth, wet eggplant.

The whale seemed to be enjoying herself, and after a while, our guide said “we need to stop hogging the whale and let others have a turn.” He started the small engine and she turned, and by way of parting, sent up a huge geyser of water (called a whale blow). It quickly became obvious that it wasn’t just water. It was more like the whale was blowing its nose, sending up a spray filled with mucus and oil. My companions and I looked at each other and laughed. We were covered in slime and loving it.

The whale seemed to like rubbing its head under the bottom of the Zodiac boat.
Many of us got to see a “whale blow,” up close and personal.

What is it about interacting with a wild creature that makes it such a magical, memorable experience? Perhaps it is because we know these encounters require a great deal of trust between human and animal. It is hard to imagine why they would be drawn to us, and of what benefit it might be to them. Maybe we will never know and it is the mystery of it that captures our imagination. All I know is that my moment of personal connection with a whale was a great honor. I can only hope she felt the same.

Do you have a fondness for whales? Would you enjoy an experience like this? Have you had a similar experience with another wild creature? I would love to hear your stories in the comment section, below.

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.

The Dog Chapel

Have you ever lost a beloved pet and wished for a place to grieve?

On a leafy hill near the shire of St. Johnsbury in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, is a unique place of silent reflection and remembrance. Known as the Dog Chapel, it is one of several buildings on Dog Mountain celebrating man’s best friend.

Canine companions can enjoy a swim in the pond, surrounded by autumnal beauty.
Dogs are free to roam on Dog Mountain.

The brainchild of the late folk artist and author Stephen Huneck and his wife Gwen, Dog Mountain is a 150-acre woodland playground for dogs and their people, complete with swimming ponds, trails, an agility course, wildflower meadows, and beautiful vistas. Dogs are encouraged to romp unleashed wherever they wish, and as the website for Dog Mountain proclaims, “Dogs are not just welcome here, they are cherished.”[1]

Huneck’s artwork and his books are on display at the Art Gallery on Dog Mountain, but though I found the gallery intriguing, my primary destination was the chapel.

Created in 2000, the Dog Chapel was introduced to the world as a “symbol of peace, love and remembrance.” But in the 20 years since, it has been transformed by thousands of visitors into a living memorial, where grief for a beloved pet can be fully expressed without embarrassment. I wanted to be among that number.

Huneck’s whimsical folk art is displayed throughout the art gallery.

My story also starts in the year 2000, when my children and I found a bag of eight newborn puppies, thrown into an empty dog food bag and tossed into the woods. We were all crying, along with the puppies, when we brought the bag home to show my husband, and soon learned upon calling our vet, that they were not likely to survive the night unless we acted as a substitute for their missing mother. This meant, among other things, maintaining their body temperature by keeping them near milk jugs filled with warm water, feeding them with an eye dropper, and regularly wiping their hind ends with wet cotton balls (who knew mother dogs did this?) to get them to go potty. It was like taking care of octuplets.

We lost two of them early on, but six survived their first eight weeks. When they reached an adoptable age we faced a terrible dilemma: which of the six were we willing to give up? We had each bonded to one or more of them, and after days of deliberation and more tears, we finally reached a decision. We would keep them all.

I could fill this page with stories about what it is like to raise two children, three cats, and six dogs (which necessitated a move to a bigger house, naturally) but I will simply say that I would not change a minute of it. Many a night, after a long, difficult day at work, I would lay down on the floor and let myself be covered in dog snuggles and kisses. They provided me with plenty of exercise (walking six at once proved an impossibility), scared away more than one would-be intruder, and filled my life with unconditional love, as well as laughter.

The walls of Dog Chapel are covered from floor to ceiling with tributes to beloved pets.

Anyone who has ever loved a dog will tell you how unfair it is that their lives are so much shorter than ours. Imagine then, the serious downside of loving six dogs born at the same time with the same genetic history. Our six all passed away over the space of three years, and when the last one died in my arms at the ripe old age of 15, I could not focus or concentrate. I doubted I would ever overcome this monumental sense of loss, and feared I would never love another dog again.

So when I read about the Dog Chapel, I knew it was a place I needed to go. Once inside the quiet chapel, I was both stunned and overwhelmed. Every wall from floor to ceiling was covered with photos and heart-wrenching letters, and I felt I was in the middle of a vortex of anguish and love. I started to read one and stopped because the tears started flowing, and I noticed the people in the pews around me were crying too. I was openly weeping when I wrote my words of love for my six, a tribute to their bravery and resilience in overcoming significant odds, and realized that at last I had found an outlet for my sorrow. When I left, I felt at peace.

I have a new dog now, left to me by a neighbor who passed away and wanted his beloved pet to go to a good home where she would be well-loved. She has reminded me of everything I love about dogs–from their loyalty and fierce protectiveness, to their ball-chasing enthusiasm and devious ways of letting you know they don’t like being left at home alone (mine throws our clothes all over the house).

I will never forget the six dog babies who left a great hole in my heart, but the Dog Chapel helped me heal. I am ready now, to love and cherish this new one.

Have you ever lost a beloved pet and longed for a way to honor their memory? Do you have a dog now who makes you happy to wake up every day? I would love to hear your stories in the comments, below.

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.

[1] For more information about Dog Mountain see the official website at https://www.dogmt.com/Dog-Mountain.html.

Islands without Cruise Ships

“Wow, look at the belly fat on this one!”

Up until that moment, I had not known that birds could have fat bellies, let alone that you can actually see the fat. Tom, the bird bander who was leading a team of researchers, showed me how, if you gently move their stomach feathers, you can see the fat and carefully assess the bird’s fitness for migration. It was one of many things I learned during an early morning field session on Kelleys Island, a tiny little naturalist’s paradise in the western part of Lake Erie.

Tom is in charge of weighing, banding, and assessing migratory birds on Kelleys Island under the auspices of the USGS and the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. This year the station was open to the public.

I have mentioned in the past that among the things I hold dear are islands that cruise ships do not visit. Don’t get me wrong. I understand the attraction of those islands and the cruise ships that visit them, but at this stage of my life they rarely provide me with what I need when I travel: the discovery and observation of beautiful things in our natural world. The islands I like tend to be quirky, self-contained little ecosystems where you can find rare and unusual flora and fauna. Who knew I only had to go as far as nearby Ohio to find such a place?

The “Shirley Irene” ferry brings passengers to Kelleys Island.

Although I’ve been visiting Lake Erie for many years, I recently discovered that the lake has 36 islands large enough to appear on a map. Only 15 of those are inhabited and Kelleys is one of them. The island’s population swells during the summer when most visitors take the ferry from Marblehead, Ohio and rent bikes or golf carts to tour the 4.4 square mile island. Less than 200 hardy souls live there through the winter, after the ferries stop running and only the most adventurous boats dare to make the trip across the wild and often frozen lake. At one time the island had been bustling with commerce. The Kelley brothers who bought it in the 1830s opened stone quarries and encouraged the planting of orchards and vineyards that thrived in the island’s soil and climate. Today though, with much of the industry gone, the land has been returned to Mother Nature.

I learned how to hold and release the birds in a way that minimizes stress.

Although a long-time member of the Audubon Society, I had never been to a migratory bird count before and was eager to learn all I could from Tom and Paula, the couple in charge of the station. Tom showed me how to hold a bird’s head gently between my two fingers and cradle its body in the palm of my hand, the way the bird banders do. I could feel the bird’s soft feathers and tiny heart beating in its chest. I released it, with its feet pointed down as Tom instructed, and off it flew, winging its way south for the winter. It was a magical moment.

Every year, hundreds of neotropical migratory birds stop on Kelleys to refuel on their way from Canada to points south. Thrushes, orioles, warblers, vireos, hummingbirds and many other passerine species are included in the bird count each spring and fall. The carefully preserved natural areas of the island provide the migrants with the insects they need to fuel up before their long flight.

Not only is Kelleys a bird lover’s mecca, it is home to a number of endangered species. There are signs, for example, pleading with people not to harm the Lake Erie water snake, a non-venomous reptile often found swimming along the shore. But perhaps the rarest plants and animals can be found on the “alvars,” unusual landforms that occur only in glaciated regions of the Northern Hemisphere. Although these areas appear barren, they are known to contain numerous distinctive plants and animals including rare and endangered species like the northern bog violet, spicebush, lady’s tresses and the blue leaf willow.

The alvars look barren but are home to rare species.
The Glacial Grooves Geological Preserves are the most famous in the world due to their large size.

The island is also a place of geological and archeological wonders. According to the Kelleys Island Audubon Club, the Glacial Grooves are the finest example of glacial scouring in North America and probably the world. Both the Grooves and the Eastern limestone quarry, at one time the bottom of the Devonian Sea, are now home to many fossils, including brachiopods, corals, gastropods, cephalopods and more.

Inscription Rock is believed to be a “message stone” carved by  the original Kelleys Islanders.

The Kelley brothers, of course, were not the first inhabitants of the island. The remains of at least two Native American villages were found near what is now called Inscription Rock. The Erie and Cat nations lived on the shores of Lake Erie and it is assumed they carved the rock, covered with ancient Indian pictographs.

The beaches on Kelleys Island are blissfully empty in the fall.

I grew up a city kid, but thanks to an uncle who was a science teacher, I developed a love of the natural world. Do you share my passion? If so, I highly recommend a trip to Kelleys Island, but go during the “shoulder” seasons of spring or fall, when the weather is still pleasant and the crowds are gone. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments about this, or other islands, in the comment section, below.

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.