West Side of Buffalo - Moxie Gardiner

The Special Joys of Sisterhood Weekends

There never seemed enough time at family gatherings for the three of us to have the “chick-chats” we had once dearly loved.

Growing up, I had the remarkable experience of being the eldest of eight children. The four that followed me in sequence were all brothers, and for nearly half of my childhood, I was the lone female child in a house full of testosterone.

*Home for the holidays in Buffalo, where the dream of “sisterhood weekends” was born.*

You can imagine then, why I was so elated when I learned that child number six was a girl, as was child number seven. The age gap between me and them proved to be a bonus, as we bypassed the usual sibling rivalries. When I started dating boys, for example, they were still playing with dolls and stuffed animals.

Despite the age difference, with ten of us living in a small house, we three sisters shared a bedroom for many years. I loved to read the girls stories, play the latest hits on the transistor radio, teach them new dance steps, and watch them watch me while I put on makeup. I like to think that I was a role model of sorts, or at least, that they got a sense of what life might be like when they reached my ripe old age.

*Florida in winter was a favorite destination.*

I left home at 18 for college and never returned (everyone in the family was kind of relieved; they had more elbow room, not to mention more time in the only bathroom). And although I missed everyone in the family, I especially missed my two little sisters. It was an ache that would stay with me long after I was married and had a family of my own.

The strong bonds that form among sisters are legendary, of course. The stuff of great songs, movies, and literature—everything from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, to “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge. Like others, our shared history led us three to form relationships that are complex, empathetic, and sometimes emotionally charged. But I always knew that when things went awry, my sisters would always be the first ones there for me.

*Sharing street food in Central Park, NYC.*

So one day, back in the early 1990s, when all three of us were back home for the holidays, we started talking about getting together more frequently, outside of the larger family gatherings. By that time we had husbands, and jobs, and children, and lived in three different cities. There never seemed enough time at family gatherings for the three of us to have the “chick-chats” we had once dearly loved. We agreed that we would try to carve out a long weekend, at least once a year, for just the three of us to be together again.

*In the Gulf of Mexico listening to a marine biologist.*

And so over the years, we’ve traveled to many different places—New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington DC, Miami, Hilton Head, and Savannah, to name a few. Florida was often a destination in the winter months, and places like Toronto and Niagara-on-the-Lake, when it was warm.

We went on yoga retreats and luxuriated in spas. We played instruments in a music video (“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”) at Disneyworld’s Pleasure Island, pretending to be an all-girl rock band. At the Atlantis resort in the Bahamas, we went up the Mayan Temple to the “Leap of Faith,” a 60-foot water slide with a terrifying drop through a shark-infested lagoon. We took a less terrifying boat ride in the Gulf of Mexico with a marine biologist, who taught us what life was really like beneath the waves.

*Sometimes, when our children were infants, they got to come along.*

Although the destinations were interesting and the adventures were fun, it was the late-night talks that made these experiences memorable. Although we three are very different people having led very diverse lives, when we come together we are like children again, sharing things we aren’t willing to share with anyone else. That level of trust only comes after years of openness, honesty, and emotional support.

*Thirty-five years later we still get together, this year at the Mohonk Nature Preserve in New York.*

All three of us keep a box full of photos that memorialize our many sisterhood weekends, because they have meant so much to us. Some have said that love among sisters is the “greatest love of all” because of its emotional depth. So ladies, if you have a sister, hold her close and spend as much time with her as you can. These rare moments of togetherness are priceless, and worth whatever effort it takes to make them happen.

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.

Reliving Our European Dream—in Buffalo, New York?

Where would you rather spend the month of August? In Europe or Buffalo?

*A sidewalk cafe and bookstore in Elmwood Village.*

For much of my adult life, I dreamed of living in Europe—the land of fairy tale castles, good wines, and unhealthy pastries. In 2009, the dream became a reality.

That year I had the unexpected good fortune to be selected for a job in Brussels, the cosmopolitan capital of Belgium as well as headquarters of NATO and the European Union. For three years, my husband and I lived in an apartment in the heart of the city, within walking distance of museums, monuments, cafes, open-air markets, and across from a beautiful park where I could walk my dog, people-watch and get an ice cream cone for my troubles. On weekends we would take the time to savor everything that is wonderful about living in a European city, from early-morning cappuccinos and buttery croissants, to an endless choice of dining options and evening strolls around an urban lake.

*European apartment buildings have lovely flower boxes.*

The only problem: the assignment was over in three years. Knowing up-front that our European idyll was to be short-lived, we made the most of every day. We left in 2012 with plenty of wonderful memories, a vow to return to Europe, and a hope to perhaps live there again someday.

Fast forward to January 2025, and our planning session for the year ahead. Having retired in the relative isolation of rural West Virginia, we considered going back to Europe to reclaim the lifestyle we enjoyed there, but remembered the nightmare of the last time we traveled overseas. We, along with a thousand other unhappy folks, waited for hours to clear Belgian passport control, came down with a nasty bug a couple days later, and spent the rest of the trip in bed. My husband, lucky fellow, who was returning a day ahead of me, had his flight cancelled at boarding, and got to enjoy a second long wait at customs. The trauma lingered, obviously, but so did our desire for city living. What to do? Rent an apartment in Buffalo instead!

Buffalo vs Brussels??

How can the two compare, you might wonder. Well, if you’re not from Buffalo that’s understandable, but Buffalo today is a different town than the one known primarily for snow and wings. Zillow named Buffalo the hottest real estate market in the US for 2025, and one of its fastest growing neighborhoods, lying right in the center of the city, is called Elmwood Village.

I had heard that this area had been transformed since I went to college nearby, so I decided to rent an upstairs apartment smack in the heart of the Village with a front porch overlooking the neighborhood. At the beginning of August I settled in, and looked forward to spending the rest of that lovely summer month exploring what was new in the city of my birth.

The first thing that struck me was how similar the experience was to the one we had in Brussels. Within walking distance of the apartment were restaurants for every taste and budget, from upscale to take-out—many with tables and chairs for dining al fresco (Buffalonians, like Europeans, make the most of nice weather). In less than 10 minutes, I could walk to a bank, the food co-op, a pet store, a bookstore, several cafes with great coffee, a bakery and an ice cream shop. Every Saturday morning was a walk to the farmers’ market two blocks away, to buy flowers for the week and fresh vegetables. (The only difference was the market in Brussels had an outdoor oyster and champagne bar, open for breakfast).

In less than 20 minutes, I could walk to elegant Delaware Park. Designed by renowned architect Frederick Law Olmsted in the late 1800s, and much like his Central Park in New York City, Delaware Park is the living, breathing heart of Buffalo proper. In the course of an evening walk, I watched a performance of Shakespeare in the Park, couples have wedding pictures taken by the lovely rose garden, stopped by several food truck vendors, and watched young people playing everything from corn hole to bongo drums.

In the middle of the park lies beautiful Hoyt Lake, surrounded by weeping willows and boat rental houses. Across the street from the park is the AKG art museum with its world famous masterpieces. (Why wait in endless lines at the Louvre?) On the other side of the lake is the Buffalo History Museum, a neoclassical structure reminiscent of the Greek Parthenon, and a remnant of the 1900 Pan-American Exposition which Buffalo hosted.

*Beautiful landscaped mansions line Buffalo’s parkways.*

And to my great delight, all over Elmwood Village (and indeed most of Buffalo) are amazing flower gardens. Every home along the beautiful Olmsted-designed parkways are gorgeously landscaped, and even some of the smaller homes fill their limited space with exuberant plantings. My husband always loved the window boxes in Europe filled with flowers. The apartment buildings in Elmwood Village have those too. Within a month, I felt like I had a European living experience all over again.

*One of Elmwood Village’s lovely flower gardens.*

Once of the nicest things? Thanks to “earth-friendly” decomposable dog poop bags and bins, every park and parkway is remarkably free of those smelly little piles, despite the fact that this is a very dog-friendly neighborhood. Buffalo’s definitely got Europe beat when it comes to dealing with pup-poop – the sidewalks and walking paths of Paris and Brussels were sometimes virtual minefields.

*My favorite *allée*, in the Parc du Cinquantenaire in Brussels.*

I’m sure I’ll return to Europe, maybe even soon, but in the meantime I’m happy to know that I can enjoy a “European experience” in Buffalo, just a few hours’ drive away. Where would you rather spend the month of August? In Europe or Buffalo? Please share your views in the comments below!

Finding Inspiration on the Shores of Lake Erie

This summer, I will find a comfortable piece of driftwood and sit and stare at the water for a while.

There is a beach on Lake Erie, not too far south of Buffalo, where I go every summer to write, to think, and to walk my dog. The beach shall go unnamed because it is private, and because the residents don’t really want anyone else to know it is there. It does not have a boardwalk, concession stands, or cabanas. What it does have is sand and rocks and long stretches of emptiness.

*Both Zippy and I love an empty beach. All photos © Moxie Gardiner*.

Although summer is not officially here, around Memorial Day I like to firm up my plans for the warmer months. In the process of filling up the calendar with trips, tours, reunions, and classes (and, reluctantly, medical appointments), I decided to push all that to the side and focus on the one, all-important period in July, when I will return to the beach and focus again on the trilogy I’m writing.

As May comes to a close, I will wrap up the initial draft of the second book in the series. Once I do, I’ll need time to let it sit and percolate for a while, probably for the rest of June. In July, I will come back to the draft, and begin the serious business of rewriting it.

I know of no better place to let the book settle in than on the shores of Lake Erie. Why? Because it is quiet and there are few distractions? Yes, but there is more to it than that, and it is a question worth pondering.

*Who wouldn’t be inspired by a Lake Erie sunset?*

Part of the answer, I believe, is that I take great inspiration from this ancient lake, which has been with us for eons, and over time, has transformed in significant ways, much like the protagonist in a book. Like the best of stories, the lake is deep, sometimes opaque, and it hides many secrets beneath its surface, some of which eventually will be revealed, while others will continue to mystify. And like complex characters, the lake has many moods. One minute it is calm and placid, and then, with little warning, it is a furious monster, waves pounding the shore, tossing boats, and spitting sand into the wind. Yes, the lake is a metaphor for the mercurial nature of life and the precarious world all living things inhabit.

The other reason I go to the lake when I am writing is that it churns up many memories. Lake Erie has been in my life since I was a young child. My grandparents, my parents, and then my husband and I, rented cottages near Point Breeze for many decades. When I sit now on the empty beach, idyllic scenes from my past roll by, from the days of building sand castles with my brothers, to flirting with boys as a teenager, to later teaching my own sons how to swim and skip rocks across the glassy surface.

Bad memories of the beach are rare, but as a writer I remind myself to remember and embrace those as well. One recollection that has stayed with me for many years was the time my six-year-old brother decided to try out our new raft—the blow-up, rectangular kind you could sleep on. He was happily floating in the shallows when a sudden storm came up. The raft began moving rapidly with the wind and current, and away from shore. I happened to look up—our group was packing and getting ready to leave—when I spotted him, too far from shore to get off and wade back. I could see his face and knew he was panicking.

I am a strong swimmer, but I had to make a choice. Run down the beach and try to get ahead of the raft, or get in the water quickly and try to swim to him in time? What if I made the wrong choice? I tried to judge how fast he was moving. I split the difference, running and then swimming, and thankfully, reached him before he had been pulled out much farther by the current. My heart was in my mouth as I pushed and pulled the raft to shore. What if he had fallen off in the turbulent water? What would it feel like to lose my baby brother, and in front of my eyes? I had nightmares about it for years.

*These ancient rocks have often been assaulted by violent storms which can come up on the lake without warning.* *We would sit on rocks like these when we were kids, and let the waves batter us during the storm.*

Anyone who has read Virgin Snow will now recognize where the inspiration for one of the more tragic scenes comes from, the accidental death of a sibling. Yes, the beach brings memories of summer love, the sounds of the waves, and the smells of suntan lotion and evening campfires. But it is also a reminder that even summer, with all its life-affirming qualities, has its share of heartbreak.

So this summer, I will find a comfortable piece of driftwood and sit and stare at the water for a while. I will ponder the vagaries of life, and what insights I might want to share with my readers. With any luck, I will finish my revisions to Book Two and publish it before the end of the year. If that happens, you can give a good deal of credit to a solitary stay on a quiet, Lake Erie beach.

*A perfect place to sit and contemplate.*

A question for my Western New York readers: what are your most compelling memories of Lake Erie, either good or bad? And for others, is there a body of water that has played an important role in your life? If so, please share your stories in the comment section, below.

To learn more about the first book in the trilogy, Virgin Snow, check out these comments from readers. https://moxiegardiner.com/feedback-from-virgin-snow-readers/

For more information on the fascinating history of Lake Erie, check out https://www.greatlakesnow.org/2024/03/from-the-ice-age-to-now-a-lake-erie-timeline/

Why “La Famiglia e Tutto” (Family is Everything)

Sicilians have a saying—La Famiglia e Tutto (Family is Everything)—and they live by what they say.

Last Saturday, I had the opportunity to speak to a lively group of people at the Centro Culturale Italiano (Italian Cultural Center) in Buffalo, NY. Ostensibly, folks came to hear me read from and talk about my novel, Virgin Snow, the setting of which is on the largely Sicilian (at the time) West Side of Buffalo in the late 1960s and 1970s.

One benefit of being an author is being able to share with readers such things as one’s motivation for writing and inspiration for particular characters and scenes. While I did indeed offer the audience some behind-the-scenes details, I had a hunch that it would be far more interesting for all of us to hear from folks in this diverse gathering, which ranged in age from 29 to 90, and learn about how and why the book connected with their lives and experiences.

*Everyone in the room seemed to enjoy talking about Buffalo back in the day.*

To facilitate this wider discussion, I decided to read a short passage from the novel, then let the audience share how the behavior of the characters and the themes explored in the story resonated with them. What followed, to my delight, was a wide-ranging and sometimes emotional discussion about what it was like to grow up in Buffalo at that time, in that neighborhood, and in that cultural environment.

I began by asking the audience how many of them grew up on the West Side, were of Sicilian or Italian heritage, and were raised in the Catholic religion. Nearly everyone raised their hand. So we talked about Saint Joseph’s Day and the bountiful tables of Sicilian foods prepared from scratch, about the changing role of the Catholic Church in family life, and we reminisced about neighborhood swimming pools, family-run grocery stores, and significant historical events of that time, like the riots in Buffalo (as well as across the country), the Vietnam War and the moon landing.

But the discussion seemed to always return to the idea of “family.” Sicilians have a saying—La Famiglia e Tutto (Family is Everything)—and they live by what they say. Everyone I knew on the West Side back then had family living nearby and they gathered frequently, especially on Sundays.

Both the audience and I laughed at the stories being told about Sicilian fathers and uncles giving prospective boyfriends the third degree, and Sicilian aunts trying to outdo each other with their cooking. Many at the event nodded knowingly when hearing about a widowed Sicilian mother who was struggling financially but too proud to go on welfare, and who never failed to put her family above all else.

*The West Side circa 1970. Yes, some left because of the weather or economics, but others stayed.*

I had also asked at the beginning of the talk, how many in the audience had left Buffalo during the tumultuous period in the late 1970s and early 1980s when the city endured bad weather, economic hardships and high unemployment, and how many had stayed. It turned out to be about half and half. Some of those who had left had only recently returned, in part because Buffalo is once again a vibrant and affordable city. But several noted they had come back home to Buffalo during the city’s darkest of times, just to be close to family again.

*The Italian Cultural Center has a number of interesting displays depicting family life among Sicilian immigrants and their descendants.*

What I took from these conversations is the sense that career opportunities and warmer weather might have lured some away, but in the end it was la famiglia that brought people back to Buffalo. And not simply family obligations like aging parents or help needed in the family business, but a sense of needing to belong to a close community again.

Few things in life bring more joy than shared holiday traditions, familiar comfort foods, family outings, and the retelling of old stories that never fail to bring laughter, no matter how many times they are told. Those of us who have left our familiar surroundings for a time know what it feels like to lose these things, and how wonderful it is to have them back again.

*The cafe at the center offers fresh cappuccino and other Italian delights. It’s worth a visit!*

Are you someone who left your hometown, only to return again later? If so, what brought you back? Or are you someone who stayed put, and if so, what kept you there? I would love to hear your stories as well!

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.

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 Joys and Anxieties of “Stresstember”

I recently learned that September is a month of great trepidation for some people.

Have you ever stopped to consider how freighted with importance the month of September is?

Yes, it is the month of the Autumnal Equinox, the pivot point from summer to fall. Those of us in tune with nature begin to see changes in the world around us—the turning of the first leaves, mass migrations of birds and butterflies, the quieting of cicadas and katydids at night, fewer snakes.

But it is also the month when some of the most important transitions in our lives occur. A time of new beginnings that fill some with excitement, and others with dread. Some are so stressed out by the changes this month brings that psychology experts have dubbed it “Stresstember.”

*Fresh new uniforms on the first day of school.*

As a child, I looked forward to September with great anticipation. I loved the week or so that presaged the return to class—the buying of notebooks, pencils, and erasers—and, from time to time, a new school uniform and shoes. This was followed by the careful cutting of brown shopping bags to cover our new books, and new haircuts to keep us neat and tidy as well. But most of all, I looked forward to the return to school itself, because, I must admit, I loved it.

The biggest academic transitions, of course, did bring some trepidation. The first day of kindergarten was frightening because, back in the day, you said goodbye to Mom for the first time. But you relaxed when you made your first school friends, sang little songs together, and learned to read. School was fun!

*In high school there was more than just reading, and writing and ‘rithmatic.*

Then there was the first day of high school, a bewildering place where books were kept in lockers instead of your desk, and you moved from classroom to classroom and teacher to teacher instead of staying in one place. But once this new routine was mastered, your mind was introduced to a whole array of new topics—literature, chemistry, trigonometry, languages—and you were introduced to cool new friends.

The first day of college was also a tectonic shift in your young life—you moved in with strangers and had to make your own important decisions on classes and schedules and majors. Not only did you have to move from classroom to classroom, but from building to building. Making your way from one part of campus to another in time for class, was a life-lesson in logistics, organization, mapping and time management. Learning how to balance study time with party time was essential to developing the work-life balance that would serve us well (or not) for the rest of our lives.

*Who could forget their first day on a college campus?*

I recently learned, though, that September is a month of great anxiety for some people. They face the prospect of a new school, new teachers, new classmates, mountains of homework, and challenging new courses—with genuine fear, not excitement. Rather than see school as an opportunity to learn and make lifelong friends, they see school as a place where they fear they may experience failure, bullying, or ostracism.

Being a young student during the pandemic was an experience few of us who are long past school age can even imagine. We are only beginning to understand the psychological damage it did to these children, as well as how it may have affected their social skills. Some are still having problems in school—academically, socially, and psychologically.

Some parents also approach September anxiously, having sent their children off to school—from the first day of kindergarten to the first day of college—with more worries than pride. Knowing that your child is fearful about going back to school, feeling they won’t fit in or do well academically, presents a serious dilemma for parents, especially those that work full time. Some parents choose homeschooling to address these issues, which presents its own set of challenges each fall.

And then of course, there is the reminder, for those of us who lived through it, of the events of September 11, 2001. Like the Kennedy assassination, and for older generations, the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington have left an indelible scar on our psyches. On every beautiful, sunny morning in September, I cannot help but remember how similarly that fateful day began. September 11^th, for me, will always be a day of remembrance.

But I cannot let it cloud the other joys of September. As a gardener now, September is our big harvest month, when the last ripe tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, okra, celery and onions fill our larder. Pumpkins are growing fat on the vine, apples are bending the boughs on the trees, and soon we’ll be digging up sweet potatoes to store for the winter.

I am determined to enjoy the month of September with all its transitions, and all the memories it brings with it. I hope you will too.

Do you look forward to the month of September? Please share with us why, or why not, in the comments, below.

Fingy Conners, Wild Bill Donovan, and the “Irish” First Ward

On my most recent trip back to Buffalo, I decided to take a walking tour through a different part of the city.

I often write about the West Side of Buffalo and the neighborhood where I spent my formative years. It was a tight-knit, working class part of the city where my Sicilian grandmother’s relatives could speak their native language and feel at home. But on my most recent trip back to Buffalo, I decided to take a walking tour through a different part of the city, where the ancestors of my Irish grandfather most likely worked on the docks, in the factories, or shoveled grain into silos along the shores of Lake Erie.

*Grain silos still form the backdrop of Buffalo’s Old First Ward. Photos © Moxie Gardiner.*

People unfamiliar with the city’s history are surprised to learn that Buffalo was once the eighth-largest metropolis in the US, and the sixth-largest port, according to Donna, our Explore Buffalo tour guide. Before the 90-minute tour was over, she would explain why the “Old First Ward,” or OFW, as this neighborhood is called, was at one time a commercial hub of global significance and the birthplace of colorful characters who would leave their mark on US history.

*Many residents still proudly display their Irish roots.*

The first wave of Irish immigrants that transformed this part of Buffalo came to help build the Erie Canal in the early 1800s, and the second wave arrived during and after the great potato famine in Ireland in the 1840s and ‘50s. By 1855, there were some 10,000 Irish immigrants in Buffalo, the majority of them living in slums near the lake and canal. The neighborhood became known as “the Irish First Ward” for a time because of its predominantly Irish population.

The grain elevators, invented here in Buffalo in the 1840s, provided plenty of work for Ireland’s transplanted manual laborers, as did other industries that sprang up along the Erie Canal—at that time an essential conduit from America’s “bread basket” in the Midwest, to the fast-growing cities along the East Coast. Once the St. Lawrence Seaway and the interstate highway system were developed, however, the canal lost its importance, as did the industries that once thrived along Lake Erie’s shores, and the Old First Ward declined.

*Some of the neighborhood’s older homes are a stone’s throw from the waterfront.*

As I was happy to learn on the tour, though, the neighborhood is making a comeback and now has a reputation as one of the “hippest” places to live in Buffalo. Interestingly, the area still proudly embraces its industrial legacy. Thirteen of the original 33 grain silos still loom over the modest houses (two of the silos are still operating) while repurposed factories dot the neighborhood.

*The Barcalo Building, like other old factories, has been repurposed.*

One such factory, housed in the Barcalo Building, was known throughout Buffalo as the place where the Barcalounger chair was manufactured. Less well known is the building’s reputation as the birthplace of the coffee break, mint ice cream, the mattress spring, and the fake snow that comes out of a spray can… according to Donna. The building is now home to a contemporary art gallery and luxury apartments.

Back in the day, the OFW was almost as famous for its bars and taverns as it was for its industries. According to an 1893 article in the Buffalo Express, there were 2,300 saloons in Buffalo, including Swannie House, built in the 1880s, which still operates today. Gene McCarthy’s Tavern and Old First Ward Brewing, where refreshments were available at the end of our tour, has been operating here for over 50 years.

*The Swannie House has been serving residents of the OFW since the 1880s.*

Some of the taverns found in this neighborhood were part of the “saloon boss system,” where waterfront jobs were controlled by bar owners. Native son “Fingy” Conners (legend has it he lost a thumb after a childhood dare) was one such boss, who reportedly gave jobs only to those who rented his rooms and drank his booze. Fingy went on to become a prosperous businessman and one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Buffalo.[1]

Donna the tour guide told us tales of other OFW men who went on to become nationally and even internationally known, including “Wild Bill” Donovan, who headed the Office of Strategic Services (which later became the CIA) during Word War II.[2] Tim Russert, host of NBC’s “Meet the Press” was also from the Old First Ward, as was popular Buffalo mayor Jimmy Griffin, and Michael Shea, developer of Buffalo’s most opulent entertainment venues. Shea was one of the first men in the US to start a vaudeville house, and his theater in downtown Buffalo is still thriving, hosting sold-out Broadway shows throughout the year.

*Kayak launches, pop-up dining, and coffee shops are bringing new money into the old neighborhood.*

As my group finished up our walking tour on Hamburg Street, I took note of a new “Waterfront Memories and More” museum that Donna said provides historical artifacts and photos from locals. As it was closed when we got there, I will have to come back on another trip. Who knows? I may get lucky and find a photo of one of my Irish ancestors, shoveling grain into one of the massive silos.

Have you ever lived in, or visited, the Old First Ward of Buffalo? What were your impressions of it, then and now? I would love to read your comments, in the 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 yoga. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

[1] For more info on Fingy Conners, see this interesting book trailer by Richard Sullivan on YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64aec3GzbHU&t=230s

[2] For more information on Donovan’s Buffalo beginnings, see https://buffaloah.com/h/bohen/don.html

The Magnificent Willows of Western New York

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything You Wanted to Know About the Infant of Prague

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*The globe symbolizes Christ’s worldly domain.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Letter of Gratitude to Those Who Read Books

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

Where would writers be without readers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So thank you.

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

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

Virgin Snow, A Novel

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