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.

Life in Buffalo—375 Million Years Ago

My uncle’s goal on these field trips was to teach us about paleontology…as well as something about life in Buffalo before the Buffalo Bills. (Photo of Eighteen Mile Creek by Doreen Regan)

Often we would find imprints of brachiopods in the shale, but sometimes we were lucky enough to find an intact specimen, like those above. Fossil photos by Moxie Gardiner.

I had the great good fortune to have a science teacher for an uncle. He loved his work and taught his nieces and nephews about the world at large as well as the part of it we lived in: about soils and rocks, the importance of the summer and winter solstices, and how to identify harmless snakes and move them without getting bitten, among other things.

He enjoyed taking us on field trips on his days off, and one of his favorite places to explore was Eighteen Mile Creek, a tributary of Lake Erie that meanders south of Buffalo, mostly through the town of Hamburg. As a science teacher in the Buffalo City Schools, Uncle Ed knew all the places where people were permitted to go fossil hunting. His goal on these trips was to teach us about paleontology, the study of fossilized plant and animal remains, as well as something about life in Western New York before the Buffalo Bills.

Inside the small round balls of pyrite a fossil could be found.

Eighteen Mile Creek is so-named because its waters flow into Lake Erie at a point 18 miles southwest of the former village of Black Rock, now a neighborhood on the western edge of Buffalo.[1]  I remember as a child clambering down the shale cliffs behind my uncle, into the gorge formed by the creek. While in places the cliffs rise 100 feet or more, the creek itself is wide but not very deep, a perfect place for wading on a hot summer day while we searched the cliffs for ancient life.

Crinoid stems are all that remain of an ancient sea flower.

My uncle had a knack for simplifying complex subjects in a way that made them meaningful for children. All of the fossilized creatures we would find in the layers of thin grey shale would be from the Paleozoic Era, he would tell us, and they lived not in the Great Lakes but in a body of water known as the Devonian Sea. Rather than have us try to memorize the Latin names of the fossils (what 11-year-old would remember athyris spiriferoides?), he would tell us the “common names” of what we were finding.

Trilobites were ancient crustaceans now found between the shale layers of Eighteen Mile Creek. We had to handle these very gently so as not to break them.

He described how at the bottom of the Devonian Sea lay a magnificent coral reef not unlike the Great Barrier Reef of Australia. The drab, grey fossils we were looking for—brachiopods, pyrite, crinoid stems, and the most sought after prize of all, trilobites—were once as colorful and beautiful as any ocean creatures we might see today. If we found one of these precious relics, he instructed, we were to wrap them carefully in newspaper and put them in a metal box, so as not to break the tiny creatures embedded in the fragile shale. We stuffed the harder, calcified fossils we found near the creek bed and lakeshore, into our pockets.

My uncle called theses bryozoans, Devonian plants with thin, flat branches.

I remember going home at the end of the day with our small treasures, my head filled with images of small marine animals clinging to rocks, and of plants waving their fronds at the bottom of a sea where I now walked. I still have those fossils, safely tucked away, wrapped in very old newspaper.

As an adult, I have since learned that the Great Lakes are a paleontologist’s dream, with fossils plentiful all along the vast shorelines, thanks to the glaciers that scoured them from the hardened Devonian sea bottom, and the waves that now deposit them on the beaches. I’ve also recently learned about a place called the Penn Dixie Fossil Park & Nature Reserve in Hamburg, on what was once part of the quarry of the Penn Dixie Cement Corporation. According to the Reserve’s website, it is ranked as the #1 fossil park in the U.S. and welcomes guests from around the world.[2]

The Fossil Park is temporarily closed until April 2023, but when it reopens, I plan to visit. I read that you can keep whatever fossils you find during your explorations. What better way to relive my childhood memories of a mind-expanding educational experience, and honor the memory of Uncle Ed, science teacher extraordinaire.

Have you ever looked for or found fossils on the beaches of the Great Lakes or along one of its tributaries like Eighteen Mile Creek? I would love to know if you share my interest in these small relics of the past, or if you have ever simply stumbled upon them. Please let me know in the comments below.

To this day I have no idea what this is, but I believe it is a fossil, not just a rock. It appears scaly, like an ancient fish. Any paleontologists or science teachers out there who can help me?

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

[1] An excellent scientific and historical tome on the subject is Geology and Paleontology of Eighteen Mile Creek by Amadeus W. Grabau. This book, Grabau’s master’s thesis at MIT, was originally published in two volumes in 1898-1899, and has since been republished by the Hamburg Natural History Society. I have no idea if my uncle ever read this book, but I hope he did. He would have loved it.

[2] For more information about the fossil park, visit https://penndixie.org/fossil-hunting/

A Buffalo Christmas to Remember

Everyone in my hometown of Buffalo, NY will have a story to tell about the “bombogenesis” blizzard that hit the city late this December, just as many of its native sons and daughters were traveling home to be with family for the Christmas holidays. I was one of those making the journey.

We walked through knee-deep snow to check on an elderly neighbor when we saw no lights in his house for two days. Thankfully, he was fine. All photos in this blog by Moxie Gardiner.

Fortunately, my story, unlike that of some others, is not a tragic one. As I write this the death toll in Erie County stands at 39 and may continue to climb as government workers and ordinary citizens uncover cars and homes buried in snow. Many residences lost power and heat for days, while temperatures outside dropped into the single digits (with wind chills plummeting to levels too low to contemplate as the winds raged between 70-80 mph). There are tales of first-responders trapped in their vehicles in whiteout conditions while attempting to assist those with medical emergencies, and of people becoming disoriented in the snow and dying within close proximity of their homes.  

Gale force winds weren’t going to stop this Bills fan from flying his flag on Christmas Eve.

Inevitably, some of the stories coming out now are political, complete with finger-pointing, second-guessing, and blame-casting. I will let the news organizations sort all that out. Certainly, it is important after being hit with the “storm of the century” that all concerned take a retrospective look at what could be done better next time. But I want to go on record with my story because I’m sure it’s representative of how ordinary people cope and come together in the face of an extraordinary disaster.

Buffalo is no stranger to winter storms, but this one was surprising in its ferocity. I was in my car, heading north into the city early Friday morning, December 23rd, somewhat reassured by updates from my son that conditions were “not that bad” where he was. Between 8 am and 9 am the temperature dropped rapidly and the winds began to rattle my car as I drove along Lake Shore Road, with large waves visibly crashing at water’s edge. Large branches were cracking and falling off trees, and when I reached the Thruway, I began to see jackknifed tractor trailers and cars that had skidded off the road. Rain turned to swirling snow in minutes. I said a prayer and got off the highway as soon as possible. I made it to my son’s house 20 minutes before the mandatory driving ban went into effect.

What was supposed to be a brief visit with family for dinner on Christmas Eve, and the opening of presents on Christmas morning, turned into an unanticipated five-day stay. Six of us had to figure out how to peacefully co-exist in a house with two bedrooms and one bathroom. There was no possibility that the food ordered for the holiday festivities could be picked up or delivered, so we made the most of the groceries and beverages we had. My son’s fiancé had wanted us all to shelter under one roof, and I will be forever grateful for her insistence that we gather in their new home to take care of each other.

We woke to beautiful sunshine on Christmas morning. The storm was over and the clean-up could begin.
Those who had neighbors with snow blowers were the lucky ones.

All through the blizzard my son would go out and start our cars so the batteries wouldn’t die, clear snow from heating vents and exhaust pipes, and check on neighbors. The young woman across the street was due to deliver her baby any day and we were prepared to assist with the delivery if she was unable to get to the hospital. We checked on an elderly neighbor next door to make sure he had enough food and his heat was working. When the storm was over, we paid a local company to plow the driveways of several nearby homes.

Others relied on a team with snow shovels to help dig them out.

Buffalo is known as “The City of Good Neighbors” and stories of Good Samaritans helping others were abundant throughout Erie County, the hardest hit area in New York state. We were worried about my elderly father who was home alone in Clarence during the storm and unreachable by car, but a neighbor he barely knew knocked on the door, fixed his broken thermostat, cleared enough snow for my Dad’s dog to get out and do her business, and brought him meatloaf for dinner. Thanks to this stranger, we could all breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that my Dad had someone to turn to in an emergency.

The Buffalo Bills’ win on Christmas Eve brightened everyone’s spirits, and as the sun rose on Christmas morning I got to see a three-year-old open her presents amid squeals of delight and repeated thanks to Santa and Rudolph for making it through the storm. Four generations of my new family came together under trying circumstances to celebrate Christmas with kindness, generosity, patience, and good cheer. No doubt the story of the Christmas blizzard of 2022 will be shared with many future generations, and in our case it will be told with a deep sense of gratitude that our winter’s tale had a happy ending.  

There is nothing more precious than the face of a three-year-old on Christmas morning.

Do you have a story you would like to share about the winter storm of Christmas 2022? Good or bad, please share. We’ll be telling these stories for years to come because, like the famous Blizzard of 1977, this was one for the record books.

The clean-up will take time. Some are counting on this weekend’s rain and warm weather to wash away large mounds of snow.

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 Year I Met the Buffalo Bills

It was a beautiful summer day in early August, 1963. The Buffalo Bills, a young team that had been admitted into the American Football League just four years earlier, were wrapping up their annual summer training and getting ready for their first game of the season. The excitement in the city was palpable.

My Dad, a diehard fan of the team since day one, had seen an ad in the Buffalo Evening News for “Meet the Bills” day, with field events in the afternoon and an intra-squad game that evening. It was an opportunity to watch the veterans compete against the rookies, and to meet some of our hometown heroes. I was thrilled when Dad decided to take me to the event to get some autographs (FYI for those under 30, you couldn’t take a “group selfie” back in the day).

I was just a wee thing at the time, but I remember going to the old “rock pile,” otherwise known as War Memorial Stadium, a venue significantly smaller than the 70,000-seat Highmark Stadium in Orchard Park where the Bills play today. My Dad explained to me who everyone on the field was and what position they played, and pointed out who he considered to be the future superstars (as it turned out, he was right on most counts).

There was Lou Saban, Buffalo’s storied coach, on the field talking to players. Number 15, Jack Kemp, the quarterback, was warming up his arm, along with his back-up quarterback Daryle Lamonica. In the field events, Billy Shaw (a future Hall of Famer) and Pro-Bowler Tom Sestak would compete in the 50-yard dash for linemen. Cookie Gilchrist would show his stuff in the 50-yard dash for running backs, while Elbert Dubenion would compete against other receivers. It was really fun to watch Ed Rutkowski and Gene Sykes and other defensive backs compete in the 30-yard backward run. “They look good,” said my father, admiring the show. “This year they might go all the way.”

The list of field events for Meet the Bills day in 1963. Note that first prize in each category was $15!

After the competitions were over, we went down to the fence that surrounded the field where the players were signing autographs. There were lots of fans holding pieces of paper out to their favorites, like me hoping for an autograph. Many of the kids were big enough to play junior league football themselves, and I had a hard time pushing my way through the crowd and up to the fence, but my Dad put me on his shoulders and had no problem elbowing his way to the front. Then it was a matter of getting a player’s attention.

“Here’s how it done,” my Dad told me. “Hey, Jack Kemp!” he shouted. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have more blue freckles than brown ones with all these pens in your face.” Jack Kemp looked up, laughed, and signed my autograph book. “He’s not as good as Lamonica,” whispered Dad, searching the field in vain for his favorite Buffalo quarterback. Lamonica went on to star for the Oakland Raiders, and Kemp, despite not being my father’s fave, had several excellent seasons with the Bills and was awarded the AFL-MVP award in 1965. He later became a US Congressman and a Vice Presidential running-mate to Bob Dole, so I guess he was popular with some people.

Dad and I left “Meet the Bills” day bearing a half-dozen precious signatures and we watched every game that season on TV. (Dad hasn’t missed a Bills game yet.) The 1963 team ended with a 7-6-1 record and finished tied for first in the AFL East. In 1964 and 1965, they not only won their division but defeated the San Diego Chargers each year for the AFL championship. In 1966, they lost to the Kansas City Chiefs in the AFL title game and missed playing in the first Super Bowl. My young self was convinced we would win the Super Bowl the following year, but instead followed five years of mostly losses before the picture brightened again.

It has been nearly 60 years since I met my first Buffalo Bills. The team has had good seasons—even great seasons—including competing in four straight Super Bowls. They have had excellent coaches like Saban, Chuck Knox, and Marv Levy, and the current one, Sean McDermott, looks to be following in their footsteps. And of course they had superstar players in O.J. Simpson, Jim Kelly, Bruce Smith, Andre Reed, and Thurman Thomas. They’ve also had some terrible seasons, but at no time did I ever know a true Buffalonian to give up on the Bills.

As my Dad would say, there are no “fair weather fans” in Buffalo (OK—no jokes about no “fair weather” in Buffalo either). The view at the end of the season was always optimistic and “next year” was always going to be “our year.”

Now leading the charge for Buffalo is quarterback Josh Allen, a swoon-worthy young man who seems to be able to do it all. Having come close to reaching the summit of the league the previous two seasons, the Bills seem on track for another shot at glory. And there is talk all over Buffalo that “this year” will be the year our Bills will win the Super Bowl for the first time. If so, I plan to head back to Buffalo to get some autographs. Or at least a selfie.

Are you a Buffalo Bills fan and do you have a particular season you love to remember, or a favorite Bills player? Or have you, like some people, given up on the NFL altogether? I’d love to hear from you, 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 Most Prestigious Club You Probably Never Heard Of

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

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

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

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

The beautiful dining room, with its impressive columns and domed ceiling, has a stage for guest speakers.
I was treated to lunch in the South Loggia, bathed in the light of multi-colored glass windows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you a member of The Twentieth Century Club of Buffalo or one similar to it? What do you like best about yours? Or maybe you’re not a fan of clubs, but in favor of promoting literature and the arts? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

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

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

The Fruits (and Veggies) of Our Labor

Apples ripe for the picking.

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

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

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

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

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

Tomatillos were a new experiment this year.

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

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

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

We grow different varieties of tomatoes that range from small and sweet to large and meaty. They come in different colors too.
How convenient it is for peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes to be ready at the same time!

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

Sauce like grandma used to make.

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

Yes, I have learned to love okra!

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

Looking forward to fresh watermelon.

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

Tours of the garden are available at a reasonable sum!

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

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

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

The Open Hearts and Gardens of Western New York

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This passionflower was a crowd favorite.

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

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

He who plants a garden plants happiness. – Chinese proverb

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gimme That Summer Lovin’

It’s hard to underestimate the impact of the long Buffalo winters on young romance.

As you know, faithful readers, I love to reminisce about the summer days of my Buffalo childhood, filled with daily trips to the neighborhood swimming pool, games of kickball in the street, and popsicles on the front steps when the sun dipped low over the Niagara River. But this month I’ve decided to write about summer memories of a different time of life, unique to Buffalo only in their intensity.

I’m speaking here of summer love.

Come summertime, even the neighbors begin to look interesting…

Yes, these steamy affairs happen everywhere, but it is difficult to underestimate the impact of the long Buffalo winters on romance. Gazing upon a potential love interest dressed in a sweater, jeans, parka, gloves and the obligatory Buffalo Bills knit beanie, does not exactly send the heart aflutter. Come summertime though (defined by some Buffalonians as temperatures above 40 degrees Fahrenheit) the clothes come off and the city comes alive.

“Gimme some skin” took on a whole new meaning in summer.

After about eight months of cold and gray, summer seems to happen almost overnight. All activity moves outside and suddenly there are people everywhere. Seeing all that flesh after so many months of bundled up darkness makes the heart race, the palms sweat, the hormones jump, and, well, you know the rest.

When I was a young teenager, our social scene was at the Massachusetts Swimming Pool. We would bring our transistor radios, lay our towels by the pool, get the juices flowing listening to songs like “Wild Thing” by the Troggs and “Hello I Love You” by the Doors, and dream of being dunked by the hunky guys who actually had chest hair at age 15 (in our ethnic neighborhood, we were blessed with more than our fair share of these fine specimens). I swear that summertime smell of suntan lotion, chlorine, and warm concrete had an aphrodisiac effect on our young libidos. (If I could figure out a way to bottle that smell, wouldn’t I make a fortune?) Add to that the shirtless guys playing basketball next to the pool and there is little wonder summer “attractions” happened quickly, and frequently.

Sometimes the flirting could get outrageous.

Once in college, the mating scene moved to beach parties by the lake, picnics in Delaware Park, outdoor concerts, and when we reached legal drinking age, to any one of Buffalo’s many bars. If you had no luck by 4 am when the bars closed, you could always try again at a late-night food stop like the Mighty Taco (although the morning after might be even more embarrassing after a few bean burritos).

Yes, the summers are “hot” in Buffalo, but as songs, movies, and TV shows affirm, summer flings (the kind that “don’t mean a thing,” as they sing in “Grease”) are a phenomenon everywhere. So I wondered if there was something more than cold winters that prompt this, i.e., a scientific reason why people are so attracted to each other during the summer months.

Didn’t the guy with the guitar always get the girls?

It appears there is. Scientists say that when skin is exposed to more sunlight, our bodies produce dopamine, serotonin, and MSH (sometimes called the “happy hormones”). Warm weather apparently tells our mammalian bodies that our period of hibernation is over, to move outdoors, and as the blood quickens, to start searching for ways to sate our appetites. The visual stimulation of summer, of course, cannot be overlooked. Meeting someone on a beach in a bikini, or jogging shirtless and sweaty in the park, is more likely to lead to amorous arousal than working on a term paper in the cold Buff State library.

Yes, you can find your forever love while riding mopeds together to the beach.

Do summer romances ever last? Well, that depends. If you find that you are attracted to more than your love interest’s bronzed body, that you enjoy talking to each other as much as, um, other things, then yes, they can last. But until you see your summer sweetheart looking up at you lovingly, in that parka and Buffalo Bills cap while shoveling snow, I wouldn’t make any commitments.

Have you ever had a summer love? Did it last? I would love to hear from you 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 yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.

The Healing Powers of Nature

For those who might be seeking to deal with grief in a manner both healthy and spiritual, here are ways nature can help you ease the pain.

I almost decided not to write a blog this month. I have been weighed down by grief, both personal and collective, so profound that I’ve found it hard to find the spark of creativity it takes to write these short essays. But write I must, if for no other reason than to process through these feelings. I do not intend to delve into politics or policy solutions here. There are other venues for that.

Forest bathing. Photos copyright @ Moxie Gardiner.

I am not alone in my sadness, of course. There are families and extended families and friends of those families, grieving the loss of innocents murdered while grocery shopping, watching a movie in school, or having the misfortune to live in a city close to a war zone. There are times when my faith in humanity abandons me.

When that happens, I turn to nature for guidance on how the world should work. How to live life in harmony with my surroundings. How to evolve and adapt to new challenges. How to heal from whatever injuries or losses one might suffer. I cannot solve the problem of man’s inhumanity to man, but I can observe the natural world’s daily efforts to achieve beauty, balance, and peaceful co-existence.

This month my heart goes out to my fellow Buffalonians, both current and former, who are dealing with the ramifications of a senseless act we had hoped our beloved city would never have to endure. For those who might be seeking a way to deal with their grief in a manner that is both healthy and spiritual, here are 10 simple ways nature can help you ease the pain:

Few sounds are more soothing than rain falling on puddles.

Take a walk in the rain. A gentle rain is the world’s way of sharing its tears with you. Weep with it, and when the sky clears and the sun comes out, look for the rainbows.

Listen to the birds. Birds express themselves through song. Listen to the mournful tune of the white throated sparrow or the joyful sounds of the cardinal to help you come to terms with your own emotions.

Appreciate the pollinators. Pollinators like birds, bats, bees, and butterflies are key to the cycle of life. More than a third of all human food is the result of  their hard work and determination. Watch them to be reminded of how focused activity can help distract a troubled mind.

Bathe in a forest. The Japanese call it shinrin-yoku and believe that simply walking in a wooded setting can lower stress, lessen depression, and ease the sorrow related to grief. By inhaling oxygen and the other compounds released by trees and plants, one can reap the benefits of aromatherapy, for free.

Sit by the water. Grief, like water, ebbs and flows. Some days it will crash against you like the waves of Lake Erie, at other times it will murmur in the background like a sleepy creek. Find a good spot near your favorite body of water and contemplate its ever-changing sights and sounds.

Honor the beauty of flowers. Perhaps because we know their life is short and beauty fleeting, most people love flowers. Flowers in the wild, though, have a special purpose, attracting pollinators, removing toxins, absorbing carbon dioxide, and producing oxygen. Always stop and appreciate a wildflower in the full glory of its short but important life.

The joy of watching life begin from a tiny seed.

Watch something grow from seed. There is nothing quite so fulfilling as to watch life unfold from start to finish. Observe that when a plant dies, it leaves behind its seeds to begin life anew. Little in life, it reminds us, is final.

Stare at the stars. It helps to remember there are forces at work greater than ourselves, and that each of us have our time and place in the unfolding of the cosmos.

Get low to the ground like a child and you’ll be surprised by what you see. Can you spot the spider?

Observe nature with the eyes of a child. Look at the world around you as if for the first time. Get down on the ground, dig in the dirt, watch a bug crawl. If you have a child in your life to appreciate nature with, so much the better.

Never miss a sunset. I needn’t explain the symbolism of the dramatic splash of color that ends our days—or begins the next one. If time is the great healer of a grieving heart, getting from sunrise to sunset and back again is our primary goal, until the world makes sense again.

There is no need to travel to national parks or far off places to experience the healing power of nature. (Although if you do get that opportunity, take it). Most people can enjoy the benefits I describe within a long walk or short drive from their home. This summer, try one or all of the above. If you are grieving, I hope it helps you.

What do you appreciate about nature? Do you ever turn to the natural world for solace? I would love to hear your reaction to this piece, in the comments below.

Seeking wisdom from an ancient tree.

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.