Moxie Gardiner - A West Side Girl in the Big Wide World

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.

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).

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!

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.

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

The Fruits (and Veggies) of Our Labor

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

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

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

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

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

*Tomatillos were a new experiment this year.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Paying Homage to Poland, Pussy Willows, and Dyngus Day

People all over western New York are embracing the “spirit of Polonia,” even if for only a day.

Let me begin by saying that Poland has been on my mind lately. As I read news reports of millions of Ukrainians crossing the Polish border to escape the conflict with Russia, I cannot help but be impressed by how Poland, a relatively small country with about a tenth of the US’ population, has welcomed the refugees with open arms.[1] What is it about the Polish people, I wondered, that inspires this kind of largesse?

*Even a West Sider can appreciate pierogi.*

Growing up in a city like Buffalo, which once boasted one of the largest Polish communities in the world outside of Warsaw, I was familiar with Polish sausage and pierogi. But beyond Polish food, those of us who grew up on the Sicilian West Side when I did, knew little about our East Side neighbors. I decided that the next time I went back, I would explore “Old Polonia,” one of Buffalo’s “cities within a city,” to see what I could learn about the Polish diaspora, and I did so at a most opportune time—Easter weekend.

The place to begin, of course, is the historic Broadway Market at the crossroads of Old Polonia, on the Saturday before Easter.[2] The market, with its fresh produce and flowers, meat and deli counters, and distinctly Polish cultural products, has remained more or less the same as it was when it was established in 1888. At 8 am, the parking lot was already full, and we followed a cheerful but determined crowd down the escalator and into the heart of the teeming market.

The first thing I noticed were huge signs advertising Dyngus Day (more about that later) a uniquely Polish-American holiday held on the Monday after Easter. The second thing I noticed was a jostling mob, elbowing its way toward a certain deli counter. I was curious about what they were trying to buy. Pierogi? Kielbasa? No, they were trying to buy an Easter butter lamb before they all ran out. I watched a triumphant woman buy the last one from that vendor, while others walked away disappointed. It was not yet 8:30 am.

Freshly made butter lambs, I’ve come to find out, have become the centerpiece of many Easter dinner tables. According to Food and Wine magazine, the tradition originated in Central and Eastern Europe, and made its way to America with Catholic immigrants.[3] Apparently, Polish-Americans still call the butter lamb by its Polish name, baranek wielkanocny.

I followed my nose through the rest of the market, to stalls selling pierogi, kielbasa, czarnina soup and freshly grated horseradish. I chatted with a number of the proprietors, and asked about the crowns of colorful ribbons, red and white t-shirts, traditional Polish costumes, and “pussy willow passes” being sold in anticipation of Dyngus Day. “In Poland, do they always celebrate Dyngus Day on the Monday after Easter?” I asked one lady dressed in red and white from head to toe. She laughed. “I doubt anyone in Poland has ever heard of Dyngus Day. We invented it here in America, based on some very old Polish traditions.”

Dyngus Day, I’ve learned, celebrates the end of Lent, the Easter holiday, and the joy of the coming spring. It builds on an old tradition of farm boys in Poland who wanted to attract the attention of certain girls come springtime, and did so by sprinkling them with water and hitting them on the legs with pussy willows.[4] Pussy Willows and water are a central part of the Dyngus Day festivities today.

*Neither snow nor sleet can put a damper on the Dyngus Day parade. Photo courtesy of Steve Dlugosz* *and the Buffalo Rocket newspaper.*

According to organizers, Buffalo is now the official Dyngus Day capital of the World, and the Dyngus Day parade has become its main attraction. What began as a tribute to an old Polish tradition is now a huge event featuring polka dancing, bands, and authentic Polish food and drink, as well as the parade. Attendance in 2019 was estimated at over 100,000, making it one of the largest one-day ethnic festivals in North America.

Why, you might ask, are Polish-Americans embracing their roots and cultural heritage to a degree not seen since the late 1800s when thousands of Polish immigrants poured into places like Buffalo, hoping to work in the steel mills and slaughterhouses, and provide a fresh start for their families? And what did I learn about the Polish people that might explain why they have welcomed more than 2 million Ukrainians into their country with open arms, fed and clothed them, and helped them find jobs?

I was reminded that the Polish people have not forgotten what it is like to have their country occupied, to live as refugees, and to try to survive under terrible conditions. One Dyngus Day organizer, Eddy Dobosiewicz, writes that “the spirit of Polonia was and always will be at the forefront of humanity’s desire for freedom and liberty.” That “insatiable thirst for freedom,” he says, “is part of our Slavic DNA.”[5]

And so the Polish people, who deeply appreciate their freedom and those who helped them achieve it, pay it forward.

How wonderful it is that the celebration of Dyngus Day is spreading across western New York and indeed the rest of our country, and that people here are embracing the “spirit of Polonia,” even if for only a day. Are you Polish-American? What stories do you have to share? I would love to hear from you, in the comments below.

[1] According to npr.org, Poland enacted a law last month allowing Ukrainians to legally live and work in Poland for at least 18 months, with the option to extend. About a quarter of the refugees have already found jobs. See https://www.npr.org/2022/04/06/1090902301/ukraine-refugees-poland-krakow#:~:text=More%20than%202%20million%20Ukrainians,with%20the%20option%20to%20extend.

[2] FYI, there is now an “Old Polonia Trail” map that can be found online.

[3] https://www.foodandwine.com/news/easter-butter-lamb-meaning

[4] Everything you ever wanted to know about Dyngus Day can be found on dyngusday.com.

[5] Quoted from an “eddytorial” by Eddy Dobosiewicz in the Dyngus Day Guide.

The Wondrous World of Weird Museums

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*It is impossible to drive by the Langford Steam and Mechanical Exhibit without stopping to take a look. The flywheel from the Peter Cooper Glue Factory is front and center.*

*The Zippo Lighter museum has lots to offer the casual visitor as well as the collector.*

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

*No matter what the condition of your lighter, Zippo will fix it for free in its clinic.*

*Who* *hasn’t witnessed a sea of Zippo lighters calling for an encore from a favorite band?*

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

Museums like this appeal to our sense of whimsy, that is, our more childlike and playful nature. I had a lot of fun making my first kazoo (almost as much fun as the entire day I spent in the Strong National Museum of Play in Rochester, NY, as an adult!).
These museums provide an unusual perspective on history, allowing our creative brains to make connections among things seemingly unrelated (World War II and Zippo lighters, for example).
They are a mecca for collectors, hobbyists, and dealers. I read about a man in Scotland who owns over a 1,000 different Zippo lighters. I feel certain he has been to Bradford.
They are fodder for trivia buffs and those with insatiable intellectual curiosity, and
They are run and operated by people who are invariably welcoming and enthused about entertaining visitors. Their pride in their artifacts and displays is quite contagious, making for a very personal and enjoyable experience.

*Who wouldn’t have fun making their own kazoo?*

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

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

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

I Got Slimed by a Whale (and Loved It)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Her skin felt like a smooth, wet eggplant.*

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

*The whale seemed to like rubbing its head under the bottom of the Zodiac boat.*

*Many of us got to see a “whale blow,” up close and personal.*

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

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

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

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