Do you have any greenhouse tips for a newbie?

After we moved to Oregon over three years ago, I was finally able to have something I’ve wanted my entire adult life—a  vegetable garden that actually produces fresh vegetables.

A couple years after we were married, back around 1978, Don and I had moved into our first house, located in Pomona, California. We had a fenced, big back yard and decided to turn the back half of it into a garden. Neither of us really knew what we were doing, but we went to the local garden store, picked up mulch, starter plants, and portable fencing to keep our dog out of the garden.

I didn’t know much about tomato starters and what several packages might produce, and this was before the internet where we can now go to YouTube and find all sorts of information. Although, I did have some gardening books.

While the garden was supposed to be mine, I would be tending to it, Don agreed to help me get everything set up. To be honest, he was doing most of the heavy work. 

Unfortunately, not long after putting in the garden I received my first cancer diagnoses. What had been an annoying stuffy nose went from possible polyp to a rare malignant tumor. After removing the tumor, I faced six weeks of radiation. Fortunately, Don had good insurance through his work back then, so we didn’t worry about the medical bills, but we did about the cancer.

For about six weeks I drove myself back and forth from Pomona to Covina for radiation treatments. Since it was a rare cancer, the treatment protocol wasn’t exactly tested. Would it work? Apparently, it did, since I’m still here. Although I’ve had two other cancers since then, but that is another story.

At the time I was a 24 year old woman who had only been married a couple years and thought about my husband’s father who had died of cancer at the age of 32. I wondered if my husband would become a young widower, as his mother had become a young widow.   

What I am getting to, I lost interest in the garden. I was preoccupied. Don stepped up as the reluctant gardener, and the only thing that garden produced was tomatoes—a lot of them—that all showed up at the same time. Remember how I said I didn’t understand how many tomatoes one of those little packets of starters might produce?

I knew less about canning than I did about gardening, so I decided to harvest the tomatoes and made a huge batch of spaghetti, and we hosted a party for all our friends, where we ate spaghetti.

Don removed what was left of the garden and covered the area with St. Augustine grass. Over the years, when I’d express an interest in having a vegetable garden again, he was less than enthusiastic, understandably so, since he didn’t want to become the caretaker for another garden, yet mostly because we never lived in a place where a garden might flourish.

I remember my sister and her husband had briefly resided in Grants Pass, Oregon before my marriage. My brother-in-law was on a hot shot crew back then. While I never got to visit them while they lived in Grants Pass, I heard about the house they rented and their vegetable garden. My sister was a novice gardener back then (today she is a Master Gardener) and told me how easily her garden grew in Oregon. 

As the years went by and we eventually moved to back to Havasu, I tried to grow a few things in pots, such as herbs, peppers, and tomatoes. While there are some farms in nearby Parker, and I knew a few people in Havasu who were successful growing vegetables on their patios, I failed. Just as I had failed with my Pomona garden.

When we moved to Oregon in 2021 my husband was no longer skeptical about having a garden. Not only were we living in a green belt, we had the help of my son and daughter-in-law.

I have to credit Scott and SeAnne for our current vegetable garden. Ironically, after moving to Oregon I had a medical condition that prevented me from taking full responsibility for my garden. It wasn’t as scary as cancer, it was a bad knee that required surgery.

Scott and SeAnne assembled and placed my above ground garden beds, filled them with soil, and for the first few years planted most of the vegetables. After watching countless gardening videos on YouTube, SeAnne had become a Master Gardener in her own right, not an official one like my sis, but that girl knows what she is doing.

Last year we decided to add a greenhouse to the Holmestead. It will be a place I can grow lettuce year round, where I can start seedlings, where I might escape from the rain yet still see some sunshine. Our greenhouse arrives in two weeks.

Since we are greenhouse novices—just as we were garden novices some 47 years ago—I wondered if any of my readers might have some tips for us beginners. Maybe suggestions on what we should purchase to get us started. Maybe your favorite brand of seed starter tray, containers or grow lights.

I know I can watch YouTube Videos, and I am, but I was wondering if anyone out there had personal favorites you would like to share.

Thanks!

Mom reached out to me this morning.

This morning, while making my bed, I tapped on the top of my Apple HomePod. Last night I had been listening to a book with it, and I wondered if it might start playing again. But instead of the book, Siri said something like, “I’ve selected a song especially for you.” Then Moon River started playing.

Moon River was one of my mom’s favorite songs. As some of you reading this already know, she passed away three months ago—on October 24.  During the last three days of her life, I was by her side throughout the day, and even though she was unconscious, I would play her favorite songs for her. One of those was Moon River.

I don’t think I have ever played Moon River at home. At least, not since she moved into the care home, 18 months before her death. And the last time I played the song on my phone was three months ago, as I sat by her bedside at the care home.

I suppose skeptics will roll their eyes and say Siri played it because I played it numerous times back in October.

But for me, I see it different. Mediums often tell us spirits use music to reach out to loved ones they’ve left behind. For me, Mom was reaching out, letting me know she was okay, and thanking me for being by her side and playing her favorite songs.

Loss is not always the same.

My mother—one of my dearest friends and greatest champions—passed away less than two weeks before the last election. While Mom’s death was not a surprise, after all she was 96 years old, suffered from dementia, and was on Hospice—I was still in the early days of processing her death and my grief.

 Then came the election results, and I had another loss to process.

I’ve heard some people claim MAGA supporters see the elections as a sporting event. They put on their red hats, dress up in flag-like apparel, and adorn their vehicles with flags and banners. And when they lose—or win—their reaction is similar to a loss or win of their favorite team. 

As for me, I keep thinking of that viral video of the Trump supporter sobbing after his last loss, begging him to come back and save her and our country. She was quite dramatic.

It’s interesting to me, because the loss I feel is not about any of those things. 

You see, I am not sad for my team, because for me it was never akin to a sporting event. Plus, I’m not a sports fan.

Nor am I sad for myself, like that sobbing Trump supporter.

And the loss I’m experiencing has nothing to do with any sadness I might feel for our country. 

The grief I’ve been processing regarding the last election is about a profound sense of disappointment in my fellow Americans—especially family members who decided to vote for him, or people whom I consider friends. 

It is a visceral, gut wrenching, sadness in people. I have always been an optimist. I’ve always held onto the belief that people are inherently good. But now I ask, are they?

This is not about politics. Had someone like Liz Cheney been the GOP candidate and won, I would not have been happy, because I disagree with her politics. BUT I would not be experiencing this gut wrenching disappointment in my fellow Americans.  

 Our country has put into office a man who, like an adolescent, calls his adversaries insulting names. He is a serial cheater and womanizer, who partied with Epstein, bragged about grabbing women between their legs and hitting on married women, and lacks any decorum or diplomacy.

He has publicly mocked a disabled journalist, insulted POWs, dodged the draft with suspicious bone spurs, is an adjudicated rapist and has been convicted of 34 felonies. He is obsessed with revenge and can easily be swayed with excessive flattery. I could go on with my list, but what would be the point? None of that mattered.

Many of his supporters cheer on his behavior, claiming it makes him more relatable—he is just like us! Not sure how that is a flex.

But people I care about voted for this man, and my disappointment in them is profound. It is a little like discovering someone you care about is now best friends with a guy who went on a crime spree in your town, which included manhandling women, stealing from charities and improperly taking sensitive files from his last job, and the only reason he didn’t go to jail for any of his crimes is because he got out on a technicality. He never apologized for any of his crimes, just denied or made excuses, despite the evidence. He also likes to mock the disabled guy who works at the grocery store, and when he sees a woman who doesn’t give him the attention he desires, he lets everyone know he thinks she is fat or ugly. Despite all of that, your friend thinks the guy is terrific.

(Photo: About losses. Mom on the left.)