A Few of My Favorite Writings on Nature

When I was a kid, I’d turning out the light and climbing under the covers at nine o’clock. After a few minutes, the hall outside my door would grow quiet as my parents retreated to the living room to watch TV. Then, I’d reach under my bed, pull out a flashlight, and open the top book of the stack that lived at my bedside. During those years, I probably read more than I slept every night.

Fast-forward a couple of decades to when I was deciding what to pursue in graduate school. There really wasn’t that much debate. I could get a master’s degree that involved reading books and talking and writing about them for several years? Um, yes, please.

There are two things that happen when you’ve fallen into a really excellent tale:

• you lose yourself, or
• you become so enmeshed that even after you close the book, the world, characters, ideas, or plot forever reside inside you.

Both are ways of removing focus from yourself, which can be healthy in a world of selfies and constant comparisons to the lives of others through social media. Gardening and spending time in nature offer this same sort of therapy.

So I’m especially delighted when writer’s take the time to slow down, study, and capture the natural world around us in words. Here are a few that have stuck with me over the years:

Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer

While the oddness of the story is what initially appealed to me, I didn’t expect to come away identifying so strongly with the main character, a biologist. For a few weeks, I had all but decided to go back to school to earn a BS in biology* – until I came to my senses and remembered how I’ve always struggled with the sciences. This was the passage that initially ensnared me:

“My lodestone, the place I always thought of when people asked me why I became a biologist, was the overgrown swimming pool in the backyard of the rented house where I grew up . . . Soon after we moved in, the grass around its edges grew long. Sedge weeds and other towering plants became prevalent . . . The water level slowly rose, fed by the rain, and the surface became more and more brackish with algae . . . Bullfrogs moved in . . . Rather than get rid of my thirty-gallon freshwater aquarium, as my parents wanted, I dumped fish into the pool . . . Local birds, like herons and egrets, began to appear . . . By some miracle, too, small turtles began to live in the pool, although I had no idea how they had gotten there.”

The biologist goes on to describe how she’d “escape” from her bullies and parents to this developing ecosystem. She observed its changes and took notes on species and life cycles. Rather than learn about ecosystems through textbooks, “[she] wanted to discover the information on [her] own first.”

“The Marginal World” by Rachel Carson

Rachel Carson was a marine biologist best known for Silent Spring, a book concerned with the impact of pesticides on the environment. However, I first read her in a class on the craft of nonfiction, while we were studying nature writing. “The Marginal World,” first published in The Edge of the Sea, describes a trip to the shore in detail that shimmers with the ethereal.

“Under water that was clear as glass the pool was carpeted with green sponge. Grey patches of sea squirts glistened on the ceiling and colonies of soft coral were a pale apricot color. In the moment when I looked into the cave a little elfin starfish hung down, suspended by the merest thread, perhaps by only a single tube foot. It reached down to touch its own reflection, so perfectly delineated that there might have been, not one starfish, but two. The beauty of the reflected images and of the limpid pool itself was the poignant beauty of things that are ephemeral, existing only until the sea should return to fill the little cave.”

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

“John Steinbeck” is a name reviled by many high school students forced to slog through The Grapes of Wrath. I count myself lucky that I didn’t read that heavy volume until graduate school, where I could appreciate Steinbeck’s lengthy descriptions of rural America. Few things make me feel more rooted and patriotic than Steinbeck’s vivid accounts of American countryside, from Oklahoma to California. However, it is East of Eden that Steinbeck described as “the story of my country and the story of me.”

“From both sides of the valley little streams slipped out of the hill canyons and fell into the bed of the Salinas River. In the winter of wet years the streams ran full-freshet, and they swelled the river until sometimes it raged and boiled, bank full, and then it was a destroyer. The river tore the edges of the farm lands and washed whole acres down; it toppled barns and houses into itself, to go floating and bobbing away. It trapped cows and pigs and sheep and drowned them in its muddy brown water and carried them to the sea. Then when the late spring came, the river drew in from its edges and the sand banks appeared. And in the summer the river didn’t run at all above ground. Some pools would be left in the deep swirl places under a high bank. The tules and grasses grew back, and willows straightened up with the flood debris in their upper branches. The Salinas was only a part-time river. ”

I’m sure I’ve forgotten other fantastic works, but these are the words that I carry with me day-to-day, sometimes ringing in my ears loudly, sometimes faint and soft. Looking back over just these three texts, though, it’s pretty clear that I feel a connection to water. But what is nature without water? Water – and words – are necessary for life.

 

 

*This isn’t as crazy a proposition as it might initially seem. I get discounted tuition at the university where I work, and I have several semesters of my G.I. Bill left to use. And I’m a total nerd who loves to learn.

 

Let’s Talk About Raccoons

Every now and then, photos of videos of raccoons will appear on my Facebook Newsfeed, talking about how cute or impressive the little buggers are. I have to admit, I used to agree. Raccoons can be little chubby balls of fur with masks and human-like grabby paws.

Do you also like to rip feathers out of panicking chickens?

But ever since I got my first pair of chickens back in 2013? Ugh. Rarely have I felt such malevolence toward another living thing.

Recently, Toronto spent millions of dollars on “raccoon-resistant” trash bins, only to have some “uber-smart” raccoons still break into the garbage like it ain’t no thang. I wasn’t surprised. While memes might paint raccoons as chubby, lazy little critters, anyone who’s experienced them as a pest will tell you the opposite is true (okay, they’re probably still chubby, but they sure as heck aren’t lazy).

And they’re everywhere.

I live in the middle of a residential area, where lots are about 60 feet wide. Although houses are raised (thanks, sea-level elevation and flood potential!), the openings are fenced or bricked up. And yet, there are hoards of raccoons that are able to find someplace to sleep during the day so they can wreak havoc at night.

Sneaky, sneaky.

Some of those masked grabby-bears are ballsy!

One night, my chickens started making concerned coos. I went outside with my hefty Maglite to scare off what I assumed was a single raccoon, or maybe a pair. When I round the corner, four pairs of eyes gleamed back at me from on and around the coop. There was a rustle overhead, and I shined the flashlight into the branches of the oak tree to find several more raccoons staring down at me. In total, there were more than half a dozen.

I inched closer to the raccoon gang, made noise, and threw sticks. None of them moved. Whenever animals don’t behave as expected, rabies is a concern. However, I’m more of the opinion that this particular gang was used to people and empowered by their numbers. Whatever the reason, I decided to put faith in the strength of my coop and go back inside. Fortunately, they eventually left without breaking in.

Other memorable raccoon run-ins include:

• A raccoon chasing one of my hens and pinning her down. I caught them in time and she was able to get free, minus a few feathers.
• A raccoon sneaking into my coop every afternoon for weeks to steal eggs and feed. It was pretty skinny and probably only out during the day due to desperation for food. I borrowed a trap and relocated the bugger.
• A raccoon breaking the door of my nest box to try and grab my hen, who spent all night and day in the box due to a strong broody spell. She got away, and on the positive side, the attack broke her broody spell. Even though it was after midnight, I immediately repaired the nest box because…

Raccoons will always return.

Unless you physically relocate the animal beyond its reasonable travel distance, or you make whatever “treat” completely inaccessible, raccoons will keep coming back. They are persistent, surprisingly clever, and occasionally malicious.

A friend recommended I get an airsoft gun and pop the critters. I’m preeeetty sure that’s not legal within city limits, but even if it is, I have terrible aim and would probably hit a hen…or a neighbor!

Therefore, for current and would-be chicken owners, I have one major piece of advice:

Build a fortress.

When installing your coop and run:

1. Cover all “open” sides and the roof and any windows in galvanized hardware cloth. Secure the hardware cloth onto your frame with exterior screws and washers (the hardware cloth holes are too big for the screw heads, so the washers hold everything in place).
2. Bury hardware cloth or heavy pavers all around the perimeter of your coop and run, extending out at least a foot. This will prevent digging (and raccoons will dig).
3. Invest in a treadle feeder that “hides” the food in a closed container when the birds aren’t actively eating.
4. Place your nest boxes inside the coop and off the ground. If you include an “easy access” door that let’s you collect eggs from the outside, make sure it’s secure enough that raccoons won’t treat it as an easy-access door too.
5. Secure doors with screw links/carabiners or actual locks. Raccoons can squeeze and work out rods, so simple carabiners or slides won’t keep things secure.
6. If you feed your birds table scraps, don’t leave them out overnight.
7. If your birds free-range during the day, put them up half an hour before the sun fully sets. I’ve caught raccoons prowling around my yard well before twilight.
8. Realize that despite your best efforts, you might still lose a bird. Following all of the steps above should minimize your risk, but anything that lives outside may become a predator’s meal. Losing a bird sucks, but it’s not the end of the world.

Remember that you can always rebuild. I learned about 40% of what I know about coops and predators from research and 60% from failures and near-misses. The important thing is that you pay attention, learn from what went wrong, and immediately take action to remedy the misstep.

Although I prefer prevention as a way to eliminate painful situations before they arise, it’s not like I can eliminate raccoons from my neighborhood. Sometimes, all you can do is make yourself a more troublesome than everyone around you.

Wherever or Whatever Your Home, Plant a Garden

Scroll through the gardening subreddit, and you’ll see a variety of gardens. Some users own vast spans of land in lush, green countryside. Others live in the desert or at the base of rocky mountains. More than a few post photos of tiny gardens along windowsills in offices or a collection of pots along a balcony.

Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com

I’ve been spoiled. For almost all of my life, I’ve had ground in which to dig. There were a few exceptions – my college dorm and the apartment in which I resided in Pittsburgh – but for the most part, gardening for me was as simple as choosing a spot with good sun, digging a hole, and tucking in a pansy or a tomato plant.

People are drawn to nature. Studies have shown that being around plants calms us, increases our concentration, decreases our stress, and fosters our compassion for others. Caring for something living makes us feel more alive and connected to the world. My friends who have houseplants speak of forgetting to water them in the same guilt-ridden tone as if they’d forgotten to give their dog breakfast. Most plants, however, have the benefit of not needing attention more than once a day, if that.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Let’s break this down even further. Whether it’s one ficus or an acre of sunflowers, caring for plants calls us to act (consciously or not) in several ways that can positively extend through the rest our lives:

Responsibility

Someone or something depends on us, and we are important to them or it. Without us, that person or thing will wither. At the end of the day, we all need to feel needed.

Compassion

By embracing responsibility for something even as small as a plant, we practice compassion. Like my friends who forgot to water their houseplant a few paragraphs above, by physically caring for something, we also learn to emotionally care for that thing.

Mindfulness

One of the ways gardens calm us is by encouraging a state of mindfulness, which roots us in the present. Gardening revives the senses and surrounds us with sensations – a prickly leaf, the refreshing scent of lemon grass, dew drops shining in the sun. Working with plants forces us to be slow and attentive.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Fortunately, even just looking at nature or going for a walk can provide some of the same calming, de-stressing power of gardening. Even the photos in this post should give you a little boost – searching for them gave me one! But there’s really nothing like the hands-on work of caring for your own plants.

When I lived in that apartment in Pittsburgh, I felt chained in. I really missed having a little bit of yard in which to dig around. And I’m kicking myself now because I barely made any attempt at a patio garden. I figured it wouldn’t work because I only knew how to grow things in the ground. But since I’ve lived in my house, I’ve grown things in raised and ground-level beds, in pots and troughs and hay baskets, in cheap plastic cups and specialized water-retaining planters. In doing so, I’ve come to realize that the set-up tends to be the same, no matter where you grow:

1. Study Your Location

How much space do you have? Is there full sun? Shade? Sun in the morning and shade in the afternoon? Is the soil soggy or sandy? Is it a place where squirrels like to dig? Or do you have pets that will want to nibble on the plant? At the very least, you’ll need to know space, light, water, and “predators.”

2. Know Your Resources

If you only have one store nearby that sells plants, it can be frustrating to build a huge list of amazing plants based off of internet research, and then arrive at the store to find nothing like what you hoped. Therefore, it’s helpful to have some idea of what’s in stock nearby. Of course, you can order plants online, but like anything else, if you’re just getting started, it’s a good idea to see the plants first-hand. Home improvement stores like Lowes and Home Depot will have a selection, but I also see plants outside grocery stores and pet stores. Farmers markets can also be a good source, particularly because they’ll probably have plants that grow well locally and are in-season.

3. Bigger Can Be Better

For folks just entering the garden game, stick to mature plants. Seedlings and seeds might be cheaper, but it’s really frustrating to nurture a seed only for it to die because you watered it a little too much. Mature plants are a lot more forgiving and you need fewer resources. It’s totally find to stick to them forever, but for the serious gardener, growing things from seed can be a fun and gratifying challenge. Keep in mind that depending on what you’re growing, seeds might require additional equipment – a humidity cover, seedling soil, etc.

4. Protect Your Plant

Protection means everything from mulching to fencing to hanging an indoor plant out of a curious cat’s reach. Unfortunately, sometimes you aren’t aware of dangers to your plant until after it’s in the ground (and you suddenly discover that squirrels just love to dig in that patch of earth to bury their nuts). But hey, you’re checking on it regularly anyway, right? So you’ll be able to adapt and help that plant thrive.

Much of the rest is just knowing your plant. Succulents needs much less water than bushy flowers with thin leaves. Butterfly bush roots will rot in boggy soil. The first year may be a rough one, but the second year will be easier.

You’ll learn and a little bud of pride will bloom in your heart.

 

The Evolution of a Pond

I’m rarely satisfied.

This trait is both beautiful and terrible. It pushes me to achieve more than I ever thought possible, and yet I almost never feel truly finished with anything – projects, writing, etc. I know that I can always improve.

In Season 1, Episode 7 of “Revisionist History,” Malcolm Gladwell describes two types of artists. Picassos seem to create pieces quickly (but often meditate on the piece long beforehand). Cézannes remake the same song, object, etc. over and over until reaching a “final” product.

Although I think and plan, I am a Cézanne.

I’ve previously traced my chicken coop designs over the six years I’ve lived in my human coop. But long before I ever decided to get chickens, I started thinking about ponds. I’ve always loved the water – gentle splashing, smooth reflections of light. The moment I started looking at houses to buy, in the back of my mind, I was also planning my first pond.

Before I dug into the ground the first time, I had a few goals for my water feature:

• a small waterfall
• fish
• to be able to hear the water through open living room windows.
• within reach of an outlet (for the waterfall)

The most obvious location was right outside my side door. There’s a covered exterior outlet, and the side door leads straight into my living room. Perfect!

I started digging and pretty quickly ran into a thick PVC pipe. Okay, so my pond would be two levels: the end with the PVC pipe would be about six inches shallower than the far end. I figured it actually worked out pretty well for water circulation because the deeper end held the pump and filter box, and a hose ran the water from the box to the waterfall at the shallow end.

This first pond was basically a hole with a sheet of pond liner on the clay (what passes for dirt here), some river pebbles along the bottom, and pavers around the rim. I built the “waterfall” out of stones and old concrete chunks I found around the yard.

What that picture doesn’t show is the leaves that constantly rained onto the water from an oak tree overhead. The tree provided nice shade that kept algae at bay, but it made cleaning the pond a constant struggle. Those little rectangular pavers were also inching into the water too.

That said, the pond was cute and met my initial needs. It was enough low enough that the chickens stopped by for water breaks. The few goldfish that called it home seemed pretty happy too.

Here it’s not as pristine, but the goldfish enjoyed the creeping jenny trailing into the water. I also added a second layer of pavers around the perimeter, which improved the stability. However, the leaves were still an issue, and the chickens kicked mulch and debris into the pond every time they went near it.

The biggest issue with the first pond? Look how close that wall (and the house foundation) is to the pond. Although the pond likely wasn’t deep enough to permanently impact the foundation, as a new homeowner, I grew nervous (ditto with the weight of the water on that PVC pipe). Having a hole so close to the foundation just wouldn’t do for the long term.

The second pond was a little bit away from the house, but still within reach of the outlet. The distance was maybe eight feet? I also wanted an above-ground pond to combat the mulch-kicking from the chickens.

Rather than buy a bunch of pavers, I decided to build a wooden frame and make my own “pavers” out of Quikrete. They weren’t gorgeous, but they were cheap and functional. As there was no obvious place for a waterfall, I opted for a fountain in the middle.

Actually, what I really wanted was to a hand holding a sword coming out of the water – a la Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake – with the sword acting as the fountain. I tried to build one out of a plastic sword and a manicurist practice hand, but I just couldn’t get it to work. Years later, I’m still sad; the Sword-in-the-Lake fountain would’ve been awesome.

You may notice that this pond had the added benefit of being a nice gathering point for a sitting area. That wooden post between the benches is part of a pergola I built not long after rebuilding the pond. The only thing is, this space was cramped. The pond was also a bit too small because I opted not to dig down more than a few inches before building up the sides.

But the biggest issue with this second version? My own desires and aesthetics. I yearned for mountain streams and curving water. The above-ground pond looked too constructed. I wanted something more natural and meandering, like the creeks of the North Carolina mountains where I used to hike. So down came Pond 2.0.

For the third pond, I started digging again. I laid out ropes and hold water hoses to approximate a winding creek. It would have a waterfall at one end and a pool (with the pump box) at the other. A second waterfall would separate the “creek” and the pool.

Fortunately, I was able to reuse all the pavers – bought and made – and the pebbles. I had to buy a few more bags of pebbles, though, because this new pond was quite a bit larger than previous versions.

Around the same time I was building this version of the pond, I had four ducklings quickly growing to adult size. One of the reasons I wanted to build larger was to give them a space (in addition to the repurposed bathtub in the coop) in which to splash around. Water isn’t required for ducks, but they sure do love it.

The only downside of having a duck pond is those silly birds are also ravenous murder birds. I can’t really keep fish or any other living thing in the pond. Even the cleverest goldfish with plenty of hiding spots has eventually gotten snapped up.

This past summer, though, I tried an experiment and fenced off the upper pond with poultry wire. I added some aquatic plants and let the algae grow, hoping to create the perfect environment for toads and/or frogs. My end goal is to establish a toad or frog community for pest control in the gardens (which are only a few feet away from the pond).

It seemed to take forever – but I also didn’t have a good idea on when tadpoles appear in New Orleans. Then sometime around June, I realized little black dots were scooting around the pond!

Pond 3.0 has worked well so far. It’s definitely my favorite design, and my qualms with it stem from structural choices. For example, the waterfall separating the upper and lower pond leaks water and is less of a “fall” and more of a “seeping pile of rocks.” I’ve also struggled to control algae at times because the pool sits in direct sunlight for much of the day (fortunately, the algae issue seems to have worked itself out, probably due to the ecosystem self-balancing).

I love ponds, and my favorite designs also skew towards more natural states. I enjoy watching plants and animals grow, develop, and interact. That’s probably why I also love creating gardens – it’s not just about growing plants. Gardens, for me, involve creating a natural community. Then, I just step back and observe.

 

Clean up Your Life

When I was nine years old, there were three things I wanted to be: a fashion designer, Gwen Stefani, and a maid. (At the time, who knew that I could’ve just been Stefani and knocked out two goals at once with her L.A.M.B. line?)

The. Coolest.

Clearly, two of those goals are slightly more exciting than the third.

I was a standard American kid who hated putting away her clothes and making her bed. And yet, I knew how satisfying it felt to be in a clean space. When my dresser was arranged and my floor was vacuumed, I could think more clearly and focus on the important things (like Gwen Stefani’s killer style – blue hair and eyebrow rhinestone?!). I could find what I needed (Barbies) and see what I had (more Barbies).

Plus, Saturdays were family chore day, so I learned from a very early age to associate cleaning with family time. I fondly remember Saturdays where my mom told me to choose some music and we’d open the side door to let in a breeze while we washed windows and mopped.

(side note: if I ever have kids, I’m absolutely involving them in chores as young as possible. It may seem like trouble at first, but it can pay off for years afterward.)

And yet, even knowing the benefits and remembering the warm memories associated with cleaning, I still struggle on a daily basis. Not to make excuses (I’m definitely going to make excuses), but I’m also the sole caretaker of a 1600+ square foot house with pets. I balance taking care of the house and yard with a full-time job.

I blink and the house is dirty again! And I don’t have room in my schedule to clean until next week! Even as a single woman with zero human dependents, my life is hectic. I have a ton to get done everyday, and although much of it is self-imposed (gardens, shed rebuilds), I’m not yet willing to cut those joys out of my life.

In the past few years, I’ve made an exciting discovery: a magical pocket of time exists every day. It’s the quiet hour or two while the rest of the world is still sleeping, or has maybe just awoken. Demands haven’t started to pile up, and the time is mine to do as I please.

In other words, I’ve started cleaning first-thing in the morning.

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

I was already in the habit of waking early to exercise, so my morning cleaning bursts started with wiping down the counters after strength training. This grew into starting loads of towels, scooping the cat box, mopping, vacuuming…

Truth be told, I’ve actually started slacking off on exercise in favor of cleaning. Of course, a lot depends on whether or not I have people over (what kind of a monster wakes someone at 6am with a vacuum cleaner?). But nearly every weekday morning, I clean.

Not only does my morning tidying habit mean there’s less to do on the weekends or evenings, but I get the same degree of satisfaction from a morning scrub-down that I did from exercise. I start the day with a sense of accomplishment, which is almost better than a good cup of coffee.

As opposed to the evenings, when I’d rather work on projects or read, I actually want to clean in the morning. And after I’m exhausted from work, I can find my tools or notebooks or whatever, because I put things back in place when I was clear-headed that morning. I don’t have to get frustrated when I search my whole house for the stupid screwdriver and end up collapsed on the floor and feeling like a failure in life (it’s a slippery slope, folks).

Breaking large tasks into smaller pieces isn’t exactly a new or unusual concept. Rather, that advice is touted for everything from saving up for retirement to writing a novel. The morning cleaning method falls into this same pattern, although unlike a lot of other larger goals, it’s not really designed to ever be “finished.” Dust will fall, cats will shed. However, waltzing around with a podcast in my ears, a coffee mug in one hand, and a dust cloth in the other is a pretty darn good way to start the day in perpetuity.

Dress Nicely on Mondays

Sunday nights often arrive with at least a few negative emotions – apprehension, a touch of dread, disappointment that the weekend is nearly finished. Even though my day job is satisfying and my coworkers are clever and fun, I still have to concede that come Monday morning, most of my daylight won’t be as wholly mine as it is on the weekends.

I work in an office environment that has a somewhat loose dress code. I make an effort to dress somewhat professionally, though, to visually mark myself as “not a grad student.” Most of my coworkers are professors who taught me only a year or two ago, and I aim to make it as easy for them as possible to treat me like an employee instead of their student.

But I make an extra effort to dress up nicely on Mondays.

These babies don’t just get busted out on any old day.

On an average day, I will probably wear a skirt, flats, and a nice t-shirt (tailored, solid color) or a button-down. In weather that doesn’t feel like Satan’s armpits, I might swap out the skirt for some pants (I’m a fan of the Sloan and Ryan cuts from Banana Republic). My hair, which is several inches past my shoulders, is probably slapped up in a bun or maybe braided.

But on  , I usually wear a dress and possibly some heels or a pair of suede sandals (particularly if I’ve painted my toenails on Sunday night). I’ll wear my hair down, or perhaps clip just a bit of it up.

Of course, “dressing nicely” means something different to everyone. I ask myself, “what would I wear to a black-tie event?” and base my choices off of a scaled-down version of that.

But what’s the point? Mondays are full of bleary-eyed drones who miss the weekend, so who cares if my hair is up or down?

Well, for one, I do. It’s similar to the principle of wearing nice underwear – no one else knows, but it gives the wearer a little boost of confidence. When I dress up at black-tie events, I feel elegant and powerful. On Mondays, I like to tap into that feeling.

Like this – but in a cubicle with papers scattered everywhere. Photo by Lucas Allmann on Pexels.com

And because I enjoy feeling elegant and powerful (c’mon, who doesn’t?), I look forward to dressing nicely. That anticipation takes away some of the sting of the weekend’s close.

Moving away from personal effects, I believe there are also benefits to others when I dress nicely. In Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance, Angela Duckworth argues that one way to grow and improve is to surround yourself with gritty people so their habits and values will rub off on you. Now, I’m not thinking “gritty” when I slip a dress over my head (unless I’m at the beach), but I do think that dressing nicely encourages others to not only treat me more professionally, but to subconsciously make similar efforts in their own lives.

Okay, let’s take some leaps and say I’ve ignited change. Everyone in the office is impeccably dressed, and we look fiiine – but so what? Well, for one thing, the subtle boosts of confidence all around can improve the quality of our work (which I’d argue is already excellent, but I may be biased).

Looking professional and put-together also makes a good impression on the students, faculty, and visitors who come through the office. Whose advice would you be more likely to follow:  a woman in a wrinkled t-shirt and holey khakis, or a woman in a tailored suit with styled hair? And if they both presented the same idea to you, would you support the one who looked like she just rolled out of bed, or the one who looks like she has her life together and can easily see the idea onto the next stages?

I was going to find a “sloppy” contrast photo, but apparently the stock photo gallery only features beautiful, put-together people. Photo by Christina Morillo on Pexels.com

I work at a public university in a state ranked #49 out of 50 in education (purely looking at higher education, we do slightly better at #42). Ouch. We need all the help we can get. Therefore, when it comes down to votes or public issues related to supporting education, it’s in our best interest to have the most positive associations popping up in the minds of everyone who comes to us – and that includes dressing nicely.

“But wait!” you might be shrieking while jabbing accusatory fingers at your screen. “You specified Mondays as dressy days!”

I did! But here’s the thing:  I’ve found that starting the week off by making an effort at my appearance means I’m more likely to continue doing that throughout the week. In other words, if I don’t care about my appearance on Monday, I’m less likely to care for the rest of the week. However, if I dress nicely on Monday, that subconsciously becomes my standard for the week.

But, ya know . . . as soon as I get home, the dress goes back in the closet and out comes the rags and the muddy garden clogs. Life’s about balance.

Working with Your Strengths and Values

When I was little, I watched my older brother draw comics and build empires with LEGOs. I wanted to do everything that he did. Part of that was me being the annoying, copycat, little sister, but there were some innate strengths at play too. My dad is artistically inclined; he would sit at the kitchen table and doodle cartoons on scraps of paper. My mom is more logic-minded; she’s the musician and mathematician and has a talent for solving puzzles.

And yet, as I advanced through school, I avoided both of those paths. Artists starve, as do architects. Business was a no-go, as economics was equally boring and slightly beyond my grasp. Psychology would require extensive schooling to have my own little practice, including horn-rimmed glasses and a leather-and-oak office. Engineering and architecture mean high-level math (that shrieking? it’s me).

So much math in that computer!

For six years, I pursued what I thought I was supposed to do as a military officer, but I couldn’t understand why I didn’t excel like I had in school. I did a perfectly fine job, but I wanted to be awesome. I just couldn’t reach that bar for all the decorum and traditions that stood in my way. Perhaps more importantly, crucial areas – creativity and the ability to build something that was truly mine – were off-limits to me:

In my current position – a combination of university teaching and administration – I’ve started to rediscover my strengths. The old artistic sense returned, and I’ve spent some time making event posters and course trailers (like movie trailers, but for college classes!). While I never became an engineer or architect, buying a house has encourage me to plan and build on scales I never imagined. And one positive from my military service translated over to my new job:  I understand that clearly written policy is part of the foundation of any organization, and I am capable of creating whole manuals full of the stuff.

“Step 1:  Be nice to the students. They are paying a lot of money to be here. But don’t be a pushover; this is a public institution, not Harvard.”

These realizations didn’t happen overnight. I didn’t even consciously think about them. Rather, I was reading an article about tapping into strengths at work. For much of my life, I’ve been doing just as the author warns against – undervaluing my strengths. I’ve been so focused on challenging myself, putting myself in uncomfortable situations to force growth, that I had convinced myself I had no innate strengths.

But say you haven’t had the “opportunity” to suppress your strengths or the freedom to discover/re-discover them. How do you find the areas in which you innately excel? There are any number of aptitude tests you can take, but I’ve found it helpful to consider these three areas:

1. What seems obvious to you, but other people do not seem to “get” it?
   • I’m a reader and always looking for signs or directions. Many other people don’t even seem to notice those same signs. I have a natural drive to figure out how things work and explain that to others – hence, writing manuals.
2. What projects (or parts of projects) have netted you compliments?
   • Designing event posters was part of my job from the beginning, but then someone approach me to make flyers for upcoming courses. Soon, faculty members and students were streaming by my desk with compliments and requests for more.
3. Read and meditate.
   • Listening to the audiobook version of Jeff VanderMeer’s Annihilation filled my head with fantasies of going back to school to study biology. The protagonist, a biologist, found her passion by studying the transition of ponds, as humanity leaves and nature takes over. I could picture myself doing the same. But then I stepped back from the dream and really thought about what that would entail. Huge lecture halls filled with students at least ten years my junior. Days filled with science, a subject I’ve never found particularly easy. And what would I do with a spare Bachelors degree? Nothing in my long-term plans aligned with it. For now, at least, I’ll just sit by my own pond and observe.

Oh man, the first iteration of my pond was so lush. Those fish would be duck food now.

Skills at which we’re naturally strong might seem easy. Therefore, this idea of refocusing on strengths might seem counter-intuitive to the path of hard work. It’s not. Rather, strength and hard work can work in tandem.

• Strength:  I’m good at organizing, so I planned a garden for my front yard.
• Hard Work:  I built the garden by hand, rather than hire someone else to it.

Now things get really interesting when we bring value into the mix. You probably have some idea of what you value – family, loyalty, socializing – but have you ever written any of it down? Or really thought about your values and their role in your life? Here are some ways to guide your meditation:

1. The last time you felt truly at peace, what were you doing? Where were you? Who were you with?
   • I felt deeply at peace during my morning run through the park. This reflects my values of:  being in nature, exercise/pushing myself physically, and solitude (I run at a time when most people are just waking up).
2. If you were on the cover of a magazine, what would be the achievement that brought you there?
   • Choosing one thing might be difficult, but it’s okay to have two or more. Even a general sense will help you. Many of the things that come to my mind, for example, involve creation and making things with my own two hands.

Being aware of your values can help drive your daily activities, and when combined with your strengths and hard work, they can form a supportive triad for living a satisfied life. Here’s the example again, with value incorporated:

• Value:  being outdoors and growing things
• Strength:  planning, organizing, building
• Hard work:  performing the labor to create the garden myself

Hard work is, by its nature, meant to be challenging, but there’s a difference between hard work counter to your values or strengths (or involving something that you just don’t care about) and pushing yourself on a project that embodies your values. During my time in the military, I was constantly doing the former, and I was absolutely miserable. I dreaded work every single day. On the opposite end, the garden project has me almost gleefully outside in the early morning hours before work, bent over and pulling weeds. On weekends, I can’t wait to wake up and haul bags of rocks or stain my fence because I’m tapping into my values and strengths.

One of the beautiful things about the value-strength-work triad is that by working hard toward your values, you might discover or develop new or less predominant strengths. If you consciously choose projects that align with the triad, you’ll naturally curate a very satisfying life. It might take a long time – but that’s part of the hard work.

 

Make the World a Better Place Through Hard Work

What makes someone decided to dig up her lawn and plant a garden by herself?

Or another person sail across the Atlantic Ocean alone?

Or move across the country, away from friends and family, to attend school?

My local library has a ton of audio books available to borrow through Libby. I’ve really enjoyed listening to books while working on Operation: Chaos into Beauty, and recently, I’ve been working my way through Malcolm Gladwell’s repertoire.

Although Gladwell’s anecdote-heavy style is not my favorite (I’d prefer principles introduced first then explored through anecdotes, rather than scattered or buried throughout), David and Goliath studies how and why underdogs win. A David cannot demand respect in the same way that a physically imposing, battle-hardened Goliath can. So what’s an underdog to do? The answer probably won’t surprise you:  play to your strengths (and against the weaknesses of your opponent), change the game/field, and use desperation as your fuel to worker harder than the norm. I’d like to focus on that last one, but rephrase it a bit into something more akin to seeking out challenges.

Years before listening to Gladwell’s books, I started reading Mr. Money Mustache, written by a guy who certainly isn’t afraid of a little DIY. In fact, he espouses hard work as necessary to ultimate happiness: “Every single second of hard work you perform in your life, will come back and benefit you many times over for the rest of your life – in often unexpected ways.”

Shuttle crews taking the easy way out – slackers!

An underdog (or a David, to use Gladwell’s example) has two main choices:  accept that she is weaker and less capable than her opponent (give up ) or immediately start to plan how to face and surpass her opponent (fight). The former is easier and safer. And it can be the right choice sometimes.

A week, a month, or ten years from now, will this fight matter? Every now and then, the answer is “no.” Or rather, “not right now.” Sometimes you need more time to gather resources, to build your strength, to sharpen your skills. That’s okay, but it shouldn’t be the routine.

If I spend the evening watching The Office for the eighth time instead of doing my laundry, it feels good and easy in the moment. Later, though, I’m frustrated with myself for not using the time productively. I regret the evening spent spacing out in front of the TV. But if I flex a little self-discipline and do the laundry, I don’t regret missing the TV. I don’t even think about the TV. My mind is clearer. An obstacle is out of the way. I’m satisfied with my choice – and I have clean underpants to wear the next day!

All of us are underdogs, in some facet of life. Fiction is the only world where all-around topdogs live. I’ve never liked Superman very much because his vast skills and strength in everything from physical fights to morality make him boring. Acknowledging and challenging your weaknesses – now that’s the current of life!

Last weekend, I was planting marigolds in the blazing Louisiana sun, knees and fingers deep in mulch, when an older neighbor passed by and asked me if I’d done the whole yard myself. He gestured to the fence, the paths, the mountains of mulch. I told him I had, and he smiled and nodded. “And you get so much more than a pretty yard for your effort,” he said. “What you’ve gained will be with you for life.”

Everyone else who passed my yard said something like, “That’s a lot of hard work” (accompanied by a little shake of the head) or “Why isn’t your husband doing this for you?” (cue my teeth grinding)

But that neighbor gets it.

When you force yourself to complete hard work, at the most basic level, you gain or sharpen the skills directly associated with the task. For my yard, this involved learning what to do and what not to do with a tiller. Hard work also forces you to become resourceful, which entails examining yourself and your surroundings and perhaps “changing the playing field.” Another way of saying this might be “thinking outside the box.”

I wanted to add a birdbath to my front yard, but all of the ones that I liked were upwards of $100-200 and not 100% suited to my needs. But I had some pre-existing knowledge:  birds like the pond in my backyard, which is in the ground and flowing. And what materials did I already have? Silicone caulk and leftover pea gravel. I bought a wide, shallow plastic planter, a solar-powered fountain, and some blue glass pebbles for pizazz, and I made a birdbath that far better suits my needs and aesthetics than anything I saw in stores. Total cost? About $60. Frankly, it would’ve been half that if I hadn’t used the glass stones, but ya know, pizazz.

And it has a nice, wide edge for landings and takeoffs!

To top it all off, when someone says, “Ooh, that’s nifty,” I get a little spark of pride and achievement. Something I created received notice and acknowledgement. In some small or fleeting way, it has improved the world by inspiring or bringing an iota of pleasure to someone.

And while money is not a forefront topic on this blog, it is important. Financially, the hard path is often the cheaper one. In some instances it might be slightly more expensive in the short term if you end up wasting materials or decide to take a class. But the knowledge, skills, wisdom, and confidence that you’ve gained will take you much farther than clicking “buy” on a not-quite-right fiberglass pedestal birdbath.

 

Are You Fit Enough to Garden?

The top half of this woman is built like Arnold Schwarzeneggar in his prime bodybuilding and action years.

Okay, so it’s a bit of a trick question. “Gardening” is a scale-able hobby. The typical definition of “garden” is a plot of land set aside for planting (ornamental, edible, etc), but then there’s container gardening, in which a pot or other vessel is used in lieu of planting directly in the ground. Therefore, one could argue that caring for a pint-sized potted succulent is as much “gardening” as, say, cultivating several dozen flowers covering an entire front yard.

Over the half-dozen years that I’ve owned my house, I’ve come to realize how much satisfaction I get from digging in the dirt and watching seeds and young plants flourish under my hand (ignoring all the ones I’ve killed, but anyway . . .). That’s the main reason I decided to branch out from just my backyard gardens to replacing my front lawn with a garden. But here’s the thing:  I wouldn’t be able to do this if I wasn’t fit.

While I’m not living paycheck-to-paycheck, I don’t have the luxury of throwing money at non-essential projects. While a garden might be an essential part of my emotional well-being, they aren’t as dire as, say, repairing the broken air conditioning in the middle of a southern summer. Anyway, the point is, if I want a big garden (or some other intensive project), my labor source is my poor, tortured body.

Even though I’m holding the sledge here, imagine that I’m the hammer and my body is the concrete getting totally wrecked.

My front yard revamp has required a ton of materials that add up to a lot of weight:

• Over 80 2 cu. ft. bags of mulch (average moisture):  260 pounds
• Over 130 retaining wall blocks:  1,040 pounds
• Lumber for the fence:  600 pounds
• Around 30 bags of stones:  600 pounds

And I’m not even done with buying materials yet! We’re already at 2,500 pounds lifted into and out of my car and toted around the yard. Let’s also not forget the drama of The Tiller, which was far too light. But instead of being easier, that actually meant it require more physical labor to dig into my yard and rip up the grass.

It’s a good thing my body has been used to physical torture for some time, particularly recently. Back in January of this year, I made a commitment to myself to work out in the mornings. Evening workouts were too easy to dismiss in favor of plans with friends – or just saying I was too tired after work. And I’m happy to say that this is the most I’ve adhered to a workout routine in my entire life. Here’s all it is:

• Tuesdays and Thursday:  run
• Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays:  strength train (upper body, abs, and hamstrings/butt)
• Weekends: rest – or more likely, do yard work

Not me; I have more fat and red hair. But when I’m rockin’ and rollin’ with confidence, this is how I see myself.

As much as I hate to acknowledge physical boundaries and limitations, they do exist. I’ve found that as my yard work in the evenings has grown – especially when I do it for several days or weeks straight – my morning workouts must scale back. Otherwise, no matter how much I sleep or eat (or what I eat), I walk around in a state of perpetual exhaustion, and I start to resent the project. That’s kinda the opposite of the intent – I’m hauling these bags of mulch and lengths of lumber because I enjoy the process and the end result.

In terms of running, I’ve dropped from running six miles in a stretch to four and a half. My strength workouts are shorter – closer to half an hour rather than a hour.

Activity and nutrition are closely tied. Personally, my morning workouts go much more smoothly when I have grilled vegetables and chicken for dinner the night before instead of saucy, fried Chinese takeout.

Dagnabbit. Now I want takeout.

Although I track what I eat and try to stay within calorie and macro-nutrient guidelines, I also listen to my body. I’m not normally a big meat eater, but lately, I’ve been craving steak. So when I shopped at Costco the other night, a tray of juicy, red filets found its way into my cart. And holy cow, my energy rebounded after dinner that night. I, like many women, am borderline anemic, which is to say:  Ladies, if you are under a lot of physical stress, make sure you’re consuming plenty of iron!

So to circle back to the question in the title, yes, you are fit enough to garden, in some sense of the word. But if you expect to undertake a large, physically-demanding project in the next year or so, starting working out now. Build muscle and endurance. Figure out the best way to feed your body to stave of fatigue. And be prepared to sweat.

When You Look Weak

This started as a side note in TILLERMANIA 2018! but it quickly grew too large to include on that. It won’t be lighthearted and fun; this post might even sound complainy. But it’s something I need to voice.

When I picked up the tiller (that ended up being way too lightweight to chew up my yard), the tool rental employee almost certainly didn’t recommend anything heavier due to my body size. I’m a 5’4″ female. While I’m not visibly stout or hulking, I regularly (and easily) carry 50-pound bags of chicken feed or landscape rocks. It’s not uncommon for people (okay, it’s always been men) to force – yes, force – help on me when I’m loading my cart or car at the home improvement store. When this happens, they’ll either step in without asking and just start grabbing my stuff, or they ignore the several times I say, “No, thanks; I’m fine” and step in anyway.

My Victorian sister and I share facial expressions.

While dismissing my consent* is not an unimportant problem, the unstated issue here seems to be that I appear weak, and therefore, I must be weak. No questioning. No watching me demonstrate my capability (or perhaps, watching but not accepting the demonstration).

Is there a solution? The last time a man started loading my retaining wall blocks into my car after I said “no” three times, I drove off and left him to deal with the unwieldy flat cart. Frankly, I feel like the next step’s going to involve kicking someone in the shins, but getting banned from the store will put a serious damper on my ability to complete yard projects. Interestingly, a good friend who is several inches taller, a bit stouter, and wears her hair short and brilliant purple hasn’t dealt with the “helpers” I’ve faced. It might, in part, be a southern thing.

“Jim, I know being a southern gentleman is a core part of how you see yourself, but doesn’t it seem like trampling all over a woman is the opposite of that idea?”

The main point I’m making here is to highlight a struggle I face as a lone woman tackling larger house and yard projects:  continual underestimation of capability. “Oh, you poor thing,” some may be say. “Your huuuge problem is people are trying to help you.” And sure, on the one hand, it’s nice to reveal a finished chicken coop or garden and have friends and family gush their amazement at what you single-handedly created. However, it’s frustrating – and sometimes extremely discouraging and disheartening – to hear at nearly every step before that, “you’re too weak to do this.” Even though I may be – at that very moment – performing the physical labor, onlookers say, “No, you can’t.”

*an older acquaintance also argued that these men were raised to help women, and they just “didn’t know any better.” This comment, while well intentioned, really got under my skin because it erases my personhood and makes me, instead, a tool or object in the life of the “helper.”