We have a new driveway, y'all!

Last Monday, the contractor we hired (and his crew) arrived to demo our twenty-year-old, beat up driveway.  I was very excited to see so many trucks, tools, and heavy equipment arrive at our home. Although I had to leave for work shortly after demolition began, I managed to snap a few pictures, and then left the shutterbug responsibility to my beloved.

The contractor managed to remove the old driveway as well as the underlayment media, and then lay new media and compact it.  A run-off drain was installed just outside the garage to help re-direct water to the backyard.  The drain will help address the issue of water pooling, often times ankle deep,  in front of the garage and back door.

A section of sidewalk that ran across our driveway was removed.  The sidewalk ended on the north side of our driveway, so we got permission from the city to remove approximately twelve feet of sidewalk so that it ended on the south side of our driveway instead.  Removing the section sidewalk enabled the contractor to pitch the driveway in a gradual slope away from the house.

By the time all of these tasks were completed, it was raining hard enough that the contractor's called it a day.  Pouring a concrete apron around the drain wouldn't happen until five days later.

*Don't forget that you can click on the pictures to view them in a larger format.

Old view looking east

Old view looking north

Let the demo begin!

Dig in with the tines on the scoop; lift, scoop, haul away.

The old underlayment looks like it was comprised mostly of soil.

Fresh media...

...ready to be compacted.

Run-off drain set and framed.  Ready for concrete.

Drainage tube leads toward back yard.

Compact.

Even without the asphalt, the compacted sand and gravel did a better job of
keeping rain from weeping into the basement than the old driveway did.

When the three-man crew arrived at 1:00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon, I armed myself with our camera and watched the entire process.  It was interesting, to say the least, to watch concrete pour from the truck's chute, making lumpy piles in the designated frame, and be transformed into a level and smooth apron, with a perfect pitch toward the drain on all sides.  Concrete looks like it would be fun to work with.

Saturday afternoon's concrete apron pour.

Chunky.

Smooth.

Viola!

Today, thankfully, the sky was clear and the sun was shining.  The crew arrived just after 7:00 a.m. and began laying asphalt for our brand spanking new driveway!  The entire process was fascinating to watch.

At 7:00 a.m. this morning, work resumes.

Preparing for a clean marrying of driveway and street.

FRESH!

There's a steamroller in our garage!

Still steamy.

Fresh, crack-free, perfectly-pitched driveway.

While photographing the various stages of the driveway, I also snapped photos of the flowers still blooming in the yard.

Cosmos

Cosmos

Snapdragon

Zinnia 'Peppermint Stick'

Borage

Looks to me like a 'Peppermint Stick' zinnia seed mixed with
a standard zinnia seed to form this unique beauty.

Zinnia 'Peppermint Stick'

Zinnia 'Giant'

Zinnia 'Giant'

Zinnia 'Giant'

Zinnia 'Giant'

Giants!

Chewing on a 'Giant'

Garlic 'n flowers 'n tomatoes 'n other stuff

What has been happening at Wright Gardens this season?  Here are some highlights:

'Cherry Glow' heirloom poppy

Red raspberries
Several pints of jam was made from this year's red raspberry harvest

Black raspberries
Just as the red raspberries, we made several pints of jam with these scrumptious jewels.

Half of our garlic harvest

Appealing curb

Drumhead cabbage

Zapotec Pleated tomatoes

Drumhead cabbage, assorted tomatoes, jalapeño peppers, and a 'Golden Midget' watermelon

Carving pumpkins along with a pie pumpkin awaiting its fate as a pie.

Pie pumpkins
That's a'lotta pie!

A mix of Brockton Horticultural and Good Mother Stallard beans; tomatoes and celery

 I had rather be on my farm than be emperor of the world.  ~George Washington

Dad

Those of us here at Wright Gardens lost a friend and mentor in July.  My Father died two and a half years after being diagnosed with prostate cancer.  He was surrounded by us, his immediate family, when he drew his last breath, and was aware that we were all with him.  We should all be so lucky to leave this mortal coil peacefully while surrounded by our loved ones.

My Pop always had a garden and I marveled at the entire process of seed, soil, and the elements coming together to form all of the beautiful foods.  My Great-Grandmother Anna was also a farmer in a small town in central Wisconsin.  Both of these experiences with gardens, large and small, had an impact on me, and since then I've always enjoyed gardening.  Lawns are a waste of good soil.

From the time I was in the third grade, I can recall my Pop starting seeds in peat pots, which then sat in front of the large picture window of our family room from late February to around May/June each year. He'd carefully water, talk to, and care for the tiny seedlings. It was fun to look inside the peat pots each morning to see if a wee sprout had pushed its way above the surface of the soil. I still take great joy in spotting new tender sprouts making their first appearance. I talk to them, gently water and care for them, and treat each life with the same respect that my Father showed to the seedlings he helped grow year after year.

Dad grew many different things over the years -kohlrabi, radishes, sweet corn, cabbage, zucchini, beans, melons, to name a few- but tomatoes were always a constant. The same is true at Wright Gardens. In fact, the first year at our home, I dug four holes in the ground, in the middle of the lawn, and planted a tomato seedling in each.  No official garden plot was established that first year, but we had homegrown tomatoes that summer!  Garlic seed was planted that fall, too.

The tomatoes in my Pop's garden were the envy of his neighbors Art and Lee.  Every year the plants grew to be slightly taller than the fence separating the two yards, which was six feet high.  Art would always ask my Dad what he did to the plants to get them to grow so well.  My Dad would just laugh and tell Art that he talked to the plants.  The tomato plants were properly supported by strong wooden stakes, but they were tall, healthy plants that produced pound after pound after pound of beautiful tomatoes.  He did, of course, talk to the plants.

My sights were set on establishing a vegetable and herb garden during the second summer at our home. I envisioned a large garden plot (one I had envisioned for many years, really), and my beloved gave me permission to run with the plan. Seeds were planted in February and set to grow under a sunny window. Once the Earth thawed and was warm enough to break ground, my Dad came to the house with his rototiller.  He showed me how to use it and helped me till a small section of the backyard.  The following day, I finished the job and was beaming!

In the years to follow, my Pop was impressed with the raised bed frame that I built; the strawberry bed that was eventually added to the mix; as well as designated planting areas for garlic and tomatoes.  Our garden was finally in the same league as the garden my Pop maintained in my youth.  He was excited while looking around the garden with me, asking about the various things that were growing, and I could tell that he was proud of what I had accomplished in our backyard.

A book that my Dad used while establishing his garden is Crockett's Victory Garden.  I have the copy of that very book, and it is filled with my Father's handwritten annotations.  It was a treasure when he was alive, and even more of a treasure now.

Although my Dad was too sick to plant seedlings for the garden this year, my Mom purchased four tomato plants for him.  I then planted them in his garden bed under his watchful eye.  I secured the plants to stakes as they grew so they wouldn't fall to the ground as the fruit matured.  Dad was alive to see the first perfectly ripe red orb that was harvested from his garden.  The sight of it made him smile.

Now, while gardening, not only will I think of my Great-Grandmother Anna, but also of my Father, William. I love you, Papa!  A multitude of thanks for loving the Earth and introducing me to your passion of gardening, which I made my own even before I had my own yard.

Mom and Dad enjoying a weekend of fishing and camping.

My Dad was an avid fisherman.
Pictured here with pelicans that befriended him while fishing in Sanibel, Florida

The Farm

My mother's grandparents, Anna and Stanley, lived in Mosinee, Wisconsin.  They had a working farm with cows, chickens, and several barn cats.  There may have been other livestock, and perhaps a dog, but I don't remember much about the farm other than the barn cats, their kittens, Great-Grandma's kitchen with its large cast-iron, wood-burning stove, and Great-Grandpa sitting in his rocking chair next to a large radio that sat atop a side table to his right.

Even at my young age of about seven years old, I was aware that I had stepped into history.  These people, my kin, lived a different lifestyle than my brother and me would know.  Stories of my Great-Grandma Anna giving birth to twelve children in that very house; cooking meals entirely on her wood-burning stove; not needing to consult cookbooks or handwritten recipes when preparing baked goods; killing and butchering chickens for that evening's meal; her large garden, and root cellar -  here is where that all took place.

While seated cross-legged on the floor in front of my Great-Grandpa, I can recall wondering about the life he had lived thus far, and about the stories he must have to tell.  A flight of stairs leading upstairs was behind me and I yearned to climb them and investigate the second floor, but it would have been rude to do so, and so I remained seated and stared in wonder at my Great-Grandfather, who was likely well into his 80's at the time, as my parent's talked with him.

Some years after our visit, although I don't remember the time frame, Great-Grandpa Stanley died. Before the farm went up for sale, we made another visit to Mosinee and to the farm.  By that time, Great-Grandma was already living with one of her children.  Although we could not go inside the home's interior again, the storm doors leading down to the root cellar were not padlocked.  Mom opened the doors and as she did so, my eyes must have been as big as saucers.  This was a stairwell that I could traverse, and did so with great enthusiasm.  Mom said something about spider webs but by that time my feet were already planted on the earthen floor and marveling at the wooden shelving to my right that held many jars full of various things that Great-Grandma had canned over the years.

I don't remember much else about the root cellar aside from the shelves that Great-Grandpa likely made, and the mason jars that rest upon them.  This may have something to do with the fact that the only light source was from the open cellar doors behind me.  Mom eventually came down to join me and briefly explained to me that those jars was how food was preserved to last through the winter months.

Those two experiences at my maternal Great-Grandparent's farm left an indelible impression on me. Whenever I garden, especially in the vegetable garden, I think of my Great-Grandma Anna.  Likewise, when in the kitchen baking and canning summer goodness, I feel that my Great-Grandmother is with me.

My mother snapped this photo of the farm house from the hay loft of the barn at the age of 13.
The cellar doors are visible under a window near the right-hand side of the photo.
There is a person standing in front of a wicker rocking chair at the far side of the clothesline,
and I believe that is Great-Grandma Anna.  

My brother and me seated with our paternal grandmother
and maternal Great-Grandma Anna.

Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend, 2014

Any portion of the yard that gets full sun all day long is now growing something other than grass.  Grass is a taker, not a giver.

I spent six hours in the backyard gardening yesterday.  Good times!  It feels fantastic having a garden established once again.  We are counting down the days until we can eat a freshly picked tomato like an apple.  

Herb bed in foreground; main raised bed in background;
strawberry bed running along the left of the raised bed; and the garlic bed,
on the right of the herb bed, wrapping around and then running the length of the raised bed on the right.

Strawberry bed and newly planted raised bed.  The blue cups are acting at cloches
to keep velvety lips and beaks from eating the tiny vegetable sprouts.

Newly established tomato bed!
That's 98 square feet of additional growing space.

Thank you for your service.