Dumpster diving is not in my agenda--not just yet. Freecycling is. I have just joined the nearest freecycle group to which I offered an enormous leather sofa bed, a legacy from a previous husband who has gone on to a different time zone. The sofa is is too bulky for my taste. Ideally, I would have vintage Scandinavian furniture, a few pieces by Nakashima and not much more. I clung to the husband's ungainly couch in case paired our friends and relatives came to visit. That has not happened in quite some time and the sofa bed crouches sullenly in too small a room, offending aesthetics and cluttering up the place. Too good to throw away, too ugly to keep, it might be just the thing for a college student who can ignore its appearance. Why give away something you find too ugly to live with? Why, the fact that I find it ugly does not mean that someone might not find it utterly charming. Folks who participate in freecycling seem to focus on utilitarianism, in any case.
I have asked for nothing from my freecycle group. First I must declutter, then I must decide what it is that I really need--I think it would be hard to convince the list owner that Nakashima furniture is essential to my well-being. I might make a list of what is essential to me, beginning with books, but the idea of freecycling is to share what one has in excess.
I have been reading about voluntary simplicity, which seems to have spawned an industry. Amazon.com, for example, lists "voluntary simplicity products", an oxymoron if ever there was one. That list compelled me to write my first Amazon review or rather, a non-review of Voluntary Simplicity: Responding to Consumer Culture, by Amitai Etzioni and Daniel Doherty.
It incensed to find out that a used copy of this book cost $29, that is, half the cost of my montly water bill. The only possible response was not to buy it.
There are those who point out that voluntary simplicity has nothing to do with saving money. It is a spiritual progress, I understand. My choices are based on enforced frugality, then--nothing spiritual, just the result of a thin wallet that gets thinner every time I fill up the tank of my aging car. Today, it cost $ 44. Tomorrow is anyone's guess. Am I alone in this? Certainly not. Does it crush me not to have unlimited supplies of disposable income? Heck, no. Crafting a life, in my book, means letting go of the notion that lots of money and status symbols are essential to a good life.
I have a few plans that will enrich me without costing me a penny. First, Vincenzo and I are going to start calling townspeople's attention to the plight of local wildlife. Vincenzo might visit schools, give interviews and tell people how his fellow boxies are losing their natural habitat.
Next, I will start proofing the first draft of my mystery novel. Third, I continue to work on my garden. Should I have tons of veggies I can share that with the local women's shelter. Third, I will offer to teach someone a skill--soldering, sewing, baking a cake from scratch, making a container garden. It's all good.

We have a new mayor. that he

OPTING OUT OF THE GRID is not the answer for us. However, ther is much we can do to keep OPEC from ruling our lives. Stay tuned.
Things I have not done yet, but should be doing,
Have not read Voluntary Simplicity
I have not tried freecycling
I have not sold, given away or traded all the items that I absolutely do not need.

Something I did recently that was frugal and that brought me pleasure was scoring a five year gardening journal that sells for $45 for a whole $5. I got it from a z-shop for $ 5. Even with the cost of shipping, it was a real bargain. I usually buy used books after comparing prices from z-shop with those of half.com

VINCENZO FIGHTS ON

Who would have thought that such a small animal--no larger than the palm of my hand--would have such reserves of strength? Vincenzo fights on, seeming to get better every day. Today he ate some chicken, part of a strawberry, some egg and broccoli. Unfortunately he seems to have an eye problem--possibly conjunctivitis--which though not life threatening, adds to his discomfort. Junior has found a very who treats reptiles and we are on her waiting list for Thursday. Should another client cancel an appointment, we will rush our little patient to the clinic. We expect a miracle.

Meanwhile the New Dawn roses began to bloom and a new clematis made its debut. This is the first time I have had clematis bloom the year it was planted. In a moment of fiscal abandon ordered four different ones from Son Sparrow Farm and to my surprise every one was in bud on arrival. Generous rainfall has helped these new additions to the garden as well as being being beneficial to our budget. Water is an expensive commodity in our village. For years the powers that be have been caving in to real estate developers whose need for sewer and water hook-ups exceeded the capacity of the existing sewer and water plant. Not surprisingly, a new water plant will have to be built. Its estimated cost will be twelve million dollars and guess who gets to pay for it--we the little folks who did not profit a whit from the explosive growth that plagues West Virginia's Eastern Panhandle.

Gardening is an expensive proposition in our area. As the price of food soars, it makes sense to plant vegetables to feed the body and flowers to feed the soul. The catch is that unless one plans carefully, one's budget can to hell in a garden basket. I happen to own a rain barrel. That trims the water budget a bit but I still depend on town water to keep my plants going. I have been trying to learn more about xeriscaping and plan to add more native plants to my garden.

Next year I intend to transition from almost organic to completely organic gardening. Since I have yet to master the art of transforming old newspapers and kitchen scraps into compost, I did use commercial fertiliser this season. Gardening takes time and willingness to learn. Most of all, it takes patience. Vincenzo can teach to cope with bad gardening mistakes, crop failure, bug invasion and other predicaments. Just seeing how bravely he endures the trauma of his battle with the evil Pepper is a lesson in perseverance.

PROGRESS REPORT

Although it was accidentally upended earlier in the season the experimental salad mobile seems to be a success. A second planting of pak choi, lettuce, chives and nasturtium befitted from warmer weather and adequate rainfall.

Mock orange, real fragrance.




Left, balloon flower.















,

Meidiland rose and bomb peony.

Volunteer snapdragons.

Volunteer bachelor buttons.

Ballerina rose.

Ballerina rose.

Below, Shasta daisies, old roses and gold leaf caryopteris.

Mcdub rose has a fiery charm.

Russelliana and Madame Hardy roses.

A luminous peony seems to float into the summer dusk.

Fibonacci was right.

Hensol Harebell aquilegia blossom and seedpods.

Blue geranium.

Modern coral roses bloom in concert with OGR Alchymist.

Alchymist bud.

Buff Beauty rose glows in the late afternoon sun.

In late May, Buff Beauty is a symphony of color.

EDIBLES, YES

There are those in my village who worry about their gardens being U or non-U. This, in spite of the war with Iraq, rumors of war with Iran, the high cost of fuel and and food. I share none of my fellow villagers concerns about a Nancy Mitford's notion of how the British upper class ought to behave. We are no longer a British colony. Ours is a different society ; we are very reluctant to tug at our forelocks at the sight of some bloke whose ancestors were better plunderers than ours.

There are those who say that it takes six hundred years to make an English lawn and an English gentleman. Well and good. I do not admire gentlemen such as the little prince who dressed up in Nazi garb for a lark, nor do I think that conquering the Falklands is all that and a side of fries. So, fie on class ridden societies, fie on the British gentlemen who say that Americans not being able to have real gardens since real gardens have "bones."

My garden has no bones--no ancient box hedges to be tended by the underclass. It has a modest evergreen hedge to serve as a windbreak and as a place for birds to rest on windy winter days, not to comply with the British notion of U bones. I live in a non-U house in a non-U neighborhood. I plant flowers, vegetables and fruit regardless of whether Nancy Mitford would approve of them or not. I suspect that rhubarb and strawberries are non-U. Of the latter, I have grown both the grossly overrated fraises des bois--think little blobs of cotton soaked in red tinted sugar water--and the good old standbys of American kitchen gardens--Ogalala, Ozark and Tribute. The latter grow rampant and produce fragrant berries whose perfectly balance of sweetness and tartness is a delight to the palate. The rhubarb makes delicious pies with a populist appeal. I like it all the better because I know in my non-U bones that Nancy Mitford would not like it.