Forced... Tulips

As these days stretch long, following the arctic sun into summer, I find myself necessarily acclimating to the onset of spring as well as the everchanging landscape of Covid 19. Sitting grizzly at times, I encourage myself to remember other uncomfortable experiences: my mother force-feeding me boiled brussel sprouts or my first encounter with poverty. Memories like these remind me to keep steady; that sometimes with the rough comes the grit needed to change.

An Alaskan farmer has a good 4 month growing season. They might squeeze another one or two if they invest in season extension with infrastructure like greenhouses, high-tunnels, and row cover. Though honestly, snow in August is not uncommon in Fairbanks, nor is a hard-frost in May. With this in mind, I was eager to experiment with forcing tulip bulbs to grow in crates this winter. Because tulip bulbs can be planted very close together, think egg-carton close, they are well adapted to growing in containers/ small spaces. Milk crates and bulb crates are ideal for forcing bulbs because they’re solid and easy to handle. Unfortunately, this far north is in short supply of both. After scouring my shelves, the dump, and soliciting friends I was able to find enough crates to handle 500 bulbs. Lining the crates with paper and filling each crate with moist potting soil and compost, I was able to get about 20 per milk crate and 50 per bulb crate. This is really a drop in the bucket compared to most flower farmers who typically plant them in bulk in shallow trenches in the fall. Because tulips need a mandatory chilling/ dormancy (not frozen!) period to stimulate growth, I stacked the crates in a root cellar with the temp holding steady at 35F. After 12 weeks the early varieties started sending up shoots. Crates are heavily watered and then promptly moved to a warmer greenhouse to grow on. Now they are coming in waves, beautiful tulipy waves. I feel like this is particularly fitting for these Covid times as we’re all out of our element, but like these little beauties, we’re finding ways to push through and adapt.

What's in a Name

I remember blue hydrangeas, asparagus fronds, an old wooden barn. I remember my meme, hard knuckled, brown clogs clogged with mud. I picture her sitting under the black walnut tree shucking peas or else disappearing into the thick Belgian fog and returning with one or two goose eggs in her apron pouch. I imagine her stockpiling bags of sugar and flour in the attic, while bustling to weed and harvest the farm in the middle of WWII. When my pepe returned he lost not only an arm but also a little heart. And so, my meme became the rooted foundation that supported farm and family. First and always, helping to dress my pepe in the mornings, then bending low to harvest asparagus shoots in the afternoon, and with white affray bustling in and out of the outdoor kitchen with hand-cut fries and soup. All this throughout her life with selfless, quiet resiliency.

I was reminded of this strength twenty years later in a rural Kenyan village. With red clay underfoot and the sun beginning to set behind the acacias, village women and children walk a mile, there and back, to collect river water for drinking, cooking, and cleaning. In a country where women struggle for equal rights and opportunity to education, legal standing, and professional development, they work doubly hard to provide their children with food, shelter, and opportunity. Nonetheless I remember their laughter and singing every evening as they gracefully balanced forty-pound drums full of water on their heads on their walk home to prepare dinner. 

I first explored my own strength of character by working as a wildland firefighter. From smoky California hillsides to the wet Alaskan tundra, I labored alongside crew to clear brush and dig fire-line for several summers. I was inspired by the few women in the job not only carrying the same amount gear with the same dogged determination, but also the weight of gender stereotyping or else impossibly high standards under watchful scrutiny. In time I learned strength not only physically, but in mindful cultivation and nurturing. I was taught the healing art of plants by a compassionate medicine woman. Together we built Earth Island Herb’s medicinal demonstration garden for the Ojai community to enjoy and learn about the restorative power of plants. I have also labored alongside farmers who tenaciously work the land with the strength of an ox while humbly shouldering their noble effort for food security and shared knowledge. With physical grit but healthy integrity, I now cultivate character in the building of soil and community through the sharing of nature’s beauty and bounty.

While frontiersmen are defined as “people willing to brave harsh living conditions in order to achieve a better life” Frontieress addresses strength in empathy, humility, and nurturing in this life; bringing to light and celebrating the feminine.