Acres of Ability

We’re growing something under indoor plant lights behind the closed door of an unused bedroom in our house. It’s green and leafy, can be used in a variety of ways, and drives the kittens wild (thus the closed door). It’s also completely legal in all 50 states… as far as I know.

Dad and Kyra enjoy the hospital's rooftop garden. About a week after Kyra’s spinal fusion surgery at Children’s Hospital in St. Louis, she was given the o.k. to start a diet of clear liquids, then build up to her regular diet.   At that point, I gathered my courage and reminded her medical team that her regular diet was blended foods, and she should not have any canned g-tube formula. “Of course,” they responded, “When she’s off clear liquids, we’ll order her a pureed diet.” I then let out my breath, assured and somewhat amazed that Kyra’s unconventional g-tube meals would be honored by the hospital without us putting up a fight.

This morning, Anya (the dog) and I were the first ones up.  With a cup of coffee in my hand and Kyra's video monitor clipped to my waistband, we headed out to survey the myriad of weeds growing in my gardens.  We've had a record number of soggy days, and we've  been a bit preoccupied with getting ready for Kyra's spinal surgery, so the gardens haven't been cared for very well this spring. As we set off, I was prepared to embrace the philosophy that all plants are created equal, and a weed is only a plant with non-conformist tendencies. As I rounded the corner of the garage, with the mantra, "Pigweed is my friend.  Pigweed is my friend" ringing through my head,  I saw the bright red of ripe strawberries dotting my front garden.  Elated, I rushed back into the house as quietly as I could to get a bowl. Then, with Anya and the four cats that survived the winter and the coyotes and the mink and the owls, we gathered my breakfast.

Christa, Kyra, Dad We're not surprised.  We're very grateful, but not surprised that the fundraising benefit hosted by Gilbert Lutheran Church, in Kyra's honor, was so uplifting. Kyra, grinning and giggling, loved being the center of attention.  Oblivious to the fact that the people surrounding her didn't know each other, she greeted everyone with joyful abandon. The Wire Frames People from Gilbert Lutheran Church came to the event in great numbers, as did people from Gilbert Community Schools. Silent Auction / Bake Sale People that Kyra knows through social service agencies, horseback riding lessons, Special Olympics, and mom and dad's work came. Pony rides People from other churches, no church at all, her sisters' friends, their families, our rural neighborhood, and relatives she hasn't seen for many, many years came, too. Pulled pork, lemonade, homemade ice cream The people that came didn't know they were connected in one

As a kid growing up on the edge of a tiny town in rural Iowa (population 423, if everyone was home), fast food had a much different connotation than it does for most people. The essence of fast food, grabbing something while you’re on the go, isn’t a bad idea. In fact, from the time school let out for the summer until it started up again in the fall, we kids lived on fast food. It just happened to be true food as well. We snapped off earthy asparagus spears growing in roadside ditches as we sped down the highway on bicycles. We chewed sour rhubarb stems and fanned ourselves with the thick, broad leaves. And for dessert, we sucked the sweetness out of wild honeysuckle. Fast food, indeed. True food, too. Even if you no longer spend your summer on bicycle adventures as magical as your imagination, you can still enjoy true fast food. Most vegetables and fruits don’t need any preparation beyond washing, and possibly peeling, before they’re eaten. How much faster can you get?

Nearly 60 degrees!  Finally!  For the first time in a long time, we could enjoy being outside, sloshing through mud, reacquainting ourselves with gardens and groves, and beginning one of my favorite springtime chores: Clearing the deadwood to encourage new life. Kyra squeals, Anya sprints for the pond, and I plunge into the center of a clump of shrubs, reappearing with an armful of broken, dead, and disconnected limbs and twigs.  My pile of deadwood grows. It’s hard work, separating the dead from the living.   It’s heavy work, leaving splinters in your fingers and soreness in muscles long unused. It’s heavy work, leaving splinters in your dreams, and soreness in your heart. But with deadwood gone, new light shines, new life appears. Clear out the dead belief that eating must be done with a fork and spoon! Clear out the dead belief that communication comes only from vocal cords! Clear out the deadwood, invite new life! Before we return to the house for more (and more and m

At the time we were considering g-tube surgery for Kyra, I read an article by a mom whose young daughter used a g-tube.  The mom’s favorite reason for having the g-tube was that in the morning, she could “plug her daughter in for breakfast” while she and her other children were  getting ready for work and school.   In my mind, saw a busy, bustling mom rushing around with her healthy, energetic children, while a little girl sat strapped in her wheelchair in a corner of the kitchen, a can of g-tube formula being mechanically pumped into her stomach.   I empathize with that mom’s attempt at morning multi-tasking, but I don’t agree with her methods. Preparing Kyra’s g-tube meals from scratch, and feeding her by hand rather than an electric pump help keep her healthy, and keep us connected.  It also takes time.  It takes more time to shop for, prepare, blend, strain, and clean up home-cooked g-tube meals than it takes to pop open a can of formula, pour it in a bag, and toss the can in

One by one, the herbs that Kyra and I were trying to over-winter in the house grew spindly, then started to dry up, no matter how diligently we cared for them.  At first, I was sad that we had failed.  Then I saw the opportunities that failing opened up to us. Before returning the dormant (I hope) herbs to the back deck, I snipped off stems, 5 – 7 inches long, and tossed them onto a cookie sheet.  Kyra and I bundled the stems into groups of 4 or 5, and tied the bundles with thread.  Depending upon which stems Kyra grabbed from the cookie sheet, a bundle may have only one kind of herb, or it may have any combination of oregano, thyme, rosemary, and mint.  Finally, I tied a loop in the end of the threads, and hung the bundles upside down to dry. We hadn’t failed after all!  A week or so later, we had several varieties of “herb brooms” that were ready to give as gifts, decorate our kitchen, and use in winter stews.  It wasn’t what we’d expected, but our winter herb adventure was

Kyra and I love to garden so much that even the cold, snowy, sun-deprived Iowa winter doesn’t stop us.  We enjoy making our daily rounds to care for our pampered houseplants, as well as the geraniums, Gerbera daisies, and herbs that we’re trying to baby through the winter so they can be re-planted outside next spring.  We also enjoy the results of last year’s garden, brewing our dried herbs for tea, crushing our dried hot peppers into soup, and popping corn in the microwave. Last summer, Kyra and I grew a 4-foot by 8-foot plot of popcorn.  We loved watching the corn grow taller and taller and taller, waving above our heads, and providing a forested hide-away for the cats.  Unfortunately, the plants struggled through the summer drought and beetle infestation, producing skimpy tassels, few ears, and tiny kernels.  We thought our entire crop was lost when a violent wind storm blew through, flattening the entire plot.  Yet later that fall, we were able to glean a few miniature ears of