I was just thinking: I am my own worst enemy sometimes. Certainly, I can see myself in a Three Stooges or Keystone Kops movie or some other kind of comic relief.

Recently, I was taking laundry out of the dryer. I pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms, then a sock. I tossed the sock on top of the dryer, but the sock fell on the floor between the washer and dryer—there’s such a narrow gap, I could barely get my arm and hand between the two machines.

Of course, the sock was about halfway back, so I bent down, reaching further with my left hand as I balanced myself with my right hand, which still held the pajama bottom.

Still couldn’t reach the sock. I bent over even further, reaching for the sock with the left part of my body, while my face was turned toward the dryer, my right hand holding the pajama bottom now trailing on the floor. I adjusted my squatting stance a bit. When I moved my right foot, I put it down on the pajama bottom. I slipped but managed to catch myself on the edge of the dryer door, whereupon the door sprang back up and somehow smacked my nose and the side of my face, causing me to lose my balance and fall backward.

Luckily, nothing was bruised or broken.

I did get the &%#@@!!! sock.

I was just thinking…of what I’ve learned about myself through traveling. People often encourage one to travel–“It’s a way of broadening your horizons!” “You learn so much about other people! Other cultures!” “You’re not the Ugly American anymore!”

All true, all trite, and trite because they are so true.

But perhaps as much as looking outward, I learned even as a teen-ager to look inward. Thanks to my husband’s love of travel, I’ve also learned to recognize some at times uncomfortable truths about myself, truths that at home, I would probably gloss over and ignore.

There must be a wanderlust gene somewhere in my husband’s lineage. And maybe a stick-in-the-mud-stay-home gene in mine. Over the past 50-odd years, we’ve travelled by ourselves, as well as with many different friends and relatives—children, beginning when our older son was eighteen months, and then four years later, adding our younger son to the mix; my mother, my father, and my aunt; my brother and his wife; my husband’s parents; my husband’s brother and wife, and their daughter and later, her family.

If I’d been paying attention, I might have realized my husband’s wanderlust as early as when we were planning our wedding. Amidst the wedding decisions about colors, flowers, bridesmaids’ gowns, tuxedos, etc., I left all the honeymoon plans to Hal, although he did discuss lots of ideas with me. Where could we go with only one week off from our teaching jobs (we were using Thanksgiving vacation; we were first-year teachers, fresh out of college with student loans to repay, and were not supposed to take “personal” days in those early years), and not much money saved from these first two months of teaching?

He chose Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin Islands. We would fly out from Baltimore on a jet to Puerto Rico, take an island hopper to St. Croix for four nights, and then back to Puerto Rico the last two. I had never been on a jet before, let alone out of the country, and this sounded romantic and adventurous.

Perhaps my first, tiny travelling epiphany occurred on that honeymoon. I recognized that I was afraid to try new things. No, I’m not talking about sex, which was wonderful, but about…scuba diving. Hal wanted to try it, but I was afraid and wouldn’t go—a little murmur in my brain whispered that I would look like a fool, and what if the mask broke, what if I couldn’t breathe, what if a manta ray came along and stung me while I was looking at the sea bottom, or a shark attacked me? I heard my paranoia but I didn’t face down those sneaky thoughts undermining my confidence.

After we were back home and settling into the ins and outs of marriage, I mused over the scuba diving suggestion and what my reaction had been—Hal hadn’t gotten angry because I wouldn’t try scuba diving, and in fact never mentioned it again. But I recognized that because of my fear, I had missed out on an interesting experience and, even more, had inadvertently prevented him from having that experience, too—and I was the better swimmer of the two of us!

Left to myself, I’d probably stay home year-round and travel only in my mind through the books I read. So another of the uncomfortable truths about myself has been, over the years, to determine why I don’t get as excited about traveling as Hal does. Do I tend to want to stay home because I’m lazy? Ummm. Because I’m afraid of strange places or people? No. Afraid of some random terrorist event occurring wherever we might be? Not really. Or because I don’t want to make the effort of packing—deciding what to take, what to leave at home, etc.? I think it’s mostly laziness!

Our yearly travels follow the same pattern every time. Hal gets that travel itch and starts broaching the subject to me. “We’ve never been to … Why don’t we go to…” I sigh. We negotiate when we might go, how long. He has a hard time at first pinning me down to a firm date (I suspect that he starts his negotiations about four to six months ahead of when he wants to go to gently coax me into going).

Something else I have learned through traveling is that my migraines are most often triggered by heat and humidity. Also, I love to garden, and when Hal is usually lobbying in the winter or very early spring for a vacation, I’m thinking about spring garden chores, planting dates, late-summer vegetable harvesting times. But I agree, knowing I will thoroughly enjoy wherever we go, whenever we go, whatever we do. My reluctance has lessened with each trip.

The next step in our pattern is researching the place(s) we will go. Hal reads travel books and brochures and researches web sites. He starts talking about the places we might go—we always like to see gardens, historic places, cathedrals, and museums. I read novels, subconsciously or sometimes not so subconsciously, choosing those set in the state or country we’ll visit. Only gradually do I begin to read non-fiction accounts of the people and places. Of course, just tell me that a favorite author lived where we’re going and I’m in!

And before I know it, suitcases are packed, camera is charged, and we’re off! What will I learn about myself this time?

I’m listening.

Maritta Perry Grau

Note: This article originally appeared in the Frederick News-Post on November, 2020, as a column for the Frederick County Master Gardeners. It is reprinted with permission of the Features Editor. Some details from the original column may have been edited slightly or deleted here if they are no longer relevant.

November is a dividing month in some ways and a month for thanksgiving in other ways. And I’m not speaking politically. It’s a bridge between summer and winter; it’s a last chance to divide spring bulbs and perennials; it’s a transition between final, tuck-the-kids-into-bed outdoor tasks and those bring-the-kids-inside indoor tasks for houseplants. And it’s a time for giving thanks—thanks for the glories of gardening we’ve had, thanks for the diminution of outdoor tasks as winter approaches (what can I say? I’m lazy and I don’t like the cold, unless I’m inside drinking hot tea and watching the snow come down), and thanks for the plants I’m able to bring inside to keep summer a little longer.

Tucking the kids into bed:

Trees can be planted up until the ground freezes. You’ll want to protect young plants vulnerable to winter injury, like azalea, rhododendron, holly, cherry laurel, boxwood, mountain laurel, or those at their northern limit for winter hardiness. Hammer wooden stakes (about as tall as the shrubs) into the ground all around the shrub or shrub row, about 12–18 inches away from the plant. Make a protective barrier by stapling burlap or plastic sheeting to the stakes. Individual plants can be wrapped with burlap and a spiral of twine to hold the burlap in place.

You may want to apply a low-phosphorous fertilizer (not the same as lawn fertilizer) to newly planted and young evergreen shrubs and trees in November. However, established trees rarely need feeding, according to a blog put out by Homestead Gardens (https://blog.homesteadgardens.com/gardening-in-november).

Speaking of fertilizer, did you know that by law, homeowners cannot apply lawn fertilizers to Maryland lawns between November 15 and March 1 (https://mda.maryland.gov/Pages/fertilizer.aspx)? The University of Maryland Extension Service explains: “Maryland’s lawn fertilizer law helps protect the Chesapeake Bay from excess nutrients entering its waters from a variety of urban sources, including…hundreds of thousands of lawns….When it rains, lawn fertilizer can wash into nearby storm drains and streams that empty into the Chesapeake Bay, [contributing] to the growth of algae blooms that block sunlight from reaching Bay grasses, [robbing] the water of oxygen, and [threatening] underwater life. Lawn fertilizer now accounts for approximately 44 percent of the fertilizer sold in Maryland.”

When you mulch, keep mulch flat (no volcanoes, please!) and at least a couple inches away from trunks of trees/shrubs. For perennials, surround the crown with a two- to three-inch layer of mulch to protect the plant from heaving during the alternate freeze/thaw winter cycles, as the University of Maryland Extension Service advises.

How do you tuck your vegetables into bed? Cover garden beds with some kind of organic matter such as mulched leaves, or a grow a cover crop to till in next spring. Protect winter vegetables such as spinach, lettuce, arugula, kale, and other cool-season crops with a cold frame, plastic sheeting or floating row cover (see the October Master Gardeners’ column). Other sturdier root vegetables, such as carrots, can simply be covered with straw or leaf mulch.

Bringing the kids inside: Pay attention to houseplants, both temporary and permanent. Winter is usually a time of slow houseplant growth, but it’s important to research the needs of your particular plants. Light, water, and food can negatively affect the plants if they get too much or not enough. Leaves may yellow and droop or drop off; plants may be more susceptible to insect damage.

Light: With winter, the light may be weaker and come in at a slightly changed angle. You’ll want to put most herbs where they can get strong, direct sunlight; you might need to augment sunlight with fluorescent light.

Water: House temperatures are also changing as you move from AC to heat, affecting soil and moisture. You’ll want to determine if in winter, your plants need a weekly misting (or even a short session in the shower) or prefer to be on the dry side. My mother used to water her house cacti only when weather reports showed that western states were getting rain.

Fertilizer: Because winter is usually a slow-growth period, you may not need to fertilize indoor plants. If you do, begin with half the usual rate of fertilizer.

For more information about gardening, watch for the Master Gardeners’ column in the Frederick News-Post on the first Thursday of each month; sign up for the What Can We Do for You [now called in 2024 GardenSmart]e-newsletter; explore the University of Maryland’s extension service web site, http://extension.umd.edu/frederick-county/home-gardening; or call us at 301-600-1596.

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