Busy Retirement

I did not anticipate being this busy this quickly in retirement. It’s gotten so bad that I bought a scheduling calendar to keep track of things. It’s almost stressful. I may have to retire from my retirement.

The Master Gardner class is taking up a lot of time. I spend one day a week in class and many hours outside class studying. The midterm is in two weeks. There is no question that I’m over-obsessing on the class and the test. The midterm is 50 questions, multiple choice, open book. It can’t be that tough, but for all I know, the entire class may be the legendary “sharpest tacks in the box” and, therefore, tough competition.

I’m not sure why, but it’s important to me to do well on the tests and stand out in the class. It’s not like I get a diploma that says I graduated summa cum laude or anything like that. All I get is a little plastic badge that says, “Jim Yacavone, Georgia Master Gardener.” I’d like one that says, “Jim Yacavone, Plant Stud,” but that suggestion did not go over well.

Meredith and I have been going to every gardening class we can find. Last Friday we attended a seminar on pruning apple trees and blueberry bushes at the Georgia Mountain Research and Education Center in Blairsville. The turnout for the seminar was impressive. There was only room for 100 attendees in the lecture hall, and the place was packed.

Besides the Master Gardener classes and the gardening seminars, I’ve been busy around the property. I recently learned that I will be receiving some chestnut seeds from The American Chestnut Foundation (TACF). They will not be disease-resistant hybrid seeds, but rather native American Chestnut seeds. From what I gather, TACF lets interested people start with regular chestnut seeds to see if their property is suitable for growing chestnuts and they are really willing to do what is necessary to grow and protect them. Additionally, having people grow American Chestnuts in many different areas helps preserve the genetic diversity of the tree. The seeds I receive will undoubtedly get the blight, but they should grow to at least 20 or 30 feet, produce chestnuts, and send up sprouts. That’s good enough for me for now.

I’ve been preparing the plot where I will plant the seeds. I subsoiled the ground and am in the process of removing the larger rocks. I have to make rings out of aluminum flashing to protect the seeds from little critters. Apparently every wild creature that walks, crawls, flies, and burrows loves to eat chestnuts. I also have to construct deer cages for the plants.

I’ve also been working hard on the stone wall. Just about every day I spend a couple of hours scouring the fields and woods for rocks. There’s certainly no shortage of those. I routinely come back with a front loader full.

I’ve am preparing for planting season by making raised beds and buying seeds. I built a grow light box, and this week I will start some of my seeds in that. I also need to build a fence around the garden to keep out wildlife. I figure my garden plot is close to 800 square feet, so that’s a lot of fence building to be done before planting time in April.

As a side note, I’ve learned that I can grow winter wheat in addition to other grains like buckwheat, rye, millet, and barley. In fact, the local nursery suggested I grow buckwheat as a spring cover crop for part of the garden. I’m excited about the wheat. I’d like to be able to say one day that I made bread out of wheat that I grew. Growing grains will give me an excuse to own a scythe. I've always wanted to own one. Don’t ask me why.

Meredith and I have started going to the Episcopal (Anglican) Church here. It’s what one does in a small town. I’ve joined the men’s club, and she’s joined the women’s club. The first thing both of us were told when we went to our separate meetings was that what was said there stays there. Some of the women in the women’s club do needlework to beautify the church. I was told in the men’s club that the needlework women are called the stitch bitches. They probably call us the old fud duds. That should give you some idea that the church members are not a staid and boring group.

There’s one thing I like about Episcopals. They have no aversion to alcohol. We’ve gone to several dinners at member’s houses, and the wine and beer were plentiful. We attended a get together at the minister’s house, and he shared a fine bottle of single malt scotch with us. There is nothing more enlightening than discussing the fine points of religion (that you know nothing about) with a good buzz on. Try saying Deuteronomy three times fast after a few brewskies. Of course, I am compelled to ask these bizarre but genuine questions like whether the Ten Commandments are listed in order of importance. If so, that means that coveting your neighbor’s wife is a lesser offence than stealing.

Meredith and I are discovering that this area attracts a lot of high energy retirees who get involved in the community. Meredith is getting involved in an organization run by a woman by the name of Judy Seeger, who is one of those energetic retirees. The organization is called Feed Fannin. It raises money to feed and clothe the less fortunate in the county. Among other things, it operates a seven acre farm where it grows vegetables for distribution to the needy. I just know that the more Meredith gets involved in Feed Fannin, the more I’m going to be involved.

Finally, Meredith and I have been going to local events. There seem to be a lot of them for such a small town. The most recent was a beer tasting at a local craft brewery called Grumpy Old Men. It was started by a couple of retirees two years ago. (There are three craft breweries in Blue Ridge. Not bad for a town of 1,500 that did not allow alcohol sales until three years ago).

The tasting was outrageous. The brewery is in an old building at the edge of town. When we arrived there were dozens of people standing outside drinking and dozens more inside drinking and listening to the two musicians who were providing entertainment. For ten bucks each Meredith and I got a Grumpy Old Men beer glass and all the beer we could drink. Their Hell’s Holler Porter was exceptional. I’m glad Meredith was driving.

We ran into Judy, the Feed Fannin lady, at the testing and through her we met a number of interesting people. We had a great time…as best I remember.

I spoke with the musicians, who are a couple of older guys. It turns out that they are lawyers who do worker’s compensation defense. One of them is retired. They play music on the side just for kicks. They were interested when I told them that I play the bass. Sounds like I could be in a band again if I want to.

I’m truly surprised at all the things to do here. I did not anticipate it would be like this. I guess that proves the old adage the sometimes you step in shit and come up smelling like a rose.