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  • Pressure treated wood won’t harm the veggies, research shows

    Pressure treated wood won’t harm the veggies, research shows

    Six years ago Craig built a couple of 4×8 raised beds for a tidy vegetable garden where we could grow tomatoes, tomatillos, squash, raspberries and, sometimes, garlic.

    He chose 1×6 redwood planks because they outlast by several years most other woods available in our Pacific Northwest region. But for the upright posts on either end of the bed, he chose less expensive and long-lasting chemically treated 4x4s (they anchor supporting wires that hold up raspberry canes). Like many gardeners, we worried that the chemically treated wood might leach into our veggies and fruit, and opted for the more expensive redwood surrounding the soil.

    Now Oregon State University has come to our rescue with the release of initial results from a five-year ongoing study on whether and how far the chemical — copper — migrates into the soil.

    These are the two questions they sought to answer:

    1. Do raised beds constructed from pressure treated wood leach copper into the soil?
    2. If leaching does happen, do the vegetables and herbs grown in the raised bed absorb the copper?

    The best news is it doesn’t move into the plants at all.

    Thank researchers at the university’s Department of Wood Science and Engineering for work that can put gardeners’ minds to rest when they choose copper-treated lumber for vegetable gardening.

    Thank the Oregon State University Extension service for writing up a great and easy-to-follow article, which also goes into detail about the longevity of the wood.

    https://extension.oregonstate.edu/catalog/em-9879-pressure-treated-wood-raised-bed-construction-oregon

    Photos by Susan Palmer

  • For heartbreak, I recommend awe

    For heartbreak, I recommend awe

    I ran away to France twice in 2016. Seen now, a decade out, it’s hard to fully recall the pain of that year. Current happiness overlays that time. But living through a marriage disintegration, that’s hard. In May that year, I understood my marriage was doomed, yet I couldn’t imagine life without my spouse. So I grabbed one of my beloved sisters, and we flew east, landing in Annecy, a ski town in the Alps near the Swiss border. Surrounded by stunning peaks, sitting on a pristine lake, it wears its charm with great pride.

    By November the divorce papers were signed, and I ran to France again, alone this time because deep pain needs privacy the way a broken limb must be kept from moving in order to heal. I chose a town to visit based on a random photo of massive headlines overlooking a pretty harbor. It was a genius bit of luck.

    Cassis sits in the heart of Calanques National Park, a little east of Marseille. Time and geologic construction have created massive limestone buttes that drop straight into the sea. You have to be there. You have to bring your small short-lived body to it, get in a boat and motor out to get a good look at this intersection of the forces that built this over millions of years. I don’t know why the realization that I am a mere blink in the universe is healing but there you are.

    Cassis France gave me back my heart, cracked of course, but functional. Things got better. Three years ago, I brought my dearest new love there. When heartbreak has disappeared, no longer even a speck in the rear view mirror, sharing must be done. You have to walk around, pointing and sighing, introducing your loved one to the place that brought you through the storm.

    It’s no surprise that I’ve set the novel that’s in final polish here. My creative self can’t let Cassis go. The book’s working title — Blue Coast in Winter, a literary thriller — keeps this place still ringing like a bell inside me.

    Photos by Susan Palmer

  • I paused on the threshhold, then went all in

    Courtesy Penguin Random House

    I came upon author Richard Roper’s novel quite by accident at the library, checked it out, but didn’t commit to it right away. It’s like hovering at the door of an event you don’t quite get, but feel curious about.

    How much of my reading time do I want to give to a book about a guy whose job is tidying up after the deaths of the forgotten, whose social life occurs almost entirely online in the realm of model train nerds?

    But story’s voice felt right, which is always the first hurdle for me. I stuck with Something to Live For and came away grateful. It’s a tale that exposes deep pain through a character’s extreme strategies at hiding it. And then there’s the dry British wit arriving just as it’s needed.

    The book rewarded me with the thing I crave: Scenes that linger well after I’ve closed the book. Among my favorites — and this is only a slight spoiler — occurs when the formerly online-only friends agree to meet in the actual world. In a bar. Expectations get upended, then adjusted to. It’s a sweet bit of truth about real life.

    If you come to the book, don’t strive for the story to make itself known quickly (this is my major flaw as a reader). I am glad the rushing-around me got talked down by the patient me. I’m glad Richard Roper’s novel and I found each other.