I Write: The Distance Between Us

At our monthly Writing is Fun meetings we decide a prompt for writing for the next meeting. Length is set at 2 pages so we can read them at the meeting. There is quite a diversity of writing. Some are real life recollections, some fictional vignettes, and sometimes there's a poem. This is fictional.

The prompt for August 2026: Unanswered Messages

The Distance Between Us – Carol Kagan

(in the notebook)

The disagreements. The resentments. The arguments. The anger flaring so much I needed to leave. The unresolved reasons fostering lies to avoid accepting any responsibility. Now you are with him and I can’t see you.

I need to urge you to step away from him to give me the opportunity to explain why I left. He is so controlling over your life there was no way to sort our ending out. The lack of any possibility of seeing you is a battle that consumes my every thought. My love for you is as strong as our first day together.

The phone messages I left before your number was changed were not returned. You have not responded to the notes I left. The last attempt to reach out to you is another note. Knowing I will put it on your car I am hoping the contents bring back fond memories of those trips together. Singing to beach music as we traveled to the shore- the salty air, unsuccessful surfing attempts, and messy steamed crab dinners. The vacation trip to Disney World, sharing snacks of sweet smelling caramel corn, peanuts, and McNuggets between the seats. The smoky scent of campfire and smelly hiking boots filling the car on the way home from camping. After sealing the envelope and writing your name on it, I realize you may recognize my handwriting from all the notes I had written over the years. I pray you will read this one.

Easily recognizing your car in the parking lot, I placed the note quickly and steered into a nearby lot. I sat there waiting to see you.

I watched, surprised that he was with you that day.

He quickly went to the driver’s side and picked up the note. He looked at it. Without offering it to you, he went over to the trash bin and threw it away, unopened.

Did he make you change your phone number? Has he intercepted my notes? Is he the reason there are so many unanswered messages?

I watched as you both sat at the outdoor table on the patio of the Georgetown Pub- one of our favorite places. Why am I not there with you? Were you making plans for after the ceremony- plans that could have been with me? I will still go and to watch you.

I stood there too long. To make a quick exit I grabbed the first tour bus and during the ride remembering one of our best days together. It was picnicking beneath the cherry blossom trees, their faint fragrance carried on a light breeze on a picture perfect April day.

Ending up at the Smithsonian Museum, I wandered through the gift shop and saw a silver keyring with pink cherry blossoms engraved on it and a blank spot on the back. A perfect gift now engraved on the back with the loving name you called me.

Using brown paper wrapping, I carefully printed your name in block letters. Just before your usual arrival time home, I left it at the door. Maybe you will think it is from a friend, or maybe a neighbor.

I watched as he came home early and picked up the package. Looking around along the street, he took the unopened package and threw it into the garbage can. How did he know it was from me?

Your photos are scattered about my apartment – you and me, a group photo of us with friends, sometimes one taken at an event. And two albums with pictures from your younger days, obtained through nefarious means.

Although I am reconciled that my pleas to reunite were ignored, I have decided to make one last attempt. I have received an invitation to the award ceremony.

*     *     *

The award recipients entered and sat in the chairs lined across the stage. She focused on the podium and who would step up next. When the ceremony was over, he saw her and she ran from the auditorium. When she reached the lobby she was shaking and stopped to take a deep breath.

Suddenly he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Slowly he took her shoulders and turned her toward him. There was that wide smile that had often greeted her when he came home.

He leaned in and breathed in her ear, “I love you and miss you so much.”

She wrapped her arms around him and the deepest love welled up inside her. They walked hand in hand to the reception area and found a table. She reached in her purse and pulled out a small package, a gift to commemorate the occasion.

It was a silver keyring with pink cherry blossoms in colored enamel and on the back was engraved – With all my love, Momma.

 

© Carol Kagan, 2026

YOU CAN BUY PLANTS THAT REPEL MOSQUITOS - Monday Myth Series

 

Lemon Balm (Melissa officinalis)

MONDAY MYTH: You can buy plants that repel mosquitoes.

   MYTH: There are plants that will make your summer backyard gatherings mosquito free. Many mosquito‑repelling plants such as lemon balm, mints, and scented geraniums have a strong fragrance to humans, so it is assumed that mosquitos hate them. Feeding the myth are garden centers selling “mosquito plants” because who wouldn’t want an easy way to control them. Even some plants (like scented geraniums) are mislabeled as “citronella plants,” although they don’t contain true citronella compounds.

  TRUTH: Research shows that the plants themselves do not repel the insects. You cannot purchase a plant (or thirty) that will make your summer backyard gatherings mosquito-free.

You need to crush (or burn) some part of the plant to get it to release the essential oils that repels mosquitoes. Just having the plant around does not do the trick; and even then, the effect is brief and localized.

  THE TAKEAWAY: Grow the plants because they are beautiful, fragrant and pollinator friendly. Skip the “mosquito‑repelling plants” myth and focus on what actually works.

· Start by removing standing water — it’s the single most effective step you can take.

· Add a fan to your patio to keep air moving; mosquitoes are weak fliers and won’t fight a breeze.

· When you need personal protection, reach for EPA‑registered repellents like DEET, picaridin, IR3535, or oil of lemon eucalyptus.

· Treat water features with mosquito dunks (Bti) and use screened porches or fine‑mesh netting to create mosquito‑free zones.

· Even your lighting matters: avoid warm, incandescent bulbs and switch to yellow “bug lights” that attract fewer insects.

Reference and more information: Pollinator-Friendly Mosquito Control (https://extension.psu.edu/pollinator-friendly-mosquito-control)

Carol Kagan, Franklin County Master Gardener

Photo: Lemon balm (Carol Kagan)

ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE - Monday Myths Series

 

MONDAY MYTHS

 Rosemary Remembers

Myth: Around the 8th Century BCE, Greek students believed that rosemary could help them remember facts and more. Before exams, they tucked fresh sprigs behind their ears, believing the sharp, piney scent would keep facts from slipping away. The herb found its way into scholars' study rooms, tucked into bridal bouquets to help remember the vows, and laid on graves so as not to be forgotten. Rosemary, they said, remembers for you.

Truth: Rosemary really does help the mind stay sharp. Modern science now speaks up with the newly discovered fact that researchers discovered - that rosemary’s aroma contains a compound that shows up in the bloodstream after you inhale it. And the higher the levels? The better people performed on memory tasks and the faster their cognitive processing. In other words: the old myth wasn’t wrong.

Verdict: The Greeks weren’t imagining things. Rosemary’s reputation as the herb of remembrance is part folklore, part chemistry—and entirely true.

Photos: Carol Kagan

Interested in herbs? Looking for a gift?

Perfect for a hostess gift, or birthday or housewarming.

 Check out the Herb Sampler on this Blog  

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it.

 *   *   *   *

Reference

Moss, M. & Oliver, L. (2012). Plasma 1,8‑cineole correlates with cognitive performance following exposure to rosemary essential oil aroma. Therapeutic Advances in Psychopharmacology, 2(3), 103–113.

This peer‑reviewed study demonstrated that higher blood levels of 1,8‑cineole (a major rosemary compound) were significantly associated with better memory performance and faster cognitive processing

I Write: What Carries Us

At our monthly Writing is Fun meetings we decide a prompt for writing for the next meeting. Length is set at 2 pages so we can read them at the meeting. There is quite a diversity of writing. Some are real life recollections, some fictional vignettes, and sometimes there's a poem. This is partially a real life recollection.

The prompt for June 2026: Transportation

What Carries Us 

 Carol Kagan

The steel mill built a town with rental houses for the workers; all the better to keep them close. When a house became vacant, the next name on the waiting list was called. Tommy Smith was next.

For Tommy Smith, who did not live near the mill, this was serendipitous as his old Studebaker’s ailments became too expensive to fix. It was tiring- the daily chore of finding someone on the same work shift to hitch a ride. And now, at his new home, he found his new form of transportation. On the road in front of Tony Dudowski’s house was Tony’s new Ford and in the yard there was his used bicycle with scabby rust spots, no front fender, and stuffing squeezing out of the squeaky seat. For sale - $2.

Tommy fixed up his new ride, sanding out the rust, painting the body a bright red, replacing the fender, taping up the seat, and adding a front basket and rear rack. He couldn’t get the squeak out of the seat and was resigned to ignore it. Ready to go to work.

His daily commutes became a kinetic time clock for the neighborhood. At 6:15 a.m. he could be seen pedaling with heavy steel-toed shoes on the tiny pedals, a domed, gray metal lunchbox, and dented thermos full of hot coffee in the basket. On hot days there was an extra thermos with cold water. This was the Day Turn work shift- 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. At nearly 4:30 he could be seen sluggishly grinding the pedals, back hunched forward to the handlebars. The effort of his up and down pedaling produced a small tempo from the squeaky seat.

Then there was the 3 to 11 Shift. Few people saw him coming home near midnight, the large, glaring headlight bobbing up and down as he pedaled. And for Night Turn, when workers stepped in as 3 to 11 ended, it was the little red rear light that danced as he headed into work.

In the small shed behind the house there was a bicycle repair area. When opening the door, the smell of grease, oil, and cleaners drifted out. With lots of care, he got quite a few years out of that ride.

When Ordell, his wife, brought home a Sears-Roebuck catalog, a brand new bicycle model targeted at adults caught his eye. It had a larger, more comfortable seat, a chain guard cover, bigger pedals, and a back shelf over the rear fender. The dog-eared page was often checked until he finally saved up enough money to buy one.

The now faded-red bicycle was handed down to young Tommy Smith, age 12, ready to enjoy the freedom of exploration. He and his father repainted it a bright blue, removed the front basket, but couldn’t get the squeak out of the seat. Young Tommy was often found fixing a flat, oiling a chain, or carefully taping the seat. He liked to ride with his friends around the neighborhood and down the path along the creek, rolling his eyes as friends called out about his squeaky seat. He also used it to earn money to buy a car. The bicycle took him to the side of town where the managers and big shots of the mill lived with lawns to mow and driveways snow to shovel. At age 16 he started working behind the soda fountain at the G & G drugstore, still saving for that different ride. Soon enough that well used and cared for bicycle was up for sale again.

The price for the pale blue bicycle, still in fairly good condition, with a basket you could add on was now a whopping $10.

Who bought it? It was Carl.

Carl was the Umbrella Man, a tinker by another name, whose claim to fame was fixing broken umbrellas but he fixed a lot of other things, too. He had no vehicle for transportation and had to hitch rides from town to town or walk long distances carrying his heavy tools.

The bicycle was in good condition and ready to work for him. After putting on the basket and a rear shelf, he fixed the squeaky seat.

Perched on the seat, Carl came around the small mill neighborhoods. Hanging from the front, the large basket was filled with tools of one sort or another. Suspended from both sides of the back shelf were two bulky leather saddlebags with large tarnished buckles. On the shelf was a tall metal basket filled with a variety of things – sometimes a jar of miscellaneous keys, a roll of rubber strips, a bundle of metal rods and wooden dowels, or some unidentifiable objects.

It seemed that whenever he was around for the week, boxes of broken items would appear on doorsteps or at the end of a sidewalk.

Carl could be found sitting on the ground, cross-legged fiddling with things from a box. You could see him rifling through the objects in his baskets, grabbing a screwdriver, or disappearing on his bike to bring back something that would let him fix whatever he was working on.

Whether it was a repaired doll chair, a restrung bow, or a small tin construction crane, he would leave it on the doorstep and not ask for payment.

Often we would see a neighbor running after him to offer payment. He did not refuse the offering.

In a town where the mill set the rhythm and the shifts ruled the days; the bicycle became its own kind of witness. It carried a father to work, a boy through halcyon days, and finally a tinker who believed nothing was too small to mend. By the time Carl began pedaling it around the towns and streets, the old bike had lived more lives than most people ever know.

                                 

 

In the end, the old bike showed that when something is cared for, even the simplest, human‑powered machine can shoulder years of work, wonder, and wandering.

Summer Watering Guide

 

Summer Watering Guide for Franklin County Gardens

Franklin County enters Summer 2026 under a Drought Warning, and we need to consider our watering practices. A Drought Warning means that water supplies are stressed and conservation measures are needed to manage our limited resources. We are running behind seasonal norms for rainfall and gardeners should expect soils to dry more quickly and plants to show stress sooner than in an average year.

A garden drinks in many different ways, and understanding those needs is the difference between plants that merely survive and plants that truly flourish.

💧 Watering Basics for Flower Gardens, Vegetable Beds, and Lawns

Healthy gardens depend on steady, deep watering—just enough to keep roots growing downward, not so much soil stays soggy. Most flowers and vegetables need about 1 inch of water per week, whether it comes from rain or your hose. Lawns need roughly the same amount, though cool‑season grasses can tolerate brief dry spells.

🌼 Flower & Vegetable Gardens

• Water deeply, not lightly. Aim for soaking the top 6–8 inches of soil. Shallow sprinkling encourages weak, surface‑level roots.
• 
  Morning is best. Early watering reduces evaporation and gives foliage time to dry, lowering disease risk.
• Check soil before watering. If the top 2 inches are dry and crumbly, it’s time.
• Mulch helps. A 2–3 inch layer of mulch slows evaporation and keeps soil evenly moist. Keep mulch away from the stem.

🌱 Lawns

• Water early in the day to reduce evaporation and fungal issues.
• Infrequent, deep watering (once or twice a week) is better than daily sprinkling.
• Let grass grow a bit taller during hot, dry periods—longer blades shade the soil and conserve moisture.

🌧️ Using a Rain Gauge

A simple rain gauge is one of the most useful tools a gardener can own.

• Place it in an open area away from trees or buildings.
• Check weekly totals—if rainfall is less than 1 inch, plan to irrigate.
• For vegetable gardens, keep a small notebook or phone log to track rainfall and watering patterns.

💦

Using a Bubbler to Water at Ground Level

A hose‑end bubbler (sometimes called a “watering wand bubbler” or “gentle‑flow bubbler”) is one of the easiest ways to deliver slow, deep moisture right where plants need it: at the soil surface, not the leaves.

Soft, low‑pressure flow. Bubblers release water in a quiet, gurgling stream that won’t splash soil onto leaves or erode mulch.

• Perfect for flowers, vegetables, and young shrubs. The slow soak encourages deep root growth and reduces runoff.
• Excellent for drought care. Place the bubbler at the base of the plant, let it run for several minutes, then move it to the next plant.
• Tree watering made easier. Instead of spraying the trunk, set the bubbler in a wide ring beyond the canopy dripline and let it seep into the full root zone.
• Water early in the day. You’ll lose less to evaporation and help keep foliage dry.

A bubbler turns watering into a calm, controlled process—especially helpful during dry spells when every drop counts.

🌳 Don’t Forget the Trees

Trees—especially young or newly planted ones—need special attention during low rainfall or drought. Their roots extend well beyond the canopy, so watering only at the trunk won’t help.

• Water in a wide ring at and beyond the dripline.
• Apply water slowly so it soaks deeply into the root zone.
• Mature trees may need a deep watering every 2–4 weeks during extended dry periods.

💡 KNOW HOW: Measuring How Much Water

If you’re watering with a sprinkler, you can place a straight‑sided container, such as a coffee can, within the spray pattern. The depth of water collected shows how much is reaching the soil over a given period. This method helps you understand whether your sprinkler is delivering enough moisture to penetrate the root zone.

To make sure your trees are getting the right amount of water during dry periods, it helps to measure how much you’re actually applying. One easy way is to check your hose’s flow rate using a five‑gallon bucket. Set the hose in the bucket and time how long it takes to fill. If it fills in five minutes, your hose is delivering about one gallon per minute, which lets you estimate how long you need to run it to reach your target volume for a deep soak.

Some gardeners prefer tools designed for slow, steady watering. Slow‑release watering bags and drip rings apply water gradually and directly to the root area, which is especially helpful for newly planted trees that need consistent moisture to establish.

As a general guideline, newly planted trees benefit from about ten gallons of water per week applied slowly enough to soak deeply. Larger, established trees may need more, and a common rule of thumb is to provide roughly twenty gallons of water per inch of trunk diameter measured at breast height. No matter the method, applying water slowly helps it soak into the soil rather than running off, and a layer of mulch around the base helps the soil retain moisture and keeps roots cooler during hot weather.

☀️ IT'S THE GROWING SEASON 🌿 

Interested in herbs? Looking for a gift?

Perfect for a hostess gift, or birthday or housewarming.

 Check out the Herb Sampler on this Blog  

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it.

 

I Write - The House That Wakes Early

At our monthly Writing is Fun meetings we decide a prompt for writing for the next meeting. Length is set at 2 pages so we can read them at the meeting. There is quite a diversity of writing. Some are real life recollections, some fictional vignettes, and sometimes there's a poem. This is a combination of real life and a bit of made-up story.

The prompt for April 2026 was "House."

I Write: The House That Wakes Early

 

The birdhouse out front keeps its own time; time that runs on light instead of numbers. It’s a house that wakes before the earth turns to release the sun above South Mountain, long before I wake.

One morning, before “Betty Carol” tea consciousness, my at‑home workday started early. Working at home was never restful  - looking at the computer and rifling through files drained energy. I stumbled through dim rooms, goosebumps on my arms, following a cool breeze to the office. At the doorway I paused, still half‑asleep. It was so quiet; and then I heard it.

 

ch REE   ch REE   ch REE 

 

Alone in a quiet pocket of the approaching day, the notes were loud, crisp, and as sweet as the taste of a fresh apple- repeating a call-and-response to itself.

 

ch REE   ch REE   ch REE 

 

A tiny bird perched on the birdhouse, singing into the pre-dawn, blue-grey light. Later I learned it was a Carolina Wren—most likely a male, most certainly an early riser.

For a moment I imagined the birdhouse near my bedroom window. It would be the most pleasant way to start a day.

 

 

Spring arrived, and while working I began watching the house where he sang. It sits atop a wooden pole; a host of yellow daffodils huddled at its base. One day the wren pushed his head into the opening, tail cocked upright, inspecting. Soon he and a partner began to build a nest, carrying twigs, tufts of green moss, and thin strands of grass. Then, for days, it was still.

Another early morning workday I heard the song again. He sat perched on the tiny roof, flicking his tail as the song bounced into the dawn air.

 

ch REE   ch REE   ch REE 

 

I avoided my work, listening - ch REE  ch REE   ch REE  - and watching as the day opened gently – the dawning colors unfurling upward like opening flower petals- a faint blue to pale yellow, a small drift of pink and peach clouds, orange that burst into yellow as the sun crested the mountain. Then I started my workday.

 

As the day went on I saw the wren coming and going, carrying small morsels in its beak, wings fluttering as it dipped its head inside. A few days later both birds began to bring food back home.

 

After dinner, just before the earth turned to hide the sun behind Cove Mountain to the west, I walked through the gardens. As I slowly approached the birdhouse I could hear faint, breathy peeping — the tiny, uncertain voices of chicks only a day or two old. I knew the parents fed them from sunrise to sunset, but never after. Mama wren would fold her wings and settle in for the night, and Papa would settle in the maple branches nearby.

 

I had begun to rise early each morning to hear his morning song. The song seemed stronger, more confident, and definitely louder, singing out like he owns the yard.

 

ch REE   ch REE   ch REE 

 

  

During my workdays I would glance out the window and see nature’s other entertainment. Squirrels rushed around, tails flipping, digging in the garden bed. A chipmunk about to fill his cheeks with bird seed. Morning walkers and joggers out early and a neighbor walking her dog. Although the daffodils were gone they were replaced by bright orange tulips.

 

And there was a day when the commotion inside the nest was so loud I could hear it. A fluffy head peeked out of the birdhouse, ducked forward, and brought a little round body with caramel colored loose feathers up into the hole. It fell forward with small wings spread and landed softly. With a slight waddle it moved behind a line of hostas at the back of the garden. Three more fledglings followed it.

 

When I went for a fresh cup of tea, I noticed I was more relaxed than when my workday started later. By moving the birdhouse I would only gain a song—if I was awake for it. And I understood I would lose something quieter: the slow unfurling of the seasons as the earth tilts toward the sun. In Spring bringing up the daffodils and the wrens back to their little house just as surely as it turns to lift the sun over the mountain each morning.

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Interested in herbs? Looking for a gift?

Perfect for a hostess gift, or birthday or housewarming.

 Check out the Herb Sampler on this Blog  

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it.