TBUG 2016

What a beautiful day for some gardening. The Cathy Walsh Memorial Garden has been cleaned and has some new bushes and flowers. Thank you, TBUG, for being a great group of people and for making Worcester, MA a nicer place to be.

TBUG digging up weeds

Everyone weeding and cleaning up trash.

Dee Wells shoveling weeds into a trash bag held by David Jahn

Dee Wells and David Jahn demonstrating that snow shovels are a year-round tool in New England.

Sarah laughing as she tries to dig the hardened dirt

Sarah, laughing, can’t believe how hard the ground is and is grateful for assistance from Tina Zlody.

Sarah and David cleaning up around the edges of the garden

David and Sarah cleaning up around the edge of the garden.

Nicole prepping the garden for new flowers

Nicole Apostola doing some serious work with the best gardening tool ever (I don’t know what it was called but it was really helpful).

TBUG posing on the statue for group photo

Most of the group. We’re missing Brian Seitzman and Nicole Apostola.

New flowers and a bush awaiting planting

New flowers and a small bush waiting to be planted.

Dee and Sarah looking for missed weeds and trash

Dee and Sarah.

Brian putting in new flowers

Brian Seitzman putting in some new flowers.

Beautiful Sometimes

By Deb Powers

This city is un(picturesque), not a
quaint New England town. It squats
in the palm of the foothills where other
(perhaps more delicate) cities might
nestle. Her whitewashed steeples are
outnumbered by concrete slabs and
vinyl-sided tripledeckers spider-legging
their way up half-unforested slopes, her
lifeblood is buried beneath stone and sand
and asphalt, except where it emerges
sluggish and choked with weeds and rust
from culverts beneath the cracked streets.

This city is un(dying), never quite succumbing
to the dire predictions that shift her population
east and west, always returning here, to the
heartline of old railroad crossings and gutted
warehouse bricks. She somehow survives the
generation after generation that erases the mark
of the last generation with gentrification and
reclamation that only reclaims the last iteration
of all that is not beautiful, not charming,
neither soaring steel and glass nor
cozy cottage clapboard. She has a face that
only a mother could love

and perhaps that’s why on autumn nights
when the setting sun edges flat black cloud-slashes
with copper, when the traffic on Route 9 blends
to ropes of pearls and rubies, when the hills
behind blink and glitter with ten thousand thousand lights
and those ahead are still aflame with the last November leaves

this mother has to remind herself that
this city is strong as steel and harsh,
this city is a stevedore, a fireman, an engineer
this city has cracked hands and weathered faces
she is uncompromising and there is little in her
that is cozy, warm or soft and even less that
melds and blends and smooths, she is
the work of centuries, the end result of ages
of mistakes and harsh realities, she is, in the end
only human.

On nights like this, I have to remind myself
of what she is because when I stand at dusk on Castle Hill
and turn east and west and north and south
it’s impossible for me to remember that this city

is not beautiful.

Burnside Fountain. Turtle Boy Urban Gardening. Worcester, MA