Notes from the cottage. Get Mobbed. It’s Fun.

Blueberries growing in the wild at Littleislan...

Blueberries growing in the wild at Littleisland (Litløya), Nordland, Norway. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Several years ago I signed up for and began a community garden plot. Being one of feeble math skills, I assumed a 50 X 25 foot plot was small, simple, manageable. It took me 1 hour that first year to realize I was way over my head and that 50 X 25, if farmed properly, could probably feed a family of eight for a decade on vegetables (plausibility issues discussed later). In that first hour, I managed to turn an 8 X 2 foot strip of earth with a garden rake. Later that night I soaked in my tub and took two Advils. The next day I nudged my husband into my hobby. That was only good until golf, hiking, and running several long distance races in the opposite direction of my small farm peaked his interest.

It was a year or two later that I dragged a friend into this obsessive foray, and a year after that there were three of us on board. That’s when I realized under all the weeds there were some vegetables leftover from the previous year. It was still a lot of plot to till, but there was a sense of community. Even if we were there alone, the knowledge that others were all chipping in gave me a lift.

Since moving to Maine, I have mobbed and I have enjoyed it. My most recent mob was a gathering of like-minded folks who wanted to learn how to sheet a lawn. So we called it a sheet-mob. Different from what a sheet-mob was in college, not quite as much fun, and probably a bit healthier. We took a portion of a lawn and layered mulch, compost, coffee grounds, seaweed, and wet newspaper. Then we stuck new plantings like blueberries, strawberries, and other perennials right into the paper. Voila. After two hours and with twelve people helping, a project was finished. Very satisfying. Then beer and pizza and socializing. Very, very, satisfying.

My writer’s groups are my mob. We work as one to solve problems of tense, perspective, and lately, plausibility. Anyone who knows me won’t be surprised I have issues with credibility. Anyway, writing is not a solitary act. It is a mantra of mine. My problems are my weeds, needing several hands to pull and toss aside. We are tillers of words, hoping for blueberries where a scrubby lawn once stood. And perhaps pizza and beer after all is said and done.

What could a mob do for you?


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6 Responses to Notes from the cottage. Get Mobbed. It’s Fun.

  1. Lis says:

    My mob is my PSC & New England friends who only so recently visited together with me to show how fun life is supposed to be even when you have other problems in your life. My mob took me out of my turbulent world of housework, decluttering, teens, family, errands & brought me to the world of make-believe, as well took me back to the person I once was and can still be….a crazy chick that often has to “depend” when around her equally crazy mob! 🙂 I say thank you to my mob!! 🙂

  2. joan chandler says:

    I’ve never applied the MOB title to groups. But now that I know how to interpret it, I guess I’m mobbed much of the time.
    There’s the writing mob – originally Sally, Jenny, Helen, Bobbi, Susan, Trudy, Deb, and I. We’re still a mob, getting together to encourage each other and light a fire under each other. Our pizza and beer is usually scrambled eggs and coffee.
    There’s the Wednesday afternoon mob – a group of friends who set aside time to explore and learn about the out-of-doors, send birthday cards to old friends, keep up with the latest movies, and set about solving the world’s most difficult problems. Some of these Wednesday mob members are also part of the Friday breakfast mob, whose floating membership meets for breakfast and solutions to more world issues. I till the musical soil with seven ladies each week. We are remnants of a musical theater group of the nineties, and call ourselves The Time Travellers. Our mission is to enjoy harmonies, and to entertain at local informal gatherings. I’m not sure if a group of two or three can rightfully be called a “mob”, but my friends Pat and Linda join me regularly to commit random acts of kindness – Valentine baskets, cards, baked goods.
    From these mob acts, we reap knowledge, pleasure, laughter, pride, and satisfaction. And we don’t have to deal with a godfather.
    Long live mobbing!

  3. Sally Sally says:

    Joan, I am beginning to think you are a mob of one. Love, Sally

  4. Trudy says:

    Sheet mob? I thought that was the KKK. Regarding the garden. . .ever hear of Hannaford’s or Shaw’s? Only kidding. Just don’t ruin your nails for a couple of strawberries.

    • Sally Sally says:

      My nails are permanently ruined, Trudy. They look nothing like your salon nails. You know how you feel about critters? Thanks for checking in! SLW

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