How many seeds and starts have mom and I bought? How many did we plant in the ground? How many grew into carrots or came to flower? (When we first started the garden, we were into vegetables, but the flowers have slowly taken over. I think this year we’ll put in some gourdy things to climb the fence, but they will be for decoration.) I planted some seeds this week, and found it a bit too zen to leave them behind. Will I see them as seedlings? Will mom thin them and protect them from the rapacious snails? I think that gardening is a wholesome way of marking time, like a haircut. My mom’s garden is an extraordinary balm for mental health; it puts things in perspective. I can weed for days with great purpose, but after awhile my mind relaxes and I accept the will of the plants. They migrate about in strange ways and are seldom where we left them. They tend to head for the edge of the sidewalk because it’s warm there. I almost want to dig them up and drag them back to center like naughty children, but I don’t. Let them seek their heat and lash the ankles of the mail carrier.
1 comment:
great post. Loved the imagery.
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