You are currently browsing the daily archive for May 2, 2010.

My landlady and I started planting the garden yesterday.  I didn’t have a garden last year at all.  Only a cactus plant, an immortal poinsettia, and a miniature potted rose that greens but no longer blooms.

The garden at Pat’s house had been active for years.  Some years, it was amazing – a riot of color and an abundance of produce.  Other years it was frustrating – bugs and dogs and weather combined forces to destroy almost anything I touched.  But as our marriage failed, the garden failed as well.  It hurts me deeply to think of it, to think of dreams now lost – the garden was a metaphor for my marriage.  Pat’s hurt has been reflected in his neglect of the garden, and the property in general.

He has decided to make the side yard very nice this year, and I take that as a hopeful sign that he will be okay.

My LL and I were in the massive big-box hardware store, looking for seeds and manure, and we discussed hammocks.  I want to take my hammock from Pat’s house, but it hurts me to do so.  He built the garden arbor to house the hammock.  It was the last thing he built for me.  On the other hand, it’s mine – a gift from my family – so I should have it if I want it.  He doesn’t care about it.  He almost never uses it.  It’s time for a fresh start for me, for Pat and for the hammock.

It was hard work preparing the garden, but it was satisfying.  I like sitting in the dirt, letting it run through my fingers.  I never cease to be amazed by seeds – these miniscule black dots that look more like fleas than anything else, and yet that will become a head of lettuce, a huge hollyhock, or a field of orange poppies.  How do they do it?  How is all that knowledge and life stored in this tiny little package?  It makes me more wonderous of how the universe works to create things than contemplating how humans evolved.  Did seeds evolve?  Or have they just always BEEN? 

In the past, gardening was a healing activity.  Peaceful.  Something that put me in touch with my roots, my ancestors, the earth, the basics of nature.  Once it got to be a chore, and Pat groused at me about not keeping up with weeding and watering, and yet kept making more and more planting spaces that he expected me to fill and maintain to his satisfaction (which I never could), I lost my zest for it.  I fell out of love with it. 

I’d like to fall back in love.  I’m looking forward to watching beans push up through the soil.  To the amazing spread of pumpkin vines.  To pulling spicy radishes, and making a meal of them with an ice-cold beer.  To tending window boxes of geraniums that coordinate with my colorful cottage.

Yes, it’s nice to fall in love again.

May 2010


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