I remember once, peeling a grapefruit and finding at it’s core, it’s very center, a growing seedling. That fragile sprout looking for light and life. I remember an overwhelming feeling of joy dance through my whole being. What a gift! Very carefully, separating it from the pith and the flesh of the fruit, I planted it in a tiny little pot. After a week or so, it had sprung a couple of tiny leaves. I would leave it out in the sun during the day and bring it in at night. One day, while we were out, it rained and drowned the roots of that poor seedling. I tried everything I could to bring it back but nothing worked. It was so devastating! Took me a good long while to get over it, the regret and the loss.
I have always wanted a garden, a wild one! Flowers, trees, grasses, growing willy nilly. Clumps of flowers hanging off heavy limbs, ripe fruits strewn across mossy paths and tangled roots, scents of rosemary, thyme, sage rising through the mid afternoon air as you brush past them. Birds, bees, rabbits, deer, squirrels, caterpillars, cats and dogs lying lazy in the sun, heavy with sleep and contentment….
Mysterious, lush, green, alive.
But alas, I have a brown thumb. I also lack the patience it requires, and the presence of mind it requires, to grow things. To care for them. I am too careless and absent minded. Nonetheless, this feeling, this desire to grow things has been brewing in me and getting stronger by the day. So I am giving it a go.
Starting small with hot peppers, sweet basil and cilantro.
The floors are too cold. So they are sitting up on the footstool. Yup. Totally mollycoddling.
Under the light. Grow baby grow.
Do wish me luck! I am going to need it.