April 27th, 2015
I’ve heard planting a garden represents a supreme act of hope, and I believe it. I’ve spent a small fortune and tremendous hours composting to amend the clay in my yard. Flats and seeds, bulbs and plants I place with care, researching ideal sun exposure and zones. I dig and weed, prune and train each plant with care. I lavish attention and resources to see a success. With each back-breaking labor, I imagine plants ripe with luscious fruit or swollen with bounty and beds brimming with fragrant offerings pleasing to all the senses. I welcome the blooms as friends. My heart leaps at the sight of new growth and mourns the insect-eaten or unsuccessful.
Because of the demands on my life, I chose a lot of perennials, relying on their tenacious natures to return and grace the garden year after year. I thrill when a plant reaches chartreuse shafts Heaven-ward and welcome those returning as friends. Annuals give color longevity, as long as they are fed and watered. One flat is all I can afford most years. Herbs require little maintenance, and vegetables start as seeds in peat pots on my kitchen greenhouse window.
How like gardens are relationships? We amend and tend and care. If we neglect, the experience grows unsightly, goes to seed, and is lost. It is nice to have the pop and variety of new acquaintances, much like incorporating annuals to flower beds. However, those true and sturdy souls who return with little coaching earn my truest admiration and undying devotion. They are what give me sustenance and provide the foundations for successful associations.
So with spring showers pattering against my window, I gather my tools to prepare the garden beds.
To read more of our letters, click on The Path!