Delores and I planted a vast garden this week. Our anticipated crop will include every imaginable vegetable, provided one's imagination is limited to a handfil of small plants soaking up the sun in our aparment window. In one long pot are onions and chives. Another boasts basil and something else -- I can't exactly remember. With only a handful of plants, one might think I could keep them all straight, but I already look at the moist dirt in the pots with anticipation for the surprise. What did we plant, and where?
It feels refreshing, really. I haven't had a garden, even a flowerpot garden, since I lived with my parents. We kept a small handful of fruit trees, clumps of zucchini and pumpkin, rows of corn, and even carrots which, due to the native Utah clay, often turned out to appear like short, fat, orange toes. Having a little something to watch grow is so very different than the day-in and day-out routine of writing software.
Delores makes it fun as well. She filled pots with dirt and drew furrows in the soil with her fingertips. Handfuls of dirt were saved for Fergusen, the family plant. She is always full of sunshine and laughter.
When I woke the next morning, my neck and shoulders ached like I had planted acres of rocks. It took me some time, and the help of Delores, to figure that it was likely because I bought our dirt while walking home from my carpool. I had walked home from the store with two large bags of soil, one over each shoulder. A half of a block later it was two large bags under my arms. Shortly later it was one bag across my back somewhat with the other clung to my chest like a cherished teddy bear.
The little adventure ended and our garden is planted. I wonder how large the plants will be when Abigail is here? I guess we'll see.
No comments:
Post a Comment