Planting seeds indoors (to transfer into the garden in a few weeks):
Tickling Lemolo into producing his little Eureka lemons:
I love to repurpose, reuse, create, and nurture. I think my passion for plants has to do with the fact that so much in my life is out of my hands (the big picture anyway). So any time my fingers are literally knuckles deep in soil, I feel at home, safe. Gardening allows me to contribute, to accomplish, and encourage. It's just the little seeds, sleeping in their shells. Then, so easily, they sprout and grow unbridled shoots, with their budding leaves, and arms reaching every which way. And the flowers, with petals waving, fluttering open and closed throughout the day, winking their pistils for the insects. It's breath taking. Like the concept from the old children's book, "Indian in The Cupboard", it's magical.
It's ironic that I had zero desire to garden while growing up. My mom would prod, trying to get me to weed with her, but I would run off. Now, it's my favorite thing to do. If not weed, at least garden. I check on my seedlings, and starts, and bulbs, and established plants every day. Sometimes two or three times. I lean over, squating near the earth, drinking it in with my eyes. There's always another bud, or leaf, or sprout to notice. I'll never get sick of it.
Sometimes, most times, I inventory the little plants with my eyes while my mind wanders off to religion, of faith, of energy and love. I wonder what the true purpose of life is. What really happens when we die. I don't find it morbid, or even depressing or negative. I find it fascinating, and wildly fantastic. The best part is that we can all have different ideas, different beliefs, but not one of us will know for sure until we get to the other side. There's something curious about that, as if we are meant to continue the search, to never settle. That there is always more to learn, to read, to watch, to understand. What a fabulous puzzle we are born into.
