I’ve been needing something to sink myself into for a while now. I used to sink into just writing alone but that takes too much mental capacity these days. Who has time to live through imaginary lives when my own takes so much energy?
Somewhere around the time my mother’s cancer returned I realized that what I needed was a garden. It sat there in my mind, this idea its own little germinating seed, pushing at me for action. (Did I really just make that analogy? I really hate myself for that.) And so I began a search for a garden plot because we have no yard space of our own. And finally, I got it. This week I got my plot against all odds when every list I was on predicted waits of not just months, but years. As of yesterday I am the proud lessee of about 100 square feet of weedy earth that I can call my own.
I have to explain that this won’t really be only a gardening blog. It won’t really be anything so defined. But this is the force pushing me right now: I need to grow something. While mentally fighting with cells that are growing out of control in my mother’s body — demolishing her liver, eating at her bones, looking for elsewhere to take root and destroy — I have a visceral need to plunge my hands into dirt, to plant seeds and to grow things that are good, real, natural, right. And for some reason these things I grow, they need to be food. I want to grow things that nourish and sustain. I have this really overblown image in my mind of biting into a carrot I’ve grown myself that, I tell you, literally brings tears to my eyes.
Yeah, I’m a sucker and an idealist. I know it. But man, I’m more excited than I can say about this thing. It’s fallen into my lap, an obvious gift and answer to prayer, and I’m going to give it all I’ve got.
I take possession tomorrow afternoon and I’ll arrive with toddler and camera in hand to chart the progress. This should be fun. So we’ll see where it goes while life goes along. I hope it’s interesting for you.