I’ve Got The Itch

Yes, you heard right. The honeysuckle breeze is tingling my nose. The gardens are calling and I am listening.

Last year there was diligence in following doctors’ orders … do not touch. Ugh. Having had a second hip replacement, there was the interminable list of “cannot dos.” My yearly yen for seasonal planting was clipped and pasted to nodding, suggesting and some yelling. And watching my husband and two sons shovel and sweat out dirt rows in the yard for the awaiting plants. I had to stay put. 

But that was then.

A year has gone by and I am so ready.  My hands are shaking with anticipation as I slip on scruffy yard shoes and put on garden gloves. I grab a tray of young seedlings and a trowel to dig choice spots while my knees sink into the soft, cool dirt. Sweat is beading down my neck as the delicate plants are lowered and secured in place. Gazing over the planted row, my insides are dancing.

Yes, I’m back!

But this year’s garden experience has only just begun. So much to do to nurture stability for an anticipated yield. Watering. Fertilizing. Weeding. Hoeing up plants for stability.  Watching out for hungry uninvited guests. Then … repeat.

Then, there’s mother nature. Garden maintenance requires a balance of water, nurture and patience which sometimes is upset. Dry spells. Huge, continuous rain. Too much sun. Not enough sun. Nasty vigorous winds that uproot all the plants such that the garden is upended and sideways. A surprise visit from a very large hungry deer.

This is about the time to again sink knees into the soil and pray.

Hmm …

Gardening reminds me of life, likened to my once young children, each day growing and becoming.  A time full of drama, responsibility and challenges. Choices always … should a coat be worn, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches eaten, a lasso thrown around the moon? There is a battle of trial and error as growth is assumed from these earlier years to maturity.

Yes, much effort is needed to produce an abundant harvest in my household and in these mounds of dirt. And there is plenty of uncertainty. But for these newly planted saplings, their presence has mere months to be and produce.

Turning to my rake, I pondered the grape arbor that has greeted me every morning, harvesting or dormant for many years. Earlier seasons it had produced lovely mouth-watering concord grapes. The air would get thick with their fragrance. Plucked with delight, hand and tongue were stained deep blue. Then standing over a steaming pot, they were stirred and stirred to a fragrant jelly along with purple stains blotting my apron. Then, the fiery hot concoction was allowed to cool and set, soon ready for loading a spoonful on breakfast toast. Ah... But no longer. The grape arbor had grown old.

Way past its youth, it now groans with crinkled brown leaf and twisted thin and thick wizened vines. Each year the garden seedlings come and go, but this arbor still boasts its strong presence.

Coffee cup in hand, I again gaze out the kitchen window at the arbor. Realizing I had grown old with it.

This season the anchored veggie seedlings are awaiting their day of fullness, a feast for the eye and the stomach. But not yet, I muttered aloud. I lifted the rake and headed over to turn over the herb garden. Mouth-watering thoughts filled my head with the makings of sauce, pesto and baked chicken. Of parsley, sage, rosemary and plenty of basil. Laughing I swiped sweat from my forehead and smiled.

Today all was good.

… “and that’s how I live it.”