“Would you count to twenty and then do the same for the next tall plant and the next one?”
“Right here, mama?”
I hope these little bean flowers make food before the heat causes them to keel over.
Not everything out of place is unwanted in its place.
I don’t label well. What I always do is sow in alphabetical order so I can go back and check varieties later. Sometimes, the order makes its own art.
Lesson learned: if my bean poles are too short, plant them under low tree branches.
Sometimes we’re caught off guard and knocked flat.
Sometimes a storm is just what you need.
Sometimes you aren’t prepared for unprecedented growth.
Sometimes you are.
And sometimes, no matter how hard you fight it, passions persist.
I still tend to run light on flowers in the garden. I’m slowly learning when to sow what where. I know each year I can count on one prolific bloomer to feed the early bees and it’s a sunshine-yellow reminder to ignore the boxes we so often try and think within.
If I leave the office just when. If the lights time just so. If the traffic behaves just. If, if, if.
I am home with a little light left. Greeted at the door by two gleeful voices, one escorts me to the closet. “Mama work. Mama jacket off?”
Yes, love. As hurriedly as I can. “Mama’s shoes? Closet?” Yes, love. “I do it.” Mmm… My turn. “Up, please.” It is not a question. Outside? “Yesh!”
Outside we traipse. He, on my hip, me seeking peace. Where can I find a sip of calm. Where can I snatch a glimpse of soothing. What can I feed my soul before the light dies.
I uncover the kumquat. I de-leaf the strawberries. I unwrap Bill and find his lit leaves warm at his feet.
I eyeball the compost pile. Is there time? I could…
“Uh oh, mama.” Quickly, I look up. The light is dying. The moment has passed. Only the tips of the neighboring trees are still frosted with the day’s last color. I look over my shoulder. Uh oh, indeed.