The Promise of A Seed Catalog

            It’s that time of year again – it’s time to plan the garden!  Several weeks ago I ordered catalogs.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  The snow keeps piling up and there’s something about a vegetable and flower catalog that brings hope before you even open the cover.  The bright photos of peas, carrots and tomatoes evoke mornings of patient weeding, with a break on the porch and the transplanting of flowers along the house or in containers in the afternoon.  I think of ice tea and porches and waving to neighbors and listening to the neighborhood children ride their bicycles up and down the block.  A seed catalog brings back my sanity at a time when I think I could forget that the sun will ever warm me again.

            I love gardening.  I am by no means an expert.  No, I am a trial and error girl and I try to remember my Dad’s garden.  He died about a year after I decided I actually didn’t mind weeding when it was MY garden and not a chore but a means of escape from being anything – a mom, a lover, an employee, a bread winner, a daughter, a friend.  I had so looked forward to discussing the garden with him, possibly trading plants or vegetables.  But then he was gone. 

             I garden now still as an escape, but I also feel my Dad with me then.  There are times when I’m out in the soil, with the sun beating down on me, and I wonder about something as my mind opens, whether it has to do with gardening or some other conundrum, and I think that I’ll give him a call when I’m done.  Not a second later I realize with a twist in my gut that I can’t.  It’s been nearly fifteen years and I still can’t believe he’s gone.  And I can’t believe he left before I could be a full-fledged adult child, so that we could talk and understand each other on the same level.  I was an adult when he passed away, but I was still in the stage where my parent’s really had no clue about what they were talking about when it came to me and my life.  

            I do talk to my Dad out there, and I believe he listens to me.  I believe he would be proud of the way I’ve taught myself and others around me in regards to plants and sunlight and where to plant and near what other veggies or flowers. 

            I lost my Dad on the first day of spring, 2000.  Every year since, sometime in May, I get him back for the summer.  I know he would love our garlic, that we planted it at all and just tried it out would have pleased him.  Cooking with it would have given him great satisfaction.  I like to think, that if he was alive today, that he would be satisfied with me, too.  I like to think my gardening would have made him proud and that he would come over just to walk in my little gardens and sit on the porch and watch my birds and listen to the water falling in our homemade pond.  I like to think our talks would start with seeds, move on to soil and plants and then grow a little deeper.  I like to think that just as my garden grows, so would my knowledge of my dad and he of me. 

            I look forward to receiving the seed catalogs every year.  They promise more than just beautiful vegetables and flowers.  They promise hope and hard work, ideas and memories; and for me especially, they promise that my father will be with me once again, guiding me through my hands and heart.

            I can’t wait dad.  I can’t wait.

Summertime...

   “Summer, summer, summertime…”, as Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff sang, back in the 90’s.  Well, it sure isn’t here.  We’re in the middle of a monsoon, it seems.  I am saying this lightly, I do realize that monsoons are ferocious and this definitely isn’t the season here, but seeing so much rain makes one say some strange things.

   My gardens are getting a beating and I only hope the sun comes out and stays out for a while soon.  My tomatoes and peppers sure could use a little love, and me talking to them, encouraging them not to give up, doesn’t seem to do the trick. 

   Even my beans, that are so hardy they should grow anywhere under any conditions, are turning yellow and giving up.  The whole garden is depressed, as am I. 

   My treadmill quit a couple weeks ago.  My boyfriend is supposed to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it but that has yet to happen, although he has tried.  In the meantime I have switched to the Wii and the Just Dance games, using mainly the sweat mode, to complete a workout.  Generally I try to do this every other day, but days go by sometimes.  Other times I can get some activity in a couple days in a row.  The thing is, I started running a couple months ago – on the treadmill.  I’ve only tried it twice outside and I don’t like to do it because I’m self-conscious.  However, it’s the only exercise now that makes my body feel tight, strong and healthy. I’ve really got to get out there.

   Tonight there is a book signing and reading that I have just been invited to, by my brother because he’s got some of his work in it.  I should go.  I want to go, but I was out of the house last night and the dogs have been alone all day – again.  I’m not sure what I should do, but I think the right thing to do would be to go.  I’d want my family to show up for me.

   So it is the next day and I DID go for a run outside, and I DID go to the book signing.  Both things that I feel very good about doing.  I’m exhausted today after a few long nights, and I’ have a headache, but I still feel good.  It was a busy week with pottery class, an extreme amount of phone calls and begging from my kid, worrying and family stuff.  I’m glad the weekend is here and that I’ll be spending it with my grandson.  I can’t wait to see what we end up doing.

   It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow, but I think it’ll be nice enough to walk in and explore, and maybe that’s something I can give him.  An observation of nature, a natural curiosity.

   I love summer.  It’s more than a season, it’s a feeling.  It’s when one can exhale, relax, and just go with the flow.  I’ll be doing that this weekend. 

   As Will Smith sang “Got to sit back and unwind…”