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.

I've Got Little Levon On My Mind

   What is wrong with this picture?  Dad goes out with baby, brings baby home, leaves baby on front porch to unlock the back door, baby goes missing for two weeks before his disappearance is reported.  Poor Levon Wameling.  This poor child.  I hope that he's alive and that he's with someone who is loving him and treating him like he is worth something because apparently his dad thought of him like he was a stray cat or something.  I can just picture him saying "Oh shit, where did that kid get off to?"  No, it's not funny, it's pathetic. 

   Where was this child’s extended family?  I know I don’t see my grandchildren every day, but after three or four days, if they haven’t called, I’m calling them.  I expect to at least hear their voice in the background if not talking directly to me.  Also, if they disappeared off my porch I would immediately start yelling for them, not sitting on that information for two weeks.  Yes, we all long for a little peace and quiet, but not like this.

   Yes, the father is a person of interest.  He definitely should be.  I have to wonder if there were any agencies involved with this child.  Did the Department of Social Services have an interest in him, and if so, did they check up on him?  I know they have many cases that are sometimes overwhelming, but these children need to be checked on.  I believe Levon’s mother was in rehab at the time and awareness of his disappearance came about when she got out.  How tragic for her, to take the first step to regaining her life and have her child ripped from it.

   I cannot imagine losing my child, no matter what age, and not being frantic and crazy to find him.  I have to wonder what the world is coming to when children are treated as possessions, not people, and God, why are some allowed to conceive when they are so incapable of taking care of themselves, let alone another human being?  You have to take a test to drive a car, you have to get a license to get married, but anyone, ANYONE, can have a baby!  And they are.  And there are people out there that try for years and years, and pay their life savings for fertility drugs or surrogates, or adoption fees, who might never have that baby.  These people are probably good people who for some reason or another just cannot conceive.  Yet, that high school dropout that smokes dope and takes pills can get knocked up by the guy that beats her and calls her filthy names in front of their children can have and keep the child they conceive because there’s food on the table and the house is neat.

   There should be a test.  An unrelated expert on parenting and children should come into the house and observe conditions before birth.  Maybe install hidden cameras.  That way people might forget about acting, and start being real.  Then, if they’re not mature enough or responsible enough to raise a child then it would be taken and given to parents who would raise it and love it and not treat it like a tax deduction or a meal ticket.  I know it’s extreme but so is the fact that children are being hurt and killed by the very people who are supposed to love and protect them. 

   It makes me so angry when I hear about a parent who has killed their kids.  And it breaks my heart and brings me to tears.  I think about that baby, that child, who never got a chance.  And people will say that it was God’s will, that she was born for a reason and she must have done what she was supposed to do, etc, etc., but I know this is because no one can make sense of something like killing a kid, and no one should because it shouldn’t make sense.  Ever. 

   So I am praying for Levon, and I’m praying for his mother and hoping that if this ends up badly that she will continue her recovery with him in mind, because if he were here he would deserve a mother who cared more for him than drugs.  I pray they find him alive, safe and sound.  I pray that this doesn’t tear his family apart but brings them closer, and I pray that this case gets resolved and closed, and that someone pays.

   I hope you get to go home Levon.  You’re in a lot of hearts right now, and we’re all praying that you are ok.