It goes without saying that Mother Nature has been cranky this spring, but it only goes to prove that my instincts as a newbie gardener were deeply rooted in faith.
Topsoil, water and sunlight may be the keys to growing a garden, but what I offer, the magic I sprinkled into the soil, is clearly the reason our garden is in bloom.
Don’t roll your eyes at me. My husband has done that enough already, many times.
The Carpenter is a Leo by astrological fate and thus believes himself to be right about everything. His need to control things is justified by his belief that if he wants something done right, he’s best to do it himself (cough).
In other words, there is no participation badge coming, because I am not invited to participate, especially with gardening. It’s ironic because I birthed two babies drug-free in record time, but sure, don’t trust me with snap peas or begonias. Got it.
Until that day. That one day he asked me to get my hands dirty in the garden. This was a big moment for me. A leap of marital faith (later, I would find out he let me help only because the baseball game was starting soon and he had a timeline. He always has a timeline: his. Leo, am I right?).
I may be late to the garden party, but I was thrilled to get off the bench and into the game. While the Carpenter planted fruit trees and bushes, I’d show him what I could do.
It was my job to transplant the flowers from the black plastic square containers they were born into at the nursery, and plant them into garden boxes and planters. After careful instruction, (where I nodded a lot, like I was paying careful attention, but didn’t dare ask a question), I was set off to my tasks.
I took the job very seriously, but I had to put my own spin on it, naturally (my sign is Cancer; say no more). One by one, I nestled the rooted flowers into the dark pockets of soil, patting the edges with rich earth. Sprinkling them with water and my personal magic: love.
One by one, I whispered words of encouragement, affection and appreciation for these little stems of joy.
“You beautiful little plant you. I can’t wait to see you grow,” I’d coo, quietly. “You’re going to be stunning. Your colours will be vibrant and your stem strong.”
Guess who overheard me?
“Are you?” he asked, pausing just long enough to mentally answer his own question.
“Are you really talking to the garden? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Look, it surprises no one more than me that I’m emotionally invested in a garden. I have become one of those people who spends less money on rock concerts and shoes so I can buy more flowers.
What the actual “flower” has happened to me?
Before you know it, I’ll have my own gardening tools.
All I can say is, the gardens are blooming. The begonias are happy. The snap peas too.
Yep. All me. Words. Intentions. Love. Reap what you sow.
Grow more of that.
