Ramblings. As in: Have Words -Will Ramble. As in: Ramble: to write or talk aimlessly or without sequence of ideas, to proceed with turns and twists; meander As In: observances of an everyday life in passing through the spectrum of extraordinary.
SEEDS OF CHANGE
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
It was a wintry, grey day in the city. (Which may sound something like a kick-off line from an old Sam Spade novel or maybe an opening from a Calvin and Hobbs cartoon - the Tracer Bullet -phase.) But that day has passed. It seems only a week ago I landed in Nashville with a snow and ice encrusted car and now, 70-something beautiful degrees today and what to my wondering ears appear but the sound of crickets. The sun has past and the windows are open as I relish every second of this early Spring night and yes, I hear them. This may pass with a last cold snap or two. Even a freaky, late snow but it won't matter. Not a bit. Spring is here. It arrived a few weeks ago when I dashed in from a biting wind, stuck my hand in the mailbox and pulled out the days mail. It was filled with seed catalogues filled with pictures of blooming flowers, plump vegetables, ripe fruit.
I order them every year like a farmer. As if I'm going to get really serious now about planting.
I am looking at trees, at blossoms, at berries. I read names like Desertgold Peach and Kadota Fig and Purple Passion Asparagus. I study trees like the Bonfire Ornamental Peach. I taste Emperor Francis Sweet Cherry's and smell Frangrant Purple Lilac and Variegated Weigela and I run my fingers over the colored map, find the planting zone I live in which promises to help me select the best varieties for my area. (I'm in the lowest part of the blue zone just above the pink zone.) I search out the Farmers Almanac which I know within a reasonable doubt can tell me the exact day that I'm supposed plant - anything - anywhere. And I thumb back through the gourmet greens section tasting names like Arugula Sylvetta and Bellesque Endive and Persion Garden Cress. Huazontle. Komatsuma. Magenta Spreen. I'm imagining eating from the good earth and my skin just glowing, pumped twenty-four/seven full of natural minerals and vitamins. Why, I would be able to look down at my veins and see the healthy blood flowing freely which on some days (particularly after family reunions) feels a little greasy and clogged.
"Why do you order these?" Husband asks. "You're not going to plant anything."
"Well, I am." I turn the page and study germination stations. "I think I really am."
"Honey, face it. You don't have a green thumb, you have the opposite. You have a brown thumb."
He's making a joke. Kinda. And because I love him a lot I don't hit him with a shovel when his back is turned. (Well, he's kinda big.) I drop the subject and put the catalogues to the side and go to sleep. But I am dreaming of flowers. Big Yellow ones. Furry Purple ones. Large pick antique ones. And I wake up with the brown-thumb blues which is what I have still when the husband finds me moping, sitting on the steps and staring out the window at the grey day.
"What's wrong?" he asks like he doesn't know because he really doesn't.
Tears well up in my eyes and I say, "I really wanted flowers."
And he laughs, but it's not a mean laugh, it's more of a chuckle and he says, "I was only kidding, honey." And he was. Kinda.
My mother has a green thumb. My Mother-in-law Nancy has a green thumb. My sister's thumb is showing some serious promise. (I should realise my situation when I visit her and say with surprise - "Your flowers are still alive."
The only thing that I had that was THRIVING was a fern I named George of the Jungle and I had to leave it in Florida. Ferns are easy. They need a) lots of water and b) lots of water and c) shade and D) more water.
Other plants seem so temperamental to me. They thrive by the window and then one day I look at them and they seem . . . distressed or maybe . . . depressed so I move them. Or water them. Shade them. Or sun them. I bring them in if they are out. I put them out if they are in. But in the long run we both know there are signs that it is the beginning of the end of our relationship. One dropped or droopy leaf and I might as well give them to Goodwill where they will have at least a chance for survival.
(The truth is - maybe I watered them a lot for a week and then I started writing a story and in the story all the plants are flourishing so that is that and there is my focus. If a flower in a story wilts a character shows up and waters it. They always know exactly the right thing to do at the right time. Or they know a friend who does - and then I have another character in the story which is very warm and wonderful as my plants lose another leaf around me.)
Later in the day Mr. Wonderful walks in the door with a present. A peace offering. It's a hoe, painted gold and wearing a large red bow. And I laugh. A lot. To which my husband is grateful - he says, "You know, that could have gone either way." And he's right.
But I've noticed something special about Nashville. People get serious about Spring. About planting and putting new things into the ground. I mean really, really serious. In Florida something is always in some stage of blooming or about to be - Camellias in the Winter that were planted by someones great-grandmother who had two green thumbs that are still winning awards all by themselves- just flourishing - and about the time they stop blooming, the azaleas come out that were planted by someones great-grandmother. But Nashville has what one might call a bit of dormant, sleeping stage - and OH the Glory that causes when it is time to reawaken. It's a veritable feeding freezy at the garden department! Trucks and trunks loaded down with dark rich dirt and tiny heads of blooms that promise to multiply and bloom all summer long. Just come visit and see if what I'm saying isn't the truth because it is. And it's catchy. And even my brown thumb is getting twitchy.
So, I have the catalogues, I have the hoe, and a friend, a movie-buddy friend mind you, just called as I was writing this to invite me Saturday to a LAWN AND GARDEN SHOW (she doesn't have a yard.) "We can look at seeds and flowers and herbs she tells me," and the sound of that Spring planting fever has taken her, I can tell.
"I'm writing a novel," I tell her. "I can't leave home until it's finished." But my fingers are twitching. Herbs, I'm thinking, Maybe I could grow herbs. And I imagine fresh basil and endive and cilantro. "Call me back. Give me a last minute chance."
The thing is - I believe in the power of renewal and transformation. In the ground and in people. Even in me.
Maybe this year, catnip. But someday soon, with the right amount of hope and joy and determination, York and Lancaster antique roses, bringing a little bit of story, a little bit of history forward in the process.
Safe Journey as you travel on the road to renewal this Spring,
River Jordan
posted by River Jordan at 9:54 PM
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